Faramir Fiction Archive

Leaves of a Past Autumn (PG)

Written by Empy

14 April 2005 | 800 words

Title: Leaves of a Past Autumn
Author: Empy [Email]
Pairing: implied Boromir/Faramir
Fandom: Lord of the Rings FPS
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the Tolkien estate. No infringement is intended and no money made.
Warning(s): mentions of consensual sibcest
Summary:
Feedback: Yes, please.
A/N: This can be read as a companion piece to Shadows and Dust, but also works as an independent story.

---

The thunder still echoes in my ears. I have closed my eyes, sealed my mouth, trying to breathe shallowly so I will not swallow dust.

The Orcs have stirred up loose sands, set to burn our defenses and the wind does not ease it. Blood is running down my face, stinging my eyes though they are closed. The grime will likely have darkened the red stain.

“Faramir!” I shout, the sound drowning in the cacophony of the battle. “Faramir, answer me!” The shouting hurts my throat and my bruised sides.

Oh, beloved brother, tell me you have not perished.

Opening my eyes, blinking against the flying dust and smoke, I search in vain for a familiar face. Nothing. Only our men clashing with the Orcs, driving the beasts back. I am not needed in battle now, only in directing the troops. The wounds mean little. I have fought wounded before, and will do so again. Yet, every stray gash on my brother is a pain more acute for me. He is my life. I will not lose him.

My heart nearly ceases beating as a cry rises faint through the din of metal on metal.

“Boromir!” He pushes through the rank and file of our own, his helm and mail matted with blood. Yet he is smiling, victorious and proud. As I hold him in my arms I do not want to let go. He presses his mouth to mine, a hard kiss and a desperate one. Blood and soot and sweet familiarity in the kiss. Forbidden, but all the more sweet because of it.

“I thought you were dead,” I say, my voice hoarse. “I thought I had lost you.”

“Nay, you will never lose me. I will walk with you, always, in spirit if not in body. I love you,” he whispers, pressing another kiss to my mouth, “I love you so much, sweet brother.”

He leads me back to the tents, to places more private where we do not have to watch our caresses so. The fire in my wounds burns so strong I stumble, and he notices this.

His touch is cool and gentle as he cleans my face. From the pain, I can tell there is a cut over my eye. It will leave a scar. Soft lips against the broken skin, a tongue lapping at the blood still flowing. Heat and living sparks, and I breathe in the scent of him. It is what grounds me in this restless world.

How many years of our lives? I should say forever. It is wrong, and I know it, yet I am hard pressed to find love more pure. Are we not alike? Does the circle not close in our union?

I find no release in others. Neither women nor men, not in the same manner as in my most loved brother. I know his body as well as I know my own. His scars are mine.

“Faramir,” I ask him, “would you die for me?”

“I would, as you for me,” he answers, simply, the movement of his lips against the skin of my eyes sending a thrill down my spine. Only he has the power to undo me in this manner. Only he.

It was in his arms I first knew the passion only another man can grant. The first night was a night of thunder, a rainstorm carrying a dank chill. We lay in each other’s arms as we had done so many times before, sharing warmth. There was – and is – comfort in our likeness.

Kisses grew bolder yet, until I could wait no more. He succumbed willingly, my faithful brother, always mindful of the wishes of his brother as he is.

I saw myself in his eyes that night and knew I was lost.

What I would not give to have him in my arms now. He would soothe the hurt as he has always done, speak his soft words of healing to me.

But he is leagues and leagues away, and with me in thought alone. I die alone, amid the leaves of a past and bitter autumn. I die because of my foolishness and greed.

I die in foreign country, nailed to sodden ground by black arrows. My last sorrow is that I will never see him again.

Faramir, brother and lover, I will forever guard the ground you tread on.

Forever.

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

Enjoyed this story? Then be sure to let the author know by posting a comment at https://www.faramirfiction.com/fiction/leaves-of-a-past-autumn. Positive feedback is what keeps authors writing more stories!