The First Time

Title: The First Time
Author: Atanvarne
Email: ashnazg9@yahoo.com
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Rating: R/NC17 (but not ‘til page 11)
Summary: Boromir reminisces about the first time he saw Aragorn, their first kiss and the consummation of their union. If you like romantic stories, you will probably enjoy this.
Disclaimer: These are the characters and settings of JRR Tolkien. I’m only borrowing the men for a short while. I’ll return them when (and if) I ever finish with them. Song fic. Based on Roberta Flack’s version (not Celine Dion’s overwrought mess) of “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face,” words and music by Ewan McColl.
Warning : Mostly PWP
Authors Note: Thanks again to Janet, my phenomenal beta reader. This is how to exorcise a song from running amok in your brain. Once the story was finished, the song went away. Whew!
Archive: Library of Moria. All others, please ask. And yes, I’ll do almost anything for feedback.

The First Time

The first time ever I saw your face
I thought the sun rose in your eyes
And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave
To the dark and endless skies. . .

I am a warrior and a leader of men. I was born to the service of my people and my land, Gondor. I have known battle, raging battle that lasted for days, that tore sons from mothers, husbands from wives. I have known fear and desperation. I have known courage. I have known men, in every sense of the word. I have known women as well. I know loyalty and duty and honor. My life revolves around them. But I have not known love. Until now.

I walked into yet another of the endless rooms, shrines to the past really, that make up Rivendell. Elves, it seems, enjoy their comforts; warm fires, tapestries, carvings, scrolls. It is a lovely cage, but I cannot rest here. I miss Minas Tirith, the walls of the city glistening in the sun, the sounds of life bustling through the levels below. When I was there last, the city was becoming restless and anxious. Mordor kept sending more troops, more battles were being fought, and in some areas of Gondor, we were losing. Minas Tirith needs armies of men. I came in search of them, and in search of an answer to a riddle.

As I came around the corner, I noticed a man. He was clothed in a tunic of soft blue, sitting calmly reading a scroll. His hair was darker than mine, and a little longer. A scraggly beard and mustache framed narrow lips. High cheekbones emphasized deep-set grey eyes. I noticed a long scar running from his lip and wondered how it had come to be there. Was it at the hand of a friend during swordplay? Perhaps he had been engaged in a fierce battle for his life. Maybe it was the result of a youthful indiscretion. He welcomed me to the House of Elrond. His voice was soft, his manner courteous.

A large mural on the wall commemorating the moment when Elendil fell and Isildur cut the Ring from the hand of our enemy captured my attention. I turned and saw a beautiful woman carved in shining marble standing in silent contemplation of the scene. Laying on a small cloth covered alter before her were the shards of a sword. I grasped the hilt of the shattered weapon and held it in both hands. “The shards of Narsil,” I exclaimed. “The blade that cut the Ring from Sauron’s hand!” I touched the end of the shard I held, and cut my finger. “Still sharp,” I mused.

I looked over and noticed the man gazing at me with an indecipherable expression. Large, grey eyes seemed to bore into my soul, questioning me, questioning my purposes, testing me, and finding me wanting. My breath caught in my throat. What was the meaning of that look? Why was I being tested? His gaze held me and I suddenly felt uncertain, unworthy of his attention. But in those brief moments when our eyes met I knew in the very depths of my soul that this man would be the center of my existence; my life would revolve around him as the stars wheel across the sky. My life to his life, for eternity. My hands began to tremble, and to my utter embarrassment, I dropped the hilt of the weapon as I tried to return it to its place. “But no more than a broken heirloom,” I muttered, then left the room, the shard resting on the floor where it lay.

What had just happened? I have battled against scores of orcs with nary an involuntary twitch of a muscle. I have faced, with my company, overwhelming odds and never faltered. I have met and spoken with many highborn lords and ladies without stumbling over words. Who was this man, and why did he affect me so? We have hardly exchanged more than a few words, yet I am more shaken by this encounter than anything else in my life. I feel drawn to him. In one exchange of looks, he has taken possession of my soul. I think of him and my mouth goes dry. My hands shake, my voice is unsteady. What is this strange attraction he has on me? For the first time I am afraid.

The first time ever I kissed your mouth
I felt the earth move in my hands
Like the trembling heart of a captive bird
That was there at my command…


It has been more than a fortnight since we left Rivendell. My world has changed since then. When I first laid eyes on Aragorn, I did not know who he was or to what purpose he had been called to Elrond’s council. To say I was stunned by Legolas’s revelation that Aragorn is the heir to the throne of Gondor would be an understatement, but at least I now understood the strange encounter of our first meeting. Gondor’s King! Perhaps that was the basis of the mystical connection I felt with him. We had a common purpose after all.

It was unsettling to think of my father handing leadership of Gondor over to this scruffy man, I had thought. At first glance, even at second glance, he did not seem kingly in bearing or manner. I have since thought otherwise. Aragorn leads firmly, yet quietly, without drawing attention to himself. In many ways, he reminds me much of my brother. I think Faramir will love Aragorn and will accept him as king without question. Father will demand proof of his claim, though, beyond anything I have to say in the matter.

More unsettling still has been the realization that the attraction I feel, the pull of him on my center, has nothing to do with the crown of Gondor. That strange connection I first felt in Rivendell continues to this day. I still cannot meet his gaze without feeling young, untried, unschooled. At first this amused him, I think. Now, there is more warmth in his glance, and I imagine he, too, feels this fire between us. As we travel I have had time to reflect on these feelings. When I finally understood them, I was alarmed. I rejected the conclusions I had reached. It is impossible to believe that I am beginning to, dare I whisper it, fall in love. I watch him as his long strides carry him ever closer to Mordor and feel sharp pangs of desire. I want nothing more than to walk at his side, fingers entwined. I want to feel his hands on me, touching me with familiarity, with knowledge of the places that bring mutual pleasure. I want to nestle within his arms, feel the warmth of his breath on the nape of my neck as we sleep. And each time he looks at me, the imaginings of these sensations rush through me.

I have been instructing Merry and Pippin in the use of their weapons. They are becoming quite adept. I believe they have learned enough not to be a danger to themselves or to the rest of us should there come a need for them to draw their swords. Aragorn has not participated much, but today, after I was knocked down by the irrepressible halflings, Aragorn joined in the play. It was the first time I have heard him laugh, and it is a pleasant sound. I risked meeting his eyes, and was rewarded with a half smile and an expression of contentment. I was reluctant to avert my gaze, but our lessons were interrupted by a flight of crebain from Dunland. We hastened to hide traces of our presence from those spies of the South, but none of us feel we were successful. And the stoic expression that typically resides on Aragorn’s face has returned.

We set forth as quickly as possible after the crows disrupted our lessons. We traveled for nearly six hours before Gandalf called a halt. Aragorn called me to help him find a suitable site for the Company to set up camp, and we found a flat area near a creek that, mercifully, was fairly devoid of rocks. A small stand of trees hid us from the casual observer. After we had eaten, Legolas again entertained us with elfsong. Gimli told stories of dwarves and dragons, inspired by the exploits of his father and uncles. As the camp began to settle for the night, Aragorn situated himself on a fallen log near the fire and pulled his pipe out of his pocket. He looked pensive, lost in thought. “Is anything troubling you?” I asked, seating myself on the log next to him.

He stared at the pipe in his hands, then put it back in his tunic. “Only the usual woes, Boromir. I am concerned about getting through the Redhorn Gate unseen. I fear the crebain may have made our path impossible. And I wonder which path Gandalf will choose if we are forced to decide between the Gap of Rohan and Gimli’s mines.” The weight of the impending decision seemed to weigh heavily on him. “And it seems I have a problem of another sort,” he continued, enveloping me with the warmth of his expression.

My heart began to pound in my chest. It was pulsing so strongly I was certain Aragorn could hear every beat. What was behind the softening of his eyes, the enchanting half-smile on his face? He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his fingers interlaced. The chatter of the halflings had diminished and soft snores now came from the other side of the fire. Gandalf, and Gimli had found spaces further away from the fire; Legolas had the first watch and was patrolling nearby. We were, for all practical purposes, alone. “What new problem plagues you?”

“In all honesty, ‘tis you, Boromir.” He paused, then turned his head to look at me. “Why do you murmur my name while you sleep? Have I done you an ill turn? Or is there another concern weighing on you?”

I felt myself flush. I thought I had been so careful hiding my growing attraction for the Ranger. I admit I often took position at the rear of the Company so that I could watch him move without fear of being observed by anyone else, the advantage of being last in line. I was careful to treat him with the same courtesy I extended to Legolas and Gimli. I tried to hold myself away from him, and in so doing, held myself away from the other members of the Fellowship as well. I could not afford to become close to anyone for fear that I might be tempted to confide in him. What thoughts had betrayed me as I slept? I resolved then to sleep only when Aragorn slept so that if his name did escape my lips he would not be awake to hear.

“I did not know I had done so,” I stated, as calmly as I could manage. “I am not certain why I would speak your name when I sleep. How many times has this happened?”

“Every night since we left Rivendell. So I ask you again, have I done you ill? Or is there something else you wish to confide?” he asked gently.

It was not my nature to prevaricate, but I had never faced a truth such as this. I have known men, as I said before, but every instance of such contact had been after battle, when the heat of the skirmish is passing and relief at having survived is rushing through my veins. The passion is fleeting; the joining only a physical act. My heart is not involved in such engagements.

I started to stand, I needed to move, but Aragorn forestalled such motion by placing his hand on my thigh. The contact, my first with the man, was electric. My eyes widened and I sat quickly so I would not fall. “Aragorn, what would you have me say? I cannot think of any response that would not anger you or hurt you. Yet it is clear you require an explanation.” I hesitated.

“I expected to look towards marriage upon my return to Gondor and the end of this war. To see if I could find, among the families in high stead, a winsome lass with whom I can continue the line of Stewards, as my father expects, and perhaps in time, learn to love her.” I stopped speaking. I have no experience in the language of love, no understanding of the mysteries of the heart, and yet, I was being forced to reveal my innermost thoughts to someone who, with a single glance or an angry word, could destroy me. I felt trapped as I have never felt before. This was no foe I could defeat with prowess of arms; I had never done battle against myself before.

Aragorn said nothing, just sat on the log with an attitude of patient understanding, as though he understood at some level the conflict raging within me. His silence was torture. I had nothing to work with except instinct, and I did not trust in it to guide me.

I took a deep breath. “The truth is, for the first time in my life, I find myself in love with someone.” I started to shake and I clasped my hands together to disguise their trembling. “And the experience is not what I expected.” I ran my right hand across my face and through my hair. “I am consumed by these feelings and I do not know how to cope with them. Every attempt I make at controlling my thoughts is thwarted. My heart has thrown off its jesses and now free, refuses to return to hand.”

“Who is it, Boromir? To whom would you offer your heart?” he inquired.

I could not answer. My head hung down and I refused to meet his eyes. I could not shame him with my confession, and my pride would not let me shame myself.

He rose from the log, then stood before me. I stared at his booted feet, and remained silent. He placed his fingers under my chin and raised my head so I would be forced to meet his gaze.

“Tis you, milord,” I said and closed my eyes. I could feel my throat tighten as I whispered the words. I am certain my expression reflected the anguish I felt. I steeled myself for the harsh words that were certain to follow. I listened intently for sound of his sword being drawn from its scabbard. I do not know why I thought Aragorn would cause me harm. Perhaps it was due to my inexperience, or that I had completely underestimated him.

Aragorn chuckled. “Legolas was right,” he said.

The sound of his laughter stung me. “I see no reason to laugh. You know I would have preferred to say nothing, but you desired an answer. I expected better from you,” I said. I felt stripped of what little dignity I had left. Being humiliated by his amusement was more than I could tolerate. I stood to leave, but, again, Aragorn stopped me. I tried to push past him, but he grabbed my arm and turned me to face him yet again. Could he not see how much this admission had cost me? Must I embarrass myself further by losing my temper?

“Boromir, I am deeply sorry I offended you. Please, sit back down. The tale is not yet told. Would you leave before its ending?” The sincerity in his tone held me in place. Nodding in assent, I resumed my place on the log we had been sharing.

“Did I not say that you were plaguing me, Boromir? Legolas was right,” he mused. At this remark, I confess the world stopped and time stood still. Aragorn sat beside me, his right knee resting on top of the log, his body turned toward mine. “I am more than twice your age, and most of my life has been spent in hiding, avoiding being seen, retreating into shadow when it served my purpose. I have learned to be very circumspect in my dealings with others. I am always on guard for a misplaced word, a thoughtless deed. The Enemy has hunted me most of my life and betrayal is a constant fear. But I thought I had been reckless in my observation of you. Did you ever wonder why we share the same watch? Why you assist me with our regular chores? Did you not think it would be more prudent to have you take more watches with Merry or with Sam? It was no accident that more of your waking hours are spent with me than with the others, for I, too, watch you, much as you watch me.”

My mind reeled at his words. Surely I was not comprehending what his voice was telling me. I had passed into dream; I could not be awake. This was fantasy, my fantasy, being played out before me. Words I never hoped to hear in waking hours were being said as I listened.

“Legolas misses nothing, my friend. He knew of your feelings for me before you did, I think. And of mine for you. You have a good friend in Legolas, Boromir, better than you know. Elves miss nothing. You must have seen us speaking together, especially over the past week.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

“Since we set out, he has gone to great lengths to learn if your love for me had any chance at being returned. I found myself living under his constant scrutiny, and the more he watched me, the harder I tried to disguise my feelings for you. After the crebain passed over us today, he said four words to me. ‘He does not know.’”

“What are you saying?”

He leaned close to me, his face inches from mine. “Do you not know, Boromir?” He took my face in his hands and kissed me. He tasted of sweet springtime, of gentle rains, of rich earth and the sun warm on my skin. Of tobacco and leather, and spicy herbs. Stars streaked across the skies, the moon shone and clouds wereisheished. My world changed.

I had never been kissed before. Oh, I had kissed, or what in my mind passed for kissing; a violent clash of teeth, lips and tongues, smeared with saliva. How little I had understood. His lips were gentle and caressing. His tongue was delicate in its exploration of my lips, my mouth. His kiss was an invitation and a promise, a covenant of love and understanding. It wanted nothing more than I could give and asked nothing in return. Kiss followed kiss, soft sweet gentle kisses of warmth and acceptance. I gazed into his warm grey eyes and saw love reflected. I laid my cheek on his shoulder and wept.

For the first time since we left Rivendell, I knew peace.

The first time ever I lay with you
And felt your heart so close to mine
I knew our joy would fill the world
And would last until the end of time...

“Boromir, give the Ring to Frodo.” I was startled out of my contemplation of the plain gold band suspended by a fine mithril chain. “As you wish,” I replied. “I care not.” I looked at Frodo, standing ankle deep in snow, nose running, cheeks bright red with cold. I handed the Ring back, and rumpled the hair on his head. I glanced at Aragorn and was stunned to see him relax his grip on the hilt of his sword. I turned quickly to hide the pain I felt. Alone, it seemed, I continued to trudge my way through the cold, wet snow.

We made our way up the mountain, to near ruin. A storm came up and piles of snow crashed down from the mountain ledges above. Merry and Pippin were in my care, and it was becoming clear to me that the halflings would not long endure such bitter conditions. Aragorn pleaded with Gandalf to turn back, but the obstinate wizard pressed us forward until we were nearly buried alive in snow. After some discussion, our course was left to Frodo to decide. After a moment’s thought he decided we would face the Mines of Moria. Aragorn and I forged a path through the snow after Legolas discovered that the snows ended a short way down Caradhras.

It was exhausting work, made even more difficult by the heaviness in my heart. Why had he grasped his sword? Would he have drawn against me? I had but looked at the Ring. I had not seen it at the Council, except for the brief period when Frodo displayed it for all to see. Yes, I had argued for using it against Mordor, but I accepted the will of the Council. Those in attendance know much more about Isildur’s Bane than do I. A thought struck me. Did Aragorn, Isildur’s Heir, want the Ring for himself? He had sworn to protect Frodo, and I knew him well enough to know that he would not break that vow, even if it meant his own death. But if he wanted the Ring while I held it, well, he had sworn no vow to me. We continued to work in uncomfortable silence.

Aragorn and I made several trips up and down the steep path of the Redhorn Gate, carrying down both halflings and gear. I had volunteered to make one final trip to ensure we had collected everything, but on the descent I stumbled. Whether it was due to weariness or because I had grown numb with cold I could not say. My clothes, wet with snow, had become terribly heavy. I began to shiver violently and my teeth chattered so hard I could no longer speak. I could not raise myself off the ground and I began to feel very disoriented. I closed my eyes and turned my thoughts inward to find a last spark of warmth.

I heard Gimli call out to Legolas and Aragorn and heard my name mentioned. I felt strong arms roll me onto my back, then lift me up out of the snow. I was cradled across his chest as though I were a small child. With great effort I raised my head slightly and opened my eyes. I caught a glimpse of long golden hair. Elves are a constant surprise. Gimli pressed the halflings into service, gathering supplies for a roaring fire. Aragorn collected every cloak, wrap and blanket that could be found. Strong hands removed my sodden clothing and I moaned as the cold air hit my skin. I felt myself grow numb and I was overcome with lassitude. I felt myself slipping away, leaving icy cold and agony behind me.

Pippin told me later, during one of our watches together in the Mines, of the frantic moments that followed my lapse into unconsciousness and the long hours that followed. Gandalf tried to force some miruvor into me, but it had no effect. When that failed to revive me, the company grew alarmed. “We thought you were dying,” Pippin told me. Aragorn began to remove all his clothing and told Legolas to do the same.” The two are of similar height to me, though I am broader than both. “Aragorn told us that we needed to get you warm. He and Legolas were going to lay on either side of you, then we were to wrap the three of you as tightly as we could with cloaks and blankets. So we moved you as close to the fire as we dared, then wrapped you up.”

“Why did they remove their clothing, Master Peregrin?” I did not understand why Aragorn had gone to such drastic lengths. It seemed to be an unusual method to use to warm a man.

“Everything we had to wear was soaking wet,” he replied. “If we had wrapped you up with their clothing on you would have died for certain.” Pippin gave me a wide-eyed look. “You must have been very cold, Boromir. Aragorn gasped when he laid next to you. Even Legolas looked cold. After about 15 minutes, Aragorn told Gandalf and Gimli to ready themselves. You were making them cold instead of getting warmer yourself. Merry and I were afraid we’d be next, after the others. Aragorn told us to remove the blankets, then Gimli and Gandalf took their places while Aragorn and Legolas got warm again.” Pippin shuddered from the memory. Pippin told me that it took almost two hours before I began to stir, and the “big people” kept changing places until Aragorn was satisfied I would live. “After you moved a bit, you started shivering. I’ve never seen anyone shake so hard, and you kept moaning and crying out. It must have hurt dreadfully.”

I have vague memories of feeling beginning to return to my body. I felt as though I was being pierced with thousands of sharp blades. My muscles screamed in agony as sensation returned and I shook down to my bones. I recall being enveloped in a fiery warmth that was as painful as it was soothing. I tried to press myself into the source of the heat, to draw it into my bones but it was as elusive as air. I told Pippin about these feelings and I remarked that I must have been trying to gather the campfire into my chest. He shook his head vigorously. “No, you were holding Aragorn. We thought you were going to crush him, but he wouldn’t let us pull you away.” I must have looked startled at this revelation, but Pippin continued.

“Once you started sringring, Aragorn and Legolas moved you back from the fire a bit so you wouldn’t get too warm. Gandalf and Aragorn ran their hands all over you to see how cold you were,” I flushed at this, “Aragorn lay next to you and Legolas covered you both up. That’s when you started to press yourself into him. Aragorn gasped a few times but he wouldn’t let us help him. He said you were seeking warmth and that he didn’t think you would hurt him. I think you bruised his ribs, but you will never get him to admit that.”

“After you stopped shivering, Aragorn told everyone to get some rest ahat hat he would tend you during the night. Legolas volunteered to sit with him in case he needed to sleep, but Aragorn said he didn’t think it would be necessary. I don’t think Legolas agreed with him, because he stayed up anyway. I could hear Aragorn’s voice talking to you, but I fell asleep. We were very worried about you, Boromir.” Pippin regarded me with a serious expression on his face. “Merry and I are sorry we caused you so much trouble, Boromir. You saved us from freezing to death, and almost died of cold yourself. Gandalf was right, we should have returned to the Shire.”

“Apologies are not necessary, Peregrin Took. Although Elrond placed no oath or pledge on us when we departed I think we all feel beholden to the Fellowship. I thank you for helping save my life.” I embraced the halfling. “I consider you a brother, Peregrin Took, and I would be honored if you would regard me as one.”

“Brothers,” he said. “Can Merry be our brother, too?” he asked.

At this I laughed. “Of course he can.” Pippin brightened. “Thank you for telling me about my rescue. I owe much to the ‘big people’ and I will find a way to repay my debt to them.”

Gimli and Legolas approached to relieve us from our duties. Pippin and I made our way over to where the members of the Company lay sprawled in various postures of repose. The halflings, as usual, were a tangle of arms and legs. Pippin crawled over, grabbed his cloak, and rested his head on Sam’s elbow. Perhaps it was Frodo’s knee. It was difficult to tell in the gloom of the mines what part belonged to which hobbit. Within moments, Pippin’s light snores had joined the chorus.

I made my way over to Aragorn. Since that terrible night on the upper slopes of Caradhras, Aragorn had, by his own choice, slept next to me. This was the first time I had the early watch so I was unsure whether I should presume I would be sleeping next to him. I paused next to his still form while I pondered my next move. There was plenty of space for me near Gandalf, and I could barely tell where the elf and the dwarf had rested before their turn for duty began.

“Come lie down,” his voice whispered. “I am chilled and have need of your warmth.” Aragorn patted the blanket next to him.

“Do you want the inside or outside?” I enquired, as I removed my hauberk and mail. Unlike the dwarf, I cannot sleep in armor. Some soldiers can; I am not one of them, nor, thankfully, is he. It was difficult enough to learn to sleep in boots.

He thought for a moment, then said, “Inside.” He turned onto his side and I obliged him by wrapping my frame around him so that he was nestled inside the curve of my body dra draped my arm over his chest and pulled him into me. The hollow of my shoulder served as a pillow for his dark head. I pulled my heavy cloak over us and I felt him relax back into slumber. As he slept, I thought back to the morning after my rescue.

The eastern sky had begun to fade into a deep blue. I smelled the smoke of a wood fire nearby and felt the rough cloth of a homespun blanket next to my skin. My body ached as though from overuse. I felt warm breath on the back of my neck and realized I was fully within someone’s embrace. I stirred and was rewarded with Aragorn’s eyes staring into my own. I rolled onto my back and he cradled my head in the crook of his arm, then turned onto his side and regarded me.

“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly, so as not to disturb the others. He looked drained, as though he had not slept during the night.

“As though I lost to a legion of orcs. What happened? I have no memory of coming down the mountain, but it seems that we did.” My voice sounded hoarse to my ears.

“You nearly died last night.” His eyes seemed to glisten with unshed tears. “I thought I had lost you.” His voice shook. “Legolas carried you down the mountain and we all worked most of the night to warm you. Your skin was so cold!”

My eyes widened at this. “I remember falling and I remember being cold. I thought I had dreamed that Legolas was carrying me.” I closed my eyes. I was so tired. I looked back up at him. “I will be fine, Aragorn. I am weary and my body aches, but I did not sustain any lasting harm.” I started to pull myself into a sitting position, but Aragorn bade me to lie back down. He reached over to a pile of clothing nearby and slipped his tunic over his head. The sun had not yet risen and it was still quite cold, despite the glow from the embers of the fire.

“Turn onto your stomach,” he requested. I did as he bade me, and I was rewarded by the feel of his hands on me, kneading my sore muscles, massaging my back, my shoulders, my aching thighs. He continued his ministrations as the sky slowly lightened into the soft pinks, deep purples and clear blues of dawn. He turned me onto my back and continued his attentions on my legs, chest and arms. At first I found comfort in the strong pressure of his fingers and hands on my flesh. The aches and pains of the day before had lessened considerably, but with his continued attention came a new concern-I was becoming aroused.

Naked as I was, there was no polite way of hiding my growing erection from Aragorn. I was so newly come to love that every misstep seemed fraught with the potential for disaster. Simply put, I did not trust in love, did not trust that I loved Aragorn enough, or that he loved me enough, to overcome any unintended slights. He tells me he loves me, and I believe him, but we had not yet learned the rhythm of each other. Love, I am learning, is a dance whose steps must be learned together. And in learning to dance, toes are often at risk. And so it was with us. The potential for hurt was there while we learned love’s dance.

Aragorn continued to work the aches out of my muscles, ignoring the obvious state of my discomfort. “Aragorn,” I pleaded. “Stop. Please.”

“Not yet.” He reached into his nearby pack and removed a small vial. He poured some of the liquid into his hands and warmed it within them. As the temperature of the fluid rose, I could smell a rich, spicy scent on the air. “This will feel warm on the skin, but will ease much of the discomfort that is remaining.” He worked swiftly, yet firmly, rubbing the oil deep into my skin. Once again I was turned over onto my stomach as he tended to my back and shoulders. I sighed as the liquid worked its magic, the heat penetrating into my body. I allowed myself to relax into the feeling of bliss.

Aragorn ran his hands lightly over my bare flanks, then stood. I crossed my arms under my head and watched him move about the fire, placing the oil he had used back in his pack, gathering several blankets, and looking through my gear for dry clothing. He quickly located an old shirt I carried then returned to my side and handed it to me. The halflings were still sleeping; Gimli and Gandalf had not stirred. Legolas had kept watch the entire night and was standing a short distance from our site.

As he requested, I put on the shirt Aragorn had brought to me, then he walked over to the elf. In what was becoming a daily ritual for the two, Legolas asked Aragorn a question in the tongue of elves and Aragorn responded. Aragorn continued to speak to the elf for a moment, then turned, beckoned to me to follow him.

Rising from the blankets was more difficult than I anticipated. My muscles, massaged as they had been, were still very stiff and protested vehemently as I struggled to stand. I hobbled toward Aragorn as best as I could manage. As I moved toward him I felt my legs stretch; each step was becoming easier and by the time I reached him I was beginning to move with some of my usual ease.

“Where...” I started to say, but Aragorn placed a finger over my lips and took my hand in his, then laced his fingers through mine. He started to lead me back up the path we had trodden the day before, but turned aside and followed a small trail leading off to the north. The path wound through a stand of tall spruce trees, their needles forming a soft blanket on the ground, their scent adding a spicy tang to the rich smells of morning. Once past the trees, Aragorn led me toward a small promontory, then spread out the blankets near its base.

“Close your eyes,” he said in a soft voice, as though he did not want to break the stillness of the dawn. I did as he asked. Aragorn took my hands in his and carefully led me up the slope toward the edge of the point. He turned me slightly, then stood behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist, his chin on my shoulder. I reveled in the feel of him, in the smell of him, in the nearness of him. I rested my arms on his, covered his hands with mine and leaned back into him.

“I place the world at your feet, my love. Open your eyes.”

He was true to his word. The world was at my feet. I looked out over the great valley of Eriador, nestled within the curve of the Misty Mountains, stretching as far as the eye could see. Far below me I could just make out the twisting ribbons of the Greyflood and the Loudwater Rivers. To the south I could see the plains of Eredwaith, the northernmost reaches of my land, Gondor. Morning mists clung to some parts of the valley, yet the west reaches were slowly being revealed by the rising sun. The sun had not yet climbed as high as Caradhras-parts of the valley still lay shrouded in shadow and mystery. We stood in silence, wrapped in love. I turned within his encircling arms and kissed him deeply. “No steward has ever received a more kingly gift.” I placed my arms on top of his shoulders, then kissed him again and again. I wanted to spend the day looking at my world and kissing the man I love.

“It is no less than you deserve,” he said, smiling into my eyes. “I do not think you realize the depths of my love for you, how utterly bereft I would be without you.” He paled suddenly with the dawning comprehension of how close to death I had come. His eyes grew wide, and he pulled me tightly into his chest. I felt him begin to tremble with the fear of what might have been.

“Hush. Hush,” I said, in a vain effort to comfort him. “Fear not. I am well. Healed by your efforts. ‘The hands of the king are the hands of a healer, and so shall the rightful king be known,’ as ‘tis said in Minas Tirith.” I led him to the blankets and bade him to sit with me.

Aragorn looked troubled, then started to speak. “Were it within my power I would plight my troth with you at this very moment. I would speak words that would bind your heart to mine throughout eternity. But you are aware, as I am, that the line of Stewards and the line of Kings must continue. You have a brother, ‘tis true, but Boromir, I am the last of the heirs of Isildur. I am pledged to Arwen and will not break faith with her.” His voice was deep with emotion, his eyes echoing the intensity of his words. “Oh Boromir, do you not ken the desire I have for you? How very desperately I want you? How passionately I love you?”

“I have loved you since the first time ever w yow you,” I replied, “and would be your Consort if you were but any other man. You will be king, Aragorn, and Arwen will be your queen. But I will continue to love you for the rest of my days, and if it is my fate to be your Steward, I will serve you in every way you command.”

“Only by command?” he questioned. “Do you not likewise desire me?” He suddenly seemed tentative, uncertain, afraid.

My eyes widened at this. I had wanted him since we left Rivendell, wanted the taste of him, the feel of his hands on me, the press of his body against mine. I wanted to breathe in the very essence of him and make him part of me. I wanted so much for him to claim me and mark me as his own. And he believed that I wanted no part of a physical union with him.

I stripped off my shirt and knelt before him. I placed my hands on the ground and presented my flanks to him. “Take me,” I said simply.

Aragorn walked to my side, then said gently. “My love, this is not the way.” I sat back and regarded him quizzically. He knelt in front of me. “You have, by your own admission, coupled with soldiers and lain with whores. But those were acts performed to satisfy lust or some other need, physical acts as meaningless as they were brief. If all I felt were need, Boromir, I would take care of it myself. But I want more than that from you.”

“Aragorn, I do not understand. I am offering myself, but you are refusing me. Why?” My heart was pounding, the taste of fear was metallic. I did not want to contemplate life without Aragorn at its center.

“You offered me your body, Boromir. I want to touch your soul. Do you not know the difference?”

The bewilderment I felt must have been reflected in my expression. Again, my inexperience had created a breach between us, but as ever, he stepped across it and gave of himself t.
.

He took my face in his hands, leaned over, and kissed me deeply. My lips responded to the pressure of his mouth and they parted to allow his tongue entry. He delicately touched his tongue to my lips, then entered my mouth and slowly explored within. I could feel my pulse quicken and my cock start to stiffen. He drank of me, then pulled away, leaving me gasping and wanting more.

“I kissed you thus because I know it gives you pleasure. I have learned how you like to be kissed, as you are learning what pleases me,” he murmured. “I do this for the joy it brings you. To make love, Boromir, is to share each other, to give pleasure to your partner. Each becomes subservient to the other, because at all times your pleasure comes from having given it yourself.”

He paused, then regarded me, his eyes searching for some anticipated response. “Do you trust me enough to give yourself to me completely, my love?”

I thought back unwillingly to yesterday morning to that moment when I saw him release his hand from the hilt of his sword. In truth, until that moment, I trusted Aragorn with my life, but it never occurred to me that he would ever feel the need to use force against me. “I believe so, Aragorn,” I said hesitantly.

“You do not trust me?” Surprise and hurt were evident in his voice, in the set of his shoulders. It was as if I had dealt him an unexpected blow. “Boromir, there canbe lbe love without trust. Yet you say you love me, and I know that to be true. Why, then, is there doubt in trusting me?”

I knew that we had reached a critical moment and that whatever I said would have far-reaching consequences. “Yesterday, on the mountain,” I said slowly, “when I returned the Ring to Frodo, I saw you release your sword. I do not understand why you grasped it in the first place. Would you have drawn against me? I must know, Aragorn, why you thought me a threat.” Some of the betrayal I felt at that moment crept into my voice.

“Because of the Ring,” he replied. “The Ring is very seductive, and very subtle in its designs. If you had not given the Ring back to Frodo, I would have known that it had ensnared you and that the only way I would be able to see it back to the Ringbearer would be through force. I knew it was testing you, Boromir, and I did not know how you would fare. In truth, I do not know how I would have fared if our circumstances had been reversed.” His mien was serious and his voice held the ring of truth. “I do know that if I had been forced to strike you down, the Ring would attempt to work on me. In all likelihood, I, too, would have been overcome and Gandalf, or perhaps Legolas, would have had to move against me as well. I would not have taken that path if I thought any other were open to me. Do you believe yet that the Ring is thoroughly evil? No other power in Middle-Earth could force my hand against you. Please believe me, Boromir,” his voice shook as he spoke, “there was no other way.”

The Ring. That accursed circle of shining gold. I felt as though I stood at the edge of a precipice. A choice was before me. The Ring or Aragorn. I thought of the stunning beauty, the utter simplicity of that gleaming band of gold hanging from its mithril chain, and the hidden power I sensed within it. The things I could accomplish with such a tool, the wrongs I could right! Minas Tirith as the center of power in Middle-Earth.

I thought then of the simple man before me, the strength of will and purpose he possessed, the quiet dignity, the great love he bears for me. I thought of dark hair streaming in the breeze, the warmth of those grey eyes I so loved, his prowess as hunter, tracker, defender. I would not let Sauron’s trinket come between us. I turned from the Ring and into his arms. “Thank you for telling me, love. I understand now. Yes, love, I do trust you,” I murmured to him softly. I kissed him, the firm pressure from my lips parting his, my tongue running over his teeth, his lips until his mouth opened slightly, welcoming me inside. We knelt, kisses becoming more demanding, more intense with every passing moment. Again, I felt the familiar stirrings within my loins. I wanted, how desperately I wanted, but I did not know what it was I desired. I felt Aragorn change position, then he pulled me to him.

“Let me hold you. Relax into my arms,” he instructed, “and let me love you.” He cradled my shoulders and head in his stroeft eft arm as I lay across his chest, then bent over me and kissed me again. “I would learn your body, my love. I want to know every inch of you, what pleases you and what does not. You will need to guide me, love.” I nodded since I no longer felt capable of speech. His kisses leave me breathless.

I wrapped my right arm across his hips and pulled him close to me. His gaze captured mine as his hand began to explore my face. He ran his fingertips lightly over my cheees, es, down my nose, across my quivering lips. His fingers continued their exploration down my throat and across my chest. My skin tingled at his touch and my breathing quickened. “You like this?” he said softly. Again I nodded. He teased at my right nipple, which hardened under his touch. The pull in loins tightened as my erection hardened. While his thumb was paying ministrations to my right nipple, Aragorn’s tongue began to circle and flick at my left. My breathing was becoming ragged. His hand began to work its way down to my abdomen and with the palm of his hand he rubbed my belly with ever widening circles, each pass coming closer and closer to my aching cock. He raised his head and kissed me again. “Shall I continue?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” I gasped. The wanting was driving me mad. His hand continued its slow torment, coming ever closer, but not touching me in the manner I wanted to be touched. I felt myself starting to lose control. Sensations I had never known were coursing through me. Blood boiled in my veins, my breath sounded harsh to my ears. “Aragorn, please,” I pleaded, “I cannot last much longer. Do what you must, and do it quickly.”

“Do not attempt to control yourself, Boromir. It is a skill you do not yet possess. Surrender yourself to what you feel, my love. Let me lead you where I will. I would give you endless pleasure. Trust me,” he said softly, kissing my temple as he spoke his words against my cheek. He lay me down on my back then removed his tunic. Rolling onto his left side, he stretched his length against mine. His hand stopped its circling, then he ran his fingers up the inside of my leg, teasing me. One finger ran up my sac and at that I was undone. Fluid spurted forth onto my abdomen. I felt myself flush in shame.

From under the blanket, Aragorn removed a soft cloth he had placed there, and wiped up the warm secretions. I could not meet his eyes. I felt like an untried lad. “There is no shame in passion, Boromir. Did I not tell you to surrender to me? Trust me,” he said again, and my embarrassment lessened. He was, as usual, right.

“We now know you enjoy being touched. Let us see what other pleasures we might discover,” said my teacher. His hand began to stroke my slightly flaccid cock, and in moments I was hard again. He positioned himself between my legs and took one foot in his hands and suckled a toe. I stared at him, and he ceased. “Some people, particularly elves, find the foot to be very sensitive. ‘Tis not that way with you. Nor with me,” he confessed, “but I did not know if you would enjoy that particular diversion until I tried.”

He lowered his head to the back of my knee and his tongue began to trace a path up my leg. I drew a sharp breath as his mouth worked on my testes. I had never felt that before, his breath hot on my balls, his tongue teasing the sac. I shuddered with pleasure and tried to stifle the moans I felt rising in my throat. My hands clenched his hair and my legs parted with a jerk. He continued his way up, his tongue licking the entire length of my cock. The world reeled and I felt myself carried away by waves of passion.

Curling himself around me, Aragorn laid his head on my abdomen and took me in his mouth. He teased, suckled, nibbled, sensation running the length of my shaft. I felt the beginnings of another surge and tried to pull his head away, but he would not be gainsaid from his work. As I began to come, again, he suckled and swallowed the stream of my passion. My body was shining from a light layer of sweat. My pulse was pounding in my ears and the world swam before my eyes. I gave myself over to the feelings coursing through me. But he had not yet finished.

“I told you I want you, my love. Are you now ready to give yourself to me, to give me release, to let me make love to you?”

“I am yours, milord. I give myself over to you,” I replied honestly. He had given me so much pleasure, so much love, so much joy, but had taken nothing from me. I would refuse him nothing.

My lover reached under the blanket again and extracted a small vial of some liquid. He uncorked the small bottle and poured a lightly scented oil into his hands, allowing it to warm. “Hold out your hand,” he bade me. I did as he requested and he poured a small bit of oil into my hand. “Do you like the scent?” he asked. I inhaled. The oil had a warm, spicy aroma. “Taste it,” he said. I dipped a fingertip into the fluid and placed a tiny drop on my tongue. The taste was much as it smelled, an intoxicating blend of spice and herbs. It made me think of deep forests, tall trees, rich earth. It was a very seductive scent.

“Mmmm. It reminds me of . . .elves.” I said.

“Legolas would like hearing that,” he chuckled. “Now, ‘tis your turn to touch me.” He guided my hand down to his own stiff cock. “Rub that into me,” he instructed. I complied, taking his penis in my hand, reveling in the feel of the soft skin of it. My hand explored its length, the hardness of the shaft, the heat of the tip. I felt myself hardening again as I touched him.

“Will you lie on your back and raise your legs?” he asked. Understanding flooded me as I complied with his request. I had never been taken in such a fashion, indeed, I was seldom taken at all, but strangely, I felt no trepidation, no dread of what was to come. In fact, I welcomed it. Since laying eyes on him, I had wanted him to claim me for his own. All that I had wanted was about to come true.

He looked into my face and found love there. His eyes were eloquent and spoke more expressively than words ever could. At that moment I felt a part of him. He had wanted to touch my soul, he said, and he found that he had not only touched it, but that it had been given to him to do with as he would.

His hands massaged the oil into my flanks and his fingers found the passage between them. He rubbed the fluid into me, then I guided the tip of his shaft up to my opening. I felt him push against me, and I relaxed to grant him entry. For a brief moment I knew pain as he pushed his way into my flesh. Some expression of that must have found its way into my eyes for he started to apologize and stopped his motion. “No, do not stop.” He continued to make his way within, then withdrew a bit, then pushed farther within my body. He stopped to allow me to adjust to the feel of him, to relax myself a bit more to ease his way. Moments later he thrust, hard, into me and found a place within me that exploded with pleasure. I cried out with the intensity of the feelings from within.

Aragorn began to move within me, each thrust bringing an intensity of pleasure I had never known. Each movement tore sounds from deep within me. My hands clenched his hips as I rode the crest of the wave of pleasure. For the third time, jets of fluid spurted forth, but I no longer cared about small things like control. I surrendered myself to pure sensation and stared into my lover’s face--and saw the sun reflected there. As he continued, I basked in the heat of our passion, in the glow of his love, in the shining of his eyes. Time ceased. Eternity stretched before us, and somewhere in the vastness of it, I found his soul and joined with it. He kissed me as he released his essence deep within me. He collapsed on top of me and I rejoiced in the weight of him. I could not say how long we lay there, but when he lifted his head and his eyes met mine, I was rewarded with the sight of tears of joy glistening in his eyes.

All too soon we realized we should return to the campsite. We cleaned ourselves as best as we could, then gathered blankets, donned tunics I don’t remember removing and obliterated all traces of our presence. I could not resist looking back over Eriador before we left and once again marveled at the vista stretching out before me. I turned and saw Aragorn smiling at my delight in the day. I felt that my heart could not contain the happiness within and returned his smile with one of my own. No words were necessary. I was his forever.

We started back down the path and met Legolas on the way. Once again, he asked Aragorn a question in the tongue of Elves, but this time Aragorn gave a different response. Legolas looked very pleased and looking at me, replied in Common Speech, “I do not believe I need to ask. It is written on his face.” He turned and led us down the mountain.

“Every morning for the past month Legolas has asked you the same question, and until now you have given him the same reply. Will you not tell me what transpires between you?” I asked with not a small bit of curiosity.

“What do think he was asking me?” Aragorn replied lightly.

“I thought he was asking if you had slept well, or some other such greeting.”

Aragorn’s rich laugh echoed through the trees. “Nay, meleth nîn. I thought you spoke some elvish. I am glad now that you do not, something nonetheless I will rectify as we travel. What you heard him ask me was whether I had taken you as a lover yet. At first he was needling me, but when he learned of your love for me I began to think of it as a warning.”

“A warning?” I questioned.

“I told you that Legolas has been a good friend to you. I believe he wanted to ensure that I would not cause you any hurt. This morning, when he asked if we were lovers yet, I told him to ask you. You heard his reply. Love shines in your face, Boromir, and it is beautiful.”

Stirrings from the man within my arms pulled me back into the present, into the dark of Moria, where I held my lover as he slept. I murmured softly to him and he quieted. I had wanted his claim on me, and having it, found my place within the Fellowship. The rhythm of Aragorn’s breathing, slow and steady in slumber, lulled me to sleep. All would be well.

***

Legolas looked down at the two men as they slept, dark hair and auburn hair blending together, each nestled within the embrace of the other. Even while sleeping, their love for each other was evident to any who wished to look. They had been given a rare gift and he took joy in knowledge that each man recognized the treasure for what it was. He could not say how long he looked upon them, so perfect they were in their union. He placed a hand lightly on the head of each man and said softly to the dark, “May the Valar ever watch over you.”