Title: Faramir’s Adoration 
Author: Persephone 
Author's Email: persephone@adelphia.net 
Pairings: Boromir/Faramir	 
Rating: NC-17 
Summary: How can both brothers reconcile being brothers, and being in 
love?
Warning: Incest
Author’s Note: Angst, hopeless Romanticism
DISCLAIMER:  All of these authors do not own the LOTR characters.  
All rights belong to Tolkien, P. Jackson, New Line Cinema, etc.  These 
stories are for entertainment purposes only.  No money is being made.


It had been nearly half a day now since Boromir returned from his errand 
abroad. As usual, everyone in Minas Tirith was celebrating his return, as if 
he took and brought the joy with him whenever he journeyed and returned. 

It was also usual for Faramir to be front and center at the massive City 
Gate to welcome him. 
Faramir would have the ale on tap and be wearing a huge grin to wait for 
his beloved brother to jump off his horse and envelope him in a bear hug.

There had even been one famous occasion when he was younger when he 
had been so eager that he had jumped onto the back of Boromir’s horse 
and embraced him from behind, which had amused and delighted Boromir, 
as well as onlookers, to no end.

But not this time. 

This time Faramir wasn’t anywhere near the City Gate. Instead he sat in 
his rooms, staring at the wall, petrified. Nothing would make him leave his 
sanctuary, much less go near the Gate.

For the first time in his life, he did not want to see Boromir. 

Even as the thought formed it seemed like someone else’s. That he, 
Faramir, would avoid any chance to see his brother was like saying the 
earth itself wanted no rain. And yet that was his thought. 

Faramir sat like a stone, but inside he was in torment. He heaved a deep, 
deep breath, not wistfully, but like a man who had only just remembered 
to breathe. At that moment he realized he was clutching his tunic, over his 
heart. After a few more moments he was able to force himself to loosen 
his grip. He smoothed his hand over the bunched up leather and felt the 
rapid beating of his heart. 

He didn’t know when it had all began… wasn’t sure how… but this 
morning he had simply opened his eyes at dawn to discover that he was 
burning up for his older brother.

There his thoughts halted. 

What was happening to him? He could not even begin to fathom.

But how was it possible that a man could feel this way about his own 
brother? There had been times in his life when he had had a passing lust 
for a young maiden, so he knew well what aches those desires could 
kindle. And he had read old stories of great loves in books.

But not like this. The loves in those tales were chaste, if noble. But this, 
this was white hot desire, as though the very fires of the Nameless Land 
raged in his head. Nothing had prepared him for this and try as he might, 
he could not see past the blaze. 

Yet, in the firelight of his chamber, he tried to understand. 

Boromir was the length and breath of his world. It seemed when he was 
born he had opened his eyes into this world and Boromir was all that there 
was. There could not be any other living man more magnificent than his 
brother. Boromir who was and always had been his protector, his teacher, 
his confidant, his savior and… and his love. 

The completion of the thought seemed to cause the room to sway in the 
manner he had read the sea did to ships. He tried to quell his rising fear. 
Love, yes, as a brotherly love. As he had always had for Boromir. 

So why and how could it have changed into… *desire*? 

How could he have woken up stiff with a newborn need to feel his 
brother’s skin hot and naked against his? 

Even as he confronted these questions he felt his face heating up, and the 
heat traversing his entire body to coalesce, throbbing, in his loins. By the 
Valar themselves, such a thing simply could not be. Yet he was 
overwhelmed by the image of Boromir naked and willing to let him 
devour him… 

Faramir catapulted from his chair as if it were suddenly on fire. He looked 
about him, as if coming out of a daze, and could hear the faint shouts of 
revelry at Boromir’s return coming from far below his chambers. 

At that moment he knew one thing for certain: he could not face his 
brother.

**********

Boromir stood in the slightly ajar doorway to Faramir’s rooms, and 
knocked softly. Receiving no response from within, he carefully pushed 
open the door. 

When he hadn’t seen Faramir at the City Gate he had known a momentary 
stab of fear-laced worry. 

He had asked around and no one knew where his brother was. That calmed 
him slightly, and he realized he had been afraid that in his absence his 
father had done something to Faramir. But discovering that that was not 
the case, he did not know what to make of Faramir’s absence. 

There had only been one other time when Faramir hadn’t been there to 
greet him and that had been because he had taken ill. When he wasn’t in 
the city Faramir could be such a recluse that he could fall sick and no one 
would even know. Perhaps Faramir was ill again and hidden away in his 
rooms. 

At last he had been able to get away from the crush of welcomers and had 
made his way to his brother’s rooms. 

Now he quietly looked in and was taken aback to see his little brother 
sitting on a chair in the middle of the room, starting at the far wall.

Since the chair faced slightly away from the door, Faramir did not see him. 
Boromir stepped halfway in as quietly as he could. He leaned against the 
jamb, watching his brother. 

All his life it had always struck him how very much like a sage his little 
brother was. 

On many occasions he had seen Faramir like this, deep in thought. 

Boromir smiled fondly, remembering how even as a child Faramir could 
sit ponderously like an old man, seemingly contemplating the complexities 
of life.

But as he watched, Faramir leaned forward in his chair, the waves of his 
hair falling forward past his shoulder. Then could Boromir see that 
Faramir’s hand was a fist, clenching the front of his tunic, over his heart. 
He sat so still, he could not have been breathing. Then he heaved an 
impossibly heavy sigh before reverting to stone once more. 

Suddenly Boromir felt that he should not be witnessing this moment. It 
was a strange thought that he should feel this way about a brother with 
whom he shared everything, yet there it was. 

Silently, he stepped back out into the hallway. He was baffled. He had 
been gone for six long, hard months and had missed his brother’s soothing 
company terribly. 

And now to return to this? Had Faramir had another portentous dream? 
One that had disturbed him greatly? But in the past that was exactly the 
kind of thing he would be eager to share with him. No, something else was 
wrong.

Boromir stood indecisive in the coolness of the white stone hallway. His 
hesitation was a direct result of Faramir’s strange mood. He shook his 
head in wonder. In his six months of absence it seemed that something had 
indeed changed, for him to return and find his brother in a mood he could 
not understand, and dared not intrude upon. 

And that thought settled the matter for him. Like it or not, Faramir was not 
looking to greet him at the moment, and he was not going to force the 
matter.

Disheartened, Boromir turned down the hallway and made for his rooms. 
He was tired, in any event. Though it was only early evening, he needed to 
rest. 

He had already announced himself and been welcomed by his father and 
would have an extended audience with him at supper. And if Faramir was 
there, it would be a taxing time, indeed. He needed to rest.

**********

Faramir did not go to supper. Being Boromir’s first night back he knew he 
was courting his father’s rebuke, but he did not care. Hidden in an alcove 
of the stone courtyard in front of the Tower Hall where his father would 
take supper with Boromir and the lieutenants, he heard the ringing of the 
bells to signify the hour and knew it would not be long before Boromir 
came by. 

The sun was descending in the western sky and its dusk light set the white 
stones of the city blushing with a lush pink hue. 

There were several lieutenants loitering about waiting for a chance at brief 
discourse with Boromir before they went in, but none could see Faramir 
where he stood. 

Since waking to his private agony this morning he had not laid eyes on his 
brother. He felt he could not be in Boromir’s presence without him seeing 
deep into Faramir’s soul. 

So that Boromir would not come looking for him, Faramir put out the 
word that an urgent matter called him to Ithilien for a few days and had 
avoided the upper circles of the city all day. It really did not matter 
whether or not he went into Ithilien, because now that Boromir was back 
no one was going to pay much attention to Faramir’s comings and goings. 

The important thing was that Boromir believed it.

Now he found himself waiting with bated breath for Boromir to come 
bounding up the steps to the courtyard. Perhaps upon finally seeing him 
Faramir would realize that nothing had changed at all. 

But when he heard Boromir’s bellow of greeting to the lieutenants, even 
before he came into sight, Faramir’s heart pounded to a halt. 

And when Boromir crested the steps he looked to Faramir’s eyes like a 
god.

In the warm light he saw sparkling sea-green eyes, and straight golden hair 
falling forward to brush against a day’s growth of golden beard, and white 
teeth in a devastating grin, and big, strong arms and a broad velvet clad 
chest. 

It was worse than Faramir feared. He could not even breathe. 

Standing as still as he could he felt as a child again, playing hide and seek 
with Boromir, but in this instance he had no desire for discovery. 

Slowly the men made their way towards the entrance of the Hall and as 
Faramir watched his brother’s receding back the irony did not escape him. 
For his very first memory had been of trying as a toddler to climb 
Boromir’s back, to get on his shoulders, which he only accomplished with 
his brother’s strong hands supporting his own little arms. 

He had made it to his goal and had sat on those shoulders, resting his 
cheek on top of Boromir’s head. The world had appeared magical from 
that vantage point, and he vividly recalled that Boromir’s hair had smelled 
like sunshine and grass.

As Boromir was about to step into the Hall, he casually turned and looked 
over his shoulder back towards the courtyard. Faramir shrank farther into 
his hiding place, but already Boromir had turned away and continued into 
the Hall. 

Surely he had simply wished to look over the land in the beauty of the 
setting sunlight, and had not suspected Faramir’s presence.

Whatever the impetuous, Faramir had lingered long enough. Once certain 
nobody was about, he slipped down the steps and, in the failing light, 
descended into the city.

**********

“Can it be that for *three days* you have been avoiding me, little one? I 
ought to take a whip to your hide.”

Faramir froze. He had known this moment was coming, in fact had 
allowed it to happen. After all, he knew he could not hide from Boromir 
forever. 

It was past suppertime and he had only just returned from the lower circles 
of the city, where he had been staying in Beregond’s house since 
Boromir’s return. He had indeed managed to avoid his brother for three 
days. 

But it had seemed like time to face him at last. Beregond had said Boromir 
had asked after him a few times while he was “gone” in Ithilien. Beregond 
had also had the wisdom to leave much unspoken to Faramir.

Casually, he steeled himself and turned around. Boromir loomed in very 
close proximity.

“Brother,” Faramir murmured formally, bowing slightly but mostly 
stalling for time. He even tried smiling. But he grasped the leather belt 
around his waist when he would have grasped Boromir’s arm.

Boromir leaned against his door jamb, filling the entire entrance, and 
arched an eyebrow. “We are no strangers.”

“O-of course not.” But Faramir made no further movement.

“Faramir!” Suddenly Boromir reached out and grasped his arms before 
pulling him into a fierce embrace. Thus while Boromir crushed him to his 
huge chest, he had no choice but to hesitantly return the embrace, patting 
him on the back. 

At last Boromir stepped back. But he kept hold of Faramir’s arms and 
looked into his face.

“You are not happy to see me!” he cried, astonished.

“No, no! I am! Very pleased, very happy.” Yet he felt himself taking a 
step back.

Boromir refused to let him go. “Then why have you been avoiding me, 
and why when I teased you about it a moment ago you did not respond in 
kind? Why have you become distant?”

The questions were too pointed, and Boromir’s presence was too potent. 
Faramir felt himself beginning to heat up, and he could not reason clearly. 
He felt as when he had drank too much ale.

“In!”

Before he knew it Boromir had ushered him into his chambers and closed 
the door behind him. Faramir avoided his brother’s piercing green gaze, 
but he knew Boromir was watching him with a deep scowl. 

“Speak, Faramir. What has happened? Has father caused you grief?”

“Nay.”

“Have you dreamt a bad omen?”

“Nay.”

“Have you lost one of your men dear to you?”

“Nay.”

“A beloved book of lore, perhaps?”

“Nay.”

Silence. 

Then Boromir sighed. “Truthfully I am surprised at my own patience in 
the matter.” He moved closer. “I hope you did not expect me to actually 
believe you were in Ithilien.”

Faramir’s eyes snapped to his brother’s face at last. It seemed for Boromir 
that broke the tension. He grinned so infectiously that Faramir suddenly 
found himself grinning back, even though he was flushing with 
embarrassment at being discovered.

“I am five years smarter than you are, my sweet Faramir,” he laughed. The 
words of endearment made Faramir’s heart trip, but he did not let it show. 

He instead moved away from the heat of Boromir’s body and farther into 
the chamber.

“It is… wonderful, to see you again, brother,” Faramir smiled cautiously 
at Boromir.

“I should hope at the very least! You used to push the men of Gondor out 
of the way to throw yourself into my arms when I returned.”

Faramir blushed even harder, trying to turn his face away to the window as 
Boromir inched forward and tried to get a closer look.

“Ah, but something has changed.”

“I am not sure of what you speak, brother,” Faramir tried weakly.

“I think that you are… preoccupied?” Boromir straightened. “You will not 
speak of it with me, Faramir?”

Faramir kept his face averted. “It is nothing, just my mind… wandering.”

After a few tense moments Boromir let the matter drop. “Lost in stories of 
the past, I guess,” he chuckled as he poured them both some drink.

**********

Boromir shook his damp hair out of his face and took a moment to survey 
their progress.

All told there were about thirty men with him, repairing a portion of the 
fourth circle wall. In some parts the masonry had crumbled more than it 
should ever have been allowed to and he had taken it upon himself during 
these few months of being home to orchestrate a repair. 

Denethor had been inordinately pleased by the suggestion but of course 
had taken the opportunity to insult Faramir for not coming up with the 
idea himself. 

Patient as ever, Faramir had explained to Denethor that that was but one of 
the numerous tasks he must eventually get to. Boromir had regretted 
bringing up the matter and had kept his calm and had offhandedly asked 
their father to drop it altogether. 

Boromir knew what disadvantages Faramir was up against, how their 
father constantly set him up for failure and how in fact Faramir never 
actually failed but only ever looked that way in Denethor’s eyes.

Now as he stood shirtless and steaming with sweat in the morning heat he 
was very glad to take this task off Faramir’s shoulders. 

Though, he was having a grand time of it, he would not really call it a task. 
The scene was what he missed so much about being away from home. 

There were men of the city heaving heavy stone and masonry on pulleys 
and carts, with