Faramir Fiction Archive

The Lesser Son (NC-17)

Written by Radical

12 October 2010 | 16713 words | Work in Progress

A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this up…my laptop died on me at the end of August. I lost EVERYTHING. Just in time for class… ( author growls ) I had to get the original story from faramirfiction.com ( Sigh ) It was giant pain in the ass. I must admit in the whole scheme of things, this story was last on my list of things to do to get my life back from the hard drives of that old Toshiba. Between working full time and going to school full time…it took awhile. Mea Culpa. Please don’t hate me…but I had to rewrite the whole second part. Which was frustrating…and tedious. And I admit I almost gave up. But in the end, I think it ended up longer than I originally wrote it…good thing, bad thing. ¿Quién Sabe?

Anyway, I am putting the Majority age for men at 20 (just meaning the age they become a man), and the age of consent (for sex…not that it is heeded…you know…ever) at 16. This section also contains sexual situations with a minor. Don’t like it? Don’t read it. Don’t flame me if you do.

Not Beta read. Therefore I willingly accept all mistakes. (You can stop glaring at me now…)

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Beriadan awoke in the place he fell asleep, the chair near the fireplace in young Faramir’s room. He slowly stood, stretching his aching muscles. With every move he made, a joint or two cracked and popped. He sighed, rubbing his shoulders trying to relieve the ache there. This was the third night in a row he spent in Faramir’s rooms. Beriadan glanced over to his young charge who was still sleeping on the large four-poster bed.

Beriadan hated that bed. It had been a “gift” from the Lord Denethor for Faramir’s thirteenth begetting day. The only purpose it truly served was to make subduing Faramir all the easier. It was difficult to fight your abuser when each of your limbs was tied to a separate post. He crossed the short distance to the bed and gazed down at its sole occupant.

Faramir was sleeping on his stomach, hands under the pillow with his shoulder-length hair in complete disarray. The covers were pulled up only to his waist to avoid aggravating the angry welts and gashes that had been inflicted upon him a few nights past. Beriadan sighed in dismay. He seemed to be sighing quite a bit lately. A bad habit he picked up from Faramir no doubt.

He reached out to the bedside table and lifted a small glass jar containing a basic healing salve. Beriadan knelt on the floor next to the bed. With a gentle hand, he dipped his fingers into the salve and slowly began to apply the viscous substance generously to the angry looking marks.

Faramir moaned in his sleep, instinctively flinching away from the gentle touch. It was these gentle ministrations that brought Faramir out of his reverie. He tensed under the hands that moved across his back, not sure what to make of them. It wasn’t until he heard the soothing voice of Beriadan did he finally relax.

“ ‘Tis only me Faramir. Relax and allow me to tend to these. Your brother arrives on the morrow. It would be a tragedy if you would be unable to give him a proper welcome home hug.” Beriadan spoke softly so as not to frighten the young lad. He smiled when he saw Faramir relax under his touch.

“I am excited to see him again. It feels like an eternity since he left.” Faramir glanced at Beriadan. He had known Beriadan these past two years as a friend and confidant. The guard was young, no more than 25. Beriadan had gotten married in the time Faramir had known him. His first son was born to him a few months ago, and Faramir knew that Beriadan would make an excellent father, as well as an excellent husband. He reached out his hand, tangling his fingers in the dirty-blonde, shoulder length hair of his friend. “Why is it that you never take me? You are probably the only guard in the Citadel that has not looked upon me with an eye to bed me.” Faramir slowly twirled the soft tendrils between his fingers.

“Faramir…” Beriadan gently pulled himself out of Faramir’s reach.

Faramir brought his hand back under the pillow, laying his head back down. He stared at Beriadan. The young guard was handsome, this Faramir was sure. “I would willingly give myself to you.” Faramir smirked when Beriadan froze mid-motion, the guard’s hand hovering above the glass jar. “We could actually do, what my father and all the guards think we do in these chambers.” He reached out to caress Beriadan’s cheek, but the guard batted his hand away.

Beriadan rose to his feet, slamming the jar on the bedside table. He roughly grabbed Faramir’s upper arm and dragged him up so that they were at eye level. “Never say that again. Never!” He shook Faramir in his anger.

“Why not? I am after all the whore of the Citadel.” Faramir spat.

Beriadan forcibly pushed Faramir back onto the bed. “You are no whore!” Beriadan shouted his frustration. “Your circumstances are beyond your control. Beyond my control…” Beriadan’s face fell. Faramir should not have to suffer the abuses he did.

Faramir had the dignity to look ashamed. “I’m sorry Beriadan. I did not mean to cause you insult.” He had no right to take his aggravation out on his friend.

“Oh, Faramir.” Beriadan sat on the bed next to the adolescent. He gently grasped the boys chin and forced the lad to look at him. “You caused me no insult. The one you insulted was yourself.” His heart ached as he watched the languid tears start to flow from Faramir’s eyes. “If I could change your circumstances, I would. In an instant. You know that right?”

Faramir slowly nodded. “But you can not Beriadan. You would lose everything…your wife, your beautiful baby. You would be cast out of the White Tower forever. And I would be alone again.” Faramir collapsed onto Beriadan’s chest, shedding silent tears. Beriadan wrapped his arms around Faramir, holding him the best he could.

“You wouldn’t be alone.” Beriadan whispered into the gentle waves of Faramir’s hair. “Calanon is there for you as well.” Beriadan brought his hand up to slowly pet the soft wavy hair.

“Not like you are.” Faramir whispered. He looked up into his friend’s eyes. Leaning forward, he swiftly captured his friend’s lips in what was usually a chaste kiss. Faramir placed his hand on Beriadan’s upper thigh to support himself as he tried to deepen the kiss. Beriadan’s eyes widened in shock when he felt Faramir’s tongue slipped out between soft lips begging entrance into his mouth. He grasped Faramir’s arms and slowly pushed the boy away.

“Stop, Faramir.” Beriadan stood. “I know what they call you. I know what they say to you in the darkest hours of the night. But they are wrong. That is not who you are.” Beriadan crossed the room and opened the door. “Dress yourself. You are meeting Calanon this morning. I shall send your breakfast to the library.” Beriadan stepped into the hall, but paused. “Oh yes. Arol has ridden out in the party to meet your brother. You will not have training this day.” With that, he left.

Beriadan closed the door to Faramir’s room with a soft click. Faramir was too much sometimes. Even so…Beriadan quickly ran his tongue along his bottom lip. He could taste Faramir, the salt of his tears, the sweet intoxication that was personified him. Beriadan sighed. What was he going to do with that boy? Shaking himself of the thoughts, he headed towards the kitchens.

Faramir watched as the door closed behind Beriadan. He was getting aggravated that Beriadan never succumbed to his advances. Why wouldn’t the guard just bed him like everyone else?

Faramir shook his head to clear these thoughts. How could he think of Beriadan like that? Faramir groaned loudly, and collapsed onto the bed. He winced in pain when his abused back made contact with the mattress. It served him right though, for pushing Beriadan like that. The guard only wanted to help him, and how did he treat him? Like he was any other guard who sought to bed him. Faramir knew that Beriadan loved his wife, Arathêl, more than anything on Arda. And now he had a son, Berimôr, of whom he would give the world to. He would never willingly betray them. Faramir had no right to push him to do so.

Faramir slowly moved off the bed towards his wardrobe. Pushing the door, he decided to skip the more formal attire. Instead he traded his sleeping pants for a pair of soft, light-brown leather leggings and a simple loose-fitting, white tunic. He swiftly slipped on his well-worn knee high, black leather boots and began his trek to the library.

Once arriving he found his tutor and mentor where he always found him. Elbow deep in ancient parchment.

“Suilaid, Calanon. Man carel le?” Faramir dropped himself into the chair across from his mentor. Faramir reached to take one of the parchments from under Calanon’s gaze. His tutor swatted Faramir’s hand away. (Greetings, Calanon. What are you doing?)

“Waiting for you.” Calanon looked up from his parchment. “Beriadan said he would send us breakfast. It should be here soon.” Calanon looked at his pupil, the boy seemed distressed. “Is there something wrong Faramir?”

Faramir glanced up at his mentor. “No, nothing.”

Calanon seriously doubted that there was nothing troubling the young lad. Today though, he decided to let the matter go. “Will you help me organize my desk?” He watched as Faramir nodded.

After Faramir had left the library he had dutifully avoided everyone. The last thing he wanted was to run into one of the captains and be forced to bed them. The one thing he did not want was to be in pain when his brother arrived in the morning. Faramir turned a corner and found himself in the kitchens. He hadn’t realized where he had been walking. The smell of the pastries gave him an idea. He approached one of the cooks and asked him for a favor.

A few hours later had Faramir covered in flour and smelling of freshly baked pastries. Faramir clutched the pastry-filled box close to his chest. He hoped Beriadan and Arathêl would like them.

The sun was rapidly setting as he strolled through the tiers of the city, finally reaching the home of his beloved friend. As he knocked on the door he heard a commotion just down the way. He glanced in the direction the noise was coming from only to freeze at the sight. It was Alton, one of the guard captains who was a constant in his bed.

Oh how Faramir hated Alton. The captain was the one who had left the welts and gashes on his back a few nights back. He turned back to the door and swiftly knocked again. He wished Beriadan would hurry and answer his door. Faramir glanced over at the guard captain again, the man was obviously drunk. If he spotted Faramir before Beriadan could open the door…this night wouldn’t bode well. Just as he heard the lock in the door clicking to an unlocked position, he also heard Alton’s voice addressing him.

“Eh! Slut!” Faramir cringed at being addressed in such a crude manner. He turned to face Alton just as the door besides him opened.

Beriadan was surprised to see Faramir at his residence. The boy had never before come to him before. It took only a moment to register that Faramir was in trouble. Beriadan swiftly stepped out into the street behind his young friend.

Alton was pleasantly surprised to see Faramir. He had been wanting to get his hands back on that tender body for a few nights now but Beriadan had always been with him. And now here he was, as if the Valar themselves had sent the slut to him as a gift. Faramir looked good enough to eat in those tight leggings, in that loose tunic that bared one shoulder for viewing pleasure. He had covered half the distance between them when Beriadan stepped out behind his prize.

“Oh, Beriadan. You are going to have to learn to share.” Alton slurred. He continued to stumble towards the prize he sought.

“I would captain, but it appears young Faramir here has sought out my company this night.” Beriadan glanced down at the box the young lord was holding. The smell wafting from it was positively divine. He reached out and took it from the lad. Addressing Faramir he asked, “Are these for me?”

Faramir merely nodded, not wanting to speak in front of Alton. The guard captain positively hated hearing his voice, and every time he was with the captain he was gagged and beaten whenever he spoke. He felt it better to just let Beriadan take command of the situation.

Alton had covered the distance between he and the young slut. He roughly grabbed the boy’s chin and forced their eyes to meet. “Well Beriadan, as young Faramir here has already delivered to you your treats, perhaps I might steal him away…and taste some treats of my own.” Alton smirked as he felt the boy beneath him stiffen in fear.

Beriadan none-to-gently pulled Faramir out of Alton’s reach. “If I remember correctly, the Lord Denethor gave him to you for an entire week. After, if I remember correctly, this young lad insulted you in court.” Beriadan knew that Faramir had caused no insult and that Alton had just wanted an excuse to keep Faramir to himself for awhile. Beriadan also knew that it was not just Alton who claimed insult merely to bed the youngest son of the Steward. From captains to courtiers, to foreign emissaries, they all claimed insult, either from Faramir or the Lord Denethor himself, just so that they may have their turn at Denethor’s youngest.

“Aye he did. And you have staked claim to him for the past three nights.” Alton glared at Beriadan accusingly.

Beriadan merely shook his head. “You left poor Faramir here in such a state that he could take no bed partners. I merely looked after him while he healed.” Beriadan lifted the box and waved it in Alton’s face. “I’m sure these are just part of the ‘thank you’ I will be receiving from the young Faramir this night.” Beriadan wrapped his arm possessively around Faramir’s shoulders.
Alton sneered at the display. “You realize that the Steward will not let us touch his pretty little whore for the duration that Boromir is in the White Citadel?”

“I had not heard that.” Beriadan glanced down to see Faramir intently studying the stones beneath his feet. “Lucky for me then that Faramir has come to me this night. If you would excuse us now captain, I would like to get my night under way.” Beriadan nodded to Alton out of respect, then turned on his heels and walked himself and Faramir into his house. He then all but slammed the door in Alton’s face. He could hear the string of curses the captain muttered before staggering away.

“Hannon le, Beriadan.” Faramir tone was barely audible. He gaze still upon the floor. (Thank you, Beriadan)

Beriadan sighed, moving to kneel in front of Faramir. “Your welcome.” He gently stroked the boy’s hair in what he hoped was a soothing manner.

Faramir wanted nothing more than to cling to Beriadan and cry. It took all the discipline that had been forced into him not to do just that. “Where is Arathêl?” Faramir glanced around the empty house.

“Her father is sick, she took Berimôr and went to her parents’ home for a while.” Beriadan stood and walked towards the couch in his living area.

Faramir fidgeted where he stood. “I’m sorry to hear that. But why did you not go with them?”

“I am ordered to be amongst the escort meeting your brother at the first gate tomorrow morning. Arathêl thought I should get some real sleep. But now that you are here, I doubt that will happen.” Beriadan placed the sweet smelling pastry box on a small table near the couch. He motioned for Faramir to join him.
Faramir swiftly joined his friend on the couch. “I’m sorry. I do not mean to disrupt your sleep. You did not have to stay with me those nights…”

“I wanted to. That and Arathêl would not let me come home until she was satisfied that you were healed.” Beriadan laughed at the memory of his wife. Arathêl treated Faramir like her own son.

For the second time that day, Faramir leaned forward and kissed his friend. Beriadan wasn’t all that surprised feel Faramir’s lips against his own. He was surprised when he felt Faramir move to straddle his lap. The difference from this morning, was that when Faramir moved to deepen the kiss, Beriadan allowed it. Faramir’s tongue slipped into his mouth, coaxing his own back into the boy’s mouth. Beriadan felt the moment that Faramir submitted to him, the moment the boy let him take the lead. Beriadan growled as he grasped Faramir’s hips and pulled him closer.

Faramir wrapped his arms around Beriadan’s neck, moving his fingers through the soft blonde hair. Faramir groaned as he felt a hot hand slide underneath of his tunic, gently caressing his lower back. He ground his hips against his friend’s causing them both to moan at the sensation.

Beriadan had no idea what he was thinking. Faramir had kissed him before, he had sat in his lap before…by the Valar, this wasn’t even the first time Faramir had straddled his hips while kissing him. This time was different though. This time, Beriadan couldn’t stop his body from betraying him, couldn’t stop himself from touching this magical creature in his lap. He knew that his arousal was more than obvious to Faramir. Beriadan moved the hand from Faramir’s hip over the bulge in the boy’s increasingly tight leggings. Faramir moaned at the touch, his hips rolling into the guard’s hand.

They broke apart panting for breath. “We shouldn’t do this, Faramir.” Beriadan whispered, nuzzling Faramir’s neck. He gently nipped at the exposed neck causing Faramir to whimper.

“Yes we should.” Faramir brought his mouth close to the guard’s ear, gently tracing its curve with his tongue. “Please Beriadan, I need you tonight.” Faramir gently bit at the lobe. “I need to know that someone cares…” Faramir looked into the eyes of his friend, he could visibly see the self-restraint fading from his eyes as the pupil’s dilated in growing arousal.

“Now Faramir, why would you think that anyone cares for you? You are nothing but a whore.” Denethor slammed Beriadan’s front door, sliding the bolt into place. Denethor had been lucky in running into Alton. He had been looking for his youngest son for quite some time. Denethor must admit, he was not expecting to hear that he was bedding a mere guard. However, now that he laid eyes upon this guard, he must admit that he was truly fair. No wonder his slut of a son preferred his company above all else.

Faramir and Beriadan both turned to look at the intruder. Denethor was clad in his usual dark formal robes, the all too familiar sneer on his face. Faramir shivered, and hid his face in curve of Beriadan’s neck. His father? What was he doing here? How did he even know where to find him? Faramir squeezed his eyes shut, mind racing.

“My l-lord Steward!” Beriadan stuttered. He tried to rise but found himself unable as Faramir seemed to be clinging to him for dear life. “It is a p-pleasure to have you in my humble home.” Beriadan moved his hands to rest on Faramir’s hips, in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture.

Denethor looked over the scene in front of him. He originally was going to force Faramir to put on a personal show merely for his amusement…but this was so much better. Denethor walked over to a plush chair placed across from the couch. He dropped himself into the seat and stared at the back of his useless son. “Are you not going to greet your Lord and father?”

Faramir flinched at the request. The whole of him wanted to just stay wrapped in Beriadan’s arms, safe and comforted. But if he didn’t move to greet his father, there would not doubt be very painful repercussions. Knowing what Denethor wanted, Faramir pulled away from Beriadan. He slowly stood, smoothing the front of his tunic. He crossed the short distance to where his father now sat. Slowly leaning forward, he kissed his Lord on the lips.

“Greetings father.” Faramir pulled back and merely stood in front of Denethor, fidgeting nervously.

Denethor reached out and push Faramir’s tunic away from the bulge in the boy’s leggings. He ran his hand over it, then slowly groped his son. Faramir turned his head to the side, casting his eyes back to the floor. Beriadan saw this and knew it for what it was…Faramir retreating back into himself. Denethor smiled at his son’s reaction however, enjoying the fact that he was humiliating him. Denethor removed his hands and leaned back into his chair. Folding his hands neatly on his lap he leered at the adolescent in front of him.

Smirking at the idea of causing further humiliation, Denethor all but snarled his order to Faramir. “Strip.”

Faramir’s eyes widened in shock. Certainly his father could not mean that…but no. He most definitely did. Faramir blushed at the prospect of being forced to be exposed, fully aroused, in front of his father. It was humiliating. Reluctantly, Faramir slowly drew his tunic over his head, dropping it to the floor. Faramir knelt to the ground, unlacing his boots before standing again to toe them off.

“You, guard.” Denethor addressed the man on the couch, staring wide-eyed at his son. “What is your name?”

Beriadan shook himself of the shock and disgust he felt for his Steward in favor of answering him. “My name is Beriadan, my Lord.”

“And you are a guard of my Citadel are you not?”

Beriadan was confused. The Steward had just addressed him as a guard. “Aye, my Lord, I am.”

Denethor smirked. “Then you would do well to remember that you are mine to command.”

Beriadan was afraid as to where this was going. “As pleases, my Lord Steward.”

Denethor glanced at Faramir who was rapidly unlacing his leggings. He continued to watch as the boy slipped the fabric over slim hips and down finely toned thighs. Denethor smiled to see his son flushed with embarrassment. He turned back to Beriadan, who was shifting uncomfortably on the couch.

“Beriadan, Guard of the Citadel, arise and strip for me.” Another smirk graced Denethor’s features at the wide eyed, terrified look upon Beriadan’s face.

Beriadan slowly rose to his feet, unhurriedly walking towards Faramir, and his Steward. “My lord, I am married. I do not think this is appro…”

“Silence!” Denethor snarled at the guard. “When I walked through your door, I saw the intent upon your face. You had every expectation to bed my son.” Denethor slowly leaned forward in his chair, giving the guard his most withering glare. “You have no right in claiming marriage vows to me now.” Denethor watched as Beriadan visibly swallowed. He leaned back into his chair, a self-satisfied look upon his face. “Strip.”

Faramir shifted uncomfortably as he watched his friend lift the tunic from over his head. Faramir could not stop himself from running his eyes over the muscular chest, and broad shoulders of the guard. He watched as Beriadan paused briefly before unlacing his leggings, pushing the fabric over muscled thighs and an impressive erection.

Beriadan stepped out of his leggings and kicked them to the far wall. He took a steadying breath before meeting the Steward’s lust-filled gaze. For Faramir’s sake, Beriadan knew that he must take whatever was to come and take it with as much dignity as possible.

Denethor stared at the pair before him. Beriadan was tall, standing a few inches taller than himself. The guard’s sturdy build told of his experience in wielding blade, broad shoulders and strong arms, solid hips with well toned thighs. The guard was a picture of man’s perfection. Faramir was quite the opposite. His son was a head shorter than the guard, a thin frame over lean hips. Denethor slowly stood, he paced over to where Faramir stood. Roughly grabbing the boy’s hair, he pulled him up until the Faramir was teetering on his toes.

Faramir desperately grabbed at his father’s robes, wincing with pain. “Lord Father, please…it hurts.”

Denethor merely smirked. Leaning down, he captured his son’s lips in a strained kissed. He ran his free hand down the boy’s back, relishing the soft skin beneath his fingers. Moving his hand lower he groped the tender globes of his son’s ass. Carefully watching his son’s reaction, he brutally shoved a finger into the boy’s entrance.

Faramir gasped, eyes widening in shock and pain at the sudden penetration. As soon as his mouth opened, his father shoved a questing tongue into his mouth. Faramir began to struggle, trying free himself of the intrusion.

Although Faramir’s struggles did insight his arousal, he had a plan for his son and it did not include claiming him at this junction. Just as quickly as Denethor grabbed his son, he released the boy, shoving him into Beriadan’s arms. Without a word, he sat back into the chair, watching as Beriadan gently helped Faramir back to his feet.

“You may continue where you left off.” Denethor stately flatly.

Beriadan looked as if he were going to question what Denethor meant, but Faramir merely gripped the guard’s wrist and pulled him back to the couch. Gently pushing at the guard’s hips, he followed Beriadan down onto the couch, straddling his hips once more. Faramir slowly gripped the guard’s wrists and brought them to settle on his hips. He then ran his hands up the muscled arms and over broad shoulders to tangle his fingers back into Beriadan’s hair. Leaning forward he softly spoke into Beriadan’s ear.

“He means to only watch. We must continue.” Faramir licked the curve of Beriadan’s ear. A groan spilled from Beriadan’s lips, the hands on his hips tightened their grip. Faramir moved down, leaving hot kisses along his guard-friend’s neck. His actions seemed to spur Beriadan into action. The guard swiftly grasped his chin and brought their lips back into contact. The kiss was tentative at first, unsure of how to continue with an unwanted audience. But soon it grew heated, as passion began to flow into Beriadan’s groin. When they finally drew apart, Beriadan began lapping at Faramir’s neck, nipping the sensitive flesh bringing forth moans of pleasure from the boy in his lap.

Beriadan reached out with a hand, he lifted the glass casing from the oil lamp near the couch. Unscrewing the fabric wick’s encasement, he dipped his fingers in the oil. Beriadan gently moved his fingers in soothing circles over the puckered entranced, before pushing his middle finger into the tight passage. It did not take long before he felt the passage loosen around his finger. He withdrew the finger slightly before adding a second. He gently scissored his fingers inside the passage, widening Faramir further. If he had to take the boy, he would at least do it as painlessly as possible.

Denethor watched as the guard’s fingers disappeared into Faramir’s body. His arousal stirred beneath his robes, but Denethor made no move to pleasure himself. “Turn him around Beriadan. I wish to see his face.”

Beriadan merely nodded, removing his fingers from inside the loosened passage. He helped Faramir turn around in his lap until they were back to chest, with Faramir leaning his head on Beriadan’s shoulder. Beriadan groaned as Faramir grasped his cock, slowly impaling himself. Both let out held breaths when Faramir finally sat fully upon Beriadan’s lap. Beriadan rested his hands on Faramir’s hips and gently helped raise the boy, before impaling him yet again.

“Harder.” Denethor’s voice was but a whisper in the moment, but Beriadan clearly heard the spoken word. Arranging Faramir so that one leg draped over the arm of the couch and the other he supported with is arm, he began thrusting up into the willing body above him. Through lust-glazed vision, he watched as Faramir took himself in hand and pumped the rigid flesh madly.

Faramir closed his eyes as he moved his hand over his hardened flesh, eyes fluttering as he neared his peak. Beriadan’s hard cock moved over the sensitive nub deep within his body with every stroke. Bearing ever closer to that sweet precipice, he felt a strong hand grasp his flesh, taking over the pumping rhythm. With the next brutal thrust, Faramir came in Beriadan’s hand.

Beriadan was milked of his orgasm by the ever contracting inner walls of Faramir’s body. Panting hard, he moved Faramir’s leg from the arm of the couch allowing the boy to simply rest against him. The moment ended abruptly, however, when both noticed that Denethor now hovered over them. The Steward roughly grabbed Faramir’s chin, planting a rough kiss on the already bruised lips.

“Be in my rooms within the hour.” With that, Denethor spun on his heel, unlatched he door, and walked off into the night.
After the door had closed behind the Steward, Beriadan gently lifted Faramir from his lap. “I’m sorry Faramir. I wish there was some way I could protect you from what will no doubt be his wrath.”

Faramir stood on unsteady legs, making his way to retrieve his clothes. “Beriadan, I have been dealing with,” Faramir sighed. “with this situation for two years. I am far past the point that I would need a protector.” Faramir swiftly dressed. Even though Denethor said he had around an hour to be ready and in his rooms, the longer he kept his lord waiting, the harsher his treatment would be.

Following Faramir’s example, Beriadan also dressed. “Faramir, you are but a child.”

Faramir abruptly stood from where he was lacing his boots. “I am NO child!” Faramir screeched, anger laced within his voice, and clearly written on his face. “You point me to a child who is raped near every night by the guards in his own citadel. By his own FATHER!” Faramir wrapped his arms around himself, his voice dropping to an angry whisper. “Show me a child who has never had a playmate his own age, whose only friend in the entire world is a guard a decade his senior. Show me a child who was beaten…was broken…by the hands that were meant to protect him.” Faramir squeezed his eyes shut as the flood of memories threatened to break him. After a moment, he opened his eyes, sighing in dismay. “And I will show you a child no more.” With one last look at his friend, Faramir stormed out of Beriadan’s house, brushing past a man as he went, not bothering to look to see who it was.

Beriadan watched as Faramir stormed out, the boy was right. Faramir had not been a child since that day on the training field. He would have to apologize to him tomorrow. Faramir would forgive him, that he knew. The door partially closed before it was opened again, this time by his captain.

“Captain Lathron, it is a pleasure to have you in my home. What is it that I can do for you?” Beriadan sighed, this night was turning out to be a long one.

“You can pack, Beriadan.” Lathron stood in the doorway, tone flat and features neutral.

“Pack? What for?”

Lathron shifted a bit. “The Lord Denethor has just informed me that you are, as of now, relieved of your duties, and hence-forth banned from Minas Tirith. You are to pack up your family and be gone before dawn. All contact with the Lord’s youngest son will cease immediately, and if it is found that you have disobeyed this, an execution order will be released, not only for you but for your family as well. A guard has already been sent to fetch you wife from the home of her parents. Now shortly, three guards will arrive at this residence to assist in your packing, you will then be lead to the lower stables and given two horses of which you will use to make your journey…to wherever it is you choose to go. You will have these orders written, signed and sealed with the Steward’s royal mark before you depart.” Lathron rushed through this, barely taking a breath. Then with a curt nod, the captain left.

Beriadan watched his former captain go. How had things come to this? Where was he to go? Before he could ask himself another question, Calanon slipped into his house. Beriadan raised his eyebrow at the librarian.

Calanon raised his hand, asking for silence. “I am truly sorry Beriadan for what has occurred. We haven’t much time before the guards arrive. I heard Denethor speaking with the guard captain, and I retrieved this for you.” Calanon handed Beriadan a small, ratty looking scroll. “It will take you to the Dúnedain, Rangers of the North. Ask for a ranger who calls himself Strider, he leads them. In my name, ask for protection.” Calanon placed a reassuring hand on Beriadan’s shoulder. “Safe journey my friend.” With that, Calanon swiftly left.

Beriadan clutched the scroll in his hand as tears welled in his eyes. Collapsing onto the couch, he wept. The sweet smelling pastries Faramir had brought not an hour previous lay still upon the floor, forgotten.

Faramir knocked lightly on Denethor’s door. Hearing his father’s commanding voice to enter, he slowly pushed the door open. Faramir quickly slipped inside the dimly lit room, nervous anticipation shivering down his spine. After he had closed the door, Faramir was seized from behind, and roughly pushed to the door. Faramir’s instinct was to struggle against the oppressive weight on his back, but the hoarse words whispered in his ear stilled him.

“You looked so sensuous tonight writhing on that disgusting guard’s lap.” Denethor kept one hand on the door, pinning the boy against the wood, the other he moved to Faramir’s groin making quick work of the laces. With one hand he brutally forced Faramir’s leggings over slim hips, dropping them to the floor.

Denethor’s words sent icy shivers down Faramir’s spine. As the cool air gently caressed the skin of his back-side, he braced himself for what was to come. His father pulled his hips slightly away from the door, forcing him into a bent position. His legs were then kicked apart, exposing his most vulnerable parts to the smoldering gaze of his father. He tensed as he felt the blunt head of his father’s erection breach his body, painful though it was, he was thankful for the session earlier with Beriadan. There Faramir stood, pinned to the door, leather clad hips striking his buttocks with every harsh thrust his father gave, praying to the Valar that this would be it. Praying that his father would cause no more damage than this.

Denethor thrust into the well-used, well-lubricated body beneath him. The grip he had on the boy beneath him was bruising, but that hardly mattered. It would serve to remind Faramir exactly who it was that he belonged to, exactly what it was that he was. A slut, and nothing more. Denethor sneered and began to thrust wildly into the body beneath him, ripping painful grunts and groans from Faramir. Oh, how he had grown to love those sounds. Denethor gave a feral growl as he spilled his seed deep within his son.

Just as swiftly as Denethor had entered him, he pulled out again. Faramir wanted to collapse to the floor but he dared not to. Feeling a hand grip the back of his tunic, he allowed himself to be pulled back. A hand reached around and opened the door before throwing him into the corridor. Faramir hit the ground hard, wincing as his knees collided with the stone. His father’s door slammed shut behind him. Faramir scooted to the opposite wall, pulling his tunic over his knees, his father didn’t even bother to return his leggings.

Tears began to flow steadily down his cheeks. Before his self-loathing could even begin, Faramir heard metal-clad footsteps in the corridor. Swiftly rising to his feet, he scampered down the many winding and twisting halls toward his own rooms. His face flushed as he felt a hot liquid tracing thin lines down the back of his thighs. Knowing full well what it was, he tried to pull his tunic ever further down his thighs. He dutifully avoided the leering gazes from the guards he passed on his way to his rooms. Once there he slipped inside and closed the door though he was unable to lock it as the bolt had been removed on his twelfth birthday. It was another one of Denethor’s “gifts” to him. He winced at the memory of that painful night. Sighing to himself, he made his way to his washroom. After cleaning himself up, he changed into sleeping pants and crawled into bed, praying that there would be no one joining him in his rooms this night. He desperately wanted to sleep.

After a bit of tossing and turning, Faramir drifted into a restless sleep.

Boromir arrived at the first gate of Minis Tirith to the joyful sounds of cheering and the trill of trumpets. A throng of citizens greeted him there, and at every gate there-after. Every citizen in the white city had come to greet the favored son of the Steward. Boromir was handed many a rose on his journey through the streets of Gondor, only to hand them to the blushing maids he met farther up. Although the maidens were beautiful, in their adoring manner, there was only one person he wanted to see. Faramir. It wasn’t until he arrived at the final gate that he laid eyes upon his little brother. At first glance, he could see the boy had grown. His little brother was swiftly growing up, and Boromir feared he was missing it all. With the ease of the Rohirrim, Boromir slid from his horse mid-stride and raced to his younger brother.

Faramir’s countenance became ecstatic when he finally laid eyes upon his beloved brother. He watched as Boromir slid from his horse as it still moved. Racing from his father’s side he met Boromir half way across the courtyard where he was swept into a spinning hug. When he was finally placed back on the ground he felt dizzy. But that didn’t matter, for his brother had finally returned from Edoras. Returned to him.

“Bori! I have missed you so much!” Faramir hugged his brother again, unwilling to let go.

Boromir fervently returned the hug. “I have missed you as well Fara.” He gently pried his brother’s arms from around his neck. “Look at you. You are already up to my shoulders, growing so fast. Although I’ve noticed you haven’t put on the proper amount of warrior’s muscle.” Boromir poked his brother in the side, bringing forth the bright smile and tinkling laughter he had missed so much.

Watching the brotherly display in front of him made Denethor uneasy. He wasn’t altogether sure if he liked Boromir touching the whore. He decided it was time that to welcome home his prodigy, the son that would make him proud to be a father. Opening his arms to Boromir, he spoke it what he hoped was a welcoming tone.

“Welcome home Boromir. Your presence was sorely missed.” Denethor embraced his son. “Come, we must prepare you for the celebration tonight.” With an arm draped around Boromir’s shoulders he began to guide his favored son back to the halls.

Boromir was disappointed to be taken away from Faramir so soon, but he knew that they had time yet to spend together. He glanced over his shoulder and gave Faramir his best smile, and winked, mouthing the words ‘I love you’ over his shoulder.

Faramir smiled at the display mouthing ‘I love you too’. He then dutifully followed his father and brother into the hall. Although he knew there would be no real reason for him to prepare for the feast, his presence wouldn’t be noticed, or missed if he chose not to attend, prepare he would. Faramir wanted to look his best tonight, for his brother. He would never risk disappointing his brother by not attending the feast in his honor.

The celebration that night was beyond extravagant. Denethor had pulled out all the stops for his son’s welcome home celebration. Boromir, as was fitting, was in the center of it all. Many a toast had been spoken in his honor that night. Many a song had been sung. Much ale had been passed around which Faramir willingly declined to drink. The last thing he wanted was to be unable to shirk off any “advancements” made by the guards. Instead, he watched as Boromir flirted with every female in attendance and quite a few of the males. Faramir laughed to himself as one particular guard stole a kiss from the favored son, then all but ran off leaving Boromir looking rather stunned. And by the time the celebration had ended, Boromir was very, very drunk. Leaning on Faramir lest he lose his footing, he continued to sing an upbeat drinking song which Faramir had never heard.

Faramir merely smiled as he dragged his brother from the festivities back towards his brother’s rooms. On more than one occasion Boromir had the brilliant idea that running through the halls naked was the best way to get back to his rooms. For as he put it, “he might catch a lass that way.” Faramir had only barely convinced him during these times that: no, running through the halls bared-to-the-world was not the best idea, nor was it going to get Boromir to his rooms faster. And it definitely was not going to help him catch a lass. Boromir had called Faramir a spoil sport but allowed him to drag him back to his quarters’ none-the-less.

When they arrived, Faramir did his best to throw his brother onto his bed. Sighing heavily at the strain his muscles went through to accomplish the task. He laughed heartily at the condition his brother was in. If there was as state that exceeded drunk, Boromir was there. Rolling his eyes, Faramir began to methodically assist in removing the clothes Boromir wore to the party, and slip into his sleeping pants. By the time Boromir slumped back onto the bed, he was passed out. Faramir merely smiled, covering his brother up with the blankets. Dousing the lamps, he left for his own rooms.

Faramir was awoken the next day by a servant, informing him that his training with Arol would be suspended until Boromir left. The servant also informed him that Denethor expected him to attend every meal while Boromir was at the Citadel. With a small nod from Faramir, the servant left. When the door closed behind the servant, Faramir pushed back the covers and got out of bed. He swiftly dressed and made his way to the private dining hall his father and Boromir would no doubt be in. As Faramir entered, he realized how long it had truly been since he had set foot in this room. He glanced around until he met cold eyes of his father.

“You are late, Faramir. It is rude to keep you father and honored brother waiting.” If Denethor’s tone had been but ice, it would have frozen every lamp in the hall.

Instead of arguing that it was but a few moments ago that the servant had informed him he should be dining with his family, Faramir merely apologized for his tardiness. Bowing slightly to his father, he crossed the hall and seated himself on his father’s left, across from Boromir. This meal went as they did before Boromir had left for Edoras. Denethor ignoring him and doting upon Boromir. Some things never changed.

Part way through the meal, Boromir turned his attention to his brother. “I heard that you have been training with Arol. How has that been going?”

Faramir opened his mouth to answer, that it wasn’t, in fact going. That most days Arol refused to teach him anything but basic steps, if he taught him anything at all. But he was cut off by his father. “Faramir here does not have the talent that you do Boromir. His training is taking quite a bit longer. He has yet to excel at even the basic maneuvers of the sword.” Denethor stared at Faramir as he spoke the last few words, daring him to contradict him.

Faramir almost rolled his eyes, but restrained himself at the last moment. “Father is quite right. I am truly terrible with the sword. But I have mastered the languages of both Elvish and Rohirric. My tutors in literature and language have said that I have a talented tongue.”

Denethor smirked at the unintended innuendo. “Yes Faramir, you do have a talented tongue.” Denethor gave Faramir a knowing look, making the boy shift uncomfortably.

Boromir went unawares of the hidden meaning in his father’s words though. “You were always good with languages. And I must admit, learning Rohirric while I was in Rohan was most difficult. When you go in three years you will be much more prepared.”

“Faramir will most likely not be going to Rohan while he is sixteen. Arol is most afraid that his weaponry maneuvers will not be ready in time.” Denethor leaned back in his chair, watching as Faramir’s face fell and Boromir stretch out a reassuring hand.

“It is alright. You will get there. Why don’t we go to the training fields now? Perhaps I might be more successful in getting some swordsmanship skills drilled into you.” Boromir pushed back his chair and rounded the table. “Come! Let us be off!” Boromir grabbed Faramir by the wrist, dragging him out the door and towards the fields.

Upon reaching the training grounds, Boromir immediately tore off his tunic and grabbed one of the wooden training swords. Faramir, grudgingly grabbed a wooden sword from the rack, but he left his tunic on. The welts and gashes on his back were not yet properly healed. Faramir feared the questions Boromir might ask if he saw them.

Boromir drew his brother into the middle of the field, taking a defensive stance, he motioned for his brother to attack. Faramir gripped his sword nervously. He inhaled deeply, then with all his strength, he attacked his brother. Boromir gracefully deflected the blow and knocked Faramir to the ground, laughing softly.

“Father was right. You do need a bit more work.” Although the words Boromir spoke were not meant to offend, they angered Faramir.

Faramir stood, throwing his sword away. “I do not wish to do this anymore.”

“Come Faramir! One more time!” Boromir laughed at the aggravated tone his brother had taken.

Faramir whirled on his brother, anger in his voice. “I said NO. Lord Boromir. I am going to meet Calanon. You heard father, I have a talented tongue.” Faramir gave a mock bow then turned and trudged off the dirt field.

Boromir stood stunned. Where had all this anger come from? Racing to catch up to his brother, he grasped Faramir’s shoulder to stop him. “Hold on Faramir, if you wish to get better then you…”

Faramir shrugged Boromir’s hand off his shoulder, glaring at the favored son of Gondor. “Perhaps I do not wish to get better. Did you ever think of that?” Faramir scoffed at his brother. “Unlike you Boromir, I have a brain, and I enjoy using it whenever I get the chance. Maybe I just don’t want to become another sword swinging brute like you. Like the rest of these imbecilic guards.” With that, Faramir turned and stormed off towards the library.

Boromir stood, mouth agape. His brother had never held such a tone with him before. In fact, he couldn’t ever remember Faramir being angry. Faramir used to be the sweetest, most mild-mannered person he knew. Boromir shook his head. Time sure did change things.

The rest of the day went without incident. Mostly because Boromir decided he desired the company of his fellow guards, thus releasing Faramir of the duty of eating in the private dining hall for either the afternoon or evening meal. Faramir stayed rooted to his favorite spot in the library, reading stories of the elves. Every now and again, he would look up to see Calanon’s questioning gaze. Faramir merely ignored it, he didn’t feel like talking to anyone today. Not Beriadan, not Calanon and definitely not Boromir. So in the library he remained until the sun set and the moon had long since risen above the horizon. It was only at Calanon’s urging that Faramir returned to his rooms to sleep.

The next morning had Faramir in brighter spirits, and Boromir was glad for it. He had missed his brother desperately the previous day, but respected his brother’s choice of locking himself away in the library. Today, however, Boromir was going to he his brother out of the Citadel. As their meal came to its end, Boromir asked their father if it would be alright if he and Faramir could take a pair of horses out onto the Pelennor.

“I can not ride, Boromir.” Faramir stated, picking another grape from the stem, and popping it into his mouth.

“That is alright. You shall ride with me then.” Faramir looked a little ill-at-ease but Boromir was insistent. “Come on Fara. It will be fun. When was the last time you left the Minis Tirith? Have you even ever left Minis Tirith?” When Faramir shook his head, Boromir laughed. “Then a horse we shall take! We shall spend the day in the fields. Eat our noon meal there and be back before the evening bell tolls. What say you father?”

Denethor was hard pressed to deny Boromir anything. “Alright, you have my permission. Please do be mindful of where you go, dark times are upon us.” With that, Denethor stood and walked over to where Boromir sat. He leaned down and kissed his son on the forehead. “Be careful my son. And return swiftly. I only have you at my side for a fortnight before you leave for Ithilien.” Denethor cupped Boromir’s face, smiling down at his son. Casting a wary glance at Faramir, he left.

“Oh this will be excellent Fara! You will love riding.”

“You leave in a fortnight? So soon for Ithilien? You will be gone another two years…why isn’t your stay longer?” Faramir wanted his brother to stay by his side forever. A fortnight would be over too soon.

Boromir sighed. He also thought that a mere two weeks was too short a time to be in the White City, but it was tradition. “Aye Faramir a fortnight. But after I return from Ithilien, I will be given my Captain’s rank. And I will be here more often. And besides, soon you WILL be going to Edoras to train, and then Ithilien. Soon it will be me, waiting here for you to return home.”

Faramir smiled slightly. “I suppose you are right. Still, I wish we had more time.”

“All the more reason for us to spend all day, everyday together. So, meet me at the royal stables on the sixth tier in one hour. I must go and speak with the kitchens about a meal for us.” Boromir stood, rounded the table and placed a chaste kissed on Faramir’s forehead. “One hour Faramir.” With that, he left the hall.

Faramir remained behind in the hall, finishing the fruit left on his plate. When it was clear Faramir was finished, a horde of servants rushed into the room to clear the table. Faramir felt it best to stay well out of their way, so he made his way to the library to inform Calanon of his riding plan and that he would not be attending the lessons this day.

Faramir shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. Boromir had insisted that they take only one horse, as he pointed out at the meal, Faramir did not know how to ride. Boromir also insisted that Faramir ride in front of him, so that he could make sure that Faramir did not fall off. Now, he and Boromir were crossing the fields at what Boromir called a “trot”. It was highly uncomfortable and Faramir had a hard time keeping his seat. Every time the horse took a stride Faramir would bounce, landing a few times directly in Boromir’s lap. Boromir was, of course, highly amused by the entire situation.

“Alright Faramir, we are going to move into a ‘canter’. Try to move your hips as I do.” Boromir spurred his horse into the faster pace, causing Faramir to nearly fly off. Boromir efficiently grabbed Faramir’s hips, rocking them with his own. “Think of the motion as making love.” At the incredulous look Faramir shot over his shoulder, Boromir laughed. “Think of it as gently thrusting into the sweet heat a maiden.” Boromir laughed when Faramir flushed from neck to ear tips at the comment. Although Faramir hated to admit it, the image Boromir provoked helped him move with horse.

Who told you that helpful tip, brother?”

“Théodred, son of Théoden.” Boromir rolled his eyes at the confused look on Faramir’s face. “Of all your studies little brother, you do not know that Théoden is king of Rohan?”

Faramir shook his head. “I’m sure it was mentioned at some point. I merely prefer to study the elves. Calanon and I have just now reached the history of the Second Age in my studies. Fascinating period.”

Boromir laughed. “I’m sure it is.”

They rode in relative silence for awhile. Faramir allowed himself to relax against Boromir’s strong chest. It felt good to be in his brother’s arms. It felt good to be out of Minis Tirith, he was too much a prisoner there. Faramir was startled to feel two hands resting on his thighs. He looked down to see Boromir’s rein filled hands on his upper thigh, dangerously near his groin. It took all of Faramir’s will not to let his body react to the touch.

Boromir felt Faramir tense as he dropped his hands to rest on his brother’s thighs. He wondered briefly at the reaction, but decided not to bring it up with Faramir, his brother may just get embarrassed. He smiled at the thought of Faramir becoming aware of his body and all of its baser urges. Boromir remembered well when he was Faramir’s age. Stealing kisses from the kitchen girls, and the stable boys, in darkened closets and abandoned stalls. Such an innocent stage, and now Faramir was experiencing it. Boromir knew he should remove his hands from his brother’s thighs…but…no. He was enjoying teasing his brother too much.

When it was nearing mid-day, Boromir decided it might be the best time to stop for their noon meal. Reining his horse to a stop, he easily dismounted. Reaching up he helped Faramir to the ground. Together they worked to unpack the saddle bags, laying out the blanket as well as an assortment of meats and cheeses as well as some fruit and a bottle of wine the kitchens had packed for them. They ate and drank in companionable silence for a while, enjoying each other’s presence as well as their surroundings.

Boromir watched his brother eat. The curiosity was killing him. “So Faramir, have you yet had your first kiss?” He laughed as Faramir nearly choked on the piece of fruit he was eating.

Surprise was an understatement. Where had this topic come from? Should he tell his brother the truth? No. That would not be wise, it would only serve to upset Denethor. An upset Denethor was not someone Faramir wanted to deal with. It was probably best if he lied. He quickly cleared his throat.

“No, why do ask?”

Boromir grinned. He quickly leaned forward, pressing his lips to Faramir’s. He had every intention of pulling back immediately, but Faramir’s lips parted under his. A tentative tongue slipped out and stroked his lower lip. Boromir instantly opened his mouth, allowing the exploring tongue in. He allowed the kiss to continue for a few moments longer before pulling away. He looked at his brother, confused. That was not a kiss of the inexperienced. He meant to say as much but then Faramir was on top of him, pushing him to the ground and capturing his lips again. He was in awe of the mastery his younger brother had over him. He grabbed Faramir’s shoulders and rolled them over, so that he was on top, pinning his brother to the ground.

“Brother, you and I have had far too much wine.” Boromir was panting, he felt his cock stir staring down at the wanton display before him. “What were you thinking?”

“You kissed me…” Faramir panted. Had he misread his brother’s intentions? By the Valar, did he just give himself away?

Boromir shook his head. “I was teasing you…stealing your first kiss.”

“I was…uh.” Faramir stuttered. “I was teasing…you…as well.”

Boromir merely nodded his head dumbly. “Right.” Boromir quickly moved off Faramir, knowing the position was awkward. He watched as Faramir slowly sat up, smoothing his tunic. Boromir was desperate for something to say. Something to diffuse the situation. “So…you lied to me.”

Faramir’s eyes widened, he stared blankly at his brother. Deciding to play ignorant. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“You told me you had never kissed anyone before.” Boromir poked his brother in the ribs. “By the way you kissed me, I’d say that was lie.” Boromir then pounced on his brother, hands on his ribs he began tickling Faramir into submission.

Faramir’s eyes went wide as his brother landed on top of him, then laughed wildly as his brother tickled him unmercifully. “No!” Laugh. “I will never tell!” Faramir laughed, trying to squirm out of his brother’s grip.

Boromir stopped his assault and flopped himself onto his back next to his brother. “Fine. Be stubborn. Just know that I have connections, and I will find out.” He glanced over at his brother, who stuck his tongue out at him.

Faramir laughed. “I doubt that.”

Boromir stood, pulling his brother up with him. “Come, we should be heading back.” His brother nodded, and together they packed up their meal and the blanket. The ride back to Minas Tirith was mostly in silence. Faramir did not rest back upon Boromir, nor did Boromir rest his hands upon Faramir’s thighs. When they reached the first gate, Faramir finally spoke.

“Do you mind if you dropped me off at the fourth tier? I need to speak with a friend.”

“A friend? Sure, I can do that. Would you mind if I met this friend?”

Faramir paused. He wanted to apologize to Beriadan. If he did that with Boromir in tow, it would raise questions from his brother that he would be hard pressed to answer. Faramir shook his head. “No, not right now. I need to talk to him about something rather personal.”

“Something personal? That you can’t talk to me about?” Boromir was hurt. His brother used to tell him everything. He supposed he should get used to this. Faramir was of the age to keep secrets now.

“I’m sorry Bori, but yes. Would you mind?”

Boromir shook his head. “No, I don’t mind. I will drop you off.”

When they reached the fourth tier, Faramir pointed out Beriadan’s house. He slid, almost gracefully to the ground. His brother ruffled his hair before he spurred the horse onwards. Faramir watched his brother go. Taking a deep breath, he turned towards Beriadan’s door. He desperately owed the guard an apology for storming off the other night. Once again, he mistreated the only person in Gondor who treated him well while Boromir was away.

Faramir knocked on the door and waited for the reply. When none came he knocked on the door again, this time harder. When still no reply came he tried the door handle, it was open. He slowly opened the door, and was then rooted to the spot. It was empty. He bolted into the house. Tears welled in his eyes as he dashed through Beriadan’s residence, searching empty room after empty room for something, anything…but there was nothing left. Nothing. What happened? Where did he go? Faramir collapsed to the floor in what was once his friend’s living room. The answer was so plain. It stung his soul, knowing it to be true. His father had sent Beriadan away. His father might even have killed him. Faramir wrapped his arms around himself, sobbing.

Boromir rapped on Faramir’s door. His brother had missed the evening meal and their father was positively fuming. When no answer came, Boromir slowly opened the door. The room was dark, and there was no sign of Faramir. He was about to close the door when he heard the sound of someone crying. He stepped in to the room and looked around. There in the corner huddled Faramir. He had his knees pulled up to his chest with his arms wrapped around them. And he was crying. Boromir rushed to his brother’s side, kneeling in front of him.

“Faramir?” Boromir lightly touched his brother’s shoulder. “What ails you, brother?” Faramir just kept crying, seeming to ignore him. “Faramir please, talk to me.” Boromir gently stroked Faramir’s hair. Suddenly his brother stiffened. Boromir slowly withdrew the hand that stroked Faramir’s hair. “Faramir?”

Faramir abruptly looked up, glaring at his brother. “Go. Away.” Faramir’s eyes were red and puffy, silvery tears streaked down his cheeks.

“Faramir, what happened?” Boromir stretched out a hand only to have it batted away. He was startled when Faramir abruptly stood, glaring down at him.

“Are you deaf, brother?”

Boromir slowly stood. He gave his brother a questioning look. “No. I heard you, but I do not think it wise for me to leave you in such a state.” Boromir reached out a hand only to have it batted away again.

“Such a state…” Faramir walked to his window and stared out at the great expanse that was Minas Tirith. “Get out Boromir.”

“Faramir please, just tell me what is wrong.” Boromir made no move to follow Faramir. It was clear that his brother wanted no physical contact.

Faramir whirled on his brother. “GET. OUT!

Anger finally flared in Boromir. He had had enough of this. “What is wrong with you?! You have changed Faramir, beyond recognizing. First, you snap at me on the training fields. Then that…that kiss on the Pelennor. You keep secrets from me. You NEVER keep secrets from me! And now this…” Boromir gestured wildly at Faramir. “This, tantrum. You. Crying. You refuse to tell me what is wrong. What have I missed Faramir?”

Faramir, laughed bitterly. “Missed? You’ve missed everything!!” Faramir grabbed a book off the windowsill and threw it at Boromir’s head.

Boromir neatly dodged the flying book. “What is wrong with you?!”

“You left me Boromir! And I learned to take care of myself. I do not need you. So why don’t you just leave for Ithilien already!” Faramir grabbed another book from the windowsill and threw it at his brother.

“Left you?” Boromir barely dodged the second book launched at his head. “I had no choice! You know that! But if you want me gone so bad then consider it done.” Boromir’s eyes widened as Faramir grabbed the candelabra from his desk and launched it at him. The candelabra missed him by a thread as Boromir swiftly moved toward the door.

“Leave! Leave for Ithilien!” Faramir grabbed the ink jar from his desk and launched it at the door. Boromir slipped out the door at that moment and closed it rapidly behind him. The ink jar crashed onto the heavy wooden door, the ink streaming down.

Boromir glared at the door in front of him. If Faramir wanted him gone, then gone he would be. He stormed down the corridor, intent on finding a guard to order about. Once he found one he shouted at the poor hapless guard to ready all those who were to be riding with him to Ithilien at the next week’s end. He also told the guard to inform his father that he would be leaving come dawn. The guard bowed, and hurried off to do as his Lord commanded.

Faramir watched from a lonely balcony as his brother rode across the Pelennor towards Ithilien. He felt like he should regret the brash words towards his brother, but he didn’t. Just then a strong hand gripped his bicep. Faramir looked to see who dared intrude on his solitude only to be slapped hard on his cheek. He would have fallen to the stoned floor if not for the vice like grip on his upper arm.

“You drove my son away.” Denethor growled. When Faramir looked back up at him, he slapped the insufferable boy again. He then yanked the boy up so that they were eye to eye. Snarling he spoke to the whore, “You will regret that.”

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Ending Author’s Note: So the comment about riding a horse at a canter (or a ‘lope’ as they call it sometimes)…Moving like your having sex. I was actually given advice quite like it when I was 12 learning to ride western style for the first time. My instructor yelled “THINK PORNO!!” at me from across the arena. I was laughing so hard I nearly fell off the horse. You know what makes that story 10x better? I was at Girl Scout Camp. Oh yeah…lol Oh, and the advice did work. I caught on to the motion immediately after that. (giggle, giggle)

Midterms are coming up for me in the next week. So the next update won’t be until the end of October, or early November. Please don’t hate me…

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

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