Faramir Fiction Archive

Death Long Suffered (NC-17)

Written by Alcardilmë

09 December 2009 | 33441 words

Death Long Suffered
Written by: Alcardilmë
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Pairing: Faramir/Boromir, Faramir/Witch-king, Faramir/Orcs
Rating: NC-17
A/N – AU, Adult. Incest, graphic violence, non-con, interspecies, m/m, torture.
Summary: Will Boromir be able to rescue Faramir from the aftereffects of his torment in Minas Morgul?

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Chapter One

“Boromir!” He heard Damrod’s voice in the distance and dismounted. “We have found him.” The Ranger came crashing through the undergrowth. Boromir began to run towards him when Damrod stopped. “You must listen to me for a moment, Captain,” the Ranger held Boromir’s arms, but naught could stop the Captain-General of Gondor. He pulled away from his soldier and lunged forward. Damrod tackled him, pulled him to the ground, and pinned his arms with his knees. “You must listen to me, Boromir,” he whispered. “It is not Faramir as we knew him. He has been tortured.”

Instantly, memories of other released prisoners of the enemy, found wandering amongst the trees of Ithilien, flooded Boromir’s mind. Horror lodged in his heart at the remembered atrocities done upon these men. He gasped, then choked in grief, pain overwhelming him until he all but swooned. Damrod held him tight. At last, after but a moment that seemed to last long hours, Boromir nodded. “I understand,” he whispered back. “Let me up.”

“Siriondil!” Boromir called to the Master Healer. “Set up your equipment. We will bring my brother back here for you to treat.”

“But he should be taken back to the City…”

Boromir no longer stood next to him; loping great strides took the captain away as he followed Damrod into the hills of the Ethir Dúath. After a quarter hour’s run they entered a small glade. A group of soldiers hovered around another who lay on the ground. Damrod pushed them aside and left room for Boromir to enter.

Gondor’s Captain-General, who had seen things that left others gibbering fools, fell to the ground at the sight of his brother lying in Mablung’s arms. A groan escaped the tightly clenched jaw, then he cried out, “Faramir!” Though barely recognizable, this was his little brother.

Gently he knelt and took the youngest son of Denethor into his arms. He wept as he pushed the blood-sodden hair from his little brother’s face and hissed at the sight of the eye socket, empty and bloodied. Another gasp as he beheld a lifeless arm, sewn to Faramir’s own left arm, hanging limply at the boy’s side.

“Oh Faramir. What have they done to you?”

Damrod leaned over. “We must take him to the healer, Boromir. Quickly.”

Boromir nodded and stood, carrying his brother in his arms to the hastily set camp.

Siriondil bit his hand at the sight of the young lieutenant, but opened the flap of a large tent and motioned Boromir to bring his precious bundle inside. Once he set Faramir upon the small table, he stepped back and allowed Siriondil to begin his examination. Boromir hovered nearby; quiet sobs filled the tent. At last, tears streaking down his cheeks, the Master Healer turned to Boromir.

“There are many wounds. I can take the arm off, but I do not know if Faramir’s own arm will recover. But that is the least of my concerns, Boromir.” He pulled his captain closer. “He is with child.”

Boromir slumped in his arms and he held him tight. “The babe is dead, but I know not what its presence has done to Faramir’s internal organs.”

“How could this be?”

“It is sewn into a sack placed inside Faramir’s stomach.”

Boromir bent over and retched in agony. Siriondil’s warm hand on his back kept insanity at bay. Finally, when his stomach settled and the heaving stopped, he stood up. “Will he live?” he whispered.

“I am not certain. He has been… By the Valar, Boromir, I did not want to see these things! I do not want to tell you these things!”

Pulling his friend into his arms, Boromir held him for a moment. “Courage. We must have it, for Faramir’s sake.”

Siriondil nodded. Wiping tears from his eyes, he continued. “He has been raped, numerous times, by something very large. Probably Orcs. They were not gentle and they did not prepare him.”

Boromir nodded, soundless.

‘I must take the dead babe from him, but I am afraid it will kill him. This must have been some kind of experiment of the Witch-king’s. When the babe died, he realized his test failed and so let Faramir go, knowing the dead body would eventually kill him.”

“Do you have everything you need?”

“I do. I think you should remain outside—”

“I will not. Will you do it alone? I would prefer none other know of Faramir’s shame.”

“It is not his shame!” Siriondil all but shouted. “He was a prisoner.”

“Do you not think he will feel shame, nonetheless? I would spare him the knowledge that others know of his rape.”

“Of course. Forgive me.”

“Please. Let us not worry about the future, just take the babe from him and make him whole again.”

“He will never be whole, Boromir.”

The Captain-General of Gondor sobbed. “Heal him as best you may.”

Siriondil nodded and approached the table. “I will need one of my assistants.”

“Nay. I have worked field surgery before.”

“Very well,” Siriondil sighed. He wished he were in the Houses. ‘This is not going to be pleasant.’ Thankfully, Faramir lay deeply unconscious. He began…

The sun’s descent past Mindolluin’s mighty peaks coincided with Siriondil’s closing of the last wound. Faramir lay as dead, but if one looked closely, an almost non-existent shallow breathing could be discerned. He turned to wash his hands in a nearby basin, then snorted in disgust at the sight – blood-soaked pieces of cloth filled the basin. He shouted and an attendant entered, took the proffered basin and ran from the tent. A moment later, he brought in a clean bowl, filled with warm water, then left.

Siriondil laved his hands, then stepped aside for Boromir to lave his own. He then turned his attention back to Faramir.

“Will he live?” Boromir asked for the second time that day.

“The pouch was not as badly inserted as I feared. The damage to the inner organs appears to be small. I think he has a chance.”

Boromir sat on a nearby stool and held his head in his hands. His shoulders shook with silent sobs. Siriondil knelt next to him. “We have done all we could. It is now up to Faramir’s dogged will. He is young and strong. He should survive.”

“Survive. That is the half of it. Will he live as a shell of himself, Siriondil? Will he survive as a man or a beast, madness filling him with the memory of the horrors done to him?”

“With you at his side, he will survive.”

“Then let us move him, if he is able, to Minas Tirith. I want none to know of his injuries. Damrod!” he shouted and the Ranger entered. “Bring the men who found Faramir to my tent. I would speak with them. And Damrod,” he hesitated. “I have a task for you, one that must be kept secret.”

Damrod nodded.

“Take this,” he handed a bundle to his soldier, “and burn it. Let none see its contents.”

Damrod saluted and left the tent.

“He will not open it?”

“Nay, Siriondil. I trust Damrod with my life.” He paused and gathered his courage. “What kind of a babe… Was it human?”

“Yes. Taken from some poor woman’s womb, no doubt. The arm also came from a woman. Probably the mother.”

“Sweet Elbereth,” Boromir whispered.

“Hopefully, she died in the taking of the babe.”

“Yes. I have something to attend to, Siriondil. I will return shortly.

After a long moment of staring at his unconscious brother, Boromir turned and left the tent. He walked quietly towards his own, grateful when his aide ran up and offered him a cup of whiskey-laced tea before he entered the tent. He drank it down and shoved the tin cup back into Aldrich’s hand, pulled the flap aside and walked into the crowded tent. The men stood to attention and waited. Most were near tears or had already lost the contents of their own stomachs.

“Thank you for finding Faramir so quickly. You have probably saved his life.” He paused, trying to collect himself. Not a man stirred. “You have seen things, and know from what you have seen that Faramir was cruelly treated. I would have your silence in this matter.” His face turned red at the thought. “We know what happens to men Orc-captured. The same is true for my brother, your lieutenant. I would spare him whate’er we might.” The men nodded in agreement. “You have served him faithfully; I ask only that you continue that service with your silence in this matter. None must know.”

Damrod spoke for them all. “Not a word shall pass our lips, Captain Boromir. You have our word as Knights of Gondor.”

“Thank you,” he whispered. They filed out of the tent and Boromir sat heavily upon his cot.

“I did not speak before, my Lord. What of your father? Will you report these things to him?”

“I know not, Damrod. I would spare Faramir, if I could; however, it is my duty to report this.” He sighed heavily. “I will make my decision when we reach home. Thank you, Damrod. You will receive a promotion for this, I promise. You are invaluable to your lieutenant, and to me.”

Chapter Two – Manhandled

The screaming Orcs came through the trees in droves. All were caught by surprise, Faramir the most. Two hundred at least in the first wave and Gondor’s newest lieutenant could see more following behind. He shouted the command to retreat, but knew, in an instant, that retreat would be futile. They were all but surrounded. He pulled up short on his horse’s reins and unsheathed his sword, but the Orcs were so close it made it hard to even swing the thing. He pulled his dirk as he felt two arrows hit his horse. Screaming in pain, the horse lunged.

‘Oh Valar!’ Faramir ran as fast as he was able, but his horse’s fall had caught him by surprise and his leg had been trapped under the dead horse’s body. It had taken all his strength to pull it free. When he stood on it at first, he collapsed, but he heard the cry of the marauding Orcs as they continued to plunge free of the trees, and he knew, whether the foot was broken or no, he had best run. ‘Where had they come from,’ he wondered wildly, ‘where are my scouts?’

He looked about him and saw his men were doing the same – running, though there were at least a half dozen dead, arrows sticking from their bodies. The look cost him. He tripped and fell forward. Mardil died trying to save him. He felt himself scooped up into marble-hard arms and knew he had been captured. A hearty laugh greeted his eyes as he looked upon his captor.

He shoved his dirk into the forearm of his captor, but the beast just laughed louder. Leaving the dirk there, it took Faramir’s face into a rock-hard grip and moved the lieutenant’s head back and forth, then up and down until Faramir thought he saw stars.

“Wee little thing, aren’t ya?” the creature’s bellow near broke Faramir’s eardrum. “But the master won’t care. He likes ‘em small, easier to manhandle. Manhandle,” it chortled. “Did ya hear that, Balshak? Manhandle.” The laughter turned into a coughing fit as the Orc relished its joke.

Faramir lay silent in the great, tomb-like arms. Perhaps it would think him dead? No such luck – fate. The thing poked him in the ribs, the dirk still sticking, incongruously, from the trunk of an arm.

‘Need a little fatnin’, but you’ll not get it where yer goin’. Wish I could see it, but he don’t let the likes o’ us ta watch. Damn shame. Maybe we should play with this un afore we hands him over?”

Balshak slobbered and Faramir swallowed tightly.

“We best be getting’ on wit it then, afore he sends others lookin’ fer us.”

Balshak nodded. “The rest o’ em are dead or will be soon. Lots o’ meat fer supper.” The Orcs nearby all laughed. At that, their leader looked about, saw the great number looking at his captive with lust and yelled for them to go after the last of the survivor’s. Balshak and four others stayed behind, too lust-filled to even think properly.

Faramir found himself thrown to the ground. He tried to crawl off as the Orcs laughed, but Balshak saw him and stomped hard on his foot, the broken one, and Faramir yelped in pain. Which caused the Orcs to laugh even louder.

“We got us a lame ‘un. Not hardly worth the trouble o’ chasin’ it. Takes half the fun out, don’t it? But we’ll have our fun, nonetheless. Help me wit his clothes.” At this, the leader pulled the dirk from its own arm and shoved it into Faramir’s leg, the one with the broken foot. “This’ll keep ya close.” It howled in delight at Faramir’s screams.

In an instant, the Ranger found himself lying naked on the ground. By this time another two Orcs had joined the first two. As they jumped up and down in glee, Faramir realized he might not survive this. He closed his eyes, raised a quick appeal to the Valar, and pulled himself into a tight ball.

The Orcs howled in further glee. “Does ya see what he’s tryin’ ta do? He thinks we can’t get at ‘im. What kind o’ an idiot be ya?” the lead Orc bellowed in Faramir’s ear. At the same time, two Orcs grabbed Faramir’s arms and pulled them away from his body.

The young man began to kick with all his might, but an Orc sat on his legs, crushing the broken foot and knocking the dirk from his leg. Faramir screamed. “Stop yer thrashin’ and maybe we’ll be gentle-like.”

The other Orcs chortled at the jest while divesting themselves of their own clothes. The lead Orc forced Faramir onto his chest, then thrust into him from behind.

Faramir shrieked in agony. The Orc must have been the size of a hand. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to take in a breath, but the Orc slamming into him pushed his body against the ground and his mouth dug into it. Faramir began to choke on the dirt. He could not breath. Pushed further and further into the ground, his mind began to wander; the pain lessened, and finally, his thoughts stopped and blessed darkness filled him.

He woke to fresh pain. His face slapped repeatedly, he writhed while another Orc yelled at him to wake up. He groaned at the pain that radiated from his behind, but a new rod being shoved into him quickly heightened that pain. He shrieked again and again, but to no avail. The Orc above him shouted its delight at the pain it caused, and Faramir at last could scream no more. The Orc finished with him and roughly pulled out.

Another Orc took this one’s place and pulled Faramir to his feet. “Enough o’ this gentle stuff,” it growled. “I wants him ta watch me. I wants him ta see what I’m doin’ ta him.” It pushed Faramir’s back against a tree and lunged into him. Faramir could only whimper as pain lacerated him from head to toe, radiating from his nether regions up to his stomach and throughout his body. He yelped as another Orc leaned past the first Orc and took his member into its mouth, growling and slobbering over him, tugging on it and scraping its malicious teeth against him. Faramir sobbed until he could stand no more. His mind once again drifted off before his body betrayed him, spared the shame of knowing he had come into the giant creature’s mouth.

Cold water splashed onto his face and he sputtered and yelped as he awakened once more. As soon as the Orcs saw his eyes open, two proceeded to kick him in the ribs, others thrashed about his head with their fists. He felt his jaw break and groaned, too pain-filled to even put up his arms to defend himself.

“We best leave him be,” the lead Orc spat spittle as it spoke. “The master’ll have our heads if we bring ‘im back dead.”

“But I didn’t get ta have none!” One of the left-out Orcs whined. The leader looked about and saw that the main body of their force returned. He best not tarry.

“No one will know we’ve ‘ad ‘im,” Balshak muttered. “Why don’t we just finish ‘im off and leave ‘im?”

“Do ya think the boss’ll not know? Ya fool. He knows evert thin’ that happens in this whole wide world. He’ll know and he’ll beat us, more’n we’ve beat this here one. Now, get his clothes back on him and get ‘im walkin’ – no coddlin’ though.”

They all laughed at the jest.

Chapter Three – Home At Last

Boromir sat in the healer’s cart next to his little brother, holding his hand and whispering words of comfort, but Faramir did not respond. Traveling for hours did nothing to allay Boromir’s frustration, but turned it to concern. He hesitated before he spoke to Siriondil. “He has not woken, nor spoken a word, nor even blinked since we found him. You say he will live, yet I cannot believe this.”

“He will live. I know not if he will ever wake.”

Boromir opened his mouth, trying to catch a breath. His mind reeled at what Siriondil meant. At last, he burst into tears. “You saved him only to have him lie forever in darkness?”

‘I saved him in hopes that he will awaken. It is the best I can do, Boromir.”

“Is there any hope?”

“Very little. What happened to him, to his brain, I know not. He has obviously been beaten, besides the… the other things, yet if he his brain is bruised, which it appears must be or else he would have roused by now, then I do not hold much hope for his awakening.”

Boromir sat back on his heels, sorrow piercing his heart. “He would rather die,” he whispered at last.

“Will you take your dirk and make it so?”

Looking at the healer in horror, Boromir sobbed. “I cannot. Not yet.”

“Then speak not of such things. Especially in his presence. He might yet hear you and be taken with despair and not fight against this thing.”

Boromir nodded. “Mithrandir,” he choked. “The Wizard may yet be able to help him.”

“Yes.” At last Siriondil felt a rush of hope. “The Wizard might be able to help. Is there any way to make contact with him?”

“Father must know of a way. Yes, Father must know how to find him.” Boromir leaned forward and whispered to Faramir, “Hold on, little brother. I will save you, I promise.”

Others winded their horns for Boromir of Gondor was too preoccupied with stilling the thrashing that began but moments before they approached the Great Gate.

“Hold him still, Boromir, else he injures himself further,” Siriondil cautioned.

“He has the strength of a kine. Where does it come from?”

“Fear.” Siriondil leaned forward and blew a powdery substance into Faramir’s nostrils. The boy quieted immediately.

“He has naught to fear now. I am at his side.”

“He knows that not, I am afraid. He is still in the darkness of his captivity.”

“Where were you, little brother? Who took you and did this to you?”

His brother did not respond. The frenzied breathing slowed to an almost imperceptible rate.

Siriondil sat back and sighed. “He should never have been sent to Ithilien. Too young and the dangers too great.”

Boromir looked up and growled. “He is seventeen and has completed his esquire training. He is a lieutenant in Gondor’s army.”

“But to station him in Ithilien!”

“Stationed with tested warriors! One can lay no fault on Father’s part nor the men of Faramir’s company. Besides,” he whispered, “most have paid with their lives.”

Denethor greeted them as they stopped at the entrance to the Houses of Healing. One look at Boromir’s face and the Steward near fell. “Does he yet live?” Denethor whispered.

Siriondil stepped from the cart. “He does, but barely. There is much yet to be done.” He took Denethor aside. “Take Boromir from here. He has not slept since he was recalled upon the news of Faramir’s disappearance and this day’s grief is wearing.”

“I would see my son first.”

Boromir outstretched his hand to his father and helped him climb into the cart as Damrod tried to talk the man into letting them take Faramir out.

“One moment only is what I ask. Let Father see him.”

Damrod stepped back.

“Faramir,” Denethor gasped at the empty eye socket. “Oh Faramir, what have I done?”

“Naught, Father,” Boromir’s voice held firm and hard. “You sent him out as part of his training. The same as all new lieutenants receive. Hold yourself not accountable for this.”

Denethor did not speak further, but Boromir could see into his father’s eyes; guilt skewered Denethor’s heart.

Damrod stepped forward again. “Boromir, we can wait no longer. Siriondil has a room ready for Lieutenant Faramir. You must let him go.”

Boromir nodded and helped hand down the litter to the guards who quickly took it and strode into the Houses. Boromir made to follow, but Denethor laid a hand across his chest, effectively stopping him. “Come with me.”

Boromir meant to disobey, but the grief in his father’s eyes stayed him. “I will, Father. Let me see that Faramir is settled and I will meet you in your study?”

“Within the hour.”

“Yes, Father.”

Boromir went into the Houses and Denethor walked slowly to the Sixth Gate.

Not finding Faramir in any of the patient rooms, he stopped an attendant and asked, “Where is Master Healer Siriondil?”

“He is in the operating chambers.”

Boromir ran. Pushing open the door, he stared in horror. Siriondil stood over his brother, once again cutting parts of Faramir. Damrod and two of his men pushed him out of the room.

“What has happened?” Boromir demanded.

“Naught. There are small things that must be corrected. Things that are not life-threatening, that the healer put off until he took care of Faramir’s greater wounds.”

“Tell me.”

“His leg needs stitching; a dirk wound. His foot is crushed. Siriondil is attempting to straighten the toes and bind them together so they will heal rightly. There is no cause for concern, Boromir. Let him do his work and go to your father. He has need of you.”

Boromir rubbed his hands over his eyes and sobbed. “You speak the truth?”

“I do. Go now. Siriondil will be done soon. I will come and fetch you when Faramir has been settled in one of the patient rooms.”

“I will do as you ask. Remember, Damrod, I trust you.”

“I know, my Lord.”

Boromir turned and left the room and Damrod leaned against the wall in anguish. His turned to him, “You misspoke.”

“I could not tell him what further had been done to his brother. Not now. Captain Boromir is close to exhaustion; what good would it do. Hopefully, his father will persuade him to rest, at least for a time. When he returns, he will be better able to accept… Nay, not accept, never accept this, but at least not succumb to despair.”

“I cannot see Captain Boromir giving in to despair, Damrod.”

“You do not know the love between the brothers.”

“Come and sit down, Boromir. The cook has prepared stew for you.” Denethor released him from the strong embrace that welcomed Boromir into his father’s study. “Fresh, warm bread and butter. And ale.”

“I cannot eat, Father.” The young man sat in a chair near the fire, held his head down and tried not to weep.

“Boromir,” Denethor said gently, “Your brother is young and strong; the blood of Númenor flows through his veins. He will survive – and recover.”

At the gentle reprimand, Boromir’s tears fell. “He is wounded in more ways than you know, Father.”

“I have been a soldier all my life, Boromir,” Denethor spoke without rancor. “I have seen the bodies of untold men who have been Orc-tortured. I know what they can do. I know the heinous acts they suffer upon men. I know your brother did not lose just an eye.”

By this time, Denethor stood at Boromir’s side. His son rose and threw himself into his father’s arms. “It is unbearable,” he sobbed. “I should have been with him. I should have known. He was not ready. He is too young.”

“Cease this, Boromir. As you said to me, not an hour hence, it is no one’s fault. He has been trained well. None could have known of the Orcs in the area, not even me. My spies have failed us.”

“Father,” Boromir withdrew from his father’s arms, “will you send for Mithrandir?”

“Why?” Denethor almost shouted, but quickly controlled himself.

“Siriondil does not… Faramir’s wounds are too… He does not stir, Father, and Siriondil is concerned.”

“Eat and then we will go to the Houses and I will listen to Siriondil’s report. What say you to that? If… If Siriondil does not think he has the skill to save Faramir, then we shall see what we shall see.”

Boromir ate quickly, then jumped up and took his father’s arm. “I am done.”

A smile graced Denethor’s face. “Then let us go.”

Chapter Four – The Witch-king

They walked for hours. The sun shone hot upon his head and his throat constricted from lack of water, but the Orcs did not stop nor offer Faramir any respite, any comfort – any water. He stumbled often; though they gave him a stick to bear his weight upon, loss of blood made him weak. He concentrated on the pain from his broken jaw, hanging loose, to keep his mind from other parts of his body. Parts that now shamed him. Finally, he could walk no longer; his body gave out and he fell, hitting his head in the process. The pain that engulfed him as his jaw hit the ground caused stars to float before his eyes. He blinked a number of times to clear his head, but darkness came, not sought, but gratefully embraced.

When next he woke, he found himself in the dark. He cried out in alarm when he discovered his hands and feet bound. No sound escaped for he found his mouth gagged. He choked on the filthy piece of cloth and the taste of it. He suppressed the need to vomit, knowing it would probably kill him.

“So ya’s finally wakes up, does ya? I thought we’d have ta carry ya all the way to the master, but I see the stuff I gave ya to drink wakes ya up. Good. Now, be real quiet and I’ll only hump ya myself.”

Balshak’s voice, of that Faramir was sure. If he could make some sound, the leader would discover his underling planned harm upon his prisoner.

The Orc took Faramir’s face in its hands. “Ifn’ ya make one sound, I’ll knife ya. I doesn’t care what Gorgrum says. I’lls tell im ya tried ta escape. An’ he’ll believes me, he will. Trusts me, he does.” The Orc snorted. “Fool.”

The pain that seared through the young lieutenant was beyond description. His jaw felt on fire. Faramir almost wished they’d cut it off, but the horror of what was about to happen to him again seared even hotter. He was roughly thrown over onto his stomach. He felt his balls being fondled and then his leggings torn and pulled halfway down his thighs. The creature lay on top of him and pushed in. Faramir silently screamed. Push after push, more furious and faster then any earlier this day, slammed him into the ground. Once in awhile, the Orc’s head pushed against Faramir’s and his jaw slammed into the ground. At last, the boy slumped in darkness.

“Come on!” he felt a kick to his side and then a hand pulled him up. “What ‘cha been about now?” he heard the voice of Gorgrum ask. “Ya been playin’ wit yerself? We ain’t ‘nuff fer ya, boy?”

The other Orcs laughed loudly. “No, I doesn’t think so; I think one o’ me boys has been at ya. Is that it? One o’ ems been playin’ wit ya without my say so?”

Faramir just stood, dazed and sick to his stomach. The gag still in his mouth; he could taste blood, sweat and something else. He shuddered. Did it…? No, it couldn’t have. It wouldn’t have. He would have known! He sobbed and the Orc hit him across the face. He reeled and fell sideways.

“Don’t be givin’ nothin’ ta ‘em unless’n I tell ya to. Now, if’n I find out which one o’ ye lot took him without askin’ I’ll run ya through,” Gorgrum bellowed to the Orcs surrounding him. He motioned and one of the Orcs picked Faramir up.

The camp churned into furious action as the Orcs made to leave, hiding from their leader. Balshak kicked Faramir in the back of his legs and he fell to the ground. “Jest r’member,” it whispered, holding its knife before Faramir’s face.

Then the Orc grabbed Faramir’s torn tunic, hauled him up, and handed him the walking stick. “I’m not carryin’ ya today. Ya hear me. No faintin’ on us like a little girly girl, ya hear me?”

Gorgrum nodded his approval and the troop marched off, Faramir and Balshak bringing up the rear.

When at last they stopped again, Faramir saw they were very near to Minas Morgul. They crossed the river sometime while he was unconscious, he surmised, and now the Witch-king’s stronghold lay before him. Faramir began to shake at the thought. His legs gave way and Balshak kicked him hard. Faramir felt another rib break.

“Come along now. The master’s waitin’ He’ll be happy ta see we found at least one officer. He likes the officers, he does. Gives ‘im more fun. Don’t know why. Yer not as tight as some I’ve ‘ad.” Balshak picked him up and shoved the sharp end of the stick into his stomach. “I’m hopin’ fer more, ya know,” it whispered conspiratorially. “So keep yer door open an’ yer hole too.” It roared in laughter and shoved Faramir onward.

They reached the gate an hour later. It yawned open. Faramir swallowed in fear. He looked to his right, to the river that ran under the bridge they were crossing and wondered if he could make it to the edge and over before they grasped his purpose. Death seemed so sweet now. He wept; he would never make it, not with his foot like this. Balshak pushed him and he passed into the castle.

A huge wingéd beast sat in the main courtyard, seeming to sun itself, its wings spread out. The company of Orcs swerved and walked around it. It sniffed at Faramir and snorted. Then, it snaked a long, thin tongue out and licked Faramir’s face. The Orcs laughed. “He likes ya, he does. The master’ll be given ya ta ‘im, once he’s finished wit ya.”

Faramir looked with horror at the creature and its eyes seemed to gleam, as if it understood and enjoyed Faramir’s fëar. Balshak again pushed him forward, yelling at him to keep up.

They walked into the keep and Faramir found himself in a large hall, even bigger than the one in Minas Tirith. There were statues all about, such as those in the Great Hall, but these stood – decapitated. Lewd writing covered the statues privates, and some had those selfsame privates cut off and stuck into holes drilled into the statues’ mouths. Faramir recognized Earner’s statue and wept.

He was thrown to the floor in front of a throne like unto the one in the City, but much more ornate. He kept his head down; he did not want to see who or what sat upon that throne. At a hiss, an Orc pulled his head back and Faramir looked upon an aberration of a man. The Witch-king!

“So, you brought me a good one this time. Look at his hair and his eyes. He is truly of the high blood. Probably straight from that wretched island. You did well, Gorgrum, though I would have preferred his arriving in better health. Next time you bring me a prisoner this ill-treated, I will send you to my dungeons. And not for your pleasure.”

Gorgrum let Faramir’s head fall and fell to its knees. “Master, he was wounded in the fightin.’ We didn’t do nothin’ to ‘im.”

A whip slashed across the creatures back. The guard with the device raised his arm again, but their Master halted him. “If you lie to me again, you will be fed to my pretty. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master,” Gorgrum shook. “It was Balshak, Master. He did it last night, whilst I wast sleepin.’”

A scream and Faramir turned sideways and watched as Balshak fell to the floor, the Orc’s stomach skewered with a long spear. Faramir sighed in relief. One less that he had to worry about.

The Witch-king looked at him and smiled. “So you think I would let one of them touch you now, now that you are in my hall? No,” the smile grew wicked, “you are mine now. Mine to play with. Take him to my chambers,” he ordered and swiftly left the room.

Balshak’s body was taken from the room as Gorgrum stepped to Faramir’s side. “Ya tell ‘im anythin’ and I’ll skewer ya myself.”

Two Orcs towed Faramir away.

Chapter Five – Where is the Wizard

Walking quickly down the stairs, Boromir told Denethor a little of the wounds he had seen on Faramir. “But Siriondil took him to the operating chambers as soon as we arrived. Damrod says it is nothing; smaller wounds that needed care.”

“You do not believe him?”

“I think he stretched the truth. Father,” Boromir took his father’s arm, “Faramir was raped—”

“I know, Boromir. They always rape.” He tried to continue walking, but Boromir stayed him.

“Numerous times, Father. Blood ran down his legs. I did not have time to inspect the damage, but it is severe.”

“Boromir. I rue the fact that I have kept some things from your eyes. You need not tell me the things that have been done to your brother. I have seen everything that the Orcs can do. And even more so, the Haradrim.”

His eldest blushed. “I… I am sorry. I did not know.”

“Listen to me, Boromir. Though I have seen degradation and shame put upon our men, I reel still, as you do, at the thought that it is our beloved Faramir that these things have been done to. Stand next to me, when we approach him, that I may not falter and thus dismay those who rely upon me for strength.”

“I… I will, Father.”

They continued on to the Houses and were led into a small room towards the back of the main building.

Siriondil met them, still wiping his blood-soaked hands. “I had hoped you would rest, Captain Boromir.”

Denethor stepped forward. “I am here to see my son.”

“He has suffered greatly, my Lord. Though I have sadly become inured to the ways of torture, I am nonetheless appalled at what was done to Faramir. It is not Orc-torture, Denethor.” His voice dropped. “It is as if some evil thing decided to experiment upon him. Did Boromir tell you of the babe in his stomach? And the extra arm sewn onto his own?”

Denethor nodded as tears misted his eyes.

“That is not all. I will not even tell you, now, what further atrocities have been committed against your son, but know that I doubt he will ever wake. The horror is too great, even for such a man as he.”

“Why would an arm be sewn to his own?” Boromir asked in bewilderment.

“To see if a man could have more than two arms for battle. Can you not imagine what a foe it would be, to see a four-armed man come at you with swords in each arm? That is all I can surmise from it.”

“The babe. Why?”

“Orcs appear to be only male. I know not how long it must take to make one, but if they could be impregnated… well, that would swell the enemy’s army.”

“Let us discuss this no further,” Denethor stated flatly. “I wish to see my son.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Siriondil opened the door and led them in.

Faramir lay, ashen faced and still; the white sheets on the bed darker than his face. Boromir strode forward and knelt at his brother’s side, taking a hand into his and kissing it gently as tears fell.

“They took his eye.”

“They did.” Siriondil shook his head. “I have no idea why.”

Denethor stepped towards the bed and laid a gentle hand on Faramir’s forehead. “He burns.”

“The dead babe contaminated his body. There is poison in it. It will take time to flush it out.”

Denethor nodded and moved away. Siriondil followed him. “You do not think my son will wake?”

“No. There has been no sign, none since we found him in Ithilien, and none since he was returned here to the Houses. There should have been some movement. I believe his brain has been damaged. Perhaps when they broke his jaw.”

Denethor started.

“I am sorry, my Lord. Do you want a listing of his injuries?”

Denethor shivered. “No. Yes. Please, have it sent to my aide as soon as possible. Siriondil, is he in pain?”

“I think not. He has been unconscious the entire time. Besides that, I gave him a large dose of poppy. His wounds are dire.”

“Thank you.” Denethor left the room.

Boromir looked up in surprise when the door closed. “Siriondil?”

The Master Healer only shrugged.

“Thank you for coming, Imrahil. Your presence is a great comfort.” They walked slowly from the Houses.

The Prince of Dol Amroth bowed his head to Denethor in acknowledgment, but said naught in anticipation of what his brother by law would tell him. Boromir strode next to his uncle.

“I have sent riders throughout the kingdom and into Rohan and further north. Some are headed towards Dol Amroth and others to the men of Erebor. If Mithrandir will let himself be found, then we will find him.”

“You speak strangely, Father. Would Mithrandir hide from you?”

“I know not, Boromir. He is a riddle. I have never understood him.”

“If I went, would he not let me find him?”

Denethor looked at his eldest in surprise. “You would leave Faramir?”

“If it was the only way to save him, I would. I know naught would harm him whilst you watch over him.”

“Give my errand-riders a month. If they do not return with Mithrandir by that time, then I will send you.”

“Father, I know not if Faramir can survive for a month.”

“Siriondil promises me that he will live; with what kind of life, that I know not. Let my riders have the time, then I will send you.”

Boromir nodded as they entered the Tower. “Very well. I would return to Faramir’s room.”

“Wait another moment. Boromir,” his father hesitated. “Do we know if the Orcs knew who Faramir was?”

“I think not, Father. They would never have released him.”

“Yet, with such tortures, you would think he would tell them.”

“If they did not ask the right question, Father, even in delirium, I doubt Faramir would have offered his identity.”

“Yes. I think you are correct.”

He turned to Imrahil. “How long do you plan on staying?”

“Until Mettarë is celebrated. I would like to take my turn in keeping watch over my nephew.”

“Of course.” Denethor hissed. “It is difficult to see him, is it not?”

“I have loved Faramir since he was but a babe. It is as if one of my own sons lay there.”

“Yes. Imrahil, I have sorties out every day in Ithilien, trying to find the band of Orcs that waylaid him. I wonder if you might spare some of your knights?”

“They would all be honored to serve in this capacity. During your family’s visits, Faramir endeared himself to the men.” A small smile broke across Imrahil’s face. “He was always visiting the stables, or in the armory, or watching on the practice field. He is well loved.”

“That he is.”

Once they entered Denethor’s study, he drew forth a large parchment and opened it upon his desk. “This is the area we are concentrating on at the moment. The attack happened here and this is where he was found.”

Imrahil pointed. “So you plan on covering all this territory?”

“I do.”

“Then you will need many men.”

“I have many. All volunteers.”

“That I can understand. You have my own men.”

“Belegorn,” Denethor called and his aide stepped forward. “Take this map to the captain of Imrahil’s men — “

“If you do not mind, Denethor, I will take it and apportion my men for the duty. You have enough to keep you well busy.”

Denethor embraced his brother and let him leave. “Go now, Boromir, and sit with your brother. I will relieve you when night falls.”

“Think you that I should stay here, Uncle?” Boromir asked as they walked down the steps. “Though it would break my heart to leave Faramir in this state, I am anxious to bring the wizard here as quickly as possible.”

“I know Boromir, but your father is wise. It would be useless, having you traipse about the countryside and perhaps missing the news that Mithrandir was on the other side of Rohan while you were up in Erebor. Have patience and keep close to Faramir. Even if he wakes not, he will know, he must know that you are by his side.”

Chapter Six – A Brother’s Love

Two weeks passed and Faramir still did not stir. Boromir, nigh unto frantic, found heeding his uncle’s advice for patience strained him beyond endurance. One night, as he relieved Denethor, he wept openly, the first time since his return to Minas Tirith.

“Father,” he whispered, “may I speak with you a moment?”

Denethor nodded, kissed Faramir on the forehead and moved from the room, knowing full well what his eldest needed to say.

“I can no longer sit at his bedside and watch, Father. Please, let me go and find Mithrandir.”

“A fortnight only has passed, Boromir. Trust me. If he is not found, I will send you, but not yet.”

Boromir furiously wiped the tears from his eyes. “You hate him! That is why you let him lie thus. If it was me, you would have gone yourself.”

Stunned by the harsh words, Denethor walked away from his son. Only a few paces forward, then he turned and spoke softly, “I love him. Not in the way I love you, Boromir, and if it appears otherwise, then I am to blame. But I love him. You may not go. Not yet.” He turned again and walked away, shoulders slumped.

Boromir fell against the wall and sobbed. “I am sorry,” he whispered. He walked back into Faramir’s room, collapsed on the floor next to his brother’s bed and let his grief and despair overcome him. He wept long into the night, ever holding his brother’s hand.

As morning broke and Imrahil’s watch approached, Boromir stood, and on impulse, took Faramir into his arms, carrying him to the window. “Little brother,” he whispered. “Look. The sun yet shines, though night tried to keep it away. Will you not shine again?” Tears feel in endless streams. “Will you let the night keep you away from me? I who love you so?”

He leaned against the window’s sill and let the sun cover them both. Almost asleep, his head snapped up as the body in his arms twitched. “Faramir,” he called quietly. Naught. Still, he held his brother in the sun’s warm glow.

Another twitch and a small moan. “Faramir!” Boromir kissed his brother’s cheeks. “Faramir, you are safe. Your brother holds you and the sun is shining. Wake up. Wake up.” He called to his brother as he had done when they were children. A thought came to him and he began the little song their mother used to sing:

“You must wake up.
You must wake up.
You must wake up and play.

The birds are up.
The bees are up.
I even think the trees are up.
You must wake up,
You must wake up,
You must wake up today.

The lambs are up,
The pigs are up,
I even think the twigs are up.
You must wake up,
You must wake up,
To greet the jolly day.”

Faramir’s eyes fluttered. “Oh, Faramir. Please wake up. I can stand this no longer.” Again, he kissed his brother’s forehead.

The sweet eyes opened, then closed. ‘No,’ Boromir’s mind screamed, ‘only one. But one is enough,’ he told himself sternly. ‘Even none if it means Faramir yet lives.’ He called again, “Faramir,” and this time an opened eye rewarded him; one gray eye looked into gray and smiled. “Oh, Faramir. Faramir, my love.” He held his brother tightly and wept.

“B…”

“Do not speak. Your jaw is sore. It will heal soon and then you may sing again. Would you like to sing again, little brother?” The tears did not stop, but fell for joy, not sorrow. “Let me take you back to your bed and fluff up your pillows. You may want some water?”

At Faramir’s nod, Boromir took his little brother and laid him gently upon the bed. He took each pillow and fluffed it, replaced it, then kissed his brother lightly. Turning to the door, he stopped as a hand held his firmly. “Oh! I will not leave you. I am just calling Siriondil.” At the pain in the eye, he stopped. “Well, then. I will not leave you at all. You will have to be without water for a few more moments. Uncle Imrahil has come to Minas Tirith and is due to take my place. He will fetch you some water. I will hold you, if that is what you want.”

The eye blinked and Boromir sat on the bed, pulling his brother into his arms. Lying back against the headboard, he softly sang their mother’s morning song again. He felt Faramir shiver, so he began to stroke his hair.

Imrahil opened the door slowly and sobbed at the sight. ‘Poor Boromir,’ he thought. ‘He is taking this ill. If Faramir does not wake, I know not what will happen.’

Boromir opened his eyes and smiled. He nodded his head and Imrahil entered, wondering at the change in his nephew’s countenance.

“Faramir, Uncle is here. Would you like to bid him good morrow?”

Faramir opened his eye and Imrahil cried aloud, “Faramir!” then knelt beside the bed and took his youngest nephew’s hand in his own. “So good it is to see you awake. How do you feel?”

The boy shuddered and Boromir kissed him once again. “You are feeling fine, are you not, little brother? How else could he feel, dearest uncle, wrapped in my arms and safe?”

“Yes. Yes, Faramir, you are safe. At home where you belong and in your brother’s arms.”

“He is thirsty, Uncle.”

Imrahil jumped up, “I will return,” and ran from the room.

Boromir smiled. “He is happy to see you. He will probably call Father too.” Faramir shivered again and Boromir held him close. “He was beside himself with grief, little one. He has sent out half the knights of Gondor searching for Mithrandir, hoping the wizard would be able to help you.”

Faramir leaned closer, laying his head in the crook of Boromir’s neck. A deep sigh escaped him.

“Tired already, little one?”

Faramir nodded.

“All right then, rest now. You do not need to see Father yet. Lean on me,” he pulled his brother closer and closed his own eyes. And promptly fell asleep.

Just moments later, Denethor opened the door, stopped and watched his sons sleep. Imrahil stood behind him. “I suppose we should call back the errand-riders.”

Denethor chuckled. “Yes. And perhaps you can begin to plan for your trip home.”

“I will leave in a week. I would like to spend some time with Faramir. I have some… experience with returning soldiers.”

Denethor looked at his brother by law and shrugged. “We have healers with much experience.”

“Perhaps he would find it easier to speak with his uncle.”

“But not his father?”

A heavy sigh greeted Denethor’s statement. “Would you have discussed such things with Ecthelion?”

Denethor laughed sourly. “You are wise, little brother.”

Imrahil joined his brother in quiet laughter. “Only in matters of fathers and sons. My own is quite… forceful.”

“He is. I never thought it possible to win Finduilas’ hand.” His brow furrowed and Imrahil put an arm around his shoulder.

“She was a fragile thing, Denethor. You did all you could for her. I believe that.”

Taking in a deep breath, Denethor let it out slowly. “Faramir is her mirror.”

“He is. Both in looks and sentiment. I love him dearly for that. Let me stay a bit longer, Denethor. Let me help him if I may.”

“Whether he speaks with you or no, your presence will gladden his heart, Imrahil.”

Chapter Seven – Confrontation

It was not a hard decision, based on Faramir’s condition, but it was one that bore such ramifications that Boromir carried little hope his father would not banish him outright, once he heard Boromir’s decision. ‘Well,’ he thought to himself as he lay in the tub, ‘there is naught to do but tell him.’ He swallowed. He had never before defied his father. Sudden thoughts of a thrashing, even at his age, caused his breath to catch. ‘Father would not; yet again, I am throwing everything he ever hoped for back at him.’ The water grew cold as he reflected upon his decision. He wished he had someone to talk to. Faramir had the wizard; why did he not go… No. His father’s scorn for Mithrandir made it impossible for the heir to dally with such a man.

He stepped out of his bath and shivered. Winter was coming. For a moment, he stood still, stark naked, at the thought of Faramir having been lost later in the year. He would surely have died for Ithilien was bitter cold in winter and the winds blew ragged and sharp. Another shiver ran through him and he quickly wrapped a robe around him, though naught would stop the thoughts that tore through him, raged inside his brain as he remembered when first he had looked upon his little brother in Mablung’s arms.

The Captain of Gondor fell to his knees, leaned over, and retched, tears streaming all the while from red-rimmed eyes. “Faramir,” he whispered brokenly, “Faramir, my beloved.” His shuddering was so great the robe fell from his shoulders. “Elbereth,” he moaned, “Do not let him die. He is purity itself. Will you not speak to Manwë and ask for mercy?”

Not oft did Boromir of Gondor give any thought to the Valar, but tonight, as he knelt in his own vomit, he cared not for grown-up reality, he only cared for Faramir. And that care and love brought him back to childhood need, to pleas lifted up as taught by his mother. He might feel ashamed, on the morrow, for succumbing to such a ploy, but he cared not. If the Valar would listen to him, would intercede for his brother, he would build a temple such as at Meneltarma and spend the rest of his days in service to the One.

A sharp knock on his door brought him to his senses. He pulled the robe around his still shuddering body as he called for entrance.

Imrahil opened the door and stepped in. He stopped in surprise, noticing the mess on the floor and Boromir’s haggard look.

Boromir turned to hide from his uncle, as he would do as a child in Dol Amroth, when he was ashamed of something he had done.

“Boromir, come to me.”

Reluctantly, his nephew turned and walked forward. Imrahil embraced him, held him, whispered into his ear words of encouragement and love, and then kissed him gently. “Your brother would be distraught if he knew you suffered so.”

Nodding his acknowledgement, Boromir could only sob.

“You shiver. Are you cold?”

Shaking his head, Boromir did not look up, engulfed as he was in safety.

Imrahil took a deep breath. “Faramir is awake now. And that is a good thing. His body has begun to heal, and his mind will too. It will take some time, but with love around him, especially yours, he will heal quickly. Mark my words.”

Boromir put his hands to his face and sobbed uncontrollably.

“You need healing as much as he, do you not?”

“I look at his face; it… it screams of what other things were done to him. The empty eye… Uncle, I cannot bear to look at him, and yet, I force myself to, so that he does not suffer at my hand.”

“That is a hard burden to carry.”

“He is wo – worth it,” Boromir blubbered as if a child once again. “He – is precious.”

“I know,” Imrahil smiled sadly as Boromir’s words caught and tangled. It reminded the prince so much of when the boys lost their mother and had come to him for comfort.

“I need someone to talk to, Uncle. I must do something and it will kill Father, but I must.”

“Wait, Boromir.” Imrahil turned and pulled the bell, then walked Boromir to his cupboard and opened it. “Here, put this on.” He pulled out a pair of black leggings and a cream colored shirt.

Boromir wiped off his knees, dressed quickly, then bent to clean up the mess on the floor. When he was done, he threw the towels and robe into the basket and walked over to the table where Imrahil sat. A servant entered a moment later with tea and biscuits.

“I ordered these before I came in. I did not think you have eaten lately?”

Boromir took a sip of tea, then turned to his uncle. “I am going to Father, when you leave, and resign my commission.” His cheeks turned red.

“What will be your reasons?”

“Faramir will need a great deal of care these next few months. I would be by his side, to help and to encourage him. He relies upon me; he always has. I cannot do my duty to Gondor whilst Faramir suffers so. Faramir comes first.”

“Have you considered your father’s reaction?”

Boromir laughed sourly. “He might flog me. Or have me banished. I will endure a beating, but I will take Faramir with me if he banishes me.”

“Would Faramir survive long if he was removed from the Houses? From the care he is receiving?”

Boromir looked up with such grief and horror upon his face that Imrahil stood and knelt at his nephew’s side. “I will stand with you, Boromir, when you go to him. If he suggests banishment, I will take you and Faramir to Dol Amroth.”

“You would suffer his anger?”

“I would. As you would. Faramir is in need of love at this moment. The healers are wondrous at medicines, but at healing a heart wounded as Faramir’s has been is beyond their purview.”

“May we go now, stand before Father before I lose my courage?”

Imrahil smiled. “Of course.”

But there was no need as at that very moment, Denethor stepped into Boromir’s room without introduction.

“I am glad to see you both here. Imrahil, were you able to speak with Faramir? Ascertain the state of his mind?”

“I did not, Denethor. He has been sleeping since Boromir left him. Thankfully. I think Siriondil gave him some poppy to stifle the pain. He is horribly wounded. More so than I had first understood.”

“So I have been told. Will you still stay?”

“I think I will be leaving shortly. He will have little need for me as Boromir has just told me.”

“Boromir?” Denethor turned to his eldest son.

Boromir stood. “I am resigning my commission, Father. I plan to spend the next few months caring for Faramir.”

The Steward’s jaw clenched. “I will not allow it.” At the look of stubborn determination in Boromir’s eyes, he sighed. “Faramir will never heal enough to live with any measure of use. I have given this much thought. There is a building on the First Level that houses soldiers hurt in battle. I am going to move him there. They are used to dealing with such cases and will be able to give him the care he needs.”

Imrahil stayed Boromir’s raised hand. “Do not,” his uncle hissed. “You will be put in irons.”

Sighing, Denethor sat in a nearby chair. “Faramir is already ashamed of what has happened to him and knows that his face mirrors that shame. When he is with others of the same ilk, he will be more comfortable. It is for the best, Boromir.”

“You would relegate him to some ‘home’ for those not suitable for Gondor’s high society?”

“It is for Faramir’s own sake, but I see you have quite lost your senses over this, Boromir. We will not discuss it further.”

The Steward made to leave, but Boromir ran and stood in front of him. “I will not let you put him away! If you do this, I will take him to Dol Amroth and you will never see either of us again.”

Denethor’s gray eyes grew hard as steel. “Do not threaten me, boy. I am your father and your Steward. I order you to return to Amon Dîn and to your duties as captain of that garrison. Leave within the hour.”

“I will not.” Boromir said between clenched teeth. “I resign.”

“And I will not —”

Imrahil interrupted. “Denethor, Faramir is not a hopeless case. He will mend, though not to full mobility. He will still be valuable as a clerk or some such. Let Boromir take a month off and care for him. Then, when Faramir’s recovery is assured, you may send Boromir back to Amon Dîn. Surely, you can give him a month’s time off?”

Denethor bristled, but found himself accosted on all sides. “Very well. One month.” He turned and left the room.

“I cannot do this. A month is not enough.”

“Boromir, take what you can. You know battle strategy in Ithilien, short raids over straightforward battle. Sorties instead of full-blown maneuvers. This is a start. When the month is over, and your father sees Faramir’s progress, then he will give you more time.”

Boromir slumped down into a chair and held his head in his hands. “I will do as you council, Uncle. But if Faramir is hardly improved, I will sneak away with him in the night and you will find two poor bedraggled nephews on your doorstep, as once before.”

Imrahil pulled Boromir into his arms. “And this uncle will accept you and hide you. But I do not think it will come to that. Your resolve in helping Faramir is strong medicine and will help him recover quickly. I will leave on the morrow, but send a missive if you need me. Just write, ‘bedraggled,’ and I will come myself and help you spirit Faramir away.”

Chapter Eight – Healing Begins

Boromir handed the cup to Faramir who promptly sloshed its contents over his arm. Frustrated, the young man clenched his teeth. That motion sent rivulets of pain up his now-healing jaw and into his empty eye socket. The cup dropped and Boromir caught it.

Blushing in shame, he sighed, “I am thorry. I cannot do thith.”

“No, Faramir, you can. I have told you, it will take time to adjust. With only one eye, you must compensate, but soon, I promise, it will be as if you have both. Your body will adjust.”

His younger brother sighed. “I am impa— Ow! Impathient.” He held his jaw and grimaced.

“You have been the embodiment of patience. I would have thrown the cup.” Boromir laughed and Faramir joined him.

“Ith the patch weady?”

“The eye patch? It is. I think Siriondil planned to try it on today. See how it feels.”

“Good. I… I do not wike otherth theeing me thuth.” The young man’s face blushed in shame. “Hath the thwelling lethened?”

“Has the swelling lessened? You still look like one of the spoiled, fat babes in cook’s family.”

Faramir chuckled, but laughter is a thing for pain, when one’s jaw is not quite healed. He hissed and lay back on the pillows.

“Here, Faramir,” and Boromir handed him another cup.

“You awr merthileth, Bowomiwr,” Faramir cried out.

“Take the cup.”

Tears filled Faramir’s eyes, but did not spill. “You think I am wowrth aw thith twouble?”

Growling, Boromir smacked Faramir on his good arm. “Take the cup!”

Faramir reached for it and finally grasped the cup without spilling or dropping it.

“See,” Boromir congratulated him, “you can do it. By this time tomorrow, the peas will not spill from your fork.”

“I doubt that. Unleth you gwue them to it.” Faramir smiled.

“Unless you? Oh, glue. That will be enough for today, Faramir You did well. Rest now. Ioreth will be here soon to read that horrid book.”

“It ith not a howwid book. It ith fathinating. Laer Cú Beleg, the Thong of the Gweat Bow. It ith about the Elfen awrchewr, Beweg.”

Boromir smiled. “I only tease, sweet Faramir. I know your love of the bow; listen and be lifted by the tale. Though if I remember rightly, Beleg is killed?”

“That he ith, but nonetheleth, the book ith thtirring. The thong toucheth my heart.”

“Then I will leave you to Ioreth and Beleg.”

He kissed his brother lightly and turned to leave. Before his hand touched the door, he heard a small sound and turned to find Faramir in tears. “What, Faramir? Do you hurt? Do you need help?”

“I wiwl nevewr be able to dwaw my bow, wiwl I?”

Boromir angrily strode towards his brother’s bed. “You will not only be able to draw it, you will win at next year’s tournament.” He knelt and took Faramir’s hand in his own. “I promise it.”

“I cannot thee it. My weft awm…”

“Is intact. It will take time to rebuild the muscles, but Faramir, you have such a gift for the bow. That is the important thing, the gift. When your arm is strong again, you will find the gift has not abandoned you.”

“Ath you have not,” Faramir whispered.

Boromir lunged forward and took his brother in his arms. “I will never abandon you, little brother. I would die first.”

Faramir returned the embrace as well as he was able. “Do not die on me, Bowomiwr. Pleathe.”

His brother smiled and stood. “Tell that to the Orcs.” The stricken look on Faramir’s face cut him. “I am sorry!” he cried aloud. “I am so sorry.”

“Nay. I am aw wight. I wust do not want to think of Orcth at the moment.” He buried his head in his good arm. “I have tawked to them too much, of wate.”

Heartsick, Boromir knelt again at his brother’s side. “Think not on it. I am a fool. A damnéd fool.”

“Then it muht wun in the bwood, for I am one to wet it bothew me.”

A knock at the door interrupted them. “Rest now,” Boromir touched his brother’s cheek. “I will return for the daymeal.”

“Pleathe do not, Bowomiwr. You have thpent the night with me. Take thome weth yourthelf. I wiwl thee you tomowwow?”

“I will be here. Father will spend the night with you.”

“Then go and reth, Brothiwr. I wove you.” The whispered words were not heard; Boromir was already out the door.

Siriondil waited in the corridor. “I have the patch ready, but I am not happy with it.”

“May I see it?”

The Master Healer held out a small black cloth with ties attached. Boromir hissed. “It is rather large, is it not?”

“It will fit the eye. I measured thoroughly.”

“Of course you did. Mayhap if it were white. It just seems so… so… By the Valar, Siriondil, it will draw attention to his missing eye, not turn it aside!”

“I think, no matter what the color, it will give it prominence. But not nearly as much as the empty socket does. Black is the usual color for these things.”

“I suppose you are right.” Boromir’s head hung.

“How does he this day?”

“Frustrated.” At last a small smile lit Boromir’s face. “He calls me merciless, but he was able to take the cup without mishap.”

“A good sign. He is adjusting.”

Boromir bit his lip. “His foot, Siriondil? Will it permanently maim him?”

“Yes and no. It depends upon his attitude.”

“Will he be able to ride again?”

“He will. Our craftsmen are creating a boot for him that will help him walk with only a small limp. He has feeling in the foot, and that is a good thing. His leg is more of a concern at the moment. The knife slashed through muscle, but I believe it is healing. He will need strong thigh muscles to hold onto a horse, to compensate for the foot. It will take months to regain such muscles in that leg.”

“Then it will take months,” Boromir stated flatly.

“I understand you gave up your commission?”

Boromir flinched. “Do not tell Faramir. He would… He would blame himself.”

“Is your father speaking to you?”

Laughing lightly, Boromir shook his head. “Not yet. But he will, when Faramir is recovered and returned to duty.”

“You have hope that he will return to duty?”

“Dearest friend, when we were but children, my uncle told Faramir and me tales of pirates with one eye and a stump for a leg who ran about ships and ordered about men and wrecked havoc on Belfalas’ boats. If a brigand can do that, then I know Faramir can. That is why I turned in my commission. If I work with him every day, if I show him I believe he can return, then he will. He is resilient, Siriondil, and brave beyond description.” Tears fell.

Siriondil bowed his own head. “Then I will help you in whatever way I can.”

“Boromir!” the overloud call of Ioreth interrupted them. “Is aught wrong? Has there been a relapse?”

“Nay, Ioreth. I am tired. Did you bring the book, the one with the song?”

“I did. I have it right here and a marker for where we stopped, though how I would ever forget as we are now at the part—”

“Good,” Boromir interrupted the steady flow of words. “Faramir is anxious for you to continue.”

“As am I. Boromir. I am delighted that he allows me to read to him. I do so love a good story. I—”

Siriondil raised his hand and Ioreth closed her mouth. The healer put his hand on Boromir’s shoulder and squeezed it. “Are you well?”

“I am.”

“Please, Boromir. I have been your family’s healer since before you were born. I read distress in your eyes.”

“It is difficult, sometimes, keeping up Faramir’s spirits.”

“Ah. He suffers today?”

“Not in body, well, no more than usual, but in mind. He is impatient with himself.”

Siriondil smiled. “Then he will enjoy listening to Túrin. The Man was always impatient.”

“Thank you, Siriondil.”

“Boromir, take your horse and go afield this afternoon. Once Ioreth is done with the book, I will stay with Faramir and your father has promised to be with him tonight. Spend time in the sun, with fresh air in your face.”

“I will.”

“Boromir?”

“I promise, Master Healer. After a bath and some food.”

“Do not let any waylay you. You must care for yourself too, if you are to have the strength to carry Faramir.”

“I will.”

Siriondil let go his shoulder and motioned for Ioreth to enter the room. Boromir heard the happy call of welcome from his brother and his face lit in joy. Slowly he made his way back to his own rooms and fell onto the bed, asleep in moments.

A/N – From The Silmarillion: Chapter 21: Of Túrin Turambar – Laer Cú Beleg, the Song of the Great Bow.

Chapter Nine – Rememb’ring

Faramir woke to a darkened chamber. He lay quiet for many moments, listening to the peregrine in their evening calls. He kept his eye closed and relished the palpable peace that the sound embodied. He strained further to hear what else might be about this evening, all the while wondering when his father would come and what strain lay between Denethor and Boromir. Though he attempted these past few weeks to make one or the other tell him, he still knew naught of their estrangement. ‘So very odd,’ Faramir thought, for his father doted on Boromir.

His ears pricked up as a new sound entered the room from the open window. ‘Ah, a defiant mule.’ He smiled at the urging of the mule’s owner to make it move. As the voice rose in fury and pitch, Faramir felt sorry for the poor beast. ‘Must be someone who has brought supplies to the Houses and now wishes to return home in time for the daymeal. Should use a piece of sugar. That always works.’

Faramir’s smile turned to a frown at the sound of the lashing of a whip. His skin crawled and sweat broke out upon his face. His eye rolled back into his head as terror took him.

“Please,” he cried out, “Please stop.”

“Why should I? Your back is lovely, but the strokes upon it make it lovelier. The contrast of pure white and blood red is most becoming. I should probably find a mirror and let you see what my handiwork has wrought.”

Faramir writhed as another score of strokes hit his back. “I cannot bear it,” he gasped.

“But that is why I do it. To see how much a man can bear. I have forgotten o’er the years. It has been sometime since I have had such a young prisoner to test these things on. This is only the beginning. Do you think you will be able to withstand all I have planned for you? I truly hope you will.”

Sobbing as the burn of the last strokes continued, Faramir cried out in agony. “Why are you doing this?”

“I have told you. I need to find out certain things. Most of the prisoners I have had, of late, have been old and succumb before I even reach my first goal. You will do fine for me. I can feel strength in you, besides the strength of your body. Here, this is the last one.”

Another pain-searing strike and Faramir fell forward, the chains having been loosed as the whip struck. The beast, for Faramir refused to give it a name, came forward and touched the skin on Faramir’s back, peeling off a piece here and there.

“Almost flayed, but not quite. I could do that, you know, but you would die within days and I have so many wondrous things planned for you.”

“Why?” Faramir could not help asking again, though his mouth was dry and his voice barely rose above a croak. Shivers ran up Faramir’s back at the inhuman sound that responded. It could not be a laugh, nothing could laugh like that.

“Did not your Steward teach his soldiers about me? Did he not tell you to cut your own throats before ever you were brought before me? I know he did. You should have listened. Now, you will understand.”

Four Orcs picked Faramir up and placed him on a table near an ornate bed, face up. As his tortured back touched it, Faramir screamed. Wrenching from side to side, trying to move off his back, he watched in horror as the Orcs tied his wrists and ankles to the sides. He lay stretched out and immobile. Sudden sobs engulfed him.

“Now. I have created a new little device that needs testing.”

Faramir shuddered at the voice.

“It is based upon a stone made by an ally of my master’s. Well, he was not truly an ally, but he caused great havoc in the West and that served my master’s purposes. Have you heard of the Palantír, soldier? It is a Seeing Stone. Well, much to my master’s delight, I have created a small one. Very small. Just the size,” the creature chortled, “of an eye. Not a large eye, but a man’s eye. I need to test it, before I take it to him. So, prepare yourself. Mayhap they will write songs of you, if it indeed performs as I hope.”

The Orcs stepped forward and held Faramir’s arms. The creature moved in front of him, holding an iron pincers. The opened jaws of the tool moved towards Faramir’s face. One of the Orcs took his head in its hands and held it tight. Faramir screamed as sickening realization dawned.

“Hold him,” Denethor commanded, “before he hurts himself. Faramir,” he cried aloud for the tenth time, “Faramir. You are safe. You are safe.”

The boy thrashed from side to side, his arms flailing as the House’s assistants tried to restrict his movements. Inhuman strength seemed to flow through Faramir and they could not hold him down. He flung madly one last time and ended up on the floor.

“Get Boromir now!” The Steward screamed.

Siriondil knelt next to the still flailing boy and blew powder towards his face. After a heartbeat’s time, Faramir’s thrashing lessened. The assistants picked him up and placed him back on the bed. Siriondil bent over him and listened for his breath. Finally, he hung his head in sorrow.

“Will he be all right? What caused this?”

“Were you in the room when it began?” Siriondil asked his Steward.

“I was not. I was late. When I opened the door, he was already screaming.”

“Did he speak? Did he say anything?”

“He was…” Denethor slid into the chair next to the bed and held his head in his hands. “He was begging for something to stop.”

The room grew silent. Siriondil motioned for the assistants to leave. They took the linen from the floor, wiped up the spilled water, and picked up the broken crockery. Bowing to the Steward, they left.

“He must have remembered something of his tortures. He was screaming when you came in? Was he alone?”

“It was dark, only light from the window shone in. He was lying on the bed, not moving, just screaming. I touched him and it was as if I struck him. He threw his arms up and tried to rake my face with his nails. I stepped back, but he continued to scream.”

“When was he begging?”

“Before I touched him.”

“Ah,” Siriondil ran a hand through his hair. “When you touched him, he must have thought it was whoever did this to him. He reacted in fear. He did not know it was you.”

“Of course he did not. Do you think I am a fool? He would never attack me. I tried to calm him, but he would not. I am glad Ioreth was nearby and could call you.”

“Yes. She finished reading to him. She reported that he slept. Peacefully. Yet, something woke him. We will not know until he is able to remember without fear.”

The Master Healer looked at the Steward. “He was able to reach you,” he said quietly.

“What?”

“Your face is scratched. Let me attend you.”

Denethor looked up in surprise as a sudden burning sensation filled his face. “I did not feel anything. I was trying to help him.”

“Some of them are deep. He must have been very afraid.”

“He was terrified,” Denethor whispered. “Terrified.”

Chapter Ten – Love O’erwhelming

Boromir toyed with the idea of spending the night in one of the inns on the Pelennor. Siriondil’s advice had been good; it felt wonderful to be out in the open again with the breezes from the Anduin rushing through his hair. He pushed Arroch hard this day, reveling in the feel of the great beast under him. After finding Faramir in Ithilien, Boromir had neglected the mare and now, he showed her his love by letting her have her way. She ran with pure joy and that joy transmitted through her flanks to her rider.

At last, he slowed her pace, thinking on whether his brother would indeed be well while he took this short holiday. Dismounting at a nearby inn he and Faramir had oft frequented, he handed his reins to the stable hand. ‘If naught else, I will have my daymeal here. I can return afterwards.’ A sudden horn’s call from the City made him almost trip over the postern that opened into the inn’s yard.

“Faramir!” He ran back to the stable, took the reins from the startled stable hand and mounted, heading west towards Minas Tirith. ‘Why did I ride so far?’ he berated himself. ‘I should have stayed nearer. Nay! I should have never left.’

He swore at himself near half the way home for he had to coddle Arroch. The mare, tired from the afternoon’s run, needed water. Stopping at a familiar farm, Boromir swung his horse around at Mablung’s greeting.

“Hoy! Captain Boromir. What brings you out this late in the day? Have you eaten yet? We were just starting the daymeal. Come, please, and join us.” The soldier stopped as Boromir dismounted. “The horn call!” He shook his head. “I am a fool. It was for Faramir. Do you need a new mount? Your horse looks done in.”

“Thank you, Mablung. Take Arroch and treat her well. Whatever beast you have that is fast, please, may I use it?”

Mablung turned towards his stable without a word. In a moment, he returned with his own horse.

“Nay, Mablung. Give me not your own mount. Just something fast.”

“Hafoc¹ is the fastest I have. Her eyes are as sharp as her namesake. She cannot misstep, something you will need now dusk is upon us. Send her back when you are done with her.”

Jumping on the back of the steed, Boromir turned her face westward and gave her full rein. Pleased at her speed, he put aside all other thoughts and concentrated on his journey. As Mablung foretold, night covered the land only a short time after Boromir left the farm; thus causing Gondor’s captain to slow his pace in order to see obstacles before him. He left the road to take the shorter route through farmsteads and fields, but that made the ride even more dangerous. Hafoc did indeed seem to have the eyes of a hawk; the horse never faltered and Boromir found himself in front of the Great Gate only two hours later. He winded his horn to alert the guard to open the closed gate and rode through it with nary a word. On his left sat the Ranger’s headquarters. He drew up to the building and called for help. A soldier came to the door immediately and in only moments answered Boromir’s plea for a fresh horse. Boromir mounted his third horse of the day and rode up to the Sixth Gate.

After leaving his horse at the errand-riders barracks, he ran to the Houses. Faramir’s room spilled over with assistants and soldiers and… his father.

Denethor turned as Boromir strode into the room and took his son’s arm. “He had some form of attack. Siriondil thinks it was a remembrance of what happened to him. He sleeps now, but only because he has been drugged.”

Boromir stared at his father, then lifted a hand and ran a finger down his father’s newly stitched cheek. “What happened?”

Denethor stayed Boromir’s hand. “It is nothing. Faramir thought I was someone else.”

Boromir’s brow rose. “You did naught to harm him? I am sorry. I should not have asked. Of course you would do nothing to him. Forgive me.”

“We are all disturbed by what has happened to your brother; though I am sore distressed that you would think thus of me, I will let it go.”

Boromir bit his lip and went to kneel at his brother’s side. Taking the cold hand into his own, he kissed it deeply. “I am here, Faramir. I am sorry I left you. Be at peace. I will not leave you again.”

Denethor sighed and left the room.

Siriondil stepped forward. Boromir looked up and asked softly, “How bad was it?”

“Very. I am sorry, Boromir, we seem to have lost what healing we had. He is not asleep; he is unconscious.”

Boromir drew in a deep breath. “Then we begin again.”

Siriondil nodded.

“Are all these needed?” His hand swung to encompass the assistants and soldiers.

“Nay.” Siriondil gave the order and the room cleared.

“Did he say aught?”

“Your father was with him. He said he was begging…” The Master Healer tugged at his chin. “He was begging for them to stop.”

“Them?”

“Whomever was torturing him. I think he was reliving some part of it.”

Boromir’s shoulders sagged. “There is naught we can do to keep such memories from him?”

“If we do, if he wakes,” Boromir looked up startled, but the healer continued, “if he wakes, he must speak of these things, else he will go mad.”

Nodding, Boromir stood. “Would you have a meal sent here? I have not eaten. I would be alone with him.”

“Of course,” Siriondil moved forward and hesitantly embraced him. “You woke him once, Boromir. I did not think he would wake then, but I see now that he loves you dearly. He will wake, given time, with you at his side.”

“Thank you.” Boromir knelt once more at his brother’s side, oblivious to the sound of the door closing behind the healer.

He traced a finger over Faramir’s cheek, but with a gentleness that was not realized with Denethor, and down to his brother’s chin, then up the other side. His heart so stricken, he knew not what to do. Finally, he placed a gentle kiss on Faramir’s mouth. Boromir’s breath was taken away by the touch of those sweet lips. “Faramir,” he whispered in wonderment at the surge of love that flowed through him, causing him to sit back on his haunches.

Watching his brother’s uneasy breathing, Boromir ran a hand through his hair, then stood at a knock on the door. A servant handed him a tray². Boromir took it by the window and began to eat, standing up, looking out upon the lights of the Pelennor. His hand trembled as he brought the fork to his mouth. He laid it down quickly and looked back at the man upon the bed. A cold sweat covered him. ‘Fear,’ he told himself. ‘It is fear for him. Fear for what he must face when he wakes, that is all.’ He calmed himself and finished the food, never tasting it, and walked back to Faramir’s side.

He found himself afraid to touch Faramir. ‘Afraid to touch my own brother?’ What had come over him that he should fear such a thing! Faramir needed his touch, did he not? Then, he would have it, for comfort.

He hesitantly laid his hand upon Faramir’s hair and ran his fingers through it, gently stroking him and whispering words of comfort, words of love. He shuddered again as some unknown fear assailed him, but he continued his ministrations. Slowly, his hand moved down to Faramir’s neck, then to his brother’s shoulders, massaging in little strokes, He found his whole body shaking and he pulled back, but Faramir moaned and Boromir once again began stroking him.

One beautiful gray eye opened and looked at him in wonder. Boromir leaned over and kissed his brother. Not a chaste kiss, but neither passionate. It was just a kiss. Faramir could do with it what he would. Boromir drew back and waited.

A/N

1) Hafoc – ME for hawk;

2) tray – came into use around 1050 AD.

Chapter Eleven – Resolution

Faramir’s eye closed.

“Faramir,” Boromir whispered anxiously. “Faramir.” He waited, stunned when he realized that Faramir slept. His mouth fell open. Then, he blinked twice and smiled. ‘My kiss is not quite as powerful as some have led me to believe.’ He leaned against the bed, sides shaking in mirth. ‘Ah, little brother. You always keep me humble.’

He sat for the rest of the night at his brother’s side, pondering the changes that occurred to make him so… lust-filled in these last hours. ‘Truth be told,’ he thought miserably, ‘if I look into my heart, it has always been his. Would that it had not.’ A ripple of fear ran through him. ‘I have shown my hand; will he ever love me again, as brothers? Will he shrink from my touch? Will I never be able to hold him in a brotherly embrace? I have ruined our lives. Mayhap he will not remember, but think it a part of the nightmare.’ He groaned. He did not want Faramir to think him a nightmare.

Dawn found him pacing the room. ‘I will not speak upon it. He is awake and that is the important thing. I cannot, I will not put further burden upon him, asking for something vile.’ His face burned. He turned and drew in a great breath. Faramir looked beautiful. ‘Beyond beautiful – more like unto a Vala,’ he thought wildly. He backed towards the door, the point furthest from his brother, and slumped to the floor. ‘I must get away ere I do something heinous. And yet, I have promised I would stay with him until he is healed. What have I done?’ He dropped his head and buried his face in his hands.

“B… Bowomiwr?”

He covered his head with his hands and moaned. “Do not speak to me now, Faramir. I… I am ill.”

“Bowomiwr?” The pain and fear in his brother’s voice tore through him, but what else could he do. He stood with his back to Faramir and fled.

“You cannot leave him alone, with only Denethor as company.” Two nights and three days passed without Boromir’s visits and Faramir slept not, nor ate. Siriondil could not help Boromir, did not understand the nature of an illness that showed no outward signs, but knew Faramir needed his brother at his side, more so now than ever. Whatever assailed Boromir did not appear to be contagious. He continued his pleas. “He woke only because of your love, Boromir.”

“Do not say that!” Boromir shouted.

The Master Healer stepped back in surprise. “Boromir. The love between you and Faramir is legend. It is as a beacon to the rest of Gondor. Something for us to strive for. Pure love, offering all with no thought of cost or glory. You gave up your commission for his sake. The Knights of Gondor speak highly of your sacrifice. Do you withdraw that promise?”

“Nay,” Boromir stood, his shoulders hunched. “I will return to his room.”

“He is numb. He turned Ioreth away; would not hear the tale that is so dear to his heart. You… you break him further, Boromir, with your absence.

“I said I would return! Now, leave me be.” He flung the door open, then closed it violently behind him.

The Master Healer sat hard upon his chair. ‘What has happened?’ he wondered. Did Denethor further rile Boromir over his resignation? His hand came up and rubbed furiously at the furrow between his brows. ‘Perhaps I should send for Imrahil? He would discern the nature of Boromir’s unease and help him o’ercome it.’ He walked to his study’s window and watched as Denethor’s son stomped across the courtyard and into the Houses main building. Shaking his head, he called for Ioreth.

Boromir did not look back as he turned into the hall that led to Faramir’s room. His face burned with shame; Boromir knew the healer mistakenly thought it the result of a fever. ‘Pure love,’ he thought grimly. ‘They think I have pure love for Faramir. Mayhap, one time it was such, but now… Oh Valar! It is naught but desire. How can I be alone with him? That is the solution. I will order Mablung or Damrod to be always present. They must guard him lest he hurt himself if another ‘fit’ takes him.’ He breathed a sigh of relief. He stopped, dropped his head into his hands and dug the palms into his eyes to stop the flow of tears that threatened to expose his love. His vile, unnatural love.

“Captain Boromir?”

“Damrod! I was going to send for you. Faramir has been… Faramir needs… I would have a guard in Faramir’s room at all times. I am concerned for his well-being and safety.”

“Has there been an attack upon him?” Damrod asked, incredulity showing in his face.

“Nay. He is not healing as well as Siriondil had hoped. He dreams and hurts himself whilst in the dreams. I think it best if someone is with him at all times.”

“Yes, Captain.” Damrod still looked puzzled. “But you or the Steward or Ioreth or Siriondil are always with him. Why would he need another?”

“He has the strength of a kine when his mind is terrorized. One person alone cannot handle him, keep him from falling, or breaking something. I think it best.”

“Then I will set up a roster of a few men and bring it to you within the hour.”

“No.” Boromir felt his face burning from the shame. “Come with me now. Then… Is Mablung returned from his leave?”

“He is.”

“Good. Have him take the night watch.”

“Yes, Captain. I will send a missive to him and follow you.”

“Write it whilst you are with Faramir. There is no need to stop now.”

“As you wish, Captain.”

Boromir strode into Faramir’s room and Damrod followed.

Faramir looked up in joy at the sound of Boromir’s voice, but his face immediately fell as Damrod walked through the door behind his brother. The lad bit his lip and turned his face away, trying desperately to hide his disappointment. “Damrod. It ith good to thee you again. Did you take thum leave?”

“I did, Lieutenant. The call of the City is too strong and I came back. Mablung has returned also. We are gluttons for punishment.”

Faramir’s smile slightly twisted with the bandages still on his jaw. “Again, it ith good to thee you. Do you need me fow thume thing?”

“I am posting guards, Faramir.” Boromir stood by the door. “I think it wise for your care.”

“Awr not the healewr’th able to cawr fow me?”

“Siriondil is all we need. Besides, your men have missed your companionship,” Boromir attempted a smile and all but failed.

“I bring news of the company, Lieutenant. I thought you might like to hear something of what we have been doing whilst you dally here.”

If Boromir could have hugged the man, he would have. ‘I must make sure he receives that promotion!’

Faramir motioned and Damrod sat at his lieutenant’s side and began to tell of the antics of his men while they were on leave. Every now and again, Faramir would look towards his brother, but Boromir always looked away.

Boromir
Faramir
Denethor
Damrod – Soldier of Gondor
Mablung – Soldier of Gondor
Siriondil – Master Healer of Gondor
Aldrich – Boromir’s aide
Arroch – Boromir’s mare
Hafoc – Mablung’s mare
Ioreth – Healer’s assistant

Chapter Twelve – Step By Step

“Let me help you hold it.” Boromir took his brother’s hand in his own and instantly regretted it. His face reddened and his breath hitched. “If you,” he took a deep breath and began again. “If you hold the sword thusly, it will still cut a good swath but will not be as difficult to hold.”

Faramir nodded. “I see. It does feel better.”

Boromir tried to let Faramir’s hand go, but the sword immediately dropped. Shivering slightly, he took his brother’s hand into his own again and brought the sword up. “We must practice this for some time; it will strengthen the muscles in your arm and hand and then, you may practice gutting Damrod.”

“Are you angry with him, Boromir?”

“He is derelict in his duty.”

“He had a tooth that needed care. He will return shortly. In the meantime, perhaps we might talk?”

“We have not time for speech, Faramir. You must work hard to strengthen yourself. We have spent the last month helping you learn to walk. You only need your stave and you can walk everywhere. Now, your back, shoulders and chest need strengthening.” He moved his hand and Faramir’s moved along with it. The sword moved from left to right in a jagged movement. Every time Boromir tried to let Faramir take the full weight of the sword it dipped and Boromir was again forced to hold his brother’s hand. His face shone with sweat. At last, he took the sword from Faramir and helped his brother back into his bed. “Rest now. You did well, for the first try.” He turned and filled a cup with water, handed it to Faramir and went over to the window, sitting on the deep sill.

“Boromir. Have I done something wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“You are distant. You have been distant since your illness. Have I done something wrong?”

“Of course not,” Boromir snapped. Faramir still lay under the assumption that Boromir had been ill, when in truth, Boromir had been battling with himself and the rage of lust that consumed his body. He looked out the window. “The Pelennor is covered in white. It snowed last night.”

Faramir remained silent and, for once, Boromir accepted that silence. “Father intends to visit today, sometime after nuncheon, if his duties allow.”

“Why are you not on some assignment, Boromir? Have you been stationed here in Minas Tirith?”

“I am serving here.” Not quite a lie.

“I see. You are here everyday. Your duties are light?”

“Since my illness.” Very close to a lie.

“Boromir!” Faramir’s voice sounded unnaturally high. “Are you still ill? Have you not recovered?”

“I am well enough.”

“Boromir!”

“I am fine. I just need some special medicaments that Siriondil feels should be watched.” A definite lie.

“You must rest. Why do you not depart now. Come back tomorrow. I am well enough. When Damrod returns, Boromir, leave me and rest.”

The stricken look on Faramir’s face filled Boromir with guilt. “I am well enough, Faramir. I would not leave you when there is naught wrong with me but a vague feeling of ill ease.” No lie here. Except the feeling was anything but vague.

“Then I will ask Siriondil what is wrong. If he tells me you need rest, then I will insist.”

“I will rest. When Damrod returns, I will go to my rooms and rest.”

“Thank you.”

“Now that you are commanding me from your room, would you like me to send Ioreth in? I do not think you have finished that book.”

Faramir smiled. “We have, Boromir. We are now reading the Lay of Leithien.”

“Oh. I had not realized. Is it about Elves still?”

Faramir laughed. “It is about an Elven maid and her love for a man.”

Love! Why did the boy have to mention love? He felt his face turn a deeper shade of scarlet and turned away. “Who are the Elves? Any I have heard of?”

“Boromir. It is Beren and Lúthien.”

“I forgot.”

“Would you like to sit with me while she reads it?”

He could not tell his brother that, if he listened to a story of love that deep, he might push Ioreth aside and… ‘Oh, Valar!’ he thought miserably and swallowed hard. “I will rest, as you suggested, Faramir.”

Thankfully, Damrod entered. “I am going to rest, Damrod. Ioreth should be here shortly. If something untoward happens, send a guard for me immediately.”

Damrod nodded and Faramir cleared his throat. Boromir stared for a moment, then went over and kissed his brother on the forehead. “I will see you in the morning.”

Boromir near ran from the room and almost stumbled into Siriondil’s arms. He pulled himself back and apologized.

“Are you feeling well, Boromir? You look flushed.”

“I am fine. It is warm in Faramir’s room and I am in need of a bath. I am going to… I am taking relief for the afternoon. I will return on the morrow.”

“Of course. I will send someone if Faramir needs you.”

“Thank you.” Boromir turned and strode away.

‘I do not understand.’ Siriondil watched the retreating back in wonder. ‘What is wrong with him? I should speak with the Steward. Perhaps I am missing some malady? Nay. There is naught wrong with him that I can see. I know what must ail him. He still grieves for Faramir’s hurts, yet has not the time to heal himself. I must spend more time in conversation with him. Help him to speak of his fears for Faramir.’

Fears for Faramir were the last things on Boromir’s mind; more like fear for himself. For discovery. He shook as he walked, contemplating the repercussions of what would happen if someone discovered his body’s betrayal, his mind’s wanton way. He would be exiled and Faramir would be devastated. Nay. It would be worse than that. Faramir would hate him, of that he was sure. Would recoil from him. Another shudder racked him. He turned from such thoughts and tried to focus on the last conversation he had with his father.

“No good will come of your hovering, your coddling the boy, Boromir. He will never be whole. Let me send him to the houses on the First Circle. He will be well cared for and you can return to your duties, knowing full well he is in competent hands. He will be happier there, Boromir. He will not dwell on his own hurts as he watches others.”

Boromir’s ire rose. “He will not be happy doing nothing but sitting in a chair with a rug thrown over his lap and his face pointed to the window. He would go mad.”

“I need you in Osgiliath, Boromir. There have been attacks against the garrison. Captain Hador is inexperienced. He lost a whole half company the other day.”

“Then send Captain Angrod. He is old, but not dotard. He has experience fighting Orcs. I will not leave Faramir.”

“Yet, talk in the City suggests you have done just that, Boromir. Do you tire of your charge already?”

Boromir’s cheeks blazed red. ‘Hopefully,’ Boromir thought, ‘Father will think it anger.’ He stood up and walked to Denethor’s study door. “I will die before I leave him, Father.” With that, he turned and left.

As Boromir entered his own rooms, he pulled his arms about him. The fireplace lay untended; the room’s cold immediately assailed him, yet the heat that still emanated from his body, he felt certain, could have warmed fourteen rooms. He swore.

‘I tire of this never-ending battle that rages within my body,’ he thought wildly. ‘If I do not control it soon, all will be lost.’ Mayhap it would be best to have Faramir removed to the Soldier’s Home. ‘If I could return to fighting, perhaps I could command this body once more.’ No doubt lingered in his mind; if he stayed alone with Faramir one more moment this day, he would have taken his brother in his arms and – what power in all Middle-earth could have stopped him then. He punched his hand into a nearby wall and flinched. ‘That would be all I would need now, to break my hand and have to explain it.’

A/N – The Lay of Leithian was a long Elvish lay that told the story of Beren and Lúthien, their Quest for the Silmaril, and their return from Mandos. It was said to be the second longest of all such tales (with the longest being the Narn i Hîn Húrin, the story of Túrin and Nienor). http:??tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Lay_of_Leithian

Boromir

Faramir

Denethor

Damrod – Soldier of Gondor

Mablung – Soldier of Gondor

Siriondil – Master Healer of Gondor

Aldrich – Boromir’s aide

Arroch – Boromir’s mare

Hafoc – Mablung’s mare

Ioreth – Healer’s assistant

Hador – Captain of Osgiliath

Angrod – Captain of Gondor

Chapter Thirteen – Relief or Release

Boromir flung himself into his bed and buried his head in the pillows. After a time, he pulled the coverlet over him and found sleep near. Gratefully, he closed his eyes. When next he woke, he found himself hard. He shuddered at the remembrance of the dream.

“Stop your crying, little brother. The sliver is not in deep. It will take only a moment to remove it.” He held Faramir’s sweet hand in his own and gently felt the piece of wood. Two fingers pinched onto it and Boromir pulled. The offending sliver was out. Boromir took the wounded finger into his mouth and sucked on it. “There,” he said, “does that feel better?”

“Is it out?”

Boromir smiled. “Yes. And now it is time for you to go to bed.”

“Tell me a story, Boromir.”

“What would you hear?”

“Of Beren and Lúthien.”

Boromir began the love story, watching as Faramir’s eyes grew heavy and began to close. “You are truly beautiful, Faramir.”

His little brother blushed shyly.

“Might I hold your hand for a moment? Make sure the sliver is out.”

“Please,” Faramir answered in the midst of a huge yawn.

Taking the digit into his hands, he kissed it, to make it better, he told himself. But the sweet taste of it lingered from when he sucked it to close the wound, and his body trembled. He could not help himself, he sucked it further and Faramir smiled.

“That feels nice.”

Shifting a little as he sat next to Faramir, Boromir tried to ease the ache in his groin, yet, he did not loose the finger. That might have relieved him even quicker. He sucked gently on the wounded finger, then took another into his mouth as well. Faramir squirmed a little in the bed, but Boromir breathed deeply and continued.

“Is there another sliver?” Faramir asked as sleep tugged at his eyes.

With a start, Boromir woke up. ‘Only one eye,’ he whispered to himself. ‘He is wounded and helpless. I cannot even think these thoughts. He cannot possibly… He would not be able to… He has been raped. I cannot harbor such thoughts. It would kill him if I even touched him in such a way.’

Frustrated, he took his member into his hand and pulled at it furiously. Within moments, he came. Shrieking in frustration, Boromir fell deeper into the pillows. “Why has this happened? What have I done to incur your wrath?’ he screamed to the Valar. “Leave me in peace that I might heal my brother.” He plummeted into fear and despair.

When he woke, he pulled himself from the bed, surprised that night now covered the land. He pulled on the rope and when a servant entered, Boromir ordered a bath. The servant left and he quickly pulled the wet sheets from the bed and threw them into the cupboard. Soon the room filled with servants running about: two prepared his bath, another set the sideboard with fruit and cheeses, and another made the bed. Boromir bit his lip, hoping the spill from the sating of his lust did not stain the mattress. They left him; he sat heavily on the bed, wondering how he would ever survive.

When he finished his bath and dressed, he walked to the cupboard, took a few pieces of cheese and a hunk of bread and ran down the stairs. He had stayed away too long and Faramir needed him. Somehow, he would put aside these unwanted thoughts and feelings and care for his brother.

“Do you hear something, Mistress Ioreth?”

“Nay, Faramir, just the little orphan babe. It was born yestereve; the mother died and it refuses to stop crying. I do not think it particularly likes the wet nurse’s milk.”

Faramir curled into himself and began to moan.

“Faramir? What ever is wrong? Did you eat something that did not agree with you? Is the milk soured? Please, Faramir, tell me what is wrong.” When he did not answer, and his eye seemed to roll in its socket, she ran from the room.

Faramir shuddered as the endless crying of the babe tore him limb from limb. He could hardly breathe. “Boromir,” he whispered. “Help me, please.”

And Boromir stood next to him, there for him as always, holding him close and whispering in his ear and telling him all would be well, as he oft did when they were children that horrid year their mother died.

“Boromir, please help me.”

His voice was soft, but Boromir heard. “Faramir. Tell me what is wrong, what weighs so heavily upon you?”

“I cannot. Oh Boromir!” Faramir’s cries turned into a long wail. “Boromir,” he screamed. “Save me! Save me!”

“I am here, Faramir. I have you in my arms, you silly. Cannot you feel me about you, holding you and kissing you?”

“Yes,” Faramir gulped convulsively. “Closer. Hold me closer.”

In the midst of Faramir’s pain, Boromir’s body stilled itself, and for that, the Captain of Gondor was grateful. He held his brother close, his own heart torn in two by the terror he felt in the trembling body that lay against him. “Faramir. What is it? Will you not tell me?”

His little brother shuddered and tightly closed his eyes. “There was a woman. She was with child. She had been tormented. She drooled and gibbered as one mad. She frightened me, Boromir. She was on the table next to mine,” Faramir shuddered and dug his face deeper into Boromir’s shoulder. “They… Oh, Boromir! They gave her something and it made her laugh, a wicked laugh that sent shivers up my spine. Then they… I cannot, Boromir. The babe. The babe.” He wept into his brother’s shirt and shook.

“Hush, Faramir. That is a start. You can remember more later. Not now. Close your eyes now and sleep a little.”

“But I see her!” Faramir screamed. “And her flopping arm. It moved, even after he cut it from her body. It twitched and then he, he… Oh Boromir. he laid it against me. I did not understand. I could not fathom what he wanted of me.” Sobs shook him further. “He took a needle. It was huge, and some sinew and… and…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “He sewed it my arm. He cut my arm and pushed the top inside and sewed it closed. Then the others – they shouted at me to move it. I could not, Boromir, as much as I tried, I could not. They screamed and shrieked and called me stupid. I tried, oh Boromir, I tried so hard to move it.”

“Sh. I know you did, Faramir. You always obey.”

“They left it there and it hurt, Boromir. It hurt very badly. It would not move, but it pulled on my arm and on the skin and tore at me, but he would not take it off. I begged him, Boromir. I am sorry. I begged. Will you forgive me, Boromir? I could not stand the pain.”

Boromir held his little brother close and wept. “There is naught to forgive, dear, sweet Faramir.”

“Yes. I begged them. Father would be furious, but it hurt so. Then he—He cut the babe from her!” Faramir swooned.

Boromir held him tighter and sobbed until he thought he would vomit.

Siriondil entered the room and walked quickly to Boromir’s side. “What has happened? Is he worse?”

“Nay,” Boromir finally choked out a word. “Nay. He told me about the arm.” Boromir whispered, hoping that, even though insensible, Faramir would not hear. “It was as you said. They cut off the woman’s arm and attached it to his. I cannot even fathom such a ghastly thing and yet he lived through it.”

“And will continue to live, Boromir. And get well. I promise you. Now that he is sharing what happened, he will improve twice as fast.”

“How could anyone, even Orcs do such a thing?”

“Did he say it was Orcs?”

“No, but there were more than one. Do you think it could have been Southrons?”

“Nay. You know who it was, Boromir. The Witch-king or one of his minions. No Orc would have the intelligence to try something like that.”

A/N – 1) The Lay of Leithian was a long Elvish lay that told the story of Beren and Lúthien, their Quest for the Silmaril, and their return from Mandos. It was said to be the second longest of all such tales (with the longest being the Narn i Hîn Húrin, the story of Túrin and Nienor). http:??tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Lay_of_Leithian. 2) mattress – it always amazes me that words I think are ‘modern’ turn out not to be. Mattress was first used in the 1200’s.

Boromir

Faramir

Denethor

Damrod – Soldier of Gondor

Mablung – Soldier of Gondor

Siriondil – Master Healer of Gondor

Aldrich – Boromir’s aide

Arroch – Boromir’s mare

Hafoc – Mablung’s mare

Ioreth – Healer’s assistant

Hador – Captain of Osgiliath

Agrod – Captain of Gondor

Chapter Fourteen – Gifts Discarded

“Do you still need the stave, Faramir?” The larks outside the Houses’ window were calling to each other as a light spring rain fell.

“I suppose not,” Faramir said, but Boromir noted a small swallow accompanied his reply and a slight sweat broke upon his brother’s brow. “

“There is naught wrong with using it.”

“I think it would do harm to my horse,” Faramir smiled. “It would probably trip Gabere and we would both fall.”

Boromir smiled. “We are not going to ride that far.”

“As I have been of late, we could fall as soon as the poor thing took her first step.”

“Faramir. You have done well. I will not listen to you condemn yourself. Now, come along. I am hoping the rain will soon stop.”

They walked slowly towards the errand-riders’ stables by the Sixth Gate. Mablung walked behind them. Faramir relished the feel of the light drops upon his head and shared the joy with Boromir, noting he did not mind a twig if it rained or no; he wanted to ride.

Light whinnies greeted them as they entered the stable. Boromir watched closely, hoping Faramir did not trip over the straw that covered the muddied floor.

“Gabere has missed you. See, she can hardly contain herself.”

Faramir thought his horse died in the attack that ended in his captivity, but only a week before, Boromir suggested they go riding and that is when Faramir discovered his beloved mare yet lived. His horse stamped her foot and shook in eager anticipation of his touch. “She looks fat.”

Boromir laughed. “She is. She has received too many sweets from your men. They miss you.”

“Then I best learn to ride again so I might return to their company.” He reached for the halter, but a stable hand ran forward and took it from him.

“Allow me, Lieutenant.” He quickly prepared Gabere, blanket, bridles, saddle and such, then handed the reins to Faramir. Boromir and Mablung’s horses were already saddled.

They rode out into the misting rain and a cheer went up from about fifty soldiers standing nearby. Faramir’s face flamed in acute embarrassment. “Did you?”

“I did not. Perhaps Mablung?”

Faramir turned an accusatory eye upon his friend, but Mablung held his hands up in mock surprise. Faramir laughed, turned to the men and raised his left hand in salute. It was quickly and smartly returned.

Boromir’s grin covered his face. ‘I wish Father were here to see this.’

They rode from one end of the Sixth Circle to the other, then turned through the gate and rode along the Fifth Circle. Now and again, Faramir heard his name called in greeting, and men on guard duty on the walls of Minas Tirith cried out their warm encouragement to the Steward’s son. Faramir acknowledged them with a wave of his hand.

Boromir’s heart lodged in his throat most times, unsure of the strength of his brother’s thighs to keep him ahorse, but the ride passed with no mishaps, and Boromir finally called for them to return to the stable.

By the time they arrived, Faramir’s face glistened with sweat. His hand shook as he tried to hand the bridle to the stable hand.

Boromir took his arm to help him alight. “Sit here for a moment.” He called and another servant brought water for the three of them.

“I should groom her before we leave.”

“All in good time. There are others today who will care for our horses. Now, it is our task to get you back to the Houses before you fall flat on your face.”

“Is my weakness that apparent?”

“Perhaps not to others, but it is to me. Take a few moments to recover your strength. Then we will walk very slowly back to your room and the daymeal.”

Boromir watched his brother closely, and when he noted that the shaking of Faramir’s hands had stopped, moved to help him stand.

“I can do it myself, Boromir.”

Boromir held his hands up in mock surrender.

Looking about, he could not find his stave. “Boromir?”

“I threw it away.”

“But – it was a gift from Uncle Imrahil.”

“And it was a gift that was given with the sole purpose of being thrown away when no longer needed.”

Taking a deep breath, Faramir nodded and stood, swaying just a bit. “I am ready.”

They walked to the Houses; Damrod relieved Mablung as they entered Faramir’s room. Siriondil stood inside waiting.

Faramir moaned. “Can I not have one moment without being poked or prodded?”

The Master Healer said not a word, gently guiding Faramir to his bed. He did a quick examination and then stood back. “Very well done, my Lord. Very well done indeed. And I see you walked all that way without the stave. I am impressed.”

Boromir stifled his laughter.

Siriondil noted it and smiled at Boromir; the healer left shortly thereafter.

“Well, little brother. It seems you have passed another test.”

“I am dead tired.” Faramir sighed. “My legs shake.”

“And well they should. We rode nigh unto an hour. Then the walk here and back again. Well done.”

“Damrod,” Faramir sat on the bed and relaxed. “Would you leave us for a few moments?”

“Nay—” Boromir stepped forward.

“Damrod,” Faramir voice became serious. “Please leave us.”

Damrod looked at Boromir who nodded. “I will return with your meal. In roughly half an hour?”

Boromir opened the door and Damrod left them. The intensely emotional pride he felt for his brother constricted his throat; he became afraid as his heart leapt in shame… and his groin surged. His little brother looked glorious; his sweat-dampened body shone.

“Please sit here, Boromir.” Faramir motioned to the spot next to him.

Instead of sitting, Boromir walked to the window.

“Boromir? Please.” Pain laced the words and Boromir bowed his head in surrender. He walked slowly to his brother’s bed and sat.

“I do not understand what has happened between us, but if you refuse to share it, then I will not press. But Boromir, I have to know one thing. Did you resign?”

The Steward’s eldest looked up in surprise. “I…”

“Do not lie to me.”

“Yes. Well, it might seem that way, but it is only for a time. I will ask Father for my commission back, once you are healed.”

Faramir held his hand to his nose, pinching it between his thumb and finger to keep tears from falling. “I cannot thank you enough. Father must be furious.”

Boromir’s sharp laugh echoed in the room.

“So I am the cause of your estrangement.”

“No, Faramir. It was my choice.

“He does not believe I will heal, does he? Will he even let me return to duty?”

“He will,” Boromir circumvented the first question. “Once you show him that you can wield a sword and ride, he will come to terms with it. There is no reason for your injuries to keep you from serving Gondor as a soldier.” He smiled. “We have too much need for soldiers.”

Faramir smiled in return, then sighed. “I do not think he will let me return.”

“Then Uncle Imrahil will take you into Dol Amroth’s army. He has already said as much.”

“He has?”

Boromir smiled at the note of hope in his brother’s voice. “He has a position at the garrison at Linhir ready for you.”

“Linhir. A good garrison.”

“It is. There will be no shortage of sorties and such against the enemy. You should enjoy yourself thoroughly.”

Faramir smiled and leaned against his brother. “I would have died, I think, if not for you.”

“And Siriondil and Damrod and Mablung. Father too, in his own way.” Boromir looked down with affection, simple brotherly affection, and smiled to see Faramir asleep. He laid him gently down and pulled his boots off. He covered him and walked again to the window. Looking out, he smiled. ‘Life is good, little brother.’

Chapter Fifteen – One Step At A Time

They rode for over an hour, out onto the hills and vales of the Pelennor. The spring crops had been harvested and the summer crops were being planted. Many a farmer waved in greeting as they passed by. Boromir and Faramir rode ahead; Damrod and Mablung followed behind.

“It has been a year,” Faramir began hesitantly as they slowed their horses. “A year since I was taken.”

Boromir said naught, hoping Faramir might speak somewhat of the horrors done to him.

“I see him. In my dreams. Even now.”

“The Witch-king?”

“Yes.”

“He cannot harm you, Faramir.”

A sour smile crossed Faramir’s face and disappeared. “I thought none could harm me, Boromir. I was a fool.”

“Nay!” Boromir pulled his horse up and looked long and hard at his brother. “Come. There is a stream nearby. Let us stop and break our fast.”

Mablung and Damrod followed as they turned off the road and onto a less trodden path. When they reached the small stream, Boromir jumped off his horse; Faramir slid off his. He sighed. “One of these days, I will dismount in a more seemly manner.”

“Only three months ago and you could not ride at all. Siriondil tells you that you must be kind to yourself. Remember that.”

Mablung took their horses reins and Damrod began the makings of a camp. None spoke as if in agreement. When the fire grew strong and the bacon hissed, Boromir turned to his brother. “Perhaps you would like to take a walk? If you need to speak of – those things.”

“Please.”

Damrod nodded as the two brothers walked away from the camp.

“I do not know where to begin. I have battled this for nigh unto a year and I am weary, Boromir. I must speak of it.”

They walked along the stream’s bank in silence. “I…” Faramir swallowed. “From the first day in Minas Morgul, he took me.” He shuddered violently. Boromir held him. “I had never been taken.” His face turned a deep scarlet. “I did not understand at first, being a virgin, and as ignorant as any ever was.” He refused to look at his brother; nonetheless, he was grateful for Boromir’s silence. “I was stripped of all my clothes, placed on the bed and tied to posts, both arms and legs. I began to understand and threw up.”

Boromir looked incredulous and held him at arms’ length. “You threw up?”

Faramir smiled. “I did. All over the sheets.” He shuddered again. “He struck me. He was livid. I believe he does not like his sheets soiled.” Tears formed. “No. We soiled his sheets often; it is vomit he does not particularly like.”

Boromir stepped away, but still held Faramir’s arm. “You do not have to continue.”

“I do. I cannot sleep. Siriondil advises me to share… Boromir,” he choked. “I cannot sleep.”

Boromir enfolded Faramir in his arms. “You will. Tonight. I promise.”

Faramir nodded, sighed heavily, and leaned against Boromir’s shoulder. “Oh! Valar!” Faramir screamed. “I cannot… I do not want to remember.”

Damrod ran into the clearing; Boromir waved him off.

“Take one moment at a time. Faramir. You threw up. Did they clean you? Did they change the sheets?”

Faramir pulled himself away, a soft, puzzled smile upon his face. “They did. He shouted and they ran in and changed the sheets. He watched, then they left.”

“One step at a time, Faramir.”

Faramir held his hands out and splayed his fingers until his hands hurt. “He slapped me again and again. I cannot tell you how hard his hand felt. I saw stars. I wish I had blacked out.” Faramir swallowed. “He threw his cloak back and I saw that he was naked. His member was huge, Boromir. At least, I think it was huge. The only others I have ever seen, besides my own, were the Orcs. He was larger. I knew what was to befall me, then. I suppose I am not as ignorant as all that. He moved to the bed and knelt between my bound legs. Heat radiated from him, it almost took my breath away. Never had I felt such heat. It frightened me, as if I would be burned when he touched me. I did not know. Then I smelled him. Something akin to a tanners hut, but worse. I gagged and he struck me a fourth time. ‘Do not spew again!’ he screamed. He lowered himself, pulled on me, pulled hard, then screamed at me. ‘I want you hard, boy. Hard as a rock! Do you hear me? Hard.’ I think I wilted further.”

Faramir’s wan smile broke Boromir’s heart. “One moment only, Faramir. One step.”

His brother nodded, then bit his lip. “He pulled on me, then… engulfed me,” Faramir’s voice dropped to a whisper. “After a moment, he bit me. I was shocked and benumbed. He scraped his teeth over me and then sucked again. I was afraid he was going to bite it off. But he stopped and growled. ‘If you will not get hard for me, then I will not be kind.’ He thrust into me; the pain… I swooned. He must have called one of the Orcs for next thing I knew, he had water thrown into my face. I woke and thought I was drowning, wishing I were drowning. He slapped me three or four times. I know not. I do not remember much of that first time.”

The implication horrified Boromir.

“He hurt me, Boromir. He came and came and then he was hard again. And it seemed to never stop. The morning came and he still pounded into me. At last, he fell against me and moaned. ‘Good,’ he said and I wanted to die. ‘Very good for the first time. I will make you hard, boy. Within the next day or two. You will see. You will come for me and I will wash myself in your cum.”

“Did you?”

Faramir sobbed and threw himself back into Boromir’s arms. “I did. Many times,” he sobbed. “I do not know why my body betrayed me thusly. I hated every moment of it, but after a few days of such treatment, I grew hard as soon as he entered the room.”

“That is to be expected.” Faramir looked at him strangely. “The body changes to survive. Your mind knew you must react if you were to live. Therefore, it told you to harden. There is no shame in that, Faramir.”

His brother sobbed in his arms. “I am shamed, Boromir.”

“Do not be,” Faramir’s brother whispered in his ear, his own member hardening as his love for his courageous brother grew. “Our bodies are not our own, at times. There is naught to be ashamed of.”

He only wished it were true for an elder brother!

Chapter Sixteen – At Last, Comfort

Though the day had been pleasantly warm, by nightfall the heat and humidity increased tenfold. The four soldiers lay on their bedrolls naked, a fact that surprised Faramir. Even in Ithilien, the company would never sleep naked. They dared not; they slept fully clothed with their weapons at hand.

The night sky, black with hardly a star visible, made Faramir shudder. ‘I suppose it is safe here.’ Dark clouds covered Minas Tirith making it difficult to see Ecthelion’s Tower, yet the Black Lands, due to the ever-present fire on Mount Doom, glowed. Faramir’s eye looked eastward. Again his body betrayed him as shivers ran up and down his spine. He had not been outdoors for almost a year now; kept safe and warm in the Citadel.

Tears filled his eye. To keep from sobbing aloud, he thrust his fist in his mouth. Unable to bear it any longer, he stood, threw on his leggings and walked westward from the camp. He would keep his eye on the City; he would listen to the sounds of the night; he would not think upon what happened to him at the Witch-king’s hands. He wondered if he would ever be free of this agony of spirit.

“Faramir?”

“I am here, Boromir. I could not sleep.”

“I promised you would this night. I have neglected you.”

“Nay. We did so much today, I am exhausted. I was sure I would sleep.”

“Fears in the night, whether one is exhausted or no, are not easily banished. I would try to help,” his groin stirred, “if you would allow me?” He could see Faramir’s eye widen. “Whatever you need?”

“That? I…”

He shivered and Boromir noted it. “Never the mind. Lie in my arms, if naught else; mayhap that is all you need to banish other thoughts, other arms.”

“Boromir,” Faramir choked and ran into his brother’s sweet embrace.

The elder held the younger tightly, whispering words of comfort and fraternal love. When Faramir’s sobs at last ceased, Boromir stopped stroking his back, but bit his lip as his member hardened. His very being burned; he could not remember feeling so alive. But he would do naught to frighten Faramir. Or to bring memories of horror untold upon his little brother.

Faramir sighed. “I love you, Boromir,” his voice child-like in its trust. “I always have.”

“And I you, sweet one. May I,” his breath hitched. “Might I kiss you?”

Faramir lifted his head and Boromir leaned down, gently touching his lips to his brother’s. Faramir sighed when Boromir pulled away. “That was lovely.”

Boromir’s face flamed at what he had done. “Forgive me. You must rest now. Let us return to camp and you might lie in my arms and sleep.”

“I will not sleep now.”

“Why ever not?”

Faramir rubbed against Boromir and the elder could feel his brother’s hardened member against his thigh. He shuddered in alarm. “Nay. I promised myself. I will not take you. I cannot after what you have been through.”

“You need not take me to comfort me. There are other ways.”

Surprise filled Boromir’s eyes. “I thought you said you were an innocent.”

“Once.”

“Oh Faramir!” Boromir pulled his brother close again. “Faramir, my love, my own.” He buried his head into Faramir’s shoulder. “I can hardly endure the thought.”

“It should have been you, Boromir, who took my innocence. I had dreamt of it, many a night.”

“When?” Boromir asked, astounded at the revelation.

“The first time was when I fell off my horse and broke my leg.”

“You were only twelve!”

“Twelve with balls that filled and a cock that grew when you tried to comfort me. Did you not feel it? I was afraid to say anything, for fear you would hate me.”

“As I have been afraid to admit such thoughts, such feelings. Faramir, this is forbidden love. Not the love between men that is dismissed as a necessity of a soldiers’ life. But our love, if that is what it is, is of evil make.”

“It is love, Boromir. I have loved you forever, for as long as I can remember. I wake up with you in my thoughts and I go to sleep too many nights holding myself as your face fills my mind.”

Boromir’s face grew redder, but he nodded. “The same has been true for me. Though being the elder, I have a duty to you, Faramir. I dare not—I dare not fly in the face of convention. I must be strong and keep us from this evil.”

“Boromir,” Faramir whispered huskily, “If this is evil, I want it every moment of every day.” He thrust once again against Boromir’s thigh. “Please. If for naught else but to help me, do something? Now?”

Tears filled Boromir’s eyes. “I will be gentle,” he shivered at the thought. “It will be slow and loving. Wait here but one moment. I must return to camp for something.” He turned and hurried away into the night.

Faramir stood there shaking as fear engulfed him. He could not remember the last time he had been left alone. He tried to stifle his tears; tried to still the shuddering of his body. He held his member through the cloth and began to stroke it, thinking of Boromir. That helped. The fear slowly lessened.

Boromir stopped short, upon his return, his jaw slack. Faramir stood before him in all his glory. The moon finally broke through the clouds and now shone upon the little brother whom he loved, gently swaying as he pleasured himself. Taking three deep breaths in wonder, Boromir moved up behind him. He slowly put his arms around Faramir and kissed his neck.

Faramir startled, then relaxed. “I was afraid. You would have found a gibbering idiot if I had not taken myself in hand, thought upon you, and rubbed myself.”

“Let me help you.” He unfastened Faramir’s leggings and pulled them down a bit, then took Faramir’s member into his own hand. Faramir fell against his chest, nearly swooning with delight, and Boromir again kissed the delicate neck. He took Faramir’s hand and placed it around his brother’s member and the two worked it until Faramir came, sweetly moaning. When his brother’s shuddering ceased, Boromir kissed him again. “That is only the beginning.”

Faramir swallowed convulsively. “It felt so very right, Boromir. Please do not think this is evil. I have never felt so happy.”

Boromir turned Faramir to face him and took his brother’s chin in his clean hand. He leaned forward and tongued Faramir’s lips. His brother shuddered again, violently, and Boromir crushed his body against him. He took Faramir’s mouth, not gently, not as before, but with all the passion that enflamed him. He pushed his tongue against Faramir’s lips and the adorable mouth opened to him. Boromir almost swooned himself at the taste. “Oh Valar! Faramir! I have wanted this forever.” He plundered the sweet mouth, thrusting his tongue all around the wet cavern, exploring, tasting, loving every moment.

Faramir’s tongue finally moved, caressing Boromir’s. “There is a taste to this,” Faramir said in wonder. “A sweet taste.” Severe shaking took Faramir and he cried into Boromir’s mouth, “Save me, Boromir!”

At once, Boromir pulled away, startled. “What?”

“I remember his taste,” Faramir sobbed. “Hideous. It burned.” He collapsed against his brother and wept.

Boromir pulled them both to the ground. He held Faramir gently and rubbed his back, his arms, his shoulders. “Shush. I am here now. This is the taste you will remember the rest of your life.” He smiled. “Mayhap I speak proudly, but I know you will remember this, Faramir.” He thrust his tongue again into Faramir’s wet mouth and ravaged him.

Faramir slowly relaxed and stifled the memory. Boromir’s tongue touched his lips, his teeth, his own tongue; its touch hot and glorious. The tongue laid waste to him until his member grew hard once again. “Boromir,” he whispered. “Oh Boromir.” He felt hands moving over his groin and he shivered in joy. “Touch me again.”

Boromir never stopped his gentle caresses to his brother’s hardening shaft. Never letting go, he used his other hand to remove Faramir’s leggings entirely. Then, he shifted and pulled his own laces free and kicked his leggings off.

Faramir groaned into Boromir’s mouth at the feel of his brother’s hand on him. At last, with one tiny shiver, he let thoughts of the Witch-king flee. This was his beloved brother who had him well in hand. This was the touch he had waited for his entire life. He swooned.

TBC

Boromir
Faramir
Denethor
Damrod – Soldier of Gondor
Mablung – Soldier of Gondor
Siriondil – Master Healer of Gondor
Aldrich – Boromir’s aide
Arroch (noble horse) – Boromir’s mare (old English)
Hafoc (hawk) – Mablung’s mare (old English)
Ioreth – Healer’s assistant
Hador – Captain of Osgiliath
Agrod – Captain of Gondor
Gabere (charmer) – Faramir’s horse (old English)

Chapter Seventeen – Flesh Unto Flesh

Terror filled Boromir when Faramir slumped against him, but the boy woke almost immediately, and shamefacedly apologized for his reaction to the kiss. Boromir was most pleased – and a bit proud. When he felt his brother’s newly hardened shaft against him, he took the small vial that he deliberately returned to their camp for from his tunic’s inner pocket, and poured a bit on Faramir’s straining erection and on his own fingers. He watched Faramir’s mouth turn into a small ‘o’ of delight. Chuckling he put a finger into his own hole, adding another within a moment. He withdrew them after scissoring a few times, then he kissed Faramir in as gentle a manner as his state of arousal would allow.

“Little brother. I would have you take me. It is a wondrous feeling, one you will like. I will kneel and help you enter me. Then, when you are comfortable, thrust forward. It is a sensation you will never forget.”

“I cannot take you, Boromir.”

“I wish it. With all my heart.” He continued to stroke Faramir’s now oil-glistened member. He smiled as Faramir shuddered. “If you think this feels exquisite, wait until you are in me up to your short hairs. Come now and be not afraid. I will help you.”

Faramir swallowed as Boromir turned over. The moon shone on the only part of Boromir not sun-darkened. Tentatively, he touched Boromir’s behind. He felt his brother’s body shudder and stopped.

“Please continue else I go mad, Faramir. That felt wonderful.”

“Oh Boromir. I… You like me to touch you?”

“There and anywhere else your clever mind desires. But now, Faramir! I ache.”

“Oh!” Faramir’s eyes filled with tears. “I ache too.”

“Then touch me, Faramir, please.”

Faramir stroked the firm buttocks, then found his hand moving lower, towards Boromir’s cleft. His face flamed in shame. “I dare not.”

“You dare or I will turn over and push you in forcefully! I cannot contain myself much longer.”

Faramir’s fingers slid down the cleft, then moved lower, almost of their own volition, bypassing what he furtively tried not to think about, and touched his brother’s balls, discovering not the soft rounded globes of his own experience, but ones as hard as stone. He bit his lip, cupped one and then the other in his hand. His own shaft, already rigid, twitched. He took both balls into his hand and held them, appalled and awed at the same moment. ‘This is my brother that I hold.’ His member pulsed. He touched the hole and quickly withdrew at Boromir’s sharp hiss. “Did I hurt you?”

“Oh Faramir. If you continue at this pace, I will be dead ere anything happens. If it hurts, I will tell you. Just take me before I die.”

Faramir snickered. “You would die of this?”

“If you do naught, I shall die of want. Faramir, you torture me!”

At that, Faramir fell backwards, stifling a cry of anguish.

Boromir turned and quickly embraced him. “I am a fool’s fool. I am sorry. This is not torture, Faramir, this is the purest of delights. Nothing in life, except being in your arms, is better than this. Forgive me. Perhaps if I faced you? You could take me from the front and watch as I writhe in bliss.”

“I think that would help,” Faramir said. “I do not want to hurt you, Boromir.” He began to weep. “It hurt me so much. Is there some way to do this so that it will not hurt?’

“You? Hurt me? Never. I should have thought of this before, oaf that I am. Just lay on top of me and I will help you enter me. It is easy, believe me.”

Faramir lay down upon Boromir. His brother lifted his own legs and settled them along Faramir’s ass. He almost came as Boromir took his member in hand and placed it against his entrance. Slowly, he pushed and Faramir could feel it pulsing against hard flesh.

“That is the muscle, Faramir. Once you have passed it, you will feel such joy. Now, use some force; I promise, it will not hurt.”

Shuddering, Faramir pushed and felt the muscle open, heard a pop and felt his cock enter fully into his beloved brother. He laughed in exhilaration as Boromir took him by the buttocks and shoved him against him. The muscle fully opened and Faramir found himself engulfed in such wet and wondrous heat that his breath hitched. His cock throbbed and pulsed as did Boromir’s fissure. He could not breath for the pure joy of it. Never had he felt such rapture. His body on fire, even his nipples hardened, he forced himself to stop and drink in the passion engulfing his body. He could not believe these sensations.

Boromir took his hips and pushed him back a little, then pulled him forward as Faramir cried out in wonder. Again, Boromir pushed and pulled him and smiled when Faramir moved, understanding at last what his role was. He jerked as Faramir took over the motion and screamed in ecstasy.

“Boromir?” Faramir pulled back but not entirely out.

“Do it again, if you can, Faramir. Right there. That is the place. Oh Faramir, do it again.”

Rhythmically Faramir’s body rocked. Engulfed in pure excitement, he delighted to see Boromir’s body react in kind, as he unwittingly stroked his brother’s prostate. He could not believe the erotic sound of his flesh hitting Boromir’s balls. He continued pushing in and pulling out until his breath caught and held. His mind-numbed in pure ecstasy as Boromir shouted his name.

Boromir’s scream turned into a continuous moan as Faramir stroked the gland with each thrust. Tears filled his eyes as he looked upon his beloved little brother’s bliss-filled face. For a moment, he saw not the eye patch, nor felt the scars along Faramir’s back. He imagined them in another time, their childhood when both dwelt in innocence. He loved him with all his might, holding his brother as close as their bodies allowed.

Too much for Faramir, this wondrous feeling of oneness with Boromir; he spilled, screaming out Boromir’s name, shuddering and writhing in his brother’s arms.

Boromir took his own shaft in hand and began to stroke it, but Faramir, still in the sweet wetness of his brother, joined his hand to Boromir’s and stroked him, bringing him to completion.

Could anything be more sensuous than Boromir’s cum on his hand? He could not believe his fortune. To finally, after all these years of hidden and shame-filled love, have his brother under him, loving him completely… His mind reeled as his body began to stiffen once again. “I think I am hard again, Boromir. How is this possible?”

Boromir laughed at Faramir’s surprise. “You are young, dear heart, and virile. I understand the body does not recover as quickly, once one grows older, but for now, let us relish it, drink this lust in, and savor it.” He took his little brother’s mouth again, breathing in as his tongue licked every part. His own cock hardened. He moaned in pure delight. “Ah, Faramir. You undo me.”

“Boromir?” Faramir hesitated, and Boromir placed a now gentle kiss to his brother’s lips. “Will you take me? I want to feel what you did. I want to feel you inside me.”

“Faramir! I cannot. Your memories are of pain and horror. I cannot.”

“Better that I should have good memories! You can dispel all the horror, Boromir. I know you can. And I know you would be gentle. Please?”

“I cannot take you. Not because I do not want this,” Boromir quickly interjected as Faramir’s blushed face turned in shame. “You have endured much this past year. You still do not have your full strength back. I would… we have held each other twice already this night; I think it better, safer, that you rest.”

“The morning?”

Boromir’s smile split his face. “The morning then.”

“Boromir?”

“Yes?”

“It is strange to be out of the City. I must admit I am fearful when you are not next to me. Might we lie together? Until morning?”

Boromir took his brother in his arms, helped him with his leggings then put on his own, and led Faramir back to his bedroll. He helped Faramir lie down, then turned to Damrod. “Thank you. Will you relieve Mablung now?”

“Yes. Though I can report that nothing was seen or heard this night.”

Boromir nodded and laid himself down next to Faramir.

“You screamed a number of times, Boromir?”

“That I did. As did you. But those who can be trusted were the only ones who heard.”

“Ah!” Faramir blushed a deep shade of red. “I do not know if I will be able to face them in the light of day.”

Chapter Eighteen – Agony

Morning came and with it a light fog that covered the Pelennor and enveloped Faramir in peace. How he loved the morning and everything about it. The birds sang joyfully; the light breeze swirled the fog about as if gossamer wings covered everything; and Boromir lay beside him, sound asleep. Faramir smiled in delight, noting his brother’s leg covered his. His cock grew. Furtively, he looked about and saw that Damrod was occupied with the fire and Mablung was nowhere to be seen. They were still in their leggings from the night before, but Faramir’s were quickly becoming snug.

Damrod turned and looked at him. “Good morrow, Lieutenant. Did you sleep well?”

Faramir swore that the man stifled a hearty laugh. “I slept well.”

“Mablung and I are going fishing for our meal. I have the coffee made, but we might be gone for a bit, so I made some flat bread. There is honey.” He picked up a blanket and walked away, shouting over his shoulder. “We will probably be gone for at least an hour, perhaps two.”

“Good. About time they left!”

“Boromir! You have been awake this entire time?”

“I never thought he would leave.”

“Did you plan this?” Faramir asked, suspicion coloring his voice.

“I did. But not as well as I thought, for we are already well into the morning and I have yet to feast on you.” He moved closer to his brother and took him in his arms. “I need you,” he whispered as his cock, already hard, grew further. He nibbled Faramir’s neck. “Are you going to keep those leggings on?”

A laugh escaped Faramir’s lips then turned into a moan as Boromir took his clothéd member in his hand. “You undo me, Boromir. I cannot think when you are about.”

“There is naught to think of,” Boromir began undoing the ties of Faramir’s leggings. “Naught but me.” He laughed quietly, “Is that too much to ask?”

“Never.” Faramir turned, flinging himself into Boromir’s warm arms. “Take me. Please, Boromir. I hardly slept the night in anticipation.”

Boromir’s laugh was loud. “You snored.”

“I did not,” Faramir protested hotly. “I hardly slept, thinking upon you.”

“You snored. And loudly. If that is how you think upon me,” his hand lowered to Faramir’s member, giving up on the attempt to open the lacings, and stroked it slowly through the cloth, then lowered to— “Faramir!” he shouted, falling back and scrambling away from his brother. “Faramir!” he sobbed. “What has he done to you?”

Faramir looked down in surprise, and realized, his face flaming from the shame, that Boromir had not known, had not felt in the night, that Faramir only had one stone. He lowered his head, voice low, and responded, “It is nothing.”

Boromir bent over double and vomited.

“Please Boromir,” Faramir whispered as he knelt at his brother’s side, gently stroking his back, wishing he could die. “There is naught to be done. As you know from last night, I still function.” Tears filled his own eyes at his brother’s anguish. “Boromir. Please look at me.”

His brother held up a hand in protest.

“Boromir. I am still your brother. I am still a man.”

“Faramir!” The name was torn from Boromir’s lips in agony. “Faramir,” he whispered and collapsed against his brother. “Faramir!” he wept bitter tears.

“Hush, Boromir. Do not let this burden you. It is over. I am in no pain. I do not know what further I can say.”

Boromir turned to him, tears streaming down his face, and took Faramir’s mouth, desperately sucking on his lips, his tongue, trying to trade the taste of despair in his mouth with the sweet taste of his brother. “Faramir,” he groaned. “I am sorry. Somehow, I should have protected you. I am sorry.”

“Hush. It is done with.” Faramir gasped, reeling at how quickly his member hardened. “I still have needs.” He took Boromir’s hand and wrapped it around his cloth-covered cock, gently squeezing it. “I have needs,” he whispered, hotly. “Will you help me?”

Boromir pulled him closer, savaged his mouth while tearing the laces of Faramir’s leggings, resulting in deep knots.

Faramir laughed. “I suppose we will have to use your dirk. How ever I shall be able to ride home without leggings, I know not.”

Boromir’s chuckle became a riotous laugh, dispelling all gloom. “Let me slow for a moment.” He looked down at the mess he had made of Faramir’s laces and sighed in mock resignation. After but a moment, he had the laces open and Faramir’s cock in his hand. “I have not done this often, my brother, but I do know how to release something this precious.”

Faramir arched into Boromir’s hand and almost fainted again. “Boromir, you undo me,” he repeated for what seemed the hundredth time. “Please. If you have any mercy within you, take me now.”

Boromir gently pulled the leggings off his brother and held him tightly to his chest. “I love you beyond endurance, Faramir. I should be the one comforting you, yet you have more strength, more courage in your little finger than I have in my whole body. Forgive me.” He burrowed his head into Faramir’s shoulder.

“Your little finger would be most appreciated stuck up my ass, Boromir,” Faramir said in the sweetest, hottest tones that Boromir had ever heard. “Now, Damrod said there is some honey by the fire. It will be warm… and sticky… and sweet. Might you think of another way to use it, lest it be wasted on bread?”

Boromir scrambled to the fire, found the package and unwrapped the comb. He brought it to Faramir’s side and smiled. “Your mind is ever crafty, dear brother. Mayhap I can think of a use too.”

Faramir lay back on their blanket and opened his legs. “Show me,” he murmured.

Shuddering from desire, Boromir bit his lip. “You are beautiful. Gorgeous. Words cannot describe.”

“Please, Boromir. If I had wanted a lesson in speech, I would have stayed in Minas Tirith and read some books. Have you no scruples? I suffer: take me. Now.” He swallowed convulsively as his cock twitched.

Boromir removed his own leggings and lay down next to Faramir. He took his brother in his arms and gently kissed him.

Faramir sighed, cocked an eyebrow and said, “I need more.”

Boromir smiled. “You will receive all that you ask for and more. I can deny you naught.” He held the comb in his hand and let the honey drip from it onto Faramir’s cock. It slid down, under the one stone, and into Faramir’s crack. Boromir licked a finger, then kissed Faramir fiercely. The sweet taste of honey filled them both. Ravaging Faramir’s mouth with his tongue, Boromir never ceased caressing Faramir’s cock with his honey-laden hand. His brother writhed and moaned. Boromir’s own cock was rock hard now.

“What are you doing?” Faramir pulled away in surprise as Boromir placed Faramir’s cock at his entrance.

“Let me do this once more, Faramir. I love the feel of you in me. Please, take me again.”

“I do not understand. You promised you would take me.”

“I told you. I love the feel of you inside me, filling me. Your touch on my sweet spot is incredible.”

“Would you not have me share that same touch?”

“Faramir, please.” Boromir all but wailed.

“I do not believe you, but if this is what you say you want, then so be it.”

Faramir looked crushed, but Boromir had decided, as he lay next to Faramir during the night, that it was still too soon for his brother. He would not allow himself to breach Faramir yet. Not yet.

Faramir took him in his mouth then, licked and sucked on him until Boromir’s mind grew numb and his body flamed. Then Faramir opened his legs, took Boromir’s member and tried to shove it into his hole.

“Stop that!” Boromir cried in alarm.

“You lie to me, Boromir. You are afraid for me. Please,” he held Boromir’s face in his hands, “Please take me else I go mad.”

Boromir’s eyes filled with tears. “I am afraid for you. But I will take you, Faramir, at my own pace.” He touched his brother’s cock and held it, delighting in the feel of the pulsing member under his fingers. Slowly, he stroked Faramir, moaning as he did. He could wait no longer, else he would be mindless and take Faramir with abandon, not with the gentleness he knew Faramir required. He pulled away from his little brother and smiled. “I would take you with you lying on your side; it is the easier way, for your first…” He bit his lip.

“It is my first time, Boromir,” Faramir’s voice was gentle. “The other… was but a nightmare. This is my first time. Make it good.” His smile turned into a soft gurgle. “I have heard tales of your prowess. And – from the front. I want to see you.” His face flamed in sudden shame. “I need to replace his face.”

Boromir’s eyes filled with tears. “As you wish, Faramir.”

“No. As I command.”

Boromir raised his hand in mock salute. “As you command, Lieutenant.”

Boromir

Faramir

Denethor

Damrod – Soldier of Gondor

Mablung – Soldier of Gondor

Siriondil – Master Healer of Gondor

Aldrich – Boromir’s aide

Arroch (noble horse) – Boromir’s mare (old English)

Hafoc (hawk) – Mablung’s mare (old English)

Ioreth – Healer’s assistant

Hador – Captain of Osgiliath

Agrod – Captain of Gondor

Gabere (charmer) – Faramir’s horse (old English)

Chapter Nineteen – Ecstasy

With the utmost care, Boromir took his little finger and inserted it into his little brother’s most wondrous place. Not once letting his gaze leave Faramir’s face, he watched for any hint of hurt or distress.

Faramir giggled. “Any slower and I would think you are not willing.”

“It does not hurt?”

Faramir’s smile lit up his face. “It feels wonderful. Truly it does.”

“You would not lie to me?”

“I have never lied to you.” His brother’s eyes filled with tears. “Never.”

“Then I will proceed.”

“Now,” Faramir’s laugh was louder, “you sound like our old tutor, telling us the next line of the Lay of Leithian.”

“Faramir! Do you want me to fuck you or no? I cannot continue with this frivolous air of yours.”

Faramir blushed. “I only jest…”

“I know why you jest. You mock me. Are you telling me you think my cock is the size of this?” He held up his little finger, coated in honey.

Faramir gasped at the sight. His cock swelled uncomfortably. “Take me, Boromir,” he croaked. “Please take me now.”

Boromir took his own cock in hand and gently placed it at his brother’s opening. “Take a breath and then push against me. I think it will help the breaching.”

Nodding, Faramir did as he was told.

Boromir gently pushed against the muscle and Faramir’s opening accepted him immediately, popping loudly as the cock entered and slipped into the waiting orifice. Boromir stayed for a moment, watching Faramir closely.

“It feels wondrous, Boromir. Honestly it d- does. Would you m- mind m- moving just a b- bit? I seem to n- need m-more.”

Smiling, Boromir lay for another moment in total stillness, then he shoved further in and touched Faramir’s gland. As Faramir screamed in complete abandon, Boromir pulled out a hair then shoved back in, smiling at the rapture on his little brother’s face.

Faramir shuddered and wept. “Never had I thought… None have ever said this felt so glorious. Why, Boromir? Why does no one speak of this ecstasy?”

As Boromir chuckled, his cock throbbed and moved inside Faramir. He pulled out again and then slowly pushed in, once again hitting that wondrous gland. He held Faramir tightly as his brother shook with passion. “I love you,” he whispered. “I love you.”

Faramir wept into his brother’s shoulder. “Boromir, my love, my own.”

With the greatest of care, Boromir, Captain-General of Gondor, rode his little brother. He found himself panting, sweat dripping from his brow, as he tried to control his thrusts. No other sound passed his lips as he kept total control. Faramir’s hot, wet, opening clenched at him, and pulled him into gusts of ecstasy that left him shuddering. His arms ached as he held himself up, so that his full weight would not be upon his brother’s smaller frame.

Faramir had been silent for some time. Boromir slowed, then stopped, looking fully into his brother’s face. “Are you well, Faramir? Have I hurt you in any way?”

Turning glazed eyes to Boromir, Faramir wept. “I love you, Boromir. I love you. How is it possible that such a thing can be so beautiful, so…” His breath hitched. “I can hardly breathe, let alone speak.” He swallowed. “You are beautiful. So kind. It… It was nothing like this, Boromir.” His tears continued to fall. “He tore me and laughed.”

Boromir stilled completely, almost wilting as Faramir told of the horrors that had been done to him.

“He shoved into me. I was hanging from the ceiling of his chambers. My wrists and ankles were shackled in irons. He opened the door and called in some Orcs and… others. He let them watch.” Faramir’s face flamed a deep red, up to his very roots.

“Faramir. You do not have to tell me.” Boromir’s tears dripped onto Faramir’s face. He took his clean hand and wiped them away, along with Faramir’s. “It is over and done with. You are mine, now. Mine, little brother.”

“I must tell you. So that you can understand how exquisite you feel. How you heal me with your member inside me. It is unimaginable, the difference.”

Boromir nodded, gently thrust so that his cock would not totally wilt and slip out and was rewarded with a lust-filled moan from his little brother.

“Yes,” Faramir’s whisper was almost too low for Boromir to hear. “Slowly, Boromir, please keep that pace so that I might know the difference as I speak?”

Boromir answered with another gentle thrust, making sure he touched Faramir’s prostate.

“He was naked and huge. Not just his body, Boromir, but his… shaft. He came at me, pulled my bound body close, and sho- shoved inside.” By now, every word that Faramir spoke was a whisper. “Three, mayhap four times. He pulled out, stepped back, put his hand to his mouth and I could see blood on it. Mine. He licked it and laughed, then turned to the Orcs by the door and let them l- lick it too.” Faramir shuddered.

His older brother held him tighter and thrust gently, though horror filled him at the tale. His brother’s courage overwhelmed him.

“He took me every day, at least four times a day. From in front, from behind, chained to the ceiling or to his bedposts. Sometimes laid over a table. He never let the Orcs touch me, but they always watched, whimpering and drooling. I could hear them as they got themselves off watching.” Faramir’s shuddering grew the longer he spoke. “He whipped me as he took me, and he whipped me when he did not. He put things on my nipples that hurt and pulled. He put things in me, Boromir. Some very long and some larger than my fist. Some alive. He put them in my… my hole and he put them in the slit of my cock.”

Boromir gasped, his stomach roiling at the torture his brother endured. By now, Faramir was openly sobbing and Boromir had lost all rigidity. He slid out and lay next to Faramir, holding him close and gently stroking his arm.

“I always came, Boromir. No matter that I willed it not, I came. He laughed every time. Sometimes, he would put a ring, or a string, or some contraption around the end of my cock so that I would not spill, and I would scream as the pressure built, but could not escape. He would leave me for days, unspilled. I screamed into the night, trying to release, but to no avail. After four days, he took my balls and squeezed them; cum spilled. ‘I have an idea,’ he said, ‘I wish to see how much seed you can hold before you burst.’ Oh, Boromir. I knew I would die. The pain was already so great. My balls and cock were on fire. At any touch, either his hand or the cloth of the bed, I would scream. It hurt so much.”

Boromir turned his face into the blanket and sobbed.

“I will stop. I am sorry, Boromir. I should not share this with you. I needed to speak of it,” his voice cracked.

“Continue. Do not let my spinelessness stay you. Heed me not.”

“Boromir. I thought of you the entire time. Not during the pain, and yet – yes, during the pain. I thought of how you would not let this happen. That your strokes would be soft and gentle. That your touch would make me the happiest man alive. It kept me sane, Boromir, hoping that one day you would hold me and love me the way it is supposed to be.”

“I will spend the rest of my life making you happy, Faramir, I promise.”

“He… He kept the contraption on for six days, Boromir. Sometimes, I know not how, it would lessen a bit and he would howl in rage, then pull on me until my cock grew again. At last, it turned a deep purple. He touched it and I screamed. It felt as if he had cut it off, the pain so terrible. He slapped it hard and I fainted.” Faramir’s grip on Boromir tightened. “When I woke, the contraption was gone, but so was one of my stones.” His face blushed in shame.

He was so quiet that Boromir began to think he had fainted again. He kissed Faramir’s forehead.

“I… it was soon after that when he… I cannot continue. Forgive me.” Faramir’s tears increased.

Boromir held him tightly. “I think it is time for sleep, little one. Do not question me,” he smiled. “Sleep now. I will hold you.” He pulled the blanket around Faramir and held him, gently rocking him and shushing him, comforting him, all the while, dying inside.

Chapter Twenty – Turtle Soup

Damrod knelt at his captain’s side. “Boromir. Is there aught you need?”

“Nay. Damrod. We will stay here another day or two. It is good for Faramir.”

“He seems peaceful.”

“He is.”

“You are not.”

“No. If I could… if ever I come near to the Witch-king, I will… Damrod,” his throat clenched, “He did horrible things to Faramir.”

“I stayed with Siriondil when he was first brought into the Houses. I know what was done to him.”

“Could any be so cruel, so heartless to such a fair lad?”

Damrod’s smile was sorrow-filled. “You love him?”

“More than a brother should, but I will make no excuses for it. I would shout my love from the escarpment, if need be.”

“Your father?”

“Can fuck himself!”

Damrod chortled. “Very well. I shall send a missive stating such.”

Boromir smiled. “Thank you. The horrors Faramir has recounted this last hour are too terrible to endure.”

“Yet – he has. And triumphed.”

“He has, Damrod. He is stronger than I.”

“I think not. He is strong, but in a different way.”

“Is Mablung on watch?”

“He is. We caught no fish.” Damrod’s face blushed slightly. “Thankfully, the supplies we have are enough.”

“Good. I would take him to a more comfortable place, one of the inns here about, but I dare not. He must needs scream and that he could not do at a public place. So, we will stay here and you and Mablung best learn to catch some fish.”

“I beg your leave, Captain, but Mablung and I both know how to catch fish. It is that the stream is too shallow here. We have caught a dozen crayfish and at least that many snails. I would venture to say, if we looked further, we might find some mussels. I could make a stew?”

Boromir’s brow rose and he began to laugh. “Very well. You are both excellent fishermen and yet we have no fish. Make a trap. Even the smallest stream holds fish.”

“If we had known we were going to stay…”

“Damrod, are you trying my patience? There must be muskrat or at least turtles about? Turtle soup would sit well with me.”

“Turtle soup it is then.” Damrod’s face split in a huge smile. “We found three. They are good size. I was going to surprise you, but you have badgered me into giving our little treat away.”

“Turtle soup then. For nuncheon?”

“Yes. Boromir,” the soldier’s tone changed to one of concern, “get yourself some sleep whilst Faramir sleeps. You do look terrible.”

His Captain-General smiled. “I will do as you suggest, but no banging of pots and such.”

“None. Sleep well, Captain.”

Boromir turned on his side and nuzzled up against Faramir’s back. His little brother still slept soundly. Boromir could feel the scars on his back. He bit his lip as tears fell. Damrod clutched his shoulder, then left him.

He woke to a wondrous smell and smiled. Faramir still slept and he nudged him. “I think nuncheon is ready, little brother. Wake up.”

Faramir stretched and yawned, then pushed himself back against Boromir. “You feel nice.” His face flamed as his member grew. “I do not understand this. How can I be hard upon waking?”

Boromir laughed and hugged him tightly. He whispered back, “Wood usually hardens when one wakes. Go relieve yourself and you should feel better.”

“I do not want to feel better. My balls even ache, Boromir. My arms tingle. I want you in me. We… we never did finish, last night. I am sorry.”

“No. It was probably for the best. I was quickly losing control and would have taken you too roughly. This way, when we start afresh, I will be rested and ready.”

“Ready? Is there such a thing as being ready for what we did? What we will do? I cannot ever imagine being ready for the bliss I felt this morning.”

“You flatter me, darling Faramir.”

“Then be flattered, my love, for you helped me relive something… horrible. You can now enter me without fear.” He huffed a little. “I am a ‘good lay,’ am I not?”

“Where do you hear these terms, Faramir!” Boromir gave him a small slap on his butt and felt Faramir tense. “Forgive me,” his eyes widened in distress.

“Do it again, when we are one. It felt,” and he turned and gave Boromir a swift kiss, hoping to hide it from Damrod, “It felt wonderful.”

Boromir chuckled. “Perhaps once or twice, but that is all. I do not normally hit my bed partners.”

Faramir blushed. “How m- many have you had?”

Boromir put his tongue in Faramir’s ear, then whispered breathily, “Only two or three. I suppose I have been waiting for you.”

“Soup is ready,” Damrod called out loudly.

The brothers held each other for one more moment, then stood and walked to the fire. Damrod had two bowls and spoons laid out on the ground. He took the pot and poured some into each bowl, then handed the brothers spoons. “We will eat in turn, as we did not pack for a picnic.” He smiled. “There is still some flat bread from this morn’s meal. I see you did not eat much. However, the honey supply seems to have diminished.”

Boromir cleared his throat and looked warningly at Damrod.

“Well, never the mind. I am sure some animal got into it.”

Mablung stepped out of the brush, holding a fish up. “Finally! The trap worked, Captain. This will be the first of many.”

“Are we staying longer?” Faramir asked, surprise plain on his face.

“We are. At least one more night. Mayhap more, if the weather holds. I need to make sure the stream is healthy. Yes. That is why we are here. To see if the stream is healthy.”

Mablung snorted, earning him another glare from his captain.

“The soup is very good, Damrod,” Faramir held his bowl out. “Might there be enough for seconds?”

The soldier poured another liberal amount into Faramir’s bowl, then offered another portion of flat bread. This time, the piece was covered with honey.

Faramir looked up, Damrod winked, and Faramir smiled. “Thank you. For everything.”

“It is my pleasure, Lieutenant. You need to put a few pounds on if you intend to return to Ithilien and fight Orcs.”

“Boromir,” Faramir turned to his brother. “Do you think I can truly mend enough to lead men? Do you think I might return to my post?”

“I do, Faramir, if you continue to practice. Which I know you will. You will not let it go. I think it might be wise to practice some swordplay this forenoon. We have rested quite a bit so far, we do not want to spend the entire afternoon wrapped in our bedroll.” He leaned over and whispered into Faramir’s ear, “Though I would find that most pleasant.”

Faramir blushed. “I think my sword needs sharpening.”

“I think it is fine,”

Damrod choked. Mablung looked off into the distance.

“I am finished with my soup. I believe I will go relieve myself. Damrod, ‘tis time you and Mablung ate. I want to check on that trap you made too. Faramir, would you like to join me?”

Faramir stood with a little more alacrity than he should have and blushed again. “If you wish, Captain.”

“I do. Mablung, where is the trap laid?”

“About a rod south of here.”

“Thank you. We will return.”

“Of course you will,” Damrod muttered, hiding a smirk behind his soup bowl. “If you find any fish in it, bring it back. We will have fish for dinner.”

Boromir nodded and turned south; Faramir followed behind.

After a half hour’s walk, Boromir turned and took Faramir into his arms, thrusting his tongue into his little brother’s wet mouth. “Oh, you taste of succulent turtle soup.”

Faramir laughed. “I would be a turtle and pull myself in, waiting for you to come.”

“I will come, and soon.” He pushed Faramir to the ground, quickly unlaced his brother’s leggings, and pulled out the already hardening shaft. He moaned at the sight, then engulfed his brother’s cock, licking and sucking until Faramir shouted and came. “I hope that will hold you,” he laughed, “I think we will not be alone until evening.”

Faramir gasped, trying to still the exquisite shuddering of his body. “I believe that will hold me.”

Chapter Twenty-One – A Time of Testing

When they returned to camp two hours later, Boromir found that a tent had been set up. “Wherever did you find this?”

“You forget. Mablung’s farmstead is only a league to the north. We… borrowed cutlery, dishes and such. In case you decided to stay for an extended period.”

Mablung came out of the tent. “All nice and cozy-like, Captain. You could stay here until the snows come.”

Faramir blushed. “That would be very nice.”

“Glad you agree, Lieutenant,” Damrod said. “We also absconded with some fresh meat. Mablung’s wife is generous.”

The other warrior laughed. “I had to promise I would spend the night with her. Damrod agreed. He does not think you will need more than one to stand guard.”

“I will relieve him at the mid night hour.” Boromir peeked into the tent and was delighted with what he saw.

“It will not be necessary. I took a small rest while Mablung was gone, in anticipation of just such an event. I am well rested.”

“Nevertheless, I will take the second watch.”

“As you wish.” Damrod knew well, from Boromir’s tone, not to push the point further.

“Well, Faramir,” Boromir drew his sword and stepped away from his brother. “It is time to see if you can still raise your sword after all this time. I think the last time we sparred was two weeks ago.”

“If you had not run off to Amon Dîn, the time would not have been as long,” Faramir countered, drawing his own sword.

They practiced for two hours; Boromir was delighted to see that Faramir’s reflexes were faster than the last time they had drawn swords together. “Whom have you been sparring with?” he asked after a particularly fierce session.

“Damrod and Mablung. They grew bored, pulling duty in the City.”

“My thanks then,” Boromir gave them a left-handed salute in the midst of a parry. He then lunged and Faramir easily sidestepped it, bringing his own sword up and almost making contact with Boromir’s unprotected left arm.

“Hoy! Well done. Now, try to block this if you can.” Another lunge, another thrust, a quick parry. After close unto an hour, all could see Faramir’s strength ebbing. “About time we stopped. You did well.” Boromir grasped Faramir in a warm embrace. “Very well. I think I will recommend that you be placed back on the active roster.”

Faramir stepped back. “You truly will?” His voice was sharp with joy and his eyes lit instantly in delight. “Boromir! Thank you.”

“There is no need for thanks. Gondor needs all the men it can get. About time you got off your lazy ass and did something useful.” His proud smile belied the gentle ribbing. “Where would you want to be posted?”

They sat by the fire; Boromir motioned and Damrod and Mablung sat next to them.

Taking a deep breath, Faramir unhesitatingly spoke. “Ithilien.”

Boromir almost fell off the log. “Nay. I will not send you there.”

“I know the men there. I know the terrain. I now know the dangers.”

Tears sprang to Boromir’s eyes, but stayed their course. “I cannot. Not at this time. Not because of the danger.” His hand settled upon Faramir’s thigh. “You have not yet the endurance for a prolonged battle. Therefore, I will send you to Dol Amroth. I think… Yes.” His eyes lit up. “It will be difficult, Faramir. I will ask Uncle Adrahil to place you on one of their ships. The motion will improve your balance. Perhaps one of his warships.”

“Difficult?”

“Yes. Trying to stay afoot in three-fathom swells is not an easy task. You need further work with your balance. This will help. You will have time to practice with your sword too. Wielding a blade as a ship pitches is an experience.” Boromir’s smile was wide.

“All right. But I go only with the assurance that I will be stationed in Ithilien when I return. How long?”

“Two years.”

“Nay! I cannot.”

“Two years or I send you to the smithy.” Boromir’s brow quirked. “Though that is not a bad idea. The work with anvil and hammer would definitely strengthen your muscles.”

Faramir paled. “Dol Amroth it is.”

Boromir pulled his brother closer, wrapped his arm around his waist, and kissed him – in full view of his men. “I will visit often.”

“Let us eat now,” Damrod said. “The venison falls from the bone. And we have some nice squash and potatoes, and a bottle of wine.”

“Wine?” Boromir smiled. “Break it open.”

The soldier did and poured. They stood, took their moment of silence, then quickly downed the first glass.

Boromir eyed the bottle. “Only one?”

“No,” Mablung laughed. “Three. One for the daymeal; two for later.” He winked at Boromir and smiled.

Boromir nodded, a faint wash of red covered his face. “Thank you.”

“Well,” Damrod said. “Let us eat. Here, Faramir. Take this piece. And you Boromir.” The warrior-cook proceeded to dish out the meal.

All fell upon the food with gusto. At last, accompanied by friendly chatter, they finished. Damrod and Mablung began to gather the dishes and such. They wrapped them in a large cloth and Mablung tied it to his horse.

“Wait. You are not taking them back for your woman to wash?”

“No, Captain. I will wash them. She likes…” The warrior blushed. “She likes to see me with my hands in the tub, washing. She sneaks up… Well, we have a fine time of it. I would not deny her such pleasure, as generous as she has been this day.”

Boromir laughed. “Then go and give her my thanks!”

Mablung mounted and rode away. Damrod stepped to the fire and added a few logs. “I will go relieve myself, wash up and then return in but a short time. Is there anything you need?”

“No. Faramir and I will join you in the walk.”

Damrod nodded and the brothers walked with him to the stream. They each found a secluded place to relieve themselves, away from the water, then stepped to the stream and laved their hands and faces.

“Perhaps we might return here later for a quick wash?” Boromir whispered to Faramir. “We might be a bit… soiled.”

Faramir blushed and shivered in anticipation.

“Best get back to camp now, Captain. The sun sets.”

They walked slowly back, relishing the noises of dusk, the sound of the stream.

“If you do not mind, Captain, I would like to guard from a little to the north. It will be a clear night; there is a small hillock where I can watch for quite some distance.”

Boromir nodded, remembering their camp was blocked from the hillock’s view by a small copse of wild fruit trees. “Very well. Wake me when ‘tis time.”

Damrod saluted and left them.

Faramir stretched, removed his sword, and sat on a log by the fire. “They are very kind. They love you.”

“They have grown to love you too, Faramir. Who could not? Your courage is almost disconcerting.”

His little brother blushed. “Not courage, Boromir. I had to return. No matter what. I could not… I had to see you again, before I died. It was the only thought that kept me sane, that gave me the courage to hold on to life.”

“Faramir,” Boromir sobbed as he took his little brother in his arms. “I love you.” He sealed the statement with a long and passionate kiss. Pulling free with difficulty, he smiled. “The men have made the tent quite habitable.” He chortled. “Come.” He held his hand out and Faramir took it. They walked slowly to the tent, Boromir’s arm around Faramir’s waist.

When they entered, Faramir gasped. “I cannot believe Mablung lives with such… luxury!”

“It is a bit bewildering, is it not? But then again, Mablung spent a stint on the borders of Harad. I assume he brought most of this back with him.”

“The pillows colors are… bright. Tapestries?”

Laughing in joy, Boromir embraced Faramir. “Not as bright as your face,” he teased, kissing his brother lightly. “The tapestries dull the noise.” He chucked Faramir on the arm as his brother’s face shaded an even darker red. “Come let us lie down. Much as I hate the thought, you must rest now. We may play later.”

Faramir pouted. “I do not need sleep; I need you.”

Chapter Twenty-Two – At What Cost

“You look as sweet as a babe, with that little, pouting face.” Boromir kissed his little brother again, this time on the forehead. “If I touch you further, I will not be—Mmmph!”

Faramir pulled him down and attacked his brother’s mouth, laving his tongue over Boromir’s lips, his teeth, his tongue, delving as deeply as possible. Not until he needed a breath did he leave off the assault. “I think this is not a babe who touches you!”

“Faramir.” Boromir’s body sang. “You must… rest… I cannot… Oh Faramir,” he moaned as Faramir’s hand closed over his crotch.

“You are taking the second watch. We have not much time left. No time for rest. No time for sleep, dear brother.”

Boromir wondered that Faramir had the breath to speak, he himself unable to think, let alone sleep. He pushed Faramir away. “We have six hours!”

“Not enough time.” Faramir attacked Boromir’s mouth again and effectively stilled any further comments. When at last he broke the kiss, he leaned back on the cushions that covered the camp cot. “It is a little tight here.” He loosened the laces on his leggings. “Mayhap we should move all these.” He motioned with a smile to the myriad pillows strewn about.

Boromir nodded and helped move the cushions to the floor.

Faramir lay back on them and watched him. “I think it time we consummated our love.”

Not only his cock, but Boromir’s whole body responded to the lust in Faramir’s voice. He had all he could do not to shiver violently. He slowly pulled his tunic off, then kicked off his boots. He tore his under shirt in two, buttons¹ flying, and thrown aside. As slowly as possible, he unlaced his leggings, letting them fall about his hips. His cock, straight and full, stood up proudly amongst the dusting of short hair.

Faramir moved from the cushions, knelt in front of his brother, and pulled Boromir’s leggings down.

Boromir laid his hand upon Faramir’s head and stepped out of the riding breeches. He did not let go, once he was naked, just gently held his brother’s head. “You should be resting,” he whimpered.

Faramir moved forward and licked Boromir’s member.

The Captain of Gondor groaned.

“Sh, Boromir. I cannot rest with that noise.”

“Faramir… please… you must… rest.” Fearing for his brother’s health, Boromir tried to pull back. “You were done in before we even finished sparring, not an hour past. Oh Valar!”

Faramir’s tongue ran up and down his brother’s shaft, while his hand gently cradled his balls. “You taste sweet, Boromir. I would not have thought it.” He licked at the cum that started to leak from his brother’s cock. “Oh, you taste good.”

Boromir moaned. “Faramir… Faramir… Faramir…” His breath came in gasps.

Faramir looked up at him. “I love you, Boromir. I know no better way to show it. After this, when I finish, I will expect the same. If you love me.”

Tears filled Boromir’s eyes and spilled over. “I do love you, Faramir.” He swallowed tightly. “I always have.”

“I know,” Faramir whispered gently, then swore. “Balrog’s breath! Where did I put it?”

He moved around the cushions, pushing them hither and thither.

“Please, Faramir. I order you to rest.” Frustration ran rampant in his voice.

“Ah, here it is.” Faramir held up a small vial. “Mablung’s wife sent this.”

“What! Mablung’s wife?” Boromir’s face flamed. “Mablung’s wife?”

“Nice woman, is she not?” Faramir grabbed Boromir’s ankle and pulled him back onto the cushions. “Please stay still, Boromir. I have not the strength to wrestle with you.” His smile belied the plea for mercy. And then he took Boromir into his mouth.

His brother shrieked as Faramir’s teeth scraped down his cock. “What… What are you doing?”

“Just making sure you realize, if you move wrongly, I might slip.” Faramir chuckled, his mouth full, and the sensation caused Boromir to scream again.

“I will… stay still,” he moaned.

“Thank you. Now, how does this feel?” He touched Boromir’s anus and almost lost the cock deeply entrenched in his mouth as Boromir shrieked and bucked. “Valar, Boromir. Father will hear you if you continue thus. And I have barely started. Stop your caterwauling!²“

Boromir shuddered.

“You like this? Good.” He plunged an oil-slicked finger into Boromir and held on tightly as his brother bucked three or four times. Pleased as he was by Boromir’s reaction, he lost count. “Hold still, Boromir. Just a little longer.” Another digit joined the first. And then another.

Boromir writhed. “Faramir.” He swallowed hard. “Oh, Faramir.” The gentle caressing voice turned into another shriek as Faramir’s long fingers stroked his prostate. Boromir’s arcing body threw Faramir off him. He grabbed his brother’s arms and pushed him against the gaudy Haradric cushions. “You toy with me,” he gulped. “I can endure this no longer.”

Boromir took the vial from the floor and dumped a large quantity of oil on his hand, then thrust three fingers inside Faramir, scissoring quickly. “I would have taken you slowly,” he sobbed.

“I do not want it slow, Boromir,” Faramir whispered. “I want it hard, like you. I want you deep within me. I do not want to think. I want to feel. Do it now, Boromir.”

The elder brother pulled his fingers out, weeping openly, and took his shaft in hand, thrusting it deeply into Faramir’s opening. Thrusting once, twice, he wailed. “It should not be like this,”

“Yes. It must. He thrust hard, Boromir. You must thrust harder. You must take me and wipe away all remembrance of him. Please, Boromir. I am sorry.”

Boromir stilled and wept bitterly. His chin shook as his teeth clenched against muffled sobs. “I finally understand. I will take you hard, Faramir. Your body will not remember him, I promise. And later perhaps, I might take you as I had wished. Gently. And in love.”

“You do this in love, Boromir. Be not afraid for me.”

Boromir took a deep breath, then thrust until his mind clouded and all he knew or felt was his brother’s tight crevice, the muscle throbbing against him, clenching him until his seed filled Faramir, and then, Boromir of Gondor lost all thought.

“Boromir?” Faramir called after Boromir spilled. “Boromir.” Fear took his heart. “What have I done? Asked beyond his endurance? Boromir, oh Boromir, please wake.” He stroked his brother’s cheek, crying silently. “What have I done?”

Boromir moaned softly.

Faramir took his brother’s lips in a gentle kiss. “Boromir?”

Blinking a few times, Boromir opened his eyes. “Faramir? Are you all right? I did not… By the Valar, Faramir, do not ask that of me again. I cannot endure the thought of competing with him. Did you?” He looked down and saw Faramir’s cock, hard and straight. “I am sorry.” He swallowed hard, and took Faramir’s shaft in hand.

“Boromir, wait a moment, please?”

Boromir stilled.

“Hold me, please?”

Boromir let go Faramir’s shaft and pulled his brother close in a tight embrace. He had not stopped crying; he did not know if he ever would stop crying. His heart was broken.

“Boromir. I will never again feel the way I do now. Cleansed. Does that make any sense whatsoever?”

“It does, Faramir.”

“But at what cost to you? Oh Boromir. I did not realize.” Faramir’s eyes widened in horror at the grief he saw etched onto Boromir’s face. “I have wounded you.”

“Sh, Faramir. I would die for you.”

A/N

¹ Buttons – I hesitated using buttons as part of Boromir’s clothing as most fanfic writers seem to use less ‘civilized’ clothing for the people of Middle-earth. Yet, I finally decided to go for it – citing Bilbo’s lost buttons as he exited the cave after finding Gollum in The Hobbit.

² Caterwauling – to utter long wailing cries, as cats in rutting time. Don’t you just love this word!!!

Chapter Twenty-Three – The Final Horror

Faramir held his brother in his arms until Boromir’s sobs ceased. “I am sorry,” he whispered for the hundredth time.

Boromir shook his head. “Nay. I told you I would die for you. If this is what you needed, then how could I refuse? I had hoped… Oh dear Valar, I had hoped to heal you with kindness and love.”

“How could you love me anymore than by doing what you just did?”

Boromir buried his face in Faramir’s shoulder. “I am sorry. I am weak beyond all weakness. I wanted to be bold and strong for you. And I have let you down, slobbering and simpering and crying like some babe.”

Faramir’s face blanched.

“What?” Boromir was instantly alert, looking about and cocking his ear for any sound.

Biting his lip, Faramir nodded. “Naught. There is naught but a thought.”

Boromir kissed him tenderly and tasted copper. He pulled back and held Faramir out, peering at his lips. “Bitten? But why?”

“Oh Boromir, my brother, my love. I cannot tell you. I have o’erburdened you too much this past year. I cannot.”

Boromir pulled him close, holding onto his brother and stroking his soft hair. “Tell me,” he whispered. “I am weak, but not frail.”

Faramir began to sob. “The babe, Boromir. It was put into me alive.” He shuddered as he felt Boromir’s body begin to recoil, then grow hard as steel. “The mother lay next to me on the table. She was writhing in pain; her arm had been severed only hours before. She was weak and sickened, yet, she held her stomach with her other arm and wailed of her babe. I saw a light in his eye and horror filled me. I knew, dear Valar take this accursed foresight, I knew what he thought. I knew what he was going to do before he did it.”

Boromir put his hand to Faramir’s lips. “Do not speak further. Rest a moment. I will get some water.”

“Do not leave me,” Faramir shrieked. His voice softened a moment later. “Please do not leave me.”

Boromir pulled him close again and whispered into his ear. “I love you. Hold tight to me, if you must relive this. I will be here for you.” He thought his heart would break. However Faramir had been able to withstand such torture, he knew not. He held his brother close to him and wept in silence as Faramir continued.

“He cut her open while she was awake.” Faramir spoke as a man in a dream. “I hear her screams even now, Boromir. He pulled the babe from her womb, wrapped up with the afterbirth and sewed it closed. Then he forced something down my throat and, I was awake and aware of everything but the pain. He cut me open, from my navel to above my privates.” Faramir tried to swallow but his mouth had gone dry. He choked a bit then continued. “He put the babe into me. Inside me, Boromir. I could feel it kicking.” By this time, he was so ashamed and unmanned that he slouched lower against Boromir; his head burrowed into his brother’s stomach. “He sewed me closed and left me. I lay as one dead, whatever medicament he gave me keeping me alive, but not the babe. Boromir, I felt its kicking slow, slow until it stopped.” He sobbed. “I knew it was dead, Boromir. I knew it was dead and that I had killed it.”

Boromir moved to protest and thought better of it, letting Faramir lay the entire burden open.

“He came back, hours later, and touched my belly, knew the babe was dead and slapped me so hard I fell off the table. He called the Orcs in and they kicked and pummeled me. ‘You are useless. I would have done better with your esquire.’ I could not speak for my jaw and my anguish. ‘You men are good at killing, are you not? How does it feel? Is this the first babe you have killed? It will not be the last. I will turn you into one of my own and you will wallow in the blood of babes.’ I screamed in horror.” Faramir hung his head. “But it was not to be. I could not bear what had happened to me. Nothing he gave me to heal me had any effect. I knew I was dying, Boromir. The babe still lay inside me and I could not cease weeping.” Faramir sat back, exhausted.

Swallowing convulsively to keep the bile from erupting, Boromir clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. At last, he trusted his voice. “How did you escape him? However did you make your way to Ithilien?”

Faramir leaned over and retched, holding tightly to Boromir’s arm. When he was emptied, he slouched again against his brother. “He had me dragged, I could not walk by this time, out to the courtyard. The beast was there, licking itself as a dog does. It looked up and I swear it smiled. Its great tongue flicked out and touched my face. I recoiled as best I could, but I had no will, no strength to oppose it. The Orcs gathered about and laughed, spitting at me and calling me foul names. The Witch-king came from the battlement and stood before me. ‘You are weak and disgusting. I would not sully my precious’ stomach with such an offense. I am sending you back to your people; when they find your babe-swollen body, they will flee in horror. They will fear me even more than they do now. But you will be dead. Long dead. And I will sit in my hall and eat the babe’s mother.’

His Orcs half-dragged, half-carried me from Minas Morgul. They threw me across the bridge. I tried to walk, but could not. He realized, he must have, that I would never be found in Ithilien if left to my own devices, so he ordered them to take me to the Crossroads and left me. I could not even crawl.” Faramir began to weep again.

“Mablung found you three leagues from there. A little northwards.” Boromir’s voice spoke in awe. “You had the strength, you did not know it. We had been searching for a fortnight. I was gone mad. I knew you were not dead, Faramir, but I wished you were.” His voice broke. “I had seen others… What I have seen… You suffered more than any I have ever … Faramir,” he clutched his little brother’s tunic and pulled him from his lap and up to his face. Gently, he took the sweet, tear-streaked face into his hands and kissed the swollen lips. “I love you. I would that it had been me, but I know I would not have shown myself so well.” His eyes shone bright with pride, he turned Faramir’s face to his own. “Look at me. You are brave beyond description. You put me to shame.” He kissed his little brother chastely. Now, sleep.” He sighed and began to stroke Faramir’s hair, whispering their mother’s lullaby until he felt his brother’s chest rising and falling rhythmically.

“Damrod,” he called out and the knight was beside him in a moment. “We will return to the City now. Help me carry him to my horse. I think he will sleep through the ride.”

“My Lord, do you not want to wait? Night will be upon us in a few hours.”

“I want to leave now. I have done everything I set out to do. Faramir has relived every part of his torture, every part that has haunted him and kept him prisoner this past year. It is time he left this behind. Time for him to become himself again. Lieutenant of Gondor.”

“You will be leaving us?”

“As soon as we reach the City, I will ask to be stationed at Halifirien. I am sure Father will rejoice that I have come to my senses and returned to the army. I ask only that you and Mablung stay with Faramir. Protect him as you have protected me. Teach him the ways of Rangers and leaders.”

“Will we ever see you again?”

“In time. But he must grow and he will not do that with me about.”

“But, Boromir, you love him.”

Boromir stroked Faramir’s hair once more. “I do.”

“And he loves you.”

“He will find another. I have done my part.”

“Boromir. Do not do this. You can be together. Others are like you. Other men. There are ways to live and yet love each other.”

“It is not that, Damrod. I took him. I took him as an animal. I cannot bear to look upon him. To know that I have harmed him so.”

Epilogue

Faramir and his second slipped through the forest, never looking back at the Hobbits. The Steward’s only remaining son clenched his hands, trying to stay the trembling that shook them. The thought of the path Frodo and his gardener were taking almost overwhelmed him, even after all these years. A very long time ago, he had been forced upon that very path. His life had changed forever.

“I think I frightened Frodo, Damrod.”

“Aye, you did.”

“Do you think it was the eye patch?”

“Nay. You told him Boromir was your brother.”

Faramir’s face twisted in pain. “That is true, but in the end, I think we parted as friends.”

“That you did, Captain.

“Boromir is dead, Damrod.”

“He died many years ago, Faramir. He is only now at peace.” The soldier’s tone was as to an old friend, not his captain.

“When did he die, Damrod?”

“They day we found you. A death long suffered.”

“A death long suffered. Nothing I did could help him. He loved me before I knew it. With his very being. How could I not have seen, Damrod? How could I have been so blind?” Faramir’s voice cracked. “And then I used him, against his will, against all love.”

His friend said naught.

“He never touched me again. After that day on the Pelennor. Father sent me south to Dol Amroth the next day. I know now it was at Boromir’s request. When I returned three years later, he was not the Boromir I knew. He would not let me touch him, nor allow himself to be alone with me. All because I wanted to forget that damnable face, that hell-cock, the arms of the Witch-king. I tried to replace them with Boromir and instead, I killed him. I asked too much.”

“He was here, the night before he left for Imladris. Why?”

“To take me,” Faramir whispered. “As he once hoped to. Gently.”

As soon as he saw his little brother, standing behind the thin veil of water, the sun sinking behind him in splendor, Boromir could wait no longer, else he would be mindless and take Faramir with abandon, not with the gentleness he wanted for his little brother. That was the whole purpose for coming to Henneth Annûn, was it not? To finally take Faramir as he had hoped, not as he had done that night so long ago. To show his brother how much he loved him, how happy he had been to know Faramir’s love, if only for a day.

He pulled away from his little brother and smiled. “I would take you with you lying on your side; it is the easier way, for your first…” He bit his lip. “You have not done it since…?”

“It is my first time, Boromir,” Faramir’s voice was gentle. “The other… was but a nightmare—for us both. This is my first time. Make it good.” His smile turned into a soft gurgle. “I have heard tales of your prowess. And – from the front. I want to see you.” His face flamed in sudden shame.

Boromir’s eyes filled with tears. “As you wish, Faramir.”

“No. As I command.”

Boromir raised his hand in mock salute. “As you command, Captain.”

“Come, Damrod. The men await.” They disappeared into the forest as Frodo watched.

The End

A/N – Green gauntlets covered their hands, and their faces were hooded and masked with green, except for their eyes, which were very keen and bright. At once Frodo thought of Boromir, for these Men were like him in stature and bearing, and in their manner of speech. RotK: Book IV: Chapter Four: Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbits.

“Boromir son of the Lord Denethor?” said Faramir, and a strange stern look came into his face. “You came with him? That is news indeed, if it be true. Know, little strangers, that Boromir son of Denethor was High Warden of the White Tower, and our Captain-General: sorely do we miss him. Who are you then, and what had you to do with him? Be swift, for the Sun is climbing!” Ibid.

They named themselves Mablung and Damrod, soldiers of Gondor, and they were Rangers of Ithilien; Ibid.

Boromir was my brother… Frodo thought for a moment, fearing some further trap, and wondering how this debate would turn in the end. He had hardly saved the Ring from the proud grasp of Boromir, and how he would fare now among so many men, warlike and strong, he did not know. RotK: Book IV: Chapter 5: The Window on the West

He embraced the hobbits then, after the manner of his people, stooping, and placing his hands upon their shoulders, and kissing their foreheads. “Go with the good will of all good men!” he said. RotK: Book IV: Chapter Seven: Journey to the Cross-roads

Listing of characters:

Agrod – Captain of Gondor
Aldrich – Boromir’s aide
Arroch– Boromir’s mare ((noble horse – old English)
Balshak – Orc
Boromir
Faramir
Denethor
Damrod – Soldier of Gondor
Gabere – Faramir’s horse (charmer – old English)
Gorgrum – Orc
Hador – Captain of Osgiliath
Hafoc – Mablung’s mare (hawk – old English)
Ioreth – Healer’s assistant
Mablung – Soldier of Gondor
Siriondil – Master Healer of Gondor
Witch-king

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