TITLE: Warriors of Gondor Part 01 - Brothers

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


BROTHERS

Waiting in his mother's sitting room Boromir tried
very hard not to show any of the impatience he felt.
For months she had been telling him that he would have
a new brother or sister, and now the time had come.
His father was in meetings, and would only come once
the child was born, his time too important to waste on
birthing pains.

Finally, the door opened and Boromir was summoned
within. His mother placed the infant in his arms.
"This is Faramir, your brother," she told him. "He
will need you to love him and keep him safe."

The infant in his five-year-old arms was beautiful and
precious to him at first sight. "Ah, mother, how could
I fail to love one so fair?" he asked in all
innocence. "I will always keep him close." He placed a
kiss on the baby's brow, and smiled at its soft sigh.

At that moment Denethor entered the room, and heard
the words of his eldest son. He looked down at his two
sons, Boromir with an expression of such love and awe
on his face that it twisted like a knife in his
father's heart. "You must not coddle him," he said
harshly. "There is no room for weakness in the men of
Gondor. There is no need of it in any son of mine."

Already defiant, Boromir held his brother closer. "I
will not coddle him father, I will teach him to be the
greatest warrior ever."


Boromir walked with his little brother holding tightly
to his hand. At the ten-month old Faramir's waist was
a sheathed sword, scaled down to his size.

"Look mother," he called to her as she lay in her
sickbed. "I have given Faramir his first sword."

Finduilas smiled wanly at her two sons. "How
wonderful, Boromir," came her faint voice.

"I'm taking him with me to my riding lesson. Father
will see that he will be a great warrior," he added,
picking him up and placing a kiss to his brow, smiling
at the toddler's soft sigh.

The Rohirrim horsemaster smiled at the precocious
six-year-old and allowed him to spend half his own
riding lesson teaching his younger brother how to
ride. Boromir had found a small saddle in some old
tack and cleaned and repaired it himself just for this
purpose.

When he returned his brother to his wet nurse, she
gasped in horror at the very real blade in the sheath.

"He must get used to wearing it." Boromir assured her.
"I will keep it with me since it frightens you and put
it on him whenever I have him. He is already learning
how to use it," he told her. He smiled at her, and
then kissed his brother's brow, hugging him when he
sighed.


Watching his mother's maid put neat stitches in the
gash in his arm, Boromir held his three-year-old
brother on his lap. Faramir watched her progress with
tears in his eyes, his bloodied sword in his hand. 

"I will be alright, brother," Boromir said, trying to
comfort him. "Nelda has made it all better, now it
doesn't hurt at all. I should have blocked you
quicker, it will happen sometimes."

Not quite believing his words, the younger boy brought
the blade across his own arm. He gasped in surprise at
the sharp twinge of pain, but Boromir was right, it
wasn't nearly as painful as when he'd skinned his
knees.

"What do you think you are doing?" Nelda said sternly,
taking his arm and examining the wound. "It is not a
good idea to start cutting yourself up. Before you
know it there will be plenty of others willing to do
it for you. Your father would take your sword away if
he knew you did that."

The threat of their father subdued both boys. "I'm
sorry, Nelda," Faramir said, his words very clear for
one so young. "I won't do it again."

She looked at them, both so brave and solemn. "There
are bad times coming, my little loves," she told them
for the millionth time. "You need to be strong
warriors to keep our people safe. So use your weapons
wisely, don't make your father take them away for
carelessness."

They nodded at her words and agreed to be more
cautious. The cut on Faramir's arm was shallow, so she
just put a little salve on it before sending them off
to clean their weapons.

She almost felt guilty for encouraging the boys so
much, but her visions had always led her true. They
would need every advantage they could get.


Their special place was a secluded garden that few
knew about. It was here that Boromir brought his
brother to practice the new fighting techniques he'd
been taught. Their father refused to let Faramir be
trained with his older brother, so Boromir cajoled and
bribed the teachers to at least allow him to watch. It
was not as if it was forbidden, Denethor just claimed
that Faramir was too young.

"You are not too young if you can do it," Boromir
insisted to his brother as he guided him through a
complicated serious of moves in the sword dance he was
learning. The five-year-old was graceful beyond his
years, having been constantly urged by his beloved
older brother to practice his swordsmanship. They
moved together gracefully, both enjoying their time
alone.

When they were finished with the exercises, they
wrestled and played for a while, making good use of
their private time. Soon they would have to visit with
their mother, who barely spoke or even opened her eyes
any more, followed by seemingly endless hours with
tutors. Then they ate with their father in the formal
dining hall and spent most of their evening listening
to adult conversation, learning the ins and outs of
court life.


Boromir worked as quietly as he could, cutting through
a piece of paneling that separated his room from
Faramir's. The angry yelling of his father still
ringing in his ears, as he had ordered him to send his
brother back to his own room. It had been over an hour
before he'd felt it was safe enough to sneak into 
Faramir's room and hold the five-year-old in
comforting arms. That it had been the older brother
who wept most was not a mystery to either of them.
Faramir had always had the love of his big brother,
never really knowing their ailing mother who had just
died. Boromir missed her terribly, and Denethor's lack
of understanding was hard on the ten-year-old.

So he sat here secretly making a hidden passage
between their rooms, insuring that they'd never have
to sleep alone again.


Faramir sat at the knee of the old woman as she
described the new servants that had been brought in to
work in the White Tower. He listened to her carefully;
he didn't want to see his brother upset by another
gossipy maid. From now on all those who looked after
Boromir and him would be loyal to them alone, not
their father. Nelda had looked after them when their
mother was still alive and it was only their father's
forcing her into retirement that had left them
vulnerable to the new maid. 

Nelda had come to Minas Tirith with Finduilas, but had
married into the family that was amongst the oldest of
retainers of the House of Hurin. Her many children and
in-laws also worked in the White Tower, so she came
every day to consult with them. Faramir had come
quickly to her summons, for she had always taken care
of his brother and him. 

"Your brother doesn't even see anyone but you and your
father," she told him. "You are the center of his
world and your father is the one who controls it.
Everyone else is just background."

Faramir smiled at the thought of his brother. Boromir
was his world, the one he adored. "I will see them for
him, Nelda," he said. "He can be the great warrior and
I will watch his back." Pausing thoughtfully he added.
"Someone will have to clean our rooms this afternoon;
he made a mess cutting up the wall. Maybe even make it
into a real hidden door, so that father can't find
it."

"A good idea, my little lord," she agreed. Proud that,
once again, he had proven himself wise beyond his
years.


The brothers listened to the wizard with round eyes as
he told them tales of dwarves, elves, dragons, orcs,
and brave adventures. Though orcs were all too common
a problem in Gondor, the first three were so rare as
to never have been encountered by the sons of the
Steward. They were not sheltered children and at seven
and twelve, had watched battles from a distance, at
their father's side. This was the first time Faramir
had seen Mithrandir, and Boromir's recollections of
him were hazy.

Their father's stern frown and caustic remarks chased
them away from the wizard's side. 

Faramir snuck back into the room as soon as the coast
was clear and approached the gray figure. "Are there
books that tell of these stories?" he asked. "I can
read quite well, and share them with my brother when
father isn't around."

Mithrandir smiled at the boy and took him through the
great archives and grand library, explaining how the
books and scrolls were arranged. Or at least how they
were supposed to be, as such things never stayed
straight for long.

Faramir took two books with him that the wizard
recommended. Later he kept his brother awake late into
the night reading some of the stories aloud.

The next day, after fighting practice, riding
practice, archery practice, finishing his lessons with
his tutors, and Boromir's final approval that his time
would be his own (right after a formal supper with
their father), he sought out the wizard amongst the
great archives. He coaxed him into more stories by
assisting him to find the documents and records he was
looking for.

For the next couple of weeks he spent every spare
moment with Mithrandir, happily pursuing the histories
of Middle Earth. 

When the wizard departed he thanked Denethor for the
excellent help of his youngest son and was surprised
to see the boy blanch at his words. The tightening
around the Seward's eyes and mouth told him that he
had made a serious mistake. The Istari pretended not
to hear the harsh words Denethor said under his breath
as he walked away, knowing that any interference on
his part would only make things worse.

When the three reached the father's study and the door
was closed, Denethor hit Faramir with a blow that
knocked him across the room. Shocked by his father's
actions Boromir went to his brother's aid.

"No." their father told him. "Leave him, he should be
beaten for defying my wishes." As he began to remove
his belt Boromir turned and stood between his father
and brother.

"Then you need to beat me, I allowed him, nay,
encouraged him to help the wizard." He was unwavering
as he confronted his father.

"Do not cover for him, it will only make him
cowardly." Denethor said angrily.

"There is nothing that Faramir does that I do not know
about." he replied firmly. "He is my responsibility, I
am to blame if he does wrong. I thought you wanted the
wizard gone as quickly as possible, I didn't know
there was any harm in helping him." Boromir stated
firmly.

Faramir sat on the floor, bleeding from his nose and
mouth. He'd taken worse on the practice field, but
those were to be expected. This was beyond his
understanding. He'd always felt his father's coldness
toward him, but had no idea it could erupt into
violence so easily. He fought to hold back his tears.
He loved his father and yearned for him to care for
him. Now he felt with certainty that he never would.

Denethor backed down to Boromir's words. He knew his
older son was right, and could only turn away from the
accusing glare. "Then I will leave it to you to make
sure that he stays in line. I suggest he avoids the
wizard in the future, their kind always make trouble,
especially that one." He walked away without apology,
leaving Boromir to care for his brother.


Faramir hid behind the tapestry that concealed the
door between his room and his brother's. He watched
his brother slowly remove the clothes from the man
before him. It had even been Faramir's suggestion that
he would be a good choice from the myriad of women and
men who sought his brother's bed.

As the favorite son of the Steward of Gondor, and the
champion of the yearly tourney, he was very popular.
Even though he was only fifteen, and had yet to be
tried in battle, he was considered an adult and would
soon be sent to learn warcraft in the field. In the
past manhood was judged at an older age, but with the
death toll growing yearly, and great need for more
warriors that had changed. The brothers had been
having a most interesting week. Each night Boromir had
taken up a different offer, all under their father's
approving eye. 

The man went to his knees and began taking Boromir's
cock in his mouth. His technique was very good and he
was soon gasping in pleasure. He pulled him up and
moved him onto the bed. It didn't take long for
Boromir to mount him and begin long slow thrusts. When
he was finished he rolled to his side to catch his
breath.

"My father always checks my room before he goes to
bed," he told him. He has warned me not to have anyone
in here." It was a blatant lie, but there was only one
person he wanted to spend the night in his room. Of
course, it was the one person his father didn't want
there, Faramir.

With a reluctant sigh he dressed quickly and left.
Boromir locked the door behind him, and held his arms
out to his brother. Faramir was in his brother's arms
before his footsteps had receded down the hall.

"You could have kept him for a couple more rounds," he
admonished. "He had a quite nice ass."

"His breath stank," he replied. "And father kept me
away from you all day."

Faramir kissed his brother's lips. "You will have to
ride out to battle soon, Boromir. I don't think father
will let you take me with you." He kissed him again.
"Unless, maybe I dress as a camp follower and come
along that way?"

"No, I will miss you terribly, but I would have you
safe at home until you can ride at my side as a fellow
warrior." he told him. Kissing his brow he smiled at
Faramir's soft sigh. "Come to bed, we have to be in
meetings all day tomorrow."

"We?" Faramir asked, walking with his brother to the
bed.

"I told father that you needed to attend too. You are
his son as well and have just as much need to know all
this useless stuff." He pulled him up into the high
bed with him.

"I already know more of that 'useless stuff' than you
do," Faramir said pressing soft kisses to his
brother's face.

"Than he will see how smart you are. He will have to
start acknowledging your existence," he told him,
wrapping his arms around him.

Faramir became still and gave him a serious look. "I'm
not so sure it's a good idea to force me down his
throat."

"Nonsense," Boromir said. "You are my brother, and
worthy of every consideration I receive. He will come
around when he sees how good you are."

He knew his older brother was wrong, but forbore to
tell him. Their father had never liked Faramir. He
could feel the anger radiating from him when he saw
Boromir giving attention to him. This could easily
turn into a disaster, but he would keep his silence.
They played and wrestled for a while before Boromir
used his larger size to pin Faramir to the bed.

"It is time for sleep now, we have to rise early
tomorrow." He said, pulling his little brother into
his arms and covering them both with the blanket. He
kissed Faramir's brow, and waited for his sigh, before
continuing. "Sleep my love, let us dream together."
And as simply as that the younger boy fell asleep,
Boromir following soon after. Both of them safe and
warm in the place they most wanted to be.


Waiting until Boromir finished and rolled off Maran,
Faramir entered the room and walked to the bed. He had
sent her to his brother to tighten the bond between
her family and his, as Nelda had instructed him.
Maran, her granddaughter, was of the oldest family of
retainers for the House of Hurin, and this had been
part of that bond for centuries. Any child born of
such unions would be raised in status and keep alive
their fealty.

"What are you doing here, Faramir," Boromir asked,
surprised that he hadn't waited until he sent the
young woman away.

"Maran doesn't mind me, brother," he answered,
climbing into his brother's bed. 
"Besides, she will mind cleaning the bedding less if
she gets to sleep in it." He cuddled up next to him,
pushing sweaty hair out of his face.

Boromir was uncomfortable with this change in their
routine until Maran rolled against him and put her arm
across him and her hand to Faramir's cheek. "He is
right my lord, I enjoy his company and would love to
sleep here," she said.
Deciding to accept the situation, Boromir kissed his
brother's brow and pulled them both closer. It made
the bed much warmer.


Two weeks later, Faramir knocked on the door to his
father's study and entered when he heard his father's
permission." Is there anything you wish me to do
today, sir?" he asked, keeping his face as neutral as
possible.

"I don't think you need change your schedule because
your brother is gone," he answered. "Except there is
no need for you to join me for this afternoon's
meetings. I think you can stick to attending to your
lessons unless I call for you."

"Yes, sir," he answered. "May I be excused, sir?"

Denethor studied his youngest son intently for several
minutes. The boy met his gaze levelly, without a hint
of emotion. There was no sign of the weakness that he
had convinced himself was there. "You are dismissed,
for now. But I may send for you later." he told him,
even though he had no intention of doing so.

"Thank you, sir," Faramir replied, and then bowing
respectfully left the room. He waited until he was in
a private anteroom before he allowed himself to breath
easily for a few moments. So far his father had given
him no surprises, but he might do anything just to
catch him off guard. 

Now he had to hurry to the stables to apologize for
not restabling his horse that morning when he'd
returned from seeing his brother off. The horsemaster
was understanding and urged Faramir to hurry so he
wouldn't be late to weapons practice. Boromir would
only be gone a few days, and Faramir intended to avoid
any trouble in the interim.


That night as he lay drowsing, he heard his brother's
voice. It was clear as if he were lying next to him.
He allowed the dream to pull him under completely.
Boromir's arms enfolded him, his loving voice in his
ears. He sighed as his lips kissed his forehead, and
fell asleep as he was told.

The next morning he woke with a smile, sure that he
had heard his brother in his dreams.


Four days later, Faramir waited beneath the outer wall
of the city for his brother. His last dream had told
him that Boromir would be arriving in the gray light
before dawn. He was out of sight from the main gate,
about a mile north on the Great West Road, when he
heard the sound of a lone horse approaching at speed.
Loosening his sword (just in case) he watched the
rider come round a bend in the road. There was no
doubt in his mind from the first glimpse that this was
his beloved brother.

As their horses came next to each other Boromir pulled
Faramir off his horse and onto the front of his
saddle. Their arms went around each other. "We have
about five minutes before the rest of the company gets
here," Boromir said. "I've missed you so much, if it
wasn't for the dreams I wouldn't have made it."

"I'm so glad that you have them too," Faramir replied.
"They have kept me sane." 
They held each other, speaking quietly until they
heard the others approaching. Faramir whistled for his
horse and slid into the saddle when it was close
enough. 

They fell in next to the company commander, as the
troop reached them. "So, your brother was waiting for
you," the older man commented.

"As I knew he would be," Boromir answered.

The ride to the White Tower was long. Most of the
company leaving them near the main gate, more at each
gate after that. They rode through the slowly rousing
city, until they finally came to the seventh gate. 

Only the commander was with them now, as they handed
their horses over to the waiting grooms. He left to
report to his own commander. When Faramir made to
leave for his own morning duties, Boromir grabbed his
arm.

"You will stay with me, little brother," he smiled.
"It will be alright to upset your schedule for one
day."

Faramir resolutely walked with him into the tower and
to their father's study.
Denethor was pleased to see his oldest son, and
angered by the presence of the youngest. He tried not
to show his conflicted emotions, but no one was
fooled. 

At his father's invitation, Boromir sat in a chair in
front of the huge desk to give his report. Faramir
stood beside him, and Denethor pretended not to notice
how Boromir stroked his arm.

When he had finished, Boromir sent Faramir to prepare
his bath, so he could have a few private words with
their father. "So, how did Faramir do at council
meetings while I was gone?" he strongly suspected that
he wouldn't like the answer.

"I'm sure he's told you that I excused him from
attending in your absence. I don't have time to tend
to a child during them." was the almost defensive
answer.

"He is no mere child," Boromir said. "He has never
done anything for you to have such distrust and
animosity towards him. While I'm sure he can find
other ways to profitably use his time, it makes quite
a negative statement about our family if you suddenly
exclude him. We had agreed that he continue going to
the meetings while I was gone. How can I concentrate
on my own duties in the field when I can't be sure how
my brother fares?" Boromir was becoming angrier as he
spoke, making a great effort to calm himself he
continued. "He did not tell me that you had excluded
him. He never complains, but I was sure of it from his
very lack of anything to say on the subject." He
paused again and drew a deep breath before continuing.
"Why, father?" he asked, pain clear in his face. "Why
would you break faith with me and cast my brother
aside like this?"

Denethor had no answer for him. He turned his face
away in shame, unable to put into words what drove him
to make such decisions. "It is difficult for me," he
said at last. "Let us start again. Spend the rest of
the day with your brother, tomorrow we will discuss
our future plans."

Boromir rose to his feet and looked at his father with
concern. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

There were many thoughts that ran through his mind at
the question, but none of them suitable to share. "I
just need to think about things," he said.


Faramir had the bath water just the way his brother
liked it. Towels, oils, soap, and other supplies were
arranged within easy reach. The oversized tub was
almost a permanent feature in Boromir's room. Both
brothers liked being clean and it was only fitting
that the younger serve the elder in this manner. Even
Denethor approved. 

Locking the door behind him, Boromir made his way to
the armor stand in a corner of the room. Faramir began
undoing the buckles and ties then lifting the heavy
plate armor from his shoulders.  He removed the rest
of his armor and his boots. After pulling his padded
under tunic off he carefully began checking his body
for bruising and galling. Boromir tended to ignore
minor sores so Faramir checked for them often.

Soon he had his brother naked and in the tub. He loved
washing Boromir. Running a soapy cloth over his skin,
touching him everywhere. After thoroughly washing his
hair he climbed into the tub and sat on his lap. 

Boromir began washing his brother. It made him happy
to be able to do this. He'd helped bathe him as an
infant, and had completely taken over by the time he
was five. "Who washes your hair when I am gone?" he
asked.

"Maran, that pretty serving girl you brought up here,"
he told him. "She asks about you a lot, I think she is
besotted. But she does a good job of it. I think if I
weren't so young and innocent she might be interested
in a little more."

Boromir laughed at his feigned look. "Young and sweet
you are, my brother, but innocence is not something
I've left you. All too soon you will join me on the
battlefield, where it would only be a burden." He
kissed his forehead, reveling in the soft sigh. "Maran
is a good choice. Should I thank her for caring for
you?"

"Yes, brother," he whispered.

"Tonight then. Father has given us the rest of the day
to ourselves. Let's go eat and then to the practice
field. I want to see how lax you've gotten in my
absence," he teased. He watched Faramir rise from the
tub to get their towels, his movements graceful beyond
his years. Then he looked away, realizing that the
sight was making him hard, and he had promised himself
that he would wait until his brother had reached the
proper age before going any further than a few kisses
or caresses with him.

The armsmaster eagerly turned the other students over
to his second to marshal for the two boys. Although
Boromir's five-year age difference and heavier build
made him practically loom over his brother, Faramir
was fast and agile. The other fighters around them
tended to stop their own practice sessions to watch
them. 

Boromir pushed his brother to his limits and beyond,
never holding back. Faramir spent much of their
sparring time dodging and diverting his brother's
heavy sword strokes. Their fighting styles differed
greatly, the older brother with sword and shield used
his considerable strength, and the younger with sword
and long knife used his quickness.

After nearly an hour Boromir finally let his brother
rest. There was very little that could improve on his
technique, all he needed was for his body to grow into
his skills. Although Boromir hadn't reached his full
growth yet either, he was big enough and strong enough
to overcome most men. In fact it had been some time
since any had been able to defeat him on a regular
basis. They thanked the arms master and went to put
their armor and weapons away. 

In their private garden they spent an hour practicing
the sword dances, followed by a few hours of playful
wrestling. Knowing that soon they would be forced into
adulthood in an ever more dangerous world, they took
as much advantage as they could of the few remaining
bits of their childhood.


Faramir's anger nearly blinded him as he walked down
the narrow alley. The girl who he accompanied seemed
unaware of his rage, as almost everyone else would be.
He'd learned to conceal his emotions well, dealing
with his father. The girl, no older than him, had been
offering herself for sale to men who should have known
better. His unexpected appearance had frightened the
men off, for in Minas Tirith all knew the youngest son
of the Steward of Gondor.

As they neared the end of the alley they heard screams
of pain and an angry man's voice. The girl tried to
pull away but Faramir wouldn't let her go. Without
knocking he entered the house, releasing the girl when
he'd closed the door. In a corner of the sparsely
furnished room were several younger children who she
ran to huddle with.

With barely a glance in their direction, he continued
through the next doorway. The painful welts on his own
back spurred his anger as he saw the large man kicking
the boy on the floor. Without a word or hesitation, he
attacked. He drove his foot into the man's stomach
with all the force he could. Which, even though he was
only eleven, was enough to knock the man off his feet.
As he fell his head caught the counter edge with a
loud crack. Faramir leaned over him noting the
impossible angle of the man's neck before turning to
comfort the boy on the floor.

A short time later he sat in Nelda's kitchen with the
boy, who was a couple of years older than him. The
city watch had come and easily accepted his story of
the man tripping, once Nelda had arranged for the
evidence of violence to be removed. She finished
cleaning the abrasions on the boy, who was named
Garus. 

"I think Garus would make a perfect body servant for
your brother," Nelda told Faramir. "Of course you will
have to train him. It would be best if you start right
away."

"Yes, Nelda," he answered; holding Garus' hand and
noting the grateful look in his eyes.


Faramir followed his father into his study. He had
been late that morning to a council meeting; his horse
had thrown a shoe on his return to the White Tower
after seeing Boromir off. Now he was trying to prepare
himself for the punishment he knew was coming. The
punishments had been getting progressively worse in
the two years since Boromir had insisted that their
father include him in council meetings. 

Without expression he leaned over his father's desk,
taking the liberty of grabbing the opposite edge. As
the first blow from the long thin cane fell across his
back he went over the moves of the first sword dance
in his mind. It helped him to separate himself from
the pain and keep from crying out.

That his silence would make the punishment last longer
he suspected, but he couldn't bring himself to give
in. Each blow felt harder than the last, and they were
placed randomly from his shoulders to his knees. At
least his clothes would help prevent them from
breaking the skin, though of course some would.

There were no words exchanged. The only sounds were
the slight whistle of the cane through the air and the
impact against his body.  Denethor would occasionally
grunt with force he was putting into his blows. But
Faramir put all his concentration into keeping quiet
and breathing evenly.

When his father finally stopped, he waited for him to
leave the room before he moved. Experience had taught
him that Denethor might start again if he didn't wait.

He found he was having trouble unlocking his fingers
from the edge of the desk. The sound of the door
opening behind him almost made him jump in fear of his
father returning.

"Faramir," called the voice of Maran. "We saw 'him'
leave, we've come to help you." 

Garus carefully put his hands to Faramir's upper arms.
"Help him free his hands," he told Maran, seeing that
the other boy couldn't do it himself.

Faramir couldn't restrain a whimper as she pulled his
hands free and Garus helped him stand.

"Maybe if you cried out he wouldn't hurt you so bad,"
Maran said.

"My father loved to hear us scream," Garus disagreed.
"It was how Lord Faramir found me. Here hold onto me,
my lord," he told him.

When they laid him on his bed, Faramir began drifting
in and out of consciousness. Gentle hands carefully
cut away his clothes and applied salve to his back. 

"Someone needs to tell Lord Boromir," Maran said,
shocking him awake.

"No," he said sitting up and almost crying out at the
pain of his movements. "My brother must never know, it
would break his heart. I couldn't bear that. You must
promise me," he demanded.

"But, my lord, he could make him stop." Maran
entreated.

"What if they came to blows over me? I could never
live with myself if that happened. Besides, he might
find worse ways to punish me. You don't think he sent
your grandmother away just because my mother died? You
would all be in danger of his wrath." he gave her a
pleading look. "With your help, I can deal with this,
please don't let my brother know."

"I will say nothing, Faramir," she whispered. "Lay
back down and let us care for your wounds. Some of
them are bad enough to scar."

He hurriedly lay back down; Boromir had already
questioned him once about a mark on his back. "You can
both stay with me tonight," he told them. "Your
comfort is what I need most."


Faramir looked at the older boy before him
dispassionately. His back burned from the beating his
father had given him for fighting with this new
fosterling from the west. The stranger was a bully and
had quickly picked up on the estrangement between
father and son. But he had never met Boromir, and had
no knowledge that he had specifically forbidden
Faramir from allowing himself to be bullied.

"You think my father's punishments will make any
difference, Delomar?" he said quietly, advancing on
the larger boy. "He can beat me every night and I will
be here to defeat you every morning." So saying, he
came closer.

Looking for help among the others in the training
yard, Delomar backed away. The only ones present were
the other boys, even the armsmaster and his assistants
were strangely absent. 

Faster than could be dodged Faramir kicked him
squarely in the groin, dropping him to the ground. He
stood watching, waiting. "Get up," he said.

Slowly the older boy regained his feet. Taking a swift
step forward, Faramir punched him in the stomach.
Pushing him upright with the other hand he hit him
again in the same place, bringing him to his knees.
Faramir took him by the hair and turned his head so he
looked into his eyes.

Delomar swallowed convulsively at the cold look in the
younger boys eyes. "I gave you a chance yesterday and
you wasted it. I'll give you one more now, if this
happens again you won't be walking away," he released
him, pushing him to the ground.

"If you can't keep yourself in line you'd better have
your father send you somewhere else." With that he
left the older boy crying in the dirt.

TBC



=====
HEL
Death doesn't stalk me
It waits patiently
Like a lover in the night
To take me beyond
My wildest dreams
When ' I ' am ready




TITLE: Warriors of Gondor Part 02 - Discoveries 
 
AUTHOR: HEL (helthehorrible@yahoo.com ) 
 
RATING: NC17 
 
PAIRING: Boromir/Faramir with various others 
 
WARNINGS: explicit sex, underage sex, incest, het, 
slash, violence, blood. 
 
ARCHIVE: Sure, let me know 
 
DISCLAIMER: Inspired by the LOTR stories. 
 
SUMMARY: Secrets are revealed. 
 
SPOILERS: None 
 
 
 
Discoveries 
 
"Have you talked with your father about your dreams," 
Mithrandir asked Faramir as he scaled the giant 
bookcases to get the volume that the wizard needed. 
"He has dreams too, although he has never sought 
advice from any wizard I know of, except possibly 
Saruman." 
 
The boy's snort of disgust brought the Istari's head 
up to see Faramir drop down the shelves with 
frightening speed an oversized book under one arm. "I 
do not talk to him unless I have to," he said, landing 
easily and handing the book over to the wizard. "I'm 
sure his temper would not be improved learning that I 
and not Boromir was the main recipient of the dreams 
the men of our line are known for. He'd probably feel 
that I was somehow to blame." 
 
There was such bitterness in the boy's voice that the 
wizard put a comforting hand to his back. He was 
startled when Faramir jumped away from him hissing in 
pain. "Are you all right?" the Istari asked. 
 
"It's nothing, don't worry yourself," he answered. 
 
"Are we not friends, Faramir?" the old man asked in 
his most kindly voice. "Won't you trust me with one 
more secret, as I have trusted you." 
 
"You promise not to interfere or tell Boromir?" he 
questioned. 
 
"If that is your wish," was the prompt answer. 
 
He was almost relieved to let an adult in on the 
secret he hid from everyone except his most trusted 
servants, who knew all his secrets anyway. Making sure 
that Garus was still making himself busy in the 
doorway, to signal any untoward approaches, he 
loosened his tunic to show Mithrandir his back. 
 
The wizard was shocked; he couldn't remember seeing 
worse marks. They crisscrossed his back and he could 
they went down below the waistline of his pants. "They 
must be very painful," he forced out remembering his 
promise. "I think I have a salve that will help them 
heal quicker and take away the pain." 
 
"That doesn't really bother me, just as long as they 
heal before Boromir comes home," he said shrugging his 
shirt the rest of the way off so that his scars 
showed. 
 
His eyes widening in surprise Mithrandir noted the 
carefully patterned marks of the Numenorean sword 
dances. "You dance with your brother?" 
 
"Father doesn't know that he trained me too," he told 
him remembering past slips. 
 
"I won't say a word," the wizard answered. "But just 
the same, I will make sure you get a supply of that 
salve I told you about." He paused, shaking his head 
in disapproval. "You really should tell your brother. 
Boromir is the only one who can reason with him." 
 
Faramir's determined expression convinced the wizard 
to drop it for now. 
 
 
Boromir watched the party guests with disinterest. 
That the party s in his honor for his eighteenth 
birthday meant little to him, though he had been able 
to get his father to give him a birthday wish earlier 
that day. His father's displeasure at what Boromir 
wanted almost made him refuse, but he would have had 
to break his own word. So he had received a promise of 
a little more freedom for him and his brother, who he 
had yet to tell. 
 
The person he cared about most was nowhere to be seen. 
Faramir had been strangely distant in the week he'd 
been home. They still dreamed together when they were 
apart, and Faramir still came to his bed when his 
lovers had left, but there was something wrong. 
Something Faramir was keeping from him, and he was 
going to find out tonight what it was. With all the 
skill of one born to court life, he escaped the room.  
 
 
Locking the door to his bedroom behind him he went 
through the hidden door to his brother's room. Faramir 
sat in his bed reading, his back against the 
headboard. 
 
"You left the party early," Boromir said, as he sat on 
the edge of the bed. 
 
"So have you," was the impish reply. But Faramir's 
smile seemed a bit forced. 
 
Boromir reached over and pulled his brother into his 
arms. "What makes you so sad and distant?" he asked. 
"I miss you so much when I'm gone, but when I'm here 
you are closed away from me.  Tell me brother, what is 
wrong." 
 
Faramir curled into his brother's arms and fought to 
hold back his tears. There was so much that he yearned 
to share with his brother but dared not. "My dreams of 
late have been rather dark," he finally forced out. "I 
was able to talk to Mithrandir about them and he said 
as I get more used to them, I will be able to control 
them better. It will be all right, Boromir, I can 
handle this. But I don't want to bother you with my 
small problems." 
 
Boromir kissed his brow, smiling at the soft sigh. 
"You are everything to me, my brother," he said into 
his hair. "I can't bear it when you are unhappy. I 
have news that might cheer you up." 
 
"You always cheer me, brother," Faramir said. "Tell me 
your news." 
 
"Father has agreed to let me have final say over who 
we wed," he announced triumphantly. 
 
Faramir looked at him in surprise, then lost control 
of the tears he'd been holding back. "That is such 
welcome news, brother," he said between sobs. 
 
Taking his chin in his hand, Boromir turned Faramir's 
head so he could see his eyes. "What is this about? 
Has he said something to you?" he asked. Faramir tried 
to look away, but Boromir was insistent. "Tell me."  
 
"Father told me that he planned to send me to Rohan. 
The king's sister has bourn a daughter. He said I 
would serve better as a tie to bind our two peoples 
together." 
 
"If ever I decide you should marry a princess of 
Rohan, or anywhere else, she shall come here. I am 
parted from you too much as it is," he kissed his brow 
as he spoke. "You are my life, dear brother."  
 
Faramir was glad that Boromir didn't pry any more, he 
felt bad enough concealing things from him and didn't 
want to have to lie to him. They cuddled together 
beneath the blankets, talking of small matters until 
they drifted asleep. 
 
 
Boromir woke in the darkness disorientated. His 
thoughts were hard to gather partially from the hot 
wet mouth that was enclosing his cock. As his hands 
encountered soft hair, he realized who it was. 
 
"Faramir, no," he gasped, even while his dick told him 
otherwise. "We mustn't." 
Faramir just gripped his hips harder and pushed down 
so that Boromir's cock slid into his throat. It was 
too much for him, making him come long and hard. 
Faramir swallowed all his brother had to give before 
climbing up and giving him a deep kiss. 
 
"I've been dying to do that for so long, Boromir," he 
said in his ear. "Please don't hate me for giving in." 
 
"I could never hate you, my brother," he told him. 
"But you are too young for such things," 
 
"If I can do it, than I am old enough," he quoted 
Boromir. "This," he said wrapping a hand around his 
brother's cock. " Is a much gentler weapon than those 
I have used since I could walk, and this," he thrust 
his own erection against his side. "Proves that I can. 
All that is left is whether you want me." He told him. 
 
"Faramir, I want you, but you are too young and my 
brother," he said, but was unable to resist his sweet 
kisses. 
 
Faramir bit him hard on his collarbone. "I am not too 
young," he said, as he licked the blood from the bite. 
"I don't care that we are brothers, it only makes me 
love you more." 
 
Boromir rolled them over so he was on top. He lost 
himself in a long deep kiss. "You are too much for 
me," he said as he ground his hips into his brother's, 
rubbing their hard cocks together. "I want you so 
much." He couldn't stop himself, having secretly 
dreamed of this for years.  
 
Their hands roamed each other's bodies, their mouths 
locked together. Both wanted more, much more, but 
Boromir couldn't bring himself to allow it. Still, the 
movement and closeness was enough to bring them both 
to climax. 
 
Curling together they shared a sweet kiss. "Go to 
sleep, little brother," Boromir told him, kissing his 
forehead.  
 
 
The sound of the door closing softly, as if in 
stealth, brought Boromir awake suddenly. He sat up, 
his hand automatically reaching for his sword. Faramir 
also woke, but he recognized the intruder from the 
sounds of her hurried steps. 
 
Cautiously relocking the door, she hurried to the bed. 
"Your father is asking for you, my lords," she told 
them in a subdued voice. "His servant, Galmar is about 
in the hallways, spying. Garus distracted him so I 
could sneak in here to warn you." 
 
Blushing at being caught in his brother's bed, Boromir 
set his sword back against the wall. Thinking quickly, 
Faramir put an arm around his brother and kissed his 
cheek. "Take Maran to your room, brother," he told 
him. "You even have time for a quick romp while I 
dress. The noise will distract Galmar," he added at 
Boromir's bemused look. He gave him a push and began 
climbing out of bed. "Hurry." he whispered.  
 
Maran was already headed towards the secret door. 
Boromir looked at his brother than down at himself, 
the dried cum and love marks obvious on both of them.  
 
Faramir handed him his sword and leaned into him to 
whisper in his ear. "Don't worry brother, Maran will 
put everything right when we have gone down to 
breakfast. She can be trusted," he took Boromir's limp 
cock in his hand, stroking it to hardness and giving 
him a most unbrotherly kiss. "Now go do your part and 
make her scream with pleasure." 
 
Still not completely awake, Boromir made his way to 
his own room to follow his brother's instructions. He 
enjoyed sex with Maran. The memories of the previous 
night, along with what his brother had just done, made 
him harden even more. Maran was already naked on the 
bed waiting for him. 
 
A short time later, Faramir checked his appearance in 
the mirror, and then left his room, locking the door 
behind him. Hearing the loud noises coming from his 
brother's room he stopped to rap on the door sharply. 
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Galmar, his 
father's personal servant and snoop peering from 
behind a partially closed door. "Boromir, we are 
late," he called.  
 
The sounds continued for a few moments more, followed 
by loud cries of completion. Soon Boromir opened the 
door, wearing nothing but a smile. "Help me dress, 
brother, I completely forgot the time," he said, 
pulling Faramir within the room. 
 
The younger brother picked out clothes from the 
wardrobe while the older one gave himself a quick wash 
at the basin in the corner. Boromir's dressing was 
aided by his brother, and occasionally hindered by his 
groping.  Laughing and swatting playfully at Faramir's 
hands, he noticed Maran watching them. She gave him a 
wink and an approving smile. Wondering at his 
brother's ally, he finished the last of his dressing. 
 
 
The morning had gone well, despite their tardiness to 
breakfast. Denethor had just signed a new, more 
favorable trade agreement, and was pleased enough to 
give Faramir some of the credit. He even released the 
brothers to spend the rest of the day as they pleased. 
 
As they entered their private garden Boromir noticed 
the familiar trunk and two of the young men Faramir 
had trained as their personal servants waiting for 
them. "What is this, brother?" he asked, as the 
servants opened the trunk and began arranging its 
contents on the ground. 
 
"For your birthday, I thought you might like to do a 
sword dance with me." Faramir answered, his voice 
going husky. "One we can finish to its proper 
conclusion." 
 
At Boromir's nod of approval the servants, Garus and 
Stefle, began removing the clothes from the two 
brothers. They applied oil to their skin before 
dressing them each in a tight confining garment that 
was barely more than a loincloth. When they finished 
they placed matching swords side by side in the small 
clearing and went to guard their privacy. 
 
The brothers began stretching, their bodies close 
together mirroring each other's moves. They took their 
time, letting the mood build before they went to take 
up their swords. Standing back to back, they leaned 
into each other for a moment before beginning the 
dance.  
 
There were five dances and this day by unspoken 
agreement they did the third, which was Boromir's 
favorite. Developed centuries before by great fighting 
champions of Numenor the dances were training 
exercises for advanced swordsmen. They required 
absolute control of one's weapon and body, as there 
was bloodletting involved. This dance contained 
twenty-six complicated passes for each participant, 
half of which required the marking of their 
opponent/partner. Each mark was at a vital spot, which 
could kill or cripple if done incorrectly. 
 
They danced together with great skill and grace having 
practiced constantly for nearly eight years and done 
the full version of each dance with live steel several 
times, except for the conclusion which was not an 
exercise in battle, but in gentler arts meant to bind 
two warriors closer than brothers. As each stroke met 
and cut soft and previously scarred flesh, or passed 
it by like a breath they drew closer to each other. 
Their movements were slower than usual, each wanting 
to make it last longer, but any onlooker would think 
they moved with blindingly fast speed. This was one of 
their chief joys, moving together in the ancient 
patterns. One of the few things they did without 
restraint, without conscious thought. Bright steel 
licked out leaving behind thin red lines that barely 
bled. 
 
In this dance they matched each other in moves, 
Boromir leading his brother. As they closed together 
for the final moves his hand slipped just the barest 
amount causing a slightly uneven line. Faramir was 
unfazed by the mistake and placed his final cut 
perfectly over the ones he had made in previous 
dances. They let their swords fall to the ground from 
their outstretched hands the razor-sharp blades 
sticking firmly in the ground. 
 
Moving together now, they reached for each other with 
hands and mouths greedy for contact long denied. 
Boromir cried out as Faramir licked the blood and 
sweat from his chest, guilt making him want to stop 
but unable to resist his brother's advances. Some part 
of him had always wanted this, but he did not feel 
comfortable with it. His mental image of his brother 
was of a child, not this aggressive creature who would 
not be refused. Grabbing his brother's head and 
kissing his mouth, Faramir rubbed his body against 
him. There was no retreat for Boromir.  
 
The ties to their pants were easily overcome by 
seeking hands. Faramir pushed his brother to the 
ground straddling his waist. Pressing hungry kisses to 
his chest he moved back until his ass was pressed 
against his cock.  
 
Sitting up he raised himself preparing to slide down 
the pulsing erection, but Boromir grabbed his hips and 
rolled them both over.  
 
"No, Faramir," he told him, pinning his body to the 
ground. "I cannot go that far, not yet." 
 
"Please, beloved," Faramir begged. "I am more than 
ready. I burn to feel you in me." 
 
"I am not ready, Faramir," Boromir told him, burying 
his face in his neck,  
 
"Please, do not ask this of me, not yet." His whole 
body shook and Faramir relented. 
 
"I love you, Boromir," he told him, pulling his head 
up so that he could look in his eyes. "Forgive me for 
pushing you. We will do whatever you allow." Then he 
kissed him until they were both gasping for breath. 
"Do not stop, Boromir." He whispered. "I need to feel 
you against me." 
 
They both shuddered as Boromir began rubbing his body 
against Faramir, the passion of the dance already 
changed to a stronger passion. He couldn't stop, not 
even if he had really wanted to. Faramir grabbed his 
hips and pulled him closer crying out in pleasure. 
Again, they both found their release in each other's 
arms. 
 
 
As he lay with his brother cradled in his arms, 
Boromir began to wonder about the servants who had 
served them this day. Never before had he really 
thought about them except at need, but this day they 
had been prominent in their aid. 
"How do you know that we can trust Maran or these 
others with our secrets?" he asked Faramir. 
 
"Do you remember Nelda?" his brother responded. 
 
"Of course," was his quick reply. "She cared for 
mother and sometimes us when we were little." 
 
"When she retired," Faramir started, not even hinting 
at the forced retirement. "I still saw her regularly 
when she came to visit her family who still worked 
here. They are of the oldest retainers of the House of 
Hurin, and loyal to our family from before the 
Stewardship. She has advised me on choosing the most 
discrete and loyal servants to serve our personal 
needs. Most, such as Maran, are of her own family. A 
few, such as Garus, I found on my own, but let her 
pass judgment on them before I brought them here." 
 
"I have noticed Garus," Boromir said. "He seems very 
devoted to you." 
 
"He and his siblings were orphaned," Faramir told him. 
"I brought him here to serve us and placed the others 
with Nelda. She takes very good care of them and he 
can see them often. He is grateful, I suppose." 
 
"I think there is more than gratitude in his eyes," 
Boromir said laughter in his voice. 
 
Faramir put a hand to his brother's cheek and looked 
in his eyes. "You are gone so much and I truly hate 
sleeping alone," he responded. "You have spoiled me, 
brother." 
 
"So Garus and Maran share your bed when I am gone," 
Boromir kissed him as he spoke. "I had worried about 
you being alone in the night. I'm not sure that I'm 
not jealous. They get to hold you more than I." 
 
"You are always first in my heart, brother," he 
whispered. "I only exist as a shadow when you are 
gone. I am only truly alive in your arms." 
 
 
Faramir followed his father into his study. It had 
been such an innocent comment, that Boromir would soon 
be returning for his birthday. Why it should anger his 
father so was beyond him, but then, his father angered 
so easily lately, especially with him. 
 
"So, you think yourself so important that your brother 
should abandon the defense of Gondor for you?" 
Denethor took up the thin cane from beside his desk. 
"Strip," he ordered his son. "It is past time you 
learned your place." 
 
Reviewing the moves in the sword dances in his head 
Faramir did as he was bade. He knew it was useless for 
him to argue.  He bent over the desk as he was 
ordered, and endeavored to not make a sound. 
 
This was new, before he had had the protection of his 
clothes, now the thin wood sank deeply into his flesh 
and he could feel the blood flow. Still he put all his 
strength into not showing any emotion or making any 
noise. As the pain increased he concentrated on the 
exact moves of fifth dance, which was the most 
complicated and drew the most blood. This helped him 
to keep his control until his body finally had enough 
and he passed out. 
 
 
When Boromir arrived for his brother's birthday two 
days later he was surprised that he wasn't at the 
Great Gate to meet him. There was a messenger from his 
father though and he was constrained to spend several 
hours giving reports before he could get away.   
 
It was after dark when a third search of his brothers 
room revealed his brother to him. "Faramir!" he 
called, when he saw him laying face down on his bed. 
"Why have you been hiding from me?" He placed his hand 
on his back when he spoke and was surprised by the 
painful hiss and flinch. Lighting more candles and 
lamps he brought them closer to the bed. Helping 
Faramir up he began removing his clothes, and then the 
bloody bandages covering him. There were no words for 
the shock he felt at the appalling wounds, their 
nature obvious. 
 
Boromir wept as he treated his injured brother, 
blaming himself for letting this happen. "I'm so 
sorry," he whispered. "I should have done something, 
seen this coming." 
 
"No, it's not your fault, I'm the only one to blame. 
Please, Boromir, don't cry, I can't bear it when you 
cry. I will be alright, it's not much worse than some 
of the other times." Faramir stopped speaking as his 
brother froze. 
 
"What other times?" he asked, his voice low and 
deadly. 
 
"Don't do anything Boromir, really it's my fault." He 
threw himself into his brother's arms as he started to 
rise. Wrapping his arms around him, he held him 
tightly. "He is our father, don't do anything we both 
will regret. Please, brother, I beg you."  
 
Boromir put his hands to Faramir's back and they were 
immediately covered in blood. "You've started bleeding 
again, lay back down," he urged him. 
 
"Only if you promise not to do anything, please, 
Boromir." 
 
"I will not strike our father, but I will talk to him 
tomorrow. This will never happen again." he lowered 
him to the bed. " I should take you to the healers." 
 
"No, I don't want anyone else to touch me." Faramir 
begged. "I look worse than I am. If you help I will be 
fine in a few days." 
 
"Will you be good enough to ride?" 
 
"Ride where, Boromir?" 
 
"I'm taking you with me.  You are old enough, and good 
enough with a sword." 
 
"Really?" he asked joyously. 
 
"Yes, really, I will be able to keep you safe." 
 
Faramir's face darkened slightly at the thought that 
he had to be protected from his father. "I love you, 
Boromir. I will follow you anywhere." He leaned 
forward and gave him a very unbrotherly kiss. 
 
Boromir briefly returned the kiss, and then eased him 
back to the bed.  
 
"You are in no condition to be getting either of us 
worked up." he said with a smile. "Let's get you 
cleaned up." 
 
Boromir barely slept that night. Worry for his brother 
and anger at his father made him restless. Faramir 
occasionally cried out in his sleep, so he would 
stroke his cheek and whisper words of comfort.  
 
 
As dawn brightened the room, he dressed carefully. He 
bore no weapons, not even the dagger he had worn 
almost every day of his life. 
 
He had always been an obedient son, except when it 
came to Faramir. Since he'd first held him in his arms 
he'd felt responsible for his welfare. His father's 
attitude toward his brother was unreasonable, and 
puzzled him. And now he had to confront him, again. 
 
The door to the breakfast room revealed that his 
father was alone. "Faramir is late again." Denethor 
said grimly. "Have him sent for." 
 
"No." Boromir answered. "He will not be attending any 
meals until he is well enough to sit without making 
his injuries bleed." He stood before his father. 
 
"You would defy me?" he asked.  
 
"He is my responsibility, he has always been mine. 
When he is well enough to ride, I will take him with 
me," he answered. 
 
"You are out of line. I will not tolerate it." 
Denethor began to rise from his chair. 
 
Boromir took a step back and spoke firmly. "He will 
leave here with me as my armsman when I return to my 
company, or as my fellow outcast. In this thing, 
father, I will not be moved." 
 
Denethor felt a surge of pride as his son made his 
declaration, but it didn't abate his anger. "You have 
coddled him like a girl, the simplest orders seem to 
be beyond him. Go ahead and speak to the armsmaster he 
can tell you of his constant tardiness and absences. 
If you have to take him into battle he could get you 
killed trying to protect him. Is that what you wish?" 
 
Boromir's face reddened in anger. He knew that his 
father was trying to provoke him, trying to poison him 
against Faramir. "There is nothing you can say that 
will change my mind. I have faith in him and I know he 
won't fail me." He looked at him with steel 
determination.  "Nothing will come between us, he will 
always come first, even before myself." 
 
The words were like a slap in his face. He'd never 
been able to deny Boromir anything, and now he was 
being relegated to a lesser place than the son he 
despised. Denethor's thoughts went back to another 
time when he had taken second place in his own 
father's opinion. The years he had been forced to 
follow the advice of Thorongil. He turned away from 
his eldest son. There was nothing to contest, then, as 
now, he had lost. 
 
"I will expect you both to behave in a manner 
befitting the sons of the Steward," he told him in 
defeat. "I'm sure there is somewhere else you want to 
be, I will excuse you from today's meals. Your brother 
shall henceforth be your concern, as long as 
proprieties are met." 
 
Boromir felt a great lifting of his heart. He didn't 
hesitate, but hurried to the kitchens to arrange for 
the days meals for his brother and himself. Servants 
followed him back to his room with a huge breakfast, 
which he shared with Faramir. It was near bliss to be 
alone together. After he applied more salve to the 
welts and bruises they had a leisurely meal, he even 
fed him with his own hand as he lay on his stomach. 
Faramir was exhausted by the news and meal. Boromir 
kissed him and went about the day, summoning Garus to 
watch over Faramir. 
 
First he visited the armsmaster to ascertain his 
brother's fitness for battle. Here there was no 
surprise. 
 
"Your brother is a most excellent swordsman, and his 
talent with the bow can only be equaled by the elves, 
if them." the man gushed. "Of course, his recent 
accidents have cut into his training time rather 
drastically." he did not add that it was a mystery 
that one so graceful in arms, could be so clumsy in 
private. Boromir spent several hours in practice and 
training, before returning to the White Tower. 
 
At lunchtime he applied more salve to Faramir's back 
before he shared a very pleasant meal with him. 
Faramir couldn't sit, so Boromir took great pleasure 
in sitting beside his bed and feeding him by hand, as 
he had at breakfast.  
 
They spent the afternoon in hushed conversation, 
Faramir occasionally drifting in and out of sleep. 
Boromir sat on a low stool so that he could easily 
kiss or caress him. This was not how he had planned to 
spend his visit, but this time of privacy was welcome. 
If only his brother weren't injured. 
 
They had dinner, Boromir again feeding his brother.  
There was a marked improvement to the cane cuts when 
he applied more medicine; even the bruises were fading 
fast.  
 
"You are doing better than I had hoped, "he told him.  
 
"It's because you are here," Faramir responded. "I 
always heal better with you near." 
 
Boromir lay down next to him, their faces close 
together. "I want to be with you, more than anything." 
he kissed his forehead instead of the lips that drew 
him. "Sleep now, my beloved, so you can get well." 
 
Faramir smiled at him and closed his eyes. In moments 
he was sleeping soundly. It was something Boromir had 
always been able to do, put his brother to sleep. He 
knew that as long as he stayed near, he wouldn't wake. 
 
Boromir got up from the bed and began going through 
Faramir's wardrobe. He wanted to make sure he had 
plenty of the right kind of clothes for traveling. 
Then found other things to occupy his time, stopping 
frequently to check on his brother. He would kiss his 
brow to hear his soft sigh. 
 
A quiet knock brought him quickly to the door. It was 
their father. Boromir stepped back far enough so that 
he could see into the room but not enter it. Faramir 
lay naked and turned slightly so that all the marks on 
his back were clearly visible. Denethor winced as he 
saw his handiwork for the first time since the 
beating. He had never before seen the results of his 
actions against his youngest son, and for the first 
time, felt shame at what he had done. 
 
Blushing he stepped back from the door and turned his 
face away. "There is some trouble in Ethring," at 
Boromir's stubborn look, he raised a comforting hand. 
"I will take care of it. You stay here and run things, 
there are plenty of people to help you." pausing he 
looked into his oldest son's eyes. "Continue taking 
care of your brother. I will leave at first light, and 
will be gone at least two weeks." With that he turned 
and walked swiftly away. 
 
Closing the door, he saw that his brother was awake. 
"So we get some more time for me to heal. What brought 
that on?" 
 
"He saw," Boromir told him. "I made sure he saw what 
he has done." 
 
 
Within days Faramir was well enough to sit for short 
periods of time without undue discomfort. He had meals 
in the dinning hall with his brother, and began going 
for short walks. As soon as he was able, Boromir had 
him join any meetings and help him in administrative 
duties. Many of the counselors were surprised that he 
actively sought his young brothers advice, and 
frequently followed it. At first it appeared to be an 
act of indulgence; such as they had heard Denethor 
accuse Boromir of. Soon, though, they realized that 
Faramir was wise beyond his age, and made decisions 
much the same as his father would. 
 
By the end of the first week, Faramir was back at 
weapons practice. Boromir watched him, sometimes 
stopping him to make sure he hadn't opened any of his 
wounds.  
 
Two weeks later, Faramir lay face down on his 
brother's bed while Boromir applied salve to his 
almost healed back. Their day was over, barring 
emergencies, and there was plenty of time before they 
need worry about sleep. Boromir started at his 
shoulders and worked his way down, taking his time, 
with many side trips and detours. The cane marks had 
faded to scars and for the first time he noticed older 
scars.  
 
"Promise me you won't keep things from me any more." 
he said into Faramir's ear. His hands slid between his 
thighs, bringing a moan of pleasure. "I want you to 
always tell me everything. I want to know all your 
secrets." 
 
Pulling Faramir over onto his side, he began rubbing 
his chest. He lay beside him and kissed him deeply. 
Faramir ran one hand through his brothers hair, the 
other he brushed through the beard he had started 
wearing. Boromir moved his hands around to Faramir's 
back and pulled him close. The contact of their naked 
flesh made them both groan. 
 
"Promise me, Faramir, and I will give you what you 
have been begging me for." He thrust his hips against 
his brothers causing their hard cocks to rub against 
each other. One finger slid into Faramir's ass as 
Boromir licked and sucked his neck. 
 
"Please, Boromir," Faramir cried out, grabbing his 
brother's hips. "I'll tell you everything, daily, 
hourly, minute by minute if you wish. Don't make me 
wait any longer." he was peppering his face with 
kisses as he spoke. "I'll even keep a journal, if that 
is your wish." 
 
"Yes," Boromir said thickly. "A journal, where you 
will tell me everything, every detail, promise me." He 
rolled so that Faramir was on his back and he was 
between his legs. Pushing Faramir's knees up to his 
chest, he poised his cock at his brother's ass. 
"Promise me." 
 
"I promise, Boromir," he said breathlessly. 
 
Boromir thrust forward just enough to put the head of 
his hard cock into Faramir's tight ass. "Every day," 
he said through clenched teeth. "Promise me." 
 
"Yes," he cried out. "I promise, every day. Please, 
Boromir, please, I can't wait." 
 
Boromir began sinking his cock onto him slowly. The 
long awaited contact was almost too much; he had to 
stop once he was all the way in. Faramir groaned 
loudly and Boromir grabbed his cock, squeezing it 
tightly, just in time to keep him from coming. They 
looked at each other, breathing heavily. Boromir 
realized they would not last very long no matter what 
they tried. His cock twitched inside Faramir, who's 
cock twitched in his hand with the same beat. He 
pulled almost all the way out and thrust back once, 
moving his hand in time, and they both climaxed. 
 
Boromir lay down on his brother, supporting much of 
his own weight on his arms. Faramir's hungry lips 
claimed his, his hands pulling him closer, his legs 
wrapping themselves around him. 
 
Suddenly they were both hard again, and moving. 
Boromir strove to make it last, while Faramir was 
wildly bucking, caressing, biting, and kissing. 
Grabbing his brother's hips and rising to his knees 
Boromir took control of their movements. He made slow 
deep thrusts into his body, angling his hips just so. 
Faramir cried out his pleasure with each penetration, 
his brother mastering his body. 
 
Both became lost in the sensations, in each other. 
Their eyes locked together, their breathing 
synchronized. Boromir's hips thrusting into his 
brother's tight passage, his hands pulling him closer. 
Faramir's legs wrapped around his brother's waist 
pulling him closer, his hands stroking his own cock in 
the same rhythm. It went on endlessly, forever. 
 
Finally, their pace quickened, the thrusts harder and 
they both came with loud cries. Boromir collapsed next 
to his brother, pulling him into his arms. They lay 
together holding each other. 
 
"That was even better than I dreamed." Faramir said, 
when he had caught his breath. 
 
"Better than it's ever been for me." Boromir added. 
"You are always the best, my love. Next time, you will 
do the same to me." Boromir told him. 
"I love you, Boromir." Faramir told him as he kissed 
his face. "You are so good to me." 
 
A short time later, Faramir was thrusting deep into 
his brother. They whispered words of love and caressed 
each other. Their earlier activities had taken the 
urgency out of their copulating. It lasted longer this 
time, both of them well sated when they finished. 
 
 
Denethor returned after nearly three weeks. The 
brothers had all their preparations made for their own 
departure. There were last minute changes made as a 
result of their father's journey, but soon all was 
ready. 
 
Reviewing the decisions that had been made in his 
absence, Denethor saw no need to reverse any of them. 
Although his mouth tightened grimly when his 
counselors told him of how much of a role his youngest 
son had played, as soon as he had recovered from his 
mysterious illness. 
 
The relationship between him and his sons was 
strained, and he could see they were closer than ever 
to each other. Denethor's feelings of isolation and 
habit had him still making caustic remarks to Faramir, 
and favoring Boromir. He tried more often to temper 
his comments, but his antagonistic feelings were still 
there. 
 
He let them ride out, just the two of them, with the 
horses and supplies. Even though the countryside 
wasn't completely safe his sons were warriors. Boromir 
at nineteen was almost legendary with his sword. 
Faramir at fourteen was lethal with both sword and 
bow. They were unlikely to encounter a foe they 
couldn't defeat or outsmart. 
 
Wandering through their rooms after they had gone, he 
chased off the servants who were just starting to 
clean them. He took note of the differences in how 
they kept their rooms. Faramir's room was very neat, 
even the bed was made, while Boromir's looked like a 
storm had hit it.  
 
He sat on the edge of Boromir's bed and looked around 
the room. He missed his sons, though he couldn't quell 
his resentment of the youngest. The pile of clothes 
beside the bed seemed overlarge, until he recognized 
the tunic Faramir had been wearing the night before. 
Rising he picked through the pile seeing that it 
contained both son's clothes from the night before 
including undergarments. Turning back to the bed, he 
pulled the bedding back and saw multiple stains upon 
the sheets. He'd seen them retire to their own rooms 
the night before. Looking at the wall that separated 
the two rooms he saw an odd shadow, a stray breeze 
moving a hanging. Crossing over to the wall, he found 
the hidden door behind its tapestry. 
 
He was appalled and enraged. If at that moment Faramir 
had stood before him he would have killed him. It was 
surely the sweetness of his younger brother that had 
led Boromir astray. 
 
Leaving the room, he tried to calm his thoughts. 
Things might not be as bad as they looked. Boys 
experimented when they were young, and this was, most 
likely, just a passing phase. The access door had 
probably been installed long ago; there were many 
secrets in a tower this large and old. 
 
TBC



TITLE: Warriors of Gondor Part 03 - Patrolling the 
West 
 
AUTHOR: HEL (helthehorrible@yahoo.com ) 
 
RATING: NC17 
 
PAIRING: Boromir/Faramir with various others 
 
WARNINGS: explicit sex, underage sex, incest, het, 
slash, violence, blood. 
 
ARCHIVE: Sure, let me know 
 
DISCLAIMER: Inspired by the LOTR stories. 
 
NOTES: Thanks to Beverly for the Beta. A vambrace is a 
piece of armor that covers the forearm. 
 
 
Patrolling the West 
 
Faramir was overjoyed to be riding with his brother. 
They were bringing a string of horses and supplies to 
rejoin Boromir's company in Lamedon. They rode at a 
steady pace, hoping to meet up with them within the 
week. In the interim, they planned to enjoy their time 
alone together. 
 
Each night after they made camp, Faramir would spend a 
few minutes writing in the journal he'd promised 
Boromir. When he finished, Boromir would read what he 
had written.  After eating their dinner, they settled 
down on their blankets. The warm spring air caressed 
their nude bodies as they lay together on their 
pallet. Boromir ran his hand down Faramir's back, glad 
that the wounds from his beating were undetectable to 
his touch. He applied healing oil to his scarred 
flesh. "Are you saddle sore?" he asked as he reached 
his butt. 
 
"Just a little," Faramir admitted. 
 
Boromir thoroughly massaged his ass cheeks, running 
his thumbs down the cleft between them, pressing 
lightly at the puckered opening. When Faramir was 
gasping in pleasure, he moved down to rub the backs 
and insides of his thighs.  
 
He then pulled Faramir over so that they faced each 
other. They exchanged hungry kisses and caresses. "Let 
me possess you," he whispered in his brother's ear. "I 
want to be deep inside you, my beloved one." 
 
Faramir wrapped his legs around his brother's waist. 
"Yes, take me brother." 
 
He used some of the oil he'd brought to slick his 
cock, then he began slowly pushing it into his 
brother. They both cried out, it felt so good. Boromir 
pulled Faramir's knees up so he could go deeper. They 
were too impatient to go slow, and only a few thrusts 
brought them both off. 
 
Boromir rolled over onto his side, bringing Faramir 
with him. They both laughed, not in the least worried 
about how quick it had been. That had only been the 
start. 
 
After they had rested a while, Faramir urged his 
brother onto his back. He slid his oiled cock into his 
ass as he slid his knees under him. Boromir's raised 
lower body looked so enticing that it inspired 
Faramir. 
 
Leaning forward, he put his elbows on the insides of 
Boromir's thighs, pushing them to the side. Then he 
put his hands under the small of his back pulling up. 
Boromir watched in amazement as Faramir hunched 
forward and took the head of his cock in his mouth. 
The feeling was incredible, his brother's cock in his 
ass and mouth on his own aching erection at the same 
time.  
 
Faramir was ecstatic that his idea worked.  It felt so 
wonderful, his cock buried deep in Boromir's ass, 
Boromir's cock in his mouth. If he were any less 
limber, or Boromir's cock any shorter, it wouldn't 
have worked. Sucking at his cock and pulling with his 
hands, he encouraged Boromir to move between their 
points of contact. 
 
Boromir gripped Faramir's thighs and began slowly 
thrusting up and down. It wasn't the most comfortable 
position, but the eroticism had them both at the edge 
quickly. Boromir cried out as Faramir swallowed his 
completion, while filling his ass with his own. 
 
Boromir held his brother close, kissing his brow, to 
hear the soft sigh. "You didn't hurt yourself?" he 
questioned as Faramir stretched beneath his hands. 
 
"It was a bit cramping, but not painful," he answered. 
"If I get much taller I won't be able to do it, 
though." He grinned mischievously at him. "So, we 
better do it as much as possible while we can." 
 
********* 
 
They rode swiftly to their planned rendezvous, anxious 
to rejoin Boromir's company. Faramir was a little 
nervous, but Boromir tried to calm his fears by 
describing his men. He even told him which of them he 
had taken as lovers, and the details. Faramir felt no 
jealousy towards his brother's lovers. He had taken 
too much pleasure in the past from watching him with 
both men and women. There was also the sure knowledge 
of whom his brother's heart belonged to. 
 
They spotted the riders before noon of the sixth day, 
Boromir's coat of arms flying beneath the flag of 
Gondor. Happy as he was to see them, they were joyous 
at his return. Draymor, Boromir's second in command, 
clasped his arm warmly as they met. 
 
"So this is the brother you have told me so much 
about." He gave Faramir an appraising look, and seemed 
to like what he saw. 
 
Faramir, for his part, sat tall in the saddle 
apparently at ease on horseback, his weapons all in 
easy reach. His whole appearance so much like his 
older brother that it was uncanny. The only difference 
in their armament was Faramir's two bows, one a long 
bow, wrapped with its quiver of arrows for riding, and 
a short horseman's bow ready at his back with its own 
quiver of shorter arrows. Also, Faramir wore a long 
knife, or half-sword, instead of carrying a shield 
like his brother. 
 
They all rode together to their planned camp. Boromir 
had Faramir hand off the string of horses and bade him 
to ride in the shieldman's position, beside and 
slightly behind him on the left. He wanted there to be 
no doubt in anyone's mind where his brother belonged. 
 
Of course, there are those who always have to push and 
test their boundaries. After they set up camp, Faramir 
went to find some of his and Boromir's personal 
belongings that had gone astray. He quickly looked 
through the stacked trail bags, not seeing the 
distinctive pack that had been a gift from his 
brother.  As he turned back toward the main camp, he 
noticed five men standing around the missing bag. 
Their obvious leader stood holding Faramir's journal 
in his hand. 
 
As the youngest and disfavored son of the Steward of 
Gondor, he had been forced to prove himself many 
times. As the well-loved brother of Boromir, he'd been 
given every tool to do so. Used to being younger and 
smaller than most of his opponents, he had plenty of 
confidence in his ability to take care of this 
situation. 
 
Casually he walked over to where the men stood 
watching. "If you are done going through my personal 
property, I would like to have it back now," he told 
the leader. 
The man, who stood a good foot taller than him, curled 
his lip in a sneer. "And who's going to make me?" he 
said. 
 
Without hesitation, Faramir acted. A quick hard 
uppercut to the solar plexus, followed by a kick to 
the back of the knee, brought the man to the ground.  
Putting his knee on the man's chest and taking his 
throat in a strangling hold, he leaned close. 
 
"I have no patience for thieves or bullies," he said. 
"I will let this one time slide, but you will not get 
a second chance." He waited a moment until he was sure 
there was no doubt that he could and would back up his 
threat, then rose to his feet. Picking the journal up 
from where it had fallen, he indicated that one of the 
stunned men watching should carry the pack to the tent 
he shared with his brother. 
 
"Is he as good with weapons?" Draymor asked, looking 
over Boromir's shoulder from within the tent. 
 
"He's better," was the satisfied answer. "And even 
better at other things." 
 
"Will I get a chance to experience any of these 'other 
things'?" he asked, running a hand under Boromir's 
shirt and across his well-muscled back. 
 
"We'll ask," he told him. 
 
When Faramir entered the tent, he noted the look in 
his brother's eye, and the echoing one in his 
companion's. With admirable restraint, he told the man 
where to place his bag and dismissed him. He went 
about the business of getting food and serving it 
while listening to the report of what had happened 
during Boromir's absence. After he cleared away and 
cleaned the dishes, maps were brought out and plans 
were made for the patrols for the next few days. 
 
Faramir wrote in his journal while they talked, 
pausing frequently to listen, and occasionally to 
comment on their plans. Then all had been decided, the 
maps put away, and Faramir's journal placed before his 
brother.  
 
Boromir ran his hand up Faramir's arm. "Draymor would 
like to stay and welcome you properly, little 
brother," he said huskily. "Would you like that?" 
 
Faramir had never before been allowed to share one of 
his brother's lovers, and wanted to, desperately. 
"Yes, brother, I would like that very much."  
 
Boromir pulled him close for a rough kiss, "Good, let 
me read what you have written for me." 
 
Suddenly shy, Faramir looked across the table at 
Draymor. The other man's lustful look filled him with 
confidence. He had always been well rewarded for his 
sexual aggressiveness, so he rounded the table and 
approached him. Feeling his brother's eyes on him, 
stopping in front of Draymor he leaned forward and 
kissed him on the mouth. Remembering all the times he 
had watched his brother, he made sure that none of his 
movements blocked Boromir's view. 
 
He put his left hand in the man's hair so that he 
could angle his head for maximum effect. With his 
right hand he began opening Draymor's clothes. They 
kissed and stripped each other slowly, Faramir guiding 
their movements, and occasionally pausing to look at 
his brother. It didn't take long for Draymor to 
realize that Faramir was showing off for Boromir, and 
he found the idea highly erotic. 
 
Boromir hadn't been able to read a single word of the 
journal, his eyes locked on the scene before him. He'd 
never watched anyone have sex before, and his talented 
little brother knew how to put on a show. Urging 
Draymor to his feet, Faramir went to his knees and 
took the larger man's cock in his mouth. Boromir knew 
how good that mouth felt, his own erection throbbing 
as the outline of Draymor's cock showed clearly 
through Faramir's cheek. He pulled back slowly until 
only the head of his cock was still in his mouth. Then 
he plunged forward again, taking him all the way back 
in. Faramir's hands were busy too, one massaging the 
hanging nut sack and the other working his ass. 
 
Draymor's knees sagged as he had an almost 
overpowering orgasm. Swallowing quickly, Faramir 
finished him off and guided him back onto the chair.  
 
"Come here," Boromir told him, he had had enough of 
watching. He pulled Faramir into his arms, kissing 
him. They exchanged hungry kisses and caresses. 
Faramir opened his brother's pants, pulling his cock 
free. He quickly wet it with his mouth and then began 
impaling himself on it. 
 
Draymor watched, astonished, he'd always had to use 
plenty of lube before he could take Boromir's huge 
penis. Faramir slid down easily, both of them crying 
out at the wild contact.  
 
They moved swiftly together, unwilling to wait for 
their release. Unable to stop himself, Faramir leaned 
forward and bit his brother on the collarbone, drawing 
blood. It brought them both to climax, Boromir pulling 
his brother close. Embarrassed by the new raw bloody 
mark he put on his brother, Faramir turned away. 
Boromir turned his face up and licked a trace of blood 
from his lips before kissing him deeply. 
 
"Don't worry, little brother," he told him. "I have 
received worse wounds than that, and none nearly so 
pleasurable." There was a small line of bite marks on 
his collarbone, but this was the deepest. Boromir ran 
his finger across them. "I like it when you mark me 
Faramir, don't ever stop." 
 
Draymor was surprised by the combination of roughness 
and tenderness between the brothers. The time he had 
spent with Boromir as second in command and sometime 
lover had shown him an able leader who was good in the 
sack, even if he was very dominating. Of course, his 
attitude let anyone close to him know that the 
relationship between him and his brother was 
different.  
 
His thoughts were interrupted when Boromir looked up 
at him and asked, "Do you want to see something really 
special?" 
 
Minutes later he was astounded to watch Faramir 
fucking his brother's ass and deep-throating his cock 
at the same time. 
 
"Orcs, " the scout said. "About fifty of them. They're 
hiding out during the day, but at night they come out 
and raid the local villages." 
 
"We could try and ambush them on their way back to 
camp," said Draymor. "Or try and find their camp and 
get them during the day." 
 
"They're using caves, we'd like as not be wiped out if 
we tried to get them in there." 
 
"Maybe we could use something for bait and lure them 
into a trap," Faramir suggested. 
 
"About the only thing to keep them out past sunrise is 
the chance to snack on a human or two, and I'm not 
willing to volunteer for that duty," Draymor scoffed. 
 
"I will," said Faramir. 
 
"You've never fought orcs," his brother told him. 
"Maybe next time. Let's try to set up an ambush. I 
want their movements watched, we'll try to catch them 
close to dawn." 
 
Standing at his brother's side, Faramir felt 
excitement and fear mingled. The scouts had signaled 
that the orcs were heading straight for them. Since it 
was still dark, he'd left both his bows with the 
horses. As they heard the enemy approach, Boromir 
leaned closer and kissed his brow, bringing forth a 
sigh. "Fight well, little brother," he said in his 
ear. 
 
None of the stories he'd ever heard came near the 
reality of battle. The fires that were lit as the trap 
was sprung barely illuminated their opponents. In the 
flickering light he cut and thrust against the 
monsters he faced, not sure if it was better that he 
couldn't see them in detail or not. They were hideous, 
clawed hands and fanged faces, their blood burning his 
skin where it touched. Growling and roaring their foul 
language, hurting his ears. And the smell, worse than 
anything he could have imagined. But all this was at 
the back of his mind as he moved into the fighting 
rhythm he had been trained to since he could walk. It 
came much easier than he had thought it would, 
bothered him even less than the one man he'd already 
killed. Maybe it was that he fought such foul 
creatures. 
 
The battle was over in minutes. He looked first for 
his brother, who was looking for him. They exchanged 
grins, and then Boromir went about the business of 
assessing damage. Faramir cleaned his weapons, and 
then followed his brother. When Boromir ordered the 
orcs burned, Faramir moved to go help pile the bodies, 
but his brother stopped him. 
 
"You have done well, little brother," he told him. "We 
can go celebrate tonight." 
Blushing, Faramir helped with the clean up. They found 
the cave entrance the orcs had been using, and blocked 
it, before returning to camp for a meal and a nap. In 
the afternoon they moved their camp, setting up near a 
large village. 
 
As evening fell, Faramir followed his big brother to a 
house at the edge of the village. The woman waiting 
within was tall and beautiful, with long dark hair. 
She greeted Boromir with a very warm kiss. 
 
"Lani, this is my brother, Faramir," he said as the 
kiss ended. 
 
She turned her attentions to the younger brother, 
kissing him as warmly. "He looks as wonderful as you 
have told me," she said as she looked him over. "I 
hope you plan to share him with me. After you both 
have a bath, of course," she added, wrinkling her 
nose. 
 
Boromir pulled them both into his arms. "I would never 
tease you my dear, he is yours for this night. I will 
only join in if you ask." 
 
"Come let me bathe you," she told them. The bathroom 
was huge for such a little house. At Faramir's bemused 
look, Lani offered an explanation.  "Your brother had 
this house built for me to my specifications. I do 
like my comforts." 
 
The tub was large enough for several people. She began 
helping Faramir out of his clothes.  "I definitely 
want you to help me, my love," she told Boromir.  
 
He stripped quickly, and entered the tub. Her hands 
readily began helping strip Faramir, but this was slow 
and sensuous. He held his brother up as Lani removed 
his boots and then his pants. Lowering him to sit on 
the raised edge of the tub, he began guiding him in 
the removal of their hostess' clothes.  
 
"Welcome the appearance of her flesh with gentle 
kisses, little brother," he told him. "Caress her 
breasts, lift them, feel their weight," he whispered 
in his ear. 
 
"Listen to her, watch her, and learn what pleases 
her." He had to force himself to keep his own hands 
still, so as to not distract his brother. 
 
Faramir had little time to be nervous between his 
brother's instructions and the very willing and 
beautiful woman he was undressing. He loved the feel 
of her flesh, much softer and plumper than was popular 
in Minas Tirith.  At times, only his brother's voice 
kept him from losing control. His hands brushed her 
chemise from her hips as his tongue laved her belly. 
 
"I've trained you well Boromir," Lani told him, 
stepping back. "That is enough for now, I want you to 
get clean. I hate the smell of orc blood." 
 
Laughing, Boromir pulled Faramir into the bath with 
him. "We will join you when we're clean," he told her 
retreating figure. They washed quickly, Boromir 
bringing his brother to climax with a couple of rough 
strokes. "You want to be able to last a while with 
Lani." 
 
Lani waited lounging on the bed in a lascivious pose. 
Faramir sat on the edge, reached out and stroked her 
leg. He'd watched his brother many times with women 
and men, now he put into use what he'd seen, and what 
he'd learned on his own. Leaning over her, he began 
kissing her. Starting with short gentle pecks, he 
proceeded to long, deep, wet kisses. His hands roamed 
freely, varying from gentle to rough. Soon Lani was 
gasping in pleasure, unable to keep still under his 
ministrations. 
 
Boromir watched from a nearby chair, proud and excited 
by his talented brother. Suddenly he realized how 
sexually aggressive Faramir was. Moving his whole 
body, he had taken complete control. Lani was helpless 
in his arms, just as Boromir often was.  
 
Taking her hips in his hands, Faramir slowly entered 
her. He watched her face as she moaned and cried out 
uncontrollably. Long slow thrusts brought more cries, 
as he licked and nipped at her breasts and neck. Then 
he sped up his pace, going harder and deeper. 
 
Lani was almost screaming as she started climaxing in 
a long orgasm that lasted several minutes. Finally he 
let himself cum, and rolled them both on their sides, 
holding her close. 
 
Boromir got into the bed beside his brother, putting 
his arm across both him and Lani. Even though watching 
them had brought his own release, he still hungered 
for more. "That was so beautiful, brother," he said, 
kissing the back of his neck. 
 
Lani was regaining her breath, her free hand traveling 
restlessly between the two brothers. "I would watch 
you two now. I want to see Boromir fuck his little 
brother into oblivion." 
 
"Oh yes," Faramir agreed. "Fuck me hard, brother." He 
rolled onto his back, one arm sliding beneath 
Boromir's waist, the other going to his hip, pulling 
him closer. "Take me now." He wrapped his legs around 
him as Boromir moved over him. 
 
Lani watched in surprise as Boromir thrust completely 
into Faramir with only a little spit as lubricant. 
They both cried out in pleasure as Boromir set a 
brutal pace.  
 
"Harder," Faramir cried, his hands clenching his 
brother's arms to get better leverage for his counter 
thrusts. They went on for some minutes, their coupling 
fast and violent. Finally, Faramir reached up and 
pulled Boromir close enough to bite his collarbone. He 
bit hard, drawing blood as they both came. 
 
Lani's hand went to the tender bruise on her own 
collarbone as she watched. When Boromir rolled to his 
back, she noticed for the first time, the line of bite 
marks on him. The newest one deep and bloody. It 
excited her. She'd never engaged in any rough sex and 
wasn't sure she really wanted to. But watching was a 
different proposition. 
 
"Let me see you bite him again," she said to Faramir. 
 
He sat up and leaned over Boromir. "Can I have another 
taste, brother?" he asked, kissing the newest mark. 
 
"Oh yes," he groaned. "Give me more." 
 
As he bent over his brother, she was distracted by the 
scars that covered Faramir's back. Boromir had sent 
her a letter telling her about what had happened, but 
the sight was still shocking.  
 
"Yes, mark me," Boromir said as he was bitten again, 
regaining her attention. His cock sprang erect with 
his groans. 
 
She crawled across Faramir and began lowering herself 
onto Boromir's erection. Leaning forward, she kissed 
the bite marks. "You both are so beautiful, so sexy, I 
don't know if I can get enough." 
 
Faramir watched them for a few moments before moving 
between Boromir's legs. He rubbed Lani's back urging 
her to lean forward across his brother. With one hand 
on her back he slowly guided his newly erect penis 
into her vagina next to Boromir's cock. 
 
Lani started panting, at the incredible feeling. She 
would have expected it to hurt, but there wasn't any 
pain, just increasing pressure. 'How could a boy know 
so much?' she asked herself. Her eyes rolled up in her 
head as she began orgasming, all control lost. 
 
Pulling Lani to his chest, Boromir locked eyes with 
his brother. He could feel him moving against him in 
her spasming heat. It was unbelievably erotic and only 
his brother's commanding gaze kept him from losing his 
own control. 
 
Finally Faramir was all the way in. He stopped, giving 
the other two time to adjust. Lani lay panting on 
Boromir's chest, her initial orgasm over. He guided 
Boromir's hands to her hips and they started moving 
again. Suddenly they were over-heated again. The 
brothers were moving Lani's hips; Faramir was making 
short thrusts and withdrawals. It took very little 
time before they were all climaxing. 
 
*********** 
 
Faramir drank deeply from the water that had been 
hidden in the shade of the large boulder. Binding the 
cut on his forearm, he looked down his back trail to 
see if his trackers were in sight yet. He took his 
vambrace from his belt and put it back on his forearm. 
Boromir was going to be mad at him for cutting himself 
and leaving a blood trail for the orcs. But he wanted 
to make sure they would all follow him. 
 
Bird calls and whistles sounded from the woods, 
signaling the approach of the orcs.  
He started up the steep trail behind him. Stopping at 
a wide sheltered ledge, he recovered the bows he had 
hidden there. He strung the longbow, and surveyed the 
gully below, waiting for the signal to fire. It was 
nearly dawn, and he already could make out colors. 
 
Suddenly the orcs were pouring out of the woods in a 
black flood. Their enraged growls made him extremely 
aware of being alone. The signal finally sounded and 
he began picking off what looked like the most 
dangerous orcs.  
 
The sound of loose gravel falling brought him around 
to see Draymor landing beside him on the trail. The 
man leaned back to avoid Faramir's arrow, grinning at 
him. Without pausing, Faramir turned back to the 
approaching enemy and continued the slaughter. 
 
"You are so in trouble," Draymor told him, as he drew 
his sword and looked down the trail Faramir had come 
up earlier. "Boromir saw you bleeding down the trail 
and sent me down here to back you up." 
 
"I'll be fine," Faramir said through gritted teeth. "I 
know what I'm doing. I'd have to lose a lot more blood 
than that to slow me down."  The longbow was soon out 
of arrows, so he switched to the short bow. Its range 
was shorter, but the orcs were close now.  
 
"There must be a couple hundred of them," Draymor said 
as even more orcs came out of the woods. "Looks like 
I'll earn my pay today." 
 
The orcs had reached the base of the hill and were 
crowding up the narrow trail. Faramir shot the last of 
his arrows and turned to join Draymor. There was only 
enough room for one person at a time on the narrow 
trail; the blood-crazed orcs were knocking each other 
off the cliff face. There were still too many of them 
to be complacent about their approach. 
 
As the first orc reached the ledge, the full light of 
the sun reached them. The monsters cried out in terror 
and pain, cursing the two before them. Most of them 
began fleeing, only a very few continuing to fight. As 
the last belligerents fell, Faramir attempted to 
follow the retreating foes. 
 
Draymor stopped him with a strong hand on his 
shoulder. "Boromir wants you to wait here for him," he 
said, before descending the trail. 
 
Faramir gathered his bows and quivers and leaned 
against a large rock to wait for his brother.  Several 
troops passed by giving him admiring glances before 
his brother was at his side. This time there were no 
after battle grins, just a hard disapproving stare. 
Faramir saw the pain and fear in his brother's eyes 
and it made him feel reckless and cruel. 
 
"I have to gather my arrows," he told him when he 
remained. 
 
Boromir signaled him to proceed with a nod towards the 
trail and followed him down. Faramir was wracked with 
anger and guilt as his brother remained silent even as 
he assisted in gathering the spent shafts, and all the 
way back to camp. 
 
He helped his brother remove his armor, and then they 
removed his. Faramir was soaked in sweat and held 
still as his brother washed him and removed the 
makeshift bandage on his arm.  The wound wasn't bad, 
just deep enough to bleed profusely until pressure was 
applied. 
 
"How could you hurt yourself like this?" Boromir 
asked, tears in his voice as he kissed the cut.  
 
"If anything had gone wrong you would have been torn 
apart. I don't think I could bear to lose you like 
that." He enfolded him in his arms, tears dampening 
his hair. "Did I make a mistake in bringing you with 
me?" 
 
Faramir shuddered. "No, brother," he answered. "I had 
no idea this would affect you so. I will be more 
careful and make sure you approve next time." He 
kissed his face. "Please forgive me, Boromir. I can't 
stand it when you cry." Faramir began sobbing quietly 
into his brother's shirt. 
 
Kissing his forehead, he looked down at his young 
brother. Although he was almost a year younger than 
Boromir had been when he had first gone into battle, 
Faramir had little self-doubt. He was even somewhat 
cocky in the way he was so sure of his own abilities. 
The minor cuts and scrapes he'd gotten in previous 
battles were not enough to quell his self-assuredness. 
Of course, he was very good at fighting, Boromir had 
made sure of that. 
 
"You have read enough battle lore to know that the 
unexpected can bring to ruin any plan. We will put 
this behind us, and you did succeed, so tonight we 
will let the men have a victory feast. But I will 
expect you to make it up to me for alarming me so." 
 
Faramir dried his tears and smiled up at him. "Thank 
you, brother," he whispered. "I love you." 
 
************ 
 
Moving eastward into the vales of Lossarnach they came 
upon the hunting camp of Forlong. Boromir introduced 
his brother to the great hero, who laughed when he saw 
the boy.  "I'm surprised your father would let one so 
young and sweet ride to battle," he said through his 
guffaws. "He looks more like a catamite than a 
warrior." 
 
Boromir's face hardened at his words, but Faramir's 
laughter stopped him from any injudicious remarks. 
"That is priceless, brother," he said. "I have no 
problem proving my worth, especially among our allies. 
What test would you have of me, my lord?" 
 
"Your brother's choice of you is good enough for me, 
my boy," he answered. "But there are those in my camp 
who may presume upon appearances. Walk carefully young 
Faramir." 
 
"Maybe we should have a contest," Boromir said. "My 
brother against any champion you choose, any test you 
choose." 
 
"Swords, wrestling, or," Forlong paused for a moment, 
a wicked smile on his lips. "Perhaps we should see how 
good a 'close companion' he can be." 
 
Faramir smirked at the gray-haired man whose girth was 
far beyond that of anyone else he'd ever seen. "All 
three at once or separately?" he asked, swinging his 
leg over his saddle and slipping to the ground in a 
graceful movement. He was dwarfed by the older man, 
but smiled up at him cockily. 
 
"Ah, to be an impetuous youth," their host laughed. 
"Felong, my nephew, will meet with you, sproutling. 
Since he uses a spear, you can meet barehanded. 
Wrestling it is." 
 
The man in question stepped forth, nearly as big as 
his uncle.  
 
Two falls out of three?" Faramir asked as he began 
handing his weapons to his brother.  
 
"Of course," his opponent replied, also disarming 
himself. He felt smug in his size and power as he 
stripped off his shirt. Turning he stopped in surprise 
as he saw Faramir remove his own shirt.  
 
Scars covered his upper body, clean smooth lines made 
by a sharp blade, tears and ragged gashes, even teeth 
marks. This may be a mere boy, but his body spoke of 
trial by pain. Giving no sign that he noticed Felong's 
examination, Faramir began stretching muscles made 
tight by a day in the saddle. This man was not so much 
bigger than his brother, with luck he would win. 
 
A cleared space was marked out while the details of 
the rules were discussed. Soon Faramir was facing the 
much larger man. They circled each other and Felong 
made a rush which Faramir easily sidestepped, bringing 
him to the ground with a quick kick to the back of the 
knee. 
 
Knowing that he could be crushed with ease if his 
opponent ever got a hand on him, Faramir moved warily. 
Felong was not going to underestimate the boy again; 
his pride was smarting from the first mistake. Again 
they circled around each other, seeking for 
weaknesses. 
 
Feint and short rush, they kept in constant movement. 
Sweat poured down Felong's face, stinging his eyes, he 
began to tire. Faramir still moved with ease, not a 
drop of sweat on his brow. Despair crossed the large 
man's face as he realized that all the boy had to do 
was wait him out.  
 
Seeing a slight misstep, Faramir moved to end the 
match. He dived for Felong's legs, grabbing one in an 
effort to trip him. The man's thighs were as big as 
his waist and he had to use his whole body to 
accomplish his goal. A shocked gasp went through the 
observing crowd as the big man fell. 
 
But, Forlong gave a great laugh. "Arise, my nephew, 
feel no shame," he called out. "You had no chance 
against one trained as he has been." So saying, the 
graybeard ran an admiring finger down a set of 
repeating scars. "I would suppose that you both know 
the whole series of sword dances created by the 
champions of Numenor?" he asked Boromir. 
 
"And much more," the young lord agreed. "My brother 
and I practice regularly." 
 
Turning Faramir in his hamlike hand he examined the 
relevant scars, though he catalogued the others as 
well. "Practice, yes," he added. "But, I can see that 
you have done the whole of all five dances seven 
times, flawlessly if your brother's flesh does not 
lie." 
 
Actually, I slipped here," Boromir said, pointing out 
a slightly irregular cut. "Though Faramir never has, 
he has a steady hand. He can demonstrate his archery 
skills at tomorrow's hunt." 
 
As they sat around the fire that evening exchanging 
tales, Faramir watched Felong who seemed to be a bit 
despondent, despite his uncle's words. Noting where 
his brother's attention was, Boromir nudged him 
questioningly. 
 
"I think he doesn't quite forgive me for my victory, 
brother," he whispered in his ear. "I would like a 
chance to make it up to him." 
 
"You want him," Boromir stated, seeing the lustful 
look on his brother's face. 
 
"I've never seen anyone like him before," he answered 
truthfully. "So big and hairy, he could crush me 
easily, yet he still moves with grace. You know I have 
trouble resisting new things or a challenge." 
 
Laughing, Boromir gave his permission. "But don't be 
surprised or offended if he refuses," he told him. 
"Their customs are different than ours." 
 
As Faramir went to waylay his prey, Forlong, whose 
sharp ears and eyes had caught the gist of the 
brothers' conversation, was making bets with Boromir 
on his chances of success. Catching up with Felong 
just before he entered his tent, Faramir stopped him 
with a friendly hand to his arm. 
 
At first the big man was suspicious, but when he 
looked at the young warrior before him his heart 
melted just a little. A few moments later Faramir 
returned to the fire and sat between Boromir and 
Forlong. With a wide grin the older man held out his 
hand to take his payment from the younger. 
 
"He said he would be glad to, once I started growing a 
beard," Faramir told them, with satisfaction. 
 
With a laugh Boromir extended his hand and received 
some of his money back. 
 
When they parted two days later, both brothers had 
become fast friends with the warriors of Lossarnach. 
 
************** 
 
Putting the letter from his father on the table, 
Boromir leaned back in his chair with a sigh. They'd 
only been gone from Minas Tirith for seven months and 
their father wanted them home. There had been 
undertones of anger in the letter, but he knew of no 
reason for it. "Father wants us to come home," he told 
his brother, who sat across from him reading his own 
letter. 
 
Faramir had paled visibly and he looked up at Boromir 
with frightened eyes. "He knows," he said in a 
whisper. 
 
"Knows what?" the older brother asked, already knowing 
the answer. 
 
"They were late to clean our room on the day we left, 
everyone was helping to pack the horses. He found our 
clothes and your bed. He found the door." Faramir 
paused, searching for words. "He is discussing 
marriage contracts with our neighbors and cousins. 
There is talk of sending me to Rohan." 
 
Boromir rose at his brother's words. "We must haste to 
the White City," he said. "He made certain promises to 
me and I would see them kept." At his brother's 
hesitation, he turned to comfort him. "Do not worry 
that we are revealed to him. It was bound to happen 
eventually. I have been thinking on this for a long 
time and am sure that I can handle him." He kissed 
Faramir's brow, smiling at his sigh. "I will always 
look after you, brother," he whispered in his hair. 
 
 
TBC



TITLE: Warriors of Gondor Part 04 - Homecoming 
 
AUTHOR: HEL (helthehorrible@yahoo.com ) 
 
RATING: NC17 
 
PAIRING: Boromir/Faramir with various others 
 
WARNINGS: explicit sex, underage sex, incest, het, 
slash, violence, blood. 
 
ARCHIVE: Sure, let me know 
 
DISCLAIMER: Inspired by the LOTR stories. 
 
NOTES:  Thanks to Beverly for the Beta. 
 
 
HOMECOMING 
 
The two brothers rode the long and winding way through 
the city to the seventh gate. People cheered as they 
passed, news of their triumphs over the orcs to the 
west having been made known. They rode without their 
armor in sleeveless tunics. All could see they were 
strong and whole even though both carried many scars. 
 
Denethor waited at the seventh gate to greet his sons. 
Then they all made a silent procession to his study 
where they could talk privately. He had rehearsed what 
he wanted to say many times. But the stoic look on his 
oldest son's face warned him that any victory he 
achieved would be hard fought.  
 
They had changed in the months they'd been gone, 
filling out more, their hair longer, Boromir's beard 
thicker, and Faramir taller. As Boromir took his usual 
seat, he reached up and grasped his brother's hand, 
looking at his father with defiance. So, now he knew 
that they were aware of his discoveries, and possibly 
his plans. 
 
"You will be twenty in less than a month, Boromir, 
your brother fifteen soon after. I think it is time to 
start thinking about marriage," he began, not giving 
Boromir time to give his usual report. 
 
"There are no suitable brides of proper rank 
available, neither one of us shall wed any of our 
cousins. There has been too much of that and it is 
weakening our bloodline," Boromir told him.  
 
"You're listening to that wizard again, what would his 
kind know of such matters?" 
 
"I've used the evidence of my own eyes and wits. How 
many of them have the bleeding sickness, or lack wits 
entirely? So few live to be adults and many of those 
are sickly and never of much use. I will not allow 
it," he said firmly. "The only female of proper rank 
that isn't a relative is Eowyn, Eomond's daughter in 
Rohan, and she is only an infant. It will be a several 
years before she is of marriageable age. With the 
fighting heating up from the south and east, I do not 
have time to look further for a bride. I will hold you 
to your promise that I can choose my wife, father. 
There is no need to rush into any marriage contracts 
at this time." 
 
"Our allies are starting to weaken under the 
continuous pressure of Mordor, a wedding could go a 
long way to raise everyone's spirits." 
 
"A victory over our enemies would serve better, 
father. We have information about Haradrim troop 
movements in South Ithilien. There are many places 
where the right kind of attack could cause them 
serious damage. I was hoping you would let us 
establish several bases to strike at them." 
 
Denethor was completely surprised by Boromir's idea, 
but not by the way he had taken control of the 
discussion. "We will discuss military matters later," 
he told his son. "I think you should give more 
consideration to some of the marriage proposals we 
have received. Your brother could benefit from 
exposure to other cultures as well." 
"If there are no new offers from the last time I 
looked there is no point in it," Boromir stated 
firmly. "Faramir stays with me. We have behaved with 
all due propriety, there are none who could criticize 
our behavior." He paused, looking meaningfully at his 
father. "All men deserve their personal privacy, 
especially those who put their lives on the line to 
defend their country." 
 
Faramir found it hard to keep impassive at his 
brother's words. He'd practically admitted to their 
relationship, and dared their father to expose it. 
 
"If you wish us to move to a more secluded part of the 
tower, we can," Boromir added flatly. "I wouldn't want 
us to disturb your sleep." 
 
"Let's keep things as they are for now," Denethor 
replied, unable to meet his eyes, unable to risk 
further estranging the son he loved any more than he 
already had. "You two have had a long journey, we can 
discuss military matters later." He couldn't help 
himself; the thought of Boromir becoming more distant 
was too much. "My secretary has kept a log of the 
political developments. If you could read them over 
tomorrow, we can discuss them the next day. For now, 
go rest and enjoy yourselves. I have arranged for a 
banquet this evening to celebrate your return." 
 
Looking up from his desk he noticed a spreading red 
stain on Faramir's tunic. It brought back shameful 
memories of his youngest son, bruised and bleeding 
from his own hand. "You have been hurt," he said in 
concern. "A healer should look at that." 
 
"I will be fine," Faramir said quickly. "It is 
nothing, father, an arrow wound, I've had much worse." 
His voice trailed off on the last words. His father 
had given him worse injuries. Blushing, he looked 
away. 
 
"We both have wounds to tend," Boromir said rising. 
"We were almost ambushed on our way back, but Faramir 
warned us. He dreamed of it the night before and we 
were prepared." 
 
"You have farseeing dreams?" Denethor asked. 
 
"Sometimes," Faramir answered. 
 
"We will talk of this later," their father said. "Go 
tend your injuries. I will expect you at the banquet." 
 
************* 
 
They dressed each other's wounds, the long gash on 
Boromir's back actually the worst.  Faramir ran his 
hand across Boromir's chest. "You are amazing, 
brother," he said, kissing his face. "Did you just get 
permission to fuck me or was I dreaming?" 
 
"He has his priorities," Boromir replied. "We have our 
priorities. All I have to do is make sure that we can 
meet somewhere in the middle." He picked Faramir up by 
his hips. "I will do whatever I need to do to be with 
you."  
 
Faramir wrapped his legs around his brother's waist as 
he was lowered onto his cock. "This is what I live 
for," he whispered in Boromir's ear. "Your beautiful 
body against me, in me, around me." He threw his head 
back in ecstasy. "Boromir, I love you," he said before 
leaning forward and biting his chest to stifle his 
scream. 
 
************* 
 
Boromir sat next to his father at the high table. 
Faramir had left earlier to prepare a birthday 
surprise he'd arranged with Lani, who had arrived in 
Minas Tirith the previous week. Since his father 
wanted him closer to home, it was finally time to move 
her to the city. 
 
Denethor was pleased to have so much time with his 
eldest. His capitulation over the marriage issue had 
brought them closer. He shied away from thinking about 
what he'd vaguely agreed to allow in the privacy of 
their rooms, but the lessening of tensions made him 
feel it was worth it.  
Boromir snorted at the men performing the sword dance 
below them.  
 
"Is there something wrong with their performance?" 
Denethor asked. He had made sure his oldest son was 
trained in the combat style that inspired the dance. 
 
"Their movements are good, but this should be done in 
a practice field, not here and wearing such finery. 
There is supposed to be actual contact between flesh 
and blade at several points. But that would make a 
mess in the hall and possibly upset some of the dinner 
guests," was his answer. 
 
Watching the dancers twirl in their mock combat, 
Denethor could see the swords coming dangerously close 
to contact. "It would take a lot of skill to keep from 
doing serious injury in such a dance. I'm quite sure 
you can do it, but I don't know of anyone else who 
could match you." 
 
"Faramir can," Boromir told him. "We practice 
regularly, and have done the full dance several times 
in the traditional manner. We could show you if you 
like." 
 
He knew that Boromir taught his little brother much of 
what he learned. He hadn't expected him to teach him 
anything so complicated and dangerous. That Boromir 
was willing to demonstrate this was rather daunting. 
 
"I would love to see you and your brother demonstrate 
the traditional dance for us, Lord Boromir," said 
Forlong, who had decided to attend Boromir's birthday 
celebration. In moments, several others had expressed 
their interest and soon the following afternoon was 
picked as the time. 
 
************* 
 
Boromir passed through the seventh gate, anxious to 
discover what pleasures awaited him. Both Lani and 
Faramir were very creative, so he knew it would be 
exceptional. Her house was fairly close to the gate, 
he had bought it and been readying it for her for over 
three years. Servants met him at the door and ushered 
him to the decadent bathroom.  
 
Lani presided over the bath, her servants undressing 
and washing him. The beautiful young man and woman who 
attended him teased his body, while Lani fed him 
delicacies and a drink to restore his energy. When she 
led him to the bedroom he was completely aroused. 
 
Faramir lay back on the immense bed in a seductive 
pose. The mirrors on all the walls and ceiling 
reflected his enticing image. Stepping closer, he saw 
the gold metal ring that encircled his penis and 
testicles, making them jut forward provocatively. He 
crawled onto the bed, all thought of anything but his 
beautiful brother gone. 
 
Licking, biting, sucking and kissing his way up the 
recumbent form before him, Boromir paused at his cock. 
Running his tongue up the underside, he tongued the 
slit at the swollen end before swallowing the penis 
whole. Faramir buried his fingers in his brother's 
hair as he moved his head up and down his swollen 
cock. His back arched as he lost control to Boromir's 
hot mouth. 
"Yes, brother, take me," Faramir cried out.  
 
The ring made his erection last much longer than 
normal, which made Boromir even hotter. He leaned to 
the side and began using his hand to stimulate his 
brother's cock so that he could watch. When he finally 
achieved release, Faramir's cock took several minutes 
to subside. Boromir watched as Lani reached over and 
carefully removed the ring, pulling out first his now 
limp cock and then each testicle separately. He 
examined his brother's genitals noting a slight 
indentation where the ring had been and kissed the 
mark. Then he began kissing his body, slowly moving up 
to his mouth. 
 
Lani watched the two brothers, waiting for when she 
might be wanted. The time she spent with them was 
usually as a facilitator for what they wanted to do to 
each other. Though she loved them dearly she'd never 
been 'in love' with either and was glad that her 
knowledge could enhance their pleasure. Boromir had 
rescued her from a boring existence as a common whore 
and she intended to devote her life to making him and 
his brother as happy as she could. Of course the 
house, the servants and the generous allowance helped 
her to make this possible. 
 
Sliding a hand beneath his ass, Boromir found that 
Faramir had been prepared beforehand. They'd both been 
coated with sweet oil, making them slippery and 
heightening the eroticism. 
Pausing for another deep wet kiss, Boromir rose to his 
knees and grabbing his brother by the hips, drove his 
cock all the way into his ass. He pounded into the 
tight hole, looking at the unbelievably sexy image of 
Faramir before him. It was a wild coupling and did not 
last long. 
As they lay next to each other panting, Lani began 
smoothing another, sharper scented oil on Boromir. It 
made his flesh feel heated everywhere it touched, and 
brought his cock back to full erection. 
 
"You are never going to forget this birthday, my 
love," she told him. 
 
 
Light filtered into the room from a high window. 
Boromir sat up suddenly, remembering the promise he 
had made to his father the night before. "Faramir, 
wake up, we have much to do today," he said to his 
sleeping brother. "I promised father that we would 
perform a sword dance for him this afternoon." 
Opening his eyes and looking at the half erect cock 
before his face, Faramir tried to make sense of his 
brother's words. Out of habit, he wrapped his hand 
around the penis and licked the end. "Which one did 
you have in mind?" he asked, sure he already knew the 
answer. 
 
"Your favorite," he replied. "Garus is getting our 
costumes ready, so we have about an hour before we 
have to be there." 
 
"An hour," Faramir said, looking at all the fresh 
marks on his brother's chest. "You look like you've 
been attacked. It might not set so well with father, 
but it does seem to inspire me," he added as he 
swallowed the now fully engorged cock. 
 
It took Boromir's breath away to watch his brother, as 
liberally marked as himself, bob his head up and down 
on his penis. "I was attacked," he groaned out, "by a 
sex fiend, with the most amazing mouth." He groaned as 
his orgasm exploded into the hot mouth enclosing him. 
 
************* 
 
Faramir and Garus carefully dressed Boromir in his 
costume. He wore leather pants that were skintight and 
had cut out sections to bare his flesh to his 
brother's blade. Shin high boots covered his feet and 
a network of straps held the scabbard for his sword 
against his back. Faramir put the sword in the sheath 
and carefully checked everything over once more. 
 
"I'll be ready in about twenty minutes," he told him.  
 
"I'll keep them occupied," Boromir said, he kissed his 
brow and smiled at the soft sigh. Then he left to 
entertain the crowd with a brief history of this 
dance. 
 
Faramir's costume was much simpler, consisting of only 
a similar pair of cut out pants and the same shin high 
boots. He began stretching his muscles preparing for 
the dance. When he was ready, he grabbed his sword and 
had Garus signal Boromir. 
 
At the awaited signal, Boromir cut short his oratory 
and moved to the center of the arena. He posed in a 
relaxed position, his hands open and empty. 
 
Faramir strutted into the arena sword in hand, dancing 
in a tighter and tighter circle around his brother. He 
had complete focus on Boromir, the crowd nonexistent 
to him. This was the fifth and most complicated of the 
Numenorean sword dances. There were forty-eight moves 
for each dancer, thirty-two of which drew blood (not 
counting the opening phase, which encompassed the 
second dancer reaching the first).  
 
Denethor watched his sons in the arena below him. 
Boromir was statue still; his head thrown back, eyes 
closed, an expression of almost ecstasy on his face. 
Faramir moved with almost inhuman grace, precise and 
perfect. It made his father's breath catch in his 
throat. He moved so much like another figure from his 
past, one that he had loved and hated, that he felt 
himself become aroused at the sight. A small voice in 
the back of his mind wondered if that was at least 
part of the cause of his aversion to his youngest son. 
 
Moving in close to his brother, Faramir brought his 
sword down in a quick move that sliced Boromir's flesh 
across his chest. It bled just enough to make it 
clearly visible. 
 
Boromir responded with a blindingly quick drawing of 
his sword and made a similar slash across his 
brother's back as he danced away. They circled each 
other in such synchronized grace that it made those 
watching draw their breath in amazement. Swords 
flashing in the afternoon sun, they licked out to 
leave bright red trails on gleaming flesh. There was 
no flinching by either brother, their experienced 
hands knowing just how far to cut. This was their 
dance and they loved doing it. 
 
Denethor gripped the arms of his chair tightly, his 
hands hidden beneath the long sleeves of his robe. His 
face was frozen, as he watched his sons in their feral 
dance. So beautiful and frightening, he correctly 
surmised that Boromir had begun teaching his brother 
this as soon as he learned it. He realized that he'd 
probably been teaching him everything he learned. 
 
They were so very beautiful, so very frightening. The 
precision and grace of their movements accentuated by 
the flow of blood from all the shallow cuts they'd 
given each other. Moving much faster than the dancers 
of the previous night, they made their own music with 
the clash of steel against steel. 
 
"I've never seen better," commented Forlong, in a 
hushed voice. "They must have started early to be so 
good." 
 
"Yes, they did," Denethor agreed, although he didn't 
admit that he had had no knowledge of Faramir's 
involvement. "They've always taken martial attributes 
seriously." 
 
With a move too fast to be really seen, Boromir's left 
hand grabbed the back of his brother's head and forced 
his sword arm up and back, before bringing his own 
sword across his throat, leaving a trail of blood. 
Faramir fell bonelessly forward in such a realistic 
fashion that many in the crowd gasped in shock. 
Leaning into Boromir, he slid down his body in an 
almost perfect imitation of dying. Only a few, 
including their father, noticed how his mouth trailed 
across the hard flesh as he came to rest on his knees, 
his face buried in Boromir's belly. 
 
Throwing his head back, Boromir stood in a pose 
similar to when he started, only with his sword in one 
hand, the other still tangled in Faramir's hair. All 
was silent for a few moments as the crowd looked down 
at the now silent and motionless pair. Then, they 
began cheering at the amazing exhibition they'd just 
witnessed. 
 
At Boromir's tug, Faramir rose to his feet. Turning in 
unison they bowed first to their father, then to the 
others in the stands before leaving the arena to 
change. 
 
Denethor excused himself and went to join his sons. 
While their performance was flawless, it had made him 
extremely uncomfortable. He had allowed Boromir almost 
complete control of his brother for many years. 
Looking back, he realized that there was much that he 
didn't know about his sons. He'd been so busy running 
Gondor that he'd left the raising of the boys to 
others.  
After their mother's death there'd been no one person 
to supervise them. Since they'd rarely been in 
trouble, it had gone unnoticed. The nightly question 
and answer sessions at dinner had often been his only 
personal contact with them. He had chosen most of 
their tutors, though he had discovered that Boromir 
had hired some on his own. 
 
Motioning the servant at the door out of his way, he 
entered the room and saw them. Faramir straddled his 
brother's lap using his tongue to clean the cuts on 
his chest and arms. Boromir leaned forward and kissed 
his brother's brow, a gesture that was so common that 
it usually went without notice. They both laughed at 
words too quiet for him to hear. Faramir leaned 
forward and licked his brother's neck, and then tilted 
his head back baring his own neck. At the same time 
his hands were busily unfastening Boromir's pants, 
which fell away from his hips, as the two side buckles 
were undone.  
 
Boromir licked the exposed wound on his brother's neck 
and lifted him up by the waist. Garus quickly cut 
Faramir's pants away so that he was nude in his 
brother's arms. 
 
Denethor stood in the shadows watching. His sons were 
too engrossed in each other and their servant too busy 
to notice him. He wanted to leave, but couldn't get 
his body to move. 
It was shocking and sensuous to see them lubricate 
Boromir's huge cock with their blood. Faramir sat down 
on his brother's erection, his head thrown back, eyes 
glazed. Denethor was finally able to get his body to 
move, and left. 
 
Boromir held his brother tightly to him. He wanted 
this to last and Faramir had a tendency to impatience. 
Pulling his head forward so that they looked each 
other in the eyes, he allowed him to start moving 
slowly. Their bodies rubbed together, their hands 
touching and stroking. 
 
"You feel so good inside me, my beautiful brother," 
Faramir groaned, as he rode the hard cock. 
Boromir kept his brother's body pressed tight to his, 
loving the feel of his cock rubbing against his belly. 
The taste and smell of blood and sweat added to the 
distinctive taste and smell of Faramir. Somehow the 
public performance had made him desire his sweet 
brother even more. 
Garus had cleared a table, having been briefed by 
Faramir earlier. Sighting it, Boromir rose with 
Faramir in his arms and moved to lay him across it. 
Holding him tightly by the hips, Boromir pounded into 
his brother. Their joining was becoming more intense 
by the minute, neither brother wanting it to end.  
 
Faramir put his hands above his head, reaching, and 
Garus grasped his wrists holding them to the table, 
knowing what he wanted. Arching his back and crying 
out, Faramir began shooting spurts of semen as he came 
uncontrollably. Boromir slowed his thrusts, but did 
not allow himself to climax yet. He bent over and 
licked the intoxicating mix of cum, blood, and sweat 
from his brother's chest. 
 
As Faramir relaxed completely on the table Boromir 
continued his now slow movements. Garus kept his hold 
on the younger brother's wrists, watching the two 
people he loved most. Moving with slow long strokes, 
Boromir ran his hands over the relaxed body below him. 
Concentrating on Faramir's reactions, he gently 
squeezed the already hardening cock. Arching his back, 
Faramir pushed against his brother and pulled his arms 
against Garus' strong grip. He didn't really want 
free; knowing this, Garus added more weight to make 
sure he couldn't free himself. 
As Faramir began to struggle more strenuously, Boromir 
grabbed his hips again, keeping the pace slow. He used 
more force as he switched his grip to Faramir's knees, 
pushing them against his chest so that he could go 
deeper. The younger brother could only cry out in 
pleasure as he was held tightly to the table. Boromir 
increased the pace and Garus pushed Faramir's hands 
against his shoulders to keep him from sliding across 
the table. They began to rapidly approach climax and 
the sight of Faramir's cock pumping more semen 
uncontrollably between his thighs triggered the other 
two. 
 
Garus quickly wiped himself and pulled his pants up as 
he went to check the bath for readiness. He turned 
back to announce the water ready when he noticed 
Stefle, who was guarding the door, signaling him. 
After a few quietly exchanged words, he went to tell 
the brothers about their father's presence earlier. 
 
The two brothers looked at each other in surprise. 
Faramir paled in consternation and Boromir started 
laughing at the news and his brother's expression. 
"Don't worry so much, brother," he said between 
guffaws. "He knows that no one else could have gotten 
past Stefle, so we are still within the bounds of our 
agreement. He won't say anything, not if we don't." 
Turning to Stefle he asked, "How much did he see?" 
 
"You'd already started when he left," was the answer. 
 
"We're still covered in blood and need to get clean. 
Go back to your post, Stefle; let's finish what we 
were doing. I'm not going to let father's prejudices 
stop us."  
 
He grabbed Faramir by the back of the neck and kissed 
him firmly. "Come wash me, brother," he said into his 
mouth. "Let me wash you." 
 
************* 
 
Once he was safely locked into his study, Denethor got 
out the portrait he kept locked away. The artist who'd 
painted it had caught the essence of his subject 
perfectly. There was a certain indefinable air about 
the man that made him think of his youngest son. He 
remembered how he had wanted Thorongil so badly, only 
to be refused repeatedly. That his father had always 
chosen the other man's council over his own had been 
like salt in the wound. He had come to hate him, 
though his lust for him never abated. 
 
Propping the portrait on his desk, he sat back in his 
chair and opened his robe. Taking himself in hand he 
thought back on this man who had been, and still was, 
his secret obsession. His controlled grace, and 
effortless ability with any weapon he took up, so much 
like Faramir's. The same impassive expression gave no 
hint of the thoughts behind the blue eyes. The lean 
well-muscled body that was only enhanced by the many 
scars was very similar to his youngest's. Today had 
brought it all back, his desire and his pain. 
 
Looking at the picture, he slipped into a favorite 
fantasy. Thorongil tied helpless to his bed, forced to 
do what ever he wished. His eyes heavy lidded with 
lust, he imagined how it would feel to run his hands 
over that lean chest. He was filled with visions of 
Thorongil bathing, having sex with one of the elves 
who visited him here, always unaware of the Steward's 
son watching him. Or perhaps, just uncaring.  
 
Before Denethor's father died, Thorongil had simply 
disappeared, not even allowing the satisfaction of 
throwing him out. As he neared his climax, he pictured 
the arrogant man spread across his desk as he beat all 
the superiority out of him and took him with violent 
force. His body began his release and he closed his 
eyes to savor the feeling. At the peak, unbidden, came 
the picture of Faramir bleeding on that same desk, so 
beautiful and vulnerable. 
 
************* 
 
Faramir had a discussion with his father about his 
dreams. They met in a quiet corner of the library, 
neither of them comfortable with being alone together 
in Denethor's study. The Stewards of Gondor had a long 
history of farseeing and visions. Denethor had had his 
share of both. He was able to advise his son on many 
of the ways of controlling and interpreting the 
dreams, but their discomfort with each other got worse 
the longer they sat alone together. Faramir felt a 
strange and frightening undercurrent from his father. 
One that made him want to get up and run away, though 
he kept his feelings well hidden behind his usual 
impassive mask. 
 
Denethor couldn't stop the stray thoughts from the day 
of the sword dance; the vision of his sons 
consummating their lust for each other, covered in 
sweat and blood. The image that had burned itself into 
his mind later in his study still with him no matter 
how hard he tried to bury it. He wanted to flee from 
the thoughts that plagued him, to flee from the too 
tempting young man in front of him. 
 
So they had a stilted conversation that ended as 
quickly as they could end it. Much that should have 
been said left out because they couldn't bear each 
other's presence. 
 
 
Denethor surprised both brothers by staging a large 
celebration for Faramir's fifteenth birthday. By the 
custom of their people, he was now considered an adult 
and as eligible for marriage or other adult 
activities, if he hadn't already been in the field as 
a warrior, he would have been sent now.  He even 
received a few requests to take first night honors 
with some of the noble families attending. Denethor 
gave him a beautifully made dagger. The sheath and the 
blade were engraved with the coat of arms of the House 
of Hurin on one side and Faramir's coat of arms on the 
other. It pleased his father that he immediately 
fastened it to his side. 
 
************* 
 
"He's coming." Faramir cried, as he sat up so suddenly 
that he nearly knocked Boromir from the bed. Chills 
raced up and down his spine and his breath was ragged 
in his throat. His instincts told him this was a real 
farseeing dream, but it was very different from the 
rest.  Looking at his brother, who lay rubbing the 
sleep out of his eyes, he laughed with the joy of the 
dream. "I've had a dream, my brother," happiness 
evident in his voice. "A most wonderful dream." 
 
Sitting up and propping himself on the headboard, 
Boromir pulled his brother close, kissing the back of 
his neck. "Tell me," he instructed. 
 
"I saw the king, Boromir," he said, his voice full of 
awe. "He was coming towards the Great Gate followed by 
a great army. But it was not for war as they had just 
returned from a great battle, defeating the forces of 
Mordor. He wore black mail trimmed with silver and a 
long white mantle clasped with a large green stone. In 
place of a crown, he wore a circlet from which hung a 
silver star. I could see him so clearly, brother. He 
was tall and lean with dark hair and blue eyes. At 
first I felt fear of him, he was so very noble and his 
gaze seemed to see my very soul. Then I felt your love 
for him, as strong as the love you bear for me, but 
different." 
 
The look on his brother's face was so full of hope and 
joy that it took Boromir's breath away. "Was this a 
true sending?" he asked. 
 
"It was, brother," he replied, turning so that his 
chest was pressed against his brother's. "I can smell 
him in your hair, Boromir. Sweat and leather, and," he 
paused, as if slightly confused. "Kingsfoil? Why would 
someone wear kingsfoil?" 
 
"I don't even know what it is, let alone why someone 
would wear it," Boromir laughed, even though he, too, 
smelled sweat and leather accompanied by a sharp/sweet 
herbal scent. Taking Faramir's face in his hands he 
looked into his eyes, thinking to tease him for his 
fancy. But for a moment it wasn't his brother's gaze 
he met. Blue eyes, yes. But dark hair, a thin face 
lined with grief and worries and desperately needing a 
shave, looked back at him. "Estel," he gasped. 
 
"Hope." Faramir said at the same time. 
 
"I saw him," Boromir said in awe. "Tell me more." 
 
"There isn't much more," Faramir told him. "It will be 
a long time yet, I think. There is much pain and 
sorrow first. But when all seems lost, our hope will 
come. You said Estel, which means hope in elvish, 
why?" 
 
"I think that is his name, or at least what some 
people call him, what I will call him. You say I love 
him?" Boromir asked, even as his own heart told him it 
was true. 
 
"Oh yes, brother," Faramir answered with a bright 
smile. "And he loves you, as if anyone could fail to 
love you." He pressed his lips to his brother's, in a 
deep loving kiss. "Wouldn't it be so wonderful, my 
beloved brother, to no longer live in fear? To see our 
people prosper and the land bloom unstained by war?' 
He gave a wry chuckle. "To have a king in Gondor, to 
sit on the throne." 
 
"Don't tell father," Boromir told him. "He would label 
us both traitors and cowards. Don't even write it in 
your journals, it could be dangerous." 
 
"Would you hate it if the king did return?" Faramir 
asked. 
 
He thought about it for a few minutes before 
answering. "If the king doesn't return in our life 
time, I would still never rule Gondor. You are the one 
who is most fit for that position. Of course I will 
never tell father that, but once he is gone it will be 
our choice." He paused briefly, to kiss his brother. 
"It is such a seductive thought, a High King in 
Gondor. I think I could be quite happy with that." He 
pulled Faramir even closer until their bodies were 
pressed close from groin to chest. "You said he loves 
me, are you sure?" 
 
"I know he does, brother," was the confident answer. 
"It connects you like a golden ray of sunlight, even 
now." 
 
"What do you mean?" he asked. 
 
"I think he felt you, too," Faramir answered. "You 
will know each other when you meet, or feel familiar 
with each other." 
 
"All my life foretold in dreams, little brother," he 
said against his neck. "You have saved me more than 
once, and this new dream could save us all. I will do 
my best to watch for our brave king and bring him to 
his throne." 
 
"Then you will succeed, beloved brother, for you are 
the bravest of all men, I know you will bring 'hope' 
back to Gondor," Faramir told him. "But I'm afraid we 
have many years of toil and pain before he finally 
comes home." 
 
"I would hurry time," Boromir groaned as Faramir 
guided himself onto his brother's hard cock. "But I 
couldn't bear to lose one second with you." 
 
Faramir could not speak, lost in the joy of the dream 
and delicious sensations. 
 
************* 
 
It had been over a year since the wizard had seen 
Faramir and he had changed considerably in that time. 
Mithrandir accepted his joyful hug and then held him 
at arm's length to examine the changes. "You look much 
bigger and much happier than the last time I was here, 
Faramir," he said. "I take it that you were able to 
overcome your problems?" 
 
"With the help of my brother," he said with a shy 
smile. 
 
Mithrandir knew of the beatings the young man had 
endured, but had been powerless to stop them. When he 
had urged Faramir to seek his brother's aid, he had 
refused. "And how are you handling the dreams?" he 
questioned. 
 
'Better all the time," he answered. "Father even gave 
me some good advice." Faramir paused, looking to check 
that Stefle still guarded the door. "There is a new 
dream that I sometimes share with my brother in part. 
My father wouldn't approve of it." 
 
"Your brother dreams of this too?" the Istari asked. 
 
"He shares many of my dreams to some extent, but he is 
heavily involved in this one." 
 
"Are you going to share this evil dream with me?" he 
asked with a raised eyebrow. 
 
"It's not evil at all, even though father would 
denounce it," Faramir said quickly, then leaned closer 
and whispered. "I have seen the king return to Minas 
Tirith to claim the throne of Gondor." 
 
The wizard paled at his words. "Whom have you told 
about this?" he asked urgently. 
 
"Just Boromir, he wanted me to keep it secret. He 
dreams of him too, he even knows his name. He told me. 
. " 
 
His words were stopped by Mithrandir's fingers over 
his mouth. "Never speak it," he told the startled 
young man. "Not even in private. His life would be in 
grave danger if the enemy knew he existed, let alone 
his name. There are eyes and ears everywhere." 
 
"Then you know him," Faramir stated. "My brother and I 
are hoping to welcome him home some day, the sooner 
the better." 
 
"You are right that your father would disapprove," the 
wizard told him. "Denethor hopes to see Boromir 
succeed him and would make him king if he could." 
 
"That is not what my brother wants," Faramir said with 
confidence. "He has no desire to rule Gondor." 
 
"You are sure of this?" 
 
"Faramir knows all the secrets my heart contains," 
Boromir said as he entered the room. Putting his arms 
around his brother, he kissed his brow and held him 
close. The marks on their necks were visible above 
their high collars as they gave each other an intense 
regard. 
 
Mithrandir had long suspected that their closeness 
would only increase as they grew older and knew the 
signs they openly displayed to him now. The look of 
adoration in the younger brother's eyes was echoed in 
the elder's, their body language clear to anyone who 
looked. 
 
"You are looking well, Boromir," he said.  
 
"And you look the same as ever," he replied. "I came 
to give you a hand as well." It was obvious that he 
was more interested in his brother than anything the 
wizard needed. 
 
"Your aid is always welcome," Mithrandir answered. 
"But maybe you could tell me a little more about this 
dream first." 
 
"Tell him," Boromir told his brother, looking to the 
door. 
 
Faramir described the dream in detail, but leaving out 
the personal connection between Boromir and the future 
king. The wizard sensed his holding back, but chose to 
ignore it for now. 
"There is very little I can tell you," he said to the 
two young men. "There is an heir still alive, but the 
enemy hunts him still. When he can, he will return to 
Gondor, but no one knows when that will be." 
 
Though Mithrandir gave them very little information, 
they were somewhat satisfied with what he shared. 
Often he would tell them nothing at all, only making 
references to histories and books contained in the 
library and archives. For now, they would wait for 
their king and do what they could to ensure there 
would be a kingdom for him to claim. 
 
TBC



TITLE: Warriors of Gondor Part 05 - Skirmishes 
 
AUTHOR: HEL (helthehorrible@yahoo.com ) 
 
RATING: NC17 
 
PAIRING: Boromir/Faramir with various others 
 
WARNINGS: explicit sex, incest, slash, violence, 
blood, gore. 
 
ARCHIVE: Sure, let me know 
 
DISCLAIMER: Inspired by the LOTR stories. 
 
NOTES:  Thanks to Beverly for the Beta. 
 
 
SKIRMISHES 
 
The long line of troops marched in loose formation, as 
men will when weariness sets in from a long march and 
discipline is lax. Boromir didn't know from how far 
they had come, but he was more than happy to end their 
journey here.  
 
With a soft whistle sounding much like the lark's 
call, he signaled the first stage of the attack. 
Arrows fell like rain upon the unsuspecting enemy, and 
their forces broke into wild panic. 
 
Then, sounding the 'Horn of Gondor,' he led the charge 
over the small rise that had concealed them. The 
hidden archers slowed their firing to avoid hitting 
their own men, and those that wore armor and were 
trained to the sword began either making their way 
down to join the fray or preparing to defend the light 
fighters from the fleeing Haradrim. He saw Faramir as 
soon as he left the shelter of the trees. It had 
become his brother's habit in these ambushes to start 
on the far side of the battlefield so that they could 
fight their way to each other. Sometimes it worried 
Boromir, but Faramir was hard to dissuade.  
 
They rolled the Haradrim forces back easily. The heavy 
cavalry was unmatched by the foot soldiers, crushing 
them beneath their charge. Boromir's sword cut through 
the enemy with the fire of his rage and lust for 
battle. There were few things he enjoyed more than 
spreading death amongst his enemies. Faramir moved 
through his opponents with machinelike precision, his 
emotions uninvolved in the rhythm of his dance of 
death. They were fire and ice, rage and dispassion and 
they caused fear in their enemies and joy in their 
allies.  
 
It was hot bloody work, for there would be no taking 
of prisoners. An hour had passed before they had 
reached each other in the battlefield, mostly because 
they slowed themselves enough for their accompanying 
forces to stay with them. When the last of the enemy 
in their range was killed, Boromir bent down so that 
Faramir could grab his arm and mount behind his 
saddle. Riding to the previously chosen vantage point, 
they looked down at the slaughter below them. Faramir 
switched to his own horse, which was being held by the 
waiting couriers and fighters. 
 
"There are too many of our men fallen," Boromir said, 
his face grim as he calculated the losses. "We will 
have to find a better way." 
 
"If we send all but the fastest foot soldiers and 
archers back across the river, we can switch to a 
shoot and run strategy," Faramir said, his face 
equally grim. "More of them will get away, but I think 
we can cut our own losses enough to make up for it." 
 
"Maybe," Boromir answered. "But, let's wait a while 
before we make a final decision. I want a full body 
count." 
 
They decided, with input from their father, to keep a 
sizable force of heavy cavalry east of the Anduin. The 
men they left in charge were canny captains, all born 
in North Ithilien, and familiar with the brothers' 
chosen strategy and tactics as well as the territory. 
Most engagements were to be fought by the Ithilien 
Rangers, who could appear out of nowhere and melt back 
just as quickly. Satisfied with the arrangements, they 
returned to Minus Tirith where their father had 
summoned them. 
 
********** 
 
Denethor had added another chair to his study so that 
both brothers could sit as they gave their reports. It 
was just part of the changes he had made to the room 
in an effort to rid himself of the visions he had had 
of Faramir. So far it seemed to be working, and he was 
able to conduct business with them with little 
discomfort. But it had been more than three years, 
which is how long this conversation seemed to be 
taking. 
 
Boromir leaned his head back against the tall chair 
and closed his eyes for a few moments, his hand 
resting on his brother's. It was late and they had 
been in the saddle all day. "There are really no 
changes to report, father," he said without opening 
his eyes. "They take terrible loses, but we are being 
bled dry. At this rate, we will all be dead in just a 
few years." 
 
Faramir looked at him with worry; they'd had very 
little rest in the last few weeks. "Let's see how our 
new strategy works, brother," he said gently. "You 
might be surprised." 
 
Denethor watched his sons' exchange with sympathy; 
they'd not taken any time for themselves in over a 
year. "All we can do at the moment is wait and see. 
However, I have an errand for you both," he told them. 
"There are messages I need delivered to your kinsman, 
Prince Imrahil in Dol Amroth. Once he has read them, 
you should take counsel together and make decisions 
about the defense of the coast. I hate to part with 
both of you, but this is too important for me to be 
selfish." 
 
Boromir watched him from beneath half closed eyes as 
Faramir sat forward. "That is a long ride, father," 
the younger brother spoke. 
 
"I have made arrangements for you to make most of the 
journey by boat. It should give you time to rest, 
almost a vacation." 
 
Boromir sat up at his words, now fully awake. "When do 
we leave?" he asked. 
 
"In two days, that should give us plenty of time to 
discuss everything thoroughly. For tonight we are done 
and, as you both look exhausted, I suggest you get 
some sleep." 
 
********** 
 
The bed was almost too soft as Faramir pulled Boromir 
against his chest. "I was hoping we could put this bed 
to good use, but you are tired. Maybe you will have 
more energy in the morning," Faramir said, smoothing 
the hair from his brother's face.   
 
Boromir smiled at his words before rolling them over 
so that he was covering his brother. "I had a little 
nap in father's study, while he was rehashing 
everything we'd already discussed," he said in a 
growl. "I've been dreaming of you naked in my bed for 
months, I'm not going to wait any longer." Stroking 
his brother's body, Boromir ground their hips 
together.  
 
Faramir groaned and pulled Boromir's face closer for 
his kiss. "I don't want you to wait, brother," he 
gasped. "I want you now." 
 
Boromir chuckled at his impatience. He was always like 
this when they were together; wildly wanton, yet he'd 
seen him be so controlled with others that it was near 
torture. "What do you want, little brother?" he said 
as he nibbled at his neck. "Do you long for the feel 
of my lips and tongue on your hot cock?" He slid one 
hand between them and grasped their cocks pressing 
them even tighter together. 
 
"Yes," Faramir gasped, arching beneath him. 
 
"Or do you want to suck me dry with your talented 
mouth?" he growled, licking a tender strip of neck. 
His left hand buried in Faramir's hair holding his 
head captive, the elbow holding his weight. His right 
thumb rubbing across the crown of their cocks as his 
hand held them tightly together. 
 
"Yes please, brother," he grabbed at Boromir, out of 
control. 
 
"Maybe you would rather have me slide my cock into 
your tight ass?" he bit down on the strip of wet neck 
and roughly stroked their cocks. 
 
"Stop teasing and take me, please," he grabbed at 
Boromir's hips. 
 
"I think you might want to drive your hot cock into 
me, little brother," he whispered, increasing the 
speed of his stroking hand. "Oh yes," he growled into 
his ear, rolling away just enough so that they could 
look down to where their cocks where side-by-side in 
his hand. "Your huge cock, look at how closely it 
matches mine, brother. How good it feels when they are 
pressed together." 
 
Faramir groaned as he watched hot cum begin spurting 
out of their two cocks. His hand joined Boromir's to 
finish their orgasm. 
 
"That felt so good, brother," Boromir said, pushing 
him to his back again and biting one of his nipples. 
Licking the cum from his brother's belly he moved down 
to his groin. Faramir cried out as his cock was 
engulfed in his brother's hot mouth. The strong hand 
massaging his balls helped bring him back to full 
hardness. 
 
Faramir buried his hands in Boromir's hair and began 
thrusting into his mouth. Experience allowed Boromir 
to take all of his brother's huge cock and he loved 
doing it. Relaxing his throat, he allowed Faramir to 
fuck his mouth freely while his hand left his balls 
and began readying his ass. His fingers were soon 
buried deep in their target, making the younger 
brother arch his back in ecstasy and climax long and 
hard down his throat. 
 
Boromir rose to his knees and ran his hands over 
Faramir's body as he lay panting below him. "You cum 
so beautifully, brother," he told him. "I love 
watching you, feeling you." He wrapped a hand around 
his own erect cock and held it in display. "Are you 
ready for this, my beloved one?" he asked. 
 
"Oh, yes," Faramir replied, arching his back again. 
"I'm always ready for you." 
 
Boromir held his hips tightly as he slowly entered his 
tight passage. He knew that Faramir would try to hurry 
him if he could.  
 
When Faramir started to reach for his own cock, now 
hard again, Boromir denied him. "Pull your knees up 
brother," Boromir told him. Clasping his knees to his 
chest, Faramir cried out at the deeper penetration his 
brother was able to achieve. 
 
Boromir kept a slow pace but his thrusts were deep and 
hard, making Faramir cry out at each one. He kept 
going until sweat dripped off him and his brother was 
nearly incoherent. Releasing Faramir's hips, he pushed 
his arms and legs aside so that he could rub his whole 
body along his brother's as he pounded into him. 
Faramir wrapped his arms around Boromir and pulled him 
closer, biting his collarbone, but still managing to 
scream loudly as he came. The familiar pain brought 
Boromir's climax. 
 
"I think you woke the whole tower with your yelling," 
Boromir laughed in his ear. 
 
"I'll just tell them that you were torturing me," 
Faramir answered, kissing his face and pulling him 
closer. 
 
********** 
 
Faramir's scream, mixed with Boromir's cries, startled 
Denethor as he made his way to his room. His hand 
shook as he pushed the door closed behind him. Leaning 
against it, he listened a little longer before turning 
towards his bed. The thought that he should have had 
them move their rooms vying with the image of them as 
he had seen them together. 
 
He sat on the edge of his bed for a few moments before 
striding to the door and leaving. There was still 
plenty of work in his study and he knew he would be 
unable to sleep. He was not going to give in again to 
his baser desires. 
 
********** 
 
Boromir started to rise as the counselors filed from 
the room, but his father signaled him to remain. He 
sighed, knowing that the upcoming conversation was 
likely to be unpleasant. 
 
"Imrahil has a daughter," Denethor began. 
 
"I will not marry one of my cousins," Boromir cut him 
off. "Neither will my brother." 
 
"At least you do realize he is your brother," was the 
bitter reply. "Your relationship is far from typical." 
 
"Do you really want to argue over this, father?" 
Boromir queried, obviously irritated. "We do our duty, 
to you and Gondor." 
 
"Then where are the future heirs to the Stewardship? 
If you both die in battle, which becomes more likely 
every year, who will be there to take your place?" 
 
"We have sons to replace us, father," Boromir told 
him. "Among the nobility alone, Faramir has three sons 
and I have one. Their parents knew ahead of time and 
agreed that should the need arise, they would become 
our heirs. You signed the acknowledgement papers 
yourself." 
 
"It's not the same," Denethor said with a frown. 
 
"You want me to give up my principles, father?" he 
asked. "If there were a woman available of suitable 
rank and age, one of us would be married to her. Until 
then, we will continue to produce children through 
first night liaisons and other requests, as is our 
duty and pleasure." He sat forward and put a hand on 
the table close to his father. "I will not give up the 
one thing that gives me comfort in these dark times. 
The suite of rooms on the north side of the tower that 
our mother used would be very suitable for us, 
especially since there are no other rooms on that 
hallway." Pausing he took his father's hand. "It would 
be for the best, father. I know that our unorthodox 
behavior preys on your sensibilities. You know I don't 
want to argue with you." 
 
Somehow Boromir could always sway him to his desires, 
he wanted to refuse but he couldn't. "If that is what 
you want, then go ahead," he said in defeat. 
 
"You won't regret this, father," he told him. "I'll 
make sure you won't." 
 
********** 
 
There was a large balcony that looked to the north in 
the large bedroom. The brothers barely had time to 
instruct Maran and Stefle on where they wanted 
everything to go, for the changeover would have to 
happen after they left to Dol Amroth. But just the 
same, they slept on a pallet in the new bedroom their 
last night at home so that their father wouldn't be 
disturbed by any noise they made. 
 
********** 
 
The boat that took them downriver from below the fords 
at Ithilien was barely big enough to have a captain's 
cabin. The captain gladly surrendered his room to the 
Steward's sons, ignoring their refusals. They would 
spend the night at Eruin, a village located at the 
confluence of the River Erui and the Anduin.  
 
Through the day, the two young men divided their time 
between helping the crew and practicing their 
swordsmanship. Once a party of Haradrim was spotted 
not far from the eastern shoreline and Faramir was 
able to display some of his ability as an archer. Even 
with the unsteady deck, he didn't miss. 
 
It was still light when they anchored in the small 
harbor and they could see another boat bearing the 
flag of Gondor in the harbor. On the dock were some of 
the men of Lossarnach, among them Felong. Boromir 
reached over and ran a finger down his brother's beard 
as he saw the man watching them. 
 
"It looks like you get to make good on your challenge, 
brother," he said, laughter in his voice. 
 
"Yes, it does," the younger man agreed, waving at the 
men on the dock. 
 
There were messages to exchange, but soon the two 
brothers found themselves in a noisy inn with Felong 
and a few of his men. They ate a hardy meal and drank 
their share of ale, trading stories of their exploits 
of the past few years. Felong would stall at times, 
looking at Faramir, who looked remarkably like his 
older brother, only a little lighter in build. They 
wore their hair and beards the same and wore similar 
clothing, though their weapons differed slightly.  
 
Faramir was very discrete, only his brother aware of 
his veiled looks. As the inn began emptying, Boromir 
drew the attention of the other men at the table so 
that Faramir could approach Felong privately. 
 
"Are you still interested in finishing our challenge?" 
he asked the older man, his face giving away nothing 
of his own thoughts. 
 
"If you are, I have reserved a room at the inn," 
Felong answered. 
 
"Time has only made me want this more," Faramir 
answered. 
 
Without preliminary, Felong rose and led the way to a 
private back room.  The only furniture was a table and 
chair and a large sturdy bed. Faramir began stripping, 
watching the other man who followed his example only a 
little more slowly. 
 
"Have you done this before?" he asked. 
 
"Only with women," was the short answer. 
 
The light of mischief lit up Faramir's eyes as he 
responded. "Don't worry," he said with a grin. "I'll 
be gentle, if you want me to." 
 
Felong looked at him in surprise, then laughed at his 
remark. Suddenly he didn't feel as nervous as he'd 
been. He reached out and ran a finger down the younger 
man's chest watching his nipple harden as he touched 
it. "I've never seen so many scars on a single person 
before," he said quietly. "Do you collect them on 
purpose?" 
 
"Only the dance scars," he answered. "The rest came of 
their own accord. I never thought of getting them 
deliberately." He ran his hands through the thick hair 
on the other man's chest, remembering the downy/wiry 
feel of it. "I've never seen so much hair before, it 
feels so different." He curled his fingers in the 
hair, running his thumbs over his large nipples. 
Leaning forward he took one of the nipples in his 
mouth, grazing it with his teeth. So close he noticed 
strange markings under the hair. "What is this?" he 
asked. 
 
"My wedding tattoo," Felong told him. "It is the 
custom of my people to mark themselves such on their 
wedding day so that we never forget our vows." 
 
"You are monogamous?" Faramir asked, stepping back 
slightly. 
 
"I told my wife before we married of our challenge," 
he said. "She agreed that honor demanded that I keep 
our pledge." He moved his hand to the back of 
Faramir's neck, running his thumb along his jaw. "I 
find I have been anticipating this more than I 
expected; I never thought I would enjoy this." 
 
"I enjoy both men and women equally," Faramir told 
him, leaning forward again and claiming the other 
man's lips. "Though I have one lover I prefer before 
all others." 
 
Words were forgotten as the younger man led Felong to 
the bed. He was rougher than he would have been with a 
maid, but still more gentle than usual. The thick body 
hair of the older man excited him with its novelty and 
softness. He pressed many kisses to his torso, and 
soon learned that the hair tended to catch in his 
teeth if he bit, but as his partner seemed to enjoy 
the bites, he continued them anyway. The room was 
filled with the groans of the two men as Faramir used 
knowledge from previous encounters to arouse Felong 
without mercy. 
 
Taking the big man's cock into his mouth, Faramir made 
sure he was ready for what he wanted next. After a few 
minutes of sucking the penis that was wider but 
shorter than his own, he was ready to go further. 
Rising up, he impaled himself on the solid erection 
bringing forth an uncontrolled gasp from the man. 
 
Felong was surprised at the intensity of the moment, 
finding the experienced young man extremely tight. He 
was almost helpless under the rhythmic movements and 
found himself losing control. His body arched as he 
climaxed, reaching completion much quicker than he was 
used to. 
 
As the man lay beneath him, his body relaxed from its 
release, Faramir used the oil he had placed on the 
edge of the bed to lubricate his next target. Felong 
watched him through half shuttered eyes as he felt the 
strong fingers breach his ass. He held still trying to 
keep from tensing up, wanting to keep his bargain with 
the younger man. 
 
He pushed Felong's knees up and began guiding himself 
into the virgin ass. With short thrusts, he slowly 
entered until he was buried to the hilt, then paused 
until he felt the passage ease around him. The older 
man's eyes widened as he felt the fullness within him. 
Beginning with slow deep movements, Faramir watched 
his eyes widen even further and his breath catch in 
his throat. He had found the right angle. 
 
Long moments passed and Felong felt himself hardening 
again. Increasing the pace, Faramir grasped the newly 
erect cock and pumped it to the same rhythm. His 
experienced hand brought the older man to completion 
just as he found his own release. 
 
Faramir climbed up beside Felong and looked again at 
the tattoo half hidden on his chest. "This fascinates 
me," he said. "I've never seen one before, how do they 
do it?" 
 
"It's done with a needle and ink," was the reply. 
"There are several stands in the market at Pelargir 
where professionals ply their trade. My wife's and 
mine were applied by our village healer, as is our 
custom." 
 
"I might like one," Faramir told him, thinking of 
doing something for his brother.  He rose from the bed 
and cleaned himself before dressing.  
 
"I thank you for finishing our challenge," he told 
Felong before kissing his brow. He left and returned 
to the common room of the inn in search of his 
brother. 
 
Boromir was still talking with the men of Lossarnach; 
they'd been joined by some of the locals. Faramir sat 
next to him and joined in the conversation. It wasn't 
long before they finished and returned to their cabin 
on the little boat. 
 
"So did you enjoy yourself?" Boromir asked as they 
cuddled together. 
 
"It was enjoyable, brother," he answered between 
kisses to his brother's face and neck. "But I'd much 
rather be with you." 
 
Boromir laughed and returned his brother's kisses. "I 
love being with you best too, beloved brother," he 
whispered. 
 
********** 
 
They changed to a much larger vessel at Pelargir, one 
capable of crossing the sea. Leaving Garus to arrange 
for their baggage to be moved, the brothers went to 
take care of official business. There was little they 
needed to do other than exchange messages and both 
brothers received requests to attend to 'first night' 
duties for two of the cities leading families. Since 
the last duty would be attended to in the evening, 
they had the rest of the day free. 
 
Laughing at his brother's excitement, Boromir followed 
him to the marketplace. It was much like all the 
others they'd seen until they reached the row of 
tattoo booths. Faramir had read references to them in 
the archives, but the practice had mostly disappeared 
in Gondor.  
 
There were six booths, each occupied by two artists 
and doing a brisk trade. They watched, as did many 
others, while beautiful designs appeared on their 
clients. 
 
"I want one," Faramir whispered to his brother. 
 
"Some magical beast, I assume?" he asked, laughter in 
his voice. 
 
"Oh no," Faramir whispered with such emotion it caught 
his brother's attention. "I want something to show how 
much I love you. A mark to let all who see it know 
that I belong to you." 
 
"I'm not sure I could get father to accept anything so 
blatant," he laughed, though he was touched by the 
idea. 
 
"I could have it put where few would see it." 
 
"Like your sweet ass," Boromir whispered in his ear. 
 
"I want to be able to see it," he responded. "I think 
it would be better here." He indicated a spot in the 
hollow of his hip. 
 
"So what are you going to use?" 
 
Faramir grinned as he lightly touched the scabbard of 
his brother's knife. Like his own, it had his personal 
coat of arms in full color dyed and carved on it. "I 
think that will work fine." 
 
Boromir liked the idea. He liked it so much he decided 
that he would get one as well. "Which booth?" he 
asked. "I'll join you." 
 
Carefully examining the work being done, Faramir made 
his choice. The brothers waited until they were 
finished with their current customers then asked 
forgiveness of the ones waiting, explaining that they 
had to leave early the next day. The peasants waiting 
would have gladly given up their places to the 
Steward's sons anyway, but were pleased by their 
politeness and the coins they gave as recompense. They 
asked for privacy and the front awning of the booth 
was brought down to cover the entrance. The artists 
didn't so much as blink at their request and went 
about the job with exquisite skill. In less time than 
they expected, the work was done and they examined it 
while listening to the care instructions. 
 
********** 
 
As they prepared to go to their evening duties, 
Faramir turned to his brother in amusement. "At the 
rate we're going, brother, the whole of the next 
generation of Gondorian nobility and half its 
peasantry will be our children. How will you argue 
father out of marriage then?" 
 
"I'll find you a wife," he answered calmly, as if it 
was something he'd planned. 
 
Faramir looked at him in surprise. "You will?" 
 
"There are two things in this world that are more 
important to me than any other, you and Gondor," he 
answered. "In that order. One of us must marry 
eventually; if I take a wife she might make a problem 
over our relationship. If you take a wife, it would be 
different." 
 
Thinking about the customs of precedence in their 
society and the attitudes of their peers, Faramir 
realized that his brother was right. "You've given 
this a lot of thought, haven't you?" 
 
"If I had to leave Gondor and never look on our city 
again in order to be with you, I would. You are 
everything to me," he answered. "It's all I think of." 
He paused, a brief smile on his lips. "Except for 
killing our enemies." 
 
"Does father know how you feel?" 
 
"I told him long ago," Boromir replied. "Why do you 
think he backs down every time about the marriage 
thing and us?" 
 
"I thought there were other reasons," 
 
"There are, but this one is the main one." 
 
Faramir put his arms around him and buried his face in 
his neck. "I love you, my beautiful brother. Each day 
with you brings me more joy than words can tell." 
 
"And I you, beloved one," he answered kissing his 
younger brother's brow. "More than anything in this 
world or the next." 
 
A tap at the door was a signal from Garus that they 
were starting to run late. "Let's go deflower some 
virgins," Boromir said. "Then I will meet you back 
here when we are done." 
 
"Don't encourage me to hurry, brother," Faramir said 
as he turned to the door. "Remember anything worth 
doing is worth doing right." They had developed a 
reputation of being gentle with the maidens, although 
other circles spoke of their roughness as warriors. 
 
********** 
 
The weather was fair and it was only three more days 
to Dol Amroth, though the brothers suspected it could 
have been quicker. The captain and crew grew to like 
them immensely in that short time as they helped 
whenever they could, as well as being friendly. They 
practiced their fighting skills every day and 
sometimes made the crew laugh with their antics, 
parrying each other while walking the rails in their 
bare feet and such. Neither seemed inclined to 
seasickness, though they didn't go far from the 
shoreline, as they had to round the peninsula of 
Belfalas. 
 
Their arrival in Dol Amroth was greeted with great 
fanfare, unlike the previous stops, so they both 
donned formal garb to proceed to the home of their 
kinsman, Prince Imrahil. They had never met before, 
but it was easy to tell the Prince apart from the 
others, as he stood with his wife at his side wearing 
the beautiful crowns of their rank. Imrahil could tell 
the brothers apart in their formal wear as Boromir 
wore the 'Horn of Gondor' at his side, something he 
usually only did in formal occasions and battle, habit 
and long warfare not yet welding it to his side. They 
were welcomed with all due respect and, after the 
formal proceedings, they passed from the great hall to 
the Prince's private drawing room. 
 
The brothers were pleasantly surprised as Imrahil 
dropped formality as quickly as he dropped the ornate 
crown on a side table. His wife excused herself after 
a serving wine to the three men, leaving them to talk 
freely. "My wife was sure you would change your mind 
about marriage as soon as you saw our daughter," he 
commented. The young lady in question had been present 
in the great hall. 
 
"If it were for beauty or person alone, neither my 
brother nor I would hesitate to claim her as our own," 
Boromir replied. "But as you know from Faramir's 
letters, there is more to consider. Both our mother 
and father are related to you and the bleeding 
sickness seems to be rather strong in Mother's line, I 
think it had much to do with her early death. However, 
Theoden, king in Rohan has a son now, Theodred, born 
just two months ago. The age difference shouldn't be 
too much of a problem and I would be more than willing 
to help with any negotiations" 
 
"That is something to consider, and if not the son, 
then the nephew. He could be brought here as my heir 
if my wife bears me no sons," he smiled at the two 
brothers. "Though Rohan is smaller than Gondor, I 
think my wife's ambitions would be satisfied with such 
an arrangement." 
 
"What about your daughter?" Faramir questioned. "What 
does she want?" 
 
Imrahil was taken aback by the question. "I've never 
asked, I barely see the girl. I've left that to my 
wife." He blushed a bit at his lack of knowledge. 
 
"I mean no disrespect, kinsman," Faramir told him. "I 
just wondered. It seems that most of the nobility of 
our people do not consider the wishes of their 
children when it comes to marriage. Of course, 
political necessity dictates that." 
 
"That was definitely true in my case," the Prince 
replied. "But it has worked well for me, we are quite 
happy together, my wife and I." He looked to the 
brothers. "You do have plans for marriage? Rumor has 
it that Denethor has given you final say in the 
matter, Boromir." 
 
"Yes there are plans, though I will not reveal them 
yet," he replied. "As for the rumor, it was a habit of 
my father's to grant me a request on each birthday. 
For my eighteenth, I chose the right to make this 
choice. He stopped giving me such boons afterward," he 
finished with a wry smile. 
 
Imrahil laughed at his words. "I should say not, I'm 
surprised that he granted your request." 
 
"I did it publicly, he would have had to break his 
word before the gathered guests. That is something he 
would never do," Boromir responded. "But it was not 
something I requested lightly, and I have the best 
interests of Gondor at heart. Even though there is no 
king to claim the throne yet, there are still heirs to 
the Stewardship. My methods differ from his but we 
still have the same goal at heart, the safety of the 
realm." 
 
"That is fair," the Prince replied. He continued 
quietly preparing to move on to other business, not 
having caught the slip Boromir had made about the 
king. Faramir did, however, but managed to betray no 
sign, even though he was a bit taken aback at his 
brother's unusual carelessness. 
 
As they finished their conversation, Faramir noticed 
an unusual painting on one wall of the room. The 
quality wasn't of the best, but the two subjects were 
rather startling. At first it appeared to be a man and 
woman, but closer examination showed it to be a man 
and a male elf. "Who are they?" he asked their host. 
 
"Thorongil and his elf friend," Imrahil answered with 
a smile. "He was instrumental in ridding us of the 
Corsairs that threatened our coasts for so long. I'm 
afraid your father didn't care much for him. He 
wouldn't even let us borrow the portrait his father 
had commissioned for the artist to use, so he had to 
do the best he could from memory." 
 
"I remember reading about him, but father forbade us 
to discuss him in his presence," Boromir offered. 
"There was no mention of an elf though." 
 
"While he stayed in Gondor, several elves came to 
visit with him, but this one came more often than the 
others and sometimes stayed a while. There was a rumor 
that they were closer than just friends, but it was 
never proven. Not that it would have mattered to 
Ecthelion, your grandfather. He was his most trusted 
advisor, which I think bothered your father, though he 
tried not to show it. You haven't seen the portrait?" 
 
"If it still exists, father has hidden it away," 
Boromir replied. 
 
"What was the elf's name?" Faramir asked. 
 
"Alas, I never met the elf and he is only included 
here because of the artist's fancy," was the answer. 
"However I heard he was a great prince among elves and 
known for his fighting ability as well as his romantic 
conquests. There were even rumors that wars had been 
started over his amorous exploits, but you know how 
rumors are." 
 
********** 
 
Ever the good host, Imrahil invited the brothers to 
join him in a boar hunt once they had finalized their 
plans for the defense of the coast. It had taken less 
time than either party had thought it would. The 
Prince's advisors were astute men who knew their craft 
and the brothers had studied warfare, including sea 
warfare, their whole lives. They were willing to 
acknowledge their own weaknesses and learn from the 
guidance of others. All in all, it had been a very 
successful week and they were ready for some physical 
stimulation. 
 
There had been a problem with a great boar ravaging 
crops and even killing the hounds of one of the nearby 
villages, so they set out to kill the beast. Boromir 
was armed with a great boar spear, twelve feet long 
with a six-foot crosspiece four feet from the base. 
This was to keep the animal from running all the way 
up the spear and ravaging the man holding it. Faramir 
waited nearby with his long bow and some lances to 
finish off the beast once his brother had speared it. 
 
They heard the hounds driving their prey and it seemed 
they were heading their way, so Boromir braced the 
spear against a large tree watching for any sign of 
their approach. They'd hunted boar before, but by all 
reports this was a monster, nearly twice the size of 
its kin. When it broke from the brush, they saw it was 
nearly the size of a pony, tusks as long as a man's 
arm. It screamed in rage and charged Boromir who held 
the spear true, driving it just below the beast's jaw. 
 
Both brothers could see that there was not enough room 
for him to escape injury when the boar reached the 
crosspiece; the spear was too small for this size 
creature. The Prince's hounds were tearing at it while 
Faramir drove one lance into its head, just missing 
its brain, then another into its ear, killing it. 
 
But boars do not die easy and the beast still ran up 
the spear, reaching for Boromir in its rage. One giant 
tusk caught his chest revealing blood and bone in an 
instant as the giant crashed into him with crushing 
force. Faramir made to run to his brother's aid just 
as another smaller, but still large beast, came into 
the clearing. Reacting on instinct alone, he drew his 
sword and knife and turned to face the charging 
animal. 
 
As it reached him, he drove his sword through the top 
of its snout trying to avoid the razor sharp tusks. It 
pushed him backwards into the tree where his brother 
lay and twisting its head, caught his arm and part of 
his chest, knocking the knife from his hand as the 
impact knocked him unconscious.  
 
Pain was something he'd taught himself to ignore at 
will, so his mind was clear as Boromir picked up his 
brother's long knife and put the blade through the 
beast's glaring red eye and twisted it until the gray 
of its brain leaked through the socket. Releasing the 
knife, he reached toward his brother, grasping his arm 
and pulling himself as close possible before losing 
consciousness. 
 
TBC 



TITLE: Warriors of Gondor Part 06 - Resurrection 
 
AUTHOR: HEL (helthehorrible@yahoo.com ) 
 
RATING: NC17 
 
PAIRING: Boromir/Faramir with various others 
 
WARNINGS: explicit sex, bdsm, incest, het, slash, 
violence, blood. 
 
ARCHIVE: Sure, let me know 
 
DISCLAIMER: Inspired by the LOTR stories. 
 
NOTES:  Thanks to Beverly for the Beta. 
 
 
RESURRECTION  
 
Prince Imrahil stopped suddenly in his headlong 
flight, the sight before him almost more than he could 
bear. The hounds had been gathered by the houndsmen, 
and the huntsmen had pulled the boars from the mangled 
bodies of the two men. At first he didn't recognize 
them, the blood and gore disguising their features, 
but the servant working quickly and surely at cleaning 
and examining their wounds was easily recognizable. He 
felt stunned that both sons of the Steward had been so 
horribly injured in his care. 
 
He moved to stand behind the man as he directed the 
healers and retainers in what he needed done. 
Wondering at the servant's medical knowledge, he 
waited patiently, not wanting to distract him from his 
grisly task. One of the healers made to disentangle 
the brothers' arms where the elder had obviously 
grabbed the younger and pulled them closer. "Leave 
it," the man commanded sternly, stopping for a moment 
to make sure he was obeyed. Working with speed he 
began stitching together the muscles in Boromir's 
chest, though Imrahil doubted that it would hold, 
probably laming his left arm. Then he took a flask 
from his pocket and poured a small portion of its 
contents directly on his work, whispering what sounded 
like an incantation under his breath. He left the skin 
over the muscle unstitched, pressing clean cloths 
offered by the attending healers over it, he moved on 
to work on the younger brother.  
 
The huntmaster caught his attention, so he stepped 
away so as not to distract those working on the 
brothers. "Are there any other injuries?" he asked 
hopefully. 
 
"None, your highness," he answered grimly. "These two 
were alone when those monsters struck. I've never seen 
any so big in my life, it is a miracle they are alive 
at all." 
 
"They are the sons of the Steward, they are not like 
ordinary men," the Prince replied. 
 
They were now being carried away on stretchers and 
their servant came to stand before the Prince, waiting 
to be acknowledged. "Will they live?" Imrahil asked. 
 
"Definitely, your highness," was the quick answer. 
"But I will need to tend their injuries carefully if 
there is to be no lasting damage. I need them placed 
in the same room, even the same bed, if that's 
possible." 
 
"Won't they disturb each other if they get feverish?" 
 
"They heal better when they are together, my lord," he 
replied. "It's always been that way and they need 
every advantage they can get now." 
 
The Prince nodded, having gained much respect for the 
man's knowledge while watching him work. "I'll send 
word ahead. What is your name?" 
 
"I am Garus, your highness," he answered, bowing his 
head in respect. "May I go with them now?" 
 
"Of course," Imrahil told him, admiring his devotion. 
 
********* 
 
They dreamed. As so often happened whether together or 
apart, their dream was shared, but this was different 
than before. There was no sense of their bodies, no 
connection to the waking world, just the dream. This 
was bliss, so close together, closer than flesh 
allowed. Even the idea of them ever having been 
separate seemed beyond comprehension. This was where 
they belonged, their souls intertwined. 
 
********** 
 
As the brothers were moved to the bed, Garus fussed 
over them, sparing no detail. Imrahil watched as 
Varnai, his chief healer examined their injuries. He 
was more than satisfied and complimented the other man 
on his work.  
 
Smiling in gratitude, Garus continued with assuring 
the comfort and safety of his charges. When other 
hands reached to disrobe the brothers he stopped them, 
only allowing the removal of their weapons and boots. 
"This is my task," he insisted in a quiet, but firm 
voice, and began clearing the room. 
 
When only Imrahil and Varnai remained in the room, he 
began removing the rest of their clothing. Faramir was 
the least injured so he started on him first. Varnai 
helped turn him to remove his pants and the Prince 
gasped at the terrible scars crossing Faramir's flesh 
from his shoulders to his knees.  
 
"What caused that?" he asked without thinking. 
 
Garus paused and looked him in the eye. "A cane," he 
answered without inflection. 
 
Remembering the cane Denethor had always kept in the 
corner of his study and the dark rumors of how he'd 
treated some of those under his control in the past, 
Imrahil shuddered. When they turned Faramir to his 
back again, he saw the almost healed tattoo and 
wondered why he had put it there. Then he realized 
that it wasn't his own coat of arms, but his 
brother's.  
 
Boromir was harder to move, his injuries more serious. 
Imrahil helped them this time, noting that Boromir had 
his brother's coat of arms tattooed on his body as 
well. By the time they were finished, Faramir had 
moved close to his brother. While they watched, 
Boromir reached out and pulled his brother up against 
him. Garus smiled down at them and checked to make 
sure that he hadn't damaged his stitches. 
 
"Where were you trained?" Varnai asked Garus. 
 
"My lord Faramir trained me," he answered as if it 
should be obvious. 
 
"No, I mean in the ways of healing," the other man 
tried again. 
 
"I learned what I could from the house of healing in 
Minas Tirith so that I could help my lord when he 
refused to allow any other to tend his wounds. The 
wizard Mithrandir also taught me some of his ancient 
lore, as well as my lords Boromir and Faramir as they 
have much knowledge of battlefield injuries." He 
shrugged before continuing, "Mostly I have learned 
from doing; they are brave warriors." He covered them 
with a sheet. "They will sleep for several days, a 
healing sleep. You may tell the Steward that they both 
will recover." 
 
Imrahil sighed, thinking of Denethor. This was a most 
unpleasant task. 
 
********** 
 
Prince Imrahil came as often as he could to check on 
the sons of the Steward. He grew to know and like 
Garus, whose constant attention and devotion to the 
brothers warmed his heart.  
 
One day he came very early and caught Garus only 
partially dressed and was shocked that he was as 
dreadfully scarred as Faramir. "I see that you engage 
in battle too," he commented, trying to make light of 
his discovery. 
 
"Oh no," Garus replied, ever honest. "I could never 
bring myself to harm anyone." 
 
"The Steward?" he asked, not wanting to believe. 
 
"My father," he answered, looking to where Faramir lay 
wrapped in his brother's arms. "My lord Faramir 
rescued us from him." 
 
Imrahil knew that Garus had five younger siblings and 
that Faramir had arranged for their care. "He bought 
you from him?" he asked. It was rare, but not unknown. 
 
"No, your highness," was his answer, and he looked to 
the floor, his jaw hardening as it did when he would 
say no more. 
 
His mind raced. Garus had been with them for over 
seven years and he'd mentioned that he was orphaned, 
his mother dying giving birth, no explanation for his 
father. So Faramir had been only eleven when he'd had 
taken custody of Garus and his siblings. Their father 
was dead, but Garus had said he'd rescued them from 
the man. He stopped there. He didn't want to know any 
more than he already did, and would prefer to know 
less. 
 
"How soon before they awake?" he asked changing the 
subject. 
 
"I will try to wake lord Faramir today and let him 
decide when to wake lord Boromir," he answered. 
 
"Do you anticipate any problems?" 
 
Garus shrugged and looked to the sleeping men. "They 
dream together, it may be very hard to call him from 
those dreams." 
 
********** 
 
The restorative drink was bitter and Faramir 
struggled, even in his dreams, to resist drinking it. 
Garus could have used some help but the only lure he 
could think of to bring his beloved lord out of dreams 
was their most closely held secret. It was never 
spoken of, never written, he only knew it because he 
usually slept with the two brothers when they weren't 
on campaign and knew all their secrets. Cleaning up 
what had spilled, he rechecked the lock on the door 
and returned to the bed.  
 
"My Lord Faramir, you must waken, the king needs you," 
he whispered into his ear, knowing that duty was the 
only thing that could call him from his dreams. 
Faramir tossed his head and called out in denial as he 
heard his voice. 
 
"Faramir, Estel needs you, you must waken," he called 
softly. 
Suddenly he began twisting and turning. "No," he cried 
out as if in pain, Boromir becoming restless as well. 
 
Tears came to Garus' eyes; he almost wished he could 
let him sleep forever. "It is time for you to wake and 
do your duty," he said in a firmer but quiet voice. 
"You must take care of Boromir and prepare for the 
king. Come, Faramir, leave your dreams." 
 
Sitting up suddenly and grabbing Garus by the 
shoulders, Faramir finally awoke. He was breathing 
heavily and obviously confused. "What has happened, 
Garus?" 
 
"There was a hunt, my lord," he whispered. "You were 
both hurt." 
 
"I remember," he said, as his eyes cleared. "Boromir?" 
He asked even as he turned to examine his brother. 
 
"He was badly hurt, but I used some of the things I 
learned from the wizard. It looks as if he will be 
whole when he has healed." 
 
"Let me see," he commanded already pulling at the 
bandages. Garus carefully helped him uncover the 
wounds, and then peeled back the skin over the torn 
muscle, which hadn't been stitched closed yet so that 
they could monitor the healing of the pectoral muscle. 
The stitches that had been placed in the muscle had 
help it reknit, something that couldn't have happened 
without some form of magic.  
 
"Yes," Faramir agreed. "Sew him closed and we will let 
him rest one more day. How long has it been?" 
 
"Five days, my lord," he answered. 
 
"Father is probably beside himself," he said. "You can 
send for Prince Imrahil when you finish." 
 
A few moments later there was a knock at the door. 
Faramir signaled for Garus to continue his work and 
struggled to unsteady feet to go unlock the door. It 
was the Prince and Varnai, so he gratefully let them 
assist him back to the bed. 
 
"It is good to see you awake, Lord Faramir," Imrahil 
said. "We were worried about you and your brother." 
 
"We will both recover, your highness," he told him. "I 
will write a letter to the Steward and have Boromir 
sign it when I wake him tomorrow morning. He is a 
terrible patient and one more night of rest should let 
his stitches heal sufficiently so that he will not 
tear them." 
 
"I will have my secretary bring you copies of my 
letters," he told him, and Faramir nodded gratefully 
at the offer. It would never do to send Denethor 
conflicting reports. 
 
********** 
 
Denethor was beside himself with rage. Imrahil 'hoped' 
that Boromir would make a full recovery. He would raze 
Dol Amroth with his bare hands if he didn't. 'How 
could the fool let this happen?' he asked himself for 
the millionth time. Wanting desperately to run to his 
son's side, he knew that he couldn't leave his duty 
behind. Chained to the burdens of his office, he 
almost regretted the cost of his power. 
 
For the first time in many years, he decided to give 
in to his darker urges. To find relief he hadn't 
sought since his marriage to the weak and mewling 
Finduilas. 'At least she'd given him one son he could 
be proud of,' he thought as he went to his study door. 
Galmar, his long time servant, waited without, as 
always. 
 
All it took was a certain look, and with a nod of his 
head Galmar went to seek what his master desired. Even 
though it had been over two decades, there was no 
doubt that he would succeed. There were always those 
in every city, no matter how well governed, that were 
desperate and would never be missed. 
 
**********  
 
"Wake, my beloved one," Faramir whispered into 
Boromir's ear, too low for any of the others in the 
room to hear, although Garus probably knew what he 
said. 
Boromir opened his eyes and immediately gripped the 
back of Faramir's head and pressed a kiss to his brow. 
He folded his brother in his arms with a slight 
grimace of pain. "I was so afraid for you," he 
whispered roughly. "You were so still when I drove 
your knife through the beast's eye." 
 
Imrahil's eyes widened at his words; they'd assumed 
that Faramir had killed the second boar because of the 
severity of Boromir's injuries. The heir of the 
Steward was a lot tougher than he'd thought, tougher 
than anyone he'd ever known. Still, he was glad that 
they had steered him towards finding a husband for his 
daughter elsewhere. There would have been trouble if 
she had been asked to share anything, let alone her 
husband. 
 
"We are glad to see you making such a swift recovery, 
Lord Boromir," Imrahil said. "I will be glad to inform 
your father." 
 
Boromir released his brother and made to sit up, 
stopped swiftly by a strong hand on his chest. "Do not 
make Garus' efforts in vain, brother," Faramir told 
him. "I would rather you heal completely." 
 
Studying his brother's face for a moment, he 
remembered seeing his own ribs beneath torn muscle, 
the uselessness of his shield arm. "How bad is it?" he 
asked. 
 
"If you are careful for just a few more days, it 
should be as good as new," Faramir answered. "Garus 
was right behind us and was able to tend to it 
immediately." 
 
He looked to the servant who blushed at his usual post 
in the corner, out of the way. "He proves his worth 
again, brother," Boromir said, making him turn even 
redder. "I will try my best to not destroy his work." 
Garus shivered at his words, knowing that they meant 
so much more than anyone other than the three of them 
knew. It was his pleasure to serve them as well as his 
duty, but they knew everything about him and would 
reward him in ways no other could. 
 
"I'm hungry," Boromir told them. "My stomach is 
telling me I've been asleep too long." 
 
There was a general rush of people, some back to their 
own duties, Faramir and Garus to arrange pillows 
behind Boromir so that he could eat in comfort. The 
tension was gone, as it had become clear that all 
would soon be well again. 
 
********** 
 
The young man had been thoroughly cleaned up. His 
blonde hair was trimmed neatly to just below shoulder 
length and his scraggly beard made presentable. After 
receiving new clothes, much finer than anything he'd 
ever worn before and a huge meal with plenty of wine, 
he was ushered up a long set of stairs to a room. He 
didn't really know where he was, having allowed 
himself to be blindfolded to keep the secrecy of his 
temporary employer. He'd done it before, several 
times. Sometimes it was bad, sometimes good, but he'd 
never felt he had any other options for survival. 
 
Once in the room, his new clothes were placed in a 
small chest with a few other objects that he was 
assured would soon be his. The center of the room was 
occupied by a large bed with no head or foot board, 
but with thick posts at each corner set with imbedded 
rings, some trailing chains. He felt the first signs 
of terror when a metal collar was fitted to his neck 
and fastened to the wall by a short chain. There was 
just enough room on the chain for him to kneel on the 
floor as he was instructed, then told to wait. He 
almost whimpered as the door closed behind the dour 
man who'd led him here and he was shut away into 
darkness. 
 
********** 
 
As he had promised, Boromir lay still beneath the soft 
touch of Garus. He was always thrilled by the 
worshipful devotion of the man who straddled him. For 
his part, Garus regarded the older brother much as 
others would regard a god. Faramir had saved him and 
his fellow siblings from a horrible life, but Boromir 
had saved Faramir. He brought peace and safety into a 
life that had always been uncertain. And soul searing 
pleasure. 
 
Slowly moving up and down on the almost painfully 
large erection in his ass, his hands ran lightly over 
the unbandaged portions of the body beneath him. 
Faramir pressed close behind him, his own erection 
sliding against his back as his hands fondled him with 
consummate skill. Groaning at the hot mouth that knew 
every secret of his body and was now concentrating on 
his neck and face, Garus surrendered all control to 
the two he loved most. 
 
Using his right hand, the one concession they'd 
allowed, Boromir slowly stroked Garus' cock. His eyes 
half closed with lust, he watched the two above him, 
their movements feeding his mounting desire. Garus was 
so tender and gentle that his full participation made 
them restrain themselves from their usual rough sport, 
which was a good thing for Boromir's injuries. 
 
Looking into his brother's eyes, Faramir took hold of 
Garus' hips and control of his movements. He began 
moving him just enough harder and faster to make him 
grunt with each down stroke. As he felt Garus' 
approaching orgasm, he bit softly at his neck and 
thrust his own cock even harder against his back. 
 
Garus didn't make a sound when he climaxed, as usual 
He gritted his teeth and panted quietly, but he never 
called out or even groaned loudly. Boromir loved to 
watch Garus cum, his face grimacing and all of his 
muscles contracting beautifully. His semen shooting 
hard as his ass clenched tight, it was amazing to 
watch, especially when it was his own cock buried to 
the hilt in him. It made him cum too. 
 
Faramir guided Garus to the bed beside Boromir. Then 
he ran his hand through the semen on his brother's 
stomach and chest, using it to lubricate his own cock. 
Sitting back on Boromir's thighs, he began to stroke 
himself. It wasn't often that he pleasured himself and 
even rarer that anyone watched. Garus put his head on 
Boromir's shoulder and cuddled into him, as they 
enjoyed Faramir's display. Their faces so close 
together and so intent that he couldn't last long 
beneath their loving gaze. 
 
"Come for me, beloved, " Boromir urged. Faramir 
couldn't resist obeying him, his semen spraying across 
both of them as they watched. 
 
He lay next to Garus, but the servant pushed him 
gently away and rose from the bed. "That can wait, 
Garus," Faramir told him, grasping his hand. 
 
"I know, my lord," he answered pressing a kiss to his 
fingers and continuing with his errand. The two 
brothers looked at each other and smiled, knowing that 
Garus' sense of duty was unrelenting. He returned to 
the bed with a basin of water and cleaning cloths. He 
began with Boromir, even letting Faramir help, just a 
little, then cleaned the younger brother before rising 
from the bed and cleaning himself. When he had 
finished, he went to sleep at the foot of the bed, 
like he usually did, to avoid the rough horseplay the 
brothers often engaged in, but Faramir pulled him up 
to lie between them. 
 
"We want to give you a gift, Garus," Boromir told him. 
"What can we give you that will please you?" 
 
"I have everything I want, my lord," he replied. 
 
"That is not good enough," Faramir said. "Name 
something." 
 
Garus lay with his head on Boromir's chest and 
Faramir's arms around him.  He thought about what he 
could possibly want. Looking at the tattoo on the 
hollow of Boromir's hip, he made up his mind. "I would 
like a tattoo, one that shows that I belong to both of 
you," he answered. 
 
********** 
 
The lamp he carried was the only illumination as he 
entered the room. Hanging it on a hook, he went about 
lighting the candles and other lamps, giving no sign 
that he saw the young man in the corner. A slight 
tremor shook his hand as he noticed how closely he 
resembled the current object of his repressed lust. 
Except for the fear; the other would have betrayed no 
emotion at all. 
However, he waited in proper position with his hands 
behind his back. He had been well fed and plied with 
plenty of drink and he hadn't soiled himself, even 
though it had been hours that he'd had to wait. It was 
good that he had some self-control, he would need it. 
 
Finally, Denethor unhooked the chain from the wall and 
led the young man to the tiny chamber where he could 
relieve himself, and reattached the chain to the 
waiting hook inside, again closing him into darkness. 
There were still many preparations to be made. When he 
was finished, he returned to get the man in the 
darkened room.  
 
Leading him to the desk that dominated one corner of 
the room, the one that used to be in his study, he had 
him bend over it and hooked the chain to the hook 
concealed just over the drawer. His hands started 
shaking again as he picked up the narrow cane, also 
formerly from his study. Pacing himself, he began 
bringing the cane down on the exposed flesh just hard 
enough to make beautiful red welts. It brought back 
such pleasant memories, only now he could take his 
time and truly enjoy the experience. 
 
He placed his robe on the waiting hook and approached 
the panting young man. He hadn't been able to retain 
control as his intended victim would have, but that 
only excited Denethor more as he imagined the other 
losing his control. Without preparation, the thrust 
into the tight hole, exposed for his use. The scream 
of pain and contracting muscles incited him to push 
harder and faster. Yes, this was what he wanted. 
 
********** 
 
Over the next three days, they each wrote detailed 
accounts of the hunting incident for their father, 
each taking full blame for allowing themselves to 
become separated from the others. They did not reveal 
the seriousness of Boromir's injuries, but told just 
enough to confirm Imrahil's earlier reports and allay 
any of Denethor's suspicions. With the letters out of 
the way, they collaborated on a design for Garus' 
tattoo.  
 
The brothers leaned back against the headboard of the 
bed, looking through a book of Gondorian heraldry 
they'd borrowed from the Dol Amroth library. Among the 
coats of arms were the detailed drawings and 
descriptions of the great seals of the noble houses. 
The most beautiful of all, to their eyes, was the seal 
of the king, which was commonly affixed to the king's 
personal property. 
 
"I really like this one," Boromir said, admiring the 
design. "I want this one, after all I am property of 
the king," he finished laughing. 
 
"Father would not be impressed," Faramir told him with 
a mischievous smile. "I want one too." So they decided 
on a simple arrangement of their initials in 
decorative elvish runes for Garus and the king's seal 
for each of them.  
 
When Varnai and Garus judged Boromir fit to be 
released from bed rest, the brothers and their servant 
made their way to the marketplace where they'd been 
told there were many tattoo artists. They carefully 
observed the work being done and finally settled on an 
especially talented artist. Unlike most of the others, 
this one was a woman, her face showing the signs of a 
grim life, the dark skin and almond eyes of Haradrim 
heritage making her an exotic beauty. She spoke little 
as her hand moved skillfully between flesh and ink. 
Garus watched with rapt interest as each design took 
shape. All three men left with their chosen symbol on 
their right shoulder blade. 
 
********** 
 
The darkness was terrifying. It was usually hours that 
he had to wait and there was no comfort at the end. 
The abuse he'd received at other hands paled into 
significance to what now filled his every waking hour. 
The beatings had been expected, as well as the rough 
oral and anal penetrations, but the constant fear and 
cruelty added a whole new level. One he had not 
expected. 
 
The man was vicious in his appetites. As he watched in 
horror, the blood from the open wounds on his chest 
was used to lubricate the evil man's cock. It sickened 
him and frightened him beyond anything he'd ever been 
through before.  
 
********** 
 
In the week that followed, they sent a letter to their 
father informing him that they planned to leave the 
next week, giving them plenty of time to get back into 
shape. Each day they spent longer hours practicing and 
worked harder, pushing themselves. In the afternoon, 
when it became very hot, they would accept visitors in 
one of the many drawing rooms of the castle. They were 
popular and many requests were made for their company 
and services. So many that Faramir started a running 
joke with his brother about Belfalas soon having more 
of their offspring than Minas Tirith. Prince Imrahil 
was at first worried about them charming his daughter 
into indiscretion, but they always behaved with the 
utmost honor. He even found himself looking at them 
with more than just a friendly eye. 
 
Faramir sat on his brother's legs as he carefully 
removed the stitches from his chest. He would cut the 
thread with his knife and gently tease it from his 
flesh. At the same time, he rocked forward just a 
little, rubbing his hardening cock against his 
brother's through their pants. He would lean forward 
and kiss the spot the stitch had come from, then kiss 
his brother's eager lips. With each removal their 
blood became more heated, their kisses more 
passionate.  
 
They were near halfway done and panting with lust, 
Faramir delaying his work for a moment to claim his 
brother's nipple, when they heard a knock at the door. 
Both brothers groaned at the interruption as Garus 
found out who had come to disturb them so late at 
night. "The Prince," he told them. 
 
Faramir decided to retain his position as it hid their 
now raging erections with the addition of Boromir's 
shirt in the appropriate spot. The bowl, filled with 
the remnants of the stitches was the only thing that 
saved Imrahil from full-fledged embarrassment as he 
saw the brothers on the bed. They were both flushed 
and heavy lidded with desire, their lips swollen and 
both showing obvious hickeys and love bites that 
hadn't been there when he'd seen them practicing, bare 
chested, earlier. His hand shook, just a little, as he 
held out the letter he'd just received. 
 
"An urgent message just arrived from the Steward," he 
said, trying to hide his own slight arousal at the 
image they presented. "I thought I'd better bring it 
right away." 
 
"Thank you," Boromir told him as Faramir took the 
letter and expertly cut it at the seal and handed it 
to his brother. 
 
Boromir groaned and handed the letter to Faramir 
before turning to the Prince. "He has sent a special 
courier ship to bring us home. I'm afraid we must 
leave your wonderful hospitality as early as possible 
in the morning; duty calls." 
 
********** 
 
Rising from the bed, Denethor looked at pathetic wreck 
he'd left behind. Nearly two weeks of his attentions 
had made a great change in the young man Galmar had 
brought him. He no longer wept or screamed at his 
attentions, almost as he knew the one he desired would 
have behaved. But he was afraid he had broken the 
spirit of this toy, not reached new levels of 
tolerance. 
 
It was a sad thing, but only to be expected. There 
were only so many indomitable young men in the world. 
 
Galmar passed him on the stairway. He knew his servant 
would take advantage of the broken young man he left 
behind before inserting him in the next outgoing 
caravan. They had done this frequently at one time, 
but the pressures of family life had curtailed it. He 
would not risk his power and the respect of his sons, 
especially Boromir, for the pleasures of the flesh. He 
had only two days to cover his tracks before they 
returned, and he knew that Faramir sensed far more 
then he revealed. It was better to take the time to do 
this right. Saruman had once told him that men needed 
to vent their lusts occasionally, and that thought 
pushed the faint wisps of guilt from his mind. 
 
********** 
 
The return trip was much faster and the ship's crew 
much grimmer than the ones they'd come with. The 
captain was scandalized when the brothers added the 
tattoo artist, who called herself Saphron, and all her 
personal possessions to their own baggage. They had 
investigated her thoroughly when Garus had expressed 
an interest in her, finding out that she was an 
orphan, raised in the local orphanage from infancy. 
The offer of money and the guarantee of future work 
assured her willingness to relocate to Minas Tirith. 
The rest would be up to Garus. 
 
The taciturn nature of the crew incited the 
mischievousness of the brothers. They didn't directly 
interfere with the running of the ship, but they often 
practiced their swordsmanship in the rigging and on 
the rails. The Captain soon realized that they had no 
intention of obeying his orders to desist, claiming 
that if they were overtaken by pirates or an enemy 
ship they needed to be ready. Some of the sailors had 
begun to warm to them just a little by the time the 
small ship docked south of Osgiliath. 
 
********** 
 
The population of Minas Tirith lined every street to 
welcome the brothers home. They were well loved and 
respected by the people of the city. At Boromir's 
insistence they wore simple vests so that everyone 
could assure themselves that they were sound. The 
beasts' heads on the cart behind them verified the 
tales that had been spread. It was a splendid display, 
filling those who watched with confidence in the two 
young men who had killed such terrible monsters 
unaided. 
 
Denethor greeted his sons stiffly, his eyes widening 
slightly at the size of their trophies. Then he turned 
and led the way to his study, knowing they would 
follow. As they seated themselves, the Steward's mouth 
tightened even more as he saw the new pink scars of 
their misadventure. His face turned to stone at the 
fresh bites and love marks they'd made no effort to 
conceal. 
 
"Now that your little vacation is over," he began, "we 
can get back to defending the realm. If you two can 
spare the time?" 
 
The brothers groaned inwardly, knowing that there 
would be much suffering on their part for what they'd 
done. It would be a very long time before he allowed 
them any more time away from their duties. And he 
hadn't even seen the tattoos yet. 
 
********** 
 
It was quite late when they were finally able to go 
see what had been done in their new rooms. The suite 
had five separate rooms, all opening into the main 
sitting room. There were two adjoining bedrooms with a 
door and a private bath between. Each bedroom had its 
own connected study. 
 
They lay in each other's arms on the huge bed, which 
stood in the middle of the room. Wondering at the 
sadness he sensed coming from his brother, Faramir 
kissed his chin and ran his fingers through his hair.  
 
"What are you thinking?" he asked. 
 
"We were born in this bed," Boromir said softly. 
"Probably conceived here too. I was sitting here on 
the edge when Mother put you in my arms for the first 
time. You were only minutes old, and I loved you at 
first sight." He kissed Faramir's forehead and 
continued when he sighed. "I kissed you just like that 
and you sighed. Laying here brings it back so clearly. 
It makes me wonder what she would think of us, if she 
would approve of our love." 
 
"I know she would, brother," Faramir said with 
conviction. "Nelda told me that Mother would approve, 
and she had known her since birth. She said she would 
be proud of us both, we are everything she'd dreamed 
we'd be." 
 
Boromir wept at his words, overcome with emotion. He 
had adored his beautiful Mother, and she had always 
been kind and understanding. Her arms had always 
welcomed him and made him feel loved. The only 
remaining guilt to his love for his brother was the 
worry over her approval. "You're sure?" he asked 
through his tears. 
 
"I asked her before I touched you that night," Faramir 
answered. "I knew that you would never be truly happy 
if you went against her wishes. I loved you enough to 
never make that move." 
 
"You are so much like her," Boromir told him, kissing 
him again. "So gentle and loving, I wish you could 
have known her better." 
 
"Tell me about her, brother," Faramir asked, and they 
lay there as Boromir shared his memories. Then the 
younger brother shared the stories Nelda had told him 
of Finduilas growing up. They could almost feel her 
presence there with them. 
 
As they ran out of words, Faramir began to make love 
to his brother. It was slow and sweet, unlike any 
other time they had been together. They used their 
bodies to express the deep love in their hearts and 
the gratitude for having someone so close. They shared 
the joy of surviving whole in a world that became more 
dangerous every day. 
 
TBC