Faramir Fiction Archive

Warriors of Gondor (NC-17)

Written by Hel

14 May 2012 | 182144 words | Work in Progress

Part 27: THE COUNCIL OF ELROND

Boromir followed his guide beneath a beautiful arch into a well-lit courtyard. There were elves waiting to take their horses and more to welcome them to Imladris even though the hour was late. A group of elves had just arrived from the west as well and, as he looked at them, a blond elf was dismounting his horse. He was the most beautiful creature Boromir had ever seen. The elf turned as if feeling Boromir’s eyes on him and froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. After a few moments, the elf smiled at him and winked, causing Boromir to laugh.

The blond elf moved as if to approach him, but was stopped by another of his blond companions who was obviously distraught. With a sigh and a shrug in Boromir’s direction, he returned to his party to attend to the other elves.

“I am Erestor, Chief Councilor of Elrond,” a black-haired elf introduced himself. “I’m sorry about the delay in welcoming you but, as you can see, the prince from Mirkwood has just arrived as well.” This elf didn’t sound as if he really approved of the prince. Just then another blond elf joined the other party amid loud cheers and much hugging. “Of course, Glorfindel is there to aid and abet, I mean keep him company.”

Boromir laughed again when he saw the mischievous gleam in Erestor’s eye.

“You laugh now, young man,” he told Boromir leading him toward a doorway. “But those older elves are nothing but trouble. “King Thranduil’s youngest has been banned from several places and Glorfindel was even evicted from the Halls of Mandos. A terrible twosome if ever there was one.”

“Gossiping again, dear Erestor?” said a melodious voice as a proprietary arm went across the elf’s shoulders. The tall blond elf Boromir assumed was Glorfindel smirked at him from the far side of the councilor, only to cry out in pain a moment later as the object of his amusement gave him a hard elbow in the side. “We just want to meet your human friend here,” he said with a pout, rubbing his side.

“You know very well that this is Boromir, heir to the Steward of Gondor,” Erestor snapped, all sign of playfulness gone. “You also know that he hasn’t slept in two days because you were there when the messenger arrived. So none of your nonsense will be allowed tonight. The man needs some sleep before tomorrow’s council, not a sample of your immature pranks. This, my Lord Boromir, is Glorfindel of Gondolin, Seneschal to Lord Elrond, and Prince Legolas of Mirkwood.” He paused in his leading to introduce the two.

If Boromir had been any less tired, he would have challenged the protection of Erestor. As it was, he hoped he wouldn’t embarrass himself with some faux pas because of it. “I would be happy to meet with you both after the council tomorrow,” he told the two blond elves who were watching him with strangely curious eyes.

“That would be splendid,” said Legolas, whose voice was even fairer than Glorfindel’s, with a slight accent.

“Yes, I’m sure it will,” Erestor cut in. “Now off with you two or I will have a talk with Lord Elrond.” At the threat, the two blonds returned to the courtyard. “Watch yourself with those two, they are full of trouble. I don’t know what Thranduil was thinking, allowing Legolas to attend such a gathering. A recipe for trouble if ever there was one. Of course, everyone knows that Thranduil doesn’t think of much beyond his bed, other than fighting that is. Who else would ever have thought of staging an orgy in the forests of Mirkwood just to lure giant spiders into a trap? Well I guess the sex thing was part of it too. Unbelievable sluts, those Mirkwood elves. Of course, Glorfindel is just as bad. He’d fit right in there if Thranduil didn’t have that silly prejudice against the Noldor. It’s not as if he even took part in all that kinslaying, even if he is a slut.” Erestor showed him into a well-decorated room. “This is the best I could do with such short notice and all the other guests who have dropped in recently. Lord Elrond sends his greetings and thanks that you have agreed to attend tomorrows meeting. There is so much going on, he felt it best that we all should get together as soon as possible.”

“This room will do just fine,” Boromir assured the elf, trying to hide his smile as he entered the room he’d been assigned. “I am also anxious to consult with Lord Elrond and his council. It is no problem for me as I am used to long travel and little sleep.”

With a courteous bow, Erestor left him to settle in for a bit of rest before the council that was due to start in just a few hours. It was a pleasant room, though small. After washing his neck and face, he realized he was still too wound up to sleep, so he decided to look around a little. Maybe he could find the two elves from the courtyard for a little relaxing diversion.

He passed down ethereal hallways and across fragile looking bridges. There was a vague similarity in design here to the caverns of Mirkwood, but everything was open to the air rather than surrounded by the earth. Finally, he came to a large chamber with an equally large picture of Isildur cutting the ring from the hand of Sauron. Standing before the picture, he admired the workmanship as well as the subject matter. That this was a piece of legend that had probably been painted by one who had been there sent shivers down his spine.

Suddenly he felt a chill on the back of his neck and turned to see a man, not an elf, watching him. There was a strange familiarity to this man’s face and a strange pull that made his heart race. Even though his greeting was rebuffed, the stranger not even giving his name, Boromir tried not to take offense. He was here as a supplicant, after all.

The shattered sword caught his attention and he couldn’t help but to draw near it. Taking the hilt in his hands, he could feel the connection to the history of his people and the power that had once stopped Sauron. As his finger touched the blade, a jolt of energy seemed to pass through it and, for the first time in his memory, he cut his finger on the blade of a weapon. At that point the urge to leave, which he had felt almost since he had spotted the other man, became overpowering. He was almost overcome by a wave of dizziness and hastily returning the broken piece of sword to its resting place, he turned to leave. The sound of Narsil hitting the floor made him pause and caused a pang of pain to his heart that he could be so disrespectful to an heirloom of his people, but the compulsion to leave wouldn’t let him hesitate for long.

When he reached his chamber, his mind was in a muddle from the encounter and he hoped that it would not cause him difficulties at tomorrow’s council. Shaking his head in dismissal of what he had no control over, he stretched out on the bed for a couple of hours sleep. Pushing the strange ache of disappointment from his mind, he closed his eyes. He would wait until the meeting to worry.

Aragorn had been startled by Boromir’s sudden appearance. He had known that the Steward’s heir would be at tomorrow’s council, but had expected him to seek his bed rather than roam the halls. This long awaited meeting had caught him by surprise and he secretly wished that it hadn’t happened and that Boromir would leave soon. Then, as if the Steward’s heir had heard his thoughts, he carelessly set the sword hilt on the edge of its resting place and all but fled the room. The open, friendly greeting followed by the swift and almost embarrassed retreat puzzled him as he reached to pick up the hilt of Narsil from where it had landed on the floor.

“Is he the man you told me of?” Arwen asked as she approached him from the shadows of the room, ever close to him when possible.

“Yes, that is him,” he answered rising to his feet to replace the sword in its resting place.

“He is quite beautiful,” she commented. “It is a shame that you sent him off so quickly, we might have been able to offer him comfort from his long journey.”

“I didn’t send him away,” denied Aragorn with a puzzled expression. “He left on his own and seemingly in a rush for all that he was so congenial at first.”

“It was your reticence and desire for him to leave that sent him away, my Lord,” she told him with a frown. “Don’t you feel the connection? He has sworn himself to your service through blood and strong magic and has been bred to be your right hand. If you don’t wish him to be in a room, he can’t stay in it. I thought you realized this?”

Aragorn’s eyes widened with sudden understanding. “I should have, my Lady,” he said with mortification. “We have discussed this enough, my surprise at his sudden appearance is no excuse.”

“Do not be too hard on yourself, my love,” she said with a smile as she leaned her head against his shoulder. “I didn’t foresee his nocturnal wanderings and I should have. It is only logical that his oaths would drive him to seek you out, whether he was aware of it or not. Tomorrow after the council, you can speak to him and ease any ill feelings that may arise because of this.”

“I hope so,” Aragorn agreed. “This is not how I planned to start out with him. Hopefully, it won’t make him as resentful of me as Denethor was.”

As Seneschal for Lord Elrond, it was Glorfindel’s place to introduce all those in attendance at the council. They sat at a large table on a sun-filled porch. First, he introduced Gloin and his son Gimli, both dwarves of Erebor. Next, he went clockwise around the table and named Legolas and his attendants, the two hobbits Bilbo and Frodo. With a laugh, he stated that everyone knew Gandolf or Mithrandir or whatever he was going by this week. This brought a slight release of tension in the group, for all but the wizard, of course.

All of the attendees nodded their heads in acknowledgement of their introduction until he came to the man who Boromir had almost met a few hours earlier. “This man most of us here know as Estel, foster son to Lord Elrond.” At the name, Boromir’s heart skipped a beat. “And many also know him as Strider, leader of the Dunadain. He also has a large collection of names he has used through the years but, as the time has come for all to be revealed, I must tell you that his given name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn.” There was a gasp of surprise from those assembled who were not previously privy to the information and also knew the meaning of the name.

Boromir paled at the knowledge that his future king had rejected him at their previous meeting. Through his own introduction he managed to nod graciously, though the smile that was usually ever quick to appear was gone. The loud ringing in his ears from the embarrassment he felt drowned out most of the rest of Glorfindel’s introductions. He was devastated that without so much as a word, he would be found lacking by the one he had sworn his whole life’s purpose to. Long experience with the court of Gondor allowed him to hide his true feelings, but his peripheral vision showed him that Aragorn was becoming unsettled and casting glances in his direction.

Calming himself forcefully, Boromir relaxed back into his chair. This was not the time for him to be worried about his personal problems, time would solve them. He needed to concentrate on the meeting at hand.

The dwarves were called on to tell their tale first. Gloin spoke of how Balin had followed the call to Moria and, after a few years, they’d lost contact with him. Even more disturbing was the messenger sent from Moria to Dain and King Brand, demanding the hobbit thief who had aided the dwarves in retaking the Lonely Mountain. Both communities were vulnerable to attack, especially with the Mirkwood elves so busy with Dol Guldur.

Next, Aragorn spoke of the increased orc and goblin activity everywhere in Middle Earth. He told of his long search for the creature Gollum, and how he had finally caught him in the dead marshes near Dagorlad the previous fall. Boromir looked upon the king/ranger and realized that it was he who had been in Forlong’s camp when he and Faramir had stopped on their way to Rohan. Aragorn continued until he told of leaving the sad creature with the elves of Mirkwood.

There, Legolas took up his portion of the tale. Gollum had been quite docile in captivity, only begging for a bit of freedom in the night. It seemed the creature couldn’t stand the light of day and barely tolerated the moon. Prince Legolas had taken it upon himself to escort Gollum a short distance away from where he was imprisoned and let him move about a bit each night, weather permitting. “We let him climb upon a tall tree in the center of a clearing, it seemed to cheer the wretched creature so. One night, when the moon was dark and clouds covered the stars, a large band of orcs fell upon us as we guarded our charge and he escaped as we fought them.”

“Once we had driven them back,” continued Legolas, “we discovered that Gollum had fled and we lost his trail amongst those of many orcs. It did lead us to discover a sneak attack from Dol Guldur and we have been fighting them ever since. In the last few weeks, the strength of their attacks has increased, but my father released me to come share our dire news with you anyway.”

“Let me tell all present of the history of what seems to be transpiring in our world,” Elrond said, his voice sad but strong. He told of the rings of power and Boromir saw that not a few present weren’t familiar with the tale. The whole tale unfolded through the second age of the world until the final battle at Gladden Fields, where Isildur cut the ring from Sauron’s hand. It passed out of the knowledge of the world at Isildur’s death and had been all but forgotten for many long centuries.

Here the old hobbit, Bilbo, told his part in the tale of finding the ring while fleeing goblins in the depths of the mountains. It had been his constant companion as he lived peaceably once he returned home to the Shire. At Bilbo’s eleventy-first birthday, which was also his nephew Frodo’s thirty-third birthday (as well as his coming of age), he left the ring and all his earthly belongings to his nephew and left to travel the world before coming to settle here in Rivendell.

Now came Gandalf’s part of the tale. He told of the portents that led him to suspect that Frodo’s ring was dangerous and of his visit the previous year to Minas Tirith to find a way of testing the ring, letting them all know that it was indeed the ‘One Ring’. Many were alarmed and surprised when he told of his imprisonment by Saruman when he went to Isengard to seek his aid. Boromir alone seemed to expect his tale of the perfidy of the white wizard and also the failing health of King Théoden. Frodo, who looked very pale and weak, finally brought forth the ring at Gandalf’s bidding and all fell silent as he set it before Elrond.

Finally Boromir spoke up, telling those assembled of the dream his brother had on the eve of a great outpouring from Minas Morgul. His tale was carefully edited of the incidents of sabotage, but he was quite honest about the current state of Gondor and the hideous loss of life while they kept the dark forces from crossing the last bridge of Osgiliath. Long used to discussing the ever- increasing death toll of his people, his voice was dispassionate as he told of the imminent fall of Minas Tirith. As he spoke, his eyes remained locked on the gold ring that lay before Elrond and it was almost as if the dark lord himself stood there.

The fatigue from so many months on the trail and the last two days with almost no sleep weighed heavily upon him. The despair from the desperate plight of his people and the rejection of his king made his head pound in agony. His heart ached with loneliness and the long separation from his beloved Faramir. There before him was the symbol of all that was wrong and evil in the world, disguising itself as an innocent piece of jewelry. Then came the voice, sweet and seductive, whispering promises.

Suddenly he recognized the voice. It had plagued his brother’s nightmares and stolen their sleep when Denethor had first disturbed the palantir at Minas Tirith.

Boromir rose suddenly, knocking his chair over behind him. “I’m sorry,” he said to the council, “but I cannot abide one more minute in the presence of that abomination.” Turning swiftly, he left the gathering and returned to his room.

Faramir woke before dawn and could not return to sleep. He was too agitated to attend the day’s meetings and sent for Borril to take his place for the day, knowing that his nephew was well able to cover for him. By lunchtime, the stress was so bad he threw up everything that Stefle had forced down him earlier. It was obvious to him that Boromir was in some sort of difficulty, though he didn’t sense anything life-threatening.

Finally, he allowed his servants to lead him to his bed where they washed his brow with scented cloths and did all they could to calm him. He tried his best to send soothing thoughts to his poor brother, wishing that he could be there to help him.

The council was shocked at Boromir’s sudden departure. Aragorn felt even guiltier for alienating the younger man. “He has had a long journey after many long months of fighting,” he told the others, “once he has had some rest, he will be all right.”

“I’m surprised he made it to the meeting at all,” added Erestor in Boromir’s defense. “He has had less then three hours sleep in the last two days and arrived only this morning.”

“That is surprising from what I’ve seen of men,” Gloin said. “Many of those we have to deal with are lazy and greedy.”

“I think you will find Boromir of Gondor to be quite different from any other man you’ve encountered before,” Legolas told them, the gleam of lust in his eyes only discernable to those who knew him well. He looked across the table at Erestor who carefully mouthed the word, ‘slut’ with a straight face. Giving the chief counselor his most innocent smile, he was well aware of Elrond’s slight frown at their exchange and Glorfindel’s smirk of complicity.

“He is the most capable general and brave man I’ve ever met,” Aragorn added, making sure that all present knew his opinion. He only wished he had told Boromir before the meeting started, now he had to seek him out at his earliest opportunity and make reparations.

He was tired. There had been only enough time for a short rest before the council of Elrond, he’d not even had time to change his travel stained clothes. Once he’d reached his room he had fallen asleep for a few hours despite his upset. Upon waking he found a tub of hot water awaiting him, with several full buckets at the fireside ready to add.

The bath felt wonderful, he just hoped he didn’t fall asleep and drown himself. Of course, if his brother or father ever learned of just how much a fool he’d made of himself, drowning just might be a good idea. Maybe he could die heroically on his return and his family need never know what an absolute idiot he’d been. With a wry smile, he sank beneath the hot water to thoroughly wet his hair. He really hated having dirty hair.

Legolas knocked on the door to Boromir’s room. He had promised Aragorn that he would make sure the man understood that Aragorn was proud of him and would explain his actions of the previous evening as soon as he could escape his pressing duties. Legolas had been scandalized by Aragorn’s behavior and not at all shy about telling him. Not hearing an answer, he opened the door anyway. The man was completely beneath the water, causing the elf to pause, not quite sure if he was drowning. Then the man rose from the water and Legolas was captivated by beautiful green eyes.

Surprised by his visitor, Boromir said the first thing that came to his mind. “Did you come here to drown me or to keep me from drowning?” he asked with a lopsided grin.

“I wanted to talk,” the mesmerized elf said haltingly. It had been several millennia since he’d been caught so flat-footed by a pretty face.

“Yes?” Boromir queried, with a raised eyebrow.

“Let me help you while we talk,” Legolas said, rolling up his sleeves and moving to take up the shampoo. Despite his intentions to speak with the Gondorian, the feel of soft hair beneath his hands held him mute. His mind wandered completely off track to thoughts of what was hidden under the water, teased by the sight of the delicious scars that marked his shoulders. He had heard rumors.

Quite sure that he recognized the look in the elf’s eyes, Boromir spoke to his royal attendant. “I think you should know that I have been on the road without another’s touch for almost two weeks now,” he said. “It would be terribly cruel to tease me, and I’m not sure what my reaction would be.”

With a lustful grin, Legolas kissed the man’s shoulder running a hand down his beautifully scarred and muscled body until he reached the fully erect cock. He broke off the kiss with a look of surprise; the man was huge. Boromir grinned at him as the elf wrapped his hand around the waiting erection and began expertly working it. It had been too long since Boromir’s cock had felt the touch of a hand other than his own. He leaned his head back on the edge of the tub and arched his back, exposing his throat to Legolas’s greedy mouth. It only took a few minutes for him to reach orgasm, his whole body convulsing into it.

Legolas returned to washing the man’s hair, wanting him to have plenty of time to recover. The elf rinsed the soap away, Boromir completely relaxed in his hands.

“Would like to join me?” Boromir asked him.

“Are you ready for more?” Legolas asked surprised again.

Without a word Boromir took the elf’s hand and held it to his hard cock. Legolas’s eyes widened at the man’s quick recovery. His clothes seemed to just disappear, and then Boromir had a lap full of horny elf. Surprised by the enthusiastic response, the man laughed and kissed him.

“We can talk later,” Legolas said as he grabbed Boromir’s cock and began guiding it into his ass.

“You don’t waste any time, do you?” Boromir moaned.

“We don’t have much time,” Legolas panted, once he had taken all of him. “The banquet will start soon and we both have to be there.”

The elf began moving energetically and Boromir felt another orgasm quickly approaching. He grasped Legolas’s not inconsiderable cock and used his own expertise to bring the elf with him. Legolas slumped against him and licked his neck.

“I wanted to make sure you were all right after you left the council,” Legolas said sheepishly.

“I didn’t make a very good impression, I’m sure,” Boromir admitted. “My father would skin me alive if he found out.”

“I know how that is, my father has assigned me a watch dog for when I’m here in Imladris,” Legolas laughed.

Just then there was a knock at the door. “It is time to get dressed your highness,” came a voice through the door.

“Did you bring my things, Saelbeth?” the elf responded.

“Of course, your highness,” came the reply.

Legolas looked to Boromir for permission, who shrugged in acceptance. “Come in Saelbeth,” The elf prince called, rising from the tub.

“You got your hair wet,” the newcomer said with distinct dismay. He dumped the robes he was carrying on Boromir’s bed and went to the dressing table fussing over the toiletries. Picking up a brush and comb, he gestured to Legolas impatiently. “Come, let me fix your hair,” he said through clenched teeth.

Boromir almost laughed at the poor elf, realizing that Legolas was unrepentantly spoiled. “Come Boromir,” the prince called. “I can dry your hair while Saelbeth braids mine.”

This brought an exasperated sigh from the other elf. “You’re going to be late again and you know who will get the blame,” he hissed. Then his breath caught in his throat as he saw the naked man drying himself. He was staring open mouthed, not sure if he was attracted or repelled. The muscles, the scars, the tattoos, that huge cock, all presented a picture that made his own cock harden and sent tingles down his spine. A hard pinch from Legolas brought him back to the task at hand and he gave a sharp, retaliatory tug to the braid he was working on.

Boromir sat at Legolas’ feet and allowed him to towel dry and then comb his hair. He found himself craving physical contact after spending so much time alone. The prince kissed his head when he was done and indicated the clothes that had been left for him to wear while his own clothes were cleaned and repaired. As he dressed, he noticed the blush and quick glances from Saelbeth and recognized the name as the one Éomer had told him.

Legolas grinned at Boromir impishly. “I was wondering if you would be interested in sharing my quarters while we’re both here in Imladris?”

Saelbeth threw down the comb and dropped the braid he was working on. “You are trying to either drive me crazy or kill me. Your father will have my head if he finds out.”

Turning quickly, Legolas took the distraught elf in his arms. “Ada knows that you can’t control me, my sweet one,” he said, nuzzling his ear. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Let’s finish your hair and get you dressed,” Saelbeth sighed in resignation. “It is just the punishment I deserve for running off on an adventure without his permission.”

“Are you interested in my offer?” Legolas asked the man.

“Since I hate sleeping alone and I’m sure you will make it worth my while as well, I say let’s give it a try,” Boromir answered, while putting on the soft shoes that fit his feet perfectly.

“Good,” the prince said, taking over the braiding of his own hair and sending Saelbeth to hold up the various robes he had brought so that he could choose. He picked out a floor length green robe with matching shoes, waving away the pants. “They’ll just get in my way later,” he said.

“Later?” Boromir asked.

“It’s a surprise,” Legolas answered.

The emotions he was sensing from his brother were stronger than ever before on the journey. Faramir felt sure that Boromir had reached his goal but that there was some problem there to greet him. He sent as many soothing and loving thoughts as he could, hoping it would help. By dinnertime, Boromir was greatly relieved and Faramir was almost feeling good enough to join his father. However, he decided his most important duty was to make sure he was there if his brother needed any more comforting.

Hopefully, Boromir would be able to get some real sleep soon and his worries would be resolved.

The all too familiar guilt ate at Aragorn as he hurriedly dressed for the banquet. He knew that it was quite likely that Legolas had completely forgotten to give his message to Boromir. He could only blame himself, for this and for all the other mistakes he had made in dealing with the line of the Stewards. With a heavy sigh, he left to the great hall, hoping to have a chance for a word with Boromir before the festivities started.

There was too much conflict in the past for him to ever be able to work with Denethor and he had counted on having Boromir as his chief advisor. It was what he still desired, but he couldn’t be sure that he hadn’t already destroyed that choice.

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