Author's Note: Chapter 11! I can hardly believe how well this story is going. My co-author and I are very proud. This chapter takes a slightly different turn...We hope you all like it.

Thank you so much to everyone who's read and left us reviews. They're invaluable and they give the motivation we need to keep writing!

There is sibcest here! If you don't like it, don't read it! It's as simple as that, my friends.

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"So... cold...." Girion muttered to himself as he shuffled down from the Citadel, briskly rubbing his gloved hands together. His breath crystallized into an ever-present icy cloud around his face as he rushed down a long staircase. At the base of the stairs, a small and slender figure darted across from one side to the other with long fur dragging behind it and sweeping aside a path in the few inches of snow still covering the well- traveled pathway. Girion hurried down and looked after the retreating person. "Faramir?" he called into the chill darkness.

Startled, Faramir looked up only to have his face resolve into a smile as he caught sight of his friend. "Girion! What are you doing out here at such an hour?" His eyes flicked up to the opalescent moon well-risen in the sky, taking note of the late hour. He himself had been on his way down to Boromir's room, anxious to see his brother. Boromir's disposition had taken a turn downward after their discussion a few days prior, and he was beginning to worry about his older brother. Still, he always tried to make time to speak with his friend, no matter how rushed or harassed he was.

Girion smiled warmly, seeming to brighten and heat the air surrounding the two men under the frigid winter moonlight. "I am returning from my watch for the night. But I should be the one asking questions!" he chided facetiously. "Where are you off too, hm? And in such a rush, too!" Girion chuckled and pinched Faramir's rosy cheek amiably.

"To see Boromir, of course!" Faramir beamed, flashing Girion his dazzling smile. "Where else would I be going?" Girion was only person he had confided in about his relationship with Boromir; he was glad that he had such a wonderful confidant, someone that he could share everything with.

Girion laughed, thoroughly delighted to see the young man in such a better emotional state than when Boromir was gone. He was sharply aware of the change in Faramir's youthful countenance that was streaked with blood and tears that one fateful day only a mere month after Boromir's departure. He remembered the sickly thin shell of a boy transported back from Henneth Annun after suffering the effects of exposure and near-starvation after the Steward had sent him off on a thoughtless venture, alone, into the wild and untamed reaches of shady Ithilien. //How beautifully he has improved and grown,// Girion thought as he studied Faramir's sleek cheekbones and upturned mouth and eyes that glimmered like multi-faceted blue-green gems. "Boromir, you say?" He chuckled knowingly as he recalled the intimate relationship he had with the city's captain. "Well, be sure to give him my regards." Girion patted the crown of Faramir's head and winked at him before gently shoving him away with a quick pat on the small of his back.

"Wait!" Faramir said, resisting the shove stubbornly. "I've not had a chance to speak with you since Boromir returned! How have you been?" Spying a nearby bench, Faramir bounced over it, cleared off the thick layer of snow that rested on it, and took a seat. He slapped his gloved hand against the bench next to him, inviting Girion to take a seat.

Girion sighed theatrically and slumped his tired shoulders. His body ached from hours of standing; he would've much preferred a more rigorous chore to pass the hours with, but that was not his decision to make. "Very well, keep me from a warm fire and mug of mead for awhile longer, I don't care!" he griped sarcastically as he joined Faramir on the bench. Their thighs touched, but Girion did not feel the tiny quiver in Faramir's leg as the two sat next to each other. Girion draped an arm around Faramir's shoulders casually, and asked as he gazed up at the twinkling stars, "How have you been, my lord?"

"The cold is invigorating! I should hope that one of Gondor's greatest guards should be able to stand a little nip in the air!" Faramir teased. "And really, I wish you wouldn't call me that. You and I both know that I am no lord. Save that...term of respect for my father." He smiled up at the older man, feeling himself sliding closer to his warmth that radiated from him even though his body was plated with armor. Girion reminded him so much of Boromir that he sometimes had to keep himself from admiring the guard openly as he did Boromir. They were both so strong, brave, possessed an innate sense of command and power, something that Faramir had yet to manage.

Girion spread his lips into a thin smile and looked down at the boy sitting so near to him with affectionate eyes. "As one of the Steward's son I am obligated to address you as such," he said evenly. Noticing the gleam in Faramir's eyes dim a little, he amended "But I must say, you are indeed a little rapscallion, nobility or not!" He poked Faramir's ribs playfully with a gloved finger. "Now answer me. How are you these days, Faramir?"

Faramir slid away from Girion before he could be tickled, hating that both he and Boromir always took advantage of the weakness. "If I am supposed to be respected as the Steward's son, you'd best watch the way you treatment! I'm ready at the drop of a hat to report any abuse to my father!" He deftly avoided the question, though his eyes shadowed momentarily as the knowledge that his father would do nothing to help him floated through his head.

Fine, fine," Girion conceded, shaking his head. He removed the helmet and shook his dark hair about before looking back at Faramir. His toned lowered to a note of dead seriousness, he questioned "Faramir, have you spoken to Boromir about that... day? And what happened in Ithilien?"

Faramir looked down at his hands and fidgeted slightly, suddenly uncomfortable. //No,// he thought to himself, //I do not want Boromir to know. He will no doubt feel horrible and blame himself somehow.// To Girion, he said, albeit a mumbled confession of lies, "Yes, I have."

Girion relaxed greatly, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. "Good. I am glad that he knows; he seemed to be murky on it when he visited Hirluin and I a few days ago while we were having a cup of mead during our reprieve." He patted Faramir gently on the back, right between the shoulder blades that jutted out starkly. "He cares for you so much, Faramir. You are lucky to have such a man as your brother." //Lucky indeed...// But Girion's ruminations on Boromir were interrupted by a sharp shiver that caused his teeth to chatter.

Girion's marked shiver caught Faramir's attention, jerking him out of his reverie quickly. "I've kept you for too long, Girion! I had no idea that you would be so frozen through." Standing from the stone bench, he proffered a hand out to Girion. "You should go back to your quarters with your warm mead and roaring fire that I've kept you from."

He laced his fingers through Faramir's long slender ones and hoisted himself up from the bench with a grunt. "Indeed, I think I'm frozen through. If I stumble on a stair and shatter then I'll blame you," Girion joked. Faramir's angelic smile did, however, warm him. Smiling sunnily in return, Girion said "Now run along. I don't want to catch hell from Boromir for keeping you sidetracked."

Faramir felt a tingling spread from where his fingers were laced together with Girion's, and he looked down at the joined digits momentarily, wondering exactly why he was feeling the way he was. "Yes, you're right. I've been worried about Boromir lately...He has been so down lately. Beyond the normal brooding that he often indulges himself in."

Girion cocked his head to the side, looking rather curious at the remark. "Is that so?" He trained his eyes over to the twin doors that opened up into Boromir's luxuriant room, the room he had been in before many times. The corner of his mouth curled into a knowing smirk as he recollected a certain chill night not two years past, a night not so different from this one. Swiftly shifting back into the present, he looked back at Faramir. "Do go on, then, and comfort him as you will. I hate to see him despairing."

Faramir nodded and scurried off, but stopped before he had gotten more than a few yards away. Spinning on his heel, he bounded over and gave Girion a quick kiss on the cheek, something he always did whenever he said goodbye to the Gondor guard. Satisfied, he turned around again and quickly disappeared into Boromir's chambers.

Girion pursed his lips and stood there in the bluish light of the moon, watching with fondness as Faramir traipsed off and slipped into Boromir's room with scarcely a sound. Turning and resuming his trek to the small hamlet where he lived alone on the fourth circle of the city, he thought //Sweet boy, just like his brother...// He shook his head ruefully and settled back into thoughts of the untouched mead he had stowed away in his home, and the several chopped logs resting in the fireplace. As he rounded the corner that brought him down to the level of the city where he resided, he promised himself to seek out Boromir the next day. They had much to discuss.

Faramir eased into Boromir's room quietly in case his brother had decided to retire early. His eyes adjusting to the darkened room, his scanned the chamber, looking for Boromir. He wasn't near the fire, he wasn't in his bed. Figuring that he wasn't there, Faramir was about to leave when a moon bathed figure caught the corner of his vision. "Boromir..." he said softly, walking over to his Brother. He was propped up in a chaise next to the large window. He frowned as he saw how lost in thought his brother was, deeply absorbed in a book. "What are you reading, Boromir?" he asked, taking a few steps closer to him.

Boromir didn't look up; he knew who it was the second he perceived footsteps crunching in the snow approaching his door. "It's one of our mother's favorite books," he said quietly, never taking his eyes off the page. He settled down further into the chair, disappearing a little more in the blanket robing him. Furtively he wiped the moisture gathering in the corner of his eye, but still refused to make eye contact with his brother.

Faramir's eyes widened as he heard the tears and sorrow apparent in Boromir's voice, though the older man tried hard to keep them from showing. "What book is it?" he asked, closing the remaining distance between them and perching on the edge of the chaise. He slipped an arm around Boromir's broad shoulders and pressed himself against him, offering comfort.

For once Boromir felt little more than a half-dead flicker in him with Faramir's body brushing against him; only coldness pricking his nose and numbness spiraling through his chest held sway over him. With his thumb holding his place in the pages, he shut the book and showed the cover to Faramir in the candlelight. It was a narrative history of Dol Amroth, the land that Finduilas had come from. The edges were stained and warped, the pages yellowed and brittle, and in the corner of the cover a small rune for the letter 'F' marked who the original owner had been.

Faramir smiled faintly as he regarded the cover. He knew the story well; it was a story that he read often. It worried him that Boromir was so silent and withdrawn, almost the complete opposite of his normal countenance. It was almost as though the roles were reversed, Boromir being the quiet, sullen son and Faramir doing the comforting. He gently removed the book from Boromir's hands and set it aside. "Come, Boromir, you should be getting to bed. Standing, Faramir took Boromir's chilled hands and coaxed him into standing.

Boromir acquiesced, though for some reason he felt like snapping his hands away and sending Faramir away. But he decided against doing that, realizing that his brother was only doing what he could to cheer him, and went along with following the way Faramir guided him. He glanced longingly back at the book that lay ignored on the cold floor, wishing he could finish it in peace. Sitting down on the edge of his mattress, Boromir sighed with resignation, feeling the numbness in his chest dissipate just a little.

Faramir fussed over his brother, removing his boots and outer tunic, settling him into his bed under the warm blankets, making sure he was comfortable. "Girion asked after you," he said, trying to make conversation to ease the tension in the room. He settled on Boromir's bed next to him, wrapping his arms around Boromir's middle. He looked up at his brother adoringly, though worry still crinkled the corners of his eyes; he wished that there was something he could do to draw Boromir out of the mild depression that he had settled into.

//Girion.// "Did he now?" Boromir's eyes brightened a little at the mention of his friend. //Girion... hm.// "What did he say?" he asked, now sufficiently interested and distracted from his gloom. He shifted so that his lower body was against Faramir's, and his face was level with his brother's so that they looked each other in the eye, inches separating them.

Faramir brow furrowed and he suddenly felt useless, cast aside. His presence had not been enough to cheer Boromir, but one mention of his friend immediately cheered his dismal mood. "Not much of anything, really," he said cautiously, "He said for me to give you his regards, and said that he hated to hear you were in such a state."

Boromir nodded slowly as a grin spread across his features. "That's kind of him," he said, as if to himself. Noting Faramir's downcast countenance he turned his eyes back to his brother's face, saying "Faramir, I am sorry for my recent mood..."

"There is no need to apologize," he replied quietly, feeling rejected. He could hardly ignore in Boromir's voice the underlying note of...desire? "I just hope that you are feeling better now." Still, Faramir placed a light kiss on Boromir's neck, sliding his body closer to him.

Boromir made a growling noise low in his throat and, feeling significantly cheered with mention of Girion and Faramir's affection fresh in his mind, returned the gesture tenfold. He nipped at Faramir's neck, careful not to break the skin, and simultaneously brought his hands up to Faramir's chest and lightly squeezed the two nipples between his middle and forefingers. "I am feeling much better now," he whispered airily.

A shuddering breath escaped Faramir's throat and his eyelids fluttered shut over his azure eyes. Boromir's hands made him forget for a moment his brother's reaction to the mention of Girion. The thought squeezed back into his mind as Boromir's ministrations slackened, but were immediately pushed out again as his large hands returned, running their way down his lithe body. Sliding so that he was half on top of Boromir, Faramir pressed his lips to Boromir's, slipping his tongue into his hot mouth.

Boromir welcomed Faramir's tongue in earnest and sucked the slick muscle in between his teeth, not letting go for a second. His breathing became heavier as he took in air through his nostrils at a quicker rate, and his pulse escalated as Faramir's weight settled over him in all the right places. With his hands roaming with abandon over Faramir's body, he firmly pulled his brother up on top of him, thrusting his hips up a little the second Faramir was securely draped over the hot hardness centered in his groin and spiraling out to the tips of his limbs. He never broke contact with Faramir's mouth, though, keeping his brother's lips and tongue engaged in the steamiest of kisses while moaning between swipes of his own tongue over Faramir's.

Faramir moaned breathily into Boromir's mouth, his hips shifting involuntarily to grind against Boromir's groin. His cheeks flushed as arousal stirred deep in his body, as the familiar stirring between his thighs. Faramir's hands threaded themselves through Boromir's locks of hair and his body writhed sinuously on top of his as his desire for Boromir grew intense with each passing moment.

All rational thought was emptied from Boromir's brain. Letting his instincts kick in, his fingers rapidly untied the laces keeping Faramir's warm chest from his hands, and instantly he slipped a hand inside to run his broad palm over the smooth skin. He could feel Faramir's heartbeat pounding frantically within his ribcage, and the moans that flowed from Faramir's mouth were like an intoxicating brew of the greatest potency. Shutting his eyes and letting his hands fall down to the front of Faramir's breeches, he uttered "Faramir, you're so beautiful..."

"No..." he said softly, his breath hitched and coming in short gasps. "It's you...You are amazing..." Faramir pressed a light kiss against the corner of Boromir's lips. As Boromir's hands slipped past his loosened breeches, he let out a sharp cry, his hips pressing themselves closer to the calloused touch. He froze, however, as Boromir's hands continued their quest and slowly started to slide his breeches off of his skinny body.

Boromir's hands were steady and deft, and inch by agonizing inch more of Faramir's skin was revealed. //I want to see you...// he thought, not daring to voice the words for fear that it would shatter the delicious feelings governing him and make the instance he found himself in into the stuff dreams are made of.

"Boromir...wait," Faramir said abruptly, pulling away from Boromir just before his brother had succeeded in freeing him from his breeches. He climbed off of Boromir and righted his breeches. "I can't..."

Boromir froze. Did he just hear what he thought he heard? His hands were suspended in mid-air, grasping the air that replaced Faramir's body. He sat up, sharply aware of the unsated throb in his crotch and said quietly, ominously, "Can't what?"

"This. I can't do this." Faramir sat up in the bed and righted his clothing. //I thought you understood, Boromir,// he thought to himself, feeling almost hurt from his brother's harsh tone. He felt his body slowly unwind as the desire and arousal that had coursed through his veins slowly slackened.

Boromir violently turned, unable to face Faramir. "Of course you cannot; it's appalling, contemptible. You do not care to be this close to me," he spat as his irritation waxed. Briefly, he looked back at Faramir who was occupied with straightening his messy hair and clothing. "My needs carry no weight. Never mind what your oh-so dear brother wants!" he cried before turning away again.

Faramir's eyes widened as Boromir gave him the cold shoulder, all but shoving him out of the room with his sharp rejection. "No!" he cried, "That's not it at all!" He reached a hand out and placed it lightly on Boromir's shoulder, but he shrugged it off insistently. "Boromir, please," Faramir implored, "You know that I care for your wants and needs!"

"Oh *please*, Faramir! It's become quite apparent that every time I touch you, you shy away; and what else could be the cause than my own wicked self?" He swiftly rose from the bed, all desire snuffed out and replaced with white-hot anger. He leaned forward, eyes narrowed dangerously and only a few inches from where Faramir sat huddled on the bed. "You lead me on just to drop me when it's the most hurtful!" His tone softened somewhat. "I understand that you are young, inexperienced, but..." his lividity slowly rose again... "But it's painfully unfair of you to continuously do this, time and again! I can't take it!!" Faramir's face seemed carved out of stone, as it did not change expressions. Boromir straightened up, looking tall and threatening in the dim light and thick air. He said in icy tones, "I think you should leave, Faramir. *Now*."

Faramir felt frozen in place, stuck in his huddled position on the bed, his eyes wide with almost-fear at Boromir's explosion. It took several minutes for everything that Boromir had said to set in, the harsh words slowly permeating his heart. He opened his mouth to rebut what his brother had flung at him, but no words came out. He stayed in that position, his eyes shining with intense hurt and betrayal. //You said you understood, Boromir...// he thought to himself again, his eyes filling with tears. "It was not my intent to hurt you, Boromir..." He took a trembling breath, trying to cease the shaking that had started rocking his body. He longed to go over to his brother and wrap his arms around him to expel the hurt he had caused without even knowing it. "I did not mean to lead you on."

"Ha," Boromir laughed, arms folded across his chest. "Maybe you didn't, but that's certainly how it's turned out." He ignored the unadulterated grief visible in the trembling of Faramir's chin and the glittering tears rimming his lower eyelids. Eyes smoldering with muted fury, Boromir hissed "Go, I can't stand to be in the presence of one who so loathes my affection."

Though he desperately tried to keep from weeping, a lone tear slipped down Faramir's cheek and splashed onto his hands which were curled into tight fists. "I..." //He really wants me to go. He's really sending me away...// "I do not loathe your affection, Boromir," he beseeched, his voice breaking as he cried Boromir's name.

"Faramir! Go," Boromir interrupted before Faramir could even finish his reply. He gave Faramir a long, hard stare before swiftly striding to the door. Pulling it open with a creak, a wisp of snow blew in and caused the tongues of flame lighting the candles to sway and threaten to go out. With one hand on the door and the other in a gesture indicating he wanted Faramir to depart, he said levelly, the words deadpanned. "Please, leave."

Finally, Faramir raised himself from the bed. With legs like jelly, he walked towards the door as though as soon as he walked through the large oak door, he was walking back into the solitude that he thought he had been freed from. He paused next to Boromir and reached up as though to caress his cheek, but Boromir jerked away before his hand had even halfway reached his destination. His eyes lowered to the ground, he exited the room. Walking back to his own room, the winter wind cut through him like an ice- cold knife, tearing his heart apart; his body was glaciated, all of his limbs going numb. Somehow he made it back to his room and managed to close the door behind him before sobs overtook him. Sliding down to the ground, Faramir buried his face in his hands crying for the hurt he had caused his brother, and for the unbounded rejection he had felt himself.