The Fallen

Thanks for the reviews! :D...yes, I couldn't kill dear Boromir--yet. But I've been known in other fandoms to give beloved characters the axe! Muahahaha! ;)

*


The young Prince of Mirkwood was quiet, solemn as he sat upon the windowsill and watched the rainfall. He seemed very calm despite the meeting that was about to take place. Elrond felt more than bothered inside, despite his own outward appearance. Aragorn was coming now, already within the view of Minas Morgul. He knew the young King would have trouble letting things go as they were after the last message that had been sent. They had cut his hand and forced it to the letter so that Aragorn and Arwen would comprehend the danger both he and Eldarion were in. Inevitably it would force Aragorn’s hand, but Elrond wondered if that hand would be covered in a Ring.

Legolas sighed in frustration, then got up and shut the drapes, turning back. He sat down at the table where Elrond was, taking up a goblet of wine and drinking from it. “I take it you could not tell if Aragorn wore the Ring?” Elrond surmised smoothly, watching the midnight blue eyes of the younger. “Sauron must be putting tremendous pressure on you.” The prince’s hand trembled at the mention of the Dark Lord.

He set his cup down roughly, but smiled. “I could not tell. You are right. It matters very little. If Aragorn bears any love for you or his son, he will put the Ring on.”

“He will not,” Elrond replied, but within he was not so certain of that. Legolas seemed to pick up on that, for his expression of domineering amusement increased.

They sat together then in silence, waiting for Aragorn to arrive and when the door opened, both looked up. Aragorn entered with three orcs behind him. Uncertainty and anger filled his luminous eyes. His gaze passed over Elrond briefly, searching for signs of abuse and satisfied after a quick look, he turned back. “What is this nonsense, Legolas? What has happened to you?” he asked, glaring at his former friend.

“Show me your hands,” Legolas hissed, brushing past the formalities. Taking hinds nds from his sides, Aragorn held them up. They were clear of anything but his signet ring. Racing to his feet, the Mirkwood Elf pointed and with a sharp voice, demanded, “Where is the Ring I bid you wear?”

This was the question Elrond also had on his mind. He sat up and held his breath without even realizing he did so as he waited for his daughter’s husband to respond. Approaching tentatively, Aragorn said evenly, “I have it with me, Legolas. Will you not even speak with me?”

While Legolas wore an expression of triumph, Elrond inwardly lamented this. He would have had Aragorn leave the Ring behind or destroy it, but if he held it this could easily make for disaster. “Aragorn,” he began, only to be cut off by the golden-haired archer.

“Be quiet, Elrond. You have no place in these talks.” Legolas smiled and sat back down, motioning for the King of Gondor to do the same. Aragorn slid into a chair, looking uncomfortable and a bit startled at the coldness with which he was met. His expression suggested the Wood-Elf could see as much and Elrond knew he would use it against his friend, a whip to beat him into submission through manipulation if not force. “Mellon nín, it has been long since we spoke. Tell me how Arwen fares.”

At that the young king’s gaze hardened considerably. Legolas lost a bit of his momentum with that question if he planned to try and smooth his way through this. Aragorn’s voice was tight, his jaw set as he replied, “She is sick with worry for her son and father. You should realize this.”

The Mirkwood Elf nodded, his face a mask of false regret. “Such things must inevitably happen, I am afraid. It hurts at first, but soon you begin to enjoy it.” A smile spread across his lips.

Aragorn ignored it and looked to his father-in-law. “Are you well? Have you been mistreated?”

Elrond shook his head and took a drink, then held up his wounded hand. “Nothing beyond this, however Boromir and a young archer in my care are another story entirely.” He did not disguise dis disgust in his voice, or the contempt in his gaze.

“I do as I am ordered,” Legolas responded simply. “As will we all before this is over.”

But Aragorn was not going to fall for that excuse. “We do as we choose, Legolas. What have you done with them? So help me if you have killed anyone…”

The eyes of the Prince of Mirkwood grew cold again. “You’ll what? Fight me? Kill me?” His laugh was mocking. “By all means, do it, Aragorn.” He took a drink from his wine, waiting for the challenge that would never come. After the proper pause he concluded his show of power. “Boromir and the lady archer are alive and well. They are below in the dungeons.”

“Their injuries?” Aragorn pressed.

The Elf shrugged. “Boromir has been lashed. Vana is my concern.”

The King of Gondor shook his head with a firm expression. “She is not your concern. Tell me of her injuries, Legolas.”

Seeing this conversation going towards something Elrond did not think would be helpful, he placed his hand on his son’s arm and shook his head. “Vana is well enough. She has suffered abuse of a personal nature, but nothing more.”

With wide eyes Aragorn looked again to his friend, the friendship left within him crumbling further into dust. “You have fallen low indeed, Legolas. Much lower than I had thought I would find when I came here.”

If it concerned him that his former friend did not hold a high opinion of him, Legolas did not let it show. He shrugged and buried the moment with another drink of his wine. “What does it matter? What we are here to discuss is whether or not you will put the Ring on. Do it and I will turn Elrond and Eldarion over to you. Do it not and I will kill Elrond right here and then ask you again what your choice will be.”

“What of Boromir and Vana?” the king asked and Elrond grew uncomfortable. Aragorn’s heart would get the best of him if he allowed it.

For a moment Legolas did not reply, but when he did he seemed a little more agitated. “I will turn Boromir over to you,” he said simply.

“Vana?” Aragorn pushed him, his face lined with firm command.

“She is mine,” the Prince of Ithilien hissed darkly.

Exhaling wearily, Aragorn leaned back and shook his head. He had not anticipated this, could not have without having understood the depths his friend had sunk to. “What is more important to Sauron? Getting me to wear the Ring or allowing you to keep an innocent girl captive?” he asked finally.

The fury in the Wood-Elf’s eyes betrayed much.

*

A hand on her shoulder startled Vana out of a nightmarish sleep. Even as she sat up she could still feel her pulse racing. Sauron had been very intent in this vision and that frightened her. Smoothing her hair back, she looked up into Boromir’s eyes and frowned, recalling the events of earlier. His expression turned from mild to hard. “Get up. We’re leaving.”

That was entirely unexpected. She blinked, wondering if she had heard right, then looked beyond him to where Legolas stood with his guards. He looked very angry. Without even thinking she moved closer to Boromir as she stood up. “Why?” she asked the Steward.

Boromir’s face darkened and his jaw set. “It seems Aragorn has come to our rescue.” Why that bothered him so terribly she did not know, nor did she care right at this moment. Instead of pursuing the matter further she followed after him out of the cell and into the main portion of their prison.

Two guards came to Boromir and motioned him onwards. Legolas came to her and said, “Take him above. I would have words with this one.”

“Like hell,” the Steward hissed, struggling as hands took hold of his arms. “You Elven son of a bitch, so help me, I’ll rip you to pieces.”

Two more guards surrounded him and urged him on towards the door to the upstairs. Vana backed away, considering bolting, but knew better than that. There was nowhere to go. “What do you want to say?” she growled, balling her hands into fists.

His dark eyes soft, Legolas moved slowly towards her and lifted his hands. She threw a punch and was caught by his strength, then shoved back into the bars of her cell. He pinned her there and looked her face over, running his hands along her arms to her shoulders. “Relax, Vana. I’ll not rape you here and now, no matter how tempted I am.” He pressed in closer and put his mouth on her cheek gently, then whispered, “I only wish a kiss.”

“I remember what happened last time you said that,” she retorted, struggling even as he smothered her into his embrace. Her mouth was forced open and invaded by his warm, seeking tongue as it smoothed over her warm moisture.

It lingered and drew her breath away, then ended with a few soft kisses. “I will set you free, my love. I have promised this to Aragorn by order of my master. But what I have to say is this. I swear to you it will not last. By this year’s ending I will come for you. I will have you in my bed again and call you mine. Then I shall punish you properly for sleeping with that beast.”

“I would sooner die than allow that,” she answered to that, putting her hands to his shoulders and shoving.

Legolas laughed instead of demonstrating his anger, then motioned towards the exit. “Go with your friends. Enjoy the time that you have. It will not last.”

Turning on her heel, Vana crossed her arms over her chest and stalked away, conscious of his footsteps behind her. On upstairs she saw Boromir standing and talking with Aragorn, who inspected his wounds. They turned towards her and she exhaled, hating the scrutiny. “What did he say?” the king asked gently.

Behind her, Legolas answered for her. “I said I would come for her before the year is over. And you, my friend, will allow it.” His confident smile gave her chills.

“I’ll do no such thing!” Elessar hissed and she noticed him fidget with his hands. Looking down showed her what their freedom had been bought with. Her eyes widened as she looked to the Ring Sauron had gifted the King of Gondor with. There was a certain note in his voice that betrayed it was not a certainty he would not fail, but a hope.

Legolas said nothing and took stride before them, expecting to be followed. Boromir looked sorely tempted to react against the prince, but thought be of of it and stomped after him. Aragorn motioned her on and his gentility made her sigh inside. He had put the Ring on and endured contact with the Dark Lord that was probably more intense than what she, Boromir and Eldarion had endured. She knew well what it felt like to lose something that can never be regained. Contact with Sauron was like bidding innocence farewell.

They came to the gates of Minas Morgul before too long and there she saw Elrond upon his horse with Eldarion tucked in the saddle before him. As soon as Aragorn mounted he took the child and held him close as if it would protect him from whatever he was afraid of. Boromir and Vana were also given horses and their weapons were returned. They did not bid Legolas any sort of good-bye when they were set free, but merely accepted the fact and rode out of the dark city in silence.

Much of their return trip was in silence, interrupted only when Aragorn stopped just far enough away from Minas Morgul that the dark servants would not trouble them. He turned his horse to the side, then reached for the Ring on his finger, pulling it off so roughly it pained him. With dark eyes he tossed it towards the black city, then turned his horse back towards Minas Tirith without comment.

Vana looked to Elrond and saw the concern in his eyes, but he could not respond other than to shake his head sorrowfully.

*

*

It was cold outside. She stood alone on the sixth level where the Houses of Healing were located, her cloak drawn around her shoulders tightly as she looked out along the plains before Minas Tirith. Across the way she could see the ruins of Osgiliath and inwardly it caused her to sigh. There had been no welcoming fanfare upon their arrival on the express orders of Aragorn before he had left to retrieve them. It was a quiet reunion. Arwen had run to her husband and son, profuse in her kisses and tears, before moving on to welcome her father back and then she and Boromir. It had been an emotional moment and then things had died down, becoming deathly silent. Vana had politely excused herself at that point and had not seen any of them since. Part of her didn’t want to, either. She didn’t want to explain what had happened or endure their sorry eyes or hear about the concern over Aragorn’s choice. All she wanted was a rest.

Up until now she had gotten just that, but the familiar steps behind her filled her with dread. “Vana?” Her voice was gently inquiring and she felt guilty for wishing her friend away.

But being the dutiful Elf she was, Vana turned and greeted the Queen of Gondor. “Arwen, how are you? How is…everyone?”

Her friend’s eyes softened. “Better now that we’re all home, safe and sound.”

“Eldarion?” she inquired, seeing Arwen wanted to ask after her. She wanted to avoid that for as long as possible.

Arwen nodded and came to stand beside her, also looking out across the grasslands before her home city. Her expression was grave. “Eldarion is well enough, I think. Ada says he does not think he suffered any lasting effects, but his sleep is still troubled.” She exhaled and gazed up at her friend. “Aragorn is well.” Vana blinked and the queen smiled. “I thought I would answer before you asked. I would like to know how you are.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Vana looked away out into the overcast horizon. “I’m all right.suppsuppose the whole of Minas Tirith knows by now all that happened.” She could not conceal a note of bitterness at that.

Her friend’s eyes turned very serious. “That is not true, Vana. None know save those that were there to see it. Ada told me out of concern for you. He does not want you to go through this alone.”

Vana lifted one of her hands in dismissal. “I don’t need help. It happened, now now it’s over.”

“It happened and is serious, Vana. Would you want that I would be alone if such a thing happened to me?”

“Of course not.” The archer narrowed her brows.

Arwen sighed and drew her to the side as a few medics walked by. “You need not speak of it. I will not pressure you, my friend. Know that I am here, however, if you need me.”

For a moment Vana could say nothing, then she exhaled and looked to her friend. “I’m sorry. It is…not something I care to relive.”

The queen seemed to understand that and let the subject drop. What she brought up next, however, as almost as bad. “What of Boromir?”

“What of him?” Vana’s eyes flashed. If he had said anything she would personally shoot him with every arrow in her quiver.

Arwen seemed troubled by her exclamation and suspicious. “Why is there so much tension between you two? I asked him if he knew how you were and he became much as you are now. He said he “did not give a damn” and walked away.”

“I don’t know what his problem is,” she snapped. That irritated Vana. What gave him the right to be angry? It was he that had reacted so terribly after their, as she termed it, ‘mistake’. If she saw him she would have to speak very sharply about how he spoke of her to her own friends, but right now she had a question for Arwen. “Since when do you ask Boromir how I am?”

Instead of behaving as curt as her friend, Arwen merely raised an eyebrow. “You have been hard to speak to since your arrival. I was lucky enough to find you here today.” The queen crossed her arms. “What is it that has happened? Has he behaved badly towards you?”

“You might say that,” Vana answered before she thought.

Arwen blinked. “How badly? He has not put a hand on you, has he?”

The archer grunted, then shook her head when her friend widened her eyes. “No, of course not. He is…rude. That’s all.”

“Rude?” Arwen repeated dubiously. “There is something more than that going on between you. I have my father’s discerning eyes.”

Vana frowned at her. “And his meddling tendencies, too. I assure you it is nothing that is worth repeating. We had an argument, nothing more.”

The Elf Queen shook her head and took Vana’s arm, pulling her on towards the stairs. “Well, you should right it. Come now, I want you to have dinner with me.”

“Right it?” Vana repeated, grunting as she followed along. “Why should I trouble myself with that?”

“Because you’re an Elf,” Arwen persisted with a little smile as they ascended to the top tier. “Be better than that beastly mortal.”

The Archer frowned at her friend as they came to the top. “Better, am I? I won’t argue that, but that does not mean I wish to right anything. Why should I care what some mortal thinks, anyway?”

Arwen shook her head softly with a laugh. “You’re impossible. Fine, but I warn you, he will be at dinner.”

Vana stopped, pulling her arm away from the queen. “You shouldn’t have warned me,” she commented dryly at Arwen’s questioning glance.

“Come on,” she replied with firm command, crossing her arms with an expression not unlike her own father’s when he had something set in mind. “I will not allow you to become a recluse because of all of this.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not being silly. I’m being a friend. Come or I shall think you afraid of Boromir.” The mortal Elf watched her with a note of challenge flashing in her eyes. “You are afraid of him, aren’t you?”

For the mere suggestion Vana was tempted to turn away and stalk back to her spot downstairs. It was a good view and she found she rather missed it. But she would not be so rude, so instead settled for a waspish retort. “I am not afraid, Arwen. What on the face of this Middle-Earth do I have to fear from him?”

“Rejection?” Arwen countered smoothly. “That he will have nothing but unkind words for you, which will be true if you allow this rift between you to deepen.”

The archer’s eyes were wide in incredulity. “Rejection? He is a cold-hearted son of a bitch and I have nothing but unkind words for him!”

Her friend sighed and drew her away from soldiers that were watching. “Then why should you care if he is there at dinner? Tell him to leave you alone if he tries to speak with you, do as you will, only do not run away shutshut yourself behind locked doors here in my kingdom, Vana! I’ll not let you sink into despair over this.”

For a moment the two of them just stood there glaring at one another, both set in their thinking, until Vana sighed and gave in, knowing Arwen was only trying to do what was best for her. “All right,” she said low, not wanting to face the crowds yet, but understanding deep within that someday she would have to or give in and allow grief and shame to claim her. She did not want to fade to Mandos or let the storm sweep her aside.

The diminishing sunlight at their back trailed them into the Hall of the King where it hesitated near the doorway and yielded beneath the light of candles. They made their way towards the formal dining halls where inside she saw the many familiar faces and a few new ones thrown into the mix. At the head table Aragorn was seated with an empty chair to his right and his son to his left. Lord Elrond was with him and unfortunately so was Boromir. Arwen smiled warmly at her husband and father when they came to the table. “I persuaded Vana to join us,” she announced gently, causing the Elf in question to inwardly sigh.

She awarded the table a general polite smile and began to take a seat across from her lord, but her sly friend instead directed her instead to sit beside her and across from Boromir. Of course later on Arwen would swear she had not thought and had not meant it, but Vana had her own suspicions that she would keep to herself until they were alone. She sat down and avoided Boromir’s eyes, which caused him to exhale.

“How do you fare?” Lord Elrond asked, watching her intently.

Vana looked up at him shyly, hating that he probably had a good idea of what she was feeling. “I am well,” she told him simply and offered him a direct look and a smile. He seemed satisfied with that and did not pursue the subject any further. “How are you and Eldarion, my lord?”

His expression at that question was somewhat pensive. “I am well enough. Eldarion dreams, but what he sees I do not know. I will watch him.”

“There is no need,” Aragorn answered a little sharply, surprising Vana. She looked up at him, noticing the worry in his blue eyes, the tension lining his face. She looked quickly to Elrond and he waved her away, warning her not to interfere. Aragorn looked up at his wife’s father firmly. “He is all right. Who would not have bad dreams after what happened? I know I still do.”

“Right,” Elrond breathed, nodding passively. He even smiled, but she could tell it was not genuine. “We are all still troubled to a degree. Some more than others.” He took up his wine goblet and had a drink.

The dinner was a quiet one. The tension in the air was thick and there was no room for squabbles like the one she and Boromir were engaged in, so instead of confronting him Vana remained aloof from most everyone there at the table. She was beginning to reconsider whether or not this was a suitable atmosphere for her by the time dessert arrived. Aragorn seemed affected most of all and she could well understand why, but it worried her for his sake and for Arwen’s. What could have happened after he placed that Ring on his finger?

When it was done she was very grateful. Standing after Aragorn had drifted off to speak with someone, she had the full intention of leaving with a polite farewell to her friend and then heading on towards her bedroom. Boromir beat her to it, standing up with a gruff goodnight. He shot her an angry glance as he retreated from the table. Enflamed with irritation, Vana watched as he stalked out and then looked down at Arwen. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Arwen nodded and Vana took off, determined to give him a piece of her mind. When she slammed the door open she saw his figure moving at a quick pace towards the private apartments where he lived, so she broke into a chase after him. When she reached his side she put her hand on his arm and whirled him around, finding herself pleased somewhat by his surprised expression. “What the hell do you think you are doing?” he asked harshly.

“What the hell do you think I’m doing?” she retorted in much the same tone. “You give me a look like that and expect me not to care? What right do you have to be angry, anyway?”

“I have every right,” Boromir replied with a little shove at her shoulders. Turning, he stalked away, groaning when she fell into stride with him. “Get away from me, pesky Elf.”

Frustrated, Vana wrung her hands and was tempted to stop him again, but thought better of it when he frowned. “Why are you such a jackass?” she settled for, too annoyed to think up anything better.

Boromir shrugged his shoulders and turned down a hallway, suggesting coldly, “Maybe it is because I’m a mortal. I’m not as refined as your dear Lord Elrond or any of the other foppish males of your realm.”

“You insult my heritage, human,” she hissed, stopping with him as they came to his bedroom door. He turned as he opened the door, gave her a dirty look, then entered his room. Not ready to let this go, she pushed her way inside, much to his irritation.

He pointed at the door. “Get out or I’ll drag you out.”

“Make me,” she challenged.

He took a few threatening steps, coming to stand right before her, then put his hands on her shoulders. They were heavy and warm. “Do you really want me to make you, Elf?”

Wordlessly, she kicked at his shin, watching as he doubled over to rub at it. She sidestepped him and entered deeper into his quarters, taking a seat on his bed. His expron oon of shock and anger nearly made her laugh, but her vexation with him won out in the end, keeping her tight-lipped. “Are you going to stand there all night?”

Straightening, Boromir stalked close, but she held her ground. “Get out of my room, bitch.”

“Aren’t you going to force me?” she asked with an arched eyebrow.

“What do you want?”

Vana sighed, looking up as he towered over her. “I want to know why we’re fighting,” she answered truthfully.

Boromir grunted. “Because you’re a bitch. Satisfied? Now leave.”

Her eyes flashed at his cold behavior. “Can you not even be civil?”

“My mortality again. I apologize. Get out,” he replied, leaning down and putting his hands on her arms, gripping hard. He pulled her up quickly, hurting her and she yelped, the shoved him away. Upset by her action, Boromir lashed out and pushed her back down to the bed roughly. “Fine. Remain. I care not.”

Sitting up, she rubbed one of her now tender shoulders, watching as he turned away and started working at his shirt. “Why must we be vicious towards one another?” she asked, looking at the floor when the garment came off his lean torso and hit the floor.

He turned back and eyed her for a moment as he kicked his boots off. “Who says I am the only one responsible for this? I tried to be civil and at every turn was met with your sharp tongue.” When she glanced at him, then away, he moved a little closer. “Why do you look away? I thought you wanted to be here.”

Annoyed, she forced herself to meet him eye to eye. She ignored that last. “Why did you behave so terribly with me after we…” Elvish propriety got the best of her.

Boromir was unhampered by such modesty. “…fucked?” he finished, cocking his head. “What does it matter? I thought you got what you wanted—a sample.”

“It matters,” she told him honestly, though it pained her somewhere inside to admit it.

He did not seem to believe that, grunting and pointing again towards the door. “I highly doubt that. Look, Elf, I agree that we should be civil towards one another. Therefore you have my promise that I shall not behave badly towards you. I expect the same. Now if you would please.”

“So that’s it?” Vana found herself saying, though she wanted to be satisfied with his reply. She stood up and shook her head. “There can be nothing else between us?”

He looked her up and down, then shook his head. “What can there be? I’ll not be your tame pet.”

Her gaze became frosty. A well of terrible emptiness opened up within her and though she hated it, his words hurt her. “You would think that, wouldn’t you? You really are just an empty-headed mortal.”

His jaw set when she said it. A sudden fire flared in his sea-colored eyes as his hands once again wrapped around her arms. He jerked her close and hissed, “What the fuck do you want from me?” Holding her tight, Boromir let his gaze roam up and down her freely before forcing his mouth over hers. Startled, Vana squirmed in his grasp as his tongue brushed past her lips and against hers roughly. She felt teeth nipping against her full lips, a sensation that sent a thrill rushing through her. He pulled away briefly, growling, “Do you want to sample me again, Elf? Is that it?” He bit at her lips again, smoothing his hands up her arms and to her shoulders. “If that is so, you will get more than you bargained for.”

“Maybe that is not what I wish,” she growled, turning her head and trying to pull back as he spread kisses along her cheek and jaw.

“Then what is it?” he asked low, sending his hand into her hair and pulling his fingers along the strands. She felt his fingertips trace her ear to the point. “Why must you torment me?”

Vana gripped his tunic and looked into his eyes with a searching gaze. “That is not my intent.”

At that Boromir laughed and jerked her back into him. “It is your intent, Elf. You are not of my kind, but you are a female and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt you do intend to torment me.” For a moment he hesitated, then hissed, “And so you shall pay for that mistake.”

“You try to frighten me?” she asked him.

He shook his head and touched her hair again, grasping it between his fingers, holding it tightly. “Nay. I do but promise.” He moved his fingers to the very roots of her hair, grasping a great handful and then pulling so her head was tilted back. Without warning her he pressed his mouth against her tender throat, biting at her skin unrepentantly. She squirmed at the sting, putting her hands to his shoulders.

“You’re hurting me,” she hissed, digging her nails into his flesh.

Boromir only laughed against her raw throat, hungrily remaining where he could continue his torment. “Do you want me to be gentle?” he asked in a hushed, husky tone as he used his free hand to draw her shirt from being tucked. He slid his hand up her soft belly, caressing up around her breast gently. “Is that it?”

Vana shook her head away from his insistent kissing of her throat. “I want you to let me go, you jackass.” She groaned out when his fingers pinched at her sensitive flesh roughly. He pulled her hair back more, causing her to arch into his touch. “You foolish bastard!”

“Beg me to be gentle,” he commanded easily, pinching her again. She tried to double over to protect herself, but couldn’t.

Scratching her nails against his skin, she hissed, “I’ll do no such thing!” Her hands balled into fists that slammed into his shoulders with as much force as she could muster.

Smirking, he let her hair go and gripped her by the arms, forcing her around. She attempted to bolt, angry and aroused, but he did not let her get away. His hands found her shirt, pulling back until she was in his arms again. Reaching in front he went for the ties and jerked the loose even as she tried to stop him. Annoyed with her attempts, he took her wrists into his hands and dragged her to the drapes where he jerked one of the tiebacks off the wall and used it to bind them behind her back. “We can do this the hard way, if you wish,” he said firmly, going for the ties at the front of her hunting pants after pushing her boots off with his foot.

Once they were loose Vana growled, pinching him in the thigh bruisingly and won free, whirling around to face him. “We can do this the hard way,” she agreed, kicking a small statuette off of a nearby desk. It flew off the wooden surface at him, catching him in the shoulder.

“You little bitch,” he breathed with a smile, darting after her. With her arms bound running was awkward and she found herself against him again soon enough.

“You’re going to pay for that in full,” he growled, jerking her pants down, then shoving her out of them.

Vana fell against the wall and hit her arm against it painfully, moaning out at the force of her stumble. She looked up, noticing that he was undoing the ties to his pants as he approached. Looking around for something to use against him proved useless. When he came she had only her feet, so she tried to kick him, but failed. He caught her ankle, then pulled her and allowed her to fall. She hit the floor and groaned out, but had no time for recourse. Boromir was on her, jerking her up again and towards the bed. Breathless from the impact, she could not speak even as he sat down with his pants open and forced her onto his lap. Vana felt her legs go weak as he penetrated her roughly.

His arms wrapped around her waist, keeping her steady, for though her feet were flat against the floor, her stomach and back muscles protested having to be held up without the support of her arms to aid. Her hands against his stomach, arms stressed from being between her back and his chest. It was very uncomfortable for her, but he did not care. Smoothing his hands up her stomach to her breasts, he gave a pleasured squeeze and whispered, “Mmm, just as warm as I recall.”

“You monster,” she hissed, closing her eyes as he let her fall forward. He did not let her slid off of his lap, however, putting his hands roughly on her hips. Holding her down to his lap, Boromir pressed himself down against the mattress, then thrust upwards into her quickly, causing her to arch her back at the sudden sensation of him burrowing deep within her. Vana moaned low, feeling her legs tremble as he did it again.

He let her go that way a few times, seemingly amused by her hard-pressed balance, then moved to wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her back to his chest as he continued thrusting up iher.her. Vana panted slightly at the change, laying her head back against his shoulder. He took advantage of that to lay a kiss on her cheek, smoothing his other hand upwards. He rubbed insistently at her abdomen before completing the journey to her breasts once more, cupping along her supple flesh and brushing his thumb against her. She swallowed as his tongue lapped at her throat and on up her ear. His breath filled her hearing, blotting out all else in the room.

Eager, Boromir continued bucking hard into her even as he touched her, without care and without apology. Little groans he made filled her with trembling and though she ached all over she could feel herself closing in on her peak. “It feels good, does it not?” he breathed, kissing against the back of her shoulder. Pinching her breast hard, he growled, “Tell me how it feels!”

Vana bit her lip as he drew back slowly, then impaled her hard with a sharp, upward thrust. Her whimper of joy and pain won her a soft rub of the hip as if he were petting her for pleasing him.

“Tell me, Elf,” he insisted, shoving her back down again. Vana fell forward, caught by one arm around her waist and the other across her shoulders, his palm against the blade to keep her steady as he jerked up into her a few times, rough and fast. “Tell me or I’ll fuck you elsewhere and take all the pleasure for myself.”

“How do you think it feels?” she hissed, moaning as he slowed again. He stopped moving and pressed his mouth against the back of her neck.

The Steward pressed her down into his lap, effectively burying himself deeper within. “I’ll bet it feels dirty,” he replied, pulling back slowly. “Pretty little Elf getting herself fucked like an animal by a mortal man. What would they say?” He thrust up into her sharply.

Curling her fingers, Vana growled, “They would think you are an animal!” then gasped when he started moving quickly again, taking full advantage of her inability to move. She moaned as an aching began between her thighs, crawling through her until she could no longer fight it. Closing her eyes, she fought off her climax, but it swept over her as he forced himself into her relentlessly, moving for his own pleasure. A cry betrayed her pleasure.

Two thrusts bought him what he was seeking and even as she writhed against his lap in sensation, he pushed her off and to her knees before the bed. Vana dropped down and caught her breath, unable to stabilize quickly until the feeling had ebbed. When she could finally speak, she straightened. “Does it make you feel powerful?” she asked without turning.

She heard him get up from the bed and allowed it when he put his hands on her again, this time to help her stand. He untied her sore wrists, then moved away, brushing a hand through his moist hair. “Of course it doesn’t,” he replied, tying his pants back. He avoided her gaze as he jerked back the blankets from his bed. For a long moment she said nothing, merely fixed her clothes. When he stopped fiddling with his bed, he looked up at her. “I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“I don’t either,” she replied honestly, fingering the bottom of her tunic. “But neither do I want you to view me as a toy. It felt good, but…”

Boromir laughed at that. “I don’t want to feel that way either, Elf. So what are we to each other then, if not one night stands? Do we forget each other?”

Vana sank down in a chair and straightened her hair out. “Is that possible as long as I remain in Minas Tirith?” she asked him curiously.

His eyes trailed her form unguardedly. “I don’t honestly know.”

“Then we have a problem,” she surmised, leaning back against the chair.

Shaking his head, he sat down on his bed and looked across the room, uncertainty coloring those stormy eyes dark. All was silent as they both considered the unspoken intentions they were hiding. When he finally brought his gaze back she saw a glint in them as he spoke. “Why don’t we sleep on it?” He smirked and made himself comfortable, petting the mattress beside him.

Vana laughed at him. “You’re such a pig.”

He shrugged. “At least it’s something you like.”

*

Sank zee god it is over!! ;) Ahem...the end. Hope you enjoyed and will tune in for the next story: Sons of the Steward