“Gondor needs no king!”
Fury shining in his eyes Boromir jumped up from his seat. Who was he, this ragged ranger to claim the throne of Gondor? A throne held reliably by the dynasty of stewards for centuries on end. History had it that there had been a king of Gondor once in long forgone times. A king that had betrayed his people in an unimaginable way, a king who had abandoned his land and those dependent of him, had left cowardly, leaving his realm to the dutiful service of his stewards. No one had ever heard of the line of the kings of Gondor from this time on, they had sunk into the realm of myths and legends. And now this shabby nobody dared to lay claim to the throne of Boromir’s beloved country. Now of all times the usurper stepped forth to ruin every chance of a future Gondor still hoped to have. But for this future, he needed to bring the ring to his father, the same ring this self announced “king” intended to withhold from him.
Still trembling with rage Boromir only barely noticed the tumult his words caused. In a blur of vision, he saw the elf jump up to the ranger’s aid, but what else was to be expected from an elf than to lick the boots of the one who claimed to wield the most power. Angry voices rang in his ears without him being able to make out a single word. At the very peak of all this shouting and quarreling a lonely small figure stepped out and with a weary but determined face took the ill-fated object from the stone it had been presented on. At once the usurper pledged his jagged sword to the protection of the little hobbit and the “burden” he’d have to carry – a “burden” Boromir would be only too happy to take from the tiny shoulders. Without hesitation the wizard, the elf and the dwarf, who had been present at the meeting and had shouted at one another just minutes before, followed suit – just imagine, a dwarf and an elf united on a quest, surely they were desperately longing to get their filthy fingers on the ring themselves – and all of a sudden the room was filled with tiny creatures pleading not to be left behind. Now all the son of the Steward could do was to join in, he could not allow this strangely mixed companionship to carry away their treasure, making the mission his father sent him on impossible.
Grudgingly Boromir trotted along with his companions. The journey started out even worse than he’d imagined. The elf and the dwarf were constantly bickering at one another, that is, when the elf wasn’t busy showing off his elven predominance to all of them, and the usurper and the wizard kept arguing over the way they should take to reach their indistinct goal. The Gondorian was sure that they both had no clue were they were headed and tried to conceal this fact by their never-ending squabble.
And all the time, with every step, every single heartbeat Boromir felt the ring calling out to him, beckoning to him to bring it home to Gondor to fulfill its true destination. But every single time he dared to close in to the Ringbearer as much as one single step, he would feel the stern gaze of the ranger on his back, his hard, distrustful blue stare freezing the Gondorian to the spot, thus interceding every approach towards the glistening treat.
The only thing to lighten up the warrior’s dark mood was his growing friendship with the two younger hobbits, Merry and Pippin. They were cheerful little fellows, easygoing and good to have around. From time to time Boromir even found himself frolicking in the snow with the two small guys as they made their way up the Misty Mountains. At those times Denethor’s son was able to feel at ease and almost happy. But as the snowy slopes of the mountains became steeper, the moments of playful leisure diminished to a faint memory. Once again the call of the ring was filling Boromir’s consciousness, darkening his heart like a poisonous cloud.
Dragging their feet through the deepening snow the fellowship fought their way up the steep slope, icy cold wind tearing at their clothes, making every step a struggle against pure exhaustion. The little hobbits almost disappeared in mounting heaps of the constantly falling flakes, going on only by sheer stubbornness of determination. Only the elf showed no affection of any trouble. Showing off again his super-powers he jumped light-footed in front of his companions, never sinking in as much as an inch, mocking them all with silly dances.
The Ringbearer staggered and fell. He had be severely wounded before he came to the place of Lord Elrond and now the barely healed injury combined with the exhaustion of their march was taking its toll. As one the comrades rushed towards the crumpled figure of the small hobbit, lying panting in the snow - all except Boromir. One stern glance of the ranger’s eyes held him back in his pace, warning him against making one more step in direction of the collapsed body.
With another menacing glance the usurper took the almost unconscious hobbit in his arms, carrying him to another of their precarious shelters. For some seconds the Gondorian stood stock still, unable to move a single limb, then a forlorn ray of the sun caught something glistening in the endless whiteness of the snow. A glimmer of gold, almost blinding Boromir with its radiance, drew his eyes toward it. The hobbit had lost the ring when he fell.
With two quick steps Denethor’s son had reached the shiny object, looking guardedly around as he dropped to his knees and reached out for the fulfillment of his dreams. Icy cold flames surged through his whole being as his hand finally closed round the forbidden treat. The metal almost burned his palm with its freezing heat. A dark void of triumph opened in his mind as he, groaning with pleasure and pain, stumbled to his feet, the hand gripping his treasure held victoriously to his chest. A feral grin played round his lips as he looked up in utter joy – only to meet the severe gaze of steely blue eyes.
For a moment time stood still. Unconsciously Boromir straightened his back, unwilling to let go of his price. He expected to have to stand up against harsh words and insults, expected to have to fight for his treasure, but all the ranger did was standing in front of him and looking at him with this expression of calm seriousness on his face. For times on end they seemed to stare at one another, fiery eyes meeting quiet ones in a fierce battle of minds. With everything Boromir would have been able to cope, with shouting, insults, even with blows and pushes, he surely knew how to fight, but under this tranquil gaze his barriers were crumbling to dust.
There was something shining in these eyes, understanding, even compassion and Boromir felt his body slowly relaxing. Never in his life had he met something like this gaze, strong but kind, unyielding but at the same time consoling. He felt save under this gaze, save and strangely comforted. The darkness in his soul dissolved and he felt like a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. For the first time in weeks the whispering of the ring ceased to trouble his mind and he drew in a deep breath, finally feeling free from the constricting pressure around his chest.
Slowly Aragorn reached out his hand and with a heavy sight Boromir laid the ring into the open palm. A warm smile graced the ranger’s lips as he closed his fingers round the dangerous object.
“Thank you, my friend.”, he said in his quiet voice and Boromir could do nothing than answer his smile.
Wearily the companionship continued their way towards the summit of the Misty Mountains. Boromir wandered deep in thought. He still tried to understand what had happened. This look from the calm blue eyes had been penetrating his entire being, touching his very soul. How could a mere look wield such power, enough power to release him from, as he understood now, the evil magic of an instrument of doom? The gaze had been so strong, unyielding like steel, and yet so comforting, promising such an amount of security, the security of a friend fighting back to back in the heat of battle. The picture of a sword drifted through the Gondorian’s mind, hard steel drawn for protection against all evil, be it of body or of mind – a sword fit for a king. The realization of the conclusion of his thoughts made Boromir almost drop to his knees.
This evening when they made camp Boromir sought out the ranger for the first time since their unlucky meeting at Elrond’s council. Taking a seat by his side, he looked at him, uttering just one word.
“Why?”
“What why, Son of Gondor?” Aragorn smiled softly in response. “ Why did I what I did today, or why I just come out of nowhere claiming the throne of the realm your family has guarded so dutifully and efficiently?”
“Both I think. I just want to know, want to understand.” The words, almost reluctantly spoken at first, increased to a steady stream. “Why now? Gondor has been without a king for millennia. My ancestors have guarded her throne for ages. What will happen to us now, what will happen to Gondor? And concerning the other thing, I think I know, why you did what you did, I only wonder, how you did it.”
“Why now?” Aragorn’s gaze seemed to wander to faraway places. “The existence of Middle Earth is in grave danger, and, as I’ve been told only a king of Numenorian blood can hope to ward it off. And as for your family, nothing will change. I’ve ever been happy to be a ranger, I don’t know how to be a king, so I will need all the help and guidance you can give me, ‘cause I only want Gondor’s best. As for your second question,” turning his full attention at his companion the ranger looked deep into the Gondorian’s eyes. “There’s still a trace of elven blood running through my veins, thin as it might be. You didn’t want the ring to enhance your own power, you wanted it to support those who are in your care. You’re a strong and good man, Boromir, that’s why the ring is tempting you so much. I called upon the goodness, the light I saw shining in your soul, otherwise I wouldn’t have succeeded. But now we should try to get some hours of sleep, tomorrow will be another tiring day.”
“Would you allow me to rest at your side?” Boromir was glad for the darkness hiding his blush, “I feel save and at peace in your presence.”
“I’d be glad to have you sleep at my side.” A genuine smile brightened the ranger’s face. “ I care for you, Boromir of Gondor, I care very much for your safety and wellbeing.”
As Boromir’s eyes drifted shut he still wondered if the last words held some unspoken meaning.
On the next day they had to turn back and seek their way through the Mines of Moria. Boromir stayed close to Aragorn, the presence of the other man putting his mind at ease. Whenever the ring started to torment his mind the thought of the comforting strong eyes lifted the pressure and just looking at the slim feature made the darkness flee his heart. A close friendship formed between the two men, a friendship only slightly blemished as the Gondorian’s thought started to wander in a certain direction. How comes, that he’d never before noticed the handsome features of the strong, manly face, how comes, he’d never paid attention to the slim, but muscular body, moving with the grace of a wild animal. From time to time Boromir lingered some steps behind his friend, only to be able to drink in the sight of the movement of firm muscles. Boromir never was sure if he only imagined the knowing smile whenever the ranger looked back at him. If the other members of the fellowship noticed the change in the behavior of the two friends they never mentioned a single word about it.
The Mines of Moria proofed to be a dark and terrible place. Their way only lit by the light on the top of Gandalf’s staff the companions made their way through the depressing darkness of what had once been a flourishing dwarven realm. The closeness of the tunnels and the absence of light weighted heavily on Boromir’s mind. Here, far away from the life-giving sun the call of the ring increased to new, never experienced power. The Gondorian could feel the menacing whispers bouncing back from the cave-walls, he could almost see the glimmer of the golden jewel shining through the layers of Frodo’s cloths. His head pounding with the whispered temptation to grab, to take, to hide, he struggled along, dragging one foot before another, praying almost without hope for a much-needed rest and the comforting closeness of Aragorn.
Finally they came to a halt in a secluded cavern. With a short look at Boromir Aragorn nodded at him to follow him behind the cover of a wall. For some minutes they sat there in silence.
“It’s getting worse.” Not waiting for any form of confirmation the ranger went on. “The ring gains power in this darkness. I can see the weariness in your face.”
“I can barely stand it any longer.” All the Gondorian managed was a hoarse whisper. “Please, help me, it’s tearing me apart. Would you please just hold me.”
Strong arms circled round Boromir’s shaking frame, hugging him close to a comforting chest, gentle hands stroking calming circles over his back. With a heavy sigh the warrior relaxed into the soothing embrace, resting his forehead on Aragorn’s shoulder, his soul surfacing from the bottomless void of the call of the ring. Humming softly the ranger rocked him back and forth in a steady calming motion.
“Feeling better?” The soft breath of the words grazed Boromir’s cheek and with a content murmur he snuggled closer, hiding his face in the crook of Aragorn’s neck.
They stayed like this for some time, the silence only disturbed by Aragorn’s humming and Boromir’s peaceful breathing. Finally the Gondorian raised his face to look at the calm features of his friend.
“I’m feeling at peace for now, thank you so much. But what will happen if it gets stronger again, what shall I do to keep me from surrender?”
“Whatever you need to keep you at ease, I will give it with joy” When had the ranger’s face come so close to his own? Unconsciously Boromir licked his lips.
“Is this what you need?” Soft lips descended on his own, moving in pliant warmth over his mouth. Groaning Boromir answered the kiss, opening his lips to let the probing tongue enter the moist cavern of his mouth. He grasped the ranger’s shoulders as their kiss deepened, hungry mouths clinging to one another, insistent tongues dueling in a tender battle. Heat surged through Boromir’s body, not the freezing flames of the ring, but the life-giving fire of pleasure. But how much they both wanted the kiss to never end, finally they had to draw apart for much needed air, staring at one another in wonder and awe.
“As much as I hate to even think of it, I feel we should go back to the rest of us.” Aragorn’s lips still grazed over Boromir’s forehead. “Or else they’ll think we have fallen into a deep pit. But how do you feel about having your medicine at a regular base, just to keep you save.”
It didn’t take long until Boromir dragged Aragorn away into a dark sideway. Not out of need, but out of sheer wantonness. Without hesitation their mouths found together in a fervent kiss, their bodies molding together, swaying as one, as their tongues danced in the fiery duel of bliss. Both men moaned as heat surged through their bodies, pooling in their groins as growing hardness rubbed against growing hardness. Pressing their bodies together to gain more of the much-needed friction they moved their hips in small circles against one another, increasing in speed and intensity as they felt the onrushing approach of their release. Throaty moans filled the air, only broken by needful whimpers as they rushed forward on the road of rapture. Aragorn’s expert hand wielded its way between the grinding bodies, nimbly unlacing both breeches. His callused palm encircled the two straining members, gathering up thick strands of precome oozing out of both tiny slits. As soon as Boromir felt the hot column pulsating against his own his whole body went rigid for a moment before he tumbled into the vortex of ecstasy spilling his essence with a raucous cry. All Aragorn could do was throwing his head back in rapture, his body stiffening as with a hoarse groan he too found his mind-blowing release.
“That – that was intense.” Finally having regained his breath the ranger was unable to suppress a blissful grin. “But next time we maybe should look for a more comfortable place.”
Next time – the promise rang loud in Boromir’s ears. There would be a next time, and maybe many more times afterward. The threat of the ring was completely forgotten, drained away by the overwhelming sensation of shared bliss.
On the last day in the Mines they lost Gandalf. The wizard was dragged into a bottomless void by a monstrous fiery creature, a Balrog, as the warrior was told. Desperate and broken the fellowship made their way towards the safety of the exit of the cave. Only when they had reached the security of sunlight they allowed themselves to break down and mourn.
Boromir found the ranger sitting on a rock. He looked so forlorn and lonely as he sat there, his shoulders shaking in suppressed sobs. The Gondorian felt a new emotion welling up in his breast as he looked at the lone figure, a feeling of tenderness, of care. Quietly he approached the mourning man and without a word put an arm around his shoulders taking him into a gentle hug. With a sob Aragorn turned towards his friend, burying his face in his shoulder and soaking his tunic with his tears. For a long time they stayed like this, Boromir looking gently at the weeping man he’d started to look upon as his king, and the new emotion blossomed to full bloom. This man, so powerful and strong was not ashamed to show his feelings, trusted him enough to cry on his shoulder, This was the man he could follow for all his life, this was the man he could serve dutifully and most of all, this was the man he could love.
When the sobbing finally ended the ranger lifted his head from the soaked shoulder, Unable to form a single word he just nodded his thanks. Boromir drew him back into a comforting hug, and murmuring soothing endearments kissed the tears from the wet cheeks. His heart was so full of emotions that he could show them only through his actions and with great relief he felt Aragorn answering the embrace.
“We can’t stay here.” Pulling together all his strength Aragorn straightened his back. “It’s too dangerous to stay here any longer. We’ll go to Lothlorien, there I hope we’ll find time to mourn and rest.”
Lothlorien was a wonderful place, full of tranquility and peace. With time the members of the fellowship almost found back to their good senses, although more quiet and reserved than before Gandalf’s death. On the last day of their staying in the blessed realm Aragorn and Boromir were reclining in a secluded glade. It was a warm day, so they were stripped to their waists, enjoying their nearness and sharing tender kisses and touches.
“Tomorrow we’ll leave.“ Aragorn trailed a path of gentle nibbles and licks down Boromir’s neck. “Do you fear the ring will still trouble you?”
“Not when you’re near me.” The warrior moaned softly when sharp teeth nibbled at the tender spot at the hollow of his neck. “I never fear anything as long as you’re at my side. You always keep me safe – my brother.”
“Brother, is it?” Wet lips attacked an already hardened nipple, drawing a needful groan from Boromir’s chest. “So this is what you do with your brother?”
Boromir felt crimson heat spreading over his cheeks as he thought of the things he did with his younger brother in the security of their rooms. Luckily the ranger was busy removing his trousers, his searching fingers diving into the cleft between the warrior’s thighs
“How far do you want this to go?” A probing finger grazed over Boromir’s already quivering entrance making the man pant as a sudden jolt of pleasure coursed through his body.
“Wherever you lead.” Groaning the warrior opened his legs to gain the prying digit better access to his hidden treasure. “Wherever you’ll lead I’ll follow you – my captain.”
“Never this.” Opening the tiny hole with the tip of his finger the ranger listened delighted to the blissful hiss of his lover. “I’ll only take from you what is freely given.”
Boromir’s head thrashed from side to side as the invading digit was followed by another, opening him up for more pleasures to come.
“Than take what’s been yours for such a long time.” The Gondorian almost cried out in bliss as the slick blunt head of the ranger’s member nudged his opening. “Don’t wait any longer, claim your property – my king!”
“Open up for me, let me in.” Groaning with rapture the ranger slowly pushed through the taut ring of muscles. Velvety heat enclosed his throbbing arousal, the walls of the tight channel slowly stretching to receive everything he had to give.
. Distracting the warrior with a deep kiss he slowly went on until his length was seated to the hilt in the close fitting tunnel. When he heard a whimper he looked up to search the face of his lover for any signs of discomfort, but all he could find was a pure expression of bliss.
“Ah gods … yes! Let me feel you deep inside of me!” Boromir’s back arched up into a perfect bow as the rigid length grazed over the hidden center of his pleasure. “Ah yes … there … right there … feels so good … Ah gods … yes!”
Aiming his thrusts to drag over the small bundle of nerves that brought his lover so much pleasure, Aragorn lost himself in an ocean of bliss, the needful moans and cries of his lover arousing him beyond any measure.
Boromir was a long way beyond coherent words. His head thrashed from side to side and all he could utter were groans and whimpers of pure rapture. His hands dug into the soft grass of the glade his whole sweat-glistening body twisting in the grip of pleasure. Thick pearls of precome were pooling on his belly and every well-aimed thrust brought him closer to an overwhelming release.
“Can’t hold back … too close … going to …”
“Then come for me, let me see you!” Aragorn’s voice was hoarse with rapture, the waves of bliss surging through his body almost too much for him to bear.
For a moment Boromir’s body went rigid in a perfect bow, every single muscle standing out in the tension of impending relief. Then without having his member touched thick strands of pearly liquid spurted out of his rod as, with a keening wail his body convulsed in seemingly never-ending spasms of bliss.
Seeing his lover so clearly in the throes of passion, hearing him cry out his rapture on top of his lungs proved to be more than enough for Aragorn to follow his mate into the vortex of bliss. Throwing his head back with a guttural howl he spilled his load deep into the pulsating channel.
For some time the lovers lay panting harshly, still shaking through the aftermaths of their mind- boggling climax. Cuddled together in a firm embrace they felt their heart-rate slowly come down to normal, a drowsy feeling of satisfaction spreading through their bodies.
Snuggling closer to his lover Boromir let his mind wander, even as he drifted off to sleep. Maybe the ring would try to tempt him again, but now he was sure he would be able to ward it off. Maybe their way would lead towards dangers and defeat, but he was sure to be able to overcome every kind of threat. Because now he was nestled in the arms of the one man who had changed his entire life –
His brother, his captain, his king and most important of all, his love.
Summary: Boromir is torn apart between two different desires
Rated: NC-17
Categories: LOTR FPS Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 4258 Read: 847
Published: 09 Aug 2009 Updated: 09 Aug 2009