Faramir Fiction Archive

Hush (PG-13)

Written by J_Flattermann

11 November 2011 | 900 words

Title: Hush
Pairing: Faramir/Boromir
Word Count: 874
Rating: PG 13
Genre: Slash
Beta’ed by ingrid44. Thank you dearest friend.

For Bijou’s birthday.

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The floor was freezing cold and Faramir shivered in his thin shirt. He couldn’t recall how long he had been locked away in this dark and dusty room. He had stopped counting the hours, the minutes. This time Father meant it. Nobody would come to his rescue. Boromir was out on campaign in Osgiliath. He didn’t know their Father had locked him away in the abandoned dungeons of Minas Tirith.
Another shiver ran through his body as he tried to think of other things besides the cold. He rolled up into a ball on the icy floor and tried to sleep. He knew that none of the men would dare release him. None of them would dare face the wrath of his Father, Denethor Steward of Gondor.

But sleep wouldn’t come. He was shivering so hard his muscles began to cramp. They cramped so tight that shivering was now utterly painful. He didn’t knew how long he had been laying there when he finally stopped feeling the cold. He started to feel warm and his eyes fell closed. The hard floor beneath him suddenly felt soft. He started to sweat profusely and tried to rip his shirt off.

Then he blacked out.

Boromir had been fighting against Orcs all morning. His arms and legs felt heavy as lead. When the seemingly unending tide of Orcs finally ebbed he wished only for sleep. He slid down one of the crumbled walls sinking into the mud exhausted. But something was nagging at him, wouldn’t let him sleep. He stumbled up, staggered over to his horse. His men tried to restrain him shouting you need rest but he wouldn’t listen. He struggled getting on his horse and needed two attempts before he managed to swing his leg up and over, finally landing in the saddle. He forced his horse into a canter all the way back to Minas Tirith. The uncomfortable feeling accompanied him all the way on his return ride. Twice he nearly fell off the horse falling asleep in the saddle.

When he reached the Eastern Gate to the City he called out to the guards. Where is my brother? Where was Faramir? This should have been his watch but he wasn’t here.

The guards looked towards the ground not daring to meet his eyes. He roared in anger like a wounded lion. Even his father absented himself, leaving instructions not to be disturbed. In a mood like this Boromir was utterly unpredictable, even dangerous. The old cook, her apron wet from her tears, finally came towards him blurting out the story. He shoved her aside and started to run. Faster and faster. How long? How long? He knew the dungeons-wet and freezing. How long could a youngster of slender build survive in these conditions? How long had his brother been incarcerated there?

When he broke into the dungeon Faramir was utterly cold and stiff; his skin a blueish colour. He cursed that the fighting had gone on for so long in Osgiliath. That he hadn’t left Osgiliath earlier. That he hadn’t galloped all the way back. That it had taken so long to find out where his brother was.

He picked Faramir up and his head fell backward; arms, legs limp. OH NO, OH NO. He prayed that he’d wasn’t to late.

Concerned he carried the limp body to his quarters. Placing his own guards at the doors he gave orders that nobody was allowed to enter not even the King’s Steward himself. There on fur rugs near the fire he gently laid his brother down. Rushing to one of his cabinets Boromir produced a bottle smelling strongly of alcohol. With this bottle in his hand he returned to his still unconscious brother. He pulled the stopper out of the bottle and the sudden odour made him cough and squint his eyes. Oh this is strong. But that is exactly what is needed now.

Carefully he poured some of the darkish brown liquid into his palm and proceeded to rub and massage his brother’s entire body, from head to toe. His brother’s skin still felt cold to the touch but he could feel the alcohol massage working and slowly after three applications warmth returned to Faramir’s extremities. His pulse intensified and his breath grew stronger.

The moment Faramir woke Boromir was at his side. Kissing his face, wetting it with his tears. There and then he swore to his brother that such a thing would never ever happen again. He would make sure that he stayed at Faramir’s side at all times. At least as long as he was not sufficiently strong or mentally tough enough to stand up to their Father.

That night the two brothers spent huddled together kissing and carressing. Boromir mindful of the recent torment his beloved brother had just experienced, was undemanding. The strain of the day’s events soon took their toll on both of them and they slept in each other’s arms.

Boromir however would be true to his word until the day he was sent away to Rivendell. Faramir stayed behind waving good-bye. Good-bye. It would be an ill-fated journey, and this the last sight of his brother.

His father never ever again repeated that particular punishment.

The End

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