Title:  The Fall of the Steward
Author:  Ithiliana (rrede13@yahoo.com)
Pairings:  Frodo/Faramir; Frodo/Boromir;
Gandalf/Lenhir (a Healer, OC, implied);
Aragorn/Boromir 
Rating:  R (Warning:  non-consensual sexual
situations/attempted rape).
Summary:  AU in which the Ring was never found and
passed down the Great River into the Sea.  Almost all
major canon characters still present, many leading
similar lives, with similar relationships, etc.  After
Bilbo's death, for example, Frodo often left Bag End
in the care of Rosie and Sam to travel with Gandalf as
a kind of hobbit research assistant.  This story opens
on May 31, 3018, as Frodo and Gandalf arrive in Minas
Tirith to work in the archives.  Unfortunately, the
Steward's family (Denethor/Boromir/Faramir) are having
some problems which immediately affect Frodo!  

Author's Note:  Mostly book universe though physical
descriptions, some settings, costumes have been
affected by movie universe.  What I've Added to the
Mix (shaken not stirred):   I think both these
additions are implied by what we learn of Hobbits in
Tolkien's Prologue:  "they love peace and quiet and
good tilled earth....their elusiveness is due solely
to a professional skill that heredity and practice,
and a close friendship with the earth, have
rendered inimitable by bigger and clumsier races." 
Given how hobbits live, I'm postulating that they need
regular contact with the natural world (grass, air,
fresh water, etc.) or they start to waste away, fade. 
They're out and about all day, live mostly in holes,
rarely build houses (and then only one story high
because they don't like being up high).  Hobbits don't
build towers!  They are also very used to living in
close proximity with others, with less "space" between
individuals and more cuddles and non-sexual touching,
leading to greater psychic health.  

Thanks/Acknowledgements go to Entwife who contributed
a number of key ideas to this fic in the development
stages as well as on-going encouragement!  Throughout,
italicized lines are based heavily on quotes/sections
from Tolkien's Lord of the Rings.

Chapter 1:  Arrival at Minas Tirith

Frodo looked out from Gandalf's cloak.  The rain that
had begun last night had ended, and they were
approaching Minas Tirith.  Huge mountains loomed in
both the East and the West.  Ahead, he could see a
mass of stone which at first he thought must be a part
of the mountain.  Then, as the sun rose completely
above the mountains and shone on the white walls, he
could see it was a huge City.  

Over the last few years, Frodo had traveled far with
Gandalf, but he had seen no comparable sight.  The
villages in the Shire he knew well, but he had also
seen Meduseld where Theoden King ruled, as well as the
huge mallorn trees of Lothlorien with the dwellings of
the elves built in and among the living trees, but
nothing had been comparable to this City.

"You never told me how huge it was," he said to
Gandalf.

"The Men of old, the Numenoreans, built many amazing
places-this City was not even their capital.  Minas
Tirith was originally Minas Anor, built as an outpost
to Osgiliath, which lies in ruins along the Anduin."

Frodo gazed in wonder, seeing the multiple walls-he
counted seven-and gates, all surrounding a huge
bastion of stone that rose in the middle of the City. 
The banner of the Stewards floated from the White
Tower in the crisp morning breeze.  Far away, he
heard a clear ringing as of silver trumpets.  

They rode up to the Great Gate and were greeted by the
men at arms who let them pass.  Shadowfax bore them up
the long, winding road, moving back and forth across
the face of the City to pass through the gate in each
wall.  

The City was vaster and more wonderful even than
Isengard, but Frodo noticed that it was falling into
decay.  Many of the houses they passed were obviously
abandoned and silent.  Gandalf spoke no word as
they made their way through the seventh gate. 

The Guards of the Citadel surrounded them, and Frodo
and Gandalf dismounted for no horse was allowed in the
Citadel.  Gandalf spoke to Shadowfax who followed one
of the guards.  These guards wore black with
strange helms, high-crowned, with long cheek-guards,
and the white wings of sea-birds set above the
cheek-guards.  Their black surcoats were embroidered
with a white tree blooming like snow beneath a silver
crown and many-pointed stars.

They followed one of the guards across a courtyard.
 A fountain was in the center, and a green lawn lay
around it.  Frodo slowed, appreciating the scent of
water and fresh grass, but felt dismay when he saw
that a dead tree stood in the middle of the pool,
falling drops dripping from its barren branches into
the fountain.  

As they walked down the paved passage, Gandalf
spoke softly to Frodo.  "Be wary, Frodo.  This is no
time for hobbit pertness.  Denethor is a man of great
lineage and power though he is not called a king.  Let
me deal with him.  And no matter what, say nothing
about Aragorn while we are here."

"Very well," Frodo whispered back, awed by the
implications of Gandalf's warning.

They came to a stop before a tall door of polished
metal which opened though Frodo could see no one. 
They entered a great hall lit by deep windows in the
aisles at either side, beyond rows of tall pillars
that upheld the roof.  Black marble monoliths rose to
great capitals carved with many strange figures of
beasts and leaves.  Frodo looked down the hall, longer
than the main street in Hobbiton, to see a high throne
set upon a dais of many steps under a canopy of
marble.  The canopy was shaped like a crowned helm,
and behind it, carved upon the wall and set with gems,
was the image of a Tree in flower.  

The throne was empty.  Frodo saw an old man sitting in
a low, black chair set upon the lowest step of the
dais.  In his hand was a white rod with a golden knob.
 He did not look up as they approached.  

Frodo followed Gandalf down the long hall until they
stood a few paces from his chair.

Then Gandalf spoke, "Hail, Lord and Steward of
Minas Tirith, Denethor son of Ecthelion!"

The old man looked up.  Despite Gandalf's warning,
the image of Aragorn sprang immediately to Frodo's
mind when he saw his face with its proud bones and
skin like ivory, and the long curved nose between dark
deep eyes.

"You are welcome, Mithrandir, as is your...friend?" 
The old man paused, turning powerful eyes upon Frodo
who felt like hiding in Gandalf's cloak.

"Allow me to present Frodo, son of Drogo, a Hobbit of
the Shire, a country that lies far to the North." 
Gandalf laid a hand on Frodo's shoulder and propelled
him forward.

Frodo bowed.

"A Hobbit?"  

"Or, a Halfling, his people are called in the South."

"A Halfling?"  Denethor leaned forward a bit.  "I have
read of Halflings, but we do not have much lore
concerning them."

Frodo hesitated, afraid to say anything for fear of
angering the Steward.  

Denethor returned his attention to Gandalf.  "Do you
have a reason for coming to us this year, Mithrandir? 
The Enemy we do not name seems to be less active this
spring, judging from the reports our scouts across the
River have sent, and there have been no signs of any
major movements."

"No reason, Lord, save your promise several years ago
that I could look at records of ancient days and the
beginnings of the City."  

"If that is all you wish, then read on!" said
Denethor.  "You may lodge in the City and join the
Third Company for meals, if you wish."  He struck a
small silver gong, and a servant came forward from an
alcove near the door.  Denethor gave the man some
orders, then turned his dark eyes on Gandalf.

Frodo now saw a likeness between the two and a sudden
sense of strain.  

"If you should find aught of importance in your
reading, my Lord Mithrandir, come to me with it.  I am
master of the lore in my City, yet you may find
something new, perhaps concerning Halflings?"  He
smiled, then, glancing again at Frodo.  Then he
released them, waving them away to follow the silent
servant.

The guide took them from the doors of the hall across
the Court of the Fountain.  As Frodo followed Gandalf
through the gate from the Court into the courtyard
outside, he ran into a large man who was trying to
enter.  The collision was not resolved in the hobbit's
favor-Frodo fell backwards, receiving only a confused
impression of a red and gold tunic, armor, and blond
hair.  The man did not stop, casting them an annoyed
glance and hurrying on.  

Gandalf helped Frodo to his feet and brushed him off. 
"That was Boromir, eldest son of Denethor," he said,
looking after the man.  "I wonder why he is in such a
hurry.  Usually, he is much more courteous." 

They caught up with their guide who led them into one
of the lanes that ran between the tall buildings of
stone.  After several turns, they came to a house
built close to the wall of the Citadel.  They were
shown within to a large room, light and airy, with
hangings of gold upon the walls and three high narrow
windows.  Frodo climbed onto a bench to look out over
the great River.

Gandalf thanked the servant and set down his pack on a
small table that sat between two chairs.  Frodo
climbed down and took off his pack as well.  Gandalf
showed him that some of the curtains masked alcoves
where two beds, well equipped with feather pillows and
comforters, awaited nightfall.

"Well, Frodo, what do you think of the City and its
Lord?" Gandalf asked, smiling.

"He frightened me, a little," Frodo confessed.  "He
seemed so stern, and seemed to know something about
Halflings he wouldn't share with us."

"Do not hold too great a fear, but a little will
probably help you deal with him more respectfully. 
Hobbits have a habit of expressing themselves a bit
too freely for the taste of high lords.  Well, now
that we have permission to start our research, what
next?"  

Frodo was aware of the large emptiness in his stomach.
 They had eaten lightly last night and early this
morning, so surely Gandalf would start with a meal.  

"Perhaps we should go immediately to the Archives,"
Gandalf said, starting out the door.

Frodo stared, dismayed, "But, Gandalf..." he started
after him.  

Gandalf strode hurriedly down the street, and Frodo
had to stretch his legs to keep up.  He told himself
that he would not die of hunger, that in his travels
with Gandalf he had gone even longer without food, but
his stomach did not seem inclined to listen.  He
followed Gandalf down a wide alley where he stopped
near an open hatch.

"The storehouse of the Third Company," Gandalf said,
smiling down at him, his eyes twinkling.  "You surely
do not think I would keep you any longer from food?"

Frodo was so relieved he decided not to be angry at
Gandalf for his trick.  The serving man, who told them
his name was Targon, gave them ale, bread, cheese, and
some of the last apples from winter storage.  They
returned to their room with the food, and even Frodo
was satisfied before they finished.

Then they went to the Archives.


Chapter 2:  In the White Tower of Ecthelion

Boromir entered the room at the top of the tower,
breathing quickly.  His father's summons had ordered
him to come immediately but had not told him why.  He
blinked in the dimness of the room which was lit only
by what light could enter through two narrow windows. 


His father stood in the center of the room,  hunched
over the high table, hands flat on its surface. 
Boromir paused, then forced himself to walk to his
father's side, trying to ignore the feeling that what
they were doing was more dangerous than any battle. 
When they had first found the palantir, his father had
used it maybe once a week.  Now, as far as Boromir
could tell, he was using it daily.  

He stood looking down into the swirling red depths. 
Warriors do not avoid what they fear, he told himself.

"Lord?" he said, quietly.

His father turned to look at him, the red fire that
lit the dark globe in front of him shining in his
eyes.  "A Halfling has arrived in the City,
accompanying Gandalf.  I have seen much this morning,"
he said.  "And what I have seen explains your dream."

Faramir had first had the dream a month ago, the night
before orcs had assaulted Osgiliath.  They had beaten
them back, but Faramir had experienced the dream twice
more, and Boromir once. In the dream, a growing
darkness and thunder came from the East, but a pale
light lingered in the West.  Out of the light, a voice
came, crying:

Ignore not the Sword that was broken
	In Imladris it stands;
There shall be shown a token
	That Doom is near at hand,
For Elendil's Sword shall waken
	When the Halfling forth shall stand.  

"What have you seen?" Boromir asked.  He was shocked
to learn him that a Halfling had arrived.  What sort
of Doom could be at hand?  What could a Halfling do? 
He realized he had seen the Halfling in the court
earlier, but it seemed so insignificant.

"I have seen that a Company is coming from the North,
led by one who bears the sword of Elendil, one who
claims to be his heir through Isildur's line." 
Denethor's voice was cold.

Boromir could not believe what he heard.  The
Stewardship of their House had lasted for nearly an
age, over 900 years, and he had grown up knowing that
he would follow his father, and his son follow him, as
inevitably as winter followed fall, and spring,
winter.  Nobody had ever expected a King to return. 
He started as his father grasped his wrist.

"Keep an eye on that Halfling, and Gandalf.  I know he
plots against us.  His arrival is no coincidence,"
Denethor said.

Before Boromir could pull back, his father pulled his
hand over to rest it against the palantir.  Boromir
staggered and nearly fell at the sensation that ripped
through him, a simultaneous pull and thrust, as if
some ravenous mouth sucked at his soul while a spear
of fire thrust into his belly.  Harsh laughter sounded
in his ears even after the palantir released him.


Chapter 3:  First Meeting

Within a few days, Gandalf had established a routine. 
In the morning they rose early, ate, and went to the
Archives.  

These were a series of rooms on the lower level of the
Citadel.  Frodo was amazed to see how much space could
be dedicated to storing scrolls, documents, even
books.  He was used to Bilbo's study which had an
amazing number of scrolls and books for a hobbit, but
Gondor's archives were as much beyond his collection
as the Tower of Ecthelion was higher than a hobbit
hole!

Except for tables and chairs in each room, each with
inkpots and quills, the only other furnishings were
the baskets containing scrolls.  Many tables were
piled high with documents.  Large windows allowed
light to enter during the day, and the rooms were cold
because no fires or torches were ever allowed inside. 


The Archivist knew Gandalf from past visits, but even
so, did not trust him to find or handle the oldest
materials on his own.  Gandalf spent all day in the
Achives, but Frodo was only expected to help him in
the mornings.  During that time, as Gandalf read, he
would carefully copy selections from the materials
Gandalf had read the day before.  

Then, about the time the noontime meal was served for
the Third Company, Gandalf would send Frodo off and
settle down with the Archivist to consult on what else
he could study.  

Frodo would go for his meal, then wander around the
City.  Sometimes he would spend time in the stable
with Shadowfax.  Other afternoons were spent
exploring, within and without the City.  Frodo could
not believe how hard it was to find green spaces in
the City-he often went directly outside to feel grass
rather than hard stone beneath his feet.

But the routine was disrupted before a week had
passed.  Lenhir, one of the Healers from the Houses of
Healing, came to their room one evening to ask for
Gandalf's help.  People were coming down with a
strange illness, one that none of the Healers
recognized.  After that night, Gandalf spent most
afternoons at the Houses of Healing.  Hearing him
mention the beautiful gardens there, Frodo asked to
accompany him the next time he went, and Gandalf
agreed.

Several days later, Gandalf went with Frodo for lunch,
then they went to the Houses of Healing.  Lenhir
welcomed Frodo and gave him directions to the garden,
then took Gandalf off to consult about several new
patients.  

Frodo walked through the long stone passages wondering
why the Men of Gondor so loved creating buildings that
felt like tombs.  He was glad to reach the door to the
gardens, a door which led to the most beautiful green
space he'd yet seen in this City of stone.  

At the heart of the Houses of Healing lay several
walled gardens, both for use and pleasure, and Frodo
wandered slowly through them. They were beautiful, and
he decided that he would ask Lenhir if he could spend
time here.

Several days later, with Lenhir's permission, he came
to spend some time in the rose garden.  The roses were
starting to bloom, and the garden reminded  him of
Sam.  He also liked the beautiful fountain in the
middle of the space, one without the dead Tree which
so disturbed him in the Citadel.  

When he entered the garden, he stopped, dismayed. 
Someone was already there, lying on the grass near the
fountain, eyes closed.  A young man with reddish gold
hair, one arm in a sling.  Frodo realized he must be
one of the patients.   He wore green, a loose tunic
and leggings.

He started to withdraw quietly, not wanting to disturb
the patient, but the man opened his eyes and saw him. 
He rose, leaning on his good arm.

"Do not leave because of me, child," he said.

Frodo flushed.  He was often mistaken for a child in
Gondor, but he still found it irritating.

He walked over to the young man whose eyes widened. 
"Forgive me-I did not realize.  Are you perhaps the
Halfling who accompanies Mithrandir?"

"Yes," Frodo smiled.  At least this one had
intelligence enough to understand and admit his
mistake when he'd gotten a good look.  "My name is
Frodo, Frodo Baggins."

"Mine is Faramir," the young man said, sitting up. 
"Have you been ill?"

"No-I just like the gardens, and Lenhir said I could
walk in them during the day."  Frodo stood, shifting
from foot to foot.  He wondered if the young man
really wanted him to stay or was just being polite.

"Sit down-please!" Faramir said, gesturing to the
grass.  "Unless you'd prefer we move to a bench."

"Oh, no," Frodo said hastily, sinking down.  "This is
much better."

He spent the rest of the afternoon in the garden with
Faramir.  They talked of elves, mostly, because
Faramir was fascinated to hear that Frodo had
accompanied Gandalf to both Lorien and Mirkwood. 
Faramir's only knowledge of elves was from his reading
and talking to Gandalf whom he had known most of his
life.  When the sun was falling toward the West,
Lenhir came out to tell Faramir that he must return to
his room to eat and sleep.

Faramir shrugged, then grimaced, but he stood
immediately.  "Farewell, Frodo!  If you have more free
time to spend, please visit me again.  I so enjoyed
our talk that I almost forgot I was wounded."

When Frodo asked him what happened to his shoulder,
Faramir said that he'd been wounded in an encounter
with a band of orcs but refused to give any more
details.  Frodo wondered how often he had to face such
danger.  

Meeting Gandalf for supper that night, Frodo told him
about the young man in the garden and asked him about
Faramir.

"Yes, I know Faramir-he is the second son of the Lord
Denethor.   He is usually across the River in
Ithilien, leading the Rangers who keep a watch on
Mordor.  I did not know he was wounded-I will have to
visit him when I am next at the Houses of Healing."

The news that Faramir was the son of the Lord of the
City made Frodo nervous, and he did not return the
next day.  But when Gandalf visited Faramir and then
told Frodo that Faramir had asked after him, Frodo
nerved himself to go back to the garden.

Faramir was there, and the afternoon passed as quickly
as before.  Frodo felt that he could sit for hours,
watching the play of sunlight and shadow across
Faramir's face, the light in his blue eyes, 
listening to his deep voice.  

A few days later, with Lenhir's approval, Faramir left
the Houses for a short time, walking back with Frodo
to meet Gandalf for dinner.  After eating, they sat
for some time, drinking ale and sharing stories. 
Faramir had not traveled as widely as Gandalf, or
Frodo, but he knew Ithilien and Gondor, and their
history, in great detail.


Chapter 4:  First Attack

Frodo knelt on a stone seat in an embrasure in the
wall of the battlement, hundreds of feet above the
ground below, looking out over the sill to the vale
below.  He was waiting for Faramir who was now judged
well enough by the Healers to walk around a bit during
the day.  Faramir had offered to show him around the
Citadel and although Frodo did not relish the idea of
spending such a beautiful afternoon inside the stone
monument, he did like the idea of spending so much
time with Faramir.

When he heard steps coming, he turned, expecting
Faramir.  But it was the large man who had run into
him the day they had arrived-Boromir.  He walked
toward Frodo, who stayed where he was, unsure of what
to do.

Boromir stopped in front of him, nodded.  "We have not
yet met, but my father Denethor has told me your name
is Frodo.  My name is Boromir."

Frodo bowed slightly.  It seemed safer to show more
respect than might be necessary. 

"I saw you come here and followed."

Frodo climbed down from the stone seat.  "Can I help
you in some way, my lord?" he asked.

Boromir sat down on the other end of the seat.  "Yes,"
he said.

Frodo waited a moment, growing more nervous.  He
thought that a shadow lay over Boromir's face even
though the Sun was overhead.  His face seemed to be
changing, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarser,
harsh with a metallic note.

"You can tell me what you are doing with my brother,
Halfling."

Frodo could not answer immediately because of his
shock.  He tried to edge back.  "Nothing, lord, except
that we have talked a few times....about elves
mostly.."

"The guards are gossiping about you both,"  As he
spoke, Boromir grabbed Frodo and pulled him close
between his legs, holding him so tightly that Frodo
gasped.  

Boromir's hard hand slipped down the front of Frodo's
pants and grasped him painfully, causing Frodo to
writhe.  He could feel the large man growing hard, his
erection pressing into his back.  

"Well you're not hung like a man, so that rumor's
wrong," Boromir said.  He stood up, hauling Frodo up
in front of him, dropping him on his stomach on the
narrow sill.  Frodo's head spun as he looked directly
down to see the long drop, and he shut his eyes.  

Holding him down with one hand pressed into the small
of his back, Boromir yanked his pants down, resulting
in a searing pain.  Cruel fingers probed him, and
Frodo couldn't help crying out.  "That's your secret,
then, you're tighter than a virgin.  Do you cry when
he fucks you, Halfling?"  

Frodo didn't dare answer, just hung there over the
ledge, eyes shut, trying to breathe.  

"Let's see," came the hateful voice from behind him. 
Boromir pulled his fingers out, and after a moment,
tried to enter him.  Frodo twisted, was slapped. 
"Hold still."

"Release him."  The voice was quiet, but its tone
caused Boromir to release Frodo.

Frodo gasped in relief as he recognized Faramir's
voice.  Boromir said nothing, but Frodo felt the
pressure against his legs disappear.

"Leave us.  Now."

"All right, brother, but this isn't over."

"I have come to believe it will never be over,
brother."  Faramir's voice held more regret than
anger.

Footsteps echoed along the stone wall, then silence.

Warm hands grasped Frodo carefully, sliding under his
chest and thighs, lifting him up off the ledge to set
him down.  Frodo was trembling so badly that Faramir
went to one knee in front of him to hold him up. 
Frodo could not bear the feeling of the man's hands on
him, and twisted away, trying to pull his pants up. 
He couldn't look at Faramir.

Faramir released him, but stayed close as he stood.  

Frodo finished fastening his pants, then looked up. 
"I want to go back to our room," he said.  "Don't tell
Gandalf."

Faramir frowned down at him and held his hand out. 
Both saw the blood.  "You're hurt," Faramir, said,
picking Frodo up. 

Frodo stiffened. "Put me down!"

Faramir stopped, but did not immediately comply. 
"Why? If you are hurt and I can get you more quickly
to the Houses of Healing.."

"I am not badly hurt-you came in time to prevent....,"
Frodo swallowed, not knowing exactly what to say. 
"Anything.  And I don't want to cause the talk that
you carrying me will create.  Your brother said there
was talk about...us...already.  And... I hate to be
carried like a child."

Faramir  set him down quickly.  "Very well, but we
will go to the Houses of Healing and get someone-a
Healer if not Gandalf-to examine you."

Frodo agreed, just wanting to get away from this
place.

He had hoped to find one of the Healers who did not
know Gandalf, but unfortunately, the first people they
saw when they entered the Houses were Lenhir and
Gandalf who were standing close together, talking
animatedly.  When Gandalf saw Frodo come in with
Faramir, he came immediately.

"Is something wrong?" 

"Can we go inside, to a private room?" Faramir asked
in a low voice.

Gandalf frowned, but agreed, and after a final word or
two with Lenhir showed them to a small room inside.

Faramir told him what had happened, and Gandalf
frowned even more.  

He disrobed and examined Frodo gently, finding a long
cut on his rear and upper thigh, probably caused by
Boromir's ring.  He cleaned it and applied some salve,
then left Frodo to dress while he spoke to Faramir in
the hall.  Gandalf closed the door partway, but Frodo
could hear them even though they kept their voices
low.

Faramir, who had stood silently outside the door,
spoke first.  "I do not know what to say, Mithrandir. 
If I had not seen this with my own eyes, I would not
have believed it.  We have had our differences, my
brother and I, but he has never done anything
dishonourable!"

Gandalf stood in silence a moment, rubbing his nose. 
"I agree.  Something seems wrong here.  While your
father has never welcomed me as freely as he does
Saruman, still, he has been friendlier in the past. 
And this mysterious new illness, one none neither the
oldest Healers nor I recognize, is affecting more
people every day."  Gandalf paced up and down the
hallway a few times.  

Frodo, who had finished dressing and come to stand in
the doorway, watched him as he walked.  It was as if
Gandalf had to be in motion to think certain things
through.

Turning, Gandalf rejoined them.  "Faramir, I gathered
from what your father said that things are fairly
quiet in Ithilien this season."

"Fairly," Faramir smiled wryly, rubbing his shoulder. 
"We had only the one attempt on Osgiliath, and then a
later group, who never came that close to the River. 
That group was fairly small and easily defeated."

Gandalf rubbed his chin, considering.  "Then, it would
be safe enough if I were to advise you take Frodo out
of the City, to one of your lodges in Ithilien,
for...well, general recuperation and protection from
this new illness."

Frodo could not believe what he was hearing.  To leave
Gandalf....but to be with Faramir.  He could hardly
breathe.

Faramir smiled down at Frodo, then nodded at Gandalf. 
"Safe enough, I should think," he said.  "Especially
if Boromir does not know where Frodo has gone.  Next
month, I am scheduled to return to command, but my
father would not question my decision to remove there
a bit earlier, for recuperation.  In fact, I am not
sure my father even notices if I am in the City or
not."

Frodo saw the pain that showed in Faramir's face as he
spoke.

Gandalf tapped the floor with his staff.  "Good.  Then
I so advise you."  

Lenhir came down the hallway at that moment, and
Gandalf looked over Frodo's head to speak to him. 
"And I'm sure that Lenhir will concur with this purely
medical decision..."

Lenhir laughed as he joined them, slipping an arm
around Gandalf's waist.  "You know I always agree with
you, especially on medical decisions..."

"Do you think you can get yourself packed and out of
the City by evening?" Gandalf asked Frodo and Faramir.
 
They both nodded.

Frodo left with Faramir, making a note to remember to
tell Merry and Pippin about Lenhir when he got back to
the Shire.  There had been a certain amount of
speculation about Gandalf during the long winter
nights at the Green Dragon!

Chapter 5:  Ithilien

Faramir chose to ride to the lodge rather than walk as
the Rangers usually did.  Frodo declined to try to
ride another horse, and there were no ponies in the
Citadel's stables, so Faramir took him up in front of
him as Gandalf always did.  

However, Frodo thought that riding with Faramir was
much better.  No beard tickling his ears and neck and,
best of all, no staff knocking him on the knee.  After
a day's ride on Shadowfax with Gandalf, Frodo knew
that his right knee would be purple!

Besides, Faramir was, not plump exactly, Frodo
thought, but more muscular, more broadly built, very
pleasant to lean back against as they traveled across
the River and into Ithilien.  And his arms which
circled Frodo to hold the reins were less bony.  Then
there were his legs, or rather, his thighs, firm and
muscular.  And his scent, an intoxicating blend, spicy
and sweet.  As they penetrated further into Ithilien,
Frodo decided that somehow Faramir had acquired the
scent of one of the most beautiful countries Frodo had
ever seen.

Spring was in full and glorious bloom, shading into
the riot of summer.  Many great trees grew here,
planted long ago, falling into untended age amid a
riot of careless descendents; and groves and thickets
there were of tamarisk and pungent terebinth, of olive
and of bay; and there were junipers and myrtles; and
thymes; sages of many kinds putting forth blue
flowers, or red, or pale green; and marjorams. 
Primeroles and anemones starred the grass in the
filbert-brakes, and asphodel and many lily-flowers
nodded in the deep green grass beside the pools, where
falling streams halted in cool hollows on their
journey down to Anduin. The sun shone and birds
of many colors sang in the trees.

The lodge was a small one, hidden in a grove of trees,
built of wood and consisting of one large room with a
shelter at the back for the horse.  Inside were narrow
beds built against the walls, a small store of
supplies.  They had to carry water from a stream not
far away, and Frodo decided as he watched Faramir
unpack the saddlebags that carried their supplies that
they were not at risk of getting fat on what food they
had.  

But that first night when they went outdoors to see
the stars blazing down through the net of tangled
branches, Frodo decided he didn't care.  He slept
better that night than he had been able to since
arriving at Minas Tirith.  

They spent the first day arranging their supplies and
doing some cleaning, and in more sleep. On the second
day, Faramir took him on a ramble through the woods.  

Following a small stream, they found a small clear
lake in a shallow dell.  Lying in the broken ruins of
an ancient stone basin, the carven rim was almost
covered with mosses and rose brambles.  Iris swords
stood in ranks about it, and water-lily leaves floated
on its dark rippling surface.  It was deep and fresh
and spilled soft out over a stony lip at the far
end.

Washing, drinking deep of the cool water at the
in-falling stream, they sat on the bank to eat their
bread and cheese.  As they ate, they saw two rabbits
opposite them, drinking from the pool.

Frodo finished eating and lay back on the soft grass
listening to the quiet music of the falling water.  He
breathed deeply, relishing the air sweet with the
scent of growing things, enjoying the feel of the sun
on his face and legs.  He hadn't realized until now
how being surrounded by the dead stone in the City had
affected him.

"Ithilien is beautiful," he said.  "Why do so many of
your people live inside that cold stone City?"

Faramir laughed as he reclined next to Frodo, leaning
on his good arm.  "I've wondered that myself at times,
but we no can no longer protect all of Ithilien.  The
Nameless Enemy has been trying to take control, and
orcs patrol the eastern areas.  Here, relatively close
to the River, the country is usually safe, but people
don't want to risk their families."

Frodo nodded, understanding.  Ithilien was beautiful,
but not as safe as the Shire.

In the silence, he could hear birds singing.  

And a whisper, almost too soft to hear.  "Frodo."

He turned his head to look at Faramir who reached out
to touch Frodo's face.  Then even more slowly, Faramir
lowered his head, his lips brushing Frodo's.

Warm and sweet, gentle at first, his lips grew more
demanding against Frodo's mouth.  Frodo opened his
mouth to that demand, reaching out to clasp his arms
around Faramir's neck.  The kiss deepened, and Frodo
tightened his arms.  Faramir was still leaning on one
arm above him, and he wanted to feel his whole body. 
The heat Frodo felt could only be satisfied by that
contact. 

Faramir's hand traced a burning trail from Frodo's
face down his neck, under his shirt.  Frodo gasped and
arched his back when Faramir's fingers rubbed over his
nipple, erect and throbbing.  The hand traced lower,
circling, gently rubbing, hesitating, then sliding
under his pants.  There, the hand stopped.

Frodo opened his eyes in bewilderment, looking at
Faramir.  "Don't stop," he said.

"I don't want you to think I am acting like
Boromir..." Faramir said in a low voice.  

Frodo felt his mouth drop open.  He hadn't thought of
Boromir since-well, since they'd crossed the River. 
What could he say to Faramir?   He knew he had to say
something soon.  "That was an assault," he said
firmly, "this is love."  And he pulled Faramir down
against him.

After sharing another long kiss, Faramir began to
undress Frodo slowly, pausing after each piece of
clothing came out to kiss and caress him.  Frodo was
glad that he was wearing only a shirt and trousers. 
Finally, he was naked, and tried to undo Faramir's
tunic.  

"Not quite yet," Faramir said, and urged him to lie
back down.  

Faramir leaned over him, his hands caressed him in a
long sweeping motion, starting from his wrists,
running down his arms, his sides, his legs, down to
his feet.  When Faramir's fingers trailed through the
curly hair on his feet, Frodo's whole body tensed. 
Nobody had ever done that before!  

After several more caresses, Frodo felt as if his
whole body was on fire, and he could not control his
moans.  Faramir then began to kiss his way down his
body, his wet warm tongue darting out at some times,
his teeth grazing Frodo's skin at others.  Frodo
writhed in pleasure, then cried out as Faramir's mouth
and hands circled in on him, sucking and rubbing.

His body arched higher and higher as Faramir's tongue
swirled down, and his arms circled Frodo's body.  The
tingling fire grew and grew until it exploded through
Frodo's body.  

For an uncounted time, Frodo lay panting.  When he
opened his eyes, he saw Faramir lying beside him
again.  He pulled Frodo to him, using his good arm,
and hugged him close.  After a moment, he spoke.

"I have to tell you something, Frodo.  When I saw
Boromir with you upon the battlements, my first
thought was that I had interrupted an assignation."

Frodo stiffened in shock, ready to deny it, but
Faramir kept speaking.  "The moment I actually was
able to see you, I knew differently, of course, but
how I first felt made me realize how deeply I'd come
to care for you."

Frodo relaxed, burrowing closer to Faramir, resting
his head on his good shoulder.  That was all right,
then.

"But that's why I hesitated earlier-I didn't want to
force...anything on you." 
 
"That's why you wouldn't undress earlier, why you..."
Frodo could feel himself blushing because he wasn't
sure of what words might be appropriate in Gondor.  He
had never much liked some of the words used in the
Shire, words which seemed rude or even hateful to him
no matter how funny Pippin thought them.  He sat up,
then knelt by Faramir.

"I appreciate your care, but, as Gandalf is always
saying, hobbits are tougher than we look.  What
happened with Boromir was fearful, but it has nothing
to do with you and me."  Frodo started investigating
the lacing of Faramir's tunic.  "And I think I can
prove that to you," he tugged on one end and ended up
with two knots.  "Although it will go a lot faster if
you show me how these things work!"

Faramir laughed, sat up, and started showing him how
to undo the lacings of tunics and leggings. 
Privately, Frodo thought that the Men of Gondor's
complicated clothing made as much sense as their tombs
of buildings, but then not everyone wanted to live as
simply as hobbits.

He was a bit worried, fearing Faramir had been acting
more out of kindness, but when the leggings finally
came off, he had definite proof that kindness was not
Faramir's primary response.  When Faramir was finally
naked, the sun glinting off the red gold hair that
covered much of his body, Frodo pushed at his chest
until he lay back down.  Then Frodo sat across his
chest, legs straddling his body.  

Leaning over, he began kissing Faramir, hands buried
in the red gold hair, enjoying the softness.  
Faramir's arms closed around him, straining to hold
him closer, but Frodo pulled away long enough to say,
"Not quite yet," and then enjoyed kissing Faramir as
he smiled.  

Then Frodo began kissing his way down Faramir's body,
lingering at the base of his throat where he could
feel the pulse of his life's blood.  Wriggling down,
which caused Faramir to moan in his turn, Frodo
swirled his tongue around one nipple, then the other,
then began to slowly back down
Faramir's body which was tensing under him.

When he was straddling the base of Faramir's stomach,
Frodo could feel the erection against his rear.  He
paused, then leaned down until he was reclining on
Faramir's chest, chin on his hands.  Faramir raised
his head and opened his eyes, looking into Frodo's.

"I'm not going any further until you swear never to
mention what Boromir did to me again," said Frodo.  

"Frodo!"

"Swear!"

Faramir's head fell back in total surrender.  "I swear
by the Tree," he said.

Frodo slid further down along Faramir's body,
positioning himself on his upper thighs and leaning
down to slowly stroke, then lick the soft resilient
flesh.  Shutting his eyes, Frodo lost himself in the
intoxication of scent and feeling, advancing, then
retreating, the pulsing and flexing of the warm body
underneath him, the sweetness of Faramir, the rhythms
that swept Frodo up as well, all building to a final
climax.

Afterwards, Faramir pulled Frodo back up along his
body to kiss him.  They lay in the sunlight without
speaking, Frodo's head on Faramir's chest, his arms
around Faramir's neck, Faramir's arms around him.

When they returned to the Lodge, they pulled two of
the straw-stuffed mattresses off the narrow beds and
piled them, along with all the pillows, on the floor
in front of the fireplace.


Chapter 6:  The Grey Company


Gandalf heard the rumors in the street as he left the
Houses of Healing.  He had started spending even more
time here because of the growing number of people
suffering from this new illness.  Lenhir and the other
Healers were running themselves ragged caring for the
patients, none of whom had recovered.  

Gandalf was frustrated.  The disease had no physical
cause that he could find.  None of the victims had any
wound or mark.  They seemed to be stricken while they
slept and could not wake, passing into a deeper sleep.
 Those affected first were starting to die, and he
feared that the illness could sweep the City.  He
feared that they would not be able to find the cause,
or a cure.

But today the people on the street were not talking
about the illness.  They were talking about the
arrival of a Company from the North.  

After Gandalf heard the third conversation, describing
a group of Men who were all wearing grey cloaks and
riding horses yet who were not from the Riddermark, he
decided to go to the Citadel.

He and Aragorn had met in Rivendell earlier in the
year, and had one of their few disagreements.  Aragorn
was becoming impatient, wanting to claim the Kingship
of Gondor, having prepared for more than six decades
and knowing that he could not claim Arwen's hand until
he was King.  Gandalf did not think that he should
make his claim now.  

Gandalf thought he had convinced Aragorn to wait, but
perhaps he had been mistaken.

He walked to the Citadel and was admitted to the great
hall where Denethor held court.  The hall was
unusually full of people, the blaze of colors from
their clothes bringing new life into the hall. 
Gandalf walked towards the dais and saw that his fear
was right.  Aragorn stood in front of Denethor, his
hand resting casually on the blade of Narsil, the
green gem set in the silver eagle, the Elfstone that
gave him the name of Elessar, blazing at his throat.  

Elladan and Elrohir, the sons of Elrond Halfelven,
flanked him, their green and silver clothing as well
as their long, elaborately braided dark hair showing
their ears, clearly marking them as Elven.  Further
back in the hall, looking more or less like a massed
troop, stood Aragorn's kindred, the Dunedain, Rangers
of the North.  At first glance, Gandalf estimated
about thirty accompanied him.  

Denethor sat on his black chair with Boromir standing
at his side. Gandalf came near enough to hear what was
being said.

"My Lord Aragorn, you are welcome to Minas Tirith. 
You and your Company are welcome to stay here while we
consider the merits of your claim.  So great a
claim will need to be established and clear proofs
will be required.  We have been hard pressed in Gondor
these past years, and the Sword of Elendil would be a
help beyond our hope-if such a thing could indeed
return out of the shadows of the past," said
Denethor.

Aragorn bowed.  "I understand your doubt.  Little
do I resemble the figures of Elendil and Isildur as
they stand carven in their majesty in these halls.  I
am but the heir of Isildur, not Isildur himself.  I
have had a hard life and a long one."

After a few more courteous exchanges, the audience
ended, and Aragorn, Elladan and Elrohir were escorted
to rooms in the Citadel.  Gandalf noted that Denethor
appointed Boromir to lead the Dunedain to barracks
some streets away.  He'd worry about Aragorn being
separated from his kin if he wasn't sure that Elrond's
sons would protect Aragorn who was fairly lethal
himself.

Later, Gandalf went to Aragorn's room.  When he
knocked, Aragorn told him to enter.  Gandalf found him
sitting in front of a fire, Narsil, sheathed, close at
hand.  The room he had been given was large and well
appointed, a large bed with crimson hangings,
comfortable chairs, rugs on the stone floor.  Only the
narrow windows were a reminder that the Gondor was
still in a state of war.

Aragorn smiled as Gandalf entered.

"I knew it was you," he said.  "I saw you in the
Hall."

Gandalf moved to stand in front of the fire.  He
leaned on his staff rather than sitting and frowned at
Aragorn.

"Why are you here, Aragorn?"

"I'm very glad to see you as well!"  Then his smile
dropped away, leaving him looking much older and worn
with care.  "Some time after you left Rivendell,
Elrond foresaw great danger for Frodo here in Minas
Tirith because of a prophecy that has come to the sons
of the Steward."

"A prophecy? What prophecy?"  Gandalf fumed.  He had
heard nothing about a prophecy from Faramir!

Aragorn leaned his head back and closed his eyes as he
recited:  

"Ignore not the Sword that was broken
	In Imladris it stands;
There shall be shown a token
	That Doom is near at hand,
For Elendil's Sword shall waken
	When the Halfling forth shall stand."

Gandalf was shocked.  He had no knowledge of this
prophecy, but Elrond's power of foresight could not be
denied.  And, he had to admit, Faramir had been so
involved with Frodo that he might not have thought to
mention the prophecy.  

Aragorn continued.  "Elrond advised me to gather as
many of the Dunedain as possible and to come South. 
If I did not, he told me, Frodo's life would be
claimed.  I had a hard time believing it myself-what
could one Frodo do to put himself in such danger?  How
could a hobbit, one we love so much, be so important? 
But I could not deny the power of Elrond's  will,
especially since it marched so well with the wishes of
my heart," Aragorn paused.  "And especially since I
know that on one level, he does not wish me to become
King of Men."  

Gandalf sank into a nearby chair and wished he had his
pipe and tobacco pouch with him.  He'd gotten out of
the habit of carrying it because the Archivist would
probably strike him down if he lit up near the
precious scrolls and because Lenhir did not want the
smoke to bother his patients.  But if he ever needed a
smoke!  

Aragorn was right.  Elrond, though he loved his foster
son, was not happy about Arwen's decision to give up
her immortality and marry Aragorn when he became King.
 

"Very well.  I believe you have done the best thing,
after all.  But I need to get a message out of the
City, to Frodo and Faramir."

"They aren't here?"  Aragorn sounded shocked.

"No.  I had to get them away, for protection.  It's a
long story-I'll tell you later.  But can one of the
Dunedain get out of the city quietly and journey to
Ithilien to bring them back, without alerting any of
Denethor's guards?"

Aragorn smiled again.  "I'm sure that Halbarad could
do so, easily.  I know he has served in Gondor and
Ithilien, as I did myself in the past.  And his
ability to move quietly is legendary by now.  Did I
ever tell you about the time he managed to sneak two
Dwarves, three barrels of ale, and a Hobbit  past me
when we were on a training exercise?"

Gandalf was surprised to find himself laughing, and he
wondered how long it had been since he had the chance.
 "No, but I want to hear the story.  AFTER we get
Halbarad started.  I'm glad he's here with you-Frodo
knows him, so will trust that the message he carries
is true."


Chapter 7:  The Summons

Frodo and Faramir were outside the lodge that
afternoon.  Faramir had offered to teach Frodo some
basic wrestling moves, ones that could help a person
in a fight against a larger opponent.  The focus
wasn't on beating the larger opponent, but on using
his size and weight against him to gain the chance to
escape.  

The problem was that every time they tried to
practice, the practice turned into lovemaking.

Frodo decided that, in all fairness, he shouldn't
really call THAT a problem.  He had learned some new
moves.  And even some wrestling tricks.

Now, even though he had missed the pivot and kick to
the back of Faramir's knee that was supposed to topple
the charging enemy, Faramir had obligingly fallen down
anyway, then swept his arm around Frodo's knees and
pulled him over as well.  

Frodo gasped as Faramir rolled over on him, hands busy
under his clothing.  Although he protested, it was
just for the show of things.  Privately, he was glad
Faramir had stopped treating him like he would break
at the least hint of rough handling.  Maybe those
stories he'd told about Pippin and Merry's wrestling
matches had convinced him hobbits might bend but
rarely broke!

"Having such long arms is an unfair advantage," Frodo
pointed out, while trying (not very hard) to escape.

"I'll take any advantage I can get," Faramir mumbled
into Frodo's hair, nuzzling his ear.

A twig snapped.  Faramir was instantly standing beside
Frodo, holding the foot-long knife that was never far
from his hand.  His sword was a few feet away as well.
 

In the next breath, Frodo saw the grey-cloaked Ranger
standing still under a tree and recognized Halbarad.
Scrambling to his feet, Frodo said, "Faramir, I
recognize him, he's a friend of Gandalf's."

Faramir relaxed slightly though he did not yet sheathe
his knife.

Halbarad bowed his head.  "I apologize, but you must
admit there is no good way to approach at such a time.
 I bring an urgent summons from Gandalf and Aragorn."

Faramir nodded, and sheathed his knife.  "You'd better
come in so we can speak in comfort."

Halbarad followed Frodo and Faramir into the lodge. 
When he told them of Aragorn's arrival and
presentation of his claim, Faramir was astounded. 
Frodo was less surprised, but then he had known about
the Rangers of the North all his life.  Apparently,
knowledge that Isildur's line still survived had been
lost in Minas Tirith.

Faramir wasted no time in preparing to leave.  When he
learned that Halbarad also had a horse, left tethered
some distance away, he proposed that they travel
together and leave immediately.  Halbarad agreed.

Frodo could have wished for a substantial meal before
they left, but knew that Faramir would never delay
answering so urgent a summons.  Stifling a sigh of
regret, he packed his things and prepared to return to
Minas Tirith.

They traveled late that night before resting, and
Frodo had a hard time sleeping.  The closer they got
to Minas Tirith, the more he feared their arrival.  

Chapter 8:  Diplomacy or War?

Frodo's fears continued to grow after their return to
the City.  Gandalf and Aragorn had met them at the
Houses of Healing.  Frodo had been happy to see
Aragorn but shocked at the worry in his face.

When Aragorn told him about Elrond's foreseeing and
the prophecy, Frodo was shocked and bewildered. 
Faramir confirmed that he had the dream twice, and
Boromir once, but Frodo could see no sense in it. 
What could he, a hobbit from the Shire, have to do
with the kingship of Gondor?  It made no sense.  

Nobody could make answer that question.  To add to
Frodo's concern, messages from Denethor had come
commanding that Faramir return to his room at the
Citadel and delay returning to Ithilien to resume
command.  The only good thing about the messages was
that they proved Denethor had not been aware of
Faramir's trip to Ithilien with Frodo.
  
Frodo returned to the room that he and Gandalf had
been assigned.  He was bored because everybody else
had work to do, and he had no responsibilities. 
Gandalf remained in the background, neither invited to
nor expected to attend the meetings at the Citadel,
but he was spending more time at the Houses of
Healing.  

Aragorn had suggested that they try athelas in their
treatment of the patients, and Gandalf told Frodo that
this treatment was the first that showed some promise.
 It was not a cure, but slowly, the ill stopped dying
although they did not wake.  Frodo asked both Lenhir
and Gandalf if he could help, but they refused.  The
problem had never been about the lack of people to
work with the patients but with the lack of knowledge.

Frodo tried to regain some part of the original
routine, visiting Shadowfax every morning, exploring
gardens during the afternoons.  He spent a lot of time
trying to figure out the prophecy, why he should be
the one to cause Elendil's sword to awaken, whatever
that meant.  Perhaps he needed to do some research on
his own in the Archives, but that would require going
to the Citadel during the day.  Gandalf and Aragorn
had both warned Frodo to stay out of sight of Boromir
and Denethor, and the Citadel guards.

The third night after their return to the City, Frodo
snuck out to meet Faramir for dinner in his rooms at
the Citadel.  He was just lonely enough to ignore the
advice Gandalf and Aragorn had given him.  Besides, he
reasoned, hobbits were very good at moving quietly and
avoiding notice, so this one night visit should not
concern them.  He left a note for Gandalf in the room,
donned his grey elven cloak, and went out into the
night.

Faramir was glad to see him but seemed preoccupied,
unwilling to talk, so Frodo assumed that things were
not going well for Aragorn.  He knew that Faramir was
trying to support Aragorn's claim, appealing to the
lords in each meeting, against the will of his father
and brother.

Frodo left early, depressed, and started back to the
room.  As he left the main area of the Citadel and
turned into the winding lane that would take him
directly to the room, several large shapes surrounded
him.  Before he could call out or react, he felt a
stunning blow, felt himself falling forward into
blackness.

* * * * * * *

Aragorn woke with a start, aware of a soft knocking at
his door and equally aware that it was barely dawn. 
Rising from the bed, he drew Narsil before going to
answer the door.  He moved silently on bare feet over
the rugs and stone floor.  

He did not really think Denethor would try to kill
him, not in the Citadel at least, but he was
determined to take every precaution.  He would not
ruin by a moment's inattention the culmination of a
dream he had been working for over six decades to
achieve.

When he opened the door, he let his sword fall. 
Gandalf, a faint light shining from his staff, and
Faramir stood outside.  Faramir, at least, looked as
if he had dressed in a hurry in the dark.  Gandalf's
robe looked as it always did.

"Come in," Aragorn whispered, not wanting to wake
others, shutting the door quietly behind them.  "What
is wrong?"

"Frodo is missing," Gandalf said.  

"Since when?"  Aragorn had known from Gandalf's story
of Boromir's assault on Frodo that the hobbit faced
danger than even Elrond had not specified.  But he had
not expected this.

Gandalf nodded at Faramir, who spoke.

"He sent me a note yesterday, asking to meet for
dinner last night.  We did, and he left soon after to
return to his room.  I should have gone with him, I
realize now, but..."  Faramir sank into a chair,
clenching his hands. 

Aragorn nodded, feeling guilty.  He and Gandalf had
warned Frodo, but they should have considered guarding
him.  They had all been too focused on the meetings,
on the belief that Denethor-or Boromir-would not
jeopardize the uneasy peace by a direct attack.  They
had obviously been blind.  He felt his guilt slowly
building to anger.   

Gandalf continued.  "I was working at the Houses of
Healing and lost track of time.  When I came home a
short while ago, I found our room empty and a note
from Frodo.  I went immediately to Faramir."

"What can we do?"  Aragorn's impulse was to order a
full search for Frodo.  He had known the hobbit nearly
all his life, since Bilbo had adopted him and brought
him to Bag End.  He had always appreciated Frodo's
interest in other times and places, in other cultures
and languages, finding him unusual among the Hobbits
in this respect.  They had met often in the Shire and
in Bree, and when Frodo started traveling with Bilbo,
in Rivendell and even Mirkwood.  Now, he realized just
how much he cared for Frodo, and how much he wanted to
do something to save him immediately.  Aragorn began
pacing, still gripping Narsil.

When he turned, he saw Gandalf looking at him and
flushed.  Gandalf probably could see every thought
he'd had.  

"We cannot do what would most satisfy you, Aragorn,"
Gandalf gently pointed out.  "To order your men to
search the City would be disastrous."

Faramir nodded, silent.

But Aragorn could see the grief and fear in his eyes,
contained but raging within.  For the first time he
realized just how much Faramir loved Frodo.

"Denethor would take such an action as a direct
challenge to his authority," Faramir said.  "And the
Dunedain are vastly outnumbered."

Aragorn continued to pace, angry to find himself in
such a position.  He had thought it politic to come
with only a few dozen companions, counting on the
strength of his claim rather than arms.  He had no
desire to be a conqueror of Gondor.  Instead, he
wanted to heal the divide between the North and South
kingdoms, reunite and renew the strength of old that
had faded over time!  And he'd thought that Elrond's
foreseeing meant that if he came, Frodo would be safe!
 But prophecy can be a double-edged sword.

"I think I must be the one to act," Gandalf said.  "I
can search for Frodo without it generally being known.
 It will take a little time, but I can determine if he
is in the City."

Aragorn realized that Frodo could have been taken away
from Minas Tirith.  "And if he is not?" he challenged
Gandalf.

"If he is not, I can also work on determining where he
is.  I have known Frodo all his life, and my knowledge
of him will help.  If he has been moved, my search
will take more time. In the meantime, your parts will
be to act as before.  Aragorn, you cannot speak for
Frodo because of the prophecy-to single him out in any
way would be to confirm his importance.  And Faramir,
you cannot challenge your father or Boromir."

Faramir looked up at him, quivering with rage.  Before
he could speak, Gandalf spoke again, his voice low but
harsh.

"Denethor knows, and I think Boromir suspects, that
you do not support them in this matter.  The major
reason Frodo has been taken-and I do believe he has
been taken, not killed-is because of the prophecy. 
But I believe that another reason is to control you. 
The only way you can help save him is to appear to
submit to them utterly.  Can you do that?"

Faramir bowed his head for a moment, then looked up. 
Aragorn saw that he had somehow buried all his rage
and pain.  His carefully schooled expression showed no
emotion that Aragorn could discern.  Aragorn wondered
what in his past experiences could have created such
skill in so young a man.  

"Good," Gandalf said.  "Faramir, I think you need to
return to your rooms now.  You don't want to act in
any way that may cause your father and brother to
suspect you of working with us. In fact, if you can
argue against Aragorn's claim at the next meeting, it
can only help"

Faramir nodded.  "But you will let me know what you
discover?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"As soon as I know anything, I shall come to you,"
Gandalf promised.

Faramir rose and left the room.  Gandalf shut the door
and returned to Aragorn who was still pacing.

"Please sit down, my dear boy.  It's too early in the
morning for so much activity," Gandalf said.  

Aragorn forced himself to sit, then asked Gandalf. 
"What did you want to tell me that you could not say
in front of Faramir?"

"Just this.  I suspect that Denethor has begun to use
the palantir that was in the Tower of Ecthelion. 
Boromir may have been drawn in as well.  But I do not
know if he is as corrupted as his father."

Aragorn nodded, saying, "He seems to contradict
himself in the meetings, at times supporting his
father entirely, at others, seeming to acknowledge my
claim.  His behavior is strange."

"Exactly," Gandalf said.  His attempt to rape Frodo
shows he has been affected to some degree.  What I
dare not tell Faramir is that I suspect both his
father and brother are being consumed by Sauron."

Aragorn nodded slowly.  It made sense, and could be
the answer to all the questions.

Gandalf continued, grimly.  "I am not sure whether
Denethor or Boromir is behind this latest attack on
Frodo.  And the question is just how much they have
been Shadowed, how much will of their own they retain.
 Both are men of strong will and would resist Sauron's
domination for some time.  We will need to determine
just how affected they are.  Perhaps you can think of
a way.  In any case, over the next few days, I would
ask that you not pressure them any more.  My first
task is to find Frodo, but we also need to be
considering how to call in help."

"Very well," Aragorn said.  "I will ask Elladan and
Elrohir for their advice.  And in future, perhaps we
should arrange to meet at the Houses of Healing.  I no
longer trust this Citadel-it seems likely to fall from
within."


Chapter 9:  Captivity

Frodo lay curled up on the hard bed which would have
been small for a man but was spacious for a hobbit,
drifting in and out of sleep.  He guessed this was his
third day of captivity, if he was being given two
meals a day.  And if the first meal had come in the
morning after he was taken.  

He remembered little of his capture. The last thing he
recalled was walking back to the room after having
dinner with Faramir.  Suddenly, several men surrounded
him, and he had no chance to cry for help or run. 
Judging by the lump on his head, he had been struck
from behind.

The lack of food, of anyone's touch, of companionship,
and most of all, the lack of access to green spaces,
left him weak and in despair.  His only escape lay in
memory and dream.  Ever since Legolas had told him
about the Elves' state of waking sleep in which dream
seemed to be reality and memory was nearly
indistinguishable from reality, he had been fascinated
with the concept.  

Hobbits did not have the ability to dream in that way,
but he had practiced trying to make his dreams seem
real and his memories closer to reality ever since. 
Now, he tried to dream a garden into reality, a garden
in which he spent his days and nights with Faramir.  

It wasn't any garden he'd ever seen though.  He had
more than enough time to build one for himself, and he
stole the best from every garden or wooded glen he'd
ever seen.  Sam's roses, of course, were the hedge
that kept everyone else out.  Exploding in the full
bloom of summer, blazing crimson and gold, blushing
pink, they scented the air.  

Mallorn trees from Lorien surrounded the clearing,
towering high but letting enough sun in for the roses.
 Fragrant herbs from Ithilien grew along the ground. 
He loved the herbs-low to the ground and plain to look
at, they filled the air with richness, a spiciness
that complemented the sweetness of the roses.  

In the center of the garden, Faramir lay beside the
small stream that ran through the clearing, the same
stream that had fed the pool where they had first made
love.  The two rabbits lived there as well.

As his captivity went on, Frodo seemed to sink more
easily into his dream, to rouse less often.

The door opened.  Frodo heard it faintly, but refused
to open his eyes or react.  He'd learned early on the
guards would not speak to him, so he'd given up even
acknowledging their existence.  They came and went
twice a day with food and enough cold water for
drinking and rudimentary washing.  Once a day, they
replaced the full chamberpot with an empty one. 

But this time was different.  Only one set of
footsteps entered.  The guards always came in pairs,
though what threat he posed he could not tell.  The
door closed, and Frodo felt the bed give under a heavy
weight.  A large, warm hand caressed his head.

"Frodo."  It was Boromir.

Shocked from his dream, shocked at the contact, Frodo
lay still, his mind racing.  He should have guessed,
should have been planning what to say.  Who else could
it have been?

The hand moved to his shoulder, insistent, shaking. 
"Frodo, wake up."

Frodo rolled over, burrowing under the covers, eyes
squeezed shut, willing him to go away and leave him in
peace in the garden with Faramir.

The covers were pulled away.  Hands pulled him onto
his back, undid his shirt. Shuddering, Frodo tried to
pull away as the hands ran over his body.  The tricks
Faramir had showed him were probably useless here-in a
locked room with guards outside-but he could try to
delay him.  

And no matter what, Frodo knew he could not lie still
under this man's hands.  "Stop!  Please," he pleaded,
opening his eyes to see Boromir leaning over him.

"Are you ill?  Have you been hurt?"  Boromir sat back.
 

Both his voice and, Frodo realized, his hands were
much gentler than in their earlier encounter.  Frodo
distrusted the change, but, as he pulled his shirt
around himself, he realized that he may have
misunderstood Boromir's actions.  

"Nobody hurt me," he started, unsure of how much to
tell.  He didn't want to give Boromir any more power
over him than he already had.  But given the ignorance
in Gondor about Halflings, Boromir and the guards may
truly not have known what locking a hobbit in a closed
room for days might do.

Frodo sat up slowly, dizzy.  "No, they didn't hurt me.
 But being locked up away from the sun, grass, the
free air, inside this dead stone...for a hobbit, that
is injury.  In my country, we make our homes in holes
in the ground, spending days outside and many nights
as well."  Frodo remembered summer nights spent
camping out under the stars with Sam.  "To be locked
up like this weakens us."  Easier to talk about
hobbits in the plural than to admit his own weakness.

Boromir looked at him, gaze steady.  Frodo returned
his gaze.  It was the truth, or mostly the truth.  The
rest of it he would rather die than speak of.  That
hobbits were so rarely isolated from their people,
from touch, companionship, talk, was another reason
for his despair.  

Frodo knew that he had a greater tolerance for
loneliness than many hobbits because of his years
spent traveling with Gandalf.  However, he wondered if
the recent time of closeness with Faramir, their
companionship and lovemaking, may have left him more
vulnerable than he would have been in the past. 
Boromir didn't need to know anything more than what he
had said, Frodo decided.

Boromir stood up and went to the door, calling for the
guard.  Stepping outside the door, he gave orders, his
voice too muffled for Frodo to hear.  Returning in a
few minutes, he came to the bed and lifted Frodo, who
stiffened in his arms.  

"Let me walk!" Frodo said.

"You are too weak."

As Frodo shoved against his arms, Boromir sat down,
shifting him back to the bed.  "Frodo, I swear that I
will do nothing unless you wish it.  What I did
earlier...was shameful.  But that is not why I brought
you here.  Let me carry you outside, this once."

Frodo nodded, then suffered being carried outdoors to
a small courtyard with an ill tended lawn and a few
struggling shrubs.  A bench sat in the middle of it,
and a guard stood next to it holding some chains. 
Frodo's hands were chained loosely behind his back,
and another chain led from his ankle to the base of
the heavy stone bench.  

But at least he could sit on the ground.  The guard
left, but Boromir remained, sitting on the bench.  

Frodo managed to turn away from him and stretch
full-length on the grass, his bare chest pressed to
the ground, one cheek to the earth.  He felt stronger
already though the neglect of this poor yard was
obvious.  The grass was sparse, the ground hard. 
Everything struggled to survive in spite of the
surrounding stone, the lack of care and nourishment. 
But the strength of the earth and all growing things
entered him, clearing his head and giving him a sense
of hope.  

After a short time, Boromir spoke. "Come, Frodo, we
must talk."  

Frodo did not move, did not speak.  Whatever happened,
he had to tell Boromir as little as possible, play
stupid.  Some of the men he'd talked to in the City
obviously thought of Halflings as similar to their own
young and were quite ready to believe that he wasn't
very bright.

"Frodo?"

"Why?"  Awkwardly, Frodo managed to roll over so he
was facing Boromir.  

Boromir stood, leaned over, and pulled Frodo up. 
Sitting down again, Boromir positioned Frodo in front
of him. "Why what?"

"Why have you imprisoned me?" Frodo demanded.

Boromir shifted on the bench.  "It's not really
prison,  but-"

"Worse, since nobody knows where I am!"

"We need information.  Everyone knows Halflings live
in the North.  What do you know about these Northern
Rangers?  The Northern Kingdom?  About Aragorn?"

Frodo felt his jaw drop.  "But...but...Gandalf can
tell you anything-"  he stopped, realizing just  how
naive he was.  Maybe he was stupid.  "You don't
trust Gandalf."  And Gandalf had told him to say
nothing about Aragorn while in Minas Tirith.  

But Gandalf hadn't foreseen what would happen to him. 
Or had he, Frodo wondered.  Gandalf often did not tell
you everything he knew.

"Gandalf goes his own way, has his own purposes," said
Boromir.

Frodo shrugged and decided to try to appear helpful
without saying much.  "I can tell you little more than
I have known Aragorn all my life, known of the Rangers
and their descent from the line of the old Kings.  I
have never seen their kingdom," Frodo knew he was
almost lying, but he made himself keep looking into
Boromir's eyes. 

He knew there was no kingdom, that the old city of
Annuminas beside Lake Evendim had fallen into ruin,
that Fornost was known in the Shire and Bree as
Deadmen's Dike, and people feared to go there. 
However, he hadn't said there was a kingdom, just that
he hadn't seen it.  

It couldn't hurt Aragorn if Boromir and his father
thought there was a kingdom, a power in the North
behind Aragorn.  And, thinking of Elrond of Rivendell
and Gandalf, Frodo was sure the powers in the North
did support Aragorn.

Boromir leaned forward, arms resting on his legs, eyes
intent.  "And the sword?"

"Hobbits care little for tales of past wars and
weapons.  My uncle collects stories, so I have heard
him and Gandalf talking.  As far as I know, Aragorn,
Isildur's Heir, carries the sword of Elendil,
reforged."

"Why is a Halfling mentioned in the prophecy?"

"I do not know!"  Frodo heard how his frustration and
anger showed in his reply, but he didn't care.  "I
only learned about this prophecy recently, and do not
understand it!  It was in your dream-why shouldn't you
tell me!"

Boromir sat back, musing.  "I believe you do not know,
Frodo.  But what from I have studied of Gondor's and
Middle-earth's history, prophecies often make little
sense until after the events have occurred.  You are
the only Halfling who has ever come to Gondor, so it
must refer to you.  For some reason, you are important
in this dark time.  That is the real reason why
my-"Boromir stopped, looking away for a moment. "Never
mind."

Frodo realized that Boromir had told him something he
hadn't meant to.  Denethor must be the one who ordered
him taken.  It was all too much, too confusing for a
hobbit from the Shire.  Nobody there even wanted to be
mayor, so the effort these men were all putting into
the question of who would rule Gondor bewildered him. 


Silence.  Boromir sat, legs apart and arms resting on
his legs, watching Frodo, who began to feel nervous.  
He tried to step back, but Boromir reached out and
easily picked him up.  Within a breath, Frodo found
himself sitting on Boromir's lap, legs dangling on
either side of his, held gently but firmly by the
arms.

Boromir's voice was soft as he spoke.  "My brother has
never been so obedient to our father before, or to me.
 Though he does not know who holds you, he fears the
worse.  He dares not accuse or question, so his only
choice is to obey.  His actions show he feels great
love for you, Frodo."

Frodo shut his eyes to hide the blaze of his emotions,
love, jubilation, fear for Faramir's vulnerability,
for his own.  He had dreamed of hearing such a
declaration of love from Faramir, but hearing it by
way of his brother was terrifying.

"Even Gandalf is distracted as I have never before
seen although he is little seen in the Citadel these
past few days.  His distraction is mostly because of
you, I think.  We have no lore about Halflings in
Gondor apart from a few old songs.  I would know
more...."  

Boromir's hands ran up Frodo's arms to his shoulders,
gently pushed his open shirt down over his shoulders
and arms, baring his upper body.  

"I wonder at what could cause such love..."  Boromir's
hands slid down from his shoulders, over his chest,
pausing to caress his nipples.  One hand slid down
over his stomach to rest between his legs, cupping him
gently.  The other hand slid around his back, drawing
him closer to Boromir, sliding down inside his pants,
rubbing, then probing.

"You swore you would do nothing to me I did not wish,"
Frodo accused, trying to twist away.  But his feet
could not reach the bench, and his arms were chained
behind his back.  With horror, he felt his body
responding to the gentle touch of Boromir's hands.

"Your body is saying you wish this, Frodo," murmured
Boromir, his fingers caressing.

Frodo realized with shame that the days locked away,
starved of touch and companionship, had left him
vulnerable to Boromir's expertise.

Boromir leaned forward, his lips seeking Frodo's.  But
Frodo twisted his head away, desperate to deny him
something.

"But I say I do NOT wish it."  He gasped, trying to
control his response to the skilled manipulation.

A sudden pounding at the courtyard gate and a call for
the Commander caused  Boromir to stop what he was
doing.  Gently lifting Frodo off his lap and setting
him on the bench, Boromir stood up.  He stopped only
to caress Frodo's head and promise to return, then
left.

Frodo sat huddled on the bench until the two guards
came to release him and take him back to the locked
room.  The next day, between his two meals, they came
and took him out into the court yard again, chaining
him, but leaving him in there alone for nearly an
hour.  

The day after, it was for less time.  The third day,
not at all.  Frodo realized that whatever orders
Boromir may have left were not being followed.  

When Frodo tried to return to his imagined garden, he
found the way blocked by Boromir.

After that, he stopped eating.

* * * * *

When Boromir left Frodo, he'd had every intention of
returning that day.   But he'd given orders that they
take Frodo to the courtyard daily just in case, then
he'd hurried to the Tower of Ecthelion.

There, as before, he found his father standing over
the palantir, staring raptly down, red light reflected
in his eyes.  

Denethor had questioned him at length about what he
learned from the Halfling, staring in the palantir the
whole time almost, Boromir thought uneasily, as if he
was confirming what Boromir said.  

After Boromir finished reporting, his father fell
silent.

Boromir realized that when he was not with his father,
he was beginning to think that Aragorn's claim was
just.  Isildur had left Minas Anor to return to the
Northern kingdom.  All knew his fourth son had been
born in Imladris and, grown, held the kingship of
Arnor.  This information was part of Minas Tirith's
lore.  And Elrond's sons accompanied Aragorn, their
support for him obvious.  And the prophecy, along with
Frodo's presence, surely confirmed that Aragorn was
the rightful King of Gondor.

While news had come of the North Kingdom's defeat by
the Witch King of Angmar, there had been time enough
for the kingdom to be re-established.  And Aragorn
carried Narsil.  Frodo's information, scanty was it
was, served to confirm Aragorn's standing in the North
although, as Denethor pointed out, Gandalf could be
forcing the Halfling to say anything.  

However, when Boromir was with Denethor in the Tower
for any time, as now, his thoughts seemed to slow.  He
felt as if he was sinking into quicksand, cold
clinging mud creeping up into his mouth and eyes.  It
was clear that Aragorn's claim was false, a wicked
plot no doubt created by Gandalf to claim lordship
over the Kingdom of Men.  

When Boromir struggled to communicate all he thought
to his father, Denethor would not listen.  

This meeting ended as the two others had.  Boromir had
sworn to himself that he would not allow his hand to
be held to the palantir again.  But as before, his
father moved quickly, gripping his wrist so tightly
that he could feel the bones grinding together,
forcing his hand, palm down, against the burning
stone.  The violation, both physical and spiritual,
assaulted him again.

This time when his father gave him leave to go with
instructions to interrogate the Halfling again,
forcing him to tell the truth by any means necessary,
Boromir went directly to his rooms instead.  He
reached them just in time to throw up in privacy
rather than in the hall.  

Afterwards, he flung himself across the bed, gripping
one of the bedposts, feeling the cold sweat breaking
out on his body, biting down on his lip until he bled,
exercising all his will not to move, to lie there
until he felt his body was his own again.  

He had meant to return to Frodo.  But he would not. 
Not for several days.  Though he didn't know what
story he would tell Denethor this time.

This was the third time his father had summoned him to
the Tower, forcing him into contact with that accursed
stone.  Boromir now knew that some will in it was
trying to force him to act.  Even now, he shied away
from even thinking about what the nature of that will
might be.  

But he was beginning to see a pattern, one that struck
fear to his heart.  He had assaulted Frodo soon after
the first contact.  Then, after the second, he had
been the one to strike Frodo down in the street.  His
act had been unnecessary and brutal.  A Halfling could
not escape from or fight three armed Men!  

Boromir cringed as he recalled the images that filled
his mind as he looked at the Halfling unconscious in
the street at his feet.  That was why he had ordered
the men to take Frodo to the abandoned house,
promising them torments if they harmed him in any way,
ordering them always to enter the room in pairs to
watch each other.  He'd waited several days before
questioning him.  He had told his father that Frodo
was injured during his capture.

Now, Boromir writhed on the bed, trying to fight off
the images that flooded his mind.  Images that he was
being tempted to make into reality.  

Frodo, broken and bleeding, lay on the ground in
front of him, his helpless slave.

Frodo lay chained to a bed, open to Boromir's every
desire.  

Frodo crawled to him, bleeding, to beg for his love.

And Faramir, chained to the wall, watched and bled
within.

Boromir gripped the bedpost harder, forcing himself to
lie still on the bed, feeling his fingernails tear and
bleed, welcoming the pain as a way to fight the lust
that raged within him.  He refused to give in, refused
to return to Frodo, refused to try to ease his body.  

He would not submit to this evil.  

Chapter 10:  Rescue

After what felt like days of being lost in the dark,
wandering through a land of shadows, Frodo became
aware of a tall dark figure looming over him.  Feebly,
he tried to strike it, tried to cry out.

A familiar voice whispered testily, "Quiet, my dear
hobbit, unless you want those guards to wake up!"

Gandalf!  Frodo would have wept if he could.  He felt
Gandalf's familiar hands wrapping him in one of the
blankets.  He was lifted easily and carried out the
door.  

A faint light emanated from the end of Gandalf's
staff, and Frodo could see the two guards, standing,
sound asleep.  Gandalf carried him through several
hallways and down a number of stairs before leaving
through a large double door which he left standing
open.  

"Let them wonder,"  he murmured to Frodo.  

Frodo, warm in Gandalf's arms, rested his head on the
wizard's shoulder.  The clean night air washed over
him, intoxicating and strengthening him.  He slipped
in and out of a healing sleep as Gandalf moved through
the night.  

When Gandalf halted, tapping on a closed door with his
staff, Frodo woke.  He realized they were at the
Houses of Healing when Lenhir opened the door, but he
did not recognize this entrance.  Lenhir closed the
door behind Gandalf, smiled at Frodo, then led them
down several halls in silence.  The halls were narrow,
winding, and dusty, the only light coming from
Gandalf's staff.  

Finally, they entered a small room where a fire burned
brightly, a covered bath and a small table set to each
side of the fireplace.  Double doors opened directly
into the night.  As Gandalf entered, a figure stood up
from the bed and came forward.  

Frodo looked up to see Faramir holding his arms out. 
Gandalf attempted to give Frodo to Faramir, but Frodo
twisted in his arms and leapt happily into Faramir's,
burrowing into his body.  After a long ecstatic hug,
Faramir set Frodo down in at the table and pulled
forward a covered tray of food.  Uncovering it
revealed fresh bread and butter, two large bowls of
mushroom soup, and a mug of hot milk.  

Gandalf and Faramir sat down to watch Frodo eat.

Halfway through his second bowl, Frodo slowed down a
bit.  "How did you find me?" he asked, buttering his
fourth slice of bread.

Gandalf sighed.  "Elimination, mostly.  I suspected
Boromir from the first, of course, but I had to work
through many of his men to discover the location where
he had imprisoned you.  I could not discern the
information in Boromir's mind because he is being
Shadowed.  And I fear that so are many of the
Citadel's guards."

Faramir looked sharply at Gandalf.  "Shadowed?  You
had not told me this!  What do you mean?"

"I did not want to tell you when you were likely to
see him or talk to him.  It would have been too easy
for you to reveal what you knew to him or your
father."

"I understand."  He looked at Frodo.  "Forgive me,
Frodo, for putting you at such risk."

"I.." Frodo began, but was interrupted by Gandalf.

"Nonsense," he said testily.  "You may believe your
feelings for each other are the most important things
on Middle-earth, but your father is focused much more
on Aragorn's claim and the prophecy.  And
furthermore..."

It was Frodo's turn to interrupt Gandalf, something he
rarely did.  "Boromir asked me about the prophecy," he
said, "and about what I knew about Aragorn's kingdom."

Faramir and Gandalf both looked at Frodo, then at each
other.

Gandalf nodded.  "You see, Faramir?  I believe that
Denethor and Boromir have made a foolish decision to
use the palantir.  And that leaves them open to the
influence of Sauron.  If he can force them to oppose
Aragorn directly, to create war between the North and
the South, he would be able to extend his influence. 
At the worse, he might be able to conquer the victor
of such a disastrous conflict and rule supreme on
Middle-earth."

Gandalf stood.  "I will have to talk to Aragorn.  I
don't want you to leave the Houses of Healing
Faramir-I have an idea I want to consider, and we will
talk tomorrow.  For tonight, stay here, and don't
wander around tomorrow.  This room is in one of the
older buildings, not in much use now, but don't take
any chances.  Make sure Frodo sleeps and does not
overeat."

Frodo blushed, looking down at the empty tray.  

"And make sure that all he does is sleep and
rest for at least two nights.  Hobbits recover from
rough treatment more quickly than most Men realize,
but he spent more than a week locked in a room.  In
fact, if you want to sleep on the lawn, he will
recover even more quickly.  Let me repeat:  I mean
SLEEPING only."  With that last admonition, he swept
out the door.

Frodo decided to rearrange the utensils on the tray
rather than look at Faramir.

But then two warm hands covered his.  Frodo looked up
and forgot his embarrassment.  

Faramir smiled at him.  "Gandalf asked Lenhir to make
sure there was a warm bath waiting for when you came
back.  Would you like one?"

Frodo was only too eager to bathe after a week of
having nothing but cold water to wash with.  Faramir
insisted on helping out of his clothes and into the
tub.  After a prolonged soak and scrub, Faramir
toweled him dry, and pulled one of his own shirts out
of a pack in the corner of the room.

"Gandalf decided not to move any of your belongings
out of the room in case someone noticed," Faramir
explained.  "So for now, you'll have to make do with
something of mine."

Frodo decided that he would protest this decision
tomorrow.  For tonight, he settled for rolling the
sleeves up as far as they would go and sitting in
front of the fire.  Faramir sat down beside him.

"What did Gandalf mean, about sleeping on the lawn? 
About your being locked away?" Faramir asked.  

Frodo yawned.  Faramir would have to be satisfied with
the short version tonight.  "Hobbits live outdoors
much of the time, close to the Earth.  We cannot bear
being locked away for any time."  He shuddered at the
memory of lying enclosed in dead stone, feeling his
strength drain away.  "Except for a few hours after
Boromir understood my problem, I was locked inside a
room the whole time."  

Faramir stroked his head, running fingers through his
damp curls.  "I hadn't known.  You always seemed so
strong, but, of course, we were outdoors much of the
time.   Wait here."

Jumping to his feet, Faramir gathered as much of the
bedding as he could in his arms and went out the open
doors.  He made a second trip back for the rest of it.
 Then he came back in and picked Frodo up.  It felt so
good Frodo didn't even think of protesting.  Faramir
carried him outside and set him down in a nest of
pillows and blankets on the lawn, covering him with a
blanket.

Frodo could feel that this courtyard had been tended,
cherished, even if the building that surrounded it was
older and less used than others.  Stars blazed
overhead, and a full moon shone in the eastern sky. 
The scents of herbs and night-blooming flowers floated
in the warm air..  

Faramir stripped off his clothes and settled down next
to him, pulling him close to lie in the curve of his
arm, head on his shoulder. Frodo sighed happily.

After a few moments, Faramir spoke.  "I cannot say I
was glad, exactly, to hear what Gandalf said about the
Nameless Enemy Shadowing Boromir, but I was relieved. 
We had conflicts when we were young over who had the
best sword, the strongest horse, the keenest hunting
dog-but this, this attempt was so unnatural.  I am so
sorry, Frodo, that..."

Frodo reached out to lay his hand over Faramir's
mouth.  "Don't you remember your oath," he asked,
trying to sound as stern as Gandalf in his grumpier
moments.  

"Yes, but, that was before he..."

"You swore by the Tree."  Frodo kept his hand firmly
against Faramir's mouth, so felt the warm breath of
his laughter.

"So I did, Frodo.  Good night, then."

"Good night."

Curled up together under the stars, they soon slept.

Next morning Frodo woke when the Sun was high enough
to shine over the building walls into his eyes.  He
was curled up under the blanket, his back warm against
Faramir, and sometime during the night, Faramir's
shirt had come off.  

Feeling much stronger, Frodo sat up and turned to lean
over Faramir who was still deep in sleep.   He had
pushed the blanket away in his sleep.  Frodo sat a few
moments, trying to memorize everything, amazed at how
lucky he was.  Then he began to kiss Faramir awake.

Faramir's mouth opened under his, sweet and warm, but
then as he woke completely, he stopped the kiss,
gently holding Frodo's face between his hands.  "No,
Frodo.  You heard what Gandalf said."  

"Hobbits recover fast."

"No."  Faramir lifted Frodo on top of him, arranging
him so that Frodo's head was pillowed on his chest. 
The beat of Faramir's heart under his cheek, the slow
powerful rise and fall of his breath, was all warmth
and closeness.  Frodo lay quietly for a few moments,
then tried to wriggle down.  It had worked before, but
this time, Faramir's arms came up to hold him firmly.

"Sleep, Frodo."  Warm hands began stroking his back,
up and down, but only his back.  Frodo resigned
himself to his fate, and relaxed under the warm Sun
and hands.  He enjoyed the backrub until he fell
asleep again.

They were eating breakfast when Gandalf returned.  

"Is this first or second breakfast?" he asked wryly.

Faramir laughed.  "First, technically, although I
suppose it is nearer the noontime meal.  But you did
say Frodo was to sleep as much as he could."

"True.  Frodo, how are you feeling?" 

"Very well," Frodo said.  "Much better than might be
expected," he added, hopefully.  

"Good.  I want you to rest another day," Gandalf said,
crushing Frodo's hopes.  "And then, I want you both to
leave for the Riddermark."

Frodo noticed that Faramir was as surprised as he was.
 Rohan!  "Why?" he said.

"Aragorn and I have prepared a letter for you to take
to Theoden.  Given the Shadowing of Denethor and
Boromir, and how it's affecting the City, I think it
would be a good idea to have an outside force, loyal
to Gondor, but untainted by the palantir, available.
Plus, getting you both out of Minas Tirith strikes me
as a very good idea.  Frodo is still at risk, and you
may be as well, Faramir."

Faramir shrugged and spread his hands in surrender. 
"Whatever you think best, Mithrandir."

"I'm glad someone isn't trying to argue with me,"
Gandalf said, glaring at Frodo who smiled back. 
Gandalf must believe he was feeling better if he was
willing to glare at him.

"Shadowfax has consented to bear you both to Rohan. 
He should be able to bring you to Meduseld in three
days.  His presence will be further assurances for
Theoden.  Now get some more rest, and I'll bring
Shadowfax to the Houses at dawn tomorrow."

After giving his orders, Gandalf left, giving Frodo no
other chance to try to persuade him that he was fully
recovered.

Frodo looked at Faramir, who was looking back at him
with amusement.  

"Maybe we can have another plate of muffins before
taking a nice nap outside," Faramir suggested with a
smile.

Frodo sighed and agreed.


Chapter 11:  Politics by Any Other Name

Boromir returned to his rooms after the long meeting. 
He would have some food brought to his room and then
sleep.  He could not face the ordeal of  the public
dinner which just extended the misery of the meeting
to include food and music.  His head ached.   

These political meetings had always exhausted him more
than any training for war or even the actual battles. 
To sit for hours while people spoke, knowing that many
were lying or deluding themselves, competing for
position, able to reduce the blood of people and their
lives to numbers or to marks on a map, had always been
intolerable.  

But the current meetings between Denethor and Aragorn
took intolerable to a whole new level.  Occurring
every few days with a new set of lords and nobles of
Gondor, these meetings made armed warfare seem like a
pleasant retreat.  

Nothing openly discourteous was ever said.  Nobody
ever raised his voice.  Nothing new was ever, could
ever, be said.  Everything could only be repeated. 
The only reason Boromir had survived today was that
for some reason Aragorn seemed willing to retreat, did
not appeal to the recent set of lords from Lossarnach
who had been brought in to evaluate his claim.

Whatever the reason for Aragorn's relenting, Boromir
could only be glad.  Yet the tension between Aragorn
and Denethor still could have turned back a sword. 
Elladan and Elrohir, who accompanied Aragorn
everywhere in public, at least, were terrifying in
their ability to project a polished courtesy overlying
a lethal menace.  Boromir wondered how many centuries
it took to achieve that manner.

Such meetings made him doubt he had any ability to
follow his father as Steward.  Of course, he thought
as he opened the door, if Aragorn won the Kingship and
all that he desired was achieved, then the Office of
the Steward would carry much less responsibility.    

He halted in the doorway, unable to believe his eyes. 


Aragorn was in his room, leaning nonchalantly against
the far wall by the narrow window.  

"Shut the door," Aragorn said.

Boromir kept staring.  As far as he could see, Aragorn
bore no weapon.  He wore a dark green tunic and
leggings, much worn, and was not wearing the Elfstone.
 His face was grave.  What was he doing here?

"Boromir, unless you want all passersby to hear what
we say, shut the door."  Aragorn's voice was a bit
louder as he repeated his earlier command.

Boromir stepped over the stone threshold, swung the
door shut behind him and, as an afterthought, threw
the bolt.  He didn't think he wanted anybody to walk
in on what they had to say.

He moved forward to the middle of the room.  But it
didn't seem to matter where he was.  Aragorn commanded
the room and would probably have done so in any place.

"What do you want?" Boromir asked.

"I want to talk to you about Frodo."

Boromir felt himself reddening.  He didn't know how
Frodo had been freed from the locked room in the
abandoned mansion.  He'd walked through open doors to
find both guards sleeping.  But he was fairly sure
Gandalf had been involved.  

Denethor had been angry at the news, but Boromir had
to admit that he was relieved to find Frodo gone, and
to learn, later, that Faramir was not in the City
either.  He had not told his father of his brother's
absence, letting him think that Faramir had retreated
to the Houses of Healing.  His father did not seem to
care where Faramir was in his increasing obsession
over Aragorn.

"What about him?"  Boromir told himself that he didn't
have to answer to Aragorn.

"Why did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Try to rape him."  Aragorn's voice was steel.  His
eyes were pitiless as he watched Boromir.

Boromir knew he was flushing; he could feel the blood
pounding in his neck and head.  His family, as did the
others descended from the Numenorean houses, had the
ability to discern when people were telling the truth.
 

The power of Aragorn's gaze argued that Isildur's line
had an even greater ability.  Boromir had not been
expected this question although he'd suspected that
Aragorn knew he had taken Frodo captive.

It was hard to keep looking directly into Aragorn's
eyes, harder to speak, but he had to.  "I-it was
dishonourable, I know.  But I truly cannot say why I
did it.  I can say I regret it."

Aragorn's gaze softened somewhat.  Boromir knew he had
spoken the truth.  But not all of it.  He couldn't
stop now.

"I say this not to excuse myself, but to warn you." 
Boromir swallowed, feeling his throat dry and
constricted.  He forced himself to keep speaking.  "I
have begun to see a pattern regarding Frodo, one that
concerns me.  Do you know there is a palantir in the
Tower of Ecthelion?"

Aragorn nodded, silent, his eyes on Boromir's.

Boromir continued.  "Denethor has been using it. 
Three times, he has summoned me to the Tower. 
There.." Boromir closed his eyes, fighting to speak. 
He could feel the black will stirring within him, cold
mud rising in his throat, trying to stop him from
telling Aragorn what had happened.  

"He...I..."  his throat closed, he fought for breath,
strangling.

Aragorn stepped forward, his hands settling on
Boromir's shoulders.  The warmth and strength of his
body surrounded Boromir.  The pressure eased.  He
could breathe.

"There, each time, he forced my hand onto the burning
stone.  Something...in the stone... something I
realized was evil...seemed to take over.  I could feel
it, in my body and mind." Boromir shuddered at the
memory.  "After each of the first two times,
I....assaulted Frodo.  The first time on the
battlements,"  he looked at Aragorn.

Aragorn nodded.

"The second time, I struck him, for no reason, when we
took him captive."  Boromir forced himself to confess
the rest.  "The third time, I found myself imagining,
no, not imagining, but seeing, being tempted by, such
vile things that I forced myself not to return, not to
question him as Denethor ordered.  I did not go back
for nearly three days, and then I found Frodo missing,
the guards asleep."  

He held his hands out, cold and shaking, seeing the
still raw and broken nails where he had clawed the
bedpost.  "I truly do not think he would have survived
had I gone to him.  I have not gone back to the Tower
since, Aragorn.  I dare not."  

Aragorn released Boromir's shoulders, took his hands
gently.  Heat flashed through Boromir's body, he felt
as if he was bathed in a white light that did not
burn.

When Aragorn released his hands, Boromir almost fell. 


Aragorn supported him, then gestured to where two
chairs were arranged before the fire.  "Shall we sit?"
 

Boromir, exhausted, nodded, sank into the nearest one.
 Aragorn brought him wine.  When Boromir held out his
hand for the glass, he saw his fingers were healed on
that hand-and on the other as well.  His hands shook,
and Aragorn set the glass on the arm of the chair for
him.  

Aragorn sat in the other chair with his own glass of
wine.  He raised it to Boromir.  "I believe you, and
honor your victory, Boromir."

Boromir stared at him.  He had done shameful things. 
"How can you say that?"

"You have resisted the will of Sauron," Aragorn said. 
"Not completely, but you did not let him force you
into a great evil, the torture and murder of an
innocent.  Frodo is safe, but had you not resisted,
who knows what would have been the result.  At the
very least, I believe Faramir would have tried to kill
you which could have led to open war.  War between us,
between your father and me, or your brother and you,
is his goal.  Such conflict would make him stronger."

Boromir started to hear the Name so directly stated. 
They never said his Name in Gondor, using euphemisms
like the Nameless Enemy.  Perhaps they should have
named him directly, he thought, to remind themselves.

Aragorn continued.  "One of the Seven Stones of
Numenor resided in Minas Ithil.  Gandalf and I have
discussed the possibility that, when Sauron took over
that city and turned it into a place of dread, he
acquired the Stone. All the Stones are connected. 
Anyone looking into one of the Stones would thus be
drawn into communication with Sauron."  

Aragorn paused to sip some wine.  "Gandalf and I
believe that your father is being consumed by Sauron,
falling under his power more every time he uses the
Stone.  We  also suspect that he may be using it to
affect others, perhaps even that the unknown illness
affecting the City is related.  Gandalf knew you were
being Shadowed, Boromir.  That is why I came to you,
to learn if you were completely under Sauron's power
or if you were resisting.  How often do you think your
father looks into the Stone?"

"He has been using it daily for some time now,"
Boromir said.  "I suspect you are right."  He picked
up the glass of wine and drained it, pouring another
from the bottle Aragorn had placed on the floor
between them.  "I am not sure what to do."  He felt
helpless, the unfamiliar feeling making him feel even
more useless.

"Gandalf has sent for help, from Rohan.  I thought
that you might be willing to go to Ithilien to bring
at least some of the Rangers back.  I imagine they
have been far from the City since he began using the
Stone.  It is not likely he could have affected them
as he has some of the Citadel guards."

Boromir nodded.  The plan was a good one.  He had
commanded in Ithilien before Faramir.  The men would
follow him.  "I will leave tomorrow, although I do not
know what my father will think."  

Aragorn smiled.  "I think we may be able to convince
him that you were struck down by some illness and had
to be taken to the Houses of Healing.  Gandalf has
been working closely with one of the Healers there. 
The only problem would be if Denethor insisted upon
visiting you."

Boromir shook his head, "I do not think he will do
that.  He rarely leaves the Citadel anymore.  It's as
if he does not want to be far from the Tower."

Aragorn stood easily.  "Then let us go to the Houses
of Healing.  I am sure that you should be put directly
into a sickbed, for the sake of your health!  I do not
want your father to see you.  We will have to speak to
Gandalf, to coordinate your arrival with the Rangers
from Ithilien with the forces he has requested from
Rohan."

Boromir nodded, rising.  He realized he was so numb
that he hadn't even reacted  to the news that Gandalf
had sent  messages to the Riddermark.  Dully, he
looked around the room, wondering if he should take
anything with him.  But he could almost see the evil
that had nearly consumed him.  He would get supplies
for his journey at the Houses of Healing. 

They walked out into the warm night air, moving
quickly through the streets, anonymous figures.

Boromir followed Aragorn down the familiar lanes, not
really noticing where they were going.  He was
exhausted but also excited, and a little fearful.  So
much had happened in so short a time.  For the first
time in his life, he felt unsure of his ability to do
what was needed.

When they reached the Houses of Healing, Aragorn led
him around to an unfamiliar side entrance.  Aragorn
knocked softly, and a Healer opened the door, holding
a candle.  The Healer and Aragorn spoke softly
together for a few minutes, then the Healer gestured
for them to follow him down several hallways, into a
small room.

The Healer set the candle on the table and left them. 
Boromir stood with his back to the door, watching
Aragorn who stood in the center of the room.

"It's small, but at least it's removed from the main
buildings where the patients suffering from the
unknown illness are housed.  Gandalf is not sure how
the disease is transmitted, but there's no need to
take a risk.  You and I can talk with Gandalf
tomorrow, before you leave."

Boromir nodded, saying nothing, shifting his gaze to
the floor.  As the elder brother, he had always had to
be the strongest, he thought dizzily.  

He was only ten when their mother Finduilas died.  But
he had held Faramir, who was only five, in his arms
while his brother wept, commanding himself not to cry.
 He had lived up to or exceeded every one of
Denethor's expectations, and tried to protect Faramir
in those earlier years when he could not.  He had
helped him with extra weapons training and practice
until his brother grew to be an accomplished warrior,
the warrior their father and the City demanded.  He
had always been the strongest.  

Tonight, in the exhaustion left by his confession and
Aragorn's healing, he realized that he had resented
having to be the strongest.  And he saw clearly how
his own jealousy at the happiness  Faramir and Frodo
felt had grown.  He felt he had nothing.  

He had no doubt he had been Shadowed by Sauron, but
how open had he been to that Shadowing?  Had he
invited it?  Was he still at risk?  He wanted to talk
to someone, someone who could be the strongest for a
while.

Realizing suddenly that he had just been standing
there for who knew how long, staring at the floor, he
looked up at Aragorn who was standing in silence,
looking at him.  Boromir felt his gaze not as a weapon
this time, but as an invitation to ask for what he
needed.

Boromir moved unsteadily from the support of the door
to the table, pinching out the candle.  The room was
dark.  The darkness this time felt gentle, kind, the
kind of darkness he used to find in his room after his
mother had put them to bed and blown out the candles. 


He could speak to this darkness, to the warm strength
beside him.

"I am afraid."  For a moment he paused, waiting for
the punishment that had always followed any confession
of weakness.  Nothing happened.  

"I am afraid that Sauron's will may still take me,
that I somehow invited it..."  Boromir closed his eyes
even in the dark, feeling his heart pound, not knowing
what to ask for.  He stood in the dark, shaking and
alone, then felt Aragorn's hands on his shoulders
again.  

"Let me help you," he breathed, pulling Boromir close.
 They were of an equal height, Boromir realized, as
their lips met.  He had thought Aragorn taller.

As before, Aragorn's touch called forth fire.

But this fire was different.  It raged inside Aragorn
and reached out to Boromir.  Boromir opened his mouth
to breathe it in, reached out his arms to pull Aragorn
even closer, straining his body against the other's. 
He wanted to consume and be consumed.  Aragorn's arms
circled him.

Boromir felt the same exultation that had come at
times during practice with an opponent who was his
equal, even once or twice on the battlefield.  The
exultation came when two powers contend, each
confident in their own strength, each loving the
battle more than the result, taking joy in the contest
rather than the outcome.

He sensed the power before him was potentially much
stronger than he, but it was controlled now, matching
him.  He knew he could test it as much as he wished,
press harder, and it would never fail.  

Dimly, Boromir realized that Aragorn was undressing
him, they were moving to the bed.  He was naked under
Aragorn's body.  He arched under Aragorn's hands,
calloused and strong as a warrior's but gentle as a
Healer's, which were stroking him.  

Fire trailed over his body, and Boromir opened himself
entirely to those hands, begging without words because
no words were necessary.  Aragorn understood his
desire to be filled, completed, healed, as he had
never been before.  

As Aragorn entered him, Boromir closed his eyes,
focusing on his growing pleasure.  Suddenly, behind
his eyelids, instead of darkness, he saw the dead Tree
in the Courtyard, the Tree that had been dead for over
a century before he was even born, transformed.  

Leaves opened, dark above and silver below, and white
flowers bloomed, blazing in the Sun of a new day. 
Light exploded through Boromir and he cried out,
becoming the Tree for a timeless moment, feeling life
swelling within as he was drenched in life-giving
rain, yearning to create a new life.  

Boromir saw a sapling spring up in a waste of stones,
young leaves long and shapely, dark above and
silver beneath, and upon its slender crown it bore one
small cluster of flowers whose white petals shone like
the sunlit snow.

Boromir opened his eyes in the dark room, seeing
moonlight shining through the window onto the floor. 
He was held in Aragorn's arms.  He could feel he was
Healed and no longer needed to fear Sauron's will or
any darkness.

"What do you wish for your City and people, Boromir?"
asked Aragorn.

Boromir turned to look into his King's eyes.  "I wish
for you to Heal the City and people as you have healed
me, my brother, my Captain, my King."

Aragorn kissed him on the brow.  "Then sleep, for
tonight, and tomorrow, we will strive to make your
wish come true."

Chapter 12:  The Ride to Rohan

Shadowfax halted as the Sun sank below the western
peaks of the Ered Nimrais, the White Mountains that
ran from East to West.  The silver peaks glowed in the
last light.

Shaking his head and pawing the ground, Shadowfax
indicated that they should stop for the night.  Frodo
knew from experience that Shadowfax could easily have
traveled further.  But he appreciated the horse's
sensitivity to Faramir's pain.

And his intelligence.  They had stopped in Anorien,
near a small stream and a grove of trees.  There would
be water and firewood here, and the lush green grass
was all Shadowfax needed.  Faramir would probably need
something more, though.

The problem was that Faramir was used to traveling by
foot.  Although he could ride, and often did, as when
they had traveled to Ithilien, he was trained to ride
a horse with a saddle and bridle.  Not to mention
going at a much slower speed, Frodo reflected, as he
encouraged Faramir to dismount.  Riding Shadowfax who
would allow no bit or saddle took some rather
different skills, or perhaps just different
conditioning.

Groaning, Faramir managed to swing his leg back and
around, then more or less slid down Shadowfax's side. 
He managed to stand, rather than fall, but he was
leaning against Shadowfax's warm side rather than
standing on his own.

Frodo, who had vivid memories of the pain after his
first time riding Shadowfax all day, deftly slipped
off the other side.  Shadowfax stood like a rock
supporting Faramir until Frodo was able to come to his
side, slipping an arm around his waist, and
encouraging him to try moving.  Frodo knew he could
not support Faramir's full weight for any length of
time, but he could get him seated.

"Come on, just a step or two, and you can sit down."

Faramir settled to the ground, shedding the pack that
held their supplies.  Rather than sitting, he
stretched out full-length on the soft grass.

"How do you do it, Frodo?" he asked.  "That was the
most....amazing experience.  But I'm not sure I'll
ever be able to get up on him again."

"Just like everything else," Frodo said, starting to
rummage through the pack.  "Practice.  The first time
Gandalf took me along on one of his all day and all
night rides, I thought I was going to die before it
was over.  Part of it is Shadowfax's speed.  But even
more important is what a rider has to do or, rather,
not do.  On a horse or pony, a rider works to stay on
the animal's back and to direct it.  Learning ride
that way is hard until you're used to it.  Shadowfax,
though, goes where he knows you must, and it's his job
to keep you on his back.  Gandalf told me that if he
consents to bear you, you'd have to jump off.  Your
main problem is that you kept tensing up because of
the speed and, perhaps..."  Frodo paused, not wanting
to offend Faramir.

"Perhaps?" Faramir prompted him.

"Your reaction to not being in control of the animal. 
You just have to learn to relax.  Trust Shadowfax and,
well, enjoy the ride." 

Faramir groaned again.  "I shall either learn that or
die," he declared.  "Right now, dying seems most
appealing."

Frodo covered him with one of the blankets Gandalf had
packed.  "You'll feel better after you eat," he said.

He found that Gandalf had shared the lembas which he
always carried.  Frodo sighed.  When he'd seen the
size of the pack Gandalf had prepared, he was afraid
that it was going to be lembas all the way.  Well, he
could still build a fire.

"I'm going to get firewood and water," he told
Faramir, who raised himself, wincing, on his good arm.


"I should help," he started to say.

"Nonsense.  You can barely move.  You rest-nothing can
happen to me with Shadowfax here."  And indeed, the
beautiful white horse was standing by Frodo, ready to
escort him.  Frodo knew that he would also guard them
during the night.  

"Very well," Faramir sank back to the ground.  "In
truth, I doubt I could move even if a band of orcs
came over the hill."

Later, Frodo sat by a crackling fire, sharing a meal
of lembas with Faramir who was fascinated by the taste
and the nature of elven waybread.  

Frodo, who had eaten enough of it to become somewhat
disenchanted, only half listened to his praise.  Yes,
he had to admit, it was flavourful, but it just didn't
satisfy the stomach like a nice plate of fried
potatoes, sausages, eggs, and bacon.

Lost in memories of Sam's cooking (and Rosie's too, he
added, guiltily), he did not notice immediately when
Faramir stopped talking.  When the silence made itself
apparent, he looked up to see Faramir trying to stand,
wincing.

"Don't try to move too much," he said, hastily. 
"Look, Gandalf included a pot of his herbal salve. 
I'm sure he knew you'd need it.  I set it by the fire
to warm.  If you let me massage it in, you'll feel
much better by morning."

Faramir nodded.  "I believe you, Frodo, and as soon as
I can take care of some private business, you can
apply as much salve as you want!"  He limped off.

While Frodo waited for him to return, he spread
Faramir's blanket as near the fire as he could.  

When Faramir returned, he helped him undress and
stretch out on the blanket.

Frodo knelt over him, dipped his hand into the pot,
and pulled out a dollop of the pleasantly scented
salve.  He began rubbing it in to Faramir's shoulders
and upper arms.  As Frodo moved down Faramir's body,
he could feel the muscles relaxing.  

He massaged salve into every inch of Faramir's body
that he could reach, spending extra time soothing the
quivering muscles of his thighs and legs.   

After he finished, Frodo sat down beside Faramir, who
opened his eyes, and smiled at him.  "That was
wonderful.  I think I've decided to live.  Although I
suppose I'll have to get on Shadowfax again tomorrow?"

"I'm afraid so," Frodo said.  "And again the next day.
 It took us three days to travel from Meduseld to
Minas Tirith."

"I know it takes the errand riders of Gondor at least
five days from Minas Tirith to Edoras," Faramir said
slowly.  "Shadowfax's speed is amazing."

Faramir reached his hand out, and Frodo took it.  They
sat for a while.  Then Faramir rolled over on his
side, tugging at Frodo's hand, who slipped down to lie
next to him.  Surrounded by the scent of smoke and
crushed grass, Frodo reveled in the sense of energy
and connectedness he always felt outdoors and in the
touch of Faramir's lips.

Faramir started to unbutton his shirt.  But just as
Faramir leaned over, he cried out and froze.

Frodo reached up to support him the best he could.

"I'm sorry, Frodo," Faramir gasped, sinking back to
the ground.  "My back.."

"Lie back down," Frodo said, and pulled the salve out
again.  "Flat on your stomach," he said, seeing
Faramir was still lying on his back.  "Oh,"  he
realized why Faramir might find that less than
comfortable.  "On your side, then?"

"I'll try," Faramir said, maneuvering cautiously. 
Frodo moved around him, sitting where he could reach
his back.

"Where does it hurt?" 

"Lower and middle of my back," Faramir said tersely as
he rolled over, sweat breaking out on his skin from
the pain.

Frodo realized that something under his hips might
help, and rolled their cloaks together.  "Here, can
you raise up a bit?"  

Faramir bit back a curse, but did so, and Frodo pushed
the cloaks under his hips from the side, then started
massaging in more salve.  Again, he felt the tense
muscles relax as he kneaded Faramir's back.

Frodo massaged Faramir's back for some time, then
moved a bit lower, his hands circling on the pale skin
and red-gold hair gleaming in the firelight.  The
night sky darkened, and stars began to appear.

Finally, Faramir spoke, his voice slow and deep.

"Frodo?"

"Yes?"

"My back is feeling much better..."

"I'm glad," Frodo said.

"But there's something else you're going to have to
help me with."

"What?"  He wondered if Gandalf had packed enough
medical supplies.

"What do you think," a hint of laughter gleamed in
Faramir's voice, and he spread his legs.

"Oh!"  Frodo suddenly remembered.  "But your back..." 
he didn't want Faramir to injure himself.

"Yes, well, I'm not planning to move that much or put
any strain on my back.  I'm planning to lie right here
and let you make love to me."

"Oh," Frodo said again, feeling his breath start to
quicken.  Between Gandalf's stern instructions for his
recovery and the time Frodo had been captive, it had
been nearly two weeks, the morning before they had
left Ithilien, since they had made love.  And this
would be the first time he made love to Faramir this
way.  He felt himself beginning to harden at the
thought.

Frodo smoothed one hand down Faramir's back, then
leaned down to kiss his shoulder.  "Just a minute," he
whispered, and stood to undress.  He dropped his shirt
on the ground and stepped out of his pants, moving to
kneel between Faramir's legs.

He reached up as far as he could and ran his hands
down over Faramir's back, side, thighs, and legs.  He
repeated this motion several times, feeling a
different tenseness building in Faramir's body, in his
own.  Leaning over, he ran his hands up the front of
Faramir's legs, under his body, to rub and caress him.
 He swept his hands back up and over Faramir's rear,
tracing the soft cleft with his thumbs.  

Faramir moaned.  "Frodo, now!"

Moving forward, Frodo probed gently, not sure of the
angle of penetration.  His fingers slipped inside, and
he exulted in the warmth, then, leaning over, slowly,
he sank into Faramir's body, his hands reaching out to
either side, his legs wide, bracing against Faramir's.


Slowly at first, then faster and harder and deeper,
encouraged by Faramir's response, Frodo explored this
new sensation, this new way of connection.  He had
loved when Faramir had  made love to him this way, and
through the haze of sensation, he thought that it
would be only fair to take turns in future.

Then all conscious thought dropped away as he felt
Faramir's body convulse beneath him just before his
own exploded in delight, waves of sensation radiating
out into the night.  Collapsing onto Faramir's body,
he lay a while, exulting in the warmth and relaxed
softness of the flesh beneath him.  

When he could move again, he found Faramir had already
fallen deep into sleep.  He managed to cover them both
with his blanket and went to sleep curled up beside
him.

In the morning, Faramir declared that his back was
better.  He had less trouble riding Shadowfax that day
and no trouble at all making love to Frodo that
evening.

* * * * * * *

They arrived at Edoras as the Sun was setting the
third evening.  From afar, they could see the gold of
Meduseld, Theoden's hall, set high on a hill, shining
in the level rays of the setting sun.

Shadowfax bore them proudly through the gate where the
guards, recognizing first Shadowfax and then Frodo,
waved them through.  Shadowfax climbed the hill to the
hall's main entrance.  There they were met by Hama,
who requested Faramir to lay aside his weapons.  He
escorted them into the hall where the evening meal was
in progress.  

Frodo was thrilled to find they were in time to join
the meal, and ate at least three helpings of
everything they were offered.  The Rohirrim were not
as good a cooks as hobbits, of course, but several
days of subsisting entirely on lembas left him more
than happy to enjoy their food.

Afterwards, Theoden called them forward.  

"I know your brother, Boromir," he told Faramir, "and,
of course, have long known Frodo here.  I am glad to
meet you."

"Thank you, sire," Faramir said, bowing his head. 
"And I am glad to have the chance to visit Rohan and
its fair green fields.  I am only sorry that I come
with such heavy news."  He handed Gandalf and
Aragorn's letter to Theoden.

Opening it, Theoden read the letter several times,
then looked up with a frown.  "I think we need to talk
more, in private.  Come with me." He rose and led them
out of the hall, past the richly carved pillars, past
many richly decorated hangings, most featuring horses.
 They entered a smaller room.    

Theoden sat with a weary sigh, gesturing for them to
sit as well. "This is dark news," he said.  "I had not
thought to see such trouble in my time.  I will need
to speak to Theodred, my son, and Eomer, my sister's
son.  Rohan is an ally of Gondor.  In long ages past,
we have always upheld our sworn oath to come to
Mundberg's aid when needed.  But this...conflict, this
chance of war between those who should be allies,
disturbs me.  There is great evil at work here, and I
am loath to leave my land all undefended."

For some time, he questioned Faramir and Frodo
concerning the events detailed in the letter. 
Finally, he let them retire, asking them to attend him
after the meeting tomorrow.

Frodo was relieved to find that the meeting the next
day was brief.  Eomer and Theodred were both friends
of Aragorn and had known Gandalf for years.  They
trusted them enough to bring their men to Gondor.  

Within a few hours, messengers were riding out to
summon the Riders to a muster the next day.  Theoden
promised Faramir and Frodo that the companies under
the Second and Third Marshalls, Theodred and Eomer,
would ride out the next day for Minas Tirith.  They
estimated the Rohirrim would arrive at the City soon
after dawn of the fifth day.  

Faramir and Frodo thanked him and prepared to return
to Minas Tirith.  When Theoden offered them more
supplies for their return journey, Frodo was quick to
accept.  By late afternoon, they were on their way
back to Gondor.   


Chapter 13:  The Fall of the Steward

Frodo and Faramir were sitting in the rose garden at
the Houses of Healing, near the fountain.  The sun was
just setting, the last light of day jewelling the
falling drops of water. 

They'd returned to Minas Tirith the evening before and
had sent Gandalf a message telling him of their
success.  Then, they'd just waited.  Neither knew
quite what to expect.  Gandalf had sent a message
back, warning them against being seen in the City.  

After the arduous trip, both had spent most of the day
resting, and then they'd eaten their evening meal. 
Now they were just sitting quietly, watching to see
the first star come out, appreciating the absolute
peace.  

That was when the Citadel guards came through the
gate.  Frodo felt Faramir stiffen beside him as he saw
them.  

"Captain Faramir," the lead one said.  "Lord Denethor
summons you to the Citadel."

Faramir stood easily, standing between Frodo and the
men.  Frodo counted at least ten of them.

"I wonder that so many are needed to deliver this
message.  However, I will accompany you immediately,"
Faramir said.

"The Halfling too."

Frodo saw Faramir's hand drop to his sword.

Frodo stood quickly and said, "Very well."  He walked
forward to Faramir's side.

Frodo could tell that Faramir was considering
attacking them and was relieved when he removed his
hand from the sword and walked forward.  

The men closed around them as if escorting prisoners,
taking them through the halls of the House and into
the street.  As they left through the main entrance,
Frodo saw Lenhir just coming out of a doorway that
Frodo knew led to one of the wings where recovering
patients were housed.  The Healer stopped when he saw
the group of armed men, then backed away cautiously.  

Frodo concentrated on keeping up with the Men.  Lenhir
would find Gandalf, he knew.  But how long would it
take?

As they walked, the guards' boots echoed in the calm
air.  They turned into one of the smaller lanes that
led directly toward the Citadel.  It was a little
darker in the narrower lane, but some light still
lingered.  

Faramir's move took Frodo by surprise.  Flinging
himself at two of the men behind them, Faramir knocked
them over, shouting at Frodo to run.  

After a shocked moment, Frodo did his best.  He dashed
for the gap in the line.  

A large hand clutched at his shirt, but he managed to
pull free.  Faramir was on his feet again, sword in
hand.

Another man loomed up in front of Frodo, and he
ducked, pivoted, and kicked as Faramir had taught him.
 Amazingly, it worked, but as he tried to run out of
the lane, he felt a heavy body hit him from behind,
flinging him forward.

He blacked out for a moment, and when he came to
himself, he realized he was being held in a crushing
grip against a man's body.  A thin line of pain burned
at his throat, and the man holding him was shouting at
Faramir.

Frodo blinked, clearing his eyes, and could see
Faramir had managed to wound two of the men and was
holding the others at bay.  They milled around,
probably reluctant to rush the son of the Steward.

"Faramir!  If you want to save the Halfling,
surrender!"  The man holding him had a knife at his
throat, Frodo realized, and was pushing him forward to
where Faramir could see his plight.

As soon as Faramir saw Frodo, he stopped fighting. 
The guard closed around him, taking his sword, holding
him by the arms.  The man holding Frodo walked in
front, the knife firmly at his throat, separating
Frodo from Faramir.  Slowly, the mass of the Citadel
looming over them, they completed their journey.  

They entered the Citadel by a route unfamiliar to
Frodo, one apparently little traveled, that led them
directly to the base of the Tower of Ecthelion.  They
forced Frodo and Faramir up the stairs and into the
large room at the top.  

There, they tied Faramir to a heavy wooden chair,
lashing his arms and legs tightly.  They tied Frodo's
hands behind his back, and tied him to one of the
chair's legs.  Then, without a word, they left.

Darkness grew in the room faded as the Sun disappeared
behind the White Mountains.  

Frodo's only comfort was that his back was resting
against Faramir's leg.  He wriggled, testing the
ropes, but they were tight.  He could feel Faramir
doing the same.  

He wasn't sure he dared tell Faramir that Lenhir had
seen them taken.  Someone could be listening.

"Faramir," he whispered.

"Don't speak, Frodo," Faramir's voice was gentle, but
held an inflexible note Frodo had never heard before. 


Shivering, he leaned his head back against Faramir's
leg and tried to steady his breathing.  Surely Gandalf
would arrive soon.

He became aware that even though the sky outside the
narrow windows was dark, a light of sorts was growing
in the room.  Pulsing red, the light seemed to come
from within the room, not from without, and to be
centered across the room on a high table.  

He couldn't help asking.  "What is it?"

"The palantir."

Frodo had been afraid of that.  As the light seemed to
flicker higher, the room chilled and Shadows crept out
of the walls.  

Frodo heard footsteps approaching.  Closer and closer
they came, and then, after a pause, the door opened.  

Denethor entered the room, wearing formal robes like
the ones he had welcomed Gandalf in.  He shut the door
behind him and walked to Faramir's side.  

Frodo could feel Faramir tensing as his father leaned
over him.  

"You tried to betray me, Faramir, " Denethor said.  "I
have seen as much in the palantir.  I know the wizard
brought the Halfling here to use again us.  But it's
not too late.  You can still join us, help save the
City from the Northern usurper.  I have seen what we
must do."

"What way is that, father?"  Faramir sounded polite,
deferential.

"If the Halfling is removed, the plot will fail.  If
we give him to the palantir, the City will be saved. I
have seen it."

"Father, Lord Denethor," Faramir's voice gained
urgency as he strained forward.  "Believe me, the
palantir is utterly evil.  It is controlled by Sauron.
 You must--"

Frodo flinched as he heard the ringing slap and felt
the impact run through Faramir's body.  

"Fool!  Wizard's boy!  He has corrupted you, taken
you, turned you against your father and your City. 
One last time-will you join me, will you take the
Halfling to the palantir?"  Denethor's voice rang
harshly in the room.  

The Shadows crept higher.

"No."  Faramir's voice met his, steel to steel.

"Very well.  First him, and then you.  A defiant son
is of no use to me."  

Denethor stooped, and Frodo flinched as he saw the
knife gleaming red.  Denethor cut the rope that held
him to the chair leg and pulled him roughly to his
feet.  Pushing Frodo ahead of him, Denethor began
shoving him across the room.

Frodo fought him every step of the way, kicking,
twisting, trying to throw him off balance. 
Inexorably, held in an iron grip, he was forced across
the room to the table which loomed over his head. 

The sickly light had grown during their struggle, and
the red flames lashed across the room, driving the
Shadows higher.  

Quickly, Denethor slashed the ropes that bound his
wrists behind his back, dropped the knife, and hauled
Frodo up, balancing him awkwardly on the table,
grabbing for his wrist.  The palantir blazed before
Frodo's eyes, and he saw a da dark sky, and tall
battlements...and things with wings...behind the
wings, a blazing Eye grew, the slit of the pupil a
gateway into total blackness.  

Frodo tried to roll over and off the table, desperate
to escape from the hunger in the Eye, a hunger that
could consume all of Middle-earth and not be
satisfied.  Denethor managed to grab his wrist.

"Father!  No!" Faramir shouted.  

Denethor ignored his shout, but could not ignore the
noise that echoed through the room when the door
slammed open.  Frodo gasped in relief as Denethor
turned away from the table, still clutching him by the
wrist, holding him around his ribs, but turning away
from the palantir.

Boromir stood in the doorway, arms crossed.  His blue
eyes shone in t