Title & Chapter Number: Everholt 6-7/?
Author(s): - Author's Index
Website: Dalo's Archive
Fandom: Middle Earth
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Characters not mine. I'm just a guy who loves guys loving guys, filling in some gaps, with all due respect to Tolkien.
Warnings: Slash (duh), Angst. Homosexual relationships and acts. Nothing kinky, but definitely down and dirty at times (we're talkin' NC-17, folks). You gotta problem wit dat? Here's a tip: DON'T READ IT!!!
Betas: Elfscribe (Luv ya!)
Cast: Boromir/Théodred
Timeline: Third Age
Spoilers: None
Summary: Radagast takes it upon himself to heal Boromir's broken heart by encouraging the Gondorian to take a trip down memory lane.
Notes: This fic is part of the same story arc which began with "The Hand of the King," my first fic, and will continue with "The Heart of the King."
Chapter 6 – Everholt, July, 3005, TA
The sun was setting over the mountains as I arrived late in the afternoon to find you already at the hearth. You wore a white tunic and leather leggings with sandals on your feet. The lightweight fabric clung to your muscular torso and instantly awakened the animal within. I had not thought until that moment of how I would greet you. What I would have liked was to take you in my arms and kiss you with all the desire I had constrained over the last year. But as soon as I saw you, I froze. You must have heard me enter the clearing, for you turned from the hearth to look in my direction.
As your eyes met mine, your face lit up like a bonfire on a cold winter night. "Boromir!" you exclaimed.
"Greetings, Théodred, son of Théoden," I answered, still unmoving. I decided to maintain at least the appearance of formality until I ascertained your current state of mind. Although you appeared to be genuinely happy to see me, I was unwilling to trust that just yet. You dropped the tongs you held and crossed the distance between us in several long strides. Before I could react, you had wrapped your arms around me in a warm embrace. My heart was racing as I returned the hug. I inhaled deeply, my face buried in your soft blond hair. You smelled of soap and sweat and smoke, as if you had bathed moments before you stepped before the hearth. I squeezed my arms tighter around you, unwilling to release you.
"Careful, Boromir," you said with a laugh. "I may be strong, but I am not indestructible."
I released you and stepped back. "My apologies," I said.
You responded by playfully punching me in the chest. "No apologies necessary. You can't help it if you don't realize your own strength," you said as you squeezed my upper arm. Your touch sent fireworks through my body. I had thought of little else for the last year and now you stood before me.
But what were you thinking? How did you remember our last encounter? Had you wiped the evening's passion from your memory? Or were you hoping to recreate those moments of ecstasy as much as I?
"It is good to see you again, Prince Théodred," I said, understating the depth of my joy.
You laughed and said, "You sound so officious, Boromir. Is that really necessary between us?"
Perhaps you *did* remember what had transpired. "What do you mean?" I asked, attempting to draw you out.
"After everything we shared last year, I hardly think we need to stand on formalities. Don't you agree?"
Your ambiguity was driving me mad. "You have a point," I acquiesced.
"Come, sit down. Make yourself comfortable." You turned and gestured towards the table, which was spread with linen, plates, and silverware.
And wine glasses. A bottle of Meril's Mysteries of Mirkwood sat open in the middle of the table next to two lit candles.
"Actually," I said, "I think I'd like to cool off with a dip in the stream."
You turned to look at me and our eyes locked. "Very well," you said with a smile. You held my gaze until I could bear it no longer. I broke the contact and dropped my pack where I stood.
"I won't be but a moment," I said, turning to exit the clearing.
"Hurry back," you said. I didn't stop walking, but my heart thrilled at the thought of you missing me.
I reached the stream and disrobed. I took a quick bath in the cool water and dried myself with my shirt, having no intention of wearing it again that evening.
When I returned to the clearing, you were brushing a red sauce on slabs of sizzling meat that were skewered on a spit over the hearth fire. You looked at me, and if my bare torso distracted you at all, your face did not register it.
"Why don't you pour us each a glass of wine," you suggested.
"With pleasure," I responded in a voice huskier than I had intended. I moved to the table, my hand trembling with excitement as I poured the deep burgundy wine into two crystal glasses. I gripped the sides of the stone slab to steady myself, took a deep breath, held it for a moment and then released it. Lifting both glasses, I carried them back to the hearth.
"Your wine, good prince," I said, holding out a glass to you. You looked at me and took it from my hand.
"Thank you, Boromir." Once again, you held my gaze, refusing to allow me to look away. "Would you like to make the toast?"
I thought for a moment and then lifted my glass and said, "To continued productive meetings at Everholt." I brought the glass to my lips. But before I could drink, you spoke.
"No, no. Again, too officious." You still held your glass between us.
"Very well," I said. "You make the toast."
You paused in contemplation and then said, "To a deep and lasting relationship between Gondor and Rohan."
I looked into your eyes, attempting to discern any hidden meaning in your toast. But I saw nothing except a friendly gesture.
"To Gondor and Rohan," I replied. We both drained our glasses.
You brought your empty glass to eye level, examining the few remaining drops in the bottom of the glass. "Meril's Mysteries. A true elixir of life."
"And how many bottles did you bring?" I asked.
"No, no, no. Not after last year. I learned my lesson well. My headache lingered for a week. No, I brought only one this year."
"Truly?"
"Truly. Now go sit down and pour us another glass. Dinner is almost ready," you said, handing me your glass and turning back to the hearth. I looked down on the generous slabs of meat. For the first time since I arrived I took notice of another scent besides yours.
"By the gods, what is that?" I asked, my mouth beginning to water. The aroma was intoxicating.
"Beef ribs," you replied. "Smoked and roasted."
"And what are you basting it with?" I asked. I was curious. Though the son of the Steward of Gondor, I grew up in a kitchen and enjoyed the activities that took place there.
"A sauce I have been working on for several years. It holds tomatoes, some turned apple juice, molasses and a number of spices. Here." You dipped your forefinger in the bowl of thick sauce and held it up to my face. "Taste."
I hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. Should I take this gesture as an enticement to intimacy? OR should I accept it as a simple invitation to taste the sauce. I decided to err on the side of caution in this instance, and innocently took the tip of your finger between my lips, allowing my tongue to touch it ever so slightly. I sucked the sauce off your finger and allowed it to sit on my tongue to savor the sweet, smoky taste.
"Well, what do you think?" you asked, your face eager for approval. I thought I detected a slight tremor in your voice.
I smiled, hopefully mischievously, and said, "Tantalizing."
"Truly? You like it?"
"Truly. I can't wait to taste it on the meat."
I could not believe I had just said that out loud.
I thought I saw a glint in your eye as you smiled and said, "Me neither."
Our eyes were locked for a moment that seemed like eternity.
Once again, I broke our gaze. "Wine. More wine," I muttered as I turned and walked to the table.
~*~*~*~
Chapter 7 – Lothlórien, January, 3019, TA
"There was something about that wine," said Boromir. He fell silent for a moment, apparently lost in thought.
I could not tell from Boromir's tale if Théodred had been playing Boromir or Boromir had been playing Théodred. It was my strong suspicion that they had been playing each other. I sensed two strategists appraising their opponents, not in battle but in sport. It seemed a game.
An intriguing game, with extremely high stakes.
"Well, it sounds as if we were both enjoying ourselves, in any case," I said.
Boromir smiled at me. "It *was* fun, I must admit," he said.
"So how long did this verbal fencing go on?" I asked. "I can't imagine both of us having the strength to withstand each other's charms. One of us must have stumbled at some point during the evening."
"You would be surprised, Rohan."
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