TITLE: Warriors of Gondor 

AUTHOR: HEL ( helthehorrible@yahoo.com )

RATING: R

PAIRING: Boromir/Faramir, mainly

WARNINGS: incest(barely, more later), slash, het,
violence, let me know if I missed something

ARCHIVE: Sure, let me know where.

DISCLAIMER: Inspired by Tolkien's lotr series, I own
nothing, and if I did I'd probably give it away.

SUMMARY: The two brothers growing up in war torn
Gondor. 

NOTES: I plan to write more following their lives
until after the ring is destroyed. 

SPOILERS: None

Part 13: THE FESTIVAL

The whole city of Minas Tirith and the immediate vicinity had been turned into a giant
festival ground for the three-day celebration. The rush of activity surrounding the
festival added to the general air of excitement throughout the city. Faramir was enjoying
himself immensely, even though he had to spend much of his time without his brother. They
were parceling out their time among different events so that no section of the populace
would feel ignored. Denethor held court in the White Tower, bestowing gifts and rewards
on those deserving. Princess Lothiriel and Prince Eomer spent as much time as they could
with the brothers and each other but they, too, adhered to duty by attending as many
events as possible.

The brothers’ busy schedules had been carefully planned so that they could attend as many
events as possible during the festival. This presented something of a challenge, but it
was one they were happy and well-equipped to accept. Minas Tirith was a fortress city
that had been planned for defense. There was no way to go directly from the city’s
entrance at the Gateway to the inner sanctum of the seventh circle where the White Tower
of Ecthelion stood, unless you knew the secrets of the inner passageways. Even then, the
passages were narrow and dank, usually only used by those on the business of the kingdom.
The brothers knew all of the tunnels, and could appear anywhere in the city they wanted
to be in relatively short periods of time.

There were rooms off the passages, small alcoves designed to hold off any attackers that
might have gotten within the city, as well as larger storage rooms that held weapons and
other supplies. In one of the alcoves, Faramir braced himself against the wall as Boromir
drove his cock into his ass. They had been early to their next appointed appearance, now
they were going to be late. It had started with just a little kiss, but the excitement of
the festival already had their blood pumping. As Boromir grabbed and squeezed Faramir’s
cock, they both came. It was a great release after having spent so much time apart
fulfilling their festival duties.

During the celebration, they used the tunnels to fill in when they were going to be late
to their appointments, letting selected guards guide Eomer and Lothiriel to their own
destinations when one of them couldn’t. It had been a point of contention with Denethor,
but Boromir had convinced him that it was in their best interests. The Steward stayed
close to the tower, and had no need or desire to use the tunnels. As a result, the
brothers had made sure that only their own men were stationed within the passages.


Only the evening feast allowed the four to be together, and that was under the watchful
eye of the Steward. There was dancing afterward, but again they rarely spent time with
each other, too busy fulfilling the obligations of their rank. It was only after the
first day’s closing ceremonies that they were able to sneak Lothiriel into their suite so
that they could spend a little time together. All four sprawled on the bed naked, Boromir
reading Faramir’s journal, which he had already written despite the length of the entry.
Lothiriel was lying across his back, reading over his shoulder and tickling him when he
didn’t translate the code on the side of the page quickly enough. Eomer laughed at their
antics, admiring the beauty of the two, running his hand along her back. Faramir handed a
bottle of oil to Eomer, indicating the soft backside of Lothiriel, which was beneath his
hand.

The first touch of Eomer’s well-oiled hand brought a gasp of surprise from the princess.
Eomer’s other hand in the center of her back kept her from moving much, but she could
turn her head enough to see his face. “What are you doing?” she asked, even though she
knew.

“I’m preparing you,” he answered with a smirk. “I’m going to satisfy your curiosity about
how well I ride.”

Her pert answer was cut off when Eomer buried a finger in her ass, taking her breath
away. She had never been allowed to go this far before. Opening her eyes, she looked at
Faramir who watched with aroused interest. Although he was four years younger than her,
Eomer was very experienced in what he was doing to her body and in very little time she
was panting in excitement. When she began thrusting backwards with her hips as three of
Eomer’s fingers worked in her, he withdrew his hand and repositioned her legs so that she
was kneeling over Boromir. Her hands clutched at Boromir’s arms as Eomer grabbed her
hips. Again turning her head to watch, she saw Faramir guiding Eomer’s cock into her ass.

He made her feel unbelievably full and so very good. There had been some fear in her
before, but he had been so careful that there had been no pain at all. Of course, the
training she had received at the hands of her many ‘tutors’ had helped her to be able to
relax at the intrusion. When he finally began moving, pulling almost all of the way out,
then sliding slowly back in, she couldn’t keep silent. Her cries were muffled as she
buried her face in Boromir’s back and began digging her nails into his arms. As her
response heightened, the pace increased and soon Lothiriel was crying out her climax,
which lasted longer than any she’d had to date.

As Eomer and Faramir lifted her to the side, Boromir rolled over and kissed her. “Was he
all we told you, cousin?” he asked.

“More,” was her reply.

Eomer had stayed between her legs as they turned her onto her back and Faramir lay next
to her, opposite Boromir. Lying across her, Eomer kissed her lips. “I will be very happy
to have you as my own,” he whispered in her ear. “I will just have to make sure that
Theodred makes the right choices.”

They cuddled with her for a few more minutes before Garus cleared his throat expectantly.
With resigned dismay, she rose from the bed and allowed the servants to clean and dress
her. “I will be much happier when I am married and don’t have to rush off in the middle
of the night like some unwanted mistress,” she said caustically.

“As soon as we can get all of the arrangements made, my Princess,” Boromir told her. “If
only we could get the fighting to slow down a little.”

”Hah!” she said defiantly. “Send the enemy to me. I will blind them with my beauty,
dazzle them with my wit, and disarm them with my charm. Then you can kill them all while
I hold them in thrall.”

They all laughed at her quip. “If the enemy knew what a treasure we had in you, my
cousin,” Faramir responded, “they would make every effort to tear down the walls of Minas
Tirith itself to claim you. But do not despair; I have made arrangements for you to spend
tomorrow night with a friend of ours who is a well-known and respectable dowager. She has
many entertainments planned just for you. Unfortunately, we can’t be there. It would draw
our father’s suspicion. But fear not; Eomer will accompany you part of the night.”

“Have I met this woman?” she wanted to know.

“Yes, the elderly countess Hargrave. She lives in a building that adjoins an old friend
of ours,” Faramir answered.

“You are going to send me to your mistress?” she asked in shocked excitement.

“You will like Lani,” Boromir told her. “She trained the two handmaidens we assigned you
last year, and also the groom.”

“It will be most enjoyable for both of you,” Faramir reassured.


This second day of the festival didn’t have the frantic flavor of the first. Boromir and
Faramir were able to relax into their roles as paragons of nobility. They used the
tunnels to blow off steam when necessary and showed their best faces to the multitudes
awaiting them. The small honor guard from Rohan, along with their leader, Prince Eomer,
won the hearts of the populace with their displays of horsemanship. The fact that he was
willing to give advice on livestock, especially horses, and treated all with respect
added to the positive effect.

Lothiriel had been endearing herself to the citizens of Minas Tirith since her arrival in
the city almost two years past. Now she was able to spread her considerable charm to even
more of the Gondorian populace. Faramir had introduced her to the heads of the all-too-
common orphanages that become necessities in the city and she had continued his policy of
hands on supervision when he was gone. She spent most of the second day with the various
children of the city. Much to her surprise, she often ran into Boromir and Eomer as well
as Faramir as they visited with the children. She had also managed to ensnare many of the
ladies of the court to accompany her and was able to learn a great deal more about them
as she watched them interact with the needy. Her report would have much new information
about the court of the White Tower when she turned it over to her cousins. For even
though she resided in the same building, they still insisted on full and frequent reports
from her.

The brothers loved their city, and their city loved them. Wherever they went, cheers rose
up in the crowds and they were often hard pressed to be able to speak to all who wished
to greet them. The few occasions when they were both together brought almost frenetic
responses from the multitudes. It was a wonderful, exciting day that ended in a tedious
formal dinner with their father in the great hall.

Faramir missed Lothiriel and Eomer desperately at dinner the second night of the
festival. The previous evening he had been able to sit next to Boromir, but with both
Eomer and Lothiriel attending a dinner elsewhere that evening, he had to sit next to his
father. In the early part of the meal, all went well. By the end of the dinner, it became
obvious to Faramir that his father was very drunk. He didn’t slur his words or speak
loudly as most others would, but his behavior was extremely out of character.

“You know that you and your brother have already replaced me as Steward in this city,” he
whispered into Faramir’s ear.

Faramir pretended not to hear the comment.

Grabbing his son’s arm with unnecessary force, he continued. “It is true,” he said. “Look
at them, all either of you would have to do is speak a single command and they would fall
over themselves to obey. I have spent my whole life trying to gain that kind of power and
you swoop in and take it all away.” He paused, his red-rimmed eyes burning into his
youngest son. “Look at you, not even thirty and what do you have? Everything.” He
answered himself.

Faramir wanted to leave, to escape the tirade of his drunken father. He looked for
Boromir who had moved away from his seat to speak with a few others of the aristocracy.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Denethor said, noticing his son’s seeking gaze. “Do not call out to
your brother. That is one of the problems. He always comes to your aid, is always at your
side. You should be following my orders, not giving orders to him to give to me.”

At Faramir’s ready denial, he scoffed.

“Don’t think that I don’t know what goes on with you two. I know that he wouldn’t think
up half of the things you put him up to. Your machinations will do you no good though,”
the Steward told him. “I know your weakness, I’ve seen it and even tested it. I can
control you.”

“I have always been your obedient son,” Faramir said.

“Yes,” Denethor almost hissed. “You will do anything I order, I know this. Anything.”

“Yes, my lord,” Faramir agreed as fear raced down his spine. The only way he had ever
been able to disobey his father was if Boromir directly ordered him to.

“I’m thinking of giving you some orders now,” Denethor said, his voice becoming louder.

“Are you ready to retire for the evening, father?” Boromir’s voice suddenly came to both
of them. He had noticed his father’s grip on his brother’s arm and came as quickly as he
could to forestall any public incidents. As he heard Denethor’s words to Faramir, his
heart almost stopped. Then he realized that his father was drunk, more drunk than he had
ever seen him. Denethor had a lust for power, and drunkenness made one lose power over
one’s self. And now it had removed a great deal of power from the Steward permanently,
for Boromir would make sure his father never had power over his brother again. Not while
he was alive to stop it.

“Come Faramir,” he said. “Let us help father to bed the day has been long and he is
weary.” With his strong hands he brought his father to his feet, careful to make it look
like the Steward wished for his help. Faramir rose and went to his father’s other side as
he had been ordered.

Denethor was very drunk; he lost his train of thought as Boromir spoke to him. “Thank
you, Boromir,” he said, his voice starting to slur as the blood surged through him. He
would have fallen if his sons weren’t supporting him. They began the long climb to the
Steward’s bedchamber, Denethor at times rambling senselessly. As they reached the door,
Boromir picked his father up and bade Faramir return to the great hall to reassure any
who had observed them that all was well.

The wizard was the first to greet him as he entered. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

“My father was a little over-tired, Boromir is seeing him to bed,” Faramir answered. He
smiled as he spoke, but his eyes told Mithrandir that he would answer no more questions.

“I need to speak with you as soon as possible,” the wizard told him.

“Can it wait until after tomorrow?” he asked, thinking of the closing of the festival.

“I think so,” Mithrandir answered with a worried look. “It would probably be best if your
brother weren’t there.”

“I tell him everything,” Faramir told him.

“What I have to say would be best coming from you, not me,” the wizard assured him. “I
don’t want you to keep secrets from your brother, but he is sometimes hasty when
angered.”

“I will come to you in the archives, sometime the day after tomorrow, probably early in
the day,” Faramir said, feeling sure that it had something to do with his father.


As they lay together in their bed enfolded in each other’s arms, they talked quietly of
their evening. “I will have to speak with father about what he said to you,” Boromir told
him, after Faramir had related all of Denethor’s words to him. He hadn’t written about it
in his journal, it was one of those things he wouldn’t commit to paper. “But I will wait
until after you hear what the wizard has to say. It no doubt has something to do with
what he saw in the great hall.” He kissed Faramir’s forehead. “But you, my love, I will
have you safe from father’s interference. Do not follow any orders from him that would
hurt you or humiliate you.” At Faramir’s worried look, he added more. “Don’t over-think
this, brother, you know what I mean. Surely you may come to harm in battle, but that is
our duty, and the act of standing still is not harmful in itself, but if you stand still
while he beats you, then it is. Don’t equivocate, I want you to follow the spirit of my
orders.”

“Yes, brother,” Faramir answered.

“Let me love you now,” Boromir said before claiming his mouth in a deep kiss. “You are
mine, and I will not see anyone abuse you.” He made love to his brother, slowly and
sweetly. The fear he had seen in Faramir’s eyes earlier still haunted him. They both
cried when they had finished, the release of tension was so great.

When Eomer finally returned from his evening, he smiled at the two brothers sleeping so
closely in each other’s arms. He was especially glad this evening of the servants’
willingness to undress him so that, in his fatigue, he only had to slip into the bed. As
he pressed close to Faramir’s back, he noted the tear tracks on the brothers’ faces and
wrapped his arms around them as best he could.


The final day of the festival was more fast paced then the previous two. Lothiriel felt
energized from her activities of the previous evening. Denethor was hiding his hangover
while he tried not to think about what he might have done in his drunkenness. He could
remember nothing after the dessert. The brothers were a bit tense and Eomer watched them
closely, hoping that he could do something to help them.

In the late afternoon, most of the populace gathered at the eric that had been marked out
in the fields below the Gateway. In the stands that had been erected for the nobility,
Denethor was noticeably absent. Eomer and Lothiriel held the seats of honor, with
Mithrandir seated at Eomer’s side. When all had gathered, Boromir and Faramir came
through the crowd wearing long capes that covered their clothing.

After long debate, they had decided to perform the third of the Numenorean sword dances.
It wasn’t the most artistic, fastest, or bloodiest, but in this dance they started
together and ended together. It fitted their mood and the feeling they wanted to convey
to the crowd best. Lani had designed their costumes, which were identical and more than a
little risque. A gasp of excitement went through the audience as the brothers dropped
their capes and entered the eric with their swords in their in their hands. At its
center, they stood back to back until their breathing had synchronized. Boromir moved
first, his blade cutting the air, Faramir following him perfectly. They moved through the
steps with unerring grace, lighter and faster on their feet then any there had ever seen.

Mithrandir sat forward in his chair, he had seen the best through the ages and none could
better these two. Few would even come close to matching them. Observing the unadulterated
joy on their faces, he was very glad that Denethor had chosen to stay away. It was not
something he needed to see in the state of mind he’d been in of late. They were so
beautiful, and their beauty enthralled the crowd.

Her nails digging into Eomer’s hand, Lothiriel watched as entranced as everyone else. She
had seen them practice, but never before witnessed an actual dance of theirs. It was far
beyond anything she had expected. It was also one of the most erotic things she had ever
seen and she became almost unbearably aroused.

Eomer’s mind wandered between the spectacle before him and the memory of the dance they
had performed for him and his eored. Then he had been brought to the center of their
dance, and the heat of it enflamed him now. He couldn’t imagine two more beautiful or
graceful creatures.

It seemed to last an eternity, the flash of steel across soft flesh. Blood dripped slowly
from their cuts as they moved across the smoothed sand surface. They were oblivious to
the crowd, and Eomer was too far away to enter their thoughts as they danced. Then it
ended almost suddenly, Faramir’s back pressed against his brother’s chest, both their
heads thrown back and swords held high. It was a physical show of unity that brought a
great cheer from the audience, the two brothers almost identical as they stood together
in the eric. They bowed to all those present before having their cloaks wrapped around
them and being led away by their personal guard.


The evening’s obligations ended early for them. The rest of the city had plenty to keep
them occupied and Denethor had granted them a short break of their own by letting them
choose their own entertainment for the evening, within reason. They sat around a great
fire at the Rohirrim encampment a little way outside the city. Most of the brothers'
personal guard were there along with other guests. There was dancing and music.

The horsemen sang some of their songs and the Gondorians sang some of theirs. It was
strongly reminiscent of some of the evenings when the brothers had first met Eomer almost
four years ago, only more subdued. Faramir knew nearly all of the songs of the Rohirrim
and sang a couple of elvish songs for them, his fair voice well suited for the lilting
language.

"I'm surprised that uncle let you study the elvish tongues, cousin," Lothiriel commented.

"I learned them in my dreams," he told her. "I have learned most of the langu
Middle Earth and its history through my dreams. Mithrandir says that I am the first in
many generations to dream so well.” He shrugged, and then looked at his brother. “It is
because of my brother that I can do this, he feeds my dreams.”

“It is only because you fulfill all my dreams,” Boromir said, kissing his brother’s brow.

“Father hates it when he hears me sing or speak in other languages, especially Sindarin,”
Faramir said.

“Father hates a lot of things,” Boromir responded bitterly.

“Did I miss something?” Lothiriel asked.

“We missed you at dinner last night,” Boromir told her. “You know how tiring father can
be when he doesn’t have enough to keep him occupied. I have everything well in hand.”

She knew that he wasn’t telling her everything, but then he rarely did. Despite Faramir
being in charge of most of their resources, Boromir made all of the final decisions.


They decided to spend the night in the large tent set up for the prince at his
encampment, sending Lothiriel back to the citadel with the other ladies of the court that
had attended and an armed escort. Eomer crawled in between the two brothers, turning onto
his back and pulling them close to him. “Tell me what saddens you both so,” he whispered,
pressing soft kisses to their faces. “Even if I cannot solve your troubles, I can share
your worries. I love you both to distraction.”

“It is our father,” Boromir whispered. “He has made certain threats to Faramir.”

“How could he?” Eomer asked angrily, though still in a whisper.

“He is jealous of our bond with each other,” Faramir told him. “He has said he is
thinking of ordering me to do something that would take control of our lives away.”

“You would not obey him would you?” Eomer wanted to know.

“I obey him always, unless Boromir countermands his orders,” was the calm reply.

“You must not,” Eomer said, kissing him. “I won’t allow it.”

Both brothers laughed at his words. “I love you, Eomer,” Boromir told him. “He needs to
learn a little defiance. He is far too compliant. Try it and see, he will do everything
you tell him to do.”

“Will you do everything I tell you to do?” Eomer asked Faramir, his body going heavy with
lust.

“Oh yes,” Faramir answered, nibbling on Eomer’s ear.

Eomer closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “Good,” he said, opening his eyes and giving
Faramir a hard look. “Then don’t ever let your father do anything to hurt you, no matter
what happens. It would be a betrayal to both your brother and I, for we love you and when
you are hurt, we are hurt.”

Faramir buried his face in Eomer’s neck. “I will try,” he whispered.

“I expect you to do more than try,” Eomer told him, kissing his face.


The Great Archives were deep in the basement of the White Tower. It contained miles of
corridors holding records, artwork, histories, myths and other written material. Some had
come from ancient Numenor, some from the elves, dwarves and other people of Middle Earth.
It was rumored that if it had been written, it could be found here, if one looked long
enough. Gandalf had a feeling the rumor was right.

He shuffled through another stack of papers, his mind only half on what he was doing.
With a sigh, he gave up his task and sat wearily on the small stool at the side of the
room. The festival had achieved its purpose better than expected. As he had wandered
through the crowds last night, hope and encouragement had lit every face. His only worry
for the moment was how to tell Faramir what he thought the brothers needed to know
without destroying the working relationship they had with their father.

Overhearing the last thing Denethor had said to Faramir in his drunkenness had convinced
Gandalf that they needed to know what the Steward was suspected of. He truly believed
that Faramir could possibly be in grave danger from his father. If the House of Hurin
could not be kept intact and the Steward and his sons in power, then Gondor, swiftly
followed by Rohan, would be overrun by Mordor. It would be the doom of Middle Earth.

Despite his many faults, Denethor was an excellent Steward, he had an uncanny ability to
rule. Since his sons had become adults the situation had improved in many ways, even
though they were vastly outnumbered by the enemy. Boromir was a military genius and
inspired the warriors of Gondor to keep fighting against a seemingly insurmountable foe.
Faramir was a brilliant political strategist and the dreams that gave him so much
knowledge of the past, present and future gave him insights that even the wizard hadn’t
expected. If the dynamic between these three men failed, the dark lord would overtake
all.

Standing and taking out his pipe, he wondered if the ventilation in the small room was
good enough for just a small bowl. Looking around the small room, he gave a sigh of
resignation. Denethor would probably ban him from the Archives if he found out. Then he
heard familiar footsteps approaching.

Faramir had a worried look on his face, he wished that he could avoid this meeting al-
together. There were things he just didn’t want to know, and unfortunately he knew far
too many of them. He stopped just inside the door, poised as if he would run. It was
obvious that Mithrandir wasn’t sure how to start but he waited, letting the wizard take
the lead.

"There were some things that happened a long time ago, before your father married, that
you need to know about,” the wizard said after several false starts. “When your father
was about your age, maybe a little older, certain young men were found traveling in
caravans coming from Gondor. The first couple of them seemed to be just common
prostitutes who had been very badly treated and then given a large sum of money and told
to leave Gondor on pain of death. None of them knew for sure who had abused them, though
a couple voiced their suspicions.”

“Shortly after the first serious confrontation between your father and Thorongil, all of
the young men bore a strong resemblance to the captain. There was never more than one or
two a year, and no one could ever track down who had done this for sure. I never brought
it to Ecthelion’s attention since none of the men were ever found here in Gondor. Maybe
that was a mistake on my part, I just didn’t want to bring forth doubt and suspicion in
an already tense situation.” He paused, looking at Faramir who still stood in the
doorway, his head leaning against the frame and fingers digging into the wall.

“The last one was discovered just before your father’s marriage and, since there was no
more evidence, I didn’t pursue the matter any further. Then about ten years ago, shortly
after the boar injured you and your brother, another young man showed up in Rohan. Like
the others, he had been severely beaten with a cane, and had suffered other abuse. This
young man looked much like you.” Mithrandir stopped, watching Faramir sweating and
bracing himself in the doorway.

“Do you know why your father gave you the little study, the one that used to be
Thorongil’s?” the wizard asked.

“Yes,” Faramir told him. “He saw us in the garden. I don’t think he had been in that room
for decades before that. If he hadn’t wanted the book on fighting the Haradrim written by
Thorongil, he probably would have never entered that room again. I should have realized
he would go to get that book.” The young man paused, wiping tears from his face. “It just
had been so long,” he finished quietly.

“I heard what he said to you the other night,” Mithrandir told him. “It might be that he
is starting to become unstable.”

“Maybe we have pushed him too far,” Faramir said, nodding his head. “It is too late to
back down now. Boromir will have to know about this; he intends to speak with father
today. You will have to tell him, I just can’t.” He looked sadly at the wizard. “I just
can’t do it.”

“Are you sure he will listen to me?” the wizard asked.

“He trusts you, but I think he’s a bit jealous of the time I spend with you,” Faramir
smiled just a little. “I know how to handle him, and he knows how to handle father.”


Following Faramir, the wizard watched him signal the guards at the door to move to
positions at either end of the hall. Boromir looked up as they entered and sat back in
his chair. Crossing the room, Faramir let Mithrandir close the door. He removed the
papers in front of his brother and sat on the desk, placing his feet on either side of
his brother’s legs in the chair. Leaning down to rest his head on Boromir’s shoulder, he
wrapped his arms around him.

With a sharp feeling of fear, Boromir kissed his brother’s cheek and looked at the
wizard. “Tell me,” he ordered.

Mithrandir told him everything he had told Faramir and filled in the details when Boromir
asked. It didn’t take long for the whole tale to unfold, Boromir often tightening his
grip on his brother.

“I know it was not easy for you to tell me this,” Boromir said, his voice clear. “I
already knew much of it, though I have tried to protect my brother from finding out.
Maybe I shouldn’t have,” he added as Faramir jerked sharply in his arms. “I started
looking into father’s past when I found out about him beating Faramir when I was gone. I
made arrangements that it would not happen again. I thought I had everything under
control, but I found out differently when we returned from the boar hunt.”

“Things have been much better since then, until recently with all of the losses. It has
been making him feel his own loss of power. I assume you have been doing what you can for
damage control outside of Gondor?” Boromir asked the wizard. At his nod, he continued,
“Father doesn’t know what he said the other night. He is worried that he might have
endangered himself and his position as Steward. It is when he is feeling insecure that he
engages in sadistic behavior. We still need him as Steward; he is too able an
administrator to set aside. Yet.”

“It sounds like you have given this a lot of thought,” Mithrandir said.

I spend my time working on the defense of Gondor,” Boromir told him. “But the most
important thing to me is my brother, nothing else even comes close. If father loses
control of himself, he will go after Faramir. There is no doubt in my mind about this.
But if he feels that he is still in control of his own fate, and the final authority in
Gondor, he will be all right. Faramir and I will visit with him this afternoon and
reassure him that he did nothing to alert us to his present turmoil. Then I will talk
privately with him.”

“Are you sure it will work?” Mithrandir asked.

“I’m sure,” he answered readily. “He wants to believe, that will make it easier. For now
my brother and I have some planning to do,” he added, looking at the wizard pointedly.

“Later then,” the wizard said before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

Faramir sat back on the desk and looked his brother in the eye. Part of him almost felt
betrayed by the secrets he had been keeping from him, another part was grateful. Without
a word, Boromir removed the loose tunic he was wearing, throwing it to the floor.

“I think something elaborate would be a good idea, brother,” Boromir said indicating his
brother’s knife. He barely winced as Faramir made the first cut just above the thick scar
from the boar hunt. “Yes, just like that,” he whispered, feeling the blood run down his
chest. It was such a release from his pent-up emotions.


The day was mild for early fall in Minas Tirith, a cool breeze wafting through the room.
Yet, Denethor sweated as he waited for his sons. He still couldn’t recall what had
happened the night he had gotten drunk. Boromir had put him to bed, Galmar knew that
much, but he had been absent from the great hall after the meal had ended. *How did I
manage to get drunk?* he asked himself for the millionth time. *Everything had been
carefully marked beforehand.*

Finally his sons arrived, obviously fresh from bathing, Boromir looking a little pale.
Faramir carried two wine bottles, obviously from the other night. “I have discovered what
happened with your wine, father,” Boromir told him, signaling Faramir to place the
bottles on his desk. “The marks we used to signify the watered wine are very similar to
some bottles grandfather had set aside. It would have been impossible to tell the
difference under candlelight.”

Denethor took the bottles gratefully, seeing that they were indeed almost identical. “I
remember now,” he said with a smile. “This was an especially potent vintage he liked to
sip in the evening. I was only ever treated to it once that I can recall; it didn’t taste
dangerous at the time.”

“Thankfully, you were so tired from all of the activities of the day, you just asked us
to help you to your room. I know how much you hate public displays,” Boromir reassured
him. “Now I already have some responses to our latest troop movements. We can go over
that in preparation for the meeting with Prince Eomer tomorrow.”

The meeting went rather well. Faramir, as their spymaster, had all of the reports ready
and a final all-encompassing report that neatly outlined all of the pertinent facts. It
would be fairly easy to make a plan of action with the prince, military advisors, and
captains of Gondor. Things were looking up due to the high morale of the people and the
expert intelligence of the two brothers.

Faramir excused himself to meet with another of his sources and left his brother and
father to themselves. Even though he had become more comfortable with his youngest son,
and even liked him to an extent, Denethor was still jealous of the time he spent with
Boromir. For the most part he didn’t really feel any kinship with Faramir, though they
were so much alike in many ways. He often felt he would have been more satisfied with
just his oldest as son.

“I’m so glad you are here to make all of these decisions, father,” Boromir said after his
brother had left. “I don’t know how we would manage without your guidance.”

“You would cope,” Denethor answered with a smile, looking into the honest and admiring
eyes of his oldest son. “Especially since you have your brother to help you. I could have
used such a good aide when I became Steward.”

“Yes, he is good,” Boromir agreed. “But, it still is not the same. We both feel that you
are the best Steward Gondor has ever had, and that is with all of Faramir’s knowledge of
our history.”

Denethor blushed at the compliment, glad that his insecurities from the last few days
were being put to rest. Boromir had always been such an open person, even when he was
defying his father. His military brilliance was only exceeded by his inability to hide
his real emotions. It was comforting to have one son who was so easily read.


The breeze had become a wind high up in the tower of Ecthelion where Boromir stood gazing
to the north from his bedroom balcony. Only Stefle waited at his side, the others about
their duties. With a hard, cold look he turned to one of his closest informants and
handed him the letter he had sealed and dated. “This is the latest, and I thank you for
the excellent work you did in the wine cellar. I don’t think anyone could have planned
that better. I like it when father reveals himself, and it had been too long since he
had. Make sure the rest of that vintage is secured for future use, I have told Faramir of
it in this letter.”

“As you wish, my lord,” the servant said, glowing with the praise.

“We can’t trust him if anything happens to me, he has made that clear,” Boromir
continued. “Above everything, Faramir must be protected.”

“I agree, my lord,” Stefle replied, his heartfelt loyalty almost palpable in his words.

“Of course you do,” Boromir smiled at his valet. “I only wish the King would return now,
this day, and take all of these burdens from me. Only he can save our people, only he can
save us.” He looked again to the north. “You have a backup planned, just in case? You
know how wily father can be.”

“I do, my lord,” was the calm answer. “Several, just in case we are discovered. The Lord
Faramir will survive your death, even if the Steward must fall to make it happen.”

"Then I will die happy, even better if I can save my people. Make sure that the others
know everything. When I go to Rohan in the spring I want my brother safe. Use the same
people as last time, if possible. You all did a good job, it was only my father’s
meddling with that blasted rock that caused any problems," Boromir ordered before leaving
the balcony to go to the evening meal.


Part 14: BETROTHED

Faramir stared out the window of the small castle at the heavy rain. The flashes of
lightning and distant sound of thunder made him long for home and his brother’s arms even
more than the endless days of wet travel. He had escorted his cousin back to Dol Amroth
when they had received news of her mother’s illness. Lothiriel was now home with her
ailing mother and he had been making his way back to Minas Tirith for a month, often
having to stop because the roads became impassable. The sea had been too rough for him to
take the shorter passage. Once he stopped, it was almost impossible to get the locals to
let him continue his journey. There was really no hurry anyway, as Boromir would leave
for Rohan in the morning. Of course, if he made it home quick enough he would be able to
make a reconnaissance through Ithilien before his brother returned. He sighed at the
thought of having to wait so long to see his beloved brother again.

“Are you all right, my lord?” a soft feminine voice asked from the bed.

Turning, he smiled at the young couple who were watching him with concern. “I just miss
my home and my brother,” he told them.

“Come let us comfort you,” the young man said lifting the blanket and welcoming Faramir
to return to their bed.

It surprised him just a little, thinking of how shy the young man had been when Faramir
had invited him to share the first night rites with him. It was his wife after all, and
Faramir liked to share. Sliding into the bed, he kissed them both. “Are you ready to
learn some more?” he asked with a grin.


Stefle stood at the top of the stairway watching Galmar as he spoke with the two
strangers in the lower hall. It was a dark, secluded place that aided secret meetings,
just as Stefle’s position was perfect for overhearing every whisper from below. The well-
oiled hinges of the door concealing the hidden passage behind him let him come and go as
he pleased. Since Lord Boromir’s departure for Rohan, he pleased to be here a lot and had
others assigned to take his place when his other duties called him.

Listening carefully and studying the features of the strangers, he committed the meeting
to his memory. A smile shaped his lips as he realized the importance of what he was
overhearing. He would have to make a report tonight. Fortunately, he rarely spent the
nights in the brothers’ suite when they were gone, so he wouldn’t be missed.

As Galmar ushered his guests out the door, Stefle returned to the hidden passage. The
regular sentry for this post was waiting so that he could leave immediately. In soft-
soled shoes, he made his way down the long, dimly lit tunnels.

In far shorter time than it would have taken if he had used the usual routes, he reached
his destination. The house in the fifth ring of the city was originally part of the
estate of the House of Hurin. Centuries ago, it had been turned over to a branch of the
family made up of those born of lower caste. The aging mansion was one of the few that
were filled with residents. Here was the stronghold of the oldest retainers of the House
of Hurin.

Nelda greeted Stefle from her bed. His mother, who was her chosen future replacement as
family matriarch, sat in a chair at her bedside. The aging ladies’ maid was of neither
Numenorean nor elvish blood and had already lived much longer than many of her race.
Cara, who was her niece by marriage, was much younger and had been Nelda’s protégé for
many years. Together, they decided who was fit to serve in the White Tower, the only
exception being those under the control of Galmar. There had been an uneasy truce between
the two factions for many years, with occasional flare-ups when the wants of the Steward
vied with the needs of his sons.

“I have good news, Grandmother,” Stefle told Nelda, using the traditional title. “Lord
Boromir’s plan appears to be working. Galmar has rescinded the order for another victim
for the Steward, he even paid his agents. He will be going later tonight to make use of
the prostitute they lined up for himself, but the Steward has lost interest.”

“You have taken all of the usual precautions?” she asked.

“I have arranged for him to be followed, and have already sent agents ahead to the
meeting place. It is one of Lord Boromir’s favorite houses, he will be upset. I also sent
people to watch the usual places, just in case this is a ruse.”

“I told you, Cara, all of those years ago,” she smiled at the woman at her side. “You
have raised a fine son and his blood tells. We have never had to tell him twice and he
knows how to improvise. Aren’t you glad you listened to me?”

“Yes, Grandmother,” she answered with a smile. “Even if he has to keep his hair short to
keep him from reminding the Steward of his father, he is well worth the effort. As
always, you were right.”

Stefle blushed at their words. “I only live to serve, Grandmother,” he went to his knees
at her bedside. “It is my pleasure and my duty.”

"And you serve well," Nelda told him. “You still seem worried, what troubles you?”

“Their dreams, Grandmother,” he said in a low voice. “They are too often dark and
troubling, and Lord Boromir has begun speaking of his death again. He has made several
plans, almost as if he knows something.”

“It is the worry of any warrior, that he may fall in battle,” Nelda comforted. “Our dear
prince worries more than some because he fears for his brother’s safety. If there are any
dreams prophesying his death, you will know. I will speak with him when he returns from
Rohan.” She paused in thought for a moment. “But then, if he returns with the bride he
seeks, his mood may improve without any aid from me.”


Boromir rode at the front of the caravan, next to its master and Eomer. He'd been on the
road for a week and at this rate it would be at least another week before they reached
Edoras. Ox carts were not made for speed. They'd just made it through the Firien Wood,
and had picked up an escort of Rohirrim.

It had already been over five weeks since he had seen Faramir and he missed him terribly.
Even the dreams they shared every night barely comforted him. He had grown too used to
his brother’s company. Unable to restrain his impatience any longer, he addressed Eomer.
"Do you think your uncle would mind if we left the troops to guard the caravan and rode
ahead?"

"Let me turn over command and we will be off," Eomer answered with a grin.

Within minutes, both men were riding at speed down the Great West Road. They were happy
to be free from the slow and dusty caravan. The wind in their hair revived their spirits.
All through the day they rode, sometimes racing, other times walking and exchanging news.

When night fell, they made a small fireless camp and rested until the moon rose, then
sped off again into the night.

It was late when they reached Edoras. Eomer took Boromir to his own room rather than wake
anyone. Stripping off all but their pants, they sprawled in each other's arms and fell
fast asleep.

During the night, Boromir felt the stirrings of one of the dreams he shared with his
brother. He slipped his arms around Eomer’s waist and nuzzled his ear, feeling Faramir’s
presence in his mind. Eomer became restless and called out “Faramir,” into the darkness.

“I hear you,” Boromir whispered sliding a hand into his pants and loosely cupping his
cock. “Sleep, my wild prince.”

They slept soundly the rest of the night and only awoke when Theodred, Eomer’s cousin,
came racing into the room and leaped into the bed. "I'm so glad you are home, Eomer," the
boy said as he bounced with energy. "I've been waiting for you. Father said I could ride
with you next time."

Both men shifted to sit up, glad for the blanket that hid details. Boromir leaned back
against the headboard after giving the cock in his hand a friendly squeeze, and Eomer
leaned against him. Theodred's eyes grew big as he realized that his cousin wasn't alone.

"Theodred, leave Eomer sleep," came a light feminine voice. "He got in very late. . ."
Her voice broke off as she entered the room and saw the stranger sitting in the bed with
her brother.

"It's too late sister," Eomer said. "He has already woken us, if not the rest of the
house."

Boromir almost laughed at the look of scandalized confusion and the spreading blush on
the young woman's face.

"This is Boromir, whom I have told you about," Eomer introduced him. "This is my cousin,
Theodred, and my sister, Eowyn. I thought it too late to wake you, sister, so we both
just slept here."

"It is never a bother to care for you and our guests, brother," she replied, her pale
features flushed with embarrassment and excitement. "You know you can always wake me."

"It would be too much trouble for you, my lady," Boromir stated. "We are both used to
sleeping wherever is available." He ran a finger from Eomer’s shoulder to his wrist in a
seductive manner, which made Eomer shiver, and his sister blush more deeply.

"Guests are never too much trouble," she repeated, her temper starting to rise as she
suspected he was teasing her.

Boromir casually moved so that the blanket slid lower on his body, knowing that Eowyn
didn't know they were wearing pants. Eomer, though close to his sister, enjoyed teasing
her, and was a willing accomplice.

"It is also nice to have such a willing companion to share one’s bed," Eomer added,
putting his hand on Boromir's raised knee. "Don't worry so, sister, we can care for
ourselves sometimes."

Theodred's impatient fidgeting in his cousin’s arms dislodged the blanket enough to show
that they were partially dressed, making Eowyn’s temper rise even more. "There is plenty
of hot water waiting for you, brother," she said through clenched teeth. "Since you two
are so good at taking care of yourselves, I'm sure you won't need any help. Come
Theodred, your father waits for you to join him at breakfast." Nearly dragging the boy
from the room, she stomped off.

"I'm afraid we are in trouble, my friend," Eomer laughed. "She won't stop until she has
revenge."

Eomer found clean clothes for both of them to take to the baths. The room wasn't large,
only holding two moderately large tubs. They locked the door behind them and stripped
quickly. Sharing a tub, they washed each other.

Boromir began nibbling at Eomer's neck while his hands roamed his body. "I like your
sister, just as you said I would," he whispered into the other man's ear before sucking
at his neck so hard as to leave a mark too high to be hidden by his collar.

Eomer laughed at his words and actions. "She's going to be even more pissed at you when
she sees my neck."

Boromir chuckled and pulled his hair back, exposing his own neck. "Good, let's make her
doubly angry, mark me," he told him.

Unable to resist both the chance to further tease his sister and the enticing flesh of
Boromir's neck, Eomer did as he was asked. Hands, roughened by many years in battle, ran
down his sides and grasped his ass. It always amazed him how quickly either of the
brothers could arouse him.

The prince was a bit larger, but Boromir's years of experience allowed him to take
control. Not that Eomer didn't challenge him for it. They wrestled together until Boromir
pinned him against the tub.

"You are such a temptation, my wild prince," he said in a husky voice, nibbling at his
ear. "Will you let me have you?” One hand slowly worked Eomer’s cock, while the other
captured his head for a deep kiss.

He didn’t want to resist, he didn’t want to follow. Grabbing Boromir’s hips, he impaled
himself on his hard cock, making them both gasp. They moved together, splashing most of
the water out of the tub. It was quick and hard, and very satisfying.


The king eyed his nephew and his companion as they made their appearance in the great
hall. They both had a bit of a swagger and, even in the dim light, he could see the marks
of their morning's activities. Though his eyes brightened, he hid his smile as he
remembered his own wild youth, when he and Eomund rode with the herds.

"You are late," he said in his gruff voice.

"I am early, uncle," Eomer said, laughter in his voice. "We arrived a week early so that
Boromir could gaze upon the beauty of my sister."

The lady in question had been steadily growing redder as they approached; now she was
positively crimson as all eyes turned to her.

"What better reason for haste?" Boromir asked. "It is told that the lady Eowyn can
lighten even the darkest day with her mere presence, that some men are blinded by her
smile."

He had kept his eyes locked with hers as he spoke. Eowyn's sharp reply froze on her
tongue and her heart gave a giant thump that rolled through her body like wild fire. His
gaze heated her blood, and made her give a small gasp.

"Come, sister-son, greet your uncle properly," Theoden said rising to his feet, and
drawing the attention of the room from his niece. The two men embraced, glad to be
together again. Eomer formally introduced Boromir, and then introductions were made all
around. It was a boisterous meal; the king was as rowdy as his nephew.

Boromir was startled when he was introduced to Grima Wormtongue. His white face beneath
black hair was a sharp contrast, but the eyes were what made Boromir shiver. They were
cloudy blue and red rimmed, somehow reminding him of an orc. Feeling an overwhelming urge
to behead the man on the spot, Boromir just smiled politely and nodded at his
introduction. Grima was not someone he would welcome to the White City, let alone his
father’s council.

Watching the advisor while they ate, Boromir noticed the man making furtive glances at
the king’s niece and nephew. It made his hackles rise, the way he looked at them, there
was something sinister in his gaze. Boromir could understand lust for the pair, but this
was something more. He wondered if they knew of the man’s obsession.


The practice yard was noisy as Boromir watched Eowyn with the swordmaster. She was as
excellent with the sword as Eomer had told him. She almost impaled her opponent several
times, her temper obviously high. Boromir smiled as he watched a few moments before
letting his presence be known.

“How do you fare, Fallon?” he addressed the swordmaster. “Are you ready to come home?”

“I have still one student to train, my lord,” he answered with a grin. “Though, as you
can see, the Lady Eowyn is beyond my abilities.”

“Then I will have to make sure she gets a more accomplished tutor,” Boromir returned his
smile. “What say you, my lady, do you wish to test a superior fighter?”

She knew the rumors of his fighting prowess, had even seen his heavily scarred upper body
just that morning, though it was obvious that not all of the scars were from combat.
Still, she couldn’t resist that mocking smile; with all the emotional turmoil he’d put
her through this morning, she wanted some sort of revenge. Accepting his challenge, she
saluted him with her sword before attacking with all the skill she could muster.

Boromir loved to fight. He also loved to teach fighting and he led Eowyn on to heights of
skill she never knew she had. Always just a hairbreadth ahead of her, he almost danced,
with his sword making her attack and retreat at his will. She was angry at first, knowing
she was being controlled. Then she fell into the rhythm of the exercise, all thought
turned to the flash of steel and the ring of blade upon blade.

She never even noticed her body tiring, so engrossed was she. Then suddenly Boromir
executed a complicated series of moves that had her back pressed close to his chest, her
sword hand caught in his, his other hand flat against her belly. “I think that is enough
for today, my lady,” he said into her ear, his lips actually brushing it, making her
already heaving chest tense with excitement.

He released her when she stepped forward, and bent to retrieve his own sword, which he
had dropped to the ground. Gratefully, she took the cloth from the swordmaster to wipe
her face and the cup of cool water from her brother who had shown up unnoticed by her.
She looked through her lowered lashes at the man who would someday be her husband - one
of her husbands - she corrected herself, if her brother had his way. The idea seemed more
attractive every minute.

“Your uncle has agreed to let you go for a ride after lunch with your brother and I,”
Boromir told her with a grin.

Her face lit up at his words. She’d almost been a prisoner within the walls of Edoras
while Eomer was gone. There was nothing she missed more than to ride the hills of Rohan.
“Thank you, my lord,” she told him, filled with happy excitement.

“The princess should be attending to her ladies in waiting, not indulging in the
activities of ruffians,” came a voice from the shadows of the doorway. Grima stepped into
the practice yard, his odd, pale looks even stranger in the full light of day.

Eomer and his sister turned hostile looks to the advisor, Eowyn almost sputtering in her
fury. Boromir smiled at the newcomer, a smile that showed all his teeth, but didn’t reach
his eyes. The look was so feral that Grima backed up a few paces. “Have you come to
practice with us, worm?” Boromir asked, deliberately shortening his name.

“My health prevents me from taking part in the baser activities,” Grima almost hissed.

“Then I hope you won’t be so base as to breed more of your weakling kind,” Boromir told
him in a voice too low to be heard by any but Grima, Eomer, and Eowyn.

This time, the man did hiss, and retreated from the practice field with all haste. “Is it
something I said?” Boromir asked the stunned brother and sister with a grin.

“He will cause trouble for you now,” Eomer told him, knowing how devious the advisor
could be.

“He already plans to,” Boromir answered. “I plan on making just as much trouble for him.”


Another plan of Grima’s was crushed before it even took shape as Boromir convinced the
king to join their afternoon ride. He couldn’t make a move against the Gondorian with the
king present. After all, orcs weren’t known for their abilities to hold back and the
death of the king would ruin his master’s plans. Standing in a window, Grima watched the
party ride across the hills. If only there were a suitable replacement, they were all so
vulnerable riding with such a small escort. But he would have to wait for now. When the
time was right, he would turn Rohan over to his master and receive his reward.

Even from this distance, he could tell the children of Eomund from the rest of the group.
Licking his lips in anticipation he watched them ride out of sight over the hills. *Yes,
* he thought with a secretive smile. *The day will come when they will be at my mercy.
Then they will regret their arrogance. *


Faramir watched as the man in the distance disappeared into the shadows of the swamp. He
wished he could have spoken with him face to face, but time and the news the stranger had
imparted would not allow it. A ranger of the North was not often seen in these parts.
This one was searching for a dangerous criminal that had escaped into the swamps. It was
several miles through dangerous bogs just to be able to come in range of signaling the
stranger. Since he had indicated that he was sure he was following a false trail and
turning back north, they decided it was a waste to meet up face to face.

Still, he felt drawn to the stranger dressed in black, and wished again that he had been
able to speak with him. There was something about his movements that seemed familiar,
though it was impossible that Faramir could have met him. And the name Strider was
unknown to him, though a few of the more widely traveled of the Ithilien Rangers did say
they had heard of him. He longed to reach out across the fetid, ruined land and learn
everything about the distant stranger.

However, duty called and he dare not spend any more time away from implementing the new
plans he had set in motion in Ithilien. He wanted to be home in time to greet his brother
when he returned from Rohan.


Strider looked back across the Nindalf to the scouting party at the edge of the swamp.
Gandalf had warned him not to expose himself to the sons of Denethor, especially the
youngest. And here he was, all but face to face with Faramir. The search for Gollum was
important, but it was just as important that his identity not be revealed before it was
time. Still, he longed to meet the Steward’s sons; they haunted his dreams. Melting back
into the swamp, he headed north away from temptation.


The caravan made better time than Boromir had hoped and reached Edoras only four days
later. The king and his court were pleased at the quality of the gifts from Gondor, as
well as the offerings for the horses they wished to purchase. Even though the constant
war took its toll on the great country, they still managed to retain many of their
resources.

Now Boromir had several chests gracing the guestroom he only used for storing his
belongings. He spent his nights in Eomer’s bed, the door safely locked. For the most
part, he ignored the trunks of formal court wear that his father had insisted on.
Denethor almost always wore formal robes, but Boromir was a warrior and preferred to
dress that way. However, he regularly raided the chests filled with gifts for the royal
family of Rohan.

There were several servants who came to be assigned to the royal family as well. One of
the women was even a fully trained ‘ladies maid’ that the king had been glad to see
provided for his niece. Both Lani and Lothiriel had trained her, so that Eowyn would be
able to learn the ins and outs of court life in Gondor. She was a petite piece of
femininity that had horrified Eowyn, until she had demonstrated some unorthodox uses of
hairpins and other ladies’ accessories, for she had also been trained by one of the best
assassins in Gondor. Now, the young princess even listened to the little woman on matters
of dress.

Faramir had packed in everything he could think of and Garus had helped. Boromir was sure
he might be taking half of it back with him. But then, the looks of happiness he received
for even the smallest trinket made him completely open handed - except for with the
king’s advisor.

He tried to overlook the man’s furtive ways, had even managed to exchange a few non-
hostile words with him. Then he would catch him watching Eowyn, her face flushed with
excitement as it had been almost constantly since his arrival, or Eomer, as he passed
through the great hall like a storm, and that dark look would reveal itself.

Shortly after the arrival of the caravan, Boromir stood in the arch of a doorway watching
the brother and sister argue good-naturedly in a courtyard. They constantly argued,
usually just to hear their own voices it seemed, as none of it was serious. But they were
beautiful and alluring when they did. Then he noticed Grima on a balcony watching them
and recognized the look in his eye. He had seen that same look in his father’s eye when
watching his brother, and now he knew why he hated the man.

The courtyard was fairly secluded and he was quite certain that Wormtongue was the only
observer. Striding forward from his position, he joined Eowyn and Eomer. With a casually
possessive air, he threw an arm around Eomer and reached out a hand to Eowyn’s face.

“I bet you two have no idea how enticing you look when you argue like that,” he told
them.

For a moment, Eowyn pressed her head against his hand. Then, remembering herself, she
blushed and rushed away. Eomer laughed softly, not wanting to hurt her feelings but
amused by her shyness. Turning into Boromir, he put both his arms around him and kissed
him soundly.

Shifting their positions, Boromir looked up at the balcony and directly into the eyes of
Grima. The man gasped at the eye contact, causing Eomer to stiffen slightly. Boromir
quickly put a hand to his head and kept him in the kiss for a few moments more. Then he
brought the prince’s head back and kissed his throat. When he looked back to the balcony,
Grima was gone.

“Marking your territory?” Eomer asked with a laugh.

“Be careful of him,” Boromir told him without humor. “He means to harm you both.”

“I’ll kill him,” Eomer said with vehemence.

“Just be careful, he’s dangerous,” Boromir warned him.


It made Eomer's heart glad to see his sister in such high spirits. Ever since the death
of his wife in childbirth and his sister to orcs, Theoden King had been over-protective
of his young niece. Eomer worried that her free spirit would fade in the close confines
of Edoras. With the arrival of Boromir, the king had begun relenting and allowed her more
freedom then she had had in years.

In the week since they had arrived at Edoras, the marriage talks had been steadily
progressing. All of the high counsel of the Riddermark had agreed to Boromir’s proposal,
especially since it was a traditional Rohirrim marriage. They could see their princess
happy in such a union and it would bring them closer to their ally. It was all but signed
and sealed.

As they left the great hall, Boromir signaled Eomer to guard the hallway. Walking around
the corner with Eowyn, he wrapped his arms around her and pushed her against the wall.
“It is not too late, my princess,” he whispered in her ear. “Say the word now and I will
go away. You have the power.” He kissed her, running his tongue up her neck and back to
her ear. “Do you want me?” he asked.

She moaned in pleasure, unable to articulate what she wanted. Her body arched beneath his
hands and melded itself to him.

“Imagine it, my princess,” he growled as his hands brought her hips tight against his
erection. “Lying between my brother and me, our bodies so close together.” He knew what
he was doing, could feel her body responding to his movements. “We would make you scream
in pleasure.” He pushed her skirts above her hips and began slowly dry humping her
against the wall. “I want you, Eowyn, open yourself to me.”

She would have cried out but for the pressure of his lips on hers keeping the sounds
contained. It was a delirious pleasure that she had never felt before. She saw red and
felt an endless rushing in her veins. “Yes, my lord,” she was finally able to gasp when
he released her mouth. “Make me yours, take me home.”

Around the far corner from Eomer, Grima listened with growing horror. He had adjusted to
the idea that Eomer spent every night in the arms of the scion of Gondor, no virgin this
for him to take in the future. But Eowyn was sacrosanct, a true princess to be had only
after full conquest. And here was his nemesis, rutting with her against the wall like a
common whore. It was too much. Only hours separated him from losing her to the dictates
of the counsel. He would have to seek his master’s help immediately. After all, it was
part of his prize for the betrayal of Rohan. Once she left for Gondor, she would be
beyond his reach.


“My uncle will have my head if he finds out I’ve been helping you seduce my sister,”
Eomer whispered into Boromir’s ear.

“He knows I’ve been seducing you,” Boromir whispered back, nibbling at Eomer’s ear.

“I thought I was seducing you,” the younger man laughed. He traced a finger over the tree
Faramir had carved in Boromir's chest. “Eowyn has been asking about your scars.”

“What did you tell her?” Boromir wanted to know.

“I told her to ask you,” he kissed Boromir’s chest. “She won’t ask, not unless you tease
her into it. I never knew she could be so shy.”

“I think she is much like you would be if you had been caged up for so many years. I
offer her the chance to reach outside her cage,” he paused running a hand through Eomer’s
hair. “I will take her back with me if I can. She and Faramir will love each other and
she will drive father crazy.”

“She will definitely make your father crazy, and I couldn’t imagine anyone not loving
Faramir or Eowyn,” Eomer kissed Boromir again. “For that matter, she will have you as
well, and we all love you.”

“And I love all of you,” Boromir said, he rolled so that Eomer was beneath him and
captured his lips in a deep kiss. They embraced each other enthusiastically, the contact
what they both wanted. “Let me ride you, my prince.” Boromir growled as he rose up to
kneel above Eomer’s hips. With excruciating slowness, he lowered himself back down on
Eomer’s engorged cock. He rode him hard and fast until they both cried out in release.


The sound of raised voices in the hallway woke them both before they heard the pounding
at Eomer’s door. “Come quickly, Prince Eomer, the king needs you,” came the excited call.

Rising swiftly, they both threw on the clothes they had been wearing earlier and rushed
to the great hall. All was in chaos, servants and guards hurrying in every direction.
Both men went immediately to the king to hear the news. A wounded man was just finishing
his tale as they arrived.

“The Eastfold has been attacked by orcs,” the king told them. “They’ve burned several
villages. We need to send help as soon as it is light enough.”

“Do you have any idea of their numbers, uncle?” Eomer asked, just as a sleepy eyed
Theodred came skidding to a halt at his cousin’s side.

“We know it is a large force maybe in the hundreds, but nowhere near the exact numbers. I
will have to count on you to get the details when you get there,” Theoden said.
Fortunately your entire Eored is here and ready to go. You can also take half of mine if
you wish.”

“I can bring my men along as well,” Boromir said. “I have thirty mounted men, ready to
travel at a moment’s notice. The Eastfold is on the road to Gondor and if the orcs came
from there, I may be needed home quicker than I thought.”

“Yes, of course,” the king agreed.

“Can I go too, father?” Theodred asked, his child’s voice high with excitement. “You said
I could go with Eomer.”

“That was for a patrol, not a full scale battle,” his father admonished. “I will not risk
you yet, my son.”

“How about me, uncle?” Eowyn asked, her voice calm, but her face flushed.

“No, I’ll not risk you either,” he said firmly. “We are not so low on warriors that we
need to send out our women and children into battle.”

“I have been trained as a shield maiden my whole life, uncle,” she told him, unshed tears
in her eyes. “You do me no honor by holding me from my destiny.” With a stiff back, she
turned away and went to organize the provisions the warriors would need.

“The young are always in haste to face danger,” Theoden sighed regretfully. “It is our
duty as their elders to help guide them from folly.” He noticed the firm set of Eomer’s
jaw and the touch of doubt in Boromir’s eyes. “Maybe you two would let her go, but she is
far too precious to me. She looks so much like her mother, my sister, who won that
argument with me and died. I just can’t do it again.”

“You are right, my king,” Wormtongue added. “Our dear princess is not something that
should be risked so easily. She is not something that we should send into battle as orc
bait, like some have been known to send their own younger brothers.”

“What would you know of battle, snake?” Eomer asked, close to losing his temper.

Boromir put a calming hand on his shoulder. “Enough, Eomer,” he told the prince. Turning
to Grima, he smiled his predator smile. “Are you calling into doubt my honor or my
brother’s honor?” he asked.

“No, my lord,” Grima said hastily backing away. “It is just that you are used to dealing
with warriors, not maidens.”

Seeing the look on Theoden’s face, Boromir knew the damage had already been done. Getting
the king’s permission to go prepare his men, he turned and left. He hadn’t even
considered that such a thing from his past would come to haunt him now.


There were still several hours before dawn. After alerting Draymor to get everyone ready,
Boromir was in the room that had been assigned to him instructing his servants on what
was to be returned to Minas Tirith and what was to stay. He had a few items set aside so
that he could give them out before he left.

Eomer came to watch him, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed against his
chest. “When we come back after we take care of the orcs you can talk to him again,” he
said. “I’m sure the council will still be supportive.”

“I won’t be coming back that quickly,” Boromir told him.

There was a gasp from Eowyn, who had just entered the room. “You’re not giving up?” she
asked, shocked by the idea.

“Never,” Boromir said vehemently. “I will send Faramir, he will be able to outsmart the
worm.”

“Grima will have done everything he can to turn our uncle against you,” Eowyn said
passionately.

Boromir looked to his servants and gave a signal, causing them all to leave the room
quickly. “I have you and Eomer to work in our favor, as well as the servants I am leaving
behind to aid you in any way you need. If I argue more with Theoden King now, he will
turn totally against me. He is thinking of his losses in the past, and the ‘worm’ is
playing on that,” he told them. “Faramir will be able to convince him.”

“And what will you do if he can’t?” Eowyn asked, still not happy with being left behind.

“My brother is a traditionalist,” Boromir said, moving across the room to stand close to
her, bringing with him a beautiful but deadly knife. “There is more than one way of
acquiring a wife in our countries. When Faramir comes to Rohan, you will be leaving here
with him.” He handed her the knife. “Take this as my pledge that we will not abandon you
here. We will come for you.”

“If I still want you to,” she said, unwilling to give in too easily.

“I don’t think that will be a problem,” Boromir told her as he took her in his arms. He
gave her a long deep kiss before stepping back and releasing her. “You need to go now
before your uncle sends for you.”

She gave him and her brother a last wistful look before hurriedly leaving the room with
the knife.

“So Faramir is going to abduct my sister?” Eomer asked a smirk on his face.

“Only if necessary,” Boromir answered. “I have a feeling that I should take her now.”

“So do I,” Eomer said stepping into Boromir’s arms. “She has been so happy these last few
days, it is most cruel to leave her now.”

“I think that if I did, your uncle would break off all relations with Gondor, if he
didn’t declare war,” Boromir told him. “There is too much at stake now, especially with
orcs attacking along the border between our countries.” He buried his face in Eomer’s
neck. “All I needed was one more day, I have a bad feeling that there might be a
connection.”

“So do I,” Eomer confirmed. “But my uncle can’t be convinced of the worm’s duplicity. I
wish I knew what hold he has over him.”


Theodred held tightly to Eowyn’s hand as they watched the mounted forces ride off in the
predawn light. She would have preferred to hide in her room at this latest heartbreak but
her cousin needed her. Also her uncle would, no doubt, send for her to make sure she
hadn’t defied him and gone anyway. She would have, except that she knew the king would
hold Eomer and Boromir responsible instead of her, and that would just make matters even
worse. Reaching for the knife Boromir had given her, she wrapped her fingers around the
hilt as a comfort. He had vowed to return for her. She wished she didn’t have to wait.


“Here is some nice hot tea to help you through the long day ahead, your majesty,” Grima
said his eyes glinting in triumph, as the king sat on his throne in the great hall.

“Thank you, Grima,” Theoden said, taking the steaming mug. It smelled of herbs and the
taste was refreshing, so he drank it all. He felt his age creeping up on him and it was
good to have a warm drink to hold the chill of the early morning away. At least his son
and niece were here safe with him; he had already lost so much. His thoughts became just
a bit muddled as he thought of the battle his nephew was riding to.

“It would be a shame to lose the Princess Eowyn to some careless whim for battle, your
majesty,” Grima whispered into his ear as soon as he saw the glazed look come over the
king’s eyes. “It might be a good idea to have the council shelve the marriage proposal
for a while. Such a reckless man might not be able to protect her, as he should. Besides,
it is much too dangerous for her to travel to Minas Tirith now, what with orcs
attacking.” He continued on for a while, feeding on the fears of the king, watching him
nod in acceptance as if the thoughts were his own.

Grima smiled in glee at the way things had changed so suddenly. His master’s quick
response had made all of the difference. With luck, they would be able to keep the
princess here in Edoras until the final move to capture Rohan. He certainly intended to
do whatever it took. And maybe, if the young warrior didn’t die fighting the orcs, he
would be able to still have Eomer as well.


Boromir and Eomer stood in each other’s arms in a secluded glade. It had taken three days
to finally run the orcs to ground. The combined force of Rohirrim and Gondorian cavalry
easily crushed the orcs, but had a much harder time tracing where they had come from.
After several more days of diligent searching, the best they could do was to discover
that the orcs had come from somewhere along the river Entwash. It was frustrating, and
all of the warriors were displeased at their failure to track them back to their source.

Since there was no sign that the orcs had come from Gondor, Boromir was considering
returning to Edoras to complete his business, until the messenger arrived to summon him
home to Minas Tirith. They both felt somewhat bitter and defeated. Their chief goals were
yet unmet.

“I miss you both so much when we are apart,” Eomer said, brushing soft kisses to
Boromir’s face. “When you sleep with me I can hear Faramir in your dreams, I wish that I
could share them with you all the time.”

“I will think of you as we dream. Maybe if we try, it will happen,” Boromir told him.
“Faramir is the one with the ability to guide our dreams, I just follow along. I will
miss you, my wild prince.”

They both wore their armor, so there was no chance to do more than kiss each other, time
being so short. Even though Eomer’s leather armor was easily undone in the right places,
Boromir’s full plate could do severe damage to tender body parts. With a final kiss, they
returned to where their men waited.

“I will send Faramir as soon as I can,” Boromir said after he mounted his horse. “Unless
there is a new offensive from Mordor, it should be before the end of the summer.”

“I look forward to seeing him again,” Eomer told him as he brought his horse next
Boromir’s and grasped his arm tightly. “Be careful, my fair one, I want you to return to
me.”

“You too, my wild prince,” Boromir said returning the grip. “Your enemy is cunning and
dangerous, watch your back.”

Slowly Eomer backed his horse away and, with a final salute, turned and rode westward,
back toward Edoras. Boromir watched for a few moments, before heading once more into the
east where trouble surely waited.


Part 15: DARK DREAMS

As Denethor continued listing his reasons for needing Boromir home in such haste, his
oldest son began to realize that they were mostly contrived. He did his best to keep a
look of interest on his face while his thoughts drifted to the chances he may have lost.
It was maddening and he had great difficulty in keeping his hand from drifting to his
knife and playing with it, or maybe throwing it at his interfering father who was making
no sense at all.

When the Steward finally stopped talking, Boromir quickly reviewed everything he had said
in his mind while keeping the expression of concerned interest in place. “How many orc
attacks have there been in Anorien since you received the warning from Saruman?” he
asked.

“Four along the Entwash and six along the White Mountains,” Denethor answered, which
really was not many more than usually occurred.

“Have you heard from Faramir?” he wanted to know.

“He should be here later today,” his father told him. “It seems there has been increased
activity in Ithilien as well.”

“I don’t see that we can do anything until he arrives,” Boromir said, sighing with
exhaustion. He’d ridden straight home after receiving his father’s summons.

“Since the preliminary work has already been done, we can put off making any more
decisions for a couple of days,” Denethor told him with an understanding smile. “Why
don’t you and your brother take a few days to rest when he gets here?”

It took much of Boromir’s remaining control to keep from screaming, instead he gripped
the arms of his chair, preparing to rise. “You’re right, father,” he agreed, amazed that
he could say it without clenching his teeth. “I’ve been gone so long I might miss dinner
tonight so that I can get everything back in order.”

“Yes, of course,” Denethor answered, glad to be free of any more questions he didn’t want
to answer. After his oldest son left the room, he brought fourth the letter he had
received from Saruman.

‘There is strong evidence that Theoden King is in league with the forces of Mordor. He
wishes his niece to marry your son so that she can help in the overthrow of Gondor.
Beware the Rohirrim….’ was but one part of the disturbing message.

He also urged Denethor to use the palantir, decrying past problems with the palantir as
the fault of Mithrandir. After careful thought, Denethor decided to use the shielding
spell the wizard had sent, at least several times, before considering actually using the
device. He did not want to endanger his sons; the ugly vision of Faramir’s scars and the
horrifying dreams still haunted him.


Boromir practically dragged Faramir up the stairs to their rooms. He’d missed his brother
dreadfully. Faramir laughed at Boromir’s haste, glad to once again be in his arms.
Faramir’s muddy clothes littered the floor all of the way to the bedroom, most of them
ruined by Boromir’s rough handling. When they reached the bed, Faramir balked for a
moment giving his brother a serious look.

“There is a problem here, brother,” he said solemnly.

“What?” Boromir exclaimed in exasperation.

“You are wearing too many clothes,” Faramir grinned and reached for the catches on his
brother’s robe.

Before he could undo even one of the decorative frogs, Boromir ripped the garment from
his body. “I can’t wait any longer,” he growled as his pants received the same treatment.
He grabbed Faramir and they both fell to the bed wrapped in each other’s arms.

They rolled until Boromir was on the bottom, his legs around Faramir’s waist, one soft
slipper still on his foot. Faramir buried his cock deep in Boromir’s ass with one thrust,
unable to go slow he pounded into his brother. It was fast and hard, this first joining,
as it always was. Once finished, they lay beside each other while Garus and Stefle
removed Faramir’s boots and the remnants of his pants, glad to have both their lords home
again.

“We have a couple of days before father will send for us,” Boromir told his brother,
moving to cover him with his body. “This is our time. I have missed you, my beloved
brother. Let me love you as you deserve."

With gentle care, he began a thorough examination of every inch of Faramir’s body, his
hands and mouth touching everywhere. The ugly red squares from the binding spell's
removal were finally beginning to look better. Not with regular healing, but with the
designs that he and Eomer had carved into them.

Boromir noticed that there were new marks on one that had been untouched when he left.
"What is this?" he asked.

"I let Lothiriel try out her new knife," Faramir laughed at the memory. "She squealed so
loud at the first cut that we were almost discovered."

“It won’t stay, she didn’t cut deep enough. I don’t think she’s really cut out for blood
play,” Boromir commented, kissing the already fading lines. “I sometimes wonder if I did
the right thing teaching you the sword dances. They have no doubt helped your fighting,
but you seem to have no respect for pain.”

“I respect pain well enough, brother,” Faramir replied, running the fingers of his free
hand through his brother’s hair. “But I will not let it control me or hold me back from
what I want. Lothiriel needs to know what her limits are. She will most likely be Queen
of Rohan some day. We need her to be a confident queen.”

Even though he cared a great deal for his cousin, Boromir wanted to concentrate on his
brother. Turning his attentions to Faramir’s mouth, he stopped his words by kissing him
deeply. This was what he wanted, the physical contact that enhanced the emotional and
mental one. Sliding his arms around him to bury his hands in Faramir’s hair, Boromir
concentrated on continuing the kiss. They’d been apart so long he needed this. Faramir
needed this.

After several long minutes, he released his brother’s mouth and pressed soft kisses to
his face. Faramir was breathless beneath his brother, helpless against the pleasurable
onslaught. He arched and gasped as Boromir kissed and licked his face and neck. Shudders
ran through both their bodies as they writhed together.

A feeling of heightened awareness came over Boromir as he immersed himself in making love
to his brother. He released Faramir’s head and began stroking his body reveling in the
response. The pleasure was so intense he couldn’t think of anything but their touching.
It was as if he could feel what Faramir felt as well as his own feelings. As his cock
slid into Faramir’s ass, he felt their souls entwining - closer than they had been since
they’d been unconscious together after the boar hunt.

It was an endless eternity that they were joined together body and soul. It was over far
too soon, though they both still felt that extra edge of awareness that connected them.
They slid into a dreamlike state holding each other closely, feeling complete.


It was a still warm night, which helped to amplify Faramir's screams. Boromir held him
tightly as he struggled to escape from the latest demons to disturb his sleep. As he came
fully awake, he wept in his brother's arms. Faramir was completely disconsolate until
Garus brought him a glass of wine laced with herbs to calm him. His distress was so great
that Garus, Saphron and Stefle joined the brothers on their bed helping to comfort him.

It was a long time before Faramir quieted and still he would not speak of his dream.
Finally, Garus went to get Faramir’s journal while Saphron and Stefle lit the lamps
closest to the bed. The journal was set in easy reach along with pen and ink on a small
side table.

Boromir could feel bruises forming on his ribs where his brother held him. The dreams
hadn’t frightened him this badly for a very long time, but Boromir still remembered how
long it could take Faramir to recover. “I’m here, my little one,” he crooned into his
ear. His hands petted his brother’s hair and face while he whispered endearments and
encouragement to him.

“I can’t write this,” Faramir finally said. “I don’t think I can even speak it. It gets
worse every time.” He still had his face buried in Boromir’s neck.

“Take as long as you need to, little brother,” Boromir told him, making it clear that he
would wait no matter how long it took.

“I don’t want to lose you, Boromir,” he said, still sniffling. “This one was worse than
any of the others, but it was still arrows. ”

“The orcs again?” Boromir asked, rubbing his back.

It was more real than eve
near, even though the dream is still the same.”

“Just as long as you don’t take the arrow for me like you did the first time,” Boromir
told him. “I will be extra careful, my beloved one.”

“I couldn’t bear to lose you,” Faramir said, still holding his brother in a bruising
grip. “I would die without you.”

Knowing that words would be no comfort, Boromir kissed his forehead and began stroking
his face. Rocking Faramir gently in his arms, he began softly singing lullabies to him.
They were soothing songs that their mother had sung to him and he had used them after her
death to comfort his brother.


Leaning against the footboard of the bed, Boromir listened to the report from Nelda. He
seldom came here, usually choosing to use intermediaries. He still had not forgiven the
old woman for not telling him about his father’s abuse of his brother. He understood her
reasons, for Boromir had gone from oblivious to constant vigilance when it came to his
father. This was why he was here now, listening to everything Denethor and his servants
had been doing in his absence.

“Is there any chance you can get at the letter from Saruman?” he asked when she had
finished.

“He burned it after you left his study yesterday,” was her calm reply. “He always gets
more cautious when you are home, my lord. We only know the little that Stefle was able to
read from concealment. If his eyes weren’t so good, we wouldn’t know that much. Why
Saruman would be poisoning your father against Rohan is beyond me.”

Boromir studied her for a moment, finally deciding that she needed to know all. “There is
a plot in Rohan to overthrow the king, one of the king’s chief advisors is behind it.
However, he is not the mastermind behind the plot. He is too weak and frightened to be so
bold. This letter to the Steward seems to be aiding that plot, so maybe the wizard of
Orthanc is behind it. He is, at the very least, involved. My father has long trusted
Saruman.”

He paused, thinking back on things long past. “Did he receive a letter from Isengard
shortly before we went to deal with the trolls?” he asked.

Cara turned to the great ledger that sat on the desk beside the bed. Leafing quickly
through the pages, she slowed at the appropriate dates. “There were no messages from
Isengard, but several were sent to the wizard. However, just before that cycle of bad
dreams began the year before, there were several exchanges of letters. I can have someone
research the records to see if there are any other connections or if the contents of any
of the letters were discovered if you wish, my lord?”

“Give it a priority,” Boromir told her. “Both kingdoms might be at stake. Add in the
visits of Mithrandir; it can’t hurt to see if there is a connection there as well.” He
looked at Nelda and pulled a sealed and dated letter from his robe. “Put this one with
the others,” he told her, handing it over. “I want to be sure that everything is here for
him if anything should happen to me.”

“We can’t lose you now,” she answered, taking the letter from his hand and giving it to
Cara. “We aren’t ready. I know that his dream signifies greater danger, but we have
managed before with greater vigilance. Tonight is the new moon. We will be having a
ceremony to ask for protection for our people, and especially for you and your brother.
Why don’t you bring him? It might do the two of you good to attend.”

“I’ll think about it,” he told her, rising from the bed. “I intend to spend the rest of
the day with my brother resting from our journeys and helping him recover from his bad
dreams.” He paused at the doorway and looked at Cara, her face from this angle looking
oddly familiar. He reached out and touched her cheek noticing that she subtly tried to
avoid the contact. “I never knew that my father had any interest in women,” he commented.

“My mother was very determined that the line not be broken. He nearly killed her,” Cara
answered.

“At least my brother and I have been more cooperative,” Boromir said with a smile. “It is
a good thing that Faramir finds so many strays to add to the gene pool. You have six
children, right?”

“Yes, my lord,” she said. “You and your brother have many more than that.”

“We do our duty for king and country,” he laughed, bending forward to kiss her brow.
“Stefle is your oldest son?” he asked.

“Yes, my lord,” she replied.

“I’m glad your mother was so brave,” he said as he left.


Faramir lay curled around a pillow in the middle of the bed, Garus and Saphron wrapped
around him. Boromir stripped and sat on the edge of the bed, watching his brother sleep
and noting the tear stains that still marked his face. As he reached for him, the
servants withdrew, leaving room for Boromir to crawl up over him. Gently, he rolled
Faramir to his back and lay upon him, pressing soft kisses to his face.

“I am here, little brother,” he whispered. “There is no need to mourn what hasn’t
happened yet. Even if death should attempt to pull me from your side it will fail, for I
am bound to you for eternity, my beloved one.”

Opening his eyes and looking into Boromir’s face so close to his own, long blond hair
hiding the world away, Faramir smiled and pushed away the last dregs of his nightmares.
In his brother’s arms he was safe and loved and all things good. It made it possible for
him to believe that nothing could ever part them.

It was easy for Faramir to give encouragement to his brother as he lay in his arms
telling him what had occurred in Rohan. He stroked Boromir’s hair and listened until he
had finished before asking any questions. Thinking of what strategies he could use to
deal with the king and his advisor, Faramir was sure he could accomplish their goal
quickly. After all, he could always just take Eowyn if necessary; there was plenty of
history for such a course.

More worrying was their father’s strange actions. He was so used to Boromir dealing with
Denethor that he had no idea what to say there. Fortunately, his brother didn’t ask for
any advice, just a patient ear to listen and a shoulder to lean on. Faramir had both of
those, and was more than willing to provide them for his beloved brother.

In his turn, he told Boromir of the strange encounter with the northern ranger, even
though he knew that his brother had read his journal while he slept. He was unable to
keep the hint of wistfulness out of his voice as he spoke. Not knowing what he longed for
most, to actually meet the man or to travel to distant places.

They spent their day in each other’s arms, sometimes talking, sometimes making love, and
feeding each other from the trays of food kept ready for them. Boromir had declared it a
day of rest, wanting to be with his brother without distractions. Even so, the shadows
never quite left Faramir’s eyes so Boromir decided they should join in on the ceremony
they had been invited to. They’d attended a few in the past, together and separately, and
it had seemed to ease their hearts from the burdens they constantly carried.


It had not been forbidden to practice the old rites, just discouraged. Since Denethor had
been the one to discourage it, the rites had flourished here in the stronghold of the
brothers’ servants. In older days, men and women had been separated at the new moon
ritual, but now they joined together to seek protection from the evil that threatened
from the east. Unlike the dark ceremonies that Sauron had once led the Numenoreans in, to
their downfall, these were happy rites. There was singing and the sharing of wine and
food, all led by Cara, now that Nelda was mostly bedridden.

As they sat around the fire, seeking inspiration from its flames, Boromir held his
brother closely in his arms. Garus and Saphron cuddled at their feet. These were their
people, and they were able to relax here as they could nowhere else. Letting his mind
wander as he gazed into the flames, Boromir began to see little pictures of activity
within them. He smiled as it seemed miniature warriors fought fierce battles and farmers
worked their fields. A spray of sparks became a dragon fighting the Valar at the
destruction of Angband.

Out of the fire rose a vision that only Boromir could see or hear. A giant dressed as for
war that bore no weapons other than his own two hands. He laughed with joy as the
Steward’s oldest son watched and felt an answering happiness in his own heart.

“Would you ask the Valar to fulfill your heart’s desire?” the giant whom Boromir
recognized as Tulkas asked.

“How could they fulfill what I already hold?” Boromir asked, stroking his brother’s hair
as he spoke. “Unless they can guarantee that we will never be parted?”

“Since you are two sides of the same coin already,” Tulkas told him, “even that is
already assured you. Would you have nothing else for yourself?”

“For myself, nothing,” he answered firmly. “For my brother and my people I would have
peace, that they may see their children grow without fear of the dark lord.”

“I would grant this if I could, as would all the Valar, yet the fate of men lies not in
our hands. Since you take such joy in battle and though the blood is thinned, you are
also partly of the firstborn, I will be with you,” the Valar told him. “But you must mind
your shield and be ever ready to defend against the dark dreams. Your fate is not yet
written, be on your guard against evil.” With that last warning, Tulkas faded into smoke.

Boromir laughed as the vision faded, not quite believing it was anything more than the
fancy of his heart. Maybe the herbs that had been added to the fire had befuddled his
mind along with the wine, which was sweet and strong. He kissed his brother’s cheek as
the gathering began to break up. They sat on a bench set aside for them and each person
came to receive a blessing from them before they left. The brothers had long grown used
to the custom, accepting the role given to them by the will of their people.

“It is early yet, brother,” Faramir said, his eyes bright with excitement. “Let us go see
if the children are still awake, maybe we can tell them a story.”

The nursery was full of children and their parents. Many of the men of the brothers’
personal guard had married into this house. They all gathered here together with their
children on the high days, especially when their two lords were going to be present. All
knew that Faramir couldn’t resist spending time with the children when he could, and
Boromir would always join him.


It was a most successful evening. When the brothers reached their bed, they were more
relaxed than they had been in months, despite the new worries facing them. They watched
the three servants who were almost constantly by their side when they were home move
about the room, putting everything away for the evening.

Garus had shared their room and often their bed for fifteen years, longer with just
Faramir when he was younger. He only reluctantly parted from them when they went on
campaign, having no ability or desire for the sword. He only left the city to accompany
them on peaceful missions to other cities, or to gather herbs in the hills around Minas
Tirith. Since his wife had joined him, she was ever at his side, her sure strong hands
ever aiding him in his tasks or applying new tattoos to the brothers or their people.

Amongst all the brothers’ personal servants Stefle was considered to be the highest. He
was closest in blood to the line of the Stewards after his mother and had been trained
from birth to serve Boromir above all else. He had also shared Boromir’s room and bed for
over twenty years, a matter of pride to him. Where Garus had learned healing skills to
better help the brothers, especially Faramir, Stefle had studied the skills of stealth
and assassination. Though he rarely struck out with his own hand against his lord’s
enemies, he ordered all those who did. All of the spies, assassins and informants of the
wide network set up by the two brothers reported directly to him.

Yet, whenever possible, he shared the duties of personal servant with Garus. At meals he
stood behind Boromir and made sure his glass was always full and all that he might need
or want lay to hand. His eyes often were lit with the light of fanaticism when he served
his lord whom he adored. Even as he did his work to protect Faramir, who was the beloved
of his lord and gentle Garus who couldn’t bring himself to harm another even in self-
defense, he was thrilled by the knowledge that he was doing his lord’s bidding. All of
which he did from the White City, never having left its confines and having no desire to
do so.

“I need to go outside the city for more supplies soon,” Garus told the brothers. “I can’t
seem to trust the merchants to bring in everything that I need.”

“We could make a picnic of it,” Boromir said. “It would be pleasant to visit the slopes
of the White Mountains without wearing full armor.”

“What a splendid idea, brother,” Faramir added with a grin. “We can spend the whole day;
maybe Stefle will join us this time.”

“Oh no,” the servant laughed, as he sat on the bed next to his lord. “I’m content to
remain here and make sure everything is in order for your return. The wilds are no place
for a city bred person like me.”

Boromir pulled him closer, kissing his forehead. He knew that besides Stefle’s innate
dislike of leaving the city, there were other chores he had planned. “We will miss your
company tomorrow, but I will let you make up for it tonight.”

Relaxing into the hands of his beloved lord, Stefle groaned in delight. He was in control
of so much that it was pure relief to surrender to the control of his master. Swiftly
stripping him, Boromir rolled so that Stefle lay between the two brothers, completely at
their mercy. Faramir pinned him in place while Boromir teased and tortured his body with
all the experience of their long years together. They knew how to make him lose all
control and how much he loved it when they did.

Saphron handed Faramir a silk cord, which he used to bind Stefle’s hands to the
headboard, freeing his own hands. Taking the bottle of oil held ready by Garus, he began
applying it to the helpless man’s body. Boromir ran his hands across the oiled flesh,
making his servant moan in pleasure. While his brother nibbled and kissed every bit of
flesh on the front of Stefle’s body, except for his engorged cock, Faramir began
preparing his ass for the plundering it would soon receive.

Sitting up, Boromir watched Faramir’s fingers move in and out of Stefle’s tight channel.
Leaning across the bound body, he pressed a deep kiss to his brother’s mouth. “Fuck him,
brother,” he said grabbing Stefle by the hips and setting him on his knees.

Moving between the man’s spread thighs, Faramir plunged deep into the waiting orifice. He
thrust harder with each movement knowing that Stefle could take it, loved to take it hard
and fast. Boromir kept one hand on his servant’s cock, making sure that he didn’t climax;
the other hand was buried in Stefle’s hair, holding his head in place. By the time
Faramir reached his orgasm, Stefle was constantly moaning, kept at the peak of desire by
Boromir.

Boromir pushed Stefle’s knees forward so that he was even more exposed before driving
into him. Faramir lay beside him and turned his head so that he could watch his face
while controlling his cock as his brother had. With each pounding thrust that Boromir
delivered Stefle cried out, completely lost to the sensation.

“Now,” Boromir cried, and Faramir stroked Stefle’s cock a few times so that he could
climax with his lord.

Boromir released Stefle’s hands from the silk cord and turned to his brother. “I think
Garus should join us tonight as well,” he said watching the man in question put the bowl
of warmed water and cleaning cloths aside at his words. Garus was nearly the opposite of
Stefle. Though he was strong and able to do any task they asked of him, he was extremely
sensitive to violence. So much so that he would usually occupy himself with tasks when
the brothers were being rough.

They pulled him down to the bed between them and began pressing soft kisses to his face,
their hands gently roaming his body. Sensing the brothers’ mood, he had stripped earlier
so there was no problem with any clothes. Faramir matched every move Boromir made,
knowing that it would excite both him and Garus. They stroked and kissed him until he
couldn’t lie still in the bed, his hands reaching for them both.

“You are so beautiful,” Boromir whispered in his ear. “I want to watch you with my
beautiful brother.”

Faramir slowly began moving to cover Garus as he continued kissing and caressing him. As
he moved to claim his servant, he remembered the first time he had taken him. It had been
such a careful seduction of the shy older boy Garus had been then. Faramir had been so
lonely for his brother and horny from Boromir’s refusal to allow anything sexual to
happen between them. Not that either of them had been virgins, though Faramir’s
experiences were by choice, unlike Garus’.

With exquisite care, he slid his cock into the waiting entrance. Garus’ face was frozen
in a grimace of pleasure as Faramir moved at the perfect speed within him.

“You are so beautiful together,” Boromir whispered to him. “The vision of you together
like this has kept me warm on many lonely nights.” He kissed Garus’ cheek and then
Faramir’s cheek. Then his hand slid down between their bodies and gently grasped Garus’
engorged cock. “Come for me, my lovelies,” he said as he matched Faramir’s rhythm with
his strokes.

At Boromir’s urging, they both reached climax. Garus panted as he lay beneath Faramir
reveling in the closeness to his beloved lord. Then Boromir pulled his brother into his
arms, careful not to hurt Garus, and rolled so that he could impale him with his cock.

Gratefully accepting the aid of Saphron and Stefle, Garus rose from the bed knowing that
the brothers would be occupied with each other until they fell asleep.


Denethor insisted that they take half their guard and wear light armor. So it was
midmorning before they left Minas Tirith accompanied by twenty men with Saphron and Garus
safely tucked into the formation behind the brothers. There were plenty of pleasant spots
close to the city, but the plants that Garus was seeking grew in the higher elevations.
It was nearly lunchtime before they found an acceptable spot for hunting his herbs.

The day camp was set up quickly with Garus and Saphron preparing food while the escort
set up perimeters, set guards and sent scouts into the surrounding area. The meal was
shared with the off-duty warriors amid much laughter and camaraderie. After they had
finished eating and the scouts returned reporting no sign of any nearby danger, the group
set out to find the plants Garus was looking for. They spread out a bit once the servant
showed them some samples of what was wanted.

Boromir followed Faramir up the hill making remarks about how nice his ass looked from
that angle. When they reached the top and came into a small clearing where they could see
Garus and Saphron gathering plants into their baskets, Faramir stopped and waited for his
brother to join him. After the previous day’s rest they both had energy to burn so they
decided to engage in a bit of sword practice.

Their voices echoed in the glade as they chased each other through the bordering trees,
laughing at each other’s antics. Soon the warm sun and quiet surroundings brought them to
a halt and they leaned against a tree watching their servants finish their gathering.
Garus was happy having found everything he needed and even a few flowers that Saphron
used in her inks for pigmenting. They proudly showed their finds to the two brothers who
examined them with indulgent smiles.

It took a few moments before they became aware of the shouting from the far side of the
clearing, but they reacted quickly. Saphron handed her basket to Garus and drew her long
knife as the brothers pushed them towards the safety of the closest tree. They could hear
the rest of the troops coming up the hill behind them as they saw the first glimpses of
their attackers.

A dozen orcs came boiling out of the woods and straight at Boromir and Faramir, who drew
their swords. They were not too worried at such a small number of assailants and stepped
far enough apart that they wouldn’t interfere with each other. The orcs fell easily by
their hand, but more appeared at the far edge of the glade before they had killed the
last one.

A cloud passed over the sun and darkened the clearing as a large uruk followed the orcs
to the edge of the forest. It growled at the two men as it raised its bow and took aim.
Faramir felt as if he were suddenly caught in his nightmare: the darkened sky and
screaming orcs were just as he had dreamed it. Quickly he reversed his grip on his long
knife and threw it left-handed to impale the uruk’s eye, just as it released the arrow.
The bolt sped past him to where he knew his brother stood in defense. The distinctive
sound of it meeting flesh came to his ears and, despite the oncoming danger, he had to
turn to look.

Boromir watched the approaching orcs with anger. Of all the creatures in the world, he
hated them the most. He hated their smell, their appearance, their uncanny ability to be
where they were the most trouble. But most of all, he hated orcs for the dreams of them
that plagued his brother. He turned to make sure Garus and Saphron were still safe after
he killed the last one in the first wave, signaling for them to move back behind the
tree. As he turned, he saw the uruk poised with its bow. The arrow sped toward him and he
was helpless to do anything to stop it; he had not brought his shield as his vision had
told him.

Without thought, Garus leapt from his place at Saphron’s side to intercept the arrow. He
had no fighting skill but was quick on his feet and strong. There was an almost
unbearable pain as the bolt passed through his arm and into his chest, but he was able to
see that Faramir had felled the archer before he could loose any more arrows. The force
knocked Garus into Boromir, who carefully laid him on the ground next to Saphron before
turning back to the battle.

Faramir watched long enough to see Saphron begin working on Garus. Then he turned and
faced the attacking orcs. The rage he felt cleared from his mind as he fell into his
battle rhythm. Death came from his hands as he advanced on the orcs, his brother at his
side. The rest of their guard soon made the clearing and the remaining attackers were
killed without mercy. As soon as the last orc fell, the brothers turned back to their
wounded servant.

Saphron had done little more than remove the arrow, knowing the futility of further
action. She held her husband close in her arms, rocking him as he tried to calm her with
quiet words. Faramir fell to his knees beside them, noting the blood that leaked from
Garus’ nose and mouth, as well as the bubbles of air that came from his chest. Already
his hands were cold as ice as Faramir took them in his own and his color had become
extremely pale.

“I could not bear to see such a creature harm my Lord Boromir,” he whispered to Faramir
as he wept at his side. “Do not cry for me, my lord, I could not have asked for a better
life or a better end.”

Sitting on the ground beside his brother, Boromir was numb with guilt and shock as he
watched the light in Garus’ eyes fade. Saphron wailed in her grief and Faramir shook with
his sobs. It seemed unbelievable that their gentle companion could have met such a
violent and ugly end.

After a few moments, Draymor knelt at Boromir’s side to get his attention. “There are
three more of our people dead in the woods, the men are bringing them out. I’ve sent a
messenger back to the city so that a full patrol can make sure there are no more in this
area,” he paused, wiping away his own tears. “We have to leave here, it’s not safe.”

Nodding numbly at his words, Boromir turned back to his brother, running a comforting
hand through Faramir’s hair and ignoring all else until their horses were brought for
them. Saphron rode the horse that carried her husband, not wanting to be parted from him.
The brothers rode on either side of her, their heads bowed in grief.


As they made their way through the city many came to watch them pass. Garus was as well
known as a healer and friend to the poor as he was as the personal servant of the
Steward’s sons. They stopped at the house in the fifth ring of the city, where the
servants of the tower waited to take custody of his body and his wife. Most of the guards
remained there, only a few following the brothers to the seventh gate.

Denethor waited on the steps for his sons. He had been somewhat undecided on how to treat
their misfortune until Galmar had reminded him that Garus had been the one to
successfully heal his sons after the boar-hunting incident. Vaguely he recalled the
almost effete man who stood ever at Faramir’s side waiting on him. Garus’ ability as a
healer had kept his sons here in the tower when injured instead of in the halls of
healing. And now he was gone. He had died protecting the life of his oldest son and heir.

“He will be laid to rest in the House of the Stewards,” Denethor told his sons as they
climbed the stairs. Their faces were stiff with grief and only Boromir acknowledged his
words with a short nod. “I have already informed your servants so that the arrangements
can be made. Tomorrow we will meet to discuss the latest developments in the war.”

Boromir nodded again, then led his brother to their rooms.


“He’s not here,” Faramir said in a lost voice as they entered their bedroom. He crawled
to the center of their oversized bed and curled around the pillow someone had placed
there from Garus and Saphron’s bed. It still held his smell strongly and Faramir wept
into it. Boromir joined his brother, holding him tightly for an endless eternity of
grieving.


They followed the procession from the house of Garus’ chosen family in the fifth ring to
the House of the Stewards in the seventh ring of the city. The week of mourning had been
spent in planning the defense of Gondor from this latest offensive from Mordor. There
were no more tears from either brother. They both knew that unless they could find some
way to stop the enemy their time was limited, and more death was inevitable. Even now,
their oldest sons had joined the fight and soon they would be burying their children as
well as their beloved companions.

The words of the funeral ceremony brought them little comfort as they held Saphron who
wept for all three of them. The future seemed grim and full of grief. It was almost
impossible for them to hold onto the small hope that their dreams and visions of the king
had given them. Their resources were diminishing and the fall of Gondor seemed
inescapable.


Part 16: BONDAGE

The report was long and very thorough and had taken nearly six months to complete.
Mithrandir had little to do with certain problems that plagued Gondor and Rohan, except
to provide solutions. Saruman, however, was a completely different story. There were
links that ran back to before Boromir’s network had been set up. Not surprisingly, Galmar
had strong ties to the wizard of Orthanc.

“I want him watched night and day,” Boromir told Cara, his head aching from the stress
and the endless stink of Orodruin, which had been wafting over the city for days.
“Everyone he even looks at should be noted for investigation.” He paused to think about
his next orders. “I don’t want to alert him to our increased vigilance, but I want new
precautions established. If anything should happen to me, I want Galmar dead before
Faramir knows what we have been doing. He is dangerous to my brother and I don’t want to
take any chances that he will move against him.”

“We will do as you have ordered, my lord,” she told him, relieved at his decision.

“We need to let Eomer know and also Eowyn’s watchdog Brinel in Edoras. Having her become
the Princess’s maid was a very good idea, I’m glad you thought of it.”

“I was simply using the example of you and Lord Faramir with Princess Lothiriel, my
lord,” she responded, blushing.

“It is definitely working out for the best,” Boromir praised before changing the subject.
“My brother needs a new personal servant. Those who serve him now are efficient and he
likes them well enough, but he needs more. A complete change from Garus is needed, he
would not accept a substitute. I had considered a female companion, but I want someone
who can go on campaign with him. Maybe two servants; he is not recovering well and I’m
worried about him.”

“We all are, my lord,” Cara said, her eyes filling with tears. “I had considered Garus’s
youngest brother, who is one of our agents in Dol Amroth, but the resemblance physically
is too close. Besides, he has not been trained as a body servant and is really too old
for the change. There are several promising young men that we have been looking into, but
I have been hesitant to suggest a change.”

“I told her to speak up,” Nelda croaked from the bed, the first time she had been really
conscious that day. “It is no good if there are secrets between you, not now.”

“She is right,” Boromir confirmed. “Especially now when our enemies seem to be closing in
on us. Make arrangements with Stefle for me to see them all, he knows my schedule better
than I do. I would like to make a decision before my brother returns from Ithilien.” He
rose to leave, then paused to look at the old woman on the bed.

“You have served our House well, Grandmother,” he told her, using the honorific for the
first time. “It is time now for you to rest. You have my leave to join with the other
elders of the House so that all your grandchildren can bid you farewell before you depart
this world.”

“Thank you, my Prince,” Nelda replied, tears of gratitude in her eyes. “It has been my
pleasure to serve.”


Faramir sat alone in his chamber. All the dead had been buried in carefully concealed
graves and the injured brought here to Henneth Annun. Now there was just the silence, the
empty ache of loss and the endless nightmare that his life had become.

He knew that even if Boromir had accompanied him the results would have been the same,
but that didn’t matter. What could have been done differently was for later thoughts.
Now, he could only think of the men he had lost in their failed ambush; he’d already made
sure that all of the survivors were being properly cared for. Many times, he had held his
brother as he cried and mourned his losses. This was the first time he was in charge and
had lost so many.

And Boromir wasn't here to comfort him. And no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't
cry. He felt severed from all his bonds of love and loyalty.

He sat, turning his knife over and over in his hand, thinking maybe he should write how
he felt in his journal. Boromir would expect to read about this, but he couldn't get
himself to get up from where he'd collapsed on the floor to go to the table where his
journal waited. He looked at the knife in his hands, a gift from his father, the only
person in his life that had ever been critical of him. He wore it always, a reminder that
there was some affection there, even if it wasn't as much as he would like.

He took off the leather armor that covered his upper body, and pulled off his shirt.
Holding the blade in his left hand, he examined the scars on his right arm, for it was
here that he always started. Glancing up first to make sure the door was locked, he
brought the blade across his forearm, carefully avoiding the scars that had been put
there by his brother and Eomer. He released a ragged breath at the sharp pain, it was
pure relief. With a sure rhythm he moved up his arm leaving random cuts, small and easily
concealable. Pulling his hair out of the way, he marked his shoulder, the back of his
neck. Switching hands, he did the other shoulder and arm before starting on his chest.
Here he cut a little deeper, a little longer.

If he were home, Boromir would wield the knife. He thought of Boromir. His brother was so
good with the blade, his hands leading as his mouth kissed and licked the blood away. It
made him feel free, cleansed of his guilt and failure, purified by blood and pain from
all the faults that others refused to see. Especially his beloved brother, who had never
spoken a harsh word to him. He would forgive the worst mistakes with comforting words and
soft caresses.

Removing his pants, Faramir drew long lines down each heavily muscled and scarred thigh,
watching his cock spring to full erection. His thoughts were still of Boromir, who would
be taking his cock into his mouth at this point, catching it with his teeth. Carefully,
he scraped the knife up the underside of his penis, the blade turned just enough to not
cut. Then he ran a soothing hand down the tortured organ, lubricated with the blood from
his chest. He repeated the same procedure on the top and sides of his cock until he found
his release.


Boromir arrived the next day, having come as quickly as he could after word of the battle
had reached him. Sitting at the table in their room, he began reading the journal. As he
read of the disastrous battle, his face twisted in anguish for his brother and for the
ever- growing number of dead. His hands began shaking as he read further. Long ago, he'd
told Faramir to put down every detail. At times like this he regretted his words, even
though they kept him informed. Faramir's darker impulses could be dangerous, especially
since Garus’s death.

Finally he put the book down and turned to his brother, who stood facing the wall. "Let
me see," he ordered him, trying to keep his voice impassive.

Without turning, Faramir began stripping, dropping his clothes in an untidy heap. There
were few new marks on his back, though his shoulders and arms were liberally covered with
healing thin lines. When Faramir didn't turn around, Boromir steeled himself, knowing the
rest was going to be very bad. "Show me," he repeated, and couldn't hold back an
involuntary gasp.

The front of Faramir’s body was covered with cuts. Many of them were much deeper than was
safe. Three long gashes across his stomach were bloody with signs of being reopened.

Faramir brought a basin of water, a rag and salve to the table. The only attention he had
given the cuts had been detrimental. Usually Boromir cleaned him up and treated the
wounds for him. Boromir understood his brother's self-mutilation. In some ways, it was
similar to the pleasure/pain of the sword dance. But this was frightening and dangerous,
especially when he was alone. At those times Faramir always went too far, cut too deep.

Starting with his right arm, Boromir carefully cleaned and then kissed each wound. Some
of them should have been stitched, but he knew from past experience that Faramir would
only pick them out. His brother was compulsive about this, no matter how much he tried to
resist, he eventually gave in.

“We will be returning to Minas Tirith tomorrow,” Boromir told him.


The two young men were of the oldest of the servants’ families. They had been trained as
assassins and spies from their earliest years and had recently been intensively trained
in the healing arts. Faramir recognized them as agents and wondered what they were doing
here in the bedroom he shared with his brother.

“You remember Belgar and Nelis?” Boromir asked. At Faramir’s nod, he continued. “They are
your new body servants.”

Faramir started to object, he’d been refusing new servants for months now, but the look
on his brother’s face stopped him. “Yes, of course, brother,” he said, feeling numb.

With quiet efficiency, they moved forward and began undressing Faramir, revealing the new
cuts he had inflicted on himself. While their faces remained impassive at the sight of
their charge’s injuries, Stefle couldn’t help a startled gasp. Before they led Faramir to
the waiting tub, Nelis swiftly stitched closed the long gashes that crossed his stomach.

They helped him into the warm water and assisted Boromir in washing his brother. Whenever
one of Faramir’s hands would stray below the water towards his new stitches they would
pull it back up and put something in it to occupy him. They were efficiently quick,
making this a very short bath. Faramir's stomach tightened in knots knowing what was to
come.

They led him to a waiting chair instead of the bed as he expected. Since the brothers had
become sexually active, all of their bonds with those closest to them had been sealed
with sex. A cushion was placed beneath his feet and both men knelt on the hard stone
floor before him. Looking at the items on the table beside him, Faramir suddenly realized
the kind of bonding he was expected to make.

"I don't want to do this, Boromir," he said with a note of panic in his voice.

Standing behind his little brother with both hands on his shoulders holding him in place,
Boromir remained resolute. “You will do it,” he ordered. It tore at his heart, but this
was the best way they could find to stop Faramir’s decline. At his nod, the two servants
began their oath of service.

Belgar removed his knife from its sheath and handed it hilt first to Faramir. “With this
blade I pledge my service and my life to you.”

With shaking hands, Faramir took the knife. It was not a typical servant’s blade, but one
designed to be used in a variety of ways, though still simple and small. “By this blade I
accept your pledge,” he responded, making a quick cut across the inside of Belgar’s
forearm and allowing the blood to run into the goblet of wine held by Nelis. “Keep this
tool in trust and use it only in my service,” he said, returning it to Belgar.

The same procedure was repeated with Nelis, who had a Kris knife with the black blade and
hilt popular with assassins. As he was handed the goblet of wine and blood, he thought of
the two men. Nelis was eight years younger than him and Belgar four years younger. When
they were children he had read them stories and played games with them, as he still did
with all of the children of the House. He remembered when they had first taken their
oaths as agents and all their accomplishments since. They were among the best in their
trade, despite their youth.

“By your blood I bind you to me,” Faramir said before drinking the entire contents of the
goblet. Setting the goblet on the table, he turned to the small brazier there and took
one of the small irons waiting there with its miniaturized version of his seal on the hot
end. Belgar leaned forward expectantly, turning his head so that the left side of his
face was in easy reach. Pushing the man’s hair out of the way, Faramir pressed the red
hot metal into the space between his eye and hairline.

“I give you my mark that all who see you know that you belong to me,” he intoned. Even
though the smell of burning flesh sickened him, Faramir didn’t hesitate in his actions.
Nelis received the same treatment just as eagerly as Belgar, for they would be the first
in several centuries to be bonded in such a way.

Faramir’s hands went to where his brother held his shoulders as he watched Belgar turn so
that he was on his knees while Nelis gently removed the cushion from beneath his feet.
Boromir pushed him forward to finish the ritual. Kneeling on the cushion, which was now
between Belgar’s legs, Faramir prepared to complete the next step.

“I claim you as my own, Belgar of the House of Hurin,” he said as he slowly pushed his
cock into the man’s ass. It was not allowed to prepare ahead of time, but Faramir had
long known how to do this without causing undo pain. A few thrusts were all that were
needed to bring Faramir to climax, despite his unwillingness to perform the ritual. He
was now near the end and his mind and body were responding to the rite as they were
supposed to. Again, the same process was repeated with Nelis.

Returning to sit in the chair, Faramir looked at the two men on their knees before him.
“Everything that you are is now mine, all that you were is now changed. You are severed
from the House of Hurin and to be known as Belgar of Faramir and Nelis of Faramir
respectively. All that you do is as if it were done by my hand, and my will.”

When he finished, they each leaned forward and placed their foreheads on one of his feet.
“I am yours alone, master,” they said in unison, making a shiver run through his body.
Then they quietly rose to their feet and dressed before attending to Faramir’s clothes
that were where they had left them.

Boromir led his brother to their bed. Even this had changed since Garus’s death. Though
they still wanted each other just as much, Faramir had a tendency to weep after
lovemaking. At the first sign of his brother’s sadness, Boromir became rough, much
rougher than he usually was. His eyes widening in surprise, Faramir grasped his arms.

“Only think of me, my brother,” Boromir growled in his ear before biting his neck hard.
“You have spent too much time thinking of the past.” He drove into Faramir so hard and
fast that all he could do was gasp and hold tight. Watching his brother orgasm while he
squeezed his cock rhythmically with one hand, Boromir held his hips still with the other,
his own cock buried completely within his ass.

When Faramir’s grip relaxed on his arms, Boromir sat back on his heels, pulling his hips
tight against his groin. Placing his hand over the coat of arms tattoos on Faramir’s
lower belly, he brought his brother’s hand to rest over his own tattoos. “Don’t ignore
your vows any longer, my beloved one,” he said. “You are bound to Eomer and me, never
forget that.”

Boromir leaned forward and claimed his lips with a deep kiss before he started moving
again, his still hard cock within the tight sheath of his brother’s body. Arching beneath
him, Faramir cried out at the pleasure of their contact. His mind was cleared of
everything but answering the demands of his brother. For the first time in months, they
were again achieving that bond that was more than the joining of flesh.

Beneath their hands, the tattoos heated and they both felt the extension of themselves
that reached out toward Eomer. It was faint, barely more than a whisper of feeling, but
Faramir felt it race through his body like fire. Their simple bond made five years
earlier was becoming stronger. Faramir’s gift, with the aid of Boromir’s guidance, was
defeating time and distance to bring them together.


“It is clear that he wasn’t injured in the battle,” Galmar told Denethor in his private
study. “However we know that sometime afterward he received many cuts that have caused a
lot of blood loss.”

“So, they are probably self inflicted,” Denethor said.

“We believe so, your grace,” Galmar added. “Our informant was only able to get sketchy
information. None but the most loyal of their servants have been allowed anywhere near
Lord Faramir. Lord Boromir has replaced his body servant as well.” He paused as if
searching for words.

“Spit it out,” the Steward ordered testily.

“There are two of them, your grace,” he said quickly. “Both of them are trained assassins
and one of them is a skilled torturer, I have reported to you on them before. Belgar and
Nelis are their names. I can’t think of why he would make that choice.”

“Obviously Boromir picked them, he always was overprotective of his brother,” Denethor
answered bitterly, remembering that these assassins were among the best. “Who better to
keep him safe?”

“There is more, your grace,” Galmar continued. “They have both forsworn their early bonds
and taken the ‘Oath of Mancipium’ with him.”

“Do you know if they performed the full rite?” Denethor asked, even though he already
knew the answer.

“Yes, they did, your grace,” Galmar told him.


Silence fell across the room in a wave as Faramir strode the length of the Great Hall to
take his place at his father’s left side. Belgar followed close behind him, eyes alert to
every movement in the room. His own eyes briefly scanning those present, Faramir turned
to his father to ask forgiveness for being late.

Denethor acknowledged him with a nod, still unnerved himself by his son’s companion. The
impassive gray gaze sent chills down his spine the few times he’d caught it. Even Galmar
edged away from the assassin turned body servant, ‘body slave,’ the steward thought as he
glimpsed the raw brand on the young man’s face. It nearly made him lose his appetite to
be so close to him, especially when he caught the look of fanatical devotion bestowed on
his youngest son. But as harsh as Denethor was on his sons, he was much harsher on
himself. He would eat and hold his food down if it killed him.

“Do you wish to announce our decisions now, father?” Boromir asked as they finished their
meal.

“Of course,” Denethor answered before clearing his throat and calling for attention.
“There will be a new levy of young men for the armies next month,” he told the gathered
nobles, pausing to let them grumble momentarily among themselves. “However, we will be
releasing many of the men who have been serving to go home. Hopefully, by the end of
summer we can get a rotation schedule worked out so that we can field the necessary
forces and still have plenty of men to bring in the crops and tend to other work.”

Scanning the line of waiting faces he continued. “You will each be receiving lists of the
levies you are expected to fulfill and the men you can expect to return home soon. Any
questions may be directed to me or my sons, once you have been given your orders.”

The room erupted into moderate chaos as he took his seat. There would be many questions
and arguments, but his nobles would send the troops that were needed. The advance of the
enemy was felt everywhere. At his signal, his sons rose from their positions and began
circulating among the dinner guests.

The novelty of Faramir’s servant was overshadowed by the Steward’s announcement. Watching
them perform their duty in calming the anxieties and objections of the aristocracy,
Denethor noticed for the first time the number of fair-haired young folk amongst them.
Twenty different families of the highest nobility were represented and there were two
young men and three young women who bore striking resemblances to his sons. Moving
through the crowd with his usual joviality, Boromir stopped briefly with each of the
young people Denethor had noted and also with two other darker-haired youths. He
exchanged a few words with each of them, followed by a quick kiss to their