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 7: THE STRUGGLE

Darkness rose out of the east, moving in long tendrils as if sentient, one of which
reached for the White Tower. Faramir stirred restlessly in his sleep as the dream
continued. There were voices, tempting voices offering power unlimited. He didn't want
power, but they weren't talking to him. The dark, twisted nature of the voices sickened
and frightened him, and there seemed to be no escape.

Boromir woke to his brother struggling and crying out in his sleep. The dreams had been
getting steadily worse over the last year. He waited patiently for it to run its course,
knowing that Faramir would need comforting, hoping maybe he would finally be able to
trace the cause of the nightmares. In the last month, they'd not had one night of
undisturbed sleep and it was beginning to be a problem.


He couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes he saw things, terrible things. That his
youngest son had the same or similar dreams was obvious, but he couldn't bring himself to
speak with Faramir about them. He was even sure that Boromir at least knew about the
dreams, maybe shared them as well. It was his own fault. The letter from Saruman had
tempted him. He had looked, only for a moment, beneath the protective cloth at the
palantir. Now they were all trapped by its siren call.

At least he might be able to spare his sons some of the torment. There were orc raids in
Anorien, possibly augmented by a troll or two. He would send them to get the area back
under control.


They'd tracked the orcs to several caves; probably all interconnected beneath the hills.
There was definitely at least one troll in their company, so they didn't dare explore
inside them too far. Work parties of volunteers from the local villages were gathered to
help collapse most of the cave openings and booby trap the rest. One very well hidden
opening they left untouched, as if they hadn't found it. Nearby, they dug pit traps and
set up an ambush site. It had taken a week to find the caves and the work had been done
in two days, large squads of warriors using bonfires were guarding the remaining cave
entrances in the night.

For the first time in over a month, the brothers were able to sleep through the night
undisturbed. It worried them that some malignant force was invading their home, and they
were helpless against it. It was nice, though, to get a little rest. On the final day of
trap building, they ordered all those committed to the ambush to rest for a few hours
before sunset, including themselves.

Faramir ran his hands across his brother's stomach, feeling the corded muscles and
watching his cock grow to full erection. Kneeling between his thighs, he took the head of
Boromir's penis in his mouth, using his tongue to stimulate the slit on the end. The
taste of his brother was delicious to him and made his own cock fill. Grabbing his hips,
he took the entire penis in his mouth and throat as Boromir's hands grasped his head.

Moaning uncontrollably, the older brother watched as Faramir began long, slow movements
up and down his cock. He did it better than anyone else, one of the very few who could
take all of him orally. There was little teasing, as they had limited time for this.
Boromir allowed himself to release his orgasm, Faramir allowing much of his semen to fill
one hand so that he could lubricate his brother's ass for his own cock.

He was unhurried, but didn't waste time, sliding himself in completely in one sure
stroke. In the last couple of months, his exhaustion had kept him from being the
aggressive one in their lovemaking and he wanted to make up for that lack. Claiming
Boromir's mouth, he began the swift, hard rhythm that they enjoyed the most. Pulling back
from their kiss, Faramir kissed and licked his way across the firmly muscled chest
beneath him, giving small bites randomly. Boromir caressed his brother's body as he
willingly received his engorged cock. He loved to feel Faramir move in him and wrapped
his legs around his brother, bucking upward and moving with him. Their lovemaking was
bliss.

Leaking precum from his newly hardened cock, Boromir knew he was going to reach
completion soon. It had been too long. Sensing his brother's readiness, Faramir gave a
few extra hard thrusts as he bit down on his heavily scarred collarbone. They both cried
out in their moment of ecstasy, reaching the peak together.

They had barely caught their breath when Draymor asked for admittance to their tent. He
was their most trusted aide and would not disturb them unless there was great need. With
a final kiss to his brother's tempting lips, Boromir called for him to enter. In the five
years since the boar-hunting incident, their relationship had become more or less common
knowledge among the army, even though they still behaved with much discretion.

One of the work parties had suffered injuries when the pit trap they were working on
collapsed on them revealing a previously unknown tunnel. They okayed the orders Draymor
had given and added a few more of their own before returning to their rest.

There were no more interruptions before they had to dress and arm themselves for the
evening's work. This was something they had much experience in, luring orcs and sometimes
goblins into well-planned traps. Although this would be the first troll they'd dealt with
personally, they had been sure to refresh their memories on all the lore available on
trolls. It would not please their father if they had another fiasco like the boar hunt.

The efforts of the previous night to keep the enemy contained paid off; the orcs were
almost frantic to prey upon the countryside. Like clockwork, they followed the preset
trail to where the brothers waited in ambush, a few falling into the traps that had been
set to keep them aimed in the right direction. The brothers rechecked their weapons and
the positions of their men as the signals from the scouts let them know precisely where
their opponents were.

As the orcs filled the clearing before them, they waited for the entrance of the troll to
signal the attack. With a roar of rage, two cave trolls entered the planned battle zone
amidst the orcs. It was too late to change anything, so Boromir signaled the change in
enemy numbers to the reserve units (at least they'd planned that far) and ordered the
attack.

It was extremely messy. Except for the rawest recruits, they'd all dealt with orcs
before, but the trolls were something entirely different. The bonfires made a lurid
display as the great beasts swung their morning stars at anything that moved, even their
own forces. The strongest men of the Gondorian forces were armed with oversized spears to
stop the creatures, and archers peppered them with many arrows, though they had to be
extra careful in the semi-light. Both brothers held a spear and, by unspoken consent,
each advanced on a separate target.

Boromir ducked beneath the swing of the ball and chain planting his spear firmly into the
monster's belly. Several of the other warriors were also able to join him and they had it
firmly trapped and dying under their control. By the luck of the draw, Faramir's beast
was larger, but he and the other spearmen managed to do the same, almost as quickly. It
was an unbelievable bit of luck that they had caught them so quickly. Both creatures were
staggering when an ominous crack announced the demise of Faramir's spear and he fell into
hitting range of the troll. The morning star landed against his leg with numbing force,
and another sharp crack was concealed by the cry of rage as the monster fell forward on
the youngest son of the Steward.

It was several minutes before Boromir was able to be sure of the death of his troll and
the remaining orcs. Only then did he go to his brother's side. His heart stopped as he
saw a pale face, the only exposed part from under the dead beast.

"Get this thing off me," Faramir groaned, lightening his brother's heart.

In moments, they had it levered away and Faramir was able to breathe again. But Boromir
frowned at the unnatural angle of his brother's leg. The bit of bone sticking out of the
shin only confirmed that it was broken.


Denethor was sitting in his study, staring at the hidden door that led to the secret room
beneath the eaves of the tower, when the knock sounded. Brought suddenly from his bitter
reverie, he called harshly for whomever it was to enter. The herald held forth a message
from his orc-hunting sons, which he took gratefully.

Faramir had written the letter and Boromir had signed it, as usual. It gave a cursory
story of what had happened, letting him know that full reports would arrive with his
youngest son. A broken leg would put Faramir out of commission as a fighter for several
months. Leaving him here at the tower, vulnerable. Burying his head in his hands,
Denethor cursed all wizards and their machinations. He had begun to build a good
relationship with his sons prior to looking at the cursed orb. The last year had been a
nightmare, constantly resisting its call. Now he would be, for all practical purposes,
alone with his youngest son, the orb, and the dark desires that had begun re-emerging.

It was an untenable situation.


Climbing the many stairs to the rooms he shared with his brother on crutches had been an
ordeal he was not in a hurry to repeat. His father had sent word that he was to go
immediately to his own rooms rather than report to his father's study. What that
foreboded, Faramir wasn't sure and he hoped that it didn't mean a return to the twisted
relationship of his youth. This was the first time he would be at residence in the tower
without his brother in over ten years. The first time since his father had beaten him so
badly.

Boromir had been as aware of the undercurrents as he was. "Do not let him hurt you," his
brother had whispered in his ear as he gave him a parting hug. "I will return as soon as
I can."

Garus was carefully examining Faramir's leg, making sure that it was set properly when
his father entered the room. The haggard look on Denethor's face startled him almost as
much as the concern in his eyes. "How is the leg?" the Steward asked.

"It is healing as it should," the servant answered, knowing the question had been
directed at him.

Looking around the room at the small army of servants who were unpacking and otherwise
attending his son, Denethor sat in the chair brought for him at the bedside. "I have
finished your reports," he began.

Faramir raised his hand to signal the servants to leave, but his father stopped him.
"There is no need yet," he said. "I want you to have a full day's rest before we worry
about any serious work." With that comment, he began a long conversation with his son
about the orc hunt and the state of the realm. As the younger man's sleepiness became
apparent, Denethor excused himself to let him sleep.

Once he was gone, Saphron who had accepted Garus as her husband and retired from general
tattoo work to become one of the brothers' most trusted servants, came forward from the
side of the room. "He is dangerous to you, my lord," she said. "He is holding back his
demons, but if they escape, you will be the one to suffer."

"That we all know," Faramir answered, as she climbed into the bed. "It is how to help him
keep them in check that is the mystery. I wish Mithrandir were here to advise me, but I
have to make do with what little I know." The three of them were alone in the room now as
Garus sat on the other side of Faramir.

"There is a ritual I learned in Dol Amroth," Saphron told him. "It won't banish the
demons, but it will help to control them. It is a painful and bloody rite, my lord."

"Tell me," he ordered, not much worrying about pain or blood, both of which he was very
familiar with.

The tale wasn't long in telling and sounded much less gruesome than many of his previous
experiences. They agreed to perform it shortly after sunset that night. After all, he
wouldn't be able to sleep at all if the dreams came and his brother wasn't there to
comfort him.


Lying on a protective cover, Faramir watched Saphron and Garus make the final
preparations for the ritual. They approached, each holding a razor sharp knife and
sitting one on each side of him. Starting just above his wrists they began carving
symbols into his flesh, pausing to kiss each one as they finished, an added bit that
Garus had insisted on.

He gasped at each touch, feeling a surge of energy from both blades and lips. The sharp
bite of pain registered more as pleasure to him. It was more and more difficult to remain
still beneath their hands as his cock hardened and he became increasingly aroused. This
he had not expected. Even though the sword dances brought forth arousal as hard bites
could bring either arousal or completion, he had never associated pain with sex
consciously before.

Knowing when the ritual would reach completion, he forced himself to hold back. The
careful strokes of the knives reached his shoulders and continued down his chest, making
him arch his back in pleasure. It felt too good, and he could no longer keep quiet
beneath their hands. Saphron and Garus increased their pace, both feeling their lord
losing control. His harsh cries echoed in the room as they inscribed the last symbols low
on his belly and as Faramir climaxed, he felt a surge of energy rush through him and saw
a blinding flash of light beneath his eyelids.

His body relaxed completely and he was deep into a dreamless sleep before the two
servants had time to start cleaning him.


Pacing his room restlessly, Denethor wasn't sure if he should stay here for the night or
return to his study. He was almost painfully close to his son here, but the study held
greater temptations. There was a strange energy he wasn't familiar with coursing through
him, keeping him from even sitting. Then, suddenly, he felt a draining and half staggered
to his bed. It was as if he'd received a strong sleeping potion, and he found himself
sinking into a deep, dreamless sleep.

It was midmorning when he finally awoke. Denethor had never slept so late before in his
life. He felt refreshed and better than he had in over a year. That his son's return had
something to do with the lifting of the call of the palantir was obvious to him. But he
would never ask, never share words on this. As he ate breakfast in his office, he ordered
his secretary to take reports to Faramir from the last few weeks and inform him that he
would be up later to discuss them. There was no point in risking further injury to his
son's leg by making him go up and down the steep tower stairs. And Denethor felt
glorious, better than he had in a long time.


Boromir had to force himself to ride at a relaxed pace through the city. He was anxious
to see his brother after their three-week separation and silently cursed the many gates
he had to ride through to reach him. That the dark dreams had stopped was a blessing but
he knew there was something that Faramir was holding back in his letters and in his
dreams.

As he handed off his horse at the seventh gate, he stepped forward to the almost
unbelievable sight of his brother standing at the top of the tower's entrance steps,
leaning on their father's arm. It brought tears to his eyes seeing them so obviously at
peace with each other. Embracing them both in a giant hug, he nearly swept them off their
feet, shocking many of the courtiers present with this unusual display of affection in
public.


At first appearance, their sitting room had been turned into a library and a messy one at
that. Faramir had always had a penchant for reading and had not restrained his curiosity
in his confinement. Boromir shook his head in mock disgust as he carried his brother
(over Faramir's many protests) into their rooms.

"I see that you have developed many bad habits without me here to guide you," he told
him. "I hope you don't plan to live like this permanently. From the looks of things,
there will not be room for me soon."

"There will always be room for you," Faramir said, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. "I
have missed you so much."

Placing his brother on the bed, Boromir kissed his brow before he picked up the waiting
journal. He sat down next to him, leaning against the headboard, reading as the servants
quietly put his belongings away. There were many entries for the three weeks and the
majority of the servants were long gone before he finished, only Garus, Saphron and
Stefle remaining.

Setting the book down on a bedside table, he turned to Faramir. "Show me," he ordered.

The servants shuffled uneasily as the younger brother removed his long-sleeved tunic.
Boromir ran a finger over the symbols carved in his brother's flesh before bending
forward to kiss one. "I don't like it," he said. "But if it works, I don't see that there
is a choice; at least until we find a permanent solution. Have you discussed this with
father at all?"

"No," Faramir replied. "I think it might be a very bad idea. I don't know why, but I feel
strongly about this. He hasn't made any attempt to discuss this either, so I don't think
he wants to know."

"We will leave things as they are for now," Boromir said. "Hopefully, something will turn
up soon. Is there any chance that I could take your place in this?" he asked.

Faramir shrugged and looked to Saphron. "It wouldn't work as well, my lord," she
answered. "It would have to be done more often."

"If you start to weaken at all, I will take your place," Boromir said, nodding solemnly.
"But for now, I would have you welcome me home properly."

The servants left the room, leaving them to each other. Faramir pulled his brother closer
so that he could kiss him deeply, his body arching up for closer contact. Boromir
stripped his and his brother's clothes from their bodies without breaking the kiss.

Using some oil kept ready for this purpose, he slicked his cock before lifting Faramir's
uninjured leg and thrusting into his ass. They both groaned and almost climaxed at the
rough contact, it had been too long since they had been together. Slowly, Boromir began
to move within the tight passage. He ran his hand up and down Faramir's leg and kissed
his welcoming lips as they both climaxed.

"I have missed you so much," he said as he continued to kiss his face and neck. "If it
weren't for our dreams, I wouldn't be able to stand it."

"You are my world, brother," Faramir whispered. "I want you more each day." They both
began to harden again as they stroked each other. Boromir claimed his brother's lips as
he moved once more deeply inside him. Wrapping his arms around his brother, Faramir's
body arched in ecstasy. There was no holding back as they got as close as they possibly
could. Feeling his brother's teeth bite into his neck, Boromir came again as Faramir's
semen spread between them.

Moving to the side, he traced the symbols that had been cut into his brother's flesh,
kissing each one as he did. The nightmares had ceased for him as well and he knew he had
his brother's sacrifice to thank for that. "I wish I could protect you from all harm, my
beloved one," he whispered.

"I would keep you safe forever, my only love," Faramir whispered in return. "If only we
could lock our bedroom door and keep all the world at bay. I would make love to you for
eternity."

They lost themselves in each other's arms. There was nowhere else they wanted to be.


The dreams had started to return and Boromir had reluctantly agreed to allow his brother
to participate in another ritual. He insisted on being there and had everything explained
to him in detail beforehand, even though the account in Faramir's journal was very
explicit. Saphron insisted that he could only touch his brother's face and no more, even
this much was allowed only after much argument.

They began much as they had the first time, with only the addition of Boromir different.
The first touches of the blades signaled a much stronger energy and they could see that
both brothers were equally caught up in the ritual. The pleasure Faramir felt at the
swift smooth cuts was echoed in his brother's face. The vision of the knives dancing over
soft flesh filled Boromir's sight and danced in his brother's mind. They were connected
by the light touch of the older brother's hands on the younger's face in a way that
transcended mere physical contact.

The brother's breathing synchronized and they each became aroused as the rite continued.
Saphron gave one worried glance to Garus, but continued; there was nothing else they
could do. The rising cries of passion were almost frightening in their intensity as they
progressed. This was much stronger than the first time. There was no doubt that Boromir
was feeding his brother energy and what effect this would have on the ritual was unknown.

The final knife strokes were met with their cries of completion and a blast of energy
that rendered both men unconscious. Garus and Saphron moved Boromir up beside his brother
before cleaning them both, hoping that neither had been harmed by what they had done.


Denethor was frightened by the energy he felt coursing through him. He'd felt it once
before, but not this strongly, not this out of control. Despite the urge to pace, he made
himself recline on his bed, not wanting to be standing when the energy released. It
seemed obvious to him that his sons had something to do with what was happening. That it
quelled the call of the palantir was good, but he was worried about what they were doing
and the possible consequences of their actions.

As the seemingly endless wave passed through him, he felt all thought of pursuing answers
drown. There were some things he really didn't want to know.


The sound of children laughing and playing echoed in the hallway as he approached the
rooms he shared with his brother. In the middle of the sitting room, his brother rested
on a low chair surrounded by children of varying ages. He was reading from a large book,
making faces and funny voices for each character, the young ones at his feet laughing at
his antics.

Spying Boromir in the doorway he paused to welcome his brother. "Look who came to visit
me, brother," he said happily. "Come join us while we finish our story." Faramir cleared
a space next to him and signaled Boromir forward, so he went to sit on the floor at his
side, pausing to kiss his brow first. He wrapped one arm around his brother and took hold
of one corner of the book with the other hand, freeing Faramir to hold him.

The children soon relaxed at the brothers' show of affection and the wonderful story they
were listening to. Before long, they were sitting on Boromir as if they had known him
forever. He found it pleasant to be cuddled by children and his brother as the tale
unfolded in his brother's animated way.

They ate lunch on a blanket spread on the floor, the smallest children getting more on
them than in. The laughter and happiness were infectious and Boromir found himself having
more fun than he would have believed.

That night, as he lay in his brother's arms, he asked about the children. "There has
always been a nursery of sorts for the servants and the guards," Faramir answered. "I've
visited them as often as I could through the years. It helps give me strength to fight
against the shadow that darkens our lives. Did you enjoy yourself, brother?"

"Immensely," Boromir answered. "Father never allowed me to play with other children; he
said they were beneath me. I know Mother objected, but he insisted. You were the only one
I was ever allowed to play with, and father didn't approve of that either."

"But I was allowed to play with other children," Faramir said, making his brother laugh.

"He never knew of it," Boromir told him. "You were supposedly studying at that time, but
you were such a good student, he didn't realize where you really were."

"You could have joined me," Faramir said.

"I was not such a good student," Boromir chuckled. "And he would send for me or come to
see me unexpectedly. He would have found out. Besides, I didn't want to share my time
with you, I would have grown jealous seeing you with anyone else."

"It's a good thing you've outgrown your jealousy."

"But I haven't," Boromir said. "I can't bear watching you more than a few minutes. Only
when you are in my arms can I be truly happy."

Faramir kissed his brother deeply. "You don't have to share me, beloved brother," he
whispered.

"We both have to share, brother," Boromir said sadly. "There are the many heirs we have
to beget, the loyalties we must seal. Not to mention the wife I shall find for you some
day." He caressed his brother's sweet face. "I have long accepted our fate, it is part of
who we are. Only in this way can we satisfy duty and honor as well as our love. We will
struggle against the darkness and create our own light with our love."

"You are becoming quite poetic, brother," Faramir told him, pulling him closer in his
arms. "We will do our duty for our people, keep our honor for our father's house. And I
will love you beyond the end of time, you are my everything."

They kissed again, their hands touching all the places they knew so well. Their bodies
were pressed tightly together, their stiff cocks rubbing each other. Boromir's leg came
into painful contact with the casing that kept Faramir's broken leg straight, making them
jump.

"I will be very glad when you are healed enough to be rid of that," Boromir said through
clenched teeth.

"Shall I kiss it and make it better, brother?" Faramir said, thrusting his body upward
against his brother.

"Oh yes," Boromir said, as he rolled to the side just enough to grasp both their cocks in
his hand. He leaned in to claim his brother's mouth with a possessive kiss. "Your kisses
make everything better."


That his arrival had been watched for was apparent to the wizard, as a messenger set out
ahead of him to the White Tower. He wasn't sure whether to be complimented or alarmed.
Denethor had never hid his dislike of him and could be a rather devious and vicious
person. However, Faramir always welcomed his company and often sought his advice. It
would depend on which one of them waited for news of his arrival.

As he approached the third gate, he was surprised to see Boromir waiting with a spare
horse. "How nice of you to spare an old man such a long walk, Boromir," he said as he
mounted. "Is all well with your family?"

"To all appearances everything is just fine," Boromir answered. "There are things I
cannot speak of here, but I would speak with you privately after you have had a chance to
rest from your journey."

"If it is important, I can rest later," the wizard told him.

"I don't want to raise any suspicions, or anger my father," the young man answered. "This
is something I dare not discuss with him, but he would be offended that I sought your
advice."

"I can meet you in an hour in the library,"

"I would rather have you come to our rooms." At the wizard's confused look, he continued,
"Faramir and I have moved to the suite of rooms that our mother used. I can send a
servant to show you the way."

"I remember how to find them," Mithrandir told him. "I used to visit her every time I
came to Minas Tirith."

"In an hour then," Boromir said with a nod before riding away.


There was a darkness to the tower that lay heavy on his heart as he made his way up the
winding stairs. He worried at what Boromir had to tell him, and wondered if Faramir would
be present. As he neared the door, he could smell the magic, dark magic.

Faramir sat on a couch, his broken leg propped on a stool, Boromir close beside him. The
wizard pulled a chair close to the two brothers and sat down. "Do you have any idea how
dangerous what you have been doing is?" he asked sternly.

"We didn't have a choice," was the calm answer.

"Tell me," Mithrandir ordered.

Faramir told him of the terrible dreams that had been destroying their lives and the only
solution they'd been able to come up with. The wizard let him tell the whole story before
asking questions and then questioned both Saphron and Garus. Last, he had Faramir show
him the symbols. Despite the many scars the young man already had, the marks were easily
seen.

"These aren't evil symbols and the ritual isn't dark magic, but more of a binding," he
told them.
dreams. I'm afraid it will complicate matters." He sighed before continuing, "We will
have to undo the binding, which will be very painful for you."

"How will it be painful?" Boromir interrupted.

"The symbols need to be removed," Mithrandir answered. "Completely removed or he will
remain connected to the dark force and it is very possible it could use that connection
to harm him, maybe even both of you." He paused to let his words sink in. "I need to find
out the nature of the enemy first, is there anywhere I can be undisturbed for a while?"

"You can use one of our rooms, we will make sure you are left alone," Boromir told him.

"You should eat first," Faramir said. "Garus will get us all something to eat."


After nearly an hour alone, the wizard emerged with a worried frown on his face.

"I cannot trace the original source of the dark power, but it seems to be emanating from
the palantir your father is safeguarding for the king," he told them. "I'm sure he
wouldn't attempt anything so foolish as to try and use it himself. The things are
dangerous and unreliable in these times. I can reset the wards once we have removed the
binding." He sat in a large chair by the window, letting himself be refreshed by the
sunlight and fresh breeze. "I truly hate blood magic, it's always so messy and painful."

"I don't mind the pain," Faramir told him. "I'm quite used to it."

"So I could see," Mithrandir responded.


The unbinding was even more grisly then the binding ritual. Saphron and Garus had been
very careful to cut only deep enough to draw blood, but now the symbols had to be
removed. Starting with the last one, they began cutting the marks from his body. Boromir
knelt, his hands cradling his brother's head, his forehead resting against his brother's,
unable to watch. Faramir couldn't even pretend to ignore the pain, as he had to draw on
his brother's strength to resist it.

Mithrandir monitored their progress with a grimace of distaste. In all his years, he'd
never seen two such determined young men. They'd never complained about their own burdens
and could be relied upon to complete their task or die trying. It pained him to see them
suffer so, he wished he could take them to Aragorn now, but all things must wait for the
proper time. There was no doubt in his mind that Denethor would react very badly if he
even knew of Aragorn, let alone the wizard's connection to him. When the time came, it
would be bad enough that Denethor knew Aragorn as Thorongil, and hated him; that his sons
had already decided on their loyalty to the king would be another harsh blow. Looking at
the seal Boromir had tattooed on his shoulder, he wondered if the Steward knew about it.

The air in the room grew dark and they could tell that the unbinding was working.
Mithrandir gathered his strength, containing the dark force, driving it back to the
palantir. Boromir had moved one of his hands so that his brother could bite down on it to
contain his screams of agony, and was himself breathing in harsh, short gasps. The two
servants cut the last symbols free and the darkness fled swiftly from the room and was
gone.

In the silence of the room, the only sound was the harsh breathing of its five occupants.
They were all stunned and exhausted by the ritual. Moving slowly, the wizard carefully
checked to make sure that no taint of darkness remained on either brother or their
servants. When he was finished, he rested his hand on Boromir's shoulder over the seal
and was startled by the pulse of energy he felt. Saphron and Garus began applying salve
and bandages to Faramir as soon as his inspection was through.

Taking the bowl they had placed the bits of severed flesh in, Mithrandir dumped it in the
brazier he had waiting. The smell of burning skin filled the room along with his low
chanting; he was leaving nothing to chance.

"I hope you will be a little more careful with magic in the future," the wizard told
them. "It can be a very chancy thing."

"I hope to never have to deal with magic again," Boromir answered, cradling his brother
in his arms as the servants finished dressing his wounds.

"As do I," Faramir said, "but we will do whatever is necessary to keep the realm safe."
He turned in his brother's arms so that Mithrandir could see the matching seal on his
right shoulder.


Denethor lay on his bed sweating. He had just gone through one of the most hideous
ordeals of his life, but he knew that the damage he had done when he had looked at the
palantir was undone. He also knew that the wizard was probably to be thanked for that,
but that he never would bring himself to do it.

He would never trust any friend of Thorongil, nor show them any gratitude. There was too
much history for him to change now.



Part 8: WILD HEARTS

They waited at the top of the hill, watching the riders herd the horses in a graceful arc
to the waiting pens. The banner the standard bearer displayed told them that the leader
of the Rohan forces was the Third Marshall of the Riddermark, Eomer son of Eomund, nephew
to Theoden King. It was easy to pick him out as he rode at the head of his troops with
all the flair and daring of one born to the saddle. His long blond hair flowed behind him
as he raced the wind to where the brothers waited.

"He is magnificent," Faramir commented.

"Yes, he is," Boromir answered.

"Would you like me to bring him to our bed, brother?" the younger man asked.

"If you can do it without causing a war," Boromir laughed. "I think father would be very
angry if we alienated our best ally."

"I don't think that will be a problem," Faramir answered. "I've heard he spreads his
charms every bit as much as we do."

"Go carefully anyway, brother," Boromir said. "You know how misleading rumor can be."

By this time, the young prince was near enough so they could make out his features, and
he was as beautiful in face as he was a horseman. He rode his mare (for Rohirrim knew
which mounts were most faithful and fierce) between the brothers' horses until he was
almost face to face with them.

"Well met, Prince Eomer," Boromir greeted him. "My brother and I have long awaited the
chance to meet you."

"And I you, my lords," he replied with an intense smile. "Your reputation precedes you,
and I would love to hear first-hand of the slaying of trolls and giant boars, not to
mention countless orcs and goblins. I'm sure there is much I can learn from two such
celebrated heroes."

"As we are sure we can learn much from you, my prince," Faramir added. "It is not often
that one so young is allowed to exercise his title, especially among warriors of such
renown."

Eomer blushed at his words, but otherwise accepted them gracefully. "My uncle, the king,
gave me three weeks to conclude our business. We made excellent time getting here; I
should have at least a week and a half before I have to return. I thought we might
integrate our camps for that time."

Boromir smiled at the forwardness of the seventeen-year-old before him. "We would be
pleased if you would share our tent, my prince," he said. Although Faramir had offered to
seduce the third Marshall, he couldn't resist the brash young man.

"That would be acceptable to me," came the ready reply, letting them know that rumor had
struck this nail on the head.


As the hour grew late, Draymor left the pavilion occupied by the two brothers, and now
the young prince of Rohan, lacing the flap behind and indicating to the joint guard that
they shouldn't be disturbed. The Gondorians had provided ale from the south, but Eomer
had brought mead from the west and its sweetness had seduced them from their usual drink.
They sat on the unusually large camp bed the brothers had brought with them, Eomer in the
middle.

"I heard that your tongue is at least a foot long," Faramir said into the younger man's
ear.

Without hesitation he swiped his long (though not nearly a whole foot) tongue along
Boromir's neck, causing him to groan with pleasure and making sure that Faramir could see
its length.

"I heard that you two have the biggest cocks in the whole world," came Eomer's challenge.
They opened their pants displaying their half erect penises, which impressed the prince
mightily, almost making him wish he hadn't chosen to sleep with the Steward's sons.

"They aren't so terrifying as they look," Boromir confided, definitely under the
influence of the mead. "Watch this." He leaned across Eomer and swallowed his brother's
cock whole, while his skillful hand went to work on the Prince's pants. His eyes widening
in disbelief, the prince couldn't help running his hand through the oldest brother's hair
as he watched him.

Faramir coaxed Eomer into a deep kiss, not wanting the younger man to shy away from their
actions. The intensity of the prince could be felt in his hungry kiss. They knew that he
was orphaned and had been raised by his uncle; they understood the needs of those who
were condemned to serve positions of power. Crying out his need, Eomer let them know that
he needed what they knew. Boromir released his brother's cock and claimed the prince's in
an ungentle display of lust. It was perfect, the younger brother nipping and kissing his
way past all of the prince's safeguards, the older guiding his manhood to unparalled
pleasure. There had never been any who had swallowed him in such a complete manner, none
who had kissed him in such a complete way. All he could do was lie there beneath their
ministrations and hope that they wouldn't stop before he was truly complete. Then the
world exploded on him.

They slowly stripped each other, marveling at the differences and the sameness of their
bodies. The brothers were heavily scarred, Faramir almost unbelievably so. Eomer's skin
was almost clean of disfigurement; he'd only just begun his career as a warrior. The
younger of the brothers was leaner then the other two men, who were heavily muscled, and
the prince was the same height as they were and would probably grow a bit taller. Eomer
marveled at their tattoos and the neat patterns of the sword dances.

"More," Eomer whispered as they brought him fully within their bed and their embrace.

"Oh yes, more," Faramir echoed.

Boromir used the oil they had in plenty and prepared the oh so tight ass of the young
prince. "I have plenty more for you, my lovely princeling," he said as he slid his
oversized organ into the tight hole waiting for him. His expertise was such that there
was no pain, just the feeling of hot fullness.

Eomer had lost all control and just wanted to find a new release in this new pleasure.
"Faster, harder," he chanted.

Faramir renewed his assault on the prince's mouth, while his hands explored his body.
Boromir kissed and nipped Eomer's face and shoulder, occasionally kissing his brother as
well. His large hand reached around both the younger men's cocks, causing them to slide
together erotically. Eomer's hands joined Boromir's to more perfectly encase the pulsing
organs. Setting the pace, Boromir moved slow and hard, keeping them at the edge of
completion for a very long time.

Feeling himself slipping over the edge as Boromir increased his speed and varied the
pressure of his strong hand, Eomer cried out into Faramir's mouth. The white heat of his
orgasm was almost too much for him as he was buffeted by the climaxes of the two
brothers. As they lay entangled in each other's arms, on the verge of sleep, the prince
was very glad his uncle had sent him on this errand.


Although he was an excellent swordsman, Eomer was learning a lot from the brothers. They
let him join them for their morning exercises and patiently showed him many moves. Later,
Faramir sat reading while Boromir drilled with the young prince. He was very intense, and
would occasionally lose patience with the older man's ability to dominate him, letting
his anger show. Then Boromir would disarm him or pin him against his larger body and
chastise him for carelessness.

Finally, Faramir put his book aside and rescued Eomer from his brother's not so gentle
attentions. Some of the men had been watching the prince's lessons, but when the younger
brother joined in, a crowd began to gather. At the first lightening exchange between the
brothers, Eomer wisely retired from the field.

Though he'd been steadily sparring for some time, Boromir fought as if he was fresh.
Sparks flew from the contact between the blades and it was obvious that they weren't
holding back in any way. The older brother was stronger, but the younger was faster and
they knew each other's moves. In minutes, they were both breathing heavily and sweating.
As their duel continued, they began cutting each other's clothes. Buttons and bits of
cloth went flying, bright splashes of red appeared as they pushed harder, cutting just
enough to draw blood. Their blades, moving nearly too fast to be seen, rang in the quiet
as all who watched waited with baited breath to see which brother would win this
encounter. Faramir laughed as he nearly severed the belt holding Boromir's pants.

A dangerous glint appeared in the older brother's eye and he advanced on his opponent,
intent on revenge. Faramir was still laughing, but it didn't impair his movements. With a
quick flip of his wrist, he sent his brother's sword flying and, following up, he tripped
him to the ground.

"You are getting careless and fat in your old age, brother," he said poking Boromir's
belly with his sword.

Boromir kicked Faramir's hand, sending his weapon over his head, and then they were
rolling around in the dirt. The Rohirrim were concerned until they saw the Gondorians
laughing at the brothers' antics. Eventually Boromir managed to pin his brother beneath
him, tickling his ribs until he yielded. Immediately, Faramir was released and pulled to
his feet.

Carefully examining the gathered fighters, Boromir signaled two of them to come forward.
Draymor handed Faramir his sword and the younger man pulled out his long knife with his
other hand. Moving to Eomer's side, Boromir signaled for the three fighters to begin.

It was soon obvious that the two Gondorian warriors were used to fighting together, but
they were hard pressed to hold their own against the Steward's youngest son. Moving with
grace and precision Faramir steadily wore down his opponents, all sign of playfulness
gone. Boromir pointed out different moves and techniques to Eomer as they watched, ever
the conscientious teacher.

"Why does he have to pay the forfeit when he was the one who disarmed you?" Eomer asked.

"He didn't move in for the kill or make me yield," the older man answered. "An unarmed
enemy can still be dangerous; these are the rules we fight by. He took a chance and
lost."

"So you do this frequently?"

"We have practiced our swordplay together nearly every day since he learned how to
walk," Boromir told him. "I would have my brother be the best fighter in all the world
and he does it to please me."

They watched the rest of the match with their silence only broken by Boromir's continued
instruction. Eomer was amazed and inspired by the martial abilities of the two brothers.
The riders of Rohan were ferocious and able fighters, but their first love was always
their horses. He'd never before met anyone who dedicated so much of their life to
warfare. Of course, Gondor had been steadily at war with Mordor for many years and their
survival depended on the prowess of their warriors.

Faramir eventually overcame his two opponents, but it wasn't easy. Still, he managed to
end the bout with a flourish, disarming both of them at once and forcing them to yield.
The smell of food was in the air and the gathered men began drifting over to where the
food tents had been set up. On this relaxed of a march, there were many camp followers
and Faramir had organized them into providing a communal kitchen for all the fighters, as
well as taking care of many of the menial tasks common to soldiers in the field.

When Eomer and the two brothers reached their pavilion, Faramir began serving them the
food that had been delivered for them to eat. "Why do you not have servants to tend
you?" Eomer asked, remembering that he had served their meal the night before as well.

"It is my duty and my pleasure to serve my brother," Faramir answered. "At home, there is
no time and we are overrun by servants, but in the field we generally only have to deal
with military campaigning, so we have more time."

"Your cousin will be king after Theoden, do you not serve him?" Boromir asked.

"It has never come up, there are too many servants and not enough time at Edoras. There
are always too many meetings. Theoden King has said that Theodred can ride out with me
when he reaches twelve, if he proves capable," was the answer. "I'm quite sure he will,
as he is already an excellent horseman and good with a sword and bow, even though he is
only seven."

"That gives you plenty of time to think about how you wish to proceed with him," Faramir
said. "It is not easy to be second in line to the seat of power."

"I've never thought of it that way," Eomer said. "I don't want to be king."

The brothers laughed at his words. "I wouldn't want to be either," Boromir said. "Just
don't let my father know."

"I noticed that you have women warriors among your forces," Faramir said, changing the
subject. "How do they compare to the men?"

"They are as good, though they tend to fight a bit differently," Eomer answered. "It is a
tradition among my people that any woman may be a shield-maiden, as long as she is not
pregnant past four months. It is common for us to have more than one husband and wife in
a family to facilitate this. In our nomad days, we needed the greatest amount of warriors
available at all times, and several parents help keep the children's lives stable when
there are deaths, as well as providing an established home for our fighters. We tend to
keep our marriage customs to ourselves, though there have been those in the past who have
taken great exception to them."

"I think I wouldn't mind your customs at all, my friend," Boromir said, looking
meaningfully at his brother.

"Nor would I," Faramir spoke with a smile.

"It is common for brothers to share wives, and sisters to share husbands among our
people," Eomer laughed.


There was no comparison in horsemanship. Although there were several cities and many
villages in Rohan, much of the population was still at least partly nomadic. Eomer had
lived on horseback with his parents most of his early life, following the great herds. He
could ride with or without saddle or bridle and could do much that the brothers had never
even imagined, let alone seen being done while mounted on a horse.

"My parents told me that I was conceived on horseback," Eomer told the brothers as they
rode in the light of the full moon. The brothers had a simple saddle that was little more
than a pad with stirrups, while Eomer rode bareback. Riding with each of them was one of
the shield-maidens. "It is considered quite fortuitous to be conceived this way. The only
really hard part is not falling off, at least until you've had some practice," he said.

They were all naked, riding amongst the herd of grazing horses. There were other riders,
obviously intent on the same pursuits, scattered about. Those guarding the herd were all
facing away from them, giving them a sense of protected privacy.

The earlier rituals and celebration of this cycle of the moon were new to the Gondorians.
Denethor tended to frown on 'frivolous' activities and his attitude colored those of his
people. Though the smaller communities generally held to the old ways, the cities had
lost much of their roots. Though there were still many fertility rites practiced in
Gondor, they tended to be kept private.

The brothers had to do little more than keep their balance and provide a stable support
for their more experienced partners. It was exhilarating and fun with much joyful
laughter. There were several exchanges of partners, some from one person to another, some
leaving to relieve the guards so that they could have their turn. It was not just for
procreation, as some of the couples were both male or both female; there were even a few
adventurous types who played with three to a horse.

As the evening came to a close, Eomer mounted behind Boromir and urged Faramir to mount
in front of his brother, facing him. The young Prince helped steady the older brother as
he lifted Faramir enough to impale him on his hard cock. Then Eomer carefully slid his
own cock into Boromir's ass. Clicking softly to the horse to increase its pace, Eomer let
its movements control theirs.

For the first time, the prince was in complete control of what they were doing. He kept
the horse altering its pace, keeping all three of them on the edge. It wasn't the most
comfortable way to have each other, but it was exciting and soon the brothers were urging
Eomer to bring their release. If the horseman hadn't been strong enough to hold them,
they would have fallen from the gelding's wide back.

"Too bad our father wouldn't let us marry you instead of your sister," Faramir said, only
half kidding.

"Wait until you meet her," was Eomer's proud answer. "She wasn't only conceived on
horseback, but born there too. When she reaches womanhood, she will be quite a prize."

"I will take your word for it," Boromir told him. "You haven't disappointed us yet."


As their time together drew to a close, they discussed many plans and strategies for
dealing with the increasing orc and goblin problems along their mutual borders. They knew
that it might be years before they would meet face to face again, if they survived, so
they took advantage of every moment they had together. Eomer and his men had learned many
new sword techniques, while the men of Gondor developed their horsemanship to a level
hitherto unknown.

"Your men are amongst the most well trained I have ever seen," Eomer told them, as they
lay resting after a wild round of sex.

"They are our permanent guard," Boromir said. "Twenty for each of us, wherever we go,
they go with us. We've hand picked and trained each one of them."

"We know their families, their histories, everything about them," Faramir added. "And we
bind them to us with everything we can think of. I am confident of their absolute
loyalty."

"I have noticed the tattoo they each wear on their shoulder, but I can't tell which men
belong to who," Eomer said.

"We stay together as much as possible," Boromir told him. "But when we part, it depends
where each is going, for the men belong to us both. We take who is best for our goal, or
if there is no difference, we let them choose."

"I have learned much from you," the prince said. "I will speak with my uncle and my
cousin, even my sister when I return home, but I don't think I will share all of your
methods with them," he added with a grin. "In these dark times, it is good to be assured
of the loyalty of one's warriors, though treason is rare in our history."

"I wish it were so in ours," Faramir said with feeling. "There are many instances of
Numenorean failings. Just what I've seen in dreams is enough to curdle the blood."

"You suffer from nightmares?" Eomer asked.

"Visions," Boromir answered. "Sometimes we both have them, but Faramir has seen the past
as well as the future in his dreams. It is a trait long known in the men of our line."

"It sounds like it can be just as much a curse as a blessing," the prince commented.

"You are right about that," Faramir said. "I've had warnings that have saved our lives
and endless nightmares that served no perceivable purpose. We've learned to take the good
with the bad."

"Well, my dealings with the two of you have been more than good," Eomer said as he rolled
against Faramir, rubbing his body against him. "I would rate them, at the least, as
excellent."

"We would have to say the same of you, my fair prince," Boromir said as he pushed up
against Faramir's other side. "If only all our allies were as sure and strong as you."

Relaxing beneath their ministrations, Faramir let the other two have their way with him.
Their hot mouths and eager hands explored and aroused him everywhere, and occasionally
each other. Eomer began kissing and nipping his way down the younger brother's body as
Boromir turned him on his side and rubbed his cock against Faramir's ass. Their movements
couldn't have been choreographed better. As Boromir's penis slid into Faramir's ass,
Eomer swallowed Faramir's cock; using the technique he'd learned from the brothers.
Faramir pulled Eomer's hips toward his mouth and sucked the hard penis completely within.
He pushed his wet fingers slowly into the prince's ass, as the young man did the same for
Boromir.

All three were filled and encased in hot wetness, thrusting and pulling back in unison
with each other. Boromir kissed and nipped his brother's neck and shoulder, while his
fingers joined in spreading Eomer's ass impossibly wide. Without breaking the rhythm of
his hips, Boromir leaned across Faramir and ran his tongue across Eomer's cock as it slid
in and out of his brother's mouth.

The unexpected stimuli caused Eomer to moan around Faramir's cock. The vibration caused
Faramir's ass to constrict around Boromir's thrusting penis. Boromir divided his
attentions between his brother and the prince, all the while keeping his cock steadily
pumping in and out of his brother's ass. They moved against each other with the
familiarity developed over the past few days, glorying in the rough and sensuous contact.
Both younger men followed Boromir's lead, until they could hold back no more, and as had
happened since their first such encounter, all three climaxed at once.


This was the last day that the Rohirrim and Gondorian forces could tarry in each other's
company. The following morning would see all of the bright pavilions and tents struck,
both companies returning to their duties. The brothers had promised to perform one of the
Numenorean sword dances for the prince. Draymor showed the prince how to prepare them for
the military display, as he wanted to be there for the final, more private part of the
dance.

The fourth dance was the most artistic; it contained sixty-three moves for each dancer,
though only twenty of them drew blood. They wore little more than a loincloth, even their
feet bare, one long curved knife each. Starting back to back, their heads leaning back on
each other's shoulders, they synchronized their breathing before they began the swift and
graceful movements.

Eomer had never seen anything like it. He watched them, completely entranced by their
dance, wishing he could join in. Their closeness of the past week drew him, making him
feel the stretch of muscles, the burn of sharp steel on flesh. Never had he felt his
blood surge so strongly, his body respond so thoroughly with only visual stimuli. The
mixed group of Gondorian and Rohirrim warriors disappeared from his consciousness, only
the two dancers registering to his lust befogged mind.

The flash of steel and spray of blood filled his senses, as the brothers circled him in
their dance. He held perfectly still, instinctively knowing that they had changed their
intended movements to include him. The blades of their knives whispered close past his
body in unerring grace. Here and there, bits of blood and sweat splashed him, their
breath filled his lungs as they brushed close, almost touching him.

The dance came to a sudden end. The brothers stood tightly against him, their eyes locked
with his. Eomer didn't even realize he'd stopped breathing until he drew a ragged breath.
Only the rough cheer from the gathered warriors saved him from completely forgetting
where he was.

The Steward's sons bowed to those watching, then headed for their tent, Faramir taking
the prince's hand and bringing him with them. Once inside, they drew Eomer between them
and began stripping his clothes away, losing their own with little effort.

Running a finger through the blood and sweat on his brother's chest, Faramir brought it
to Eomer's lips, letting him taste it. "My brother's blood is sweet and addictive," he
whispered in his ear, and then ran his tongue down the Prince's neck.

"Not as sweet as my brother's," Boromir said, copying his brother's movements. "Would you
join us in this my prince? Would you bind yourself with two warriors?"

"Yes," Eomer growled, each arm encircling a well-muscled waist.

The cold bite of steel moved across his chest, making him gasp. Faramir ran his fingers
across the cut as Boromir dropped the knife. "Let us mix your blood with ours," the
younger brother said as he gathered the red offering from each chest. Though the cuts
from the brothers' dance barely bled, there were twenty each, along with the fresh blood
from Eomer. The smell of it was heavy in the air.

"We are bound by our blood, by our bodies and our hearts," Faramir said, his hand
combining the blood from his and his brother's wounds. "We have invited you to join with
us and you have agreed." His hand rested over Eomer's heart letting his slow, flowing
blood mix with theirs.

"I give you my sword and the battle lore of Numenor, as much as I can and as often as I
can," Boromir said, claiming Eomer's lips.

"I give you my visions, both past and future, and the learning of the ancients," Faramir
told him, pressing his own hot lips to the prince's.

"I give you my wild heart and the freedom of the Riddermark, that you will never be
entrapped in the hard cold stone of your cities, or the demands of duty," Eomer told
them, winding his hands in their hair and kissing them both at once.

Faramir used their blood and sweat to lubricate Eomer's cock, then turned and offered
himself to the prince. Licking his bloody back, he slowly filled Faramir's tight heat.
Pausing when he was fully within, he felt Boromir's engorged cock at his own entrance.
Eomer wrapped his hands around Faramir's penis, and they began a smooth rhythm. Their
joining was better than it had ever been; they felt connected in spirit as well as body.

They bathed afterward, washing the blood, sweat and semen from each other in the metal
tub that had been brought with the Gondorians. Although barely one of them could fit in
it at a time, they enjoyed a thorough cleaning at each other's hands. They dressed each
other afterward, exchanging small items with each other, before rejoining the rest of the
encampment for a parting feast.


Just what turned the cheerful gathering into a wild party, none of the three were ever
able to agree on later. Boromir thought that the toast from Draymor on his quickly
approaching thirtieth birthday and the highly improper suggestions as to what to gift the
Steward's heir had been the start. Faramir was convinced that the very appealing offer of
the Rohirrim shield maiden to his brother as she lay naked on the main table, having
pushed the food aside, was more likely the cause. While Eomer blushingly admitted that
his willingness to demonstrate the proper method of fellatio, especially on very large
cocks like Faramir's, could have led to the complete loss of decorum among the gathering.

No matter what the cause, the morning found many in the camp short on sleep. The
Steward's sons and the prince hadn't slept at all, and were far from alone in this. There
were many sad partings, even the Gondorian camp followers involved in long goodbyes. As a
joining of like spirits, the ten-day encampment had been a success, but the Rohirrim were
duly warned that not all their brothers and sisters to the east were so amenable to their
lifestyle. It was well known that Boromir and Faramir had to behave with great
circumspection in the cities of Gondor, while their relationship would have been
considered commonplace in Rohan. After all, there was often loss of life, not to mention
frequent sterility by accident in the Riddermark; life with horses wasn't always kind.

"I will see you in my dreams," Faramir told Eomer. "Until I hold you in my arms again."
They kissed sweetly, even as the gathered forces of both watched.

"I will send our old swordmaster to work with you and train your cousin and sister,"
Boromir said, his kiss hard and possessive. He remembered how he had watched Eomer and
Faramir make love to each other and had not felt even a twinge of jealousy for the first
time, only burning desire for them both. "I would be grieved to lose you or any you hold
dear."

"I am proud that you have both chosen the mounts I suggested for you," the young prince
told them, his voice husky with emotion. "I will support your suit of my sister with my
uncle, and speak in your favor to her ear. I am proud to be bonded with you, even in such
an informal manner. I hope that when you face the shadow, thoughts of me can bring you
comfort, for I will rejoice in thoughts of you." He clasped them both, his mount steady
between theirs. "Until we meet again my brothers." Then he backed his horse away without
word or movement of his hand.

Stopping a few feet in front of them, he looked at them with all the intensity they'd
become accustomed to, his deep emotions obvious on his face. Then, with a savage yell he
whirled his mount, calling his eored to him and sped away. Sitting at the crest of the
hill, the two brothers, the products of many years of Numenorean training and heredity,
watched the Rohirrim ride into the west, taking their wild hearts with them.

When the riders disappeared from sight, they turned eastward with a sigh of resignation.
There, in the distance, Barad-dur spewed smoke into the sky and they faced the incessant
war. But, somehow, the war cry of their blood brother kept them from despair as they rode
home to duty and endless warfare and death. A small part of their hearts rode west under
bright sun in freedom.



Part 9: LOYALTY

They walked through the marketplace, Faramir at times almost dragging his brother to
examine another local curiosity. He'd developed a keen interest in what could be found in
the villages of Gondor. Laughing at his brother's antics, Boromir took pleasure in just
being with him. Faramir would later write a concise and elaborate report to their father
justifying their day of leisure, his keen eye ever noticing the little things that showed
the mood of the people. His journal entry for Boromir would be completely different with
many references to how good he looked in a certain light or color, what impulsive act he
longed to do in their wanderings. There were numbers accompanied by a code, which told
how many times he managed to touch him in public. Often there would be just a quick
cupping of a hand on ass or cock, concealed by a drape of fabric or other cover.
Sometimes he would use their closeness in a crowd to rub suggestively against him and
occasionally they would be observed. A few of the observers had later ended up sharing
the brothers' bed for the night, while some had turned away scandalized.

They were drawn to a cleared area where two women danced to the music of drum and lute.
Their long dark hair hung to their knees as they moved sinuously to the music. Boromir
recognized the women's features as those from the north, maybe Esgaroth or the region of
Eriador. Pressing tightly against his brother, Boromir rested his chin on his shoulder as
he watched. Then he clearly saw their faces. Matching each other feature for feature he
realized that they were identical.

"What do you think, brother?" he asked Faramir, who hadn't moved.

"Esgaroth, and twins," was the husky reply. "They are unmarried, and the musicians are
probably brothers or uncles. I like them, brother."

"As do I, do you think they might want to play with us a while?" Boromir asked.

Noting the condition of their clothes and equipment, Faramir thought of what he knew
about such people. The wrong wording of an offer could bring mortal insult to some
tribes, but he thought he could come to an agreement with them. "I think they just might,
brother," he finally answered, leaning back into the warm body behind him. He placed his
hand on his belt buckle and caught the eye of each dancer briefly. They smiled at him,
obviously welcoming, so he turned his attention to the three men. The lute player was the
obvious leader, the two drummers caught up in their music. He acknowledged Faramir's
interest with a slight nod, not missing a note.

It was pleasant to watch the women dance and listen to the men play; the brother's were
in no hurry. They'd already conducted a preliminary investigation into the status of the
town, and were waiting for the arrival of their men, who were due soon, before
approaching the mayor. After all, they weren't dressed in their usual attire being
incognito for the moment. There had been too many mysterious occurrences in the area and
they were going to find out what was causing them.

As the music and dancing drew to a close the brothers approached the small group, only to
be interrupted by a small contingent of the local militia. There were ten of them and
they began pushing the dancers and taking the basket holding the money they'd received
from the crowd. "You were told to move on," their leader said as he gave one of the women
another shove. "We don't want your kind around here causing trouble."

"We have to regain our losses somehow," the lute player said trying to place himself
between the women and their attackers.

"It seems to me that you are the ones causing trouble," Boromir said, his sword already
in his hand.

"This is no concern of yours," the man said looking with contempt on their rough
clothing. "We don't much care for your type either."

"I think these men need to learn some manners, brother," Faramir said, leaning casually
against the wall by the musicians tapping a boot toe with his own sword. "I don't think
this is proper Anorien hospitality."

"I have to agree, brother," Boromir answered. "Maybe it is just bad breeding."

Narrowing his eyes at the leader, Faramir nodded his head. "You could be right, he does
have a rather boorish appearance."

"Like the pig or the dolt?" the older brother asked.

The man was obviously getting angrier at each comment, but not yet incensed enough to
attack two unknown warriors.

"Definitely the dolt, my brother," Faramir said in a suddenly flat dangerous voice. "He
doesn't have the balls to be a pig."

Thoroughly enraged, but wary of the armed men, the man turned and grabbed one of the
dancers by the hair. "I'll show you," he screamed as he turned back toward Faramir.

Before he could say more a knife in each eye stopped his words forever. Boromir
recognized Faramir's knife and had caught a glimpse of the lute players throw. "We have
evened up the odds for you, brother," Faramir continued, as the two women dashed behind
their men. "Unless these men want to recant their previous leaders mistakes and behave
like civilized gentlemen."

The men were not warriors, just bullies recruited to terrorize the weak. They made to
surrender their weapons and the dancers money until they noticed the troop of cavalry
making its way down the street. Then a new leader stepped forth and spoke to the
brothers. "We have our orders," he said boldly. "The mayor will have our hides if we
don't obey. We're honest Gondorian citizens trying to uphold the law." His voice faded to
nothing as he noticed that the lead horse stopped next to Boromir and the rest were
circling the small group.

Dismounting, Draymor went to one knee before Boromir. "We have much to report, Captain
General," he said. "I have the rest of the men setting up camp on the edge of town."

"Good work, Captain," the older brother said as Faramir retrieved both knives from the
dead man, wiping them clean on the corpse. "I would like for the mayor and the village
elders to join us as soon as possible. There seems to be much to discuss with them. These
'honest Gondorian citizens' need to await our pleasure also." He added in a voice like
ice.

"As you will, my lord," Draymor said rising to his feet and saluting Boromir, before
giving terse orders to his men.

Boromir stepped to his brother's side as he returned the lute player's knife. "I must
apologize for the earlier rude interruption," he said as the man took back his weapon
with a look of disbelief. "I hope I can make it up to you. I am Boromir, Captain General
of the armies of Gondor, and this is my brother Faramir."

"I am Marco and these are my brothers, Merek and Mishka, and these lovely ladies are our
companions Felida and Feleda," The leader told him. "We are very happy that you came to
our rescue, my lords."

"It is our duty to make sure guests of Gondor are not molested, but from your earlier
remarks it seems we were too late to protect you."

"We were set upon by men in disguise on the Great Western Road, miles west of here. Our
wagon and almost all of our belongings were either stolen or destroyed. We only escaped
with our lives by hiding in the woods," Marco told them. "When we reached here the mayor
would hear nothing of our plight and ordered us to leave town immediately. We were but
trying to get enough money for supplies."

"I will have my men look into the matter, we have had many similar stories coming out of
this area of late. Do you have a place to stay for the night?" Boromir asked.

"We have nothing," Marco answered, then revised his answer as Faramir handed him the
basket holding the money. "Well, a bit more than nothing now."

"You can stay at any inn that you wish or we can provide you with a tent in our
encampment." Boromir offered. "I will need to question all of you about your mishap."

"I think we would prefer the tent, we are not too comfortable in this town," he replied.


Boromir read all the written reports while listening to the oral ones, a young scribe
writing quickly beside him. Faramir organized a search of the entire village, looking for
more evidence. The entire upper echelon of villagers were gathered together to wait
questioning, their families sequestered in a large tent and watched by grim faced guards.
They already knew enough to hang most of the elders, and it was beginning to look worse
by the hour.

Finally Faramir arrived carrying a stack of ledgers. Placing the books on the table, he
began going through piles of reports, quickly reading their contents. Thankfully most of
the villagers were innocent of the crimes of their elders, who had been working with an
outlaw gang that headquartered in the nearby hills. Before sunset another group of
Gondorian cavalry along with some Ithilien Rangers came down out of the hills with the
surviving members of the gang.

The families of the elders were returned to their homes, which had been stripped of all
wealth, only necessities left behind. The elders themselves were kept in the tent their
families had previously occupied and had to sleep on the ground with only a blanket for
comfort. Their judgment would wait for the arrival of the governor of the area, who was
also the cousin of the mayor.

They worked late into the night; deciphering the many reports to one cohesive missive
they could give their father. The ledgers were sent to a smaller tent to be examined by
several accountants they'd brought with them. Well past midnight Faramir sent the scribes
and secretaries to their rest, all of the reports neatly filed as he finished the paper
for the Steward. Boromir made a last round, making sure that all of the detainees were
secure and the town itself was under close observation.

Returning to their tent, he saw Faramir sigh and put his face in his hands as he set his
work aside. Going to his knees beside his brother where he sat on the campstool, Boromir
wrapped his arms around him.

"It is late, brother," he said into his ear as he gently kissed him. "You should get some
rest while you can."

"I do not think I could find rest this night, beloved brother," he answered, turning and
burying his face in Boromir's neck. "This is so horrible to me, these men have betrayed
their offices, betrayed Gondor and murdered their own people all for a few bits of silver
and gold. While good men die to keep them safe in their plush houses, they rape their
women and enslave their children, and it has been going on for several years. It brings
back too much of the bad dreams of the fall of Numenor, and so many betrayals of kin.
Lord Delomar of Erelas is the governor of this region. He was fostered to Minas Tirith
for a while, but he was removed home when I put a stop to his bullying. Maybe if I had
treated him different this would never have happened."

"You cannot take the weight of another's conscience on your shoulders, my beloved one."
Boromir told him, pressing more kisses to his face. "You already have enough of your own,
put all thought of blame from your mind. We would be as the dark lord himself, if we were
to place ourselves in such a position to control other men."

Boromir wrapped his hand in his brother's hair and kissed him deeply. They rubbed their
tongues together, and explored each other's mouths. Then the older brother opened Faramir
pants and pulled his hardening cock out.

"There is not time," Faramir gasped as the hot mouth of his brother engulfed him.

Ignoring his words, Boromir swallowed his brother's cock in a continuous gulping action
that had him reaching orgasm in minutes.

There is always time for you, brother," he said as he kissed the tip of his now flaccid
penis. "Especially when you lose control so easily." He added teasingly.

The sound of approaching horses and men's voices stopped Faramir's reply. Quickly
refastening his pants he indicated the finished final report to Boromir. "This still
needs your approval, brother," he told him.

Boromir had just seated himself and picked up the papers when the tent flap was opened
unannounced. Sweeping his cloak off in a tired gesture, Denethor, Steward of Gondor
entered. Stepping forward quickly, Faramir took the cloak and asked if his father cared
for any refreshment.

"Your Captain of the watch is having food brought, but something to drink might wash the
road dust from my throat," he answered. "Do you have a report ready for me?"

"I'm just reading it now," Boromir answered, reading as quickly as he could, but still
trying to be thorough.

Denethor seated himself in a chair and leaned back rubbing his brow, trying to ignore the
smell of fresh semen that permeated the room. "Do you have any recommendations ready for
me, Faramir?" he asked knowing that his youngest son almost always wrote the reports.

"No, father," he answered. "I haven't even thought that far. I'm having a hard time
trying to understand what could have brought these men to this."

The Steward gave him a searching look, and realizing that he was serious, sighed into the
wine he now held. "You are probably the only person in all of Middle Earth that doesn't
understand, my son. I'm afraid that our proceedings tomorrow will show you much that you
have no desire to see." He was disarmed and charmed by the innocence of the twenty-six-
year-old warrior before him. "Of all the evils of this world, I wish I could keep this
from you. Come." He said pulling him into his lap. "Let me offer what comfort I can."

Faramir held tightly to his father, his feelings beyond words. Boromir tried to ignore
the exchange and concentrate on the report, but a single tear escaped and made its way
down his cheek as Denethor cradled his brother in his arms. When the duty captain brought
the food, he was startled to see the Steward still reassuring his youngest son.


It had been a long day of testimony and the brothers were tired and in no mood to listen
to any more. Lord Delomar, governor of Erelas and the surrounding territories followed
Faramir to where Denethor was presiding over the hearings. "You have no jurisdiction
here. We have governed ourselves for generations; I don't understand why you think you
can suddenly descend on my people and do what you will."

"You are subject to the sovereign state of Gondor," Faramir told him. "The elders and
mayor of this village have grievously broken the laws of our kingdom, they and you, as
their leader, are responsible for the illegal activities in this area."

"How can we be subject of the sovereign state, if there is no sovereign of the state?"
Delomar asked with contempt. "I do not remember swearing fealty to the Steward. It is
time for the king to either step forward or the Steward to recognize that Gondor is a
kingdom no more."

"Are you sure you are prepared to stand by that declaration lord Delomar?" Faramir asked.

"You don't possibly think that you or your pederastic brother could change my mind?" The
brash lord said with a sneer.

"I do not know what promises the dark lord has made you, or if this is just some twisted
machination of your own weak mind, but you are about to find out about the sovereignty of
Gondor" Faramir said.

At his words they entered the town square where the Steward and his eldest son waited on
the raised dais. From the shocked looks of the onlookers it was obvious that much of
their conversation had been overheard.

"For hundreds of years the Stewards have held the kingdom of Gondor in trust for the
return of the king. You, Delomar of Erelas have broken the trust of the Steward in your
guardianship of this region," Denethor said, his voice echoing through the square; clear
to all who had gathered to hear the judgment of the Governor. "You not only turned a
blind eye to the crimes of your agents but accepted part of their misgotten bounty. For
this betrayal you will pay with your life, your properties, and your progeny. At sunset
of this day, you will be drawn and quartered, all that you own will be returned to the
kingdom to be disbursed as seen fit by the Steward and his sons, any child of your name,
whether legitimate or not shall be removed from its home and placed in alternate homes as
far away from Anorien as possible. Their names shall be changed and every effort will be
made to remove all remembrance of you and your ways from their minds. Your name shall be
stricken from the rolls of Gondor and all shall be made as if you never existed, for you
are anathema to all that honest men hold dear."

"My father will avenge my murder at you hands," the enraged Governor screamed.

"Your father is dead," the Steward told him. "He sent me a letter apologizing for raising
such a monster as you before ending his own life. Because of his sacrifice, I have
decided to spare the lives of your brothers and sisters, although what their status will
be depends on them."

Delomar paled and fell to his knees begging forgiveness, but he was ignored by all except
the guards who dragged him away.


It took three more days to finish all the hearings. The mayor and other village elders
that were involved were hung. The Surviving outlaws were impaled along the main road. New
officials were appointed, and a new Governor was sent to Erelas. All of the victims that
were still alive, including the villagers and the five from Esgaroth received
reparations.

Denethor would meet with Delomar's siblings at Minas Tirith and would meet with all the
close kin of those involved in the criminal activities of the village elders. Some would
be required to leave children or heirs in Denethor's custody as hostages; others would
pay heavy fines or commit themselves to tasks assigned by the Steward. Very few would
still hang, some would flee Gondor.

The two brothers had barely time to get a few hours sleep, let alone anything else. Still
they took advantage of every opportunity, such as a few stolen moments in a hidden alcove
guarded by a trusted aide. Bath time was the best time, they spent as much time fucking
as washing, and since it was so hot, they could take at least two a day. Denethor was a
stickler for cleanliness.

After the evening meal with their father, they returned to their tent and Denethor slept
in the house that had belonged to the now dead mayor. They sealed themselves into their
tent with a bit of wine and proceeded to strip each other wildly. They had eight hours
before they had to see their father off, and four days of repressed sexual tension to
work off.

Boromir had removed all of his brother's clothes and was swallowing his cock when a
couple of stifled giggles caught their attention. His eyes glazed with lust, Faramir saw
the twins on their bed, but his brother didn't stop. Instead he began working his fingers
into Faramir's tight ass, unwilling to change his goal.

Throwing his head back and burying his fingers in his brother's hair, Faramir moaned in
pleasure. Unlike their encounters of the last few days, Boromir was going to draw this
out as long as he could. As he felt Faramir's knees start to give, he backed him to the
bed and lowered him onto it with his ass hanging over the edge so that his fingers could
keep their steady pumping.

The twins sat to one side waiting, not sure what they should do. When Boromir released
his brother's cock from his mouth and grabbed his hips with both hands impaling him with
his own hard cock in one swift motion, they realized this rough joining was not for them.
They'd learned much about the brothers in the last few days, and their fierce love and
lust for each other had been obvious, at least to the sisters, from the first moment they
saw them in the crowd. They sat with their arms around each other, silently watching the
two men, with understanding.

Leaning forward and claiming his brother's lips, Boromir continued his rough pace. He
rested his elbows on the bed and wrapped his hands around Faramir's shoulders to keep him
from sliding away from the force of his thrusts. His hands restlessly roaming Boromir's
body, Faramir returned his kisses wholeheartedly. The feeling of his brother's cock so
hard within him, and his own rubbing between their tight pressed stomachs was something
he had missed terribly. Their closeness was a balm to their souls after the heart
breaking trials.

"Harder, beloved," Faramir urged, his fingernails digging into his brothers back. The bed
shook with the force of Boromir's thrusts and Faramir grabbed his own legs and pulled
them back so that he would be able to go deeper. It was long minutes before they finally
reached their climax, both of them crying out incoherently.

Felida and Feleda couldn't resist running soft fingers over the sweating skin of the two
brothers. In all of their travels they'd never met any so scarred and beautiful as they,
though the few elves they'd come across were more beautiful. Boromir rolled to his side
so that he could look at the sisters, resting his head on his brother's shoulder.

"We thought you were twins too, when we first saw you," Felida said.

They laughed at the comment. "Are you identical everywhere?" Faramir asked.

"Yes, everywhere," Feleda answered, kissing his nose.

"I bet I can tell you apart with one kiss each," Faramir told them.

"What about you?" Felida asked Boromir.

"I need more than just a kiss," the older brother said. "I'm not nearly so observant as
my brother. I'm also much more greedy."

There was much giggling as they tested Faramir's claim and true to his word he had no
difficulty telling them apart after one kiss each. It took a lot longer to verify
Boromir's claim, but no one complained, as it was very enjoyable. Still the twins were
amazed at the brothers' ability to tell them apart. They could even do it by a simple
touch with their eyes closed.

"We can easily recognize all of our lovers," Faramir told them. "We can also recognize
our own children, as well as the other's children. Of course we don't always share that
knowledge." He added conspiratorially.

"We can tell many things by our touch," Boromir added, running his hand across a drowsy
and sated Felida. "Such as you both are getting a little sore and have had enough of us
for tonight."

Feleda started to protest, but Faramir put a silencing finger against her lips. "It is
all right," he told her. "There are very few who can take us, especially both of us for a
full night, even among our long time lovers. Besides, I still want more of my brother."
So saying, he moved until he was between Boromir's legs and began sliding his rehardened
cock into him with only a little spit for lubrication.

Boromir's head was thrown back, eyes closed in ecstasy as he was fully impaled by his
brother's cock. There were few things he enjoyed as much, and nothing he enjoyed more.
Having gone without a long hard fuck from him for several days only increased his bliss.

Again it was as if there were just the two of them, though the twins watched from the end
of the bed, wrapped in each other's arms. Faramir pushed his brother's legs up until
Boromir grabbed them. Then, supporting his upper body with one hand, he began kissing and
biting his face and neck while his other hand stroked Boromir's cock.

Each time they made love to each other seemed better than the last time. Their movements
were sure from long familiarity, knowing what pleased, but were also heated by their
burning passion and desire for each other. Boromir released his legs to wrap them around
his brother and pull him closer. With both hands, he grabbed his head to pull him into a
deep kiss. Faramir released his grip on Boromir's cock to grab his brother's hair and
exert his own control over the kiss. Soon they were almost wrestling each other, the
steady drive of their hips a counterpoint to their conflict. Sometimes their bites drew
blood, though they tried to keep from marking each other too obviously.

Faramir increased the pace steadily until all they could do was hold onto each other.
Eyes locked together they held out as long as they could their jaws clenched in
determination. As their climax became imminent, Faramir reached down and bit his brother
one last time on his collarbone, closing his and riding the waves of pleasure. Boromir
threw his head back and cried out feeling the hot spill of semen in him and on his
stomach. He arched up into his brother, delighting in their mutual release, and grasping
his ass to pull him even deeper for those final few seconds.

They lay panting together, satisfied smiles on their faces, Faramir kissing and licking
the blood from his brother's chest.

"I could lay like this forever," Boromir said, running a hand through his brother's hair.

"No you couldn't," Faramir told him. "A few more minutes of this and I will be hard and
have to fuck you again." His words made Boromir's cock jump and start swelling again.

"Ride me, brother," Boromir ordered him, his eyes half-lidded with reawakened lust. "I
want to watch you pleasure yourself on me."

Growing hard again at his brother's words, Faramir pulled his cock from his ass and rose
to his knees. Taking Boromir's erection in hand, he guided it into his ass, urging him to
raise his legs so that he could lean back against them. It took a few minutes before he
felt they were arranged correctly. He placed a pillow beneath Boromir's head and neck,
and then rested all of his own weight on his hips, driving his brother's cock impossibly
deeper within him. He put his feet on either side of Boromir's hips, knees spread wide to
display his own engorged cock, and began pushing up with his legs. Watching his brother's
face he wrapped one hand around his weeping erection and cupped his balls with the other.

The angle of Faramir's body on his brother's legs allowed Boromir to see his own cock in
Faramir's ass as he slid upwards as well as watch him fondle himself. Unable to stop
himself, Boromir moaned loudly at the wanton sight, arching his back and grabbing his
brother's ankles.

"Shh, brother," Faramir told him with a lustful grin. "You'll wake the girls."

Biting his lips to stifle his moans and cries, he knew it was not the twins' sleep
Faramir was really concerned with.

"Breathe, beloved," he whispered. "Relax and let me do this."

It was almost impossible, but finally Boromir was able to even out his breathing and
loosen his grip on Faramir's ankles. When he felt his brother relax some Faramir
increased the speed of his movements, his strongly muscled legs flexing. He continued for
several more minutes then threw his own head back and began loosing thick ropes of semen
on Boromir's already sticky chest. The spasming in his brother's ass and the erotic sight
of him in the throws of passion above him brought Boromir to his own orgasm, though he
kept quiet as Faramir had instructed him earlier.

Lying on the bed next to his brother, Faramir pressed soft kisses to his face. "We will
have to get up early and wash before we see father off," he whispered in his ear.

"Go to sleep," Boromir told him, and kissed his brow.

Faramir sighed and fell asleep.


"I expect you to be finished here and back in Minas Tirith within the week," Denethor
told them. Boromir held the bridle of his mount, while Faramir held the stirrup. His
sharp eyes examined his two sons. "I will need you there to help deal with the rest of
this mess, so assign reliable agents as quickly as possible. You might considering using
some of your personal guard where we can't be completely sure of loyalty. There is bound
to be some response from our enemies in the wake of all of this instability. Make haste,
but with caution."

"We will do our best, father," Boromir replied.

With a final look, he nodded his head as if satisfied. "Within the week," he said as he
took up his reigns and rode away at the head of the column.


Four weeks later.

Faramir lay on a large over-stuffed divan reading. They had finished supper hours ago and
for once he didn't have any evening duties and could indulge himself. All of the servants
had retired to their quarters or one of the side rooms of their suite. Soon Boromir would
arrive and they would retire for the night. In anticipation he wore only a pair of short
sleeping pants, which were too thin to really conceal anything.

Even though his reading material was a rather dry narrative of mainly historical value,
he found himself semi-aroused at the thought of his brother. Giving in to his fantasies,
he shut the book and let his mind wander through images of Boromir in the throws of
passion. Closing his eyes he rubbed his now full erection against the divan. Just as he
was about to reach for himself he heard the sound of someone approaching. He instantly
lost all arousal as he recognized his father's tread and realized there wasn't enough
time to make it to his bedroom to grab a robe.

Denethor rarely came to his sons' room unannounced. He had become sensitized to the smell
of their arousal, which brought on dark dreams. This night however, there had been no
time to send warning. The impending arrival of his brother-in-law, Prince Imrahil the
following morning, and the early dismissal of the servants for the evening had made it
impractical.

So here he stood in the doorway to their suite, the smell of Faramir's arousal strong in
the air, unbelievably augmented by the sight of him barely more than naked on the divan.
He'd almost started to turn away when he noticed among the many scars the large tattoo on
his son's right shoulder. A white tree, encircled by seven stars, under a gold and silver
crown, on a blue circular background. It was beautifully wrought and filled him with
rage.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked, crossing the room and pulling him up to a
sitting position by the back of his neck. His son didn't resist the painful grip or cry
out. "How could you do this?"

At that moment Boromir arrived, out of breath, his father's angry voice having spurred
him to haste. Seeing the object of Denethor's anger, he grabbed the back of his own shirt
at the collar and ripped it off as he strode across the room. "Do you mean this?" he
asked, d
brother's neck and replacing it with his own. 'We are loyal sons, and have ever done our
duty, especially Faramir. But we are also loyal men, and would keep to the course set by
our ancestors. We keep Gondor in trust for the king, and it is our pleasure to do so. You
know our hearts father, you have no need to ask that question."

"You have marked yourselves as property!" Denethor raged.

"There are worse marks father," Boromir said in a low angry voice. Instead of displaying
the scars on his brother's back, as the Steward expected, he brought his head back and
showed his father the square scars that lined his arms and chest. They were long healed,
but still an angry red, despite Garus and Saphron's best efforts. "Ask about these,
father. Demand why this was done."

He knew what they were on sight, though he never before had seen the marks of a blood
ritual, he was in no doubt about the origin of these scars. Besides the vast store of
knowledge he held in memory, there were the half remembered dreams. Bile rose in his
stomach as he looked at the faces of his sons. "No," he said with harsh finality.

Faramir closed his eyes in relief as Boromir gently ran his hand through his hair.
Kissing his brother's stomach just above his low cut pants, Faramir wrapped his arms
around him. "There are other tattoos, father," the older son said, pulling his pants
lower and exposing Faramir's coat of arms and beside it that of Eomer of Rohan, just
below where Faramir's lips rested against his body. "My brother bears matching marks as
does Prince Eomer."

"And what of his sister, what will she think of this?" Denethor asked.

"I don't think that will be a problem, the customs and traditions in Rohan are different.
And Eomer is very supportive of our marriage, which will be in accordance with the
customs of the Riddermark, though we will keep the details private here in Gondor."
Boromir told him.

Denethor paled at his words, he knew the marriage customs of Rohan and didn't approve,
but he'd come to realize that he was powerless against Boromir. "You are going to do what
you will, no matter what I wish anyway," he said. "At least I can look forward to the
possibility of some sort of marriage."

"You always had that, father," Boromir told him, reaching out to place a comforting hand
to his father's shoulder. "We will not let you down or embarrass you, we love you."

He was completely disarmed by the words and manner of his oldest son, and as always,
Faramir had submitted without complaint or resistance to whatever his father and brother
wished of him. Hiding his discomfiture, he delivered the message that had brought him
there in the first place. "Your Uncle, Prince Imrahil arrives tomorrow. He comes to ask
our assistance in seeking a marriage contract for his daughter with one of the Princes of
Rohan. He has brought his wife and daughter with him. I was hoping you would be there to
help me greet them in the morning."

"We will be there, father," Boromir said, knowing of the animosity between the two men.

"They should arrive shortly before noon. I will send for you," Denethor said as he left
the room and closed the door behind him.

Boromir looked down at his little brother, who was looking up at him with wide eyes.
"That wasn't so bad, brother," he told him running his hand through his hair. "It is a
good thing he arrived first, or I would have had my cock buried in your ass when he got
here."

"I dressed for you, brother," Faramir said as he opened his brother's pants. Pulling his
quickly hardening cock free he took it into his mouth.

Moaning at the pleasure of his brother's hot mouth, he pumped himself into the tight
throat. Faramir swallowed convulsively bringing a quick orgasm to his brother. Before
Faramir could lick him clean, Boromir grabbed him up and carried him into their bedroom,
kicking the door shut behind him. He threw him onto the bed and stripped off his clothes
before tearing Faramir's pants off.

"I'm going to fuck you into oblivion," he growled as he climbed onto Faramir.

"Yes, please," Faramir responded as Boromir proceeded to carry out his threat.



Part 10: THE PRINCESS

Lothiriel lay back against the headboard of her bed, trying to read. Her parents, uncle,
and cousins had been in meetings all day, leaving her to the company of the ladies of the
court of Minas Tirith. Some of them were boring relics of Finduilas' time, but there were
many younger women who had been sent there to attract the attention of the Steward's
sons. None had been able to meet the exacting standards of her cousin Faramir, so he and
Boromir had found husbands for them.

However, whenever it had been requested, the brothers had performed first night duties
with the women. They were very amenable to those requests, often both of them would
participate and they always invited the new husband to join in. There were many sexually
satisfying marriages in Gondor, for they shared their knowledge and expertise with any
who asked. From all reports, they enjoyed the sharing immensely.

With a sigh, she closed the book and concentrated on thoughts of her handsome cousins. It
was eight years since the boar-hunting incident near Dol Amroth. They had told her that
she was too young to indulge in their sex games, though rumor had it that Faramir was
much younger than fourteen when he had started. A short exchange with her youngest cousin
earlier had led her to believe that they might be willing to let her join in now.

Now, that she was locked into her bedroom by her overprotective parents. They didn't know
that what they wanted to protect was long gone. Even though the Steward's sons had acted
with all propriety while in Dol Amroth, Faramir had given her certain information that
had allowed her to pursue amorous adventures without dire consequences. This was one of
many reasons she really liked her cousins.

There was no warning sound as Faramir stepped out of the shadows of her balcony to the
bed. He sat beside her and gave her a most salacious kiss. "Hello cousin," he said,
nibbling a bit at her ear before leaning back to look at her. "You have grown up quite
nicely."

"Thank you, cousin," she replied. "You haven't changed your mind about who I should
marry, have you?" she asked, almost hopefully.

"Alas, no, my sweet," he answered. "But you are surrounded by such an army of chaperones
during the day, it was impossible to get in a private word with you. I was wondering if
you have been making use of the horsemaster we sent you."

"Oh yes, cousin," she said, her eyes full of mischief. "He has taught me many things, and
my horsemanship has improved too."

He chuckled quietly at her words. "Ever the minx, I think Eomer would be quite pleased
with you. Theodred probably as well, but he is still just a child yet."

"I hear that you know Prince Eomer well?" she inquired.

"Very well, cousin," Faramir answered with a grin. "He is an outstanding example of the
Riders of the Riddermark. I'm certain he would please you, he is truly a stallion among
men."

"And you and your brother have ridden this fine stallion?" she continued.

"Normally I don't kiss and tell, Lothiriel," Faramir told her. "But since you have a
vested interest, yes we have, and he has ridden us in turn. You will not find a finer
rider anywhere."

"Not even your brother?"

"They are close to equal, and I will not chose between them," was his firm reply.

"Does that mean I will have to share him with the two of you?" she asked, her possessive
nature coming to the fore.

"You will enjoy it, cousin," he said, kissing her and touching her in a way that made her
arch her back and moan in sudden need. "Would you really want to deny us our pleasure?"
His mouth and tongue made uncontrollable shivers run down her spine. "I'm sure you would
be able to join us, if you wanted to. Eomer knows how to share."

"What if I'm to marry his cousin, Prince Theodred?" she wanted to know.

"We will see," was his answer. "The heir is only a child yet, if he doesn't bond with
Eomer as I have with both him and my brother, then things will be a bit different. But I
want you to understand that there will be every chance that he will bond with at least
one other male, and possibly other females. It is an old custom in the Riddermark and,
with the high death tolls of late, it has been thoroughly revived. If you don't think you
can live with this situation, let me know now, and we will find you another husband."

She looked at him for a long while, letting her blood cool from his attentions. This was
her future, and she doubted that she would be able to change her mind later. Finally she
was sure of her choice. "The tutors you sent to me have taught me well, dear Faramir,"
she answered. "I have become especially fond of the sweet shield maiden that was sent as
an addition to my personal guard. I have learned much from her, and mother doesn't even
question her presence in my bedchamber, ever. If I were to wed some dull and monogamous
member of the nobility I would have to say goodbye to at least half the vices you have so
generously gifted me." She reached up and kissed him on the mouth. "Don't think that I
don't know that you planned this for me. Others may see you as just the second son of the
Steward, but I know better. There are plans within plans and plots within plots that you
have woven throughout the kingdom. I believe that you have even outdone your father in
your collusions. After all, I doubt if any of Denethor's spies are his lovers, and I
believe all of yours are. Nelda came from Belfalas, and her sister helped raise me." She
gave him a genuine smile. "I will marry whichever prince of Rohan you choose for me, or
if things change, whomever else you choose. For I know that your loyalty goes both ways,
and you will not abandon me."

"I knew you were an intelligent woman, dear cousin," he told her, taking her into his
arms. "Let me show you a little trick I learned from a dear friend."

In minutes she was biting her hand to stifle the screams of delight that he was bringing
forth. She became totally convinced that she would do anything that her cousin asked of
her. It was in her best interest, and it felt wonderful.



Part 11: VENGEANCE

The sound of the marketplace was comforting to Faramir as he walked down the long aisles
of wares; it helped him forget that the war was not going well. The dark lord's forces
outnumbered them, even if his forces were distinctly inferior. Faramir was well known
among the stallkeepers, and they all welcomed his presence. There were many offers of
free wares to the youngest son of the Steward, but he usually laughed and turned them
aside. Occasionally, he would give in and a merchant would be blessed with extra
customers for a while. Boromir had been detained by the armsmaster, but hopefully would
be joining him soon.

He stopped at a fruit stand and was gifted a large ripe peach. Closing his eyes as he bit
into it, he imagined his brother licking the juice from his chin, as he would when they
were in private. With a smile, he decided to buy some more for his brother on his way
back. He was cleaning the last of the juices from the fruit from his fingers when he
noticed Beregond, one of the men from his troop, talking earnestly with an attractive
young woman. She seemed quite upset with him, arguing quietly until a child's cry made
her turn with an air of finality and go to the crying child. With a last exasperated look
at her retreating back, Beregond started back towards the barracks.

"What is wrong Beregond?" Faramir asked.

Startled, the man jumped at his captain's voice. "It is nothing, my lord," he answered
shyly.

"We both know better than that, my friend," Faramir told him, taking him by the arm and
leading him to a nearby inn. They were both silent until after their drinks were in hand.

"Tell me," Faramir ordered.

"That was my betrothed," he said. "She is talking about breaking off our relationship if
I don't leave the army. Both her brothers were killed in the last year, as was her father
two years ago. Our son is nearly two and she is talking about leaving Minas Tirith to
start a new life, taking him with her. I can't abandon my duty, my lord. I will not live
my life without honor, but without them I don't know what I will do."

"You should have come to Boromir or me long ago," Faramir told him. "There is always a
need for trusted men in the tower guard. In fact, I've received a request for a transfer
out. It should be a simple matter of exchanging positions. Let me speak to my brother,
maybe we can have a surprise for your lady by the end of the week."

A very relieved Beregond sat and drank companionably with his captain. They talked idly
while Faramir leaned back against the wall and watched the people passing by the opened
double doors of the inn. Children played in the shade of a shop across the way, their
laughter barely audible beneath the other noises of street and tavern. He loved watching
children, often stopping by the orphanages, which were too full from the long war. It had
become his chosen duty to make sure that all the children of Minas Tirith, and as much as
possible, Gondor, were safe and cared for. He regularly checked on his brother's and his
own offspring. If one or both of their parents died, a suitable replacement was found for
them. He often wished that he could keep them all himself, but he was too often in the
field or spending long days in endless meetings. He believed children needed plenty of
attention, and did his best to make sure as many as possible were cared for.

On a sudden impulse, he rose and headed to the door. It had been a long time since he had
checked out the back alleys and poorer sections of the lower city. Sometimes those who
worked as his agents missed children who were new to the city and unaware of the
protection he extended to them. Without being told, Beregond followed Faramir. The two
men walked the busy streets; occasionally, children would come out of the crowds and
greet Faramir, usually by hugging him as best they could. He always laughed and returned
their hugs, spending a few moments with all who came to him.

As they reached the poorest section of the city, the children were more reserved, but
equally happy to see him. It was almost silent here, as most activity this time of day
was in the marketplace. There had been very few incidents of outright child abuse since
he'd dealt with Garus' father so long ago, and he personally hadn't been involved with
any of them. Word had spread that there was no tolerance for it in the city; those who
violated this unwritten law tended to disappear.

A scream cut through the air and Faramir felt a release of tension in his shoulders, as
if it was the signal he had been waiting for. He was unaware of the loosening of his gait
or the way his hands checked all of his weapons for readiness. Beregond watched his
Captain with a rising feeling of dread. They had all seen him as he prepared for battle,
and recognized the slightly glazed look that came to his eyes. There had also been
rumors, ones spoken in whispers and never in the hearing of the Steward or his sons.

"My lord," Beregond called as Faramir increased his speed. There wasn't even a slight
hesitation in the man he followed. There were no more screams but a steady weeping,
accompanied by a man's angry cursing, grew louder. They turned the corner into a small
courtyard to the sight of outrageous violence. Several ragged children huddled in the
arms of a bruised and frightened woman helplessly watching as a very large man attempted
to kick what looked like a bundle of bloody rags in the corner. A blonde-haired boy of
about fourteen was doing his best to interfere and getting kicked himself in the process.

"I don't think you really want to continue what you're doing," Faramir said in a cold
voice, noticing with satisfaction that the man wore a sword and some armor.

Slapping the blonde boy as he turned, the man glared at Faramir. "This is my family and I
will discipline them as I see fit," he growled. "No castle dandy is going to stop me
either." His hand went to the hilt of his sword.

With a feeling of satisfaction, Faramir drew his own sword. "No?" he questioned as he
advanced.

Looking around frantically for help, Beregond saw some grimy faces peering around the
corner. Fortunately, at his gesture one of the watching children came forward. "Fetch
Captain Boromir," he said quietly. "Hurry."

Four of the larger children peeled off from the group and headed toward the marketplace.
The rest of them eased around the corner to better see their champion as he faced the
stranger. The clash of steel filled the small area as the man attempted to cut at
Faramir. Beregond was briefly mesmerized as he watched his Captain in a less than life
threatening situation.

It took very little time for it to become obvious that the other man didn't have a
chance, at least to everyone except the man. Faramir downplayed his own ability with the
sword enough to keep him interested, but still marked the man with every flick of his
blade. It was an uneven and bloody encounter.

Beregond moved to stand between the combatants and the woman and children, helping the
blonde boy move the battered child to her side. He prayed that Boromir wouldn't be long;
it would be disastrous if Faramir killed the man, which was probably his intention from
the way he behaved.

Finally, the bully realized that he was being toyed with. His eyes darted about for
avenues of escape, or possible hostages, but there was nothing to avail him. Stepping
back a few paces, Faramir began tapping his boot toe with the tip of his sword, watching
the man with the cold, deadly eyes of a killer. At each of the man's moves, he countered
with a bare flick of steel, drawing blood and adding to the growing panic in his target.

The sound of heavy footfalls approaching brought a sigh of relief to Beregond, and a
brief glimmer of hope to the man's eyes. Faramir didn't react at all, recognizing his
brother's tread.

"Faramir, what are you doing?" Boromir asked.

"I'm going to kill him, brother," was the calm answer.

The man fell to his knees and began crying at Faramir's words. Everyone else was shocked
into silence. Stepping forward a little, the younger brother prodded the man with his
sword, bringing forth squeals and more blood.

"Isn't there another way we can deal with this?" Boromir tried, a sick feeling in his
stomach at the emotionless tone. Glancing around the courtyard, he saw Beregond with the
woman and children, making it clear to him what had happened.

"I don't think so, Boromir," Faramir answered, stepping back from the man a pace.

Moving as close as he could to his brother without touching him, Boromir whispered in his
ear. "Don't do this in front of the children, brother, they have already gone through
enough."

"Maybe they want to see this as much as I do," Faramir said, turning his head slightly to
look at the ones in question.

"Did you, brother?" Boromir asked.

"Yes," he answered, looking his brother in the eyes so he could see the truth of his
answer. "But not at your hands." His sword reached out, quickly nicking the man's leg as
he tried to escape.

Boromir sighed, realizing that there were few options for him. He couldn't let Faramir
kill the man here, but he couldn't stop him. "Let him run, brother, you can hunt him
down. There will be too many questions if you kill him here."

Faramir let the point of his sword drop a little. "You won't let anyone interfere?"

"I'll have Beregond escort him to the gate, making sure he stops nowhere along the way.
No one will interfere," he promised.

"You have to let me get supplies," the man cried out at Boromir's words.

"You won't live long enough to need supplies," the older brother told him. "My brother is
trained as an Ithilien Ranger. He will find you and kill you."

"Give him a three hour head start, brother," Faramir said, giving in just a little. "That
will give me time to see to the safety of the children."

At Boromir's nod, Beregond took the man's arm and began hurrying him out of the city.
Both brothers turned to look at the woman huddled with her children.

"Are you going to kill my father?" the blonde boy asked, his eyes defiant.

Faramir wiped his sword clean on his pants and put it in the sheath before stepping
towards the boy. He ran a soothing hand down the boy's cheek before answering. "He is not
your father; my brother is," he said looking at the woman. "Isn't he?"

"Yes, my lord," she answered, fear clear in her voice. "He wouldn't let me say anything,
my lord. He wouldn't let me." She began crying uncontrollably, and the boy cradled her in
his arms.

"It will be alright," Boromir said. "We will take care of everything."


Boromir lay on the bed, waiting for his brother. The children and their mother had been
settled with a widower, the marriage father of one of Faramir's sons. Without Boromir
seeing any messages being sent, several young women showed up to help, armed with baskets
of clothing and food. They would have a trial period to make sure they would get along,
but it looked like they would already.

The blonde boy was named Keril, and was Boromir's oldest son at the age of sixteen. The
boy was small for his age, probably from lack of proper nourishment. Boromir had always
had a weakness for prostitutes, but thought that he'd monitored all of his encounters.
After a few minutes in her company, he had remembered her from his first extended patrol.
Faramir had insisted for years that there was another child of his out there somewhere.
He claimed he could hear him crying in the night. Now Boromir would never be able to
doubt his brother's visions again, no matter how unlikely they seemed.

The changeover for Beregond had also been implemented and a house picked out for the
young guardsman's family. His request could not have been made at a better time. He would
be able to protect the brothers' interests when they were in the field, as they had
assigned him to be in charge of the security of their suite.

Faramir had bathed in unscented water, and dressed in clothes he would wear scouting in
the wilderness. His eyes had been flat with rage when he left, and Boromir was given a
view of his brother he had never suspected existed. He didn't know what to make of the
angry, vengeful man he'd seen.

Sighing, he got up and went to pour himself a drink. It was rare that he had been drunk,
but he felt like being drunk now. He knew the answers to his questions were far in the
past, before the journals, for Faramir was strict about keeping them. He knew he might be
able to get answers from Maran, Garus, or even Lani but he wanted to hear them from his
brother. Their bond was important to him, and he felt just a little betrayed by the day's
revelations. Faramir had never lied to him, he was sure of that much.

It was well past midnight when the door opening and closing signaled the return of his
brother. The smell of blood was strong about him, as well as the smell of victory.
Faramir looked at him with partially glazed eyes and handed him a pouch. "Give this to
your eldest son, my nephew, if he should ask. I want him to truly know that I have done
as I have promised."

"Did he have a tattoo?" Boromir asked, his voice slurring.

"Just a distinctive scar," his brother answered. "You're drunk."

"Just a little," he said, rising from the bed and throwing the pouch on a dressing table.
"I was waiting for you." He poured himself another drink, and one for Faramir. "Come,
join me."

Reluctantly, Faramir took the proffered drink, but turned away from his brother. "There
are things I haven't told you. Things from before the journals."

"I have already guessed as much," Boromir said with a sharp bark of laughter. He drank
his wine in one swallow and set the glass down. Pulling his brother back against him by
his hips, Boromir whispered in his ear. "You have bared your soul to me every day since
you were fourteen. I never asked you what went on before then. I'm not going to ask you
now. But I would welcome you telling me anything you want me to know. You are my most
beloved one, the reason I exist." He kissed Faramir's neck and brought his arms up so
that they crossed on his chest.

Pulling away from his brother's embrace and setting his untasted drink on the table,
Faramir was unable to stifle the sobs that broke from his throat. "I do not deserve your
love," he cried. "I'm as base and mean as father always said I was. Such poor material
for a warrior such as yourself to cleave to. I killed Garus' father because I couldn't
kill my own. Now I have killed Keril's stepfather for the same reasons. Not for them, not
for the children who bled and suffered at their hands. For me. To take revenge on a man
who will never know. To punish someone who will never feel the touch of my blade, who I
will never touch in anger or violence. I don't know how you could ever forgive someone as
selfish and cruel as I."

Boromir put his arms around his brother, pulling him close and kissing his neck again. "I
don't forgive you, my love. There is nothing to forgive, you are the best person I have
ever known, and I know that everything you have done was right." He didn't let him pull
away this time, but turned him in his arms and claimed his mouth before showering his
face with gentle kisses.

Faramir melted into the kisses that his brother pressed on him. There was nothing else he
would rather do. It was a relief to tell him of Garus' father, whose name he still did
not know, didn't want to know. It was a relief to tell him how he really felt. "I love
you, my brother," he said. "I will do anything for you."

"And I would do anything for you, my sweetest love," Boromir whispered in his ear. "Let
me show you how much I love you." For several long minutes he kissed his brother deeply,
pulling him as close as he could.

Boromir's hands were gentle and sure as they slowly removed his brother's clothes. His
mouth followed close behind kissing and licking, soft and tender. Faramir cried out at
the feeling, arching his back into his brother's touch. As Boromir's mouth swallowed his
cock, he cried out again. Then, after withdrawing it slowly, the older brother began
kissing and licking its length and the tightened ball sack below. Faramir felt his knees
giving way and his weight settling into his brother's strong arms. He was gently lowered
to the floor and the hands that held him began delivering soothing caresses. Boromir kept
his touches soft but firm, urging his brother gently. He kissed his stomach and then his
thigh, turning back to swallow his cock and suck it just a little, before releasing it
again. Faramir could only cry out in need, his brother's tender torture almost more than
he could bear.

Moving slowly back up his body, Boromir rubbed against him and covered him with soft
kisses and wet licks. Again he claimed his mouth, but with gentleness not often found in
their kisses. He captured Faramir's legs with his own and rubbed his still clothed pelvis
against his brother's arousal. "Let me love you brother," he whispered in his ear, then
ran his tongue around the edge and into the center.

"Please," Faramir cried out. "Fuck me, brother. I need you in me now."

"Shh," Boromir told him. "Let me show you how much I love you." He continued his tender
ministrations, Faramir a captive to his soft caresses. Slowly he began moving back down
his body, his hands and mouth gently torturing the aroused body beneath him. He spent an
eternity at each nipple, leaving them red and puckered even though he'd been oh so soft.
Faramir screamed in ecstasy as his belly button received the same treatment. His cock was
rock hard and leaking as Boromir swallowed it again.

Easing his arms beneath Faramir's legs, he sat on the floor and pulled his body up so
that he could lick the long crack of his ass and press his tongue against the tight ring.
Both of Boromir's hands were wrapped around his brother's cock, gently squeezing it, one
thumb softly rubbing the weeping head. It was as his brother's tongue breached the tight
ring of his ass that Faramir felt the waves of his orgasm begin. His cock shot forth
thick streams of semen that covered him as he arched uncontrollably and screamed again.
Boromir continued his soft caresses and the gentle work of his tongue until he felt his
brother's body relax completely.

Lowering him to the floor, he looked at the incredibly sexy sight of his naked brother
lying there with his eyes heavy lidded. Rising to his knees, Boromir opened his pants
just enough to free his raging erection. He used some of the pooled semen on Faramir's
stomach to lubricate himself, then grabbed his brother's legs and pushed them to his
chest.

"I'm going to fuck you now, brother," he said in a low growl, sinking his cock into the
tight ass in a hard thrust. He leaned down and bit his neck hard, drawing blood, taking
his brother with lustful abandon.

Faramir screamed again, not in pain, but in lust. He screamed his brother's name and
clawed his back as he pushed against the engorged cock that impaled him. He screamed
louder as he came again, feeling the hot bursts of semen his brother released deep within
him. Then he closed his eyes and let darkness overcome him.


A chill went down Denethor's back and settled in his stomach as he read the detailed
report. His agent had followed the stranger from the city and watched Faramir track him,
herding him like an animal to where he wanted him to be. Then his son had taken a very
long time in bringing about the man's painful death. The description of the screams alone
was enough to make his stomach sour. Then he had taken a trophy of his victim and
returned to the tower.

He knew without a doubt whom Faramir was thinking of as he tortured the man to death. It
made his bowels clench in fear to think of how dangerous and vicious his sweet and
biddable son could be. The images of violence and rage overlaid the placid features, the
screams of his victim drowning out the calm voice in his memories.

It could have been him. It should have been him. But he knew that his son would never
harm him. If he were to take up his cane and beat Faramir again, he would just accept.
And maybe others would die. They would deserve it, but it would be because of him.
Because his son was obedient and loyal. And a killer.

Looking out at the pale light of dawn, he tried to calm himself. He didn't want his sons
to know that he was aware of what had happened. Their relationship had improved greatly,
but there was a precarious balance that had to be kept. An unspoken conspiracy of silence
they all knew about, and moved around with caution.

He would not delay seeing them; the anticipation would only grate on his nerves. Rising
to examine his face in the mirror, he schooled his expression to one of stately calm,
much like Faramir's in his father's presence. There was no going back to correct mistakes
made in the past. He could only look forward to the future and hope that he could
overcome the after effects.


Only the slightest falter of Faramir's step as he entered the room betrayed to Denethor
that his son knew. He didn't meet his father's eyes, but continued to his place at his
left hand side, the deep bite mark on his neck clearly visible. Boromir's eyes were cold,
but without condemnation, as he sat at his father's right. They both knew, even though he
couldn't think of anything that he could have done that had betrayed his own knowledge.

There were no questions or remarks about the matter and for once he was glad of the
chatter of his advisors who had been invited to breakfast with them. He could turn his
thoughts to other subjects as he ate, ignoring the churning in his stomach. Only those
who knew them well could see the hidden tension in the three men. Garus, Stefle and
Galmar, each serving their masters with extra care, trying to pretend that all was well.

The meal was interminable, but by the end of it the tension had eased. They knew that
they could go on without revealing their secrets. There would be no confrontations. He
would ask them nothing, they would volunteer nothing. They would stay at peace with each
other.

For now.



Part 12: THE BLADE'S EDGE

Faramir sat on the bed he shared with his brother in the small room they'd claimed for
their own in Henneth Annun. He was undressed except for his pants, which Boromir had cut
open to the hip on his injured leg, as they'd recently finished cleaning each other's
wounds. There had been heavy loses at the last battle and Boromir had gone to give what
comfort he could to the injured. He'd ordered Faramir to remain here and rest.

It seemed that every time they started to make any real progress, their enemy would
surprise them with some new terror. This time they'd only escaped total disaster because
Faramir and the other archers had been able to blind the oliphants with their arrows. No
one had ever seen such legendary monsters before.

Unable to settle enough to read, he sat up and took out the knife his father had gifted
him. He kept it razor sharp, as he kept all his weapons. It had begun to figure
prominently in his nightmares as the weapon that saved him from the shadowy figure that
pursued him. Without thinking, he drew it across one of the stitches Boromir had put in
the long gash in his leg. The threads parted easily, and he picked them out. Little
chills went up his back as he pulled them. But his mind was miles away, thinking of the
ever more threatening nature of his nightmares as well as all the comrades that had died
this day. While he pictured his own helplessness and despair, his hands were busy undoing
his brother's careful work.

When the last stitch came free, he began making small cuts along his leg. The sharp pain
was comforting, the light trickle of blood soothing. He moved on to the red patches of
scar tissue along his arms and chest as all thought left him. He felt himself becoming
aroused and began cutting his pants away.

The sound of the door closing broke the spell. "What are you doing?" Boromir asked, his
eyes wide in shock.

Faramir dropped the knife and looked down at his body, confusion plain on his face. "I
don't know," he answered.

Crossing to the bed and kneeling at his brother's feet, Boromir took up the knife and
placed it safely out of the way. He examined the now gaping leg slash and all of the
little cuts his brother had put on himself. It was also impossible not to notice his
growing erection, which jerked as Boromir looked at it. "Don't they hurt?" he asked,
trying to understand.

"Yes," Faramir said, his voice husky with lust, "and no." He ran one hand across the
bloody wounds and pushed the other through his brother's hair. "It makes me want you,
brother," he whispered. "I want you now." Leaning forward and pulling Boromir to him, he
kissed his mouth with avid hunger.

Boromir wasn't repulsed by his brother's actions, but he was unsure if he should actively
participate in them. "Let me sew your leg back up first," he said to delay him.

"No," Faramir growled, biting his brother's neck. "I can't wait, I need you now." He
ripped Boromir's shirt, pushing it off of his shoulders.

Grabbing his hands and forcing them behind his back, Boromir looked at him in surprise.
Faramir struggled, rubbing his body against his brother's. They wrestled on the bed,
fighting for control. Suddenly, Boromir was seized by a lust almost as great as his
brother's and they were ripping off the last remnants of clothing. They slicked Boromir's
cock with Faramir's blood and the older brother took the younger with a brutal thrust. It
was quick and violent and messy. They held each other tightly when it was over, shedding
tears of anguish.

Slowly, Boromir rose from the bed and retrieved fresh water and rags to clean them up. A
quick wipe was sufficient for the cuts he'd made himself, but Faramir's leg required
restitching. When he finished, Faramir took the needle and thread and resewed a couple of
stitches that had torn loose on Boromir's side. They spread healing salve over each other
and threw the cleaning rags and remnants of their clothing into a corner.

"What now, brother?" Faramir asked as his brother lay down beside him.

"I have to talk to father," he answered, pulling him close. "I need you to supervise a
scouting expedition to the south. We don't want to be caught like that again. It's too
bad we had to abandon the outpost across the river from Pelargir."

"I won't let you down, brother," Faramir told him.

"You never do, beloved one," Boromir replied. "Just don't cut yourself."

"I'm not sure I can promise you that, brother," Faramir said, running his hand through
his brother's hair.

"Is there anything I can do?" Boromir asked.

Faramir put his face against Boromir's shoulder for several long minutes. "You can
promise me, brother," he said, his face still hidden.

"What do you want me to promise, my beloved? " Boromir asked, a feeling of trepidation in
his heart.

Leaning his head back, Faramir looked his brother in the eyes. "Promise that when I get
back you will cut me yourself," he told him.

"What?" Boromir asked, not really surprised.

"It isn't very different from what we do in the sword dances, brother," Faramir
whispered, his hand moving to his face. "You know how good that feels."

Closing his eyes, Boromir groaned at his words. He knew how good it felt, he could feel
himself wanting it too. "We have to be careful, brother," he said, opening his eyes and
looking into Faramir's. "We are fighting almost daily, and the blood loss could be
dangerous. I wouldn't want to weaken you before battle."

Rubbing his newly erect cock against his brother's, Faramir kissed his lips. "We will
wait until we return to Minas Tirith, brother mine," he said, nibbling on his lips. "We
will go to our garden." His hand moved to pull their bodies closer. "If there is enough
time we can do a sword dance, and if not we will