Sons of the Steward

When she awakened she still felt exhausted and sore. The warmth at her back remained and she knew Aragorn was still with her. She could feel his nudity pressed against her and a wave of disgust passed through her. Sighing, she listened to his breathing for signs of consciousness. There were none, but his arm was entwined around her waist. If she tried to get free she might awaken him. Yet, she reasoned, when he did finally come to the meeting would most likely not be pleasant. At least this way she had a chance. Her arms still bound, Minuial was forced to squirm from underneath his arm. His limb was heavy against her, so she had to be careful not to let it drop hard to the mattress.

Suddenly his hold tightened. He jerked her back into the bed against him and put his mouth right beside her ear. “Where do you think you’re going to go, naked and bound?”

Minuial growled as she struggled to break free. Aragorn only laughed at her attempts and brushed her hair back. “Do you think you can just keep me here?” she hissed, stilling for she knew to continue to fight would waste energy.

“I will not keep you here,” he said, tracing her ear lazily with his fingers. His hot breath sailed across her skin as he bent down to taste her shoulder. “But if you think I have gotten my fill of you, meleth, you are wrong.”

She had barely enough time to try and break away from him before his hands closed around her wrists. She struggled to get away, but he was strong and held her close, seeming to enjoy her fight. The sheet that had fallen between them was now swept aside in the scuffle and as the Ranger brought her body against him she could feel his growing interest. Minuial let out an exasperated hiss, settling as he embraced her back to his chest. One arm fell across her shoulders, pinning her back as the other hand snaked into her hair, grasping hard and jerking her head against him. A sick feeling swept over her as he kissed her cheek almost tenderly. “Why me? Why my sister?” she breathed, hoping to talk him out of this somehow.

A dark laugh tickled at her ear, warm breath caressing her skin as he replied, “Elves are beautiful creatures, Minuial.”

Minuial glared darkly across the room, flexing her fingers in futility as she sneered in a loathing tone, “You’re disgusting!”

Laughing, Aragorn whirled her around and swept her into his arms, circling one around her waist as he pawed her breasts with the other hand. “True, but it hardly matters to me,” he whispered, forcing his mouth over hers. Minuial found herself closing her eyes as his scent filled her senses and his tongue pried through her lips to assault her own. His kiss was hard, the pressure of his hungry sucking relieving her of the very breath in her lungs. He moaned into her mouth, twining his tongue with hers in a forceful rub that made her whimper. At her breast his fingers caressed downwards, then back up lazily, awarding her sensitive, hardened nipple a pinch now and then. When he pulled away his eyes were hazy, watching as she panted for air. “Kiss me,” he urged, drawing her closer.

“Never!” she hissed, turning her face.

Aragorn smiled darkly, jerking her head back by her hair as he attacked her throat with his mouth, biting the soft skin red. “This could be easy on you, but you refuse. Your sister was so much more pliant.”

“Don’t you dare speak of her to me!” Minuial retorted in a voice full of fury. Her eyes clouded with tears that she tried to control as she considered what could have happened so long ago. “I hate you!”

He was off the bed in an instant, then reaching for her and jerking her up with him. “Oh, you hate me, meleth, but you will still service me.” Standing her before him he drew back his hand and sent it flying towards her. Minuial ducked the blow, then straightened and kicked out towards his stomach. He moved and caught the kick with his hip, stumbling back. When he straightened there was a quiet, amused anger in his blue eyes. “You will pay dearly for that.”

Pulling desperately at her bonds, jerking at the ropes to free herself, but he was on her before she could manage it. Aragorn smiled softly, then backhanded her hard enough to send her to her knees. The Elf dropped to the floor with a groan of pain. Before she could recover something hit her head and she crashed completely to the cold floor. Her head spun and blackness began to touch her vision, but she was all too aware of him pulling her up and dragging her by her hair with him across the room. She fought to keep up and keep balance, whimpering at the pain and stumbling until he reached his destination. Aragorn sank down into a soft chair and pulled her close enough that she was forced to rest her upper body in his lap. He laughed when she turned her head away from his apparent erection.

A tug at her hair threatened to bring her back around, but she held away firmly. The ranger sighed softly and rubbed his thumb against her head in a mockery of tenderness. “This will end violently if you persist.”

Minuial glared up with wet eyes, hissing, “What do you want?”

His pale eyes sparkled in a hunger that seemed to go deeper than mere desire. He rubbed his foot against her hip softly as he said, “I want your service. I want you to fuck me with your pretty mouth.”

She looked away from him, closing her eyes, trying not to see his desire for her. His grip on her hair urged her closer to his hardness gently, but she was not fooled by that. Sickened by the insinuation of his demand she shook her head, unable to force herself to do it. “I can’t,” she replied, wondering if he had any mercy left.

“Minuial,” he said in a calm voice, repeating it until she looked up again. His expression was firm. “You can. You will, one way or another. Do not make me hurt you anymore.” He nudged her hip with his foot, then positioned her above him when she failed to respond. Minuial licked her lips and fought back a wave of nausea. When she moved cr her he pulled her back, to her surprise. She looked up questioningly. “Kiss me, meleth. Pleasure me slowly.”

She looked away from his face in disgust, then lowered her head away from his length, instead pressing her full lips against his thigh. Immediately Aragorn shifted at that, making room for her to taste as she would. It was almost tempting to avoid anything further than this. At first she kept to small kisses laid here and there upon his skin, but sensing his growing need, she slipped and allowed herself to taste his flesh just once. Her tongue hit his skin and she tasted salt and desire there. Aragorn groaned softly and whispered, “Keep doing that, meleth.”

Her eyes tightly shut, Minuial obeyed, wanting this over with, but also wanting to avoid his penis for as long as he would allow it. She lapped at his inner thigh, causing him to move ever so slightly now and then, until finally he pulled her hair upwards, positioning her at his hardness. He was ready for more. Minuial whimpered softly, not wanting to do this, but knowing it was unavoidable. Steeling herself, she opened her lips and encompassed the tip of him within the warmth of her mouth. The salty taste in her mouth increased as she brushed her tongue along the head of his desire. Aragorn groaned and she could feel him arching further against her half-hearted sucking.

“More,” he hissed raggedly, flatting his palm against her head and urging her down. Mal fal forced her throat to relax as he pushed her all the way until she thought she would gag. A cold chill spread through her and she felt dizzied by his smothering nearness, but he neither noticed nor cared to ask. He pulled her head back, then shoved her back over his straining length, adjusting his hips so he slid along her tongue with each demanding thrust. He forced her to slow down, to take him in a self-teasing suck that had him groaning. The heat of his skin was unrelenting and his deep sounds of pleasure made her feel sick inside.

Yet as he neared his climax she could take little joy in the finish that was about to occur. She could taste the beginning as he jerked into her throat quicker now, with a new fervor that had little grace. The quiet assaulted her ears, accenting each groan he let out. She could sense his breathing become ragged and looked up, watching as his threw his head back along the chair in bliss. Infuriated by the sight she closed her eyes and forced herself to still as he let himself go. His hand tightened in her hair, keeping her near and from escaping the rush of his juices.

His recovery was slow; Aragorn savored every single sensation and the moments passed for an eternity. Minuial couldn’t help leaning against his legs. Her back hurt from being caught over him for so long. She pulled her head away from his midsection, noticing his jerk as he passed along her mouth until he was free. With a satisfied breath he released her hair and she removed herself from his lap, settling back. Glaring up into his hazy, half-lidded eyes, she spat the result of his climax onto the floor wit a defiant expression.

Aragoaughaughed at that, running his foot along her hip as he settled back. “Maybe I should hit you for that.”

“I would spit it out again,” she retorted hotly.

He nodded, looking tired as he traced the contours of her side, then kicked her stomach, causing her to double over and fall. The breath seemed to have left her and she felt nauseated as she hit the floor. Her stomach throbbed in pain.

Getting up, Aragorn knelt down on the floor behind her, drew her hair back and leaned into her ear. His hand rubbed at her arm as he whispered, “I know where it is Denethor keeps the Ring. You will meet me there at midnight. I will take the Ring and we will then pursue the deaths of the Steward and his sons. Do you understand me?”

She wanted to lash out, to laugh at him and say she would tell the Steward, but saw an opportunity in this. So she remained insolently silent, wincing as he dug his fingers into her flesh as punishment. “Why should I?” she asked, knowing it would look suspicious if she were to simply agree.

The Ranger ran his tongue along her ear, then responded low, “Because if you fail me I will take the Ring and destroy all you love. Obey me and I will treat you as a queen. Disobey and you will see horrors unlike you have ever imagined.”

“You talk big,” she sneered, trying to pull herself away.

He forced her to her back, glaring hard into her face and at that point she allowed herself to appear frightened. “If you do not believe me, test me, Lady Minuial. You will find me able to prove myself.”

She shivered in his hold, then looked down meekly. “Don’t do this. Don’t let go of who you are.”

“This is who I am,” Aragorn hissed, drawing her up. He smoothed his hand along her cheek, then cupped her jaw and forced her to look up. “There is a place where the kings of old are buried. Do you know it?” She nodded softly, having been told the layout of the citadel’s important features it by Haldir. He continued on, thinking nothing of it. “At midnight the guards will change and the door will be unguarded for ten minutes or so. Meet me there when the guards depart. Do you understand?”

Minuial swallowed and looked away from him. “I understand. Will you let me go?” The catch in her voice was real, more out of fear of what the night would bring than fear he would hurt her again. He wouldn’t. Not now, anyway. He wanted her to help him. She was in grave danger now.

Satisfied, Aragorn turned her over and untied her hands, watching as she crawled away, then stood up. His eyes assessed her, likely waiting to see if she would fight him. She didn’t. Swallowing, Minuial retreated to where her clothes had been thrown, dressing without looking up at him again. When her clothes were on she looked up briefly, saying, “The door is locked.”

By then he had his pants on. Tying them at the front, he followed her to the exit of his quarters. Removing a key from his pocket, he unlocked it, opened it, then grabbed her arm. “Remember what can happen if you speak of this to anyone.”

“I won’she she said breathlessly, not bothering to meet his intense gaze. She waited patiently, expertly playing the part of the victim until he let her go with a shove towards the hall.

Part of her was still in shock over what had just occurred in there. Out here it seemed so natural, so normal. Inside she felt nothing but normal anymore. In the eyes of strangers she looked for the illogical realization of what she had suffered, but no one paid her any more attention than usual. It was enough for her to consider for a fleeting second that this had been a horrible nightmare, but reality was not so kind as that. She could still feel his hands on her, his sweat. She could taste his salty aftermath strongly and her thoughts were haunted by his words and eyes.

Closing her arms around herself, Minuial walked to her quarters quickly and peeled her clothes off. She couldn’t eat dinner if she tried. Rushing into the washroom she dipped herself into the tub filled with water that had long gone cold by now. It didn’t matter. She wanted to get him off of her. Warm tears mingled with the coolness she brought to her face as she dipped her hands in, then covered herself in it.

*

“Nervous?”

Boromir frowned at the casual way Faramir asked it. There was a hint of mockery in his brother’s tone that the elder found irritating just now. He snatched his ale from the table and took a good, long drink. With a full breath he set it down again and frowned at the form sitting across from him at the dinner table. “Not nervous. Vexed at your presence, perhaps.”

Faramir laughed at that, feigning hurt. “Why are you so venomous towards me, brother? What have I done?”

Feeling in the mood to allow his inner brooding to be showcased just now, Boromir leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, then sighed. “It is not you this time, actually. This business with the Elf has me bothered.”

His father took interest in their conversation at that. His expression was nothing short of discontented, of course, as was usual when the Elves were brought up. Boromir wondered not for the first ort tit time if his father had seen to Haldir’s disposal or planned to if Minuial insisted on investigation. “Who is not bothered by this? Shall we discuss it again to no avail except to see our hearts troubled further?”

“You cannot fault him for his honesty, Denethor,” Mithrandir countered with a knit brow. Almost immediately after he went back to his ponderings, looking back down at the table, a hand to his chin as the wheels within turned this way and that.

“I’ll have no more discussion tonight,” the Steward replied sourly, wiping his mouth with his cloth. He tossed it down after and took hold of his goblet. “’Tis a mercy that our remaining Elf is not present.”

Boromir grunted at that, finding the source of his disquiet. He had not seen her all day, even after checking for her in her rooms and several other places he had thought she would be. The barkeep at the Lion had given the Captain of Gondor a message of condolences to give to her, but so far she was still hidden from him. Now that she was not at dinner he began to worry for her. Content that his meal was over, Boromir pushed the chair back and stood up.

“Where are you heading?” Faramir asked with a frown.

The elder returned his expression. “To check on something.” A glance showed him his father’s irritated glare, but Boromir did not let it thwart him. Turning, he swept to the exit, bumping into someone at the door. Looking up into the face of Aragorn, he paused. “Where have you been?”

“I have been grieved,” the Ranger replied as expected. Boromir fought the urge to groan. It was wrong of him, he supposed, to think that way, but Aragorn troubled him and he was not in the mood just now. “Have you seen Lady Minuial?”

He knit his brows at the question, but assumed Aragorn wished to express his own condolences. Boromir shook his head. “I have not seen her since breakfast.” He decided not to offer any information. The last thing he needed was to become a messenger boy for him. With a curt nod, the Captain of Gondor sidestepped him, trying not to feel guilty about that sorrowed look Aragorn gave him. It was none of his business how the Ranger felt, anyway.

Boromir avoided conversations during the trip to her quarters, not wanting to be held up. He did not want to admit it even to himself, but there was this small worry that she had met a terrible fate and it bothered him to think it. What was more, that it bothered him was a bother in itself. Knitting his brow, he charged on through the empty halls and brushed it aside. It was not as if he really cared, honestly, beyond the absent possibility of a good fuck with her.

Stopping at her doorway, he raised his hand to knock, but paused. There was every possibility she would hear it and slip out Haldir’s doorway if she were truly bent on avoiding him. With a smirk he pulled a key from his belt and inserted it. Giving a slow turn he pushed the door open and peered inside her rooms. The main area of the quarters were still dark, but beyond he could see light coming from the washroom. “Now I have you,” he whispered, pocketing the key and stalking on towards the doorway.

Movement caught his eyes and he cocked his head and leaned over. What he saw prompted him to remain silent for a moment. Boromir ran his eyes along a silky alabaster line of flesh from shoulder on down the curve of her hip to her feet. The Elf was peering at her reflection in a long mirror that offered him a sweet view of more. He raised his hand to rest it along the threshold of the doorway so he could watch this little show.

Unfortunately that was what gave him away. The view he gained from the glass before her also offered her the same view of him. Yet to her eyes he was no more than a shadow. Minuial hissed in a breath and gathered a towel from the rack before her, clutching it to her nude form as she turned around. He saw she had also grabbed a dagger. Those eyes weren’t just angry, though, as he had expected. They were afraid. “Show yourself!” she demanded in a thick voice.

Sighing that his little enjoyment was up, Boromir nudged the doorway and it swung inwards, bathing him in the light of the torches. “I would say something romantic and flattering…” he knit his brow, “no, wait. Come to think of it…no I wouldn’t. Nice view, though.”

He was surprised to see her face redden so. She breathed out a shuddering exhale, still holding the dagger up, and he saw then the moisture in her eyes. It seemed almost as if she hesitated to put the blade down and while a scuffle with a naked Elf did not seem like such a terrible idea, he was fairly concerned about the state she was in. Slowly she lowered it, tossing it to the surface of a vanity as she turned back towards the mirror. He saw her wipe her cheeks, then look into the mirror and notice his gaze. “What do you want?” Her tone was soft and annoyed.

Boromir frowned and entered the washroom completely, closing in on her. He reached up and fingered her wet hair, trying to look into her face. She would not allow it, but he did see something of interest. Her cheek was bruised. “How did this happen?” he asked, gently running his finger down her jaw.

She gave another shuddering sigh, looking down at her hands. The towel fell from her hip and she reached to replace it, but stopped when he took the edge of the fabric away from her. Pursing his lips, Boromir wandered around behind her and took the corners of the rough fabric, tying it between her shoulder blades. There was something definitely wrong with her and he didn’t know what to do with that. Sarcasm, hatred, lust—he could react to these without fear of making the wrong move, but he had never been good with an Elf’s delicate side. Two years ago he had tried that and failed when her sister was afraid and with child.

When Minuial finally spoke it was gravely. “I have to tell you something about Aragorn, Boromir.”

He looked up sharply, gazing into her eyes through her reflection. “Aragorn? What does he have to do with this?” The Captain found his eyes trailing to her throat where a bruise gleamed out against her white skin. Suddenly he was both intrigued and troubled to hear this as his imagination began working. Surely she had not taken comfort in him. Aragorn craved the beds of Elves, but he could not see her wanting such attention.

Minuial turned to face him with subdued eyes. “He knows where the Ring is—or claims he does. Hnts nts to use it. He wants to kill your father.”

The first thing Boromir did was laugh at the absurdity of the idea, but there was no mirth in her eyes. Removing the smirk from his lips, he shook his head, finding this a little dubious. “Aragorn? Kill my father?”

The Elf nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m to meet him at midnight where the graves are—where the kings are buried. Then he moves on to Denethor while I’m supposed to take care of you and Faramir.” Her disgusted huff told him that she meant to do no such thing.

His pulse raced a little at that and her words became more serious. Indeed that was where the Ring was. Boromir shook his head again, pacing away a little, then stopping. “Aragorn said this to you?” She nodded, watching him react to this news. He ran his eyes along her form. “Did he hit you?” He could tell immediately that he had by the way she looked down. “What else happened?”

“He raped my sister.” It was a whisper that cut into her like a blade, bringing more tears. He felt himself a little breathless at that statement. Aragorn was not the sort of man that did the things she was telling him.

He didn’t have to ask whether or not Aragorn had also been the one that murdered her. There was vanceance in those hazel eyes of hers. Boromir swallowed, finding his throat suddenly feeling dry. Running his fingers through his hair, he took a few steps towards her, then it occurred to him. “What else did he do to you?”

She gave him a sidelong look with her smoldering eyes. Her jaw was set and her muscles tense. She wouldn’t speak it, but he could guess.

“That bastard,” Boromir hissed, clenching his fist. Part of him couldn’t believe it. Surely she was mistaken or drunk… Aragorn put him off, but to believe rape and murder of him? Yet there was no mistaking what he saw in those eyes. He exhaled and drew her to face him, touching her chin and easing it up. He could see the bruises for himself. And Aragorn had been very aloof lately. How was he supposed to deal with this? Boromir just didn’t know what to say, except, “Are you all right?”

Her lips trembled a little at that, even as she nodded. Reaching up, he smoothed her wet hair back, unable to imagine what she must be feeling. Uncertain, he forsook her hair and instead wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her into his embrace as he used the other hand to ease her head to his shoulder. She did not sob or wail, but accepted his comfort freely, resting against him. He looked at the water in the tub as he ran his hands along her back softly. His eyes trailed a few small puddles that led from the bath to the mirror. He should have insisted on going with her after breakfast.

His gaze moved on to the window, to the darkened sky. It was about two hours to midnight. They had to act on this threat, but he found himself unable to speak just now. Pulling away slightly, Boromir gathered her up and carried her into the bedroom, lying her down on the soft bed. He sat down and pulled her close, wrapped up in this silence between them. Minuial followed his soft urgings that she lean into him, pillowing her head on his chest and draping her arm across his midsection. Perhaps she needed to feel safe right now, or just wanted to be warm. He didn’t know, but wouldn’t deny her.

He sat with a knit brow, petting her absently as the shock raged on. In his mind kept turning images he did not want to consider. What had Aragorn done to her? Apparently hitting at been part of it, and he was both curious about what had gone on and repelled from even thinking on it. But more and more his attention was snared by another thought—revenge. He wanted to find Aragorn and put him in his place, but her arm kept him trapped. He would not leave her in such a state. Not if she needed someone so badly she would even turn to him. He gave a self-mocking, bitter smirk as he glared across the room. He had been horrible to her. Why should she want his comfort, anyway? Images of her on her knees in the forest shamed him. Without realizing it, he tightened his grip on her arm.

Instead of rebuking him, however, she merely shoved his hand away and settled back down. It was on the tip of his tongue to apologize, but it seemed as if were he to break the silence then this moment would be broken forever, so he remained quiet for a little while longer.

Time passed. He did not know how long, having dozed off, but when she started shaking him he opened his eyes to see hers. “In an hour and a half Aragorn means to have that Ring. You must goyouryour father now, Boromir,” she said urgently.

“Right,” he said, sitting up and stretching. “Are you…going to be all right?”

Minuial nodded and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’ll be fine. I think you should have Denethor take the Ring now, then I’ll meet Aragorn as planned.”

Boromir grunted at that, coming off the bed with her. “I’ll meet Aragorn with a knife.”

Her eyes flashed in impatience. “If he sees you waiting around there in the open he’ll run. I want him to pay for what he did, not get away.” She jerked open her armoire doors and started searching.

He didn’t like the idea of her meeting him again, but knew he would get nowhere if he tried to argue. She was right, of course. “Very well. Faramir and I will wait in the shadows. When we see him we’ll take care of him. I’ll have guards stationed there as well.” She nodded and held her clothes, waiting for him to leave. But he had one more thing to say. “Minuial, I am sorry…”

The Elf turned away at that and said, “Get moving, mortal. We’re losing time.”

Whether that was a rebuke or a way of hiding, he did not know, but he obeyed wordlessly and turned from her.

*

The moon was encroaching upon its midnight position in the velvety sky. It was a clear night, devoid of clouds and back dropped in countless stars. She would be very visible in her silvery cloak, which meant than both Boromir and Faramir were going to have a hard time remaining out of sight in such an open area as the top level. Minuial glanced at the full moon that fully lit the path from the exit she had taken. Perhaps they would be waiting inside the tombs. It would make it much more likely Aragorn would fall into the trap rather than see them skulking around and make a run for it.

Drawing her hood over her head, she sidestepped a few healers that were wandering towards the stairs to the sixth level. They paid her no mind, of course, which served her well. She was eager to see Aragorn brought to justice, but a part of her regretted that she would not be the one dealing it to him. The more she considered what might have happened to her sister on her final night of life…the more she wanted to draw her blade and kill Aragorn herself. Imorian had been a gentle soul. She would have stood little chance against the advances of one such as he. Minuial knit her brow as she stopped near the corner of a building, leaning around it to see if anyone was abroad. There was no one to be seen.

Steeling herself, getting a hold of her ionsions, she turned and headed towards the visible tomb entrance. Wherever Boromir was he was hidden well. Even she could detect no sign. Folding her hands together, she made her way across the stones to wait by the door. Even now she suspected they were searching for Aragorn, but there was going to have to be proof she surmised to herself dryly. It had been a long time since Men had taken Elves at their words. And as well she thought perhaps Boromir would enjoy surprising the Ranand and spoiling his plans. There would be no Ring for Aragorn tonight. Lord Denethor would have probably collected it before now and took it to a safe place, hidden away from tonight’s dangerous business.

She stopped near the dark doors and glanced around, seeing no sign that Aragorn was on his way. A look at the moon betrayed the time to be right. The Elf frowned and leaned her back against the cool stones of the building behind her, wondering if Boromir was inside with his brother. She couldn’t look without it appearing suspicious if the Ranger suddenly made his appearance. It felt as if an open pit of anxiety had been hollowed into her stomach. She wanted this to be over with and waiting was difficult. Now more than ever she could use Haldir’s wit to ease the tension of the moment.

A frown painted across her lips. Two people had been stolen from her by this twisted mortal. What would Lord Elrond say? He would be very grateful he had not allowed Aragorn to simply marry his daughter, certainly. But then, what if Aragorn had married Arwen? Could she have saved them all from this fate by filling Aragorn’s lonely heart? Minuial grunted and crossed her arms. Not that a missing love was any excuse for what he had done. But the Ring was devastating in power and Sauron seemed to have a direct interest in the heir of Elendil. She frowned at her thoughts and the pity peeking around hidden corners of her heart. There was no excuse. Not for the death of her sister, not for Haldir or what he had done to her. Nor for what he planned. The darkness had taken Aragorn and he was beyond redemption now.

Time passed without his arrival. Looking at the moon again, Minuial became concerned about his absence and what it could portend. Had he been caught or had his insight taken him out of the city before he could be captured? She pushed herself up from the wall and paced around a little, then stopped again as a form came up from a bench across the way. The sound of a curse hissed through the air, revealing it to be Boromir. As he stood the moonlight washed over his auburn hair and glinted in his sea-blue eyes.

Stomping to where she s, he, he looked her over gravely, then jerked the tomb door open. Faramir and Gandalf had been standing behind it waiting as well. “He hasn’t showed,” the elder Captain of Gondor grunted, glaring around the layout around them. “No guards have come to inform me of his capture. Bastard must have gotten away.”

Faramir rested a hand on his sword. “Perhaps he is in his quarters.” Seeing Minuial’s hardened gaze, he shook his head. “Not to suggest you weren’t being honest, of course, but he may try that avenue if he believes it will gain him a foothold into our father’s trust. Like it or not, my father would be pleased to catch you in a plot instead of Aragorn. He doesn’t like him, but he likes his advice from time to time.”

She noticed Boromir roll his eyes. Gandalf exhaled, his eyes troubled. He most of all must have been hit hard by this news, having been so close at one time to the Ranger. He looked grieved. “Where is Denethor now?”

The brothers exchanged glances before Boromir said, “He took the Ring to his quarters…”

“Come on,” Gandalf hissed before the phrase had been finished. The four of them crossed the stone walkway towards one of the entrances. Minuial’s heart pounded as she imagined Aragorn having retrieved the Ring.

Along the way Boromir stopped and ordered a guard to head to the gates of the citadel to make sure there had been no attempts by the Ranger to exit the city. That done, he caught up quickly as Faramir led them on towards his father’s quarters. Up a flight of stairs to a secured area where the Stewardavisavish rooms would be they rushed until entering a corridor that was more dressed up than the rest. No other doors lined the walls save the two grand ones that stood open. Minuial’s heart sank as they came to a halt at the opening. Boromir pushed on past Gandalf and Faramir both, entering first. “Father?” he called. He did not say it twice.

Gandalf and Faramir entered and stopped short, side by side. Minuial followed after them and skidded to a halt between them. Her stomach turned at the blood spattered everywhere. Haldir’s murder had been kind compared to this. Three guards lay slain with multiple wounds. She swallowed as Boromir knelt down beside the fallen form of the Steward, whose face was barely recognizable beneath the blade marks. This was like a nightmare.

“Boromir,” Gandalf gently prodded after an interval of seconds passed. “The Ring.”

Feeling around his father’s robes, Boromir came back with nothing. When he stood he did not look at any of them as he rushed to a desk to search. Faramir took to a nearby closet while Gandalf came up to Minuial’s left. She felt a hand on her arm and she looked up into those age-wise eyes. He pointed to something near the door, against the wall some few yards away, caught between a table and a lounger. Swallowing hard, she rushed to where the guard sat, looking battered and barely alive. He turned his green eyes on her and within them she saw intense hatred. “Get…get back, Elf bitch,” he groaned, trying to fend her off.

Under the ruckus that followed the entry of three guards she could not hear any more of what he said to her, but the expression on his face startled her into backing away from him. She turned, looking for Boromir and saw him exit the room with Faramir onto a terrace on the other side of the room. Suddenly a hand came down on her shoulder, pulling her back. “Let me,” a mortal growled, shoving her back.

The wounded guard pointed up at her weakly. “The…Ranger. He did this…and said she helped him.”

The one that had shoved her looked at her momentarily, then knelt down by his fallen comrade. “What do you mean?”

Swallowing and pushing himself hard, he shook his head with a glare. “She diverted you…to the tombs.” Those green eyes bored into her like daggers. “He said he no longer needed you…so he dn’tdn’t…be coming to your…rescue.” He coughed and spit up blood onto his shaking hand.

Hands closed in on her arms and she struggled. “I didn’t know he would do this! I didn’t help him!” she shouted, jerking away and searching frantically for help as the Men closed in on her.

“Stop this at once!” Gandalf roared, jabbing the floor with his heavy staff. He went so far as to hit one of the guards in the leg sharply before they stopped pushing her towards the exit.

“Aragorn brought this bitch with him,” the guard near the fallen man said as he straightened.

Gandalf was not intimidated. “That does not make her guilty! Aragorn also murdered the other Elf that was with her!”

“The Elf attacked him,” the guard said firmly. “I saw the Elf attack him. It was necessary that we subdue him.”

Struggling again, Minuial hissed, “That’s a lie! You son of a…” Her insult was cut off by a fist to the mouth. She fell back into the arms of a strong male that jerked her close.

The White Wizard took a threatening step forward with fire in his eyes. “And was it necessary that the Elf be displayed as he was? Are those the actions of a fair leader or a sick mind?”

The guard shrugged. “Apparently those of a sick mind, but he did mention that the other had betrayed him and that this one had better not do the same. Now I see what he had meant.”

Finally coming to address the fray going on, Boromir re-entered with Faramir’s hand on his shoulder. He looked at the scene with Minuial and said, “What the hell is going on here?”

“We’re placing her under arrest for aiding the one that murdered your father,” he replied with a bow. He pointed at the fallen warrior on the floor. “He will swear to Aragorn’s confession that this Elf diverted you to the tombs.”

“Boromir, I did not help him!” Minuial called desperately as she pulled her wrists away. She was rewarded by another sharp slap. He had to believe her. How could he not? Yet she worried even still. Minuial felt herself close to tears, so great was the anger she felt. If she ever did run across Aragorn she would not be able to contain herself.

Boromir looked her over, then waved his hair. “Let her go.”

The guard stepped forward, warded off by the elder Captain’s glare. “Steward, it would be wise for her to be imprisoned,” he insisted with a glance at her. Something in those eyes birthed a suspicion in her that perhaps Aragorn had not been alone in his aspirations. The thought made her feel bleak inside. If that were the case Minas Tirith was falling apart from the inside out.

The Captain-now-Steward shook his head and pointed, speaking with a clear and angry tone, “The choice is mine. I said let her go.”

Everyone there seemed taken aback by the sheer force he conveyed. Minuial looked at the floor as she was shoved away. This was hitting him hard, she knew. She could see it all over him. He would not handle the pressure with grace if they kept on him. She suddenly wished she could pull him out of this future he had just been hurled into as he stormed out of the room, muttering, “Get the fuck out of my way,” to the guards standing in his path.

Minuial watched after him with sorrowed eyes. Behind she could hear Gandalf speaking quietly to Faramir. “You had best guard her yourself while he is like this. Until we find learn his mind things are going to be unstable.”

“I’ve never seen him like this,” Faramir whispered back. “He and Father…” Even he seemed to hesitate to speak of the truth. Minuial turned and looked into his face, seeing that his eyes were moist and his skin pale. He took notice of her and came to her side. “You’ll not mind my company for a while, will you, my Lady?”

“I’ll not mind,” she said softly, not looking at the guards. She could not speak; did not know what to say to him. Faramir touched her shoulder, then turned to the servants littering the room, issuing orders and ignoring suggestions where she was concerned.

Gandalf came up beside her, drawing her out into the hallway. “This has become a dangerous place for you. Faramir will speak with Boromir. I think the best thing for you now is to return to Lothlórien.”

There was no other place she would rather be than home just now, save the sandy shores of Aman. “But what of Aragorn?” she breatheoldiolding her arms around herself as if it could protect her from the nearly tangible hatred directed at her from the mortals nearby.

The wizard’s response filled her with unease. “I must go now. Precious time has already escaped me. He will be a good distance towards Mordor’s gate by now.” She was going to be alone in this city of Men. He sensed her disquiet and offered an apology with his eyes. “Leave when you can.”

With that he turned away and rushed in a flurry of white robes. Minuial paced across the hall to wait for Faramir, looking up when a form emerged. It was the head guard. He approached her without pretense and she faced him freely, unwilling to look weak and guilty before him. “Stand down, you little whore,” he hissed, shoving her back. He pointed her in the face, his dark eyes shining as he leaned forward in an attempt to intimidate her. His voice was a whisper so that none but she could hear it. “Whatever foolishness Boromir has in his mind will not make a difference. I promise you’ll be in the bottom of the dungeon, naked and alone, no matter what he says.”

“I didn’t do this,” she growled through clenched teeth, pushing his finger out of her face.

His reply was harsh and uncaring. “I don’t care.”

“Leave her alone, Jeran,” Faramir warned, coming from his father’s bedroom. He motioned the guard away with a firm expression. Jeran left with another meaningful glance and Faramir came to her side. “I am sorry. Come, we should retire to your rooms and get comfortable. Tonight is going to be rough on those on the outside of strong doors.”

The trip there was quiet, for neither had the desire to speak. Minuial glanced every now and then to Faramir, took note of his expression from time to time. Those eyes were haunted. They had talked that night of their private dinner of Faramir’s relationship to Denethor and she had learned from his own lips that he despised the Steward, for his father had no love for him, never had. Yet here now the pain of such a death brought a look of horror and pain to him. Her heart went out to both Boromir and Faramir. She knew what it was to lose those you love. Aragorn had stolen so much from them. It was a helpless feeling for those so accustomed to fixing their circumstances. Nothing could bring them back. Nothing.

When they came to her rooms she opened the door and eed wed with him on her heels. The prospect of his being here was a two-sided coin. On one hand she had no desire to make herself so vulnerable just now and allow him to remain. Yet she doubted she would be able to sleep just now anyway. She felt shaken inside and though she wasn’t afraid of Jeran’s threats, it did not allow for a peaceful night’s rest. Home sounded better than anything to her and she wished for the lapping at the shores of the Silverlode, the quiet of the fading day beneath the mallorn trees.

“I would like to apologize if this makes you uncomfortable,” Faramir stated, bringing her back to the here and now. She watched as he sank down onto the couch where Boromir had seated himself just the other night. “I do not know what to make of Jeran’s threats, but Mithrandir seemed quite concerned. And just now that my father…well, I would not be sure what someone under these circumstances might be capable of.”

Minuial sighed and sat down in a chair across from him, shaking her head as she waved him off. “I understand. It’s all right. I think I will be leaving soon, anyway.”

His eyes were soft and a mystery after she said that. He tilted his head back and examined her without saying anything immediately. The scrutiny made her uncomfortable, but just as she was about to remark, he said, “You will at least say goodbye to my dear brother, won’t you?”

At that Minuial couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Why? Do you think he would be bothered if I didn’t?”

Faramir laughed at her amusement. “Honestly, I do think it would. And besides, from what I heard it seems he’s decreed you aren’t to leave just yet anyway.”

“You speak as though I could not find my own way out,” she suggested, crossing her arms with a challenging little look.

He shrugged. “I do not doubt that you could at that. Still, it would be kinder to speak to Boromir first.”

Minuial did not wish to pursue this conversation any further than that. She herself did not know whether or not she even wanted to speak to him. So she changed the direction of their dialogs. “He seemed to have taken your father’s unfortunate demise hard.”

Faramir nodded at that and that haunted look made her almost regret the question. “Boromir would. We both complained about him, we both claimed to hate him more times than either of us would care to admit. But our father always doted on Boromir, so naturally my brother must have had some sort of affection for him. This hurts him more than he’s going to show anyone, I imagine. Even me.” He rubbed his shoulder absently. “Or perhaps especially me at that.”

“And what about you?” she pressed, not sure why she wanted to know, except perhaps in curiosity of what sort of man he was that had apparently loved her sister. “How do you feel about this thing that has happened?”

The young Captain of Gondor shook his head sadly. “I do not know. To say that I loved my father to a fault would be an outrageous lie. Yet I guess I mourn that there was never anything more between us.”

“I guess you would feel that way,” she concluded, then stood and wandered to the liquor table. She poured two drinks, assuming he would want to join her. He did and seemed eager to oblige. She looked at him over her cup, then decided to dive into what held her fascination. “Did you love my sister?”

Faramir choked on his drink and wiped his now wet hand onto his pants with a cough. “Did I love her?” he repeated the question, as if he had to consider it. He exhaled as he lifted the cup to his lips once more. “I do not know if we were in love, the kind of love that survives all obstacles. I cared for her. I could have fallen madly in love with, ha, had we the time.”

“And the child? Was it yours?”

He knit his brow at that. “Of course it was mine. Who else could it have been?”

It occurred to her then that Faramir did not know that Aragorn had abused her sister. He still assumed their father had found out about the affair and had her killed. Why hadn’t Boromir told him? She looked into Faramir’s sad, blue eyes and made a choice. If she could not give him back his father, perhaps to restore his good faith would be a small token at least. “Aragorn. He had been raping her for some time, he said. He was the one that…killed her. Boromir didn’t tell you?”

Faramir’s eyes were wide, burning in renewed anger. “By the time Boromir found me it was already close to midnight. There was no time to explain much. Aragorn…he killed her? That means my father never knew that she and I were lovers. That son of a bitch!”

Minuial nodded her agreement of that particular assessment. “Aragorn is adept at taking our loved ones away from us. He also killed Haldir.”

He stilled seemed taken aback by just how deep this all went. Faramir shook his head, running his fingers through his auburn hair as he leaned forward. “For two years I have been his friend and he has been deceiving us all. Who knows how far his treachery runs!”

“Indeed. And from the sound of it I would guess he has Jeran under his thumb at least. Who knows how many more.”

Faramir cursed. “By the Valar! Who knows what could happen!”

“Perhaps you should go and warn your brother, who now has the responsibility of leading these possible traitors,” Minuial suggested. Being alone was not unattractive.

“In the morning that is the first thing I will attend to, I assure you. However I do not like the idea of leaving you alone.” His eyes softened, shining with concern. “I could not protect her, but perhaps I could protect you.”

That statement moved her more than she wanted him to know. The Elf swallowed and stood up with a polite nod of gratitude. “Thank you. You are welcome to sleep here then. I believe I should get some rest if I am to leave tomorrow.”

Faramir nodded, seemingly puzzled, but said nothing. He looked exhausted himself. Minuial offered him a wan smile, then retreated to her bed, not bothering to remove her clothes or even curl up beneath the blankets. The sooner dawn arrived, the better. She did not want to be here anymore.

*

There was a bird sitting on the sill, just outside the closed wooden shutter. Unfortunately the window was not four feet away from the bed, making the lark’s scatterbrained songs loud and obnoxious. The little thing seemed to have no other fancy than to hang around just outside and to make matters worse, another lark answered its fervent calls with songs of its own. After a half hour chorus Minuial finally opened her eyes and glared at the wooden shutter. Grasping the pillow in the space beside hers, she hurled it forward and knocked the shutters roughly. The song ended abruptly.

Satisfied, Minuial rolled onto her other side and closed her eyes again, but the nagging wonder of whether or not Faramir was still present drew her into a sitting position before ten minutes had passed. With a deep exhale she got up and wandered to the sitting area only to find it empty of the Captain of Gondor. In his place was a piece of parchment with a message on it. She picked it up and learned that he had done just what he had said he would, and that he would prefer she remain in her quarters. He would direct Boromir to her bedroom as soon as he was available.

Minuial rolled her eyes and tossed it down, deciding she would remain here for the duration of a bath and packing, then if Boromir had not come she would set out to find him and bid her farewells. She did not intend on spending another night here in Minas Tirith, nor did she have any inclination to even eat here if she could make it out fast enough. Folding her arms together, she headed towards the bath and saw it already filled and heated. That comfort she would spare herself at least. Her back hurt and the heat would do her good, so she did not wait to disrobe and submerge herself.

The bath was satisfying, but it did not heal all she wished it could have. After the water had cooled she stepped out and wrapped herself up in a towel. After a quick comb through her wet hair, she left the bath and made for her armoire. Instead she found Boromir waiting just outside the bathroom, sitting in a chair. He looked tired and bothered. Those blue eyes of his slid up her form softly as he said, “Good morning.”

“Did you speak with Faramir?” she asked, staying still, not sure what would be said just now.

He nodded and got up from the chair, wandering towards her. “He says you want to leave. Would you go without even saying farewell to me?”

She allowed herself a smirk at that. “Will you miss me?”

“I might,” he admitted, pacing nearer. “Jeran suggests I throw you into the dungeon, but I do not believe you aided Aragorn.”

After saying that he seemed to pause a moment for her reaction. She answered as she thought was suiting. “Do you want a reward?” she asked smoothly.

He laughed at that and looked her over meaningfully. “That does not sound bad, at that.”

“I think I should get ready to leave soon,” she retorted thoughtfully.

The Steward nodded, running his fingers along his mustache. “I agree that is probably best. My city is falling apart from the inside out. I cannot protect you.”

A part of her mourned the ease of her exit from this place and she wasn’t sure why. “So that’s it then,” she stated, wandering his form. Part of her didn’t want to say goodbye.

Boromir laughed lightly and touched her wet hair, tracing it away from her shoulder and letting it fall behind her back. “Of course that’s not it.” He smirked at her expression. “Did you think I would just let you get away?” His presence became a more imposing one as he leaned forward, brushing his mouth along her forehead, on down her temple to her cheek.

“Boromir,” she said, trying to pull away from him. He did not let her go, jerking her back into his arms with a laugh. “We’re not going to do this.” It was intended to be a growl, but she couldn’t hel but laugh as he nipped at her throat. Minuial yanked herself away from him and darted behind a drapery that lead to the terrace outside her room. The sun was hidden above the clouds, leaving the morning dull and shadowy. She smirked and leaned back against the stone railing when he came out.

“What?” he laughed, closing in on her. “Do you think I will not fuck you out here?”

“Get the hell away from me,” she warned, drawing back her fist to hit him. He caught her wrist on the down stroke and pulled her close to him.

“I owe you a debt,” he whispered, running his free hand down her bare arm. A cool breeze sailed across them. His eyes glinted when she shivered. With a smile he pulled her away from the railing and drew her into a spot in the corner where a peak in the mountain’s shadow hit upon the stone. Wrapping arms around her waist, he picked her up and seated her on the stone rail there, then smoothed his hands down her thighs. “I am only too eager to repay it.”

Minuial blushed as he knelt down, drawing her the towel into his hands. She pressed the fabric down to keep him out, but it was no use. He raised it high enough to expose her nudity to him. “Boromir,” she hissed, but whether or not she was trying to stop him anymore she was not certain.

He parted the towel and it fell from her breasts before she cold gather it. It pooled around her hips and she found herself looking up, seeing if anyone else was out on their terrace or peering out their windows. Mercifully they seemed to be alone and she hoped that would last.

Breathing in a husky, wanting tone, he said, “Be still,” then moved forward. She gasped when his tongue stroked along her inner thigh. Glancing back up along the stone walls and windows, she tensed in uncertainly, taking a guilty pleasure out of this. His arm snaked along the rail, gathering her towards him until she was right along the edge about to fall off onto him. He smiled up at her, lifting one of her legs and pushing his shoulder beneath it.

The edge behind her came alarmingly to mind when she leaned back and felt the open air behind her. She glanced over her shoulder at the long drop, swallowing as he resumed kissing her thighs. “I’m going to fall,” she whispered breathlessly as his tongue trailed dangerously high on her leg.

He looked up with a daring little smile, then said, “You had better hold on tight, then.”

When he went down again he forsook her legs in favor of something more interesting. Minuial squirmed when his lips found her warmth. As his tongue tracked her wetness she tightened the hold her leg had against his muscular back. Desire crept up through her thighs and all along her abdomen as he lapped at her in a teasingly slow manner. Her lashes fluttered shut and she was dimly aware of the birds singing around them.

Almost naturally as he kissed her deeply she began to stroke her foot along his back, unable to fight the pleasurable sensations this brought her. She hugged him against her, reveling in his hungry kiss. He seemed very fervent and she suspected he needed this as much as he wanted to repay a debt. Right now she was not above comforting him, either. The muscles of her thighs tightened as he darted his tongue up inside of her. A pale whimper escaped her lips.

Then he stopped. Boromir pushed her leg from his shoulder and stood up, not even giving her a moment to question him before he plunged into her lips with a desperate, ravenous kiss. Minuial closed her eyes almost instinctively as his tongue invaded her, his suck rough and seeking. Between them his hands were at work and before she knew what he was up to his arm curled around her, jerked her forward as he thrust himself into her sensitive flesh. She cried out into his mouth and tightened her thighs around his hips as he thrust heavily into her.

Boromir looked into her face with his moist hair draped across his smoldering eyes. He pulled his hips back, watching her eyes keenly as he did so, then shoved hard, knocking her back a little. A smirk crossed his lips as he jerked her back into him and hissed, “Don’t fall, love.”

For the sake of keeping herself from falling, she threw her arms around his torso, holding him tight as he continued moving hard for their pleasure. She had not counted on ending the morning like this, but was enjoying it despite herself. So she showed it and jerked his mouth over hers, forcing her tongue into his mouth for a searing kiss. Boromir was only too grateful to oblige, molding his tongue to hers in a rough stroke while one of his hands sought after her breasts.

Minuial let her eyes flutter shut as his fingers traced her skin, moving circles around her hardened nipple. She arched into his touch for more with a demand written in her eyes that dared him to deny her. He didn’t, pinching her with an indulgent little smirk as he slowed his movements as he drew back, then shoved forward into her sharply. She cried out at that and squeezed his shoulder in response to the shivers of pleasure running through her body.

“You like that?” he whispered hotly, beginning to lose himself in the act. Both his hands lowered to the stone beneath her, supporting him as he rocked hard into her. To keep herself upright she had to hold into him and the effort was pleasantly tiring. Each jolt forward threatened to send her over the edge until she could stand no more. The pressure built and sent her into bliss before she could hold back and Minuial moaned into his shoulder. Boromir jerked heavily into her, causing her sensations to increase in intensity, winning cries until he too found his pleasure. He held himself up against the railing, invading her space without repentance.

The moments seemed to pass slowly. Minuial relaxed the grip her thighs had on his, but let herself enjoy his nearness. It was a moment without worry and that was something she needed just now. She surmised he needed the same, as he made no move to disengage himself from her just yet. “We’re even,” he breathed finally, looking with a hazy expression into her face. He reached up and smoothed a wet lock of her hair away from her cheek.

Leaning back along the stone rail, she watched as he pulled himself from her body and fixed his clothes. “So we are,” she agreed, wandering his form freely. “I might just think of you now and again when I return home.”

Boromir smirked at that and admired her nudity. “I might just think of that now and again,” he retorted, pointing his finger at her bare body.

Wrapping the towel around her, Minuial laughed and slid off the stone. “Will that be with ire or longing?”

“Probably a bit of both.”

They retreated to her room. “Perhaps we will see one another again,” she suggested as she dressed and he seated himself in her sitting area. “Especially if you find Aragorn.”

There was a snort from his direction. “If I find Aragorn I plan on killing him myself, so do not imagine I would wait so long as to send a message to Lothlórien and then sit around as you take your time getting here. I’m going end his foul existence as soon as I lay eyes on him.” There was a pause, then he added, “I would be willing to send you a piece of his body. Something for you to desecrate somewhere out of your woods.”

Minuial smirked and started packing her belongings into a bag. “I appreciate that,” she told him dryly as she stuffed her clothing away. When that was done, she shouldered the pack and took Haldir’s sword, strapping it to her waist with hers along her back. She did not look forward to giving it to his brothers.

Stepping out, she looked for Boromir and he stood, noticing her readiness. He waited while she approached, then put his hands on her shirt, pulling her into him. His mouth fell upon hers in a last, hungry kiss before he let her go. “Perhaps we will see one another again.”

She put her hand on his shoulder, rubbing softly. “I am sorry for everything you suffered.”

“As am I for you,” he responded, averting his eyes from her gaze to hide his feelings. She brought his face up, however and drank in the sorrow in his blue eyes. Wordlessly she touched his rough cheek, tracing the mark of his mortality. Elves did not grow hair on their faces until after their tenth eon. Such a long time compared to he that would only live for a few small summers in comparison.

Minuial sighed and pulled away. “You will find poison somewhere in Aragorn’s room. It was Haldir’s. I suggest you look for it before others think to.”

“I will,” the Steward assured her, then motioned towards the door. “I will see you to the gate myself. Are you ready?”

“I am,” Minuial replied, knowing it was for the best. a paa part of her sorrowed this farewell and hoped to see him again.

*

Not many reviews...so I figured why prolong it any further? ;) Thanks for reading, if you did! Thanks to Rangerlady for your continued interest in our stories. I hope all is well with you!