Faramir Fiction Archive

Warriors of Gondor (NC-17)

Written by Hel

14 May 2012 | 182144 words | Work in Progress

Part 7: THE STRUGGLE

Darkness rose out of the east, moving in long tendrils as if sentient, one of which reached for the White Tower. Faramir stirred restlessly in his sleep as the dream continued. There were voices, tempting voices offering power unlimited. He didn’t want power, but they weren’t talking to him. The dark, twisted nature of the voices sickened and frightened him, and there seemed to be no escape.

Boromir woke to his brother struggling and crying out in his sleep. The dreams had been getting steadily worse over the last year. He waited patiently for it to run its course, knowing that Faramir would need comforting, hoping maybe he would finally be able to trace the cause of the nightmares. In the last month, they’d not had one night of undisturbed sleep and it was beginning to be a problem.

He couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes he saw things, terrible things. That his youngest son had the same or similar dreams was obvious, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak with Faramir about them. He was even sure that Boromir at least knew about the dreams, maybe shared them as well. It was his own fault. The letter from Saruman had tempted him. He had looked, only for a moment, beneath the protective cloth at the palantir. Now they were all trapped by its siren call.

At least he might be able to spare his sons some of the torment. There were orc raids in Anorien, possibly augmented by a troll or two. He would send them to get the area back under control.

They’d tracked the orcs to several caves; probably all interconnected beneath the hills. There was definitely at least one troll in their company, so they didn’t dare explore inside them too far. Work parties of volunteers from the local villages were gathered to help collapse most of the cave openings and booby trap the rest. One very well hidden opening they left untouched, as if they hadn’t found it. Nearby, they dug pit traps and set up an ambush site. It had taken a week to find the caves and the work had been done in two days, large squads of warriors using bonfires were guarding the remaining cave entrances in the night.

For the first time in over a month, the brothers were able to sleep through the night undisturbed. It worried them that some malignant force was invading their home, and they were helpless against it. It was nice, though, to get a little rest. On the final day of trap building, they ordered all those committed to the ambush to rest for a few hours before sunset, including themselves.

Faramir ran his hands across his brother’s stomach, feeling the corded muscles and watching his cock grow to full erection. Kneeling between his thighs, he took the head of Boromir’s penis in his mouth, using his tongue to stimulate the slit on the end. The taste of his brother was delicious to him and made his own cock fill. Grabbing his hips, he took the entire penis in his mouth and throat as Boromir’s hands grasped his head.

Moaning uncontrollably, the older brother watched as Faramir began long, slow movements up and down his cock. He did it better than anyone else, one of the very few who could take all of him orally. There was little teasing, as they had limited time for this. Boromir allowed himself to release his orgasm, Faramir allowing much of his semen to fill one hand so that he could lubricate his brother’s ass for his own cock.

He was unhurried, but didn’t waste time, sliding himself in completely in one sure stroke. In the last couple of months, his exhaustion had kept him from being the aggressive one in their lovemaking and he wanted to make up for that lack. Claiming Boromir’s mouth, he began the swift, hard rhythm that they enjoyed the most. Pulling back from their kiss, Faramir kissed and licked his way across the firmly muscled chest beneath him, giving small bites randomly. Boromir caressed his brother’s body as he willingly received his engorged cock. He loved to feel Faramir move in him and wrapped his legs around his brother, bucking upward and moving with him. Their lovemaking was bliss.

Leaking precum from his newly hardened cock, Boromir knew he was going to reach completion soon. It had been too long. Sensing his brother’s readiness, Faramir gave a few extra hard thrusts as he bit down on his heavily scarred collarbone. They both cried out in their moment of ecstasy, reaching the peak together.

They had barely caught their breath when Draymor asked for admittance to their tent. He was their most trusted aide and would not disturb them unless there was great need. With a final kiss to his brother’s tempting lips, Boromir called for him to enter. In the five years since the boar-hunting incident, their relationship had become more or less common knowledge among the army, even though they still behaved with much discretion.

One of the work parties had suffered injuries when the pit trap they were working on collapsed on them revealing a previously unknown tunnel. They okayed the orders Draymor had given and added a few more of their own before returning to their rest.

There were no more interruptions before they had to dress and arm themselves for the evening’s work. This was something they had much experience in, luring orcs and sometimes goblins into well-planned traps. Although this would be the first troll they’d dealt with personally, they had been sure to refresh their memories on all the lore available on trolls. It would not please their father if they had another fiasco like the boar hunt.

The efforts of the previous night to keep the enemy contained paid off; the orcs were almost frantic to prey upon the countryside. Like clockwork, they followed the preset trail to where the brothers waited in ambush, a few falling into the traps that had been set to keep them aimed in the right direction. The brothers rechecked their weapons and the positions of their men as the signals from the scouts let them know precisely where their opponents were.

As the orcs filled the clearing before them, they waited for the entrance of the troll to signal the attack. With a roar of rage, two cave trolls entered the planned battle zone amidst the orcs. It was too late to change anything, so Boromir signaled the change in enemy numbers to the reserve units (at least they’d planned that far) and ordered the attack.

It was extremely messy. Except for the rawest recruits, they’d all dealt with orcs before, but the trolls were something entirely different. The bonfires made a lurid display as the great beasts swung their morning stars at anything that moved, even their own forces. The strongest men of the Gondorian forces were armed with oversized spears to stop the creatures, and archers peppered them with many arrows, though they had to be extra careful in the semi-light. Both brothers held a spear and, by unspoken consent, each advanced on a separate target.

Boromir ducked beneath the swing of the ball and chain planting his spear firmly into the monster’s belly. Several of the other warriors were also able to join him and they had it firmly trapped and dying under their control. By the luck of the draw, Faramir’s beast was larger, but he and the other spearmen managed to do the same, almost as quickly. It was an unbelievable bit of luck that they had caught them so quickly. Both creatures were staggering when an ominous crack announced the demise of Faramir’s spear and he fell into hitting range of the troll. The morning star landed against his leg with numbing force, and another sharp crack was concealed by the cry of rage as the monster fell forward on the youngest son of the Steward.

It was several minutes before Boromir was able to be sure of the death of his troll and the remaining orcs. Only then did he go to his brother’s side. His heart stopped as he saw a pale face, the only exposed part from under the dead beast.

“Get this thing off me,” Faramir groaned, lightening his brother’s heart.

In moments, they had it levered away and Faramir was able to breathe again. But Boromir frowned at the unnatural angle of his brother’s leg. The bit of bone sticking out of the shin only confirmed that it was broken.

Denethor was sitting in his study, staring at the hidden door that led to the secret room beneath the eaves of the tower, when the knock sounded. Brought suddenly from his bitter reverie, he called harshly for whomever it was to enter. The herald held forth a message from his orc-hunting sons, which he took gratefully.

Faramir had written the letter and Boromir had signed it, as usual. It gave a cursory story of what had happened, letting him know that full reports would arrive with his youngest son. A broken leg would put Faramir out of commission as a fighter for several months. Leaving him here at the tower, vulnerable. Burying his head in his hands, Denethor cursed all wizards and their machinations. He had begun to build a good relationship with his sons prior to looking at the cursed orb. The last year had been a nightmare, constantly resisting its call. Now he would be, for all practical purposes, alone with his youngest son, the orb, and the dark desires that had begun re-emerging.

It was an untenable situation.

Climbing the many stairs to the rooms he shared with his brother on crutches had been an ordeal he was not in a hurry to repeat. His father had sent word that he was to go immediately to his own rooms rather than report to his father’s study. What that foreboded, Faramir wasn’t sure and he hoped that it didn’t mean a return to the twisted relationship of his youth. This was the first time he would be at residence in the tower without his brother in over ten years. The first time since his father had beaten him so badly.

Boromir had been as aware of the undercurrents as he was. “Do not let him hurt you,” his brother had whispered in his ear as he gave him a parting hug. “I will return as soon as I can.”

Garus was carefully examining Faramir’s leg, making sure that it was set properly when his father entered the room. The haggard look on Denethor’s face startled him almost as much as the concern in his eyes. “How is the leg?” the Steward asked.

“It is healing as it should,” the servant answered, knowing the question had been directed at him.

Looking around the room at the small army of servants who were unpacking and otherwise attending his son, Denethor sat in the chair brought for him at the bedside. “I have finished your reports,” he began.

Faramir raised his hand to signal the servants to leave, but his father stopped him. “There is no need yet,” he said. “I want you to have a full day’s rest before we worry about any serious work.” With that comment, he began a long conversation with his son about the orc hunt and the state of the realm. As the younger man’s sleepiness became apparent, Denethor excused himself to let him sleep.

Once he was gone, Saphron who had accepted Garus as her husband and retired from general tattoo work to become one of the brothers’ most trusted servants, came forward from the side of the room. “He is dangerous to you, my lord,” she said. “He is holding back his demons, but if they escape, you will be the one to suffer.”

“That we all know,” Faramir answered, as she climbed into the bed. “It is how to help him keep them in check that is the mystery. I wish Mithrandir were here to advise me, but I have to make do with what little I know.” The three of them were alone in the room now as Garus sat on the other side of Faramir.

“There is a ritual I learned in Dol Amroth,” Saphron told him. “It won’t banish the demons, but it will help to control them. It is a painful and bloody rite, my lord.”

“Tell me,” he ordered, not much worrying about pain or blood, both of which he was very familiar with.

The tale wasn’t long in telling and sounded much less gruesome than many of his previous experiences. They agreed to perform it shortly after sunset that night. After all, he wouldn’t be able to sleep at all if the dreams came and his brother wasn’t there to comfort him.

Lying on a protective cover, Faramir watched Saphron and Garus make the final preparations for the ritual. They approached, each holding a razor sharp knife and sitting one on each side of him. Starting just above his wrists they began carving symbols into his flesh, pausing to kiss each one as they finished, an added bit that Garus had insisted on.

He gasped at each touch, feeling a surge of energy from both blades and lips. The sharp bite of pain registered more as pleasure to him. It was more and more difficult to remain still beneath their hands as his cock hardened and he became increasingly aroused. This he had not expected. Even though the sword dances brought forth arousal as hard bites could bring either arousal or completion, he had never associated pain with sex consciously before.

Knowing when the ritual would reach completion, he forced himself to hold back. The careful strokes of the knives reached his shoulders and continued down his chest, making him arch his back in pleasure. It felt too good, and he could no longer keep quiet beneath their hands. Saphron and Garus increased their pace, both feeling their lord losing control. His harsh cries echoed in the room as they inscribed the last symbols low on his belly and as Faramir climaxed, he felt a surge of energy rush through him and saw a blinding flash of light beneath his eyelids.

His body relaxed completely and he was deep into a dreamless sleep before the two servants had time to start cleaning him.

Pacing his room restlessly, Denethor wasn’t sure if he should stay here for the night or return to his study. He was almost painfully close to his son here, but the study held greater temptations. There was a strange energy he wasn’t familiar with coursing through him, keeping him from even sitting. Then, suddenly, he felt a draining and half staggered to his bed. It was as if he’d received a strong sleeping potion, and he found himself sinking into a deep, dreamless sleep.

It was midmorning when he finally awoke. Denethor had never slept so late before in his life. He felt refreshed and better than he had in over a year. That his son’s return had something to do with the lifting of the call of the palantir was obvious to him. But he would never ask, never share words on this. As he ate breakfast in his office, he ordered his secretary to take reports to Faramir from the last few weeks and inform him that he would be up later to discuss them. There was no point in risking further injury to his son’s leg by making him go up and down the steep tower stairs. And Denethor felt glorious, better than he had in a long time.

Boromir had to force himself to ride at a relaxed pace through the city. He was anxious to see his brother after their three-week separation and silently cursed the many gates he had to ride through to reach him. That the dark dreams had stopped was a blessing but he knew there was something that Faramir was holding back in his letters and in his dreams.

As he handed off his horse at the seventh gate, he stepped forward to the almost unbelievable sight of his brother standing at the top of the tower’s entrance steps, leaning on their father’s arm. It brought tears to his eyes seeing them so obviously at peace with each other. Embracing them both in a giant hug, he nearly swept them off their feet, shocking many of the courtiers present with this unusual display of affection in public.

At first appearance, their sitting room had been turned into a library and a messy one at that. Faramir had always had a penchant for reading and had not restrained his curiosity in his confinement. Boromir shook his head in mock disgust as he carried his brother (over Faramir’s many protests) into their rooms.

“I see that you have developed many bad habits without me here to guide you,” he told him. “I hope you don’t plan to live like this permanently. From the looks of things, there will not be room for me soon.”

“There will always be room for you,” Faramir said, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. “I have missed you so much.”

Placing his brother on the bed, Boromir kissed his brow before he picked up the waiting journal. He sat down next to him, leaning against the headboard, reading as the servants quietly put his belongings away. There were many entries for the three weeks and the majority of the servants were long gone before he finished, only Garus, Saphron and Stefle remaining.

Setting the book down on a bedside table, he turned to Faramir. “Show me,” he ordered.

The servants shuffled uneasily as the younger brother removed his long-sleeved tunic. Boromir ran a finger over the symbols carved in his brother’s flesh before bending forward to kiss one. “I don’t like it,” he said. “But if it works, I don’t see that there is a choice; at least until we find a permanent solution. Have you discussed this with father at all?”

“No,” Faramir replied. “I think it might be a very bad idea. I don’t know why, but I feel strongly about this. He hasn’t made any attempt to discuss this either, so I don’t think he wants to know.”

“We will leave things as they are for now,” Boromir said. “Hopefully, something will turn up soon. Is there any chance that I could take your place in this?” he asked.

Faramir shrugged and looked to Saphron. “It wouldn’t work as well, my lord,” she answered. “It would have to be done more often.”

“If you start to weaken at all, I will take your place,” Boromir said, nodding solemnly. “But for now, I would have you welcome me home properly.”

The servants left the room, leaving them to each other. Faramir pulled his brother closer so that he could kiss him deeply, his body arching up for closer contact. Boromir stripped his and his brother’s clothes from their bodies without breaking the kiss.

Using some oil kept ready for this purpose, he slicked his cock before lifting Faramir’s uninjured leg and thrusting into his ass. They both groaned and almost climaxed at the rough contact, it had been too long since they had been together. Slowly, Boromir began to move within the tight passage. He ran his hand up and down Faramir’s leg and kissed his welcoming lips as they both climaxed.

“I have missed you so much,” he said as he continued to kiss his face and neck. “If it weren’t for our dreams, I wouldn’t be able to stand it.”

“You are my world, brother,” Faramir whispered. “I want you more each day.” They both began to harden again as they stroked each other. Boromir claimed his brother’s lips as he moved once more deeply inside him. Wrapping his arms around his brother, Faramir’s body arched in ecstasy. There was no holding back as they got as close as they possibly could. Feeling his brother’s teeth bite into his neck, Boromir came again as Faramir’s semen spread between them.

Moving to the side, he traced the symbols that had been cut into his brother’s flesh, kissing each one as he did. The nightmares had ceased for him as well and he knew he had his brother’s sacrifice to thank for that. “I wish I could protect you from all harm, my beloved one,” he whispered.

“I would keep you safe forever, my only love,” Faramir whispered in return. “If only we could lock our bedroom door and keep all the world at bay. I would make love to you for eternity.”

They lost themselves in each other’s arms. There was nowhere else they wanted to be.

The dreams had started to return and Boromir had reluctantly agreed to allow his brother to participate in another ritual. He insisted on being there and had everything explained to him in detail beforehand, even though the account in Faramir’s journal was very explicit. Saphron insisted that he could only touch his brother’s face and no more, even this much was allowed only after much argument.

They began much as they had the first time, with only the addition of Boromir different. The first touches of the blades signaled a much stronger energy and they could see that both brothers were equally caught up in the ritual. The pleasure Faramir felt at the swift smooth cuts was echoed in his brother’s face. The vision of the knives dancing over soft flesh filled Boromir’s sight and danced in his brother’s mind. They were connected by the light touch of the older brother’s hands on the younger’s face in a way that transcended mere physical contact.

The brother’s breathing synchronized and they each became aroused as the rite continued. Saphron gave one worried glance to Garus, but continued; there was nothing else they could do. The rising cries of passion were almost frightening in their intensity as they progressed. This was much stronger than the first time. There was no doubt that Boromir was feeding his brother energy and what effect this would have on the ritual was unknown.

The final knife strokes were met with their cries of completion and a blast of energy that rendered both men unconscious. Garus and Saphron moved Boromir up beside his brother before cleaning them both, hoping that neither had been harmed by what they had done.

Denethor was frightened by the energy he felt coursing through him. He’d felt it once before, but not this strongly, not this out of control. Despite the urge to pace, he made himself recline on his bed, not wanting to be standing when the energy released. It seemed obvious to him that his sons had something to do with what was happening. That it quelled the call of the palantir was good, but he was worried about what they were doing and the possible consequences of their actions.

As the seemingly endless wave passed through him, he felt all thought of pursuing answers drown. There were some things he really didn’t want to know.

The sound of children laughing and playing echoed in the hallway as he approached the rooms he shared with his brother. In the middle of the sitting room, his brother rested on a low chair surrounded by children of varying ages. He was reading from a large book, making faces and funny voices for each character, the young ones at his feet laughing at his antics.

Spying Boromir in the doorway he paused to welcome his brother. “Look who came to visit me, brother,” he said happily. “Come join us while we finish our story.” Faramir cleared a space next to him and signaled Boromir forward, so he went to sit on the floor at his side, pausing to kiss his brow first. He wrapped one arm around his brother and took hold of one corner of the book with the other hand, freeing Faramir to hold him.

The children soon relaxed at the brothers’ show of affection and the wonderful story they were listening to. Before long, they were sitting on Boromir as if they had known him forever. He found it pleasant to be cuddled by children and his brother as the tale unfolded in his brother’s animated way.

They ate lunch on a blanket spread on the floor, the smallest children getting more on them than in. The laughter and happiness were infectious and Boromir found himself having more fun than he would have believed.

That night, as he lay in his brother’s arms, he asked about the children. “There has always been a nursery of sorts for the servants and the guards,” Faramir answered. “I’ve visited them as often as I could through the years. It helps give me strength to fight against the shadow that darkens our lives. Did you enjoy yourself, brother?”

“Immensely,” Boromir answered. “Father never allowed me to play with other children; he said they were beneath me. I know Mother objected, but he insisted. You were the only one I was ever allowed to play with, and father didn’t approve of that either.”

“But I was allowed to play with other children,” Faramir said, making his brother laugh.

“He never knew of it,” Boromir told him. “You were supposedly studying at that time, but you were such a good student, he didn’t realize where you really were.”

“You could have joined me,” Faramir said.

“I was not such a good student,” Boromir chuckled. “And he would send for me or come to see me unexpectedly. He would have found out. Besides, I didn’t want to share my time with you, I would have grown jealous seeing you with anyone else.”

“It’s a good thing you’ve outgrown your jealousy.”

“But I haven’t,” Boromir said. “I can’t bear watching you more than a few minutes. Only when you are in my arms can I be truly happy.”

Faramir kissed his brother deeply. “You don’t have to share me, beloved brother,” he whispered.

“We both have to share, brother,” Boromir said sadly. “There are the many heirs we have to beget, the loyalties we must seal. Not to mention the wife I shall find for you some day.” He caressed his brother’s sweet face. “I have long accepted our fate, it is part of who we are. Only in this way can we satisfy duty and honor as well as our love. We will struggle against the darkness and create our own light with our love.”

“You are becoming quite poetic, brother,” Faramir told him, pulling him closer in his arms. “We will do our duty for our people, keep our honor for our father’s house. And I will love you beyond the end of time, you are my everything.”

They kissed again, their hands touching all the places they knew so well. Their bodies were pressed tightly together, their stiff cocks rubbing each other. Boromir’s leg came into painful contact with the casing that kept Faramir’s broken leg straight, making them jump.

“I will be very glad when you are healed enough to be rid of that,” Boromir said through clenched teeth.

“Shall I kiss it and make it better, brother?” Faramir said, thrusting his body upward against his brother.

“Oh yes,” Boromir said, as he rolled to the side just enough to grasp both their cocks in his hand. He leaned in to claim his brother’s mouth with a possessive kiss. “Your kisses make everything better.”

That his arrival had been watched for was apparent to the wizard, as a messenger set out ahead of him to the White Tower. He wasn’t sure whether to be complimented or alarmed. Denethor had never hid his dislike of him and could be a rather devious and vicious person. However, Faramir always welcomed his company and often sought his advice. It would depend on which one of them waited for news of his arrival.

As he approached the third gate, he was surprised to see Boromir waiting with a spare horse. “How nice of you to spare an old man such a long walk, Boromir,” he said as he mounted. “Is all well with your family?”

“To all appearances everything is just fine,” Boromir answered. “There are things I cannot speak of here, but I would speak with you privately after you have had a chance to rest from your journey.”

“If it is important, I can rest later,” the wizard told him.

“I don’t want to raise any suspicions, or anger my father,” the young man answered. “This is something I dare not discuss with him, but he would be offended that I sought your advice.”

“I can meet you in an hour in the library,”

“I would rather have you come to our rooms.” At the wizard’s confused look, he continued, “Faramir and I have moved to the suite of rooms that our mother used. I can send a servant to show you the way.”

“I remember how to find them,” Mithrandir told him. “I used to visit her every time I came to Minas Tirith.”

“In an hour then,” Boromir said with a nod before riding away.

There was a darkness to the tower that lay heavy on his heart as he made his way up the winding stairs. He worried at what Boromir had to tell him, and wondered if Faramir would be present. As he neared the door, he could smell the magic, dark magic.

Faramir sat on a couch, his broken leg propped on a stool, Boromir close beside him. The wizard pulled a chair close to the two brothers and sat down. “Do you have any idea how dangerous what you have been doing is?” he asked sternly.

“We didn’t have a choice,” was the calm answer.

“Tell me,” Mithrandir ordered.

Faramir told him of the terrible dreams that had been destroying their lives and the only solution they’d been able to come up with. The wizard let him tell the whole story before asking questions and then questioned both Saphron and Garus. Last, he had Faramir show him the symbols. Despite the many scars the young man already had, the marks were easily seen.

“These aren’t evil symbols and the ritual isn’t dark magic, but more of a binding,” he told them. “With your blood you have bound the dark force that was disturbing your dreams. I’m afraid it will complicate matters.” He sighed before continuing, “We will have to undo the binding, which will be very painful for you.”

“How will it be painful?” Boromir interrupted.

“The symbols need to be removed,” Mithrandir answered. “Completely removed or he will remain connected to the dark force and it is very possible it could use that connection to harm him, maybe even both of you.” He paused to let his words sink in. “I need to find out the nature of the enemy first, is there anywhere I can be undisturbed for a while?”

“You can use one of our rooms, we will make sure you are left alone,” Boromir told him.

“You should eat first,” Faramir said. “Garus will get us all something to eat.”

After nearly an hour alone, the wizard emerged with a worried frown on his face.

“I cannot trace the original source of the dark power, but it seems to be emanating from the palantir your father is safeguarding for the king,” he told them. “I’m sure he wouldn’t attempt anything so foolish as to try and use it himself. The things are dangerous and unreliable in these times. I can reset the wards once we have removed the binding.” He sat in a large chair by the window, letting himself be refreshed by the sunlight and fresh breeze. “I truly hate blood magic, it’s always so messy and painful.”

“I don’t mind the pain,” Faramir told him. “I’m quite used to it.”

“So I could see,” Mithrandir responded.

The unbinding was even more grisly then the binding ritual. Saphron and Garus had been very careful to cut only deep enough to draw blood, but now the symbols had to be removed. Starting with the last one, they began cutting the marks from his body. Boromir knelt, his hands cradling his brother’s head, his forehead resting against his brother’s, unable to watch. Faramir couldn’t even pretend to ignore the pain, as he had to draw on his brother’s strength to resist it.

Mithrandir monitored their progress with a Grímace of distaste. In all his years, he’d never seen two such determined young men. They’d never complained about their own burdens and could be relied upon to complete their task or die trying. It pained him to see them suffer so, he wished he could take them to Aragorn now, but all things must wait for the proper time. There was no doubt in his mind that Denethor would react very badly if he even knew of Aragorn, let alone the wizard’s connection to him. When the time came, it would be bad enough that Denethor knew Aragorn as Thorongil, and hated him; that his sons had already decided on their loyalty to the king would be another harsh blow. Looking at the seal Boromir had tattooed on his shoulder, he wondered if the Steward knew about it.

The air in the room grew dark and they could tell that the unbinding was working. Mithrandir gathered his strength, containing the dark force, driving it back to the palantir. Boromir had moved one of his hands so that his brother could bite down on it to contain his screams of agony, and was himself breathing in harsh, short gasps. The two servants cut the last symbols free and the darkness fled swiftly from the room and was gone.

In the silence of the room, the only sound was the harsh breathing of its five occupants. They were all stunned and exhausted by the ritual. Moving slowly, the wizard carefully checked to make sure that no taint of darkness remained on either brother or their servants. When he was finished, he rested his hand on Boromir’s shoulder over the seal and was startled by the pulse of energy he felt. Saphron and Garus began applying salve and bandages to Faramir as soon as his inspection was through.

Taking the bowl they had placed the bits of severed flesh in, Mithrandir dumped it in the brazier he had waiting. The smell of burning skin filled the room along with his low chanting; he was leaving nothing to chance.

“I hope you will be a little more careful with magic in the future,” the wizard told them. “It can be a very chancy thing.”

“I hope to never have to deal with magic again,” Boromir answered, cradling his brother in his arms as the servants finished dressing his wounds.

“As do I,” Faramir said, “but we will do whatever is necessary to keep the realm safe.” He turned in his brother’s arms so that Mithrandir could see the matching seal on his right shoulder.

Denethor lay on his bed sweating. He had just gone through one of the most hideous ordeals of his life, but he knew that the damage he had done when he had looked at the palantir was undone. He also knew that the wizard was probably to be thanked for that, but that he never would bring himself to do it.

He would never trust any friend of Thorongil, nor show them any gratitude. There was too much history for him to change now.

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