Sipped and Swallowed
Mar. 16th, 2004 06:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
harahelThis was a present for my Sweet J. It's LotR and incest of the m/m varitey. You have been warned.
Sipped and Swallowed
NC-17
Faramir swallows his life to keep it safe. Faramir/Boromir
Sometimes, Faramir bit his lip until it bled or ground his teeth until his jaw hurt and his mouth was filled with copper. He learned to swallow hurt in the same great gulps that men took their ale. Each sting and barb he would roll to a bite and take it to his stomach where it would fester and rot to nothing. When he was a child, so young that none would blame him for tears, he had learned to hold the salt water for better things. He bit and ground, swallowed and ignored.
Stoic was what his teachers called him as he took blow after blow in practices with men many years his senior. He had started practices early, using wooden training weapons. Not because he loved the thrill of it, but because Boromir began and like little brothers of all ages, he did not wish to be left behind. So he learned early the ways of fighting, the quickness of foot and the sharpness of ear that would serve him well in the decades to come. He learned to swallow the pain.
The children of the court, who came from the very cracks in the walls, followed Boromir as if he held the secret to all things good, but it was to Faramir they came with their small darkness and hurts. Early on girls found him unerringly with broken hearts to mend and boys with wounded egos. He knew when to be silent, when to chide and when to reassure. He learned to swallow secrets.
He never expected Boromir or his father to see this. He never thought that it was the type of thing that mattered. Nor did he tell them of his frequently troubling dreams that painted elusive, chilling pictures of a future distant and harsh. Once he mentioned them to a nurse he trusted, but she only swatted him gently and called it 'Nonsense'. He learned to swallow his dreams.
The day after Boromir's first kill, his brother came to him, a shaking mess. His hair and clothing were in disarray, his eyes bleary with unshed tears. He held him tightly as the bulkier boy tried to regain his breath. He had not slept or ate, he said. Faramir only held him and spoke soft words of calm in any language he could remember. When it seemed all was finished, Boromir said to him,
"I wish I had not been born in such a time of fighting. I should have liked to have learned something else besides death."
It was the closest thing to blasphemy a son of Denethor could utter. In the dark of the night, Faramir learned to swallow Boromir's secrets and dreams alongside his own.
)*(
A week before he turned seventeen, he dreamed of a white skin and dark hair. When he roused, his heart pounded raggedly. A certain prick in his chest warned his brother was nearing, returning from a mission with a banner high in victory. With ease, he slipped into morning clothes though the night was still black and picked his way among the corridors until he could see the Fields spread out below him. He watched the company enter and twine up all the long paths of Minas Tirith, twisting in and out of sight.
There had been no messenger to tell them of the Captain's arrival, no call. As he always had, Faramir anticipated his arrival. At twenty-two, Boromir was no longer a powerful boy, but a man with a head for command. He strode with the sureness that his soldiers would always follow, his eyes blazed like a forge. Great things would happen where Boromir went, thought Faramir watching his brother come towards him in the courtyard.
"The hour is late, brother. I did not expect anyone to see my return."
"Do you fear another feast? I am sure, if you asked Father would spare you."
"It is not that. I am staying only this night and the next, then off again. It was a quick rest for the men who have not seen their families in many long weeks."
"That is kind of you."
"It seemed a thing that you would do and thus, I saw it fit." And turned before Faramir could comment, ordering the unsaddling of the horses and setting his guards back to their homes.
"You did not do this only for the men." He ventured as even in the dim moonlight he caught dark circles under his brother's eyes.
"As always your eyes are keener then I would wish." Confident that his orders would carry, Boromir gestured for them to inside and seek the comforts of his chambers. "It has been a long time away for me as well and my first as a Captain of the White Tower."
Boromir was one of the youngest to ever claim that title and none saw fit to argue it. He had a quick, rough talent with men and weapons that was impossible to deny.
"You are capable. But you do not need me to tell you that." They walked up the long stairs, Faramir behind watching the smooth lines of his brother's back ripple and sway as they went. "So what is it that troubles you so?"
"A moment." They walked the long halls and crept as they had as children into the chambers still held for the first born son. Though he had not been expected, the rooms were clean and well aired. His comings and goings were so swift that it had become prudent to keep them so to avoid chaos at the last minute. "I wonder..."
As his brother disappeared into the bedchamber, Faramir lit some of the lamps until the sitting room took on a soft glow, drawing swift shadows on the comfortable couch and rarely used desk. It was late spring, leaving the fireplace a dormant useless thing, but Faramir sat near it on the couch nonetheless. Habit.
"If it is your drink you seek then I can assure you it remains!" Faramir called out. "For none would dare disturb that stash."
"You think so little of me, brother?" Boromir returned, one had hand draped dramatically over his breast. "That I should think on my homecoming only of spirits?"
"I would feel ashamed if you were not clutching that bottle of wine."
"No glasses or goblets, I fear. We shall have to be rough and take from the bottle." With ease, he uncorked it and drank, handing it off to Faramir as he returned into the bedchamber.
The mouth of the bottle shined with saliva and as Faramir gingerly sipped, he could taste his brother's rough speech.
"You've not missed much." Faramir spoke softly, aware that his voice would carry anyway. "There has been little news here of late. Only the general rumors which have most likely reached your ears."
"That Evenore finds his wife once more with child that he cannot remember siring and that Nadril was found innocent of the theft as was predicted. Have they decided what to do with Malik's eyesore of a statue?"
How many nights had they spoke like this: through the doorway, the rustling of fabric between them with utter confidence that they would be heard and understood without the slightest glance? Faramir replied absently and stared into the cold fireplace, bathed in dancing shadows.
"Are you troubled too, brother? Or do you look so far away because of the hour?"
"Both." He glanced up to find Boromir reaching for the bottle and he handed it to him willingly, taking in the soft leggings and night shirt. "I think I miss you most when you are actually here."
"How so?" The couch moved under the new weight and Faramir turned to face him.
"When you are away, I can immerse myself in other things and be satisfied with news. But when you are present, I cannot forget how it is when you were here always."
"Are you so lonely that you pine for the likes of me?" The question was asked gently, but Faramir turned back to stare at the shadows.
"My friends have grown, those that I had and are not so ready to spend time with one whom they think above them." He spoke without bitterness, he understood. He of all of them understood what was meant by his station. "And I have no companion among my masters, none who I can seek out in the dark hours of the night for comfort."
"Not a pretty maid either."
"Nor that." Faramir agreed and turned again, shaking off the melancholy. "But I do not think you returned home only to here me complain of the inevitable. Tell me what has been worrying at you?"
"You are always unselfish." The shaggy head shook slowly though whether or not in disproval, Faramir could not say. "And I must be the greatest of egos to make you think I come home only to lay problems at your feet for the solving."
"There's no problem you cannot solve on your own, save those you think you cannot." It was a familiar pattern, far safer then talk of loneliness. "And you are kept humble by your men, I think."
"Perhaps." They are silent for a long moment, Boromir swallowing another mouthful of wine. "There is something."
"Naturally. What has dragged you so many miles from your way, Captain?"
"I was worried." A pause. "I was worried about you."
"I am as you find me." He returned coolly. "Unhurt and far from any danger."
"I dreamed that you were weeping."
They had rarely spoken of the fragmented prophetic dreams of Faramir nor how they occasionally passed to Boromir when they were particularly vivid. Only in passing darkened glances and sharp solemn nods and breakfast. The breaking of a long silence stole into Faramir and jerked a cold breath from him.
"I have not cried in a very long time."
"I remember when you fell from the wall and broke your arm. You went white and never even sniffled." Swallowed the pain. "But in my dream you wept. You sat on the banks of Anduin and your body shook with sorrow "
"There is no sense to such a dream." But a swift cold gripped Faramir's heart and he took the wine and let it burn a trail of fire to his belly. "There are few things in this world that could drive me to tears. Surely not this tiny dream figment took you here."
"You may find it hard to believe, but I have my moments of weakness. When I saw the Tower so near, I wished to be home, here in this room with you." Swift, calloused fingers brushed Faramir's taking back the bottle. "I cannot speak to my men with fear in my eyes nor of distant dreams."
"They would not think you less a man if you did." But Faramir knew this is a lie the moment he spoke it. There were codes unwritten about such things. The leader does not quake or show doubt even when asking for advice. "They would be foolish to think you are not as much a mortal as they."
"Men are often times foolish and unlike you they have not seen me soaked in dirty water being scolded by the nurse."
"I warned you not play by the fountain." He smiled grimly. "But you only listened to me then when it was too late."
"No longer. You will be a brilliant planner in your own right one day. For now, I can pick through your thoughts for myself."
They sat in silence, sharing the bottle and thinking their own thoughts.
"I'd almost forgotten!" The sudden break of quiet jarred Faramir from his wondering and he watched as Boromir moved restlessly back into his bedchamber.
Even as children it had always been this way, Boromir twitching and jumping at the slightest provocation while Faramir made himself stone. The older boy squirmed under scrutiny to such an extent that Faramir often wondered how he managed to stand at attention during barracks inspections.
"So now you can no longer think me selfish." A small bundle of fabric was thrust under his nose, forcing him to take it before he inhaled it. "I heard my men speaking of dates and I remembered your birthday was near."
"Next week." He spoke absently, delicately unwinding the length of soft white fabric.
"We met a merchant, who had come recently from elven lands. He was weighted down and eager to sell." Boromir knelt at his feet. "There were daggers and swords, but I know that you will be inundated with both by your masters."
Underneath the cloth, which he tucked carefully into his belt, was a bracelet made of steel. It was light and flat, spread three inches thick. It was inlaid with a softer gold design of a swift moving river. There was no visible clasp, so he turned it around his hands, enjoying the smoothness of the metal.
"It's light." He weighted it gently, catching the flickering light. "Strong."
"For your left wrist." The smile was teasing, but Faramir caught the edge. "You always try to block with it."
Self-consciously, he stared down at the wrist in question which was already crisscrossed with thick scars from sword practice.
"They say I have to learn the hard way or I won't learn at all."
Thick fingers traced the scars and Faramir shivered at the light touch.
"There are some lessons we cannot learn and then we seek aid." In a movement that Faramir did not quite catch, the bracelet cracked open. "Shall I put it on?"
It was an odd question and Boromir seemed caught with it, paused halfway through the action.
"Please." The metallic click was soft, but firm. The polished metal settled over like a second skin. He moved his wrist and was satisfied to find no limit to his movement.
"It will slide under a glove comfortably too." Their thoughts ran parallel tracks. "Most inconvenient for you to get sliced open in battle."
"Thank you." He couldn't take his eyes off the polished metal. It was such a strange gift...something one would give a lover. He expected another blade or nothing at all. His birthday was not the one remembered nor lauded. It was only a way of marking the time and collecting weapons from courtiers.
"You are most welcome." Only then did Boromir rise off the floor and settle back on the couch, closer now and drinking less lustily. "You're not truly so alone here, are you?"
There are truths that Boromir did not want to hear. Faramir knew this instinctively, but after the strange gift there was something lodged in his throat. He could not swallow.
"Father has made it very obvious that I am to make it on my own." He picked his words carefully.
"He is for independence...but that isn't what you mean, is it?"
"There have been ... implications of the most subtle manner that my friendship is not worth having." He brushed hair from his eyes, listening with interest to his own passive speech. "Those men with whom I train respect me, but until I have proven myself then I am not to be trusted."
"That shouldn't take long. You've proven more then competent..."
"I am not you as we all know so well." He rose and paced slowly. "There will come a time when my men will be as loyal as yours, but not now."
"You are not me. But nor are you what Father claims you to be." A snort. "You are better men then either of us."
"That is not true." He whirled quickly. "Do not be so quick to mock me."
"I don't mock." For his part, Boromir's face was free of smile or jest. "Your strength...it is not something Father could ever recognize. If he grated at you for all of eternity, I don't think he could wear it away."
"I did not think you so poetic." He stood, transfixed by the intensity of his brother's expression.
"There are long silent rides where there is little else to do, but attempt to define that which is beyond my understanding."
"I am not that mysterious." He leaned against the desk, ignoring his gently throbbing temples.
"I said nothing of mystery. Only that you are not...you are outside the realm of familiar categories. I could never survive without friends, without the sure knowledge that Father supported me."
"If you were in my place, you would learn." He chewed softly on his bottom lip. "I should let you sleep. You must be weary from the day's ride."
"Wide awake. Stay." Boromir moved towards him. Something stirred in him, like a dragon rousing from a long sleep. If he had not been pressed into the desk, he would have backed away.
"Why did you come back tonight?" He asked again, pushing away the trembling in his belly. "Not to speak to me of dreams or life...nor to give me such a fine present..."
"Is it so hard to believe that I missed you, little brother? Or have you become convinced yourself of all that is whispered to your retreating back? It is a great loss to all those who do not befriend you." He was close now, closer then Faramir had been to anyone in a long time. Heat poured between them, making his breath catch and his heart to quicken. "I have tried and failed to replace you, many times. But you listen...and you hear things that I cannot say. And you are always so insufferably good."
"You've been away a long time." If he worried any harder at his lip the skin would break and bleed. "Perhaps I am not as you remember me."
"No...you are changed." It took all of Faramir's strength not to flinch away when a rough hand cupped his cheek, but once it was present he leaned into the touch. "You've gotten taller. And more solemn. You used to laugh more."
"Did I?" He recalled dimly days when they played in the hallways and he had been flushed with pride and giddiness. They would race along broad avenues and when the older boy eventually won, he would sweep Faramir from his feet and carry him for a while on his shoulders.
"I used to think that you didn't know how to frown. When we were very young, it seemed you always smiled." Deft fingers brushed upwards, tucking a strand of hair behind one ear. "And now it as if you've forgotten how to be happy."
"I was a child." He tried to pull away, but somehow he had become trapped by soft breath and the hand on his face. He looked down at the floor rather then meet his brother's eyes. "I wasn't aware of the world."
"I wish you had not grown so aware then. It pains me to see you grown so serious. There are far too many solemn faces these days."
The heat of Boromir's hand on his face was scalding and setting the rest of his body slowly to flame from his neck, worming through his chest and curling inexplicably downwards. The last bit of skin gave way and a soft flare of pain distracted him.
"You're bleeding." A thumb curled up from under his chin to touch gently at his throbbing lip.
He was reminded of days when they got scraped and bloody. They would always bandage each other up, rather then cease their play. Even then, he had thrilled at being touched with such gentleness. Their mother's death left a void in his life where once there had been seemingly endless warmth and softness. After that, he was handed from nurse to nurse, his only constant companion his older and more powerful brother. Yet, Boromir had never abused that privilege, but taken it upon himself to do what mother had done. It must have been difficult, he realizes in retrospect, to care for a mourning five year old.
This is the same man, who had stolen him milk from the kitchens late at night and recited his favorite stories when he couldn't sleep. He should not fear him. But how can he help it when he is far too close, so close that they were sharing breath. Self-consciously he licked at his lip until the tiny trickle of blood ceased. He felt, rather then heard, the hitch in his brother's chest and Boromir was suddenly back by the couch.
"I have missed you." Dark eyes pierced into his, sad and a little wild. "Too much."
"What strangeness has possessed you?" The harsh returning laugh raised the hairs on his arms. "Why do you laugh?"
"Only that I wonder what time and distance does. My heart grows fonder and I forget..."
"Fonder?" He trembled, just on the edge of understanding. The soft grip of metal on his wrist tugged at a memory. "How warm a welcome did you expect here?"
"I..." Boromir collapsed backwards onto the couch. "I don't know what I thought."
"I think I should go." He edged slowly towards the door, his mind in a whirlwind.
"You cannot tell me the thought has never come to you late at night when you're bed is cold and the days too long." Swallow fear, swallow anger and never, ever show it in your eyes. "You have been my comfort in many dark hours, I had hoped..."
"I cannot say I have not thought of you. But I am not so lonely as to entertain such darkness even in the coolest dawn." He turned to go, but found himself pulled back by the softest touch on his wrist. "Brother..."
"I did not mean to vex you. Truly, I came only to give my men a rest and visit with you for your birthday. It is only the late hour and long journey that makes me thus."
"Then you should rest." He touched lightly the fingers that gripped at him. "And I shall see you on the morrow with mind mended."
Released, he walked briskly through the halls and back to his own quarters. It was still dark, the moon still peeking at the horizon flitting with disappearance. The day behind him had been long, but sleep eluded him. He found himself sitting on a window sill, overlooking the city. The bracelet became an object of intense fixation as he worried at it, turning slowly around his wrist and tapping at the design, attempting to release the catch. It remained firm, showing no signs of any opening at all.
"Then I am stuck with you." He informed it bitterly as the first rays of sun crept across the floor.
As he was with his brother. Every twist and turn of the bracelet was another in his thoughts until his mind was so jumbled he was no longer sure that the evening had happened at all. It was far too strange and too disturbing to imagine his brother's quiet pleads. In truth, there may have been a moment or so as Boromir had so cuttingly suggested when he had contemplated his brother in that fashion. It was hardly a surprise, they had done everything else together their whole lives and Faramir had long known himself to be aberrant. His desires, whether in food or books, had always been found faulty by Denethor. Why should his choice towards bedmates be any different?
Yet, it was quite one thing to have a passing fancy when even the moon had turned her eyes away, then actually consummating what would be the most taboo of relations. Wrist reddened and headache worsened, he leaned back on the cool stone and closed his eyes for a moment's rest before the day began.
And started almost immediately back awake. Or so it seemed, but he found the sun moved significantly forward. He must have slept for an hour at least. Such a dream! In morbid fascination now, he contemplated his birthday gift with it's swift moving river. That there should be such things passed between brothers in the night through thick stone walls!
He had been by the river, watching it twine and roar past him. In the distance, a small boat with no one visibly aboard. It had obviously long passed, but he stood still in the water watching it go. The river had chilled him, but he would not move. He shook and wept with a ferocity that threatened to tear him to shreds. All around him, the world grew dark and enemies closed in from all sides. It welled up within him too large to contain...and all was tinged with regret.
It could be no gift to have dreams like this. Perhaps, it was a curse lay down on his head, on both their heads, by the same malicious power that had made them brothers in the first place. They should, he thought, have been low born. Boromir a guard and he a scribe of some sort. Then they could have lived as they should have, still in secret, but far less a danger. He tugged disconsolently at the bracelet and tried to banish images of his dream. For the first time in many years, there was something he could not take, could not swallow or bite away.
The morning meal came with the sun stretching up her arms and he picked at until it became evident that none of it was palatable. Instead, he moved to stretch, loosening the kinks that plagued him after sleepless night. Thus limbered, he made his way to the barracks, joining with the guards in their morning exercises in drills. It was easy to lose himself in the familiar rhythms and he had particular purpose in doing so that day.
It was no surprise then, that it wasn't until halt was called at midday that he noticed a man staring at him. He was obviously a Captain, but of what he could not say. He hesitated, wondering if he should challenge this stranger when the man turned to speak at someone behind him. Boromir emerged from the shadow, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand. The two talked animatedly for a while.
"Come here, Faramir." Boromir gestured and he went, aware that this was not a business between brothers, but soldiers. "This is Rorraent, he is commander to the Rangers of Ithilien."
He sketched a bow, now fixing the man in his mind. Rorraent was built like a stone tower, burly and sharp-eyed.
"I have heard much of your skill from your brother. I must say I was surprised to see that most of it was true." The voice was warm, but commanding. Faramir shot a glance at his brother, who was standing impassively to one side. "After all the bragging, I had to see for myself."
"My brother often overestimates those that he cares for." He said slowly.
"Is that so?" Rorraent sounded amused and he catches him exchanging glances with his brother. "Then let me judge your skill instead, hmm?"
"If you wish it. What would you have me do?" The men had gone in for a brief respite before patrols, the practice fields were desolate.
"Keep up with me."
The blade was out of it's sheath before he could register the challenge. He managed a barely credible parry and the hit sent dull echoes down his arm, bent as it was at an ackward angle drawing from the sheath.
After that, the fight was a blur for him. Faramir withdrew, leaving the guard behind, who was pure fight and muscle. It was easy to find routine and the familiar dance. The other man was good, but nothing he had not already bested. Rorraent tried move after move on him, but found no weak spots. Only a brief flying of the left hand. The blade had landed with a flat clang and Faramir continued on as if naught had happened.
"Halt!" Cried Rorraent, laughing. "Mercy on my tired bones, lad."
Bemused, Faramir dropped his blade and slowly returned to himself.
"I told you." His brother shook his head, a proud smile curling his lips. Idly, Faramir wondered how long it would be until Boromir took up the traditional beard. "He could tire out his foe, if he could not kill him."
"I must say, I am impressed." Rorraent stared at him. Faramir looked steadily back. "How are you at tracking?"
"Passable. I have had several successful hunts."
"And what you don't know, you'd be willing to learn?"
Faramir cast a glance at his brother, but Boromir was watching Rorraent, an intent look on his face.
"Yes." He relented.
"I shall have you then, if you want to be had. You're wasted here, training endlessly. Join with the Rangers and we'll make you into something." The offer was a good one, he supposed.
"I'll need the Steward's permission."
"Already received. My men and I leave within the week, long enough to get you familiarized. I figured if you failed the tests, then you could work as a stableboy." The grin was toothy and made him squirm internally. "You'll meet us at the barracks on the morrorw. "
"Yes, my Captain." The words taste strange in his mouth, but Rorraent seems satisfied. His new commander turned back to Boromir and the two men walked off, discussing something he could not make out.
He spent his watch that afternoon staring blankly ahead. It was only routine that kept anyone else from guessing that he was not truly present. When the announcement was made that this would be his last watch, he was shocked by the men who came up to him and wished him well. They smiled genuinely at him and congratulated him as if they were happy for him. It was dizzying. By the time he had escaped and washed off the days dirt, he had missed the evening meal. No doubt Father would be displeased, but he doubted he would have much time for the Steward's censure before he departed.
Ravenous, he ate everything that was set before him in his chambers. Usually, he filled his evenings with books of history and politics, but tonight he felt ill at ease. The chamber walls closed in on him, but he dared not walk the halls, knowing them to be haunted with memory. Deliberately, he took up a long scroll and set in on his lap, but all too quickly his attention wandered. He thought of love and sex, both of which were not completely unknown to him. He thought about power and war. But most of all, he thought about what it meant to be Faramir, son of Denethor. He was man in his own right now. Soon he would ride forth with a company and no doubt master it within the decade.
He stood in the window, observing the change in the watches. All would be tucked safely in their own chambers by now and those leaving in the morning were no doubt already abed. His thoughts had taken him far and away.
The stone may as well have been grass under his feet. The rangers would not have to teach him this: the silence before the attack, the keenness in the gaze and the gentle pricking of the ear that laid bare all that could be perceived.
The door brought him pause, but he found it loose and open beneath his grip just at had always been. It gave him a thrill of hope. Perhaps, Boromir had been waiting for his return in one form or another and it was not only the good drink and long ride that had wearied him to the point of senseless confession.
The sitting room was dark and empty as it was all the long days of its master's absence. Already, it took on the air of disuse. When Boromir had first come on his missions, he had come here in the dark and tried to find any trace of his brother, but there was none to find here.
The bed chamber was not as thrown into shadow, thanks to the large windows letting in the moon's pale light. The pale green curtains were thrown back, setting curved patterns onto the floor rugs. Faramir caught himself halfway across the floor to the bed and forced himself to look. It was a sight not at all unfamiliar.
Boromir slept like most soldiers, tightly rolled in blankets for warmth and protection, and deeply. His soft snores echoed through the wide space and with each intake of breath, Faramir felt his stomach clench. Many were the nights in childhood that he had stood just so in the doorway until his brother, half-awakened would beckon him to bed.
"Fari?" Dark eyes slit open, a soft grumble in the shadows.
Instead of answering, he moved inexorably forward. Like he would have years ago, he kicked off his boots and shimmied under the blankets to soak in Boromir's excess warmth. He'd always felt cold then, in his own room he would shiver and quake even with thick furs on his bed. Of course, had they still been children, they would have gone instantly sleep, curled together. Tonight, Boromir shook himself awake and propped his head on his hand.
"Thank you. For speaking of me to Rorraent." He remained sitting up, picking idly at the bracelet.
"Actually, he asked me." The tone was amused, but cautious. "There are no few captains who would like to have you in their keeping."
"Because of who I am?"
"Because of what you can do. Do not be so quick to assume that people have not noticed you. Perhaps our father's words have reached their ears, but so do your actions. I have tried to tell you so for many years, but you would not listen."
"If so many clamor for me, then why is Rorraent the first to offer?" So many his age already marched with commands and some of his year were already rising in rank while he rotted in the guard towers training with men he had long since bested.
"Because he was the first to get the courage to ask me. They all assumed that I would take you under my wing."
"And why haven't you?" A day or so ago, he would have felt a tremendous bitterness with this discussion, he had long felt distraught over Boromir's refusal to make him one of his guards. Now, he suspected he knew the answer.
"It would only have cast you deeper in my shadow." A humorless laugh. "Not that you would have remained there for long. I wanted you to have something to rise to. You would have had to push me out of the way in my command."
"I would not have been content under your command." He agreed softly, but his mind is already elsewhere. "I did not come to thank you."
"I didn't imagine you had."
"I wanted to speak to you about the night before."
"I.."
"No. Let me speak." He could hear an audible click at his companion's mouth snapped close. "It is unnatural, I should think for a brother to want another so. I have thought about it and I am quite certain that the correct course of action would be for us to never speak of it again. It would no doubt be quite a mistake to do otherwise. But I cannot let this lie and I will not forget it. If I do not speak my thoughts and let them lie fallow, then they will rot. I have lost my taste for that.
"I do return your desires." A short hiccuping breath, but Boromir remained obedient and did not speak. "It is wrong and staining, but I cannot bring myself to care. All my short life I have done what I was supposed to do and it has left be discontent and old long before my time. So now, perhaps, is the time to be wrong and seek at least some grain of happiness where it can be found. Or maybe I've denied myself any pleasure for so long that..."
"Are you going to continue on like this for much longer? Because we both have to get up rather early tomorrow."
"I'm trying to say something important." He banged his head softly against the wall, frustration welling in him.
"It has always taken you a lot of words to say very little. I don't know if that's wisdom or fear. Have you come here tonight to do what is forbidden or to discuss it until dawn so that it never gets done?" Slowly, he rose until they were eye to eye, forcing Faramir to take in their proximity.
And there it was. Faramir took in a deep shuddering breath, finding his mind gone uneasily blank as if even reason wanted nothing to do with the situation. He raised a hand and caressed the stubbled chin and cheek, mimicking his brother's movements of the previous night. Flinty blue eyes locked inexorably on his and for a moment, the mirror was overwhelming. So he moved forward and softly kissed one cheek, trailing down slowly to lips and pausing there for an instant before taking the plunge.
It was, in a way, much like diving into a cold spring in the very beginnings of summer. The cold knocked you breathless and your heart shivered in your chest until you rose to the surface, gasping and blue lipped. As they kissed, Faramir could feel his chest seizing up. This had to be wrong because if it wasn't then it was the rest of his life that was off course. Every moment that was not this would have had to be false. If this was true, then everything else a lie. Boromir tasted no differently then any other who had been allowed to touch him, but he was linked into him with bonds that none could shake. And then it was gone.
"You're trembling." A calloused hand plucked his from the blanket and indeed, it shook like a leaf.
"Yes."
"Maybe..."
"It is fine." He insisted and plunged forth again, wresting his hand from it's mate to jump to one broad shoulder. Muscles moved subtly beneath sleeping clothes, rippling underneath his suddenly very sensitive fingertips.
It was all the invitation Boromir needed and he greeted the fresh onslaught with one of his own. His hands appeared everywhere, on shoulders and hips, in hair and under clothing. Sweat started to drip, even with the cool chill in the air, sending Faramir's shivers to new heights. Without grace, he slipped out of his tunic and tugged at Boromir's sending the older man in a peal of laughter.
"Patience?"
"Not now." Was the swift guttural reply. "By all that is good, not now."
Clothing gave way easily under such persuasive breathy moans until they were at last naked against each other. Hands found new and interesting places to tease making familiar bodies into treacherous mines of ticklish spots and pleasurable caresses. Where once Faramir would have said he had seen his brother nude, he now knew that he had only seen him without clothes. Naked was a whole other story with new lines and creases.
The trembling that had started in his hands was on the move to his arms, legs and now stomach. Already soured, now it was buzzing and alive. Boromir littered the flat plane with kisses under his approving lidded stare. And then he was being devoured.
There was no other word for the complete consumption of his prick as Boromir made it obvious that he was no virgin to this sort of play. Faramir couldn't bring himself to care, arching wordlessly into the divine mouth, crying out in words that had no sense in them. He roughly fisted the sheets and blankets, sweating and trembling until he came with careening force.
"Are you..."
"Fine." He managed to gasp out. "Wonderful...."
"You're still shaking."
It took a long moment before he could even attempt to open his eyes and explain. He wanted to tell him that after so many years of swallowing, someone had finally showed him how to expel the dirt and the filth that had accumulated in his gut. He was shaking because he had been cleaned and made pure again. He was shaking because his world had shifted and he could not find his ground. He was shaking because he was both lost and found.
Boromir had climbed back up the bed and was now leaning above him, propped on his elbows and looking concerned. He wanted to tell him so much, but it was not the time. It might never be time. So he swallowed the words. It was easier now. He knew there was a way to purge himself of them.
"I liked that." He substituted and leaned upwards for a kiss. There was a salty tang and he wrinkled his nose. "Do I really taste like that? How awful."
"I like it."
The hot firebrand of his brother's erection pushed urgently at his thigh.
"Do you want me to..."
In answer, the other man rolled onto his back, pulling Faramir with him for another kiss. His hand was tugged and placed raggedly where it was needed most. He applied himself to the task with abandon. Torn between kisses and watching as a whole new line of expressions passed over his brother's face that he had never seen before, he settled to alternating between both. When sharp hips arched off the bed, he was caught almost entirely off guard, so entranced was he by the sight.
Curiously, he brought his wet hand to his mouth and licked tentatively. It was bitter and salty, much like his own. After careful consideration, he wiped his hand off on the blanket.
"You look pleased." He said softly.
"I am." Soft, short puffs of air shifted across his cheek. "Thank you."
They settled against each other, Faramir resting his head on one broad shoulder, making small contented noises while Boromir ran fingers through his hair.
"I love you." He told him when he was almost sure the older man was asleep. The soft rumbled of breath corrected him.
"And I you. Does your mind trouble you, now?"
A long silence as he appraised his thoughts, but he found no ugliness or despair there.
"No. I don't feel so alone." But nor am I cured of loneliness and perhaps, I never shall be, he thought without bitterness. For after all, they would go their separate ways tomorrow for months perhaps. Now, more then ever, he could see his future spreading before him, but it was not so bleak. "Except on one account, how ever do you get this bracelet off?"
"You'll figure it out, soon enough. Rest now."
They slept that night, spooned together until the first rays of the sun picked their way onto the bed. Faramir woke first, stretching until he was arched almost completely off the bed. He felt better, despite a layer of dried sweat on his skin. He scratched up the length of his body and decided his chances of getting a bath before leaving would be greater if he went back to his own room.
Gently, he shook his brother until his eyes slit open.
"Going?"
"I want to bathe and we're both to leave soon enough." He leaned down and brushed a kiss over soft lips. "Good journey."
"To you as well."
Faramir rose to go, only to find himself pulled back into a hot embrace, smothered beneath his brother's greater weight. They kissed hungrily, grinding mindlessly against each other, searching for purchase. All thoughts of warm water ran from his mind as he arched again and again against one firm thigh. By the time they had both found their completion, they were both drenched with sweat and covered in small red marks.
"Now, I must go." He insisted. Tangling his hands in damp hair, pulling down the beloved face for a last kiss before rolling away.
"Will you think of me?"
"I always do. Thought now I suspect that such thoughts will not be innocent...what word did you use? Pining?"
"I didn't mean..." Boromir rose slightly, watching him dress.
"No. It is fitting. I shall think of you and now, I can allow myself to in ways I could not before." He grinned, pulling his tunic over his head. "Your men will think you were mauled by a wild beast."
"Let them. It will put some rumors to bed for some time."
At the last, Faramir stood at the door, glancing back at his brother still naked on the bed and sighed wistfully. They would never have the time real lovers did and they would never be able to act outside of rooms like this, but he found already that he could bear it. These were memories he did not swallow, but kept to nibble at in the dark, cold hours on horseback. They would sustain him.
"Good journey." He said softly, a wry smile on his face. And then left, so he would not have to see the worry in his brother's eyes.
) *(
It isn't until the dream comes to fruition that he learned the secret of the bracelet clasp. Hip deep in freezing water, his brother's body cold before him and his first true thought was that it had been so obvious. The seemingly even pattern of water across the surface was marred only by a speck so tiny it might be dust. Ticked over with a thumbnail, the bracelet cracked open revealing the pale, scarred flesh beneath. A rush of pain, of hurt, of betrayal and a dark void of mourning threatened to consume him. He clasped it quickly closed and never opened it again.
)*(
"Father?" Elboron stood in the door, catching his father's passing shadow across the rapidly darkening room. "Read me a story?"
In an instant, the pacing ceases and he was caught up in strong arms.
"Yes, yes of course."
Faramir was always intensely glad that his children took after Eowyn, golden haired and bright eyed. He liked to see them as removed from himself, removed from the dead who weighed ever at his heart. But things returned as they had a habit of doing, looping over and over the weary tracks of his mind.
)*(
"Tell me a story?" He asked softly, huddling close to his big brother in the winter chill. He was five and his mother was gone, his father already growing distant.
"I cannot remember any." The reply was stiff and another shiver went through the younger boy's body.
"Then I'll tell you one..." He went on stubbornly. "There once was a boy, who lived in castle. A far away castle. And he was always happy and ate lots of sweetcakes. But there was a dragon. A big one. So he talked to it and gave it cakes and together they were happy."
"That's not a proper story."
The younger boy bit back a sob. It wasn't really, but all the real stories had already gone away and he was sure that if tried at it, he would capture one.
"The words aren't right." He complained. "The words have gone."
"Oh, now." The older boy sighed and pressed a tight kiss onto fair hair. "Look, I will tell you one story, but then you must go to sleep."
"All right." Already placated, he settled in.
The story was roughly told, high words already mangled with the vernacular of young boys, but it was better then having to tell them to himself, characters and story lines mixed all together. By the time the recitation had ceased, his eyelids felt heavy.
"Boromir?"
"What is it, Fari?"
"Will you always love me?"
"Yes." A deep shuddered breath and Faramir looked up to catch swift tears on his brother's face. "Always."
Startled by the suddenness of the flood, Faramir wrestled out from under the protecting arm and placed a tiny hand on his brother's face. It was the first time the elder boy had cried since the funeral. He kissed one of the tears gently.
"Shh." He said softly and hugged the older boy. "It will be all right."
"How can you say that?"
"Because I love you and you love me." He explained slowly, trying to make the words right. "And if we love each other enough then one day we can be happy again."
"It is not that easy." But already the tears have begun to dry and he was being hugged back. "But thank you."
Faramir had more left to say, pages and pages of words. But he swallowed them and lay down to sleep. In his dreams, there was a dark man watching the swift water of the Anduin and a pain so deep he was sure it was his heart splintering into dozens of pieces. When he woke, Boromir still had an arm around him and the room was filled with light snores. One of his brother's hands was clasped loosely around his wrist, binding them together. Comforted, he shifted closer and fell back to more peaceful dreams.
Sipped and Swallowed
NC-17
Faramir swallows his life to keep it safe. Faramir/Boromir
Sometimes, Faramir bit his lip until it bled or ground his teeth until his jaw hurt and his mouth was filled with copper. He learned to swallow hurt in the same great gulps that men took their ale. Each sting and barb he would roll to a bite and take it to his stomach where it would fester and rot to nothing. When he was a child, so young that none would blame him for tears, he had learned to hold the salt water for better things. He bit and ground, swallowed and ignored.
Stoic was what his teachers called him as he took blow after blow in practices with men many years his senior. He had started practices early, using wooden training weapons. Not because he loved the thrill of it, but because Boromir began and like little brothers of all ages, he did not wish to be left behind. So he learned early the ways of fighting, the quickness of foot and the sharpness of ear that would serve him well in the decades to come. He learned to swallow the pain.
The children of the court, who came from the very cracks in the walls, followed Boromir as if he held the secret to all things good, but it was to Faramir they came with their small darkness and hurts. Early on girls found him unerringly with broken hearts to mend and boys with wounded egos. He knew when to be silent, when to chide and when to reassure. He learned to swallow secrets.
He never expected Boromir or his father to see this. He never thought that it was the type of thing that mattered. Nor did he tell them of his frequently troubling dreams that painted elusive, chilling pictures of a future distant and harsh. Once he mentioned them to a nurse he trusted, but she only swatted him gently and called it 'Nonsense'. He learned to swallow his dreams.
The day after Boromir's first kill, his brother came to him, a shaking mess. His hair and clothing were in disarray, his eyes bleary with unshed tears. He held him tightly as the bulkier boy tried to regain his breath. He had not slept or ate, he said. Faramir only held him and spoke soft words of calm in any language he could remember. When it seemed all was finished, Boromir said to him,
"I wish I had not been born in such a time of fighting. I should have liked to have learned something else besides death."
It was the closest thing to blasphemy a son of Denethor could utter. In the dark of the night, Faramir learned to swallow Boromir's secrets and dreams alongside his own.
)*(
A week before he turned seventeen, he dreamed of a white skin and dark hair. When he roused, his heart pounded raggedly. A certain prick in his chest warned his brother was nearing, returning from a mission with a banner high in victory. With ease, he slipped into morning clothes though the night was still black and picked his way among the corridors until he could see the Fields spread out below him. He watched the company enter and twine up all the long paths of Minas Tirith, twisting in and out of sight.
There had been no messenger to tell them of the Captain's arrival, no call. As he always had, Faramir anticipated his arrival. At twenty-two, Boromir was no longer a powerful boy, but a man with a head for command. He strode with the sureness that his soldiers would always follow, his eyes blazed like a forge. Great things would happen where Boromir went, thought Faramir watching his brother come towards him in the courtyard.
"The hour is late, brother. I did not expect anyone to see my return."
"Do you fear another feast? I am sure, if you asked Father would spare you."
"It is not that. I am staying only this night and the next, then off again. It was a quick rest for the men who have not seen their families in many long weeks."
"That is kind of you."
"It seemed a thing that you would do and thus, I saw it fit." And turned before Faramir could comment, ordering the unsaddling of the horses and setting his guards back to their homes.
"You did not do this only for the men." He ventured as even in the dim moonlight he caught dark circles under his brother's eyes.
"As always your eyes are keener then I would wish." Confident that his orders would carry, Boromir gestured for them to inside and seek the comforts of his chambers. "It has been a long time away for me as well and my first as a Captain of the White Tower."
Boromir was one of the youngest to ever claim that title and none saw fit to argue it. He had a quick, rough talent with men and weapons that was impossible to deny.
"You are capable. But you do not need me to tell you that." They walked up the long stairs, Faramir behind watching the smooth lines of his brother's back ripple and sway as they went. "So what is it that troubles you so?"
"A moment." They walked the long halls and crept as they had as children into the chambers still held for the first born son. Though he had not been expected, the rooms were clean and well aired. His comings and goings were so swift that it had become prudent to keep them so to avoid chaos at the last minute. "I wonder..."
As his brother disappeared into the bedchamber, Faramir lit some of the lamps until the sitting room took on a soft glow, drawing swift shadows on the comfortable couch and rarely used desk. It was late spring, leaving the fireplace a dormant useless thing, but Faramir sat near it on the couch nonetheless. Habit.
"If it is your drink you seek then I can assure you it remains!" Faramir called out. "For none would dare disturb that stash."
"You think so little of me, brother?" Boromir returned, one had hand draped dramatically over his breast. "That I should think on my homecoming only of spirits?"
"I would feel ashamed if you were not clutching that bottle of wine."
"No glasses or goblets, I fear. We shall have to be rough and take from the bottle." With ease, he uncorked it and drank, handing it off to Faramir as he returned into the bedchamber.
The mouth of the bottle shined with saliva and as Faramir gingerly sipped, he could taste his brother's rough speech.
"You've not missed much." Faramir spoke softly, aware that his voice would carry anyway. "There has been little news here of late. Only the general rumors which have most likely reached your ears."
"That Evenore finds his wife once more with child that he cannot remember siring and that Nadril was found innocent of the theft as was predicted. Have they decided what to do with Malik's eyesore of a statue?"
How many nights had they spoke like this: through the doorway, the rustling of fabric between them with utter confidence that they would be heard and understood without the slightest glance? Faramir replied absently and stared into the cold fireplace, bathed in dancing shadows.
"Are you troubled too, brother? Or do you look so far away because of the hour?"
"Both." He glanced up to find Boromir reaching for the bottle and he handed it to him willingly, taking in the soft leggings and night shirt. "I think I miss you most when you are actually here."
"How so?" The couch moved under the new weight and Faramir turned to face him.
"When you are away, I can immerse myself in other things and be satisfied with news. But when you are present, I cannot forget how it is when you were here always."
"Are you so lonely that you pine for the likes of me?" The question was asked gently, but Faramir turned back to stare at the shadows.
"My friends have grown, those that I had and are not so ready to spend time with one whom they think above them." He spoke without bitterness, he understood. He of all of them understood what was meant by his station. "And I have no companion among my masters, none who I can seek out in the dark hours of the night for comfort."
"Not a pretty maid either."
"Nor that." Faramir agreed and turned again, shaking off the melancholy. "But I do not think you returned home only to here me complain of the inevitable. Tell me what has been worrying at you?"
"You are always unselfish." The shaggy head shook slowly though whether or not in disproval, Faramir could not say. "And I must be the greatest of egos to make you think I come home only to lay problems at your feet for the solving."
"There's no problem you cannot solve on your own, save those you think you cannot." It was a familiar pattern, far safer then talk of loneliness. "And you are kept humble by your men, I think."
"Perhaps." They are silent for a long moment, Boromir swallowing another mouthful of wine. "There is something."
"Naturally. What has dragged you so many miles from your way, Captain?"
"I was worried." A pause. "I was worried about you."
"I am as you find me." He returned coolly. "Unhurt and far from any danger."
"I dreamed that you were weeping."
They had rarely spoken of the fragmented prophetic dreams of Faramir nor how they occasionally passed to Boromir when they were particularly vivid. Only in passing darkened glances and sharp solemn nods and breakfast. The breaking of a long silence stole into Faramir and jerked a cold breath from him.
"I have not cried in a very long time."
"I remember when you fell from the wall and broke your arm. You went white and never even sniffled." Swallowed the pain. "But in my dream you wept. You sat on the banks of Anduin and your body shook with sorrow "
"There is no sense to such a dream." But a swift cold gripped Faramir's heart and he took the wine and let it burn a trail of fire to his belly. "There are few things in this world that could drive me to tears. Surely not this tiny dream figment took you here."
"You may find it hard to believe, but I have my moments of weakness. When I saw the Tower so near, I wished to be home, here in this room with you." Swift, calloused fingers brushed Faramir's taking back the bottle. "I cannot speak to my men with fear in my eyes nor of distant dreams."
"They would not think you less a man if you did." But Faramir knew this is a lie the moment he spoke it. There were codes unwritten about such things. The leader does not quake or show doubt even when asking for advice. "They would be foolish to think you are not as much a mortal as they."
"Men are often times foolish and unlike you they have not seen me soaked in dirty water being scolded by the nurse."
"I warned you not play by the fountain." He smiled grimly. "But you only listened to me then when it was too late."
"No longer. You will be a brilliant planner in your own right one day. For now, I can pick through your thoughts for myself."
They sat in silence, sharing the bottle and thinking their own thoughts.
"I'd almost forgotten!" The sudden break of quiet jarred Faramir from his wondering and he watched as Boromir moved restlessly back into his bedchamber.
Even as children it had always been this way, Boromir twitching and jumping at the slightest provocation while Faramir made himself stone. The older boy squirmed under scrutiny to such an extent that Faramir often wondered how he managed to stand at attention during barracks inspections.
"So now you can no longer think me selfish." A small bundle of fabric was thrust under his nose, forcing him to take it before he inhaled it. "I heard my men speaking of dates and I remembered your birthday was near."
"Next week." He spoke absently, delicately unwinding the length of soft white fabric.
"We met a merchant, who had come recently from elven lands. He was weighted down and eager to sell." Boromir knelt at his feet. "There were daggers and swords, but I know that you will be inundated with both by your masters."
Underneath the cloth, which he tucked carefully into his belt, was a bracelet made of steel. It was light and flat, spread three inches thick. It was inlaid with a softer gold design of a swift moving river. There was no visible clasp, so he turned it around his hands, enjoying the smoothness of the metal.
"It's light." He weighted it gently, catching the flickering light. "Strong."
"For your left wrist." The smile was teasing, but Faramir caught the edge. "You always try to block with it."
Self-consciously, he stared down at the wrist in question which was already crisscrossed with thick scars from sword practice.
"They say I have to learn the hard way or I won't learn at all."
Thick fingers traced the scars and Faramir shivered at the light touch.
"There are some lessons we cannot learn and then we seek aid." In a movement that Faramir did not quite catch, the bracelet cracked open. "Shall I put it on?"
It was an odd question and Boromir seemed caught with it, paused halfway through the action.
"Please." The metallic click was soft, but firm. The polished metal settled over like a second skin. He moved his wrist and was satisfied to find no limit to his movement.
"It will slide under a glove comfortably too." Their thoughts ran parallel tracks. "Most inconvenient for you to get sliced open in battle."
"Thank you." He couldn't take his eyes off the polished metal. It was such a strange gift...something one would give a lover. He expected another blade or nothing at all. His birthday was not the one remembered nor lauded. It was only a way of marking the time and collecting weapons from courtiers.
"You are most welcome." Only then did Boromir rise off the floor and settle back on the couch, closer now and drinking less lustily. "You're not truly so alone here, are you?"
There are truths that Boromir did not want to hear. Faramir knew this instinctively, but after the strange gift there was something lodged in his throat. He could not swallow.
"Father has made it very obvious that I am to make it on my own." He picked his words carefully.
"He is for independence...but that isn't what you mean, is it?"
"There have been ... implications of the most subtle manner that my friendship is not worth having." He brushed hair from his eyes, listening with interest to his own passive speech. "Those men with whom I train respect me, but until I have proven myself then I am not to be trusted."
"That shouldn't take long. You've proven more then competent..."
"I am not you as we all know so well." He rose and paced slowly. "There will come a time when my men will be as loyal as yours, but not now."
"You are not me. But nor are you what Father claims you to be." A snort. "You are better men then either of us."
"That is not true." He whirled quickly. "Do not be so quick to mock me."
"I don't mock." For his part, Boromir's face was free of smile or jest. "Your strength...it is not something Father could ever recognize. If he grated at you for all of eternity, I don't think he could wear it away."
"I did not think you so poetic." He stood, transfixed by the intensity of his brother's expression.
"There are long silent rides where there is little else to do, but attempt to define that which is beyond my understanding."
"I am not that mysterious." He leaned against the desk, ignoring his gently throbbing temples.
"I said nothing of mystery. Only that you are not...you are outside the realm of familiar categories. I could never survive without friends, without the sure knowledge that Father supported me."
"If you were in my place, you would learn." He chewed softly on his bottom lip. "I should let you sleep. You must be weary from the day's ride."
"Wide awake. Stay." Boromir moved towards him. Something stirred in him, like a dragon rousing from a long sleep. If he had not been pressed into the desk, he would have backed away.
"Why did you come back tonight?" He asked again, pushing away the trembling in his belly. "Not to speak to me of dreams or life...nor to give me such a fine present..."
"Is it so hard to believe that I missed you, little brother? Or have you become convinced yourself of all that is whispered to your retreating back? It is a great loss to all those who do not befriend you." He was close now, closer then Faramir had been to anyone in a long time. Heat poured between them, making his breath catch and his heart to quicken. "I have tried and failed to replace you, many times. But you listen...and you hear things that I cannot say. And you are always so insufferably good."
"You've been away a long time." If he worried any harder at his lip the skin would break and bleed. "Perhaps I am not as you remember me."
"No...you are changed." It took all of Faramir's strength not to flinch away when a rough hand cupped his cheek, but once it was present he leaned into the touch. "You've gotten taller. And more solemn. You used to laugh more."
"Did I?" He recalled dimly days when they played in the hallways and he had been flushed with pride and giddiness. They would race along broad avenues and when the older boy eventually won, he would sweep Faramir from his feet and carry him for a while on his shoulders.
"I used to think that you didn't know how to frown. When we were very young, it seemed you always smiled." Deft fingers brushed upwards, tucking a strand of hair behind one ear. "And now it as if you've forgotten how to be happy."
"I was a child." He tried to pull away, but somehow he had become trapped by soft breath and the hand on his face. He looked down at the floor rather then meet his brother's eyes. "I wasn't aware of the world."
"I wish you had not grown so aware then. It pains me to see you grown so serious. There are far too many solemn faces these days."
The heat of Boromir's hand on his face was scalding and setting the rest of his body slowly to flame from his neck, worming through his chest and curling inexplicably downwards. The last bit of skin gave way and a soft flare of pain distracted him.
"You're bleeding." A thumb curled up from under his chin to touch gently at his throbbing lip.
He was reminded of days when they got scraped and bloody. They would always bandage each other up, rather then cease their play. Even then, he had thrilled at being touched with such gentleness. Their mother's death left a void in his life where once there had been seemingly endless warmth and softness. After that, he was handed from nurse to nurse, his only constant companion his older and more powerful brother. Yet, Boromir had never abused that privilege, but taken it upon himself to do what mother had done. It must have been difficult, he realizes in retrospect, to care for a mourning five year old.
This is the same man, who had stolen him milk from the kitchens late at night and recited his favorite stories when he couldn't sleep. He should not fear him. But how can he help it when he is far too close, so close that they were sharing breath. Self-consciously he licked at his lip until the tiny trickle of blood ceased. He felt, rather then heard, the hitch in his brother's chest and Boromir was suddenly back by the couch.
"I have missed you." Dark eyes pierced into his, sad and a little wild. "Too much."
"What strangeness has possessed you?" The harsh returning laugh raised the hairs on his arms. "Why do you laugh?"
"Only that I wonder what time and distance does. My heart grows fonder and I forget..."
"Fonder?" He trembled, just on the edge of understanding. The soft grip of metal on his wrist tugged at a memory. "How warm a welcome did you expect here?"
"I..." Boromir collapsed backwards onto the couch. "I don't know what I thought."
"I think I should go." He edged slowly towards the door, his mind in a whirlwind.
"You cannot tell me the thought has never come to you late at night when you're bed is cold and the days too long." Swallow fear, swallow anger and never, ever show it in your eyes. "You have been my comfort in many dark hours, I had hoped..."
"I cannot say I have not thought of you. But I am not so lonely as to entertain such darkness even in the coolest dawn." He turned to go, but found himself pulled back by the softest touch on his wrist. "Brother..."
"I did not mean to vex you. Truly, I came only to give my men a rest and visit with you for your birthday. It is only the late hour and long journey that makes me thus."
"Then you should rest." He touched lightly the fingers that gripped at him. "And I shall see you on the morrow with mind mended."
Released, he walked briskly through the halls and back to his own quarters. It was still dark, the moon still peeking at the horizon flitting with disappearance. The day behind him had been long, but sleep eluded him. He found himself sitting on a window sill, overlooking the city. The bracelet became an object of intense fixation as he worried at it, turning slowly around his wrist and tapping at the design, attempting to release the catch. It remained firm, showing no signs of any opening at all.
"Then I am stuck with you." He informed it bitterly as the first rays of sun crept across the floor.
As he was with his brother. Every twist and turn of the bracelet was another in his thoughts until his mind was so jumbled he was no longer sure that the evening had happened at all. It was far too strange and too disturbing to imagine his brother's quiet pleads. In truth, there may have been a moment or so as Boromir had so cuttingly suggested when he had contemplated his brother in that fashion. It was hardly a surprise, they had done everything else together their whole lives and Faramir had long known himself to be aberrant. His desires, whether in food or books, had always been found faulty by Denethor. Why should his choice towards bedmates be any different?
Yet, it was quite one thing to have a passing fancy when even the moon had turned her eyes away, then actually consummating what would be the most taboo of relations. Wrist reddened and headache worsened, he leaned back on the cool stone and closed his eyes for a moment's rest before the day began.
And started almost immediately back awake. Or so it seemed, but he found the sun moved significantly forward. He must have slept for an hour at least. Such a dream! In morbid fascination now, he contemplated his birthday gift with it's swift moving river. That there should be such things passed between brothers in the night through thick stone walls!
He had been by the river, watching it twine and roar past him. In the distance, a small boat with no one visibly aboard. It had obviously long passed, but he stood still in the water watching it go. The river had chilled him, but he would not move. He shook and wept with a ferocity that threatened to tear him to shreds. All around him, the world grew dark and enemies closed in from all sides. It welled up within him too large to contain...and all was tinged with regret.
It could be no gift to have dreams like this. Perhaps, it was a curse lay down on his head, on both their heads, by the same malicious power that had made them brothers in the first place. They should, he thought, have been low born. Boromir a guard and he a scribe of some sort. Then they could have lived as they should have, still in secret, but far less a danger. He tugged disconsolently at the bracelet and tried to banish images of his dream. For the first time in many years, there was something he could not take, could not swallow or bite away.
The morning meal came with the sun stretching up her arms and he picked at until it became evident that none of it was palatable. Instead, he moved to stretch, loosening the kinks that plagued him after sleepless night. Thus limbered, he made his way to the barracks, joining with the guards in their morning exercises in drills. It was easy to lose himself in the familiar rhythms and he had particular purpose in doing so that day.
It was no surprise then, that it wasn't until halt was called at midday that he noticed a man staring at him. He was obviously a Captain, but of what he could not say. He hesitated, wondering if he should challenge this stranger when the man turned to speak at someone behind him. Boromir emerged from the shadow, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand. The two talked animatedly for a while.
"Come here, Faramir." Boromir gestured and he went, aware that this was not a business between brothers, but soldiers. "This is Rorraent, he is commander to the Rangers of Ithilien."
He sketched a bow, now fixing the man in his mind. Rorraent was built like a stone tower, burly and sharp-eyed.
"I have heard much of your skill from your brother. I must say I was surprised to see that most of it was true." The voice was warm, but commanding. Faramir shot a glance at his brother, who was standing impassively to one side. "After all the bragging, I had to see for myself."
"My brother often overestimates those that he cares for." He said slowly.
"Is that so?" Rorraent sounded amused and he catches him exchanging glances with his brother. "Then let me judge your skill instead, hmm?"
"If you wish it. What would you have me do?" The men had gone in for a brief respite before patrols, the practice fields were desolate.
"Keep up with me."
The blade was out of it's sheath before he could register the challenge. He managed a barely credible parry and the hit sent dull echoes down his arm, bent as it was at an ackward angle drawing from the sheath.
After that, the fight was a blur for him. Faramir withdrew, leaving the guard behind, who was pure fight and muscle. It was easy to find routine and the familiar dance. The other man was good, but nothing he had not already bested. Rorraent tried move after move on him, but found no weak spots. Only a brief flying of the left hand. The blade had landed with a flat clang and Faramir continued on as if naught had happened.
"Halt!" Cried Rorraent, laughing. "Mercy on my tired bones, lad."
Bemused, Faramir dropped his blade and slowly returned to himself.
"I told you." His brother shook his head, a proud smile curling his lips. Idly, Faramir wondered how long it would be until Boromir took up the traditional beard. "He could tire out his foe, if he could not kill him."
"I must say, I am impressed." Rorraent stared at him. Faramir looked steadily back. "How are you at tracking?"
"Passable. I have had several successful hunts."
"And what you don't know, you'd be willing to learn?"
Faramir cast a glance at his brother, but Boromir was watching Rorraent, an intent look on his face.
"Yes." He relented.
"I shall have you then, if you want to be had. You're wasted here, training endlessly. Join with the Rangers and we'll make you into something." The offer was a good one, he supposed.
"I'll need the Steward's permission."
"Already received. My men and I leave within the week, long enough to get you familiarized. I figured if you failed the tests, then you could work as a stableboy." The grin was toothy and made him squirm internally. "You'll meet us at the barracks on the morrorw. "
"Yes, my Captain." The words taste strange in his mouth, but Rorraent seems satisfied. His new commander turned back to Boromir and the two men walked off, discussing something he could not make out.
He spent his watch that afternoon staring blankly ahead. It was only routine that kept anyone else from guessing that he was not truly present. When the announcement was made that this would be his last watch, he was shocked by the men who came up to him and wished him well. They smiled genuinely at him and congratulated him as if they were happy for him. It was dizzying. By the time he had escaped and washed off the days dirt, he had missed the evening meal. No doubt Father would be displeased, but he doubted he would have much time for the Steward's censure before he departed.
Ravenous, he ate everything that was set before him in his chambers. Usually, he filled his evenings with books of history and politics, but tonight he felt ill at ease. The chamber walls closed in on him, but he dared not walk the halls, knowing them to be haunted with memory. Deliberately, he took up a long scroll and set in on his lap, but all too quickly his attention wandered. He thought of love and sex, both of which were not completely unknown to him. He thought about power and war. But most of all, he thought about what it meant to be Faramir, son of Denethor. He was man in his own right now. Soon he would ride forth with a company and no doubt master it within the decade.
He stood in the window, observing the change in the watches. All would be tucked safely in their own chambers by now and those leaving in the morning were no doubt already abed. His thoughts had taken him far and away.
The stone may as well have been grass under his feet. The rangers would not have to teach him this: the silence before the attack, the keenness in the gaze and the gentle pricking of the ear that laid bare all that could be perceived.
The door brought him pause, but he found it loose and open beneath his grip just at had always been. It gave him a thrill of hope. Perhaps, Boromir had been waiting for his return in one form or another and it was not only the good drink and long ride that had wearied him to the point of senseless confession.
The sitting room was dark and empty as it was all the long days of its master's absence. Already, it took on the air of disuse. When Boromir had first come on his missions, he had come here in the dark and tried to find any trace of his brother, but there was none to find here.
The bed chamber was not as thrown into shadow, thanks to the large windows letting in the moon's pale light. The pale green curtains were thrown back, setting curved patterns onto the floor rugs. Faramir caught himself halfway across the floor to the bed and forced himself to look. It was a sight not at all unfamiliar.
Boromir slept like most soldiers, tightly rolled in blankets for warmth and protection, and deeply. His soft snores echoed through the wide space and with each intake of breath, Faramir felt his stomach clench. Many were the nights in childhood that he had stood just so in the doorway until his brother, half-awakened would beckon him to bed.
"Fari?" Dark eyes slit open, a soft grumble in the shadows.
Instead of answering, he moved inexorably forward. Like he would have years ago, he kicked off his boots and shimmied under the blankets to soak in Boromir's excess warmth. He'd always felt cold then, in his own room he would shiver and quake even with thick furs on his bed. Of course, had they still been children, they would have gone instantly sleep, curled together. Tonight, Boromir shook himself awake and propped his head on his hand.
"Thank you. For speaking of me to Rorraent." He remained sitting up, picking idly at the bracelet.
"Actually, he asked me." The tone was amused, but cautious. "There are no few captains who would like to have you in their keeping."
"Because of who I am?"
"Because of what you can do. Do not be so quick to assume that people have not noticed you. Perhaps our father's words have reached their ears, but so do your actions. I have tried to tell you so for many years, but you would not listen."
"If so many clamor for me, then why is Rorraent the first to offer?" So many his age already marched with commands and some of his year were already rising in rank while he rotted in the guard towers training with men he had long since bested.
"Because he was the first to get the courage to ask me. They all assumed that I would take you under my wing."
"And why haven't you?" A day or so ago, he would have felt a tremendous bitterness with this discussion, he had long felt distraught over Boromir's refusal to make him one of his guards. Now, he suspected he knew the answer.
"It would only have cast you deeper in my shadow." A humorless laugh. "Not that you would have remained there for long. I wanted you to have something to rise to. You would have had to push me out of the way in my command."
"I would not have been content under your command." He agreed softly, but his mind is already elsewhere. "I did not come to thank you."
"I didn't imagine you had."
"I wanted to speak to you about the night before."
"I.."
"No. Let me speak." He could hear an audible click at his companion's mouth snapped close. "It is unnatural, I should think for a brother to want another so. I have thought about it and I am quite certain that the correct course of action would be for us to never speak of it again. It would no doubt be quite a mistake to do otherwise. But I cannot let this lie and I will not forget it. If I do not speak my thoughts and let them lie fallow, then they will rot. I have lost my taste for that.
"I do return your desires." A short hiccuping breath, but Boromir remained obedient and did not speak. "It is wrong and staining, but I cannot bring myself to care. All my short life I have done what I was supposed to do and it has left be discontent and old long before my time. So now, perhaps, is the time to be wrong and seek at least some grain of happiness where it can be found. Or maybe I've denied myself any pleasure for so long that..."
"Are you going to continue on like this for much longer? Because we both have to get up rather early tomorrow."
"I'm trying to say something important." He banged his head softly against the wall, frustration welling in him.
"It has always taken you a lot of words to say very little. I don't know if that's wisdom or fear. Have you come here tonight to do what is forbidden or to discuss it until dawn so that it never gets done?" Slowly, he rose until they were eye to eye, forcing Faramir to take in their proximity.
And there it was. Faramir took in a deep shuddering breath, finding his mind gone uneasily blank as if even reason wanted nothing to do with the situation. He raised a hand and caressed the stubbled chin and cheek, mimicking his brother's movements of the previous night. Flinty blue eyes locked inexorably on his and for a moment, the mirror was overwhelming. So he moved forward and softly kissed one cheek, trailing down slowly to lips and pausing there for an instant before taking the plunge.
It was, in a way, much like diving into a cold spring in the very beginnings of summer. The cold knocked you breathless and your heart shivered in your chest until you rose to the surface, gasping and blue lipped. As they kissed, Faramir could feel his chest seizing up. This had to be wrong because if it wasn't then it was the rest of his life that was off course. Every moment that was not this would have had to be false. If this was true, then everything else a lie. Boromir tasted no differently then any other who had been allowed to touch him, but he was linked into him with bonds that none could shake. And then it was gone.
"You're trembling." A calloused hand plucked his from the blanket and indeed, it shook like a leaf.
"Yes."
"Maybe..."
"It is fine." He insisted and plunged forth again, wresting his hand from it's mate to jump to one broad shoulder. Muscles moved subtly beneath sleeping clothes, rippling underneath his suddenly very sensitive fingertips.
It was all the invitation Boromir needed and he greeted the fresh onslaught with one of his own. His hands appeared everywhere, on shoulders and hips, in hair and under clothing. Sweat started to drip, even with the cool chill in the air, sending Faramir's shivers to new heights. Without grace, he slipped out of his tunic and tugged at Boromir's sending the older man in a peal of laughter.
"Patience?"
"Not now." Was the swift guttural reply. "By all that is good, not now."
Clothing gave way easily under such persuasive breathy moans until they were at last naked against each other. Hands found new and interesting places to tease making familiar bodies into treacherous mines of ticklish spots and pleasurable caresses. Where once Faramir would have said he had seen his brother nude, he now knew that he had only seen him without clothes. Naked was a whole other story with new lines and creases.
The trembling that had started in his hands was on the move to his arms, legs and now stomach. Already soured, now it was buzzing and alive. Boromir littered the flat plane with kisses under his approving lidded stare. And then he was being devoured.
There was no other word for the complete consumption of his prick as Boromir made it obvious that he was no virgin to this sort of play. Faramir couldn't bring himself to care, arching wordlessly into the divine mouth, crying out in words that had no sense in them. He roughly fisted the sheets and blankets, sweating and trembling until he came with careening force.
"Are you..."
"Fine." He managed to gasp out. "Wonderful...."
"You're still shaking."
It took a long moment before he could even attempt to open his eyes and explain. He wanted to tell him that after so many years of swallowing, someone had finally showed him how to expel the dirt and the filth that had accumulated in his gut. He was shaking because he had been cleaned and made pure again. He was shaking because his world had shifted and he could not find his ground. He was shaking because he was both lost and found.
Boromir had climbed back up the bed and was now leaning above him, propped on his elbows and looking concerned. He wanted to tell him so much, but it was not the time. It might never be time. So he swallowed the words. It was easier now. He knew there was a way to purge himself of them.
"I liked that." He substituted and leaned upwards for a kiss. There was a salty tang and he wrinkled his nose. "Do I really taste like that? How awful."
"I like it."
The hot firebrand of his brother's erection pushed urgently at his thigh.
"Do you want me to..."
In answer, the other man rolled onto his back, pulling Faramir with him for another kiss. His hand was tugged and placed raggedly where it was needed most. He applied himself to the task with abandon. Torn between kisses and watching as a whole new line of expressions passed over his brother's face that he had never seen before, he settled to alternating between both. When sharp hips arched off the bed, he was caught almost entirely off guard, so entranced was he by the sight.
Curiously, he brought his wet hand to his mouth and licked tentatively. It was bitter and salty, much like his own. After careful consideration, he wiped his hand off on the blanket.
"You look pleased." He said softly.
"I am." Soft, short puffs of air shifted across his cheek. "Thank you."
They settled against each other, Faramir resting his head on one broad shoulder, making small contented noises while Boromir ran fingers through his hair.
"I love you." He told him when he was almost sure the older man was asleep. The soft rumbled of breath corrected him.
"And I you. Does your mind trouble you, now?"
A long silence as he appraised his thoughts, but he found no ugliness or despair there.
"No. I don't feel so alone." But nor am I cured of loneliness and perhaps, I never shall be, he thought without bitterness. For after all, they would go their separate ways tomorrow for months perhaps. Now, more then ever, he could see his future spreading before him, but it was not so bleak. "Except on one account, how ever do you get this bracelet off?"
"You'll figure it out, soon enough. Rest now."
They slept that night, spooned together until the first rays of the sun picked their way onto the bed. Faramir woke first, stretching until he was arched almost completely off the bed. He felt better, despite a layer of dried sweat on his skin. He scratched up the length of his body and decided his chances of getting a bath before leaving would be greater if he went back to his own room.
Gently, he shook his brother until his eyes slit open.
"Going?"
"I want to bathe and we're both to leave soon enough." He leaned down and brushed a kiss over soft lips. "Good journey."
"To you as well."
Faramir rose to go, only to find himself pulled back into a hot embrace, smothered beneath his brother's greater weight. They kissed hungrily, grinding mindlessly against each other, searching for purchase. All thoughts of warm water ran from his mind as he arched again and again against one firm thigh. By the time they had both found their completion, they were both drenched with sweat and covered in small red marks.
"Now, I must go." He insisted. Tangling his hands in damp hair, pulling down the beloved face for a last kiss before rolling away.
"Will you think of me?"
"I always do. Thought now I suspect that such thoughts will not be innocent...what word did you use? Pining?"
"I didn't mean..." Boromir rose slightly, watching him dress.
"No. It is fitting. I shall think of you and now, I can allow myself to in ways I could not before." He grinned, pulling his tunic over his head. "Your men will think you were mauled by a wild beast."
"Let them. It will put some rumors to bed for some time."
At the last, Faramir stood at the door, glancing back at his brother still naked on the bed and sighed wistfully. They would never have the time real lovers did and they would never be able to act outside of rooms like this, but he found already that he could bear it. These were memories he did not swallow, but kept to nibble at in the dark, cold hours on horseback. They would sustain him.
"Good journey." He said softly, a wry smile on his face. And then left, so he would not have to see the worry in his brother's eyes.
) *(
It isn't until the dream comes to fruition that he learned the secret of the bracelet clasp. Hip deep in freezing water, his brother's body cold before him and his first true thought was that it had been so obvious. The seemingly even pattern of water across the surface was marred only by a speck so tiny it might be dust. Ticked over with a thumbnail, the bracelet cracked open revealing the pale, scarred flesh beneath. A rush of pain, of hurt, of betrayal and a dark void of mourning threatened to consume him. He clasped it quickly closed and never opened it again.
)*(
"Father?" Elboron stood in the door, catching his father's passing shadow across the rapidly darkening room. "Read me a story?"
In an instant, the pacing ceases and he was caught up in strong arms.
"Yes, yes of course."
Faramir was always intensely glad that his children took after Eowyn, golden haired and bright eyed. He liked to see them as removed from himself, removed from the dead who weighed ever at his heart. But things returned as they had a habit of doing, looping over and over the weary tracks of his mind.
)*(
"Tell me a story?" He asked softly, huddling close to his big brother in the winter chill. He was five and his mother was gone, his father already growing distant.
"I cannot remember any." The reply was stiff and another shiver went through the younger boy's body.
"Then I'll tell you one..." He went on stubbornly. "There once was a boy, who lived in castle. A far away castle. And he was always happy and ate lots of sweetcakes. But there was a dragon. A big one. So he talked to it and gave it cakes and together they were happy."
"That's not a proper story."
The younger boy bit back a sob. It wasn't really, but all the real stories had already gone away and he was sure that if tried at it, he would capture one.
"The words aren't right." He complained. "The words have gone."
"Oh, now." The older boy sighed and pressed a tight kiss onto fair hair. "Look, I will tell you one story, but then you must go to sleep."
"All right." Already placated, he settled in.
The story was roughly told, high words already mangled with the vernacular of young boys, but it was better then having to tell them to himself, characters and story lines mixed all together. By the time the recitation had ceased, his eyelids felt heavy.
"Boromir?"
"What is it, Fari?"
"Will you always love me?"
"Yes." A deep shuddered breath and Faramir looked up to catch swift tears on his brother's face. "Always."
Startled by the suddenness of the flood, Faramir wrestled out from under the protecting arm and placed a tiny hand on his brother's face. It was the first time the elder boy had cried since the funeral. He kissed one of the tears gently.
"Shh." He said softly and hugged the older boy. "It will be all right."
"How can you say that?"
"Because I love you and you love me." He explained slowly, trying to make the words right. "And if we love each other enough then one day we can be happy again."
"It is not that easy." But already the tears have begun to dry and he was being hugged back. "But thank you."
Faramir had more left to say, pages and pages of words. But he swallowed them and lay down to sleep. In his dreams, there was a dark man watching the swift water of the Anduin and a pain so deep he was sure it was his heart splintering into dozens of pieces. When he woke, Boromir still had an arm around him and the room was filled with light snores. One of his brother's hands was clasped loosely around his wrist, binding them together. Comforted, he shifted closer and fell back to more peaceful dreams.
