Part One
It seemed brutally and unnecessarily cruel of Aragorn to have journeyed into the
realm of death to bring Boromir back to this life, and then abandon him so
callously.
The message from the elves had come only two weeks ago. The king's lover was
ailing and she was with child.
Aragorn had summoned the Steward, entrusted him with the government of the
kingdom in his absence and left. Just like that.
He must be devoted indeed to this woman, whoever she was. All that
secrecy—she must be low born. Ah, but it was easy for the Steward to
understand. A man had needs, and the king's distress at the Lady Arwen's
marriage shortly after the war to her first love, the great elf lord Erestor,
would have driven a lesser man to madness and despair. As it was, it had merely
driven Aragorn into the arms of another.
Why then, had Aragorn brought Boromir back if not for love?
Perhaps he had done it out of duty to his people. Gondor needed her Captain
back, their king was a foreigner—raised by elves—even if he was the
man of legend, and many had been suspicious that Aragorn had returned so quickly
after Boromir's untimely death. Some had had the impudence as to go so far as to
suggest that the king had had something to do with heroic Boromir's sudden
passing.
Now, Boromir's presence and support did much to cement Aragorn's kingship. He
was a great lord of Gondor and a member of the King's Council, he had been
provided for handsomely, and many men still looked to him for leadership. How
convenient then, for Aragorn, that he obviously adored and respected the king.
Indeed, Boromir's rebirth was proof beyond doubt that Aragorn was indeed
Isildur's heir and destined for the throne. Who else could have crossed the
boundary between the realms of the living and the dead, emerging victoriously
with his comrade alive in his arms? Who else could have raised an army of the
dead to fight Sauron's forces and win?
Who else could have healed the Lady of Rohan—now the Steward's dear
wife—and the courageous hobbit Merry after their battle with the greatest
of the Nazgul?
Perhaps the king was blind to the true nature of Boromir's devotion.
Boromir scribbled furiously on the parchment. He had never been one for
scholarly pursuits, and he was clearly exerting great effort in writing these
personal letters to the king. He refused to dictate the contents to a chancery
clerk; the contents must be personal indeed.
Was he begging the king to return to him after the child was born? Or would
Aragorn choose to elevate the mother of his heir to the exalted position of
queen?
Where then would that leave poor Boromir? Alone for the most part, damned to a
life of stolen caresses in secret shadowed corridors?
Faramir looked at Boromir, who looked wan and tired with worry. He barely slept,
he barely ate, and he was in a constant state of agitation ever since the king's
hurried departure to find his beloved, who was somewhere near Rivendell.
Gentle Faramir had never thought it possible, but at that moment, he hated
Aragorn.
"Here comes the letter!" Legolas thought with excitement.
The large eagle dropped the many parchments, rolled and bound tightly, at the
elf lord's feet.
Legolas picked it up and ran quickly over to a nearby stream, and then, he
disappeared under the high bank.
The elves of Ithilien paid little attention to their swift footed lord; they
could see the hidden opening within the bank, even if mortals could not.
Legolas was surprised at the flurry of activity within the large cave-like
hidden room, which was lit by two holes near the 'ceiling' (these seemed like
rabbit burrows to anyone walking in the grassy field directly above).
The elf lord trotted gracefully to the far corner of the room, where Isildur's
heir had his hands folded over his engorged belly. Otherwise he looked much the
same as he always had, lean muscled, fit and with two days growth of stubble.
"Does it hurt terribly?" Glorfindel asked. "I warned you, Estel, that you might
have to bear the burden of bigenderism all your days if you crossed between the
realms of the living and the dead."
"It is not such a terrible burden," Legolas countered smiling at the stern elf
warrior who had returned from the Halls of Mandos and still served as one of
Elrond's key advisors.
"Ah, but your line was born with the burden...," Glorfindel observed.
"Gift, Glorfindel, it is a gift," Aragorn corrected mildly. "And I am glad for
it. Boromir returned a whole man, so in many ways this is a gift for us both.
Gondor needs an heir."
"You'll not think so in a few hours, Estel. It is a terrible thing for a man not
born bigender to give birth. I have never seen it happen before! It was bad
enough when Legolas was born, and Thranduil was born bigender and was well
prepared for the labour," Glorfindel said, anxiously.
Legolas plopped into the bed next to Aragorn and kissed him on his forehead.
"Oh, ignore doom-and-gloom-Glorfi and read your letters, Aragorn," Legolas said
cheekily.
He stuck out his tongue at Glorfindel who had to smile; the great elf warrior
had known that naughty look well ever since a small, precious elf child no
taller than his knee had worn it.
Aragorn smiled, amused at the interplay. He was used to the cool, serious,
princely Legolas, his brave and true friend who had stood and fought by him
through so much darkness.
The peacetime Legolas, living among his elders as a result of marrying Elrond
after the war, was a very different elf.
Aragorn loved them 'both.'
Legolas peered over Aragorn's shoulder and frowned.
"Did Boromir write that? His writing is even worse than Ori's," Legolas asked.
Aragorn chuckled. "Boromir's penmanship is not his best skill. Classes have
always bored him to tears and he always had chancery clerks to manage his
correspondence, or Faramir."
The king smiled tenderly as he regarded the round, childish, barely legible
script.
The much laboured upon letters spoke even more tenderly of Boromir's love for
him than the well chosen, if poorly formed, fine words.
Just then, Aragorn winced and gritted his teeth.
Everyone in the room held his breath until the contraction passed.
"That wasn't so bad," Aragorn said with a relieved sigh...
"Kill me! Kill me! I cannot bear it," bawled the courageous king.
Elrond stared at him with wide, alarmed eyes. Estel had never made so much
noise, he had an amazingly high pain threshold for a human, but clearly, his
Gondorian blood—and lungs—were beginning to assert themselves.
"Aaaaaaaarrrrrrrgggghhhh! Gnnnnnnnnnhhhhhh! Aaaaaaaaaaah!"
"WAAAAAAAAAH!"
Elrond caught the heir with deft hands as he made his noisy entrance into the
world. The infant's scream could rival the Horn of Gondor.
"WAAAAAAAAAAH!"
Aragorn sat up eagerly, "Is he alright?"
"WAAAAAAAAAAH!"
Elrond looked the slippery infant over, and then smiled warmly at the sweat
drenched king. He nodded encouragingly.
"WAAAAAAAAAAH!"
"Do you want to hold him?" he asked, swaddling the baby in a soft fur.
"WAAAAAAAAAAH!"
Aragorn reached out his arms happily.
The infant stopped wailing once in his mother's arms.
Aragorn felt he ought to cry or be overwhelmed by an all-consuming maternal
instinct to commemorate this wonderful occasion. But the slimy, scrunch faced,
blood smeared and smelly little new arrival looked, well, gross.
He glared pop eyed at his mother the king and blew a few bubbles from pursed
lips. He wasn't only disgusting; he also looked vaguely demented.
"He's beautiful, isn't he, Estel? Lovely," Elrond said, sitting down next to
Aragorn and giving him a hug.
"Have you any milk?" the healer asked.
"No, why should I? Wasn't Legolas supposed to find a goat?" Aragorn asked,
startled.
Elrond frowned at Aragorn. Honestly, Estel could be very dense at times, no
wonder Arwen had decided to be with Erestor instead.
"To nurse the child with," Elrond explained patiently.
"Nurse? I'm a man! Not some sow," Aragorn said indignantly. He was usually a lot
more self possessed, but he felt emotional after his harrowing ordeal. Better to
be beaten and speared by ten Uruks at once instead. That sort of pain was
comprehensible.
"You shouldn't liken mothers to sows, Aragorn. You have a very odd idea of
motherhood," Elrond said. With swift hands, he pinched a royal nipple.
Aragorn grunted in surprise. No milk. The king grabbed the other nipple and
tugged on it earnestly, then proceeded to give his lean muscled chest a good
squeeze.
"Elrond! Elrond! There is no milk! What am I to do?" wailed Aragorn.
"Calm down, Estel, for goodness' sake, you sound like a hysterical woman. We'll
get a wet nurse," the healer said.
Aragorn calmed down, and then he gazed at his newly born baby, who blew more
bubbles and grimaced at him. Hmm, no overwhelming love either.
Aragorn sighed softly. First things first, he needed a bath. And so did the
little baby by the smell of things.
Legolas peered at the sated and sleeping infant. The wet nurse, a healthy young
peasant woman who had recently given birth to her own child, had just put him
down.
A few weeks ago, she had been overwhelmed with joy at having been chosen for the
task. Haldir had been spreading rumours about the king's "low born lover" very
effectively in Gondor, and the woman believed that she was nursing the prince as
his mother had died in childbirth en route from Rivendell to Gondor. (All the
local people were completely unaware that Aragorn had been in Ithilien all
along).
The woman, whose name was Eryn, was already having dreams of going to the palace
and meeting the fabulously handsome Boromir. Of course she loved her husband,
but every girl had dreamed about catching the eye of that committed bachelor and
paragon of Gondorian male beauty and virtue since he was fourteen years old.
"Ai! He is precious, Elrond, so small and helpless and red and wrinkled,"
Legolas sighed with longing, "like a little baby animal before its fur grows."
Elrond knew Legolas meant it as a compliment, so he did not correct his spouse;
although he was glad Aragorn had not heard the elf's comment.
"I'm sorry Glorfindel and I left early on, our ear drums were near bursting,"
Legolas said.
Elrond smiled, "Glorfi is always nervous around women and their matters. He's a
very committed warrior and statesman but he cannot abide being in a birthing
room."
A refined greeting interrupted their conversation. Haldir's head popped around
the newly erected curtain, which separated Aragorn's resting area from the
baby's feeding and sleeping area.
"Haldir, you've arrived," Legolas said warmly.
The blonde elf grinned and came into the room.
He peered eagerly into the crib and then drew back in alarm.
"Is he normal?" he asked in shock.
"He's fully human, Haldir," Elrond said with a chuckle. "You can't compare him
to Ori, who came out all plump and pink with flowing blonde locks."
"Ori is very plump," said the proud new father, patting his own full, if well
toned, belly.
A plump elf was considered a rare, well-raised beauty among a normally slim and
lean people.
"I can't imagine that just a short time ago, Aragorn and I doubted to see
another dawn at Helm's Deep. And now here we are, new parents," Haldir said.
The elf warrior had almost perished at Helm's Deep; he still bore deep and
permanent scars on his smooth, pale back where the Uruk blade had almost severed
his spine. He had laid in a coma for weeks, until the combined efforts of
Galadriel, Elrond, Aragorn and Gandalf had brought him back to consciousness and
Middle Earth.
Most elves observed that he had merely been too frightened to die, having made a
promise of marriage to the terrifying King Thranduil shortly before the Ring
quest.
It was not beyond the most bellicose and ferocious of all the elven leaders to
storm into the Halls of Mandos and drag Haldir back for the wedding by his hair.
The elves heard a familiar deep voice in the room behind the curtain and fell
silent, not wanting to intrude on the tender reunion.
"My heart! My soul! My love! My king!" declaimed Boromir, overwhelmed with
emotion.
He grasped Aragorn's hand and showered three passionate kisses on it.
Aragorn, much less restrained by Gondor's chivalrous codes of conduct, and
unbelievably horny after months of abstinence, would have liked to tear off
Boromir's clothes and make wild passionate love to him.
However, his lover was a little conservative and tradition bound, and Aragorn
did not want to ruin the moment for him. Doubtless custom dictated that there
were some lines a new father would have to say upon first meeting the mother of
his heir.
"Are you well, Aragorn?" he asked, tenderness spilling from his gruff, deep,
terribly manly and sexy voice.
Boromir had chided himself repeatedly to be gentle and protective when first
meeting Aragorn again. He felt their long separation acutely as well, but the
king was likely to be feeling tired and fragile after his ordeal, and would need
to be cherished and coddled and not subjected to the odious lusts of a randy
lover at such a special time.
Boromir had a long memory, and had been his father's constant companion after
Faramir's birth, when his mother had found Denethor's attentions especially
tiresome. The Steward had offered advice to young Borrie about women and
birthing, not being aware then of his precious firstborn's sexual preferences.
Denethor would have been very surprised indeed to discover that Boromir
ultimately would have use for such advice after a lifetime of feeling sexual
passion only for men.
Aragorn's erection hurt. Boromir smelled divinely of soap and leather and steel,
and he could remember what it felt like to press up against all that hard,
powerful muscle, to kiss that eloquent mouth and make it incoherent with
mischievous hands, and mouth, and sex...
Aragorn embraced Boromir and breathed into his ear, sending a puff warm, desire
laden breath into the delicately shaped lobe, while he reached to cup his
lover's buttocks.
Oops, his hand must have slipped, thought Boromir. My poor beloved, how
breathless he is with exertion. I must behave and be kind, as father said.
Aragorn leaned back slightly for a passionate kiss, and was startled to be
kissed chastely on a bestubbled cheek instead.
"You look radiant, my darling," Boromir said warmly and gently, squeezing his
hands.
Aragorn wished he would squeeze other parts of him. He was just about to make
this known when Boromir smiled with truly tender delight and whispered, "May I
see our son?"
Oh yes, the baby. How could I forget? I know how, that handsome smile, that
mind- bendingly wonderful body, that indescribable arse, that exquisite sex...
Did he just growl at me? Poor Aragorn, he must be very tired...
Elrond entered, carrying the Heir of Gondor.
Legolas and Haldir exited discreetly with warm smiles.
Boromir's face lit with indescribable joy and a fierce protectiveness as Elrond
placed the baby, snuggled in a warm fur, in his arms.
Then, the half elf smiled and left the happy couple to share this most wondrous
of moments.
Boromir was speechless as he rose to sit on the bed next to Aragorn.
Aragorn cuddled him and smiled down at their son. He still looked bloated,
wrinkled and very red to Aragorn, and for a moment he wondered if Boromir was
shocked.
"Our son! Oh Aragorn, I have no words. For all my life I never dreamed I would
be a father; this is a gift beyond measure, beyond description, beyond love.
Thank you, my darling, my king, my all," Boromir whispered, his voice quavering
with emotion.
Aragorn smiled, amazed at how sexy Boromir could look, especially when he was
emotional.
"He is the most beautiful little person," Boromir said with tender awe.
Aragorn stared down at his son again. The baby's lips were puckered lopsidedly
while one eye winked and his nostrils flared and his blonde hair poked out
wildly from beneath the fine cotton bonnet he wore. The king struggled to muster
up some suitable maternal pride in his son's looks, and failed rather miserably.
He could only sigh softly.
Boromir drew out a tiny little hand from its shelter of fur with a large,
cautious finger, and brought it to his lips. A tear of joy and wonder rolled
down his cheek and into his beard, he was completely overwhelmed and grateful
for the miracle he held in his arms.
The baby opened both eyes wide and regarded the large human holding him for long
moments.
Then, he smiled, and his little eyes crinkled and his usually shapeless mouth
curled upwards winningly, and he made the softest noise—a little baby
chortle.
A delighted rumbling bubbled forth from Boromir, and the little baby opened his
mouth wide in a laugh, gurgling in an unmistakably like fashion.
Aragorn's heart melted at last, and he finally fell in love with his tiny little
son and heir to his great kingdom.
The latest addition to Isildur's great line had the smile and laughter of the
Stewards; and this pure and wonderful thing Aragorn's mighty heart had never
been able to resist.
Boromir turned to face Aragorn, eyes twinkling with great happiness. His beloved
was about to say something to him. Knowing mothers, it would be something tender
and sweet and lovely.
"Boromir, I'm glad you love our son. But can we please have wild, abondoned sex
right now?"
The end
Heir of Gondor
by Dayast Joy
An Unceremonious Arrival
aramir, the Steward of Gondor, looked at
his beloved older brother with deep compassion. What must Boromir be feeling?
