The Willow Tree

The Willow Tree

Posted: March 31, 2006
Title: The Willow Tree
Author: LadyHawksShadow
Type: FCS
Characters: Bormir/Faramir
Rating: NC-17, high octane melodrama, character death
Disclaimer: This is a product of a warped and over active imagination.
Timeline: AU
Warnings: m/m slash
Beta: Larian_Elensar
Author's Notes: Doyle guessed the identity of Sean's lover in "Handcuffs and a Smile". This is her requested pairing. I hope you enjoy. It's based on an old-wives' tale that a friend once told me. How true it is, I really don't know.

Summary: Faramir and Boromir discover love. Faramir learns to kill in the name of superstition.

~*~

Faramir's horse snorted and shifted, causing the saddle to creak, bringing the Prince out of his reverie. He dismounted and ground tied the beast. Walking in small circles, he surveyed the bare ground and the remains of a tree. The earth looked scorched, but that was only because of the lack of vegetation. Bending down, he picked up a fistful of the soil and poured it out of his fingers, letting the dirt trickle into a tiny pile. He was the cause of the destruction of the grass and flowers and, most sadly of all, the tree.

It was an old wives' tale, but at the time, he'd believed it. And, perhaps the old dame who'd uttered the words had believed it herself. Maybe it was true. He had no way of knowing, although his heart said it was true. It had to be true. Look at what had happened to Boromir, after all. But logic, his brain, told him that it was fate that had taken Boromir away from him. Either way, the willow tree was dead and he'd killed it. He'd done it intentionally. He'd taken salt and poured it at the base of the tree and then, knowing how far out a willow tree's roots reached, drizzled the salt in an ever-widening circle. Within days, the grass and flowers beneath the tree were dead. Not long after that, the willow tree began to wilt, it's leaves turning yellow and brittle, it's slender branches dropping to the ground, until finally, it, too, was dead.

A willow tree is bad luck, said the old dame as she kneaded bread. Better to kill it than allow it to thrive and bring evil to the household. That's why they were called weeping willows.

It wasn't until Boromir had gone, riding out on a quest at behest of a dream and a half-remembered legend that Faramir gave her words serious thought. When winter came and there was no word of his brother, Faramir recalled the words at nearly every waking moment. At last, unable to sleep or eat or think, he'd snuck away from Ithilien and, with a bag of salt, approached the tree that had begun another chapter in his life. With tears in his eyes, he'd walked around and around the willow tree pouring out the salt. Pouring out his and Boromir's soul. Begging the gods for Boromir's safe return.

Closing his eyes, Faramir imagined he could smell the grass and flowers. He thought he could hear the wind whispering through the branches of the tree. Of course, there was no such thing. He'd destroyed the magical place. Only his memories contained the magic now.

He'd come out to the field seeking peace and quiet after a day of council meetings and arguments with his father. For whatever reason, he and his father had always butted heads, leaving Boromir in the middle to try to reason with Denethor and console the youngest, spare, son. Laying beneath the branches, Faramir had closed his eyes and allowed the breeze to cool his skin. He opened his tunic, baring his chest, and kicked off his boots and dug his toes into the green grass. He let his mind drift, relaxing for the first time in days. The tree had become a special place for him over the years, a place of refuge where he hid from his troubles and those of Minas Tirith. He'd been so lost in his meditations that he'd never heard Boromir approach. But his brother had been every bit as good as he when it came to passing unseen and unheard. Faramir felt the presence too late to reach for his sword, but when he'd opened his eyes, he relaxed.

"You startled me," he said as he propped up on one elbow.

"It's a good thing that I'm not an orc." Boromir settled down beside his brother with a grunt and sigh. "I'd have been able to hack you to pieces."

"Not a chance. An orc would have made too much noise," Faramir laid back down and folded his arms beneath his head. "Did father finally relent?"

"What do you think?"

"I think he's bent on his present course and nothing shy of the destruction of the White City will change his mind."

Boromir's hand came down on Faramir's chest. "Do not judge Father so harshly, Faramir. There is much on his mind. Besides, I will not let Gondor be destroyed. I will die before I allow that to happen."

The hand on his bare chest felt good, but Faramir thrust that thought aside. "I pray it will not come to that. Even though war is brewing and sooner rather than later, I think, we will face more than a few raiding parties."

Boromir absently rubbed Faramir's chest. "Let us not think of it any more. My head spins with the thought of it. I'd rather sit here with you and just relax for a moment, while the chance to do so is still ours."

Faramir said nothing as Boromir's hand warmed his chest. He'd longed for his brother's touch for so long. To point out something so trivial would destroy that ease and he refused to relinquish the delicious feeling a moment sooner than he knew he had to. "There is something to be said for laying beneath the tree and listening to the wind. You should try it."

When he glanced down at his brother and realized how close to the brown, flat disk of his brother's nipple his fingers were, Boromir withdrew his hand with a frown. "Perhaps I will."

They'd fallen into the kind of silence that only comes with familiarity. Love. Trust. Peace. Faramir could still feel Boromir's hand on his chest as he once more closed his eyes and drifted off into a light doze. When he awoke a short time later, it was to the sensation of someone stroking his hair and brow. He smelled Boromir's comforting scent. He opened his eyes and stared deeply into his brother's gray eyes and smiled.

"I did not mean to wake you," Boromir's hand ceased its ministrations.

"You didn't." And a moment later, "Please don't stop."

The elder brother gathered his thoughts and began again to stroke his brother's head and soft hair. "You always smell of growing things. I feel as though I smell of the stench of Mordor."

Faramir shook his head. "Not to me." His felt his face color a bit. His statement was so bold, far bolder than it should have been.

Boromir's throat had worked and his eyes had darkened, like steel fresh from the forge. His body trembled and his skin flushed. At that moment, Faramir experienced the closest thing to an epiphany he ever had. His eyes widened and he lifted his head, brining it closer to Boromir's so that their breath fanned each other's cheeks. His world narrowed to Boromir's eyes, identical to his, and it wasn't until he felt warm lips against his own that he remembered to breath.

Immediately he opened his mouth, inviting Boromir to taste freely. Boromir's kiss had been hard, desperate, demanding. Everything Faramir dreamed it would be and he gave himself willingly to it. He was pushed back against the grass and he could feel Boromir's weight shift against him, partially pinning him to the ground. He allowed it, welcomed it. Desired it. Lifting his hands he'd entwined them in Boromir's hair, tugging at the thick mass, holding his brother to him. Boromir's tongue delved deeply and their tongues circled and slid against one another. His brother's teeth dug into his lip and Faramir tasted blood. Still he clung to Boromir, unwilling to release the one he loved beyond reason. He wondered when he'd awaken and find that it had all been a pleasant dream.

Wrenching his head away, Boromir stared down at Faramir and his frown increased. "Faramir, I'm so ashamed. I do not know what came over me," he panted with the force of his desire.

Faramir stared into Boromir's eyes and saw the lie in them. "You know what came over you. It's the same thing that came over me. I don't want you to stop. I never want you to stop."

Boromir closed his eyes. "I have corrupted you."

"Boromir," Faramir said gently as he ran his fingers through his brother's hair. "If I am corrupt, then so be it. But do not blame yourself for it. This is my dream."

Boromir lowered his head then, placing it on Faramir's chest. The thick hair tickled. A calloused thumb rubbed his nipple. He felt his erection growing beneath his leggings, felt Boromir's pressing against his hip. Boromir twisted his head and pressed his lips to the nipple his finger and stroked to a hard pebble and sucked greedily at it. His teeth grazed the disk until Faramir groaned.

Sitting up, Boromir unlaced Faramir's breeches and stuck his hand inside them. His hand encountered engorged flesh and he toyed with it, stroking it with his palm. Faramir pressed his hip against Boromir's groin. Wordlessly, Boromir withdrew his hand and for a moment, Faramir feared that the magical spell was broken. However, Boromir tugged at his brother's breeches, sliding them over lean hips and strong thighs.

Faramir turned on his side, facing away from Boromir, and raised one leg higher, bending it at the knee. He heard the soft whine of laces slipping through eyelets and felt Boromir's weight against his back and the hot length of his cock pressing against his bottom. He groaned, knowing what was coming next and wanting it, needing it. When Boromir pressed his finger to his lips, Faramir opened his mouth and slicked the digit with his own saliva. He whimpered softly when that same finger nudged gently at his hole. He thrust back, urging his brother to breach him completely. The finger slid inside him and his passage clenched tightly around it. Boromir kissed his neck and shoulders as he worked his finger slowly in and out, stretching and preparing Faramir. A second finger entered, brushed against his inner nub, and Faramir cried out. His hips bucked against his brother's hand, urging him to go even deeper.

"Wait for me, love," Boromir whispered and withdrew his hand. A moment later, his hard cock nudged at Faramir's opening, slid beyond the tight barrier, and penetrated Faramir fully.

He felt full and stretched. He mewled as Boromir's leg covered his thigh and his hand wrapped around his cock. Slowly Boromir began rocking, thrusting lightly into Faramir's body. Every stroke touched Faramir deeply, brushing over the sensitive spot. His cock twitched and Faramir's muscles clamped around it, as if trying to hold him deeply. The hand stroking him synchronized with the small thrusts. Boromir's warm breath ruffled his hair and soft grunts echoed in Faramir's ear. Faramir felt his body tighten.

"Hurry," he whispered as he struggled for control. The battle was a losing one.

Boromir's teeth sank into his shoulder, scoring his brother, marking Faramir as belonging to the Captain-General. That was all it took to send the last of Faramir's control spiraling away and he stiffened as his seed spilled over his brother's hand. A few more thrust later and he Boromir's cock twitch inside him and felt the hot fluid coating his passage.

They returned many more times to lie beneath the willow tree in the months following their first time. The tree became their retreat from duties and worries. Beneath the tree they made love and plans. They laughed. In those months, Boromir's laughter was so rare that every time the gray eyes lit up, Faramir thought that the sun shown anew from his brother's eyes. Then the dreams came and the strange portends. And Boromir was sent by the council to seek out the meaning of it.

And Faramir, fearing the truth of an old wives' tale, poisoned their one place of happiness. The one special place where he and his brother had come to be alone, to love and laugh. Somehow, Faramir thought that by destroying the tree, he could push back the shadows creeping over Gondor. Over Boromir. Perhaps it had only been too little, too late. Perhaps there was no stopping the fates.

Dusting off his hands, Faramir turned blindly and groped for his horse. He climbed into the saddle and turned the animal around, letting it pick its own way home while his tears flowed unchecked down his cheeks. The magic that had been his and Boromir's was gone forever, destroyed by a moment of panic. Lost to a war of good and evil.

*****

THE END

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