Faramir Fiction Archive

Warriors of Gondor (NC-17)

Written by Hel

14 May 2012 | 182144 words | Work in Progress

Part 14: BETROTHED

Faramir stared out the window of the small castle at the heavy rain. The flashes of lightning and distant sound of thunder made him long for home and his brother’s arms even more than the endless days of wet travel. He had escorted his cousin back to Dol Amroth when they had received news of her mother’s illness. Lothiriel was now home with her ailing mother and he had been making his way back to Minas Tirith for a month, often having to stop because the roads became impassable. The sea had been too rough for him to take the shorter passage. Once he stopped, it was almost impossible to get the locals to let him continue his journey. There was really no hurry anyway, as Boromir would leave for Rohan in the morning. Of course, if he made it home quick enough he would be able to make a reconnaissance through Ithilien before his brother returned. He sighed at the thought of having to wait so long to see his beloved brother again.

“Are you all right, my lord?” a soft feminine voice asked from the bed.

Turning, he smiled at the young couple who were watching him with concern. “I just miss my home and my brother,” he told them.

“Come let us comfort you,” the young man said lifting the blanket and welcoming Faramir to return to their bed.

It surprised him just a little, thinking of how shy the young man had been when Faramir had invited him to share the first night rites with him. It was his wife after all, and Faramir liked to share. Sliding into the bed, he kissed them both. “Are you ready to learn some more?” he asked with a grin.

Stefle stood at the top of the stairway watching Galmar as he spoke with the two strangers in the lower hall. It was a dark, secluded place that aided secret meetings, just as Stefle’s position was perfect for overhearing every whisper from below. The well- oiled hinges of the door concealing the hidden passage behind him let him come and go as he pleased. Since Lord Boromir’s departure for Rohan, he pleased to be here a lot and had others assigned to take his place when his other duties called him.

Listening carefully and studying the features of the strangers, he committed the meeting to his memory. A smile shaped his lips as he realized the importance of what he was overhearing. He would have to make a report tonight. Fortunately, he rarely spent the nights in the brothers’ suite when they were gone, so he wouldn’t be missed.

As Galmar ushered his guests out the door, Stefle returned to the hidden passage. The regular sentry for this post was waiting so that he could leave immediately. In soft-soled shoes, he made his way down the long, dimly lit tunnels.

In far shorter time than it would have taken if he had used the usual routes, he reached his destination. The house in the fifth ring of the city was originally part of the estate of the House of Hurin. Centuries ago, it had been turned over to a branch of the family made up of those born of lower caste. The aging mansion was one of the few that were filled with residents. Here was the stronghold of the oldest retainers of the House of Hurin.

Nelda greeted Stefle from her bed. His mother, who was her chosen future replacement as family matriarch, sat in a chair at her bedside. The aging ladies’ maid was of neither Númenorean nor elvish blood and had already lived much longer than many of her race. Cara, who was her niece by marriage, was much younger and had been Nelda’s protégé for many years. Together, they decided who was fit to serve in the White Tower, the only exception being those under the control of Galmar. There had been an uneasy truce between the two factions for many years, with occasional flare-ups when the wants of the Steward vied with the needs of his sons.

“I have good news, Grandmother,” Stefle told Nelda, using the traditional title. “Lord Boromir’s plan appears to be working. Galmar has rescinded the order for another victim for the Steward, he even paid his agents. He will be going later tonight to make use of the prostitute they lined up for himself, but the Steward has lost interest.”

“You have taken all of the usual precautions?” she asked.

“I have arranged for him to be followed, and have already sent agents ahead to the meeting place. It is one of Lord Boromir’s favorite houses, he will be upset. I also sent people to watch the usual places, just in case this is a ruse.”

“I told you, Cara, all of those years ago,” she smiled at the woman at her side. “You have raised a fine son and his blood tells. We have never had to tell him twice and he knows how to improvise. Aren’t you glad you listened to me?”

“Yes, Grandmother,” she answered with a smile. “Even if he has to keep his hair short to keep him from reminding the Steward of his father, he is well worth the effort. As always, you were right.”

Stefle blushed at their words. “I only live to serve, Grandmother,” he went to his knees at her bedside. “It is my pleasure and my duty.”

“And you serve well,” Nelda told him. “You still seem worried, what troubles you?”

“Their dreams, Grandmother,” he said in a low voice. “They are too often dark and troubling, and Lord Boromir has begun speaking of his death again. He has made several plans, almost as if he knows something.”

“It is the worry of any warrior, that he may fall in battle,” Nelda comforted. “Our dear prince worries more than some because he fears for his brother’s safety. If there are any dreams prophesying his death, you will know. I will speak with him when he returns from Rohan.” She paused in thought for a moment. “But then, if he returns with the bride he seeks, his mood may improve without any aid from me.”

Boromir rode at the front of the caravan, next to its master and Éomer. He’d been on the road for a week and at this rate it would be at least another week before they reached Edoras. Ox carts were not made for speed. They’d just made it through the Firien Wood, and had picked up an escort of Rohirrim.

It had already been over five weeks since he had seen Faramir and he missed him terribly. Even the dreams they shared every night barely comforted him. He had grown too used to his brother’s company. Unable to restrain his impatience any longer, he addressed Éomer. “Do you think your uncle would mind if we left the troops to guard the caravan and rode ahead?”

“Let me turn over command and we will be off,” Éomer answered with a grin.

Within minutes, both men were riding at speed down the Great West Road. They were happy to be free from the slow and dusty caravan. The wind in their hair revived their spirits. All through the day they rode, sometimes racing, other times walking and exchanging news.

When night fell, they made a small fireless camp and rested until the moon rose, then sped off again into the night.

It was late when they reached Edoras. Éomer took Boromir to his own room rather than wake anyone. Stripping off all but their pants, they sprawled in each other’s arms and fell fast asleep.

During the night, Boromir felt the stirrings of one of the dreams he shared with his brother. He slipped his arms around Éomer’s waist and nuzzled his ear, feeling Faramir’s presence in his mind. Éomer became restless and called out “Faramir,” into the darkness.

“I hear you,” Boromir whispered sliding a hand into his pants and loosely cupping his cock. “Sleep, my wild prince.”

They slept soundly the rest of the night and only awoke when Théodred, Éomer’s cousin, came racing into the room and leaped into the bed. “I’m so glad you are home, Éomer,” the boy said as he bounced with energy. “I’ve been waiting for you. Father said I could ride with you next time.”

Both men shifted to sit up, glad for the blanket that hid details. Boromir leaned back against the headboard after giving the cock in his hand a friendly squeeze, and Éomer leaned against him. Théodred’s eyes grew big as he realized that his cousin wasn’t alone.

“Théodred, leave Éomer sleep,” came a light feminine voice. “He got in very late. . .” Her voice broke off as she entered the room and saw the stranger sitting in the bed with her brother.

“It’s too late sister,” Éomer said. “He has already woken us, if not the rest of the house.”

Boromir almost laughed at the look of scandalized confusion and the spreading blush on the young woman’s face.

“This is Boromir, whom I have told you about,” Éomer introduced him. “This is my cousin, Théodred, and my sister, Éowyn. I thought it too late to wake you, sister, so we both just slept here.”

“It is never a bother to care for you and our guests, brother,” she replied, her pale features flushed with embarrassment and excitement. “You know you can always wake me.”

“It would be too much trouble for you, my lady,” Boromir stated. “We are both used to sleeping wherever is available.” He ran a finger from Éomer’s shoulder to his wrist in a seductive manner, which made Éomer shiver, and his sister blush more deeply.

“Guests are never too much trouble,” she repeated, her temper starting to rise as she suspected he was teasing her.

Boromir casually moved so that the blanket slid lower on his body, knowing that Éowyn didn’t know they were wearing pants. Éomer, though close to his sister, enjoyed teasing her, and was a willing accomplice.

“It is also nice to have such a willing companion to share one’s bed,” Éomer added, putting his hand on Boromir’s raised knee. “Don’t worry so, sister, we can care for ourselves sometimes.”

Théodred’s impatient fidgeting in his cousin’s arms dislodged the blanket enough to show that they were partially dressed, making Éowyn’s temper rise even more. “There is plenty of hot water waiting for you, brother,” she said through clenched teeth. “Since you two are so good at taking care of yourselves, I’m sure you won’t need any help. Come Théodred, your father waits for you to join him at breakfast.” Nearly dragging the boy from the room, she stomped off.

“I’m afraid we are in trouble, my friend,” Éomer laughed. “She won’t stop until she has revenge.”

Éomer found clean clothes for both of them to take to the baths. The room wasn’t large, only holding two moderately large tubs. They locked the door behind them and stripped quickly. Sharing a tub, they washed each other.

Boromir began nibbling at Éomer’s neck while his hands roamed his body. “I like your sister, just as you said I would,” he whispered into the other man’s ear before sucking at his neck so hard as to leave a mark too high to be hidden by his collar.

Éomer laughed at his words and actions. “She’s going to be even more pissed at you when she sees my neck.”

Boromir chuckled and pulled his hair back, exposing his own neck. “Good, let’s make her doubly angry, mark me,” he told him.

Unable to resist both the chance to further tease his sister and the enticing flesh of Boromir’s neck, Éomer did as he was asked. Hands, roughened by many years in battle, ran down his sides and grasped his ass. It always amazed him how quickly either of the brothers could arouse him.

The prince was a bit larger, but Boromir’s years of experience allowed him to take control. Not that Éomer didn’t challenge him for it. They wrestled together until Boromir pinned him against the tub.

“You are such a temptation, my wild prince,” he said in a husky voice, nibbling at his ear. “Will you let me have you?” One hand slowly worked Éomer’s cock, while the other captured his head for a deep kiss.

He didn’t want to resist, he didn’t want to follow. Grabbing Boromir’s hips, he impaled himself on his hard cock, making them both gasp. They moved together, splashing most of the water out of the tub. It was quick and hard, and very satisfying.

The king eyed his nephew and his companion as they made their appearance in the great hall. They both had a bit of a swagger and, even in the dim light, he could see the marks of their morning’s activities. Though his eyes brightened, he hid his smile as he remembered his own wild youth, when he and Eomund rode with the herds.

“You are late,” he said in his gruff voice.

“I am early, uncle,” Éomer said, laughter in his voice. “We arrived a week early so that Boromir could gaze upon the beauty of my sister.”

The lady in question had been steadily growing redder as they approached; now she was positively crimson as all eyes turned to her.

“What better reason for haste?” Boromir asked. “It is told that the lady Éowyn can lighten even the darkest day with her mere presence, that some men are blinded by her smile.”

He had kept his eyes locked with hers as he spoke. Éowyn’s sharp reply froze on her tongue and her heart gave a giant thump that rolled through her body like wild fire. His gaze heated her blood, and made her give a small gasp.

“Come, sister-son, greet your uncle properly,” Théoden said rising to his feet, and drawing the attention of the room from his niece. The two men embraced, glad to be together again. Éomer formally introduced Boromir, and then introductions were made all around. It was a boisterous meal; the king was as rowdy as his nephew.

Boromir was startled when he was introduced to Gríma Wormtongue. His white face beneath black hair was a sharp contrast, but the eyes were what made Boromir shiver. They were cloudy blue and red rimmed, somehow reminding him of an orc. Feeling an overwhelming urge to behead the man on the spot, Boromir just smiled politely and nodded at his introduction. Gríma was not someone he would welcome to the White City, let alone his father’s council.

Watching the advisor while they ate, Boromir noticed the man making furtive glances at the king’s niece and nephew. It made his hackles rise, the way he looked at them, there was something sinister in his gaze. Boromir could understand lust for the pair, but this was something more. He wondered if they knew of the man’s obsession.

The practice yard was noisy as Boromir watched Éowyn with the swordmaster. She was as excellent with the sword as Éomer had told him. She almost impaled her opponent several times, her temper obviously high. Boromir smiled as he watched a few moments before letting his presence be known.

“How do you fare, Fallon?” he addressed the swordmaster. “Are you ready to come home?”

“I have still one student to train, my lord,” he answered with a grin. “Though, as you can see, the Lady Éowyn is beyond my abilities.”

“Then I will have to make sure she gets a more accomplished tutor,” Boromir returned his smile. “What say you, my lady, do you wish to test a superior fighter?”

She knew the rumors of his fighting prowess, had even seen his heavily scarred upper body just that morning, though it was obvious that not all of the scars were from combat. Still, she couldn’t resist that mocking smile; with all the emotional turmoil he’d put her through this morning, she wanted some sort of revenge. Accepting his challenge, she saluted him with her sword before attacking with all the skill she could muster.

Boromir loved to fight. He also loved to teach fighting and he led Éowyn on to heights of skill she never knew she had. Always just a hairbreadth ahead of her, he almost danced, with his sword making her attack and retreat at his will. She was angry at first, knowing she was being controlled. Then she fell into the rhythm of the exercise, all thought turned to the flash of steel and the ring of blade upon blade.

She never even noticed her body tiring, so engrossed was she. Then suddenly Boromir executed a complicated series of moves that had her back pressed close to his chest, her sword hand caught in his, his other hand flat against her belly. “I think that is enough for today, my lady,” he said into her ear, his lips actually brushing it, making her already heaving chest tense with excitement.

He released her when she stepped forward, and bent to retrieve his own sword, which he had dropped to the ground. Gratefully, she took the cloth from the swordmaster to wipe her face and the cup of cool water from her brother who had shown up unnoticed by her. She looked through her lowered lashes at the man who would someday be her husband – one of her husbands – she corrected herself, if her brother had his way. The idea seemed more attractive every minute.

“Your uncle has agreed to let you go for a ride after lunch with your brother and I,” Boromir told her with a grin.

Her face lit up at his words. She’d almost been a prisoner within the walls of Edoras while Éomer was gone. There was nothing she missed more than to ride the hills of Rohan. “Thank you, my lord,” she told him, filled with happy excitement.

“The princess should be attending to her ladies in waiting, not indulging in the activities of ruffians,” came a voice from the shadows of the doorway. Gríma stepped into the practice yard, his odd, pale looks even stranger in the full light of day.

Éomer and his sister turned hostile looks to the advisor, Éowyn almost sputtering in her fury. Boromir smiled at the newcomer, a smile that showed all his teeth, but didn’t reach his eyes. The look was so feral that Gríma backed up a few paces. “Have you come to practice with us, worm?” Boromir asked, deliberately shortening his name.

“My health prevents me from taking part in the baser activities,” Gríma almost hissed.

“Then I hope you won’t be so base as to breed more of your weakling kind,” Boromir told him in a voice too low to be heard by any but Gríma, Éomer, and Éowyn.

This time, the man did hiss, and retreated from the practice field with all haste. “Is it something I said?” Boromir asked the stunned brother and sister with a grin.

“He will cause trouble for you now,” Éomer told him, knowing how devious the advisor could be.

“He already plans to,” Boromir answered. “I plan on making just as much trouble for him.”

Another plan of Gríma’s was crushed before it even took shape as Boromir convinced the king to join their afternoon ride. He couldn’t make a move against the Gondorian with the king present. After all, orcs weren’t known for their abilities to hold back and the death of the king would ruin his master’s plans. Standing in a window, Gríma watched the party ride across the hills. If only there were a suitable replacement, they were all so vulnerable riding with such a small escort. But he would have to wait for now. When the time was right, he would turn Rohan over to his master and receive his reward.

Even from this distance, he could tell the children of Eomund from the rest of the group. Licking his lips in anticipation he watched them ride out of sight over the hills. *Yes, * he thought with a secretive smile. *The day will come when they will be at my mercy. Then they will regret their arrogance. *

Faramir watched as the man in the distance disappeared into the shadows of the swamp. He wished he could have spoken with him face to face, but time and the news the stranger had imparted would not allow it. A ranger of the North was not often seen in these parts. This one was searching for a dangerous criminal that had escaped into the swamps. It was several miles through dangerous bogs just to be able to come in range of signaling the stranger. Since he had indicated that he was sure he was following a false trail and turning back north, they decided it was a waste to meet up face to face.

Still, he felt drawn to the stranger dressed in black, and wished again that he had been able to speak with him. There was something about his movements that seemed familiar, though it was impossible that Faramir could have met him. And the name Strider was unknown to him, though a few of the more widely traveled of the Ithilien Rangers did say they had heard of him. He longed to reach out across the fetid, ruined land and learn everything about the distant stranger.

However, duty called and he dare not spend any more time away from implementing the new plans he had set in motion in Ithilien. He wanted to be home in time to greet his brother when he returned from Rohan.

Strider looked back across the Nindalf to the scouting party at the edge of the swamp. Gandalf had warned him not to expose himself to the sons of Denethor, especially the youngest. And here he was, all but face to face with Faramir. The search for Gollum was important, but it was just as important that his identity not be revealed before it was time. Still, he longed to meet the Steward’s sons; they haunted his dreams. Melting back into the swamp, he headed north away from temptation.

The caravan made better time than Boromir had hoped and reached Edoras only four days later. The king and his court were pleased at the quality of the gifts from Gondor, as well as the offerings for the horses they wished to purchase. Even though the constant war took its toll on the great country, they still managed to retain many of their resources.

Now Boromir had several chests gracing the guestroom he only used for storing his belongings. He spent his nights in Éomer’s bed, the door safely locked. For the most part, he ignored the trunks of formal court wear that his father had insisted on. Denethor almost always wore formal robes, but Boromir was a warrior and preferred to dress that way. However, he regularly raided the chests filled with gifts for the royal family of Rohan.

There were several servants who came to be assigned to the royal family as well. One of the women was even a fully trained ‘ladies maid’ that the king had been glad to see provided for his niece. Both Lani and Lothiriel had trained her, so that Éowyn would be able to learn the ins and outs of court life in Gondor. She was a petite piece of femininity that had horrified Éowyn, until she had demonstrated some unorthodox uses of hairpins and other ladies’ accessories, for she had also been trained by one of the best assassins in Gondor. Now, the young princess even listened to the little woman on matters of dress.

Faramir had packed in everything he could think of and Garus had helped. Boromir was sure he might be taking half of it back with him. But then, the looks of happiness he received for even the smallest trinket made him completely open handed – except for with the king’s advisor.

He tried to overlook the man’s furtive ways, had even managed to exchange a few non- hostile words with him. Then he would catch him watching Éowyn, her face flushed with excitement as it had been almost constantly since his arrival, or Éomer, as he passed through the great hall like a storm, and that dark look would reveal itself.

Shortly after the arrival of the caravan, Boromir stood in the arch of a doorway watching the brother and sister argue good-naturedly in a courtyard. They constantly argued, usually just to hear their own voices it seemed, as none of it was serious. But they were beautiful and alluring when they did. Then he noticed Gríma on a balcony watching them and recognized the look in his eye. He had seen that same look in his father’s eye when watching his brother, and now he knew why he hated the man.

The courtyard was fairly secluded and he was quite certain that Wormtongue was the only observer. Striding forward from his position, he joined Éowyn and Éomer. With a casually possessive air, he threw an arm around Éomer and reached out a hand to Éowyn’s face.

“I bet you two have no idea how enticing you look when you argue like that,” he told them.

For a moment, Éowyn pressed her head against his hand. Then, remembering herself, she blushed and rushed away. Éomer laughed softly, not wanting to hurt her feelings but amused by her shyness. Turning into Boromir, he put both his arms around him and kissed him soundly.

Shifting their positions, Boromir looked up at the balcony and directly into the eyes of Gríma. The man gasped at the eye contact, causing Éomer to stiffen slightly. Boromir quickly put a hand to his head and kept him in the kiss for a few moments more. Then he brought the prince’s head back and kissed his throat. When he looked back to the balcony, Gríma was gone.

“Marking your territory?” Éomer asked with a laugh.

“Be careful of him,” Boromir told him without humor. “He means to harm you both.”

“I’ll kill him,” Éomer said with vehemence.

“Just be careful, he’s dangerous,” Boromir warned him.

It made Éomer’s heart glad to see his sister in such high spirits. Ever since the death of his wife in childbirth and his sister to orcs, Théoden King had been over-protective of his young niece. Éomer worried that her free spirit would fade in the close confines of Edoras. With the arrival of Boromir, the king had begun relenting and allowed her more freedom then she had had in years.

In the week since they had arrived at Edoras, the marriage talks had been steadily progressing. All of the high counsel of the Riddermark had agreed to Boromir’s proposal, especially since it was a traditional Rohirrim marriage. They could see their princess happy in such a union and it would bring them closer to their ally. It was all but signed and sealed.

As they left the great hall, Boromir signaled Éomer to guard the hallway. Walking around the corner with Éowyn, he wrapped his arms around her and pushed her against the wall. “It is not too late, my princess,” he whispered in her ear. “Say the word now and I will go away. You have the power.” He kissed her, running his tongue up her neck and back to her ear. “Do you want me?” he asked.

She moaned in pleasure, unable to articulate what she wanted. Her body arched beneath his hands and melded itself to him.

“Imagine it, my princess,” he growled as his hands brought her hips tight against his erection. “Lying between my brother and me, our bodies so close together.” He knew what he was doing, could feel her body responding to his movements. “We would make you scream in pleasure.” He pushed her skirts above her hips and began slowly dry humping her against the wall. “I want you, Éowyn, open yourself to me.”

She would have cried out but for the pressure of his lips on hers keeping the sounds contained. It was a delirious pleasure that she had never felt before. She saw red and felt an endless rushing in her veins. “Yes, my lord,” she was finally able to gasp when he released her mouth. “Make me yours, take me home.”

Around the far corner from Éomer, Gríma listened with growing horror. He had adjusted to the idea that Éomer spent every night in the arms of the scion of Gondor, no virgin this for him to take in the future. But Éowyn was sacrosanct, a true princess to be had only after full conquest. And here was his nemesis, rutting with her against the wall like a common whore. It was too much. Only hours separated him from losing her to the dictates of the counsel. He would have to seek his master’s help immediately. After all, it was part of his prize for the betrayal of Rohan. Once she left for Gondor, she would be beyond his reach.

“My uncle will have my head if he finds out I’ve been helping you seduce my sister,” Éomer whispered into Boromir’s ear.

“He knows I’ve been seducing you,” Boromir whispered back, nibbling at Éomer’s ear.

“I thought I was seducing you,” the younger man laughed. He traced a finger over the tree Faramir had carved in Boromir’s chest. “Éowyn has been asking about your scars.”

“What did you tell her?” Boromir wanted to know.

“I told her to ask you,” he kissed Boromir’s chest. “She won’t ask, not unless you tease her into it. I never knew she could be so shy.”

“I think she is much like you would be if you had been caged up for so many years. I offer her the chance to reach outside her cage,” he paused running a hand through Éomer’s hair. “I will take her back with me if I can. She and Faramir will love each other and she will drive father crazy.”

“She will definitely make your father crazy, and I couldn’t imagine anyone not loving Faramir or Éowyn,” Éomer kissed Boromir again. “For that matter, she will have you as well, and we all love you.”

“And I love all of you,” Boromir said, he rolled so that Éomer was beneath him and captured his lips in a deep kiss. They embraced each other enthusiastically, the contact what they both wanted. “Let me ride you, my prince.” Boromir growled as he rose up to kneel above Éomer’s hips. With excruciating slowness, he lowered himself back down on Éomer’s engorged cock. He rode him hard and fast until they both cried out in release.

The sound of raised voices in the hallway woke them both before they heard the pounding at Éomer’s door. “Come quickly, Prince Éomer, the king needs you,” came the excited call.

Rising swiftly, they both threw on the clothes they had been wearing earlier and rushed to the great hall. All was in chaos, servants and guards hurrying in every direction. Both men went immediately to the king to hear the news. A wounded man was just finishing his tale as they arrived.

“The Eastfold has been attacked by orcs,” the king told them. “They’ve burned several villages. We need to send help as soon as it is light enough.”

“Do you have any idea of their numbers, uncle?” Éomer asked, just as a sleepy eyed Théodred came skidding to a halt at his cousin’s side.

“We know it is a large force maybe in the hundreds, but nowhere near the exact numbers. I will have to count on you to get the details when you get there,” Théoden said. Fortunately your entire Eored is here and ready to go. You can also take half of mine if you wish.”

“I can bring my men along as well,” Boromir said. “I have thirty mounted men, ready to travel at a moment’s notice. The Eastfold is on the road to Gondor and if the orcs came from there, I may be needed home quicker than I thought.”

“Yes, of course,” the king agreed.

“Can I go too, father?” Théodred asked, his child’s voice high with excitement. “You said I could go with Éomer.”

“That was for a patrol, not a full scale battle,” his father admonished. “I will not risk you yet, my son.”

“How about me, uncle?” Éowyn asked, her voice calm, but her face flushed.

“No, I’ll not risk you either,” he said firmly. “We are not so low on warriors that we need to send out our women and children into battle.”

“I have been trained as a shield maiden my whole life, uncle,” she told him, unshed tears in her eyes. “You do me no honor by holding me from my destiny.” With a stiff back, she turned away and went to organize the provisions the warriors would need.

“The young are always in haste to face danger,” Théoden sighed regretfully. “It is our duty as their elders to help guide them from folly.” He noticed the firm set of Éomer’s jaw and the touch of doubt in Boromir’s eyes. “Maybe you two would let her go, but she is far too precious to me. She looks so much like her mother, my sister, who won that argument with me and died. I just can’t do it again.”

“You are right, my king,” Wormtongue added. “Our dear princess is not something that should be risked so easily. She is not something that we should send into battle as orc bait, like some have been known to send their own younger brothers.”

“What would you know of battle, snake?” Éomer asked, close to losing his temper.

Boromir put a calming hand on his shoulder. “Enough, Éomer,” he told the prince. Turning to Gríma, he smiled his predator smile. “Are you calling into doubt my honor or my brother’s honor?” he asked.

“No, my lord,” Gríma said hastily backing away. “It is just that you are used to dealing with warriors, not maidens.”

Seeing the look on Théoden’s face, Boromir knew the damage had already been done. Getting the king’s permission to go prepare his men, he turned and left. He hadn’t even considered that such a thing from his past would come to haunt him now.

There were still several hours before dawn. After alerting Draymor to get everyone ready, Boromir was in the room that had been assigned to him instructing his servants on what was to be returned to Minas Tirith and what was to stay. He had a few items set aside so that he could give them out before he left.

Éomer came to watch him, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed against his chest. “When we come back after we take care of the orcs you can talk to him again,” he said. “I’m sure the council will still be supportive.”

“I won’t be coming back that quickly,” Boromir told him.

There was a gasp from Éowyn, who had just entered the room. “You’re not giving up?” she asked, shocked by the idea.

“Never,” Boromir said vehemently. “I will send Faramir, he will be able to outsmart the worm.”

“Gríma will have done everything he can to turn our uncle against you,” Éowyn said passionately.

Boromir looked to his servants and gave a signal, causing them all to leave the room quickly. “I have you and Éomer to work in our favor, as well as the servants I am leaving behind to aid you in any way you need. If I argue more with Théoden King now, he will turn totally against me. He is thinking of his losses in the past, and the ‘worm’ is playing on that,” he told them. “Faramir will be able to convince him.”

“And what will you do if he can’t?” Éowyn asked, still not happy with being left behind.

“My brother is a traditionalist,” Boromir said, moving across the room to stand close to her, bringing with him a beautiful but deadly knife. “There is more than one way of acquiring a wife in our countries. When Faramir comes to Rohan, you will be leaving here with him.” He handed her the knife. “Take this as my pledge that we will not abandon you here. We will come for you.”

“If I still want you to,” she said, unwilling to give in too easily.

“I don’t think that will be a problem,” Boromir told her as he took her in his arms. He gave her a long deep kiss before stepping back and releasing her. “You need to go now before your uncle sends for you.”

She gave him and her brother a last wistful look before hurriedly leaving the room with the knife.

“So Faramir is going to abduct my sister?” Éomer asked a smirk on his face.

“Only if necessary,” Boromir answered. “I have a feeling that I should take her now.”

“So do I,” Éomer said stepping into Boromir’s arms. “She has been so happy these last few days, it is most cruel to leave her now.”

“I think that if I did, your uncle would break off all relations with Gondor, if he didn’t declare war,” Boromir told him. “There is too much at stake now, especially with orcs attacking along the border between our countries.” He buried his face in Éomer’s neck. “All I needed was one more day, I have a bad feeling that there might be a connection.”

“So do I,” Éomer confirmed. “But my uncle can’t be convinced of the worm’s duplicity. I wish I knew what hold he has over him.”

Théodred held tightly to Éowyn’s hand as they watched the mounted forces ride off in the predawn light. She would have preferred to hide in her room at this latest heartbreak but her cousin needed her. Also her uncle would, no doubt, send for her to make sure she hadn’t defied him and gone anyway. She would have, except that she knew the king would hold Éomer and Boromir responsible instead of her, and that would just make matters even worse. Reaching for the knife Boromir had given her, she wrapped her fingers around the hilt as a comfort. He had vowed to return for her. She wished she didn’t have to wait.

“Here is some nice hot tea to help you through the long day ahead, your majesty,” Gríma said his eyes glinting in triumph, as the king sat on his throne in the great hall.

“Thank you, Gríma,” Théoden said, taking the steaming mug. It smelled of herbs and the taste was refreshing, so he drank it all. He felt his age creeping up on him and it was good to have a warm drink to hold the chill of the early morning away. At least his son and niece were here safe with him; he had already lost so much. His thoughts became just a bit muddled as he thought of the battle his nephew was riding to.

“It would be a shame to lose the Princess Éowyn to some careless whim for battle, your majesty,” Gríma whispered into his ear as soon as he saw the glazed look come over the king’s eyes. “It might be a good idea to have the council shelve the marriage proposal for a while. Such a reckless man might not be able to protect her, as he should. Besides, it is much too dangerous for her to travel to Minas Tirith now, what with orcs attacking.” He continued on for a while, feeding on the fears of the king, watching him nod in acceptance as if the thoughts were his own.

Gríma smiled in glee at the way things had changed so suddenly. His master’s quick response had made all of the difference. With luck, they would be able to keep the princess here in Edoras until the final move to capture Rohan. He certainly intended to do whatever it took. And maybe, if the young warrior didn’t die fighting the orcs, he would be able to still have Éomer as well.

Boromir and Éomer stood in each other’s arms in a secluded glade. It had taken three days to finally run the orcs to ground. The combined force of Rohirrim and Gondorian cavalry easily crushed the orcs, but had a much harder time tracing where they had come from. After several more days of diligent searching, the best they could do was to discover that the orcs had come from somewhere along the river Entwash. It was frustrating, and all of the warriors were displeased at their failure to track them back to their source.

Since there was no sign that the orcs had come from Gondor, Boromir was considering returning to Edoras to complete his business, until the messenger arrived to summon him home to Minas Tirith. They both felt somewhat bitter and defeated. Their chief goals were yet unmet.

“I miss you both so much when we are apart,” Éomer said, brushing soft kisses to Boromir’s face. “When you sleep with me I can hear Faramir in your dreams, I wish that I could share them with you all the time.”

“I will think of you as we dream. Maybe if we try, it will happen,” Boromir told him. “Faramir is the one with the ability to guide our dreams, I just follow along. I will miss you, my wild prince.”

They both wore their armor, so there was no chance to do more than kiss each other, time being so short. Even though Éomer’s leather armor was easily undone in the right places, Boromir’s full plate could do severe damage to tender body parts. With a final kiss, they returned to where their men waited.

“I will send Faramir as soon as I can,” Boromir said after he mounted his horse. “Unless there is a new offensive from Mordor, it should be before the end of the summer.”

“I look forward to seeing him again,” Éomer told him as he brought his horse next Boromir’s and grasped his arm tightly. “Be careful, my fair one, I want you to return to me.”

“You too, my wild prince,” Boromir said returning the grip. “Your enemy is cunning and dangerous, watch your back.”

Slowly Éomer backed his horse away and, with a final salute, turned and rode westward, back toward Edoras. Boromir watched for a few moments, before heading once more into the east where trouble surely waited.

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