The Moral of the Story by mcguffan ot even Gandalf's poorly concealed misgivings could dampen the reviving spirits of the fellowship as they made their way down the frigid and wind-blown slopes of Caradhras. Naturally Gimli was overjoyed to be heading for Moria and his step seemed almost light as he whistled to himself or spoke in glowing terms about the reception that awaited them. The hobbits, too, were happy. Pippin announced as they approached the base of the mountain range that he was fairly certain his feet were finally starting to thaw. Even Frodo was eating a little better which pleased Sam immeasurably. The elf was glad to see colors again and feel the presence of growing things. Aragorn who had remained stoic in the face of the ever decreasing temperatures rejoiced in the lighter mood of his companions. Boromir was no exception to the renewed spirit of vitality. More than the cold and bitter wind had oppressed and worn down the man's valiant spirit on the climb up the mountain. He had not spoken of his concern to anyone but the incident when Frodo had dropped the ring and he had chanced to pick it up had preyed heavily upon his mind. The Gondorim warrior could hardly deny the beauty of the ring, nor he could he deny that his pulse had quickened as he held the mithrihil chain in his gloved hand, transfixed by the loop of gold. This, however, did not disturb him for he had felt the ring's attraction since Elrond's Council—an attraction which Boromir believed he had mastered. No, what had insinuated itself into the man's mind so tenaciously that he could neither eat nor sleep was the severity in Aragorn's tone when he had ordered the blond warrior to return the ring's to its bearer. Boromir was hurt beyond words by the ranger's harsh command, backed as it had been by Aragorn's fierce grip on the hilt of Anduril. The blond warrior understood that his first few meetings with the ranger had been awkward even adversarial. When Aragorn's lineage had been revealed Boromir had been taken completely off-guard and as the warrior he was his reaction when surprised had been to attack. He had never truly apologized for his hasty words but Boromir had convinced himself that all was now well between himself and the ranger. Throughout their journey both men had treated each other with courtesy and respect. Boromir was even able to acknowledge to himself—if no one else—that he had come to admire Aragorn very much. So much so that the blond warrior began to think that a time would come when he would retract those hasty words he had spoken at the council and replace them with a sincere oath of loyalty. The blond warrior had naturally assumed that Aragorn understood his slowly changing attitude and that Boromir, himself was rising in the other man's regard. After all, they had spent so much agreeable time together. They conversed amiably about the terrain and the antics of Merry and Pippin as well as commenting on the peculiar banter between Legolas and Gimli. Just recently Boromir had started telling some of his personal history to Aragorn. Sharing these confidences had seemed comfortable and it eased the warrior's homesickness to speak of his past. The ranger always listened with respect and attention which gave the warrior a contented, happy feeling. Increasingly the blond man deferred to Aragorn's judgment, following the ranger's leadership seemed almost second nature and Boromir felt confident Aragorn would not lead him astray. The ring itself seemed to acknowledge there was a bond between the two men of the company. Almost from the start Sauron's creation had confronted the steward's son with images of a victorious and prosperous Gondor led by its king with his loyal captain-general always at his shoulder. At first, Boromir was confused by this for it had always been Faramir who had yearned for the return of the king. As the warrior grew to know Aragorn, however, and became acquainted with his great power and strength as well as his inexplicable reluctance to fully use that power and strength Boromir's desire for the fulfillment of the ring's promises consumed him. And if the ring occasionally sent him subtle hints of an ever more intimate relationship with Aragorn, well there would be time enough to think about that once the dark lord had been overthrown, Aragorn was king, Boromir was his steward and the immediate threat to his people had been eliminated. The images of Gondor triumphant were never so clear to Boromir as when he had held the ring by its chain in the freezing snow. He had been spellbound by the tantalizing visions but while the blond warrior looked on with yearning, he was no longer truly tempted. The ring did not offer Boromir anything he could not attain for himself. Boromir felt certain Aragorn would not abandon their people. The steward's son hardly needed the ring to save his City if he had his king by his side. As the two men became friends the ring could no longer lure him against his conscience with such pictures. Even the vaguer hints of the king turning to his faithful captain for more than friendship could not move Boromir for this too he hoped to win on his own merit. Thus, Aragorn's show of distrust in his countryman pitched Boromir into a deep depression from which he could not free himself throughout the grueling climb up the steep mountain slope. As the air grew milder, however, Boromir struggled to put the incident into perspective. He had been mistaken not to be more explicit about his evolving feelings. Aragorn was not a mind reader, after all, and the warrior had been truly captivated by what the ring showed him. Boromir decided he would just have to make it clear to the ranger that he no longer believed that the ring was the way to accomplish what he wanted. Besides Aragorn might even have forgotten the whole incident. He had only just picked up the ring when the foolish hobbit dropped it—Frodo was so weak. Boromir knew Aragorn struggled to look after the annoying hobbit. He wished the ranger would allow the blond warrior to be more help. Boromir had the strength. Had he not handed the Ring over as soon as the ranger had told him to do so. By the time the green grass became visible beneath the patches of melting snow Boromir had convinced himself that the entire episode had been a product of frayed nerves brought on by the low temperatures and the ranger's natural anger and anxiety that the hobbit had managed to lose the ring. Thus, as the fellowship made camp for the first time in what seemed like ages on flat terrain everyone was eager to share their the happy mood with their companions. Legolas sang, much to the delight of everyone and Gimli recounted some of the fabulous wonders that awaited them in Moria. By that time, the sun had set and the afternoon had waxed to evening the company had eaten and even been allowed a few hours to revel in the comparative warmth of the lowlands. Despite the long trek down the mountain and the severity of the assent the fellowship showed no sign of settling down for the night. "Gentlemen, might I suggest you find your beds. We resume our march early tomorrow and though we will no longer have to trudge through snow you will still need to be well rested." Aragorn advised as the ranger watched Pippin blow dandelion seeds into Legolas' hair and then run squealing for cover behind Gimli. "Not yet, Strider, please!" Merry implored, giggling maniacally as the elf managed to hit Pippin twice in a row with acorns despite the dwarf's sheltering bulk. "It is a very pleasant evening." Frodo added smiling a little at his cousins. "Perhaps we all might enjoy the evening more if we settled down a bit." Legolas interjected quickly, as he suddenly became aware that Gimli and Pippin appeared to be plotting something. "You say that after you have gotten your acorns in." Pippin sulked. Boromir laughed and tousled the aggrieved hobbit's curls. "Let's have another song then, Legolas, to make amends to poor Pippin." Boromir suggested who having discovered a few twigs and bits of leaf in the hobbit's hair was busy picking them out. "Nay, I shall not . 'Poor Pippin' indeed! Who knows what mischief he and the dwarf are hatching." The elf replied eyeing Gimli and Pippin shrewdly as the two suddenly contrived to look very innocent. "Gandalf, will you favor us with a tale then?" Aragorn asked the wizard as he watched the interaction among his comrades with paternal affection. The man hoped to draw the sullen mage into the same easy and companionable spirit as the rest of the fellowship for Gandalf did enjoy holding an audience in thrall. The wizard, however, was not to be diverted from his own gloomy thoughts. "You may not have noticed, Aragorn, but the success of this journey requires my utmost care and concentration. You will pardon me if I choose to delegate the entertaining responsibilities for tonight." The wizard grumped taking a long pull on his pipe. The ranger was not offended by his old friend's churlishness. Indeed he was even a little relieved for Gandalf's grumpiness was a sign the wizard was not completely consumed by his worries. The hobbits gave Gandalf's answer no thought never having received any greater courtesy from the temperamental wizard. Legolas and Gimli, though they liked each other very much, had yet to have a conversation that did not heavily rely upon insults so they saw nothing rude in Gandalf's words. Boromir, however, was incensed. "Do the rest of us do so little for the good of the fellowship, then wizard, that you have no resources left over to make yourself agreeable for a single night?" The blond warrior asked. Boromir had no recollection of Gandalf levitating the hobbits through the waist deep snow. Nor could he remember the wizard causing fresh meat to materialize before them. Nor had the man any memory of the mage using his magic to heal the hundred bruises, scrapes and other minor injuries the hobbits had fallen victim to. Nor could he remember Gandalf lifting a finger in a hundred other tasks which had been shouldered by the others and most especially by Aragorn. There was no mistaking the genuine irritation in Boromir's question. To the others it seemed a race to answer first between the ranger who would try to save everyone's feelings and Gandalf who would almost certainly match and exceed Boromir's angry words. It was a surprise then when the next words were not spoken by either the man or the wizard. "Will you please tell us a story, Aragorn?" Frodo asked timidly. "You have not told us one since we left Rivendell." The ringbearer's entreaty seemed to assuage Gandalf's ire and the wizard turned back to his pipe with a shrug of his shoulders. "Yes, tell us about the elves." Sam pleaded. "Master Samwise, you have an actual elf before you." Legolas said mildly. "An elf who will not sing. Of what use is that?" Merry responded gleefully. "Yes, do tell us a story Strider but choose something with a happy ending." "But nothing comical." Gimli put in. "Humor doesn't always translate between races. Just look at the elf and his pretty little braids. Those little pixie twists would have had us all rolling on the floor back home and yet the elf walks around as if there were nothing funny at all about having little spears of asparagus hanging out of his head." "Yes, it's a pity we can't all be amused by someone getting so drunk he mistakes his pickaxe for his wife." Legolas shot back in reference to an anecdote that Gimli had barely been able to tell for laughing. "Tell us a story of your own." Frodo said quietly staring out across the night seemingly unaware of all the teasing. "No myths or legends." Boromir who was still caught between embarrassment at having almost provoked an argument and annoyance that he hadn't gotten the chance to set the wizard straight pricked up his ears at Frodo's soft-spoken demand. "Are there any other requests I should keep in mind?" Aragorn asked a little overwhelmed by the sudden tide of demands. When it was clear no one had anything else to add, the ranger sat back to think a moment while the hobbits pulled their blankets close to the fire and made themselves comfortable. Aragorn considered for a long time. In his life he had accumulated a number of stories many of which were already known to Gandalf and Legolas, but the man was reluctant to speak of the countless battles he had been involved in. His travels while certainly interesting tended to contain too many grim facts for him to be comfortable recounting them. Finally, an idea occurred to Aragorn but before he spoke he gazed at Boromir. The ranger was not entirely certain how the blond warrior would react to certain revelations. Aragorn did not wish to offend the other man, in part to preserve the harmony of the group but also because he valued Boromir as a person and the thought of upsetting the steward's son was more disquieting than Aragorn liked to admit. Still, it was a happy story and the ranger had been looking for an opportunity to make known to the blond man a little of his past. Aragorn set down his pipe for the weaving of tales was a serious business and cleared his throat. "During the time of Ecthelion II, Steward of Gondor and grandfather to Boromir, I served the White City under the name Thorongil." The ranger had just uttered the first sentence when he was interrupted by several voices. "Our Boromir's grandfather?" Pippin demanded looking as though he suspected someone was trying to play a joke on him. "'Thorongil', that's elfish isn't it? What does it mean?" Frodo asked letting the unfamiliar syllables roll off his tongue. "Captain Thorongil?" Boromir murmured in wonder, his eyes gleaming with unnamed emotions. Keeping a careful eye on the Gondorim warrior Aragorn answered each question in turn. "Yes, 'our Boromir's grandfather'. It may not appear so but Boromir and I are not of an age." Aragorn informed the hobbit. Not wishing to go into a discussion about the advantages of the blood of Numenor the ranger quickly took a breath to answer Frodo's question but the elf was faster. "'Thorongil' means 'The Eagle of the Star'." Legolas informed Frodo helpfully. "Very regal and majestic wouldn't you say?" The elf laughed as he saw his human friend turn his head uncomfortably. "The name was given me in reference to the star shaped broach that all the Dunedain are accustomed to wearing." Aragorn added sounding only the slightest bit embarrassed. The ranger had always felt the burden of his many names. They so often revealed such very high expectations. "Well, that explains the bit about the star, at least." Legolas continued to tease. Aragorn gave the grinning elf a look of mild reproof before turning his attention to Boromir. The other man had seemed oblivious to the conversation after his first outburst. Thorongil and Denethor had never been friends and it had been a bit of a gamble for Aragorn to claim his earlier alias without first learning how Thorongil was spoken of in Gondor. For his part, Boromir was not as astonished as he might have been. It pleased the blond man immeasurably that Aragorn had not only been to Gondor but served her courageously as well. He had wanted to ask the ranger if he had ever come to Minas Tirith in his travels but, fearing the answer might he 'no', he had never done so. Further, from what he had heard Captain Thorongil had been an admirable leader and soldier with a personality absolutely consistent with that of the tall, stern man now before him. Ecthelion was said to have been thoroughly enamoured of the captain. And while Denethor had sincerely disliked him, a fact made abundantly clear by the steward's manner whenever Thorongil's name was mentioned, he could accuse the captain of no concrete acts of wrongdoing. "Will you tell us of your famous victory over the Corsairs at Umbar?" Boromir asked eyes gleaming with something that was more than pride. "Perhaps another time." Aragorn answered smiling warmly at the other man. At the ranger's smile Boromir felt the terrible experience of Caradhras and that awful incident with the ring lift from him. The blond man was more than eager for the telling of this story. He was confident that this sharing of history was going to bring him closer to Aragorn. "The story I will tell you now occurred somewhat after the defeat of the Corsairs." Aragorn began almost unconsciously letting his voice take on a slower more rhythmic cadence. "I had officially left Ecthelion's service but I had not yet abandoned the name Thorongil or left Gondor. I had it in my mind to travel into Mordor for it is well to know as much of one's enemy as possible but I wanted to spend more time in the kingdom of my ancestors before I attempted such a grim expedition." "By happenstance I found myself roaming through Dol Amroth at around the same time the Lady Finduilas, wife to Denethor, was visiting her family there." It had not been altogether happenstance for Dol Amroth hosted many merchants and traders. It was a place where a stranger could go unnoticed if he was quiet and law abiding. Thus, there was a certain tavern within the city that the Dunedain had designated where orders could be left and messages sent or received. Sometimes two or more of the rangers would meet one another and spend an evening in familiar company. Aragorn had left instructions for Halbarad, written several letters and then lingered in hopes of word from Rivendell. He wished for something, even a word, from Arwen before departing for Mordor but the channels of communication were slow and unpredictable and no letter came. Aragorn, however, did not speak of this. "I was at dinner in the common room of the inn where I was staying when the news came that the lady had been delivered of a second son. There was much rejoicing and Faramir—though the child was not yet called that for his father still resided in Minas Tirith and had not seen him to name him—was toasted through out the city. Indeed as a former captain I considered it no less than my duty to buy a round of ale so that all could drink the health of the young one." As he spoke Aragorn kept an eye on his audience, paying special attention to how the other man of the company received his words. Boromir was hanging on each new utterance. He had never expected to hear an account of his beloved brother's birth from such a unique perspective. The idea of Aragorn hearing with pleasure that a second grandchild had been born to Ecthelion brought an unexpected lump to the blond man's throat. Legolas, too, was fascinated. The elf had believed that he had coaxed every story the ranger had from the man at one point or another in their long friendship. The prince of Mirkwood could not help but wonder why he had never heard this particular tale before. As for the others, they were waiting patiently for the action to begin. "A week later, feasting and revelry still abounded, but I was afflicted with a nagging sense that I had delayed my journey long enough for selfish reasons and that it was time to continue on my travels. Quite sadly I prepared to leave Dol Amroth. Owing to the continuing celebrations the main roads were crowded with those who had come to join in the festivities. So it was that I decided to make my way northeast through the country making use of back roads and forest paths whenever possible." "By the third afternoon I was traveling along moorland that stretched for miles between tall cliffs rising up to the east and the sea to the west. The sky had darkened and the air crackled. A storm had been brewing all that day and I guessed it was close by the unnatural stillness of the animals inhabiting the low bushes and shrubs. Having no desire to try and sleep outdoors in the coming storm I kept a lookout for some shelter. The only human habitation for miles turned out to be a small manor house, no doubt the summer residence of one of the lesser nobility. Even in such troubled times it was the custom in Dol Amroth to offer hospitality to travelers so with this in mind I approached the house, hastening to outpace the storm." "I had not anticipated finding any in residence save for a servant or two for the year was well into autumn but to my surprise the stable was crowded and there appeared to be much activity at the house. I was greeted courteously at the door but it was clear to me that my arrival was somewhat inconvenient. It was no wonder for each day I passed on the road I came to resemble Strider rather more than Thorongil and I had not expected a warm welcome. With nervous apologies I was told the house was full but that I was welcome to find what shelter I might in the stables. The housekeeper hovered around me while she gave me some stew in the kitchen. She seemed nervous and uncommunicative but I attributed this to my disreputable looks and her desire to keep an eye on the family's valuables. More than content to be as small a burden on my reluctant host as possible and eager not to leave Seraph—a very fine and noble beast who was traveling with me at the time—alone during a lightening storm I ate the offered stew quickly. Then I thanked the housekeeper and went out to shelter with the horses." "The horses were anxious about the approaching storm and I did my best to calm them. I noticed with curiosity that Seraph and I shared accommodations with nine horses. Most of these steeds were hearty stallions and soldiers' mounts. The only exceptions were two truly beautiful palfreys such as only the richest of noble ladies could afford to ride. I could only guess that some lord's daughter was being escorted somewhere and had stopped at the manor house just as I had done for shelter. Yet this seemed a strange place for such a convoy to come for the house was isolated and far from the main road. Deciding, finally, that my curiosity was misplaced I concentrated on reassuring the skittish horses." "Not long after I bedded down for the night the storm finally broke. The rain poured down in sheets. I heard the dripping of water from several places where the roof was not up to withstanding the driving rain. Occasionally the whole of the stable lit up in the faintly blue flash of lightening. In the sudden illumination I saw the eyes' of several of the horses roll up in fear and I rose from my blankets to comfort them as best I could but I had only just stood up when the stable doors burst open. With a sudden sense of foreboding I pressed myself against a nearby pillar and waited in silence. "Thirteen men entered leading their frightened horses. When they had all crowded in to the small stable a single lantern was lit. Then their leader spoke: 'Stay quiet until Tirvan signals us that everyone is asleep. Then I want Quido to stay with the horses while the rest of us take the house. Kill everyone but the lady and the child.' The words chilled me but even more frightening to me at that moment was that the man had spoken in the tongue of the Haradrim. This was no simple act of banditry." "'Do we kill Tirvan also?' Came a quiet voice alarmingly close to where I stood willing myself invisible, for I was poorly hidden with only the darkness and the narrow pillar to conceal me." "'A man who will sell his own people for gold does not deserve to live, even if we do profit from his treason. Yes, kill him too.' The leader replied. 'When we have the mother and babe and the rest are dead we wait until Morgo is able to get through this storm and he brings in the rest of the men.'" "I could not quite believe what I had stumbled upon. It was not difficult to guess who it was these men intended to capture. Harad was ever scheming against Gondor and I knew that the steward's family was often the target of these attacks. During my time in the guard, however, I had never been charged with investigating these plots and this theoretical knowledge and the reality of killers in the night were quite different things." Aragorn tactfully refrained from mentioning that the one time Ecthelion had suggested that his much admired Captain Thorongil take over the protection of his family Denethor had been so enraged that he had been in danger of having a seizure. Concerned for his son's health Ecthelion dropped the subject. "My thoughts raced but there was no way I would be able to slip out of the overcrowded stable and give warning to those within the house without making my presence known. I was still frantically searching for a way to give the alarm when the leader spoke again: 'There it is! Two candles burning in the west-most window. If you're quiet, boys, this won't be much of a fight. Let's go.' With that the men crept from the stable into the rain leaving only the one man with the horses." "When the last man had slipped out I counted to ten before drawing my sword and stepping out into the pale gleam of the lantern's light. The remaining Haradrim did not have enough time to scream before I killed him. The horses would not like the smell of blood but I did not have time to do anything with the man's corpse. Looking from the door I saw, when the lightening flashed, figures moving along the barren landscape. Cursing I left the stable at a run. I ran without caution and nearly slipped several times in the muddy earth but I kept going." "I saw a man open the door stealthily gesturing for the Haradrim to enter. Breathing hard I dropped to the ground. I could not afford to be seen quite yet. I considered shouting warnings but I could not out cry the storm so I stayed on the ground moving forward on my stomach while the Haradrim entered the house. When the traitor had closed the door behind the last of the enemy soldiers I rose to my feet and ran the rest of the way to the house." "The traitor had not bothered to lock the door and I pushed it open crying out to wake the house and warn them of their peril as I did so. The sight that first met my eyes upon entering the foyer was the corpse of the man set to the keep watch. His throat had been cut, no doubt the work of the traitor. Next to him lay the crumpled figure of the traitor, stabbed through the heart. Still calling out the alarm I charged forward, following the corridor from which I thought I had heard movements." "By the increase of noise men were waking throughout the house. Ahead, it was obvious that the Haradrim had now abandoned stealth for speed. Two of the enemy soldiers had turned around to deal with the one who was making the noise. Seeing their approach I readied my sword. Fortunately, the corridor was narrow which took away some of the advantage of the two on one attack. When the two caught sight of me they paused. The Haradrim tend to be on average of slightly shorter stature then other men and I towered above these two. More than that, I was disheveled, covered in mud and my sword was already bloody from the man I had killed in the stable. While they wondered at my alarming appearance I lunged. In the end, the two Haradrim died and I continued onward to where I could hear the remaining Gondorim had joined battle with the enemy." Legolas could not help but smile even as he was caught up in the action of the story. The elf had seen his human friend in battle and he did not doubt that upon being faced with the figure of Aragorn the Haradrim had seen their deaths in the ranger's eyes. Legolas also noted that, contrary to his custom of describing battles maneuver by maneuver and thrust by thrust—the man took a general's interest in strategy and a common soldier's interest in tactics—Aragorn was significantly glossing over the violence. This was almost certainly for the benefit of the hobbits who were leaning forward eager for each new word. "When I finally arrived at the place where the soldiers of Gondor had mustered to make their stand the battle was nearly over." Aragorn resumed after quickly assessing the mood of his audience. "Only two defenders remained living to fight off five of the attackers. So involved in finishing off their quarry were the invaders that I managed to kill one of the Haradrim before they even realized I was a threat. I did not dare join ranks with the remaining Gondorim for they were both injured and confused. I could not trust that they would be able to recognize me as an ally. Thus, we broke off into pairs fighting man to man except that I—as the only uninjured man for Gondor—faced two opponents." "My attention was fully occupied by the men before me and I could not spare so much as a glance to watch the progress of the other battles. Thus, when a final desperate stroke finally claimed the life of my second opponent and I was able to look about me I saw that the other battles had ended in mutual slaughter. Quickly I checked for any signs of life from any of the defending soldiers but though one still breathed his wounds put him beyond any mortal's aid and all I could do was ease his passing." "Hurriedly, I searched the lower story of the house. I found none living. I found another sentry with his throat cut next to the body of the housekeeper who had apparently come to bring the man on watch a mug of chocolate. My fear rising I made my way up the staircase to the second floor. Carefully I entered the first door I came to my sword at the ready. The room was empty, however, and I continued on. The second room was as empty as the first but as I pushed open the door to the third room I suddenly found myself under attack." "Sharp nails scratched my face seeking my eyes. A determined knee kept striking for my groin. On instinct I brought my sword up to defend myself only just pulling back in time as I realized my attacker was a woman. 'Listen to me, I mean you no harm! Stop! Listen, will you? I'm not going to hurt—Gods!' My words did nothing to halt the assault and my attacker was getting in several fairly powerful blows to my chest and stomach. Dropping my sword I tried to take hold of her wrists still pleading." "As I struggled I failed to notice that there was someone behind me. Boromir, your lady mother nearly cracked my head open with an empty ale tankard. Fortunately for me, however, at the last moment she recognized something in my features or voice. Though we had never spoken directly to one another both of us had attended many of the same obligatory social events in Minas Tirith. 'Captain Thorongil?' I heard the question and tried to turn while still defending myself from the unrelenting attacks. 'Brannan, stop, stop. He is not an enemy.' At these words the flurry of fist abruptly broke off." "'My lady.' I answered bowing before Finduilas. The lady's belly was still swollen from her recent pregnancy and she moved awkwardly. She was very pale and her brow was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Just as I was thinking that she looked far too ill to be traveling I was interrupted by soft, frightened whimpers. Looking around I saw a cradle at the far end of the room. Ignoring me as she passed by Mistress Brannan hurried to the cradle and picked up a squirming bundle. As she rocked the bundle in her arms and made soft shushing sounds the cries ceased." "'Have you been sent to rescue us, captain?' The lady asked. 'Where is Captain Rodrin? What has been happening?' She continued without waiting for my answer. She was struggling to remain calm as her gaze flitted anxiously toward her child." "'My lady, I was not sent here. It is only wild chance that I came to this place seeking shelter from the storm. I had no idea that you were here or even that you had left your brother's palace. As for Captain Rodrin, I fear he is dead, my lady. The house was attacked by Haradrim soldiers. Your guards fought bravely but it has ended in stalemate. None save I survived the battle for I came late to it.' I explained as gently as I could." "Finduilas put her hand to the wall to steady herself as she grew yet paler at my words. Still rocking the bundle Brannan went over to her mistress offering what support she could. The presence of her son soothed Finduilas and gave her courage. Taking the bundle from her maid she stood straight and proud ready to face the situation. 'Such an attack was not entirely unexpected.' Finduilas responded taking a deep breath. 'That is why we left my brother without fanfare and traveled the back roads, for security—They're all dead, are you sure?'" "'Yes, lady. I'm sorry.' I confirmed unhappily. I had found all the bodies. I was glad to see that most of the men had been awakened and had died with their weapons in their hands." At the time, Aragorn had doubted this news would have been of much comfort to Finduilas so he had not spoken of how he had found her guards. Boromir, the ranger knew however, would take solace in the fact that most of the soldiers had not been killed in their sleep so he included the detail for the blond warrior's benefit. "'If I may ask why have you left Imrahil's protection if there was intelligence of a plot against you? Should you not still be resting and recovering your strength?' Though trained in healing I knew little about the care of pregnant women but it was clear to me the lady was not well." "'The little one's presence in Minas Tirith was required and I am his mother.' Finduilas informed me a little coldly. I inclined my head acknowledging that I had overstepped my bounds in making such an inquiry. 'What do we do now?' The lady asked then, sounding weary and frightened once more." "'It grieves me, for I would not gladly have you exposed to the elements, but the danger has not yet passed. It is only this storm that delays the arrival of yet more of the enemy. We must leave this place as soon as possible.' I said for I had not forgotten the conversation I had overheard earlier. If more Haradrim were going to arrive then the steward's grandson and daughter-in-law must be taken as far away as possible." "'My lady, it would be madness to go out in this storm.' Brannan said. Then leaning closer to Finduilas, she continued in a whisper. 'And who is this man who comes out of nowhere and knows what we must do? It is very strange, is it not?' Mistress Brannan concluded eyeing me warily. The maiden's suspicions were not without foundation. My appearance at just this time and place was rather extraordinary and I admired her loyalty to her mistress but I did not know how long it would be before the Haradrim reinforcements arrived. I did not relish taking the time to explain how I had come to overhear the enemy." "Finduilas regarded me a long moment. I had just resigned myself to telling the story of what I had overheard in the stable hoping that Brannan did not think to inquire why I, as a retired captain of the guard, had not insisted upon better accommodations or how it was I knew the language of Harad when Finduilas spoke: 'Tell us what we must do. We are in your hands, captain.' I bowed acknowledging the responsibility. I could not help but be moved by the lady's trust for she knew nothing of me save what she must have been told and... and her husband did not care for me overmuch." At this last statement Aragorn darted a glance at Boromir. The ranger had no desire to say anything that might be interpreted as a criticism of his friend's father. Nor, for that matter, did he wish to belittle the current ruler of Gondor but Finduilas' decision to trust him, not only with her own life but with that of her infant son, had touched his heart. Despite his better judgment he had found that he could not quite resist sharing this feeling. Not for the first time that evening Aragorn wondered if he had been wise to tell this story at this time and in this setting but he had committed himself now. He also felt a strange urge to speak that he did not completely understand. It was odd but the ranger found he could not quite resist continuing the story. Aragorn need not have worried about how Boromir received his words, however. Finduilas' first born was utterly enthralled. All of his intuitions about the other man's nobility and Boromir's own burgeoning reverence for him were being given ever greater justification. The blond warrior was leaning forward as though he hoped that that way he could catch the ranger's words just a little sooner. Moreover, though Boromir loved his father he was not blind to the fact that the steward occasionally indulged in unreasonable prejudices. Too often had the elder brother seen the younger almost reduced to tears by their father's petty cruelties to believe Denethor was perfect. Boromir himself had also suffered from his father's favoritism. He was the steward's true hope for the future and the burden of that had been crushing. More than that, it had hurt the blond warrior terribly to be held up as the good son when in his own heart he knew of Faramir's great worth. Of course, Boromir had never voiced a word of complaint about his own situation. How could he when Faramir could do nothing to elicit so much as a word of praise from Denethor. "Go on, then." Merry encouraged as Aragorn sat pondering. "What happened next?" Broken from his reverie the ranger smiled and took a sip of water before continuing. "I told the ladies to put on their heaviest cloaks and to wrap themselves up warmly for we had no choice but to go out and brave the storm. When they were ready I led them out of the room. 'Don't look.' I advised after we descended the stair. Bodies, transformed by death into things of horror, littered the floor and I did not want the women to have to see the carnage." "There were too many bodies, however, and the women could not help but stare aghast. Gently I took Finduilas by the arm to lead her through the room but she stopped me. 'Give me one of their swords, Captain.' She demanded in a shaking voice." "My lady, swords quickly grow heavy. They are cumbersome if you are not accustomed to them and you must save your strength for your babe." I replied, not wishing to burden her further." "'I will not go weaponless, Captain Thorongil.' She insisted. Seeing that she would not be moved I went to one of the soldiers of her guard and took his knife. I cleaned the blood off on his cloak. Then I retrieved another soldier's knife and cleaned it. Returning to the women I gave one knife to Finduilas and the other to Brannan who I did not doubt would use it very effectively if the need arose. Finduilas thanked me while Brannan only smiled as she slipped the daggers into her belt." "It was a relatively short distance to the stable but we were all soaked before we were able to make our way in. The horses were still terrified but they were happy to see us. The ladies huddled together as far away from the first man I had killed as the crowded stable would allow. I saddled Seraph and the palfrey that looked the least frightened. When I had the horses ready. I tried to lead them out of the stable. We could not risk riding until the lightening storm was over. The palfrey, however, would not leave no matter how I soother and coaxed her. Finally, I decided we would have to make do with Seraph." "'Try to hold on to the horse.' I instructed, carefully leading Seraph out of the stable with Finduilas clutching the stallion's stirrup in one hand and holding Faramir to her chest with the other. Brannan pressed against Finduilas and Faramir steadying her lady and sharing her warmth. Heading east toward the cliffs we made slow progress through the mud and twisting roots of shrubs and small plants that grew through the grassland. Fighting against the driving wind and rain in clothing heavily drenched in water was exhausting and my anxiety for the women, most especially Finduilas, caused me to look back frequently. We had not gone far when I saw that Finduilas was having difficulty. Halting I insisted, over the roar of the gale, that babe be given to Brannan and that the lady hold onto Seraph with both hands." "'Where are you taking us?' Brannan demanded after we had gone a little more than a mile. The maid carried a surprisingly quiet Faramir on one hip and supported Finduilas with the her other arm. The storm had not eased in the least and there was as yet no sign of any shelter. 'My lady cannot continue in this way. She must have rest and warmth.' I agreed with Brannan but there was nothing I could do at the moment." "'I want to try and reach the cliffs. There should be caves hidden in the rock face. There we can have a fire and I have some herbs that may help to ease the lady's discomfort but we must go on.' As soon as I had finished speaking Finduilas stumbled once more. Brannan's eyes flashed an accusation and I decided that the lady would have to ride despite the threat of lightening." "Seraph was a big stallion and he hardly seemed to feel the extra weight as I lifted Finduilas up into the saddle. 'Keep low over the horse's neck.' I told the lady though I need hardly have bothered for she did not have the strength to keep herself upright. We made greater speed, then, though I worried constantly. There was almost no time at all between lightening and thunder and Finduilas atop Seraph came higher than anything else on the heath." "Finally we came to the cliffs. I let the women rest huddled against the wind between Seraph and the cliff while I explored. The rocks were slippery and I hoped to find some small fissure that could shelter us soon for I was terrified that one of the women would fall and the baby would be hurt. I found a small opening almost immediately and I was about to run back and to bring the women out of the storm but then I noticed some odd markings around the cave entrance. I made no sense of the symbols but I knew that rangers were not the only folk to mark frequent resting and meeting places. It would be nearly as bad to be found, come the morning, by a territorial group of bandits as the Haradrim, so suppressing my frustration I moved on." "Only a little further on I found a smaller passage into the rock. It was hardly as spacious as the first cave but there was just room enough for three people and a horse. Even better, pine needles covered the cave floor in sparse patches. With luck they would be dry enough to help start a fire. I studied the location of the place quickly hoping that I would be able to come to it more directly with the women, then I hurried back to where I had left my companions." "A little later I was crouching over a small pile of pine needles and damp twigs coaxing a small flame to life. Brannan was wringing the excess water from the heavy cloaks that had wrapped her and her lady. Finduilas sat on the cave floor rocking Faramir and murmuring quietly to him. When I was sure the fire had properly caught I helped Finduilas nearer to the warmth then I went up closer to the entrance of the cave to take care of Seraph and to give the women a little privacy while they settled themselves." "Seraph was happy enough to be out of the rain and then to be free of the heavy saddle. I praised the stallion for his bravery in facing the storm and for his gentleness and care on the long walk. Seraph whickered contentedly despite the flashes of lightening that still cracked the night sky. He had conquered his fear on our hurried journey and now he was ready for a well-deserved sleep. Patting his soft nose once more I took up my pack and returned to the fire." "'I have provisions: bread, a little dried meat. It is only soldiers' fare but if one is hungry it will serve.' I offered opening my pack and retrieving the little food I carried as well as some of the herbs that I thought would best induce warmth and a peaceful rest in my weary and chilled companions. I realized suddenly that I was a little nervous. While I felt reasonably competent to lead our desperate escape from the manor house I felt inadequate to see to it that the women felt safe and comfortable." "'Thank you, Captain but I am not hungry.' Finduilas said looking as though she felt a little nauseous. Eyeing her critically I took out an herb that soothed the stomach before handing Brannan a portion of my rations. 'It seems, though that the little one wants his meal.' Finduilas continued fondly as the babe in her arms, perhaps sensing that it was now safe to cry, started to howl. This announcement caused me to drop the kettle I had just brought out and I trusted to the dim light of the flames to hide my blush." "'I'm sorry. Of course, I didn't think. I will go... look for any dry wood to add to the fire.' I stood hastily wondering how long I would need to stay out in the rain before it would be safe to return." "'You need not go, Captain.' Finduilas said with a small smile. 'It will not take long and you are our only protection. For propriety's sake, however, I will turn around and let the fire warm my back for a time.' I wanted to protest that I really should go but the lady had already turned around and I heard the soft rustle of her clothing. I seized the small kettle and bolted to the front of the cave. I filled the kettle with rainwater and then stood staring out at the night until I heard Finduilas call me back to the fire." "Nervously, I looked around, only committing myself to return when I saw the child, apparently fully sated, placed upon his mother's shoulder his back being patted gently. Sighing with relief I put the kettle on the fire and added the chosen herbs. Brannan was beginning to relax and I saw her try to stifle ever greater yawns but Finduilas still appeared tense, her face pinched and drawn with worry and perhaps also illness. When the tea I was brewing was finally ready I took out a small tin cup and filled it." "'I would have you and mistress Brannan drink this, lady.' I said offering the cup. 'I know something of herbs and I believe that this will help you find as peaceful a rest as you may in such conditions.'" "I did not know that herb lore was part of a soldier's education.' Finduilas commented taking the cup and sipping the contents. Brannan looked suddenly distrustful but she drank obediently when her mistress passed her the cup." "'I was not always a soldier.' I replied carefully, watching as the women passed the cup back and forth between them." "'So much has always been obvious, Captain Thorongil. But you are not now a soldier either, are you. Have I not heard that you left my lord Ecthelion's service? Why was that?' Finduilas asked with another small smile. This was not a subject I cared to discuss but it was obvious that the lady desired conversation and that it was doing as much as the tea to calm and relax her." "'I resigned my commission that is true.' I answered as Finduilas' eyes searched mine curiously. 'Family obligations required me to be elsewhere.'" "Finduilas regarded me shrewdly. 'Do you hale from Dol Amroth?' She asked. 'I suspect you know that you have been the subject of a great deal of gossip, some of which has even reached my sheltered ears. It would be quite a coup for me if I happened to mention over my sewing that I knew a bit of the mysterious Captain Thorongil's history. I could go to dinner for a week on an especially piquant anecdote.' Finduilas was smiling now, her natural grace and charm reasserting itself now that she was warming up and the tea was starting to take effect." "'I am not from Dol Amroth.' I replied, grateful that Finduilas seemed to have regained some of her color. 'I fear my story is not something I am able to speak about. But you are welcome to make up any details which you think plausible. I feel confident that you will be kinder than some.'" "Finduilas shrugged comfortably and leaned further against Brannan whose eyes were already drifting shut. 'I could not do worse than some of your detractors if I claimed you were the Dark Lord's own, though you have supporters who are likewise extreme.' Now it was my turn to shrug. I had never intended to have such a polarizing effect on Gondor's politics. In fact, that had been another reason to leave when I did. 'Still your story is your own. You must forgive my curiosity I so rarely find myself in a position to discover matters of consequence. Perhaps I should try to sleep now while I have the opportunity?" "'Are you sure you will have nothing to eat first?' I asked. Though I was glad to have moved away from conversational topics I had trained myself to regard as dangerous Finduilas was pleasant company and it disturbed me that she had eaten nothing." "I could tell the lady was on the verge of declining when she suddenly stopped. She seemed surprised for a moment as her hand descended to her still swollen stomach. 'I suppose I might try something: a little bread maybe?' Quickly I retrieved a portion of the flat bread I carried with me. By her reaction I guessed the herb I had added to the lady's tea had had an effect. Finduilas ate slowly as one unaccustomed to the activity. By the time she had finished Brannan was asleep and Faramir was gurgling quietly to himself between his mother and her maid." "'I shall keep watch if you would like to rest.' I offered. Finduilas nodded her thanks and lay down wrapping herself, her child and the other woman tightly in her cloak. Sighing, for I was a little reluctant to leave the light of the fire for the cave entrance I rose and went to share warmth with Seraph. It was still raining heavily, though the thunder and lightening seemed to have diminished. As I settled to watch the rain I tried to think about tomorrow and how to get Finduilas and her child back in safe hands." "I was still staring into the night fifteen minutes later when an ear-splitting howl drove me from my reverie. Fear gripped me as I drew my sword and hurriedly ran to the back of the cave. I expected to find the women wide awake and frightened but when I reached them Brannan was yawning and Finduilas was slowing easing herself into a sitting position. The child was still screaming his heart out as his mother lifted him into her arms. Once I satisfied myself that no intruder had somehow entered the cave I sheathed my sword." "'Has he been injured?' I asked drawing nearer so that I could examine the child. Perhaps the wind had carried a bit of ash onto him, or perhaps he had turned over onto a sharp stone. I felt the panic of the babe's cries speed my heart and fire my blood. Brannan actually snorted before turning onto her other side and closing her eyes. I thought this seemed to be remarkably callous. Was this the same woman who had attacked me so savagely in defense of Finduilas and the child earlier this same night?" "Seeing my look Finduilas smiled as she gently patted the child's back and the noise decreased very slightly. 'It was her turn last night.' The lady explained. I was still confused and this made Finduilas smile wider. 'He is not injured. He just wants to be held. He wants to be held every night, all night.'" "'Doesn't that make it difficult to sleep?' I asked starting to feel a little embarrassed by my alarm. The lady obviously had the situation well in hand. My question caused Finduilas to laugh outright and I felt my face flush. 'I only meant that when you are recovering from an illness rest is important.'" "'I had not heard that pregnancy was considered an illness.' Finduilas said still smiling, though now she had a look in her eye which I had sometimes seen from Halbarad's sisters right before something unpleasant was done to him." Of his audience only Gandalf and Legolas knew who Halbarad was and not even these two had ever met any of his sisters. Even so, there seemed to universal understanding of just what look Aragorn was speaking of from the entire fellowship. "'Your concern is laudable. Perhaps you would like to hold the little one since you have valiantly taken watch and have no 'illness' from which you need rest to recover.' Finduilas said shifting the still weeping bundle forward as though she expected I would take him. I could not help but wonder if I had misjudged the herbs I had put in the lady's tea. Quillo root is a soporific and I meant only to make sleep a little easier after such a taxing night but too much of it can act upon the body like alcohol weakening the inhibitions, even clouding the judgment. What other explanation could there be for this strange behavior? I was about to explain how patently unreasonable it was to think that I would be able to soothe the child but before I could speak Finduilas had placed her infant son in my arms " Here Aragorn stopped. He was suddenly overcome with the feelings he had when he had held the tiny human and looked into the large and trusting eyes. Though perhaps it seemed strange, the dark-haired ranger had never held a baby before that moment. In truth, he had rarely so much as seen an infant. There were no children in Rivendell and he had not had any occasion to interact with anyone much under the age of fourteen when he had gone to live among the Dunedain. Looking down, then, into the wide, innocent eyes of Faramir had moved him. So much so that he was not entirely certain how to speak of it. The child was utterly helpless and yet utterly confident that he would be loved and protected. He had no idea what the future had in store for him. He could not imagine the evil that befell even the strongest and most virtuous in this world yet the infant Faramir had quieted and looked up at the strange man his mother had given him to with complete faith. Unconsciously, Aragorn's gaze had sought out Frodo's face as he thought on Faramir. The hobbit was likewise so innocent and in such desperate need of protection. The comparison which was written clearly upon the ranger's face was not entirely lost on the ringbearer either. Frodo could not dispute the similarity for he knew himself to be at the mercy of people and forces he could hardly understand let alone control and it pained him to be a burden. Yet, there was something about Aragorn's story that comforted the hobbit. It was a relief to Frodo that it was more than a sense of duty that motivated the ranger but rather a part of his very nature to look after those who needed it. The hobbit, however, was not the only one to follow the direction of the ranger's look. Boromir saw too and his teeth ground together though the blond man would not have been able to explain why he was angry. The rest of the fellowship was similarly caught up in their own thoughts. The other hobbits were very much amused by the seemingly omnipotent Strider being so inept at something so simple. Sam and Pippin were especially pleased. The two smiled as they thought that while they might not be as skillful in some areas as their austere protector they, at least, knew how to take care of a fussing baby without needing to be told. For his part, Legolas was able to detect something of his friend's emotions and the prince wondered to himself how elves could have kept their beloved Estel so isolated from his own kindred. It was only now that Legolas had started meeting other humans like Halbarad and now Boromir that the elf realized how terribly lonely Aragorn's childhood had been. The man's 'playmates' had all been older than him by centuries and they had only a dim understanding of concepts such as hunger, fatigue and illness. Gimli was quiet, too, though he was smiling. The dwarf was thinking of all his nieces and nephews and wondering what antics they had been getting up to in his absence. Gandalf, who had not seemed to be listening still gazed into the fire. The wizard was deeply troubled. In his heart of hearts he trembled at what he knew awaited him in Moria. He did not fear for himself, however, but for his companions. He was generally aware of the fellowship's emotions as Aragorn had told his story and though he was glad that the hobbits were amused and entertained he sensed something he could not identify from Boromir. It made him nervous. He was not certain but the old wizard thought he could hear Sauron's ring laughing at him. Boromir was utterly oblivious to the wizard's fears and dark mood. There was simply too much for the blond warrior to be able to sort it out all at once. Tears pricked at the backs of his eyes as he picked up on the hints of loneliness and unhappiness in the description of his mother. Finduilas had died when her first child was only eight and her son remembered her only as a kind but wistful woman. Now Aragorn was telling him more about his mother than his father ever had and that in itself was something to think about. Then too, there were all the political implications of the tale. Boromir, himself, had narrowly avoided becoming a victim of a Haradrim plot when he had been fourteen and out on a scouting trip with his uncle. It was easier for the enemy to infiltrate Dol Amroth than Minas Tirith because Imrahil refused to put his citizens through the sort of security measures that would be sure to keep the Haradrim out. It was a subject upon which Denethor and his brother-in-law had often had hard words. Then, too, the story also explained why Brannan—who had been Boromir's nurse as well as Faramir's and a mother to them both after Finduilas' death—had slapped a soldier in the face and ordered him out of her sight, when the man had tried to tell her charges an old tale about 'the overly-ambitious Thorongil'. At the time, Boromir had just assumed his old nurse objected to war stories in the nursery but now it all made much more sense. Other thoughts and ideas flashed through the blond warrior's head faster than he could make sense of them. 'Why had the story never received wide public acclaim—Thorongil would have been a hero?', 'Why had Boromir never heard the story?' 'Had Faramir ever been told?', 'Why did Aragorn feel he needed to go to Mordor of all places?', 'How much was Aragorn leaving out or glossing over to spare his—Boromir's—sensibilities?', 'Had Finduilas merely been recovering from her pregnancy or had she truly been ill and who had decided she had had to go back to Minas Tirith in such haste and with so few guards whatever the cause of her apparent weakness?' 'Despite his obvious patience did Aragorn ever get angry when fools failed to recognize him immediately for what her was—fools like Boromir had been?' And 'Who was this Halbarad character and why had Aragorn mentioned him at all?' "Well, are you just going to leave it there, then?" Pippin demanded after nearly a minute had passed in silence. "I hope you don't think any of us are going to get to sleep if you do." "It is getting quite late." Aragorn replied smiling a little at the hobbit's impatience. "I had not realized quite how long I had been talking." "Oh now you are just fishing for compliments." Merry squealed indignantly. "All right. Yes, it's a very interesting story. Please finish it tonight, pretty please. Pretty, pretty please!" Aragorn took another sip of water and regarded Merry with a slightly wounded expression. "Since you ask so nicely," The ranger said. "how can I refuse? But if you do not wish to stir yourselves at dawn tomorrow then you will have only yourselves to blame." Merry and Pippin exchanged smug grins and settled down once more. "We never want to stir at dawn, no matter how early we go to bed." Pippin informed the ranger. "You were just saying how Boromir's Mum gave you his little brother to hold and you didn't know what to do." The hobbit added helpfully. "Just so." Aragorn confirmed. "Though I don't think I put it that way." Seeing that the hobbit cousins had a retort for this bit of self-defense the ranger hurried on. "The little one did stop crying to evaluate the new creature who had suddenly entered his little world. The child looked up at me quizzically and his small fist gripped my tunic. Hoping that I had accomplished what his mother had intended with the babe's puzzled silence I tried to give him back but Finduilas had already started to settle herself once more into the blankets." "'Just hold him, walk around with him. Talk to him. You may even sing to him if it is not beneath your dignity.' Finduilas suggested before finally turning her back. I was going to argue but just then the little one decided that the one to whom he had been given was failing to entertain him and he decided to complain. I was still very unnerved by his cries for I could not believe such agonized shrieking was normal so, feeling rather helpless I stood up and began pacing back forth with the child in my arms." "'Hush, little one. You will wake your lady mother and mistress Brannan. They both need their sleep. Shall we go see Seraph? Will that be interesting?' I asked pleadingly. I had been speaking in Sindarin for I thought the language would soothe the child and apparently it did for once more he quieted. His mother had been correct and little Faramir did indeed wish only to be held and talked to. He was easy to confide in as it happened, listening most attentively as I gave voice to my various thoughts. Together we kept watch and I did sing a bit for I was often in the habit of singing quietly through a long watch and the little one did not object." "There were no more disturbances that night and as the sun rose on the storm-washed world I flattered myself that the little one and I had become fast friends. I left the cave, taking advantage of the early dawn light to reconnoiter. I was very pleased to discover that our little refuge was not readily visible. It was sheer luck that I had stumbled over it in last night's storm for I was certain that I would not have noticed it had I been looking casually." "As I returned to the cave I gave Faramir a quick summary of the tactical advantages and disadvantages of our position. It had been only a few hours but in that time I had become accustomed to speaking to the child—for he was most content when I interacted with him. Nodding a good morning to Seraph I made my way deeper into our refuge where the women were still sleeping. I called softly but they did not wake. Finally, I had to shake Brannan's shoulder. She came awake suddenly and I could not help but notice that her hand went directly to the knife at her belt before she became aware of her surroundings and turned to wake her lady." "As I returned Faramir to his mother the child once again grasped my tunic in his tiny fist. 'He will be a strong and valiant warrior, this one.' I commented fondly as I extricated myself from his grip." "'Oh, will you listen to him.' Brannan scoffed all but rolling her eyes. 'Several hours ago I believe you were afraid to touch him and now I suppose you consider yourself an expert.'" "'I believe the Captain is considered an expert on warriors if not upon children.' Finduilas said kindly, gently rocking the child in question who had greeted his mother's embrace with a resumption of his nighttime tears. 'But, even so, all infants have great strength of grip for the first few weeks of life. I have heard that is so they can cling to their mothers but I do not know if that is true.'" "Whatever the case, he will be a warrior.' I repeated. "He will find it within himself to face down a Naz-gul." I was not entirely certain why I insisted but as I looked down upon the little one the words simply came. Finduilas smiled, perhaps assuming I spoke only out of a sense of duty. Brannan, however, was no longer smiling and I saw from the corner of my eye that she made a sign that was sometimes used either to invoke or acknowledge a blessing." "'Well then, Captain, now that you have recruited my son, how shall we proceed?' Finduilas inquired returning to business." "'If my memory serves me, my lady, the nearest garrison is somewhat more than thirty miles south. If I encounter no delays then I can reach the outpost before noon. It is possible that I may return with aid as early as this evening though I think tomorrow morning more probable.' I was not certain whether I should have—in pure military style—enumerated the problems I was likely to encounter: Most obviously I might not be believed. There was a chance the garrison commander would clap me in irons as a madman spreading dangerous stories. Then, too, I had only seen the outpost on a map and maps could be unreliable. I had other worries but ultimately I decided that it would do more harm than good to speak of all the things that might go wrong." "'You are not going to leave us here by ourselves?' Brannan demanded sounding anxious. Finduilas, too, looked suddenly nervous but she remained quiet waiting for me to answer Brannan." "I think you will be safer here than on the road. I will leave my remaining provisions which should be more than enough for the little time I will be gone. This cave is well-hidden and I shall do more to conceal it from view before I go. No one will find you here." I said as reassuringly as I could though Brannan did not look the least convinced." "'Are you sure that we should not go with you?' Finduilas asked. 'What if something were to happen to you on the way? What if no one believes you? What if those men find us? Must you go alone? I would feel safer with you by us, Captain.'" Title: The Moral of the Story Author: mcguffan anne_robbins@y... Rating: NC 17 Pairing: A/B Summary: Aragorn tells a story about Thorongil and Boromir gets to be jealous of Faramir for a change. Archive: Please do not archive this without permission. Notes: A little feedback would really help my very fragile ego. Please review. "'My lady, if you are determined not to stay here, then of course I will do all that I may to protect you until we reach the garrison, but it is my best judgement that you and the child are better off here where you may rest and avoid notice.' The ladies were richly dressed and clearly of high birth. The sight of two gentlewomen carrying a child and accompanied by a single disreputable looking man with a war-horse would draw every rogue and bandit for miles." "'We will trust to your judgment, then, and await your return.' Finduilas decided. I bowed accepting the responsibility of the lady's trust." "Quickly, I laid out all my rations for the women and put aside most of my baggage. I wanted to travel fast and I did not want to burden Seraph with any unnecessary weight. When I was ready I bid Finduilas and Brannan stay within the cave while I arranged the brush and fallen leaves in such a way as to make the small opening in the cliff face all but invisible. When I had made the women as secure as I could I mounted Seraph and headed south." "I made good time for Seraph was sure-footed even over the rain slick ground. The roads were not crowded for rain was falling in a slow drizzle. Those few who were about were mostly men traveling together in threes and fours hoods drawn up over their faces and boots squelching in the mud. Seeing them I was glad that the women had consented to remain behind. No one attempted to hinder me, however, for I carried a sword and Seraph looked dangerous." "I reached the small garrison well before noon. Pleased to have mad such good time I informed the sentinel on duty that I had a message for the commander. A young guardsman was summoned to escort me through the gate and then I was shown into a small office. 'The Commander is not here, sir, but his second is just finishing a circuit of the grounds and should be here in just a moment.' The boy said politely. I asked him the name of the commander and his second, unfortunately I knew neither man. Then the guardsman excused himself leaving me alone in the office. I was not happy at this turn of events for I thought it would be harder to convince a subordinate officer that he should take a chance I might be telling the truth than a man accustomed to taking the initiative." "I waited several minutes before the door opened and a very young man entered the room: 'I'm Lieutenant Vidrik, you have something for me?' My first inclination was to chide him for allowing a stranger to go unattended for even a second in a place where potentially sensitive information was stored but I suppressed the impulse." "'I have a message from lady Finduilas urgently requesting aid for herself and her newborn son.' I informed the man quietly. Vidrik was speechless and I waited patiently for him to recover himself." "'What are you talking about?' The man demanded." "I am talking about the lady Finduilas, princess of Dol Amroth, wife to Denethor, the Steward's heir, and mother to his sons. The few guards that were sent with her are dead. They were betrayed to the Haradrim by a man called Tirvan.' I said remembering the traitor's name that had been revealed while I hid among my enemies. 'Captain Rodrin and the rest died defending their lady and if you act quickly they will not have died in vain.'" "The lieutenant was now clearly frightened. I had established that I knew much more than I could if this was only some mad prank. Still Vidrik knew nothing about me and an evaluation of my trustworthiness had suddenly become of the utmost importance. 'How do you know this?' The man whispered coming toward me suddenly. They had allowed me to keep my sword and I had to concentrate not to grasp the hilt." "'I found the lady in the house where she had sought shelter last night. All her guards had been killed.' I repeated. Seeing the man's expression turn thoughtful I pressed ahead. 'But perhaps you had some report of this? Where has your Commander gone?'" "'Some Haradrim were caught just a few hours ago. They were tearing through the countryside as though looking for someone.' The man answered. 'My commander went to oversee the interrogation. We did not know—We did not think about Lady Finduilas. We just assumed it was just a raid. Is she unharmed?' The man was understandably upset but I was glad that now he fully understood the gravity of the situation." "'She was when I left her at dawn' I responded. 'But you must send men to her immediately. She is hiding and though you may have captured the Haradrim she is still vulnerable.'" "'Of course, at once, of course.' Lieutenant Vidrik agreed. 'You, you know where she is? You can guide us there?'" "'Yes, I will take you to her.' I reassured him. The man nodded but did not move. 'Assemble a small troop and send for a healer to await our return in case there is need. Also, if you have enough men available, send a patrol to the house where the guards were killed so that the bodies may be recovered and honorably buried. It is near where the lady has hidden. I shall point it out.' I suggested quietly. The man obeyed with apparent relief, for he was still very young. Calling a soldier into the office and relaying the instructions. When the soldier left to carry out the orders the Lieutenant remained with me and for a while we stood in silence." "'I have not yet asked your name. What are you called? And what is your involvement in this?' Vidrik finally asked breaking the silence and trying not to shuffle his feet in embarrassment over not asking this earlier. I scrutinized the man carefully. I had considered several ways of answering and was pleased with none of them." "'I am called Thorongil and my involvement is that of soldier fulfilling his duty.' I announced mustering all the authority I could." "'Thorongil? It seems to me I have heard that name.' The lieutenant pondered. The man no longer doubted either my motives of my veracity but he had become quite curious. His curiosity, however, was not welcome and I fear I was stern with him." "'You have indeed heard the name for I have just spoken it to you.' I said severely. 'Your men should have had more than enough time to assemble. Let us not delay.' Chastened, the man followed as I strode from the office." "The journey from the garrison back to the cave took longer than did the journey from the cave to the garrison. In part because the roads were in poor shape and there were more of us traveling them but also because, as we approached nearer our goal, I had to take time to study the landscape. At dusk, Vidrik and his thirty soldiers drew rein at my signal." "'There is a cave twenty yards up this slope. I left the women there.' I explained dismounting. Vidrik dismounted also and with five of his men followed me to the cave entrance I had tried to conceal earlier." "'My lady, Mistress Brannan.' I called as I approached so I would not alarm the ladies with my sudden appearance. I received no answer and I began to fear for I had been gone nearly an entire day. 'It is Thorongil, I have returned. My lady!' I had arrived at the cave entrance and I saw that the branches and rocks I had arranged had been moved. It was most likely that Brannan or Finduilas had left the cave during the day for fresh air or some other reason and then returned but even so I was becoming nervous." "The next moment Brannan was standing at the cave entrance knife in hand, an expression of fierce determination on her face. Knowing her predilection for violence upon meeting new people I raised my hands to indicate peace. As she recognized me her expression changed. Just as she had done the night before the woman flew towards me. Instinctively I shut my eyes thinking to protect them from her nails but instead she flung her arms around my neck, the knife still clutched tightly in her hand. The embrace did not last long. Brannan quickly released me and retreated a few paces back to the cave." "'It's all right. It's him. He's come back. It's all right!' The maiden called back. Brannan's eyes shone with unshed tears. The woman had been exceptionally brave throughout the entire ordeal but now that it was coming to an end her control was finally slipping just a little. Now that I was back I could somehow see more clearly how terrifying that long day of waiting must have been for the women." "Vidrik, it pains me to inform you, was somewhat amused by Brannan's enthusiastic reception. The callow youth was trying unsuccessfully to suppress a smile. That smile transformed, though, the moment Finduilas emerged from the cave moving carefully and holding Faramir against her breast. The lady looked pale, her hair unkempt and the occasional tremor ran through her. Suddenly, young Vidrik's eyes were as full as Brannan's. Finduilas smiled a wordless greeting to me as I carefully took her arm to lead her down to where Gondor's soldiers awaited her." "'My lady—my lady, are you all right?' Vidrik questioned hovering close to the mother and child as the entire troop sped about fetching a camp stool, offering wine, bringing blankets, doing anything that might conceivably be of comfort to the lady." "'I am all right thanks to your arrival. I am very grateful, Captain...' Finduilas answered after accepting a sip from a flask that had been hurriedly pressed into her hand." "'Lieutenant, ma'am. Lieutenant Vidrik. I cannot explain how this calamity came about. We have fallen short in our duty, permitting such a thing. You have my sincerest apologies. I'm so sorry you had to go through such a nightmare...' The Lieutenant continued in that vein for a while Finduilas reassured him." "A rider had been sent back to the garrison to report the situation and another had been sent to tell the men at the manner house to prepare for the arrival of the mother and child. Neither Finduilas nor Brannan was pleased to be returning to that place but it was growing late and it was agreed that Finduilas should be made to travel as little as possible that night." "I stood in the background watching the activity. To my mind the situation had been resolved. It was time for me to leave. Waiting until Vidrik was between conversations I approached him quietly: 'If you have a moment, Lieutenant?'" "Vidrik turned and gave me his full attention, even going so far as to straighten his back and shoulders as he faced me. 'Yes, sir.' I raised an eyebrow at the young man not altogether pleased. Vidrik colored slighted. 'I remembered, Captain, where I had heard your name.' The man explained" "'Very well.' I said, my lips compressed into a thin line. 'It is not my place to tell you your duty but I must ask a favor: Speak of me and my part in this as little as possible in your report. If you must speak of me at all then do so to the Lord Steward alone. And prevail upon my lady to do likewise.' My name was a point of controversy and this story would only further antagonize various political factions. What was more I was always afraid to bring the sort of scrutiny down on myself that fame invited." "'Captain, how can I do that? Why should I do that?' The Lieutenant asked taken aback. 'You are a hero. My lady was just beginning to tell me of the events of yesterday. You saved her life. All of Gondor should be singing your praises.'" "I shook my head firmly. 'You say you remember my name. Do you remember aught that was said about me?' I asked." "The man shrugged. 'The talk was that you were a particular favorite of Ecthelion but that you were not born in Gondor and had no family of note so that some feel you rose higher in the ranks than you should have done.' Vidrik laughed. 'Some people are going to be made to look very foolish when this story gets out.'" "'Did you not also hear that I left Ecthelion's service?' I inquired and Vidrik nodded. 'Let us say a man leaves a position that affords him both honor and the luxuries of life. Let us further suppose that this man lets it be known in certain quarters that he was forced from that position by jealousy and bigotry and that he bitterly resents those who rejected him. Now this man is approached by others who wish to be his friend. They claim to sympathize. The man complains indignantly of his unjust treatment. As it turns out these others also have a grievance and they would make common cause. The man is eager to cooperate and to develop a partnership. In the course of that alliance the man comes to learn of things which those he had openly served in the past would very much like to know. Let us say that the man, then, passes that information back to the one he served originally.' Vidrik was only just following my words. I locked eyes with him and took the next step for him. "'How do you imagine I learned of the plot against the lady and her son, with only just enough time to thwart it? Now let us say that this story is told and—as you suggest—my name is praised throughout Gondor. The Haradrim will suppose just as we have been supposing and then what do you think will happen to me and to the stream of information that somehow finds its way to Minas Tirith about the plans of our Southron neighbors?' I paused gazing intently at the man. 'Do not speak my name to any save lord Ecthelion.' I finished earnestly." "'O—Oh!' Vidrik said finally drawing the conclusion I intended. I had, some time earlier, done some espionage on behalf of Gondor so I was not making the story up entirely out of whole cloth but I could not help but feel a little guilty about lying to the man as I watched his eyes widen. 'I swear I will not speak to anyone about your involvement except the steward himself.' I nodded, acknowledging his promise. Ecthelion had always been indulgent about my—to his mind obsessive—desire for anonymity. I hoped he would continue to be tolerant when the story reached him." "'It is passed time for me to go, Lieutenant Vidrik. Take care of my lady and her son and if you would deliver this to her at your convenience, I would be grateful.' The lieutenant nodded and accepted the scrap of paper upon which I had scribbled the name and qualities of the herb I had given her last night and that had seemed to help her. Then Vidrik extended his hand and I shook it." "It took me a while to collect my belongings and I begged a few extra rations from the soldiers' supplies but finally I was ready to depart. I had nearly made it to Seraph when my name was called. Intending to ignore it I hurried on. 'Captain Thorongil!' The voice repeated more urgently. Then I heard the swishing of skirts and felt an insistent tap on my shoulder. 'Captain?' I turned around defeated." "'Mistress Brannan, how may I serve you?' I gave the woman a look which I was sure would have reduced Vidrik to stammering apologies but Brannan ignored it." "'You aren't leaving, are you? I know my lady will only feel safe in that awful house if you are there.' Brannan said and her voice was accusing." "'Lieutenant Vidrik will see that no harm comes to her. Now, if you will excuse-' But it was no use." "'You must at least say farewell.' Brannan insisted and I could almost hear her saying:—That's what a gentleman would do.—Resigned I nodded and followed her." Aragorn would have resisted a man but women were different. There had been very little female influence in his life. All he knew of women he had extrapolated from what he knew of Halbarad's sisters and all of those young ladies looked to Aragorn— as friend, chieftain and father surrogate—for kindness and gentleness. He felt such protective affection for his friend's family that Aragorn could not quite bring himself to exercise the requisite firmness with Brannan. "Finduilas sat at the center of a circle of anxious guards. The men gave her about ten feet of space to herself. They were trying not to stare so that she could have at least the illusion of privacy but they also wanted to be attentive to anything she might need. As I approached the circle widened giving us a bit more space for private conversation." "I bowed before the lady and waited for her to speak. She studied me for a moment before drawing the bit of paper I had given Vidrik for her from her sleeve. 'Thank you for this.' I nodded and she replaced the paper." "'Vidrik tells me you are leaving and that 'for the good of Gondor' I must be discreet to the point of ingratitude about my rescuer.' She said still gazing at me." "'It must be so, madam. I beg you to indulge me.' I replied." "Very well, Captain.' The lady acquiesced a little disappointed for I believe she desired more details. 'But I cannot allow you to leave without offering you some reward.' I shook my head in refusal." "'There must be something. You have saved my life and the life of my son. You must allow me to give you something.' Finduilas insisted." "'My lady, there is nothing I desire.' I replied" "'Nothing you desire that I can give you.' The lady amended and I had to acknowledge the truth of this." Aragorn paused again, took a sip of water, then another. He seemed to be arguing with himself. After a moment and another sip of water he appeared to have decided. "Finduilas then wished me a safe journey and I bowed. With the lady's permission I reached out to Faramir and let the child clutch my finger. I smiled as I moved my finger up and down in a modified handshake. Then I took my leave of them. Traveling through the night in case Vidrik's commander decided it would be a good idea to search for the now anonymous stranger. A week later I passed into Mordor but in that desolate place I thought often of the little babe and the image sustained me through much that was grim and bleak." A collective sigh ran through the fellowship as Aragorn concluded. "That was a good story, Strider. Thank you." Merry said and then yawned. There was murmured agreement all around as well as a general reaching for blankets and stretching of limbs. In a few minutes the fellowship was settled in to sleep. Gandalf had moved off to take first watch and the others were quickly drifting into sleep, all save Boromir who was wide awake thoughts spinning wildly. The fellowship rose with the dawn. The mood continued cheerful. The flat terrain was such a relief after the steep slopes of the mountain. The wind no longer blew freezing cold and miracle of miracles there was no more of the dreadful smothering snow. Merry and Pippin who could often set the emotional tone for the others were exuberant, fairly bouncing with renewed energy. Even Gandalf seemed to be slowly coming to grips with the necessity of traveling to Moria. Thus, he was able to pull himself from his depression enough to be the benign curmudgeon the hobbits knew and loved. Boromir had slept poorly. He had been restive all night. The few occasions when he had managed to fall into a fitful sleep his dreams had been a surreal jumble of lurid images that had disturbed him greatly, though, upon waking he could not remember what he had seen. Despite this the warrior did his best to appear light-hearted, grousing good-naturedly with the dwarf and teasing the hobbit cousins. There were times, however when Boromir would lapse into silence, staring off into the middle distance, his eyes filled with indecipherable emotions. The charade was in part for the ranger's benefit. Boromir noticed Aragorn's eyes upon him and he knew that the other man had worried that his story last night had upset the blond warrior. It had, in fact, had a tremendous impact upon Boromir but the blond warrior understood instinctively that if the ranger knew this he would become even less forthcoming and Boromir desired nothing so much as Aragorn's confidence. Thus, whenever Aragorn approached Boromir in attempt to assess his mood the warrior would quickly find something else that needed his attention. Though Boromir had a thousand things he wanted to ask but he could not bring himself to speak to Aragorn. He had a great deal to sort out before he trusted himself to question the ranger. By the afternoon Boromir was having increasing difficulty keeping his mind on what was going on around him. The blond warrior found himself wishing for something urgent to take up all his attention, a varg attack, some small natural disaster, anything. To his chagrin, however, the day was clear, no enemy perused and the walking was pleasant and easy. With his mind free to wander Boromir kept seeing his brother being held in his mother's arms while Aragorn looked on with affectionate approval. Then the vision would change. Finduilas disappeared. Faramir had grown into a man but Aragorn did not change. The ranger still looked upon Faramir with love and tenderness. This vision drove Boromir to distraction. He hated it but he could not seem to get it out of his mind. He didn't understand why it bothered him so much but Boromir was becoming increasingly anxious to get rid of it. Finally in desperation Boromir turned to the one walking at his side— who turned out to be Legolas. The elf was singing quietly to himself as he often did while walking. The soft words tripped easily from the elf's tongue creating a light and airy sound that seemed to harmonize with the sounds of nature about them. The man seized upon this as an excuse to make conversation. "What is it about?" His question had started out more harshly than Boromir intended and he had to consciously moderate his tone. "What is what about?" The elf inquired. "Your song." Damn, Boromir hoped that whatever it was would be interesting. "Oh," The elf laughed. "it is about the path we tread and that small spray of wild flowers we just passed. And it is about the birds nesting in the trees over to our right and the play of light and shadow..." 'Oh gods, An extemporaneous commentary on the scenery, not the least bit interesting,' Boromir thought dismally as he stopped listening. Soon he was again lost in reverie. "Boromir... Boromir!" The man shook his head and looked around. The elf was looking at him inquisitively. Boromir flushed. He had no idea how long Legolas had been trying to get his attention. "Sorry, you were saying?" Boromir hoped that he would be able to bluff his way passed whatever the elf had asked. He had a feeling that he missed out on several minutes of conversation and he didn't want Legolas to realize that. "I asked if you ever sang, Boromir. I do not often have the opportunity to hear men but I have always liked the deep sonorous sound. I love the way Estel sings. He has such a deep rumbling base." To demonstrate Legolas dropped his voice several ocvtives and tried a few notes. His voice, however, quickly deteriorated and he lost the pitch which caused Boromir to smile a little. Of course Aragorn had a wonderful voice Boromir thought fondly but it was much more suited to delivering stern commands than pretty songs. "You have a pleasant speaking voice, Boromir, I do not doubt that you could turn that voice to song if you wished." "I only sing when I'm drinking." Boromir replied. "Faramir sings well though." Boromir remarked thoughtfully. Faramir could even sing in Sindarin. His brother seemed to have an aptitude for all the arts. Boromir had always been proud of Faramir's talent, though, he had been inclined to think it a rather frivolous gift. "You should sing more often, then, Boromir. Even if it is done poorly, there is joy in turning one's thoughts into music." Legolas said encouragingly. "I don't think so." The warrior replied. Shrugging at the perversity of men the elf resumed his song. That night Boromir dreamed. He was in his mother's garden in Minas Tirith. A young man was sitting on a bench picking out notes on a dulcimer. Boromir knew the man was Faramir, even though this Faramir could have been no more than fifteen or sixteen—a boy really. As the scene came into greater focus Boromir realized that Faramir was singing, the same melody—in fact—that Legolas had been singing that afternoon. As the music drew to a close a stranger appeared and walked up to Faramir. Boromir could not quite discern the man's features. Even when he looked directly at him the man seemed out of focus, obscured somehow as though something was blocking Boromir's vision. As soon as Faramir became aware of the man's presence he jumped to his feet and bowed very low. "You play beautifully." The stranger said moving closer to the young man and it was true, of course. Faramir did play beautifully. "Thank you, my lord." Faramir replied, his voice soft and reverent. "You remember me?" The man asked sounding a little surprised but quite pleased. Faramir raised his eyes to the stranger's face and looked at him with complete sincerity. For just a moment Boromir thought he saw in the young Faramir's expression and clear gaze the image of Frodo. The similarity was gone in an instant but Boromir was deeply troubled by it. "I can never forget you, my lord. I hope every day for your return. It is and has always been the greatest desire of my heart. You are—" The man raised a hand and Faramir instantly fell silent. "You are faithful Faramir but the time has not yet come. There are still many trials ahead and the future is ever uncertain. You must wait a little longer." The man said sadly. Faramir lowered his eyes accepting the other's words with humble resignation. "But I have not forgotten you either, my faithful one." The man continued with a small smile. "I have a gift for you." So saying the stranger extended his hand. A chain dangled from his fingers and upon the chain was a small gold loop—a ring. "When I reclaim what is mine this will be for you so that all may know you are the one who believed in me, the one who kept faith with me and the one who I love and prize above all others." "I strive always to be worthy of your service, my lord." Faramir replied his eyes filling with tears. The young man barely glanced at the ring. All his attention was on the man before him. In the next instant the stranger was gone and the tears fell unheeded down Faramir's cheeks. It was still night when Boromir awoke—pale and awash with sweat. The feeling of the dream still lingered and the blond warrior knew two things with absolute certainty: The stranger in his dream was Aragorn and the bearer of the One Ring would have the love of the king. As the fellowship broke camp the dream repeated itself over and over in Boromir's mind. Though, with the sun some of Boromir's reason returned. The One Ring would be destroyed. It was ludicrous to think it was the key to Aragorn's affection. The ranger did dote obsessively on Frodo but that was just because the little hobbit was so frail and helpless. It was kingly in Aragorn to protect the little one but Boromir knew Aragorn needed someone to protect and take care of him instead of constantly catering to pathetic, weak-willed hobbits. Anyway, why would Aragorn give the ring to Faramir of all people? The two did not even know each other. What difference did it make that Faramir possessed many qualities that the ranger prized. That was just chance. Aragorn had only seen him once decades ago. There was no connection between them. How could there be? But Back in Minas Tirith, Boromir's tortured mind insisted, there had been that first dream. Boromir and Faramir had shared the first prophetic vision and then argued over who would claim the quest to interpret it. The dream had come to Boromir, too. He had been just as worthy of it. There had been something compelling about the dream, a summons he could not ignore. It was his destiny to go to Rivendell, to unravel the mystery, to find Aragorn and bring him back to his kingdom. Faramir, however, had demanded the mission. Even at the time Boromir had found this odd. Never before had his younger brother so much as raised his eyes to something Boromir had wanted for his own. In return Boromir had always been generous with Faramir, sharing everything he had and protecting the younger man. That was how it had always worked, and nothing had ever been able to disturb the strong bond between the Steward's sons. This time, however, the brothers had quarreled. In the end, Boromir had turned to Denethor and the steward—as was expected—had taken the side of his eldest child. Why had Faramir wanted this quest so badly? He couldn't possibly have known the road to Rivendell would lead to Aragorn. It was impossible. And if he did know? Faramir was so different from Boromir. He had always wanted the return of the king. In all truth Faramir could probably be described as loyal to Aragorn even though he did not know there was an Aragorn. There were differences of character also. The younger brother always thought before he spoke and was slow to anger. If it had been Faramir at Elrond's Council there would have been no doubt or hesitation about accepting Aragorn. Boromir felt queasy at the thought that Faramir would have known right away that Aragorn was his king by both blood and worth. Why had Boromir himself missed it and then having realized his error why had he not confessed it? Faramir always admitted it when he was wrong—not that he often was. He was even a little over quick to accept fault. This had always irritated his older brother because it meant that all but the truly discerning tended to undervalue Faramir. Of course Aragorn was capable of great discernment. Then, too, Boromir had his own share of faults though he was not ashamed to own them. He was proud. He had a quick temper and he could be argumentative. Boromir didn't suffer fools gladly and he would rather duels with swords than words. If these were failings then at least they were failings only the strong could possess. And so what if Aragorn and Faramir would get along well together. So what if Faramir's nature was such that his behavior was unlikely ever to cause his king even a moment's anxiety. Boromir was glad, glad that his brother and his king would be friends. That wasn't important, what was important was that Boromir would come before Faramir in Aragorn's affections. He would be Aragorn's support and his comfort— the one he could always turn to, always rely on. The king was allowed to love Faramir but he had to love Boromir better. Boromir was destined for Aragorn. Destined to be his Captain-General, his counselor, his beloved. It could be no other way. "Are you all right, Boromir?" A high-pitched voice broke in on the warrior's thoughts. "Fine, Pip." Boromir replied, trying to smother his irritation. "Are you sure? You haven't said anything all day, you have let your dinner get cold and you've been grinding your teeth again." The hobbit said with concern. Looking at the rapidly chilling stew before him with distaste Boromir nonetheless took a hearty bite in an attempt to allay the hobbit's fear. He didn't want to be pestered now. He had too much to think about. "I'm just fine. Why don't you..." Boromir tried to think of some activity that would occupy his young friend but nothing sprang immediately to mind. Looking about him for inspiration Boromir suddenly realized that it was only mid-afternoon. There were still hours of daylight left. "...Why have we stopped? It's too early, isn't it?" As soon as the words were out Boromir regretted the question. Pippin's brow furrowed with anxiety and the hobbit looked about him checking Gandalf and Aragorn's location in case he needed to call either of them over. "Bill was starting to limp and Gandalf said it was all right if we stopped early today. Don't you remember?" Pippin sounded scared and Merry who had just bounced up to his cousin looked at Boromir with concern, taking his cue from Pippin's tone. "Yes, of course. I was just daydreaming a bit. It's easy to let your mind wander on the march. All soldiers do it." Boromir hurriedly explained. Now that he thought about it the blond warrior did recollect Sam making a fuss about something to do with the pony. Pippin considered this for a moment and finally deciding to accept the explanation. "Since we have time would you like to help us with our sword fighting?" Merry asked still looking fretful. Boromir did not want to help the hobbits with their training. What he wanted to do was sit where he was and try to make sense of things. Perhaps he should even speak to Aragorn and ask the man flat out if he had ever had any other dealings with Faramir. Somehow that was very important. Aragorn was precious to Boromir he would not lose him—not even to his cherished brother. A quick look at Merry's face, however, revealed that if Boromir declined to play with the hobbits the cousins would run off and communicate their concern about Boromir to someone— most likely Aragorn himself. Thinking that he was damned if he needed looking after Boromir nodded and followed the hobbits to an open space close to camp. As the younger hobbits sparred with Boromir Aragorn surveyed the camp. Sam was, as always, tending the fire. Gandalf was tracing runes in the dirt for Frodo to read. The hobbit's Sindarin was coming along well. The act of learning distracted the embattled ringbearer and seemed to help him cope. Legolas and Gimli were throwing elaborately phrased insults back and forth as they sharpened their weapons. In all it was a peaceful camp. Aragorn should have been happy but instead he was worried. Worry was all he seemed to be good for these days, the ranger thought ruefully as he watched his charges. His eyes sought out the figures of the wizard and the frail looking hobbit first. The little one was doing as well as could be expected— better than any had a right to expect but the Ring was clearly torturing Frodo. The hobbit was losing interest in the routine activities of daily living and Aragorn could not remember the last time Frodo had joined the light-hearted banter of his friends. The little one's pain tormented the ringbearer's protector more than the ranger's own pain would have done. Frodo, though for all his critical importance, was not the ranger's sole concern. Aragorn was also anxious for Gandalf. The wizard had devoted countless years to the fight against Sauron and they all relied upon his wisdom but not even Gandalf could know everything. Earlier that day the wizard had confided to the ranger that he felt that the mood of the Ring had become gleeful and Gandalf could not guess its designs. It was unusual, too, for Gandalf to agree to let them stop. Bill was hardly lame as Sam had feared. He only had a bit of stiffness in his foreleg. The ranger hoped the dread of Moria was not interfering with the old wizard's judgment. The ranger's glance drifted toward the elf and dwarf. He was so pleased at the burgeoning friendship between the two. He wanted to praise them but feared that the proud creatures would take it amiss and so he simply watched with delight as the two bandied sarcasm. Gimli's enthusiasm for the mines, however, left Aragorn to wonder how the dwarf would react if—as Gandalf feared—all was not as it should be in the dwarven kingdom. Even if everything was as Gimli described that still left Legolas in difficult straits. Despite the elf's bravado the deeps pits of Moria would hold a particular horror for the creature of light and air. Of all the fellowship the three remaining hobbits caused Aragorn the least trepidation. Sam would be all right so long as he had Frodo to take care of. Merry and Pippin struggled occasionally with homesickness and the hardships of the journey but Boromir was always there to comfort them. Aragorn was grateful to the other man for his willingness to care for the other hobbits. It was so noble and good-hearted of the warrior. Aragorn automatically turned his eyes to the hobbit cousins and their trainer. If only Aragorn were able to fathom Boromir's needs the way the Boromir did for the hobbits. That the blond warrior was in great need Aragorn did not doubt but he felt strangely diffident about approaching him. Proud, fierce Boromir, the man exasperated the ranger terribly. His stubbornness was maddening, yet with the hobbits he was kind and gentle. His earnestness and dedication were undeniable. He was an honorable man but this quest was giving him challenges he had never before faced and Aragorn longed to help him. The warrior provoked something in Aragorn that he could not explain and Aragorn feared becoming lost in his feelings. He knew he cared for Boromir but to do more was dangerous. Ah, but the man was so... "What's that 'orrible noise." Sam demanded as the peace of the camp was shattered by frantic howling. "It sounds like a wolf." Aragorn responded his previous line of though temporarily abandoned. "A wolf in a trap." Legolas elaborated, his blue eyes sorrowful. The elf hated the idea of traps. He understood their necessity for Aragorn had once explained to him how wolves would prey upon the livestock of farmers and even attack human children given the opportunity but it was still a hard thing for Legolas to accept. Wolves never interfered with elves. "Are there men in these parts?" Boromir, who had broken off demonstrating a basic parry to attend to the conversation, asked excitedly. The blond warrior missed the press of humanity, having traveled so far on his own and then with eight others only one of whom was of his own kind. "There have been no settlements here for quite some time. The trap was most likely left over form long ago or it is the property of a single hunter." Gandalf volunteered as the desperate howling continued. "Shall we go, Legolas, and release him or if the creature is too far gone give him a quick end." Aragorn suggested, taking up his quiver. The ranger would not have the hobbits listening to the creature's anguished cries all night. Legolas nodded and rose to follow the human. "Be careful!" Frodo called after them as they left the camp. Merry and Pippin leaned on their swords breathing heavily. It had not taken long for Boromir to throw off his mood and get into the spirit of the training and he had given the cousins quite a work-out. "That was very well done." He praised his pupils with a genuine smile. "Just remember: Don't abandon your form as you get tired. It's all right to slow down if you have to but your muscles remember what you do. Don't let them get used to sloppy moves." The hobbits nodded dutifully before collapsing next to Sam. The cousins enjoyed the training. They liked the attention for though they understood Frodo's great need they occasionally felt they were ignored. Thus, they craved time with Boromir. The man was obviously fond of them and sometimes when they sparred even Aragorn and Gimli would watch and comment. Merry and Pippin could also tell their skill with the blade was increasing and this was also a tremendous boon to their confidence. They were not warriors but neither were they entirely useless. Boromir had enjoyed the exercise but it had left him sweaty and dirty. He wanted to wash or if he could find no water he at least wanted to air out his clothes. The blond man conveyed his intention to the wizard before setting off. Gandalf was not happy but the wizard could see that nothing he could say would dissuade the warrior. He was too accustomed to getting his own way and Aragorn was not there to rein him in. Gandalf, himself, no longer understood Boromir. It was evident that the man's fears for his people had been greatly diminished. Whenever the subject of Gondor came up Boromir would no longer turn to Frodo but to Aragorn. Gandalf assumed this meant the Ring had failed and that Boromir was free but now something else haunted the steward's son. The wizard did not know what it was Boromir now wanted but he felt certain that the Ring knew very well. When Boromir had put some distance between himself and the camp he realized that what he had wanted more than a bath was solitude—a chance to be alone with his thoughts. He liked his companions well enough but having to be together night and day was wearing. He was lonely too, lonely in a way that was only made worse by the presence of others. Aragorn could ease his loneliness, Boromir thought a little wistfully. Aragorn could make everything wonderful and Boromir could be such a help to his friend. He would reassure him, ease his worries and protect him from petty distractions. The ranger might even be willing to let him do so if he didn't have Frodo constantly clamoring for his attention. As Boromir continued to think on Aragorn the warrior realized the wolf had stopped howling a long time. For just a moment Boromir wondered what Aragorn and Legolas could possibly be doing to delay their return to camp. He did not allow himself to pursue the idea, however. It was too painful. Coming to the top of a small hill Boromir surveyed his surroundings. At last he caught sight of something that might possibly be a small pond. Encouraged the blond man headed towards it, his thoughts quickly returning to their previous track. Aragorn thought Frodo was so courageous and so virtuous and it rankled Boromir. It was only that the frail hobbit had the Ring that kept the ranger from seeing what a mewling little nuisance Frodo really was. Merry and Pippin were a joy, always cheerful and willing to make an effort but Frodo just moped and demanded sympathy. If Boromir carried the Ring then he would bear it stoically. No one would have to listen to him cry about how heavy it was or how much it hurt. And when Aragorn came to comfort him he would smile and tell the ranger that he was strong and could endure whatever the other man asked of him. As Boromir finally came to the pond and stripped down to his trousers and undertunic he was smiling to himself. He washed quickly then made a half-hearted attempt at cleaning his outer layers of clothing. Aragorn would be so impressed with the way Boromir handled the Ring. He would lose all interest in Frodo and wonder how he ever thought such a frail hobbit could be worthy of his affection. The thought of the ranger's grey eyes looking upon him with pride and admiration suffused the blond warrior with warmth. Laying out his clothes to dry he sat beneath a tree on the bank of the pond and gave himself up to his imagination. Sauron had been defeated. The long brutal war was finally over. The peoples of Middle-Earth rejoiced and the lords of Gondor returned to the White City together. "It is breathtaking, Boromir." Aragorn commented as the two walked side by side across the Pellenor field to the gates of Minas Tirith. Boromir could not speak passed the lump in his throat but he nodded and reached to take Aragorn's hand in his own. The ranger, now king, smiled at him with kindness. As they reached the gate they were greeted by a joyful shout. "You are here! Finally, finally, you've returned." Boromir felt his heart swell at the sound. He was home and he would be reunited with his beloved brother. He had missed Faramir terribly but now everything was coming together so wonderfully. Boromir tried to move closer to Aragorn to share his excitement and joy but at the sound of the voice Aragorn dropped Boromir's hand and began looking around expectantly. In the next moment Aragorn and Boromir caught sight of a figure running towards them. It was indeed Faramir. He looked just as he had when Boromir left for Rivendell except for the expression of rapture on his face. As Boromir watched helplessly Aragorn flung his arms wide and caught the young man as he ran to meet them. "I missed you so much, so much. Ah, my lord, you are here. I can scarce believe it." Faramir cried first clutching at Aragorn's arms then placing his hands on the older man's chest as though he needed to touch him to convince himself that his king had indeed returned. Aragorn was smiling with more warmth than Boromir had ever seen from the other man as he kissed Faramir upon the brow then folded him into a tight embrace. As Faramir's arms came up to twine around Aragorn's neck Boromir saw a bright golden band around his brother's finger. "Ah, my faithful one, the time has at last come." Aragorn said gently. "You have been mine for years and now I announce my claim to the world." Then lifting Faramir's chin Aragorn kissed him tenderly upon the lips. Boromir tried to speak, tried to do something to gain attention. He had to put a stop to this awful scene somehow. It was all so wrong. Faramir could not do this to him. Aragorn was not meant for the younger brother but for the elder. Boromir would make it up to Faramir some how, some way. He loved his brother and asking him to surrender whatever claim he had upon Aragorn to Boromir was demanding a lot but Faramir had to understand this was all wrong. "Aragorn." Boromir finally managed to whisper piteously but Aragorn did not hear him. He was too busy placing gentle kisses along Faramir's jaw. The younger man raised his head in ecstasy, giving his lord access to the vulnerable flesh of his throat. As he did so, however, he seemed to catch sight of his brother. A faint smile of recognition played across the young man's features as though he was politely acknowledging an acquaintance. Then Aragorn's tongue flicked out to stroke the hollow of his throat and Faramir forgot all about his brother. Seething with rage and hurt Boromir struggled to do something, to give voice to his sense of pain and betrayal but he was caught in a nightmarish torpor. He was helpless to do anything, even to close his eyes as Faramir sank down into the fragrant green grass his arms still around Aragorn. 'No! No!' Boromir howled as the two most important people in the world to him lay side by side exchanging gentle kisses and tender touches. Boromir had not believed it could be worse but he was proved wrong when a smiling Faramir turned onto his back and Aragorn moved to cover him with his body. The sweetness and gentleness was quickly giving way to urgency and passion as Aragorn crushed his mouth down upon Faramir's willing lips. The younger man moaned blissfully at the deeper contact, yielding to his king's every advance. Thus encouraged Aragorn continued to press Faramir into the earth in an attempt to force their bodies closer. The younger man's fingers tangled in Aragorn's hair and his legs parted so that the man atop him could rest in the cradle of Faramir's hips. 'No.' Boromir repeated uselessly. He could not endure it. He hated what he was seeing but deep down Boromir understood that even had he been able to turn away he would have watched anyway. Gods, but Aragorn was beautiful and Faramir was so sweetly compliant. Disgust and horror warred with need and arousal. The conflict was going to tear him apart but something was intruding upon the vision something... outside. Desperately Boromir fought to escape the terrifying images reaching desperately for the disruption. There were voices, yes voices. He focused on the sound letting it draw him away from Aragorn and Faramir locked in a lover's embrace. Boromir's eyes opened. He was lying on the bank of a small pond amidst the rushes and tall reeds. Taking in his surroundings Boromir's eyes squeezed shut in relief. Only a dream, thank all the Valar it had only been a dream. Even as he rejoiced Boromir heard again the sounds that had awakened him. The wind carried two voices across the water to the blond warrior's eager ear. Aragorn and Legolas were talking. Following the pained yowls Aragorn and Legolas quickly found there way to the suffering wolf. The creature had his leg caught in the metal teeth of a trap just as Legolas had guessed. From a safe distance the two discussed strategy for the wolf still had strength left and would not take kindly to his rescuers if he was approached rashly. Finally it was decided that Legolas would approach first and do his best to calm the wolf and make friends. Then when the animal came to trust the elf, Legolas would distract him so that Aragorn could attempt to free the creature's leg. Emerging from hiding the elf walked slowly towards the wolf. The animal left off howling to watch warily as Legolas came nearer. At a distance of about ten paces the elf stopped and sat upon the ground and waited a few minutes. Then the elf began speaking quietly and reassuringly. He explained that he was a friend and that his intention was to help free the wolf. The creature listened warily but he did not growl or challenge Legolas. With deliberate caution the elf reached into the pouch at his waist and removed a crust of bread while the wolf watched his every move. After taking a small bite of the bread Legolas moved to his hands and knees and crawled closer, continuing to speak in low, soothing tones. When he had halved the distance between them Legolas stopped and tossed the bit of bread across the rest of the space between them. The wolf tensed as the bread rolled to a stop right before him but then he sniffed at the food. After only a moment's hesitation the animal extended his tongue and tasted the offering. Pleased the wolf took his eyes off the elf and lowered his head to eat. Legolas took the opportunity to move yet closer until he could have reached out to touch the wolf. Aragorn, who had been approaching the wolf from behind, could not help but marvel at how quickly the fierce creature accepted his friend. It would have taken Aragorn at least twice as long to come so close to a wild animal in pain. Using all his stealth the ranger drew nearer studying the trap as he did so. He would need something to lever the metal jaws open. Even if he had the strength in his fingers to pry the jagged teeth apart if his grip slipped he would do severe damage to his hands. Pausing Aragorn bent to retrieve a stick from the ground before continuing. Having finished the bread the wolf looked up and for the first time gave a little whimper telling Legolas that he was in pain. Murmuring in sympathy the elf took out another piece of bread and extended his hand. The wolf consented to eat the bread from Legolas' fingers sniffing at his new friend curiously. Satisfied Legolas started to sing, moving closer to stroke the wolf's head and ears. Aragorn who had materialized a few feet from the wolf joined the song very softly. The creature started at finding a human so close but Legolas stroked him reassuringly and Aragorn remained still letting the animal hear the harmonized voices of his new friend and the stranger. The wolf quieted accepting Aragorn for Legolas' sake. Still using the utmost caution Aragorn inserted the stick into the jaws of the trap. The wolf whimpered and Legolas crooned moving closer. It took several minutes but the ranger finally managed to open the trap. Sensing that freedom was near the wolf tried to pull his paw away but one of the metal teeth had bitten deeply into his leg and he cried as the spike tore at his flesh. Reacting instantly Aragorn took a firm hold of the animals paw and lifted it up and off the metal. The wolf's cry was half howl half snarl as it felt hands on his paw followed by sudden pain and then finally freedom. Leaping away the wolf fell, rolled and then came up again. After regaining his feet he loped away favoring his injury and not looking back. With the wolf free Aragorn removed the stick propping the trap open and the jaws slammed shut with a vicious snap. "Well, there is a good deed done." The ranger commented rising and examining his hands which were red with blood from where he had seized the wolf's injured leg. "Yes, the creature will heal quickly, I think." Legolas agreed as he prodded the trap with the toe of his boot. "This is a wicked thing, Aragorn. May we bury it so it will do no more harm." "As you wish." The ranger replied his own feelings towards the trap were none too friendly at the moment. Drawing his dagger he knelt to help the elf dig but he could not conceal a small wince as he did so. "What is the matter?" Legolas instantly inquired. "I think I may have received a parting salutation from our new friend." Aragorn replied wryly once more studying his hand. It was not easy, however, to determine if he had indeed been cut beneath the layer of animal blood. "Let's find some water and get that cleaned up, Estel." Legolas insisted abandoning the small hole he had been working on and picking up the trap with an expression of disgust. "I'll throw this in the middle of a lake." Smiling at the elf's concern Aragorn dutifully followed his friend. "I wish you would take better care of yourself." Legolas began with carefully as they headed in the direction of water. "This can hardly be attributed to a lack of care on my part." Aragorn replied rather indignantly. "You would do better to chide the wolf." "Nay, I meant more generally, Aragorn." Legolas explained. "You are worried, I know. Let me share your concerns. It may do you some good to speak of what troubles you. Certainly it can do no harm." "I fear my concerns are somewhat self-indulgent." Aragorn said. The ranger had intended to take the opportunity of being alone with the elf to ask how Legolas was coping with the prospect of entering Moria. He did not mean for the elf to have any worries for his sake. They had come upon a small pond and the man had increased his pace before Legolas could comment on the ranger's answer. Kneeling at the water's edge he washed the blood from his hands. Much to his annoyance he found that the wolf had indeed scratched him, though fortunately the cuts were shallow. Coming up beside his friend Legolas examined the small injury. Then sighing he tossed the trap out into the pond. Lying on the opposite bank concealed by the reeds and tall grass Boromir heard the splash. "I haven't the least idea why you say such things." Legolas remonstrated. The elf did not understand why the man had to be so terribly hard on himself and it grieved him. "I ask not only because you are so important to the success and safety of the fellowship and indeed important to the very future of Middle-Earth but also because you are my friend and I love you. I will not stand by and watch you suffer, Estel." Aragorn looked gratefully at his friend. Perhaps it would be better to confide something of his thoughts. Legolas might even worry more if he kept silent. What was more the ranger thought he could use the elf's objectivity. Aragorn, however, was not the only one to hear the Legolas' words. Boromir who had been still shaking off the remnants of his nightmare felt an explosion of agony behind his left eye at Legolas' avowal of friendship. The pain pulsed in harmony with the elf's beautiful voice and the man wanted to rouse himself and... and do something violent. At the same time, however, the blond warrior wanted to listen to Aragorn's reply. Legolas' wantonness did not surprise Boromir but the man needed to know how Aragorn would respond to the elf. In the end curiosity won out over the immediate need for retribution. "You will think it silly but I am worried that I should not have told the fellowship my story of Thorongil." Aragorn confessed scrutinizing the elf to catch his reaction. "But, why?" Legolas asked genuinely surprised as he took a seat by the pond and made himself comfortable. "It was a beautiful tale. In truth, I was sorry not to have heard it earlier." Aragorn, too, took a seat as he dismissed the elf's last statement with a wave of his hand. "It was wrong of me to impose so upon Boromir. The story touched him nearly and I should have taken more thought for his feelings." "I don't think there was anything in the story to offend him. And don't think I didn't notice how far out of your way you went to conceal just how jealous and petty Denethor really was with Thorongil. Nay, do not object. You are not my only source of information, after all. Mithrandir has been much more forthcoming about how Ecthelion's son treated Thorongil and it is shameful. I don't know why you tolerated it. You showed admirable consideration for Boromir's feelings." The elf was about to continue in that vein but a thought suddenly struck him. "Aragorn, what did Finduilas give you?" "What?" Aragorn inquired a little nervously. Legolas knew his suspicions were confirmed when the man did not quite meet his eyes. "She offered to reward you for your heroism. You declined but she insisted, didn't she? What did she give you?" Legolas' eyes were alight with curiosity and the faintest hint of mischief. It was not often that the elf was able discover something the man wished to conceal and he was most pleased with himself. Aragorn sighed, he could not help but be amused by Legolas' excitement and it could do no harm to tell his friend. It was small detail, after all. "She did offer a third time and I knew she would not be put off." Aragorn admitted. "I thought of asking for some token, some bit of jewelry but the lady had been wakened hurriedly from her bed by the disturbance and as a consequence had none with her. In desperation I said something about how I would be well rewarded if she would love her son and see him grown to manhood when—I knew—he would be a credit to his country and bring glory to his City. She replied strangely and I recall her exact words. She said: 'Aye, and I will raise him to be the true and faithful servant of is lord as well.'" "Do you think she—" "No." Aragorn cut Legolas' question short. "How could she? Not even Ecthelion knew. Though, toward the end, I believe he suspected. It was simply a bizarre choice of words. She obviously meant Faramir would serve Denethor and then Boromir for that is the task of second sons, but I confess when I heard her speak I was taken aback." "I concede that such choice of phrase was unusual." Legolas said contemplatively. "But I still don't see why you did not speak of it. Boromir talks frequently and fondly of his brother. Why would he be offended by what either of you said? He is not the man he was at Elrond's council." Aragorn had no satisfactory answer for his friend but he felt confident in his initial instinct: It was better to have left out the final bit of conversation between Lady Finduilas and Captain Thorongil. Tears leaked from Boromir's eyes. The pain in his head had become unbearable. He had known—if only upon the level of his dreams. Damn it, he had known that Faramir had been dedicated to Aragorn from the very beginning. This was catastrophic for the warrior. Something had to be done. Fate had somehow consecrated the wrong brother to the king's love. Boromir's own mother had been complicit in it. Boromir had no other choice now. He was just going to have to fix Fate's mistake. "I am not sure why I left it out." Aragorn conceded. "Perhaps I am overreacting but I cannot help but worry for Boromir. I fear I have alienated him and that was the very reverse of my intention. He has so many concerns I would never wish to add to his anxiety. Yesterday and today, he has been so distant, almost preoccupied." "Ah, is that all?" Legolas asked smiling. "Then let me assure you, my friend, the man is as utterly besotted with you as ever he was. I spoke with him yesterday and mentioned you casually. As usual his eyes lit up. I perceived no alteration in his infatuation. If anything his feelings grow stronger." "I haven't any idea what you can be talking about." The ranger replied in confusion. "Don't be coy, my friend." The elf admonished grinning. As he noticed the genuinely befuddled expression on the ranger's face, however, Legolas continued: "You are not being coy? Oh Aragorn, honestly! Even Pippin has seen it—and the little imp uses it to his advantage." The elf had always known that his human friend could sometimes be blind to the effect he had upon others, but really Boromir's attraction had been painfully obvious. Besides Aragorn only Frodo, whose attention was perforce directed inward and Gandalf were oblivious. The wizard had little understanding of romantic passion and thus had difficulty perceiving its presence and effects in others. "Make yourself comprehensible." Aragorn commanded. He could not help but feel that if Legolas were teasing him then it was ill done. "Have you not noticed that whenever Pippin wants something Boromir is not inclined to give him that the hobbit immediately threatens to bother you with the request. Then Boromir gives in. He has been doing it since before we ascended the mountain and it always works." Legolas explained helpfully. "Do not, vexatious elf, explain about Pippin. Explain about Boromir." Aragorn asked softly and Legolas instantly perceived the wisdom in a quick and forthright reply. "Boromir is in love with you and has been for some time." Legolas stated succinctly. Boromir wanted to scream with rage and no little mortification. It wasn't true! Well, so it was true, but it was a truth the warrior had been wrestling with for months. The elf made it sound so simple and obvious, not acknowledging at all the pain of Boromir's struggles and the depth and intensity of his passion. It was degrading. Not even the revelation of Pippin's subtle manipulations, a story which at any other time could not have failed to amuse him, could divert the warrior from fantasies of the elf's immediate and painful death. "You are pleased! I can see it in your face, Estel. You are pleased." Legolas chortled and in his heart he was glad. He hoped the two men would be good for one another. Aragorn was far too guarded with his feelings. If Boromir's unrestrained passion could get through to the other man then Legolas knew it would be a great comfort to his friend. "I am neither pleased nor displeased for I believe you are mistaken." Aragorn replied summoning all his natural imperturbability. "Boromir is too moody and proud for my taste." Legolas continued ignoring Aragorn's last statement as mere posturing. "But I doubt you'll have trouble taming him. Then, I'm sure, he will make an excellent...." Here Legolas said something in his own language that Boromir did not understand. The blond man was enraged. How dare the elf speak of him that way? He was not moody! What was more he didn't give a damn if the elf thought him so. It was better to be moody than simpering, anyway. And Aragorn, Aragorn had not believed that the warrior loved him. Boromir yearned to get up and run to the ranger, protesting his heart-felt devotion but something warned him against it. Something counseled him not to reveal his feeling when the elf was in a perfect position to mock him and make him ridiculous in Aragorn's eyes. Boromir would have dearly loved to know what the elf had called him. If he had bloody known how damn important it was going to be know the vile language then he would have put more effort into his lessons. It did not even occur to Boromir to be grateful that Aragorn and Legolas had chosen to conduct their conversation in Westron rather than Sindarin. Meanwhile back at the camp Frodo had, for the last half, hour grown increasing dizzy and Sam had finally forced him to lie down. "I have said before, Legolas, I do not want a...." There was that word again. Boromir was struck by the sudden grim idea that it meant 'whore'. "It would add a great deal of complication to a situation already complicated." "I think it would rather simplify matters." Legolas responded. "Do you think Arwen would be happy to see you deny yourself love and comfort?" Aragorn made no answer. Loving him tended to cost much more than Aragorn ever wanted to demand from anyone and Arwen was not the least example of this. He did not say this, however, for fear of a lecture. The silence continued for several moments more before Aragorn was able to recollect himself and look at Legolas attentively. "Come, my friend, enough of my worries. I am not the only one of us afflicted with care, nor do I think my worries are the greatest. Gandalf is not the only one to dread the darkness of Moria. Am I right?" Legolas shivered a little and cursed whatever it was that had given him away. "I do not look forward to it but what must be must be." The elf answered contriving to sound stoic. "Shall we not go back to the camp now, Aragorn. We have long been away." "Nay, I shall not be so easily rebuffed. The journey under the mountain will be an especial hardship to you. If it would be of any relief to you I beg you to confide in me." Aragorn had meant to speak to Legolas about Moria earlier but somehow he had allowed himself to be distracted by the elf's questions. Legolas for his part was very anxious about what might be expected in the Dwarven kingdom but he had kept silent fearing his anxiety, nay fear, might upset the others. At Aragorn's offer, however, the elf could not bring himself to reject the proffered comfort. "Yes, all right." The elf acceded trying hard not to betray his eagerness to give voice to his fears and thus perhaps gain better control of them. "But let us not stay here. I cannot bear to be still and to think of it." A few minutes later Boromir could hear nothing more of the ranger and elf. He was glad they had gone when they did. He wasn't up to listening to Legolas cry on Aragorn's shoulder about his and his entire race's fear of the dark. Besides as the conversation had gone on Boromir found himself increasingly desperate to be active, to do something even if he did not know what. Two or three times he had nearly jumped up and confronted the two. Something within him had urged patience, promising that if he waited a bit longer he would have the opportunity to claim all he desired. It did not suit his nature to eavesdrop or avoid confrontation but his body felt sluggish as though still in the grip of the nightmare paralysis. In the end he had heeded the caution and waited to see how matters stood. Now he wanted to get back to camp and...and see how Frodo was getting along. Such had been Boromir's single-minded resolve that he was half-way back to camp before he realized he had left his long-coat and tunic by the pond. Annoyed, not to say embarrassed, by this somewhat ridiculous fact Boromir returned to the pond and fetched his still damp clothing. When the man finally did return to camp he had lost much of his energy and his initial purpose—not that he was entirely certain he had had a specific purpose—had been abandoned. It hardly mattered in any case since, because of the warrior's detour, Aragorn and Legolas had already arrived. As Boromir walked dejectedly to his bedroll he heard Gandalf and Aragorn in an animated conversation concerning some sort of fainting spell Frodo had had that afternoon. It was just too bloody perfect. Gimli had first watch and though Boromir would have the second the man could not find sleep. The more he thought about it the more he realized he truly hated Frodo. The damn hobbit couldn't go ten minutes without stumbling or fainting or having a nightmare. Why had such a weakling been given care of the Ring? It was unendurable that Aragorn should waste so much of his time and attention on such a one. Without the Ring Frodo could be of no possible interest to anybody— least of all Aragorn. Maybe if Frodo weren't such a damn nuisance Aragorn might have discovered Boromir's love and realized that he loved Boromir as well. Frodo, however, was not the only culprit. Legolas was just as bad, flinging his hair back and laughing in that infuriatingly obvious way. He was always teasing Aragorn, reminding him of their shared history and in all other ways behaving in an unseemly and provocative manner. The elf thought Boromir's devotion a proper subject for jokes? Well, Boromir would show him just how funny it was when Aragorn lost interest in Legolas' inanity and came to understand the sincerity of the warrior's passion. Then the elf could try his charms on the dwarf for Aragorn would be too caught up with Boromir to mind the pretty prince of Mirkwood. Faramir, too, acted like the Ring made him so damn special... But no. Faramir wasn't even here. Besides that Boromir didn't hate Faramir. That had just been a dream, hadn't it? They were brothers. Of course he didn't hate him. Ah, but why didn't Aragorn come and save him from this torment. Boromir ached for Aragorn. He felt it in his belly, his very bowels. The sheer physicality of his need was intense and immediate. Everything inside him twisted with yearning and unshakable desire. Together Boromir and Aragorn could accomplish anything, achieve anything. Just the thought of Aragorn's strong arms wrapped tightly around him made the man feel he could take on Sauron single-handed. Aragorn would be so proud of him. His king would come to him after the battle. Aragorn would look upon his wound and tears would start in his eyes but Boromir would not let them fall. The warrior would explain how he had done it all for his king, that his love had given him the strength and the will. Overcome by emotion Aragorn would embrace Boromir. Clasping him tightly, Aragorn would vow never to be parted from his valiant, courageous, beloved champion—and they never would be parted, never. Boromir shut his eyes tightly against the image trying to regain some measure of control but when he opened them again his gaze was fixed on Frodo. The man continued to stare, unblinking, at the hobbit until Gimli came up to him muttering, "Your watch." Rising slowly Boromir took the dwarf's place listening as Gimli lumbered to his blankets and lay down. When the snores began Boromir walked silently over to Frodo and crouched over him. The pale face seemed to shine in the night. Sam's arm was curled protectively about his master but despite the tangle of arms the Ring was clearly visible lying atop the hobbit's chest. Boromir paused for only a moment before reaching out and closing his fingers around the golden loop that would—must lead him to Aragorn. The change was instantaneous. As soon as his fingers came into contact with the gold he felt as though his consciousness had exploded outward. All his senses became super acute. He could see himself as though from the perspective of an eagle soaring high above the earth. His mind raced over cliffs, along rivers, over the sea and then beneath the waves to the inner life of the ocean. He could see all the world before him and at the same time he could focus in upon the smallest detail. He was one with the world. Shuddering Boromir staggered back a pace. The surreal, mystical experience faded. Looking down Boromir realized that the mithrihil chain around Frodo's neck had dissolved and the Ring was no more connected to the hobbit as the man clutched the One tightly in his fist. Frodo's pale skin no longer glowed with the unhealthy luminance of passed times and his face relaxed. Frodo seemed to sigh at the absence of his burden and he turned on his side to wrap his arms around Sam. 'Kill him.' Boromir started suddenly. He knew that the Ring was capable of communicating with him. It had sent him images, hints, suggestions. The man, however, had never expected the Ring to speak. More alarming yet the Ring spoke in the warrior's own voice. 'Kill him.' The Ring repeated patiently. Boromir stared down at Frodo and remembered what an obstacle the hobbit had been, how much the former ringbearer had gotten between him and Aragorn. Rage surged through the man but even as he considered the Ring's suggestion Sam moved closer to Frodo letting his master's head rest on his shoulder. Why should Boromir kill the little one? There was no reason now. Besides Merry and Pippin would be grieved if he killed their friend— even if he did deserve it. 'No, he is nothing without you and you are mine.' Boromir replied to his own voice in his head. 'You promised me Aragorn. I want him now.' The Ring laughed softly sensing the warrior's stubbornness. It was a pity not to consummate the bond between Boromir and the One Ring by shedding blood together but the Ring wanted Aragorn, too. The warrior was a vast improvement over the hobbit but to bond with the king of men was an opportunity not to be missed. 'You are so impetuous, my precious. You should learn patience for I always keep my promises. You will have your king.' The Ring told Boromir with amusement. 'How? When?' Boromir knew that in taking the Ring he had committed an act of betrayal and this pained him. Having Aragorn, though, would pay for all. 'Your ranger loves you already, precious. He has even admitted this to himself, though, he is still unaware of how deeply he must need you. He is overwhelmed. He carries the weight of the world on his shoulders and he keeps his feeling far from him so that he can bear it all.' The Ring explained gently. 'I know he suffers. How can I help him?' Boromir demanded. 'Ah, you will help him in so many ways. Win his wars for him. Defeat his enemies. Protect him and keep him safe. I will help you but he will not accept your help until he understands how much he loves you.' Boromir nodded. He knew this already. 'It is more than responsibility that weighs down your Aragorn.' The Ring whispered to the eager man. 'He is so angry but he will not let himself feel it. If you are worthy, precious, you can show him his anger, feel it with him and be avenged together. That is the first step.' 'Aragorn has never so much as raised his voice in my hearing. I have never seen him angry. Even when I defied him at Elrond's Council he kept his temper.' Boromir said. The warrior felt certain the Ring spoke the truth but he was confused. Again the Ring laughed. 'He kept his temper but do you think he was unmoved that one such as you should openly insult him. Remember, I was there. Do you think it pleased your noble king that one who should have been his most devoted subject showed him only insolence in a gathering of those whose respect he greatly desired? Yet he spoke mildly and endured your scorn, just as he has endured the scorn of countless villagers and townsfolk who did not know the blood he has shed on their behalf. Your own father hated him and belittled him to those who would otherwise have followed him. He has taken abuse from those beneath him in order to gain compromises that would benefit all. Should he manage to save the world half of it will revile him for it. Even Elrond, who bound himself in honor to love and care for his nephew, does not bother to conceal his belief that his foster son is not good enough for his spoiled little—My precious, beware the elf!' Legolas had wakened with a great sense of foreboding. Something was quite wrong. Without rising from his blankets he surveyed the camp. By the light of the small fire Legolas could see Boromir standing near Frodo. At first, the elf just assumed that the man had grown restless during his watch and was wandering around a bit. Boromir though kept unnaturally still. Cautiously Legolas maneuvered himself around a little trying to copy the natural movements of sleep. What he saw chilled his blood. Boromir's eyes were unfocused his lips moved occasionally as though speaking silently. Worst of all though was that the warrior right fist was lifted slightly the fingers clenched tight. Not wanting to believe what his mind told him was the obvious conclusion Legolas stole a glance at Frodo and saw the mithrihil chain was gone. Terrified by what must have happened Legolas still managed to collect himself. Perhaps tragedy could yet be averted if he moved quickly. Gathering his strength the elf prepared to leap. Boromir turned at the Ring's warning. He saw Legolas in a tight crouch. Then the elf jumped and time slowed down. Boromir watched in astonishment as Legolas seemed frozen in mid-air. 'Kill him.' The Ring begged. 'He wanted to take you from me, my Precious.' Boromir continued to stare in amazement. 'He wants Aragorn for himself.' The Ring insisted and this time Boromir reacted. His lip curled and his eyes narrowed. The damn elf did want Aragorn for himself. He was even willing to attack another member of the fellowship to get him. The elf was contemptible. Why not strike him down? Unlike Frodo, Legolas had charms independent of the power of the Ring—that is, he did if one liked pretty males. Boromir found, however, that despite the Ring's urging he was not quite ready to murder the elf. Legolas would have this one warning but if he ever looked at Aragorn again then Boromir would not hesitate. 'Can't you put him to sleep or something?' Boromir queried. 'I could but killing him would save time.' The Ring replied. It missed killing. 'Put him to sleep, then.' Boromir commanded. With something that could almost be identified as a sigh of frustration the Ring complied and the elf dropped to earth with a small thud. Boromir could not help but pleased at seeing the elf's inert form. The warrior was sorely tempted to give pretty little Legolas a kick to remind him there was a penalty for coveting what did not belong to him. "Boromir, what are you doing?" The voice was soft but cold and Boromir went suddenly rigid. For a moment the proud warrior of Gondor resembled nothing so much as a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. The next moment, however, Boromir had collected himself. Slowly Boromir turned away from Legolas and moved to face the man for whom he would do anything, risk anything—Aragorn. "I am doing what has to be done, Aragorn. This is the only way you will see, the only way you'll understand." Boromir said calmly. As he spoke, however, the Ring informed him that Pippin was waking. The news discombobulated the warrior sending a small stab of guilt through him. He quickly pleaded with the Ring to put everyone to sleep save only himself and Aragorn. This could all be explained to the fellowship later—if they decided to explain. "What will I understand?" Aragorn asked trying to sound reasonable. The ranger, though, was not without fear. If the Ring mastered Boromir then the warrior would be reduced to a miserable, broken creature. Like Gollum, all nobility would be driven out of him leaving only a skulking and contemptible shell. Aragorn could not allow such a thing and yet the ranger knew not how to prevent it. If Boromir mastered the Ring, however, then all Middle-Earth, Gondor, the fellowship and Aragorn himself would be at the man's mercy. Aragorn had twice before been in the power of his enemies—though they had not known his true identity—and the ranger had lived. Boromir in command of the One was capable of breaking Aragorn, however, and this truth left the would-be king more afraid than he had ever been. "That I love you." "You're mad." Aragorn spoke without thinking. Was this to be the start of the torture, then? What could the Ring have to do with love? "No, Aragorn, I am not mad. I love you." Boromir replied smiling as the Ring assured him of the great convulsions in the ranger's heart. "You need me. I know it's hard for you to admit that but the Ring will make it easier. Trust me. Love me. I will never allow anyone to harm you. I can take care of everything. Everyone who has ever wronged you will be made to pay—even Denethor. I'll... I'll let Faramir spend time with you, if you are intent on having him. You see I will deny you nothing, even if it pains me. You can remake the world in your own image. I will give you anything you want." Boromir pleaded giving voice to the best gift he could think to offer. With the Ring it was easy to speak his feelings. It was almost as though the words had been prepared for him. "Listen to what you are saying, Boromir." Aragorn said confused by the references to Boromir's family. Without realizing it he had moved a step closer to the warrior in an attempt to better communicate. "This is not you. This is Sauron's creation speaking through you to corrupt us both." The ranger's mouth was dry and his breath came in shallow gasps. He had heard the Ring's seductive song before but in Boromir's voice the temptation was nearly irresistible. He could so easily see himself putting an end to all the needless, useless suffering that he had witnessed in a long life spent combating evil piecemeal. He could give to humanity what the elves had and there would be no more hunger or sickness; death would have no power to touch those he loved. He trembled with desire for the power to bring all this about. Boromir's promise that he would willingly stand at his side delighted the ranger. It was not something Aragorn had expected and the ranger doubted he could withstand so much. "No, beloved." Boromir said, gently shaking his head. "The Ring does not work that way. It cannot make something out of nothing. I love you. The Ring has told me that you love me, too. Tell me, my king, does Sauron's creation lie?" Aragorn's eyes squeezed shut. He had never prepared himself for such an attack, but then, Boromir had always managed to surprise him. How could he argue his feelings in such a manner? Love should be beyond the reach of the enemy. Wasn't it enough to stand firm against his own darker nature? His need for Boromir's acceptance should not be susceptible to exploitation but the warrior offered his complete devotion—a balm for all the wounds Aragorn's heart and pride had ever sustained. Was nothing sacred? What would be the cost of such an indispensable healing? Aragorn's emotions were being ruthlessly manipulated and in a final attempt to defend himself Aragorn took refuge in anger. "If you would call me 'king' then do as I bid you. Or do you say that only in mockery like the way you say 'beloved'." Aragorn spat at the warrior moving yet another step closer. "What would you have me do?" Boromir quailed at the sudden viciousness of Aragorn's demeanor. Why didn't Aragorn believe him? Boromir would prove his good faith in any way his lord wished. He had only to make his desires known. "Give me the Ring." Aragorn commanded through gritted teeth. At that moment he craved only Boromir's submission and he had no thought for the possession of the One. Boromir looked down at his closed fist. It had always been his intention to give Aragorn the Ring if he asked for it. Provided, of course, that the warrior was assured a place in his lord's heart. Despite the high stress of the moment Boromir was aware that Aragorn had not said whether he loved him or not. Torn, Boromir appealed to the Ring for advice. All would be in vain if Aragorn just returned the One to Frodo. Ah, but if he claimed the Ring even as he claimed Boromir to be his own—The warrior had not the words to describe such absolute perfection. 'Not yet, precious. Let us learn more of his intentions first. Put me on and we shall read him better.' The Ring coaxed. 'He is afraid of the power I have over his mind and the power you have over his heart.' Boromir did not want Aragorn to be afraid of him or the Ring. His king should never have to be afraid of anything—ever. The warrior, however, could not deny the Ring's request. It had only been now that he had taken the One that he had seen so much of Aragorn's inner feelings and Boromir needed to ease his own fears before he could properly protect Aragorn. The warrior was about to slip the Ring onto his finger but he was not given the chance. "You would heed cold metal over my word!" Aragorn demanded enraged by Boromir's hesitation. Taking a final step to close the distance between himself and the warrior the ranger reached for Boromir's shirt front and pulled the other man to him forcing their mouths together. Boromir had finally defied him once too often. Teeth crashed against teeth and Aragorn moved one hand to tangle in Boromir's hair forcing his head up. After the initial shock Boromir relaxed into the brutality of the kiss, opening his mouth and letting Aragorn bite his lower lip as hard as he wanted. In his head Boromir thought he heard the Ring give a contented sigh even as the warrior brought his free arm up and around Aragorn's neck. As Boromir abandoned his resistance and seemed only to melt into Aragorn, the ranger found his anger and fear diminish replaced with tenderness. His fingers loosened in Boromir's hair and he let go of his grip on the man's collar to wind his arm around the warrior's waist instead. The kiss softened, too, until Aragorn let go of Boromir's lip and let his tongue caress the bite, lapping away the little bit of blood. The ranger felt a gentle pressure from Boromir's mouth pressed against his own. The warrior was seeking to deepen the kiss and explore the ranger's mouth. Aragorn permitted Boromir's tongue to push past his teeth and in return he let his fingers drift down the warrior's face to learn the familiar features by touch. Aragorn was overcome with the need to be good to Boromir and to be cared for in return. The ranger had traveled so long and so far and now he just needed to find a little peace with the only one who could truly understand it all. This was so much better than the endless, thankless demands of intangible duty. This was so much more real than any abstract idea of 'should'. The simplicity of body against body and heart against heart was the only truth that really mattered. Why had he ever denied himself this? Oh yes, he loved Boromir, loved the warm, living reality of the man. Yet, even drowning in sensation as he was Aragorn could not quite forget that Boromir was only holding him with his left arm. The right still hung at his side fist tightly clutching the Ring. His anger reasserted itself and with a choked gasp Aragorn shoved Boromir away. Boromir stumbled backward unable to maintain his hold on Aragorn. Having no thought but to return to his king's embrace the warrior regained his balance and moved forward arm outstretched. "No!" Aragorn snarled evading the warrior's advance. The ranger had been shocked at his own action and even more shocked by how complete and right it had been. He wanted Boromir and he could no longer try to diminish the force of his feelings but he didn't want the soulless puppet the Ring would leave. Boromir had claimed to love him, had called him king. This was what Aragorn had so desperately needed to hear and believe, but he could not trust the warrior before it was clear whether the warrior truly spoke for himself or if it was only the Ring that commanded him. "Aragorn, please! What... what must I do?" Boromir questioned desperately. He had to have Aragorn in his embrace again. He couldn't be pushed away a second time. The ranger only stood looking at him with undisguised passion, fists clenching and unclenching as though he were only just restraining himself from reaching for the other man. Having broken Aragorn's stern resolve once the Ring sent an image into Boromir's mind that the One felt certain would deliver king of men to it. The Ring craved Aragorn as Boromir did for it had not sensed another with such potential since it had been so tragically separated from its creator and first master. "Must you have my oath before you will trust me? Will that convince you of my sincerity?" Boromir asked perceiving a light kindle in Aragorn's eyes. The warrior smiled to himself and sent the Ring a happy 'thank you'. Aragorn wanted this, wanted him. Aragorn desired his allegiance and all that would come of a partnership between the two men. Boromir would gladly swear faith and love to Aragorn whenever he wished. In the warrior's heart it had already been done. Dropping to his knees Boromir again reached out, this time to take Aragorn's hand. When Boromir knelt Aragorn nearly grabbed the man's hair again and yanked his head back for another harsh kiss. The ranger had never seen anything as powerfully erotic as the picture Boromir made. With just the slightest use of force Aragorn could propel the proud warrior onto all fours or all the way down to the ground and then he could be as gentle or as cruel as he liked. The thought of that strong beautiful body trembling with need beneath him drew all the strength from Aragorn's legs and he nearly stumbled. Boromir would do nothing to resist him but such a thing was not beyond the power of the One to grant. Aragorn knew that after he had cooled his lust he would need more. If he discovered then that Boromir had simply been the tool of the Ring, if the real Boromir the one he loved had been only the unwilling instrument of the Ring's plans then it would be enough to destroy Aragorn's own spirit. Despite his resolve to make sure that Boromir loved him of his own free will Aragorn could not resist when Boromir took his hand. Frozen the ranger could only watch as Boromir drew his hand to his cheek and cradled it against his face. Aragorn could feel the short bristles of Boromir's beard scrape against his finger as the warrior moved his head. Boromir drew small circles in Aragorn's palm with his thumb as he tried to find words to convince his king once and for all of what was in his heart. Poetic phrases suitable for a bardic tale were suggested by the Ring but Boromir rejected them. He was no poet. He also rejected the standard oaths of Gondor. He had already spoken one such to Denethor when he came of age and what he had to say now was for Aragorn alone. The search for words, however, became less urgent to Boromir as he continued to rub his face against Aragorn's hand. Moving his head a little the warrior pressed his lips to Aragorn's knuckles while he let his fingers move to stroke the ranger's wrist. Aragorn swayed on his feet. Almost—but not quite—against his will the ranger let his fingers caress Boromir's face. "You are so lovely. I want you so much." Aragorn murmured softly. He felt dazed. It would be so easy to forget everything but Boromir on his knees before him wanting, needing, loving. At Aragorn's words Boromir's hands tightened reflexively on the Ring and on Aragorn's hand. 'Don't stop now, my precious. He is almost ours.' The One encouraged. The barriers Aragorn had built to protect himself against emotions he had learned to suppress were breaking. The Ring hoped that once released the tide of feeling would wash away the ranger's judgment long enough for the Ring to accomplish its seduction. The warrior, however, did not need to be urged. He was a man of action rather than words anyway, Boromir thought as he moved forward on his knees until he was only a few inches from his lord. Aragorn's breath hitched as Boromir came closer. With a final soft kiss pressed into Aragorn's palm Boromir released his hand and reached for his hip. When Aragorn made no move except to take hold of Boromir's shoulders to help steady himself the warrior smiled and let his hand roam down to the bulge at Aragorn's groin. It felt so hot to Boromir even through the layer of Aragorn's trousers and when he stroked it, it grew as hard as steel in his hand. For a moment Boromir felt a flash of irritation that he did not have the use of both hands for something so important but he dared not loosen his grip on the Ring. Boromir's distraction was only momentary as the heat of Aragorn's arousal reclaimed all his attention. Bending forward Boromir pressed his face into the rough cloth of Aragorn's trousers and breathed in deeply through his nose. The musky scent of his lord's arousal sent shivers down his spine. The warrior could not get enough of it as he attempted to push his head harder into Aragorn groin. Boromir felt Aragorn's hands tighten on his shoulders and the man moaned as he started pressing frantic kisses onto the ranger's cloth covered erection. "Oh gods, Boromir! I need you so much. I—I love you so much." Aragorn cried earnestly as his beautiful Boromir sought him with his hand, lips and tongue. Slowly Boromir lifted his head and looked into Aragorn's face. The expression in the warrior's eyes was completely open, trusting, vulnerable... innocent. Aragorn stroked Boromir's hair as he returned the gaze. But as he looked something in Boromir's eager joyous face froze Aragorn's blood. Suddenly, the ranger found he could no longer meet Boromir's eyes. Joy shone from Boromir's features and he smiled the contented, blissful smile of true happiness. Sanity returned with the shock of a slap. He couldn't do this to Boromir not when the warrior was under the Ring's influence. It had to stop now. "Boromir, dearest, give me the Ring." Aragorn's voice came out slow and halting. He still could not look Boromir in the face and his gaze darted about trying to find something he could look upon without shame. Boromir did not entirely understand the change in Aragorn. All he knew was that his king had finally said he loved him and that was enough. Without realizing it Boromir's right arm had gone stiff from holding it so rigidly at his side for so long. Thus, it was with some difficulty that he extended his hand to Aragorn and let his fingers uncurl from around the Ring. As the warrior moved the Ring shouted warnings, told him to beware of tricks, to hold out for more than words but Boromir was no longer listening. He had finally heard Aragorn speak his love and the Ring was no longer important. The One glowed on the warrior's palm. Aragorn was transfixed. It was beautiful and perfect, cold and deadly, the master of all desires, the key to unlock all the riches of the world. The power of the gods themselves lay within the slim gold band and it was being offered to him for no better reason than that he had asked for it, that the man who held it wanted to make him happy. Closing his eyes against the pain of it Aragorn reached out and struck Boromir's wrist as hard as he could. The Ring sailed from Boromir's hand and Aragorn moved quickly to stand between the warrior and the place where the One had fallen. Boromir, however, did not go after the Ring as the ranger had half-feared. Instead he seemed simply to crumple, falling to the ground, curled on his side in a semi-fetal position. The joy in his face had been erased as he lay still eyes blinking rapidly. Aragorn wanted to go to him and put his arms around him but he dared not. He could not allow his affection, his love for Boromir to interfere with what he had to do. Neither one of them could be trusted. Turning from the defeated form of Boromir Aragorn began nudging the One with his boot, pushing it slowly toward the camp fire. He could not touch it and though he knew the fire would not hurt it Aragorn hoped that if either he or Boromir lost control for a moment then the pain of the flames would help bring them back to themselves. When the Ring had been kicked into the fire Aragorn stumbled a few yards before coming against a tree and clutching the bark to stay on his feet. Aragorn desperately wanted to be sick, to vomit up all the evil that was inside him. He could not believe what he had done, what he had wanted to do and—worst of all—what he still wanted to do. Had any of those words and actions been Boromir or was it all the Ring? What part of his own behavior could he blame on the One? The Ring's taint seemed to have seeped into his very skin and the foulness of it was indescribable. The ranger gagged reflexively, choking on his own horror of himself. Tears burned down his face as he coughed and retched. Nothing he could do, though, could lessen the sorrow inside him. After a few minutes Aragorn struggled to regain control of himself. Slowly he started pushing all his violent emotions down. He couldn't let himself think. He had to press on with what needed to be done. Pushing his hair back from his burning forehead Aragorn found a canteen and took a few sips to try to calm himself. He had to focus. First, he had to see to Frodo. He felt a little dread as he made his way to the hobbit. He hoped desperately that Frodo was well. When he saw the hobbit, all his fears on that front were put to rest. Aragorn had rarely seen such a look of contentment on the little one's face. Finally free of the burden of the Ring, he was making soft sleeping noises and his head was tucked into Sam's shoulder. Aragorn allowed himself a weak smile before going over to where Legolas still lay motionless. The ranger tried to rouse the elf. He called his name, shook his shoulder, splashed a little water in his face but Legolas' eyes remained unfocused, drifting in reverie. Refusing to make any assumptions Aragorn arranged his friend into a more comfortable position and went to try and wake Gandalf. Aragorn had more luck with the wizard. Soon after the ranger had started shaking Gandalf with increasing desperation the wizard jolted upright his eyes going very wide. "What has happened?" The old mage demanded before Aragorn even had a chance to feel relief. "Where is the Ring? Who has taken it?" Gandalf had pulled himself from a deep sleeping spell and there could be only one explanation. "Boromir took it." Aragorn said tonelessly but the man added quickly sounding almost defensive. "But he gave it back. I've put it in the camp fire. Frodo seems to be sleeping soundly. I didn't want to disturb him. I can't wake Legolas. No one else has wakened though there has been noise enough." The spark of emotion quickly died as Aragorn gave the wizard a brief summary of events. "Where is Boromir?" Gandalf asked trying to calm his racing thoughts. Aragorn gestured but did not speak or even look in the direction he indicated. Peering around the ranger Gandalf saw Boromir curled on his side. He sensed life from the warrior and he was glad. The only magic the wizard was able to sense was the sleeping spell. Perhaps no irreparable harm had been done. "Why can't I wake Legolas?" Aragorn asked when he saw that Gandalf had seemed to put his thoughts in order. "It is the Ring's magic. He—and everyone else—will wake after awhile. No harm has been done them." Gandalf replied adding the last to reassure the ranger for the man looked profoundly miserable. What had happened? Boromir had taken the Ring, commanded it and then given it back? Such a thing should have been impossible. What could have transpired between the two men? "Can you give me a day, Gandalf, a day to figure out what I must do? Can we afford to stay here until tomorrow dawn? I—I must deal with Boromir." Aragorn sounded utterly wretched. Gandalf could only pity him. The wizard understood that it was Aragorn's responsibility to decide what must be done with the warrior. It was the burden of kingship and no one else was qualified to handle the matter. Still Aragorn seemed so very sad. He wanted to counsel mercy but he knew the ranger was never rash and was always scrupulously fair. It was not the wizard's place to interfere. "Yes. We can wait a day, my friend." Gandalf put a hand on Aragorn's shoulder trying to convey support but the ranger was beyond consolation. "Thank you. I will be back by tomorrow dawn at the latest." Aragorn said rising. Gandalf only nodded. Having made provision for the fellowship Aragorn turned his thoughts to Boromir. He needed to get them both away from the Ring. Whatever would happen would depend as much upon Boromir as upon Aragorn. Quietly the ranger collected Boromir's belongings putting them in the warrior's pack. When he was done he approached the man summoning all his determination. "Get up." Boromir had not moved since the Ring had fallen from his hand but at Aragorn's quiet command the warrior rose slowly. "Come with me." Aragorn said gesturing for Boromir to pick up his pack and start walking out in front of the ranger. The warrior complied without uttering word. Boromir remembered everything. It was as though he had been drunk. All the ordinary constraints on his behavior had been lifted. For a few moments he had been free to speak without concern for anything save his own feelings. Then he had been sobered, abruptly, painfully. Fire burned through his nerves leaving a too clear vision of what he had done. All those parts of his personality that the Ring had lulled into a gentle haze had jolted into the front of his awareness. He knew what he had done and he would not permit himself to shrink from that knowledge: He had betrayed the fellowship, betrayed Aragorn and betrayed himself. Yet it had been good to kiss Aragorn, touch him, speak to him without forcing himself to speak only of what was proper and ignoring what was in his heart. Boromir felt grateful that he finally had been allowed to see Aragorn's love, his fear even his anger. What might have happened if his lord has answered him in a royal rage at the council? Boromir would have understood then. It was pointless, though, to dwell on what might have been. Ultimately, the warrior could not make himself regret that little space of time he had had with his king. He wished that he had gone about it differently. If only he could have found the courage without the Ring, but what was done was done. Wishing wasn't going to change anything. No matter how stupid, no matter how wrong, it was done. Boromir had made his choice and he was prepared to accept the consequences. That was what it meant to be a man. The warrior did not bother paying heed to his surroundings. He simply walked, turning right or left as Aragorn occasionally directed. It didn't matter where they were going. Boromir knew what had to be done and one place was as good as another as far as he was concerned. He was glad only for the time to collect his thoughts, to prepare himself. It was generous of Aragorn. Boromir wondered what he might finally say to his king. Perhaps he could ask for another kiss. Surely Aragorn would not begrudge him that. Boromir smiled to himself at the thought. "Boromir, this is far enough." At Aragorn's words the warrior stopped and turned to face his king. Really now that the time was near, it wasn't so bad at all. Boromir stood proudly with his head up and back straight. He had obviously more or less recovered from the ordeal. Aragorn himself still felt shaky but they had walked a little more than five miles and the ranger had recovered much. Even so, in Aragorn's mind it was Boromir who looked the part of king. His eyes were calm and he seemed at peace with himself while Aragorn's every nerve jangled and he had to concentrate to hold himself steady. There was silence. Aragorn had no idea how to begin, how to translate all that happened into words. In the end it was Boromir who broke the impasse by drawing his sword and offering it hilt first to Aragorn. "Would you rather use this?" The warrior asked thinking that Aragorn might not want to sully Anduril with such a task. "I know you will be quick." Aragorn wondered if his senses were working properly. Did Boromir expect him to execute him? Gods, Aragorn thought he might be sick again. "None of the fellowship were harmed, Boromir." Aragorn reassured the man refusing to take the sword. If anyone had been killed then... then Aragorn would have had no choice but everyone, thank all the Valar, was alive and well. "Indeed, I am glad not to have descended so far." Boromir replied still offering his sword. "I am not going to kill you." Aragorn informed the man. "Why not?" Boromir had the temerity to sound indignant. "'Why not', Boromir, why? No one has died so no one need die. Is this not bad enough without shedding blood over it?" Aragorn was wounded. Didn't Boromir care what it would do to the ranger to have to kill him. He would have done it if Frodo or Legolas had been killed but Aragorn knew that he never would have forgiven himself. "Has the penalty for betrayal, then, become a stern scolding? You are being weak." Boromir said as harshly as he could. He did not want mercy. "I am not so weak that I will be taunted into murder by a selfish child." Aragorn stated anger clear in his voice. Boromir sheathed his sword. "What will you do, then?" Boromir asked after a long silence. "It occurs to me that you are needed in Gondor. The City would have great use for such an able commander. You could do much good there." Aragorn might have said that Boromir's family surely missed him but the odd reference to Denethor and Faramir earlier persuaded the ranger not to mention them. "Go home, Boromir." "No." Though he did not shout he spoke with absolute finality. "I beg your pardon." Aragorn felt he had never had more trouble in a conversation and he wondered if it were not some lingering effect of the Ring. "I won't go." Boromir repeated firmly. "Only Frodo is under an obligation to see the quest through to its completion. No oath binds you to remain." Aragorn reiterated Elrond's parting words thinking that Boromir's sense of honor might be the obstacle to him returning to his beloved City. "I know. I don't care. You can kill me if you like but I'm not leaving. I will return to Gondor at your side or not at all. To do otherwise would be a worse betrayal than what I have already done." "You will not say such a thing." Aragorn commanded, the Ring's destruction was much more important than the ranger's future in Gondor. Boromir said nothing but his eyes seemed to say: 'As you wish, but I'll think what I please.' Aragorn was stymied. Boromir's return to Gondor was the best solution he had been able to think of. The Ring would be protected and perhaps it was better that he and Boromir should separate. He did not wish to be parted from the warrior but how could he continue with the quest when the very sight of Boromir stirred him so deeply. Apart Aragorn could once again become master of his own emotions. He did not doubt that he would always love his proud warrior but he would teach himself to control it. In the end, Boromir would be happier without Aragorn and the ranger wanted the man to be happy. If Boromir refused to leave, however, then how could Aragorn hope to govern his passion. Avoiding the issue of his growing attraction to Boromir had been enough of a problem before but now that they had touched, now that Aragorn had confessed his love and Boromir had... had done what he had done Aragorn doubted he could control himself. There was the Ring, too. He couldn't allow himself to forget that. The ranger had to protect the Ring. They would have to talk about it. There was no way around it. Aragorn hoped he would be able to get through the conversation without leaping on the other man. "Why did you take the Ring, Boromir?" The question was not entirely unexpected and the warrior had given the answer some thought. "I told you why. I love you." Aragorn closed his eyes. It had been the truth. He had thought so, hoped so but hearing it confirmed now made it real. "Why didn't you speak if it earlier?" Boromir shrugged. "Same reason you did not speak of your love for me, I suppose." The warrior answered and Aragorn winced. He could not deny the justness of the rebuke. "You do love me, don't you?" The question came out in a small voice most unlike Boromir's usual tone. "Yes." Aragorn answered needing to instantly reassure the man. After a moment more the ranger said more carefully: "I love you." Boromir nodded as though that somehow made everything all right. Trying to regain the focus of his concern, Boromir's susceptibility to the Ring, Aragorn continued his questions. "Why did you speak of Denethor and Faramir?" What had been the Ring's purpose there. "The Ring said Denethor wronged you. I thought it might still grieve you. I wanted to make amends." Boromir answered. In truth the man still wished to make amends. Denethor had a lot to answer for and not all was for Aragorn's sake alone. "He did wrong you, I feel sure." The ranger wasn't entirely certain how to answer. The fact that Boromir seemed willing to take his side in a quarrel with his father was deeply touching but what was the point of dredging up the past. "Some might say so but I should have been more understanding." "Will you tell me about it?" Aragorn's eyebrows lifted. He wanted to protect Boromir from knowledge that might hurt him or upset him. Why would he ask to know the cause of such an old animosity? Sensing his lord's hesitation Boromir went on. "I want to know. You are not the only one to suffer at his hands and it might make us both feel better to speak of it and, after all, is there not love between us. Should we not confide in one another?" "We started off very much as friends." Aragorn began. He was not in the habit of sharing these sorts of thoughts and stories. He didn't want to burden another with what amounted to his hurt feeling but when Boromir asked he found he could not resist. Perhaps it would make them both feel better, Aragorn couldn't say. And there was indeed love between them. The ranger was at least assured that Boromir would understand. "Denethor is intelligent and witty though his humor tends toward the sarcastic. I liked him very much and we spent a great deal of time together." "I also spent time with Ecthelion and he, too, became fond of me. Ecthelion was a very warm, affectionate—almost sentimental—man. He was full of good nature and a genuine love for his fellow man. Denethor's nature was more subdued and cynical, though you must never doubt, Boromir, that there is honor and nobility in your father even if he did occasionally behave... erratically. There was tension between father and son and my presence made it worse. If I spent time with Ecthelion Denethor would become angry, accusing me of currying favor and I know not what else. I found it quite distressing but I was fond of Ecthelion and I was unwilling to be rude to him to appease Denethor's moods. I should have been more attune to his concern for the dignity of the stewardship. Thorongil was base-born, remember, and it was unseemly for such a one to be too close to the center of power." At the time Aragorn had even had some notion of bringing father and son closer together but all his efforts led to frustration from Ecthelion and resentment from Denethor. "Ecthelion began seeking my company in preference to his son's. Denethor disliked travel and he always grumbled when the Steward's family toured through the country to show themselves to the people but he had always gone. Eventually, however, Ecthelion stopped asking for Denethor's companionship preferring me as a traveling companion- though officially I served the function of a simple guard. Denethor never liked these trips but he still felt I was usurping his place by his father's side. He was angry at Ecthelion for cheating him of the respect he felt was owed him and he was angry at me for, well for disloyalty and presumption, I suppose—not that he was entirely wrong. I have since learned more discretion." There had been countless occasions when Denethor had yelled at Thorongil for nothing more than carrying out his duty if that duty so much as took him into Ecthelion's presence. Matter were made worse by Ecthelion's habit of greeting his favorite captain with a hearty slap on the back and occasionally even a bear hug. Denethor, in his adolescence, had positively forbidden his father from behaving in such a manner towards him, disdaining such displays of affection as vulgar and even effeminate. But that did not stop Denethor's resentment when he saw the two embrace. Aragorn, for his own part, had reveled in the unrestrained fondness of the older man. It was such a dramatic change from anything he had even known. Despite his embarrassment he could never fully suppress a little thrill of pride when the old steward would clap him on the shoulder and boast about him to some lord of the City or minor foreign dignitary. He had been much younger then and he had not become as skilled at cloaking his need for approval. Though all these things occurred to the ranger's mind he endeavored to keep his account as concise as possible. It seemed to take a great effort to speak of all of these things and Aragorn reminded himself that he had to conserve his strength this night. "I do not know what exactly was said but I heard that it had come to Ecthelion's attention that Denethor had been confiding to some of the more conservative members of the council that I had some designs on the position of Captain-general. A great quarrel ensued which had at least as much to do with the Steward's anger that his son would spread tales than any great defense of my reputation but from then on there was never anything but stiff courtesy between me and Denethor. By the time I finally left the guard the man could not bear to be in the same room with me. It grieved me for I believe I must have somehow failed Denethor. I do not know what I might have done but had I been stronger or wiser I might have discovered what made such noble a man behave so." The ranger finished looking up to see Boromir gazing at him with sympathy. The warrior did understand. Somehow that did make Aragorn feel a little better. "Did the Ring tell you all this?" Aragorn asked curiously. "Not so much but I guessed a great deal." Boromir replied, sighing a little. The warrior had a sense of how much of a struggle it was for Aragorn to confide in anyone and the trust demonstrated by the ranger at such a time by sharing this old disappointment was heart-rending. "Why would it pain you if Faramir and I spent time together?" Aragorn pursued. The ranger thought it important that both he and Boromir himself come to a thorough understanding of all that the Ring had insinuated. The One seemed to sense any misunderstanding among the fellowship and use it to pry the group apart. "It was that story about Thorongil—Nay, do not look like that." Boromir admonished seeing Aragorn's expression darken with self-reproach. "I—I think that we do more harm by not saying enough rather than saying too much." Aragorn thought about this a moment before nodding for Boromir to continue. The warrior took a breath. Honor, and the man's own pride, demanded that Boromir be absolutely honest with his king and yet it was not easy to confess the terrible fears the Ring had put into his mind about a relationship between his lord and his brother. Boromir, though, drew upon the fact that Aragorn had spoken about his quarrel with Denethor and found courage from Aragorn's shared confidence. "I thought that, well you might have formed a sort of attachment to Faramir because you saw him first. Then I wondered if there might not be some even greater connection between you. I know it's silly but then I started to think about how well suited Faramir would be to you. You are much alike. I know Faramir would have recognized you at the council. Have you heard anything about Faramir? Do you know how the people speak of him?" Boromir watched Aragorn carefully if there was more to the relationship the warrior knew the ranger would not hide it from him now. "I have heard that he is wise and his men love him. In truth, though, what news I hear from Gondor about the steward's family is usually about you. All the talk is of Boromir the Brave, Boromir the Bold, Boromir the Fair." Aragorn said smiling a little as the warrior blushed slightly. "Well, you hear that because the boy is modest and I am not." Boromir felt pleased that his lord had heard him praised, annoyed that Faramir had not been equally praised and relieved that there really did seem to be nothing between Aragorn and his brother. "Faramir likes elfish things and old stories and lore and all that lot. I know that you will be great friends but I couldn't bear it if you would choose him over me. I love you so much. You are all I can think about. You are the only reason I..." Boromir stopped to take a deep breath. Now was not the time for earnest protestations. He needed to control himself. "I was jealous. In all probability I shall be jealous in the future- whatever the future may be." Boromir paused and then added with the faintest of smiles: "I am jealous but at least I seem to come by it honestly." Aragorn smiled a little too but he was overcome with sympathy. Again he wanted to go to Boromir and hold him. The warrior seemed to believe that each person had only just so much love and to give it to one person meant to withhold if from another. Nor could the ranger say conclusively that Boromir was entirely wrong—at least for some people. Aragorn's mother had loved Arathorn to the exclusion of all others. When he died Gilraen's heart died with him and there was nothing left within her to give to her son. Suddenly, Aragorn realized he would like very much to tell Boromir a bit about Gilraen- but he couldn't, not yet. They loved each other, Aragorn thought almost angrily, and yet as the sun slowly rose in the sky they were standing a formal distance apart talking awkwardly of their feelings. Why weren't they lying together peacefully whispering words of endearment and understanding. It was such an awful waste. "Boromir, I don't know Faramir." Aragorn wanted to offer some comfort but he had to be careful that he did not sound as though he were lecturing or taking Boromir's feelings lightly. "But even if we were to meet and I were to become very fond of him that has nothing to do with how I feel about you. I love you." Those words were becoming easier to say as he had practice and the light that shone in the warrior's eyes whenever he said them was a powerful incentive, too. "I love you, too." Boromir responded, soothed somewhat by the ranger's assurances. "What do we do now, my lord?" The warrior asked after a little time had passed and the morning light had fully penetrated through the trees. They had said so much and yet what did it all mean? Aragorn could not send him away. Boromir simply would not go but what did that mean for the fellowship? Boromir wondered if it was possible that Aragorn might agree to go to Minas Tirith now to draw the warrior from the Ring. Boromir, however, did not dwell on this thought. It was too wonderful to contemplate and would inevitably lead to harsh feeling against Frodo for Boromir felt certain Aragorn would not leave the ringbearer's side. "I know what faith men of Gondor put in their word. Will you swear to me now to forsake the Ring, to make yourself deaf to its call and come to me with anything that troubles you?" Aragorn asked regarding Boromir steadily. "You would believe my word on such a matter?" Boromir demanded incredulously. "Yes." The ranger had been thinking about what to do since Boromir flatly refused to go to Gondor. Aragorn was coming to believe that Boromir would never have resorted to the Ring had he been able to speak more frankly with the warrior. It was a mistake that need not be repeated. Boromir closed his eyes. He felt so unworthy. How could Aragorn trust him in such a way? Boromir would rather die than betray his word to Aragorn, though, and perhaps that was why he could be trusted. Taking a slow breath that nonetheless seemed to catch in his throat Boromir opened his eyes to look upon the man he loved. "The Ring is nothing to me. You are everything. I swear it." With Boromir's final word Aragorn began moving towards him. When he reached the warrior he bent his head and touched foreheads with the other man. Boromir was trembling and doing his best not to sob. Hands crept to shoulders and then arms wound around backs and in a moment more the two men were clinging to one another, shuddering as tears flowed from their eyes. Boromir could have spent forever like that. Being locked in Aragorn's reassuring embrace seemed to drain all the fear and anxiety out of him. He felt as though he had been precariously balanced on the edge of a great precipice and now he was being gently led back to safety. He could relax his constant vigilance a little. His mind no longer had to be everywhere at once and the shadow that had been stalking him had disappeared when Aragorn looked at him with the light of love in his eyes. Boromir wondered if maybe just this once they could skip any more talking and just sleep. He suddenly realized that he was very tired. Stress had eaten away his strength and fear had destroyed his appetite. The warrior knew his thoughts weren't as sharp as they would be after he rested and if he said something stupid now that angered Aragorn or caused the ranger to lose his trust in him Boromir would never forgive himself. Tears still felt silently down Aragorn's face though he no longer trembled. Boromir was holding him so tightly as though his very life depended on pressing the ranger as close as possible. 'I almost lost him. Oh gods, I almost lost him.' Aragorn thought. Only now with Boromir safe in his arms could Aragorn face the true horror of that possibility. Even now though as the warrior nuzzled against his neck and wept quietly into his shoulder Aragorn sensed that more needed to be done. He had to be a good captain, a responsible leader. Boromir's actions had endangered them all and though Aragorn understood and forgave his beloved it could not be that simple. Lifting Boromir's head slightly Aragorn kissed him lightly on the lips before taking a small step backward. Sighing a little dejectedly as the embrace ended Boromir reached out to caress Aragorn's face and eliminate the last trace of tears. "I know we need talk. I love you so much, Aragorn. I know you love me but do we have to talk right now? Let's... let's rest a little first." Aragorn smiled and moved his head to brush his lips against Boromir's fingers but then he took another step back and composed his features. "I do love you, Boromir. We don't have to talk now if you don't want to, but we cannot rest until we have completely settled last night's business." The ranger spoke firmly, drawing about him the mantle of unquestionable authority. Boromir's brows drew together in confusion. He was not certain what the ranger intended by this remark. Before the warrior could formulate a question, however, Aragorn seemed to grow taller and more commanding. Boromir could not suppress a little shiver. Aragorn in the full confidence of his power was the most beautiful, heart-seizing thing Boromir had ever seen. "Do you suppose, man of Gondor, that the penalty for betrayal has become a stern scolding?" Aragorn demanded echoing Boromir's previous taunt. The warrior's eyes widened in surprise but very quickly the surprise faded. Boromir was a soldier, after all, he understood that serious breaches of discipline could not go unpunished. Nodding his assent Boromir lowered his eyes and awaited Aragorn's command. "Strip to your waist and give me your belt." The dark haired man instructed. Boromir complied, not hastily but without any unnecessary delay either. He supposed as he offered Aragorn the long and rather thick leather belt that he had just taken from around his middle that if he had been a hobbit it would have been a week on bread and water. Happily the warrior noted that his fingers did not shake nor did he fumble with the ties of his longcoat or his heavy, embroidered shirt. Punishment would purge his sense of guilt Boromir reminded himself as he pulled his undertunic over his head and put it with his other clothes and tried not think about whether or not Aragorn was appraising him in his partial nakedness for beauty. As Boromir removed his top layers Aragorn walked to the edge of the clearing where a large oak grew, tall branches stretching toward the sky. When he was ready Boromir followed him. The warrior understood the ranger's intention. Without needing to be told he stepped up to the large tree and placed his hands against the broad trunk bracing himself against it. He could do this, he assured himself. This was nothing that hadn't happened before—though in truth it had been many, many years since anyone had had enough authority to discipline the steward's first born. It made a difference, too, that it was Aragorn of all people who was going to do this to him. Of course, Boromir didn't think he would allow any save Aragorn to do this. He wasn't sure why but that was a comforting thought. He felt safer somehow thinking about Aragorn and his strength. "Ready?" Boromir nodded. Silly question that. What was he going to say, 'no'? Would Aragorn stop if he did say 'no'? Probably, but the ranger would almost certainly lose respect for him and that was worse than any beating could ever be. Gods, Boromir wished Aragorn would hurry. The warrior felt a fluttering excitement in his stomach that was completely different from the dark and heavy anxiety that had been with him for so long on this quest. Why was he so nervous and why as he leaned against the rough bark of the tree did he find that he wanted Aragorn to be as harsh as possible, to break him and then rebuild him? The first stroke came down lighting a line a fire across Boromir's shoulders. The warrior made a soft little gasp, more from surprise than pain he assured himself. This wasn't so bad. He could endure it easily enough and when it was over he wouldn't have to worry that Aragorn looked down upon him or thought him weak. Boromir would show his king what strength he had. As leather slapped against flesh for the tenth time Boromir was starting to question some of his own resolve. In an effort to distract himself from the fall of the belt Boromir ground his forehead into the tree bark hoping the small discomfort would somehow keep his mind from the pain in his back. Aragorn waited between each blow so that Boromir could appreciate the full effect before raising the belt and striking again. When a new line burned across an older mark all Boromir's muscles would tense and he would have to bite his lip to keep from crying out. As the beating went on this happened more and more often forcing the warrior to exert all his control to keep from dancing away from each new lash. At the twentieth stroke Boromir had abandoned any attempt to keep silent, letting himself moan and gasp with the pain as he needed. It would be enough, the man decided, if he could just keep from begging Aragorn to stop. He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't. He wouldn't. The pain was so intense. It seemed to Boromir that each time the belt fell it fell with more force. The man suspected that he could have borne the pain better if it had not been for the ambivalent responses of his own body. He both wanted to cringe away and also lean into the make-shift whip, needing to escape and submit utterly at the same time. Boromir felt that at this time, in this moment he was the complete and absolute focus of Aragorn's attention. This knowledge excited him even as pain threatened to overwhelm him. As much as it hurt the man could not be absolutely certain he wanted it to stop. After twenty-five Aragorn paused. Boromir had a moment to feel a peculiar mix of euphoria and disappointment when the belt descended across Boromir's buttocks. The force behind the new blow was comparable to what had come before but the padded flesh of his rump as well at the added protection of his trousers made the pain much less. All the same, Boromir groaned raggedly at the contact. He was only surprised Boromir told himself firmly, resolutely ignoring the sudden surge of blood to his groin. Though, Aragorn's new target was giving Boromir less hurt he was squirming a little more. The warrior had tried to count the strokes but quickly lost his place. He tried to recite bits of poems he remembered but he did not remember many and those he did remember he could not concentrate on. Boromir wondered if begging Aragorn might not be the lesser of two humiliations as with each new stroke his erection ached as much as his back. It was quickly becoming too much... too much. So focused was Boromir on holding his body in check that he had not noticed that no blow had fallen for more than a minute. "That is enough, Boromir. It is done." Aragorn's soft soothing voice registered very closeby. Boromir turned a little opening his eyes to peer into the ranger's concerned face. Boromir could not help but smile. He felt exultant as though he had won a great victory. It was over and he had stayed strong. Seeing his smile Aragorn reached up to stroke Boromir's hair, running his fingers through the dirty, sweat damp blond locks as though they were spun gold. "Here, drink a little." Aragorn offered holding up a canteen. The ranger wanted to help Boromir move away from tree he had been clinging to but the warrior seemed reluctant to completely face him. Aragorn worried but decided not to press the man. After a little while Boromir turned on his own and took the offered canteen. The water was cool and the warrior drank deeply. Aragorn studied Boromir as he drank in thirsty gulps. The ranger had been so very careful not to draw any blood or do anything to make Boromir anything more than sore. Even so, he had been far from gentle. The warrior, however, had not made any complaint and now seemed completely free of resentment. Aragorn would defy anyone who called his warrior weak. The Ring was not the only challenge in the world, after all. Maybe it wasn't even the most important. The ranger wanted to ask Boromir if he was all right but he knew the warrior would be grievously insulted if Aragorn did anything that might indicate a lack of confidence in Boromir. The man could be so very stubborn, the ranger though fondly. Aragorn was so lost in admiration for his beautiful Boromir that he did not notice that the other had stopped drinking and was now regarding him quizzically. "Well, Aragorn may I rest now or must we have 'business' over what happened in the trophy room in Rivendell and at Elrond's Council?" It took a moment for Aragorn to realize that Boromir was making a joke. When comprehension finally struck, Aragorn smiled. He thought he might make an answer in a similar spirit but unlike the hobbits and Legolas and Gimli the ranger was not entirely comfortable either teasing or being teased so he just said: "I love you, Boromir." By the look on the warrior's face Aragorn did not think Boromir held his lack of wit against him. "I'm exhausted." Boromir announced all the fatigue of earlier catching up with the warrior with a vengeance. As he spoke he let himself lean into Aragorn a little smiling into the older man's chest as the ranger very cautiously put his arms about him. "Then by all means sleep, my love. I don't doubt you're tired." Aragorn wanted to go on to say how brave his Boromir was but perhaps it was too early. It might be mistaken for condescension. "Then we'll talk about us and about how much we love each other and how nothing will ever come between us." Boromir said more as a statement than a question and Aragorn smiled as he spread out Boromir's bedroll adding his cloak to the blankets. Cautiously Boromir eased himself down to the ground grimacing at every other movement until he was lying on his stomach. "Aragorn, you are going to have to sleep next to me or I won't be able to get comfortable." Boromir informed the ranger from his position on the ground. Aragorn had not intended to go to sleep but there was something about Boromir's voice that belied the rather impudently insistent words and bespoke real need. Aragorn told himself that he could sleep lightly and a watch was hardly necessary for two men in the middle of the day and he lay down beside Boromir. The ranger was tired, too and it would be good to rest together like this. The blond man maneuvered himself around until he was partially on his side and partially on top of Aragorn then he sighed and closed his eyes. Boromir slept peacefully, his breath stirring a few strands of Aragorn's hair at steady intervals. 'He trusts me' the ranger thought as he felt the weight of the warrior's completely relaxed body pressed against him. 'He trust me and yet what have I ever done but distress him—him and his family? I let the Ring play with him because I made myself unapproachable.' That, at least, the ranger vowed, would never happen again. Even if he had to sleep on top of Boromir every night to keep the Ring from him. Aragorn allowed himself to smile at this image and brought his hand up to hover just over the warrior's back, just enough to feel the heat but not enough to disturb Boromir. 'And what will happen when my Boromir wakes? Will all of this seem like some nightmare to him?' Aragorn wondered unaware of the very possessive way he had started to think of the blond warrior. The depth of the other man's devotion was overwhelming. Aragorn could not understand how he came to be given such a gift. He certainly did not feel he deserved it. The whole situation didn't seem entirely real to the ranger and if it were not for the solid, warm bulk of the man lying beside him Aragorn might have tried to convince himself he had imagined it all. 'What will Arwen say?' But even as Aragorn posed the question he realized he was avoiding the real issue. Arwen, as Legolas had suggested, would never object to love. Indeed she seemed to expect that her betrothed would find someone in addition to herself to give his heart to. In the beginning this attitude had offended Aragorn. He felt accused of infidelity when he had done nothing to deserve such an accusation. It was only later that Aragorn came to realize that such an idea had never entered Arwen's head. She knew her beloved had needs and desires she could not meet and so she hoped he would find another who could. She saw no fault in him for having these needs nor did she see fault in herself for being unable to fulfill them. It was a view Aragorn had argued furiously against insisting that Arwen was his everything. Arwen had seen more clearly than Aragorn had, though, for in Boromir there was passion and immediacy, ferocity and dogged devotion. Arwen was all softness and gentleness. To be with her was to be peaceful and content but not, the ranger began to realize, exciting or joyous. Arwen was quiet and elegant, almost other-worldly. Hierarchy and power meant nothing in his relationship with her. To compete with her, even to argue with her was impossible—like trying to cut water, it could not be done. Aragorn knew that this was what he wanted: Calm, serenity, tranquility. Yet, he wanted Boromir, too. Was this not the height of selfishness. In justice his inability to choose between the two should have cost him both. When Aragorn had ordered Boromir to strip to the waist he had told himself that he was driven solely by duty. It had not taken long for him to realize, however, that he had been truly angry with Boromir— angry because he had taken the Ring, angry because that action had almost meant Boromir would have had to leave, angry because the warrior had been so defiant at the Council. It had been intensely satisfying to punish Boromir. Aragorn had wanted to do so for a long time though he had not understood that until the blond man surrendered himself. Yet, even in the midst of his anger he had felt in control of himself. He had to be lest he truly hurt the warrior. It was bizarre and the ranger could not completely make sense of it. No one moved him as Boromir did. No one could provoke such strong feelings and touch his heart like the warrior of Gondor. In a way this made Boromir powerful, perhaps dangerously so. 'I do trust him, though.' Aragorn thought to himself as he allowed his hand to come up and rest on Boromir's arm. The warrior sighed in his sleep at the touch. Smiling though he did not open his eyes the ranger let himself fall out of consciousness murmuring: "Boromir the Bold, Boromir the Fair, My Boromir." As Aragorn drifted to sleep the last of the fellowship left at camp woke. Legolas' eyes focused to see four hobbits, one wizard and one dwarf gazing at him intently. This gave Legolas a bad shock and it took the fellowship several minutes to calm the elf. The last thing Legolas remembered was that Boromir had the Ring and he himself was going to try to rescue the man from it. To be, in the next instant, the subject of intense scrutiny by his comrades frightened and disoriented the elf. When Legolas was himself again he started asking questions. Everyone save Gandalf, who had already explained the whole of what he knew five times, began talking at once. There was little true information but the need to repeat everything that was known for certain and even to make guesses about what wasn't known at all was overpowering. The elf's waking gave the group an excuse to release their worry in a rush of words. After Legolas had heard what there was to hear and added his own brief experience of the night before, however, the company once again lapsed into a dismal silence. "It wasn't his fault, you know, not really. It was the horrible Ring that made him do it. Surely Strider knows that." Pippin burst out when he could stand it no longer. The hobbit looked from face to face but no one made him any answer. Gandalf sighed. It had been a very long morning. Gimli had woken first and it had taken all of the wizard's considerable power of persuasion to keep the dwarf from charging after Aragorn and Boromir. What he meant to do when he found them was not clear but Gimli needed to be doing something. To sit and wait went against his nature. Next Sam woke and his condemnation of Boromir was severe. Gandalf had to calm the enraged hobbit and assure him that Frodo was only sleeping peacefully and no harm had befallen him. Sam allowed that he had never trusted the man and repeated over and over. "If he touched so much as a hair on master Frodo's head..." The threat was all the more dire for not being completely expressed. Pippin woke next and at first he could not be convinced that Boromir had taken the Ring. Finally, Sam yelled at him, accusing him in surprisingly harsh terms of having no sympathy for Frodo. In response the youngest hobbit ceased his denials dropping his head while big round tears rolled down his little face. The wizard thought he should try and offer some comfort to Pippin but just then Merry woke, no doubt roused in part by Sam's shouting. Merry was strangely quiet after the situation had been explained and he noted his cousin's tears and Sam's slight blush of shame. Gandalf was as disturbed by the usually loquacious hobbit's silence as he had been by Sam's angry pacing and muttered curses. The true test had come, however, when Frodo woke, stretching lazily and bestowing upon them all a radiant smile. The hobbit's happiness, however, quickly gave way to worry when he saw the expression of his companions. The little one wept when Gandalf told him he had to take up the Ring once more. Losing his composure for a moment Frodo had begged to be released from his doom explaining almost incoherently that it was too much for him; he was just a simple hobbit and he wanted to go back home. The moment of weakness did not last long and Frodo soon collected himself, went over to the remains of the fire, put the Ring on a leather cord and placed the One around his neck but Gandalf knew for the part he had played in bringing this horror to Frodo the wizard would never truly be able to forgive himself. "I'm sure he didn't mean it. It's not fair to blame him." Pippin repeated after several minutes had passed since his last comment. Gandalf thought he would have to say something to quiet the youngest hobbit before Sam exploded again but Legolas spoke before him. "We all heard the Ring's call but it was only Boromir who turned against the fellowship." The elf said calmly. Legolas had been badly frightened by the ease with which the warrior had sent him into unconsciousness and part of the harshness of his opinion was due to his fear. The fact that Boromir had chosen to send him into sleep rather than death was only a partial mitigation. Merely being at the mercy of another was horror enough for the independent elf. Pippin's face crumpled at Legolas' words but before the tears started again Gimli spoke: "What you say is true, Friend elf, but I think some of us heard the call more strongly than others." Denied the relief of action by Gandalf's stern counsel Gimli had resorted to thinking and the dwarf found he was not entirely satisfied with his own behavior leading up to the night before. "I saw that Boromir was sorely beset and yet I did nothing save congratulate myself on a dwarf's natural resistance to magic. Neither am I confronted with the same threats to my people. I might have spoken a word of encouragement or support to Boromir and yet I did not." This confession gave everyone cause to consider. It was true. Each had reason to know of the warrior's vulnerability but none of them had done anything. "I had thought that he had been reassured by his growing respect for Aragorn." Gandalf said a little of his frustration seeping through his control. "I watched him closely, though as Gimli reminds me to my shame I was less a friend than I might have been. I saw his fear for his people diminish. I thought he was beginning to put his faith in Aragorn. Why did he not look to his king for aid? Aragorn would have helped him." "He was afraid Strider would reject him." Merry answered sadly. "It would have crushed him if Strider didn't love him back." "What do you know of this Master Meriadoc?" The wizard demanded, very much taken aback. "Boromir was in love with Strider." Merry said looking at Gandalf. Then seeing the wizard's incredulity he turned to the rest of company for confirmation. "Didn't you know?" The wizard thought the hobbit might be letting his imagination run away with him but to his astonishment the rest of the fellowship was nodding. Even Frodo appeared to agree although he seemed only now to realize it. "Did Aragorn know?" Gandalf finally asked resisting the urge to throw up his hands. "I told him." Legolas responded miserably. "I don't know if he believed me. I'm afraid I treated the matter rather lightly. It seemed rather amusing that Boromir with all his pride would lose himself so entirely to Aragorn. I did not foresee that love would make Boromir even more vulnerable. Although, I do not know why I didn't. It was love of Gondor that drove him before." The mood of the fellowship which had been leaning toward the condemnatory had altered. A shared sense of responsibility had taken hold of the group and each member now believed himself to have taken a small part in the calamity. "Strider isn't going to hurt Boromir, though." Frodo said trying to ease his own growing sense of foreboding. "They'll just talk, won't they? And then they'll be back tomorrow and everything will be all right?" The ringbearer was looking from face to face for encouragement but no one met his gaze. Finally, Gimli took pity on Frodo and contrived to assuage the hobbit's worst fears. "I imagine Aragorn will ask Boromir to return to Minas Tirith. It is dangerous to have him here." The dwarf had meant his words to be comforting. After all, it was not beyond the realm of possibility that Aragorn would feel it his grim duty to execute Boromir. Despite his intention, however, his remark was met with an explosion of grief from Pippin. "That will kill him! Strider can't send him away." The youngest hobbit sobbed. Merry tried to soothe his cousin but Pippin was inconsolable. "I—I would hear the Ring sometimes." Pippin began through his tears. "It said that it could make it so people didn't laugh at me quite so much or...or yell all the time. It's not that I want to be stupid all the time but—but it just seems to happen but the Ring could fix that. It would be so nice not always having people mad at me or thinking me such—such an awful bother but I knew Strider didn't yell or laugh and that was a good thought. But it was Boromir who was always so very—very good to me. I know he liked me. He would always try to cheer me up even when no one else wanted to talk to me because I'm such a nuisance. I ignored the Ring because I knew that, well I did do a lot of foolish things, but it wasn't so bad Merry still likes me most of the time and Boromir...Boromir. He helped me so much and—and I didn't do anything to help him with Strider even though I knew Strider would be kind if Boromir would only—only talk to him..." The hobbit dissolved into helpless sobs once more and Merry hugged him. The rest of the fellowship was stunned. Here was another of their company in great distress that no one had bothered about. It was time for them all to do some serious thinking. As Pippin continued to cry into his cousin's chest Gandalf finally managed to murmur: "I'm so sorry, Pip." Still trembling with tears the hobbit broke away from Merry and hugged the wizard tightly. The late afternoon sun shone down as Boromir watched his sleeping king. The warrior thought he must have been truly exhausted to ask the ranger to lie down next to him and then to speak almost childishly of the future. Aragorn, though, had not seemed to mind. He was probably exhausted himself for he had lain down beside Boromir and now he slept half beneath the warrior—his face tranquil yet with something still of its usual sternness. Boromir could not help but wonder what that face would look like lost in passion. Did Aragorn even lose himself in passion? The warrior wished very much to find out. Boromir had had time to think as he studied the beloved countenance of Aragorn. The experience with the Ring—though terrifying—had been enlightening. He knew Aragorn loved him. The One had tempted Aragorn with Boromir himself! It had nearly worked and the warrior understood too that it had been distrust of the Ring rather than a lack of desire for Boromir that had decided the matter. Now that Boromir knew, knew that Aragorn cared for him, he would not retreat into himself again. He would keep his lord's love, fight for it if he had to, but he would do it on his own. Rather than gaining him Aragorn the Ring had almost caused Boromir to lose him. These thoughts were beginning to agitate Boromir somewhat and he found it necessary to reach out and stroke Aragorn's shoulder and chest. Even through the ranger's clothes the warrior could feel the warmth of the other man and was calmed. Boromir's movements also served to make the warrior aware of the ache in his back, shoulders and buttocks. Suppressing a soft moan—for he enjoyed looking at Aragorn asleep too much to wish him awake quite yet—the man reminded himself to be careful. The physical pain was so much easier, so much more comprehensible than the pain in his head and heart had been and Boromir again found himself peculiarly grateful for it. Aragorn would never have punished Frodo in such a way, no matter what the hobbit did. He would have thought him too fragile to endure it or even too child-like to be held to any standard of accountability. Neither could Boromir really see Legolas able to draw such an intense reaction from Aragorn. It was Boromir alone who could truly make his beloved feel and this was such a wonderful idea that the warrior had to struggle not to laugh. He wanted to see Aragorn joyful, excited, delighted and happy and know that he was the cause. Boromir also wanted to help Aragorn learn to feel his anger. The warrior knew that people, elves mostly, didn't take Aragorn as seriously as he deserved and the man wanted his lord to teach the mincing creatures to fear his wrath. Not that Boromir himself ever wanted to make Aragorn angry but he thought he might annoy him occasionally just as a reminder that he was not so easy to domesticate. Perhaps he could provoke his Aragorn into kissing him into docility. Now that was an idea. The warrior saw himself pestering his lord walking around him in circles, tugging on his sleeve and generally acting like Pippin whenever the hobbit wanted attention. The thought of Pippin, however, brought Boromir out of his pleasant daydreams. The little one would almost certainly hate him for what he had tried to do. Nor could Boromir blame the little hobbit. The warrior would do everything he could to win back the cousins' respect but he had momentarily allowed himself to forget that not only did he have to face the fellowship he still had not finally settled matters with Aragorn. Though the two were lying next to each other—indeed Boromir was half on top of Aragorn—they still needed to talk. Suddenly Boromir needed Aragorn to tell him that he loved him and that they would always be together. Unless he could be assured of that nothing else mattered. "What troubles you, Boromir?" Aragorn asked reaching out to smooth the warrior's hair. Alerted somehow by the change in the tension of Boromir's body and the anxiety in the pressure of the warrior's fingers against his chest Aragorn had come awake and now regarded the worried man on top of him with compassion and concern. "Aragorn, please let me be your baron tide. I love you so much. I must have a place in your life." There were spots of color in Boromir's face as he leaned down on Aragorn clutching him insistently. "My what?" Aragorn asked as he pressed the back of his hand to Boromir forehead, at a loss to understand why his warrior had suddenly started speaking in nonsense syllables. "Your berth tithe" The blond man repeated earnestly, removing the ranger's hand from his forehead and returning it to its former place in his hair so that Aragorn could resume stroking. "I don't care that it means whore. I don't give a damn what people say. I want to be with you." Aragorn looked confused for a moment, although he did return to stroking Boromir's hair. Then the pieces fell into place. "Do you mean 'bereth taid'? That does not mean whore, dearest. I don't think there is a Sindarin word for whore." "Consort, then. I don't care. Just agree, will you." Boromir felt overcome with urgency. "Where can you have heard 'bereth taid'?" Aragorn considered trying not to let himself be unbalanced by the other man's insistence. "Boromir! You were listening to me and Legolas talk, weren't you?" The ranger demanded as he tried to think of everything he and the elf had discussed the day before. "I was sleeping when I was awakened by Legolas having a tremendous chuckle at my expense." Boromir explained trying and failing not to sound defensive. "No one enjoys a good laugh more than me so I though 'why interrupt the fun' and I stayed where I was. It's not as though I meant to go spying." "Legolas wasn't laughing at you, my love. Do not be offended. If anything he was laughing at me." Aragorn tried to soothe as he wished that he had spoken of his appreciation and admiration for Boromir with Legolas but he had not wished to reveal too much of his heart. Even if the greatest danger had only been a little teasing. "That, my lord, doesn't make it any better. In fact it makes it worse. Cocky elves! Though I daresay I'd be smug too if I never had to deal with hunger, sickness or fatigue. I don't begrudge them their flowers or their songs but they don't show anything like the proper respect for what it means not to have everything handed to you." These thoughts had been a long time suppressed and now they were surging out with the force of a tidal wave. "Elrond is another example. He is awfully high and mighty for a half-breed. Humanity was good enough for his father and his brother and it's good enough for his daughter, too. There is no shame in being human and if a man has less than an elf, well, at least the man earned everything he has. Pointy ears isn't what makes one person better than another." "Boromir, hush!" Aragorn commanded when he was able to find his voice. Boromir who had finished his little rant in any case looked down upon his lord with some chagrin. He wasn't about to apologize, though. He had meant every word. "You must not speak that way about lord Elrond. All of this has caused him a great deal of pain and he has been as a father to me." Aragorn explained. The ranger knew that Boromir's annoyance at Legolas was just the result of the elf's teasing and perhaps even a bit of jealousy. When Boromir was over his pique Aragorn thought he would have to admit Legolas had been a fine companion and a steadfast friend. To his own surprise, however, the ranger was not really angry about the words directed against Elrond. He defended his foster father more out of a sense of duty than anything else. Could it be that Aragorn was also just a little angry at Elrond. Immediately the ranger felt ashamed. It would be ungrateful to ever question Elrond. "You deserve better from him." Boromir said quietly. He wouldn't argue if Aragorn didn't want him to but it had to be said if only the one time. Aragorn was silent for a while as he freed himself, very gently, from Boromir's restraining weight and turned to lay on his side. He watched the warrior who though nervous was determined not to be intimidated. One of the things Aragorn loved about his warrior was his complete, almost deliberately, undiplomatic honesty. He was not troubled by Boromir's attitude—though the warrior really did need to learn a bit of tact. Even so, he found Boromir's occasional tirades a bit endearing. What did trouble Aragorn was the confusion the warrior's indictment stirred up in his own heart. He could now see that a small part of him was angry and frustrated by all the cruel words spoken by one who had claimed to love him. Aragorn did not know what to do with this part of himself so he simply gazed at Boromir until finally deciding there were more important matters to deal with at the present. "I love you, Boromir, but do you really want to talk about Elrond right now?" Aragorn asked softly. "No!" Boromir replied immediately and with some relief. "I love you, too." The man added after a moment on the principle that the words could not be said often enough to express his feeling. "If—if we do pursue this, it will be harder on you. I need hardly remind you that your father will disapprove. I cannot leave Arwen. I don't want to. She will pose no obstacle herself but it still leaves you in a difficult position. Can you accept Arwen? Can you—oh! how can I even ask you that?" Aragorn broke off in self-disgust as he tried to get up so he could move away from the man he loved. Boromir, however, had paid scant attention to Aragorn's words after the first sentence. The warrior struggled to match the ranger's movements ignoring the protests of his body. Then, reached out to take hold of Aragorn's shoulders before the ranger could come to his feet. "What do you mean 'if'? There is no 'if'. Are you thinking 'if'? Gods, Aragorn we must pursue this." the suddenness of Boromir's reaction had taken Aragorn by surprise and disrupted his balance. He only just managed to fold his legs underneath him before Boromir's weight brought him down to a sitting position. "Be easy, love." Aragorn implored prying the frantic man's fingers from his shoulders so he could hold his hands. "I said 'if' because I didn't want to speak for you. What I said is true: This won't be easy for you. But don't ever doubt I love you and I want to be with you." Boromir weighed this explanation carefully and he was partly mollified, though the little word 'if' still rankled. He lived for the future where Gondor was safe Aragorn was king and Boromir was his most beloved subject. That future had to be certain. There could be no 'if'. "I don't expect it to be easy but as hard as it will be, trying to live without you would be worse." Boromir replied trying to settle himself in such a way that his aching body could be comfortable. "My father knows of my preference for men. As long as I said I was willing to take a wife and father a few brats he is not concerned. Of course, he won't be pleased I've taken up with you, but he'll much angrier about your claim to the throne than your claim to me. It will be all right, though. I won't say Denethor has mellowed with age because he hasn't but he's tired and he's not as ambitious as he used to be." Boromir said taking the most optimistic view of Denethor's possible reaction. The warrior took a deep breath. He wanted to deal with all the obstacles Aragorn had suggested in his awful 'if' comment logically and coolly but Arwen was a difficulty. Boromir did not really want to share. He knew he would not have been able to accept another man that would have been too much. Not that he would have stepped aside for another man. Combat to the death seemed the better solution. A woman, though, was different. Besides Arwen did love Aragorn. She would die for him. That was reassuring to Boromir for if he had to share then the other had to be worthy. Besides, someone had to give birth to Aragorn's children. "I can accept Arwen. I know she must be queen. I—I want you to be happy and if you love her then—then I will try to be her friend." Aragorn wrapped his arms around the warrior and pressed him tightly to his chest. "Oh, Boromir, I'm so sorry to ask this of you." The ranger said softly kissing the warrior's head. "I know it's not fair." Boromir allowed himself to be hugged tipping his head up to encourage Aragorn to let his kisses fall on the warrior's face. He was grateful to have Aragorn's love—even if he did have to share. Boromir hoped that his king would feel less guilty when he saw how happy both his lovers would be to have him. After resting a bit longer in Aragorn's loose embrace Boromir started kissing the other man back, gently running his tongue over the ranger's lips. Sighing Aragorn let his own tongue flick out to meet Boromir's. Neither man was content to be merely playful for long, however. Aragorn had begun running his palms over Boromir's naked chest, kneading the taut flesh almost roughly. The warrior had begun to moan into Aragorn's mouth as he enjoyed the forceful handling. Boromir's own hands were struggling with Aragorn's shirt tugging violently at the laces in an effort to hurry the process. When the shirt was finally removed the two moved closer together. Aragorn still mindful that Boromir was sore let his hands drift lightly down the other's back, even though he dearly wished to take the warrior in a crushing embrace just as Boromir was embracing him. "You know, dear, that there will be talk in Gondor because you are with me." Aragorn said a little breathless from the fierce kisses he had been pressing upon his warrior and Boromir's burning responses. He would have preferred to keep kissing, to continue delving into the hot depths of Boromir's mouth but responsibility was too firmly ingrained in the ranger not to discuss all the worst stumbling blocks the two men were likely to encounter. Even so, as he talked Aragorn kept one arm tightly around Boromir waist while he used the other to roam over the muscles of the other man's thighs. "What?" Boromir asked. He couldn't really remember what they were supposed to be talking about for a moment but then he snorted into Aragorn's neck. It was a ticklish sensation and Aragorn responded by licking all the way down the lobe of the warrior's ear. Boromir promptly lost the strain of conversation once again as the blood deserted his brain to rush to his already hardening penis. It was several moments before the man could again concentrate on conversation. "What does the prattle of idlers and the gossip of fools mean to me. Let them talk." "Take this seriously, my love. Not only your honor but also your merit will be impugned. I don't want you exposed to malice for my sake." Aragorn worried, although he could not quite bring himself to stop nipping gently at Boromir's ear. The warrior had a visceral impact upon his king. Aragorn never felt so entirely human as when he was with Boromir and his self-control was always tested with his beloved warrior. The ranger wished he could be stronger but the scent of the other man, the sweetness of his skin and the heat of him were tempting Aragorn into actions he still felt were too selfish. "Aragorn, for the gods' sake. I love you. I would give my life for you. I don't give a damn how nasty the rumors are. Can't you see your torturing me with all this? Just let me love you. That's all I want. That's all I need." Boromir was frustrated. Aragorn seemed to be pushing him away and he didn't know why. Aragorn was everything to Boromir: the preservation of his people, his king, his beloved, his brother's protector... This last thought stopped the warrior a moment. Why hadn't he thought of that earlier? Aragorn had saved Faramir's life as a child and when the king came to Minas Tirith Faramir would be freed from Denethor, given duties that would take advantages of his talents and finally find a master he could respect. There would be a strong bond between the two but it would be essentially paternal. It was so obvious. How had he missed it? Shaking his head at his own slow wits the warrior continued to puzzle over why Aragorn seemed to be distancing himself. Boromir would do whatever Aragorn's love required why couldn't his beloved trust that. "I want you to be sure. Arwen will die because of me and I am afraid of what evil will befall you for my sake." During Boromir's tirade both men had retreated and each now sat back on his heels facing the other but as Aragorn spoke he reached out to touch Boromir's face. "If you were miserable because you chose to be with me I don't think I would be able to stand it. I love you, Boromir and I know you love me but my love still might not be enough to make you happy." "Please don't say that. Please don't." Boromir begged as he mentally berated himself for so badly misunderstanding the nature of Aragorn's reluctance. "You are my happiness. Trust me, Aragorn. I do not mislead you." Boromir had reached out both hands to cradle his lord's face. He leaned forward as he pulled gently trying to bring the other man to him. There was a moment's resistance then Aragorn moved forward. Mouth met mouth and suddenly Boromir was sucking hungrily on the ranger's tongue while Aragorn pushed hard into the warrior mouth with insistent, demanding thrusts. Still sharing seemingly intense kisses Aragorn started pushing Boromir backward onto the ground but he stopped suddenly and instead clasped the warrior gently around the waist bringing him down on top of his own body. When the kisses finally slowed then ceased both men were flushed and their breathing was quick and shallow. "Of course," Boromir husked looking into Aragorn's face with naked hunger. "if I do get my feelings hurt by all the blather in Gondor there is an easy solution." Now it was Aragorn's turn to be somewhat lost. "Mmm? What would be your solution, then?" The ranger inquired eventually not bothering to stop nipping and licking at Boromir's collar bone. "I could just starting having scandalous affairs with the wives of the chief rumor-mongers." Boromir announced trying not to sound too pleased with himself. "You will not!" Aragorn commanded suddenly shifting them both on to their sides. He would have continued until he had Boromir on the ground firmly beneath him but he restrained himself. Instead he took hold of the man's chin and stared intently into the warrior's face. "Why should I not, my lord?" Boromir asked trying not to grin as Aragorn squeezed his arm in a powerful grip. It was the tone of the warrior's voice, excited yet struggling to seem demure, that finally warned Aragorn that he had been trapped. Gracefully acknowledging defeat he loosened his grip and kissed Boromir lightly on the forehead. "Because the thought of you dallying with various women of the City makes me wild with jealousy. That is why." Aragorn said honestly. Boromir was doing his best not to crow with delight as he pushed himself towards Aragorn rocking his body against the ranger while he caressed the man's side. "I'm glad you would be jealous. I want you to want me all to yourself." Boromir purred moving his hand lower to rest against Aragorn's clothed hip. The warrior was still pitching gently against his beloved's body as he began moving his knee up and down the ranger's thigh. "If you were to truly fall in love, Boromir, then I would try to understand." Aragorn said carefully, automatically responding to the warrior's motion by swaying into him thus creating a maddeningly delightful friction. Boromir's only answer was to bring his lips down hard upon Aragorn's, drowning out all thought of any potential others. There would be no one else for Boromir. He knew it in his soul. He had only wanted to see his lord's eyes burn with possessive fire. They had and Boromir had been consumed. Boromir had brought his knee up to Aragorn's hip by this time, his legs open wide in welcome. Aragorn desperately wanted to move his beautiful warrior onto his back, kiss his way down his chest and then let his lips and tongue explore the very center of the man. He needed to feel the man beneath him, safe and solid, as though Boromir were the foundation of the world itself. Aragorn wanted to have Boromir trembling with all the passion and desire he knew he could elicit from him. Finally he wanted to sheath himself inside his beautiful Boromir. He wanted to watch Boromir give himself up entirely to his beloved and to know at that same moment just how much Aragorn loved him in return. Yet Aragorn would not forget his warrior's great pride or the fact that Boromir's body must still ache with the beating he had received only that morning. Thus, Aragorn remained on his side as he pulled Boromir's leg more tightly around him and burned the other man with his kisses. Groaning harshly under the fiery assault of Aragorn's mouth and tongue Boromir struggled to loosen his beloved's trousers. Aragorn was exercising far too much restraint in the warrior's opinion. He needed to have his lord oblivious to everything in the world except claiming him but it was so awkward lying side by side. Boromir wished Aragorn would move on top of him. He wanted to see Aragorn bracing above him filling his vision, then filling the hunger of his body. With a final harsh tug the warrior succeeded in pulling Aragorn's trousers down his hips and revealing his straining shaft. Boromir took the hard flesh in both hands and a shudder went through both men. Caution finally abandoned Aragorn when he felt his beloved's hands grasp his sex and with a cry he finally pushed Boromir onto his back so he could thrust down hard into the man's hands. Immediately the warrior wrapped his legs around Aragorn's thighs and increased the speed of his pumping hands. Boromir, however, could not stifle the small wince of pain that he felt when the welts and raised marks on his back impacted the hard ground. The ranger whose attention was equally fixated on the great pleasure pulsing through his body and the man who was the cause of such extraordinary feelings saw Boromir grimace and instantly knew the reason. With a muttered curse the ranger tried to lever himself off the other man but the warrior's strong legs held him down. Also Boromir brought one arm up and around Aragorn's neck dragging him down into a kiss. For several moments Aragorn fought but Boromir clung to him tenaciously. It was difficult to struggle against the heavily muscled legs that squeezed his thighs, the powerful hand that grasped him as easily and naturally as the hilt of a sword and the arm that kept him locked into a searing kiss but Aragorn tried. He did not want Boromir to be in pain because of him. He had done what he felt he had to do but now he wanted his warrior to know nothing but pleasure and happiness. Yet as Aragorn continued to try and pull away it became increasingly apparent that his Boromir did not want him to get up. The warrior seemed to pull him down as inescapably as gravity. He was so strong, so irresistible. With a great groan Aragorn gave up his resistance and began answering Boromir's kisses with long aggressive strokes of his tongue even as he began to squeeze Boromir's erection through his trousers. Realizing that Aragorn was no longer attempting to leave him or coddle him like a hobbit and frantic with the feel of Aragorn's hand through his clothes Boromir released his hold around the ranger's neck and went back to pushing his trousers further down. The motion of Aragorn's hips as he rocked into the warrior's other hand helped and soon Boromir was gripping the naked flesh of Aragorn's buttocks. Shifting at the new contact Aragorn began to squeeze and rub Boromir's fully swollen penis more insistently. The warrior's hand spasmed around Aragorn causing the ranger to curse while the combined pressure of his trousers and Aragorn's hand made Boromir thrash and buck as though he was about to burst. With a great effort Aragorn pushed himself up onto his knees. Boromir moaned and tried to wrap his legs around the ranger's waist to bring him back down. "Gods, my love. A moment, just a moment." Aragorn pleaded as he kicked off his boots and finished removing his trousers. Seeing his intentions Boromir let his legs fall on either side of Aragorn and watched the man through heavily lidded eyes. "So beautiful." Boromir murmured to himself as he saw his king naked, flush with sexual excitement and glistening with sweat. Whenever he had imagined this it had always been under the cover of night—the two lovers cloaked in shadow. The truth of caressing Aragorn's naked body under the light of the sun struck Boromir with incredible poignancy: 'He is not ashamed of me.' The warrior thought to himself in wonder. 'He is not ashamed of us.' The blond man did not have long to lie back lost in admiration, however, for in the next moment his own boots were being tugged off. Then, Aragorn unlaced Boromir's trousers and slid them slowly down his hips, freeing the warrior's painfully hard erection. The rough cloth was tugged all the way down Boromir's legs and then off. In the next, instant Aragorn had bent down and taken the tip of Boromir's penis into his mouth. Unmindful of anything but the sight and feel of Aragorn's tongue whisking around the head of his shaft Boromir screamed. Aragorn was smiling. Boromir could feel the slight curve of his lips against him and the warrior had to bury his hands in Aragorn's hair just so he could touch him and connect with him in another way. The ranger kept a firm hold on Boromir's hips to keep the desperate man from slamming hard into the back of his throat and then he took more of the warrior into his mouth. The skin was soft like velvet over steel. Aragorn loved the smell and taste of his beloved warrior. Elves had such a mild scent and flavor. It was always pleasant but somehow it was hard to connect the sensations with a living, breathing, passion-crazed being. Still pinning the blond man's hips Aragorn drew little circles around his skin with his fingers even as he licked up and down Boromir's sex. Very gently he scraped his teeth over Boromir's skin, smiling again at his warrior's desperate hiss of indrawn breath. All this while Boromir had been alternately murmuring and shouting semi-incoherent words and phrases, calling on the gods and his king for mercy and screaming his love of Aragorn for the world to hear. Boromir's cries heightened Aragorn's urgency and the ranger increased the pace, swallowing the rigid shaft and letting his throat vibrate around it. It was too much for Boromir and with a strangled groan he released himself into Aragorn's mouth. Continuing to suck gently Aragorn swallowed the hot, salty fluid. Boromir felt the aftershocks of pleasure sing through him. With his much diminished strength he moved his fingers through Aragorn's hair. He needed to have his hands on him in some way or he felt he would float away. Boromir was no stranger to the ways of love between warriors and as Gondor's captain-general he was especially aware of the protocol between a superior and a subordinate officer. Aragorn's actions, then, had taken him completely by surprise. His king had seen to his needs first and been more generous about it then Boromir could have imagined. The warrior loved Aragorn so much. He would have put aside his pride for the ranger. Boromir would have gotten down on his knees and kissed Aragorn's feet for the chance to give him pleasure yet Aragorn had not required this. Again Boromir thought how it must be the mission of the rest of his life to be worthy of his king. Boromir's hands had slipped from Aragorn's hair and lay somewhat limply around his shoulders as the ranger moved up his body and gently cradled the spent man. The keen demand of Aragorn's own arousal was made tolerable by the rush of tenderness he suddenly felt for Boromir who had turned into his chest and nuzzled against him. As he caressed him, sprinkling light kisses on his head and the tops of his shoulders Aragorn could not help but see the angry red lines that decorated Boromir's back. Starting at his shoulders, stripes of crimson were swollen to ridges but the welts faded to a gentle pink as they descended down across the man's buttocks and his upper thighs. It disturbed the ranger that the sight sent a sudden jolt of heat to his groin while his balls tightened. He could not help but think that in a strange way he had marked Boromir as his own so that all would know and recognize the claim. Shaking his head abruptly he left that train of thought and concentrated on tasting the little trickle of sweat that had beaded at the man's temple. For several moments Boromir allowed himself to bask contentedly in Aragorn's arms. He felt so mindlessly happy tucked into the man's chest feeling gentle hands explore his body and a warm tongue lapping the side of his face. As Boromir recovered, however, his passion return with great force. Resting his head against Aragorn's chest the warrior saw that he was within easy striking distance of the ranger's left nipple. Snaking his tongue out the blond man swiped it across the tiny bud experimentally. The reaction was immediate as Aragorn moaned softly and the hands still roving over Boromir's body stilled. Pleased Boromir licked again this time pressing his tongue gently into the tightly furled flesh. Aragorn made another appreciative noise so Boromir continued finding himself harden quickly as he listened to the ranger's soft groans and tasted his salty flesh. Boromir appeared to grow more skillful with each passing second. By the time the warrior had finished with the left nipple and then lavished generous attention on the right Aragorn was quivering with desperate need. "Boromir." Aragorn called, his voice strained and husky. "Yes, my king?" The man answered placing one last soft kiss on Aragorn's chest before looking up into the ranger's face. "Boromir..." Aragorn repeated gazing back into his beloved's eyes. The warrior smiled slightly as he waited for what his lord would say. "Boromir, my love, I want..." To his own consternation the ranger was having difficulty expressing what it was he wanted. He had an image of it in his head, a very clear image, yet he was strangely reticent. "Yes, me too." Boromir answered as an expression of rapturous happiness transformed his face. "Do it." "You have not heard what I would say, beloved." Aragorn replied still cautious, though Boromir's eager agreement had sent his pulse racing. "It doesn't matter, Aragorn, my love, my lord. I want it." There was no hesitation in the warrior's voice. A game of dice would be the most powerfully exciting, intensely erotic thing in the world to Boromir if only it was something Aragorn wanted, wanted so badly he had trouble saying it. "Anything. I'll do anything... but I would like to hear you say it." The warrior blushed a little at the request and he was surprised that any blood could be spared from his groin. "Boromir, I want to come inside you. I want to feel your body surround me. I want to lose myself in you." Aragorn spoke in a low throaty whisper that had been stripped of everything but love and need. Small pleading moans broke over Boromir's lips as he listened to Aragorn confess his desire. "Yes, oh yes." Boromir breathed out, his whole body quivering with uncontrollable tension. He had wanted this for such a very long time. Did he dare believe it was actually going to happen? Again the warrior moaned. The sounds Boromir was making sent Aragorn's head whirling. Gods, Boromir was beautiful. How would the ranger be able to hold back from hurting him with the fierceness and the violence of his passion? For a moment Aragorn thought he must run, he must escape; he did not dare expose his beloved to the sort of madness he felt welling up in him. Whether or not Boromir read his intentions in his eyes or was motivated solely by his own need the warrior leaned into Aragorn kissing him hard. All thought of retreat disappeared from the ranger's mind and instinct took over. He kissed Boromir savagely, pushing the warrior onto his back and straddling him as he pushed deep into Boromir's open mouth. Boromir gripped Aragorn ardently, fingers biting harshly into the man's shoulders. The throbbing in his back did nothing to diminish the warrior's desire—if anything the dull ache made Boromir crave the intensity that he knew would come when Aragorn finally pierced him. The warrior's erection had fully returned and the more ruthlessly Aragorn stabbed into his mouth the more Boromir writhed against the man on top of him, needing contact. How he loved Aragorn, his strength, his power, his mastery. Everything his lord was doing to him sent the warrior skating on the edge of ecstasy. Boromir knew that if he was somehow kept from this, from Aragorn, from his love then he would surely die. When Aragorn had at last satisfied himself that he held complete dominion over every hidden part of Boromir's mouth he broke the kiss. There was a ragged sound as both men gasped for air then Aragorn was licking Boromir's face, tasting his sweat. The warrior stretched and twisted trying to get as much of himself under Aragorn demanding tongue as possible, all the while making urgent, pleading sounds he hardly recognized as coming from his own throat. "How... how would you be most at ease love, my own, my Boromir? I think we must be careful of your back." Aragorn asked between licks. He wanted his beloved to be as comfortable as possible. With Boromir's enthusiastic response to his aggressive passion Aragorn knew there would be no holding back. It seemed almost impossible to Aragorn that he had not been pushed away or been given some other sign that his lack of gentleness was unappreciated. Not only had that not happened but Boromir seemed as frantic as he was himself. Again the ranger experienced an instant's doubt but the warrior's clutching fingers reminded him of Boromir's strength and vigor. If he was to do this then, Aragorn needed to have his beloved in a position that would not only give him the most pleasure but also spare him distress. Boromir had never in his own many and varied sexual encounters been asked such a question nor had he himself asked any of his partners their preference. What a strange and wonderful creature was this man who loved him. With sudden realization Boromir knew that there would never come a time when Aragorn would not stop if Boromir asked him to. Whatever the ranger might believe of himself Boromir knew it was simply not in him to forget himself in pleasure so much that he truly hurt someone he loved. The warrior wondered if the same could be said of him and he remembered clutching the Ring tightly, watching Aragorn's naked fear and anger as he approached desperate to kiss his beloved lord. Boromir shivered slightly at the memory. "What's wrong? Boromir, my love, what's wrong?" Aragorn demanded panic edging his voice. The ranger had seen the warrior's little frisson of remembered shame and become instantly alarmed. Boromir let out an involuntary moan of self-disgust. Once again he had caused his beloved king to doubt himself. "Nothing, love. Nothing." Boromir reassured. "Here, come kiss me." Hesitantly Aragorn did kiss him. Boromir did everything he could to deepen the kiss, sucking the ranger's tongue into his mouth and making soft cooing sounds. "Take me, Aragorn. Ravish me. I want to feel you moving inside me. I need you to push hard into me—as hard as you can, love, please." Boromir whispered bringing his lips close to Aragorn's ear. The ranger moaned helplessly and Boromir felt his muscles tighten in preparation for action. "Boromir?" Aragorn asked again sitting up astride the warrior's legs then caressing his beloved's long thighs as he moved off to kneel at his side. Watching Boromir carefully the ranger began moving the man's legs apart. Despite the desperation of his craving, however, the warrior was not entirely certain he preferred to be folded up and taken like a woman. He did want to see Aragorn's face the moment he took full possession of him but at the same time he needed his king to plough deep, deep within him. He wanted to be able to push back against him and show him how much he wanted all of him. "I'd rather be on my knees." Boromir answered, sitting up slowly and wrapping his arms around Aragorn. All Aragorn could manage in response was a soft sighing sound as he returned Boromir's embrace, kissing him everywhere he could reach. After a moment more the warrior began leaning forward until his weight was evenly distributed on his knees and elbows. Boromir did not break eye contact with the ranger as he settled himself on all fours, stretching a little so his backside lifted into the air. Boromir's intent gaze had caused a thin sheen of sweat to break out across Aragorn's brow even as his mouth went suddenly very dry. He had to touch him, had to touch the exquisite beauty before him. Everywhere Aragorn lay his hands Boromir pressed up into the caress until Aragorn had worked his way behind the warrior. Carefully, Aragorn rested both palms against Boromir's taut buttocks. He could still feel the extra heat and see the faint pink that the belt had left earlier. Leaning forward the ranger ran his tongue along one of the fading marks, soothing the injured flesh. Boromir made a low keening noise as the soft wet tongue laved along his tender rump. Squeezing gently Aragorn pulled the warrior's cheek apart. He blew a gentle puff of air in between them and felt Boromir's muscles tighten beneath his hands. The ranger's lower lip caught between his teeth and he forced his attention from the sight before him, quickly searching for wherever it was Boromir had dropped his pack. He remembered, as he collected the warrior's belongings, seeing a jar of oil the blond man almost certainly used to keep his sword in good order. Finally spotting what he wanted several yards away the ranger made a quick grab for it. It was only a few seconds that he needed to take his hands from Boromir's smooth rear but Aragorn resented those wasted moments. Aragorn fumbled through the contents of the pack with one hand and stroked the inside of the warrior's thigh with the other. Boromir twisted his neck to watch the ranger's frenetic activity from over his shoulder. He was swaying a little with urgency, If Aragorn didn't find what he was looking for soon Boromir was ready to make due with spit and whatever could be collected from his weeping shaft. Just before the warrior could announce this decision Aragorn let out a little shout of victory and produced the small jar. With indecorous speed, the ranger had thrown the pack aside and removed the jar's stopper. Thrusting his fingers into the oily substance Aragorn was finally able to return his full attention to the man before him. The next sensation Boromir registered was the pressure of Aragorn's oil slick finger pressing at the sensitive flesh just behind his balls then tracing a path up to his puckered hole. "Aragorn!" The blond man nearly sobbed, needing to have some part of his beloved within him immediately—even if only his finger. "Good, love?" Aragorn asked in a low murmur. "I want to make you feel so good, my Boromir. Will you let me? I promise I'm going to give you such pleasure." He continued in desperate honesty as he let his finger outline the tight ring of muscles guarding the entrance to the warrior's body. "Yes... now." Came the anguished reply. "Show me that I belong to you. I—I love you." Boromir finished brokenly. His voice was muffled for he had dropped his forehead to the ground and surrounded his head with his arms. At Boromir's words Aragorn let his finger dip into the Warrior a little way still moving it around and around encouraging the muscles to relax. To distract his beloved from the woefully insufficient contact the ranger leaned over the blond man and kissed him. Then lay his bearded cheek against his back in a gesture meant to comfort as well as excite. By the quivering in his body, however, Aragorn realized that more was needed. Without halting the gentle motion of his finger Aragorn took Boromir's rigid shaft in his other hand running his thumb over the slit and whispering: "You're mine, Boromir. I love you and you belong to me." Boromir's head jerked up as his body contorted in a paroxysm of need. He pushed his hips back trying to force Aragorn's finger deeper within him while at the same time he tried to thrust down into Aragorn's hand. The ranger felt the twitching of the warrior's shaft as he held it firmly in his fist. "Now, Aragorn. I'm ready." Boromir finally managed to say as the motion of his body under Aragorn's attention smoothed out and he was no longer jerking abruptly but rolling back onto Aragorn's finger in a careful rhythm. For a moment the ranger considered disregarding Boromir's statement. It seemed better to the always cautious man to wait until his warrior could easily take three of his fingers before attempting to fully penetrate him but surely Boromir knew his own body better than Aragorn did. More than that, Boromir was offering himself in a powerfully intimate way refusing to heed him now, when he was so vulnerable would be beyond callous. Thus, Aragorn pressed a few more kisses to the warrior's back before straightening up and quickly spreading oil over his straining shaft. Then Aragorn positioned himself carefully at the small entrance to Boromir's body so the other man could just feel his presence. "Now, my love?" The ranger asked, stroking Boromir's side as he held himself against Boromir with the other. "Yes, do it." Boromir answered and his voice carried more strength than Aragorn had heard in the warrior for some time. Feeling that he had made the right decision to respond to Boromir's words Aragorn pushed slowly until he was just a little ways inside his warrior. Both men were covered in sweat. Aragorn struggled to hold himself still. He wanted to thrust himself entirely into Boromir's straining body but he knew the blond man was struggling. Boromir's teeth clenched down containing a grunt. The stretching wasn't exactly painful but it was so very intense. Taking deep breaths and urging himself to relax around Aragorn's impressive girth the warrior finally felt able to ask for more. He was given another inch and found that it was bearable "I want to take it all. Give it to me, my beloved. I want all of you." Boromir ground out, now eager to be completely filled. Inch by inch Aragorn pushed into the man in front of him until he was completely buried. The hairs at the ranger's groin tickled against Boromir's buttocks and Aragorn let out a long blissful moan at the same time Boromir sighed feeling perfected. For a while, they remained still—completely joined. Then, Aragorn withdrew slightly only to push again in gentle, shallow thrusts. Boromir lifted his rump as high as he could eager for each new stroke, moaning in synchrony with Aragorn's motion. The ranger had clasped Boromir's hips and was squeezing gently trying to lose himself in the sweet eager embrace of the warrior's beautiful body. After a few moments Aragorn began experimenting changing the angle and depths of his thrusts looking for the little spot within each man that would give such immediate and startling pleasure to his Boromir. He found it quickly and the ranger moaned Boromir's name in helpless joy when he felt the warrior shuddering with ecstasy. "Aragorn, oh god, no more gentleness. I want it hard, as hard as you can give it to me, my love. I don't want to know anything but you inside me." Boromir pleaded. He had to feel Aragorn's hard, aggressive, powerful strokes ruthlessly invading his body. He needed his king to conquer him, to reclaim his birth-right. Aragorn heard Boromir and he felt something within him catch fire. The spark had always been there but at Boromir's words the ranger knew that he wanted complete and utter possession of his warrior. Increasing the speed and force of his thrusts Aragorn began driving into Boromir as though claiming the warrior was the key to everything Aragorn had ever wanted. Boromir was pushing back into his lord's sharp thrusts. His elbows and knees skidded through the grass and the warrior's hands clutched at the ground, his hair anything he could grab and hold. Aragorn's fingers dug into his hips anchoring him. When Boromir felt the little slap of Aragorn's balls as they thudded against his buttocks he pushed back harder. Aragorn was close and with iron will he relaxed his talon-like grip on Boromir's hip and moved it to stroke the warrior's sex. Almost at the first firm tug Boromir shouted Aragorn's name and began spilling himself across the ranger's hand and into the grass. The convulsion of the warrior's muscles pushed Aragorn into an even greater frenzy. Somehow remembering to support his Boromir's weight Aragorn began thrusting erratically, all control gone as the warrior's tight body squeezed him. Not long after Boromir Aragorn was crying out his own release. With shaking arms Aragorn helped ease Boromir into the grass on his stomach before the ranger flopped down on his side beside him breathing heavily. "I love you." Aragorn finally managed to murmur still recovering himself. Boromir smiled and turned onto his side so his back was against the ranger's front. The warrior had never felt so blissfully content, so thoroughly happy as he did at this moment, "Love you, too." Came the quiet reply and Aragorn circled his arms around the blond man and buried his face in his hair. Aragorn had begun to doze a little while Boromir, completely relaxed, let his mind wander. After a little time though the warrior disengaged one of Aragorn's hands from about his middle and bringing it to his lips kissed it gently. Boromir, then, extricated himself from the ranger and stood up. At his beloved's movement Aragorn came instantly awake but he made no move to restrain Boromir as the other man rose. The ranger watched with indulgent curiosity as Boromir stretched and sighed, then moved over to the abandoned jumble of blankets and cloaks. Selecting first Aragorn's then his own cloak the blond man returned to cover his still recumbent lover. The ranger smiled his gratitude for it really was a bit too chilly to be going about naked. Having taken care of his lord Boromir put his own cloak over his shoulders. Aragorn liked the way his warrior looked—naked except for the voluminous cloak sweeping down his body. The picture would be even more enticing if Boromir would put on his sword-belt Aragorn thought smiling lazily. Going over to his pack where half of his belongings lay in a jumble because of Aragorn's earlier hasty search Boromir gathered up what food there was before returning to sit by Aragorn's side. "When do you suppose we will have to return to the fellowship?" Boromir asked around a mouthful of bread. Though the warrior struggled to sound casual it did not escape Aragorn's notice that the other man did not meet his eyes. "I asked Gandalf to wait until tomorrow's dawn." Aragorn answered raising himself on his elbow and helping himself to a little of the food. It was early evening and the ranger anticipated having the entire night to be alone with his warrior. Boromir nodded in response still staring out into the distance. "You are reluctant to return?" Aragorn questioned softly, putting a reassuring hand on the warrior's thigh. "I'd much rather stay here with you." Boromir answered trying to smile. Aragorn kissed the man's knee and patted his thigh but he continued to look up at the man as though he expected him to say more. He was not disappointed. "And in truth I do not relish bowing my head beneath the anger and disappointment of the others." Boromir finally continued. Sitting up Aragorn maneuvered the other man around until Boromir was leaning against him with the ranger's arms wrapped about him. The warrior sighed. He liked this new position for it allowed him to take warmth and comfort from the other man's nearness without feeling he had to meet his gaze. "I think I could endure it well enough if it wasn't that I feel particularly that I have let the little ones down. Poor Merry and Pippin looked up to me and look what I did." "I do not think the hobbits will judge you harshly, my love." Aragorn answered kissing the back of Boromir's neck. "I have been doing a great deal of thinking and it occurs to me that we are a fellowship and we succeed or fail as a group. You did wrong to take the Ring but I did wrong to push you away until you felt you had no other option." "Aragorn, that is ridiculous." Boromir retorted trying to turn and face the ranger. Aragorn, though, held him fast. "Let me finish. If one of us were attacked by orcs along the roadway and the rest just stood and watched that would be unpardonable. How is it different, then, when one of us is attacked by a greater if subtler enemy? We left you to battle alone. Having done so who may judge you harshly without judging himself still worse?" Aragorn finished. "This wasn't your fault Aragorn nor anyone else in the fellowship's. I was the weak one." Boromir insisted. "There is blame enough for all of us, my love. But let us not think in terms of guilt. This is an opportunity for all of us to be more honest and open with each other. We have to learn from our mistakes and the first lesson must be that we are stronger together. I'm going to see that we all take better care of each other from now on." Aragorn resolved firmly. Boromir could not help but chuckle at Aragorn's idealism. He could do it to, the warrior had no doubt. They would all be talking about their feeling and crying on each other's shoulders before a week was up. And it was all probably for the best, Boromir conceded Though the fellowship worked well together, they were not quite the band of brothers they would need to become if they were going to accomplish their quest. Even so, Boromir wished he could have served some grander more heroic purpose than the punch-line in a morality play. "What is it, love?" Aragorn question feeling the dejected slump of Boromir's shoulders. "Nothing, lord. If it is my lot to be an object lesson to the fellowship then I suppose I must be content." Boromir answered trying hard to be philosophical about it. "Are you not content, then, to be the stalwart warrior whose deadly sword stands between the quest and the Enemy? Are you not content to be the friend and comforter of two courageous but frightened and lonely hobbits far from their home? Are you not content to be my joy and my hope?" Aragorn demanded. "I am happy and proud to be all these things." Boromir said a little taken aback by the authority in Aragorn's tome. "Then do not waste your thoughts elsewhere, my love." Aragorn responded. The two sat together in silence for awhile watching the sun slowly descend to the horizon, savoring each moment, until Boromir began to wriggle a bit in the ranger's arms. "Aragorn, I am still hungry?" The warrior complained continuing to wriggle. "There is some bread left, I think." Aragorn answered as he found his breathing quickening with Boromir's motion. "Bread is not now to my taste. I require something more substantial." The warrior replied as he finally maneuvered himself around between Aragorn's thighs. "Then you must look to see if there is anything else available that would suit you." Boromir licked his lips hungrily as he stared down at Aragorn's penis which was hardening under his gaze. Leaning down the blond man ran his tongue up and down the growing shaft. "I think I have found what I want." Boromir murmured ducking his head for more. "Me too." Aragorn replied a little breathlessly before abandoning words and thoughts to concentrate on the wonderful heat and pleasure of Boromir's mouth. All through the night the lovers kissed, fondled, made love, talked softly, drowsed then began the cycle again. Yet when dawn was only a few hours off they rose reluctantly and gathered their belongings. They spoke little as they made their way to the small pond where Boromir had overheard Aragorn and Legolas. The men washed quickly before continuing on toward camp. At some point Aragorn and Boromir had joined hands. The warrior could not remember who initiated the gesture but as each step drew them nearer Boromir felt himself clinging ever more tightly to the ranger. Despite Aragorn's reassurances Boromir still felt reluctant. It was far easier to summon one's courage and determination to face battle than it was to prepare to be humble and accept the disapprobation of others with good grace. Suddenly, Boromir was brought out of his thoughts by a cry of joy and welcome. For a moment the warrior was back in his terrible dream right before Aragorn abandoned him for Faramir. Fear seized his heart and he crushed Aragorn's hand desperately. Though Aragorn did not completely understand Boromir's abrupt agitation he sensed his fear and moved closer to the warrior, returning his grip and stroking his arm. Still in the midst of panic Boromir saw a moving blur near the ground then felt himself grabbed firmly around the knees. "You're back. I knew you would be but we were still worried." Came the exultant cry of Pippin as he continued to hug Boromir tightly. Then Merry was there too, also embracing him about his thighs and chuckling happily to himself. Even through their obvious delight both hobbits were crying as they clung to Boromir. Startled, Boromir looked down at the two small creatures before him. Feeling confused he looked to Aragorn as though for an explanation but the ranger was only smiling and shaking his head in delighted wonder. Still holding Aragorn's hand in a white knuckled grip Boromir carefully lowered himself on one knee to see into the hobbits' faces. "What's this now, Merry, Pip? There is no need for tears." Boromir said still feeling a little confused as two pairs of little arms were flung about his neck. "Don't cry, don't cry." "We just missed you." Merry explained trying to pull himself together and turning a little to try and include Aragorn in the embrace. "We were afraid you wouldn't come back." Pippin said into Boromir's shoulder still weeping unashamedly. Boromir looked up helplessly into Aragorn's face. Tears were starting to prick at his own eyes. He couldn't believe this. The ranger smiled trying to assure the other man of the reality of the situation before turning to face the rest of the fellowship who had followed Merry and Pippin and come to meet them. Frodo did not approach Boromir but with Sam ever at his heels he went to stand at Aragorn's side, resting his cheek against the man's hip. His gesture seeming to communicate without words that he was glad his protector had returned and that there was no objection from him concerning Boromir's presence. Aragorn quickly knelt to look Frodo over trying to assess everything about the little one's mood and health with the intensity of his gaze. Frodo, though, smiled weakly and murmured softly: "I'm fine." Aragorn sensed that the little one did not want to be fussed over and so he rose letting the ringbearer relax against his side and observe the others in the comfortable safety of Aragorn's shadow. Legolas was next to approach and he offered Aragorn a quick embrace but as he retreated he lay a hand on Boromir's shoulder. This token action was more encouraging to Aragorn than Merry and Pippin's enthusiastic welcome and gave the ranger greater hope that the fellowship was indeed glad Boromir had returned. Next Gimli came forward to grip both men by the arms. The wizard had been watching all this from a few yards distance, his expression unreadable. Aragorn expected that Gandalf would speak for the group and so he regarded his old friend patiently. Boromir, who had recovered somewhat from the unexpected reception from the hobbit cousins, stood wiping his eyes once. Still holding Aragorn's hand he followed the ranger's gaze to Gandalf. "So you're back, are you?" The wizard inquired in his usual faintly tetchy manner. Swallowing an equally irritable reply Boromir lowered his head in a signal he meant to convey humility. "I am back and despite what I have done I would rejoin the fellowship... if you are all willing to give me a second chance." Boromir answered meeting the wizard's eye then looking at each member of the group in turn. When he looked at Merry and Pippin they smiled back encouragingly and Aragorn squeezed his hand. "We have had much to think about in your absence, Boromir, and it seems to us all that we are a better company with you than without you. We would all like to begin afresh." The wizard concluded, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You all agree?" Boromir asked, very surprised and truly humbled. "Yes!" Merry and Pippin squeaked together, nodding their heads vigorously to eliminate any possible misunderstanding. "Aye, lad. We're all in this together." Gimli said, feeling a certain pride in this motley group well up within him. Legolas nodded solemnly as did Frodo who still leaned against Aragorn. All eyes then turned to Sam. The final hobbit was studying his feet apparently deep in thought. "I don't like that you took the Ring and while Master Frodo was sleeping all peaceful, too." Sam finally burst out. Everyone was staring at Sam and though the hobbit blushed at the scrutiny he gave no sign of backing down. For the first time since returning to the others Boromir released Aragorn's hand. Moving away from the others he dropped to one knee so he could look the defiant Samwise in the eye. "You're right to be angry. What I did was wrong. I don't know if there is anything I can do to make amends but I would very much like to try." Boromir said. "Why did you do it, then? You knew it was wrong. Why did you do it?" Sam demanded in frustration. Boromir closed his eyes for a moment for he shared Sam's anguish. "I thought it would make Aragorn notice me. I thought it could make him love me." Boromir answered very quietly. Sam's eyes went very wide. Somehow he had not expected the warrior to say that, not to him anyway. He had expected some bluster about Gondor but as the blond man had spoken Strider had come up and put his hand on Boromir's shoulder. Looking up at the ranger Sam could see both love and pride in the man's eyes and Sam relented. "You mustn't go interfering with Mr. Frodo again, Mr. Boromir not for nothing." "I know it, Sam." Boromir replied sincerely. "All right, then. Seeing as how everybody's agreed, I won't say I object." Sam announced turning from Boromir and making a big show of looking about him then going to collect his things for the day's march. "Well, come along then we've spent enough time dallying." Gandalf confirmed moving off to put his own things together. Merry and Pippin seized Boromir by the hands and dragged him off so they could talk to him as they got ready. Boromir spent that day in a warm haze of befuddlement. Merry and Pippin danced around him all through the morning, clearly overjoyed to have him with them. After a quick lunch, the warrior was approached by Gimli. The dwarf seemed eager to talk about his home in the mountain and when Boromir still not altogether certain why everyone was being so kind to him offered a few comments about his City the dwarf positively beamed at him and slapped his back. Even the elf took a turn at Boromir's side, confiding more about himself in a few short hours than he had in the weeks since they had left Rivendell. Boromir wanted to find this very suspicious but instead he found that he was profoundly moved and the others found they had a greater sense of group identity than ever before. When it finally came time for the company to stop for the night Aragorn announced that two people rather than one would be on watch at a time. He explained that this way each person could help keep his partner alert. It would also keep a person from brooding by himself at night but Aragorn did not speak of this. The new plan would ultimately mean everyone got less sleep but no one complained. Leading by example Aragorn volunteered to share the first watch with Sam. When guard duty had been surrendered to Merry and Gimli, Aragorn made his way over to Boromir where he had set up his bedroll. As soon as he lay down Boromir reached out for him, pressing himself along the ranger's side. "Why are you still awake, love?" Aragorn asked trying to keep any sign of worry from his voice. The ranger had his own set of significant talks that day and he had been delighted to hear that everyone was interested in making a concerted effort to bond as a group. It would be a set-back if Boromir already found himself disquieted by the Ring's influence. "I was waiting for you." Boromir replied sleepily. The warrior felt he needed Aragorn's reassuring presence beside him to cement the good experience of that day. The ranger seemed to understand this from Boromir's few words and he wrapped his arms about the man, feeling a tension that he hadn't even realized was in him fade away. "I'm here now." Aragorn answered, kissing Boromir's forehead. "Good." Boromir said into Aragorn's chest already falling into a deep and restful sleep. Epilogue. Boromir walked with his hood pulled up to conceal his face. He had informed the chamberlain that he had messages from the king and the man began leading him right away to where Faramir still worked, though the hour had grown very late. As he walked, Boromir studied the well-known rooms and corridors of his home appreciatively. Though he was in the very heart of his City, Boromir did not think of himself as truly home. He wouldn't be truly home until he rode through the gates beside Aragorn as they led the victorious army of men, but still it was nice to be surrounded by familiar things. It had been a long path that had finally led Boromir to this time and this place. He remembered the mind numbing grief that had closed about the heart of the fellowship when Gandalf had chosen to let himself fall into the pit rather than risk that his companions would try to rescue him. He remembered the overwhelming guilt that had assailed them all when Frodo had taken leave of them in Lothlorien, claiming that he loved them all too much to watch the Ring torment them into irrevocable betrayal. He remembered standing on the walls of Helm's Deep looking out over a legion of monsters all screaming for the blood of men. He had watched terrified as his beloved Pippin was menaced by the Palantyr then whisked away by Gandalf. He had tried desperately to comfort Merry as Aragorn locked himself away to wrestle with demon in the black stone. He had walked the Paths of the Dead, sailed on the Black Ships and fought on the Pelennor Fields. He had seen his beloved brother lying close to death under the Black Breath and he had stood before the Tower of the Teeth while the fate of Middle-Earth was decided miles away in the heart of Mount Doom. Through all that grim struggle he had had Aragorn and the love of his people to sustain him and now his king was but a week away from his City and victory was assured. With the promise of peace so near Boromir found himself overcome with the desire to see his brother. He had missed Faramir terribly and he worried for the younger man. They had both lost their father in a most terrible way and though this had saddened Boromir he knew it must have been worse for Faramir. They had spoken a little after Aragorn brought Faramir from the land of shadows but Faramir had been too exhausted to do anything but hold his brother's hand. Boromir did not wish to leave Aragorn's side but it was true that messages needed to be delivered and Boromir wanted to see for himself that everything in Minas Tirith was running smoothly. So he had briefly taken his leave of his king and come disguised to talk with Faramir. While Boromir was lost in thought the page who had been leading him stopped outside Faramir's office door. The page knocked softly. Then, at a signal from within he opened the door and ushered Boromir inside before closing it behind him. "What news from the king?" Faramir asked rising from behind his desk to greet the newcomer. "Victory in the east and the beginning of a new age of man." Boromir announced throwing his hood back. "Boromir!" The younger man exclaimed coming around his desk to embrace his brother. "What's wrong?" Faramir asked after a moment withdrawing a little from Boromir as sudden worry struck him. "Why are you back so soon? Is the king well?" "All is well. I wanted to see you before all the confusion of the coronation and the official homecoming. And I do have messages." Boromir answered, looking at his brother and noting that though he seemed much recovered from when he had last seen him he was still too thin and pale and worry marred his features. "Of course, I should respond immediately. I have been going over some of the planned celebrations but please look it over and make whatever changes you think best." Faramir said, trying to take Boromir's satchel so he could get to work without delay. "I'm sure you have done a far better job than I could and you needn't be quite so diligent." Boromir told his brother refusing to surrender the rather weighty bag of reports and correspondence he carried. "Trust me, there is nothing in here that cannot wait for two brothers who have seen little of each other for many months to talk a while." At these comments Faramir subsided and smiled at Boromir. "I have missed you very much, my brother. I cannot tell you with what joy and relief I woke in the House of Healing to see you standing beside our king." Faramir said looking upon his brother with the same mix of love and admiration he had bestowed upon him since they were children. "I missed you, too." Boromir replied, overcome with gratitude that he had such a brother. "I have said these dispatches can wait and they can but there is one thing here I need to talk to you about." Boromir said, hastily collecting himself as he rummaged for the scroll he wanted. When he found it, he took it out but did not offer it to Faramir yet. "The stewardship is yours if you want it, Faramir. Here is Aragorn's decree granting the position to you and your heirs. I would like for you to take it." "What does this mean? Boromir, you said nothing was wrong. The king cannot do this to you. The stewardship is your birth-right." Faramir exclaimed in alarm. "I will be captain-general of the army which is all I want. Military commander is about as far as my leadership abilities extend. You are wise and patient. You will make an able steward to our king." Boromir said trying to reassure his brother. Faramir, however, still look profoundly agitated. Boromir had discussed this with Aragorn at length and they had finally agreed the stewardship should go to Faramir. Now he just had to convince Faramir of that. "It's not my place, Boromir. I don't deserve it. Let me serve in some lesser capacity." Faramir begged and Boromir felt his heart break as it always did when his brother refused to see his own great merit and potential. "There is another reason besides your own great aptitude that I would see you as steward." Boromir began. He wanted to be able to explain this to Faramir for he wanted his brother's approval. And... and, gods forgive him, Boromir still felt that a twinge of jealousy now and then. When Faramir had opened his eyes and turned upon Aragorn a look of such pure devotion Boromir had felt fear claw at his throat even as he cursed himself bitterly for such a reaction. "It is the steward's duty to rule in the king's absence and I will not be parted from Aragorn." Boromir stated. Faramir, who was indeed as wise as his brother claimed, studied Boromir intently. "Does the king return your love?" He asked after a moment. "Yes." "Then I will accept the stewardship and I wish you both joy." Faramir replied and it shamed Boromir to see his sincerity. "I know it has been hard for you, Faramir." Boromir said taking hold of his brother's shoulder and squeezing. "Living with our father cannot have been easy and you always bore the worst of his temper. Despite all difficulties, you were brave and without you I know our City could not have endured." "I almost gave up hope." Faramir spoke softly, his head bent. "When father was so certain you were dead I almost gave up hope. He said he saw you in the power of the Enemy, under the lash and then on your knees begging for mercy." Boromir could not help but shudder. He did not know much about the working of a palantyr but he could not help but wonder what exactly Denethor saw when he looked into its black depths. "The Enemy is treacherous and will lead us to believe what gives the least challenge to our prejudices." Boromir replied. Faramir nodded, still without lifting his head. "I didn't truly believe it, though. Perhaps it was arrogant but I felt that if you were to die that I would somehow know. You mean so much to me Boromir." Faramir said finally looking up and Boromir saw tears shimmering in his eyes. "I love you, Faramir." Boromir said embracing the younger man tightly. After a while Faramir looked up and smiled a little apologetically as he brushed the tears from his eyes. "Boromir, will you tell me... I mean what sort of man is our king?" Faramir asked blushing rather deeply at his brother's suddenly confused look. "I mean I know he is very great for he is the king of men who has fought the dark lord to a victory. And he is very kind for he came to me and saved me from a living death in the shadow land. And he is very wise for he loves you but... well do you suppose he will be satisfied with me as his steward... I don't want to... disappoint him." 'Like he thinks he disappointed Denethor.' Boromir thought sadly. 'He feels abandoned. Father is dead. I love Aragorn and Aragorn must seem too high up and too far away for him to approach.' Boromir was suddenly reminded of the little glimmer of insight he had so long ago when he realized that Aragorn's feeling for Faramir would be essentially paternal. In time Faramir would learn to his joy that Aragorn would be proud of him and love him even as Boromir did but for now Faramir was in the grip of a terrible fear and loneliness. "Faramir, I would like to tell you a story." Boromir said an idea striking suddenly. Faramir looked confused but he allowed himself to be led to the cushioned sofa and he seated himself next to Boromir regarding his brother with great curiosity. "It is not about elves nor is it a great myth or legend but a true story about our king and about you. It has a happy ending and though you will find it amusing in parts it is not comical." Boromir started. "In the time of our grandfather, Ecthelion II, there was a great captain of Gondor called Thorongil. Now this captain was in truth Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur and our soon to be crowned king, but he did not reveal himself at that time for fear of drawing the concentrated wrath of Sauron against his people. Thorongil was in Dol Amroth around the time our mother..." Boromir told the whole story and he watched his brother's eyes light as he spoke of Finduilas, for Faramir remembered even less of their mother than Boromir himself. He saw Faramir smile affectionately at the mention of Brannan and Boromir promised himself he would take the next opportunity to visit his old nurse. Boromir watched the wonder and disbelief flood over Faramir's features when he was told how Aragorn held and comforted him as a baby and how that memory of fragile, beautiful humanity anchored him in his wanderings through Sauron's kingdom. Boromir finished the tale by telling his brother that in reward for their rescue Finduilas had promised Aragorn to love and cherish her son, and make him a credit to his City and how this had pleased Aragorn more than anything else could have done. "Is that all true, Boromir? I beg you not to tease me." Faramir finally whispered in a voice obviously on the edge of tears. "It's all true. You know very well I don't have the imagination to make something like that up." Boromir answered patting Faramir on the back. "There was one more thing, though." "Yes?" Faramir asked and Boromir could see that the story had already worked magic, softening the lines of worry around his brother's eyes and diminishing that awful look of sadness in his face. "We're all going to live happily ever after." It took a moment but soon the chamber rang with the combined mirth of the steward of Gondor and the captain-general of the army of the west as the brothers laughed together in joy and hope. End anne_robbins@yahoo.com

Title: The Moral of the Story Author: mcguffan anne_robbins@yahoo.com Rating: NC 17 Pairing: A/B Summary: Aragorn tells a story about Thorongil and Boromir gets to be jealous of Faramir for a change. Archive: Please do not archive this without permission. Notes: A little feedback would really help my very fragile ego. Please review. Special Thanks to Sûlien for help with Sindarin. I really appreciate it. You're a 'vir':+} 'bereth taid'= second spouse back to top

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