SONS OF GONDOR
By Your Cruise Director and Ashinae

One

"Boromir."

Someone was speaking. It was still dark in his room, but someone was there, speaking to him.

"Boromir?"

He grunted, tugged his blankets up higher around his shoulders, and rolled onto his side.

"Boromir."

This must be a dream, he thought. No sane person would have come to his room in the middle of the night wanting to speak to him, and certainly not when it was so cold.

"Boromir!"

Why was it cold? He had three blankets to keep the chill away. Against his will, he clawed his way back to consciousness to try to solve this problem. It did not take him long to realise that he was no longer snuggled deep under his blankets. Someone had tugged them away.

"Faramir," he said, voice tight and low, "if you do not relinquish those blankets, you are going to suffer dearly for it."

"You don't really mean that."

Boromir sat up. Indeed, this was no sane person he was dealing with, but his brother. He could now make out Faramir's form, standing at the edge of the bed with a bundle in his arms. "But I do," Boromir sighed softly, and ran a hand through his hair. "I mean it from the bottom of my heart, that I am going to do something drastic if you do not let me get back to sleep."

"I --"

"Faramir, whatever it is, I am sure it will still be there in the morning." Boromir was not whining. He was many long years past whining. Faramir should have been many long years past coming to his room in the middle of the night.

As that thought crossed his mind, a low thunderclap sounded and lightning briefly illuminated the room. Boromir was able to see Faramir for an instant. He chuckled suddenly. "My dear brother," he said teasingly, "you never were able to sleep through a storm."

"And you could sleep through the very end of the world," Faramir retorted. Apparently, Boromir had struck a nerve and Faramir was not in the mood to be teased. "If it has escaped your notice, however, I overcame that fear ten years ago."

"Good. Go back to bed." Boromir reached out and took hold of the blankets he so dearly missed. He feared for a moment that Faramir was not going to let go, but the worry was unfounded, so he lay back down and closed his eyes, warm and comfortable. He knew instantly, however, that slumber would elude him, because he had never been able to sleep when Faramir was distressed. When Faramir was distressed, the only person he would turn to was Boromir.

Boromir had reason to believe this was going to be a very long night.

He sat up again and peered up at Faramir through the dark. The rain outside was getting heavier. Faramir was sighing softly, but waited patiently for Boromir to ask finally, "What is it?"

"I...I wish to speak with you," his brother replied, sitting cautiously at the foot of the bed. Pillows shifted as Boromir turned with a grunt to face him.

"Yes, I had guessed as much. Speak quickly. It has already been a very long day."

Yet Faramir did not say anything else for a time. He worried at a loose thread in one of the blankets, twirling it around his finger and trying to push it down into the weave. Watching the small gesture in the flickering light from the storm drove Boromir nearly mad with exhaustion. Growling, he caught the younger man's wrist, then glanced up in surprise.

"Your skin is like ice!"

"I am very cold," Faramir admitted. Quickly Boromir pulled back the blankets and tugged his brother beneath them. For several minutes they lay quietly side by side, as they had on stormy nights when they were children and Faramir had sought the comfort of Boromir's presence to quell his terror. Then Faramir's head turned.

"Our father wants to send me away from Minas Tirith," he said. "I have heard him plotting to keep you here, to betroth you to our cousin Lothíriel. But he wants to send me to Rohan, if Theoden will have me as consort for his niece."

By the time Faramir had finished speaking, Boromir no longer felt fatigued. He had spent most of the day in meetings with Denethor, who had not spoken a word of such plans to him, but it would not be unlike their father to withhold such information until such time as he chose to share it.

Of the many distressing implications of Faramir's report, Boromir seized first upon the matter that he could most likely control. "I am not going to marry Lothíriel. Does our father now doubt even the loyalty of Imrahil, that he would seek such an alliance?"

"Our father doubts everyone but you." Faramir's voice sounded sad, yet not bitter. "He believes that I weaken you by my very presence. He pretends that he wants to build an alliance with Rohan, but he wants only to be rid of me from this city."

Boromir scowled. "If he wants an alliance with Rohan, perhaps he can talk Lothíriel into a marriage with Eomer -- or with Théodred, if the prince is not already promised to a shield-maiden of the Rohirrim. Theoden King has long sought an alliance with Gondor. Do not worry yourself. I will not let him send you so far away."

"Can you be so certain that he will give you what you want?"

"Father has never refused me anything."

Faramir looked away and was silent. Boromir frowned up at the dark ceiling. It appeared that his brother doubted him. This gave him pause; it was rare that Faramir doubted him, and he could never be entirely certain what to do when the younger man was in such a dark mood. After a moment, he turned onto his side and propped himself up on an elbow. "Do you remember..."

"I do not wish to hear stories." Faramir's voice was pained.

His plan had obviously failed miserably, so Boromir chose a new tactic. "When we were younger, I used to tickle you into submission."

"I am no longer a child. Otherwise he would not speak of having me married off to get me out from under foot."

Another silence stretched between them. Finally Boromir asked, "What do you wish me to do? I have already promised you that I will not allow father to send you away."

Faramir said nothing. Though they could not clearly see each other's faces, Boromir resolutely reached out and gently took hold of Faramir's chin, turning his head so that they could look at each other. "Pouting is unbecoming of you."

Faramir was indignant. "I am not pouting."

Something buried deep inside made Boromir's thumb itch to brush over his brother's mouth, to give him proof that he knew better. But such a gesture was inappropriate, and he pushed the desire aside -- though he could clearly see in his mind's eye the way Faramir looked when he reminded Boromir that he was not a child. He was keenly aware of the way it irked Faramir when he was teased, but so long as Boromir was able to make light of a situation, it kept him from dwelling on the places his thoughts had been straying.

"Boromir."

He quickly pulled his attention back, realising that Faramir had been speaking as his thoughts had been wandering. "Yes?"

"Where are you?" Faramir sounded frustrated, and with good cause.

"You said..." Boromir tried to remember the younger man's exact phrase. "He believes that you weaken me by your very presence. Were those the words?"

"Those were his words, or very nearly." Faramir waited for a response, but when he received none, he continued in a low voice, "When you are here, he wants all your attention focused on the Stewardship, not spending time with your little brother. He finds me to be a distraction to you."

"A distraction!"

"I believe he said 'temptation.'"

For a moment, Boromir could not fathom how his father could utter such a thing. Then he imagined his father coming into his room now, finding the two of them huddled together under his blankets when they should have been asleep in their own bedchambers, how the mind of Denethor would interpret their closeness. Suddenly he could not lie beside his brother for another moment. Sitting up, he reached for his robe.

"Come, let us go down to the kitchen. Since I cannot sleep, I find that I am famished."

Faramir rose on his elbows to stare at him for a long moment, his eyes round and strange in the dimness. Boromir could see his lips purse in puzzlement as his hair fell around his face. Again he felt an urge to touch his brother, to brush the hair back from his eyes and run a fingertip over that troubled countenance -- then just as suddenly he was struck by the compulsion to move away.

"Come. Let us see if there is any bread left from supper." Without looking back, he rose and pulled the protective robe around himself.

While Faramir slid from the bed and wrapped one of the blankets around his shoulders, Boromir lit a candle, knowing that it would put Faramir more at ease as they wandered the halls with the storm raging outside. He glanced at his brother a few times and allowed his thoughts a few moments to linger upon the way the candlelight flickered over Faramir's features. His brother caught his gaze, looking at him sidelong, but neither said anything.

At the bottom of the stairs that led to the kitchen, Faramir bumped his shoulder against Boromir's. "You are distracted," he murmured, and gave a little smile, before he moved past to push open one of the doors. Faramir turned back to him, shooting him a quick look of annoyance. "I thought you were hungry."

It took a moment for Boromir to realise that he was still standing at the bottom of the stairs. "Oh. I am," he said, feeling colour rise to his cheeks.

"Then come find something to eat."

The kitchen was dark and silent save for the occasional boom of thunder beyond the walls. Boromir lit one of the lamps, casting a faint golden glow on the pantry in the corner and the large empty table in the centre of the room. The air smelled faintly of rising bread, stewed meat and an elusive, sweet spice, but the larder was empty and the breadbox contained only crusts, awaiting fresh loaves in the morning. The embers in the hearth did not burn brightly enough even to heat water, and Boromir did not wish to expend the energy to get a fire burning.

Faramir had gone directly to the pantry and was rummaging among bottles of oil and spice. "What are you hoping to find?" Boromir asked.

"Something sweet," his brother's muffled voice floated back to him. "Bring the light. I am afraid the cooks have thrown out the honey-cakes."

"I am sure they used the pieces to feed the hens." It was impossible to withhold a smile at the image of his little brother hunting for sweets in the kitchen in the middle of the night. Faramir had never been able to resist such things, on cold stormy nights or in the heat of summer afternoons. "Shall we sneak down to the lake to see whether there are berries growing in the bushes nearby?"

"Do not mock me, or I will send you to find them for me." The younger man turned from the dark cupboard, stepping into the light, and Boromir had a sudden vision of him as he had looked the last time they went swimming together, caught in the late summer sun, no longer his baby brother but a man coming into his strength -- despite their closeness, in some ways a stranger.

There were aspects of himself that Boromir had never dared to explain to his brother. It was not right that he should be so focused on how handsome his brother had become over the past few years, nor that he should seek out Faramir's company just so that he could watch the way his brother moved. He glanced up but was unable to hold the younger man's gaze when Faramir handed him a biscuit.

Their father was right. This handsome young man was temptation. Boromir took the snack and turned to the table. He perched on the edge, watching Faramir as he bit into his own biscuit.

"Stale," Faramir sighed.

"You could have satisfied your sweet tooth in the afternoon."

"Come, Boromir!" Faramir chuckled and joined Boromir on the table. He took the blanket and draped it over both their shoulders. "You have lost your sense of adventure."

"Adventure?"

Faramir laughed again then rested his head on Boromir's shoulder. "Raiding the kitchen used to be great adventure for us. Remember, we would always worry that we would get caught."

"We did."

"Only twice."

"And both times were your fault."

"Not the way I recall it."

"Then there must be something wrong with your memory." Boromir tilted his head to peer down at Faramir's face. His brother's eyes were closed, and the lines of his face were much more relaxed than they had been. For the first time Boromir noticed that there were dark circles under Faramir's eyes. He reached around and pulled the blanket up a little more snugly on Faramir's shoulder. "Have you not been sleeping well?" he asked softly.

Faramir shook his head. "I never sleep as soundly as I should when you are away," he admitted. "Do you sleep so well, when you are camped with the armies?"

During the last campaign, Boromir had hardly slept at all. The assaults against Gondor were more frequent and more brutal, and resentment had begun to rise against the Steward...and against his son, though none would say so in his presence. He had found his only respite when he briefly shared his tent with a dark-haired young soldier from Osgiliath, but he could not say so to Faramir.

"Let me take you back to your room," he entreated, but his brother only pressed closer, tugging the blanket tighter. "You will be warmer, and more comfortable."

"Will you stay with me?"

It had been so simple to agree, when they were children. But it was impossible to pretend that that low, throaty voice in his ear was that of a child. "Faramir, I am tired too. I would like to go to my own room and sleep without anyone coming in to steal my blankets."

"Then I would rather stay here," Faramir sighed, wrapping an arm around Boromir under the blanket.

Against his better judgement, or perhaps just to spite it, Boromir let his own arm steal down around Faramir's back. This caused his brother to make a sound rather akin to that of a cat purring, and Boromir let his madness get the better of him as he kissed the top of Faramir's head. Faramir must have washed his hair that day, as it smelled sweet. Boromir sighed. "You are impossible," he said.

"I know, but you let me." There was a smile in Faramir's voice. "You have spoiled me terribly."

"I know," Boromir replied, with a note of sadness in his voice that he knew Faramir would not believe for even an instant. "But...you let me."

"Of course I do." Faramir muffled a yawn against Boromir's shoulder. "How am I to resist the charm of my own brother?"

Boromir all but leapt from the table. "Come, Faramir," he said, more harshly than he would have liked, "I am taking you to bed. You are exhausted and need sleep."

"Why are you so eager to be rid of me?" Faramir's eyes were wide, his expression injured.

Instantly Boromir regretted his words and tone. "Faramir, I --" He paused, and watched Faramir for a moment. His brother merely stared back, continuing to look miserable, sitting with the blanket hanging off his slumped shoulders.

Boromir sighed and cursed his weakness. "I am not trying to be rid of you." He approached Faramir again, standing before his brother, but not daring to touch what he desired most. "I only worry." His hand lifted and brushed the hair from Faramir's face, but despite his longing, he did not touch the softness of skin nor did his eyes look anywhere but into Faramir's eyes.

Frowning, his frustration once more visibly bubbling to the surface, Faramir reached up and took hold of Boromir's wrist. He did not notice that Boromir held his breath, did not see how the other hand clenched at Boromir's side. "My dear brother," Faramir said softly, "you are not my keeper. There is no reason for you to concern yourself. You do not have to shoo me off to bed." The corners of Faramir's mouth quirked into a smile. "And even if you did, I would not run along like a good little boy."

"Someone should give you a spanking," Boromir growled, attempting to return the easy humour, wishing that his heart would not hammer so. He felt the pulse in his wrist surge against Faramir's grip and thought that surely his brother would notice, but Faramir only laughed and leaped off the table.

"I have found your wits at last," said the younger man. With a wicked grin, he dragged the blanket above his head and threw it over Boromir's, covering them both. "You see, I am no longer afraid of the dark!" And he began to tickle his defenceless brother, who could not find Faramir's hands to hold them still.

"Stop," choked Boromir breathlessly as Faramir attacked his sides, making him writhe and dance in place. He was afraid of those fingers, of where they might wander, and could think of only one way to defend himself: he began to tickle Faramir back. His hands remembered from childhood all the spots that made his brother collapse in giggles, all the sensitive places that would make him cry out. Soon the blanket had slipped to the floor, but Boromir and Faramir had not stopped their assault on one another.

"Enough, enough!" Faramir cried at last, climbing back onto the table to escape. Boromir scooped up the blanket from the floor and tossed it over his brother, blinding him, then continued to tickle him, laughing wickedly at Faramir's protests. Suddenly a hand reached out and grasped the front of his robe, pulling him forward. Faramir sat up, wrapping his legs around Boromir's back to trap him against the table. His free hand came to rest flat against Boromir's chest. "Peace!"

It took several moments for Boromir to catch his breath, for his heart was pounding from the laughter and the chase. By the time he had gulped enough air to regain control over his breathing, he realised that his brother's face was much too close, smiling warmly inches from his own. Faramir's hand crept up his collarbone to rest against his shoulder. Boromir started to struggle, but strong thighs held him tight against the edge of the table and against Faramir's upper body.

"You cannot escape so easily," Faramir intoned, and leaned forward to kiss Boromir as he stood helpless before him. When Boromir only stood as he had been, Faramir eased his grip on the robe and lifted his hand to run his fingers through Boromir's hair. "Boromir," he whispered, "kiss me." His lips moved against Boromir's once more, but still Boromir did not respond. "Please," he entreated, "please kiss me."

A shudder ran through Boromir's body as he lifted his hands to frame the younger man's face. He caught Faramir's lower lip between his teeth, and shuddered again at the tiny moan this caused. He gasped his brother's name, taking his mouth in a kiss that was more tender than he wanted, that held back from the desperate need welling inside him. His hands dropped to Faramir's shoulders, applying gentle pressure until Faramir yielded, allowing himself to be pushed back onto the table.

His heart renewing its frantic pace, Boromir followed his brother down, knelt over him, and noticed for the first time how Faramir's eyes were filled with adoration. He spoke Faramir's name again, reverentially, hardly daring to believe this was not a dream as he bent his head to taste the lips that had tempted him for so long. This mouth was sweeter than any other he had tasted, sweeter than he had the words to describe. The world could fall into oblivion, burn up in flames, but Boromir would not care -- his beloved Faramir lay beneath him, his mouth eager for more kisses, his body arching up as Boromir's hand began to seek for soft flesh.

"Let me touch you," said Faramir breathlessly. His fingers were making short work of Boromir's robe. "I have dreamt of the heat of your skin."

"You move too quickly, Faramir." Boromir caught his brother's hands and held them still.

Faramir laughed. "Too quickly? I have waited too long! Please, take off your robe."

"And love you here?"

"Yes!" Faramir pulled his hands free and twined his arms around Boromir's neck. "Anywhere, as long as I can have you. Mere moments ago, you seemed eager enough to have me on my back on this table."

Boromir moaned softly, a sound of both frustration and desire, and ducked his head to nuzzle at Faramir's throat. "I was not thinking clearly."

As Faramir's head tipped back, his arms slipped down Boromir's back to grasp his hips. The low, throaty voice that Boromir found so difficult to resist dripped honey when Faramir spoke again. "Love me now. You have never denied me anything -- I see no reason for you to start tonight."

"I can think of many reasons." Hands balling into fists, Boromir pushed himself up on his elbows, avoiding Faramir's eyes. He imagined instead the fury on the face of Denethor were he to find his sons so entwined. "Do you know what our father would do to us if we were discovered? What he would do to you?"

Faramir's arms sagged against Boromir's sides, but his voice was defiant. "He will send me away whether we are discovered or not."

"If we are discovered, he will not send you away. He will kill you. He would consider that fitting punishment for both of us." The fever that had been surging through Boromir's veins turned to panic, and he used that surge of fear to push away from his brother, tugging his robe tightly around himself. "Come. We cannot stay here."

Faramir sat up slowly, bringing the blanket with him. He slid from the table with his eyes fixed on Boromir and bright colour on his cheekbones that might have been from passion or from shame. "Will you let me come to your room?" He held his chin high, but his voice quavered.

Afraid that his brother would refuse to leave the kitchen if he did not agree, Boromir nodded once. He did not look at Faramir as the younger man folded the blanket over his arm, holding it carefully in front of him. Boromir's arousal had faded when he thought of the likely consequences of their moment of indiscretion, but he held the candle high, hoping his form could not be seen in the dark hallways as they crept in silence back to his room.

Boromir's thoughts raced, outpacing his measured steps, making his hands tremble with conflicting joy and despair. His precious brother shared his forbidden desire, so much so that he had admitted it to Boromir, who would have kept his feelings hidden forever rather than risk losing the one person whose absence he could never bear. Faramir was right that Boromir could deny him nothing; if he wished it, Boromir would take him to bed and give him all the love that threatened to overrun his reason.

But what would be the cost? Even if he were able to stall his father's plans to wed his sons to courtly women, he would have to take a wife if he hoped to become Steward. And Faramir would be expected to marry as well. The idea distressed Boromir, just as it had earlier when Faramir had revealed Denethor's scheme. What jealousy and suffering might their bond cause them later? He wondered whether Faramir had ever been with a woman, then considered that perhaps his brother had been with other men. Faramir had not kissed him like a youth unfamiliar with his own desires.

Halting in front of his door, Boromir turned and lowered the candle to meet his brother's burning gaze. This was not the timid boy he had expected to come to him during a thunderstorm, but a man of abundant strength and passion, who did not wait for Boromir to invite him inside but placed his own hand on the latch. "Here we are," Faramir murmured in a voice filled with husky promise, and pushed open the door.

"Faramir..."

With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, Faramir took Boromir by the elbow, tugged him into the room and firmly closed the door behind them. He took the candle from Boromir and used it to light another candle that sat on the small table near the bed before setting it down. After turning the blanket back, he went to Boromir, reaching for his hand.

Boromir slowly shook his head. "We should not do this."

"Come to bed."

That voice would haunt his dreams, if he managed to sleep at all. "Please, Faramir. Listen to me. If we go any further, we cannot turn back."

"Do you think that has escaped me? I have spent many long nights alone in my bed, thinking of you, and the unspeakable things I would do with you, if only I could." Faramir turned away, staring down at Boromir's bed. "And I know full well that once we have been together, everything will change. We will live our passion in secret, fearful of discovery, dreading the day when you must take a wife for the good of Gondor. Even now, the jealousy eats away at me." Faramir gave a short, bitter laugh. "How ridiculous is that? I do not know who this woman will be, and already I despise her."

Boromir squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then pressed against Faramir's back, wrapping his arms around his brother. He said, "No matter what may come to pass, no one will be as dear to me as you are."

"Words are not always enough to silence my fears."

"That is just one more reason for you to go back to your room."

"I will not. I cannot survive a lifetime knowing that I almost had you. Remembering only the brief moments we have shared so far tonight would drive me mad with longing."

So far. So far tonight, Boromir had nearly lost his mind. He knew he should send Faramir away, force them both to think about what all this meant, but he could not form words. Perhaps, he thought, his mind was indeed gone already, because all he could do was brush Faramir's hair aside and press a little kiss to the side of his neck. Faramir began to turn, but he was held still.

Madness, indeed -- Boromir was lost. "Tell me what you long for," he managed to say, his voice no more than a whisper into Faramir's ear.

"You. Your touch." Faramir was breathless, and he shifted restlessly in Boromir's embrace. Boromir smiled against his neck.

"I touch you now. Is that not enough?"

"You will drive me mad if you continue to torment me so."

Boromir clucked his tongue as his hands worked loose the sash at Faramir's waist and pushed the robe open. "I would see one of us retain some of his sanity," he murmured, "so I shall not torment you." The very tip of his tongue trailed along Faramir's neck. "Much."

Gasping softly, Faramir moved to pull off his robe completely, but his hands were taken in a firm grasp. "Be still," Boromir commanded. He placed the younger man's arms down by his sides, then let his own hands slip into the open robe, stroking Faramir's sides almost lazily. "What else do you long for?"

"This." Faramir, it seemed, had had enough of talk. He spun, locked both hands behind Boromir's neck and tugged none too gently, kissing him without the restraint he had shown earlier in the kitchen. The movement propelled them both toward the bed, making Boromir wonder when Faramir had grown so strong. He realised with a guilty jolt that he sometimes saw his brother as their father did, when Faramir was not at all weak. He might not match Boromir's skill with a blade -- there were few in all of Gondor who could, not even Denethor in his prime -- but the muscles in Faramir's chest and belly were solid and powerful, and his arms kept Boromir clutched firmly to him as he pushed him onto the blankets.

Down Boromir went, his robe falling open as they tumbled together, feverish from the press of hot skin. Indeed, he realised, his brother was no virgin; his fingers were far too skilled, his control too secure. This awareness awoke an unexpected envy. "Who," he growled, "was it that taught you this?"

"It does not matter. There has never been anyone in my heart but you." Faramir pulled back suddenly, and from his stricken look, Boromir could see that he was afraid he had upset him. "Are you angry with me?"

"Of course not." Though resentment still nagged at Boromir, he also felt relief that his brother understood exactly what he was offering. "I would not have you bound to my desires..."

"But that is what I want!" Faramir interrupted. "You are always afraid of corrupting me. For so long I did not dare tell you what I wanted -- I thought that even if you shared my feelings, you would feel honour-bound to push me away. Then I learned of our father's plans and I grew selfish." His brother pulled Boromir into a kiss, not practised but desperate, and their hands and mouths quickly began to stray. "Please. Love me. Make me yours."

Boromir had no more words, no strength to resist even if he willed it, which he could not. He pushed Faramir's robe from his shoulders and slid against him, the chill of the night forgotten. Faramir cried out and trembled, close to surrender, and Boromir knew that he had spoken truly: no matter whom he had been with, he had kept his heart for his brother.

Two

A crash startled Faramir to awareness. His eyes took in the violet light outside the high windows and knew that dawn approached, though the pile of snow at the base of the sill told him that the morning would arrive dim and grey. The crash had not come from thunder, then, for during the night the rainstorm had turned into a blizzard.

He sat, pulling a blanket over himself, and looked around. His brother was still fast asleep, buried in a mound of coverlets and pillows, with his golden hair covering the remaining bit of his face. Faramir felt a great swell of love overtake him at the same moment he heard another bang, not from the direction of the window but the door.

"Boromir," he whispered urgently, shaking his brother's shoulder beneath the quilt that covered it. "Boromir, wake up."

The older man's eyes flew open. "What..."

"Someone is at the door. You are lying on top of your robe -- move to the side, and I will put it on."

Boromir stared at Faramir as if he didn't recognise his brother for a moment. Then he sat very suddenly, sorting through the piles of cloth around and beneath him. Rising from the bed, Faramir pulled on Boromir's robe and brushed his hands through his unruly hair as he gestured to Boromir, indicating the door.

"What is it?" Boromir called in a voice still thick with sleep.

"Your father would speak with you, m'lord," came the reply. "I have brought your breakfast."

"Tell my father that I am meeting with my brother," Boromir snapped. "Leave the tray outside. And please bring his as well."

"Yes, m'lord."

Boromir swung his feet around to the floor, rubbing a hand over his face as though it might help him wake up. He stifled a yawn and wandered over to a chair near the window to retrieve a pair of breeches to wear.

"You will eat with me."

Faramir smiled. "I would have it no other way."

"Good...I am sorry. I did not ask if you wanted to stay."

"I was not about to bolt out the door, if that is what you were thinking." Faramir leaned over the bed, straightening the blankets, and then bent to retrieve a pillow that he recalled knocking off the bed when... He smiled and put the pillow down, glancing up as he heard Boromir opening the curtains. He paused for a moment to watch the way Boromir moved, to remember the way his brother's skin had felt under his hands, to remember the way Boromir's body had felt against his own. He caught his lower lip between his teeth and came up behind Boromir, wrapped his arms around his waist and rested his chin on his shoulder.

"The last time you returned home," Faramir murmured, "you brought the sun with you." He kissed the side of Boromir's neck.

"Would you like me to leave, and take the weather with me?"

"I would not ask you to leave again for the world."

As Faramir's teeth began to nibble at Boromir's earlobe, there was another short knock on the door. The same voice from earlier announced that Faramir's breakfast was waiting alongside Boromir's, and Boromir barked out, "Thank you!" He disengaged himself from Faramir's embrace and went to retrieve their breakfast trays. Faramir sighed softly and made his way back to the bed, where he stretched out on his side and propped himself up on one elbow. He waited patiently as Boromir nudged the door shut with his toe and then turned around.

They silently looked at each other for a moment.

"Are you not going to join me?" Faramir asked innocently.

The sigh Boromir heaved sounded entirely too melodramatic to Faramir, but he did not comment on it, because Boromir did place the trays between them on the bed and sat with him. Though Boromir did issue the warning, "If you get crumbs in my bed, I will make you regret it."

Faramir arched an eyebrow as he plucked a sausage from Boromir's plate. "Will you tickle me again?"

Boromir did not meet Faramir's gaze as he, in turn, took a piece of bread from the younger man's tray. "Perhaps I will."

As Boromir was about to take a bite, Faramir lifted a hand and wrapped his fingers around Boromir's wrist. "Or perhaps," he said softly, "you could kiss me until I can no longer remember my own name. You enjoyed that, did you not?"

"I would hardly call it a suitable punishment, Faramir. You enjoyed yourself as well, if I remember correctly." Boromir finally lifted his eyes and met Faramir's gaze. Faramir's lips curled into a smile once more, and he was quite sure he saw Boromir shiver, though he could not be entirely certain if this was because Boromir was cold, or if it was a reaction to his expression.

"At the time, I thought I would die. You would offer me no relief for my torment."

Boromir shook his head. "You should not speak like this, when we are offered no sanctuary as the city sleeps." Disengaging his arm from Faramir's, he bit into the bread. "At least this is fresh," he added gruffly. "If there had been bread in the kitchen last night, I might have been spared your biscuits."

Faramir studied his brother's face. "Are you sorry?" he asked.

"No." Green eyes lifted from the plate to meet his, then dropped again. "And yes. I have put you in terrible danger. I did not jest when I said our father would kill you." Boromir's cup clattered when he lifted it, and Faramir realised that his hands were shaking. "What happened last night in the kitchen must never happen again. Anyone could betray us -- a servant, a friend. No one can ever know. Do you understand?"

"I have always understood." Faramir placed a hand beneath his brother's on the saucer of his cup, steadying it. "I was rash last night because I thought it the only way to make you see how much I wanted this. But I will do nothing foolish. I promise you."

Boromir was still trembling. Quickly putting the cup to the side, Faramir crawled around their trays to sit beside him, wrapping an arm around Boromir's shoulders. "No one will ever know," he added. "The servants are used to finding me here at odd hours. Even now, they are probably gossiping about the dreams that haunt me. Tell Father that that is why I came here. Tell him I have had an ill dream of the fate of Rohan. He might even believe you."

"And what will they believe when they come to change the blankets? What will they say if they discover that no one has slept in your bed, while mine looks as though..."

As Boromir spoke, Faramir lifted his cup from the tray and tugged back the coverlet, revealing the stained blanket beneath. He tilted the cup, spilling hot liquid over the spot on the cloth until it was covered. Boromir made a faint noise of protest that faded before the tea had seeped into the cloth. "That may hide us this morning," he continued in a resigned voice. "But not tomorrow and the day after that."

Faramir knew that he should share his brother's fear, rather than the joy that surged through him at the thought of spending another night in his bed. His greatest terror had not been of discovery but of Boromir's rejection in the light of morning. Yet although Boromir sounded unhappy, he did not seem regretful, and he did not move away from Faramir's touch as the younger man pressed closer, kissing his brow.

"We must make certain that we are never discovered," he agreed. "I will make whatever sacrifices I must. Except for you. I will not give you up for my life."

"Listen to me." Boromir turned suddenly, disengaging Faramir's arm from around him. "If it should come to that -- if your life should be in danger -- you must promise me that you will disavow this. I will not risk your life."

"It is mine to risk."

"Promise me!" Boromir's voice rumbled with anger and his eyes darkened. "Or this ends now. It is not only your life to risk. The fate of all Gondor lies with the Stewardship." His face tightened with pain and his tone softened. "Do not break my heart, Faramir. Too many others depend on us."

Faramir brushed a light kiss across his jaw. "I wish I knew what to do to make you more at ease." He nuzzled Boromir's neck, and in response, Boromir sighed again, though this was a distinctly different sound than before. His hand came up to rest on the back of Faramir's head.

"I think I know you well enough to realise when you are plotting."

With a cluck of his tongue, Faramir let his hand slide across Boromir's chest. "'Plotting' seems like such an ugly word in this situation." The tip of his tongue trailed up Boromir's neck and he felt a shiver run through his brother's body. "Are you cold again?" he whispered.

"If I said yes...?"

"Then I would find ways to warm you." With a smile, Faramir moved to straddle Boromir's lap, his mouth descending upon Boromir's as he pressed as close as he could.

"And if I am, indeed, warm enough?" Once more Faramir purred, working a hand between their bodies to loosen the sash at his waist, but he made no other response. Boromir caught his wrist and he looked up to meet his brother's gaze. His voice rough, Boromir asked, "Would you have me burn?"

"Do you not already?" This reply caused Boromir to growl softly, and Faramir in turn gave a soft chuckle. "If you did not already burn for me, I would ensure that you did. I would see to it that you ached for my presence." His free hand brushed the hair from Boromir's face before he kissed him tenderly. "That you ached for my touch and for my love." He pressed his cheek against Boromir's, whispering, "Can you say you do not long for these things?"

"I cannot say that," Boromir admitted. "But I will say that I fear we will make an awful mess if you continue down this path at this time."

Faramir looked at him in confusion, pulling his hand free.

"Breakfast," Boromir reminded him.

"Then I will move it."

He was unable to get far, as Boromir grasped his hips. "What if I am hungry?"

"I think you delight in trying my patience to its limits," Faramir said accusingly, but he nonetheless reached around and tore a piece of bread, which he presented to Boromir's mouth.

"I simply do not wish to be distracted from what I desire most," Boromir replied. His tongue tasted Faramir's fingers as he took the bread from him.

It was Faramir's turn to shiver. "If only I could believe that. Your eyes tell me that you enjoy making me wait."

Very slowly, it seemed to Faramir, his brother chewed and swallowed, licking his lips afterwards. "I am afraid that we must grow accustomed to it. My time is not my own while I am in Minas Tirith. We cannot afford to keep the Steward waiting."

"Then stop these delays!" Again Faramir claimed Boromir's mouth, this time feeling his brother laugh silently against him. The kiss was deep and sweet, as one of Boromir's hands tangled in his hair while the other finished tugging open his robe. Yet Boromir's initial ardour faded, and though he continued to move with Faramir, it was evident that he was distracted.

"I am sorry," he murmured presently. "I cannot do this now."

Hiding his disappointment, Faramir smiled gently. "Perhaps I kept you awake too much of the night."

A scowl darkened Boromir's features, and Faramir was amused to see that his brother had taken his words as an affront to his fortitude. "There are servants prowling the corridors, and our father is waiting for me. We have risked enough this morning." Lifting his hand, he stroked Faramir's face gently with his fingertips. "Tonight, when all is quiet, then I may long for you to come to me."

Reaching out to mirror the gesture, Faramir studied his brother's furrowed brow and knew that he had given him another burden to carry. He had known that fear would be a cost of their pleasure, but he had not stopped to think about how much more of the suffering would fall upon Boromir, who fell under scrutiny far greater than his own. "I will come tonight," he promised. "But will I not see you earlier? Will you not ride after Father gives you leave, or practice your fencing?"

Boromir gazed at Faramir's face for a long moment, then sighed again. "If I can, I will meet you at the stables in the afternoon. In the meantime there is something that you must do."

"What is that?"

With sudden lashes of his arms, Boromir overturned first one breakfast tray, then the other, spilling eggs and fruit across the bed and splashing what remained of the tea over the pillows. "You will wash everything," he commanded Faramir. "You will tell the maids that the mess was the result of your folly, and I insisted that you clean it yourself. When you come tonight, you will bring a blanket from your own bed, and you will make certain that it is replaced before morning." He paused for a moment as Faramir cocked an eyebrow. "I fear that am giving you orders much as Father does."

"I had noticed," replied Faramir gravely, trying not to smile, for Boromir had said "when," not "if."

Lifting a handful of soggy bread, Boromir appeared to consider his response. "As I recall, it was you who directed me to kiss you. So it is your own fault."

At that, Faramir could not hold back his smile. "Then I accept my punishment...if you will kiss me again."

The morning and early afternoon passed slowly. Faramir washed the dirty bedclothes, a blush colouring his cheeks, as he could not stop himself from thinking of Boromir. A few young maids watched him, giggling and talking quietly between themselves. This caused Faramir to blush more deeply. The logical part of him knew they giggled because, as Boromir had taken great care to make him aware, Faramir was an attractive young man, but above that, he was one of the Steward's sons, elbow-deep in a wash basin, scrubbing at linens.

His hair fell in his face, and he tried to brush it away with his shoulder. There was another part of him, a part that was far less logical and perhaps a bit over-wary, that wondered if the girls could tell that he was hiding a secret, and if they could tell from his blushing what this secret was. But this was ridiculous, unless they had been peering through the keyhole. Considering the number of women who admired Boromir from afar, it was probably not far into the realm of the utterly ridiculous.

Thinking about the admiration his brother received caused a small knot of jealousy to form inside him. Boromir had warned him about this, had tried to convince him to walk away because of this, but Faramir had meant it when he said he was not willing to let go of what they shared, now that he knew they shared it.

He paused in his scrubbing and lifted an arm that dripped water and suds. He tried to brush his hair back from his face with his forearm, and sighed as he only succeeded in getting water on his face, and more water on his clothing. The maids started to laugh louder, and he was quite convinced at this point that they were indeed laughing at him. One girl with long dark hair took pity on him, and brought him a towel. He thanked her, gratefully, with a smile, and dried himself off a little before he decided that Boromir would have to learn to live with the fact that there were tea stains on his sheets. He tossed everything into a basket and went to hang the linens to dry.

Feeling far more elated than he should have after spending the better part of the day so far doing laundry, Faramir returned to his room to change into his riding clothes. He paused in front of his mirror before he pulled on his tunic, stepping up close so that he could see his skin more clearly, checking for marks Boromir had left behind. His brother had been very careful not to mark Faramir's neck, but his chest and shoulders bore evidence of their lovemaking. He touched his fingertips briefly to the small bruises before he pulled his tunic over his head.

After dressing to ride in cold weather, Faramir went out toward the stables. Several of the stable hands were outside, pitching hay and shivering. "You all would appear to be freezing," he called out to them as he approached, unsurprised when they shrugged and nodded. "Go, spend the afternoon indoors. My brother and I will be riding until evening; we can tend to our own mounts." With grateful smiles, the men quickly raced toward their lodgings, laughing about their luck when they thought Faramir could no longer hear them.

As he wandered slowly inside, he could hear Boromir's voice. He paused when he could see his brother, who had his back to him. Boromir was stroking a mare's nose, sneaking her a treat with his free hand while the stable hands were not around to plead with him not to do so.

"It drives them mad when you feed the horses," Faramir commented lightly as he moved to Boromir's side.

"I know." Boromir cast a sidelong glance at Faramir, smiling a little. "But I have never been able to resist this face."

"Did she bat her eyelashes prettily at you?"

"Of course she did. She is a terrible flirt."

Faramir glanced over his shoulder, to be sure there were no prying eyes, and then lifted a hand to brush Boromir's hair from his face. It pleased him beyond words when Boromir did not pull away from his touch. "You seem to have a weakness for flirting."

"But she cannot make me the promises you did last night." Boromir looked away, and his voice dropped and turned serious. "Only you make promises that I long to see fulfilled."

"To see? Or do you mean, to feel?" Faramir moved a little closer, and he could both see and feel Boromir's shiver. He leaned forwards, whispering into Boromir's ear, "Are you cold again?"

"You play a dangerous game," Boromir said, a note of warning in his voice.

"I am not playing."

Again, Boromir shivered. He pulled away this time, and Faramir rested his weight against a pillar dividing two stalls, watching as Boromir became fixated with a spot on a nearby saddle, but the older man did not speak. Finally Faramir said, "I have been thinking." He approached Boromir slowly. "It is very cold. Perhaps we should not take the horses out in such weather."

Boromir peered up at him, his eyebrows raised. "Oh? This morning you were very eager to go out riding."

"I seem to have lost my interest." Slowly, Faramir removed his cloak and placed it over the wooden gate dividing two empty stalls, feeling Boromir's eyes following his movements. "After all, it is warm in here. And I have sent the grooms away." Off came his heavy woollen coat, his leather vest, his velvet tunic.

"Faramir." The warning in his brother's voice turned to alarm. "We cannot."

"Can we not?" Stepping around Boromir, Faramir bolted the stable from the inside, using the heavy latch designed to protect hands and horses from unexpectedly violent weather. "The servants have gone. They are happy to have an afternoon away from chores. Father and the servants will not expect us until this evening." He turned, backing into an empty stall filled with fresh, fragrant hay. "We are quite alone," he murmured, dropping his belt into the straw.

"You planned this," growled Boromir.

The sweetest of smiles crossed Faramir's face. "Of course I did," he said. "How am I to resist the opportunity to have you to myself while you are here? I am not immune to temptation, Boromir, and the thought of having you again tempts me beyond reason."

"It would appear so. Why else would you have done this?" Though Boromir's tone was hard, he moved towards Faramir. His arms slipped around his brother's waist. "You do not have to seduce me," he whispered, his lips brushing over Faramir's cheek.

"Perhaps not," Faramir admitted as he removed Boromir's cloak, "but I thought that we could enjoy some privacy." He brushed a strand of hair from Boromir's forehead. "I can think of nothing but you."

"You have me."

"Yes, it would appear that I do..." As Faramir began to tug at the rest of Boromir's clothing, Boromir took the opportunity to claim his mouth. He led Boromir back toward the stall, and they sank down together onto the hay. Much of the urgency that had driven them the previous night had fled, and their kisses were tender, their caresses unhurried. Faramir sighed when Boromir's lips lingered on his neck, and his fingers tangled in his brother's hair, and he pulled his head up so that he could kiss him again.

But Boromir froze. "Did you hear that?"

"It must have been the wind... Boromir, kiss me."

"Faramir, hush!"

They paused, and listened. And Boromir was on his feet in an instant. "Get the door! I need to get my belt buckled."

"Forget about your belt! Where did I throw my tunic?"

"It is right there!" Boromir pointed, and Faramir scrambled to retrieve the garment.

"How did it get there... And my vest? My coat?" Quickly, Faramir gathered up his clothing and dressed himself. He glanced up at Boromir. "You look disshevelled," he commented.

"Pass me that brush."

Faramir did as he was told, with a smile quirking his lips. "You have hay in your hair." He reached out and plucked it away.

"There is hay on the brush too. And horse hair."

"Yes, a remarkable thing indeed, since it is used for grooming the horses."

Boromir chose not to say anything about the hint of sarcasm in Faramir's voice as he cleaned the brush with his fingers, then ran it through his hair. "Is that better?"

"Much," Faramir assured him. "And how do I look?"

"Your breeches are twisted..."

"You were trying to pull them off while my boots were still on," Faramir said, as he straightened his clothing.

"I will get the door," Boromir said, then thought for a moment. "Perhaps you had better pretend that you were brushing the horse..." He began to make his way to the door.

Faramir cleared his throat lightly. "Perhaps you should give me the brush."

With a sigh, Boromir tossed the brush to him. "Here!" The banging on the door had not subsided.

"Thank you. You are most helpful."

"Stay here. I will unlock the door."

Faramir could not help but grin. "Yes, Captain," he said with false meekness. "Whatever you think is best."

Boromir rolled his eyes, then gestured to the door. Whoever was outside was very persistent. "Would you rather...?"

"I do not think so."

"Very well then."

Straightening his shoulders, Boromir marched to the door. It was flung open, and Faramir let out the breath he had not realised he was holding -- he had been worried that perhaps their father had been on the other side. Instead, there was a cold, flustered-looking servant.

"I was told that the Lord Faramir had been seen coming this way," he said.

Boromir nodded. "He is here."

"Good. I had hoped to find you here as well. Your father requires your presence, m'lord."

Three

No sooner had Faramir stepped into his brother's room than Boromir pressed him against the door. "You are a terrible tease," he whispered heatedly into Faramir's ear.

"I have no idea what--"

"Naughty, Faramir." Suddenly the younger man grinned, hearing the teasing note that had entered Boromir's voice. "If you do not stop torturing me, I will...do something extreme."

"I'm not torturing you," protested Faramir airily, breaking free from Boromir's embrace and sauntering nonchalantly toward the bed. "I was not the one who was called away to an emergency meeting."

Boromir spluttered, following him across the room. "That was not my fault! Do you really think I would arrange for anyone to find us half-naked in the stables?"

"We managed to get dressed."

"Barely."

"Oh, Boromir!" Faramir flung out his arms as he dropped backward onto the neat blankets. "Do not look so serious!"

Boromir sighed, softening his stern countenance, yet he did not smile as he sat on the edge of the bed beside Faramir's comfortably splayed limbs. "I am worried. I do not believe you are being serious enough. If we are found, the consequences could be..."

"Deadly?" Faramir rose on his elbows, his expression level and calm. "I know. I just wish to enjoy what time we have together."

"I have not denied you," protested Boromir. "Except in the kitchen, which was foolhardy." He felt torn, for he knew that he had already made that point several times, yet he could not evade the feeling that Faramir did not take his warnings seriously enough. The fear of discovery had made it difficult for Boromir to concentrate during his meeting with Denethor and his advisors, and he dreaded the possibility that any of them might notice any change in his behaviour, or in Faramir's.

As if to confirm Boromir's suspicions, his brother did not nod in sympathy with his concerns but grinned wickedly, relaxing onto the blankets. "What will you do...spank me for being naughty?"

Obviously there was little point in trying to have a serious conversation with Faramir in such a mood. And Boromir could not resist the bright smile beaming up at him, filled with trust and ease in his company. They were alone at last in his private rooms; the Steward and his council had no more need of the captain of Gondor's armies in their consultations. Boromir lunged, catching Faramir's hands when the younger man reflexively raised them to defend himself, pinning his brother down on his bed.

"I think you might enjoy that far too much," he murmured in Faramir's ear before taking his mouth in a slow, hungry kiss.

Faramir returned his kiss with equal hunger, sucking eagerly upon Boromir's tongue as it slipped into his mouth. But he would not hold still; he tried to pull his hands free, arched slightly beneath Boromir to press their hips together. Reluctantly, Boromir released Faramir's wrists, but the kisses did not stop. For a few delicious, hazy moments, Boromir could imagine losing himself like this.

When next he surfaced for air, he looked down at Faramir. His cheeks were flushed, his lips already beginning to look swollen, and Boromir swallowed hard. His eyes lingered for some time on Faramir's face, until Faramir began squirming in earnest. Boromir sat up quickly and straddled Faramir's hips -- much to his brother's delight, he noticed -- and pulled off his tunic. He tossed it over the edge of the bed and a slow smile spread across Faramir's face.

"You are perfect," he murmured. He reached up and ran his hands over Boromir's chest. Boromir shivered, despite how warm he suddenly felt. He leaned down to kiss Faramir again, to swallow up whatever words were to follow. He could not stop his hands from working between their bodies, nor could he control his mounting need to feel Faramir's flesh against his own. The various fastenings proved awkward as his own chest trapped his hands between them, and Faramir simply would not hold still.

"Faramir!" he gasped, and pulled away. There was a smile on his face, and he reached out to stroke Faramir's warm cheek. "Where is your patience tonight?"

"I believe it went the way of your tunic," Faramir admitted, pointing somewhere over his head.

"Then perhaps I had best rectify that," Boromir murmured, and, after brushing a final kiss to Faramir's lips, he slid from the bed. He made short work of the rest of their clothing, bits of which he dropped or tossed around his bed. Then Faramir sat up, reached for his hands, and pulled him back onto the bed.

"I love you," he whispered, and claimed Boromir's mouth with his own once more.

Boromir moved to Faramir's side, and Faramir made a soft sound of protest at the loss. Boromir hushed him, with a gentle finger on his lips, and then let his hand slide down. His fingertips traced over Faramir's neck, and over his chest. Faramir arched into the touch, silently begging for more.

"Do you touch other lovers the way you touch me?" he whispered.

"I do not know how I have touched anyone else; I do not think it was like this," replied Boromir, his thoughts so filled with Faramir that he could not remember the touch of any other. But the question made him curious about the secret life of the brother he had thought he knew so well. Sliding a hand up Faramir's arm until he shivered, Boromir asked, "How did you touch your other lovers?"

"I touch them the way I would like to be touched, hoping they will, perhaps, follow my lead," said Faramir thoughtfully, leaning in to Boromir's fingers which now trailed across his chest, tracing patterns on his collarbone. "It seems I do not have to guide you at all, which is rather refreshing."

Boromir leaned forward, letting the tip of his tongue follow the path his fingers had taken, which earned him a moan and Faramir's hands moving to his head. Yet something nagged at him about Faramir's response nonetheless. "You speak of other lovers in the present tense. How long ago?"

"The last time I was with someone was...four weeks ago, perhaps." His brother spoke in a dreamy voice clouded with pleasure. Yet his words were like a sharp blade intruding on Boromir's mood. He lifted his head to stare at Faramir.

"Less than a month ago!"

Faramir blinked in surprise. "You were away."

The response did not make sense to Boromir. Yes, he had been away, but his brother apparently had had a lover here in the city, for Faramir had not ventured beyond its borders for several months. A lover perhaps even within the walls of their home, who could follow Faramir's movements. A lover who might have cause to use such information against the Steward's son, for personal gain or out of vengefulness. Boromir had never touched a man within the city's walls where he could be discovered by any of his father's councillors. He had indulged in brief couplings only far away, near the borders where none would ever gossip about the son of the Steward to those who might use such tales against his family.

The sense of danger hovered like the pain of a reopened wound. "Is he still here? Someplace where you might be seen with me?" Faramir made a faint noise of protest as Boromir pulled apart from him to sit up, but he did not deny Boromir's concerns. "He will notice you more closely than others do. This is not safe, Faramir..."

"I have been very discreet in all of my affairs. He will not notice anything different between us. This young man had no idea I even looked at other men for more than friendship."

"In all of your affairs?" Boromir stared at his brother, whose innocence he had never questioned until the day before. How many men in Minas Tirith now knew of his desires? Had rumours reached the Steward's ears? Suddenly it seemed clear to Boromir why his father might have spoken of sending Faramir off to be married in Rohan. "Do not delude yourself. Your...your lover knows that you are attracted to men. Surely he can recognise when you look upon a man with more than friendship. He will know."

"Then I will send him away," Faramir promised easily. "I was with him only for one night."

"He was not even a friend? Then he has no reason to feel beholden to you. Sending him away may only make matters worse. He may guess that you have sent him away because you have found another." Faramir reached to pull Boromir down again, but he shifted away from those tempting arms, refusing to look into his brother's eyes. "This must stop. Surely you understand that. This is not safe."

A long silence followed. "Then I will go back to my room."

In spite of himself, Boromir turned. Faramir was sitting up, swinging his legs over the opposite side of the bed. His gaze was level, seemingly calm, yet Boromir could sense the anger just beneath the surface, and the hurt. He started to apologise, but an apology might only keep Faramir here in his bed, and that would be madness; the risks were too great. Their feelings were too raw for them to reach an understanding now. Reluctantly he agreed, "Perhaps that would be best."

In an instant, his brother was on his feet, gathering his clothes from the floor. "I wish there was something I could do," Faramir said in a muffled voice as he jerked his tunic roughly over his head. "But I am no Wizard." The words sent another spike of fear through Boromir, and he cursed his own weakness once more.

"Mithrandir...he will know as well. He always sees everything..."

"Of course! Everyone will know, won't they?" Faramir did not look at Boromir as he savagely tugged his breeches on, twisting as if he were ashamed to have been so exposed in Boromir's presence. "I must be an open book, with so many dirty secrets scrawled across the pages and --Where is my boot!"

"Not you! He has watched me for years. If I am to succeed our father as Steward..." The sleeve of his brother's vest swung dangerously close to the candle in the sconce at the side of the bed as he whirled the cloth around himself. "Please be careful before you break the lamp!"

"I never should have done this!" Faramir had located both of his boots and sat at the edge of the bed to tug them on. "Why am I such a fool? Why have I been cursed to be the weak one?"

Those sounded like their father's words, not Faramir's own. "What are you talking about?" asked Boromir.

His brother left off fumbling with his clothing, pressing his fists against his forehead. "I have been watching you for as long as I can remember. I don't know when my feelings started to change. I have kept them to myself for so long, but I could not do it any longer. Forgive me for being foolish."

Boromir could not stand to have Faramir punish himself for a failing that he knew to be his own; perhaps his own passions had somehow twisted those of the younger man. "None of this is your fault," he muttered. "Or perhaps we are equally to blame...I do not know when my feelings changed either, but it has been a long time. The responsibility is not yours."

"I made the first move. I should have exercised better restraint...should have sought someone else to try to quench my desire."

For an instant, Boromir had the distinct feeling that Faramir was trying to make him jealous, but he pushed it aside as unworthy of consideration. Regardless of what he might say in anger, his brother was no fool, and his lack of discretion suggested that Boromir had badly misjudged Faramir's unhappiness and mistreatment at the hands of Denethor. Soothingly he replied, "That does not always work. I have tried it."

Faramir's head snapped angrily to the side. "Do not preach to me."

"I am not preaching to you." It seemed that his brother would refuse to be consoled. They would only continue to strike at each other if they remained as they were. "If you do not want to hear what I have to say, you should take your recriminations elsewhere."

They were harsh words, and Boromir expected Faramir to respond in anger, answering in kind. But when he turned, he was faced suddenly not with the proud man who trained soldiers in Ithilien but with his little brother, blue eyes wide with terrible pain that tore at his heart. "You are supposed to make things better!" Faramir blurted out. "You always did. And now I am faced with the reality that...that you are just a man."

Boromir could not have been more stunned had Faramir struck him. He struggled to find his voice, which came out as a cry of fury to cover the tremor in his throat: "I am terribly sorry not to be able to live up to your expectations!"

Belatedly Faramir seemed to realise the effect his words were having. "Boromir...I'm sorry. I did not mean to hurt you." But no regret could ever eradicate what Faramir had said. His brother, the one person Boromir had been so sure would always believe in him, could always trust him because he would rather die than betray Faramir...his brother had stared at him as if he were a stranger, telling Boromir that he had failed him.

Boromir's hands were shaking; he twisted his fingers together in his lap to keep them still. "...My own fault," he managed to respond. "I knew this was a mistake and I allowed my feelings for you to blind me..."

Flinching, Faramir dropped his gaze. "Then you lied to me when you told me that at least a part of you was not sorry."

Had he said that? Boromir could not remember, though he thought he might have spoken such words, a few hours earlier, which now seemed nearly as far past as his childhood. "I was not sorry," he confessed. "I did not lie, then. You must forgive me; I am not thinking clearly."

"Apparently not. You have never lied to me before. Not even when Mother was dying and they tried to keep me from her...you always told me the truth."

Each word was like a wrenching blow that Boromir struggled to parry before he discovered that it was useless. He had made a grave mistake, and now they would both suffer. "It seems that you are sorrier than I am," Boromir whispered.

"Yes. I am. I should have accepted my fate. It would have been easier." Faramir still would not look at him. The younger man stood still in the middle of the room, head bowed as Boromir had often seen it when Denethor had been chastising Faramir past the point of fairness or endurance. Yet, despite the misery in his stance, he did not seem broken. Faramir could brace himself to listen to Denethor's rebukes for hours, his eyes glassy, his thoughts already focused on some other issue, some later course of action.

Faramir was not weak, Boromir realised with sudden, intense clarity. He was very strong. He was courageous enough to stand up to their father in a way that Boromir had never dared. He was clever enough to play the Steward and his favoured older son against one another when he could not directly influence their opinions on matters of state or warfare. If he had ever envied Boromir his reputation for power or prowess on the battlefield, Faramir had proven himself equal, here, in this bitterest of struggles.

Perhaps Denethor had known all along, and perhaps it was why he wished to send his younger son away. Or perhaps he had been too blind to see it, and Boromir had foolishly accepted his father's view because he could not bear to see how much Faramir had changed. A distraction. A temptation. His beloved brother was all those things, and Boromir had allowed his own weakness to put them both in harm's way.

Numbly he murmured, "It seems Father was right after all."

"Yes. Fancy that." There was no triumph in Faramir's voice, but neither were there tears. Boromir turned to the wall so that his brother could not see his own.

"I will tell him that I am needed with the army and leave Minas Tirith as soon as I can."

Faramir's breath hitched, but Boromir still could not look at him. After another moment passed, he heard footsteps receding across the room.

The door swung shut heavily, leaving Boromir alone.

Four

Faramir rose from his bed some time after he knew breakfast had already been served and eaten and the remnants likely discarded. He had not slept and was not hungry. He had spent the night tossing and turning in his bed, angrily fussing with his sheets and blankets, and choking back his tears.

He would not cry.

He crossed his room to dress, ran a brush rather haphazardly through his hair, rubbed a hand over his face. He knew that he should probably wash, but he could get away without. There was only one person he intended on seeing today.

He would not cry, because he was not weak.

Minas Tirith was still grey and overcast. Chill draughts could be felt in some hallways of the citadel, but Faramir barely noticed the cold, or even most of the people he passed in the corridors. Eventually he rounded a corner and saw Boromir exiting a meeting hall with several other men and their father.

Faramir watched as they stood side by side -- his beautiful, golden brother and his stern, greying father -- and spoke briefly with a few of the men. They either did not notice him or chose not to acknowledge him. Eventually, Denethor and another returned to the meeting room. The rest had walked away, and Boromir began to wander down the hall, away from where Faramir stood.

He was not weak.

Quietly, at some distance, Faramir followed Boromir. Surely there was something he could say, something he could do, to make Boromir see. The accusations that he had heard, unspoken in Boromir's words, still tore away at him. It was clear to him that Boromir was ashamed of him for having been with someone else. That Boromir believed Faramir had not been discreet enough in the past, and could not now be trusted to keep their secret.

But he could not allow Boromir to leave him, not like this. Not now, when so many years stood before them. He could not bear the thought.

A door nearby opened, and a young page dashed out of the room only to collide with Faramir. Faramir steadied the boy, who stammered a quick apology. The boy's eyes were bright green, and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Faramir patted his shoulder.

"There is no harm done," he said. As he glanced up, he saw that Boromir had stopped walking, but he had not turned to look at them.

"Thank you, m'lord," the boy said. Faramir smiled down at him, and then the boy was on his way again.

Boromir was turning around another corner; Faramir hastened to catch up to him. After a few moments, his brother stopped once more.

"Faramir..." His voice was just loud enough for Faramir to hear.

"You must know I will not stop."

Boromir finally turned and stood still, silent and expressionless as Faramir closed the distance between them. He glanced across the hall and saw an empty room. Taking hold of Boromir's arm, he tugged him inside.

"How desperate are you to lose me?" Faramir demanded.

Boromir's gaze was haunted as he replied, "I have already lost you, it seems." When Faramir said nothing, Boromir sighed and tried to leave the room, but Faramir took hold of his arm again. "Let me pass. I need to collect my things. We both have responsibilities." Boromir paused, and turned his eyes away from Faramir. "And I cannot bear for you to look at me now."

Faramir's stomach twisted into a knot at this proof of his brother's shame. "Why?" he demanded, hoping his voice would hold steady. His grip on his brother's arm did not relax, though Boromir tried to pull free. "Because of what I have done?"

"We both made the same choice. There is no one to blame."

"I made no such choice. You made it for me."

Boromir seemed to take a moment to digest this, closing his eyes as if in regret, but his distress did not arise from the same source as Faramir's did. He thought that Faramir blamed him for their night of joy, not the bitterness that had followed. "Do you blame me now because I am older than you are? You are right, I should have stopped you, but you were so insistent that I not treat you like a child..."

"Then stop," Faramir insisted, loosening his grip. Boromir took a step back.

"How can I, when you continue to act like one!" Again Faramir heard the condemnation in his brother's voice, his brother who had always been patient with him in lessons and in his conflicts with their father. His brother had never belittled him.

Even so, when Boromir spoke again, Faramir could see that he was struggling with himself; his hands clenched, and his chest heaved. "You said that you expected me to make things better, and I cannot. I can only fulfil my duty to Gondor, which is what I will do. You may think nothing of throwing your life away on a whim, but I cannot let you do that."

"You cannot let me?" Faramir stared at his brother, stunned at the change in Boromir's treatment of him since he learned that Faramir had had previous lovers. "Boromir, I do not understand! Do you not think you are being unreasonable?"

"What would you deem reasonable, under the circumstances?" Boromir asked, raising his voice. "Would you like me to walk back in there and tell our father everything? He would have you in manacles and me sent off to the borders within the hour."

"I do not understand why you think it will be so easy for him to find out!"

"Listen to us!" Boromir waved an arm, indicating the public room and their proximity to the door. "Any servant lurking around the corner would know, and soon everyone within these walls would know. There are no secrets in this city. Our father has spies everywhere, even within his own home!"

Setting his shoulders and raising his head against the defiance in his brother's voice, Faramir latched the door. He turned back to Boromir, leaning against the heavy wood.

"We are the sons of the Steward," Boromir said heavily. "Every eye in Gondor looks to us. The people expect us to keep their faith, and our father expects us to keep his. It is difficult enough to keep a secret a thousand leagues from here. Within this city, it is impossible." Still Faramir said nothing, and he did not move away from the door. "Please, let me go! I have work to do."

"No. You must continue to try to push me away," Faramir snapped accusingly. He winced at the tone of his own voice; it was no wonder Boromir accused him of acting like a child. "It's working, Boromir."

"Then move aside," the older man retorted, although he made no move to leave. "We knew there would be consequences, and now we must face them."

"I cannot lose you," Faramir insisted.

There was silence between them for some time after Faramir spoke those words. Boromir looked at him, searched his eyes, and Faramir began to feel uncomfortable under the gaze.

"Who is it that you cannot lose?" Boromir finally asked, quietly. "Your brother who can make everything right? He never existed. I am sorry you did not realise that before last night."

Faramir winced and closed his eyes. "I should not have said that," he admitted, his voice just as quiet as Boromir's. "I wanted to hurt you." He opened his eyes again and bit his lip. His hands slipped behind his back, balling into tight fists. "Please...I will not be the same if you walk away from me."

"You are not the same now." Boromir shook his head. How had the sadness in his eyes escaped Faramir's notice before? "My...my brother would not have said that to me. And I would not have said these things to him."

Faramir could stand it no longer; he pushed away from the door and moved towards Boromir, reaching out to him. "I am so sorry. I thought it was my fault. That you -- it was my actions. That you were ashamed." His fingers brushed the fabric of Boromir's sleeves as Boromir retreated further.

"No," said Boromir, "no, it is I who am sorry." He looked down at the floor. Faramir was startled to see that the Boromir's clenched hands were shaking. "I should have been the person you thought I was. The one who would have known the right thing to do. The one who would have put aside his own desires. I was too weak."

The knots inside Faramir twisted and tightened. "So you are ashamed of me...for tempting you."

Boromir looked up sharply. "No!" he said. "Do not put words into my mouth. I am ashamed of myself. I have never been so ashamed. I want to apologise to you but you are angry, and I do not blame you for being angry."

"Of course I am angry!" Faramir cried. "At least you will give me that, because I have nothing left."

"What would you have me say?" Boromir spread his hands, and still they shook. His voice had no passion left. "I am wretched. I do not know what you want. I do not know what I can in honour say that would not further shame us both. I am trying to leave before I do any more damage."

Faramir stepped close again, forcing himself into Boromir's space. "You are running away from me," he said softly. He made certain not to look away from Boromir as he spoke. "Boromir of the White City has never run away from anything in his life, yet he is running away from his baby brother." Now Boromir looked as if he would turn, but Faramir held his gaze defiantly. "I want you to know something," he continued. "I want you to take this away with you: I am not ashamed of what we did. I am not ashamed, but I am angry that I have brought all this upon your shoulders. For that, I cannot forgive myself. So go, Boromir. You will continue to hide, and I will prepare myself for the day when our father sends me away from here forever."

"Tell me what you would have me do." Closing his eyes, Boromir let out a long, pained sigh. "I do not know. I am sorry that I do not know. I am sorry for so many things...I cannot bear to see you look at me like this. How can I stay, now? How can anything ever be as it was?"

"Nothing will," Faramir realised, discovering at the same moment that he did not know if he could survive such a loss, the loss of the only person he had loved for so long. For a moment, he could not speak at all, too devastated to continue. Yet he had to continue if he were to have any hope of preventing further destruction. Swallowing, he forced out words. "The only things we can do are to run away, or -- to try to move forward."

"Move forward to where?" Boromir asked in a voice caught between anger and despair. "To more lies and misunderstandings, putting each other at greater risk? What you call running away is the only way we will ever find safety."

"I do not understand why lies and misunderstanding have to be a part of this," Faramir insisted. "I do not understand why you think we..." He meant himself, yet he used the word that included both of them, as if it could pull Boromir back to him. "...why you think we both cannot be careful."

"And what if we could not be careful enough?"

Faramir could not respond to this. He could read in his brother's eyes exactly what Boromir thought the consequences would be, his expectation of failure and the implacability of his rejection. Chewing on his lower lip, the younger man finally dropped his gaze.

"If we were found out?" Boromir persisted. "If anything happened to you on my account, I would die. Do you understand me? Perhaps you are braver than I am. But I cannot risk -- "

"You cannot risk losing everything you hold dear," interrupted Faramir bitterly, disbelieving the words.

"I cannot risk losing you!"

"Either way, I think you have."

Boromir withdrew slowly, not stepping back but closing in on himself, the pride slowly slipping away from his proud stance and the set of his shoulders. "Then there is nothing for me here," he murmured. "I will go to fight the foes of Gondor as best I can. It is all that I have left."

"Then go."

They stood facing one another, close enough to touch, yet Faramir felt more distanced from his brother than he had when Boromir was leagues away from Minas Tirith. After several long moments, Boromir whispered harshly, "You are still standing in my way."

"I know."

That simple acceptance seemed to strike at his brother more strongly than all of Faramir's angry words did. "Stand aside," Boromir grated, "or I shall draw my sword." Faramir stared at him in astonishment.

"You would raise a weapon against me, of all people?"

"What choice are you leaving me?"

"None, I suppose." Lowering his chin, Faramir turned his head to the side. "You had best go ahead, Boromir. I am not going to go very far."

"It will be better once I am gone," Boromir said, his voice oddly gentle. He had often used the same tone when they were younger and he was trying to explain something to Faramir, who had always been a quick study, and most of the time could not tolerate being spoken to in such a manner; later, it had become a wonderful way for Boromir to tease and torment Faramir. On this day, the younger man simply could not find it within himself to be bothered about it.

"You see that you must let me go," Boromir continued, his voice becoming strained. "What have I become, that I could threaten you? It will be better when I am gone."

"I will not be better if you are gone. It is not something I will survive."

"You will survive," scoffed Boromir harshly. "You must."

"Apparently you do not know me very well."

Another silence stretched between them as they stared at each other like strangers. "A day ago I would have said I knew you better than anyone in Gondor," said Boromir slowly. "It seems I have been wrong. But this is my doing. I believed that I loved you enough that -- this -- would never be possible."

"Perhaps I should have given you advance warning that I do not enjoy having my heart broken," replied Faramir.

"I had no idea your heart would be so fragile," Boromir answered, yet his voice held no scorn, only sorrow. "I have never had my heart broken before. And I do not understand; you seemed so strong the other night."

"I was." Faramir recalled how invincible he had felt for a few brief hours, how much he had believed that nothing could ever drive his brother from him once they had shared their love. "Until suddenly you seemed to have nothing but regrets. And I could not help but think that I had been the one to cause the fall of the great Captain. Your own brother of all people. Your...your weakness."

"I have been weak in matters concerning you for years," Boromir admitted in a whisper. "It is as you said -- I can never deny you anything. I have loved you more than any man should love another, brother or no. And the worst of it is that I would not have traded that weakness for the strength to defend Gondor."

How sad, Faramir thought, to consider love a weakness. He had never realised how many of their father's beliefs his brother had taken to heart, yet now he could see clearly that Boromir belonged to Denethor and his plans for Gondor in a way he would never allow himself to belong to any other person. "Then it has never mattered how much I loved you," he said, half to himself.

"Of course it has! Why do you say such things to me? There have been times when I would have despaired, when I believed that Gondor was doomed, that there was nothing our father could do to hold off the darkness and keep the faith of the people, that my own battles were futile...the thought of you, that you loved me, and believed in me, kept me going."

"Then I do not understand why you want to leave me!" Faramir reached out and grasped Boromir's wrist. "You might as well take up your sword against me," he cried. "It will have the same outcome."

Boromir wrenched his arm away. "You tell me that I have broken your faith. That you no longer believe in me as you did!"

"Last night, I saw suddenly that you were not perfect. That I was foolish to think that you did not have fears as I did. You did not break my faith; perhaps I broke yours. But now you will not even try, and you long to leave me, and this breaks my heart."

"You said...you said that you should never have done this, that you should have exercised better restraint...you accused me of lying to you..." Boromir's eyes were bright with pain, as if every remembered word struck a new blow. "What do you expect me to try? To be a perfect brother and friend, to act as if none of this had ever happened? To throw both our lives away to retain an image that was never real?"

A lump grew in Faramir's throat. He would not cry. But his voice became strained, and it felt difficult to breathe. Difficult, even, to try to think clearly. "I would not have done this if -- if I had known -- that my love was not enough. But I should have known. I can...never be...enough."

"Enough for what?" Boromir's voice, too, was shaking. "I do not understand."

"It never matters what I do."

"It never matters? You have me undone and you scarcely seem to notice!" Boromir's harsh whisper turned into a plea. "What do you want, Faramir?"

"You! I only want you!"

"Do you? Do you want me, or an ideal man who does not exist, who will always know the right thing to say? Is your heart going to break every time you discover that I am only myself? Are you going to break my heart every time I am not as strong nor as valiant as you expect me to be?"

The words were like a battle defence, calculated to wound, and Faramir knew he was himself to blame. "Even having some of my illusions shattered, I love you. Desperately," he promised. "But I swear to you, if you leave me, you may as well -- follow through on your threat. It would be -- less painful."

"And if I stay, do you think that would be less painful? We have done nothing but tear at each other. No blow in battle has ever wounded me so."

Looking at his brother, Faramir could see that it was true; Boromir's eyes were shadowed with suffering, and his back was hunched as if he had received a blow to the gut. "I want to make things right. I--I am so sorry, Boromir. Please... I need you--I cannot bear to be without you..."

"Then tell me how we can make things right. Because I cannot bear to be without you either...I cannot even walk out that door."

Faramir could think of nothing to say, and they were both silent for some time. Then, finally, Faramir spoke, his voice very low. "The other night...I wanted so much to share my love for you, with you. It was not a whim, Boromir, but something I had been planning. And..." He paused, swallowed, and continued after a few heartbeats, "I realise I was naive and selfish to think that everything would turn out well for us in the end." His voice choked, and he ducked his head, raising a hand to wipe furiously at the tears that had started to fall. "A-and I am...s-so...sorry." He closed his eyes, and in the same instant that he lifted his hand to cover his face, Boromir was suddenly moving.

Panic welled in Faramir's throat; with a soft cry, he reached out to grab Boromir, to stop him from leaving, but then he was enfolded in his brother's arms. His hands came up and tangled in Boromir's vest, and he pressed his face to Boromir's shoulder. Boromir's arms were tight around him, and Faramir could not be certain which of them was shaking more. He reached up and pressed tentative fingers to Boromir's cheek, and his fingers came away wet with tears.

"Please do not leave me," he whispered, and Boromir held him more tightly, but did not speak. He hushed him, and took Faramir's face between his hands. They regarded each other for a long moment before Boromir's lips quirked in a helpless little smile when Faramir hiccuped. Faramir felt his cheeks grow warm, but then his brother's fingers tenderly wiped his tears away.

"Please do not leave," Faramir said once more, and Boromir kissed him, so softly and gently that he sighed.

"I do have a great deal of work I need to get accomplished this afternoon," Boromir said.

Faramir's hands grasped his brother's vest again. "But you will stay?" he asked, embarrassed at the desperation in his voice, yet unable to stop himself. "Please? Tell me you will stay!"

"I will stay," Boromir agreed, and with a sound of wordless joy, Faramir enfolded him in a tight embrace. "But," Boromir added, gently extricating himself so that he could look very seriously into Faramir's eyes, "I cannot stay for long. I should be leaving again soon. There are many things I must attend to." Faramir nodded, and then stifled a little yawn, and Boromir frowned. "And you," he added, "should try to get some sleep."

Faramir almost protested, but then nodded again. "Yes, Boromir. May I see you after supper?"

"I would hope I would see you at supper as well. I noticed you missed breakfast." There was concern in Boromir's voice, and Faramir slowly smiled.

"Was that a yes?" he asked.

"Yes," Boromir said, "it was."

Five

"Faramir."

Someone was speaking. It was still dark in his room, but someone was there, speaking to him.

"Faramir?"

He grunted, tugged his blankets up higher around his shoulders, and rolled onto his side.

"Faramir."

This must be a dream. No sane person would have come to his room in the middle of the night wanting to speak to him, and certainly not when it was so cold.

"Faramir!"

Why was it cold? He had three blankets to keep the chill away. Against his will, he was clawing his way back to consciousness to try to solve this problem. It did not take him long to realise that he was no longer snuggled deep under his blankets. Someone had tugged them away.

Blearily he sat up, rubbed at his eyes with his fists, and peered through the darkness at the shape he could almost, but not quite, make out by the side of his bed.

"What?" he demanded.

"It is very cold in my room," Boromir replied. Faramir could almost, but not quite, hear a mocking tone in his brother's voice.

"It is very cold in my room, as well," Faramir said, "which is why I would appreciate having my blankets back."

"Do you know, I notice how cold it is in here," Boromir said thoughtfully. Faramir was certain, now, that the tone was meant to irritate him. "You should speak to someone about the draught. You might catch a fever."

"I will take that into consideration, my dear brother. Now, my blankets, if you do not mind?"

"I have a marvellous idea."

Faramir sighed. "Yes?"

"Why not build up a fire. We could sit over by the hearth to keep warm."

"If I say yes, will you return my blankets?"

"On my honour. I will even bring them with me."

"How generous of you," Faramir muttered. He slipped from the bed, found his robe, and started to make his way quickly over to the hearth. After a few steps, he promptly tripped and fell over a footstool, but Boromir was by his side in a matter of seconds, and helped him to his feet. He was largely, but not entirely, certain that he could hear a hint of mirth in Boromir's voice.

"Are you hurt?"

"Only my pride," Faramir said with another sigh. Boromir put his free arm around Faramir's waist and walked him the rest of the way across the room. Boromir spread the blankets out on the floor as Faramir worked to build the last dying embers back into a healthy fire.

"Ahh, very nice," Boromir said in approval. He paused a moment, and looked thoughtful. Faramir looked at him warily, and he laughed. "Do not wear such a troubled expression! I was merely considering that a few pillows would top everything off quite well. What do you say?"

Shaking his head, Faramir rose to his feet and fetched the pillows from his bed. He returned to his brother's side, dropped one on Boromir's lap, then swiftly hit him across the shoulder and arm with the other one.

Boromir turned his head to peer up at Faramir, and blinked.

A slow, wicked smile crossed Faramir's face, but before he could hit Boromir again, he lunged at Faramir's legs, knocking him flat to his back. Boromir crowed with triumph, and while Faramir was momentarily stunned, took advantage of the opportunity to grab the other pillow, straddle Faramir's hips, and proceed to hit him mercilessly with the pillow. Faramir cried out, proclaiming that Boromir had attacked unfairly, but Boromir paid him no heed, laughing as Faramir tried to fend off the blows with his own pillow. Faramir squirmed under him, trying to buck him off, and made a valiant but ultimately futile effort to counterattack.

In the end, Faramir ceased struggling when he thought suddenly of having to clean up a blizzard of feathers. "Enough! Stop!" he cried, laughing helplessly, dropping his pillow onto the blankets.

Boromir dropped down onto his hands, braced on either side of Faramir's head. He was grinning broadly, his face only inches away from Faramir's. "Do you yield?" he asked, a little breathless.

Faramir licked his lip, and nodded. "I yield to your might, Captain."

Boromir's eyes grew vaguely distant, and his fingers moved to Faramir's hair, tangling in the sleep-tousled curls. "Is that why you do this? Why you let me touch you? Is it nothing more than yielding to your Captain?"

"No, Boromir," said Faramir, hastily, his lips forming words before he could fully process any repercussions. "You are my elder brother. I would yield to you no matter."

"Indeed?" Fingers tightened in Faramir's hair, not enough to hurt, but he knew it had passed their brotherly tussling. "Or is this merely done upon a whim?"

Now Faramir took a moment to think, to take in Boromir's softly, slowly spoken words. It had been several nights now since the last time Faramir had snuck into his brother's room at night. But Boromir had merely held him. Faramir had been too afraid to do much more than lie at Boromir's side, and Boromir had seemed perfectly content with this. Faramir, too, had been perfectly content. He could still feel Boromir's fingers sliding up and down his back, and at that he shivered slightly.

"Faramir?"

Reaching up to touch Boromir's cheek, Faramir said softly, "I do this because I want to. I let you touch me because I have longed for it for years. I love you."

And then Boromir smiled, bright and brilliant and infectious. Faramir pulled him close, nuzzling his hair and his neck, but for some reason Boromir did not respond. When Faramir looked up at him, puzzled, Boromir turned away with a sigh.

"I'm sorry," he said, softly.

Faramir frowned, a knot of worry forming in his stomach. "Why?"

Boromir rested his forehead head against Faramir's shoulder. Then, "Father is sending me away to the border. I leave tomorrow. I don't know when I will return. Perhaps not for several months."

"Months," Faramir echoed dully. "When did you find out about this?" He tried not to sound angry, but could not keep the accusation from his voice.

"This morning," Boromir admitted, and looked at him again. "I am sorry."

Faramir was silent for a moment. He knew that he probably looked as though he was sulking, but could not make himself care. And then he sighed, and held Boromir tight, and said, "I understand that it is not a command you could simply ignore."

"I do not want to leave. But there is no one else Father will trust to lead men against the orcs. Something is not right with him, Faramir. He speaks of events happening far from here as if he had witnessed them himself, and he is far more troubled than our numbers warrant." Boromir sighed. "He would not say so, but I wonder whether he is troubled by dreams, as you have been. Perhaps the omens that he fears are true."

"Please promise me that you will be careful." Faramir shuddered. "I could not bear to lose you. When the reports were so terrible while you were gone last, I feared the worst. It is why I could hold my feelings back no longer. If something had happened to you, and I had never told you, and you were gone without ever knowing..."

Eyes bright, Boromir stroked Faramir's lips. "I knew what mattered most. That we have cared for one another when our parents could not...that we have been strong together where we would not have been, alone. That is why I could not bear to lose you, not for whatever pleasure we have shared. If I do not return, you must promise me that you will stay strong and fight for Gondor."

"But you must return!" Faramir ducked his head to hide the tears that had sprung to his eyes, for he knew that he sounded desperate enough, though Boromir only brushed his fingers over his face again. "When you rode away from Minas Tirith last time, I looked at you and understood that you...you could die. I knew then that when you returned, I would tell you everything, even if it revolted you that I could feel such things for my own brother."

"I never thought to tell you," Boromir whispered in reply. "I feared that you would think me weak, and indeed I thought you did, when we quarrelled. But perhaps I needed to push you away. Because I always knew that I would have to leave, and I did not know how I could stand it." Lifting Faramir's chin with his fingers, Boromir let his brother see the redness of his own eyes. "And now I know that I cannot. Yet I must."

Gazing into his brother's pleading eyes, Faramir saw suddenly that Boromir needed him to let him go, not in anger but in love. "Yes, you must, though it will break my heart," he whispered. "Because this is who you are, and I would not have you change for me. I love you too much." With that, he framed Boromir's face with his hands and kissed him softly. "I think, then, that we should savour every moment we have tonight."

The fire cast their shadows across the room as they found comfort in each other's arms.

Six

On his way back from the gardens, Faramir found himself knocked off his feet by a flying assault. As he blinked into the bright sky above him, a face popped into his vision. "Hello. Did you miss me?"

Faramir flung his arms around his brother. "I always miss you!" The stifling heat of the day fell away in his pleasure, and the stench of rotting food that had hung over the city since the start of this wave of heat. It was as if a refreshing wind had swept into Minas Tirith.

"I almost panicked when I went to your room and you weren't there," Boromir admitted, making Faramir laugh.

"Where did you think I was? Osgiliath?"

Boromir tugged Faramir to his feet, dusting him off. "Or Dol Amroth, or Rohan, or somewhere completely mad." He hugged him tight.

"I have travelled no further than Ithilien in months." Faramir laughed again, returning his brother's embrace. "I had heard that you were coming back -- you were sighted on the way here!"

"This latest campaign went very well. I may be home for a few months." With a sigh Boromir rested his forehead against Faramir's, speaking softly. "I have missed you terribly." Unable to resist, Faramir pressed a kiss to Boromir's cheek. Linking his arm with Faramir's, Boromir began to guide him deeper in the garden, toward the copse of trees spreading at the end. "Tell me everything that has happened since I've been gone."

"Orcs were spotted along the upper Anduin," Faramir recalled. "Father had another row with Mithrandir; I have no idea what it concerned. I managed to convince him not to try to arrange a marriage between myself and the daughters of any of his allies, but he will not leave either of us alone until there are heirs. And there was a fire on the outskirts of the city that burned down two taverns."

"Each of Mithrandir's visits with our father for the past -- two years now? -- has ended with them having a row, it seems. It makes me wonder..." Boromir sighed. "And I'm sure Father will be talking to me about marriage any chance he can."

Grabbing his brother's hand, Faramir reminded him of his promise. "You said that you would not let him send me to Rohan!"

With a quick glance around the garden, Boromir lifted Faramir's hands to his mouth, kissing his knuckles. "I will not let him send you anywhere," he avowed again.

Following Boromir's eyes, Faramir realised that they were, in fact, alone, and grabbed Boromir's face in his hands, kissing his mouth quickly. At once Boromir turned, guiding him along a quiet, shady path. "Has he been talking about wedding you to the Lady Éowyn again?"

"He did not mention names, but I hardly thinks he intends to wed me to Prince Théodred." With a snort Faramir added, "Of course, I might be wrong."

"You would make a lovely bride for Théodred," Boromir teased, until Faramir cut him off by grabbing Boromir's tunic in his hands and pushing him back against a tree, growling. With his hands resting on Faramir's hips, Boromir kissed his nose. "But I would never send you to Rohan. It is too far away."

Faramir pressed up hard against his brother's body for an instant before stepping back, certain that Boromir had felt his arousal. "We need to find sisters to marry," he growled. "Plump, fertile women who will pay no mind when we tell them we will be travelling for a few days."

"A brilliant suggestion." Reaching out, Boromir pulled Faramir closer again. "Though I did not like being tormented like that. Perhaps we should go inside. After dinner, I will have some dessert and wine sent to my room, and you can come find me when it gets dark."

They walked back speaking of Boromir's travels, and all through the evening meal, Boromir kept Denethor entertained with his report on the stability of the borders and the driving of the Orcs from Osgiliath. Faramir wished that he had been at his brother's side -- just once, to ride into battle with him -- but he doubted whether their father would ever risk them both in a single skirmish, not because he feared to lose Faramir so much as out of his belief that Boromir might be distracted trying to defend his younger sibling.

After they had eaten, Faramir paced anxiously in his own rooms, trying distractedly to read but wanting nothing more than to discover what dessert Boromir had in store for him. The sweets he wanted, for once, were not of the honey and biscuit variety, but he was unsure how far his brother would be willing to take their renewed intimacy after so many months apart. Perhaps he had found a new lover. Perhaps he had decided that their previous actions had been wrong, and would gently push Faramir away. Faramir was determined that this time, no matter what, they would not quarrel, but he ached to touch Boromir again.

"I expected you sooner," Boromir told him when Faramir finally could wait no longer and crept through the halls to his rooms. "I have wine, and biscuits with honey, and some of those figs you like..."

"Figs!" Faramir snatched one from the bowl on the table and devoured it, making happy groaning noises which made his brother laugh. Leaning forward, Boromir licked at the side of Faramir's sticky mouth until Faramir turned his head and gave him a sweet, fruit-flavoured kiss.

When Boromir finally pulled away, he was chuckling, licking his lips, but his eyes were full of stronger emotion. "I have been longing for these moments," he admitted. Ripping a biscuit in two, he dragged a half through the honey and offered it to Faramir. "And you? Have you been restless as well?"

Rolling his eyes, Faramir explained, "Father does not believe that I am capable of any responsibility. I have not had much to do." Handing the biscuit back to Boromir he stuck his finger directly into the honey and sucked it off, again making pleased noises at the taste.

"I will speak to him about that." Boromir took a bite of the biscuit before setting it aside. "Have you been practicing what I taught you the last time I was home?"

"With the broadsword? Oh. Yes. I have practised." He swiped his finger through the honey again, but before he could lift it to his lips, Boromir intercepted his wrist and brought it to his own mouth, licking it clean. "That was my honey!" Faramir objected, licking the remains from Boromir's face.

In response, Boromir carded his fingers through Faramir's hair and kissed him soundly. Faramir moved to do the same, then realised that his sticky fingers would only catch in Boromir's straight locks and make them messy. Smiling against his brother's mouth, he pressed his hands instead against Boromir's groin.

"Oh--!" Without meaning to, Boromir bit down on Faramir's bottom lip, then licked and sucked it at once to ease the pain. Teasingly, he murmured, "So you have missed me."

Faramir did not reply at once, instead sucking Boromir's tongue into his mouth and enjoying the taste, murmuring, "Mmm!" as he had when he ate the fig. Moving his hands around Boromir's back, he urged him backward to sit at the foot of the bed and climbed into his brother's lap. Boromir's arms went around him in turn, holding him there, and Faramir let his head fall onto the familiar shoulder.

"This is making me nostalgic. For when I used to crawl into your bed while you were asleep, and press myself against you..."

Boromir sighed against Faramir's hair. "You were far too old to be crawling into bed with me. And far too young to be touching anyone like that..."

"So you told me. Somehow my body did not listen." Faramir wrapped his legs around Boromir's back, rubbing along his brother's solid body. "I think yours did not, either."

Boromir's hands slid down Faramir's back as he kissed him again. "It never did," he agreed. "No matter how many times I tried to convince myself."

Sitting up straighter, Faramir pushed on Boromir's shoulders until he reclined into the pillows with Faramir leaning above him. "I lived in fear that you would lock your door. Each night, I told myself that I had gone too far, and that I must stop. But I never could."

Boromir touched Faramir's cheek with gentle fingertips. "I could never lock you out. I could not deny you."

Blushing, Faramir murmured, "I have slept in your bed, while you were gone. I may have ruined a few pillows." Leaning up, Boromir cocked an eyebrow in a silent, amused demand for an explanation. "Playing horse, as we did when we were children," Faramir added, giving Boromir a nudge that contradicted his innocent expression.

Boromir gasped. "You were playing horse...alone?"

"It is not the same, riding a pillow," said Faramir mournfully, grinding his hips down as if he were on horseback. He and Boromir had played this game for years, until they both knew that they were much too old for it, stiffening in their breeches as they rubbed together, throwing their heads back and crying out in pretend playacting as warriors riding to victory. It was Faramir's earliest memory of a pleasure he later knew to be intimate in nature, and forbidden between brothers, but his body had never forgotten the unthinking delight of the sensation, and how completely safe he had felt sharing it with the one he loved best.

Releasing a soft groan, Boromir took hold of Faramir's hips, holding him still. "If you continue...I will make a mess," he warned. But Faramir continued to buck on top of him, pulling Boromir's hands against his chest and tugging on them like reins.

"It would not be the first time, would it?"

Boromir's fingers tightened against Faramir's shirt. He closed his eyes, briefly, then opened them within seconds, staring up into Faramir's face. "I love you," he said, and gasped, bucking up against Faramir.

Faramir groaned, shuddering, unable to slow his hips. He truly had intended to spend time in quiet talk, reminiscing with Boromir, but it had been far too long since they had touched...and the ache in his body was so familiar, the illicit heat shooting through his loins. "Love -- ohh!" he exclaimed, twisting his hands on Boromir's wrists and throwing his head back as he rode him.

Boromir's fingers twisted in Faramir's shirt, so tightly that Faramir feared they might rip the fabric. But he could not stop moving, not even for long enough to push his brother away so that they might catch their breath and enjoy one another slowly. It was too much, too sweet, the heat and pressure between them, until with a cry Boromir spilled his release into his breeches, leaving a damp stain spreading over the cloth.

Watching Boromir climax, knowing that he could make him do so -- make his face flush and draw that sob of pleasure from his throat -- never failed to make Faramir's heart swell until he thought that it would burst his chest. He gasped and thrashed, wishing he had waited until they were naked, until he could have felt Boromir spray over his skin, splattering his chest and cock with hot seed...and then Faramir felt his own seed gushing from him as he let go, groaning.

Boromir lay still for a long moment, eyes closed, a contented smile curling his lip. Then he reached for Faramir and pulled him down to his chest, holding him tightly. "I love you so much," he whispered. "My sweet Faramir."

Pressing kisses over his brother's clothing, Faramir tried belatedly to push the shirt out of the way so he could taste Boromir's skin. He wanted to taste his cock, too, while it was still stiff, covered in fresh seed. "Love you, I love you, Boromir...I have missed you so dreadfully," he whispered. With a soft moan, Boromir began to tug at his clothing, baring flesh for Faramir. Shivering, he stroked Faramir's soft hair, urging his head downward.

Unlacing Boromir's breeches, Faramir breathed in the familiar yet too-long-absent scent of his brother's recent pleasure, sweat and seed mixed with leather and traces of soap. "You washed for me earlier, didn't you," he whispered happily before beginning to lap at Boromir like a dog.

"Yes," Boromir groaned, "oh...yes." He arched his back, shuddering. "I was... anticipating this." Faramir's hands continued to work Boromir's breeches down, uncovering his buttocks, which he cupped his palms around to raise Boromir's wet cock to his face. He licked carefully, knowing how painfully sensitive the tip would be, but he could not resist letting it slip between his lips and along his tongue. Boromir cried out, his hips jerking up to Faramir's mouth. "Oh! Faramir...please!"

Breathing a laugh, Faramir released his brother from his mouth and continued to pull his breeches down his legs, kissing along his thighs. He had not thought to be so bold but it had been so very long and he had been so very lonely... Discarding the damp breeches, he moved up and finished stripping Boromir's vest and tunic, kissing his neck. Still trembling, Boromir enfolded Faramir in his arms, trying to capture his mouth.

Lying beside his brother, Faramir surrendered to his kisses. "Don't leave me again for so long," he begged, knowing that this promise was not within Boromir's power to make, yet wishing for a moment to hear it.

"I will stay for as long as I can this time...and I will return to you, quickly, the next time I leave." Boromir pulled Faramir close, starting to open his clothes. Usually Boromir was the cautious one, insisting that they leave most of their clothing on in case anyone should come in or use some unnatural magic to spy on them. The first time Faramir had tried to put his mouth on him, Boromir had nearly panicked, and it was not until many days later, in a cave far from the city, that his brother had finally relented and let him drink his pleasure from the source. This night, however, he let Faramir press into his hands and whimper aloud. "Oh...I love you..." Faramir groaned, twisting against Boromir's fingers.

Boromir rose onto his knees, shaking fingers working Faramir's clothes away from his body. "Faramir, I can't bear it anymore. I need to touch you."

"Touch me...touch all of me," Faramir begged, twining his legs behind Boromir's thighs. "Anything..."

Boromir covered Faramir's body with his own, then reached out to cover them with the blanket. Some of the candles in the room had burned down, for Faramir could not see Boromir as well as he had before, but he could feel him, all of him, pressed close to his body. Boromir slipped a knee between his thighs, one hand reaching down to cup his hip, pulling him up. "I have never wanted anyone like this," he said.

Faramir felt as if he had not yet recovered from his earlier climax, for his heart's pounding had not slowed, yet his body was responding already to this closeness, lying beneath Boromir as he had dreamed. He trembled slightly. "Neither could I." If he rocked his hips just so, he knew, Boromir would slide down, against his balls, beneath them...

Boromir wriggled, rubbing his cock against Faramir's. "You...are hard," he announced, teasingly, pressing light kisses over Faramir's face.

"Oh..." Faramir lifted his head and opened his lips over Boromir's, sliding his tongue into his mouth in slow liquid strokes. "...so are you."

"You do this to me," Boromir replied softly, rocking against him. He sounded almost dazed, and bright spots of colour glowed on his cheeks, visible even in the dim light of the room. He licked and sucked at Faramir's tongue, gasping into his mouth. "Only you, Faramir...love."

Boromir's pelvis pressed them both down into the mattress, driving their cocks together in hot friction; Faramir grasped at his hips, wishing to be enveloped in that heat. "I want..." His brother ducked his head, licking Faramir's neck, pressing kisses to his collarbone, licking sweat at the hollow of his throat. He could not stop the groans that rose up in his chest at the sweetness of this, forbidden thought it might have been.

"You... you want...?"

Boromir sounded almost afraid to ask, but Faramir could not help but speak. The kisses, the passion in his brother's touch, made his desperate, fingernails raking against Boromir's skin, clutching at him. "You, I want you," he gasped, wrapping his legs around Boromir. "Over...around...everywhere."

Boromir lifted his head enough to look down at Faramir, who could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He pressed a wet kiss to Faramir's forehead and whispered, "Don't move." Stretching out across the bed, he yanked open a drawer in the nearby cabinet and fumbled inside. A moment later he reached down for Faramir's hand, pressing a small jar into his palm.

Faramir wrapped his fingers around the jar and stared up at his brother. He had not dared to ask for this, had hardly dared to hope... the pain of their last quarrel remained sharp and bright in his mind. It would not be worth it, if they were doomed to tear at each other afterwards in guilt and fear. "Are...are you sure, Boromir?" he whispered.

Boromir nodded, touching Faramir's cheek. "Yes," he whispered back, "I am very sure. I want you."

"Oh -- yes -- " With his free hand, Faramir dragged Boromir down, kissing him hard, loving the feel of Boromir's weight shielding him from the rest of the room and the rest of the world. He arched as Boromir's cock rubbed over his groin. "Tell me...how you want..."

Boromir's arms slipped under Faramir's back as he rolled them over, pulling Faramir on top of him. He smiled and kissed him again. "Take me, Faramir."

Faramir lowered his head to drop kisses from Boromir's chin down his throat to his chest. With shaking fingers, he opened the jar, hearing the slippery lid fall to the floor with a clatter. The ointment smelled like herbs, and Faramir wondered whether he would ever be able to walk in the gardens again without stiffening in his breeches. He greased his fingers, then moved them between Boromir's legs, stroking the backs of his balls with his thumb.

A groan escaped Boromir's throat. His hips moved restlessly against Faramir's fingers and his hand stroked Faramir's hair and shoulders. "I cannot tell you how long I've waited for this," he whispered.

"I have dreamed...every night..." Faramir bit his lip as he slid a fingertip inside Boromir, and, encountering no resistance, pushed in further. "To touch you like this."

"I have touched myself like this... and imagined it was you," Boromir admitted, his cheeks turning very red. He rocked down against Faramir's finger, moaning softly. "More, please." Faramir made a sound that even he could not have said whether it was meant to be a laugh or a sob. Kissing Boromir's mouth, he pressed down with another finger, feeling the tight muscle resist him before softening to let him in. His other hand moved across Boromir's body to stroke his cock.

Boromir's hands cupped Faramir's face. He looked up at him, smiling through gasps of pleasure, and Faramir watched the emotions flicker over his brother's face. "So lovely," he whispered, and then groaned again as Faramir's fingers angled inside him, pushing deeper.

Faramir wanted to make this last, to lower his head and take Boromir's cock into his mouth, bringing him pleasure so slowly that Boromir would never be able to touch anyone else and not think of him; but his own cock throbbed impatiently, jerking against Boromir's thigh when they brushed together. He curled his fingers inside Boromir, licking quickly up and down the shaft while he groped for the salve again.

"Faramir!" Boromir's voice was strained. "If you do not... stop, I won't last...!" Despite his words, his hips nearly came off the bed as he sought for more of Faramir's tongue on him.

Sitting back, Faramir let Boromir watch him slick his cock, sliding his hand up and down on himself in the same rhythm with which he pressed his fingers inside Boromir. He knew he would not last, either, if he did not stop. "Are you ready?"

"Oh, yes." Boromir laughed breathlessly, reaching for Faramir to pull him closer. "I have been ready for you for such a long time."

Faramir pulled his fingers from Boromir's body, letting them cup his balls. He wanted nothing more than to sink into that heat himself, but even more, he wanted Boromir sobbing with pleasure beneath him. "Do you want...to turn, or a pillow..."

Lifting a hand, Boromir groped behind himself for a pillow to push beneath his hips. Then he wriggled, spreading his legs wider in invitation. "Please." Unable to wait any longer, Faramir braced a hand on the bed beside his brother's hip and pushed his cock against the tight hole until it yielded slowly around him, encouraged by his fingers massaging ointment into the straining skin. Halfway inside he paused, panting, overwhelmed, but a moment later he drew back and thrust, desperate to release the tension gripping his hips.

Boromir arched against Faramir with a strangled cry, covering his mouth in a futile attempt to remain quiet. His other hand came up and clutched at Faramir's arm -- perhaps in warning, perhaps in encouragement, but he certainly did not try to stop him. His hips moved against Faramir, and he whispered, "More..."

Bending Boromir's leg back, Faramir shifted upward so that he could touch his brother as he moved. Most of his weight was on his own arm on the mattress and he put his other hand on Boromir's cock again, relishing the way his slick fingers slid over the taut, hot skin. His thrusts were rapid and shallow, for he was certain that if he stopped moving even for a moment, he would burst. Boromir's breathing was ragged, coming in gasps punctuated by moans that he tried to stifle by biting his lip. With both hands he reached down to grasp Faramir's hips, urging him forward.

Faramir listened to Boromir's quiet groans and to the slippery wet sound of himself fucking Boromir, hand whispering over his cock. He stared into his brother's face, unable to stop watching despite the impulse to close his eyes and relish in sensation. Between the noises, the tight heat surrounding him and the glittering passion in Boromir's eyes, he felt himself breaking. "Oh...love you..."

With a shudder Boromir tightened his grip on Faramir. "Love you," he replied, the words coming out in a near-sob. Closing his eyes and tilting his head back, he took in short, panting breaths. "Faramir--" He bit back a cry, his hips bucking against Faramir's, thrusting himself into Faramir's hand. And he came, spurting between them, trying to hold back his cries of pleasure.

Feeling the hot seed spray over his fingers, Faramir gave in to his body's need for release despite the wish that they could stay like this forever, wrapped up so in one another. With a few more thrusts of his hips, thighs and buttocks tightening with the movement, he shoved deep inside and stayed, writhing on top of Boromir and grunting low, all his joy pouring out of his cock.

when Faramir finally let up his tight hold on his brother, Boromir rolled them onto their sides. He held Faramir close to him, stroking his back and hair. Faramir was shaking, and clung to Boromir as he had when he was much younger, though he thought he should not. It had taken him so long to convince Boromir that he was no child -- that he wanted him in full understanding of what they were doing and what the consequences might be.

"I love you," he said again.

"And I love you," Boromir said, kissing his forehead. He cradled his brother in his arms, leaving Faramir feeling so complete and so utterly content that he could not imagine letting him go.

"I want always to be like this." Feeling Boromir relax against him, Faramir calmed, letting himself snuggle deeper into his embrace. "We must think of a way." Pausing, he tried to contemplate their situation, but his mind was fogged with pleasure and exhaustion.

"So do I," Boromir admitted, softly. "I was just thinking that...that I do not want to let you go. But I do not want to think right now. I only want to feel."

Gently Faramir squeezed Boromir's backside. "Feel that?"

"Oh, yes, I do."

"And this?" Faramir's tongue trailed lazily over Boromir's shoulder.

Boromir sighed. "Mm, yes, I feel that."

"And what do you feel..." Faramir pressed his hand over Boromir's heart. "Here?"

Boromir covered Faramir's hand with his own. "Love," he said, smiling. "I am filled with love."

Then Faramir bent his head to kiss Boromir's fingers on his. "Oh, so am I," he whispered.

"Good," his brother replied, just as softly, kissing the top of Faramir's head.

Faramir knew that they must sleep, yet he was loath to let this moment slip past; he could not be certain that they would have another. "Do you still believe," he murmured, "that this is wrong, Boromir?"

"We should not be doing this," Boromir replied, squeezing his eyes shut, though pulling Faramir tighter to him. "But the Valar help me, for I cannot let you go."

"Nor can I. I do not understand how this feeling can be wrong. We have already suffered so much..." Faramir paused, not wanting to sound like a petulant child. "We are harming no one. We love each other!"

Boromir hushed him, dropping another kiss on his forehead. "I feel the same frustration you do," he murmured. "But if we were ever to be caught..."

"We cannot be the only brothers who have ever felt this way," insisted Faramir. "I sometimes think, in the old tales...of course, they do not say what I most want to understand, for they never tell how lovers love, only who married whom and who died for love. But what is between us cannot be unprecedented or it would not be forbidden."

Boromir was silent for a moment. "No," he said, "I imagine we are not the first. There would be no cause to frown upon such things, if others had not already done it before."

"Do you think the act itself is evil, between men? I feared more, when I had been with a woman, that I had left her with child. Nor would I mind taking a wife, but I would never want to lose you!"

"I do not think it is evil, between men," Boromir admitted. "No more than between a man and a woman, and less evil than men and women who treat one another cruelly. Though I have always preferred men. And you will never lose me, Faramir -- not to a bride, not even to death."

Faramir sunk his fingers into his brother's hair, damp about the back of his head. "I love you so much," he whispered. Boromir's lips moved over his throat, to his ear, along his jaw. "Sometimes I wish that we could run away, and live like this forever. But that would be wrong, would it not? More than this. To leave Gondor in need."

"I think it would," replied Boromir. "Perhaps that is why this is forbidden between brothers. But I have dreamt the same thing."

"I suppose I should not tell you that I am glad." Faramir made a purring sound. "Tomorrow," he added sleepily, "I want you in my mouth. Preferably by the water, deep in the grass where we cannot be seen."

"Oh." Boromir shivered. "I would like that very much."

Faramir lifted his heavy head. "What else would you like?" he whispered.

"I would like you to kiss me." Boromir touched Faramir's cheek, smiling at him. "And I would like to hold you in my arms and watch you sleep."

"I believe that I can grant that wish very soon."

Sloppily Faramir met his brother's lips as he sat up, leaning over to the table beside the bed. Then he blew out the last candle and tugged the blankets around them both.