Treachery
"Why can't you just die?" Boromir whispered under his breath as he entered
his brother's cell. Faramir was in his usual position on the stone platform,
leaning against the wall, face implacable, eyes cold as he followed his
brother's movements through the room. Boromir completed his cursory
inspection of the walls, floor, and ceiling of the cell and then took a seat
in the cell's sole chair. "Hello, brother. How was your week?"
"Pleasant. Gruel on Monday, gruel on Tuesday, looks to be gruel today, too.
And yourself?"
"Pleasant as well."
"Though I suppose they don't serve you gruel." Faramir's voice was almost
bitter. Boromir had hoped that emotion would have been exhausted by
Faramir's long incarceration. Faramir always did enjoy disappointing his
older brother.
"That is true. They do not."
"Why?"
The question caught Boromir off guard. "I don't understand. Why don't they
serve me gruel? Faramir, that's a little childish—"
"No," Faramir waved the objection away. "Why did you do this to me?"
"I did nothing. You brought this on yourself by refusing to serve the King."
"I will be no slave."
Boromir could hear the implication as clear as if Faramir had said the
words. "And I am?"
"You wear a slave ring, my brother. Do not tell me you are not slave to his
will."
"I serve my king out of love. In his kindness, he has given me this to wear
so that he will never lose me."
"Can't you hear yourself? Boromir, what has happened to you? You go away as
a man I knew and come back bearing a usurper. How could you believe his
lies? How could you let yourself be led astray?"
Only self-control learned at the edge of Aragorn's whip kept Boromir's
temper in check. Led astray? He had been the one to convince Aragorn to take
the One! "I think it was you who was much changed, Faramir, for the only
difference between the man who left and the man who came back was devotion
for his king."
"Love, you mean. You love your king, so you are blind to his faults."
"Name four."
"He is quick to anger. He kills those who disagree with him, or he
incarcerates them, which is the same thing. He is a harsh man with no
semblance of mercy. And he abuses you."
Boromir's smile was frozen in place. "Try again."
But Faramir would not be deterred. "I know he does, brother. I've seen the
bruises on your wrists when your sleeve rides up. I've heard the guards
talking about the one week when you were not seen at all around the
Citadel—"
"Palace," Boromir corrected.
"Names!" Faramir scoffed. "They can change so quickly. Titles! Oh, dear
brother, don't you see what your king has done to you? He abuses you so
often you don't even notice anymore!"
"Watch your tongue."
"Or you'll do what, Boromir? Kill me?" Faramir sneered, then thought a
moment. "Do you enjoy it?"
"What?"
"Killing."
Boromir shrugged and studied Faramir's face for any evidence of a scheme in
progress. "I do what I must. That is loyalty."
"No, that is gullibility. Can he not do his own killing?"
"I would not trouble my liege with such a petty thing."
"'Petty?'" Faramir repeated incredulously. "Ending a man's life is petty?"
"When a man's life has degenerated to the point that it no longer bears any
import to the continuance of the kingdom, then his life has entered the
realm of pettiness. It is a mercy to kill him."
"Father never taught you that. Even he would not be so presumptuous as to
believe that the entirety of a man's being and continuance in the world
depends solely on his contributions to the realm."
"Father was not my only teacher, Faramir. There are things to learn from
every creature and lifeform that inhabits this Middle-earth."
"You need not take such a rebuking tone with me, brother." Faramir sighed
and rubbed grime-stained hands against his eyes. "Are you listening to a
word I'm saying? Boromir, you're my older brother and I worry for you.
You're letting your king take advantage of you and take your loyalty for
granted." Faramir paused. "He beats you, doesn't he? When he's had a long
day? He ties you up like a prisoner and gives you a traitor's punishment. I
can see it in your eyes."
"Silence!" Boromir was out of his seat and had his hands wrapped around his
brother's throat before he realized it. Faramir held himself perfectly still
and didn't resist Boromir's murderous intentions. Boromir took a step back
and tried to calm himself. He mustn't let Faramir get the best of him.
Faramir was trying to chip away at Boromir's line of reason and force him
into rash acts. Faramir was trying to force his brother to kill him. Aragorn
had examined Faramir from afar and declared that Faramir believed that
Boromir would be 'reformed' should his brother die by his own hands by
virtue of the guilt that was sure to come. Boromir was in no hurry to test
that theory. "Know this, Faramir. Aragorn does nothing to me that I don't
want him to do. And you will stop disrespecting him. You will stop taunting
him. Dishonor me all you want, for I am naught but the king's steward, but
you will never dishonor the king in my hearing. I won't stand for it."
"Very well." Faramir brought his hands up to massage the growing bruises
Boromir's strength had given him. Boromir frowned. He hadn't let his anger
rule over him long enough to truly hurt his brother. He would have to speak
with Aragorn about this. Boromir would not allow himself to kill someone
without realizing that he was exerting enough pressure to do so. "I will
give token respect to your slaver," Faramir paused. "The same I give to my
jailer."
"Watch your tongue," Boromir repeated, but felt the conversation begin to
slip away from his control.
"Boromir, tell me this. How many people have you killed on his command?"
"Countless."
"Can you name them?"
The names of everyone he had killed... "Frodo Baggins. Samwise Gamgee.
Gimli, Gloin's son. Meriadoc Brandybuck. Peregrin Took." He recited the
names of onetime comrades as if they were faceless strangers, allowing no
emotion to be betrayed. He hadn't liked killing them, but he hadn't
disliked it either. It had been Aragorn's will and Boromir's as well. He had
truly felt nothing at their deaths. "Lego—, no, Legolas Aragorn killed
himself. Not counting orcs and others of a less than desirable nature?"
"Of course. I don't expect you to take names as you slaughter some army."
"Kind of you. Then there were several stray Rohirrim. Hama, the doorguard,
who wanted Aragorn to disarm. Erkenbrand I killed, after Aragorn killed
Theoden King."
"Theodred?"
"I kill him, after. He would not bow to Aragorn. Grima, a servant of
Saruman. Several Rohan courtiers."
"Which brings you to your entry into Gondor, having already killed a score
of people at the command of that madman."
"Are not all visionaries considered mad?"
Faramir sighed. "I will concede the point, for now. And then you entered
into Gondor, killing dissidents as you went, until you came to Minas Tirith,
threw down the gate, proclaimed your lord King of all, and then killed
Father. All the while believing that your King was righteous?!"
Boromir willed himself to be patient. This was nothing he hadn't heard
already. But Faramir was being unusually dense and it was aggravating. His
brother was not so stupid as this. "There is no such thing as a bloodless
revolution. Aragorn was the heir to the Throne of Gondor. It was his by
blood. The ones I killed would not concede. They were traitors and deserved
a traitor's death." It was so obvious. Why couldn't Faramir see?
"Then why am I still alive?"
"Because I begged Aragorn for your life!" Boromir cried in frustration. How
could his brother draw a parallel between courtiers and a son of the
Steward? He had wanted to give Faramir a chance. Instead he was getting
idiocy. "Does that please you, Faramir? Does it add to your misguided theory
that I can be 'saved'? Or do you not see it for what it was—a man who had
killed his father and did not want to have to do the same to his brother?"
Faramir was silent for a long moment and when he did reply, his voice was
low. "I had not known."
"Ah, yes, Faramir, this is not the worst it could be. You could be dead. And
I would have killed you myself then had I then known what you would be
spewing at me now!"
"If I swear allegiance to your king, will you let me die?"
That threw Boromir off for a moment and then he laughed. "No, Faramir, you
aren't getting out of this that easily. I will settle for nothing less than
your soul." That had been Aragorn's demand when Boromir had appealed for his
brother's life four years before. "I will not let you die until you belong
to Aragorn as I do, completely and without reservation. Faramir, you don't
seem to understand. We're sons of the Steward," Boromir put all the emphasis
he could into those words. It had used to mean something to his brother.
Perhaps it still did. "It is our responsibility to lead the people on the
right path. I will have no lip-servers swearing fealty. If you truly wish to
die, run against the wall," Boromir smiled coldly. Suicide was without honor
and Faramir, even deluded as he was, would never stoop to such a thing.
"There's nothing stopping you. But you will not leave this cell as a free
man until you are Aragorn's." Boromir's ring tightened imperceptibly and the
Steward stood from the stiff and broken chair. "Now, if you will excuse me,
my dear brother, I am called to the king."
"He calls and you run?"
Boromir turned back from the door. "Of course," he replied and exited. He
could hear Faramir's sigh of frustration echo behind him and almost smiled.
Faramir would never find an argument so good as to convince his brother away
from his king, but Boromir knew he would never stop trying.
'Private reception area, my love,' Boromir heard, as clearly as if Aragorn
was in the same room as him, and exited the dungeons with as much grace as
he could summon. Dueling with Faramir always took a lot out of him. His
brother had a way of sucking his vitality out of him and make him long for
the comfort of Aragorn's arms. Aragorn never judged him for his choice.
Aragorn loved him despite all his faults as steward and friend.
The private reception hall was as empty as it usually was. Even the guards
dared not come in here without the king's express command. Aragorn stood
where he always did, before a small table of open books, bending slightly as
to read the faded words better. At Boromir's entry he straightened and
approached him.
"Here at your word," Boromir murmured as Aragorn's arms encircled him from
behind and a chin moved to rest on his shoulder, kissing his neck.
"You smell like death, my love."
"I have just come from the dungeons, Aragorn."
"Ah." More kisses on his neck, moving into his hair. "So how is dear
Faramir?"
"Frustrated. He can't get me to betray you and doesn't understand why."
"Yes, I heard." Aragorn chuckled at Boromir's instinctive stiffening. "Don't
be alarmed. I was just peeking in to see if you were truly busy."
"I am never busy, save when I'm with you."
"Éomer is coming."
Boromir turned in his king's arms so they could be face to face. "Oh?"
"He sent a messenger yesterday. I have spotted his horse from the
watchtower. He'll be here within half an hour. I've already ordered the gate
to let him in and send him straight here."
"What do you think he wants?"
Aragorn leaned down and kissed Boromir's nose. "No idea. Damn it, you look
edible. Boromir, tonight I'm going to eat you. No protests."
"None," Boromir promised. "As long as I can eat you as well."
"Simultaneous cannibalism? Sounds good to me."
"So tell me about Éomer's message."
"A mere announcement that he was coming, with the requisite number of guards
for a man of his station. They're riding hard."
"It's a two week journey from Edoras. Ten days if you ride your horse to
death. Éomer would not undertake such a journey unless he had something to
say."
"Declaration of war, perhaps?"
"No. He would send an emissary for that. He would not leave himself where we
could easily kill him. Besides, there is nothing but rumors that Rohan is
arming. Though that might be something to interrogate Éomer about. You told
him only enough eoreds to keep the orcs out. Yet he has replaced both
Erkenbrand and Theodred, and added another marshal. That's fact, Aragorn,
not rumor."
"Just don't let fear of Rohan keep you up at night."
"You keep me up at night."
"You're complaining?"
"Never, my love. But I am much concerned. Éomer set forth from Edoras to
make a journey that lasts over a month, and his messenger says nothing?"
"Don't worry, Steward. You forget, Éomer has sworn himself to me-"
"And you trust his oath!?"
"No," Aragorn answered mildly, "but I do own his heart, and his mind. There
is nothing he can hide from me once he's in my presence."
"Ah. And does he know this?"
Aragorn's smile was unabashed. "Must have slipped my mind."
"I love you." Boromir grinned. "And I will let nothing, nothing, ever come
between us."
"Still thinking of your brother?"
"Aye. He and Éomer were always friends. Age-mates, then play-mates. I think
they broke each other in, but stuffy older brothers are not privy to such
information. I worry sometimes."
"For what?"
"You."
"Then have no fears, my love. I cannot die," Aragorn's hands played along
Boromir's back with more than a little reassurance. "And no matter what
arguments your brother comes up with, you will not betray me. Éomer poses no
threat to me, nor to you. There is no way he can be plotting with Faramir.
There is no way they could be teaming up to do either of us harm. And I will
kill your brother, your protests be damned, before I let him try to hurt
you. You are precious to me, beloved, and I will allow nothing to happen to
you." Aragorn tightened his embrace, moving Boromir even closer to him.
"Because you're mine and I'm keeping you."
"Good." A trumpet blew somewhere in the distance and Boromir groaned. "I
thought you said we had half an hour."
"It appears I underestimated Éomer's willingness to kill his horse. Come.
You need to change into court attire. We have fifteen minutes until Éomer
can possibly get here from the gate and you need to be placed in close
contact with some water." Aragorn's pupils dilated slowly and then he shook
his head to clear it. "I've given the order. Come, my dear."
Boromir grimaced but let himself be lead by the backstairs to his
little-used quarters where his formal attire was kept. Aragorn busied
himself with the armoire and pulled out several garments. Boromir took them
with some distaste.
"Strip."
Boromir raised an eyebrow. Aragorn did not even blink.
"You may make a show of it if you wish, but that will take away time.
There's water in your tub, and I've picked out what you're to wear. We're
expected downstairs in ten minutes. Strip."
Boromir obeyed. He hated formal wear, probably more than he hated orcs. And
of all the uncomfortable, confining clothing... "Blue?"
"Looks beautiful on you."
With a look at Aragorn's heated gaze, Boromir resigned himself to not
winning this one. "Don't suppose I could convince you to bathe me?"
"Hardly. Now stop stalling." Aragorn made a dismissive gesture with one hand
and Boromir disappeared into the bath area. Five minutes later he returned,
hair dripping and a towel around his waist.
"That," he said, taking the towel off and using it to dry the rest of his
body, "was not fun."
"It wasn't meant to be." Aragorn took the towel from Boromir and handed him
an undertunic instead. "Now dress." Boromir complied, trying not to look at
the colors. Black and silver were better suited to a son of Minas Tirith,
and even Aragorn had not dared change her colors along with her name. Some
things were forever.
Five minutes later, Boromir took his customary place to the right of the
throne as the great doors opened to admit the King of Rohan. Boromir studied
Éomer critically. He walked like a man who knew he was going to please his
lord and would be rewarded grandly for it, yet he was dressed as a common
Rider save for the signet of office on his finger. Boromir frowned.
Something was wrong. Éomer had never flaunted his position, but he had never
been ashamed of it either.
Ten paces from the dais, Éomer paused and knelt. "Greetings, Aragorn son of
Arathorn, High King over all the lands of men. I bring you the obedience of
the land of Rohan and all her people."
Boromir could feel Aragorn's intense gaze study Éomer for a long moment.
Éomer shifted on the floor and Boromir watched with interest as Éomer's
pulse quickened with his growing fear. "Rise, Éomer King," Aragorn
pronounced finally. "How fares the Mark?"
Éomer stood and looked more than a little relieved. "Well, my liege. We have
prospered under your generosity. All Rohan sings the praises of the King of
Gondor."
"Indeed," Aragorn said shortly. He hated flattery. "And what of the rumors
of insurrection in your villages?"
"Rumors, my liege, and nothing more. Rohan's obedience with forever with
Gondor."
"We have found Rohan's obedience wanting of late, Éomer King."
"No more," Éomer promised. "I have been lax in my duties, for my wife was
ill with pregnancy. A month ago her pregnancy was completed and so I have
striven to appear before you."
"To what end?"
"To swear to you the life of my newborn son, for ever shall he serve you as
I have."
"That is a great boon to give upon your son's birth, Éomer of Rohan." And it
meant that something was wrong. The Éomer Boromir had known would never do
such a thing. He would delay, resisting the inevitable task of allowing an
enemy power over his son, infant or otherwise, for as long as possible.
"Yet I would swear it. Let it never be said again the Rohan's obedience is
wanting." Boromir was reminded sharply of his own fealty oath in the
darkened woods as Éomer knelt again. Éomer's own oath of allegiance had been
short and filled with hate at what necessity had wrought. Éomer had never
wanted to be king, especially not while Thoedred's body cooled next to him,
blood still slowly seeping out. But this was more like Boromir's own, filled
with emotion and desire. But Éomer's motives were still a mystery. "I swear
now the life of Elfwine son of Éomer into the service of Barad-âr, to be a
servant to her call and a slave always unto the will of her King. And now,"
Éomer continued, "with the permission of my Lord King, I would appoint
Elfwine, my son, and ever your servant, as my heir."
Interesting, Boromir thought. Elfwine. A strange name, that was. He was not
knowledgeable enough in Rohirric to know its meaning, but the connotations
in Westron were disturbing. No elves overtly remained in Middle-Earth.
Gentle Folk had been banished from the lands of men and had been
'encouraged' by soldiers and the Nine to make for the Grey Havens. Most had
complied. The ones that hadn't had the sense to lie low. Dwarves stayed in
the mountains, sending only a tribute, and hobbits were never seen outside
the Shire. Only Boromir, he knew, was in the position where he could hurt
the King. But he would never do such a thing, not even by accident. Aragorn
had no need to fear betrayal from him.
"Far be it from Gondor to interfere with the internal goings-on of Rohan. I
thank you for the life of your son. There is no gift more generous, no boon
more worthy. Appoint your son your heir as you will, Éomer. And allow me to
extend my congratulations on the birth of your son. Children are an unending
source of pride for their parents, and I am certain that Elfwine will bring
you nothing but joy."
"Thank you, my liege."
"But come, Éomer. Surely you did not ride these two weeks just for a birth
announcement?"
"In truth, I did, my lord. Let it never be said that Rohan is not loyal to
Barad-âr."
He was trying too hard, Boromir realized. The Éomer he had known of old was
never so servile, never so submissive, so eager to please. That was what had
made the deception so obvious. The Éomer he had known was proud, bowed only
to Theoden, and tolerated no criticism. Yet he had just performed the
ultimate sacrifice: placing the life of his son in the hands of a man who
certainly did not even like the child's father. Éomer was plotting
something. And he was definitely hiding something. Boromir itched to know
what it was and felt a slow anger begin to burn. If Éomer had resolved to
betray his overlord, then Boromir's wrath would know no bounds. First his
brother, then Éomer. Would personal betrayals never end? Boromir shut his
eyes and resisted the urge to look up at Aragorn on his opulent throne. Only
Aragorn cared for him. Only Aragorn would never harm him. His king would do
whatever was necessary to shield his steward from the unsavory parts of his
rule, allowing no argument when Boromir asked to help. Aragorn protected
him. Aragorn loved him. Boromir could trust no one else with his heart, his
love, or his faith.
"Your loyalty knows no bounds, Éomer of Rohan, and we thank you for arriving
promptly," Boromir knew that he was not the only one who could hear the edge
in Aragorn's voice, "however, since you are here, there are several things
that need to be cleared up."
"I am at your service, my lord."
"When last we spoke, you told me that you were complying with my wishes and
that Rohan was decreasing the number of eoreds. Yet now I hear that you have
appointed a fourth Marshal for your borders and your Riders are ever on
their guard."
"There have been many orc attacks of late, my lord, on all our borders. I
created a Marshal for our Western border so that Rohan's forces could be
better utilized. The number of Riders has not increased; I have merely
reorganized."
"Yet the number has not decreased."
"Surely my lord doesn't expect me to reduce the number of soldiers I have at
my command at a time of need?"
"If you were so hardpressed that you had to violate my express command, why
did you not send to Gondor for reinforcements?" Éomer stiffened but did not
answer. Aragorn studied him for a long moment. "Your pride has ever been
your enemy, Éomer of Rohan. You cannot delay this any longer. When you
return to Edoras, I expect my command to be obeyed. With you I will send a
company of my troops, so you will not feel deprived."
Boromir smiled, grateful for his position as King's councilor so that no
attention was focused on him. Éomer had trotted into a corner and hadn't
realized it. Éomer always had underestimated Aragorn. He thought the High
King a brute, always more willing to use the sword than the tongue, always
eager to kill rather than understand. Éomer was a fool.
"That-that will not be necessary, my lord. Rohan can defend herself."
"I insist. After all, we are both men. We have to look out for each other."
Éomer's voice caught in his throat as he answered. "As my lord says."
Boromir could almost see him planning how to evade the escort and had the
unsettling feeling that Aragorn could actually see the plans being made.
"But, my lord, I would not wish Rohan to take needed soldiers from Gondor's
borders-"
"Éomer, enough. You came to me with a complaint—that your borders were
being overrun. Why do you chafe at my answer? Was it not the solution you
wished for?"
"I—my lord, well..."
"Rohan is too proud to accept help," Aragorn said as if in understanding.
"But Rohan needs to learn, and her king would do well to take heed. Gondor
rules over Rohan, and I am Gondor."
"Yes, my lord."
Boromir wondered at the meekness of Éomer's tone. Why was Éomer doing this?
What plot was he trying to fulfill? There had to be a very good reason for
Éomer to degrade himself like he was, and Boromir knew that whatever Éomer
was planning, it would not bode well for Rohan's king. Aragorn had been
betrayed too many times not to notice the signs. And Éomer was clearly
showing them, and in large quantities. It was almost too obvious. But, of
course, it wasn't. Éomer merely had no experience in betrayal. He didn't
realize that he had placed himself up against a man who could read his mind
and one who would do anything, anything, to protect his king.
"Have you need of any more counsel, Éomer King?"
"None, my lord."
"Oh, come, Éomer. Do not be sore. It's unbecoming of a man of your station.
How fares your sister?"
"As well as can be expected, my lord. Her beloved is incarcerated and all my
words will not make her pain desert her."
'Beloved?' Aragorn asked silently. 'Faramir,' Boromir replied. 'They
plighted their troth six years ago. Father would not allow the wedding until
the immediate war was over, or until I wed, whichever came first.'
"Women are tenderhearted creatures," Aragorn said. "Perhaps she shall find
another to love. For I shall not allow her beloved from the dungeons until
he has sworn himself to me of his own volition."
"Yes, my lord, and knowing the Lord Faramir, that will not be soon. He is
prouder than even I."
There was something about that sentence...Éomer should have been bitter, not
triumphant. Boromir frowned. So this was about Faramir. Was Éomer here to
bargain for his life? Even Éomer could not be so foolish.
"And how fares your lady wife, cousin to our Steward?"
Éomer glanced at Boromir before replying, and his face betrayed him for a
moment. There was anger there, and a hint of betrayal. Éomer obviously held
Boromir's allegiances against him. "As well as I do, my lord. She is
slightly weak from childbirth, but that is nothing that will not fade with
time and care."
"Well." Aragorn replied, and it was clear that the audience was over. "The
hospitality of my house is open to you for as long as you wish to stay.
Mablung will conduct you to quarters."
"Thank you, my lord," Éomer stood and bowed, eyes never leaving Boromir's,
leaving the Steward with a growing sense of unease. Aragorn stood as well
and watched Éomer exit the throne room.
"Boromir, attend me."
"Of course, my liege," Boromir followed Aragorn for the short distance
between the throne and the entrance to Aragorn's private study. Once in
there, he sighed against the closed door and watched Aragorn pace.
Finally Aragorn looked back at him. "Tell me of Éomer as a child."
"He was wild, Aragorn, that is the only word for it," Boromir wrung his
hands and finally allowed himself to lower his defense and allow his
distress to show in his eyes. "He would listen to no one but Theoden or
Theodred, and sometimes not even them. He was like a colt, Aragorn." And a
very wild one, at that. Éomer had often needed a sound beating, but, as the
king's nephew, never received one. He had been spoiled as a child, expecting
the world to be simple and allegiances sacred. He had been wholly unprepared
for a man like Aragorn. "I cannot reconcile that vision with what I saw
today. My love, Éomer has never been like that. Unless you were doing
something to him, by all rights he should have been outraged when you
corrected him, not plaintive." And that was the crux of the matter. What
sort of betrayal would change the nature of a person? "I-I don't understand
it, Aragorn. It seemed like it was a poor mimic playing Éomer, not the man
himself. Éomer would not know gratitude if it killed his horse from under
him, yet...yet he was the epitome of courtly gratitude today. You gave him
the throne, and he seemed to be consciously aware of that. It's
uncharacteristic. It's unsettling. It worries me, Aragorn," Boromir
admitted, hating himself for such weakness. Aragorn had told him not to
worry, but he couldn't even obey such a simple command. "I know not what to
make of the man who swore his son to you. Éomer would never do such a thing.
He would never leave the life of his son, nay, any of his kin or men, in the
hands of someone he did not trust."
"He is betraying me, Boromir."
Boromir nodded, somewhat comforted by the frank statement. He hated
doubletalk and having to read meanings into seemingly innocent words. "I had
thought as much. Shall I kill him?"
"No, not yet. I have something better in mind. Boromir, we're going to
invite the proud king of Rohan into our bed."
"We are?!"
Aragorn was in front of him in a blink, hands on Boromir's forearms,
soothing him. "Yes, dear Boromir, we are. And once he has been hurt enough,
then will I finally let him meet his end."
"Aragorn—"
"Hush, my love. He will do nothing to harm you, though I will let you punish
him if you so desire."
"He has betrayed you," Boromir answered simply, ignoring Aragorn's
declaration for the moment. "Of course I wish to revenge. I want his pain to
be heard even in Hornberg. I want it to be a lesson to all who would hurt
you. And then I want his name forgotten, banished from all living memory,
all records of the kings of the Riddermark."
"I love you when you're bloodthirsty," Aragorn whispered and leaned in for a
kiss. "Then it shall be done that way, my love. May it never be said that
the king does not listen to his steward. But tell me, Boromir. What would
you have me do with the child?"
"Hostage," Boromir whispered and kissed Aragorn's cleft, working his way up
to his king's lips. By the Valar, he wanted a kiss. "Keep him here. Rename
him, of course. Eothain would probably be fitting, it means horse-lord."
"And what to do with Rohan?" Aragorn asked, evading Boromir's lips long
enough to slip his hands around Boromir's waist and pull his hips close
against his own. Aragorn's fingers brushed over Boromir's sword and then his
daggers, tracing the words etched into the pommels. Only Boromir was allowed
armed before the king and Aragorn liked to emphasize that privilege when
Boromir was feeling apprehensive.
"Mmm, find a regent. Someone loyal. I don't know."
"But who could I trust?"
"No one." Boromir shrugged and did his best to fuse his body permanently to
Aragorn's. "Annex it, then."
"I would still need a governor," Aragorn reminded him, and with regret,
disentangled himself from his steward. "Come. There is work that needs to be
done."
Boromir pouted.
"Oh," Aragorn added, as if in afterthought, "and have I told you how
wonderful you look like that? Perhaps I should have you wear blue more
often."
Boromir raised an eyebrow. "Don't even think about it, my liege. The color
of blood suits me better. Besides, it doesn't stain if you have me working
down in the dungeons again."
"Touche." Aragorn grinned and then paused. "Halbarad," he said, as if amazed
he hadn't thought of it before.
"Your pardon, my liege?"
"My kinsman Halbarad. I have him now overseeing the rebuilding of Osgiliath.
He would do anything for me."
Boromir nodded, two steps ahead of what Aragorn was saying. A useful skill,
considered that since Aragorn could read minds he assumed that everyone else
could. "Would he die for you?"
"Better than that. He would live for me. He would devote all waking moments
to my service."
"And I do not do that?"
"Of course you do, but I'm not letting you that far from me. I don't want to
have to go days without you, let alone weeks or months."
Boromir smiled. "And I love you, too. How fast can your kinsman get here?"
"He's on his way now."
Boromir never ceased to be amazed at Aragorn's power. "I didn't know you
could do that."
"Halbarad is my closest kin," Aragorn said, clearly amused. "We were almost
telepathic beforehand. I merely asked him if he wished to have a chance of
being a ruler himself. He asked how quickly he had to be here before the
offer was rescinded and then added that he was on his way. He should be here
with the dawn. Halbarad can refuse me nothing and he has always harbored a
great love of horses. Rohan should be no trial for him. And as for
subjugating her people, Halbarad is even harsher than I am. He once stared
down an army of Orcs. Rebels won't phase him."
"He sounds ruthless. Why haven't I met him before?"
"You have," Aragorn said, eyes twinkling with merriment." He was the one at
my coronation who you tried to kill."
"The one that embraced you," Boromir said darkly, remembering. "In front of
me."
"Yes, well, he didn't know you were the jealous type. And he had been
waiting so long for me to take the crown. To his credit, though, he did not
touch me around you after that."
"I had both a sword at his throat and a knife at his groin. I should hope he
learned his lesson."
"Oh, he did."
Aragorn had indeed attempted to eat him and Boromir had put up quite a
struggle. Boromir doubted that the bite marks would fade in less than weeks.
He sighed in contentment and kissed the perfect indention of his teeth
around Aragorn's left nipple, suckling gently. "You make cute noises in your
sleep, Aragorn," he whispered and began to kiss his way down his lover's
chest. Aragorn muttered something that might have been his steward's name
but did not awaken. Boromir continued his ministrations, being careful not
to wake Aragorn. He had been so tired lately and the demands on the kingdom
were weighing heavily upon her king. Even the Ring could not forestall sleep
for this long.
Boromir planted a soft kiss above Aragorn's heart and nuzzled the soft hairs
there. He usually enjoyed the fact that Aragorn was a side-sleeper, though
it often meant that Boromir ran a real danger of having his king roll on top
of him while he was trying to savor Aragorn's flesh. Not that there weren't
worse places for Aragorn to be, but still. Aragorn needed his rest.
Boromir paused and frowned. A name, unbidden, had risen in his mind. It was
been a name he had heard a guard mention as a name of one of Éomer's guards,
but he had thought nothing of it at the time. Now he cursed himself for his
stupidity and oversight.
Dernhelm.
Boromir was out of the bed before he realized it and picked up the first
pair of leggings he found. They were thankfully his but his fingers refused
to listen to his brain. All it could think was 'hurry'. He finally got the
laces tied and was pulling on a tunic and jerkin when Aragorn moved on the
bed.
"Where you are going?"
"To check on something, my love. I'll be only a moment. Go back to bed."
Instead of obeying (not that Boromir had expected him to), Aragorn rolled
over and got out of bed. He repeated Boromir's ritual from before, finding
clothing and putting it on, and Boromir could almost feel Aragorn banish all
fatigue from his body.
"What's going on, Boromir?"
"One of Éomer's guards answers to 'Dernhelm'," Boromir answered, eyes
searching for more proper attire.
"What of it, my love?"
"There has never been a Rider by the name of Dernhelm. It is rather the name
shieldmaidens use when they wish to appear as Riders."
"My love, you're going to have to be clearer."
Boromir seemed not to hear him. "But why would Eowyn chance discovery? Why
would she come where she knows she is not welcome?" His eyes suddenly glowed
and a sneer came over his face. "She's here for Faramir. She will not get
him."
"Calm down, Boromir. Tell me what you see," Aragorn demanded, a hint of
command in his voice. No matter how far gone Boromir was, he would always
respond to a direct order from his king.
"Eowyn is here, my lord," Boromir answered, voice devoid of emotion. "Was
here, actually. Something startled her and she has made for the Gate and for
a prearranged rendezvous point with her brother and...my brother. There may
still be time to stop her." Without waiting for Aragorn's reply, Boromir
opened the door which connected Aragorn's bedroom from the guard's station.
"Beregond," he acknowledged the head guard on duty. "Where are the Rohirrim
quartered?"
Beregond seemed startled by the question. "In F Barracks, my lord. It was
the only one with a stable."
F Barracks. Boromir felt his dread grow. There was no time to reach F
Barracks. "And Éomer King?"
"He is in his quarters, my lord."
"I know that, you fool. Where are his quarters?" Boromir asked, silencing
the tittering guards with a look.
Beregond flushed. "Well, my lord..."
He's stalling, Boromir realized with a start. First F Barracks, the furthest
barrack house from the Palace, and now he was certain that Beregond would
pick the furthest quarters in which to place Éomer.
'Boromir. Kill him,' Aragorn's voice ordered. Boromir nodded and turned to
the closest guard. "Ingold, give me your sword." The guard unsheathed his
sword and handed it to his captain without a word. Boromir tested the
sword's balance and point and then lowered it. Without pausing, he
approached Beregond, brought the sword to bear, and stabbed the guard. He
pulled the sword out and watched dispassionately as Beregond slumped to the
floor, blood already seeping out of his dying body. Another stroke and
Beregond's head was off. Boromir knelt and wiped Ingold's sword off on
Beregond's uniform and then straightened.
"Dispose of the body," he ordered the room, and the guards immediately set
to the task of removing the corpse and assigning who was to do what job.
With all the confusion, Boromir did not see the running guard until they
were almost face to face. He held out a hand to steady the exhausted man.
"Message," the guard panted, face red, "for the king."
"The King is listening," Aragorn said, coming up from behind Boromir.
"Message from the watch at F Barracks. We cannot account for all the
Rohirrim, my liege. Mablung is searching for them now and sent me with the
missive. He begs you to allow him to sound the alert."
"He has my permission. Take two guardsmen with you and find Éomer King's
quarters. If he is not there, you are to find him and bring him to me to be
dealt with, personally. If you cannot find him, prepare the death chamber.
Boromir."
"Yes, my liege?"
"I need you to search the Palace. Find Éomer, or as close to him as
possible."
Boromir blanched. "My liege..."
"I know you can do it. All that is necessary is for you to believe it. Use
the ring I gave you. Find your old friend. If he'll respond to anyone, he'll
respond to you."
Boromir bowed his head in acquiescence and closed his eyes. He felt himself
fall into the connection between his ring and the One, and felt along the
connection until he felt the guards standing nervously around him. 'Éomer,'
his mind whispered. 'King of the Mark, you are still a Man, and thus bound
by this ring. You must answer my summons. You are sworn to another, but this
one still holds power. Éomer. Show me where you are.'
"Dungeons," he croaked, and one clammy hand reached out blindly to grasp at
Aragorn. Boromir felt himself sway and Aragorn call for a damp cloth, which
was laid against his burning forehead.
"You did wonderful, my love." Aragorn's voice was close against Boromir's
ear. "I have given the order to contain the dungeons and have sent riders
after Eowyn. But if you wish to confront Éomer, you need to follow the sound
of my voice and return to consciousness. Rest can come with the dawn, dear
one. Awaken." Aragorn's fingers brushed over Boromir's hand and pressed
lightly against his ring. Boromir choked and sat up quickly, hands clutching
at Aragorn to anchor himself. He was still dizzy from using too much power.
Aragorn had told him he needed to learn how to control it better, and
Boromir wished desperately he could command his ring like Aragorn could the
One. Perhaps then he wouldn't have been so weak. Fainting was for children
and men who lost blood on the battlefield, not for the Steward of Gondor in
his king's quarters.
"Faramir," he coughed and took a grateful sip from one of the guards'
canteens. "I need to...where is my brother?"
"Don't be concerned about him. I will take care of Faramir."
"No. Aragorn, no. Please. Let me deal with him."
Aragorn studied his swaying steward for a long moment and Boromir mentally
begged him to understand that he wished to make up for this terrible wrong
his family had done to his king. Boromir knew he would not rest until he
had, even if exhaustion bring him to his knees. Aragorn nodded. "Very well.
He's yours."
Boromir stepped grimly into the cell. Faramir lay on the floor and Éomer was
working at the chains with a rusted key. Seeing Boromir, Éomer straightened
and Faramir groaned. "Not now, brother. Give us a bit of privacy, if you
don't mind."
Boromir raised an eyebrow. "Outside this room is the king (your king, Éomer)
and a host of guards. This is not the best time to be mounted, nor is that
the best position in which to do so."
"You should know." Faramir winced as the chain was yanked from the other
side of the wall and Boromir knew that to be the signal from the dungeon
master that they were surrounded. Faramir would not be able to escape death
this time. Éomer moved instinctively to see to his friend but was checked by
Boromir's sword suddenly drawn and at his throat.
"Disarm yourself, Éomer." Éomer made no move to comply. "I shall not tell
you again."
"I will not submit."
Boromir laughed. "No one is expecting you to. In fact, I hope you do not.
Your pain will be so much more fulfilling if you fight."
"Boromir!"
"You knew what chances you took, and one of the risks was being caught.
Already we have riders out. They will overtake Eowyn soon, if they have not
already. Face it, Éomer King. You have lost."
"I have triumphed. People will see, Boromir. They will see that they can
rebel!"
"They will see what happens to those who do rebel," Boromir corrected.
"I worked alone," Éomer said quickly. "I have no organization."
"You'll betray them anyway," Boromir said, bemused by Éomer's attempts to
save his friends. Did he truly expect Boromir to believe that a king in
rebellion had no one helping him?
"You have no hold over me."
Boromir's mouth quirked upwards. So Éomer had not noticed Boromir's
intrusion into his mind. Good. "True. But Aragorn does."
"Aragorn never gets his hands dirty."
"He'll make an exception for you. You are not just a rebel, Éomer, you are a
traitor. An oathbreaker." Boromir let that sink in. The Rohirrim prided
themselves on always fulfilling any oath they made. They were a proud people
and did not take dishonor lightly. Éomer had made a grievous mistake when he
allowed himself to be spared and fealty sworn.
Éomer understood his moral peril. His life was forfeit by his own laws if he
failed to fulfill a promise made. "I have not raised my hand against the
Arathornion."
Boromir's face hardened at the epithet. Éomer had just condemned himself by
his words. Only the rebels referred to Aragorn as the son of his father and
not worthy of a name of his own. "By your own words you have proclaimed your
guilt. Your. Sword. Éomer." And even though Éomer was sworn to another, the
ring of Men had power enough to force Éomer into obedience. Boromir felt his
strength drain out of him, but pulled Aragorn's close presence around him
like a cloak. He could not let these traitors see his weakness. Boromir took
the proffered sword and studied the jeweled bauble as it was handed to him.
More a toy than a weapon and rather poorly forged. Boromir frowned. Éomer
was a warrior. How could a warrior allow himself to carry such an inferior
blade? "Now your draggers." Boromir said, and broke the sword over his knee.
"I'm not carrying."
"Come, horsemaster, do you think me a fool?"
"You were to follow that madman."
"And you to rebel. Though how do you know if I am not the power
behind the throne and Aragorn merely my puppet?"
"You wear a slave ring!"
"I wear a ring of power, taken from the Witchking himself," Boromir
corrected. "Daggers, Éomer."
Boromir saw the flash just in time and brought his sword up to deflect the
gleaming steal. The daggers thudded bluntly against the wall and broke from
the force.
"Poor weaponry, Éomer, shame on you. What would your uncle say?"
"My uncle is dead, thanks to you."
"He would not swear."
"Faramir did not swear and you spared his life."
"A mercy I greatly regret at the moment. Aragorn told me it would not end
well. Foolishly, I did not believe him nor heed his words. I was proud
enough to believe that my family, the family of the Stewards, would not
deny their rightful king. But, alas, I am not perfect. I made a mistake, one
I shall not make again. No, you both will die this night, or wish you
could."
"It matters not. We have already triumphed."
"You have already failed." Aragorn spoke a few words into Boromir's mind,
with an added plea to leave the place of danger as quickly as possible. "And
Eowyn as well," Boromir went on, ignoring his king's request. Only if
Aragorn made it into an order would he be compelled to obey, on his honor.
"Your sister is dead, Éomer King. Would you condemn your wife as well?"
"Lothiriel is your spy."
"Not mine. Aragorn's, perhaps, but without my knowledge."
"Then why..." Éomer shut his mouth and exchanged looks with Faramir. Boromir
was relaxed enough into the power of his ring to interpret the glance
without a thought as to why he understood it.
"Perhaps she is loyal to her king, however unfathomable that may sound to
you," he said dryly. "Or perhaps she has a lover in the Palace. Her
correspondence is her own affair, as is her curiosity. The child?"
Éomer's head jerked up from his contemplation. "You won't kill him."
"Worse," Faramir whispered. "They'll make him hate you. I know my brother's
mind. He can think of no greater revenge than turning the son against the
father. The Arathornion started it when he had my brother kill my father,
and Boromir, I'm ashamed to say, has taken the lesson to heart."
Boromir ignored his brother. "You are in position to be making threats,
Éomer. And you, my dear brother, are in no position to like it or not."
"Boromir believes that if he pretends that we were not friends in the past,
that we share no tender memories, then I am of no consequence to his
dwindling conscience," Faramir said to Éomer, pulled absently on the chains
still manacled to his bruised wrists. "He is in denial that his king will
use him and then discard him like he has everyone who ever mattered to him."
"My loyalty is not in question here, Faramir. Éomer's treachery is."
"I said no such thing, brother. I am stating the fact that Aragorn is a
manipulator and once he has no use for you, you will cease to live. You have
said as much before my face without realizing that you were speaking of
yourself. Aragorn is not worthy of your devotion."
"Who do you think convinced him to take the Ring?"
Faramir's face whitened. "You-you didn't, Boromir."
"I did."
"He allowed you to convince him," Éomer said, hesitating for a moment. "He
let you talk, all the while moving the conversation around so that you would
think you were in control of the conversation. He is a master at that."
"Then you do not know Aragorn. The Ring held no sway over him. It never has
and it never will. He was too strong for it to master his will and once he
bent it to his will, it cannot go astray. Sauron learned the price of
doubting that."
"B-brother..."
"Faramir. And all this time you thought I could be 'saved'." Boromir
resisted the urge to laugh in his brother's face. Faramir's expression was
almost comical. "Even if you had won, I would never have betrayed my king.
You have lost."
"Indeed we have," Faramir said quietly, and Boromir felt something vital die
inside his brother. Boromir nodded imperceptibly and called in the guards.
He felt Aragorn's power rush by him and he was pressed against the wall, his
king's hands holding him back and keeping him close.
"Never make me worry like that again," Aragorn growled. "Eavesdropping does
not become a king."
"Yes, my liege," Boromir tried for a tired smile and Aragorn's expression
softened.
"Take from my strength, dear one. The night is far from over."
Boromir watched dispassionately as Éomer awoke. His work had paid off; Éomer
hung suspended from a beam that ran the width of the room. He had hung the
knots so that Éomer could be turned around, but other than that had no
connection with the room. His feet were a foot above the ground and they
began to kick as Éomer began to come back to consciousness. Aragorn's power
had knocked him out and he had only grudgingly removed it so that Éomer
could return to awareness.
"Where am I?" Éomer asked, looking around at the shadows that surrounded
him. Boromir knew that Éomer could not pick him out of the darkness and the
thought made him smile. Éomer was completely helpless. Completely at their
mercy. How incredibly wonderful.
"The death room of Barad-âr," Aragorn answered, approaching Éomer slowly
from the wall.
"Why am I here?" Éomer put as much indignation into his voice as he could.
'I am a King of Men and ruler of the Riddermark', his tone said. 'How dare
you imprison me like a common criminal.'
"Don't think me a fool," Aragorn smiled and Éomer shivered, as if suddenly
aware that he was completely naked and at the mercy of his liege lord.
"Boromir."
Éomer whipped his head around to see Boromir move from the shadow. "Aragorn,
it's not what you think."
Boromir stopped a few feet away, putting Aragorn between himself and Éomer.
"Of course it's not what I think," Aragorn said, eyes never leaving
Boromir's. Slowly, so that Éomer could see his movements, Aragorn let down
the rope and Éomer's feet touched the ground, with slack to spare. "You
haven't been lusting after my Steward since the first time you met him. You
don't want to kill me so he'll be free of me. You don't hate me for taking
the one you desire from your grasp." Aragorn turned, beckoning Boromir to
him. Boromir obeyed, coming up behind Aragorn and placing his hand in his
king's waiting hand. "But let me tell you something, Éomer." Aragorn's voice
lowered to a whisper. "He was never in your grasp." Aragorn's foot came out
suddenly and kicked Éomer to his knees before them. "You see," he said,
moving Boromir before him and undoing his steward's pants as he spoke, "you
people, you rebels, think of him as my slave, with a ring that denotes him
as such. I like to think of him instead as my partner, my lesser king, so to
speak. You see only the slave ring. I see that it once belonged to kings and
only they could wear it. You see it as lesser to my Ring, but I know that
with his ring, Boromir could rule kingdoms of men. Yet, he chooses to serve
me. Why?"
"Because you're a madman!" Éomer answered. Boromir could hear the fear
clouding his voice. He truly had no idea what was going to happen.
"No," Aragorn answered, pulling Boromir's pants and leggings down, and then
cupping his hardening cock. "Because he loves me, as I love him." Boromir
moaned as Aragorn began to stroke him to fullness. The king smiled and then
turned Boromir around so that Éomer could see. "And you're going to suck him
off." Aragorn kept a tight hold on Boromir's ring hand as Éomer looked from
one captor to the other. "Come on, king of Rohan. I know you want to. You
forget, I can see your thoughts."
Éomer gulped at the reminder and couldn't help but stare at the cock in
front of him. Boromir felt himself harden even more at Éomer's gaze. When
Aragorn had said that they would not be giving Éomer any pleasure but that
he would be pleasuring them both, Boromir hadn't known what to expect. He
certainly hadn't expected this vision before him: a king forced to kneel,
hands still suspended above his head, long hair mangy all about him. A king
on his knees before Boromir. 'Nothing less than you deserve,' Aragorn's
voice whispered in his mind. 'I didn't lie when I said I thought of you as a
lesser king.'
'I certainly like being under you,' Boromir replied, a wicked smile
plastered on his lips as he took a small step forward, forcing his cock
against Éomer's closed lips. "Open for me," he ordered softly and Éomer did,
pink tongue darting out to taste the drops collecting at the head of
Boromir's cock. Boromir's hand tightened on Aragorn's as Éomer took him as
deep as he could and began to suck. 'Shall I tell you what he's thinking?'
Aragorn asked, clearly amused at the spectacle before him. 'Shall I tell you
how much he's wishing I wasn't here, that it was just you and he in a bed
somewhere, somewhere where he could show you how much he wants you? Shall I
tell you his private fantasies, ones he's been collecting and perfecting
since that fated day the two of you met? There's a rather interesting one we
shall have to try, with includes a quite industrial use for sweetwine. He
thinks you're very sweet, my dear. He wants more of you. Give it to him." At
Aragorn's insistence, Boromir pushed his hips forward, forcing more of
himself into Éomer's willing mouth, almost choking Rohan's king in the
process. 'Slowly, my love,' Aragorn admonished. 'He isn't used to you, and
we don't want to kill him just yet. He has to suffer first, and swallowing
you, I'm sorry to say, does not qualify as suffering.'
Boromir smiled coldly at that and tightened his hold on Aragorn. He wanted
his king to share in the pleasure he was receiving from Éomer's unskilled
mouth. What Éomer lacked in experience he made up for in longing, in having
had planned this since he was little more than a child. When Aragorn had
told him Éomer's reason for rebellion, Boromir was hardly able to believe
it, but now, seeing Éomer cowed before them and happy to undertake such a
demeaning task for his captor, Boromir began to understand Éomer's
justifications for his actions. And Éomer did have a sweet mouth.
'Further, my love. Make him ache for it the way I ache for you when you are
not close to me. Let him know that I, and always I, come before him in your
estimations. Let him know that this is only happening because I allowed it
to. Such a debt of guilty gratitude is a wonderful parting gift, do you not
agree?'
'Oh, yes.' Boromir licked his lips and forced himself all the way down
Éomer's willing throat. A pretty blush was reddening Éomer's face nicely,
adding just the right amount of shame to the encounter. Boromir felt Éomer
swallow around him and almost moaned. Aragorn's warning presence in his mind
helped him keep a hold on his noises. Éomer could never be allowed to know
how much pleasure Boromir was receiving from Éomer's degradation. For all
the confessions of the night, Éomer still trusted Boromir in some small part
of his mind. It would make his death all the more delicious.
'Aragorn!'
'Yes, my love?' Aragorn's mental voice was very amused by the spectacle and
Boromir felt himself grow even closer.
'I'm about to—I need to...Aragorn!'
Aragorn chuckled. 'Pull out, Boromir. His face is too pretty. I want you to
mark it. I want it to mingle with his tears and bring his shame even closer
to the surface. Pull out, Boromir.'
Reluctantly, Boromir obeyed and Éomer made a small noise of protest as he
lost the one thing he had longed for all his life. Aragorn's fingers
stroking the inside of Boromir's palm gave Boromir the only encouragement
needed and he came all over Éomer's face. He watched in fascination as
Éomer's pink tongue darted out to lick it up, as Éomer tried to savor the
taste.
Aragorn heard the things Boromir could only dare to think. 'What can I say,
my love? You're so wonderful that everyone wants you. But only I can have
you.'
'And that's how it should be,' he whispered in contentment and leaned back
into Aragorn's arms, feeling Aragorn's heart beat against him. Boromir's
breath slowed until they breathed as one and Boromir felt himself become
submerged into Aragorn's will. It was a comfortable feeling, like an old,
worn, and much beloved blanket, and Aragorn soothing over all his fears was
like feeding an addiction. Boromir sighed in happiness as Aragorn's arms
tightened around him, giving him his instructions. Éomer remained kneeling
at their feet and Boromir took the jeweled daggers from his and Aragorn's
belts. He tapped the blunt side of Aragorn's under Éomer's bowed head and
raised the deposed king's face, all the while reveling in Aragorn's arms
still encircling him.
"Kiss the blade, Éomer, and make this a blood oath."
Shamed beyond all pride, Éomer kissed it, then allowed Boromir to slice his
cheeks. He kissed the blade again, tasting his blood mingling with the
steel.
"Swear by this, Éomer King. That you will devote the rest of your life,
however short that may be, to the pleasure of your king, to Aragorn Elessar,
the Renewer. That you will not rest until you know that you have not been
found lacking in your king's eyes. That your every thought will be of your
king's welfare and that you will look to your king's desires before your
own. This is the oath of the truly devoted. Swear it. Swear it by blood and
steel, on your life and on the life of your son. Swear it on the remnants of
your tattered and shattered honor, Éomer, son of Eomund, King of the
Riddermark."
"I—I swear it."
Boromir pressed the point of the dagger into Éomer's throat. He almost
whimpered as Aragorn moved out from behind him to stand against the cold
stone wall. "Oathbreaker, I name you, for you have broken fealty with
treachery. This renewed oath shall bind you all the days and hours of your
returned life. Avow it."
"I do affirm your words, Lord Steward."
"The king has found you guilty of treason. Have you anything to say on your
behalf?"
Éomer cleared his throat. "Everything I did, I did for love."
"Of something that was not yours," Boromir corrected gently and pricked at
Éomer's collarbone. "Éomer, disavow your love."
"Boromir!"
Boromir ground the point of the dagger into Éomer and Éomer stifled a
scream. "Disavow it. Swear you give up this love. Swear it on your blood
oath, if you must. Because understand this, Éomer King. I was never yours,
and I never shall be. My king was never yours save now and my fealty never
shared. I repudiate your love for me, Éomer of the Mark." Éomer flinched as
if he had been struck and Boromir cut deeper with the blade. "Your blood is
forfeit for every moment you do not obey. Do you wish to bleed your life out
onto the floor?"
"I will anyway," Éomer cried. "For you shall not let me leave here alive.
Why strip me of my only," Éomer choked and Aragorn took the moment to yank
the rope up to its original height, dragging Éomer off his knees. "Why strip
me of my only comfort?"
"Because your love is against your oath. I belong to Aragorn and he does not
share what is his." Boromir raised a hand to forestall Éomer's objections.
"As you say, you shall not leave this chamber alive. What degradations you
endure are yours to cherish forever, and have not been witnessed." Aragorn's
hand snaked around Éomer's hip and Boromir grasped it. Aragorn took the
bloodied blade from Boromir and tasted it. At that moment, he thrust inside.
Éomer screamed. Boromir smiled. Aragorn took up a steady rhythm, thrusting
upwards, careful to give Éomer no pleasure. "Have you any last words,
deposed king of Rohan?" Aragorn thrust harder. "Answer me, commoner.
Captive. Slave. Your life is forfeit for your deceit. Have you any last
words?" Éomer opened his mouth and screamed.
Aragorn's eyes glinted with Éomer's pain and fear as Aragorn handed Boromir
the silver, unblooded knife. "Kill him."
Boromir caressed the blade against Éomer's panting chest and then began to
carve into the flesh above Éomer's heart. "This is what happens to men that
try to betray my King." Éomer's eyes opened even wider in horror and Aragorn
handed Boromir the second knife, thrusting harder and harder.
Boromir watched in wonder as rivers of blood began to run down Éomer's
sweat-soaked chest and one white rib poked clean out. Éomer's cheeks bled
true and mingled in his matted hair, staining it beautifully. Boromir held
out a finger and wiped away some of the flowing blood, offering it to his
king. Aragorn accepted the blood offering graciously and Éomer screamed his
throat raw.
Finally Éomer's beating heart was laid bare. Éomer had long been reduced to
a shuddering, crying slab of blood, but Aragorn placed a hand on Boromir's
blood-soaked wrist.
"Not yet. Unman him first."
Boromir nodded and, with two short flicks of the blade, obeyed his king's
command. The flesh that had once been the king of Rohan screamed anew and
its tears mingled with the flowing blood. Boromir was covered from nose to
navel with gore and blood and splatters of it adorned his pants.
"Do you repent, Éomer?" Aragorn whispered harshly against Éomer's sliced
ear. "Are you sorry for wanting what is mine? Good. It will make your death
so much sweeter. He's mine, Rider." And with that, Aragorn released
his hold on Boromir's wrist and the silver dagger nicked at Éomer's heart,
killing him.
Aragorn thrust for the last time and then spent himself in the slowly
cooling body. Stepping back, he surveyed the damage done. Éomer's body was
unrecognizable and almost ripe for the funeral pyre. Boromir's skin was red
and he was glowing from enjoyment of the task.
"Clean yourself up," he ordered softly, caressing Boromir's blooded wrist as
he did so. "There's something I need to attend to. I'll meet you in bed."
Boromir would have passed by the closed door without thought had he not
heard raised voices coming from within, and the sound of flesh smacking
flesh. Concerned, he opened the door slowly and tried to move soundlessly. A
mere squeak betrayed the steward's interest, but it was enough to alert the
inhabitants.
"Ah, Boromir, welcome," Aragorn half-turned to face his steward, kicking the
chained man at his feet in the process. Two guards held the chains firmly in
black-gloved hands and Boromir could see that Aragorn had stripped them of
their will and consciousness. They would not be aware of the Palace burning
down around them if Aragorn did not take them first out of the trance.
Boromir's sense of unease grew. This was more than a torture session, then.
But if it was indeed an interrogation...
"What's going on, Aragorn? Why did you not summon me here?" Boromir did not
move from his position by the door and tried to make out the identity of the
prisoner, who groaned suddenly and futility attempted to avoid Aragorn's
merciless assault. Boromir saw that the chains were arranged in such a way
that the prisoner could neither stand nor sit. He could only sway from the
chains and beg for respite. And then the prisoner moaned. Boromir paled in
realization. "Aragorn..."
"I told you, my love," Aragorn said, with a well-placed kick into Faramir's
stomach. Faramir cried out in pain and doubled over as best he could, trying
to protect himself. Faramir's skin was marked with bruises through his
tattered rags and his eye was almost swollen shut. "I told you that I would
not let him hurt you."
"Aragorn," Boromir was fixed to the spot and could not bring himself to move
either forward or backward. In all his nightmares, he had never expected to
see this sight. "What are you doing?" He felt true panic begin to coil in
his chest and move to capture his lungs. He fought to keep his voice calm.
"You promised you would leave him to me."
"Bo'mir?" Faramir groaned and spat blood. He fought to raise his head.
"Bo'mir, what are y'doing 'ere?" he slurred, glaring at Aragorn as best he
could from his position.
Both steward and king ignored him. "Do you remember, dear Boromir? Do you
remember the day your brother first denied me?"
"Yes." Of course he did. It was the first time Faramir had ever disappointed
him. It was the first time Boromir had ever been proven wrong before his
king.
"And do you remember that I was positive that letting him live would be a
mistake?"
"Yes."
"And then I told you that though I would let you be his jailer, if
extenuating circumstances occurred, I would step in. Do you remember that?"
"Yes."
"Extenuating circumstances have occurred," said Aragorn darkly. "He has
conspired to betray both me and you. He has plotted to commit treason and
has corrupted a royal guardsman!" Aragorn kicked the chain attached to
Faramir's neck and watched in satisfaction as Faramir screamed. Aragorn
continued softly, "I would not expect you to condone this. I would not
expect you to be able to sit comfortably by while I interrogated your
brother. I would never ask that of you."
"And so you hid it from me." Strangely, that seemed of more importance to
Boromir than the fact that Aragorn was slowly killing his brother.
"I feared if I told you, you would attend only out of loyalty, and that
would be akin to forcing you."
"You've forced me before," Boromir said frostily, "and that was for mere
pettiness. But this is my brother, my liege. I would think that I would hold
interest in this case!" Without realizing it, Boromir approached his brother
and knelt in front of him on the hard stone floor. He reached out to caress
his brother's face and then noticed belatedly what he was doing. Careful of
what he looked like, he took the neck chain in his hand gently and lifted
the collar. He absently realized that he had placed himself between an
enraged king and the source of his anger, but brushed it off. After all, he
had been the scapegoat of Aragorn's anger often enough. "Faramir. Look at
me," he ordered softly, pointedly ignoring his king. Faramir looked up
slowly, pure pain reflected in his eyes. "Faramir. Answer me. Did you
knowingly betray my trust?"
"Y'never trust'd me." Faramir's lips were bleeding and Boromir shifted
uncomfortably, memories of Éomer still too fresh and unsettled. There was
still blood under his fingernails and, as Aragorn had said, the night was
far from over.
"Oh, I did. I trusted you, Faramir. Did you conspire to betray me?"
"Not you, Boromir. *Him*."
Boromir could feel Aragorn's anger growing and licked his lips. Aragorn
would not stand idly by for much longer and Faramir deserved a better end
than the one Aragorn would give him. "Why did you do that, Faramir?"
"Didn't deserve y'."
"Can you be more specific?"
"Used you. Ensla-ensla-," Faramir tried, but couldn't get his bruised lips
around the word. "'Littled you," he said instead. "Made you less. Treat'd
you badly."
"I told you he wasn't."
"B'cause y'were being deshived!" Faramir spat blood and a few teeth. He
watched in slow fascination as his blood dripped out of his open mouth,
splattering on the floor. "He was controlling you," he enunciated carefully,
bitterly aware of how little time was left to him.
"You were wrong, Faramir. I love him. I did before he was my king. I love
him now. Faramir. Tell me. Tell me about Beregond."
"Wanted t'help. Said I was his lord and he would let no usurper come before
me in his hear'." Wonderful, Boromir thought. We were betrayed by a lovesick
guard. "Ran mes'ages between me and Éomer. Tol' me what y'were doing."
"How long?"
"Since the beginnin'."
"Beginning?" Of what?
Faramir shivered as shock had a chance to settle in and Boromir had to
visibly resist the urge to comfort his brother. He knew he couldn't. Aragorn
would take it as a sign of betrayal and he had had enough of that tonight.
"Coro-coro-coronation."
"And Éomer? How long have you been plotting with him?"
"'Nation."
"His? Or Aragorn's?"
Faramir shrugged as best he could in the confining chains. "Does it matter?"
"I suppose not. And what would you do with me once your plans went into
fruitation?"
"Not hur' you!"
Well, that was comforting. "But you would make me trade places with you so
that I was jailed and you were free."
"No! No so, Bo'mir. Take his ring off you. Free you."
"And what would have done to Aragorn?" Boromir dared not risk looking back.
He knew Aragorn's face would look terrible and his wrath would still be
deciding at which brother to be directed.
"Kill 'im."
But of course. "And take his Ring?" That was important. Had the Ring escaped
Aragorn's control and was looking for a new master? Even in such a state,
Aragorn would understand the reasoning behind the question.
Faramir looked plaintively into Boromir's eyes. "He's not worthy of ruling
Gondor!"
"The Ring, Faramir! Would you have taken the Ring?"
"No," Faramir said weakly and sagged in his chains, tears falling freely
down his cheeks. Boromir wasn't sure it they were from pain from his wounds,
or from his heart. "No."
"Then what would you do with it?"
"D'stroy it."
Anger seized him. Didn't Faramir realize that would kill Aragorn and, thus,
kill Boromir? "Who were your fellow conspirators?"
"Bo'mir," Faramir tried to reach out weakly but his broken fingers fell
short of Boromir's cheek. "Why are y'so mad? Just want'd to free you."
"Don't blame this on me, Faramir," Boromir said coldly. "Your faults are
entirely your own. I do not share them. You were party to treason,
Faramir!" Boromir calmed himself down forcefully. He could not show emotion,
not here, not now. "Who did you corrupt?
"No'ne."
Boromir closed his eyes and reluctantly called on the power of his ring. He
hadn't wanted to force Faramir. Even now he recognized that he didn't want
to believe his family could be traitors. It was a grievous and haughty
fault. Aragorn was the only one he could ever trust to be true to him and to
take care to never hurt him. "Faramir, you try my patience. Who was privy to
your conspiracy?"
Faramir jerked forward and Boromir cursed himself for putting too much power
into his voice. He had to learn control. Faramir listed a few names in a
slowing slur and Boromir could see the quickly approaching end. Aragorn had
beaten his brother almost to death and the lack of care was finishing the
job.
"Is that all?"
Faramir nodded.
"Is there anything you're not telling me?"
"'e loved you. Éomer. Loved you."
"Yes, I know."
"Jealous," Faramir added. "Was my idea, though. For Eowyn?"
"Yes. You'll die for Eowyn. As Éomer died for me." Boromir watched Faramir
start at that and had to remind himself that Éomer was only recently dead.
It seemed so long ago that he had carved into that pretty flesh and stilled
a beating heart with his knife. The kill was still fresh, the way Éomer's
body had cooled in his hands as he brought it to the pyre, the way the blood
had clung to his hands. Éomer was only recently dead. Of course Faramir had
not known of it. "Is there anything else I should know?"
"Y'r a murdering bastard."
"Yes, I know." Boromir stood and, before Aragorn could stop him, had his
sword out and skewered his younger brother through the heart. Finally
allowing his tears to fall, he turned to face his king. "That, my liege," he
spat coldly as he walked past his lover, "is how you conduct an
interrogation." He did not pause as he walked out, nor did he hesitate when
Aragorn shouted his name after him.
Boromir slept in his chambers that night.
by Lanna Michaels
oromir visited the dungeons once a week as part of his duties. It was his
job to see to the security of the prison as well as to the safety of the
guardsmen. He also made it a habit to visit the more prominent of the
captives. But the one person he dreaded visiting the most was the one honor
condemned him to see, week after week. And he knew Faramir looked forward to
these visits.
