Thus it came to pass that Boromir son of Denethor took from Frodo the One Ring. Having taken his prize, The Lord of the White Tower wasted little time in abandoning the Fellowship and hastily returning to Minas Tirith, where a difficult decision awaited him. He had declared at the Council that scarce was the need of Gondor for a King, but doubt now plagued him. Great was the threat to Gondor posed by Sauron and his foul armies. The realm needed a saviour, a deliverance that was beyond a Steward's means to provide. As Boromir pondered the plight of his kingdom, Ring's began to work it's dark influence on his mind.
The very same evening of his return, the Captain-General of Gondor deposed his father in a midnight coup and imprisoned Denethor in the deepest dungeon in all of Minas Tirith. He then committed one of the most distasteful deeds in all of Gondor's history: He ordered the Throne of the Stewards to be chopped into firewood and placed upon his own head the Crown of Gondor. It was not an action Boromir enjoyed. He wept as his father was dragged away in chains.
In the months that followed, the valiant armies of King Boromir, backed by the Ring's power, inflicted a string of crushing defeats on Mordor. Sauron was again defeated, though with the Ring intact, his shadow would again rise to torment a future age.
The power of the wizard Saruman too, was broken.
The period of the Third Age following Sauron's defeat was a time of peace and renewal for the Realm of Gondor. Boromir had little taste for the more intellectual aspects of governance. He bestowed upon Faramir, for whom he had always had the greatest of affections, the office of Chancellor. Officially, he was but an advisor to the king, but Faramir in truth wielded true political power within the Kingdom.
And of Boromir himself?
Having given the responsibility of governing the kingdom to his brother, King Boromir, his days devoid of responsibilities or actual labour, spent his days sating his physical desires. Again and again he treated himself to frequent grandiose banquets, sometimes four or even five in a single day. Freely did the King eat at these meaningless celebrations. Inevitably did he become grand and wide. Scarcely could the tailors of Minas Tirith keep up with the ever-expanding girth of the King. Frequently would they labour long into the night to create ever-larger robes for their liege.
When not feasting, the King endeavoured to slake his insatiable libido. There was hardly a serving-girl or stable hand who was not at some point or other compelled to join the portly monarch in the royal bedchambers.
Borormir eventually grew bored with the carnal delights his serving staff had to offer, and ordered the importation of Mirkwood Elf slaves, male and female alike, for his personal pleasure. As King Boromir's luxurious tastes were running the Kingdom's coffers dry, the royal exchequer suggested that the use of the elves be rented out to the people in exchange for a fee, a proposal that the King first opposed but would later relent on.
With the passing of time of time, the dignity of the Royal Palace of Gondor eroded as such that it's character changed from that of a seat of government and residence of a dynasty than a combined harem/brothel. Faramir soon removed his office from its decadent halls and began working in another section of the city. He and his staff solemnly walked by the White Tree, still withered and barren.
One day, an aged, bearded man clad in a hooded traveling cloak came to call on Gondor's king.
"Welcome to Boromir's Palace of Pleasure," a disturbingly androgynous attendant purred as the stranger passed through the huge entrance doors. "Will you be wanting the company of a man or woman?" The man lowered his hood to reveal himself. It was Gandalf!
"Neither. I would be greatly pleased if you would be so kind as to tell your King that an old friend has come to see him." The attendant bowed and left. Gandalf took in his surrounding and wrinkled his nose. The place stank of sweat and sex. His ears pricked. Someone on the above floor was having a very good time from the sound of it.
Some time later, the white wizard was admiring the decorative frescos and little pool in the centre of the room when he detected something ominous: The ground was shaking. It was a slight trembling, felt only every few seconds, but it was there nonetheless. Gandalf turned his gaze to the pool waters. Again a quiver was felt from the floor. Ripples appeared.
The vibrations were getting stronger. They could now be heard as well as felt. Gandalf drew his staff, fully expecting a Cave Troll to burst through the door, screaming with bloodlust…
What he received instead was no feral beast but Boromir, King of Gondor- all 365 pounds of him. Indeed, the King was not much smaller than a cave troll. Gandalf could make out rolls of flesh beneath the Son of Gondor's kingly robes. His face broke into a wide grin upon seeing his the Wizard.
"Gandalf! Too many years it has been!" He exclaimed, his double chins jiggling as he waddled towards Gandalf. He laughed and extended his arms for a brotherly hug. The wizard, fearing that he would be crushed by such an embrace, instead extended his hand for a formal handshake.
"Glad tidings and good cheer to you, Boromir of Gondor," he said as the giant of a man vigorously clasped his hand and shook it. "It pains me to say, however, that I cannot share in the joy of our reunion. There are grave matters for you and I to discuss." Boromir's smile did not waver.
"Ah, I would be a liar if I said this news did not sadden me, but your visit is an occasion to celebrate nonetheless. Come, master wizard! Let us dine together, you and I."
-------
An hour later, after the Manservants had cleared away the appetizers, Gandalf informed the King of the purpose of his mission.
"So you want me," asked Boromir while chewing thoughtfully a slice of venison, "to surrender not only the Ring, but my crown as well."
"Correct," answered Gandalf, scooping a second helping of mashed potatoes onto his plate.
"And why, pray tell, would I want to do either of those things?" Queried Boromir, a look of bemusement on his face."
"Because it would be the right thing to do, master Boromir. You came into possession of both by illegitimate means: The ring you seduced from Frodo and the Throne of Gondor you took for yourself, disregarding that you are not of Isildur's line. For the greater good of Middle-Earth, the Ring must be destroyed and the throne restored to the legitimate heir of Aragorn!"
"Ahh, yes. Aragorn son of Arathorn. I remember him well, and was not at all impressed by what I saw. An uncouth barbarian from the wilds, he was! And you tell me he is kingly material? Pray, friend Gandalf, allow me to disagree with you. Ah, but his Elvish lover, her I recall fondly. What was her name? Arwne? Awren? Arewn? Arwen! Yes, that was it!" Boromir let out a kingly laugh and then made a strange gesture using his tongue and forefingers. Gandalf was ignorant as to its meaning, and could only stare in mixed horror and admiration. "Wait, I have an idea! You want me to give my crown to Aragorn- How about we make Arwen my queen as a compromise?"
"No."
"Bah, I'm not the one being difficult. Please, try to look at the issue from my eyes. Gondor is prospering under my rule. Taxes are low. Trade is prospering. The rebuilding of Osgiliath continues briskly. The kingdom has peace both outside and within its borders. I fear that a new King would shatter these delicate elements that comprise her new prosperity."
"'Under your rule'? Then I take it Faramir had no hand in these fortunate developments?" For the first time that evening, Boromir stopped smiling. Gandalf detected that he had struck upon a truth that sat ill with the King of Gondor.
"I see that we are making little progress on the issue of the kingship. Let us then focus our attention to the Ring and return to the former subject later," proposed Boromir. "Please, do have another glass of wine. It really is the best the kingdom has to offer."
Gandalf obliged and refilled his glass. At about this time he became faintly aware that Boromir was watching him, like a Warg about to pounce upon its prey. He wasn't certain, but he thought he had seen Boromir licking his lips. Gandalf dismissed his suspicions and drained half of his glass before again setting it down.
"As you wish. Friend Boromir, you were present at the Council of Elrond. You were told of the Ring and the danger it represents to all of Middle Earth. It must be destroyed! The defeat of Sauron is Hhhuuuuuuuuurrrkkk!" Gandalf clasped his throat with both his hands. A warmth was spreading through his body. His fingers and toes went all tingly. Then the royal dining started spinning, and the wizard fell from his seat to the cold floor. All strength left him, and he knew only numbness. Such a feeling had only been known unto him previously with his defeat of the Balrog.
It was only then that Gandalf put the pieces together.
"Boromir," Gandalf gasped. "What was in that wine?" At the other end of the table, he saw Boromir's feet walk from their place at the opposite end of the table and and begin walking. Gandalf looked up. Boromir's massive form filled his vision, the King again wearing his grin.
"Bwa-ha-ha-ha! 'Twas a powerful aphrodisiac combined with an herb that causes temporary paralysis, brewed for me by a visiting alchemist. Oh, how long I have waited for this!" Boromir gleefuly rubbed his hands together, like a child about to receive an exciting new toy. He then knelt until his lips were just before Gandalf's ear.
"Yes, that's right. Ever since I first saw you at Elrond's silly little council, I've wanted nothing more than to press you against the wall, tear off your robes and fuck you silly." He then clasped Gandalf's head in his hand's looked into the helpless wizard's eyes. Knowing that victory was his, Boromir pressed his lips into Gandalf's.
"I do hope you're won't forget your end of the bargain." Said a voice from the entrance door. Boromir broke off his forced embrace to look at its owner. Standing there was a man with sallow skin, greasy black hair and a hooked nose. He was clad in a dapper black suit and cape. He carried himself with a thoroughly aristocratic air. Fangs were protruding from his lips. "You do remember, don't you, Boromir? I brew your aphrodisiac, and in return, I-"
"-Get to feed on the blood of a Maia, preserving your vampire immortality. Yes, thank you for reminding me, Snape. After I'm done with the wizard you may do with him as you will. Here, I've got his arms. Grab his legs and help me move him into the bedroom."