Faramir Fiction Archive

Legacy (NC-17)

Written by Carla Jane

30 March 2004 | 95430 words

Boromir had only been mildly surprised when Aragorn had unrolled the large bundle on one of the five horses to reveal Éowyn had been trussed up inside. He had known something quite odd was going on as soon as they’d reached the stables. Far more gear than the two of them could possibly need had been waiting on them, as well as a girl of no more than twelve, who was bound and gagged under a blanket.

Even after removing Éowyn from her severe wrappings, Aragorn took no chances with her. She was riding with her hands bent behind her back and lashed together from elbow to wrist. Éowyn’s mount was attached to Aragorn’s by way of a long rope. The servant girl’s horse was affixed to Boromir’s, leaving her no reins with which to guide her animal, but at least the girl was no longer tied up.

The urge was there to ask Aragorn questions, but Boromir had no desire admit his ignorance of his lover’s intentions while Éowyn was glaring daggers at the both of them. The basic situation was simple enough to work out. Aragorn had decided Éowyn needed to be elsewhere and was tending to the problem. Details would have to wait until they had a moment of privacy.

Éowyn should be grateful she was still breathing, Boromir thought, but of course the foolish girl had to press her luck. The entire time they’d been riding had been filled with one taunt after another. Her fountain of abuse had eased briefly when the sun set, only to start up again when she realized that Aragorn was going to make them all ride through the night since the moon was bright and the sky was clear.

Aragorn seemed to have effectively stopped his ears against everything Éowyn had to say, but Boromir was heartily sick of her hissing and spitting. He had let his own horse fall a good distance back from Aragorn and his captive just to mute the flow the innuendo and abuse.

In contrast, the serving girl was harmless enough. The only times she’d opened her mouth the entire trip involved requesting food, water, and time to climb down and relieve herself in the bushes, all of which was voiced in timid, rather grovelling whispers.

Unfortunately, this unusual bit of isolation allowed odd musings to plague Boromir. He normally submerged these sorts of thoughts in constant activity or the companionship of Aragorn or Faramir when it was available to him. It was easy for Boromir to think that he was fulfilling all the needs of his lover, his lord and brother, and the empire when there were smiles of pleasure all around him. It was only at times like this, as the darkness and lack of useful activity pressed at Boromir, that his thoughts would grow disheartening.

As more time passed Boromir was beginning to see flaws in his abilities to lead the vast military might of Gondor, dangers threatening his brother because of his relationship with Faramir, and shortcomings he had as Aragorn’s lover. Despite Aragorn’s assurances that the girl was only spouting nonsense, Éowyn’s cutting remarks had served to underscore the most intense of his worries.

Growling out his annoyance at the turn his thoughts were taking, Boromir scrubbed at the bridge of his nose and blinked hard. The moonlight was fading and yet false dawn was still at least an hour away. He was relying almost entirely on Aragorn’s lead at this point, unable to discern the trail for himself.

All about Boromir and Aragorn so many lives seemed to pivoting on marriages and the children that came of them. Certainly Aragorn never seemed as completely human as when he was in the company of his kinswoman, Aeryn and her daughter. The change in Aragorn upon his return to Minas Tirith after going to Dunland to collect the pair had been startling to Boromir. The first time Ranian had run across the floor and thrown herself into Aragorn’s arms had been truly staggering to behold. It wasn’t that Aragorn ever indicated that he wanted children of his own, although he did occasionally mention memories of fathering and raising sons and daughters. The lines could be traced back to show that both Boromir and Aeryn were Aragorn’s offspring, in a manner of speaking. Still, Boromir couldn’t help but wonder if the time might come when Aragorn wanted a child of his own body, rather than settling for the fading recollections of Isildur’s other hosts.

There were times when Boromir felt that Aragorn’s memories of his other lives couldn’t fade fast enough. Boromir couldn’t help but feel inadequate to sustaining the attentions of someone who had seen over a thousand years pass. Aragorn had seen everything. He had travelled everywhere and enjoyed the company of more people than Boromir could ever hope to meet in his entire life.

One point of the pain dug into Boromir’s heart, even as he willed himself not to think about it. When all his remembered lives were taken into account, Aragorn’s lovers had numbered in the hundreds, perhaps even in the thousands. Boromir had lain with only three men in his entire life, a rather pitiful bit of experience by comparison. Even more, the harsh lessons he had learned from Denethor had locked away numerous sexual possibilities behind walls of fear. Boromir suspected there were a great many acts that Aragorn would enjoy indulging in, that he was being denied due to Boromir’s unwillingness. It might only be a matter of time before Aragorn grew bored and felt the desire to look for with a lover with more experience and fewer reservations.

More than once Boromir had resolved to attempt something sexually adventurous with his lover, only to lose his nerve at the last moment. Too often he had seen Aragorn’s expression briefly cloud over as Boromir shied away from some act or another.

Their last misunderstanding was as recent as the night they had slipped away from the royal wagon-train to scout out a town. Time had been pressing at them but it had been so long since they’d had a chance to feel each other that the desire was nearly painful. The uncommon circumstances of long denied need and the need for haste had been responsible, Boromir understood that, but Aragorn’s fingers had tightened too fast and too hard into Boromir’s hair. His voice had been demanding, rather than the normal seductive coax Aragorn tended to use at the beginning of a tryst.

It wasn’t until after his own needs had been satisfied that Aragorn had realized his lover was trembling with something other than excitement. Soft words, gentler touches and kisses had soothed Boromir enough to allow his body to find the release that his panic had nearly extinguished, but the faint undercurrent of anxiety between the two of them had lasted all the way until the next evening. It had been dispelled only by an entire night of secluding themselves within their room at the inn that their explorations had discovered.

A gust of cool wind ruffled the hair about Boromir’s face, tickling his nose. Tossing his head to shake the flicker of torment away, Boromir realized that a bit of light was beginning to brighten the eastern sky. More disturbing was the realization that Éowyn was using that faint illumination to study him. Turned about in her saddle, Éowyn stared at Boromir. Whatever she saw, it caused a disturbing smile to lift the corners of her mouth.

“Eyes front,” Boromir snapped at the girl, unsure what exactly it was about her attention that made him so uncomfortable.

The order had no effect on Éowyn, but Aragorn responded instantly. Catching the lead-line to Éowyn’s horse, he tugged, bringing the animal up closer to his own.

Golasgil’s grandson, Galmegil

Aragorn had left the inn a fair while ago after forcibly bathing Éowyn and leaving her bound to a sturdy chair. It was an odd sight indeed. Working around the gag that Aragorn had insisted on, Éowyn’s servant was attempting to plait her lady’s hair into some style that involved braids, beads and bits of dark ribbon. A fancy gown that Aragorn had produced from one of the many bags they had dragged from Edoras was lying across the bed. Éowyn wore only a silky slip at the moment for fear the ropes would ruin the material of her court dress.

Boromir was still in his own best gear, since he had spent the morning with Lord Golasgil, two of his sons and his eldest grandchild. The meeting had been a revelation of sorts. Upon being informed that the royal bride Aragorn was offering to Golasgil’s grandson was quite unwilling and would need restraining for the first little while, all three of the Eastern men had merely chuckled and made jokes about how she wouldn’t be the first woman married into the family who had been reluctant to settle so far from the hub of the empire. The groom-in-question, a sweet-faced, blond boy named Galmegil, had looked mildly disappointed at the news he would have to take his bride against her will but he didn’t complain.

“When Éomer finds out what you’ve done he’s going spill a path of blood all the way here and back down to Minas Tirith,” Éowyn shook her head violently, spoiling a long, intricate braid that was almost finished.

Weary beyond caring for propriety, Boromir snapped at her, “Will you just shut your mouth, you stupid girl!” His fingers tightened up into a fist. “By the time it finally comes out where Aragorn has tucked you away Éomer is going to be firmly wrapped around his wife and your belly is going to be filled with Galmegil’s child. The worst that’s going to happen is that Aragorn will have to apologize and provide some proof that you’re not being mistreated up here.”

“I won’t stay here! They can’t keep me here forever… and when I get free the first thing I’m going to do is find you and Aragorn… then kill whichever of you is the happiest,” she vowed. “I’ll ruin Faramir. If it takes my entire life, I’ll see to it. I’ll kill Aragorn, destroy Faramir and any child he might bring into this world, I’ll set the forces of the Riddermark on Gondor… and then I’ll stand back and laugh at everything you ever loved turns to dust.”

Boromir lunged, knocking the chair Éowyn was tied to backwards, and nearly destroying it. The breaking of the wood allowed Éowyn a chance to struggle loose from the knots that were restraining her, but her freedom was limited. Boromir crouched over her with an expression of vivid hatred on his face. His palm dropped, covering her mouth, with one side of his hand blocking the air away from her nose as well. It was only a matter of seconds before Éowyn’s narrowed eyes widened with terror, realizing that she couldn’t breathe.

“Sir, no… please. Your majesty, no. Don’t.” Éowyn’s servant caught at Boromir’s arm and tugged ineffectively.

“You ran away into the mountains. Your horse threw you. You fell down a cliff and broke your neck.” Boromir recited the story in a dull monotone.

Éowyn’s nails clawed, breaking on the armour of his upper sleeve before finding bare flesh at his wrist.

“I won’t allow you to threaten Faramir.” Boromir’s finger shifted slightly, allowing her to drag in a shallow breath. “If you ever… ever… threaten my brother again, it will be the very last thing you do. Understand?”

Her nod was only the barest movement, restrained as she was by Boromir’s heavy hand.

“Your life is hanging by a thread, little girl. Éomer would rage at your death, but it’s almost worth killing you regardless. I’m sure we could come up with some story or another that would prevent a war that no one wants to fight. Staying here in Anfalas is your only chance. It’s this or death. The smartest thing you can possibly do is make yourself absolutely indispensable to Galmegil and his family.”

“Prince Boromir, please, you’re bruising her.” The servant’s voice was a timid plea.

“One word against Faramir… just one word…” Letting the threat hang, Boromir climbed off of Éowyn. Catching her by the hair, he dragged her back upright and tossed her onto the bed. “Now just SIT!”

Éowyn’s chin lifted in an attempted display of pride, but the pose only served to high-light the fingerprint bruises just beginning to darken around her mouth. “You’ll pay for this, Boromir,” Éowyn whispered.

“We’ll see.” Boromir shrugged and dropped onto the bench under the window, clearly conscious that she had returned to threatening him rather than Faramir.

“You can not be serious,” Lothiriel had to shout just a little so her voice could be heard over the splash of water against rock. The queen was sitting on a blanket far back from the thin spray of the small waterfall. Her disbelieving gaze was fixed on Aeryn.

“It’s dry here at this spot. I could make it.” Aeryn’s fingers plucked experimentally at the cliff face while she looked upward, judging the mostly vertical surface. “There’s lots of handholds.” Reaching back, Aeryn knotted her long dark hair with a quick twist.

“You’ll fall and break your neck,” Lothiriel continued to protest in an amazed tone. “Faramir! Reason with her!” Turning in place, Lothiriel appealed to the men. “Éomer, your wife is going to kill herself.”

The complaints caught Faramir’s attention, but Éomer was still frowning at the surrounding greenery and twisting a twig absently between his fingers. “Éomer, are you all right?” Faramir’s inquiry was softly spoken. Faramir had been crouching down by the side of the stream, scooping up a handful of cold water. The spot was abandoned in favour of pacing over to keep his interaction with his brother private.

“It’s taking too long.” Éomer discarded a mangled strand of bark that he had pulled free. “I don’t trust Aragorn. I’ve never trusted Aragorn.” The tattered twig was thrown violently down and Éomer turned away. “I need to go after Éowyn myself.”

“You’ve no idea where they’ve gone,” Faramir reasoned yet again, circling around to try and hold Éomer’s attention. “No one but the kitchen woman saw them leave, and she doesn’t know which direction they took. There have been no reports of any of them in the Riddermark. If Éowyn wanted you to find her… she would have made a stir amongst your people by now.”

“Aragorn has done something to her. I know it.” Éomer’s lips curled back in disgust. “I’ve told you over and over. He’s evil, Faramir. I don’t know how you can trust him with anything.”

It was a well-worn argument. Faramir reached up to touch Éomer’s face. “Would you deny that Boromir is an honourable man, brother mine? He’s with Aragorn.”

“Boromir’s allegiance is to you and to Gondor, Faramir… in that order. His honour is no protection for Éowyn.” Éomer’s brows were drawn together and angled down. “When Boromir was taken, you discarded everything to chase after him. Why shouldn’t I do the same?”

“The circumstances aren’t the same. When I left… father was on the throne and looking likely to stay there for years. Nor did I have any personal connections to hold me back.” Faramir gestured. “You have the Riddermark to care for, and you have a brand new wife.” A frown pulled at his mouth. “Who is quite likely to kill herself in the next five minutes.” Turning, Faramir shouted. “AERYN! What do you think you’re doing?”

“Climbing.” Her response was muffled, since it was spoken directly into the cliff face rather than back toward the men. One soft boot slipped briefly, before finding purchase in a crevice two tall men’s height up the incline.

“Why?” Faramir paced over, head bent back to stare up at Aeryn. She had hiked up her simple skirt and seemed to have tucked the excess material into her waistband. Her leggings were leaving nothing to the imagination.

Éomer joined his half-brother at the foot of the cliff. “I’ve climbed this before,” he observed. “When I was just a kid.” This forest dell was only a few hours ride from Edoras. It had been one of Éomer’s favourite retreats as a child. He’d been the one to suggest this place when Lothiriel had expressed the desire for an intimate picnic with just the four of them.

The wagon, a few servants and a small group of soldiers were just outside the grove, awaiting the pleasure of the two royal couples. A loud shout of distress would likely bring help if they wanted it, but Aeryn didn’t seem to be in danger.

“Do you want to follow her up?” Faramir fingered the uneven surface before them. Neither he nor Éomer wore restrictive armour today. “Is it safe for her to climb up to the top? What’s up there?” He looked upward.

“Just more trees… and a bit faster water, of course.” The bottom of the narrow waterfall was slow and deep since there was a basin at the base to collect the cascade. “I don’t know about animals though,” Éomer evaded.

“Aeryn, maybe you should come back down,” Faramir suggested. “It might not be safe up there.”

“I’m fine,” she called down. “I just want to see the top, then I’ll come right back down.”

“I’ll go up with her.” Éomer shifted his swordbelt so his weapon hung more behind him than beside him. Removing it completely simply wasn’t an option. He considered the rock- face for a breath before reaching out and digging his fingers into a niche and lifting off the ground.

“Just be careful,” Faramir cautioned before drawing away. He walked backwards until he reached the blanket his wife was sitting on.

The king and queen watched the climb, flinching occasionally when either Aeryn or Éomer seemed have trouble keeping their grip. First Aeryn disappeared over the precipice. Éomer followed her a few moments later. The sound of the voices drifted down but no words could be made out thanks to the constant rumble of the waterfall. Odds were the reverse would be true.

Lothiriel still leaned in so she could keep her voice low. “Try not to fret, my lord. If Éomer was going to run off, he would have done it by now.”

Head shaking, Faramir glared up at where the others had vanished. “This could come back to haunt us later even if Éomer doesn’t run off… especially if Éomer trusts me and doesn’t chase after Éowyn. If Éowyn is killed… thanks to my holding Éomer off he’ll never forgive me.” Faramir sighed. “I hope Aragorn knows what he’s doing.”

“I haven’t spent much time with Aragorn,” Lothiriel petted her husband’s hair where it was escaping his circlet. “Still, he seems frighteningly capable.”

Faramir straightened up as a swath of fabric blew over the top of the cliff and drifted down, caught in the odd swirls of air that the waterfall created. He was on his feet and about to shout for the guards that were lingering just within earshot of their position when he realized what exactly the material was. Aeryn’s dress landed not to far away. A bright sparkle of laughter cascaded down with the silvery water, suggesting all was well up on top of the cliff.

“Sit, my lord.” Lothiriel’s voice was light with amusement. “It seems our companions will be a while. “Would you care to share some sliced peaches with me?”

Blowing out the panicked breath he had sucked in, Faramir let his legs fold and he sat down beside his wife.

Boromir was pacing the length of the chamber that they had been told to wait in. Every few moments he would pause to peer through the door to see if Golasgil’s family was ready for them. Boromir’s entire frame was tight with tension and a frown marked his expression.

“You may be able to force me through this farce of a marriage ceremony…” Éowyn glared down at Aragorn’s fingers. They were wrapped around her wrist. “But you won’t be here forever.”

“You stupid little girl.” Aragorn shook her lightly, dragging her further into the corner. His hiss was low, not intended to be shared with Boromir. “You have no grasp of the gift I’m offering you.”

“GIFT?” The exclamation was cut off as Éowyn’s wrist was twisted in warning.

“Yes, gift.” Aragorn’s eyes narrowed. His voice was a bare whisper. “Think about it, you silly child. If you had stayed at Edoras you’d never be anything more than Éomer’s shameful secret. He was under strict instructions to never allow you to fulfil your potential… under risk of losing the Riddermark.”

Éowyn scowled, but she kept silent.

“Here in Anfalas no one will place any limitations on you. You’re the sister of the king to these people. There’s no tarnish on that title here. You’ll be the wife of their future lord as well.” His tone was seductive, coaxing the reactions he wanted out of Éowyn. “Golasgil’s wife is dead. The heir’s wife is a brown sparrow of a woman who most people ignore. You could shine here, Éowyn. You could own this court and the people of this region if you wanted to.”

“Deceitful beast. This is just another one of your tricks. A web of pretty lies designed to keep me quietly exiled.” She struck at Aragorn’s grip without success. “I’ve no desire to whore myself out just to live in a velvet adorned prison.”

“But that’s all Edoras was,” Aragorn reasoned, taking no offence at her attempt at escape. “The boy you’re marrying is comely enough and rather naïve. He’ll be a mere toy in the hands of someone so talented as you, my lady. You’re a court raised Princess among farmers and fisherman. This is your chance to take control of your own life, girl. This is a place you could grow into your potential.”

It’s a trick.” Éowyn’s eyes darted to Boromir, and then back again. “You’ve no reason to want me happy.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong.” Aragorn’s hold on her eased. “I’ve every reason to want you to find contentment in a place far away from both Edoras and Minas Tirith. Of course I could just kill you.” He smiled and reached up to brush a thumb over one livid cheek. “But I feel as if I owe you for giving Boromir to me.” Aragorn’s gaze shifted to his lover and his stare all but burned.

“And how do you know I won’t fashion Anfalas into a threat?” Éowyn tested.

One of Aragorn’s shoulders hitched. “In the first place, there’s only so much that can be done with a province full of farmers and fishermen compared with the might of the empire.” He turned his full attention back on Éowyn. “In the second… don’t imagine that I won’t be watching your progress, girl. Make what you will of your life here. I wish you all happiness.” Aragorn paused. “But at the first sign of a threat toward Boromir, Faramir, or Gondor… I will show no mercy, and I have been cultivating agents everywhere.”

Éowyn’s gaze seemed to measure Aragorn.

“We’ll be staying two weeks to see you settled in,” Aragorn pressed on. “I’d like to take letters away with me… one of which should be to Éomer from you… assuring him that you’re safe and content.” He stepped back, allowing Éowyn more freedom of movement. Reaching into his jacket pocket, Aragorn withdrew a necklace and pendant. “Be careful with this trinket, my lady. One of the edges of the jewel seems to be a bit sharp. It might draw blood enough to put a nasty stain on the bridal sheets if it were pulled across sensitive skin, like the inside of your thigh.” He held it out in offering. “Do yourself a favour and use it carefully, for I would be vastly disappointed in you if I found out that you had attempted to employ it on young Galmegil’s throat.”

Éowyn let the sparkling blue stone dangle from Aragorn’s hand for a full minute before reaching up to snatch it away.

“It’s time!”

Boromir’s exclamation made Éowyn jump. His look of worried expectation in her direction was a slight sop to her injured pride. Boromir, at least, seemed wary of her actions even if Aragorn did look smugly confident.

“As your eldest brother,” Aragorn began, “It would be the right thing to do if you would take Boromir’s arm, Princess Éowyn. It’s only suitable that a young lady of your station in life be escorted by the Captain of Gondor’s armies.”

The choice was upon her whether to go into this kicking and screaming all the way, or if she should play the game that Aragorn was suggesting. Testing the men’s patience, Éowyn stole another long pause before padding across the floor to accept Boromir’s silk and chainmail encased arm. “I’m not promising anything,” she informed Aragorn in a pinched tone.

“I’m not asking for a promise, Princess, merely for you to consider all your options.” Aragorn fell into place behind the half-siblings.

Boromir looked from one to the other in confusion, but when a servant yanked the door before them wide open, his expression went blank. Years of court life had trained him not to give anything away in front of an audience.

Hours could go by where Boromir would forget why he was in Anfalas. Locked in the darkness of the guest suite with Aragorn, shivering under his lover’s attentions, nothing else mattered. Riding through the countryside or inspecting settlements, farmlands and fishing villages with one of Golasgil’s sons was a welcome distraction. Testing himself against Anfalas’ militia was a complete break from thinking. Still, Boromir always had to eventually return to the keep and see Éowyn sitting at the dining table.

Boromir kept waiting for the explosion, but it wasn’t happening, which only made him more worried. Éowyn actually seemed to be enjoying herself. She was the centre of attention. Not only was her new husband Galmegil, providing her with a rapt audience, but she was also had Lord Golasgil’s interest. The old man appeared to be enchanted by Éowyn’s charm as well as her tales of far off lands.

Éowyn hadn’t taunted Boromir since the morning of the wedding. In fact, except for expected social interactions, Éowyn was ignoring her half-brother entirely. Boromir couldn’t help but suspect that a dangerous motive was behind the sudden change in Éowyn’s mood.

Aragorn settled into the chair beside Boromir as the formal part of the dinner dissolved into a time for entertainment and camaraderie. He leaned in but held back from making real contact with Boromir’s suddenly aware body. “I spoke to Vinyarion,” Aragorn referred to the Lord’s youngest son. “He’s more than delighted to accompany us back to Minas Tirith. He wants to take up a permanent position in the army. There’s no need for him here at home.” Aragorn smiled. “We can send him on to Edoras with tidings for Éomer. It will greatly ease Éomer’s mind to speak with his new brother-by-marriage.”

“Aye.” Boromir nodded absently. They were due to depart the day after tomorrow. “I can’t help but fear we’re leaving a snake in a henhouse, Aragorn.” Boromir watched as a trilling laugh broke out of Éowyn. “I warned Lord Golasgil as best I could about her nature, but I don’t believe he took my words to heart.”

“Golasgil is no fool, Boromir,” Aragorn soothed. “Nor are we abandoning Anfalas. The guard here looks to Minas Tirith and if anything untoward were to happen, Captain Durastor would have a messenger on the road to the capitol immediately.” Under cover of the table and shadows, Aragorn smoothing a steadying caress across Boromir’s leg. “Shall we follow the coast home or will we be travelling overland, my Captain?” He shifted the topic.

“The coast.” Boromir’s full attention turned completely away from Éowyn and locked on Aragorn at the physical contact. “I think we should visit Dol Amroth,” he hesitated, “… though I am eager to return to Faramir’s side.”

“Your duties as Captain challenge your wishes as Faramir’s… brother,” Aragorn put his lover’s conflict into words.

Boromir nodded, and then sighed. “I suppose it will be easier to wait for our reunion than it would be to leave his side again too quickly. We will take the longest path home. I need to show myself at every opportunity during the trip.” Lips pursed. “We should send Vinyarion ahead on the swiftest path, however. I’ll compose a missive for Faramir. He’ll want an explanation of Éowyn… and Vinyarion will need an introduction. Faramir won’t likely recall him from his time in father’s service.”

“A wise choice.” Aragorn bent close. “I definitely don’t object to having you to myself during the trip home. I would have us share a room each night, my light. With only the two of us… the request will seem more natural. Vinyarion’s company would have skewed the situation.”

Another burst of bright laughter from Éowyn tugged at Boromir’s attention, but the turning of his head halted at a touch and a whisper from Aragorn. “Come back to our rooms, my love. I want to feel you in the back of my throat.” Fingers tormented. “I am dying of need, my light. I want you naked in my arms.”

“Aragorn…” The name was a strangled protest. “Not here.” Their relationship might not be a protected state secret, but Boromir knew better than to flaunt their affair in front of other people. Warrior bonds weren’t unknown in the army, but they were not an acceptable situation within courtly society.

“I want you. I want you now, Boromir.” Aragorn growled, his breath teasing against his lover’s cheek.

Boromir’s breath caught and he very nearly whimpered aloud. His head was nodding out his consent before his mind had even processed the request.

“Come away, my light.” Aragorn caught Boromir’s hand, pulling him upright. A few people turned to look at the pair, but Aragorn’s fierce glare had every single one of them dropping their eyes or looking away. Daring greatly, he leaned in and continued to whisper obscenities into Boromir’s ear all the way out the door, keeping his lover happily oblivious of the surroundings.

Éowyn was still sitting at the writing desk in her’s and Galmegil’s room when Aragorn and Boromir arrived to take their leave of her. She was only half-wrapped in a dressing gown and it was clear that Éowyn wore nothing underneath the blue silk.

“I didn’t bother sealing my letter to Éomer.” Two sheets of thin paper were indicated. “Since I’m quite sure that you’re going to read it no matter what I do.” An expression of cool distain was on her pretty face. “In fact, I expect you’ll end up rewriting it and changing half of what I’ve told him anyway.”

Aragorn stepped up to take the letter from her. “Yes, that’s quite likely,” he admitted before folding the papers and tucking them inside his jacket. “I’d ask if you had notes for anyone else, but we all know that you have no one else.”

“Beast.” The insult was without heat, as if Éowyn were merely following along as expected of her. “I stand by every one of my actions.” Turning in the chair, she glared first at Aragorn, and then she pinned Boromir with her vivid blue eyes. “The way it was… you would have made an unremarkable king,” Éowyn announced without shame. “And if father had continued to mould you, by the time he died of old age you would have been a pathetic, broken creature and an atrocious sovereign.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Boromir upper lip curled and he turned his gaze away to avoid both the sight of her, and Éowyn’s words. “Nothing you say means anything.”

“DON’T YOU DARE IGNORE ME!” Her voice rose and Éowyn stood, shoving the chair back. “If you’re going to leave me out here in the middle of nowhere to rot… at least I want my say first.” Her hands clenched into fists. “Every one of us knows that Faramir is the only choice to sit on the throne of Gondor. I was right to put him there,” Éowyn snapped. Angry colour darkened her face, throat and bared breasts. “Father was a monster. You were best off away from him… even if you had died. But you didn’t have die, did you? You lucked into Aragorn’s affections. I saved you! You should be thanking me, brother-mine.” She used the term of affection like a striking blade. “Boromir, the golden prince… who always got the best of everything. You got the best room, the best horses, and the adoration of everyone. You even got to keep your mother longer than the rest of us. Everyone wanted to be with you… especially our father.”

Boromir whirled on her. “Do you think I WANTED what he did to me? Are you honestly that stupid?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” She practically spat. “But it’s not like you were defenceless. You had a sword. You had every opportunity. You’re the oldest. You weren’t a child, not like us!” Éowyn’s voice was almost hysterical. “You were supposed to protect the rest of us, to protect Faramir. You could have stopped him if you really wanted to. You could have saved us all. You could have fixed everything before it got so awful if you were just willing to risk your place as Gondor’s greatest treasure… but no! So someone had to fix things… and it cost me EVERYTHING!”

“That’s enough, Éowyn.” Aragorn held up his hand for silence.

Reeling from the unexpected attack, Boromir turned on his heel and strode out of the room without saying a word in response.

Éowyn’s lips pressed into a line and she frowned at Aragorn. “You’ve used me again, haven’t you?” She reasoned out once her breath had returned to normal. “You’ve had me cut him open so you can see to bleeding out the poison.”

A level stare was Aragorn’s response.

“You owe me!” Éowyn threw herself back down into the desk chair.

“And I am seeing to the debt,” he answered. “I’ll be back to check on you in a year, my lady. Is there anything you would like me to bring you?”

Her chin lifted. “You could bring me my brothers,” she suggested. “I’ll take either one, Faramir or Éomer.” Éowyn swallowed. “They’re all that ever mattered to me.”

“That might change,” Aragorn mused, “But I’ll see what I can do none-the-less.” His head bowed briefly in a show of respect before he withdrew from Éowyn’s presence.

They were hours away from the manor before Boromir broke his pondering silence. “Is she right, Aragorn?” There was a rather meek quality to his voice. He kept his face turned down, rather than looking over at his lover.

“Éowyn?” Aragorn prompted without answering the question.

“Mama never asked for anything else,” Boromir began. “The only thing she ever asked of me was that I should take care of Faramir. When he was born… all the time he was little… and the last time I saw her, Mama trusted me with keeping Faramir safe and happy. The last thing she ever said to me… she made me promise to take care of Faramir.” The reins of his horse twisted around his fingers. “And I have tried. From the day he was born I’ve tried my hardest to fulfil that promise.”

Aragorn’s head cocked to one side. “That’s a rather daunting task to lie at the feet of a mere child, my light.”

The comment raised Boromir’s face. His eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

One of Aragorn’s shoulders twitched.

“Sometimes I think she knew right from the start.” Boromir frowned. “I think she knew she wouldn’t live to see us grown and so she had to make sure we had each other.” A long breath hissed out. “It didn’t happen suddenly, her dying, nothing around mama ever happened suddenly… it was only when father descended upon us that things would move in jerks and startlements.” Boromir’s lips pushed together. “Then she was gone and it hurt so much, but I didn’t have time to… I had to take care of Faramir. Father began packing up for the trip to Rohan. We were told he was going to fetch that other woman and her children… that he was going to bring them into our home.” He paused. “I thought, at least while he was gone we’d have time together… time to adjust. I’d have time with Faramir.”

One dark eyebrow lifted. A sound tinged with realization escaped Aragorn. “Denethor never told you that you were leaving, did he, Boromir?”

“Everything was prepared while Faramir and I were at morning lessons. We were called to the courtyard to bid father farewell. We’d done it hundreds of times before.” Boromir’s expression was distant. “But then everything suddenly went insane. One of his teachers grabbed Faramir and one of father’s guards took hold of my arm. He pulled me over to a horse and told me to mount up. Neither of us realized what was going on until it was too late.” His breathing was unsteady. “We’d never been apart before… ever.”

“You took it badly?” Aragorn pressed when the silence stretched too long.

“Faramir started screaming. He kicked and fought. Two of them had to hold him still. I could see their fingers digging into his arms.” Boromir swallowed. “I shook free… tried to run to him. Someone knocked me down, jumped and grabbed my legs. Soldiers dragged me backward, dragged me away from Faramir, back to the horse. There was blood. Not mine. I found out later I broke bones. Fingers, an arm, some ribs.”

Aragorn had stifle a grim smile at the picture his mind created of a fifteen-year-old Boromir fighting like a wild- cat against guards who didn’t dare hurt the crown prince.

“Then father was there,” Boromir’s voice faltered. “He looked disgusted. He ordered them to hold me still.” Green eyes blinked slowly. “He pinched my nose and covered my mouth. I think he spoke to me, but I couldn’t hear him. I panicked. I thought he was going to kill me for acting up. I think I wet myself… and then everything went grey.” Boromir’s hands were white with a lack of circulation. “He knows, father does. He knows exactly how long he can take my air away without killing me. That was the first time. He did later other ways… with bath water, ropes, and cloth.”

“Éowyn is right.” The reins loosened and colour flooded back to the skin of Boromir’s hands. “I should have killed him on the trip to Rohan. I was a fool. I could have saved everyone all they went through if I’d just killed him then. He threatened to have Faramir beaten if I didn’t behave, but I see now… he wouldn’t have been able to do it. I should have realized it then. I should have stopped him right at the start. It was my fault… everything horrible that’s happened since. It’s all been my fault.”

“You’re a man grown now, Boromir.” Aragorn cut in, his whisper was silken. “You know the way politics work now. What would have happened if you’d killed him?”

“It would have fixed everything,” Boromir mumbled.

“No… follow it through, my love,” Aragorn insisted. “Treat it like a history lesson. The fifteen-year-old crown prince kills the king. Follow the line of it, Boromir. The king is dead. The under-aged heir murdered him. Tell me what happens next.”

Blinking, Boromir lifted his face. His horse came to a halt as he stared across at Aragorn. “It’s high treason. I would have been tried and executed… but it shouldn’t have mattered. I should have been able to accept that for Faramir’s sake.”

“Ah…” Aragorn nodded. “So the only person that Faramir ever loved or could trust would have been executed, likely burned at the stake… and Faramir would have had to have witnessed it as the new head of the empire.” The flatness of Aragorn’s tone made the words all the more chilling. “So now we have Faramir, a timid, traumatised ten-year-old in charge of the largest empire in the world. He’s miserable, isolated and unable to trust anyone. No one cares about him. Faramir’s successors are two other children, both far away from the capitol and completely unknown to anyone. I see two likely results, don’t you, my lord Captain.”

“A child can’t govern. One of the lords would rule through him, at least until he came of age.”

“That would be the best result. Tell me the worst,” Aragorn prompted. “I know you can envision in. You’re no political novice. Tell me.”

Boromir shivered. “Children die easily. With all three of them gone the line would have to backtrack…” He paused, eyes closing as he thought it through, “… four generations to find another branch of the family, back to the last time the king had a younger brother.” His eyes opened. “Back then forward again to…”

“The line of Tarhan of Ethring,” Aragorn finished for him. “I’ve met the lord of Ethring. He’s not the kind of man you would want to have control over Faramir’s… or Gondor’s fate.”

Boromir’s brow furrowed Tardarian of Ethring was a sour, grasping man. It always seemed to Boromir as if Tardarian’s face pained him every time he had to smile for the royal family. He’d grown even more objectionable since the marriage of his daughter to Boromir had fallen through.

Nudging his mount, Boromir urged it into a walk once more. His hands began twisting with the reins again. “But later on…” he continued after they had ridden a short way.

“Later on?” Aragorn paced his lover.

“I never fought back,” Boromir said softly. “I stopped even hesitating when father… wanted something.” His shoulders hunched. “Sometimes I think… sometimes…” His gaze was fixed off in the distance, carefully avoiding Aragorn.

“There’s nothing… absolutely nothing that you can tell me that will ever change what I feel for you, love. I saw it all when we were together in Barad-dur. I know every secret you thought you had… but I suspect you need to say it aloud. Don’t you?”

Boromir’s face tipped up, lifting to soak in the sun’s rays. His eyes were tightly closed. “That’s right. You saw everything,” he repeated the information as if trying to make the idea penetrate. His throat worked on the words long before they emerged. “Did I, Aragorn… did like it?”

The childlike tone of the question cut through Aragorn’s innards as surely as a sword’s strike, but he was careful not to let his reaction show, knowing Boromir would misunderstand if he caught it. “Don’t you know?”

Gold hair shook, glinting in the sunshine. “Father said I liked it, that I must have or I wouldn’t have spilled for him. I did, after the first year or so… almost every time.” When Aragorn didn’t respond after long moments, Boromir continued. “It wasn’t anything like it is with you… or how it is with Faramir… but my body responded.” He sighed. “Éowyn said…” Boromir looked over finally, demanding with his solemn expression, that Aragorn share his opinion.

“There is no way you could have taken Denethor down without besmirching yourself, my light. You don’t have the right mindset for undetected murder. The killing would have been obvious to everyone, thereby disqualifying you from the succession. Faramir was barely ready for the throne when it was finally thrust upon him,” Aragorn declared. “It is only because he has your support. Your reputation is invaluable to him, tarnished or not… and he has my rather, unique talents, as well. It is because of us that he was able to secure the empire. The army follows you, my lord Captain.”

Aragorn’s mouth pushed into a grim line and he guided his horse over so he could catch hold of Boromir, halting them both once more. “As to how your body reacted to Denethor’s attentions…” Aragorn’s fingers had to bunch into blond hair to keep Boromir from shying away. “There are ways to make any body react, regardless of how the person feels. Given an hour and a complete lack of care for my subject’s emotional well-being… I can make ANY man or woman’s body respond to me, but it wouldn’t mean anything. Denethor had a year to learn how to make your body betray you.”

Boromir shivered. His eyes were wide and locked to his lover’s. “Aragorn.” The name whispered out as a vaguely terrified gasp.

“My own… my precious Boromir.” Aragorn’s touch gentled, stroking down until he was cupping the other’s cheek. “Is there any reason in the wide-world that you should take Éowyn’s opinion of you to heart… over mine or Faramir’s?”

“No, but…” Boromir leaned into the caress stroking up his jaw.

“Shhh…” Aragorn’s thumb brushed his lover’s lips. “Trust Faramir, even if you can’t trust me. Faramir is one of the truest souls I’ve ever met, my light, and he loves you.” His grip released. “We should sleep out in the wilds tonight.” This was only the beginning of what needed to be done to ease Boromir’s soul-ache. Aragorn foresaw a long, emotional night ahead of them and he wanted it kept private from everyone.

Sitting across the table from Éomer, Faramir picked at his breakfast. The food was excellent, as usual, but good-byes always twisted his gut up. “As soon as I know anything… I’ll have a messenger on a horse and riding for Edoras. I promise.” A bit of bread was mangled between Faramir’s fingers. “Boromir will come to me. You know he will. I’ll have the whole story out of him.”

Éomer’s expression was weary. “I trust YOU Faramir, but with every day that passes a fear grows in me that I have doomed Éowyn by my inaction.” He kept his voice low. Sad eyes lifted and Éomer sought out Aeryn, Ranian and Lothiriel. “This last month has been sweet in ways, I will not deny that, but a sense of immense failure drags at me.”

Faramir wished he could assure his brother that Éowyn was going to be returned safe and unharmed, but he doubted the words himself. “Would you like to come to Minas Tirith? I’d stay here, but Lothiriel’s time is drawing closer and she needs to have the baby in the White Tower.”

“No.” Éomer’s head shook, a spare movement. “I belong in the Riddermark.” He looked about the great hall. “It’s like my very heartbeat is tied to this land. Don’t ask me to cage myself back up in walls of stone, Faramir, not unless it’s unavoidable.” A hint of a smile eased Éomer’s severe mood. “The wind and the horses speak to my soul.”

“I won’t make you wait for a son, Éomer.” Faramir had come to a decision over the course of his stay. “As soon as I get home I’ll see to what it will take to sever the Riddermark from Gondor once more. You and this land deserve one another.”

Éomer’s smile at the news was blinding. “It’s not so much that I want to be king, Faramir, but…” He considered briefly. “This land is unique. It’s so much more than a province of Gondor. “We have our own ways, our own laws and traditions… too many of which are at odds with how things are done in Gondor.”

“I know. I see that now.” Faramir’s head tipped, indicating their wives. “Two such different women, I’ve never know. They can share a friendship, but to place one in command of the other… to demand they speak, dress and behave alike… it would ruin them both.”

Éomer nodded, approving of the example.

The corner of Faramir’s mouth lifted as he studied the two whispering women. “They aren’t the wives that we would have chosen for ourselves,” he observed, “But fate has given each of us what we need, I think.”

As if sensing the men’s attention, Lothiriel turned toward them. She gifted Faramir with an affectionate look through lowered lashes. “Is my lord husband ready to depart? Everything stands ready at your word.”

Aeryn chuckled as if Lothiriel’s words were just another part of a private joke that she shared with the queen. Pushing up out of her chair, Aeryn took the short walk to Éomer’s side. “Are we riding out with them?”

“Just a little way.” Éomer brushed his fingers through Aeryn’s dark hair before turning his attention downward. “I thought now would be a good time to put Ranian on her own horse.”

Lips pushed into an ‘o’ of pleasure and small hands clapped with delight. Ranian practically threw herself across the divide between them and into Éomer’s arms. “YES! PLEASE!” Her arms wrapped around his neck and squeezed. “I want a fast one. That pretty yellow and white one. Please, o’ please.” She squirmed in his hold.

The laugh that broke out of Éomer lightened Faramir’s heart.

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