Author's Note: I own Nothing save the original characters, that is Naethri and Lord Gonnfaer. Everything else belongs to J. R. R. Tolkien.
A.N.: Ok, so my apologies to the few but constant readers, I know this took a looong time but I kept editing and honestly I still don't like this chapter. I wanted to end it differently but I'm changing my mind about the structure of the next chapter so the ending is a bit..idk.. Anyways, as I had planned when I first started writing the content gets a little more mature. As always your comments and suggestions are appreciated.
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In the safety of the peaceful forest they grieved and they healed, slowly. Gandalf was the guide of the Fellowship, his loss so early in their quest was a hard blow on all of them so they decided to spend as much time is would be necessary in Lothlorien in order to clear their minds and ready themselves for the travel ahead.
The first weeks they spent in Lothlorien were kind on most of them. The hobbits could eat as much as they wished, Gimli had begun to change his mind on elves in general and not only on Legolas, who on his par seemed to be his usual self, though more in his natural element. Aragorn seemed just as weary as usual, only a little relaxed perhaps, whereas Boromir began to look uneasy and overwhelmed with concerns, especially he avoided the company of the hobbits which at first he had found surprisingly entertaining. Frodo was mostly pensive and had grown quiet and aloof even from his closest friends; many times he shared glanced with Naethri and she called him to her, leading him in long walks in the woods. Surely everyone assumed they spoke of Mordor in their walks but they spent most of their time in silence. Naethri described to him what routes he could follow once he had crossed the mountains but she only spoke vaguely of how to actually cross them. Frodo and Naethri were both well aware that it was pointless to speak of that since there was no way to predict what the situation would be like once Frodo reached the mountains, nor did either of them have any expectations on reaching them together. But Frodo appreciated the time away from the others since Naethri hardly ever asked him anything, nor did she stare at him with concern, fear or greed, she mostly looked at him in sadness and understanding, picking the small flowers that covered Cerin Amroth and distractedly twisting them together.
Naethri usually wondered the hill on her own, she was enraptured by the variety of snowdrops that grew in the shade of Lorien and braided crowns with those and the star-flowers typical of that forest. It was in one such promenades, in the evening, that she saw Boromir walking just as aimlessly as her. He was a little ahead of her so she crept up silently behind him and he turned abruptly around to face her when he felt another presence nearby. In his eyes she could read the agitation, the sorrow and also confusion. How helpless he looked then, she had never seen him so. Naethri gently raised her palm to cup his cheek for a few seconds but then she grabbed a fistful of his tunic with little grace and led him farther from the camp and deeper into the forest.
'Wha –' he began to ask, but then he closed his mouth and posed no resistance.
Once she was satisfied with their surrounding she escorted him to sit between some tall bushed and the emerging roots of a mallorn tree and there she sat. So he sat next to her. And as it had always been between the two of them there was no nervousness, no words, mainly hesitation on his part after their long separation and especially considering the circumstances of the separation. Slowly but firmly she reached for him and kissed him on the lips. He responded instantly, taking a hold of her arms first, then her waist while she sunk her hands in his hair. Their kisses were short though passionate at first and soon grew longer and fiercer, until they lay on the ground, their legs entwined.
Naethri slid her hand along Boromir's chest and tugged at the laces of his breeches while they kissed but he stopped to look at her. If he faltered for a moment his hesitation dissipated at the sight of her. He backed from her to take off his tunic and then began to fumble with the ties of her breeches while she undid her corset. He was faster though and by the time she was done with the corset he had already pushed her trousers down her legs, pulled her boots off and was finally unlacing her drawers. When she was finally free she sat in front of him, who remained on his knees, and unlaced his breaches while he tugged at her own tunic.
'No' she said without looking up at him. 'It's cold.'
'I'll keep you warm' her assured her while she pushed his breeches sufficiently down his thighs.
'No' she insisted, pushing him to sit on the ground and straddling him.
'Wait, not like thi –' he began to protest. He wanted to love her with slow sweetness befitting the peaceful forest but he caught his breath when she slid down engulfing him within her, her face buried in the crook of his neck with a gasp.
And as one they began to move against each other in haste. She rocked her hips on his lap and he helped her motion holding her thighs, panting and clasping at one another. The only sounds were his ragged breaths, her quiet moans and the slapping of their flesh. Naethri's pace was frantic and soon she began to tense with the approaching of her climax, digging her nails in Boromir's shoulders and suppressing her cries in his hair. The feel of her slick walls around him, after all those years, hot and convulsing, was maddening but he forced himself not to give into the urge to come with her. Not yet. So when she finally slowed down, her chest still heaving in exertion, he held her against his chest and pulled himself out of her, concentrating hard until his excitement subdued. When both had recovered their breath he grabbed her thigh with one hand and with the other he supported her back, then he laid her on the ground and held himself above her holding his weight on his forearms on either side of her.
Her darkening hair was spread out on the soft grass, she looked at him with the same expression she had years before and even now he had no idea how to interpret it. He kissed her softly on the mouth, on the collarbone, he kissed the soft breast hidden beneath the tunic and then softly bit the tip of it. Boromir shifted lower to kiss her stomach but she grabbed him by the hair and dragged him back up to her lips. As they slowly kissed Naethri raised her knees and locked her ankles around Boromir's waist and he slid inside her again, though he took his time. Holding her hip with one hand he thrust with rhythmic force and muffled her cries with his lips.
They laid on the grass, hidden by the bushes and the shadows of the trees above them, until their hunger was satisfied and that took a long while since they had not held each other as lovers do for long years. When they were at last appeased Boromir held Naethri's back to his chest and they rested half naked in silence, neither wanted to speak since as always they were plagued with doubts. Boromir shifted a little so Naethri's back was on the grass and he could look at her face easily. He wanted to tell her over and over how much he loved her, how much he loved her still, he wanted to beg her, as he did many times before, to have him as her husband. And as years ago he was sure she'd refuse him, she did not love him the way he loved her and it wrecked him.
This only added to the general dishonour with which he felt he had tainted himself, and her especially, every time she'd come to him. A honourable man would have fought his desire, would have resisted her temptation. His brother would have been ashamed of his lack of integrity, he had compromised her irrevocably. If he was sure she would have accepted his hand his behaviour could have been excusable, but he knew she didn't love him, he knew she loved another. In fact she probably hated him, considering her hostile display back in Rivendell and the general indifference she had shown him the past months of their journey. She had shot him sufficient cutting remarks at him, though indirectly, such as the mention of that paramour of hers wherever she had been in the east.
'Will you ever forgive me?' he asked, but she did not answer, she merely gazed up at him with her hermetic expression. His temper began to wane in front of her composure.
'And will you forgive Faramir? Or have you already forgiven him? Because I don't recall him coming to your rescue against my father' he continued, with spite, in the hope of braking her stasis.
He was rewarded indeed because she flinched and furrowed her brows. Slowly she rose to a sitting position.
'Must you always ruin everything?' she glanced at him with great sadness, then she grabbed her breeches and quickly pulled them on. In silence she collected her boots, her corset and her drawers and she left him.
Behind her melancholic calmness a storm raged unspoken. A long forgotten peace washed over her while she rested against his chest, lulled by his breathing in the silence of the forest. But he had to bring up the past and spoil the tranquillity. He had to sting her pride reviving the memory of her humiliation, when she was refused by the man she was infatuated with, mentioning his name. Naethri strayed at length in the dim light before returning to the camp, and she mused on the bite of rejection she still felt, dimmed now, and chiefly caused by her embarrassment and shame rather than any actual resentment.
Boromir remained for a long time where Naethri had left him, then he dressed again but still he did not wish to return to camp and see her, not now at least. He was a fool, once more he had proven his weakness with her. As he did seven years ago when she first came to him one night in Minas Tirith, he should've refused her then, respect her honour, but his desire for her was too strong and she was wanton herself. Naethri had come to his rooms in the night, a malicious glint in her eyes, and she slowly disrobed in front of him. He had felt blessed at first, as if he had been finally granted all that he wished for. But her desire was not driven by love, it was fuelled by spite and lust and revenge. She knew how much he wanted her, how much he loved her, he had already confessed to her, and she had been resentful for years, since Faramir answered her pleads of love with an attestation of his own love, a love that would always only be brotherly, much to her despair.
Her oblivious father could have been Boromir greatest ally or the judge of his doom. Once Lord Gonnfaer became part of the Council of the Steward he had been driven by a potent lust for power, thus when his daughter reached a marriageable age he was secretly seeking to strike a propitious match. Boromir had hoped, if Naethri accepted him, her father would not oppose their union, after all what better match could he find than the heir of the Steward? But Lord Gonnfaer was always strangely mysterious on the matter: he insisted he had found the perfect husband for his daughter but he never elaborated further. Boromir only imagined that his aims were addressed towards one of the other council members and he was horrified at the thought of his beloved betrothed to one of the elders of the council, or even to one of their sons. He had to admit to himself that he was in fact quite older than Naethri, but the fifteen years that passed between them were nothing compared to the elders of his father's Council. These arguments never did much to dull his guilt though.
The true obstacle was her evident infatuation with his brother. Between Boromir and Faramir there had always been a bond so strong that if his brother reciprocated Naethri's feelings Boromir would've given her up to him without a thought. But he knew his brother's heart and that the love he bore her was not of the same nature as his. Naethri had harboured her crush for a long while. She was still quite a girl in the eyes of the two brothers when she began to see Faramir in a different light. Her father often spoke to her of her future, of how one day she was to be wed to a lord, so she fantasized of the gallant lord that would ask for her hand, or at least she did until her father's plan became clear to her. In the mean time she had come to envision Faramir as the personification of this lord, and she began to hope it would in fact be him to one day have her hand in marriage. She could've been 15 then and for years she looked up to him, at first with a sudden shyness which earned her the banters of the two brothers, until her blushes faded.
They still saw her with the same affection and kindness as they always did, so she grew more purposeful, she did not shy away anymore, in fact she walked with her head held high, the portrait of grace and dignity, clad in refined gowns and adorned with elegant jewels. By the time she was 17 she truly had bloomed into an exquisite young lady and, though she aimed her beauty solely at one man, there were many young knights and lords that could not help admiring her. They probably fancied getting close to her enough to try to woo her, but very few dared, most of these suitors were in fact mildly frightened by the two Captains she always spent her time with, and those few who did dare to approach her were soon rejected with a cold smile, the piercing stare of her grey eyes and an indifferent dismissal.
The following days after Boromir had mentioned Faramir to her in the spitefulness of his temper, Naethri quickly lapsed in the irrationality of her bitterness and unleashed it against him at every opportunity, her self-control could only do so much. At the same time the decay of her self-control heightened her licentiousness so she sought him again, as discreetly as she could in order not to arouse any suspicion in their companions. In resuming their affair the same bundle of confused feelings began to torment them both once again. Naethri refused to seek the answered to the question that had been vexing her for years, all the while Boromir couldn't help racking his brains with endless questions, which started with Naethri and her behaviour and quickly shifted to Minas Tirith, to his father, the quest he had embarked on and finally the Ring. And the more he thought about the Ring the greater the toll was for his mind.
The last weeks of their permanence among the elves proved to be the hardest for all. Aragorn had often sought the council of Celeborn: now that Gandalf had fallen he searched for guidance and wisdom in the Lord of the Galadhrim, since he was well aware that the Fellowship would look up to Aragorn as their leader and this responsibility he embraced with no enthusiasm. Legolas spent most of his time among his kin but he often enjoyed the company of his acquired comrades, especially since to his great amusement Naethri had taken the habit of entangling the yellow Elanor flowers of Lorien in Gimli's beard as he slept, which made quite a spectacle, most notably so when he woke considering it took him a while to notice the coiffure and subsequently he would burst in long and loud complaints.
Whereas Boromir was only growing more distressed and edgy. He resented Aragorn's lack of resolution for the future plans, his apparent disinclination towards his responsibility and the undeniable mistrust he had for his true kin, the men-folk and Gondor especially. He could not deny the man had strength and courage but in his eyes he was aloof in the face of the obligations he was heir to. To appease himself Boromir spent much of his time with the hobbits. It was soothing for him to listen to the merry talk of the halflings, their description of the Shire and the customs of their people. He also charged himself with their protection and safekeeping for they might've been eager to join their quest but they were barely able to swing a small sword and their poor set of skills would not prove sufficient to protect themselves during their perilous journey. Although the loss of Gandalf and the battle they engaged in in the depths of Moria had probably enlightened them in regards of the dangers they would face in the future they still were the most vulnerable in the group in Boromir's eyes, even Naethri could keep up a fight though it was not her profession like it was for the rest of them.
If the company of the hobbits was a balm for his troubled spirit the effect soon began to wane, the constant proximity of Frodo was unsettling him more every day. As time passed Boromir glared at the Ring-Bearer with anxious eyes, he felt a deep longing for his homeland and a great sense of responsibility towards his people. He could not help but think of the sufferings Gondor endured, he could not help but think of his father, of his old age and his fading strength. If only he would be granted the chance to set things right. Dark whispers haunted his dreams. Soon he found it harder and harder to tolerate the presence of the hobbits, Frodo's especially, and on their part they had grown uneasy with Boromir's constantly shifting mood. So he often strayed away from his companions.
Naethri was tormented as well by his deteriorating behaviour and looked at him with apprehension whenever he was near Frodo. She often followed him into the woods but when they finally met among the trees they would slowly come together as tormented lovers. Naethri would obstinately avoid exploring her feelings unwilling to overthink the reasons that drew her to him so irrevocably, Boromir on the other hand would rush into his without a second thought if only because she was the only clear vision in the blurred nightmare he slowly was falling into.
Naethri seemed to be particularly ill-humoured to all, so much so she often abandoned the Fellowship even during their meals. Mostly she was bothered by the shifty behaviour Boromir sported around Frodo. She had grown to see him as a threat to the hobbit and she often circled their camp like a famished wolf stalking a prey. Several times she snapped at Boromir for the most inconsistent reasons but it soon became evident to all how protective she turned towards Frodo.
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A Note: In case you are interested the flowers that grow on Cerin Amroth are the Elanor, yellow and star-shaped, and the Niphredil, which means litterally 'snowdrop' and it blooms in the winter. I'm pretty sure the second grew in Lorien while the Fellowship was there since they were there between january and febuary and I don't really remember the descriptions in the book so I'm taking a guess with the elanor..!