Author's Note: If sibcest squicks you, I suggest that you turn back now (or
not read past the first chapter of the story). This is a collaboration
between me and a friend, Jenn. I wrote for Faramir while she wrote for
Boromir. Reviews are absolutely loved and welcomed (while flames will be
happily used to make smores). Feel free to send Jenn a comment at
jholsh1@towson.edu.
~*~*~*~*~
Faramir sat at the end of the table at the place furthest away from his father and simply watched the festivities, feeling withdrawn from them. He nodded politely whenever anyone smiled or motioned to clink their glass to his, but otherwise he simply pushed the food in front of him around on his plate. His eyes would frequently glance up to the head of the table where Boromir sat in a place of honor, just next to Denethor. He would look down, however, every time Boromir's eyes glanced up to meet his.
Boromir was garbed in his finest regalia and seated in a sumptuous chair next to the Steward, Lord Denethor. He had downed several glasses of mulled wine already and was nursing his fourth cup... or was it his fifth? It didn't matter either way, because he was feeling pleasantly outside of his surroundings and losing himself in the buzz of conversation and music that hung in the air of the great feasting hall. His eyes wandered lazily from face to face lining the long table, and he smiled in return whenever a wizened face of a nobleman or blushing countenance of a young courtier nodded in his direction. Repeatedly he tried to make eye contact with Faramir, but he could tell that his brother was pouting about the other day when he had left Faramir alone after they had sat together and watched the stars come out.
Faramir grew increasingly uncomfortable as the conversation swelled to a new volume; he had never been one to participate happily in large gatherings. He tugged at the high collar of his best tunic, trying to cool himself while he sat in the stuffy hall. His eyes would narrow every time he would see a simpering young woman doing her best to capture Boromir's attention, but would immediately stop himself, wondering exactly why he was so jealous.
Denethor stood up, tall and looming over his guests while smiling broadly. He spread his arms out and announced in a booming voice, "Thank you, all of you, for your courtesy. My son Boromir will now say a few words of thanks, and then we may proceed to the rest of the evening's festivities." He motioned in the direction of the rabble of musicians gathered in the corner.
Hearing his name, Boromir rose and smoothed down the front of his tunic and tossed his shining auburn-brown hair back from where it hung in strands over his face. He smiled brightly, and said "My friends, I thank you for coming here tonight to celebrate my homecoming. As always my dear father--" he inwardly choked on the words "--has gone out of his way to arrange this magnificent feast." Assorted claps and cheers came up from the crowd.
Boromir quieted them with a small wave of his hand and continued, "Let us enjoy tonight in the spirit of our homeland." He raised his nearly empty chalice in a toast. "For Gondor!" he said, invoking the gathering to toast each other heartily. Once they had all clinked glasses, a round of applause came up and echoed around in Boromir's fairly inebriated mind. He laughed and sat down again, swallowing the remaining contents of the goblet.
Faramir, however, did not applaud much to the dismay of those seated around him. As soon as Boromir had sat back down, he slid his chair from the table. Without so much as nodding to the guests of the hall, he abruptly left, seeking refuge from the overheated room and its loud festivities. He found solace out on a terrace very well removed from the hall, and he leaned against the stone railing, grateful for the quiet reprieve.
If there was ever anything Faramir hated about Boromir's homecomings, it was the customary feast that was always held in his honor. He would be forced to watch as his father dote his attention on his older brother and, as usual, ignore Faramir's existence. He hated the way people would simply be pretending to hang onto Boromir's every word as though they would somehow gain his favor in doing so. He hated the loud conversations and uproarious laughter; they never said anything worth listening to. Even so, he would try to make an effort to look as though he was enjoying himself, for his brother's sake, but tonight was different. He couldn't even manage a forced smile to those sitting around him, and he could tell that his bleak countenance annoyed them.
He sighed heavily and gazed out across Pelennor to the small twinkling dots of Osgiliath, fires belonging to the rangers defending the once-grand city. His mind flashed back to a small time he had spent there, not quite a year ago. Shaking his head, he dispelled the memory and turned his thoughts back to Boromir. While he had once been social enough to smile and bear the festivities, the only person he wanted to spend his time with now was his brother.
***
In mere moments, the table was cleared of guests as they had all stood up and flocked around Boromir and Denethor while others split off into groups where they danced to the throbbing beat of the music. Boromir smiled politely and spoke courteously to all that approached him, but after about ten minutes of the pleasantries he was becoming thoroughly *fidgety*. Denethor beamed at him every few seconds whenever another compliment was given to him, congratulating the steward's son on his outstanding accomplishments in defending the city and keeping their borders safe, and all while he was only twenty years of age! That irritated Boromir; it was always the same praise over and over again.
A crew of elegantly dressed women were suddenly before Boromir and his father, along with their own father, a man named Damrod. He was grinning from ear to ear and said proudly, "My Lords Denethor and Boromir, allow me to introduce to you my daughters..." Damrod motioned to the three girls standing behind him, blushing pink up to their ears. The eldest spoke, stepping forward bravely and curtseying. "I am Lindorie." She smiled sweetly at Boromir.
Boromir grinned stupidly, the alcohol coursing through his veins making him feel very free and easy. "Would you care to dance, my lady?" he asked gently as he took her hand and kissed it.
Damrod's face was alight with glee at the invitation. "Go ahead, daughter," he urged. Smiling brightly, Lindorie allowed herself to be whisked away into the crowd of people dancing around the hall, laughing lightly as Boromir's hand settled on the small of her back as he pulled her close to him once they fell into the feverish beat of the music filling their ears.
***
As hours ground on, Boromir consumed more and more of the wine that seemed to flow endlessly from the wings. Lindorie and he had been dancing together the whole evening, and the thought of finding Faramir had all but disappeared from Boromir's foggy mind. After a particularly energetic dance, Boromir collapsed laughing jovially in onto a pillowed couch with Lindorie following suit and sitting next to him, her hip flush against his thigh. Boromir reached for another glass of wine and offered it to Lindorie, who accepted the drink gratefully. Shadow partially veiled the two, and no one but she and Boromir noticed as her hand rested upon Boromir's knee, travelling slowly upward. "Lord Boromir, not only are you a renowned captain but also a talented dancer as well!" she crooned.
Boromir chuckled low in his throat and planted a rather sloppy kiss on Lindorie's ivory white cheek. "And that's only scratching the surface," he growled. He felt Lindorie's small hand graze the fabric of his leggings on his inner thigh before they jumped up to toy with the collar of Boromir's tunic, pulling his face closer to hers.
"My word, lord Boromir, but you are forward with your actions," she laughed wickedly.
Boromir was grinning widely now and the hardness in his groin was becoming more and more obvious. "Indeed I am, my lady, it's the secret to my success." He hiccupped. "Would you care for a little privacy?" he murmured lustily as he fingered a stray curl of Lindorie's black hair which framed her carefully sculpted face perfectly.
Lindorie responded with a falsely innocent giggle and rose, clasping Boromir's hand within her own. Quickly and quietly, she led Boromir outside to the balcony. Boromir immediately pinned her against the wall and pressed his lips roughly against Lindorie's sweet mouth, plunging his tongue forcefully past her teeth inside where he proceeded to explore every contour of her mouth. He did not notice the small figure wreathed in shadow watching them through tear-filled eyes.
***
Faramir had decided to simply retire to his room, tired of the ruckus that permeated even the secluded terrace. Unfortunately, the only way for him to return to his chamber was to pass through the rowdy hall, which had now descended into drunken debauchery, though he was sure that the participants were too intoxicated to know right from wrong.
//I am glad that Boromir does not indulge in such inappropriate behavior,// he thought to himself as he elbowed past drunken courtiers. Not seeing Boromir, Faramir figured that his brother had gone to his chambers to find him, but that small hope was shattered as he saw the older man dancing provocatively with a, he had to admit that she was beautiful, black-haired woman draped over his body. He watched their antics, feeling something inside of him slowly starting to wither and wane.
Following them secretly as they collapsed onto a isolated chaise lounge, well-separated from the rest of the hall. Careful not to be seen, he watched with increasing dolor as their limbs became tangled together, as Boromir ravaged the delicate female mouth with his tongue, mindless of anything else going around him. Tears sprang to Faramir's eyes as the pair continued to give in to their lust and he quickly stifled a sob before it left his lips and gave away his hidden location.
Unable to torture himself any longer, Faramir slipped away quietly, making his way to his chamber with great celerity lest anyone see the copious amounts of tears that fell from his eyes. Once in the sancitity of his room, he flung himself onto the bed and cried bitterly. It was a ridiculous notion, Faramir, he berated himself harsly, //Did you honestly think that your brother would ever want you? When he could have the pick of any eligible man or woman in the city?//
After a long while, his tears ebbed and he was left with nothing but an empty feeling in his stomach which seemed to grow with each passing minute that Boromir did not come to his chamber. He climbed out of his bed lethargically and went to sit out on terrace that was connected to his chamber. There, he sat on a stone bench and curled himself up into a small ball, almost as if he could disappear if he could draw into himself enough.
***
Boromir's hands had begun to roam up and down Lindorie's slim figure, his fingers hugging every swell and curved hollow of her flesh as he continued to kiss her heatedly. She squirmed and giggled every time their lips tore away from each other between kisses, and her hands skillfully made their way to Boromir's belt buckle, tugging gently.
Boromir suddenly backed away, startled by the attempt from the woman to undress him. "What are you doing?" he asked harshly.
"Just what you want me to do, lord," she replied pruriently, reaching for the open collar of his tunic.
"You know nothing of what I want, my lady!" he cried shrilly, slurring his words. He shook his head in an attempt to remove the alcohol-induced fog that clouded his mental faculties and stormed back inside, leaving Lindorie feeling quite chagrined and alone.
***
Half-stumbling along the path to his chambers in the deep blue night, Boromir began to fully realize the magnitude of what had just precipitated on the balcony. "What was I thinking?" he asked himself aloud before hiccupping. The world seemed to be swimming before his eyes and was blurred all around the edges of his vision. Tripping on a loose brick on the pathway, Boromir tumbled forward face first onto the stone ground just before his chamber door. "Damn!" he yelled as he fell forward, scraping the palms of his hands on the ground as he tried to avoid hitting his head on the pavement.
Faramir's ear perked at the sound of footsteps passing his room, a dull thud as a body hit the ground, and finally Boromir's voice swearing. Bristling, Faramir went out to see exactly what drunken activity his brother was participating in now, but he wasn't expecting to see the tall man sprawled out on the floor, long limbs splayed in every direction. He knelt next to Boromir though he made no move to touch him. "What are you doing?"
"Faramir!" he shouted in surprise. "I'm so sorry to have disturbed you. Why are you here anyway? You should be enjoying that stupid feast," Boromir garbled as he tried to get up without losing his balance and falling over again.
He raised an eyebrow as his brother fell to the ground immediately after he had managed to raise himself to his knees. "I left the feast hours ago, brother, but you did not notice. You, however, seem to have stayed and enjoyed yourself a bit too much." Faramir's gentle voice was bitter, harsher than it had ever been. "Would you like help getting back to your chamber?"
Boromir tried futilely to get to his feet alone; he somehow couldn't remember how to lift his knees without toppling over. "Please, some help would be greatly appreciated," he said as he blushed with embarrassment. He never liked being this way around Faramir, and the embittered tone that his brother's voice did not conceal cut through him like a hot knife through butter, making him feel even more guilty.
Faramir hoisted Boromir off of the ground with a strangth that wouldn't have been expected of such a scrawny boy. Draping one of Boromir's arms around his shoulders, and wrapping an arm firmly around the older man's waist, the second son of the Steward set off towards Boromir's chambers, walking slowly so that Boromir could keep up. He did not say a word to his brother the entire way.
***
Boromir instantly crumpled into a heap once Faramir had guided him to his bed. His head was spinning, or were the walls simply moving on their own? He winced at the thought and coughed as he turned on his side, curling up. Boromir gave Faramir a pathetic look, "I do not ask you to stay with me, Faramir." He had completely forgotten about the stray leaf of parchment from before that he had let fall to the ground next to his bed as he had quickly stuffed the papers under his pillow.
Without acknowledging that his brother had spoken, Faramir left the room momentarily only to come back with a small bowl filled with water. Kneeling next to the bed, he helped Boromir sit up, and pressed the bowl into his hands. "Drink this. It will clear your head."
"I really hope that's not mead," Boromir said despite taking a generous gulp of the cool fluid into his mouth before Faramir could respond. "Thank you," he said softly, gazing into Faramir's cold blue-green eyes but totally oblivious to the prickly demeanor settling around his brother's features.
"No, I daresay you've consumed enough mead for the both of us tonight." Faramir sat back on his heel and regarded his brother coolly. "You lips are swollen. Did you enjoy yourself with one of the courtesans? I hear they are more than willing."
Boromir twitched at the mentioning of a 'courtesan.' He brushed his fingers over his lips and furrowed his brow. "Yes, they are more than willing. Disgustingly so," he muttered, shutting his eyes again as a sharp pang of discomfort rippled through his throbbing forehead.
"I'm sure it did not disgust you at the time," he continued, looking down at Boromir unsympathetically. "Did you enjoy yourself with her?"
Boromir looked Faramir straight in the eye. "If you must know, yes," he said acerbically. "But I stopped before she made a fool of herself and me... don't know why, exactly...." He looked up and down at Faramir's form, admiring the finery he was wearing and the noble way his mouth curved into a pair of perfect pink lips, and realized right then what had stopped him. Shaking the unbidden thought from his hazy mind he inwardly chastised himself for even thinking of his brother that way. "What concern is it of yours, anyway?" he added, this time in a softer, more gentle tone.
Faramir's mouth worked open and closed though no words came out. "You're right," he agreed finally, "It is no business of mine what you do with yourself. I will leave you to sleep off the mead." He stood and turned to leave, but stopped when he heard something crinkle under his foot. Lifting the limb slightly, he looked down on what he stepped on; dread ran through his body faster than a bolt of lightning. He only needed a glimpse of the parchment under his foot to realize exactly what it was he had stepped on. Stooping slowly, he picked up the wrinkled sheet with a shaking hand and stared wide-eyed at the parchment filled with his own prose and poetry written in his immaculate handwriting. Prose and poetry about his older brother. "Where did you get this from?" he choked.
Boromir opened one eye with great effort and focused on the wrinkled sheet of parchment that Faramir held. "Oh, I, erum... you had left it in the garden, and I picked it up for you," he fumbled.
"You didn't read it, did you?" Faramir asked shakily, his back still turned to Boromir. He had forgotten all about the discarded leaves of parchment that he'd left scattered about the garden.
"Erm... I skimmed through one or two of them, but nothing much," he lied, accidentally revealing that there were more leaves hidden somewhere in the room.
Faramir whirled around to look at Boromir, his blue eyes wide with uneasiness. "Where are they? Why did you read them?!"
Sobering up very quickly at Faramir's apparent alarm, Boromir sat up slowly and lifted the pillow. "I... I'm sorry, I didn't know--"
Rushing over to the bed, Faramir began to snatch up the sheets of parchment frantically, his hands shaking uncontrollably. His cheeks flushed a brilliant red, mortification the only emotion running his actions. "I didn't mean any of it," he said quickly, turning to leave once he had gathered all of the half-finished poems.
Boromir swiftly reached out and caught Faramir by the back of his shirt, jerking him backwards so that he nearly fell into a heap on the floor. "Don't."
He stumbled several large paces backward, the force Boromir had tugged at his clothing knocking his small frame off balance. "Let go of me, Boromir!"
"Why are you running away?!"
"I'm not running away!" he cried, removing his shirt from Boromir's grasp. His entire body was shaking now as panic would set in. If his brother didn't want him before, he would certainly be disgusted by him now and never want to see his face again.
Boromir stood up and managed to latch onto Faramir's arm, half keeping him standing upright as his head reeled and half keeping Faramir from fleeing. "Faramir, the poems that I did read were incredible, you've nothing to be ashamed about!"
Faramir turned his head away from Boromir, unable to face his older brother. "They're nothing but childish prattle. They mean nothing."
"Then why did I feel something stirring inside of me when I read them?" Boromir's question was phrased so innocently, so thinly that one would never have been able to tell that he was feeling extremely sick to his stomach as the candles lining his walls were dancing around wildly before his eyes.
"Because you are not right in your mind, brother. They mean nothing, and you should not think on them an--" Faramir broke off shaking his head. His hands loosened from around the crumpled papers and he let them tumble to the floor. "It doesn't matter anymore," he whispered, removing his arm from Boromir's grasp and leaving the room.
He didn't know why, but Boromir felt hot, stinging tears welling up in his eyes. "Faramir, don't just walk away from me..." he whimpered exasperatedly. That was one pointed difference between them: although Boromir was five years the senior, he was always less mature in handling matters of a broken heart than Faramir was. Tonight Faramir seemed so emotionally old, and it scared the living daylights out of Boromir. He began to follow his retreating brother. "Faramir, please!" he begged.
Resolvedly walking back to his chamber, Faramir took deep breaths, steeling himself against his brother's pleas. "Boromir, please," he echoed, "I am not concerning myself with any relations you had tonight, just leave me be about this." He hid behind his door and closed it slowly, not wanting to see his brother's emotion ridden face.
Boromir stumbled after Faramir, just missing his opportunity to slip inside as once he reached the door Faramir shut it firmly. "Faramir, open the door," he commanded without sounding angry or upset. Silence. "Faramir, open the door," he repeated in the same voice. "Faramir..." he started knocking. "Faramir! Rosebud!!"
His back pressed to the door, Faramir slowly slid to the ground, his face in his hands. "Just go, Boromir," he whispered to himself, the pounding of Boromir's fist on the door mirroring the intense pounding of his heart.
Boromir stopped his cajolings for a moment and let a tear roll down his cheek when Faramir did not respond. Then, with renewed purpose, he began beating on the door harder than before, crying "Faramir! Let me in... NOW!"
Faramir was unable to ignore the desperation in his brother's voice any longer. Standing on shaky legs, he opened the door to his room only slightly, still hiding behind the large oak fixture.
Boromir immediately lurched forward as the door opened unexpectedly. Regaining his balance, he slipped inside and shut the heavy door behind him. "Thank you," he whispered. Seeing that Faramir was trying to hide himself, Boromir reached out and pulled his little brother forward so that his chin could rest atop Faramir's curly topped head. He wrapped his arms around Faramir, drawing him in close and cooing softly as Faramir shook and gasped with quiet sobs. "Shh, rosebud... "
~*~*~*~*~
Faramir sat at the end of the table at the place furthest away from his father and simply watched the festivities, feeling withdrawn from them. He nodded politely whenever anyone smiled or motioned to clink their glass to his, but otherwise he simply pushed the food in front of him around on his plate. His eyes would frequently glance up to the head of the table where Boromir sat in a place of honor, just next to Denethor. He would look down, however, every time Boromir's eyes glanced up to meet his.
Boromir was garbed in his finest regalia and seated in a sumptuous chair next to the Steward, Lord Denethor. He had downed several glasses of mulled wine already and was nursing his fourth cup... or was it his fifth? It didn't matter either way, because he was feeling pleasantly outside of his surroundings and losing himself in the buzz of conversation and music that hung in the air of the great feasting hall. His eyes wandered lazily from face to face lining the long table, and he smiled in return whenever a wizened face of a nobleman or blushing countenance of a young courtier nodded in his direction. Repeatedly he tried to make eye contact with Faramir, but he could tell that his brother was pouting about the other day when he had left Faramir alone after they had sat together and watched the stars come out.
Faramir grew increasingly uncomfortable as the conversation swelled to a new volume; he had never been one to participate happily in large gatherings. He tugged at the high collar of his best tunic, trying to cool himself while he sat in the stuffy hall. His eyes would narrow every time he would see a simpering young woman doing her best to capture Boromir's attention, but would immediately stop himself, wondering exactly why he was so jealous.
Denethor stood up, tall and looming over his guests while smiling broadly. He spread his arms out and announced in a booming voice, "Thank you, all of you, for your courtesy. My son Boromir will now say a few words of thanks, and then we may proceed to the rest of the evening's festivities." He motioned in the direction of the rabble of musicians gathered in the corner.
Hearing his name, Boromir rose and smoothed down the front of his tunic and tossed his shining auburn-brown hair back from where it hung in strands over his face. He smiled brightly, and said "My friends, I thank you for coming here tonight to celebrate my homecoming. As always my dear father--" he inwardly choked on the words "--has gone out of his way to arrange this magnificent feast." Assorted claps and cheers came up from the crowd.
Boromir quieted them with a small wave of his hand and continued, "Let us enjoy tonight in the spirit of our homeland." He raised his nearly empty chalice in a toast. "For Gondor!" he said, invoking the gathering to toast each other heartily. Once they had all clinked glasses, a round of applause came up and echoed around in Boromir's fairly inebriated mind. He laughed and sat down again, swallowing the remaining contents of the goblet.
Faramir, however, did not applaud much to the dismay of those seated around him. As soon as Boromir had sat back down, he slid his chair from the table. Without so much as nodding to the guests of the hall, he abruptly left, seeking refuge from the overheated room and its loud festivities. He found solace out on a terrace very well removed from the hall, and he leaned against the stone railing, grateful for the quiet reprieve.
If there was ever anything Faramir hated about Boromir's homecomings, it was the customary feast that was always held in his honor. He would be forced to watch as his father dote his attention on his older brother and, as usual, ignore Faramir's existence. He hated the way people would simply be pretending to hang onto Boromir's every word as though they would somehow gain his favor in doing so. He hated the loud conversations and uproarious laughter; they never said anything worth listening to. Even so, he would try to make an effort to look as though he was enjoying himself, for his brother's sake, but tonight was different. He couldn't even manage a forced smile to those sitting around him, and he could tell that his bleak countenance annoyed them.
He sighed heavily and gazed out across Pelennor to the small twinkling dots of Osgiliath, fires belonging to the rangers defending the once-grand city. His mind flashed back to a small time he had spent there, not quite a year ago. Shaking his head, he dispelled the memory and turned his thoughts back to Boromir. While he had once been social enough to smile and bear the festivities, the only person he wanted to spend his time with now was his brother.
***
In mere moments, the table was cleared of guests as they had all stood up and flocked around Boromir and Denethor while others split off into groups where they danced to the throbbing beat of the music. Boromir smiled politely and spoke courteously to all that approached him, but after about ten minutes of the pleasantries he was becoming thoroughly *fidgety*. Denethor beamed at him every few seconds whenever another compliment was given to him, congratulating the steward's son on his outstanding accomplishments in defending the city and keeping their borders safe, and all while he was only twenty years of age! That irritated Boromir; it was always the same praise over and over again.
A crew of elegantly dressed women were suddenly before Boromir and his father, along with their own father, a man named Damrod. He was grinning from ear to ear and said proudly, "My Lords Denethor and Boromir, allow me to introduce to you my daughters..." Damrod motioned to the three girls standing behind him, blushing pink up to their ears. The eldest spoke, stepping forward bravely and curtseying. "I am Lindorie." She smiled sweetly at Boromir.
Boromir grinned stupidly, the alcohol coursing through his veins making him feel very free and easy. "Would you care to dance, my lady?" he asked gently as he took her hand and kissed it.
Damrod's face was alight with glee at the invitation. "Go ahead, daughter," he urged. Smiling brightly, Lindorie allowed herself to be whisked away into the crowd of people dancing around the hall, laughing lightly as Boromir's hand settled on the small of her back as he pulled her close to him once they fell into the feverish beat of the music filling their ears.
***
As hours ground on, Boromir consumed more and more of the wine that seemed to flow endlessly from the wings. Lindorie and he had been dancing together the whole evening, and the thought of finding Faramir had all but disappeared from Boromir's foggy mind. After a particularly energetic dance, Boromir collapsed laughing jovially in onto a pillowed couch with Lindorie following suit and sitting next to him, her hip flush against his thigh. Boromir reached for another glass of wine and offered it to Lindorie, who accepted the drink gratefully. Shadow partially veiled the two, and no one but she and Boromir noticed as her hand rested upon Boromir's knee, travelling slowly upward. "Lord Boromir, not only are you a renowned captain but also a talented dancer as well!" she crooned.
Boromir chuckled low in his throat and planted a rather sloppy kiss on Lindorie's ivory white cheek. "And that's only scratching the surface," he growled. He felt Lindorie's small hand graze the fabric of his leggings on his inner thigh before they jumped up to toy with the collar of Boromir's tunic, pulling his face closer to hers.
"My word, lord Boromir, but you are forward with your actions," she laughed wickedly.
Boromir was grinning widely now and the hardness in his groin was becoming more and more obvious. "Indeed I am, my lady, it's the secret to my success." He hiccupped. "Would you care for a little privacy?" he murmured lustily as he fingered a stray curl of Lindorie's black hair which framed her carefully sculpted face perfectly.
Lindorie responded with a falsely innocent giggle and rose, clasping Boromir's hand within her own. Quickly and quietly, she led Boromir outside to the balcony. Boromir immediately pinned her against the wall and pressed his lips roughly against Lindorie's sweet mouth, plunging his tongue forcefully past her teeth inside where he proceeded to explore every contour of her mouth. He did not notice the small figure wreathed in shadow watching them through tear-filled eyes.
***
Faramir had decided to simply retire to his room, tired of the ruckus that permeated even the secluded terrace. Unfortunately, the only way for him to return to his chamber was to pass through the rowdy hall, which had now descended into drunken debauchery, though he was sure that the participants were too intoxicated to know right from wrong.
//I am glad that Boromir does not indulge in such inappropriate behavior,// he thought to himself as he elbowed past drunken courtiers. Not seeing Boromir, Faramir figured that his brother had gone to his chambers to find him, but that small hope was shattered as he saw the older man dancing provocatively with a, he had to admit that she was beautiful, black-haired woman draped over his body. He watched their antics, feeling something inside of him slowly starting to wither and wane.
Following them secretly as they collapsed onto a isolated chaise lounge, well-separated from the rest of the hall. Careful not to be seen, he watched with increasing dolor as their limbs became tangled together, as Boromir ravaged the delicate female mouth with his tongue, mindless of anything else going around him. Tears sprang to Faramir's eyes as the pair continued to give in to their lust and he quickly stifled a sob before it left his lips and gave away his hidden location.
Unable to torture himself any longer, Faramir slipped away quietly, making his way to his chamber with great celerity lest anyone see the copious amounts of tears that fell from his eyes. Once in the sancitity of his room, he flung himself onto the bed and cried bitterly. It was a ridiculous notion, Faramir, he berated himself harsly, //Did you honestly think that your brother would ever want you? When he could have the pick of any eligible man or woman in the city?//
After a long while, his tears ebbed and he was left with nothing but an empty feeling in his stomach which seemed to grow with each passing minute that Boromir did not come to his chamber. He climbed out of his bed lethargically and went to sit out on terrace that was connected to his chamber. There, he sat on a stone bench and curled himself up into a small ball, almost as if he could disappear if he could draw into himself enough.
***
Boromir's hands had begun to roam up and down Lindorie's slim figure, his fingers hugging every swell and curved hollow of her flesh as he continued to kiss her heatedly. She squirmed and giggled every time their lips tore away from each other between kisses, and her hands skillfully made their way to Boromir's belt buckle, tugging gently.
Boromir suddenly backed away, startled by the attempt from the woman to undress him. "What are you doing?" he asked harshly.
"Just what you want me to do, lord," she replied pruriently, reaching for the open collar of his tunic.
"You know nothing of what I want, my lady!" he cried shrilly, slurring his words. He shook his head in an attempt to remove the alcohol-induced fog that clouded his mental faculties and stormed back inside, leaving Lindorie feeling quite chagrined and alone.
***
Half-stumbling along the path to his chambers in the deep blue night, Boromir began to fully realize the magnitude of what had just precipitated on the balcony. "What was I thinking?" he asked himself aloud before hiccupping. The world seemed to be swimming before his eyes and was blurred all around the edges of his vision. Tripping on a loose brick on the pathway, Boromir tumbled forward face first onto the stone ground just before his chamber door. "Damn!" he yelled as he fell forward, scraping the palms of his hands on the ground as he tried to avoid hitting his head on the pavement.
Faramir's ear perked at the sound of footsteps passing his room, a dull thud as a body hit the ground, and finally Boromir's voice swearing. Bristling, Faramir went out to see exactly what drunken activity his brother was participating in now, but he wasn't expecting to see the tall man sprawled out on the floor, long limbs splayed in every direction. He knelt next to Boromir though he made no move to touch him. "What are you doing?"
"Faramir!" he shouted in surprise. "I'm so sorry to have disturbed you. Why are you here anyway? You should be enjoying that stupid feast," Boromir garbled as he tried to get up without losing his balance and falling over again.
He raised an eyebrow as his brother fell to the ground immediately after he had managed to raise himself to his knees. "I left the feast hours ago, brother, but you did not notice. You, however, seem to have stayed and enjoyed yourself a bit too much." Faramir's gentle voice was bitter, harsher than it had ever been. "Would you like help getting back to your chamber?"
Boromir tried futilely to get to his feet alone; he somehow couldn't remember how to lift his knees without toppling over. "Please, some help would be greatly appreciated," he said as he blushed with embarrassment. He never liked being this way around Faramir, and the embittered tone that his brother's voice did not conceal cut through him like a hot knife through butter, making him feel even more guilty.
Faramir hoisted Boromir off of the ground with a strangth that wouldn't have been expected of such a scrawny boy. Draping one of Boromir's arms around his shoulders, and wrapping an arm firmly around the older man's waist, the second son of the Steward set off towards Boromir's chambers, walking slowly so that Boromir could keep up. He did not say a word to his brother the entire way.
***
Boromir instantly crumpled into a heap once Faramir had guided him to his bed. His head was spinning, or were the walls simply moving on their own? He winced at the thought and coughed as he turned on his side, curling up. Boromir gave Faramir a pathetic look, "I do not ask you to stay with me, Faramir." He had completely forgotten about the stray leaf of parchment from before that he had let fall to the ground next to his bed as he had quickly stuffed the papers under his pillow.
Without acknowledging that his brother had spoken, Faramir left the room momentarily only to come back with a small bowl filled with water. Kneeling next to the bed, he helped Boromir sit up, and pressed the bowl into his hands. "Drink this. It will clear your head."
"I really hope that's not mead," Boromir said despite taking a generous gulp of the cool fluid into his mouth before Faramir could respond. "Thank you," he said softly, gazing into Faramir's cold blue-green eyes but totally oblivious to the prickly demeanor settling around his brother's features.
"No, I daresay you've consumed enough mead for the both of us tonight." Faramir sat back on his heel and regarded his brother coolly. "You lips are swollen. Did you enjoy yourself with one of the courtesans? I hear they are more than willing."
Boromir twitched at the mentioning of a 'courtesan.' He brushed his fingers over his lips and furrowed his brow. "Yes, they are more than willing. Disgustingly so," he muttered, shutting his eyes again as a sharp pang of discomfort rippled through his throbbing forehead.
"I'm sure it did not disgust you at the time," he continued, looking down at Boromir unsympathetically. "Did you enjoy yourself with her?"
Boromir looked Faramir straight in the eye. "If you must know, yes," he said acerbically. "But I stopped before she made a fool of herself and me... don't know why, exactly...." He looked up and down at Faramir's form, admiring the finery he was wearing and the noble way his mouth curved into a pair of perfect pink lips, and realized right then what had stopped him. Shaking the unbidden thought from his hazy mind he inwardly chastised himself for even thinking of his brother that way. "What concern is it of yours, anyway?" he added, this time in a softer, more gentle tone.
Faramir's mouth worked open and closed though no words came out. "You're right," he agreed finally, "It is no business of mine what you do with yourself. I will leave you to sleep off the mead." He stood and turned to leave, but stopped when he heard something crinkle under his foot. Lifting the limb slightly, he looked down on what he stepped on; dread ran through his body faster than a bolt of lightning. He only needed a glimpse of the parchment under his foot to realize exactly what it was he had stepped on. Stooping slowly, he picked up the wrinkled sheet with a shaking hand and stared wide-eyed at the parchment filled with his own prose and poetry written in his immaculate handwriting. Prose and poetry about his older brother. "Where did you get this from?" he choked.
Boromir opened one eye with great effort and focused on the wrinkled sheet of parchment that Faramir held. "Oh, I, erum... you had left it in the garden, and I picked it up for you," he fumbled.
"You didn't read it, did you?" Faramir asked shakily, his back still turned to Boromir. He had forgotten all about the discarded leaves of parchment that he'd left scattered about the garden.
"Erm... I skimmed through one or two of them, but nothing much," he lied, accidentally revealing that there were more leaves hidden somewhere in the room.
Faramir whirled around to look at Boromir, his blue eyes wide with uneasiness. "Where are they? Why did you read them?!"
Sobering up very quickly at Faramir's apparent alarm, Boromir sat up slowly and lifted the pillow. "I... I'm sorry, I didn't know--"
Rushing over to the bed, Faramir began to snatch up the sheets of parchment frantically, his hands shaking uncontrollably. His cheeks flushed a brilliant red, mortification the only emotion running his actions. "I didn't mean any of it," he said quickly, turning to leave once he had gathered all of the half-finished poems.
Boromir swiftly reached out and caught Faramir by the back of his shirt, jerking him backwards so that he nearly fell into a heap on the floor. "Don't."
He stumbled several large paces backward, the force Boromir had tugged at his clothing knocking his small frame off balance. "Let go of me, Boromir!"
"Why are you running away?!"
"I'm not running away!" he cried, removing his shirt from Boromir's grasp. His entire body was shaking now as panic would set in. If his brother didn't want him before, he would certainly be disgusted by him now and never want to see his face again.
Boromir stood up and managed to latch onto Faramir's arm, half keeping him standing upright as his head reeled and half keeping Faramir from fleeing. "Faramir, the poems that I did read were incredible, you've nothing to be ashamed about!"
Faramir turned his head away from Boromir, unable to face his older brother. "They're nothing but childish prattle. They mean nothing."
"Then why did I feel something stirring inside of me when I read them?" Boromir's question was phrased so innocently, so thinly that one would never have been able to tell that he was feeling extremely sick to his stomach as the candles lining his walls were dancing around wildly before his eyes.
"Because you are not right in your mind, brother. They mean nothing, and you should not think on them an--" Faramir broke off shaking his head. His hands loosened from around the crumpled papers and he let them tumble to the floor. "It doesn't matter anymore," he whispered, removing his arm from Boromir's grasp and leaving the room.
He didn't know why, but Boromir felt hot, stinging tears welling up in his eyes. "Faramir, don't just walk away from me..." he whimpered exasperatedly. That was one pointed difference between them: although Boromir was five years the senior, he was always less mature in handling matters of a broken heart than Faramir was. Tonight Faramir seemed so emotionally old, and it scared the living daylights out of Boromir. He began to follow his retreating brother. "Faramir, please!" he begged.
Resolvedly walking back to his chamber, Faramir took deep breaths, steeling himself against his brother's pleas. "Boromir, please," he echoed, "I am not concerning myself with any relations you had tonight, just leave me be about this." He hid behind his door and closed it slowly, not wanting to see his brother's emotion ridden face.
Boromir stumbled after Faramir, just missing his opportunity to slip inside as once he reached the door Faramir shut it firmly. "Faramir, open the door," he commanded without sounding angry or upset. Silence. "Faramir, open the door," he repeated in the same voice. "Faramir..." he started knocking. "Faramir! Rosebud!!"
His back pressed to the door, Faramir slowly slid to the ground, his face in his hands. "Just go, Boromir," he whispered to himself, the pounding of Boromir's fist on the door mirroring the intense pounding of his heart.
Boromir stopped his cajolings for a moment and let a tear roll down his cheek when Faramir did not respond. Then, with renewed purpose, he began beating on the door harder than before, crying "Faramir! Let me in... NOW!"
Faramir was unable to ignore the desperation in his brother's voice any longer. Standing on shaky legs, he opened the door to his room only slightly, still hiding behind the large oak fixture.
Boromir immediately lurched forward as the door opened unexpectedly. Regaining his balance, he slipped inside and shut the heavy door behind him. "Thank you," he whispered. Seeing that Faramir was trying to hide himself, Boromir reached out and pulled his little brother forward so that his chin could rest atop Faramir's curly topped head. He wrapped his arms around Faramir, drawing him in close and cooing softly as Faramir shook and gasped with quiet sobs. "Shh, rosebud... "
