Faramir Fiction Archive

Thief in the Night (NC-17)

Written by Lucky

03 November 2005 | 1135 words

Title: Thief in the Night
Author: Lucky

Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Boromir/Faramir then Denethor/Faramir
Summary: what happens when family secrets no longer stay secret?
Feedback: Yes, LuckyCharm2410@aol.com or through this site
Disclaimer: They are not mine, which is really really sad.

Archivist's Note: This is the second part of a trilogy; see also For at Night He Comes and When Night Falls.

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He comes to my brother in the night. Like a thief he steals that which is most precious and I don't know which thought sickens me more, that my brother says nothing to my father to stop him or that I say nothing to my father to stop him. Those pithy whispers of love to a dead woman do nothing to disguise the fact that my father is raping my brother.

"Finduilas I love you."

Bah, he said those very same words to me on the night that Faramir was born. I can remember biting my arm hard enough to draw blood, trying to stifle my outcry of pain. It felt like I was being split in two. I turned my head to the side as salty tears coursed down my face only to slip into the corner of my mouth before hitting my pillow.

I had no more tried to avert my eyes to the side when I felt a stinging slap to the side of my face.

"Why must you always look away from me?"

My father's voice was harsh, like the cold winter wind, and I turned my face so that now we were mere inches apart.

Surprised, I tried to protest his cruel treatment of me but before I could speak I felt his lips pressed against mine, his tongue probing the depths of my mouth.

His thrusts became harder, aided no doubt by the blood that I could feel leaking down between my legs. In the morning I would burn the sheet, but for now I lay quiet and acquiescent underneath my father.

His thrusts became faster and his breath ragged until with one mighty heave he spent himself deep inside me.

Heavily he collapsed upon me. We lay that way for some time, his skin slick with sweat, before he finally pulled himself out of me. Placing one tender kiss upon my brow he left me there in the sticky pool of my blood and his seed.

My father would continue to visit me almost nightly until my body began to change with maturity.

I loved my father and I could not bring myself to think of his attentions during the night, so I hid the memories deep, never dragging them out for inspection by the light of day.

One night my father did not come to me. Worried, I sat up until dawn fearful that something bad had happened to him.

It wasn't until I saw my brother's face the next morning that I knew where my father had been, and later that morning in the privacy of my chambers I wept, either for the relief that my ordeal was over or that my brother's was just beginning I never knew.

Time passed and my father continued his nightly sojourns to my brother's quarters.

Mother died and my father spent his grief deep inside my brother's backside.

A dark shadow began to cross the land and my father left the residual of his worries drying on my brother's sheets.

As I grew older, I began to resent this secret I was forced to keep. My brother's youthful face was already showing the strain of broken sleep, and his eyes radiated that same look of lost innocence that I sometimes saw in my own eyes when I happened to catch myself in the mirror.

Several times I caught myself on the verge of demanding that my father cease his attentions towards Faramir, but then I would stop myself with one simple question:

Would my father think that I desired his company again?

I did not think I could bear his attentions should he seek me out now, and so with my pride in tatters, I would walk away.

I do not know how long this might have gone on had Mithrandir not arrived when he did.

The Grey Pilgrim had never been a favorite of my father's but his wise counsel had sustained me many times in the past, and so one afternoon shortly before my departure to Osgiliath I sought him out. There in the privacy of his chambers we talked for many hours, mainly of war and my worries about how I would best rally my men.

I thought I had said all that I was going to when Mithrandir kindly asked, "Boromir, though young, you are wise in the ways of battle, tell me what is really bothering you?"

He knew! My heart skipped a beat. Carefully I searched his face for a moment, fearful of the rejection I might see there. But all I could sense was a sad understanding of what he was asking, and so I began to talk, my voice rising and falling with the urgency of my words. I held nothing back, plunging in recklessly like I did when unsure of which way the tide might turn in battle but knowing that my actions would be the deciding factor.

Finally finished, and feeling like I had just battled an entire troop of Orcs by myself, I dropped my eyes to the floor, hardly daring to breathe as Mithrandir took in all of which I had spoken.

Gently he placed one hand upon my shoulder, "I can think of none who would have done differently had they been in your place. Think no more on this. I will see that it is taken care of. Your actions in this matter are safe with me."

Relieved I stood, and with a quick word or two to bind the conversation off, I left. I must have believed in my deepest heart that Mithrandir would indeed take care of my brother, for even as I left his chambers my thoughts were already on Osgiliath, and my preparations for the impending battle, with nary a second thought for Faramir.

Two days later I left, and though the battle was long it was as it had always been - we were victorious.

Upon my return father declared a citywide ban from work, and that night there was a joyous banquet in my honor. Mithrandir, I had been informed, had left for places unknown, but the thing I can still recall the most from that evening was my brother's eyes. Even from across the room I could see the lost defeat in them and an old saying came to mind.

I might have won the battle but I had lost the war.

Continue to When Night Falls

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