Chapter One - Disaster
Boromir exploded. It had been too long since last he lay sheathed in another. It was not the 'other' that he wanted, but he could stand it no more. His body ached for fulfillment. And not by his own hand. Too many years now had he comforted himself. The girl's lithe body undulated and the muscles pulled and Boromir screamed… "Faramir."
All was still in the brothel's small chamber. The woman beneath him ceased her movements. His own breath stayed. Blinking, he whispered her name, but the damage had already been done.
"I will leave you now." He pulled on his leggings and shirt, threw his tunic over his shoulder, dropped some coins in the bowl by the bed, and left.
Morgoth's Balls! He screamed silently. What am I to do now? I cannot let her live. He drew in a sharp breath. Holy Mother of Eru! I cannot kill her. What am I to do?
He skulked down the alleyway and headed towards the Citadel, biting his lip the whole way. As he approached the Sixth Gate, he pulled his tunic over his head. He straightened his back and walked past, saluting the guard, and then found his way into the back entrance. He took the servants' steps two by two, at last finding himself in front of his own chambers. Putting his ear to the door, he sighed. No sound. Faramir must be with Father.
The Steward's eldest and heir sat on the bed, holding his head between his hands. Shivers shook his body. What am I to do? I must leave. I cannot stay and bring shame to Father. Tears sprang to his eyes but he blinked them away. No time for useless actions. I cannot bring shame to Faramir. She will not speak if I leave. What proof has she? He bit his lip and this time, it began to bleed.
He stood and laved his face in the washbasin, then walked to the wardrobe, pulled out a satchel, and began to fill it. A few shirts, another pair of leggings, some socks, braies, another tunic. Tears began to fall in earnest. He walked to the basin, laved away the tears and packed his blade and some soap. He dared not take too much. He needed to travel light.
Travel light! Where am I to go? Who would take someone like me, a plunderer of his brother, into their homes? He paused. I have never plundered Faramir. Just thought on it. Too many times. That is why I am in the spot I am in. If I had not dreamt of him, thought of him every time I took my own shaft in hand, I would not be running.
He wrapped a warm cloak about his shoulders, slung the pack over his back, and walked to the door. Stopping, he looked back to Faramir's bed. The covers were fixed, the pillow straightened. All in order. As was Faramir's wont. He walked to his brother's bed and lifted the pillow. Tears threatened. He clenched his teeth and pulled the pillow to his face, breathing deeply of the scent that was his little brother's. Nay – he would accept it. Faramir was not his little brother, but his whole life. His reason for living. And now, though Faramir would never know it, he would leave to protect him. From gossip and shame and from the lust that burned in his loins and the unclean love that seared his heart. He placed the pillow back on the bed, straightened it, and left their room. To live alone and in exile.