Title: Just a dream…	 
Author: Nixie 
Author's Email: Tomoka0013@gmail.com 
Pairings: Murazor (Witch-King) X Boromir 
Rating: R maybe NC17 depends on personal opinion I guess? 
Summary: Boromir has a tough realization about his desire for the Ring after a 
disturbing 		dream involving Murazor. (Set during the scene where 
Boromir tries to 			take the ring from Frodo, shortly before 
Boromir’s death.)
Author Note: Fair warning this prolly has some Non-Consensual sex, violence, and a 
	little OOC. Also, it is just my personal preference, but I think of the Nazguls 
as 	more human than not, so I described Murazor as I would want him to be, not 
	necessarily how the book/movie portrays him in appearance. Hurray for 
artistic 	license! 

	Boromir awoke with a jolt, his body glistening in sweat, and his heart about to 
leap out of his chest it was pounding with such great force. “A dream… oh thank 
god.” He sighed before rolling back over to once again try to fall asleep on the cruel, 
unforgiving ground.
	Perched high atop a near by cliff, waited Murazor, the Witch-King of Angmar, 
Lord of the Nazguls, mounted atop his steed. They were bathed in moonlight and 
neither looked to be of this world. “A dream was it, Boromir? We’ll see how much of 
a dream it was. As for you Baggins, you may have the ring now, but I am merely 
waiting for the right opportunity to claim it for my own, and watch as your ambitions 
and civilization are smashed into a thousand pieces and scattered across the sands of 
time.”  With a faint chuckled and a blood curdling screech, Murazor left the 
unsuspecting Fellowship.
	The group awoke to a pleasant sunny day, with no Orcs, Uruk-hai or Nazguls 
in site, Boromir groaned as he stretched and smiled to himself. Later that day they 
had crossed a vast glistening lake, which lead them to the land of ancient kings. Once 
a camp had been established and the decision made to wait for nightfall before 
resuming their quest Boromir went off to gather firewood.
	“Where’s Frodo?” Boromir vaguely heard one his companions ask, by luck 
Frodo turned up right before Boromir’s eyes.
	“It’s not safe to be wandering off alone, you best get back to camp.” He 
chided the small Hobbit. Frodo on the other hand stood there almost glaring 
maliciously at Frodo; Boromir wondered what happened to the Hobbit. “It must be 
the burden of the ring,” he thought to himself. “You should take the ring for yourself 
Boromir, claim the throne of Gondor.” A voice inside Boromir’s head began, “Take 
it.” The voice commanded a little more forcefully, it was a deep, rich, demanding, 
and sinister voice that Boromir did not recognize. Boromir began to step closer and 
closer to Frodo, “I see you, suffering more and more each day, are you sure you do 
not suffer needlessly?” he questioned. 
	“There is no other way.” Frodo responded, backing away from Boromir, 
feeling more than uncomfortable.
	“I ask only for the power to defend my people!” Boromir exasperated as he 
hurled the firewood to the ground. “They will find you, and you will beg for your 
death before the end.” Boromir growled menacingly at Frodo, who turned and ran 
from Boromir. “What’s going on?” Boromir asked himself, “This is not like me, is it 
because of the ring, or because of that dream, it was a dream wasn’t it?” he 
questioned as the vivid details began racing through his mind. He remembered cold 
steel fingers ripping his clothing from his body, lips cold as death pressed against his 
own threw a thin layer of fabric, a sense of utter submission to this creature. “It 
seemed so real.” Boromir said quietly and worriedly to no one in particular. Then 
more of his dream flooded his mind, it was one of the Nazguls that had invaded his 
dream, though Boromir didn’t know the difference between the nine.
	He began to recall the cold, piercing feeling of hard, unrelenting armor against 
his cheeks, the mere memory sent a paralyzing chill through his bones. Just as soon as 
it appeared the searing sensations disappeared, and was replaced by cold as death 
human fingers. “Be still.” The creature commanded him, Boromir recalled this was 
the voice in his head moments ago commanding him to take the ring from Frodo. Did 
the wraiths somehow have control over his thoughts? He had no time to ponder his 
query when he was once again sucked into the recollection of his nightmarish 
encounter with the Nazgul.
	“Be still.” It commanded once again, Boromir was too frightened to do 
anything else, and ended up closing his eyes and turning his head again in shame. He 
heard an almost deafening crash all around him, as Murazor let his armor fall around 
the already fearful human. Boromir could no longer stand the suspense and turned to 
face his tormentor, he was still shrouded in his dark rags, but slowly he began to peel 
the layers off. He deliberately let his piercing, ice blue eyes peak through the garment 
first, unnerving Boromir even further. The eyes staring back at him were lifeless, yet 
looked so cruel and terrifying, Boromir could not comprehend the type of creature a 
Nazgul was. They were neither living, nor dead, everything about them seemed dead, 
yet they still moved about and acted living enough. 
	Murazor pulled his hood back to reveal relatively short, blond hair. It was 
slicked back from his taut face hastily and was mussed from being enshrouded the 
majority of his days as a wraith.
	“My god. You’re human?” Boromir asked in shock, as the handsome man 
leaned forward, using his weigh to force Boromir to lean backwards.
	“I was a long time ago.” Murazor replied bitterly, before claiming Boromir’s 
mouth. He wrapped his cold, skeletal fingers around Boromir’s chin and forced him 
into a deeper more forceful kiss. 
	“Get off of me, this is absurd, I should be killing you for trying to kill Frodo, 
not wasting my time being afraid of you.” Boromir growled, shoving at the creature 
before him.
	“Fool. No man can kill me.” Murazor replied in a chilling tone that paralyzed 
Boromir to the core. Murazor had little time to waste, or to be gentle, soon enough he 
tired of Boromir’s soft warm lips and moved lower to lavish attention on the man’s 
neck. 
	Boromir could not help but let a soft groan of satisfaction escape his pursed 
lips, he was internally conflicted on what to do, but at the same time, he didn’t have 
much of a choice. “Why am I dreaming about you of all people, especially in a 
situation like this?”
	Murazor paused slightly, “That’s right this is just a dream, so just give in.,” he 
rumbled against Boromir’s throat.
	“No!” Boromir said defiantly, “I should NOT be dreaming this, I should wake 
up, this is disgraceful!” With that said, he shoved Murazor off of him, and stood up to 
begin walking away.
	Murazor drew his Morgul Blade against the warrior, “You don’t seem to 
understand, you do what I say. Not the other way around.” While Boromir was 
distracted by the sword, Murazor kicked him soundly in the stomach and watched 
him double in pain. In an instant Murazor was upon Boromir and pulled his arms 
behind his back, dislocating them with ease. “You should have let me have my way, 
and just given in; it would have been easier for you. However, this is more fun for 
me.” The Witch-King said with a sinister grin as he pulled Boromir’s hips up. While 
supporting Boromir’s bulk with one arm he pulled his pants down with the other, and 
managed to free his aching member form the billowing layers of fabric. 
	Boromir lay with his face in the ground, groaning in pain, his body tense as 
could be, as he anticipated the horrors to come. With one swift, excruciating 
movement, the Witch-King had entered Boromir. For a creature who was no longer of 
life, and not yet of dead, he was of impressive size, making it an even more painful 
experience for Boromir. Murazor wasted little time before pulling almost all the way 
out of his prey before slamming mercilessly back in. 
	Boromir tasted blood seeping into his mouth as he bite sharply on his bottom 
lip trying to stifle the scream of pain waiting to escape him. His vision was blurred by 
tears threatening to join their fallen brethren by sliding down Boromir’s cheeks. The 
pain was unbearable, Boromir was praying he would wake up, he clung desperately to 
the idea this was all in his mind, but why did it hurt so much then. 
	Murazor thrusts lack any sort of rhythm, with no lubrication, defiling the 
human seemed to be more work than it was worth. Murazor was thinking of giving up 
on Boromir and trying to coerce one of the other members of the Fellowship to take 
the ring from Frodo, when his was met with little resistance. Boromir could not hold 
back his painful groan, he felt as though his insides had been ripped open. Murazor 
grinned triumphantly as he was able to slide in and out of Boromir easily, paying little 
attention to the blood running down Boromir’s legs. He reached a hand around to 
stroke Boromir’s budding erection; the chilling cold of the Witch-King’s touch 
immediately brought his member to full attention. 
	“Oh god…” Boromir whimpered as Murazor began to stroke him lightly, and 
the force of his thrusting evened out to a hard and fast tempo. Despite himself, 
Boromir was beginning to give into Murazor. “This is one hell of a dream.” He 
panted out as Murazor’s fingers wrapped tightly around his stiffened member. The 
Witch-King moved his hand in synch with his thrusting, he was rapidly approaching a 
climax, but he was much more controlled with his vocalizations than Boromir. He 
drove himself into Boromir deeper and with more force than before; Boromir hit his 
breaking point and struggled to keep himself quiet, but ended up letting out a deep 
sigh afterwards. Murazor pulled his hands away from Boromir’s softening member 
and sunk his talon like nails into Boromir’s hips. Boromir felt the wraith tighten up 
and he felt his blood go cold, as Murazor let out an inhuman, terrifying screech as the 
Witch-King released himself deep within Boromir.
	“Boromir. Boromir! Is something the matter, you look pale.” Frodo said 
worriedly shaking Boromir.
	Boromir lunged at Frodo, grasping for the ring, but to no avail for the Hobbit 
put the ring on and disappeared out from under him. “Curse you Frodo Baggins! That 
ring will be the end of you, and mankind! You will give the ring to Sauron and betray 
all of us! Curse you and your kind!” Boromir yelled, slowly loosing his mind.
	Frodo ran back to the camp and stuck close to Sam, wanting to be as far from 
Boromir as he could for the time being.
	“Is e’erything alright Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked, trying to calm Frodo down, the 
ring barer was obviously spooked about something, and that didn’t sit well with 
Samwise.
	“It’s Boromir, he’s lost his mind. He tried to take the ring from me Sam, he 
nearly choked me for it, it was like he was possessed.” Frodo explained shakily.
	Boromir still lay on the ground where Frodo had tripped him, “It was just a 
dream, all just a dream; forget about the voice in your head, its ok Boromir, it was 
just a dream.” All of a sudden, Boromir heard telltale sound of a horse approaching, 
he heard the sickening cluttering of an armor clad figure moving towards him, the 
noise grew louder, and louder until it was almost deafening. Boromir looked up to see 
and endless expansion of black staring down at him.
	“Was it only a dream Boromir?” Murazor asked cruelly, followed by a 
horrible haunting laughter that Boromir would never forget. 

~END~