TITLE: "Everholt" AUTHOR: Dalogas Graywolf PAIRING: Boromir/Théodred RATING: NC-17 DISCLAIMER: Characters not mine. I'm just a guy who loves guys loving guys, filling in some gaps, with all due respect to Tolkien. SUMMARY: Radagast takes it upon himself to heal Boromir's broken heart by encouraging the Gondorian to take a trip down memory lane. NOTE: This fic is part of the same story arc which began with "The Hand of the King," my first fic, and will continue with "The Heart of the King." BETA READER: Elfscribe (Luv ya, sweetie!) ARCHIVE: Please ask. FEEDBACK EMAIL: dalogasgraywolf@hotmail.com YAHOO GROUP: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/dalogasgraywolf/. CHAPTER 1 – Lothlórien, January, 3019, TA I am called Radagast, the Brown, of the Istari. The road that led me to Boromir of Gondor was an odd and convoluted one, and not entirely relevant to the issue at hand. However, in an effort to set the scene appropriately, please accept these words as introduction. My story began in late January of the year 3019, Third Age. The Fellowship had taken refuge in Lothlórien after the disastrous loss of Gandalf in Moria. I had been summoned by Celeborn to investigate a human's potential threat to the unfolding of Aragorn's destiny. Legolas of Mirkwood had warned the High Elf that Boromir might have less than noble intentions regarding the ranger who would be king. Upon arrival, I gently touched Boromir's thoughts as he slept, unwilling to probe deeper without his permission. This cursory glimpse concerned me greatly, and I recruited Legolas in a mission to intervene in the plans of the Gondorian to have his way with Aragorn. I had not seen or heard anything specific to confirm suspicions that this was indeed his intent, but Celeborn and I agreed to err on the side of caution. We arrived in a remote clearing on the western bank of the Anduin as Boromir lost himself in a moment of transcendent grief. I chose to appear to him as a strong and vital young man with long, flowing blond hair, as I had seen this image very clearly in Boromir's mind. I had seen this man standing over Boromir, who was on his back on the ground. The stranger had been standing legs apart, with both hands on his hips, a salacious grin on his lips. Torchlight flickered across his tanned body, glinting off the sweat which clung to the hair on his muscled torso and arms. He had spoken to Boromir, and I heard his deep, commanding voice saying, "If you feel the need to make excuses, Gondor, don't let me stop you." I could sense this was an actual memory and could feel Boromir's strong affection and desire for this man. So I assumed his form in hopes of receiving a friendly welcome. I paused just outside of the clearing for a moment to remove my robes, and observed Boromir as he attacked the obviously confused ranger. "Why do you turn from me?" Boromir demanded, straddling Aragorn's torso and pinning the man's arms above his head. "Was it something I said? Something I did? Why did you stop loving me?" he howled into the ranger's face. "What are you raving about, Boromir?" asked Aragorn, struggling against the larger man's grasp. The Gondorian released Aragorn's wrists and grabbed the ranger's collar with both fists, hauling the man's upper body off the ground. "Why did you not return to Everholt?" implored Boromir, holding Aragorn's face inches from his own. "Boromir, I tell you I do not know what you're talking about," insisted Aragorn, attempting to push the man away. "It's me! It's Aragorn!" This appeared to have some sort of effect on Boromir. He released Aragorn to drop back to the ground and looked down at the ranger with an expression of horror on his face. I stepped into the clearing and spoke in the voice from his dream. "GONDOR!" I called. Boromir's head snapped up and over to me. He tilted his head to one side quizzically, then shook his head as if to clear his vision. "Gondor," I said sadly. "What are you doing?" Boromir's eyes widened in apparent shock and obvious longing. "Rohan?" asked the Gondorian in a voice strained with tentative hope. I opened my arms in invitation. Boromir rose to his feet and began to stumble towards me. "Rohan? Is it really you?" he asked incredulously, falling into my embrace. "I can't believe you're here!" "Yes, Gondor," I replied quietly. "I'm here." I motioned to Legolas and watched the elf run to the aid of the stunned Aragorn. They both disappeared over the embankment, and I soon heard Gwaihir take flight, spiriting them away to their own private communion. Boromir and I knelt on the ground as he embraced me tightly. I could not tell whether his tears were from grief or joy or both. I simply held him as he succumbed to his emotions. After a time, I lifted the man into my arms and carried him to the blanket on the ground by the campfire where I knelt and deposited him against the trunk of a tree. He sat back and drew his forearm across his face, wiping the tears that still flowed, though not quite so heavily as before. I noticed the empty wine bottles and immediately recognized the role that alcohol had played in this drama. Celeborn had warned me that Boromir had procured several bottles of wine. Fortunately, I had prepared for this eventuality. I moved to retrieve my robes, but Boromir grabbed my arm and stopped me. "Where are you going?" he asked, fear returning to his eyes. "I'm going to bring you something to help you feel better," I reassured him. He answered with a small smile. "Did you bring a bottle of "Meril's Mysteries?" he asked. I had heard of this vintage, a deliciously potent wine created by a small winery outside Esgaroth. It was rumored that the woman who ran the winery studied under the tutelage of the elves of Mirkwood. "No, Gondor," I replied. "Something better. I won't be a moment." Boromir relaxed a bit and allowed me to remove his hand from my arm. I moved to where I had disrobed and rummaged through the pockets until I found the crystal flask I sought. Quickly returning to Boromir, I offered it to him. "Here. Drink this." He reached out and took the flask, holding it up to the firelight to examine the clear orange contents. "What is it?" he asked. "It will help you relax," I told him. He did not hesitate, but opened the flask and drank half the contents in several large gulps. Smacking his lips appreciatively, he took a deep breath and finished the elixir. He looked at me apologetically and said, "I'm sorry. Did you want some of that?" I smiled and shook my head. "No, Gondor. That was all for you." He returned my smile and I was finding myself drawn to the genuine warmth of this misunderstood man's tortured heart. I had been told that Boromir was a brutish fellow, with an abrasive demeanor. But this was not an accurate description of the man sitting before me. What had happened to cause Boromir to hide behind such a fierce façade? I sat on the blanket next to him. He reached over and pulled me to him, kissing me on the cheek, and then released me. "I still can't believe you're here," he said. "What brings you to Lothlórien?" "To be honest, I don't know. Or, more to the point, I don't remember." "You don't remember? What does that mean?" "It means I seem to be having difficulties with my recall of many things. For example, I know you. But I don't know *how* I know you. I can't remember meeting you before, but I know that you and I are friends." "Yes," he said, a confused expression on his face. "Very good friends. But you don't remember how we met?" "No." "Or how you came to Lothlórien tonight?" "No." "Very peculiar," he mused. "You sound as if you do not believe me, Gondor." "Well, it's not as if you've never given me reason to doubt your word, Rohan." "I've lied to you before?" I asked. "You don't remember any of it, do you?" He was slowly beginning to accept my elaborate, though well intentioned, ruse. "Regretfully, no." "I envy you, in a way," he said, "for our relationship was something that, no matter how hard I tried, I was unable to forget." I turned and looked into his surprisingly warm grey eyes, wanting more than ever to help this poor soul to find some peace. Surely the man's tragic past afforded some traces of love and happiness. I was determined to help him rediscover them. "Tell me, Gondor," I asked. "Tell you what?" "Tell me our story. How did we meet? Who were we to each other? What happened to us? What did I do to bring you such pain and distrust? Tell me everything." He looked at me as if he were being asked to walk into the Balrog's lair. "You do not know what you ask, Rohan." I placed my hand on his shoulder. "Please?" I implored. "This is very important." "In truth, our relationship began years before we met, although I did not know it at the time." He moved to sit facing me on the blanket. "What do you mean?" I asked. "I discovered my brother, Faramir, in a stable loft with a young groomsman from Edoras. They were in a `compromising' position." "What did you do?" "I had the Rohir expelled from the city." "Why did you do that?" "Because I was afraid." "Afraid of what?" Boromir sighed. "As I observed them in the throes of passion, I became aroused." He paused, apparently lost in a memory. But then he continued. "For years I remained strident in my belief that the occurrence meant nothing. But the face of the young Rohan continued to haunt me. And then my father sent me on an ambassadorial mission to Firienwood, which bridged Gondor and Rohan. I was to meet King Théoden's ambassador to discuss the growing shadow of Mordor." Wind blew through the branches and fanned the campfire, causing it to rise and dance, tonguing the branches high above. With an inconspicuous wave of my hand, I calmed the fire, returning it to a soft, warm glow. "If I would have known what awaited me in that forest, I would have sent another in my stead," Boromir said. "I don't believe you," I replied, not entirely sure why. Boromir looked up at me and then gave a sad smile. "You know me too well, Rohan. Of course I would have come. I would not trade our love for life itself." The more Boromir spoke of his love, the more I wished to hear of it. "Please go on, Gondor. Tell me of our first meeting," I implored. After a moment, he seemed to resolve whatever internal struggle he fought and dropped his head. "Very well." He took a deep breath and continued. "It all began one summer, fifteen years ago. . . ." CHAPTER 2 – Everholt, July, 3004, TA The place was called Everholt. Apparently some Rohir king slew a boar there. I wasn't sure why such a simple act should merit a monument, but there it stood. The king's name had been Folca, and it had been almost 150 years since he had died as a result of a tusk wound received in the great battle. I looked around and surveyed the memorial, which consisted of a small open plaza, several benches, and the stone slab immortalizing King Folca's bravery and sacrifice. It was very well kept, and felt untouched by time, as if the artisans had recently completed their work and vanished into the forest moments before I arrived. I wiped at the sweat running into my eyes. It was mid-afternoon in the dead of summer and the humidity among the trees was fierce. I heard movement behind me and turned, drawing my sword. The ring of steel on steel pierced the tranquility of the forest, startling birds into flight. "Greetings from Rohan," said a figure standing in the entry archway. "And from Gondor," I replied. "Your name, stranger?" "I am Théodred, son of Théoden, the King of Rohan. And your name, stranger?" I sheathed my sword as you entered the clearing. The filtered sunlight glinted off the blond hair flowing down and over your shoulders. Your eyes were as blue as the clear summer sky above us, and they captured me in an instant. "I am Boromir, son of Denethor, the Steward of Gondor," I replied. "Well met, Boromir, son of Denethor. Perhaps meeting here was not the wisest choice. However, humid shade is preferable to burning sunlight, I suppose." I suddenly realized that I was alone with an attractive man. How had I let this happen? Over the years, I had developed a foolproof strategy: I never placed myself in harm's way, and I avoided any and all situations in which my secret could be detected. And yet there I was. Staring into the cool blue eyes of the Rohan emissary. You smiled and I was blinded. "Yes. Well, let us turn to the matter at hand," I said, wishing to conclude our business and be gone from this place. We each proceeded to produce documents outlining various deployment strategies. Sitting side by side on the stone bench, we perused the other's recommendations. The heat from your body called to me, taunting me to move closer. But I resisted with great effort. After reviewing the documents, we discussed the strengths and weaknesses of each. Your voice was deep and rich, and I found myself distracted by its galloping rhythms and resonant tones. A hawk's cry pierced the air, breaking my reverie. The light was dimming, and I was anxious to leave before nightfall. I did not feel comfortable with the emotions that were being aroused. "Let's take a break," you suggested. "I feel rather foul. Why don't you start a fire while I take a dip in the Mering Stream? I have food enough for us both, as well as a bottle of my father's finest wine." At first I thought you were joking. I had no intention of lingering that long in the miserably humid forest. "There's another clearing with a hearth not twenty paces due south. I'll meet you there shortly," you said. "I really don't think . . ." I began, but you had not waited for a response and had disappeared into the trees. I hesitated for a moment, uncertain what to do. In the end, my hunger won out and I started to gather firewood. By the time I had built a fire in the large stone hearth, you had returned from the stream. You were dressed only in trousers, and glistening with water droplets that clung to the fine layer of blond hair covering your broad chest and muscular arms. "That felt fantastic," you said as you lowered your pack to the stone table and began to unload its contents. "Why don't you take a dip yourself, Gondor?" "I don't think . . ." I began. "Please, for my sake?" You had raised your eyebrows and tilted your head down so you looked at me through gloriously full blond eyelashes. The flames danced in those blue eyes, and my resistance faltered. "I don't need to…" I began. "Yes, Gondor. I'm sorry, but you do." The strategist in me was sounding the retreat, but the animal in me was arguing otherwise. I needed a moment to collect my thoughts. "Very well," I acquiesced. "Where is this stream?" You smiled and pointed to the east. "Fifty paces in that direction. Here, take this torch." I took the torch and lit it from the fire in the hearth. Then without looking back, I started walking in the indicated direction. It didn't take long for me to reach the stream, where I disrobed and waded into the water. The cool water felt exquisite on my hot skin, and I laid down in it in order to maximize its cooling effect. It was just dinner, I thought. It wasn't as if you were trying to seduce me. This would be just two emissaries enjoying an ambassadorial dinner together. Nothing more. I had to admit that I was looking forward to getting to know you better. I was intrigued by your confidence and self-assuredness. This was not the proud certainty of my father or other Gondorian warriors I knew. This was something different. *You* were different. So I would stay. My decision made, I climbed out of the water and shook myself as dry as I could, then completed the task by using my shirt as a towel. When I was finished, I donned my trousers and returned to the clearing where you were preparing our dinner. "There you are," you said cheerfully. "How do you feel?" "Much better, thank you." "Are you hungry?" "Very," I replied. "Good. It should be ready shortly. So while it cooks, why not tell me about yourself and your family." I sat at the stone table and tried to decide where to begin. "Well, there's my father Denethor, and my younger brother Faramir." "Where's your mother?" "She died when I was twelve," I replied softly. You turned and looked at me, your eyes filled with compassion. "I'm sorry. I know what it's like to grow up without a mother. Mine died in childbirth." "Marta, our cook, has been like a mother to me," I said. "But I'll never forget my mother's sweet smell, or the sound of her voice as she would sing me lullabies as a boy. Later I discovered that she really couldn't sing very well, but at the time I thought she had the most beautiful voice in all of Gondor." I could not believe I was sharing these memories. I hadn't talked about my mother to anyone for over fifteen years. After a moment you turned back to the hearth and continued, "We've recently taken in my cousins, Éomer and Éowyn. Their mother and father both died two years ago, and my father has taken them into our house, calling them son and daughter." "Does this bother you?" I asked. "Perhaps a little. But not enough to engender any resentment towards my cousins. They're but children." "Still, if I could rid myself of my little brother . . . ." "You wouldn't," you said. "You don't know my brother." "What could he have possibly done that would merit such displeasure?" I sat silent, unwilling to reveal that secret. You turned your head to look at me. "Come now, Gondor. Tell me." "Maybe later," I offered. "Very well. But I'm holding you to that. Why don't you open the wine?" I was torn. On the one hand, I really wanted a drink. On the other hand, a drink would lower my inhibitions, increasing the likelihood of inadvertently revealing my secret desire. "Gondor? Don't you want some wine?" Yes I did. I grabbed the bottle and uncorked it in the blink of an eye. I brought it to my lips and took a long drink. "My father received it in trade last winter. A visitor from Esgaroth passed through our territory with several bottles." I belched in response. "Charming," you said with a playful grin. "Can you bring it over here?" you asked. I rose and walked to you as I read the label. Meril's Mysteries of Mirkwood. Odd name for a wine, I thought. I extended the bottle to you. The light of the fire danced across your tanned skin, the fine blond hair shining in the golden glow. You had tied your hair back away from your face, and I was struck by the strong lines of your jaw and neck. An impulse to kiss the base of your neck where it met the shoulder was not easy to subdue, but I wrestled it into submission just as you turned and looked straight into my eyes. Your fingers brushed against mine as I accepted the bottle from your hand, sending a bolt of lightening up my arm, down my chest and straight into my crotch. I felt my face color and disengaged myself, returning to the stone table. You had returned to the cooking and were talking about your troops. As the Second Marshall of the Mark, you took great pride in the men who served under you. Although I was very interested in hearing more, I found myself capable of nothing else save watching the interplay of muscles in your back as you labored at the hearth. I watched your shoulder muscles ripple and stretch as you reached to your pack for something, I had no idea what. I pictured myself standing behind you, running my hands up and down your sides. Reaching around and running my fingers through the hair on your chest as I pulled myself tight against your back. "Gondor?" You stood before me, offering the bottle of wine with your hand and more with your eyes. I tore my eyes from yours and focused on the bottle, taking it from you. "Thank you," I said before taking a drink. You were already returning to the hearth. "Drink up. The night may be cold." The night? I had not even thought that far. Had I lost all sense of reason? Where was my strategy? Where was my preparedness? How could I have forgotten myself so completely? I took another long drink to steady my nerves. The wine was very calming and I closed my eyes, taking a deep relaxing breath. This was no ordinary wine. As my body surrendered to its spell, the wine soothed my heart as well as my nerves. For fifteen years, the clenched fist in my chest had kept everyone at an arm's distance, allowing no one close enough to touch the deep wound to my soul. But as the wine touched it, I felt the fist begin to relax. It both thrilled and frightened me. The dinner was surprisingly delicious. You were quite talented in the culinary arts, given the facilities available. "Do you do this often?" I asked as you were spooning a large portion onto my plate. Your hand hesitated in midserve for just a moment. "Do I do what often?" "Cook. Here." "Oh." You appeared slightly relieved. "Yes, actually. This is one of my favorite places in the Mark." "I can understand why," I agreed. The air had cooled somewhat since sunset, and a night breeze had lifted the humidity, making the clearing quite comfortable. The rest of dinner was spent in conversation about our respective homes, the news from abroad, and the rumours of war. I was so engaged by your intellect and humor that I had been able to forget how attractive I found you. After dinner, you sent me off to the stream with an armful of dishes for washing while you retrieved the bedrolls from the horses. I was grateful for the respite. Being in your presence was indeed thrilling, but it also aroused anxieties and fears I dared not face. I focused on the dishes and the cold water, trying to wash the image of your face from my mind. And I thought I had been successful. My arms full of clean dishes, I returned to the clearing. You had laid out the bedrolls next to each other under the protective canopy of a nearby tree. I was immediately reminded why I had been reluctant to remain at Everholt. You had unrolled several maps and now stood leaning on the table, studying the documents. The fire from the hearth caused your bare torso to glow in flames of gold and brown and red, shadows casting the highly defined muscles into sharp relief. My grip slipped on both my resolve and the dishes, causing you to look up at me. "Now that wasn't horribly unpleasant, was it?" you asked, flashing that disarming smile of yours. I gathered myself and carried the dishes to the edge of the stone hearth. "Not at all," I said, struggling to sound calm and composed. "It was the least I could do in return for your generous and delicious meal." "Spoken like a true diplomat." Having deposited the dishes, I turned and looked at you. Your powerful chest and the muscular arms exuded strength and masculinity, while the blond hair covering your body gave a wild animal taste to an already powerful elixir. I was torn between crossing the distance between us to feel your body in my arms and gathering my belongings to run away. I stood there frozen in uncertainty. "I have a confession to make," you said. "Yes?" I was experiencing both apprehension and curiosity at once. It left me feeling slightly confused but excited. You reached into your pack and withdrew a bottle. "I took more than one bottle of Meril's Mysteries from Father's wine cellar," you said, flashing a roguish smile. I felt my whole body relax, and you apparently noticed. "What did you think I was going to say?" you asked with a laugh. "Come here, Gondor. I have something to show you." My body had apparently chosen to resolve the dilemma for me, for I found myself walking to the table without my mind's expressed approval. "Here. Sit down." you gestured to the bench. I complied, unable to resist. You began to explain the maps as you proceeded to open the second bottle of wine. I did the best I could to concentrate on the documents before me, but was finding it difficult with you standing so close to me. I was aware of every movement you were making, watching your bare torso and limbs as they struggled to remove the secure cork from the bottle, then as the wine was poured into two glasses. You handed me one of the glasses and raised your own in a toast. "To the safety and prosperity of Gondor," you said. I stood, raised my glass in response and drank to the toast. I then lifted my glass in a toast of my own. "To the noble prince of Rohan, whose hospitality this evening has been extraordinary and beyond the call of duty." I then drank the remainder of the glass in honor of my new companion. You had raised your glass when I had begun my toast, and now held it there still. You looked at me, your head tilted slightly to one side, as if somewhat surprised. "Thank you, Gondor." You then drank to the toast, your eyes never leaving mine. Perhaps it was the firelight, but I thought that I detected a blush in your face. You refilled my glass and then your own. "Now, back to business," you said. I sat down with a small measure of relief, as my head was beginning to spin a bit from the pilfered alcohol. Mysteries of Mirkwood indeed. I prided myself on my strong constitution, but this vintage was curiously potent. My nervous apprehension was being soothed by the wine, and a peaceful calm was slowly descending upon me. You continued your description of the Riddermark's forces. You stood behind me, looking over my right shoulder as you listed the number of knights that were currently active as well as other riders who could be summoned at a moment's notice. As you described the forces of the Westfold, you leaned forward to point to Helm's Deep, reaching across my chest with your right hand while placing your other hand on my bare left shoulder. My heart jumped in my chest at the contact. I sat completely still, fearing that the smallest movement might prompt you to remove your hand. The hair on your stomach brushed lightly against the exposed skin of my back and the heat from your torso felt like fire against my senses. I resisted the impulse to lean back against your muscular body, but not easily. I need not have worried, for you did not remove your hand. You continued to point to the map, each gesture bringing our bodies into further contact. Had it not been for the wine's calming influence, I would have bolted from the scene. But that night I was beginning to enjoy the thrill of being so close to someone so handsome. "So what is your opinion, Gondor?" you asked. I unfortunately had not been listening. "I'm sorry, what?" You stepped one leg over the bench and sat facing me, straddling the bench, your knee touching my outer thigh. I glanced at your knee and then looked at your face. "You have not been listening, Gondor," you accused with a sly smile. "I apologize, Rohan. Your father's wine has dulled my ability to focus. On the maps," I stammered, aware that my excuse was not a very convincing one. "Then let us put them aside for the night." You gathered the maps, rolling them up and storing them in their case. "Enough about armies and war. These things sully the beauty of the night. Don't you agree?" "Beauty. Yes," I replied. You were pouring more wine for us both. "So I ask you again. What could your brother possibly have done that would merit your displeasure?" I stiffened, the revisited question taking me by surprise. "Come, now. Gondor. You deflected the question earlier, but have not the luxury now, for I will discuss nothing else until you confess." I had no doubt you would be true to your threat. But how was I to tell you, a man I had known for mere hours, a secret I had kept from everyone else for the last five years? "It is not important," I said. "Suffice it to say that I did not approve of certain choices he had made. I have since come to realize that my judgment may not have been entirely objective." After a pause, you gave a small laugh. "Please, Gondor. Don't overwhelm me with all the details. I'm just a lowly horselover. I could never understand the complexities of intricate family interactions." "I intended no such implication. It is only because my story would paint me in a less than flattering light." "And why would you care about painting a flattering self-portrait for me?" you asked. Flustered by your probing questions, I rose to my feet and shakily began to search for my shirt. "You know, I really need to be going. I just remembered that Marta had told me she was preparing a very special breakfast for me tomorrow morning, and I'd hate to disappoint her by not being there." I knew it was more than a full day's ride to reach Minas Tirith, but I was desperate for an excuse. I glanced over to find you watching me with an amused smile on your face. I continued my search of the clearing. "If she should find out that I missed her very special breakfast because I was sleeping in some forest with a handsome man from Rohan, she would have my hide furled like a flag from the city gates. Have you seen my shirt?" I asked, stopping next to you. You seemed distracted. "I'm sorry. What did you say?" "Have you seen my shirt? I can't remember where I put it after I bathed." You were silent. "Well?" "Did you just call me `handsome?'" you asked, your eyes dancing. Trapped. I could not believe that I had been so careless. What now? Confess or deny? Confess or deny? Confess or deny? In battle, such an immediate decision would have proved no challenge whatsoever. However, that night, in that clearing, with you, I was paralyzed with indecision. You rose from the bench, lifting your leg over it to stand facing me. You stood very close, your face mere inches from mine. "Well, Gondor?" I swallowed and replied, barely more than a whisper. "Yes, I did." You raised your hand and placed it lightly in the center of my chest. I gasped, but did not back away or remove the hand from my body, however. Instead I waited. For what seemed like days. Finally, you slowly closed the distance between us, and kissed me softly on the lips. A whimper escaped me as years of fantasy crossed the threshold into reality. You pulled away slightly and looked into my eyes. We gazed into each other's souls for a long moment, and then could contain our passion no longer. We came together in a soul-searing kiss that I will remember for the rest of my days. Muscular arms and torsos intertwined, stroking and groping in a dance of passion. Mouths explored skin, hands explored hair. We drank from each other's passion as if dying from thirst. I broke our kiss, gasping for air. I pressed our foreheads together, holding your head between my hands, my fingers threading through your golden locks. "Gondor? you asked, your hands on my hips. "Why do you stop yourself?" "I wish merely to catch my breath." "Are you certain that's all?" I did not reply. You backed away, hooking your hand over the top of my breeches. I allowed myself to be slowly drawn by the crotch towards the bedrolls. You embraced me, turning us around so I was now being pushed rather than pulled. A swift sweep of the leg, and you had deposited me neatly in the center of the two bedrolls that had been laid together to create one large one. I could not believe that I had missed that detail earlier. It had to be the wine. "One less bottle of wine and I would be up and after your throat. You do realize that, don't you?" I asked, staring up at the god before me. You stood legs apart, with both hands on your hips, a salacious grin on your lips. The light from the torches flickered across your tanned body, glinting off the sweat which clung to the hair on your muscled torso and arms. "If you feel the need to make excuses, Gondor, don't let me stop you." You removed your hands from your hips and slowly began to undo the fastenings on your breeches. I watched silently, hypnotized by the slow revelation of the man who was leading me into a new world. I could not believe that I was actually going to experience my forbidden fantasy. And with a breathtaking man whom I had known less than a day. Things like this did not happen to me. Nothing was required of me as you took the lead, allowing me to lie on my back and lose myself in the ecstacy. Your passion was fierce and your skill remarkable. You fulfilled my fantasy completely, showing me things I never dreamed possible. After our passions were spent, you collapsed breathless on my chest. I allowed myself to savor the intimacy of the moment while our bodies recovered from the fiery climax. How was it possible? I had only known you for a few short hours. And yet I loved you completely. I felt tears of joy spill from my eyes into my hair. I leaned forward and kissed your blond head on my chest. I felt like a new man. Life for me began that summer night in Everholt. You reached down and pushed yourself up and off my chest. I grabbed both of your arms. "Where are you going?" I asked. "I'm going to clean up by taking a dip in the stream. I'll be right back." You bent down and kissed me, and then rose to your feet. Looking down at me, you said, "That was fantastic, Gondor." "I concur, Rohan," I replied, grinning from ear to ear. "Now hurry back." You took off at a run, and I watched your muscled body retreat into the trees. I turned over onto my side, and promptly fell asleep. CHAPTER 3 – Lothlórien, January, 3019, TA I was pleased by the smile that brightened Boromir's face. "Well, from the sound of things, our first meeting went well," I commented. "Yes, so it would seem," Boromir agreed. "However, the next morning was quite different." TO BE CONTINUED . . . . TITLE: "Everholt" (2/?) AUTHOR: Dalogas Graywolf PAIRING: Boromir/Théodred RATING: NC-17 (Overall) DISCLAIMER: Characters not mine. I'm just a guy who loves guys loving guys, filling in some gaps, with all due respect to Tolkien. SUMMARY: Radagast takes it upon himself to heal Boromir's broken heart by encouraging the Gondorian to take a trip down memory lane. NOTE: This fic is part of the same story arc which began with "The Hand of the King," my first fic, and will continue with "The Heart of the King." BETA READER: Elfscribe (Luv ya, sweetie!) ARCHIVE: Please ask. FEEDBACK EMAIL: dalogasgraywolf@hotmail.com YAHOO GROUP: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/dalogasgraywolf/. CHAPTER 3 – Lothlórien, January, 3019, TA I was pleased by the smile that brightened Boromir's face. "Well, from the sound of things, our first meeting went well," I commented. "Yes, so it would seem," Boromir agreed. "However, the next morning was quite different." I groaned, already embarrassed by the behavior of this Théodred. "What did I do?" I asked, not completely certain I wished to know. "Nothing horrible or abominable," Boromir replied. "You were courteous enough." "That doesn't sound very encouraging." "It wasn't." CHAPTER 4 – Everholt, July, 3004, TA The morning was already warm when I awoke to the bright sunshine. Fortunately, the bed was still in shadow or my head would have been broken open by the piercing light. I smelled food being prepared and looked to find you at the hearth cooking breakfast. You apparently had been up for a while, for you were completely dressed and had packed all your belongings. "Good morning," I called. You turned and gave me a cursory glance before turning back to your work. "Good morning, Boromir. Did you sleep well?" Your voice sounded cold and distant. I rose and stepped into my pants as I answered. "Yes, I did. But that should be no surprise, after last night." "I'm afraid my father's wine completely trounced me last night," you said without turning. "I can't remember anything after dinner. That will teach me to steal more than one bottle from my father's cellar." I was stunned. I felt suddenly very vulnerable and resumed the search for my shirt, which I located almost immediately. It had been right in front of me last night. Apparently I had been so distracted that I completely overlooked it. I slipped the garment over my head and tucked it into my pants. "Sit down, Boromir," you instructed. "Your breakfast is ready." I sat at the table, and you brought me a plate of food. My eyes sought yours, but you would not look at me directly. "Are you not eating?" I asked. "I already ate." "Oh." I stuffed a forkful of eggs into my mouth. "It's delicious," I commented with my mouth full. "Just leave the plate and silverware. I'll have someone pick them up later." "Where are you going?" I asked, attempting to keep the alarm from my voice. "I must return to Edoras." He began to pack up the bedrolls. "Right now?" "Yes, Boromir. Is that a problem?" you asked, your voice edged with irritation. "No. Not a problem." I did not understand your behavior. I had thought the night before to be something very special. Did you really remember *nothing*? It hardly seemed possible, for I remembered every single moment. Every touch. Every kiss. How could you forget such an incredible connection? "I will present the details of our meeting to King Théoden." "Every detail?" I probed. You finished packing the bedrolls and looked at me with an expression of exasperated confusion. "Of course. Why would I lie to my father?" you asked. "Never mind," I said, hiding my profound disappointment. You slung your packs over your shoulders and prepared to leave. "So, Boromir." You finally looked me in the eye. "This has been an enlightening experience. I trust you are equally satisfied with our meeting?" The blue eyes that last night danced in the firelight were now icy and dead. "Yes. Satisfied." I felt an abyss opening within me. I lowered my eyes, returning my attention to my plate. My appetite had disappeared and I pushed the food around instead of eating it. Your next question caught me by surprise. "Do you think we should do this every year?" you asked. I looked up at you, hope renewed, but your eyes were yet cold. Still. . . . "Yes, I think we should," I agreed before I had time to second guess myself. If any chance existed that last night might be recreated, I intended to take it. "Excellent," you said, smiling for the first time that morning. You extended your hand. "Same time, next year?" I grasped your offered hand in agreement as I searched your eyes for some warmth. "I shall be here," I promised. Your touch felt as if it set my hand ablaze and for moment I thought I detected a flicker of orange flame in your eyes. We released our grip, and I felt the warmth slip away. "Until then," you said, "farewell, Boromir of Gondor." You turned and left the clearing without another word. I watched you go, wondering what had happened. "Farewell, Rohan," I answered softly to the empty pavilion. CHAPTER 5 – Lothlórien, January, 3019, TA "I did not finish Théodred's breakfast before I left, but I washed the dirty dishes nonetheless, leaving them clean on the stone table. Then I mounted my own horse and left Everholt for Minas Tirith," said Boromir. As a wizard, I had heard of morning-after regret and denial among humans, but had never encountered it first hand. "It would appear I've had memory problems from the very beginning," I said. "Memory problems, punctuality problems, honesty problems. It's a wonder you've succeeded in the military at all." "Serious charges. And what evidence do you present?" I asked. "Evidence? My testimony has only begun, old friend." Boromir appeared to be enjoying this banter, belying the seriousness of the issues involved. I took this as a positive sign. "In faith, I can not refute your allegations," I said. "But I wish to hear the details of my transgressions. Will you not proceed, Boromir of Gondor?" "If I must." He smiled as his eyes met mine. He paused, his eyes beginning to mist. "I have missed you so much, Rohan." I reached up and wiped the tears from his cheeks. "There now, Gondor. Do not weep." Boromir drew himself up and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands, drawing a deep breath to gather his composure. "I'm fine," he said. I was amazed by the depth of emotion in this man's heart. He was not what I had expected at all. "So when did we meet again?" I asked. "Well, we had no contact until shortly before I was to leave for Firienwood the following summer. I received a brief letter from you confirming our appointed time. It said you were looking forward to meeting with me again. My heart raced as I galloped towards Everholt . . . ." TO BE CONTINUED . . . . TITLE: "Everholt" (3/?) AUTHOR: Dalogas Graywolf PAIRING: Boromir/Théodred RATING: NC-17 DISCLAIMER: Characters not mine. I'm just a guy who loves guys loving guys, filling in some gaps, with all due respect to Tolkien. SUMMARY: Radagast takes it upon himself to heal Boromir's broken heart by encouraging the Gondorian to take a trip down memory lane. NOTE: This fic is part of the same story arc which began with "The Hand of the King," my first fic, and will continue with "The Heart of the King." BETA READER: Elfscribe (Luv ya, sweetie!) ARCHIVE: Please ask. FEEDBACK EMAIL: dalogasgraywolf@hotmail.com YAHOO GROUP: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/dalogasgraywolf/. PREVIOUSLY in "Everholt": While the Fellowship recovers in Lothlórien from the disastrous journey through Moria, Radagast the Brown of the Istari has changed his form to that of a man seen in Boromir's dream in an honorable effort to bring healing to the Gondorian's tortured soul. Believing Radagast to be his old friend with a severe memory loss, Boromir recounts their relationship. Radagast discovers that the man in Boromir's dream was Théodred, son of Théoden, King of Rohan. They met fifteen years ago at an ambassadorial summit at Everholt in Firienwood. Several bottles of potent wine lowered their inhibitions and they succumbed to their mutual attraction to each other and made passionate love. The following morning, however, Théodred recalled nothing of the previous night's encounter and left the summit prematurely. Radagast begins to see Boromir in a different light. CHAPTER 5 – Lothlórien, January, 3019, TA . . . I was amazed by the depth of emotion in this man's heart. He was not what I had expected at all. "So when did we meet again?" I asked. "Well, we had no contact until shortly before I was to leave for Firienwood the following summer. I received a brief letter from you confirming our appointed time. It said you were looking forward to meeting with me again. My heart raced as I galloped towards Everholt . . . ." CHAPTER 6 – Everholt, July, 3005, TA The sun was setting over the mountains as I arrived late in the afternoon to find you already at the hearth. You wore a white tunic and leather leggings with sandals on your feet. The lightweight fabric clung to your muscular torso and instantly awakened the animal within. I had not thought until that moment of how I would greet you. What I would have liked was to take you in my arms and kiss you with all the desire I had constrained over the last year. But as soon as I saw you, I froze. You must have heard me enter the clearing, for you turned from the hearth to look in my direction. As your eyes met mine, your face lit up like a bonfire on a cold winter night. "Boromir!" you exclaimed. "Greetings, Théodred, son of Théoden," I answered, still unmoving. I decided to maintain at least the appearance of formality until I ascertained your current state of mind. Although you appeared to be genuinely happy to see me, I was unwilling to trust that just yet. You dropped the tongs you held and crossed the distance between us in several long strides. Before I could react, you had wrapped your arms around me in a warm embrace. My heart was racing as I returned the hug. I inhaled deeply, my face buried in your soft blond hair. You smelled of soap and sweat and smoke, as if you had bathed moments before you stepped before the hearth. I squeezed my arms tighter around you, unwilling to release you. "Careful, Boromir," you said with a laugh. "I may be strong, but I am not indestructible." I released you and stepped back. "My apologies," I said. You responded by playfully punching me in the chest. "No apologies necessary. You can't help it if you don't realize your own strength," you said as you squeezed my upper arm. Your touch sent fireworks through my body. I had thought of little else for the last year and now you stood before me. But what were you thinking? How did you remember our last encounter? Had you wiped the evening's passion from your memory? Or were you hoping to recreate those moments of ecstasy as much as I? "It is good to see you again, Prince Théodred," I said, understating the depth of my joy. You laughed and said, "You sound so officious, Boromir. Is that really necessary between us?" Perhaps you *did* remember what had transpired. "What do you mean?" I asked, attempting to draw you out. "After everything we shared last year, I hardly think we need to stand on formalities. Don't you agree?" Your ambiguity was driving me mad. "You have a point," I acquiesced. "Come, sit down. Make yourself comfortable." You turned and gestured towards the table, which was spread with linen, plates, and silverware. And wine glasses. A bottle of Meril's Mysteries of Mirkwood sat open in the middle of the table next to two lit candles. "Actually," I said, "I think I'd like to cool off with a dip in the stream." You turned to look at me and our eyes locked. "Very well," you said with a smile. You held my gaze until I could bear it no longer. I broke the contact and dropped my pack where I stood. "I won't be but a moment," I said, turning to exit the clearing. "Hurry back," you said. I didn't stop walking, but my heart thrilled at the thought of you missing me. I reached the stream and disrobed. I took a quick bath in the cool water and dried myself with my shirt, having no intention of wearing it again that evening. When I returned to the clearing, you were brushing a red sauce on slabs of sizzling meat that were skewered on a spit over the hearth fire. You looked at me, and if my bare torso distracted you at all, your face did not register it. "Why don't you pour us each a glass of wine," you suggested. "With pleasure," I responded in a voice huskier than I had intended. I moved to the table, my hand trembling with excitement as I poured the deep burgundy wine into two crystal glasses. I gripped the sides of the stone slab to steady myself, took a deep breath, held it for a moment and then released it. Lifting both glasses, I carried them back to the hearth. "Your wine, good prince," I said, holding out a glass to you. You looked at me and took it from my hand. "Thank you, Boromir." Once again, you held my gaze, refusing to allow me to look away. "Would you like to make the toast?" I thought for a moment and then lifted my glass and said, "To continued productive meetings at Everholt." I brought the glass to my lips. But before I could drink, you spoke. "No, no. Again, too officious." You still held your glass between us. "Very well," I said. "You make the toast." You paused in contemplation and then said, "To a deep and lasting relationship between Gondor and Rohan." I looked into your eyes, attempting to discern any hidden meaning in your toast. But I saw nothing except a friendly gesture. "To Gondor and Rohan," I replied. We both drained our glasses. You brought your empty glass to eye level, examining the few remaining drops in the bottom of the glass. "Meril's Mysteries. A true elixir of life." "And how many bottles did you bring?" I asked. "No, no, no. Not after last year. I learned my lesson well. My headache lingered for a week. No, I brought only one this year." "Truly?" "Truly. Now go sit down and pour us another glass. Dinner is almost ready," you said, handing me your glass and turning back to the hearth. I looked down on the generous slabs of meat. For the first time since I arrived I took notice of another scent besides yours. "By the gods, what is that?" I asked, my mouth beginning to water. The aroma was intoxicating. "Beef ribs," you replied. "Smoked and roasted." "And what are you basting it with?" I asked. I was curious. Though the son of the Steward of Gondor, I grew up in a kitchen and enjoyed the activities that took place there. "A sauce I have been working on for several years. It holds tomatoes, some turned apple juice, molasses and a number of spices. Here." You dipped your forefinger in the bowl of thick sauce and held it up to my face. "Taste." I hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. Should I take this gesture as an enticement to intimacy? OR should I accept it as a simple invitation to taste the sauce. I decided to err on the side of caution in this instance, and innocently took the tip of your finger between my lips, allowing my tongue to touch it ever so slightly. I sucked the sauce off your finger and allowed it to sit on my tongue to savor the sweet, smoky taste. "Well, what do you think?" you asked, your face eager for approval. I thought I detected a slight tremor in your voice. I smiled, hopefully mischievously, and said, "Tantalizing." "Truly? You like it?" "Truly. I can't wait to taste it on the meat." I could not believe I had just said that out loud. I thought I saw a glint in your eye as you smiled and said, "Me neither." Our eyes were locked for a moment that seemed like eternity. Once again, I broke our gaze. "Wine. More wine," I muttered as I turned and walked to the table. CHAPTER 7 – Lothlórien, January, 3019, TA "There was something about that wine," said Boromir. He fell silent for a moment, apparently lost in thought. I could not tell from Boromir's tale if Théodred had been playing Boromir or Boromir had been playing Théodred. It was my strong suspicion that they had been playing each other. I sensed two strategists appraising their opponents, not in battle but in sport. It seemed a game. An intriguing game, with extremely high stakes. TO BE CONTINUED . . . . TITLE: "Everholt" (4/?) AUTHOR: Dalogas Graywolf PAIRING: Boromir/Théodred RATING: NC-17 (Overall) DISCLAIMER: Characters not mine. I'm just a guy who loves guys loving guys, filling in some gaps, with all due respect to Tolkien. SUMMARY: Radagast takes it upon himself to heal Boromir's broken heart by encouraging the Gondorian to take a trip down memory lane. NOTE: This fic is part of the same story arc which began with "The Hand of the King," my first fic, and will continue with "The Heart of the King." BETA READER: Elfscribe (Luv ya, sweetie!) ARCHIVE: Please ask. FEEDBACK EMAIL: dalogasgraywolf@hotmail.com YAHOO GROUP: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/dalogasgraywolf/. CHAPTER 7 – Lothlórien, January, 3019, TA I could not tell from Boromir's tale if Théodred had been playing Boromir or Boromir had been playing Théodred. It was my strong suspicion that they had been playing each other. I sensed two rival strategists appraising their opponents, not in battle but in sport. It seemed a game. A very interesting game, with very high stakes. "Well, it sounds as if we were both enjoying ourselves, in any case," I said. Boromir smiled at me. "It *was* fun, I must admit," he said. "So how long did this verbal fencing go on?" I asked. "I can't imagine both of us having the strength to withstand each other's charms. One of us must have stumbled at some point during the evening." "You would be surprised, Rohan." CHAPTER 8 – Everholt, July, 3005, TA I sat at the table, sipping my second glass of wine, attempting to make it last. You only had one bottle after all. And I wanted you to enjoy all the wine you liked. You turned from the hearth and sauntered towards me, a small bounce in your step. You continued around the table, patting my shoulder as you passed. "Just a while longer," you said. I turned and watched your back as you reached into your pack which hung from a nearby tree. You withdrew a map case and returned to the table. "Let us address business while we wait. Here are the latest details of Rohan's forces," you said as you presented the ornately carved case, which I accepted. "I'm sure you will find all the information complete and accurate. There's no need to review it now. I can tell you that our forces have grown, with new volunteers joining every day. The hearts of the Rohirrim are strong and valiant." "Of that we have no doubt," I said, picking up your refilled glass. "More wine?" I asked, offering it to you. "My thanks, Boromir," you replied as you accepted the glass and drank. I stood and carried your documents to my own pack. "I too have brought updated maps," I said, withdrawing a map case with the seal of Gondor emblazoned on it. "They include the latest reports from our scouts." I returned and held the case out to you. "The forces of Mordor are increasing as well." We spent the better half of the hour discussing the latest developments. You would occasionally move to the hearth to turn the meat on its spit and apply more sauce. My stomach was beginning to growl in anticipation. Finally, you removed the meat from the spit and brought it to the table on a large platter. "I think you'll like this," you said as you set it on the table. "Unfortunately, we are out of wine," I observed, holding the empty bottle upside down over your glass. A single blood-red drop fell into the crystal. You said nothing, but moved to your pack once more. You rummaged through the contents and turned to me holding another bottle of Meril's Mysteries like a trophy. "Never fear, Gondor," you proclaimed. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised. You had played the same game the year before. And yet I *was* surprised. And pleased. "Perhaps you should tell me how I am to believe your military reports when you seem unable to count to two?" I asked good- naturedly. "Perchance one thousand warriors are actually two thousand? Or three?" "No, just two. This I swear," you said as you returned to the table, sitting the bottle before me. "Would you be so kind as to open this one?" I began to uncork the wine as you moved to your seat opposite me. "Oh," you said, "I almost forgot." You grabbed your shirt by the tails and, in one perfect continuous motion, peeled it off over your head and tossed it onto a stub of a branch on a nearby tree. "If I should stain that tunic with sauce, I would never hear the end of it from our washmaiden. Is something wrong, Gondor?" you asked as you sat down. I had momentarily suspended my task hypnotized by the bare skin of your muscular torso. I attempted to act nonchalant as I resumed the uncorking. "No," I squeaked. My voice had cracked embarrassingly. I cleared my throat and continued in a ridiculously deep voice, "Nothing is wrong, Rohan. Nothing whatsoever." You laughed and asked, "Is the wine being troublesome?" At that moment I succeeded at removing the cork with a `pop.' "Not at all," I replied, pouring you a fresh glass of the potent liquid. Meanwhile, you took a large fork from the platter and stabbed one of the slabs of meat, lifting it up and onto my plate. Then you moved the other slab to your own plate. You then lifted your glass, offering a toast. I did the same. "To renewed relationships," you proclaimed. I touched the rim of my glass to yours and then took a sip as you drank half your glass. We both turned our attention to the meal, helping ourselves to the vegetables and other side dishes from bowls you had placed on the table. "Everything looks and smells delicious," I said. "I'm famished." "I thought I recognized the hunger in your eyes when you arrived," you said, tearing a rib from the slab of beef on your plate. I looked up to find you looking directly at me as you ripped the juicy meat from the bone with your teeth. Without breaking our gaze, I reached down and mirrored your actions. The steaming beef was so tender it practically fell off the bone in my hands, the spicy sauce lifting the taste to levels of gluttonous extravagance. The sensation broke my concentration and our gaze as I looked down incredulously at the food in my hands. "By the gods," I exclaimed. "This is remarkable." I looked back up at you. "I've never tasted anything like it in my life." "So you approve?" you asked, smiling. "Without reservation," I replied. "This is delicious, Rohan." "Excellent," you remarked, your smile increasing. "I'm glad you like it." I grunted in reply, as my mouth was full of a second large bite. "You're the first to taste it, you know," you added. "Really?" I asked, though a mouthful of food muffled the word. "I perfected the recipe six months ago and have been waiting since then for our reunion." I swallowed. "Really?" I repeated. "Yes, really," you replied with small laugh. I had nearly finished my first rib, and tore off the remaining meat before dropping it onto my plate. I lifted my glass to you, chewing and swallowing before I spoke. "To Théodred's ribs," I toasted. You smiled and raised your own glass to mine and said, "Many thanks." We both drank to the toast. I sipped while you drained your glass. I refilled it without asking. CHAPTER 9 – Lothlórien, January, 3019, TA "Were you attempting to get me drunk, Gondor?" I asked. "I didn't need to try. You were drinking quite heavily on your own," Boromir responded. "I was simply refilling your glass as you emptied it." "So I became horribly and embarrassingly inebriated and . . . . what?" "And . . . nothing." "Nothing?" I was finding it difficult to believe that both Boromir and Théodred had refrained from any further leering or innuendo. "Nothing," confirmed Boromir. "We discussed our families. I told you that Faramir had received a promotion and my father thought of little else save Mordor. You spoke of Éomer at great length. Apparently, the child drove you to madness with his insatiable curiosity." "And Éowyn?" "You said only that she was fierce. A very serious child," answered Boromir. "So if nothing came of my intoxication, how did the evening end?" I was surprised at how badly I wished to know. TO BE CONTINUED . . . . CHAPTER 9 – Lothlórien, January, 3019, TA "So if nothing came of my intoxication, how did the evening end?" I was surprised at how badly I wished to know. "I never said nothing came of your intoxication, did I?" Boromir asked. "You said `Nothing,'" I countered. "I meant that *you* did nothing," he countered. "Well if *I* didn't do anything, what did *you* do?" "Throughout the meal, I watched your eyelids slowly close until the whites of your eyes became two crescent moons hiding behind the cloudy haze of Meril's mysterious wine . . . ." CHAPTER 10 – Everholt, July, 3005, TA "My pardon, Gondor, but I must lie down," you said. "Are you not well?" I asked. "I'm fine, I'm fine. It's just . . . the wine has gone to my head and I'm feeling . . . not well." I stifled a laugh at your expense. You were pathetically adorable, but I did not wish to offend. "Is there naught I may do to aid you?" I offered. You shook your head, then stopped yourself, turning a pale shade of green. You covered your mouth with your hand, and made a dash for the trees. Moments after you disappeared into the dark, I heard the sound of drunken retching. Something with which I was very familiar. I rose and moved to your pack, retrieving your bedroll and unrolling it under the same overstretched tree branch as the previous year. You returned and staggered back to the table. I unhooked my water skin from its branch and brought it to you as you sat at the table. "Here, drink some water. It will help." You accepted the skin and took several long draughts from it before handing it back to me. "My thanks, Gondor. I must have had more wine than I thought. Why are you not affected?" "After last year, I decided to pace myself," I answered. "A wise man." "Why don't you lie down," I suggested. "An excellent idea," you said. You slowly rose to your feet and shuffled to your bedroll, apparently not registering its magical appearance. "We can continue our discussion in the morning," I said. "Thank you, Gondor," you replied as you dropped onto your bed. "Goodnight, Rohan." You mumbled an unintelligible response and I smiled. You were going to feel wretched when you woke up, of that I had no doubt. In no time at all you were snoring loudly enough to wake the dead. After collecting the dishes and washing them in the stream, I returned to find that you had turned onto your back and were spread out like a second sumptuous feast. You moaned and ran your hand over your stomach. I wondered what filled your dreams. I walked to the table and poured the last glass of wine for myself. I stepped up onto the bench and sat on the table, looking down on your slumbering form. For the first time since we met, I had an opportunity to gaze upon your intoxicating physique without reservation. I slowly drank the wine, allowing it to soothe my nerves and fire my passion. I committed every muscle, every hair, every bit of your exposed skin to memory. Your hand roamed over your torso, driving me insane with desire. I drained my glass and set it on the table, unable to resist the impulse to lie down next to you. As I walked to your side, I watched your face for any sign of consciousness, but found none. You appeared to be fast asleep. I lay down on my side next to you, propped up on my elbow so I could look down upon you. At such close proximity, your body heat served only to inflame my passion, and I could no longer refuse my need to touch you. I reached up with my free hand and placed it lightly on your chest. You grunted softly, but did not stir. I allowed my fingertips to play with your chest hair, relishing the opportunity to indulge this forbidden desire. I slowly began to move my hand back and forth across your chest. Your body twitched when my palm grazed your nipple, but you did not wake. I took great care not to make any sudden movements that might disturb your slumber. Our last encounter was such a conflagration that I had not been able to enjoy the simple act of exploring your body. I stroked your chest and stomach with tender caresses, my cock stirring with every move. I could not help but notice a similar reaction from you. My eyes studied your face as I slowly moved my hand lower, cupping your erection through your leggings. I moved my hand up and down the solid ridge under the leather as I watched your mouth open slightly, releasing a moan of pleasure. But still your eyes remained shut. I fumbled with the waist fastenings with my one hand, a task which normally would require both. But I took my time and was rewarded with access to the areas beneath the leather. I parted the front of your leggings, releasing your erection to the night air. It was just as I had remembered it. I continued to run my hand over your torso, teasing myself, forcing myself to wait to touch your cock. I caressed your lower stomach, running my hand under your erection. It twitched as the back of my hand rubbed against the sensitive head. I reached down and cupped your sac, feeling the weight in my hand. I squeezed it ever so gently, eliciting another moan from you. I could forestall the inevitable no longer and I ran my fingertip lightly along the underside of your cock as it lay against your hairy abdomen. A gasp escaped your lips, and I feared that you might wake. But my fear was unfounded. After pausing a few moments to assure your continued slumber, I wrapped my fingers around you. Another moan rose from you as I slowly moved my hand up and down your shaft with the lightest of caresses. I applied a bit more pressure and increased the speed of my strokes ever so slightly as you started to thrust your hips, driving your cock into my hand. Still I saw no sign of conscious awareness on your face. Your eyes were still closed, but your jaw had dropped and your moans had grown more vocal. I was in no hurry to bring you to climax, but your body apparently thought otherwise. Your thrusts and moans increased in volume and frequency until you orgasmed with an "Ahhhhh, yesss." Cum spurted into the air and onto your stomach as your body spasmed in pleasure. More cum flowed down and over my fingers in musky waves. I slowed my pace as your orgasm subsided, smearing the sticky fluid onto your cock. I released it as it began to soften, returning my hand to your stomach, where I rubbed your essence into the hair covering your abdomen and crotch. I brought my hand to my face where I inhaled deeply the musky aroma. My curiosity got the better of me and I touched my fingers to my tongue to taste you, uncertain what to expect. The taste was salty and a little bitter, but I found it irresistible and proceeded to lick your cum from my fingers, sucking them into my mouth one at a time while watching your breathing return to normal. A smile was on your lips. I leaned down and kissed you gently on the mouth. "Mmm," you moaned. And then you spoke so quietly that, had I not been inches from your lips, I would not have heard you. "I love you," you said. I was stunned. My heart was pounding in my chest with excitement. But to whom were you speaking? To me? To the lover in your dreams? How was I to know? Completely flustered with giddy exhilaration, I carefully closed your breeches and restored the waist fastenings. And just in time. Mere heartbeats after I finished the task, you turned away from me onto your side and drifted back into your deep slumber. I shakily rose to my feet and moved to retrieve my own bedroll, which I placed next to yours. I lay down and quickly withdrew my own rock hard member. The taste of you remained on my tongue and it took only a few strokes before I emptied myself onto my own stomach. I spread the stickiness over my abdomen with my hand and then returned my cock to its proper home, refastening the breeches as I enjoyed the afterglow of my orgasm. You loved me? Could it be true? My mind reeled at the implications and possibilities. However, Meril's wine soon took over and escorted me down the path to sweet slumber. I fell asleep with your scent in my nostrils and your taste in my mouth. The next morning, I awoke to find you gone. All of your belongings had disappeared as well, which would indicate that you weren't just taking a dip in the stream. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and tried to comprehend your absence. I stood up and looked around. Noticing a folded parchment on the table, I walked to it and picked it up, almost ripping the paper as I hastily unfolded it. It was a letter from you. It read: "Boromir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor, I regret that I received an urgent summons to return to Edoras. Please accept my apologies for the abrupt curtailment of our meeting. I look forward to our next meeting. Respectfully yours, Théodred, son of Théoden, King of Rohan" My heart sank. I could not believe that you had left so hastily once again. When next we met, I would have to ask you the meaning of this capricious behavior. As it was, all that remained was to gather my own belongings and return to Minas Tirith. But the ride home this time was not as depressing as the previous year. You had said you loved me. At least that's what I thought you meant. You hadn't said my name specifically, and you had been asleep. You had appeared so, in any case. But my heart had thrown caution to the wind and chosen to accept the declaration on my behalf. Regardless, my face was beginning to hurt from smiling so much as I rode through the gates of my beloved city. CHAPTER 11 – Lothlórien, January, 3019, TA Boromir's face bore a huge grin as he remembered Théodred's first proclamation of love. Yes, I thought. I wish to see that smile remain on his face. I fortified my resolve to make that happen. "So did your silly beaming raise any questions with your family?" I asked. "Well, my father was too intent on your reports to notice my state of mind. But Faramir seemed to notice something was afoot. He asked about my unusual cheerful demeanor, but I deflected his questions with explanations of the incredible food I had tasted in Everholt." "And he accepted this?" "He appeared dubious, but did not question me further. That is until the following summer when I received your letter . . . ." TO BE CONTINUED . . . .