Faramir drew his roan to a halt and stared at the guarded gates of Imladris. Before leaving his home in Dol Amroth, he’d been told that Lord Elrond, the Lord of Rivendell, was one of the most powerful elves in all of Middle Earth. At the time, Faramir did not heed the rumor. Now, however, he understood the implications of what his Uncle Imrahil had been trying to say. Not even Minas Tirith had impressed Faramir as much as did Imladris.
Oh, certainly, from a military standpoint, Minas Tirith—a place that Faramir had only seen from a distance— was an impressive city; an impenetrable fortress whose soaring heights strained the eye and stretched the neck. But Imladris was paradise. Stone and wood met water and one could not tell where the one ended and the other began. Grottos full of statues and greenery masked armed warriors as they patrolled the length and breadth of Elrond’s realm.
Slowly Faramir dismounted and walked purposefully towards a long, shallow staircase. His armor clinked faintly. At the top stood a dark elf with ebony colored hair flowing down his back and a slightly cold expression on his face. Faramir reached the top stair and bowed with his hand to his heart.
“I am Captain Faramir of Dol Amroth,” he introduced himself in his quiet, calm manner. His green eyes lifted and surveyed the elf before him. The beauty of the creature nearly rendered his tongue useless. Only his mother, Finduilas, had been more beautiful in his eyes.
Dark brows lifted for a moment and the lips grew thinner. “I am Lord Erestor, Chief Advisor to Lord Elrond of Rivendell. I bid you welcome on his behalf. Did you say you were from Dol Amroth?”
“Aye, my lord, I have traveled many leagues to speak with Lord Elrond on a matter of great importance. Is there a chance I will be received?”
Dark eyes flickered over the sword and armor and padded leather covering the man. “Indeed, I am sure he will be glad to welcome you. Come, I will see that you are housed fitting your station.” He turned on his heel and stepped onto a footbridge spanning a bubbling spring. “Someone will collect your saddlebags, Captain.” He hesitated on the word captain.
“Thank you,” Faramir hurried to catch the long legged elf. Despite the delicate, ethereal appearance, Lord Erestor moved quickly and gracefully and Faramir was forced to hurry to keep up.
Erestor led him through a series of plant and fountain filled passages before opening a door. “You should be comfortable in here.” He stepped into the room and went straight for a window covered in sheer curtains. He pulled the curtains aside revealing floor to ceiling multi-paned windows that opened onto a balcony. The balcony overlooked a pond surrounded by ferns and a rock-strewn path with benches placed at convenient intervals. Lilies floated atop the water. He moved back inside. “Should you need anything, pull this,” his hand rested lightly on a silken rope. “Feel free to roam the gardens. A gong will announce dinner and I will send an elf to escort you to the dining hall.”
Faramir stared around the room with his green eyes sparkling. The opulence was grand, but not overblown and the nature seemed as much a part of the décor as plaster walls and carved beams. “There has been some mistake, my lord.”
Erestor paused. “How so?”
Faramir gestured with his hand. “This is a room of a king or a lord, not a captain.”
“Are you not here as Prince Imrahil’s emissary?”
“Aye,” Faramir nodded his head.
“Then you are housed appropriately. May I ask you a question, Captain?”
“By all means,” Faramir moved around the room almost restlessly.
“Are you related to Prince Imrahil in some way?”
“He is my uncle. My mother was his sister, Finduilas.”
Erestor inclined his head. “Now I understand. I’ll leave you to get settled, then. Until dinner, Captain.”
*~*
Erestor strolled into Elrond’s study unannounced and stood quietly for a moment, composing his thoughts. “We have a new guest, my lord.”
Elrond glanced up from his scroll and blinked. The spidery writing was cramped and hard to read under the best of circumstances. His eyes struggled to focus as he blinked. “So, the prophecies come to pass.”
“I think, my lord, that the prophecies have not warned us enough.” Erestor frowned. “Was it true that Finduilas, sister of Prince Imrahil, fled Minas Tirith?”
“Fled? That’s is rather a strong word, Erestor. She was ill and returned home and there she faded but a short time later.”
“Was she alone?” Erestor picked up a quill and turned it slowly between his fingers.
“Why do you ask these things?”
Erestor replaced the quill. “Because her son is our latest guest. He announced himself as Captain Faramir, of Dol Amroth. But, if I remember Finduilas, he is her image made over.”
“He would have been young.” Elrond frowned, searching his memory. Nothing immediately sprang to mind. “You have spoken with Denethor’s son?”
Erestor nodded. “I have him settled in a room all ready. I placed Faramir near him. Perhaps that was not such a wise idea now that I think on it.”
“More than likely not,” agreed Elrond. “But it cannot be undone at this date. We will have to wait and see what happens when they encounter one another.”
*~*
The encounter was not a far off event. Boromir grew restless in the room he’d been given early that morning and decided to explore the small garden beneath his balcony. His booted feet crunched on gravel as he moved towards the pond. His sharp gray eyes flickered over the scenery, seeing it without really seeing it. Long had his senses been raped by the view of Mordor’s black gates and he could no longer appreciate the beauty that was Rivendell to its fullest. In his mind, he heard the screams of men made mad by the Dark Lord’s ever-growing threat. His eyes saw the blasted landscape of a wounded, battle scarred land. His nose smelled the scent of poisonous fumes that leaked from behind the black walls. With a heavy sigh, he seated himself on a bench and stared into the rippling waters. He only hoped Lord Elrond had an answer to his dream, a way to solve the riddle plaguing his mind and a balm to soothe his tortured spirit. His concern for his troops and his beleaguered city weighed far more heavily on his shoulders than he would dare to admit.
Faramir stood quietly, watching the man from behind the safety of the gauze curtains. He had not known there was another man in Imladris, though, from the looks of this one, he was from Gondor. In fact, Faramir thought he knew the man’s identity, though he did not know him personally. Faramir could not imagine what would have brought the Captain General of Gondor’s armies so far from the war massing on their borders. There was a knock at his door and he jumped, brushing the balcony door with his knee. The door crashed back with a bang and the man beside the pond looked up just as Faramir hastily withdrew from the window.
Blushing furiously, Faramir opened the outer door and stared at a young elf bearing his saddlebags. “Thank you.” He said as he moved from the door to allow the elf to enter. Suddenly inspired, he decided to make an inquiry. “Is Lord Boromir of Gondor here?”
The elf sat the heavy bags down and nodded. Turning he gave a Faramir an inquisitive look. “He is.”
“Do you know why he has come?”
The elf shook his head. “Nay, my lord. Will there be anything else?”
Faramir thanked the elf again and dismissed him. Turning, he picked up his equipment and moved it to a chest where he withdrew extra shirts and leggings. He shook the wrinkles free and wondered about a bath to wash away the sweat and dust from the road. Mentally, he kicked himself for not asking the elf who brought his bags up. He heard splashing and turned to look out the window. Lord Boromir was tossing pebbles in the water and watching the ripples spread among the lilies.
Taking a deep breath, Faramir decided to go down to the garden and introduce himself. There was, after all, no reason not to. He and Lord Boromir would likely meet at dinner, anyway. He slipped onto the balcony and located the short, spiral stairs and approached Boromir softly.
“My lord?”
The man leapt and spun with his hand on his hilt. He relaxed when he saw Faramir. “You startled me.”
“I apologize,” Faramir placed his hand over his heart and bowed and his strawberry blond hair momentarily obscured his face. “I did not mean to creep up on you. I am Faramir of Dol Amroth.”
Boromir relaxed and blinked as the man before him straightened. He had the most intense green eyes he’d ever seen. He had heard of Faramir of Dol Amroth, though he’d never met the younger man face-to-face. The captain was reputed to be an excellent warrior and held the hearts of his men in the palm of his hand. Denethor, Boromir’s father, had little use for Faramir, though he would not say why when questioned. His only reply was that one raised in Imrahil’s court could not be the warrior others claimed Faramir to be. Still, Boromir had seen some proof of Faramir’s prowess and wondered how his father could esteem Imrahil and, at the same time, disparage his captain. “I am Boromir.”
Faramir smiled and his green eyes lit up in his face. “I know, my lord. I have heard of you, though we have never met. Some of my troops have occasioned to be near Minas Tirith.”
Boromir felt a kinship with Faramir that he was hard-pressed to explain. When the green eyes lit with a deep inner fire, a tiny corner of Boromir’s heart immediately responded. He’d been alone far too long, he mused. Certainly the younger man was handsome, with strawberry blond hair framing green eyes and wide mouth that was surrounded by a slightly darker beard and mustache. Boromir dragged his eyes from Faramir’s face. “I hope you and your men are ready,” he said tersely as he turned back the water. “Gondor will be forced to call on her allies ‘ere long.”
Faramir tilted his head a fraction and his nostrils flared at the implication. “We are more than ready, Lord Boromir. When Gondor calls, Dol Amroth will answer.”
Boromir heard footsteps on the gravel and turned away from the pond in time to witness Faramir’s departure. His heart immediately sank. He could ill afford to make enemies while he stayed in Rivendell. Too much depended on winning the support and help of the elves and anyone else who would be willing to fight for Gondor against their common foe. “Wait, Captain, please.” His thin lips twisted into a wry smile as Faramir turned and stared at him. The eyes, which had moments ago sparkled like emeralds, turned deep, mossy green as they met Boromir’s grey ones. “Forgive me, please, for my rudeness. I know the value of Dol Amroth’s aid and those who wear her colors.”
Appeased by the lackluster apology enough to lose his anger, Faramir returned to the pond and stood staring at the white lilies floating on top for a moment. He did not know why, but he was immensely comfortable beside Boromir, as if somehow, they belonged together—side-by-side. He glanced at Denethor’s son and realized he was a few inches shorter and a hairsbreadth narrower in the shoulders. Other men might have been intimidated by the larger man, but Faramir felt strangely comforted. “You see what comes from the gates; do you think that we will face war again so soon?”
Boromir’s face clouded and he stared down at his boots for a moment. He thought of the dream and the riddle. He knew that Gondor’s hour was at hand and that his beloved city would either rise to the challenge and prevail or fall forever into oblivion. He did not, at the moment, see which way the wind would blow. Suddenly, he realized the significance of Faramir's presence. “Why is the captain of Dol Amroth’s armies so far from his home?”
Faramir immediately grew defensive. “I could ask the Captain General of Gondor’s armies the same thing.”
“I see,” Boromir sighed heavily. Lifting his eyes, he studied the angle of the sun. “We must all keep our secrets, I suppose. I would like to find a place to wash away the grime of travel. Do you know where there is a bath house?” He changed the subject, knowing that come the morning, all would be revealed at Elrond’s council.
“I was hoping you’d know.” Faramir admitted. “Perhaps I could go and ask.”
“You are not my servant, captain. I am capable of making inquires on my own.” Boromir did not know why he was so uncomfortable with the idea of Faramir searching for the baths on his behalf, but he was.
“I need to freshen up, as well, my lord.” Faramir reminded him.
Two elves, each one identical to the other strolled along the path and both men started. They were dark haired and slim built with clean, long limbs and powerful bodies. They paused when they saw Boromir and Faramir and bowed deeply from the waist.
Faramir stepped boldly forward and introduced himself and his companion and discovered that the twins were the sons of Elrond, Elrohir and Elladan. The twins indicated they were on their way to bathe before dinner and Faramir jumped at the opportunity to seek directions where he and Boromir could do the same. With helpful smiles, the twins offered to show them the communal pool and even waited while both men went to their rooms to gather fresh clothing.
Only a few feet from the pond was another grotto. This one contained a round stone and wood structure from which thin streams of smoke issued. Inside, the building was divided into three rooms. One was an ante-chamber where one could strip, gather towels and soaps and contained large metal bins where water was heated and then piped to the other two rooms, which contained the bathing pools.
The twins went off into one of the rooms with a merry wave, leaving Boromir and Faramir alone. “I supposed we should take the other?” Faramir inquired.
“Unless you prefer privacy,” answered Boromir, hoping it wasn’t so. He enjoyed Faramir’s company and was loathe to part with him so soon.
Faramir feinted casualness. “I have no preference.”
“Then, come,” said Boromir at last. Feeling like a fool, he led the way into the next chamber. He and Faramir were grown men, used to seeing the naked flesh of other grown men. Why shouldn’t they share the bathing pool?
The room was larger than expected and filled with steam. Sweet herbs gave
off an aromatic scent from the lit brazier in the corner. A tile-rimmed pool
was inset in the floor and filled with clear, steaming water. Pipes poured
water in at one point, and another pipe, lower down near the bottom, kept
the pool drained, so that the water was always fresh and hot.
Faramir breathed deeply as he stripped. The idea of submerging himself in the hot water made him tingle from head to toe. The journey to Imladris had been long and he looked forward to scrubbing the dirt from his skin. He watched from the corner of his eye as Boromir did the same. The broad chest, lightly covered with a thin coating of dark swirled hair was revealed fist as he removed first his tunic and then his undershirt. The boots were kicked aside and the leggings peeled down, revealing long, muscular legs and strong calves. Faramir looked away, slightly embarrassed as he felt desire kindle inside him. He shucked the rest of his clothing and all but leapt into the steaming water and waded to the far end of the pool. Taking a deep breath, he ducked beneath the surface and counted to ten before resurfacing.
Boromir did not mistake the growing arousal as Faramir jumped into the pool and he grinned. He was relieved to see he was not the only one in such a state as he quickly followed the younger man. Just as Faramir had been watching him disrobe, he’d been watching Faramir; nor was he displeased by what he saw. Though the Dol Amroth captain was smaller, he was well proportioned and toned. A sprinkling of reddish hair trailed from his nipples down to a ‘v’ at his navel before going lower to spread thickly around his cock.
Boromir lounged on a small ledge beneath the water and let the heat sooth him as he thought about Faramir’s body. With his eyes closed, he pictured the sight again, as Faramir plunged into the water. Without his realizing it, a slow, wicked smile turned the corner of his lips up.
“What is that for?” Faramir asked as he brushed water from his eyes.
Boromir shifted, crossing his legs, and stared into the green depths. “I was…” he paused, not sure what lie to tell. He could not tell Faramir the truth, that he was thinking how handsome he was or how much he’d enjoyed the few of Faramir’s firm, naked butt and how much he enjoyed reliving the moment when Faramir gave him a full view.
Faramir’s eyes drifted to Boromir’s
chest and he stared at the peaked nipples. Perhaps the pull was not one sided,
he thought. He scraped his wet hair back and began exploring the ledge where
soaps were nestled in small, ceramic dishes. There were many cakes, each smelling
differently. Some smelled like honey and almonds; others smelled of pine forests.
He found one he liked that smelled like ginger and lathered his hands with
it. Breathing deeply of the scent, he brought the soap to his hair and began
lathering the strawberry tresses. He closed his eyes as bubbles and suds drifted
over his face. When the heavy hair was thoroughly saturated with soap and
his scalp tingled from his nails scrubbing it, he again ducked his head beneath
the water.
When he came back up, Boromir had taken up a bar of soap and performed the
same ritual with his own, darker hair. Faramir’s nose was tickled by
the smell of cloves and cinnamon. He remained still as Boromir tipped back
his head and trailed his hair in the water to rinse it clean. He licked his
lips as he stared at the long column of throat and the broad shoulders above
the water. Gray eyes opened and stared directly at him and he blushed.
Boromir opened his mouth and wet his lips. He wanted to say something, but his mind refused to give him the right words. He wanted to tell Faramir that he thought he was beautiful. He wanted ask permission to run his tongue down the narrow trail of hair running around the slight indention of Faramir’s navel. He closed his mouth so hard that his teeth clacked together and his eyes shifted away.
Faramir released the breath he’d been holding. He felt disappointed. For a moment, as he stared into Boromir’s gray eyes, he thought the steward’s son was going to ask him… or tell him… something. Something important. He groped behind him for the soap and, in his haste, the small cake slipped from his fist and skipped across the water’s surface. Bobbing gently for a moment, the soap slowly sank to the bottom even as Faramir floundered after it. Sticking his head beneath the water, Faramir groped futilely for the slippery object. As it bounced gently on the pool’s floor, his eyes drifted upwards and he realized that Boromir had his hands cupped over his erection. He came to the surface with a gasp and brushed hair out of his eyes.
“It’s slippery,” he said and took another deep breath before submerging again. This time, he got his fingers around the soap and managed to hang on, but he drifted closer to Boromir and thrashed a bit as though he were still struggling to get the soap. He allowed his free hand to brush Boromir’s knee and felt the general jerk. The legs parted for a moment and Faramir was treated to a view of dark curls surrounding the tight sac. He slowly rose to the surface again, this time very close to Boromir, and he smiled as he held up the soap. He settled on the ledge next to Boromir and began lathering his body.
Boromir watched him through slitted eyes. Powerful, calloused hands rubbed lather over a strong chest, swirling the pale hair. Boromir blinked for he could have sworn that he saw quick fingers lightly pinch a dusky nipple before sliding lower over the rippled stomach. Swallowing, he realized that Faramir was playing with him and must have seen how Boromir tried to conceal his semi-erect cock. His lids opened slowly, revealing gray orbs that sparkled with mischief and a hint of something more.
“Here,” he said as he lifted his hands above the water. Swirls of soap hid his lower half from easy view and he shifted just enough so that Faramir would have to look hard to see his cock bobbing in the water. He held out one hand. “Let me help you with your back.”
Faramir slanted him a look out of the corner of his eye. Had the general taken the bait? He handed over the soap and casually turned so that his back was to the warrior. He dipped his head pulled his hair over his shoulder.
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