Faramir Fiction Archive

Warriors of Gondor (NC-17)

Written by Hel

14 May 2012 | 182144 words | Work in Progress

Part 5: SKIRMISHES

The long line of troops marched in loose formation, as men will when weariness sets in from a long march and discipline is lax. Boromir didn’t know from how far they had come, but he was more than happy to end their journey here.

With a soft whistle sounding much like the lark’s call, he signaled the first stage of the attack. Arrows fell like rain upon the unsuspecting enemy, and their forces broke into wild panic.

Then, sounding the ‘Horn of Gondor,’ he led the charge over the small rise that had concealed them. The hidden archers slowed their firing to avoid hitting their own men, and those that wore armor and were trained to the sword began either making their way down to join the fray or preparing to defend the light fighters from the fleeing Haradrim. He saw Faramir as soon as he left the shelter of the trees. It had become his brother’s habit in these ambushes to start on the far side of the battlefield so that they could fight their way to each other. Sometimes it worried Boromir, but Faramir was hard to dissuade.

They rolled the Haradrim forces back easily. The heavy cavalry was unmatched by the foot soldiers, crushing them beneath their charge. Boromir’s sword cut through the enemy with the fire of his rage and lust for battle. There were few things he enjoyed more than spreading death amongst his enemies. Faramir moved through his opponents with machinelike precision, his emotions uninvolved in the rhythm of his dance of death. They were fire and ice, rage and dispassion and they caused fear in their enemies and joy in their allies.

It was hot bloody work, for there would be no taking of prisoners. An hour had passed before they had reached each other in the battlefield, mostly because they slowed themselves enough for their accompanying forces to stay with them. When the last of the enemy in their range was killed, Boromir bent down so that Faramir could grab his arm and mount behind his saddle. Riding to the previously chosen vantage point, they looked down at the slaughter below them. Faramir switched to his own horse, which was being held by the waiting couriers and fighters.

“There are too many of our men fallen,” Boromir said, his face grim as he calculated the losses. “We will have to find a better way.”

“If we send all but the fastest foot soldiers and archers back across the river, we can switch to a shoot and run strategy,” Faramir said, his face equally grim. “More of them will get away, but I think we can cut our own losses enough to make up for it.”

“Maybe,” Boromir answered. “But, let’s wait a while before we make a final decision. I want a full body count.”

They decided, with input from their father, to keep a sizable force of heavy cavalry east of the Anduin. The men they left in charge were canny captains, all born in North Ithilien, and familiar with the brothers’ chosen strategy and tactics as well as the territory. Most engagements were to be fought by the Ithilien Rangers, who could appear out of nowhere and melt back just as quickly. Satisfied with the arrangements, they returned to Minus Tirith where their father had summoned them.

Denethor had added another chair to his study so that both brothers could sit as they gave their reports. It was just part of the changes he had made to the room in an effort to rid himself of the visions he had had of Faramir. So far it seemed to be working, and he was able to conduct business with them with little discomfort. But it had been more than three years, which is how long this conversation seemed to be taking.

Boromir leaned his head back against the tall chair and closed his eyes for a few moments, his hand resting on his brother’s. It was late and they had been in the saddle all day. “There are really no changes to report, father,” he said without opening his eyes. “They take terrible loses, but we are being bled dry. At this rate, we will all be dead in just a few years.”

Faramir looked at him with worry; they’d had very little rest in the last few weeks. “Let’s see how our new strategy works, brother,” he said gently. “You might be surprised.”

Denethor watched his sons’ exchange with sympathy; they’d not taken any time for themselves in over a year. “All we can do at the moment is wait and see. However, I have an errand for you both,” he told them. “There are messages I need delivered to your kinsman, Prince Imrahil in Dol Amroth. Once he has read them, you should take counsel together and make decisions about the defense of the coast. I hate to part with both of you, but this is too important for me to be selfish.”

Boromir watched him from beneath half closed eyes as Faramir sat forward. “That is a long ride, father,” the younger brother spoke.

“I have made arrangements for you to make most of the journey by boat. It should give you time to rest, almost a vacation.”

Boromir sat up at his words, now fully awake. “When do we leave?” he asked.

“In two days, that should give us plenty of time to discuss everything thoroughly. For tonight we are done and, as you both look exhausted, I suggest you get some sleep.”

The bed was almost too soft as Faramir pulled Boromir against his chest. “I was hoping we could put this bed to good use, but you are tired. Maybe you will have more energy in the morning,” Faramir said, smoothing the hair from his brother’s face.

Boromir smiled at his words before rolling them over so that he was covering his brother. “I had a little nap in father’s study, while he was rehashing everything we’d already discussed,” he said in a growl. “I’ve been dreaming of you naked in my bed for months, I’m not going to wait any longer.” Stroking his brother’s body, Boromir ground their hips together.

Faramir groaned and pulled Boromir’s face closer for his kiss. “I don’t want you to wait, brother,” he gasped. “I want you now.”

Boromir chuckled at his impatience. He was always like this when they were together; wildly wanton, yet he’d seen him be so controlled with others that it was near torture. “What do you want, little brother?” he said as he nibbled at his neck. “Do you long for the feel of my lips and tongue on your hot cock?” He slid one hand between them and grasped their cocks pressing them even tighter together.

“Yes,” Faramir gasped, arching beneath him.

“Or do you want to suck me dry with your talented mouth?” he growled, licking a tender strip of neck. His left hand buried in Faramir’s hair holding his head captive, the elbow holding his weight. His right thumb rubbing across the crown of their cocks as his hand held them tightly together.

“Yes please, brother,” he grabbed at Boromir, out of control.

“Maybe you would rather have me slide my cock into your tight ass?” he bit down on the strip of wet neck and roughly stroked their cocks.

“Stop teasing and take me, please,” he grabbed at Boromir’s hips.

“I think you might want to drive your hot cock into me, little brother,” he whispered, increasing the speed of his stroking hand. “Oh yes,” he growled into his ear, rolling away just enough so that they could look down to where their cocks where side-by-side in his hand. “Your huge cock, look at how closely it matches mine, brother. How good it feels when they are pressed together.”

Faramir groaned as he watched hot cum begin spurting out of their two cocks. His hand joined Boromir’s to finish their orgasm.

“That felt so good, brother,” Boromir said, pushing him to his back again and biting one of his nipples. Licking the cum from his brother’s belly he moved down to his groin. Faramir cried out as his cock was engulfed in his brother’s hot mouth. The strong hand massaging his balls helped bring him back to full hardness.

Faramir buried his hands in Boromir’s hair and began thrusting into his mouth. Experience allowed Boromir to take all of his brother’s huge cock and he loved doing it. Relaxing his throat, he allowed Faramir to fuck his mouth freely while his hand left his balls and began readying his ass. His fingers were soon buried deep in their target, making the younger brother arch his back in ecstasy and climax long and hard down his throat.

Boromir rose to his knees and ran his hands over Faramir’s body as he lay panting below him. “You cum so beautifully, brother,” he told him. “I love watching you, feeling you.” He wrapped a hand around his own erect cock and held it in display. “Are you ready for this, my beloved one?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” Faramir replied, arching his back again. “I’m always ready for you.”

Boromir held his hips tightly as he slowly entered his tight passage. He knew that Faramir would try to hurry him if he could.

When Faramir started to reach for his own cock, now hard again, Boromir denied him. “Pull your knees up brother,” Boromir told him. Clasping his knees to his chest, Faramir cried out at the deeper penetration his brother was able to achieve.

Boromir kept a slow pace but his thrusts were deep and hard, making Faramir cry out at each one. He kept going until sweat dripped off him and his brother was nearly incoherent. Releasing Faramir’s hips, he pushed his arms and legs aside so that he could rub his whole body along his brother’s as he pounded into him. Faramir wrapped his arms around Boromir and pulled him closer, biting his collarbone, but still managing to scream loudly as he came. The familiar pain brought Boromir’s climax.

“I think you woke the whole tower with your yelling,” Boromir laughed in his ear.

“I’ll just tell them that you were torturing me,” Faramir answered, kissing his face and pulling him closer.

Faramir’s scream, mixed with Boromir’s cries, startled Denethor as he made his way to his room. His hand shook as he pushed the door closed behind him. Leaning against it, he listened a little longer before turning towards his bed. The thought that he should have had them move their rooms vying with the image of them as he had seen them together.

He sat on the edge of his bed for a few moments before striding to the door and leaving. There was still plenty of work in his study and he knew he would be unable to sleep. He was not going to give in again to his baser desires.

Boromir started to rise as the counselors filed from the room, but his father signaled him to remain. He sighed, knowing that the upcoming conversation was likely to be unpleasant.

“Imrahil has a daughter,” Denethor began.

“I will not marry one of my cousins,” Boromir cut him off. “Neither will my brother.”

“At least you do realize he is your brother,” was the bitter reply. “Your relationship is far from typical.”

“Do you really want to argue over this, father?” Boromir queried, obviously irritated. “We do our duty, to you and Gondor.”

“Then where are the future heirs to the Stewardship? If you both die in battle, which becomes more likely every year, who will be there to take your place?”

“We have sons to replace us, father,” Boromir told him. “Among the nobility alone, Faramir has three sons and I have one. Their parents knew ahead of time and agreed that should the need arise, they would become our heirs. You signed the acknowledgement papers yourself.”

“It’s not the same,” Denethor said with a frown.

“You want me to give up my principles, father?” he asked. “If there were a woman available of suitable rank and age, one of us would be married to her. Until then, we will continue to produce children through first night liaisons and other requests, as is our duty and pleasure.” He sat forward and put a hand on the table close to his father. “I will not give up the one thing that gives me comfort in these dark times. The suite of rooms on the north side of the tower that our mother used would be very suitable for us, especially since there are no other rooms on that hallway.” Pausing he took his father’s hand. “It would be for the best, father. I know that our unorthodox behavior preys on your sensibilities. You know I don’t want to argue with you.”

Somehow Boromir could always sway him to his desires, he wanted to refuse but he couldn’t. “If that is what you want, then go ahead,” he said in defeat.

“You won’t regret this, father,” he told him. “I’ll make sure you won’t.”

There was a large balcony that looked to the north in the large bedroom. The brothers barely had time to instruct Maran and Stefle on where they wanted everything to go, for the changeover would have to happen after they left to Dol Amroth. But just the same, they slept on a pallet in the new bedroom their last night at home so that their father wouldn’t be disturbed by any noise they made.

The boat that took them downriver from below the fords at Ithilien was barely big enough to have a captain’s cabin. The captain gladly surrendered his room to the Steward’s sons, ignoring their refusals. They would spend the night at Eruin, a village located at the confluence of the River Erui and the Anduin.

Through the day, the two young men divided their time between helping the crew and practicing their swordsmanship. Once a party of Haradrim was spotted not far from the eastern shoreline and Faramir was able to display some of his ability as an archer. Even with the unsteady deck, he didn’t miss.

It was still light when they anchored in the small harbor and they could see another boat bearing the flag of Gondor in the harbor. On the dock were some of the men of Lossarnach, among them Felong. Boromir reached over and ran a finger down his brother’s beard as he saw the man watching them.

“It looks like you get to make good on your challenge, brother,” he said, laughter in his voice.

“Yes, it does,” the younger man agreed, waving at the men on the dock.

There were messages to exchange, but soon the two brothers found themselves in a noisy inn with Felong and a few of his men. They ate a hardy meal and drank their share of ale, trading stories of their exploits of the past few years. Felong would stall at times, looking at Faramir, who looked remarkably like his older brother, only a little lighter in build. They wore their hair and beards the same and wore similar clothing, though their weapons differed slightly.

Faramir was very discrete, only his brother aware of his veiled looks. As the inn began emptying, Boromir drew the attention of the other men at the table so that Faramir could approach Felong privately.

“Are you still interested in finishing our challenge?” he asked the older man, his face giving away nothing of his own thoughts.

“If you are, I have reserved a room at the inn,” Felong answered.

“Time has only made me want this more,” Faramir answered.

Without preliminary, Felong rose and led the way to a private back room. The only furniture was a table and chair and a large sturdy bed. Faramir began stripping, watching the other man who followed his example only a little more slowly.

“Have you done this before?” he asked.

“Only with women,” was the short answer.

The light of mischief lit up Faramir’s eyes as he responded. “Don’t worry,” he said with a grin. “I’ll be gentle, if you want me to.”

Felong looked at him in surprise, then laughed at his remark. Suddenly he didn’t feel as nervous as he’d been. He reached out and ran a finger down the younger man’s chest watching his nipple harden as he touched it. “I’ve never seen so many scars on a single person before,” he said quietly. “Do you collect them on purpose?”

“Only the dance scars,” he answered. “The rest came of their own accord. I never thought of getting them deliberately.” He ran his hands through the thick hair on the other man’s chest, remembering the downy/wiry feel of it. “I’ve never seen so much hair before, it feels so different.” He curled his fingers in the hair, running his thumbs over his large nipples. Leaning forward he took one of the nipples in his mouth, grazing it with his teeth. So close he noticed strange markings under the hair. “What is this?” he asked.

“My wedding tattoo,” Felong told him. “It is the custom of my people to mark themselves such on their wedding day so that we never forget our vows.”

“You are monogamous?” Faramir asked, stepping back slightly.

“I told my wife before we married of our challenge,” he said. “She agreed that honor demanded that I keep our pledge.” He moved his hand to the back of Faramir’s neck, running his thumb along his jaw. “I find I have been anticipating this more than I expected; I never thought I would enjoy this.”

“I enjoy both men and women equally,” Faramir told him, leaning forward again and claiming the other man’s lips. “Though I have one lover I prefer before all others.”

Words were forgotten as the younger man led Felong to the bed. He was rougher than he would have been with a maid, but still more gentle than usual. The thick body hair of the older man excited him with its novelty and softness. He pressed many kisses to his torso, and soon learned that the hair tended to catch in his teeth if he bit, but as his partner seemed to enjoy the bites, he continued them anyway. The room was filled with the groans of the two men as Faramir used knowledge from previous encounters to arouse Felong without mercy.

Taking the big man’s cock into his mouth, Faramir made sure he was ready for what he wanted next. After a few minutes of sucking the penis that was wider but shorter than his own, he was ready to go further. Rising up, he impaled himself on the solid erection bringing forth an uncontrolled gasp from the man.

Felong was surprised at the intensity of the moment, finding the experienced young man extremely tight. He was almost helpless under the rhythmic movements and found himself losing control. His body arched as he climaxed, reaching completion much quicker than he was used to.

As the man lay beneath him, his body relaxed from its release, Faramir used the oil he had placed on the edge of the bed to lubricate his next target. Felong watched him through half shuttered eyes as he felt the strong fingers breach his ass. He held still trying to keep from tensing up, wanting to keep his bargain with the younger man.

He pushed Felong’s knees up and began guiding himself into the virgin ass. With short thrusts, he slowly entered until he was buried to the hilt, then paused until he felt the passage ease around him. The older man’s eyes widened as he felt the fullness within him. Beginning with slow deep movements, Faramir watched his eyes widen even further and his breath catch in his throat. He had found the right angle.

Long moments passed and Felong felt himself hardening again. Increasing the pace, Faramir grasped the newly erect cock and pumped it to the same rhythm. His experienced hand brought the older man to completion just as he found his own release.

Faramir climbed up beside Felong and looked again at the tattoo half hidden on his chest. “This fascinates me,” he said. “I’ve never seen one before, how do they do it?”

“It’s done with a needle and ink,” was the reply. “There are several stands in the market at Pelargir where professionals ply their trade. My wife’s and mine were applied by our village healer, as is our custom.”

“I might like one,” Faramir told him, thinking of doing something for his brother. He rose from the bed and cleaned himself before dressing.

“I thank you for finishing our challenge,” he told Felong before kissing his brow. He left and returned to the common room of the inn in search of his brother.

Boromir was still talking with the men of Lossarnach; they’d been joined by some of the locals. Faramir sat next to him and joined in the conversation. It wasn’t long before they finished and returned to their cabin on the little boat.

“So did you enjoy yourself?” Boromir asked as they cuddled together.

“It was enjoyable, brother,” he answered between kisses to his brother’s face and neck. “But I’d much rather be with you.”

Boromir laughed and returned his brother’s kisses. “I love being with you best too, beloved brother,” he whispered.

They changed to a much larger vessel at Pelargir, one capable of crossing the sea. Leaving Garus to arrange for their baggage to be moved, the brothers went to take care of official business. There was little they needed to do other than exchange messages and both brothers received requests to attend to ‘first night’ duties for two of the cities leading families. Since the last duty would be attended to in the evening, they had the rest of the day free.

Laughing at his brother’s excitement, Boromir followed him to the marketplace. It was much like all the others they’d seen until they reached the row of tattoo booths. Faramir had read references to them in the archives, but the practice had mostly disappeared in Gondor.

There were six booths, each occupied by two artists and doing a brisk trade. They watched, as did many others, while beautiful designs appeared on their clients.

“I want one,” Faramir whispered to his brother.

“Some magical beast, I assume?” he asked, laughter in his voice.

“Oh no,” Faramir whispered with such emotion it caught his brother’s attention. “I want something to show how much I love you. A mark to let all who see it know that I belong to you.”

“I’m not sure I could get father to accept anything so blatant,” he laughed, though he was touched by the idea.

“I could have it put where few would see it.”

“Like your sweet ass,” Boromir whispered in his ear.

“I want to be able to see it,” he responded. “I think it would be better here.” He indicated a spot in the hollow of his hip.

“So what are you going to use?”

Faramir grinned as he lightly touched the scabbard of his brother’s knife. Like his own, it had his personal coat of arms in full color dyed and carved on it. “I think that will work fine.”

Boromir liked the idea. He liked it so much he decided that he would get one as well. “Which booth?” he asked. “I’ll join you.”

Carefully examining the work being done, Faramir made his choice. The brothers waited until they were finished with their current customers then asked forgiveness of the ones waiting, explaining that they had to leave early the next day. The peasants waiting would have gladly given up their places to the Steward’s sons anyway, but were pleased by their politeness and the coins they gave as recompense. They asked for privacy and the front awning of the booth was brought down to cover the entrance. The artists didn’t so much as blink at their request and went about the job with exquisite skill. In less time than they expected, the work was done and they examined it while listening to the care instructions.

As they prepared to go to their evening duties, Faramir turned to his brother in amusement. “At the rate we’re going, brother, the whole of the next generation of Gondorian nobility and half its peasantry will be our children. How will you argue father out of marriage then?”

“I’ll find you a wife,” he answered calmly, as if it was something he’d planned.

Faramir looked at him in surprise. “You will?”

“There are two things in this world that are more important to me than any other, you and Gondor,” he answered. “In that order. One of us must marry eventually; if I take a wife she might make a problem over our relationship. If you take a wife, it would be different.”

Thinking about the customs of precedence in their society and the attitudes of their peers, Faramir realized that his brother was right. “You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?”

“If I had to leave Gondor and never look on our city again in order to be with you, I would. You are everything to me,” he answered. “It’s all I think of.” He paused, a brief smile on his lips. “Except for killing our enemies.”

“Does father know how you feel?”

“I told him long ago,” Boromir replied. “Why do you think he backs down every time about the marriage thing and us?”

“I thought there were other reasons,”

“There are, but this one is the main one.”

Faramir put his arms around him and buried his face in his neck. “I love you, my beautiful brother. Each day with you brings me more joy than words can tell.”

“And I you, beloved one,” he answered kissing his younger brother’s brow. “More than anything in this world or the next.”

A tap at the door was a signal from Garus that they were starting to run late. “Let’s go deflower some virgins,” Boromir said. “Then I will meet you back here when we are done.”

“Don’t encourage me to hurry, brother,” Faramir said as he turned to the door. “Remember anything worth doing is worth doing right.” They had developed a reputation of being gentle with the maidens, although other circles spoke of their roughness as warriors.

The weather was fair and it was only three more days to Dol Amroth, though the brothers suspected it could have been quicker. The captain and crew grew to like them immensely in that short time as they helped whenever they could, as well as being friendly. They practiced their fighting skills every day and sometimes made the crew laugh with their antics, parrying each other while walking the rails in their bare feet and such. Neither seemed inclined to seasickness, though they didn’t go far from the shoreline, as they had to round the peninsula of Belfalas.

Their arrival in Dol Amroth was greeted with great fanfare, unlike the previous stops, so they both donned formal garb to proceed to the home of their kinsman, Prince Imrahil. They had never met before, but it was easy to tell the Prince apart from the others, as he stood with his wife at his side wearing the beautiful crowns of their rank. Imrahil could tell the brothers apart in their formal wear as Boromir wore the ‘Horn of Gondor’ at his side, something he usually only did in formal occasions and battle, habit and long warfare not yet welding it to his side. They were welcomed with all due respect and, after the formal proceedings, they passed from the great hall to the Prince’s private drawing room.

The brothers were pleasantly surprised as Imrahil dropped formality as quickly as he dropped the ornate crown on a side table. His wife excused herself after a serving wine to the three men, leaving them to talk freely. “My wife was sure you would change your mind about marriage as soon as you saw our daughter,” he commented. The young lady in question had been present in the great hall.

“If it were for beauty or person alone, neither my brother nor I would hesitate to claim her as our own,” Boromir replied. “But as you know from Faramir’s letters, there is more to consider. Both our mother and father are related to you and the bleeding sickness seems to be rather strong in Mother’s line, I think it had much to do with her early death. However, Théoden, king in Rohan has a son now, Théodred, born just two months ago. The age difference shouldn’t be too much of a problem and I would be more than willing to help with any negotiations”

“That is something to consider, and if not the son, then the nephew. He could be brought here as my heir if my wife bears me no sons,” he smiled at the two brothers. “Though Rohan is smaller than Gondor, I think my wife’s ambitions would be satisfied with such an arrangement.”

“What about your daughter?” Faramir questioned. “What does she want?”

Imrahil was taken aback by the question. “I’ve never asked, I barely see the girl. I’ve left that to my wife.” He blushed a bit at his lack of knowledge.

“I mean no disrespect, kinsman,” Faramir told him. “I just wondered. It seems that most of the nobility of our people do not consider the wishes of their children when it comes to marriage. Of course, political necessity dictates that.”

“That was definitely true in my case,” the Prince replied. “But it has worked well for me, we are quite happy together, my wife and I.” He looked to the brothers. “You do have plans for marriage? Rumor has it that Denethor has given you final say in the matter, Boromir.”

“Yes there are plans, though I will not reveal them yet,” he replied. “As for the rumor, it was a habit of my father’s to grant me a request on each birthday. For my eighteenth, I chose the right to make this choice. He stopped giving me such boons afterward,” he finished with a wry smile.

Imrahil laughed at his words. “I should say not, I’m surprised that he granted your request.”

“I did it publicly, he would have had to break his word before the gathered guests. That is something he would never do,” Boromir responded. “But it was not something I requested lightly, and I have the best interests of Gondor at heart. Even though there is no king to claim the throne yet, there are still heirs to the Stewardship. My methods differ from his but we still have the same goal at heart, the safety of the realm.”

“That is fair,” the Prince replied. He continued quietly preparing to move on to other business, not having caught the slip Boromir had made about the king. Faramir did, however, but managed to betray no sign, even though he was a bit taken aback at his brother’s unusual carelessness.

As they finished their conversation, Faramir noticed an unusual painting on one wall of the room. The quality wasn’t of the best, but the two subjects were rather startling. At first it appeared to be a man and woman, but closer examination showed it to be a man and a male elf. “Who are they?” he asked their host.

“Thorongil and his elf friend,” Imrahil answered with a smile. “He was instrumental in ridding us of the Corsairs that threatened our coasts for so long. I’m afraid your father didn’t care much for him. He wouldn’t even let us borrow the portrait his father had commissioned for the artist to use, so he had to do the best he could from memory.”

“I remember reading about him, but father forbade us to discuss him in his presence,” Boromir offered. “There was no mention of an elf though.”

“While he stayed in Gondor, several elves came to visit with him, but this one came more often than the others and sometimes stayed a while. There was a rumor that they were closer than just friends, but it was never proven. Not that it would have mattered to Ecthelion, your grandfather. He was his most trusted advisor, which I think bothered your father, though he tried not to show it. You haven’t seen the portrait?”

“If it still exists, father has hidden it away,” Boromir replied.

“What was the elf’s name?” Faramir asked.

“Alas, I never met the elf and he is only included here because of the artist’s fancy,” was the answer. “However I heard he was a great prince among elves and known for his fighting ability as well as his romantic conquests. There were even rumors that wars had been started over his amorous exploits, but you know how rumors are.”

Ever the good host, Imrahil invited the brothers to join him in a boar hunt once they had finalized their plans for the defense of the coast. It had taken less time than either party had thought it would. The Prince’s advisors were astute men who knew their craft and the brothers had studied warfare, including sea warfare, their whole lives. They were willing to acknowledge their own weaknesses and learn from the guidance of others. All in all, it had been a very successful week and they were ready for some physical stimulation.

There had been a problem with a great boar ravaging crops and even killing the hounds of one of the nearby villages, so they set out to kill the beast. Boromir was armed with a great boar spear, twelve feet long with a six-foot crosspiece four feet from the base. This was to keep the animal from running all the way up the spear and ravaging the man holding it. Faramir waited nearby with his long bow and some lances to finish off the beast once his brother had speared it.

They heard the hounds driving their prey and it seemed they were heading their way, so Boromir braced the spear against a large tree watching for any sign of their approach. They’d hunted boar before, but by all reports this was a monster, nearly twice the size of its kin. When it broke from the brush, they saw it was nearly the size of a pony, tusks as long as a man’s arm. It screamed in rage and charged Boromir who held the spear true, driving it just below the beast’s jaw.

Both brothers could see that there was not enough room for him to escape injury when the boar reached the crosspiece; the spear was too small for this size creature. The Prince’s hounds were tearing at it while Faramir drove one lance into its head, just missing its brain, then another into its ear, killing it.

But boars do not die easy and the beast still ran up the spear, reaching for Boromir in its rage. One giant tusk caught his chest revealing blood and bone in an instant as the giant crashed into him with crushing force. Faramir made to run to his brother’s aid just as another smaller, but still large beast, came into the clearing. Reacting on instinct alone, he drew his sword and knife and turned to face the charging animal.

As it reached him, he drove his sword through the top of its snout trying to avoid the razor sharp tusks. It pushed him backwards into the tree where his brother lay and twisting its head, caught his arm and part of his chest, knocking the knife from his hand as the impact knocked him unconscious.

Pain was something he’d taught himself to ignore at will, so his mind was clear as Boromir picked up his brother’s long knife and put the blade through the beast’s glaring red eye and twisted it until the gray of its brain leaked through the socket. Releasing the knife, he reached toward his brother, grasping his arm and pulling himself as close possible before losing consciousness.

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