The Fallen

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*

Boromir sat alone in the cell he had occupied with that wretched Elf-maid for a short time, shirtless and wondering where she was. He did not lean against the cool wall, no matter how tempting it seemed. The lashes on his back were fresh, still bleeding even, though the flow had been staunched to a mere trickle. He leaned his elbows on his knees, running his hands through his hair as he grit his teeth against the pain of his body and the anger festering in his heart. Apart from the lashing he had been very roughly treated for his failure to give Legolas any tactical information. His skin was decorated in bruises and cuts.

If Elrond was going to see them rescued, now would be a good time.

The Steward of Gondor was weary of this. He could endure, of course. He was trained for such things as this. But at the same time it was difficult. He was a warrior, too. If he could have he would have taken down the lot of the Elf’s servants and fought his way out of this little hellhole, but his rationality pointed out the chances of success. He had more than himself to consider.

The door across the way opened and towards him came the one whom he meant to kill at his earliest convenience. Legolas had taken great pleasure in lashing him. He approached with that same self-satisfied smirk he had worn afterwards. Boromir tightened his fists, in no mood for this. “What do you want?” he hissed sharply, glaring the Elf down.

“Not even a formal greeting,” the Elf lamented with honey coating his voice. “You have become very rude since last I saw you in Minas Tirith.”

Boromir crossed his arms and cocked his head. “I have become very bored since last I saw Minas Tirith.”

His eyes softening as if wounded, Legolas came before the bars and took hold, watching his prisoner. “You have been offered much and yet you spurn what is at my fingertips to offer.”

“You have nothing to offer me,” the Steward countered hotly. “Nothing but an opportunity for fun if I ever get my sword back.”

“Does it not tempt you?” Legolas paced a little before the cell, apparently thinking through his words carefully as if it would matter. “You have been offered the very thing that you and your line have wanted for centuries. You have been offered the title of ‘king’ and more.”

Boromir shook his head at that, knowing that whatever had been offered was not without a price. “Sauron has to go through many of my friends to have a claim on that title before he can offer it to me. I would not take that kindly.” A smirk crossed his lips. “Besides, is he not offering Aragorn power for his loyalty? What should happen if both he and I give of ourselves freely, hmm? I’ll not fall for manipulations.”

“You could be given Rohan,” Legolas answered after a moment. “Or any kingdom. Does it matter, Boromir? It may be that Aragorn would rather rule over Elves than Men. What matters is the power that the Dark Lord is offering to those that would follow him, for make no mistake, the time is coming when Sauron will rule all of Middle-Earth. I would want to be on the winning side, wouldn’t you?”

“I would settle for running you through and dying a man of honor,” Boromir replied tiredly, leaning back. He stopped short of his skin hitting the stone. When he looked up Legolas smirked. “Bastard.”

The Elf shook his head and paced again, then stopped. “What of Vana? Would not the promise of such a one as she be enough to tempt you?”

“I don’t need you to provide my women for me,” Boromir snorted.

Legolas smiled, his eyes glistening. “No, but I could offer you her. She is ageless and beautiful, Boromir. I know you desire her. Would you not like to hold her down until she can resist no more and whimpers your name, pleading for the pleasure you can give her?”

Boromir felt himself stir at the thought, but he was not a slave to his needs. “If I had wanted that I would have taken her when you put her in here with me. No, Legolas. What I want is what you can never have. I want her to desire me until she can resist no more, then come with all her fire and wan my my bed, willful and needing the satisfaction I can give her.” He noticed the Elf’s eyes harden and did not disguise his smile.

“I will have her willing,” Legolas said darkly, firmly. “And you will have death if you persist in your futile rebellion.”

Laughing at that, Boromir again leaned his arms along his thighs. “I have been in danger since I learned to wield a sword and began cutting down the servants of the Dark Lord by the dozens. You don’t frighten me.”

Legolas nodded once, accepting his current answer again. “You should fear Sauron, however.”

The Steward raised an eyebrow. “Where is he? He seems painfully absent, don’t you think? I’ll make that choice when he comes crawling out of his tower.”

The corners of his mouth tilted into a mild expression of amusement. Folding his arms before him, Legolas said softly, “That shall happen faster than you think and when it does you will lament the chances you allowed to pass by.”

“We’ll soon see then, won’t we?” Boromir retorted without fear. “Where is Vana?”

Prince Legolas took on an annoyed expression. “She speaks with Elrond.”

“Will you bring her back or will you allow her to remain above?”

“Does it matter?” The Elf asked that in amused curiosity.

The mortal drew in a breath of air. “Just asking,” he answered evasively, not wishing to betray his thoughts one way or another. The less Legolas had to work with, the better, even on minor points as placement.

For a moment Legolas watched him, pondering how to handle his evasion. That much reflected back in those dark eyes of his. Apparently he discarded any attempt to gain from that avenue, for he shook his head. The door at the end of the room opened and the Elf smiled. “You have your answer it appears.”

Boromir looked beyond the black-Elf to where two forms faded into the wan light from the torch. One was a nameless guard from beyond and the other was Vana. She seemed a little more peaceful under the circumstances. Legolas removed a key from his belt and unlocked the cell, motioning her on in. She passed him without a glance, her eyes taking in Boromir’s state in concern. “What happened?”

“Nothing much,” Boromir grunted with a cold look at Legolas.

The Elf shut the cell door and grinned. “You test me, Boromir. You will find me able to meet you head on when next we speak.”

The Steward cocked his head. “I’m certain.”

Wordlessly Legolas and his lackey left after that. He was pushing the Elf, he knew it, but he was aggravated just now. When the door slammed shut with a metallic click he exhaled a long breath and again almost leaned against the wall, but stopped himself just in time as his stiff back began to sting. “Are you all right?” she asked, knitting her brow.

Wincing and straightening, Boromir nodded his head. “I’m all right. Bastard Elf thought uld uld respond to a little more aggressive approach. He was wrong.” Rubbing his shoulder, he nodded towards her. “What of you? What were you doing up there?”

Vana sat down and leaned back to examine his back, reflecting his wince just by the seeing of it. “I saw Elrond. I wanted to warn him about what Eldarion could be dreaming.”

Boromir nodded, agreeing with her logic. “Good idea. What did he say?”

“He said he would watch Eldarion. The prince murmurs in his sleep and cannot be awakened.” Her eyes flashed in concern. “He seems to think he’s being manipulated in some way, but Eldarion hasn’t said a word of it.”

“Wonderful,” the Steward groused, feeling grumpy about not being able to lean against the wall or do anything without some annoying pain bothering him. Vana seemed to notice his distress, her expression sorry for his state. That only added to his irritation inside, at Legolas and this whole foolish situation. If ever he got back to Minas Tirith he would have a sharp word with all the officers of security. Putting his thoughts on something else bothersome, he asked, “What of escape? Did he say anything about that?”

The Archer of Rivendell shook her head, leaning against the cool wall. “He said the most important thing right now is Gondor. He is afraid, however, that Aragorn will adhere to the terms Legolas set for our release.”

“And what are those?”

She frowned, crossing her arms as if in discontent. “Aragorn has to come here himself and show Legolas that he wears the ring that was sent. As far as I know after that we will be set free.”

Boromir hummed in thought, shaking his head. “Risky,” he summed, giving her a sidelong glance. Just as he did he saw her eyes give his bare skin a sweep. A blush rose to her cheeks when she met his eyes, but she didn’t back down from his gaze.

“Yeah, very risky,” she agreed, moving on. “Elrond fears that Aragorn will see a moment of wearing the ring as nothing compared to our safety, particularly Eldarion’s. He thinks that Aragorn will come and wear the ring with the intention of removing it once we’re safe.”

The mortal shrugged. “Can it be done?”

She didn’t appear very hopeful. He could only assume that those were Elrond’s thoughts bleeding through her expression. “It’s possible.”

“But unlikely.” He didn’t even bother to question that. The answer was there in her eyes. “Damn it all. So the grand plan is to wait for death?”

Her stance became defensive. “Lord Elrond hopes that Legolas can be negotiated with or manipulated. Remember, the most important person right now is Eldarion. He means more to the future than you or me, or even Elrond for that matter. He must be saved from Sauron’s influence. All else comes second.”

“All right, all right,” Boromir growled, knowing she was right, but enjoying that annoyed little slant of her eyes. He exhaled and shook his head, looking at the floor. “I don’t suppose you would consider allowing me to lie down just now?” It was a minor thing that he would make no issue of, but he was very tired just now.

Vana’s hard gaze dimmed down a little as she looked him over again. “I’ll let you lie down,” she said softly, standing up from the cot. There was understanding in her voice that he couldn’t miss underneath all that grudging complaint she feigned. Boromir rested against the cot, lying on his stomach with his arms crossed before him. Resting his cheek against his makeshift pillow of flesh and bone, he moved his legs to give her room to sit with him. He noticed her expression soften even more, as if she had not expected that and did not know how she wanted to receive it.

In the end she chose to sit and he found her warm a comfort. Sinking himself into that fuzzy feeling, he closed his eyes and let himself drift off.

*

“You may have to aid him with this,” Elrond suggested softly, looking over her shoulder at the sleeping form. He handed her a small purple vial.

Vana beyond Elrond to the black-Elf standing at the back of the room. He was ignoring their communication visibly, but she wondered if his ears were open. “What is it?” she whispered, barely making any sound at all. She returned her eyes to her lord’s.

The Lord of Rivendell nodded towards Boromir. “An herb. It should be rubbed over his cuts.” He closed his mouth, indicating that he feared to say any more would be dangerous.

Hiding the vial and her hand within the folds of her billowy sleeve, she spoke in a louder tone, “How is Eldarion, my lord? Is he afraid?”

The elder Elf took a contemplative breath. “He is not afraid. I do not think he understands the gravity of this situation. I have managed to answer his questions in a non-threatening manner.” Whether or not there was any indication of Eldarion’s possible communion with Sauron, Vana could not pick up on it. He could not afford to speak without choosing his words carefully, lest Legolas become aware of their concerns.

“I’ll bet he misses his parents,” she mused a little sadly.

“I’ll bet he would be as bored as I am with your meaningless prattle,” Legolas snapped, finally having had his fill of this visit. He turned towards them and stalked forward, his eyes intent. u seu see that they live, Elrond. Now come.” He put his hand on the Lord of Rivendell, jerking him back by his shoulder. It was nothing worse than what had been done to she and Boromir, but the gesture startled her.

Elrond looked down a moment, then back up with firm resolve. “All will be well. Speak of nothing to our esteemed host,” he said dryly.

“Shut up,” Legolas hissed, pushing the Lord of Rivendell on away from the cell and towards the door with one last angry glance at her, for whatever reason. He seemed very tense today and would likely take it out on them.

Letting out a held breath, she turned and shook her head, pulling the vial out and looking at it. “He’s only getting worse,” Boromir commented drowsily.

She knit her brow and stalked over to him. “You were awake? Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugged and turned his head away from her and towards the wall. “I didn’t feel like talking drabble just now. Did I hear something about an herb?”

Grunting, she sat down and considered telling him that he was mistaken. Inevitably, however, she uncorked the bottle and splashed some onto her hands. Vial set aside, she leaned forward and put her hands on his back none-too-gently. He groaned out and sat up in quick order, then attempted to turn. “Don’t be such a baby. Lay back down so I can rub you with this stuff. Unless you’d rather do it?”

Boromir grumbled beneath his breath, but obeyed and lay back down. “It’s warm,” he commented, moving a little beneath her massage as she shoved him over to sit beside him, then began again. His shifting irritated her as she tried to cover his wounds without hurting him. Then he had the nerve to say, “This feels pretty good.” Vana frowned and massaged a little harder, winning a groan. “I can’t say the same for the company, however.”

“You’ll live,” she reported with certainty, smoothing along the backside of his arms where the lash marks were smaller. His skin felt smooth apart from the cuts and the warmth combined with the effect of the herb made the task at least tolerable. It was actually more than tolerable. When a small thrill passed through her she paused and he must have been content enough to doze, for it took him a moment to realize she wasn’t touching him.

“Are you done?” he asked contritely, shifting again.

Exhaling and pushing her hair behind her ears, Vana scooted over so he could sit up. “I’m done.”

Boromir grunted and sat up, moving and testing how sensitive his back was. “Not bad. I can barely feel a thing. My compliments to Elrond.” He noticed her averted gaze, even played up to it. “And to you, Elf. I wouldn’t mind stealing you away from him and taking you on for that purpose alone.” His hand found its way into her hair and she pulled away. “I would pay you a high price. Higher if your services would include a little something more.”

Vana glared at him and scooted away, hissing, “You are such a pig!”

He laughed at that and moved closer to her. “I think you like that, too.” He reached for her hair again, smoothing the strands along his fingers. “Ah, now this is what I like. You desiring me, fighting yourself only to know there is no escape.”

“You flatter yourself,” she retorted, slapping his hand away. “I want you now least of all!”

“You lie,” Boromir stated confidently, pinning her against the bars with his presence. He put his hands to her shoulders and drew her into him. “Look at your skin. There’s a flush from the tips of your toes on up those luscious legs of yours, up between your thighs and all the way to the tips of those pointed ears. You liked touching me, didn’t you?”

She pressed herself against the bars, her hands to his chest to block as he laughed and kissed her forehead. “What’s wrong with you?” she breathed, struggling even as he trailed his mouth to her cheek. “You refuse when I am the aggressor? Is that some sort of pathetic human demonstration of power?”

Taking her chin into his hand, the Steward fixed her with a firm look. “I refused you because you didn’t want me, you wanted anyone. Why else would you be so willing?” When she refused to answer he continued, pulling her face forward and pressing his mouth against hers. “I know you want me because you’re fighting it. You don’t want to desire me, but there is nothing you can do to tame yourself.”

Vana shoved at his shoulders irritably. “You have a very interesting logic, no matter how wrong you are. You’re right. I wanted anyone to fill my emptiness last night, but now I’m wholly grateful that you didn’t take advantage! Laying with you would be a mistake.”

“Very well,” he sighed, but held her closer. “Then we will do nothing but speak.”

“Great, now let me go.” She pulled away from his pleasant warmth, only to be held tighter. “Boromir…”

Resting his cheek against her head, he breathed, “I’m cold. I have no shirt, as I’m certain you noticed.”

“Really?” she drawled, knitting her brow and frowning at the floor. Settling uncomfortably, she poked him roughly in the side. “What do you want to speak of?”’

His response made her blush. “What you dreamed of.”

Vana grunted and shook her head. “What do you think? Sauron.”

“Obviously,” he replied mildly, his fingers tracing her shoulders. “What happened in the dream? Come now, don’t be shy. I told you mine.”

He just was not going to be happy if he was not tormenting her. She poked him again and he caught her wrist, giving it a warning squeeze. Looking into those stormy eyes of his angrily, she growled, “What do you think I dreamed of? You seem to have some sort of idea lurking around that lonely mind of yours.”

His fingers cascaded across her shoulder down the neckline of her crimson dress. “Oh, I have an idea of what it was you saw in your dreams, love. But I want to hear you say it.” He lifted his trailing fingers up and slid his hand down the curve of her breast in a soft pet. The fabric was thin and beneath she wore no undergarments, making his touch very apparent. It sent a thrill through her.

“I think your conclusions are enough for your entertainment,” she told him as she tried again to separate herself from him.

“Why do you fight me so?” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead again. Their proximity was beginning to bother her more than she cared to admit. He paid no mind. “Can you not speak with me?”

“You’re not speaking, you’re groping me.”

Boromir smiled and nuzzled against her temple. “You won’t talk. You’re very stubborn.” Her hair found her back as he brushed it over her shoulder, then rested his hand against her chest. “Was I in this dream?”

As his mouth pressed into the corner of hers, Vana felt her lashes flutter shut. Her reactions were becoming less inspired by denial and more by what she hated to admit was enjoyment. For that she wanted to hit him or worse, but in the end she only asked him sharply, “What do you want from me?!” His eyes widened when she shoved him back roughly, but she was not about to back down now. “You want this? You want some sex, Steward? All right, I’ll give it to you. My way.” Before he could stop her, she pushed and he was on his sore back, groaning in pain.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he growled, his eyes afire as he tried to sit. She shoved him back down and as he arched back in protest, she put her hands to his belt, undoing it and jerking it open.

When his pants were parted she yanked them down, ignoring his expression of surprise. “Giving you what you want,” she purred, running her hands back along his hips. “Isn’t this what you want?” Her eyes fell to the fruits of her actions and a dirty grin spread along her lips. “I think it is.”

His brow was knit and his jaw set in apparent irritation, but she would give him no time to fight this. Vana slid her hand along his pelvis, then went right for his desire, wrapping her slender, commanding fingers around his half-ready manhood. Boromir was very receptive to that, groaning at the sensations she caused him. He fell back of his own accord, his muscled thighs tensing. “You little minx,” he growled as she stroked him to firmness. “I should beat you.”

“You like it,” she told him, letting go once he was ready. She rose up to straddle him and he did not fight it as much as his tone would suggest he might have. As she sank down it filled her with a gripping pleasure that brought a soft moan from her lips. It was like her dream, only better, she reflected as she looked down into hazy eyes. He reached for her sleeves, taking them down until the cloth pooled at her elbows, exposing her breasts to him.

His hands were warm as they smoothed up the lean skin of her belly, curving upwards to encompass her flesh. He toyed with her, caressing circles with his thumbs. “You’re right,” he said in a voice husky with want. “I do like it.” She arched demandingly into his touch, wanting more. The Srd ord obliged her eagerly, pinching each peak, then rewarding the sensitive flesh with gentle stroking that had her abdomen swimming in desire.

Hungry for this without care anymore, Vana drew herself back, then rocked forward, filling herself with him. It sent chills of desire all through her, inciting her to move again, faster. He laid his head back, still smoothing over her breasts, but quite thoroughly enjoying what she was giving him as well. She jerked forward roughly and took satisfaction out of his momentarily pleasured lapse until his hands fell away from her.

“Ditelltell you to stop?” she said smartly, giving him a mock dirty look.

Boromir’s eyes widened in surprise and amusement. “Excuse me, love. My mistake.” Darting his hands up, he wrapped his palms around her supple skin and gave a rough squeeze that made her whimper. “Like it rough?”

Laughing, she fell on top of him, bracing herself with a hand to one side of his face while she caressed down his cheek with the other. He kissed her wrist, his sea-colored eyes challenging her. “I like it rough,” she told him, rocking into his hips, “just like you.” With a wicked smile she pressed her hand against his shoulder, causing his back to flatten painfully along the wooden cot. He winced and draped an arm along her waist, forcing her movements to pick up in speed. “Is that your recompense, Steward?” she whispered, flitting her tongue along his ear.

“Mmm, perhaps,” he returned, jerking her down onto him as he forced his hips upwards. Vana lowered her head to his shoulder as desire sparked in her body from the sharp movement. “Like that, pretty Elf?”

Curling his hair along her fingers, she smiled and breathed, “Maybe,” as she continued the hard, needy pace. In a tangle of thrusts, touches and whispered words of desire, they lost themselves to the storm of their passions. Desire coursed through Vana until she could stand no more and as the bliss began slowly in her belly, he took hold of her hips and kept her moving for his own pleasure.

It happened like an unstoppable tide, devouring her from the inside out. She fell against his chest as her climax crashed through her, coaxing sweet moans of enjoyment from her lips. She felt hands on her back, smoothing upwards into her hair as Boromir jerked upwards into her body, furthering his own pleasure until he was was overtaken with deep-throated groans betraying his desire. His body fell against the cot and weary, he stopped his caress.

Vana sighed softly as his warm breath filtered into her hair from a kiss he gave her. Closing her eyes, she pillowed her head on his shoulder and absently traced the lines of his arm. “Is that what you wanted, Steward?” she asked him.

His chest rumbled with a laugh. Inhaling deeply and combing her hair with his fingers, he said, “Indeed it was what I had in mind. Though I had not imagined such demand from you.” She rose up and looked into his content eyes. “You would not treat your Lord Elrond in such a way, would you?”

The smugness of his voice irritated her, but she didn’t let her smile drop away. “I respect him,” she stated simply, fingering his auburn hair.

Boromir’s brows knit when she said it and annoyed, he pushed her up as he sat. “You would say that, wouldn’t you, you little bitch?” Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lifted her roughly off his lap and set her down onto the cot.

Taken aback by his harsh response she replied in a quiet, probing manner. “What do you want of me, Boromir?”

His glare was hot as he stood up, fixing his pants together. There was certainly anger there in his eyes, but examining further, she was not so sure it was directed solely at her. The Steward of Gondor ran his fingers through his hair and paced to the front of the cell. “Nothing,” he said finally after a moment. “I got what I wanted. I can only hope you got the same.”

His manner startled her and more than troubled her. Put off by his words, she hissed, “I wanted to see what mortal Men were like and now I have done that to the fullest meaning of exploration.”

He turned his head and looked at her sharply. “And?” It was a challenge.

Vana did not back down or offer mercy in her statement. “And I shall not stray from my own kind again.”

“Nor shall I,” he grunted, looking again out towards the other side of the prison. He did not turn back and for that she was grateful.

Staring with wide eyes at his back, she looked for something else to scathe him with, but could find nothing and kept her silence. Closing her eyes and leaning back against the wall, she avoided any more contact than necessary.