The ride back was uneventful. The further from the borders they rode, the less impact had been made on the forest: fewer signs of fire, less noxious odours of burning oil, leather and flesh. Only the tents of the healers and the near silent elves carried on stretchers or carts gave a clue to the battle itself, though from many parts of the wood single and multiple voices were raised in laments for the fallen, for the trees, for loss… A few times, a vague odour, a tenuous whiff of an awful, sickly rotting, crossed their path, and that was worst of all. For that came from a distraught elf who had given up all hope, one who in their abject despair would not allow themselves to be helped or healed, but sought to travel to Mandos' Halls of their own volition… they call it 'fading', but that is not the truth of it. Elves rot from the inside out; until there is nothing left but skin over bone, and when the fea has gone that crumbles away to nothing, like dead leaves in a storm. It was a terrible thing.
Lord Celeborn needed to consult not only with his wardens and captains, but also with his Lady, what she had seen and done and what they might yet expect. Dol Guldur was defeated this time, but by no means as yet destroyed. When they reached the Great Chamber, Haldir dispatched young Tasarion to take the gondorian up to the room he and Boromir had used before, telling them to rest, bathe and take some ease.
"Lord Celeborn and I will return later to bathe and take some rest ourselves – we will do our best not to disturb you." He clapped the young elf on the shoulder. "You have fought well today, so I'm told. When you choose to make your lament, speak, and you will be released to do so."
Tasarion bowed his head, "Thank you, my lord. At present… I do not have the words…"
Haldir embraced him briefly in a comradely fashion, patted his shoulder, and left the elf to climb wearily up to the next level.
The chamberlain had set a large, closed urn of water over a charcoal brazier in the wash-room, not enough to fill the bath, but plenty to mix with a bucket of cold water and swill over one's self.
"My Lords will retire later; be sure to fill the urn so they may have hot water," he admonished.
"Of course," said Tasarion sharply, irritated that the other think him so boorish as not to take care that there was hot water for others use.
The chamberlain nodded. "I meant him," he said, indicating the man.
Tasarion set his chin. "Lord Boromir is perfectly aware of such etiquette!"
The chamberlain dipped his head. "Your pardon, then; I'll leave you. A tray is on the table for you."
He paused at the door, "If I may suggest… I've left spices and a warming pot; fill it with the red wine and leave it on top of the urn. It will be heated by the time you've bathed. You'll find the hot liquor a benefit to help you relax – both of you."
This time he smiled quickly in a kindly manner, dipping his head before leaving them alone.
"Thank you for coming to my defence," said Boromir, "But I'm used to my father's chamberlains. They always treat me like…" He stopped abruptly. "My father's chamberlains… my father… and a brother... I have a brother!"
Boromir beamed, the first really joyous smile Tasarion had seen on his face. "I have a brother!"
Then his face fell again, "I'm just not sure where…"
"Come," said Tasarion. "You go and wash – and here…" he dug the stoppered bottle the healer had given him from his pouch. "Put some of this on your leg."
Boromir took the bottle, opened it and sniffed; it smelt pungently of strong green herbs and something of quenched iron, maybe…
"You can join me if you like, there are two basins there…" he said, walking towards the panelled screen.
Tasarion shook his head, "No, no you go ahead - I'll prepare the wine and wash when you are done."
"As it please you…" Boromir was already stripping his tunic off as he walked.
The elf poured wine into the warming pot and mixed the ground spices into it well, then realised he would have to enter the washroom to put it to warm. He scratched the door.
"Come in," called Boromir.
Tasarion went in with the pot. Boromir was stark naked, twisting himself to look down at the back of his thigh.
"I don't think it's that bad, what do you say?"
Tasarion carefully placed the pot of wine to warm, before he turned to the man facing him, trying not to let his eyes linger on the heavy, torpid penis surrounded by dark curls, hanging ponderously above the wrinkled red sac… He corrected his gaze to the man's thigh, but it was near impossible not to keep looking at… 'Sweet Eru - it swung like a prize bull's!' Tasarion frowned at himself and tried to concentrate.
"I can't see how far round it goes…" Bormir shuffled around to present his rear. "Will you look?"
The elf leaned down obediently… until Boromir insouciantly turned back again.
Tasarion jerked upright from his stoop, "Not far. Wash the blood away and dab the lotion on. It's not deep." And made a hasty exit.
The elf could hear splashing water being poured from a height and falling into the metal bath, but he dragged his mind away from what was being washed. He placed food on both the waiting plates, poured beakers of water, drank some, mixed some wine and water and drank that, sorted himself out some fresh leggings and a shirt… by which time Boromir came out, still dripping, barely clad in a towel draped low around his hips.
"There are no clothes…"
"A robe, over the chair…" Tasarion quickly vanished into the washroom with his bundle of fresh clothes. "There's food on the table." he called from the other room.
Boromir dropped the towel on the chair and shrugged into the soft grey robe, tying it loosely with the waist cord. He picked up the towel and sat down gratefully, with a sigh, '…it felt so much better to be clean'. He scrubbed at his hair with the towel, before draining a beaker of watered wine He thought he'd wait for Tasarion to rejoin him before he ate; it seemed ill-mannered to start without him. Shortly Tasarion emerged, newly dressed in a long loose shirt that hung to mid-thigh over his fitted leggings.
'That boy really is thin' thought Boromir, "But then… 'boy' must be quite the wrong word for a being of his age!'
The elf brought out the pot of now pleasantly heated wine and poured beakers for them both. They sat, ate, drank, and Tasarion answered questions about what he had done and seen of the battle, about what numbers he judged to have been routed and where they had headed. Boromir filled the beakers again; almost without noticing, the two of them finished a substantial amount of wine, enough to make them both sleepy. Boromir yawned and stretched; his robe opening to reveal his bare torso down to the navel.
"I think I shall sleep now," he said, standing up; the loose robe falling open completely.
Tasarion struggled to keep his eyes on the man's face, "Of course. I shall also rest."
He got up and trimmed the lamps to their lowest setting, so all that remained was a soft glow. He did not need the light, but he had been told to leave them lit for the man's benefit.
Boromir walked the few paces to his bed and let the robe slide down his back. His shoulder was healing well; below it the smooth skin was golden in the lamp-light. As the man threw the robe over the nearby clothes chest, Tasarion again blushed to find himself staring at that tantalising pendulum of flesh, swinging enticingly with each movement. The elf turned and laid himself down quickly on his own bed, throwing the quilt over himself before he wriggled out of his leggings under the covers. They were right, the tales he had heard of men – these beings were dangerously seductive and infuriatingly intriguing! Boromir lay on his back under his quilt, one hand sleepily, but obviously, settling the focus of the elf's attention into a more comfortable position.
From the washroom came a soft murmur of voices, evidently Lord Celeborn and Lord Haldir had returned. The man's breathing deepened rapidly to a slow and regular rhythm. The soft sounds of wash-clothes rubbed over skin drew out into more lingering sweeps and the voices became simply the occasional whisper with long silences broken by poured water and sighs that verged on gentle groans. Soon soft footsteps padded out of the room to the bed-chamber beyond.
Tasraion slipped into reverie that became a warmth… indeed, very warm. Across the short distance between them he could see that Boromir evidently was also too hot. He had thrown back his quilt, and moved feverishly, his back arching, hips writhing gently. One hand slide up over his chest, then down his belly, and back up to catch at his hardened nipples between thumb and finger; he sighed as he pinched the rosy nubs. The other hand lazily stroked himself, fingers lightly ringing the engorged flesh that stood proud, swaying in the air when his hand slowly snaked down to cradle his sac before lingeringly tracing its way back up the thick column of taut, shiny flesh. Tasarion swallowed hard, unable to tear his eyes away, fearing that he had been observed, but the man's eyes were tight shut.
Boromir groaned with pleasure and sighed, his jaw slack with desire. Tasarion could smell him; smell the thick, warm scent of passion, as heady and sweet as the spiced wine… His palms itched to stroke the man's skin, knead that achingly ripe flesh… He slid from his bed and, amazed at his boldness, was drawn to the gently writhing body like a moth to the flame. And indeed it was like a flame, he could feel the waves of heat given off the man's body; it was as if the warmth radiated and entered his own body. Tasarion gasped and shuddered, the proximity was too much… he had to… touch…
He knelt by the bed and slid a tentative hand down Boromir's chest; the man arched into his touch. He slid his fingertips back up, then down, each time getting nearer to the dark curls, damp with sweat between the man's open thighs. Boromir's hips writhed in anticipation; his hand working the shaft more quickly in response to the elf's lightly caressing touch. Tasarion finally ran his fingers through the curls, down the hot pit of the man's groin to cup the full, heavy sac, lightly kneading the balls within, delighting that it made the man groan and cry out loud, and oooh… he wanted to hear that cry again!
He got up quickly and lightly straddled the man's thighs, keeping himself high, resting on his knees. Desire racing through him, he dropped back to his heels and let it take him. It was as if he could feel hands running up his body, but it felt like they were inside his skin. It was intoxicating; he felt light-headed, but wanted to growl like an animal…. Boromir's hands reached for his hips, but he knocked them away and inched back to feast his eyes on the glorious erection in front of him, much thicker than elven-kind, darker, the heavy veins pulsing with lust, with fire… He took it in hand and thrilled to feel it the hot flesh leap under his fingers. A tiny shining pearl of liquid formed in the tip, grew to a droplet that smeared into a shiny coating over the swollen glans. Boromir groaned and muttered, bucking and writhing, his arms stretched above his head as if held there. Tasarion felt an overwhelming desire to lick at the seeping pearl, wanting to taste, to relish…
Tasarion shifted, stooped and the tiny drop of hot, salty liquid was an explosion on his tongue that seared through his body. He lapped, wanting more and Boromir cried out, bucking hard in an effort to push his aching flesh into a willing recipient. Tasarion shook his muddled head, there were others… he could feel their presence at the edge of his mind, feel their desire now coursing through his body as well… He desperately wanted to be part of their love-making, and the passion that had so inflamed the man writhing under him.
Tasarion was wet between the legs with it, hot, unbearably hot. The elf took his hands from Boromir's body causing the man to gasp and moan at the sudden absence. He gathered his shirt up and stripped it off, throwing it away, and with the same gesture threw all caution to the wind and scrambled forward on his knees to position Boromir's urgent, quivering cock, between, beneath…
Boromir's hands were released. He grabbed the elf's hips, ran his hands up the body, feeling the warm above him, before gripping the slim hips tightly. He bucked upwards seeking gratification… and found soft smooth skin under his hands, slid into hot, silken flesh that parted easily… too easily, to his first eager thrust.
Tasarion cried out as he filled her. Tasarion was female…
Revelling for the first time in her femaleness, the perfect fit of their bodies, she drew back, her breath ragged, before sinking down slowly onto him again, trying to control the stretching of her body , as he tried to lunge up, to enter her fully.
Her mind fled into the dance of flesh and desire. She could feel Lord Celeborn potent aura, knew he was entwined with and entering his lover at the same time as Boromir was entering her, and the exultant rush of fierce joy made her bare her teeth and growl. Boromir found Lord Celeborn's slow and powerful rhythm, matched it stroke for ever-quickening thrusting stroke. Haldir panted, eyes silver to match his lord's, their thoughts, spirits, bodies in complete communion, radiating their ecstasy, barely aware in their absolute absorption in each other's desire of the coupling mirroring theirs a few feet away. But as Boromir and Tasarion's ardour mounted, it impinged upon the elven lords and they welcomed it into them and let their fire flow back to magnify the others' passionate love-making.
Tasarion arched back, tipping her hips so Boromir sank even further inside her; they both cried out. Waves of pleasure rippled through her. Boromir as Celeborn gasped and thrust again, Tasarion opened eagerly, rolling her hips to take him deeper, Haldir whimpered with desire bucking to accommodate the penetration, gasping… feeling Boromir's ardour within his lord, as his lord was within him… . Tasarion rode Boromir hard, as wave after tingling wave rolled over her, as if summer lightening flashed through her body and she was its only path to earth. Celeborn as Boromir anchored her to him, his hands welded to her hips; he, they, jerked, shuddered, thrust upwards and came within her… and within Haldir; he, they, roared to completion… No, no, not enough, Tasarion threw back her head and thrust her hips again, again, and… all the colours and fires and tastes… shivered through her body in great juddering surges, and she cried out loud .
Boromir gripped her hips and moved with her ever more slowly, until, utterly spent, his hands dropped away to his sides and he lay, eyes closed, boneless, panting deeply as his heartbeat gradually slowed. Tasarion released her grip from his shoulders, sat back and felt him groan beneath her as she shifted from him. Her Lords, Celeborn and Haldir, themselves replete, drifted from her body and mind… leaving the most wonderful calm glow of contentment. She sighed and tumbled off Boromir; he put out a sleepy arm to catch her and while he fell immediately into a deep, deep sleep, she sank into oblivious reverie cradled against his chest.
She came to herself at dawn and realised things would never be the same for her… a life was growing within her. She hadn't willed it, but their combined passion had been too overwhelming. Now there would be a child… She must go to Lady Galadriel at once - after all, it was she who had sent her to Lord Celeborn's guard telling her do as she was bid.
Unlooked for ideas began to shape her thoughts. Yes, there were other she-elves who were archers in the wardenship, but she had been sent from her troop specifically to join Lord Celeborn's guard at the time when Lord Boromir had been brought back. The more she thought about it, the more she thought that this had been arranged, or foreseen… did it matter which? She grew angry, then pleased that she was chosen, and then confused as to why. Then angry again - the child would be half-elven; yet there was no partnership between them and never would be. Yes, he was fine and noble, a rare man from what she had heard of others… but this was no match of lovers. More like the child was half Lord Celeborn's… it was him she had felt as much as Boromir! More like the Lady had… Tasarion suddenly remembered the close questioning from her when she was first presented many years ago, the private interview after Galadriel had looked in her mirror…
She stopped and drew a sharp breath… if this child was meant to be theirs… then her lords could have it! She would nurture it and with a complete turn of the sun the child would be born, and when it was weaned, she would leave, take the path West… That is, if in all this darkness there would still be a path West to take... She shuddered and felt Boromir stir beneath her. Very quietly she got up, gathered her shirt and leggings and dressed quickly. She would go to the Lady straight away and tell her… but then, in all likelihood the Lady Galadriel already knew! She left on quiet feet, pausing at the door to look back once at the man sleeping soundly on the bed, one arm flung wide to accommodate the partner she knew was not destined to be her. Then she turned and left, and Boromir did not see her ever again.
The sun dappled the floor when Boromir awoke; aware he'd had the strangest dream, and finding himself sticky with dried fluids. Tasarion had already dressed and gone, he noted, as he ambled to the wash-room to relieve himself and bathe. He heard quiet murmuring from the room beyond and knew that Celeborn and Haldir were also awake. Just as he was about to pour the remains of last night's cold water ready for washing, he heard a polite repeated knock on the outer door of his side of the rooms.
He walked through, grabbing the loose robe as he passed and shrugging into it. As if by magic the chamberlain was at the door with two other elves bearing steaming water, fresh charcoal, shirts, and trays of tea and bread. Boromir stepped back without speaking and the chamberlain and his servitors went swiftly about the business of arranging the wash-water. The chamberlain took fresh shirts and a laden tray through to Lord Celeborn, scratching the inner door of the wash-room, before Celeborn's low, musical voice said 'come!'
It was several minutes before he emerged. During that time the efficient elves had set a tray on the table for Boromir and poured water for him to wash. The chamberlain's face was controlled neutrality when he emerged and told Boromir that his lords said the man should wash first, they would take their turn shortly. The man nodded.
"Is Tasarion up already?"
The chamberlain inclined his head once, "Tasarion has… is elsewhere. My lords will speak to you shortly."
He nodded again to the waiting servitors who left ahead of him.
"My lord, your tea? Do not let it get cold. And the healers have suggested you add something from that bottle to your wash-water, just a few drops – for your cuts. You may leave the bottle on the wash-stand for my lords to use also, they said. "
He smiled fleetingly, and was gone.
Boromir examined the green glass bottle as he sipped the hot, fragrant tea. He eased the cork out and sniffed – pungent green herbs and something astringent – '…definitely only a few drops', he thought.
He washed, dressed, and was spreading his bread with butter and soft cheese when he heard water swishing in the room adjacent and knew that Celeborn and Haldir were up and about. To pass the time, he picked up one of the volumes that Tasarion had been so wont to bury himself in, wondering idly where Tasarion had gone.
Part of his dream came back to him. His partner had looked like Tasarion… but had been a woman, yes, definitely a woman. A flood of images flashed across his thoughts: a magnificent elf-maid, queenly, his match in all things… the flashing eyes of an alluring Haradric whore and the cheering men who'd encouraged him to bed her… a tryst in a strange forest glade, that he somehow knew was no more… fresh-faced chamber-maids who were eager but unsatisfying… and finally the strong, much-beloved features of… of…
A yelp and soft oaths from the wash-room disturbed his groping thoughts.
"You are supposed to put it in the water, not neat!" exclaimed a voice, followed by muttered apologies that did not sound especially contrite.
Boromir returned to the elegantly written scroll; he could admire the workmanship, but though he knew he should be able to read the script, the meanings of it escaped him. He felt a rising anxiety cold within him, suddenly replaced with a warming wave of comfort… and he could read the script again. Poetry, it was poetry.
Haldir came through into his room, Celeborn following, now dressed in formal robes again. Boromir stood to greet them.
"You have eaten? Good. I have to meet with the councils today. Haldir will take you with him to the marchwarden's lodgings. Perhaps you can help him with supervising the dispositions." said Lord Celeborn smiling pleasantly, already on his way to the door.
"Certainly, my lord, but what of Tasarion?"
Celeborn paused, glanced at Haldir, who remained studiously enigmatic.
"Tasarion has duties elsewhere "
"Will he be back later?"
"No. Tasarion has a mission of my lady's to fulfil – he will not be coming back at all."
Boromir's face fell a little in surprise. "He gave me no farewell."
Celeborn smiled a little bleakly, "Sometimes swift partings are best. He wishes you well; he wants you to know that, but…" Celeborn pressed his lips together before smiling again; this time the gesture reached his eyes as well.
"Come with us now," he said quietly, and turned and walked ahead.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.