Chapter 1
The road from Osgiliath to Minas Tirith was a short and pleasant ride, and Boromir felt infused with new life and purpose as he drew ever closer to his city.
I'm going home, he thought, his stomach fluttering with happiness.Going home to the city that I love so much, the city that I feared I would never see again.
He glanced at Faramir, who rode at his right side, and Faramir smiled as he saw the joy and excitement that lit up his brother's eyes. Faramir sighed. If only he could feel that sort of simple happiness returning to Minas Tirith. But then, Faramir had never been as welcomed at home as Boromir always had been. But these small woes paled in comparison to seeing the one he loved most in world smiling back at him, his normally stern and controlled demeanor unable to stand against the anticipation he was feeling.
But what of the other one who loved Boromir more than life itself? Faramir glanced past his brother to gaze upon Aragorn, who rode on Boromir's other side. The Ranger had been oddly quiet and withdrawn since leaving Osgiliath. Not that the dark-haired man was overly talkative to begin with, of course, but this silence was much more profound. There was almost a sense of foreboding that shadowed Aragorn right now. And although he did seem pleased to see Boromir so happy, he still seemed worried and distant.
Just then Aragorn, who seemed to sense that he was being observed, suddenly turned his head to look at the younger Captain, and as those brilliant blue eyes touched his own with an almost palpable spark, Faramir's face flushed slightly and he quickly averted his gaze, looking back up the road again. Unbidden, images of what Faramir had witnessed between Aragorn and his brother rose to his mind's eye, deepening the blush in his cheeks.
Oh, but what a sight that had been. Never in his life had he seen such a thing. His beloved older brother writhing on the ground in that sunlit, mossy forest glade, while Aragorn laid atop him, penetrating Boromir's body again and again, stroking the gorgeously muscled body beneath him with loving caresses. And the sounds.....dear gods.....Faramir had never heard such beautiful sounds come from Boromir before. The groans, the soft cries, the way he called out Aragorn's name in such a desperate, needy fashion....
Faramir shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, feeling some significant stiffening between his legs at these memories. He could not continue to think of such things. What was between Boromir and Aragorn was their own private affair. And although Faramir felt both pleased and flattered that Boromir sought his approval of the relationship, he knew that beyond that, he had no further need to dwell upon it. Boromir was happy, and that was all that mattered.
And yet......
Faramir let his mind drift back further, to a couple of days ago when Boromir had kissed him. Not a brotherly sort of peck on the cheek that they sometimes gave one another in greeting; more out of ritual than affection. No....this had been a kiss. He had felt the heat and the tightly reined passion behind the seemingly simple gesture. How strange it had seemed, that all-too-brief meeting of mouths in such a tender fashion. Very strange.....but also inutterably lovely. And not once....either during the kiss or at any point afterward....did Faramir feel that what had happened was "wrong" in any way. On the contrary, it felt completely right.
And then there was Aragorn. Such an enigmatic, fascinating man. On the one hand, he gave the appearance of being nothing more than what he outwardly resembled; a ragged wanderer, a Ranger of the North. Wild and homeless. But if one cared to look deeper, to see beyond the weathered leathers, the disheveled hair, the work-roughened hands with dirt seemingly tattooed permanently in the creases of the flesh, there was revealed the heart and soul of a King indeed.
Now...riding toward Minas Tirith...Faramir of Gondor began to have his first serious thoughts of what it would be like to have his brother kiss him in the way that he had kissed Aragorn....What it would be like to have Aragorn's shaft pierce his body. To be shared between them and included in such warmth.....such joy.....such love.
"You seem deep in thought, dear one."
Boromir's low rumble broke through the swirling cloud of images that Faramir found himself in, and he turned to look at his brother, saying a bit unsteadily. "Aye.....My mind did wander briefly for a moment. 'Tis usually the case when I travel any distance." He smiled, then his smile faded as he glanced at Aragorn, then back to Boromir as leaned over and murmured quietly, "'Tis the Lord Aragorn I have concern for, Boromir. He has seemed rather troubled since we departed Osgiliath. A great weight seems to be pressing on him, though what that could be I do not know."
Boromir cut his gaze to Aragorn, who had taken no notice of the whispered conversation between the brothers, but only continued to stare straight ahead, his eyes revealing nothing. When Boromir turned back to Faramir, his own green eyes were sad. "Aye, I have noted this as well. And my heart grieves for I likewise know not what troubles him. I daresay he will reveal his thoughts to me in due course, but for now, I feel helpless in the face of his obvious distress." Then he looked to the road again and fell silent.
Faramir looked at his brother for a long moment, then murmured in such a heartfelt way that Boromir's head snapped around to look at him again: "Gods......such love you bear for him. It almost makes me weep to see it."
Boromir's eyes grew soft as he gazed at Faramir and he smiled. But before he could reply, Aragorn suddenly spoke from the other side of him, "Riders approach, from just beyond the next bend."
Immediately, both the brothers were alert, their eyes trained on the road ahead, their hands poised over their weapons in readiness. The sound of hooves suddenly became quite audible.
"Four at least," Aragorn murmured. "Perhaps five."
Just then the horsemen rounded the bend. There were indeed four of them, and they checked their steeds sharply upon sighting the other riders. Moving at a canter, they approached, partially concealed still by the shadows of the trees that stood at the side of the road.
However, when they rode into a patch of sunlight that broke through the trees, all three companions let out a collective sigh of relief. The approaching riders bore the black and silver livery of Gondor.
"Hail Galathod!" Faramir called, recognizing the leader. "What news from our home?"
The riders now relaxed as well and approached a little faster now, their caution greatly diminished by the sound of a familiar voice.
"Captain Faramir," Galathod said respectfully, "Well met indeed, my Lord. We heard rumors of your return from Ithilien. I am glad to see such rumors have proved true."
Now as Galathod's party came closer, their eyes took in the two that rode alongside Faramir, and their eyes widened.
"By the gods......Captain Boromir," Galathod gasped, bowing his head. "My Lord......Forgive me....But we had heard.....We thought you were......"
"Dead?" Boromir smiled. "That seems to be the prevailing opinion of late, or so 'twould seem." He glanced playfully at his brother as he spoke these words, garnering an answering smile by Faramir. Then Boromir's countenance grew more serious as he asked, "How fares our father, Galathod? Had tidings of my death reached his ears? What say you?"
Galathod sighed and was silent for a moment, when he looked up again, his gray eyes were troubled. "My Lord," he said. "I fear our Lord Steward has been ill of spirit lo these many months. It began shortly after your departure for Imladris, and then progressed further following Lord Faramir's appointment to Osgiliath. Now he seems to prefer time spent alone in his chambers, often he is overheard talking aloud to himself, and sometimes weeping. I fear a malady of the soul has taken him." Now Galathod's voice dropped to a whisper as he added, "A fire of the mind."
"Enough," Boromir suddenly snarled, his green eyes blazing. "Speak no more of such things, Galathod, if you value your life."
"Boromir," Aragorn said soothingly, his voice a caress as he lightly touched his friend's arm. Boromir looked into the Ranger's concerned blue eyes and immediately grew calmer, though there was still a small amount of tension in his body. Faramir threw Aragorn a grateful look, while another part of him was amazed at the way Aragorn had so quickly diffused his older brother's temper, which could be quite volatile at times.
Galathod, was quite cowed at this point, white-faced and trembling. "I humbly beg your pardon, my Lord. Indeed I have said too much. Forgive me."
"Nay," Boromir said, his expression now one of sternness and regret as he rode up to Galathod and laying his hand on the soldier's shoulder. "'Tis I that should be begging your forgiveness. I am weary from my travels and sick for the sight of my home. Such things rob me of my sense at times. Be contented, most honorable Galathod, for I bear you no ill-will."
"Thank you, my Lord," Galathod whispered, relief and respect shining in his eyes. Then he said, "If you are quite ready now, we will escort you the rest of the way to Minas Tirith." Then he spurned his horse around and addressed two of the riders in his party. "Belephon.....Itrien......Ride now with all haste to the City. Let the word be spread that both of our valiant Captains ride now toward home. Tell the tower guards alert all and sundry that the Lords of Gondor have returned."
At these words, Boromir turned quickly to Aragorn, and such a light of hope and joy was in his eyes that for the first time since leaving Osgiliath, the Ranger actually found it within his power to smile once again. He remembered all the changes in fortune that had occured since almost those exact same words.....spoken from the hanging fringes of a despairing mind.....had been uttered by Boromir in Lothlorien.
Ah, Boromir, Aragorn thought. You certainly deserve your happiness, my most beloved one. And I will make every possible effort to see that you remain this happy, for if I had my wish, hurt and sadness and despair would never touch you again. You, nor your absolute treasure of a brother. Your dearest Faramir.
At this, Aragorn turned his gaze on the younger Captain, who shyly slid his gaze to Aragorn's, then looked away again immediately when he saw he was observed, a slight blush coloring his fair cheeks. Aragorn smiled. He had a feeling that despite his heavy misgivings at arriving at Minas Tirith and the impending war still to fight, their days here would prove to be most interesting indeed.
Now, as Belephon and Itrien rode away at a full gallop, the rest of the riders formed a loose group and followed in their stead, going back along the road that led to the White City.
************************
"And you, dear sir," Galathod addressed Aragorn as they rode up to the heavily fortified gate of Minas Tirith. Aragorn tore his gaze away from his contemplation of Boromir, for as they approached the City, he saw his lover's face suffused with pure, shining happiness, and his green eyes filled with tears. Aragorn thought for a moment that he would weep as well, seeing the beauty brought out by Boromir's elation.
Now, at Galathod's words, the Ranger turned to him, his eyebrows lifting in inquiry.
"You do not say very much," Galathod commented. "You are silent.......A Ranger, are you not?"
"Indeed sir, I am," Aragorn said in his quiet voice. "I am of the Dunedain of the North, and you may call me Strider."
At this, both Boromir and Faramir threw Aragorn an odd look, but neither of them made any comment.
"Strider," Galathod mused. "A strange name, that. But then strange folk abound in the North, so I have been told. 'Tis well the Rangers are in force in those parts to keep the peace in those wild lands."
Aragorn tilted his head in a token of acknowledgement and gratitude at Galathod's words, his blue eyes shifting slightly and meeting the slightly troubled, slightly quizzical gaze of his lover before shifting away again.
"Come, my Lords," Galathod now addressed the brothers. "I will take you to your father. I am sure he will be most anxious to hear all about what has transpired since you last were in his presence." Then he glanced to Aragorn and asked, "And will you be presenting yourself to our Lord Steward as well, Strider? I am sure he would be most interested in meeting you."
Aragorn bowed his head graciously, but a strange light was in his eyes as he said, "As I would be most interested in presenting myself before the Lord Denethor." Then the odd gleam in his eyes faded and was replaced by an expression of profound weariness as he continued, "But I fear I will have to ask you to communicate my regrets to the Lord of the City, for I am in dire need of rest. I feel I have come to the limit of my strength." He cut his eyes briefly to Boromir as he finished speaking.
Boromir immediately picked up on Aragorn's signal and said to Galathod, "Indeed, Galathod. Do not concern yourself with taking my brother and I to see our father, for this is our home and we shall go to him of our own accord. Please attend to our guest and assign him suitable quarters in the Tower......preferably near to my own chambers, as we have many things to discuss whilst we are here." Now Boromir glanced at Aragorn, and all but the sharp, knowing eyes of Faramir failed to acknowledge the secretive intimacy of that split-second meeting of gazes. "Be sure he wants for nothing. Give him anything he requires."
Galathod bowed and set off at once, urging Aragorn to follow him, and Aragorn gave his lover one last, lingering look before riding off behind Galathod. Boromir stared after him, a slight frown of confusion creasing his brow, his green eyes troubled. Then he felt the soft touch of Faramir's hand on his shoulder and turned to look at that well-loved face.
"Come, brother.....Let's attend to our father, and then we may rest as well," Faramir said quietly with a smile, garnering an answering smile from Boromir as the two brothers rode side by side up the main road that led to the seventh circle.
***********
"Why did you not wish to see my father, Aragorn?" Boromir asked softly, leaning back in the velvet armchair by the window, clad in a white linen shirt, breeches, and boots, a goblet of mead in his hand. He watched his dark-haired lover as he sat upon the enormous, ornately patterned rug on the floor, polishing his sword with long, thoughtful strokes of the cloth, casually clad himself in like fashion.
It was drawing down toward evening, and the light was draining from the eastern sky. A cool, pleasantly scented breeze wafted in through the window, ruffling Boromir's hair slightly. The Gondorian warrior sighed and took another drink from his cup. It had been a long, emotional day. Upon being reunited with his father, who greeted him with his customary lack of emotion, but with obvious pleasure at seeing his eldest son alive and well, he and Faramir had been closeted with the old man for three hours. And in those three hours, Boromir came to realize that Galathod spoke the truth. Denethor was not the same man he was when Boromir departed. His eyes were haunted. His face was haggard. And he spoke of omens and visions in a hushed, wavering voice that was so unlike his usual strong, steady tone that Boromir had been frankly shocked and shaken by the change.
Faramir seemed a little less surprised by their father's transformation, but no less saddened by it. He barely spoke throughout the meeting, not even trying to defend himself against the obvious verbal barbs that Denethor tossed in his direction at times. Barbs that seemed to Boromir completely pointless and wholly unwarranted, and though he would not speak out against his father, he bristled inwardly every time he saw Faramir cut by their father's sharp tongue.
And all this while, Boromir was also mulling over Aragorn's obvious reluctance to be in Denethor's presence. Even to the point of not revealing his true name, though this entire city.....and the country it ruled over.......was his by birthright.
Now that he was alone with Aragorn, he intended on finding out exactly what was troubling him. What had been troubling him ever since they had left Osgiliath.
But Aragorn, with his usual calm demeanor, merely looked up at Boromir with mild blue eyes, saying quietly, "I know not what you mean, Boromir. I am merely weary from our long travels and anxious to have a night's rest in a real room with a real bed. That is all."
"Do not try your wiles on me, Ranger," Boromir growled teasingly, as Aragorn glanced up at him briefly, raising an eyebrow and smiling a bit. "I probably know you better than anyone in Middle earth, and I know that you have never put much worth on a room and a bed when a forest and a clump of soft ferns have always served you well in the past. So do not try and tell me that a sudden urge for such comforts distracted you from meeting with the Steward of Gondor." Now Boromir's face turned more serious and he leaned forward in his chair, gripping his goblet before him with two hands as he added in a slightly imploring tone, "Please, my love. Tell me what troubles you."
Now Aragorn sighed and his face turned more serious as he looked up into Boromir's slightly anxious green eyes. "Boromir.......What has your father told you of Thorongil?"
Boromir blinked, and the slight crease in his brow deepened a in confusion. Then he shrugged slightly and said with a small chuckle, "To say that my father bears no love in his heart for Thorongil would likely be a momentous understatement. In fact, he holds Thorongil responsible for the decline of the greatness of the line of Stewards."
Aragorn's gaze remained calm and steady, but his eyes clouded slightly as he asked, "And what do you feel about him? What are your thoughts?"
"In all honesty, Aragorn, I have thought little of him. Much deeper concerns have held my mind of late. But I remember in my youth, listening to my father's tales of Thorongil's treachery, and of how he bewitched my grandsire, Ecthelion, to ally himself with him. And these tales I recall did indeed inflame me, and created in me a deep desire to strike down this wretch that had weakened and sought to undermine the power of my family......" Boromir's eyes, hazy with memory, now slightly flared brightly at the memory of his father's words, something that Aragorn noted, but did not comment upon.
"And now.....?" Aragorn said, so quietly it was almost a whisper. "Would you strike him down now were he to come before you?"
Boromir seemed pulled back to the present by the question, and he blinked again, refocusing on his lover. He was silent for a moment, looking down into the depths of his goblet that he still held in front of him, thinking. "No, I do not believe I would. Especially not now since coming home and seeing how things are." A shadow of pain crossed Boromir's face and he sat back in the chair again, his eyes now looking about the room. "After seeing what has become of my father, I realize that he may indeed not be infallible in his thoughts and opinions."
Now Aragorn's face became eloquent with concern as he laid his sword aside and moved forward, kneeling between Boromir's booted feet and sitting back on his heels, looking up at the Gondorian as he asked, "What has happened, Boromir? What of your father? You have said naught of your meeting with him since you have returned."
Boromir shook his head sadly, setting his goblet on the table beside him. "'Tis not a matter I wish to discuss, Aragorn. Galathod's assessment has evidently proved to sound. My father is indeed sickened. And that lays an even heavier burden upon me than I the one I bore upon travelling to Imladris. Do I allow Gondor to continue to be ruled by a Steward who is not right in his mind? Do I go against my father? My Lord? The one who raised me and taught me all I needed to know to continue the Stewardship in my turn? When should duty to one's country supersede family loyalty.......the ties of blood?"
Aragorn's eyes misted over at the depth of pain Boromir seemed to be enduring at the moment. Slowly he reached up and began stroking his hands up and down the warrior's thighs, feeling the slightly rough texture of his breeches under his calloused hands.
"You shall know what to do when the time is right," Aragorn whispered, his voice turning slightly husky as he let his fingers lightly graze the more sensitive area of Boromir's inner thighs, raising his eyes to look up at his golden lover as Boromir sighed and slouched down a bit in the chair. "But for now, let me relieve some of this burden from your mind, if only for a little while." With that, he slid his hands up to push up the bottom hem of Boromir's linen shirt, bending to press a kiss to the warm, firm flesh of the warrior's abdomen.
Boromir reached down with one hand and threaded his fingers into the dark waves of Aragorn's hair, stroking softly, his green eyes growing slightly unfocused as he felt his manhood shifting and swelling in response to the Ranger's gentle caresses. Slowly, he felt his worries and concerns and doubts slipping away, as they always seemed to do when Aragorn touched him.
With almost agonizing slowness, Aragorn began to unlace Boromir's breeches, loosening each leather string with gentle pulls of his nimble fingers. Then he was slipping the garment down Boromir's hips, as the Gondorian lifted his lower body slightly to ease this process. Carefully, unhurriedly, Aragorn removed Boromir's boots, laying them aside, before removing the warrior's breeches completely. Then he slid his hands up Boromir's thighs again, this time feeling nothing but warm flesh lightly dusted with dark blonde hairs.
Dipping his head, Aragorn ran his tongue lightly over the taut skin covering his lover's scrotum, noting the way Boromir's shaft jumped and hardened all the more at the teasing contact. Another sigh was forced from Boromir as he let his legs fall open even more, exposing himself completely to the Ranger's clever ministrations. A soft moan issued from between his slightly parted lips as Aragorn softly suckled his testicles, taking each in his mouth in turn, rolling them gently over his tongue, relishing the texture and the heat of them.
When Boromir's breathing began to increase as his arousal grew, Aragorn lifted his head from between his lover's spread thighs and looked into his face, seeing that becoming flush.....that glow that always infused his features whenever Aragorn brought him physical pleasure. And the expression of absolute love and trust was in his eyes. That look that Aragorn hoped he would never cease to see until the end of his days, the one that never failed to make his heart swell with inexpressible happiness.
"Melethron-nin........" he murmured, then lowered his head again, almost reverently, to take the stiffened length of Boromir's penis into his mouth, letting it fill his throat completely. Then he began to set a slow, deliberate pace, sucking his lover with long, hungry strokes, twining his tongue around the length of him, indulging in the taste of him, and the heady scent of sexual need that made him want to breathe deeply.
"Oh gods.......Aragorn......" Boromir sighed, gripping the arms of the chair tightly. His leg muscles tensed as he pressed his feet firmly into the floor, lifting his hips slightly in order to follow the glorious sucking heat of that mouth. "Oh yes, my love......It feels so wonderful........"
The sound of Boromir's voice gone deep and resonant with desire was enough for Aragorn's own shaft to become achingly hard within moments. Without missing a single stroke with his mouth, Aragorn began to unlace his own breeches, releasing his throbbing member into his own hand. He whimpered softly around Boromir's shaft as he began to pleasure himself with slow movements of his hand, matching the pace he was setting with his mouth.
With a super-human effort, Boromir urged Aragorn to discontinue his oral ministrations, gently pulling the Ranger to his feet. Noticing that Aragorn's breeches were already undone and halfway down his hips, Boromir licked his lips and looked into his lover's eyes, saying huskily, "Remove your breeches for me, my lovely."
Aragorn did so without hesitation, letting them drop to the floor before moving forward. Boromir closed his legs and urged Aragorn to straddle his lap, pulling the Ranger's head forward to capture his mouth in a heated kiss, full of hunger and barely restrained passion. He plunged both of his hands into the tangled softness of Aragorn's hair, both men whimpering in unison as their straining erections slid softly together in incidental contact.
The Ranger's senses were spinning out of control and his body was alive with sensation as his lips were sucked and nibbled ruthlessly, as Boromir pumped his tongue in and out of his mouth with a relentless, yet sensual rhythm. His need and desire for the Gondorian was at full peak now, and he coated his fingers with his own copious pre-ejaculate fluids before reaching around to breach his opening, stretching and preparing himself, stimulating his own prostrate and moaning helplessly into the plundering, scorching heat of Boromir's mouth.
Almost overcome with the realization of what Aragorn was doing to himself, Boromir attacked the other man's lips with renewed vigor, letting his hands unclench from Aragorn's hair and slide down his back to now grasp double handfuls of his shirt, feeling the movements of Aragorn's shoulder blade as he continued to prepare himself for Boromir to enter his body. Finally he broke the kiss with Boromir and....looking into his lover's blazing jade eyes.......said in his rasping voice, "Melda-nin....Gods, I adore you so. I need you now."
With a frustrated growl, Boromir pulled at the ties holding the Ranger's shirt together, and Aragorn now withdrew his fingers from himself in order to allow Boromir to pull the garment off over his head, smoothing his hands down Aragorn's chest briefly before pulling off his own shirt as well.
Now both men were completely naked and undulating softly against one another, rubbing rock-hard, weeping erections together as their desires reached a fever pitch. Finally, unable to wait a moment longer, Aragorn lifted his hips slightly in order to position himself, coating his lover's pulsing member in his own saliva mixed with Boromir's own fluids, then holding it upright and guiding it to his opening. With a shuddering sigh, the Ranger used his own body weight sink down upon it, taking it all into his tight passage.
"Oh merciful Valinor.....yes......." Aragorn moaned as he was filled and stretched to capacity by Boromir's shaft. It felt so good he almost wept with the pleasure of it. Grasping the warrior's powerful shoulders, he began to slowly raise and lower himself, groaning with ecstasy on every downstroke.
Boromir's reactions were no less enthusiastic. He gasped and moaned and wrapped his hands around Aragorn's slender waist, guiding him up and down his length, his lust-shaded green eyes watching the strained, impassioned face of his lover.
The chair creaked in protest and the harsh tearing breaths and sounds of passion grew louder and more intense as Aragorn began to quicken his motions, shuddering and barely biting back cries of pleasure as Boromir's member brushed his pleasure center again and again. His dark hair was sodden with sweat, his body gleaming with it, and Boromir leaned forward to lick the salty trails from his lover's throat, his hot breath feeling almost cool to the Ranger's overheated flesh.
"Gods, Aragorn......That is exquisite," Boromir murmured through clenched teeth, his own face also wet with perspiration now as the erotic sensations consumed him, his body filling with tension as his release drew near. Capturing Aragorn's blood-engorged erection within his hand, he began to stroke it in time to Aragorn's movements, nearly purring with delight as Aragorn was unable to hold back his cry of passion this time.
"Boromir....." he panted, his eyes rolling helplessly as he tried to focus on his lover. "Oh gods......Boromir, I cannot.....I must.....oh......oh gods.....oh Boromir!" And with that, Aragorn's climax was upon him, having its way with him, making him pulse and shudder and cry out as his seed erupted between their straining bodies. His orgasm was enough to trigger Boromir's as well, and the Gondorian leaned forward, releasing Aragorn's organ and wrapping his arms around the Ranger's upper body, pushing his hips upward into Aragorn's clenching heat as he started to come. He groaned with pleasure and his teeth bit down on one of Aragorn's nipples, causing the Ranger to cry out again in mingled pain and ecstasy. Boromir continued to rock his hips hard into Aragorn's body until he had completely spent himself, collapsing back into the chair and pulling Aragorn forward to lean against his chest, both men trembling and panting in the aftermath.
At length, Boromir bent to kiss Aragorn's forehead, saying softly, "I think a bath might be in order now, my liege. What do you think?"
Aragorn tipped his head to smile up at the warrior, reaching up to run his fingers through blonde hair darkened to a deep golden shade with sweat. "I think that sounds like a perfect idea." His blue eyes fluttered closed momentarily as Boromir's lips met his in a slow, tender kiss.
So on to the bathing chamber they went, and many more kisses were exchanged between the lovers as they took their time cleaning one another. Soon though, they realized they had to emerge, and lovingly wrapped each other in enormous white towels before walking back into the bedchamber.
What they saw there caused both men to stop in their tracks. Aragorn's eyes looking surprised and concerned, while Boromir's gaze was outright horrified as a gasp was forced from him.
Sitting perched on the side of the bed, gazing at the couple with calm blue eyes that held both curiosity and an almost barely controlled excitement, was Faramir.