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The Lesser Son (NC-17) Print

Written by Radical

12 October 2010 | 16713 words | Work in Progress

The Lesser Son
Written by Radical

Email: aradicalmind@yahoo.com
Pairing(s): Faramir/Haldir, Faramir/Boromir, Faramir/Denethor, Faramir/OMCs (whoa…am I crazy or what?)
Rating: NC-17…all the way.
Warnings: rape (of a minor!!! You’ve been warned.), non-con, bondage, incest, angst, character death (movie canon that part), underage characters (in sexual situations…). And in case you haven’t guessed, the story in itself is AU.
Beta: NONE! But I proof-read it…so if you want to be my beta, shoot me an email! I could probably use one.

Summary: The Original Challenge posted by Fëawen: I have a challenge, or a request rather, I would like to see a story set before the war.
Faramir is eleven and has just begun with more serious military training. He is known to the soldiers and the cadets just as Boromir’s brother and the Steward’s youngest and lesser son. They see him as a weak and scared boy who would much rather read and write than fight. Boromir has left for horse training in Edoras so there is no one there for him.

After being hurt both physically and mentally by both his father and the cadets too many times he runs away.

Starving, lost and exhausted he stumbles into someone of free choice (not Boromir). What will happen next is also free and it does not have to be a happy ending.

Consider me a Darkfic writer, with a heart. <3 It sort of has a happy ending.

Author’s Note: Geez, sorry it took so long to get this first section out. RL can be such a kick in the bum…Some of the names come from http://www.arwen-undomiel.com names translation page. As I really suck at names, I needed help. :D Anyways, please do note the warnings…I posted them for a good reason. If you don’t like them, don’t continue. Don’t flame me if you do.

Feedback: Yes please! This is my first LOTR slash fiction! Please tell me how I am doing… :D

Disclaimer: Not mine. And I think Tolkien might be rolling in his grave if he knew what I do to them. Well, here’s to not getting haunted by a pissed off English Prof.


Faramir sighed. He rolled over onto his back, staring at the ceiling; he began counting all the tiny cracks…again. For some reason, no matter what he tried he just couldn’t fall asleep. Boromir was leaving on the morrow. It was customary, amongst the house of Stewards, to train in Edoras for two years in mounted warfare. For it was known throughout the lands that Rohan possessed the greatest knowledge of mounted combat. The Rohirrim also possessed the finest horses in all of Arda, except for maybe those of the elves.

Boromir was sixteen now, and he would depart for Edoras come first light.

Faramir sighed again, quickly giving up on the cracks. He turned back on his side and stared into the dying fire. Faramir did not wish for his brother to leave him. He shivered, knowing that with Boromir gone, all of Denethor’s attentions would be placed upon him.

Throwing back the covers, Faramir slinked out of the bed and crossed his room to the door. Wearing only a night shirt, he slowly moved from his room towards Boromir’s just down the hall. He paused for a moment, wondering if it would be okay for him to take comfort in Boromir’s embrace as he did when their mother died. Shaking the thought away, he entered the room, quietly closing the door.

Just as in his own room, the firelight was dying and the room had taken on a slight chill. Faramir glanced at Boromir’s sleeping form and without another thought he scampered across the room, quickly pulling himself under the covers next to his brother.

Movement on the bed, and cold feet against his shins brought Boromir abruptly from his reverie. He glanced to his side only to see a mass of red-blonde curls resting against his shoulder. Boromir smiled. This could only be one person. Faramir. Boromir slowly reached out a hand and pushed the curls away from the face of his younger brother. Faramir was staring at him with those big grey eyes that never failed in getting Boromir to do anything.

Boromir slowly ran his hands through the boy’s hair. “What’s wrong little one? Did you have a nightmare?” Boromir watched and Faramir closed his eyes and shook his head. “Could you not sleep then?” Boromir felt the nod against his shoulder rather than saw it in the dim light.

Faramir sighed and snuggled closer into Boromir’s comforting embrace. “I tried counting the ceiling cracks like you told me to, but I counted them all and I still could not sleep.”

Boromir laughed softly. “Alright, then you may stay here with me. But if father finds out you have snuck into my room he will be very displeased. So on the morrow you will have to sneak back, okay?”

Faramir nodded, “Why do you have to learn mounted training in Edoras? We have horses here!”

Boromir pulled his brother ever closer. So this was what was causing Faramir a sleepless night. “Father has ordered me gone.” Boromir began to move his hand in soothing circles at the small of Faramir’s back. “And you know as well as I that Edoras has the finest horses on Arda. And that their mounted combat tactics are second to none. It would be a great opportunity wasted if I did not go. Besides,” Boromir grasped Faramir’s chin and gently raised it until their eyes met. “You will be busy here. I hear father has decided to begin weapons training for you after I depart. You will be so occupied with the training, and your books, you won’t even notice I am no longer here!” Boromir lost his grip on Faramir’s chin as the boy shook his head.

“You are wrong!” Faramir cried, pulling slightly away from the comfort of Boromir’s embrace. “I will miss you every day. Every moment…” Tears started to creep down the boy’s cheeks and it caused Boromir’s heart to ache.

Boromir knew that when he left, there would be no one in all of Gondor who could buffer Denethor’s anger…his displeasure, towards his youngest. For all the world, Boromir wished he could take Faramir with him, away from the angry words of Denethor. But he knew he could not. Faramir must stay, no matter how much he disliked it.

Boromir wiped the tears clear and once again pulled his brother to him. “I will miss you as well. And I promise to write.” Running a hand through the mass of curls, he sighed. “And Faramir?”

At the sound of his name, Faramir glanced up into the concerned eyes of his beloved brother. “Yes?”

“You must promise me to try and stay out of father’s way. And try not to anger him.”

Faramir nodded his acquiescence. “I will. I promise.”

“Good. Come now let us try to sleep. We both have a long day tomorrow.”

Faramir sighed in sheer contentment, resting his head against his brother’s chest. He slowly slipped into dreamless reverie soon after.

Boromir smiled to himself as he felt Faramir go limp with sleep. Before allowing himself to slip into reverie, Boromir sent a silent prayer to the Valar, asking them to keep his brother safe from harm.


Faramir awoke as the first rays of dawn began to slip above the horizon. He was still enveloped within his brother’s sleeping embrace. Faramir smiled dreamily and was tempted to snuggle closer, but he knew that he could not. Dawn had come and it would only be a matter of time before the servant came to wake the favored son for his early morning departure.

Faramir began to slip out from beneath the covers but found that he could not. Boromir seemed to have a death grip on him, even in his reverie.

“Boromir?” Faramir whispered. He moved his hand to brush the dark-blonde hair away from his brother’s face. “Bori, it’s dawn. I must be going.” Faramir laughed softly as his brother unconsciously drew him closer. “Bori, you must let me go. Father will be upset if he finds out I was here…”

“Father can kiss my arse.” Came the mumbled reply. “I do not know why he treats you so sourly.” Boromir released Faramir and stretched on the bed. Faramir withdrew from the embrace and moved to stand on the cold stone floor.

“You look a cat when you stretch like that.” Faramir laughed.

Boromir gave him a once over and laughed. “Fara, you need another night shirt. That one barely covers what is important.” Boromir all but launched himself from the bed and padded over to his wardrobe.

Faramir for the first time realized that Boromir no longer slept in a night shirt. Instead he wore loose sleeping pants. He wondered why he hadn’t realized the night before. Faramir just shook the thought away as his brother started sifting through his wardrobe.

Boromir sifted through a draw until he held three folded night shirts in his hands. He walked back over to Faramir who stood half-way between the bed and the door. “Here you go. These should last you for a bit longer.” Boromir held out the shirts. Faramir nodded and took the shirts from his brother.

“I should get going.” Faramir said, still staring at the shirts.

Boromir nodded. “Ok. I will see you at the meal Fara.”

Faramir walked towards the door. He gave his brother one more smile before he slipped back through the door, closing it silently behind him. Clutching the sleep shirts close to his chest Faramir turned to begin his trek back to his own rooms. He didn’t notice the silent figure in front of him until he ran into the black-robed man. He glanced up prepared to apologize only to notice that it was his father who loomed over him. He couldn’t help the look of terror that crossed his face as his father snarled at him.

Denethor was angry that his youngest, and lesser, son had once again disobeyed orders given and spent the night with his older brother. He was livid when said lesser son failed to notice his presence right besides him, running straight into him. Denethor snarled, and grabbed Faramir’s upper arms. He shook the boy violently.

“I have told you, and told you! You are NOT to spend the night in Boromir’s chambers.” Denethor shouted at the cringing boy in his grasp. “You are too old to be coddled by him.” Denethor easily lifted the eleven-year-old off the ground and threw him down the hall. “Now return to your room and prepare for the morning meal.” Faramir hit the wall and skidded a few feet before stopping.

Hearing the angry voices from outside his door, Boromir rushed from his room in time to see his father throw his younger brother down the corridor. “Fara…” Boromir took a few steps towards his brother before he was halted by an outstretched arm. His father was glaring at him now. He glanced back to where Faramir had fallen only to see his brother slipping into his own chambers.

“You should not have encouraged such, such…childish behavior. I expected more from you my son.” Denethor moved his hand from the wall and cupped his oldest son’s face. “You needed your rest. Faramir should not be disturbing your sleep as he does.”

Boromir shook his head slightly. “He did not disturb me, and I do not mind him sharing my bed.”

“Nonsense.” Denethor released Boromir’s face. He gently turned Boromir back towards his room. “Come, I wished to speak to you before you left.” Denethor said, almost smiling.

Boromir glanced over his shoulder towards Faramir’s door. It was still closed. He sighed and allowed himself to be steered into his room by his father.

Faramir stumbled into his room, all but slamming the door in his wake. He clutched the night clothes as he sank to the floor. Tears welled up in his eyes as he thought of his father’s anger towards him. He didn’t understand why his father hated him so much. Faramir clutched the clothes ever tighter, and cried.


Breakfast went as it always did, with Lord Denethor ignoring his youngest to dote upon the oldest. Eyes still red and puffy, Faramir sat quietly across from Boromir. Denethor sat at the head of the table doing everything within his power to ignore the very existence of Faramir.

Faramir had no appetite that morning, so he merely pushed the food around his plate. Denethor glared at him, telling Faramir that if he was not going to eat the food given, then he was more than welcome to return to his rooms. With the opportunity to flee his father’s presence granted, Faramir stood, bowed his head slightly before running off. He heard angry words shouted after him but it didn’t slow his pace. He bounded up the stairs with practiced ease and quickly slipped into his rooms.

Faramir crossed the breadth of his room and flung himself onto the bed. He reached out with his hand and gathered up once again the night shirt Boromir had given him. Soon, his brother would leave him. He feared being alone with his father most of all. Deep within himself he knew these next two years were going to be some of the hardest of his life.

Within the hour a servant came to inform his that his brother would be departing shortly and that his presence was required in the courtyard. Faramir simply nodded and thanked the servant. He let out a sigh and moved towards his wardrobe. He browsed through the contents until he came upon the green and gold tunic he knew his brother loved. He changed clothes quickly and headed out of his room towards the courtyard.

His father was there, hand on his brother’s shoulder, and a smile on his face as he beamed brightly at his oldest. Faramir paused for a moment and took a deep breath before moving into the courtyard. His brother turned and spotted him.

A smile graced his face as he moved out of his father’s hands. “Faramir! I was beginning to worry that you wouldn’t make it.” Boromir dragged his brother into a fierce hug, which Faramir eagerly returned. The brother’s slowly parted, with Boromir planting a soft kiss upon Faramir’s head. “I’ll miss you Fara. Try not to upset father while I am away.”

Faramir nodded. He wasn’t sure if it was possible to not upset their father, Denethor was angered by merely being in Faramir’s presence. “I will.”

Denethor glared at the brothers as they embraced. A snarl formed on his lips at Boromir’s apparent sign of affection for Faramir. “Boromir,” he interjected, staving off any more of their brotherly nonsense. “It is time for you to be leaving.” Denethor tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace as he watched Boromir merely nod, then turn and kiss his brother once again.

Boromir ruffled Faramir’s hair as he walked toward their father and his awaiting mount. He was traveling with five other guards to Edoras. It made him a bit nervous as he did not know any of these men. But he was determined to train quickly, and return to his beloved brother. Boromir mount his steed and with a nod to the guards began the long trek to Edoras.

Faramir watched his brother leave with tears forming in his eyes. He sniffled a bit which is what caught Denethor’s attention.

Denethor whirled on his son. He stormed over to Faramir, who retreated a few steps, and grabbed the front of his tunic.

“Shouldn’t you be in the training fields?” Denethor shook the boy slightly. “Or perhaps you would rather be with those scholars in library, learning the ways of the academics?”

Faramir almost said that, yes he would like to go to the library, but held his tongue. The way Denethor had said “scholars” gave the impression that he didn’t think to highly of them. Faramir knew that Denethor was a firm believer in action, as opposed to diplomacy, or anything that involved thinking.

“I was just about to…to go to the fields.” Faramir’s voice trembled a bit. The look in his father’s eyes truly scared him. Realization hit him fairly quickly then, he was on his own.

“Then be on your way.” With that, Denethor pushed Faramir in the direction of the training fields. Faramir stumbled a bit then hurried off.


Faramir considered stopping off at his rooms to change before going to the fields, but reconsidered. If he was late, his weapon’s master might report it to Denethor. And that was something Faramir definitely did not want. So he hurriedly ran to the training field that Boromir had showed him a few days earlier.

The training field wasn’t much of an actual field. It was, for all intensive purposes, fifty by fifty square feet of dirt. There was a full wall, which Faramir knew would have looked out over the plains of the Pelenor and half-walls surrounded the rest. On a bench in the corner across the field sat his new weapons master, Arol.

Arol was a soldier of around forty, who had been given the honor of training the Steward’s sons. He was proud to claim that it was he who trained the Steward’s oldest, Boromir, in the art of war. But he was affronted that he would be forced to train the delicate younger brother, Faramir. The youngest was not meant to be soldier. Every guard in the citadel knew that. The boy was nothing but the scholar’s pet. The poor thing spent endless hours in the dreary libraries of the city just reading. Reading! Arol couldn’t understand what could be so fascinating about words on a page.

Boromir understood this. Boromir was a man of action, and brought true pride to Gondor. But Faramir was useless. The child thought far too much for one so young. Thus could never be anything but a disappointment. When Arol tried to argue the point with Lord Denethor however, he was informed that it was tradition that the sons of Gondor be trained in the arts of war. And if it was found that Faramir truly did not have the ability to wield a sword properly, then another use for him would then, and only then, be found.

Arol snarled at the memory of that conversation. Boromir was in the room at the time. It was only he that thought that Faramir would make an excellent soldier.

Arol looked up when he heard a shuffling of feet at the edge of the field. He all but snarled again to see the sight he had been dreading all morning. He bent over and retrieved a pocket flagon from beneath the bench filled with a potent liquor he couldn’t remember the name of. He unscrewed the top and dumped some of it down his throat. It burned, but it was what he was going to need to get through these next five years. He screwed the cap back on, setting it down he grudgingly rose from the bench.

Faramir watched as Arol drank from the brown flagon, and then stood. Faramir was shocked that Arol would drink before a training session. This wasn’t the man who had trained his brother. Boromir described a man of virtue and endless patience. The man Boromir idolized would not be so lacking as to drink before training a son of the Steward. Faramir was staring at the man when he was waved over. He hesitantly began the short trek across the dirt field.


Faramir collapsed onto his bed. He was covered from head to toe in dirt, sweat and just a little blood. But he couldn’t care less. The past few weeks had been little less than pure torture.

After the first day it had become very apparent that Arol did not like him. The man was cruel with his words and even more so in his training. Faramir had the nicks and the scratches, the bruises and the welts to prove it. Arol never had a kind word for Faramir, even when he accomplished some skill or other. Arol would merely snarl and tell him that Boromir had accomplished it better, or faster, or with more grace. Faramir had quickly realized that there was no pleasing his new trainer, so he quit trying.

When Faramir had finished his training that first day, a servant met him at the entrances to the fields to inform him that he would no longer be dining with his father, the Lord Steward, for any meals. A tray of food would instead be sent to his rooms for every meal. Exhausted and sore, Faramir just acknowledged the news with a simple nod. He was, in a way, happy to no longer be required to be in his father’s presence. It would be exceedingly difficult to upset his father if he never saw him.

As if thought could become reality, there was a swift knock at his door before it opened. A servant bearing a food laden tray crossed his room and set what he was carrying on a table near the window. Without ever glancing in Faramir’s direction, the servant left without a word.

Faramir sighed. He glanced at the food, contemplating if he was too tired or not to eat. His stomach settled the debate when it growled menacingly. Heaving another heavy sigh, Faramir pushed himself off his bed. Standing, he finally glanced down at himself. He was truly a sight to behold. For some reason he couldn’t remember if his tunic was white, or if it had always been brown. Faramir decided that a quick bath was in order before he ate.

When Faramir had bathed he sat down at the small table near his window. There was a plethora of food and even some wine. Just looking at the food made Faramir’s stomach growl again.

Once Faramir had finished, he set the empty tray outside his door and began his trek to the library. This was his favorite part of the day. He would spend the afternoon and well into the evening with his tutor and friend Calanon. More often than not, the two shared the evening meal together before Faramir would return to his rooms. Faramir was hoping that today would be no different.

Calanon was a gray-haired man with a slender frame. He once told Faramir that he was from the north, although he did not say where. His love of knowledge and of history brought him to the libraries of the White city. He spoke many of the tongues of Arda and had an impressive knowledge of its history. The Lord Steward immediately placed him in the libraries where he advanced in position until he finally put in charge of its care.

Faramir found Calanon where he always found his friend, hovering at his desk over a mound of papers. Faramir just smiled as he crossed the library’s great expanse.

Calanon looked up and smiled when he saw Faramir enter.

“Faramir! You are early again today. Perhaps we should change our meeting time to earlier so then you might be on time.” Calanon stood and approached Faramir. He rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder and smiled down at him. Faramir was his best pupil, so bright, and eager to learn. Calanon was proud to say that, under his fine tutelage, Faramir already spoke not only the common tongue, but also Rohirric as well as had a firm handle on Elvish. Calanon knew that Faramir would become a great leader. If only the Lord Denethor could see that.

Faramir smiled up at his only friend. “What are we studying today?” Faramir loved this place.

Calanon laughed at the eagerness of his young pupil. “I figured we could begin with a few conversations in Elvish, then a few in Rohirric, before we continued our lessons about the first age. Sound reasonable to you?” Calanon starting walking to the back corner where there was a small fireplace and comfortable, plush chairs. It was a favorite spot of Faramir’s.

“Sounds perfect.”


It was a beautiful morning. The skies were clear, and the birds were signing. Over all, Faramir felt good about the day. He was a little sore, but that was alright. He figured he would be constantly sore for the next five years. With a song in his heart, he made his way to the training fields. The sight he was welcomed with killed the song, and seemed to make the day seem that much greyer.

Arol was drunk. Not just drinking, but full on drunk. The man was constantly drinking it seemed to Faramir. But he was never actually drunk. But today, it seemed that Arol had just one to many sips from his pocket flagon.

Faramir hesitated at the entrance as he watched Arol stumble about, spitting profanities. He held his pocket flagon, every now and then taking a deep draught from it. This was a situation Faramir did not quite know how to handle. Should he leave? Or should he stay and train regardless? It was in these few moments of indecision that Arol finally spun around, and spotted him.

“Eh, boy! You just gonna linger in the entryway all morning?” Arol’s words were a bit slurred, confirming what Faramir already knew.

Faramir hesitated in responding. He shouldn’t leave. He should train, but Arol was in no position to do the training. So what should he do?

Arol stared at Faramir. The boy was an idiot. The child obviously didn’t know how to speak properly. He began to walk towards Faramir, intending to shake the answer out of the boy. At that moment, the sunlight slid over the walls of the citadel, highlighting Faramir in its glow. Arol paused a few feet from Faramir, just studying the boy through his drunken haze. For all his faults, the boy was quite fair. Arol moved a bit closer and stretched out his hand, caressing Faramir’s cheek.

Faramir called upon all of his might not to back away from the approaching figure of Arol, but he couldn’t stop from flinching when the man caressed his cheek. He began to draw away when Arol grabbed him by his tunic. There was a glint in his eyes that frightened Faramir, he didn’t know what it was but he knew that it scared him. He began to struggle to get away from Arol’s iron grip, but to no avail.

Arol just laughed as Faramir struggled against him. Yes, this boy was very fair, very…desirable. Oh, the things he could do to this boy. Arol licked his lips at the thought. He easily lifted the lithe form of Faramir before throwing him to the ground.

Before Faramir could register what was happening, he was slammed into the ground. He made to get up, to run, but Arol was suddenly on top of him with that glint in his eyes. Terror streaked through Faramir. Heart pounding, mind racing, he began to struggle only to have a hand clamp around his throat, squeezing the breath from him.

Arol reached for the dagger in his boot. He drew the slim, sharp blade and brought it to Faramir’s throat. He slid the flat of the blade down along his collarbone and finally to the edge of the boy’s tunic. With a few quick moves, and only cutting the boy slightly, he cut the tunic from Faramir’s form. He again ran the flat of the dagger along Faramir’s pale skin, slowly moving it down towards his leggings.

Faramir’s eyes widened at the dagger, and he winced as the blade cut him. He didn’t understand. Why was Arol cutting his tunic from him? He reached up and grabbed Arol’s wrist in a futile effort to shove the arm away. Faramir’s struggles, though, only seemed to please Arol. He shivered slightly when the blade was dragged down his skin and towards his leggings. He tried to cry out as Arol began the slow work of cutting his leggings from his form. Faramir began to struggle all the more, causing Arol to cut him on more than one occasion. Tears formed in his eyes as the last of his leggings were brutally cut form him, bared to the gentle breeze and Arol’s demanding gaze.

Arol sneered. Oh yes. This was what he wanted. He ran his hand down the lithe and trembling form of Faramir. So very fair, he thought. So much like a woman in his beauty…

It was all a blur for Faramir…questing hands seeking places no one had touched. Searing pain that made him cry out as tears slid down his cheeks in steady streams, the grunting of the man above him. So much pain…he couldn’t understand it. Then his world went black.


Beriadan stood in the shadows, eyes filled with rage and tears, unable to do anything about the scene before him. His eyes cast downwards, he could no longer bare to watch as the weapons master, Arol, raped the youngest son of the Steward. He had been making his duty rounds when he heard the grunting and moaning coming from the training fields. That was when he came upon a sight he did not wish to witness. He should not have stayed, he knew that but he could not leave the young Faramir…even if he could do nothing to stop what was happening. Arol was too powerful, to friendly with the Steward. It would be the favored, heroic master against a lowly citadel guard.

So instead he waited. He watched as Arol laced up his leggings and stumbled out of the training grounds laughing and singing to himself. When Beriadan knew himself to be alone, he crossed the fields towards the prone and unconscious boy. He removed his cloak and ever so gently wrapped the boy in it. He could not help but wince as he saw the bruises around Faramir’s neck, and the cuts that marked his body…and the blood that pooled between his thighs. Beriadan lifted Faramir into his arms and began a careful trek back to where he believed were the rooms of the Stewards sons.

When he reached the appropriate rooms, he gently laid the still unconscious son of the Steward on the bed. He deftly cleaned and bandaged what wounds he saw, then clothed Faramir in a night shirt before placing him under the covers. He then walked over to a chair near the small fireplace and sat down, intent to wait until Faramir awakened.


Faramir snuggled back into his favorite chair in the library. He had been skipping his weapons training for the past week as Beriadan had suggested. Instead he had been going to the library to read. Calanon had inquired as to his presence in the library as opposed the fields, but finally gave up questioning as Faramir seemed reluctant to give up any answers.

Faramir had thanked Beriadan for what he had done and asked him to be discreet in what had happened. Beriadan had agreed, though grudgingly. Faramir now saw Beriadan often, wandering the halls and making frequent stops in the library inquiring after him. It was nice to see that someone actually cared for him besides his brother and Calanon.

It was not long past a week, as Faramir was hunkered down near the fireplace that his father stormed into the library. Faramir shot out of his seat when his father approached.

Denethor grabbed his son by the front of his tunic and began dragging him towards the library’s entrance. “You have been skipping your training, and I will no longer tolerate it! The son of the Steward does not skip weapons training to go and read.” Denethor snarled. There was absolutely no excuse for his son’s disgraceful behavior.

“Father please! You don’t understand! I don’t want to be trained by Arol anymore please!” Faramir’s eyes began to fill with tears as he recognized the direction they were taking.

Without breaking stride, Denethor glanced at his son. “Oh? Is Arol not good enough for you? He was more the apt at training your brother…”

“No, he is a fine trainer but please! I don’t wish it father! Stop!”

Denethor did stop to Faramir’s utter surprise. “And why should you not be trained by the finest swordsman in Gondor?”

Faramir glanced at the ground. He definitely did not want to tell his father that his weapons master had raped him. When he looked back up into his father’s face he was shocked to see the man smiling.

“Do you not wish to return to him because he has finally found the only proper use for you?” Denethor sneered, and leaned in to whisper, “As a whore?”

Faramir tried to recoil in shock, but Denethor’s tight grip on his tunic restrained his movements. “Father…”

“You will return to Arol, of your own will every morning. Or be dragged there every morning by the guards. Am I understood?”

Faramir merely nodded. How could this be happening? What exactly was happening…?

“Good.” Denethor began walking again, still dragging Faramir behind him in his long strides. When they reached the training fields, Arol was waiting for them. Denethor shoved Faramir onto the dirt. “Here is your trainee. Try not to misplace him again.” With that, Denethor turned on his heel and left.

Faramir glanced up to see Arol smiling, with that same glint in his eyes…

And Faramir was frightened.

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…)


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.”


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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6 Comment(s)

Great job on the different voices here, and I am really looking forward to the promised happy ending.

— pinbot    Monday 9 August 2010, 0:09    #

Ah, please write more, and soon. This is off to an intense start and I look forward to your next upload.

— Elindiel    Thursday 12 August 2010, 20:27    #

Thank you Thank you Thank you!!!!
I am so sorry that I haven’t tanked you yet. This was fantastic! I couldn’t have asked for a better beginning. I am sitting right now at the edge of my chair, totaly consumed with your amazing story. I do hope to see more. I truly love it, I’m going to read it once more right now :)
Again thank you so so much!!!

— Fëawen    Sunday 15 August 2010, 0:25    #

THIS STORY IS AMAZING!!! IT has been so much since I didn’t read any Haldir/Faramir story!! Or better said it has been a long time since I read all the Haldir/Faramir stories that already exist! Please you have to continue this. It is amazing!!! You have such a beautiful narration! I love your descriptions and you catch the characters personlity so well!! Besides I love the combination between angst and romance!! This story seems very good!! Please you have to continue it! I’m dying to know what is going to happen! I want to see Haldir pretty soon too!!! Pleasee continue it!! And thank you very much for this masterpiece!

— LoretoW    Saturday 2 October 2010, 8:41    #

No one hates you! My God, that was perfect, well worth the waiting for. Thank you so, so much.
This is absolutely heart wrenching marvelous.
Loved the way you are building up everything, all of it is just the way I pictured it when I wrote this request. I am so happy that you didn’t gave up on this.
I too recognize that statement of “Think Porno” and I was also 12. Maybe it is a internationally language between the rider instructors. “today I am going to tell my students to think hard core sex” :)
I hope that your computer will be of help for now on and not a source of head aches. Best of luck on your Mid terms as well, with your skills in the art of writing I am positive that you will rock!!

Again Thank you!
Cheers
Ingrid

— Fëawen    Tuesday 12 October 2010, 8:25    #

Thank you so MUCH! I am glad that everyone likes it thus far. My ego has been boosted! :D

I am also glad to hear that I am not the only one who was told the “think porno” tip. lol It is a very effective phrase though. My new laptop has been working splendidly. I am most pleased.

I’m afraid Haldir won’t make an appearance until the fourth chapter. Fear not, the story won’t end there ;p

Much love!

— Radical    Tuesday 12 October 2010, 16:03    #

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