Faramir Fiction Archive

A Wellknown Stranger (NC-17)

Written by J_Flattermann

18 February 2011 | 5824 words

Author: J_Flattermann
Fandom: LOTR, AU
Pairing: Thorongil [alias of Aragorn in Gondor], Boromir and Faramir
Rating: 17NC (slash)
Disclaimer: Pure fiction. No copyright infringement intended.
Warnings: NC17
Summary: Boromir and his five years younger brother seducing a good looking visitor.
Word count: 5944
Notes: Thank you very much to my friend, ingrid44, for acting as BETA of this story.

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A Wellknown Stranger

Boromir entered the great hall of the kings in long strides. There under the big throne of the Kings on a smaller throne of his own, his father Denethor II sat, surrounded by the generals of the Gondorian army. A little aside stood Faramir in his bowman’s armour. Boromir’s entrance did not go unnoticed and both father and brother wore a broad smile on their faces when the youth came closer.

Boromir bowed deep to his father and said: “I beg your forgiveness my lord, I am late. But I was held up at the gates and bring you news of a visitor.” Denethor’s brow shoot upwards. “Visitor? Who is it my son? Speak up.” Boromir bowed even lower under the thundering words. Even though he knew his father loved him dearly, the loud demanding voice always gave him the shivers. Whenever his father wore the regalia of his office he seemed to be a transformed man.

“He calls himself Thorongil my lord, and he demands to see you. He says, you will remember him well from your father’s reigning days.” Boromir had encountered the important looking person at the gates and taken it upon himself to bring the message to his father. He did not recognise the tall man clad in delicate Elven garments. But from stance and clothing it was clear that the stranger was someone of importance. However, the voice soft though demanding, had a familiar ring to it. When the stranger mentioned his grandfather’s name, certain pictures began to build in Boromir’s mind. He had been a small boy just six years old when his grandfather Ecthelion II died. Now this stranger claimed to have known him, but his appearsance belied his words.

Boromir, almost twenty-five, rather thought the stranger looked to be more of his own age. Dark long hair fell to his waist, curling over the dark blue silk gown, which was embroidered with flowers and birds sewn with silver and golden threads. Beneath the gown was a white garment with a silvery shine to it. Circling his waist was broad black belt studded with silver, from which hung a long broadsword. Only the shape of his ears revealed that he was not of the Eldar. The clean shaven face looked young, to young to be acquainted with Boromir’s grandfather.

Denethor paled at the mentioning of the name and cursed under his breath. What does he want? What has brought him here? he mused. After several minutes of an uncomfortable silence, Denethor demanded the visitor be brought into the great hall.

The tall slim figure appeared in the doorway at the other end of the hall. To Boromir it seemed as if the stranger was gliding instead of walking towards the throne where his father sat, waiting. Boromir stepping back stopped next to his younger brother, whose mouth was open in awe at the sight of the approaching stranger. “Shut your mouth little brother,” Boromir whispered his lips brushing his brother’s ear. Faramir blushed at the touch and closed his gaping mouth while sending a smile to his beloved older brother.

Out of the corner of his eyes Thorongil noticed the youth who had greeted him at the gates. He also observed the younger boy standing next to him, marking similarities and differences between the two brothers. When he reached the Steward’s throne he nodded his head in greeting and a gasp went through all those present. Even Boromir held his breath. Why did the stranger not bow before his father? What made him stand so tall and proud before the Stewart of Gondor? Did he not know whom he was standing before? The voice which had appeared to be soft and warm when speaking to him at the gate was now strong, demanding cold, addressed his father.

“Denethor, 26th Steward of Gondor, I come with orders for you!” the visitor was heard to say. Denethor waved his hand and dismissed all the court. Without any introductions Boromir and Faramir had to leave the great hall just like the others.

Once outside Faramir turned to his brother, “Wow, did you see that fellow? Boa ey, he even scared father! Did you seen how pale father became, when you told him the name of this fellow?” Boromir nodded; there was a secret to discover here and if needed Faramir was the perfect partner in crime. “Let’s go to the archives,” Boromir told his brother, “and see what we can find out. That man said he knew grandfather; maybe we’ll find something there!” And with his little brother in tow he turned his steps towards the tower that held the archives of Gondor.

Back in their quarters the brothers were discussing their findings, when noises in the corridor interrupted their conversation. Both jumped off the bed and rushed to the door opening it a crack. Faramir’s face appeared below Boromir’s, who towered in height over his brother. Noticing the boys spying on him as he was led along the corridor to his quarters a smile came over Thorongil’s features. When his guide reached the door to his accommodations he turned and the boys quickly slammed their door shut.

As soon as the servant left his quarters the heavy wig came off and Thorongil ruffled his own soft brown hair with both hands until it fell loosely to his shoulders. He had been reluctant to come, dreaded the meeting with Denethor. Only the sight of the sons of the Steward of Gondor had lightened his spirits. Lively boys, the older already displaying a strength of will and power, the younger totally awestruck with love for his elder brother. He had immediately taken a liking to the two sons of Gondor.

He was tired, but not so tired as to fall into the provided bed with all the dust from the long voyage from Imladris to Minas Tirith still caked to his body. With a sigh he grabbed the wig and placed it back on his head. Thorongil had to walk over to the bathhouse. Hel looked around the rooms and before leaving decided to place his bags in the cupboards. As he trusted no one in Minas Tirith and feared that Denethor would take the oppurtunity to search his luggage will he was away from the quarters, Thorongil laid little traps which would immediately prove if someone had meddled with his bags.

Having prepared his room against intruders, he took his cloak and stepped into the corridor. Shutting the door to his rooms, he whispered a spell to protect the door from intrusion. He walked past the door of the boys room and heard them talking and laughing. He then left the building and crossing the courtyard in long strides, entered the bathhouse opposite his lodgings. A servant greeted him and provided towels, soap and perfumed oils before leading him into the dressing room. Before the servant departed he showed Thorongil the bell to ring when he was ready to enter the steam room.

Boromir and Faramir heard the stranger leaving his quarters and had made enough noise to convince him that they were busying themselves with other things. As soon as he had vanished around the corner of the corridor the boys left their room and sped over to the strangers quarters. Faramir stretched out his hand to the door handle but a strange tickle made him withdraw it. “He has done something to the door,” he told his brother. “It doesn’t feel right! I get the strangest sensation and don’t dare to touch it.” To prove it to his brother he stretched his hand out again and coming close to the doorhandle the hairs on his arm sprang up as if electrified. The boys shook their heads. It made no sense to enter these rooms now; the stranger had obviously warded the door with a spell. The brothers looked at each other. Where could the stranger have vanished too? “Bathhouse!” both yelled in unison. Off they went.

Thorongil sat in the steam room on the upper bench, naked apart from the towel draped over his loins. He leaned back against the wall, eyes closed. He could feel how the heavy Elven-hair wig increased his sweating. Feel how the droplets formed on his scalp, ran down his head, temples, forehead, nose, cheeks to hang from his chin until they fell. He heard the boys coming before they entered, voices low in whispered conversation with each other. He did not even open his eyes when the two opened the doors to let themselves in.

Faramir nudged his brother in the ribs when his eyes fell on the naked man sitting on the bench. Hairy all over; chest, arms and legs. They could only conclude that the parts of the body covered by the towel were hairy as well. Faramir started to giggle.

Boromir looked at his younger sibling who squelched the giggles in seconds. The younger man’s body showed a fluff of dark hairs, a sure sign of his entering adulthood. He shook his head at his brother and directed the youngster to sit down. Following his brother and sitting down next to him, Boromir never removed his eyes off the man sitting opposite. He suddenly felt a tickling between his thighs, a feeling with which he was familiar after sharing his brother’s bed.

Shortly after Faramir had turned thirteen distressing night dreams had started, leaving him lying in his bed screaming in terror. It was then that Boromir had begun to share his brother’s bed in order to comfort him when the nightmares occured. In the beginning he had just taken his younger brother in his arms and rocked him back to sleep. One night Faramir had taken Boromir’s hand and moved it down his body to cup his genitals. At first Boromir had resisted, but Faramir had confessed that with his hand placed there he, Faramir, felt much more secure and comforted. So Boromir would cup his hand over Faramir’s privates each night. Then came the night when Faramir had begged to rubbed there, grabbing his prick and rubbing hard. Every time he had done as his brother wished Boromir’s own genitals had responded and the tickling sensation had started between his thighs whenever Faramir was close.

In the ensueing years the nightmares hadn’t disappeared and every so often Boromir would still leave his room and crawl into his brother’s bed. Cradling him, caressing him, kissing his tears away until they were driven to kiss each other on the mouth and finally all over their bodies. On reaching his fourteenth year Faramir had convinced his brother to sleep with him every night and soon Boromir had made him his lover. Jealously Faramior would watch over his elder sibling’s every move and whenever one of the maidens of Minas Tirith tried to catch Boromir’s eye, he would step in-between, not allowing any attraction to blossom. No, Boromir was his and his alone. Watching his brother staring at this stranger cut him to the quick He would have to stay very alert to make sure that this stranger did not steal his brother from him. Faramir shuddered at the thought that these hairy arms and legs would wind themselves around his beloved brother’s body.

He returned to his room and with the wig off and neatly placed on the table, he grabbed a light snack before retiring to bed. The sweat room and following bath had at first refreshed him but then made him feel sleepy. He had not cared to dress again and had left the bathhouse wrapped only in two large towels and his cloak. The cold night air had made him shiver when crossing the courtyard where the white tree stood. He had hurried back into the warmth of his quarters where the fire in the hearth heated the room nicely. He folded his robes and laid them over a stool standing by the windows, then dropped the towels and crawled between the linens. It was then he realised his utter exhaustion. His eyes fell shut as soon as his head hit the pillow and he drifted off into a deep slumber.

Boromir had waited until his younger brother fell asleep, climbed out of the bed and silently sneaked out of the room. He did not know how long he had been standing in the corridor in front of the door of the visitor’s chambers. In the dimly lit corridor the light under the door was clearly visible. Boromir waited until the rays vanished and the room fell into darkness. While in the bathhouse the stranger had yawned several times, showing signs of fatigue. Surely he would fall asleep soon and being exhausted from long days of travel, would most certainly fall deep asleep. Cowering in the shadows Boromir waited another ten minutes before softly opening the door. He slipped through, shutting the door quietly behind him. He stood silent, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room. His heart was pounding in his chest and he could feel it throbbing in his throat. From the next room he could hear the regular breathing of the man asleep.

As soon as his eyes adjusted he slowly crept forward and turning towards the bedroom he suddenly stood dumbstruck. How could I hear breathing from the bedroom when there was someone sitting at the desk in front of the window? He almost stumbled into the chaise lounge chair and just managed to stand still but the figure at the table did not move. Noises from the bedroom made it clear that the sleeper had turned over in the bed. On tiptoes he moved forward to the shadow on the chair and reaching it found that it was only the visitors clothes and something like a hairpiece sitting on top of a helmet. He bent to pick up the wig when cold metal touched his throat.

“Aye, aye, I got you, little spy,” the mocking words were softly spoken while lips touched his ears. How could it be that he hadn’t heard the man coming.. He could not explain. The blade at his throat made him freeze and then he was gripped on an arm, a strong hand circling his biceps and he was pushed into the bedroom onto the bed. His arms were lifted up to the bed-frame and tied to the lattice; one after the other. In the shadows of the bed chamber the man did not look like the visitor he had greeted at the gate earlier in the day. The hair was much shorter amd though he could not identify the colour it seemed to be lighter. Why had this guy worn a wig? His curiosity got the better of him and he did not struggle to break free, not even when the man undid his clothes. All Boromir did was stare at the stark naked man the entire time, a man who was ripping his shirt off and pulling his pants down. Why am I not fighting him? What is it that attracts me so much, that I let him handle me as he wishes? His eyes fixed on the stranger’s body he started to breath harder and felt a stirring between his legs.

Faramir had turned in the bed and stretching his arm out searched for his brother but the bed was empty. He lifted himself resting on his elbow to check if there was light in the bathroom but there wasn’t . Unable to go to sleep without knowing where his brother had taken himself, Faramir got up and dressed. He could imagine where his brother had vanished to, remembering the way Boromir had looked at the stranger in the bathhouse. He needed to make sure. Faramir crossed the corridor and as quiet as he could manage, slipped into the room given to the stranger visiting Minas Tirith. He slipped into the bedroom only to find his brother fast asleep on the broad bed, one of his hands tied to the headboard and his body draped in the linen. Faramir spun around and searched the rooms but couldn’t find the stranger. He went back into bedroom, climbed the bed and started to beat his brother, tears running down his face.

Boromir woke up at the hits of his furious brother and with his one free hand tried to catch his brother’s pounding fists. All the while Faramir was crying, calling his brother a cheater. Boromir burst his tied hand free from the bed railings, ignoring the pains and burns to his wrist. To stop Faramir beating on him, Boromir pushed his brother hard. He tumbled of the bed and hit the floor. Boromir rose from the bed and wrapped a bedlinen around himself. Faramir stared at him with disbelief and amazement in his eyes. Never before had his brother pushed him away, not until this stranger had appeared. Tears still streaming down his face, he turned towards his brother and with breaking voice asked “don’t you love me anymore?” The two brothers were sitting on the floor by the fireplace when Thorongil returned to his quarters. He closed the doors and walked over to them, sitting down on the settee. He watched the two brothers hugging each other, Boromir rocking the still shaking and sobbing Faramir.

Boromir looked Thorongil in the eyes and lifted his younger brother in his arms as he stood up. Moving over to the stranger he placed his younger brother on Thorongil’s lap. Faramir’s eyes went round, but he sat unmoving except from the sobs still wracking his body. Thorongil carefully laid one hand around the boy’s waist and with the other stroked through the soft long dark hair. Gently he pulled the boy to his chest until Faramir relaxed, leaning against him with all his weight. Boromir sat down next to Thorongil and began to unbutton Faramir’s nightshirt, pulling it out of the pants the youngster had put on before leaving their room. As Faramir sat with his back toward his brother, Boromir started massaging his neck, placing soft kisses on it and on the now bared shoulders. Stroking along Faramir’s arms his pushed the nightshirt further down until it fell loosely around the youngster’s hips. Faramir had closed his eyes and leaned into each kiss his brother planted on his hot skin. Thorongil took the boy’s hand and placed it beneath his tunic on his chest right above the heart. Holding the youth steady with his arm around his waist, his free hand moved upwards and lifted the longhaired wig off his head.

Boromir, still only clad in the bedlinen, stood up went to the door and bolted it. He then took Thorongil by the hand, who in turn lifted Faramir in his arm. The youth’s eyes had shot open at Thorongil’s first movement and with huge wondering eyes seen the wig come off. As if a reflex, his hand shot up to touch the soft brown hair which was now released and fell onto the man’s shoulders. He rubbed it between his fingers as if to confirm its existence. Boromir led man and boy back ino the bedroom and crawled onto the broad bed tucking himself behind them.

“Your father may call for me. This is not a good time,” Thorongil said, as the sons of Denethor tied his wrists to the bed frame. The boys just giggled in reply. “Today is Yestarë, our mother’s waning day. Father will see nobody today, not even Boromir,” Faramir explained. The elder sibling nodded in confirmation. “And nobody dares to disturb him, rather they even avoid being seen.”
“But shouldn’t you commemorate the day for your mother’s sake?” The brothers shook their heads. “Father will not allow us to participate. He has his own private commemoration service. We have never been part of it. He forbade it.” Thorongil shook his head in disbelief. “What strange customs you have here. I will never bring my mind to understanding them.”

Faramir followed Boromir’s lead in ignoring the remarks and carried on undressing their helpless prey. Boromir, kneeling on the right side of the man, licked and kissed every bit of bare skin, while Faramir copied his brother’s moves on the left. These proceedings were soon rewarded by Thorongil moaning and biting his lips. With both young men working their way down his body towards to his loins, he did not know which part of his body to move, nor in which direction. When the youngsters hit his genitals he could only whimper and jerk his pelvis up and down in anticipation. The first touch to his swollen member almost hurt and he felt as if something was bursting within his hard and throbbing prick. For a split second the boys stared in awe at the huge bloodshot quivering mass of flesh, pulsing like a living being of its own accord. It was Faramir’s tongue which made the first contact and Thorongil threw his head back into the pillows, almost screaming in lust. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and his dried lips were splitting no matter how often his tongue tried to keep them moist. The boys followed their own routine, turning the lower part of the man sideways. Faramir caressed penis and balls, while Boromir, pushing Thorongil’s buttocks apart, started to penetrate the anus with his tongue. It did not take long before Thorongil couldn’t not held back any longer and he sprayed Faramir’s face with his cum.

Both brothers were now utterly aroused. Faramir used a handful of Thorongil’s cum to smear his own bottom, in preparation for Boromir driving his erection deep into him. They both made sure that the tied man would watch.

Over the next several days the visitor was seen out and about Minas Tirith always with the Steward’s sons in his wake. They would show him around and the three seemed to have great fun and a lot in common. Thorongil was shown Faramir’s favourite hideaways and in the evenings they hit Boromir’s favourite Bars and Clubs. The night watch saw the three safely home on several occasions, whenever their steps seemed to be unsteady.

In this fashion two weeks went by faster than expected. Finally Denethor called Thorongil to an audience in the great hall. His advisors gathered behind the Steward’s small throne and the two sons were in attendance as well.

“We have been ordered by the Istari to send troops to the borders of Rohan and to the South,” Denethor II announced to the court. “Saruman declares that he fears an attack from Mordor in the South to break through into Rohan. Therefore we are asked to send soldiers to South Ithilien and to the Mouth of the Anduin. With Osgiliath holding the dark forces at bay, we have decide to send forces to the South. Only they will not be as strong as demanded by the Wizard. Thorongil, tell the council at Imladris our decision. If the council wants a stronger force at the borders to Rohan, they should direct King Théoden to send a host of Riders in protection of his borders. We can only spare so many soldiers, as the greater threat will be to hold our Northern borders around the Black Gate and in Osgiliath. This is our decision.” With a wave of his hand Denethor dismissed all those present, telling Boromir to stay behind. He gave his elder son the order to accompany the envoy as far as the borders of Gondor to see him safely off. “Make sure he truly leaves Gondor, my son. I don’t trust him. Never have, not even in my father’s days, “ the Steward confessed.

“Then it is true,” Boromir gasped. “He has been here before as a counsellor to grandfather?” The confirmation was more a grunt than a proper response. Denethor left his son behind; deep in thought he marched off to the eastern tower. Boromir knew that his father was about to consult the seeing stone, the Palantir, as he had so often in the past. Boromir waited until his father had left the great hall, crossed the courtyard and vanished into the tower before he stormed out and rushed away to meet with his younger sibling. He found him several levels lower in the house of the City guards, grabbed him and dragged him away into the next door ale-house.

“Father has confirmed it.” he spluttered out without filling his brother in the picture. As expected the reply came promptly. “What? What has father confirmed? I don’t get it, what are you talking about?“Boromir drew a deep breath before explaining to his dumbfounded brother. Yes, the visitor had been in Minas Tirith before as a counsellor to their grandfather. Therefore he must be much much older than he looked. Faramir listened, mouth gaping open, eyes wide. This couldn’t be true, it would mean that this man was their senior by what, thirty, forty years, at least. Maybe even more. “But he looks young!” he finally managed to utter. Boromir nodded “it must be the blood of the Eldar in him and he is a Númenorean. Come to think of it there can be no other explanation for it.” And after a short break he added, “Oh I forgot, he is going to leave us. Father has sent him away and he will leave tomorrow morning. Father has ordered me to accompany him to ensure he leaves Gondor.” Faramir listened to all this in silence and finally he looked brother in the face and said, “Then we ought to say our farewells tonight”

The brothers rushed back to the palace and approached Thorongil’s quarters. They knocked at the door and to impatient to wait for permission, immediately entered. Thorongil’s bags were out and open, most of his things already being packed away. He came out of the bedroom to greet his young visitors and on his seeing him the two brothers flung themselves into his arms. Out of a flood of words and tears Thorongil managed to grasp the words ‘sad’, ‘leave’, ‘again’ and ‘farewell’. He shook his head. “Easy boys, one at a time. I can’t understand a word when you are both talking at the same time.” He desperately tried to calm them down and after great effort he managed to ease the flood of words and tears. It was agreed that they would sup together and for the rest of the night the brothers would remain in Thorongil’s company.

With the youngsters calmer the man tried to review what he had heard earlier. It was as he suspected, the two were heartbroken about his untimely departure and felt sorrow for loosing his company. Faramir wondered whether they ever would meet again and said he would not be able to see him off at the gate for he hated farewells. The three spent their last night together trying to avoid sleep as best as they could but when the night had turned into the early grey of morning they had retreated to bed.

Thorongil was already on his feet before the sun came up behind the mountains, having carefully crawled out of bed so as not to wake the two brothers. However, he had just finished in the bathroom when Boromir appeared, scratching himself and vanishing into the loo going for a wash. The two dressed and looking at the still fast asleep Faramir, left the room on tiptoes. On their way to the stables Thorongil felt guilty leaving the younger boy behind. “Don’t worry,” Boromir consoled, “first of all he hates farewells. I always sneak out like this when I have to leave.” Thorongil nodded but said, “Yes, but you are returning, whilst I- “ “Oh, I am sure we will see each other again. When I am off to the border and in battle, I am never sure I’ll return, you know?” Thorongil nodded again; he had totally forgotten that Boromir was a Captain in Gondor’s army, leading his troops to a possible war every time he left. Gondor was in such close proximity to Mordor. The Gondorian’s were the guardians of Middle Earths and the rest of the world had to thank them for living a peaceful life. Suddenly Thorongil shuddered, grasping the meaning of this. Boromir would leave him at the border and turn his troops South to face the Haradrim fighting on the Enemy’s side. He is so young, to young, he thought, but then remembered that Faramir was as well a lieutenant and would be soon off to Osgiliath again. He shook these thoughts aside. He himself was leaving and no one could say what the future held and when and where he would be sent next.

Boromir had finished saddling his horse and looked over to see Thorongil laying the last touches to the bridle. Side by side they walked the horses out of the stables, just in time to be greeted by a still sleepy Faramir rubbing his eyes. “I was afraid I had missed you. Would not want to fail to say good-bye.” The youngster tried to smile but worry was written all over his face. He went to embrace his brother first and after an amount of back slapping, went to say his farewell to Thorongil.
“I don’t know what to say. I hope, no, I am sure we will meet again,” he finally managed and threw himself into the man’s arms.

The three were greeted by a great host of Gondorians at the gate and even an envoy of the Steward of Gondor was present; only Denethor was missing. They were sent off with lots of good wishes and a shower of flowers thrown by the women. Faramir ran out of the City with them for a while until he stopped and shouted “SAVE JOURNEY! SEE YOU SOON!”
Thorongil and Boromir turned in their saddles to wave to him and then sped their horses on towards Osgiliath. There Denethor was waiting to bid his elder son good-bye and handed a message to Thorongil. “It contains the latest report for the Council,” he declared and ordered the communique to be handed to the Lord Elrond in person and to nobody else. Thorongil promised to do as requested and nodding his goodbye to the ruling Steward spurred his horse and rode off.

Boromir, who had dismounted to embrace his father in farewell, rushed back to his horse and jumping into the saddle rode off after the visitor. The troops of Gondor fell in place behind their captain and with the accompanying envoy they were off. Denethor stood there until the last man vanished from view, then turned to his advisers and servants and ordered his horse brought forward.

The travellers were not in a hurry; they had ridden in a wide circle and made their presence felt. Everyone would see the Gondorian Border Guards were out patrolling. Nevertheless the time felt very short when they eventually reached the border of Rohan. Here Thorongil would leave the Gondorian host and continue on to Edoras and then back to Imladris. The closer the border came the more time the two spent together as if to negate the fact they would be parting soon.

Every night Boromir would crawl out of his tent and into Thorongil’s only to return the same way in the early hours of the morning. Finally there was no more denying the day of farewell had come and both tried hard to maintain an impersonal face. Thorongil had a broach hidden in his hand to swap during a handshake and Boromir, embracing his friend, tucked a small dagger into the belt of the departing guest.

There followed the official exchange of speeches and finally Thorongil mounted his horse and crossed the border into Rohan. Boromir stayed put, since to enter the neighbouring realm without permission would cause a political conflict. A host of Rohirim was waiting nearby, expected to conduct the foreign visitor to King Théoden of Rohan. Boromir had met the leader of the host before. It was Eomir, the nephew of the King of Rohan. High honour to be accompanied by the king’s own man and family member. Boromir greeted the young man on the other side of the border with a polite bow and was greeted in return. Thorongil dressed in his official regalia cut an imposing figure. Boromir could see the sparkle in Eomir’s eyes when greeting the envoy from Imladris. For a split second jealousy burnt through Boromir’s veins. Would Thorongil forget him and his brother? Could it happen so fast? However Thorongil turned around and to Boromir’s astonishment bowed low to him.

No, Boromir was now sure neither Faramir nor he would be erased from Thorongil’s memory so easily. Boromir returned the bow and walked back to his horse. The broach stung his hip when climbing into the saddle and he fumbled it out of his belt and fastened it to his coat. He turned his horse and rode off slowly. He had to concentrate on his duty, fighting the enemy in the South.

A few years later Boromir arrived in Imladris as an envoy of his father the 26th ruling Steward of Gondor. On arrival he saw elves clad in blue, silver and gold and soon learnt that only those in high positions and esteem were allowed to wear these colours. However the man he was looking for was not amongst them. These were high ranking members of Elrond’s court, Elves all of them. Boromir wondered how it had been possible for a man to wear these clothes. His experience taught him that the colour code was limited to the members of Elrond’s family; his daughter and sons wore these colours and garments similar to the ones he had been seen worn by the man.

It did not take him long to find the person he had been looking for. Only now the man didn’t look the faintest like he had in those long ago days at Minas Tirith. A rough beard covered most of his face,and the shoulder length hair was uncombed and dirty. He wore the dress of a Ranger from the North and smelled the part. Only Boromir was not in doubt, this was the same man now introduced as Strider alias Aragorn. He, Boromir knew better. This was Thorongil, but now was neither the time nor the place to renew old acquaintances. That had to wait.

The End

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