Seduction
"It makes a strange sort of sense," Aragorn was saying. "After all, it's
really mine."
Boromir made a noise of agreement and continued to watch his friend. Aragorn
had been talking naught but of this for days. Boromir had heard the
arguments time and time again and was getting tired of them. After all,
hadn't he been the one to supply them to Aragorn in the beginning of their
journey? Hadn't he been the one to plant the seeds in Aragorn's mind? The
tree was not interesting until it bore fruit. Until then, it was just
another tree.
But the tree was working on that. "Isildur gave his life for it and
bequeathed it to his line forever. It's weregild for my ancestors. It does
not belong in the little hands of a hobbit. The payment taken for a king's
life should never be given over to a child for safekeeping, not while there
are men around."
"You were the one to give the Ring to him," Boromir reminded him and smiled
slightly in the dark. Budding. This was almost too easy. And once Aragorn
came to the decision Boromir had arrived at two months ago, he would finally
take what was his. And then they could get out of this wilderness and return
to Minas Tirith.
"I recant on that now!" Aragorn said with sudden heat. "I recant on that
stupid, foolish decision. I should never have deferred. The Ring is mine! It
passed to men and among men it must belong. Who else can master it? Who else
has the power to use it?"
"Sauron?"
"'Sauron'?" Aragorn mocked. "Sauron is weak. Disembodied. His Nine will ride
for whoever wields the Ring, his Orcs are not much better. And even Saruman
will bow to the power of the Ring, like he has bowed to Sauron this past
year."
"It is not wise to underestimate wizards."
"Is not the bearer of a Ring a wizard in his own right? How else do Elrond
and Galadriel control their domains, fighting against the wearying of their
kind?"
Ah, so Elrond did indeed wield one of the elven rings. Boromir had not
known. "Don't grow too rash, my friend. Birthrights are not always freely
given."
"You think I do not know that, son of Denethor? Have I not these past sixty
years worked for my birthright, worked to be called King of men? The Ring
will only aid me. It is no trinket, my love. It is the key to my inheritance
that was stolen from me."
"And I will see you King of Gondor," Boromir soothed, "yet, do not grow
foolhardy. The taking of a ring is no mean feat."
Aragorn sighed. "Your counsel is good, Boromir. I take it to heart always."
He sighed again and sat down on the log next to his brother in arms. "I
admit to being in need of it now. The Ring calls to me and I cannot help but
heed its song. Can you not hear it, Boromir?"
"I can."
"What does it sing to you? What does it promise you? Can it truly keep its
promise?"
"I suppose it depends on the promise. The Ring shows me peace, something I
have never known. I suppose it can deliver that. But I cannot counsel you
until you have told me all. You know that, Aragorn."
Aragorn was silent for several moments, then he said carefully, "The Ring is
circumspect in its offer. But at the root of all my visions is one thing."
When Aragorn was not forthcoming with more information, Boromir prodded,
"Which is?"
"You."
Boromir caught his breath and did not answer. Aragorn seemed not to notice.
"I see you. So many different ways, my dear, but so much the same. You are
my lover, my prince, my willing servant. Steward to the Ring. Avenger. My
enforcer, for all kings have a need of a strong man to carry out his will."
"And how do you see me?" Boromir whispered.
A smirk graced Aragorn's chapped lips as he slipped into memories. "I see
you tied up, spreadeagled on a bed in Minas Tirith, which I have renamed
Barad-âr—the tower of the king. I blindfold you usually, so you can feel
with such accuracy every thing I do to you. Sometimes I tie you face down,
but other times I want to see your face, your emotions, as I slowly pierce
you. It's wonderful to enter you, the feeling never fades over time. And
sometimes I undo your gag and make you suck me, make you swallow me. I like
both your holes so much." Boromir moaned at the imagery, but Aragorn did not
notice. "And sometimes I have you kneel before me and tie you like that. A
perfect subject, bowed in supplication. So beautiful. So willing. And you're
all mine, to do with as I wish. I can restrict you to just these rooms and
take you whenever I desire. I can have you live beneath my desk, giving me
pleasure as I work. I can bring up prisoners and watch you kill them, and
then make you bathe in their blood. I can order you to pleasure complete
strangers." At that, Aragorn seemed to come back into himself. "But I
won't," he added quickly. "Because you'll be mine, Boromir. And I won't
share you. I'll keep you to myself always. I'll tie you to the bed, chain
you to a wall, so you cannot leave me."
"You won't have to do that," Boromir cupped his king's face in his hands and
kissed him lightly on the lips. "Not unless you want to, not unless you want
to see me degraded. I can worship you without duress. I can love you without
provocation. I can be yours, Aragorn. All you have to say is that you want
me."
"I want you. Do...do you want it? Do you want me like that?"
"My liege, I want you any way you are willing to have me. If I haven't made
that clear before now, then let me make it clear now." Boromir moved off the
log and knelt before Aragorn, taking the stunned man's hands in his. "I love
you, son of Arathorn. I want you. I will do anything for you. If you wish me
to swear fealty now, I will do it."
"You-you are willing to do that now?" Aragorn looked around their
surroundings with some confusion. "This is hardly the right setting-"
"No, there will never be a better time," Boromir declared. "Because if I
don't do this now, I know you won't believe me. You are so humble, Aragorn,
and so modest. You don't see your own beauty. You don't see how truly
wonderful you are. You don't see how truly worthy you are of all
Middle-Earth bowing to you. As I want to. Let me do this." Moving into a
slightly more comfortable position on his knees, Boromir took a deep breath
and began. "I, Boromir son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor, do here swear
fealty and service to Aragorn, Arathorn's son, Arador's son, who was born of
Argonui of the line of Valandil, Isildur's son, to speak and to be silent,
to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or in plenty, in peace or in
war, in living or dying. From this hour henceforth, until my lord release
me, or death take me, or the world ends, I am forever my king's. So say I,
Boromir of Gondor, and so I shall uphold. I do swear."
Aragorn was so far gone not to remember the proper response. "And this I,
Aragorn, Arathorn's son, Isildur's heir, do hear and witness, and this I
will not forget, nor let pass from memory. Rise Boromir, son of Gondor,
bondman of your king, and receive your due." Boromir rose and Aragorn leaned
up to kiss his jaw. "You didn't have to do that, my love."
"I wanted to," Boromir said. "Now, my liege, if you will let your servant
show you of his loyalty, I will prove to you my oath."
"How could I refuse you anything?"
Boromir smiled at that and knelt again, this time putting his head instead
of his hands in his king's lap. His hands sought out the ties of Aragorn's
leggings and breeches and untied them with the skill of one who had done
this many times. He was pleased to note that Aragorn was already half hard.
It took only a few strokes to bring Aragorn to fullness and then Boromir
dipped his head. "Shall I endeavor to swallow you whole, my liege?" He
asked, letting his breath be felt on his king's arousal. Aragorn moaned in
response and Boromir took that as an affirmative. He matched his words to
actions, sucking and swallowing faster and harder than normal. He knew
Aragorn would not last long, not after all of this.
"Boromir! Strider! What's..."
Boromir turned his head slowly to the side, careful of his king's cock in
his mouth, and was barely able to make out a small shape in the dark.
Aragorn's hands tightened in his hair and stroked his beard almost
absent-mindedly. "Finish it," Aragorn whispered harshly. Boromir shook his
head and motioned as best he could to the astonished hobbit. "Boromir!
Finish it!" Well, when he put it that way...Boromir ducked his head again,
doing his best to ignore the hobbit. Aragorn's shout a few moments later
testified to Boromir's devotion.
With special regard to his king's cleanliness (after all, he would be
putting his mouth there later), Boromir relaced Aragorn and stood. "Yes,
Frodo? It seems your Strider is incapacitated at present, but I'm sure he'll
be fine in a moment."
Frodo's mouth was moving, Boromir noted with interest, but no sounds were
coming out. Finally, it seemed Frodo returned to being a civilized animal
long enough to regain the power of speech. "You-you were..."
"Pleasuring my king?"
Frodo looked faint at that. Was there no sex in the Shire, Boromir wondered.
"I need to talk to Strider." It was almost a question.
"Then by all means, speak to him."
"Do you have to be around?"
"Yes, he does," Aragorn answered and stood, just as Boromir was composing a
response having to do with naive hobbits and normal positions for
copulation. "I have no secrets from Boromir."
Frodo nodded, looking very unhappy. "It's about the...the 'trinket',
Strider. Gandalf isn't here, so I can't ask him. Strider, is it supposed
to be getting heavier as we go?"
Boromir could almost hear the thoughts going through his king's mind. "This
is your chance, sire," he whispered so the hobbit could not hear him. "Will
you take it?"
"Perhaps," Aragorn said, "perhaps if I could see it. Has there been any
physical change?"
"I haven't seen any," Frodo replied, but took out the Ring anyway. It glowed
bright suddenly in the night's air, and Aragorn took a step forward without
realizing. Boromir matched him, making sure to be at his king's right hand
should he be needed. "Maybe if you look, though."
"Is the heaviness in your mind, or in the Ring itself?" Aragorn seemed to
walk faster than normal as he went to Frodo and reached down to touch the
Ring. "So beautiful," he whispered in awe. Frodo, seeing the danger at last,
drew his hand back quickly. "Frodo. Give it to me."
"No! You don't know what's come over you, Strider! You don't want this!"
Aragorn threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, no, little hobbit. I don't
think I've ever wanted anything more than this. Save one thing..." He shook
his head as if to clear it. "Boromir."
"Yes, my liege?"
"Do you recall the conversation we were having earlier?"
"Of course, my liege."
"Capture him." Aragorn ordered. Boromir moved to obey, unsheathing his sword
and moving in front of his king to shield him from any sudden moves on
behalf of the hobbit. Frodo's eyes widened as Boromir stepped closer to him,
but it seemed the Ring held him in thrall. He could not run.
Boromir grasped Frodo's upper arm tightly and dragged the halfling to
Aragorn. "Your prisoner, sire."
Aragorn smiled coldly and Boromir almost swooned. Perfect Aragorn. Kingly
Aragorn. Commanding Aragorn. More than he had ever wanted. "Grasp his
wrist hard." Boromir did so, and Aragorn pried open the hobbit's fingers one
by one until the Ring fell innocuously into Aragorn's palm.
At this sight, Frodo remembered again how to speak. "No, Strider! Stop it!
Boromir, let me go! You don't know what's come over you."
"Silence him."
Boromir nodded and cuffed the back of Frodo's neck. Frodo had time to
whisper a meek "Why?" before slumping down to the ground, unconscious.
"You know, my love," Aragorn said calmly, Ring securely on his finger, "that
was a good question. Why?"
"Why what, my liege?"
"Why did you want me to take it."
Boromir kicked the body of Frodo out of his way and moved closer to his king
so they were eye to eye. "Because it's yours. Because it belongs to you.
Because it suits you to have it. Because it takes a king to wield such
power. Because this was the only way we could be together—forever."
Aragorn breath tickled lightly over Boromir's whiskers as he leaned in for a
kiss. "Those are good reasons."
"I think so, too, my lord."
Finis.
by Lanna Michaels
t was late at night and the woods in which the Fellowship camped were
quiet. Leaves rustled in the breeze and somewhere an owl told the sky of its
day, but Boromir paid them no attention. He sat alone on a half-chewed log,
while Aragorn paced before him. His attention was caught, as always, by the
long sinewy movements of Aragorn's arms as he walked, the strong muscles of
his legs pushing against the ground.
