Title: What DIDN'T Happen In Lord of The Rings.
Type: Whorefic, (slashfic/threesome in later chapters).
AU which hovers somewhere in between book and movie verse. The characters
are generally movie-versy, while everything else is something of an AU book
verse.
Rating: PG13 for this chapter, but NC16 for future chapters. For anyone
who's just in it for the sex, skip straight to chapter 3. It's written such
that ch 3 can stand alone as a PWP fic without the 'drama' factor of the
other chapters.
WDHI Storyline: The Company runs into an ex-prostitute and uses her to
satisfy their desires.
Pairing: Wench/Boromir, Wench/Aragorn, Wench/as many pple as I ken possibly
squeeze in in the future chapters.
Graphic description of Wench/Boromir and Wench/Aragorn/Boromir and
Aragorn/Boromir in future chapters...
Chapter summary: Chapter 1, Intro of non-cannon.
Note from the writer: I got the idea of a threesome after reading some bad RPS and found it really blah that the readers generally see the story from the Mary Sue's point of view. It is also an attempt to subvert the 'Non-cannons-which-shag- cannons-therefore-mary-sue' stereotype. The wench-bitch in this story is not a Mary-Sue. Let me repeat, the wench-bitch in the story IS NOT A MARY- SUE. She does not use the Fellowship: the Fellowship uses her. She is an attempt to prove that it is possible to have a non-sue character who gets away with sue-ish stuff. Whether the attempt succeeds or not is a different thing altogether, and up to you to decide. Although it was meant to be a PWP type fic, the story is quickly (and independently- not my doing! I promise!) developing plot. Read at your own risk.
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Chapter 1-Boromir
Nightfall. Just about the hundred millionth nightfall since they left Rivendell. At least it wasn't so bad in Rivendell, or Lothlorien for that matter. At least there were them elf women. Gods, they'll never let you touch them but at least they were there. And they were pretty, even if most of them had less curves than a blasted plank of wood. At least a man could look at them.
Not that Boromir ever looked at them, mind. Especially not through cracks in the door. Especially not when they were in their bedchambers. Especially not then. No, Boromir would never do that, would he? No, no.
Because Boromir was a gentleman. "Oh, right," he snorted sarcastically. As if he didn't peep. Curse it, he wanted women! And by the looks of it, so did the rest of the Company. Look at them; they were getting all strung up and restless. Tempers were simmering everywhere, people getting jittery, and.ah yes, there were the classic symptoms. It was nice to know he wasn't the only one. Yea gods, how in the world was he supposed to act all big and manly and Son-of-Gondor-ish if he hadn't had a screw in aeons!
Okay, so maybe not aeons. It couldn't have been that long, no matter how much felt like. They hadn't been in the Company all that long. But ye Gods, it felt like an eternity.
You know, it wouldn't be so bad if there were something to watch. If there was anything he enjoyed other than a good shag, it was sneaking a peek on someone else getting shagged. Spared you the trouble of finding your own bitch, really. And you won't have to worry about all that cuddling nonsense. Or the fake compliments. Let someone else play the fawning courtier, he always said. That sort of emotional sentimentality made him sick.
But out here there was nobody to watch! Not even the entertainment of a warrior's comfort! Boromir rolled his eyes in exasperation. Now why wouldn't the Halflings do something naughty once in a while? He was cursed sure that it happened a lot in the Shire. He's heard about it before, hadn't he.something about a "c" word. Started with "c", couldn't really place his finger on it. "carrot"? Boromir never really got that one. What was so interesting about carrots? I mean, you dug it up, you broke it in two, you ate it, end of story. Not like it even tasted good or anything.
C-word, c-word. Ah, that's it! "Curse"! The Brandybuck Curse! Or something to that effect. And he was practically certain it has something to do with being kinky with other males. Or was that females? No, it was a male thing, that much he was certain. Ah, shit. Well, there was a Brandybuck, wasn't there, and a perfectly kinky one at that. Why wasn't anything happening? Ye Gods, he could just die of boredom.
He was bored. Bored! B-O-R-E-D! Why didn't that Elrond fellow send a woman as well? Or why can't Aragorn take us another route? One that didn't wind through the middle of nowhere? Maybe then they could stop by someplace, knock back a pint or two and get themselves a woman each. Curse it!
But Aragorn was saying something, wasn't he? Just that Boromir wasn't listening. Why did he have to go listen to that righteous prig anyhow? Not like it'd make a difference if he ever objected to anything Lord High-And- Mighty-Aragorn-Son-of-Arathorn-Isildur's-Heir-And-Heir-To-The-Throne-Of- Gondor-And-Arnor had to say. Not if Master I-Just-Shoved-A-Cactus-Up-My-Ass Elf had anything to do with it.
He had a mental image of the fair Legolas shoving a cactus up himself. It wasn't a good idea. Pleasurable to imagine, yes, but good, no. Boromir stifled a laugh.
Legolas frowned. "You will listen when Lord Aragorn speaks," the elf reprimanded quietly. Boromir had a sudden urge to hit him. And perhaps shove a cactus up the elf's annoyingly taught behind. If only they had a cactus plant around here somewhere. He craned his neck to look around but there was none in sight.
Curses!
Aragorn looked wearily at Legolas and murmured something in Elvish. Curse Aragorn too! Why did that prig always have to use that god-awful elvish tongue as if the language of his own people was lacking! Hah! "He thinks he's too good to use such the foul, base language of men," Boromir sneered, just loud enough so it would be heard by Aragorn and Legolas. Aragorn tactfully pretended not to have heard, but Legolas bristled at the insult. Ah, is that protectiveness I see before me? Boromir thought gleefully. Might they be messing about somewhere when the rest of the Company was asleep? Perhaps there was some potential between these two after all.
Yea Gods, he was bored! He had to be, else such an insane idea would never have crossed his mind! Bracing himself for the worst, Boromir forced himself to pay attention. At least it would stop any more brilliantly insane ideas with regards to the hind quarters of the Royal Pain of Mirkwood.
".supplies..blah, blah blah.. third nightfall. make it.blah, blah, blah," Not even Aragorn's charisma could make him listen properly. Letting his mind run wild, the Gondorian only caught brief snatches of it. "blah, blah, blah." Boromir yawned.
Suddenly Aragorn stopped and sniffed the air, then looked at Legolas. The Elf looked equally dumbfounded. "What the-" Boromir breathed, standing up. Through the dense vegetation that grew along the riverside came the very distinct strains of someone's singing. "What the-?" he repeated again. He glanced at Merry. The hobbit was salivating, and Boromir trusted Hobbit Sense enough to conclude that whoever was doing the singing must have been cooking too. The voice was distinctly female, and by all the gods, she sounded reasonably young as well.
Good!
Exchanging a look. Aragorn gestured to the others to stay behind while he and the elf crept forward to 'investigate'. When they were not back yet after a few seconds, Boromir went after them, closely followed by first Gimli, then Pippin, then finally the rest of the hobbits.
Together they found Aragorn and Legolas crouched behind some bushes, peering out into a clearing in a confused manner. The others took one look at the woman in the clearing and wisely decided to do the same. She was tending to a well-kept garden that grew around what looked like a passable hut standing in the centre of the clearing. Beside the hut, a single oak tree spread its branches. The Company exchanged a look. From where they were, the Company could see that she was indeed rather young, fairly pretty and very, very naked. It was an altogether pleasing sight, and Boromir felt himself harden.
They waited for some minutes while she mucked around her plants, but when it seemed clear that she was not about to clothe herself anytime soon, Boromir stood tall, stepped out of his hiding place and cleared his throat.
Immediately her head jerked up. "Oh!" she cried. He had apparently given her a bit of a start. Still looking more than a little stunned, she stood up slowly and rested a hand between her ample breasts to calm herself from her fright. Ye gods! he thought, his eyes fixed on her chest. His phallus positively throbbed.
"What are you doing here?" she said quietly. Her voice was deep and rich. Deep and rich and firm. "You're not here to hurt me, are you?" she asked suspiciously, then noticing the other faces still half hidden in the shrubbery, turned and shook her fist at them. "Get up!" she bellowed angrily. "Get up, all of you! Come out and show your faces! How dare you hide from me in my own garden!" she cried. The others stepped out and fidgeted uncomfortably. Most of them had never faced a naked angry woman before.
Boromir hid a smile. She still seemed perfectly oblivious to her state of undress. How nice. "Begging your pardon, my lady," he said, still amused, "you must forgive us. The little ones have hardly seen much of the world and." at this he shrugged and gave a polite cough then waited for her to catch his drift. And catch it she did.
"Oh!" she whispered as the realisation dawned. Her hand flew to her mouth as she looked down at herself in dismay. "Oh, I am so sorry," she stammered, backing towards her hut. "Oh dear.oh.. Give me a moment." She slipped into her hut, and slamming the door behind her, began a desperate search for something to wear.
Outside, Aragorn, Boromir and Gimli looked at each other and shrugged. The more bashful of the hobbits avoided eye contact. Legolas stared grimly into the distance, his mouth fixed in a thin set line. Boromir guessed the elf did not approve. Or perhaps, he wondered, perhaps Legolas was so cold because. Boromir glanced down, but even if there were any telltale bulge on the elf, it was hidden beneath the thick folds of his garments.
Perhaps Legolas really didn't approve.
The door opened some ways, just enough for her to stick her head out while keeping the rest of herself hidden. "Ahh.would. I mean.oh dear.." she faltered, an agonized look playing upon her features. Boromir grinned widely and strode up to her hut, proudly unclasping his cloak.
"There, is that enough?" he said, handing her the garment. Up close, he could make out the silhouette of her body against the dim interior. He wondered how it would be like to touch her.
"My thanks."
"Do you need the pin?" he asked, partly out of concern and partly to keep her at the door just a little bit longer.
"No, I think I can manage," she replied and firmly shut herself in.
Shrugging a little, he fastened the pin to his blue surcoat. It was a pretty pin, and he didn't want to misplace it. Besides, it was a memento. Boromir was never big on mementos, but a memento from Lothlorien was not so easily dismissed.
He looked up as the door opened and she stepped out with nothing but his cloak on. But Boromir was a large man, and she was a small woman, and she somehow managed to wrap it around her twice- once around her body and another around her shoulders- so that now she was decently if not queerly dressed.
And now, finally the rest of the Company came up. She grinned at them. "What are you doing here?" she said.
"We were going to ask you the very same." Aragorn replied. "There are no human settlements for miles around."
"So if you know that, why are you here?"
"We were passing through," he stated gravely.
"Nobody passes through. I've lived here for years and I've never seen a single soul. Not since. my. my son died."
"Your son?" Aragorn was shocked. "What are you?" he breathed.
Almost too fast for him to react, the woman swung a punch at him. As it was, he caught her wrist just inches away from his face but it just incensed her further. She struck out at him again, but this time, Boromir intervened.
"Hush," he crooned even as he pinned both her arms firmly behind her back. She struggled wildly. "Hush, my companion meant to ask if you were elf or human or maybe of some other race we do not yet know about."
"Hush now," he continued when she was calmer. "He was raised by the elves. He knows not our reality. He does not understand." By then she was still, and Boromir relaxed his grip. When she made no move to break out, he released his hold completely.
But now Frodo was puzzled. "It doesn't make sense!" he cried. Boromir held a finger to his lips and shook his head disapprovingly, but the hobbit ignored him. "How old are you?"
"I have no idea how old I am," she replied with a bitter shrug. "Once I came here time lost all meaning." She sighed softly and glanced at Boromir, the only other person who hailed from the world of Man. When she did continue, she spoke haltingly. "I was thirteen when I met. somebody. We meant to be married, but there was a war and he was made to fight. And I didn't dare face anybody. I wasn't his widow. We weren't married. So I went away." She looked up and gave a hollow laugh. "And if you still don't understand, ask your friend here to explain."
That night, the Company camped outside the hut, and for the first time in days had much more to eat than elven lembas. The lady had given the hobbits leave to take anything they wanted from her garden, provided they cooked a portion for her as well, and needless to say, they plundered it for all it was worth.
Dinner that night was a joyous affair. Their plates piled high with potatoes, carrots, turnips, peas, tomatoes, mushrooms and various other fruits and vegetables, they had fresh water from a well, and just when they thought they were done, their host produced a huge pot of jam, and though there was not enough bread to go around, Merry, Pippin and Boromir wasted no time in plunging their fists into it, laughing and joking as they licked the sticky sweetness off their hands. And while Legolas said nothing, the remainder yelled out for the three to pass the jam around.
As they sat by the fire afterwards, contented and well fed, a drowsy thought returned to Boromir. He looked around lazily. As usual, Sam was curled up at Frodo's feet. Merry and Pippin lay side by side, both watching the stars and laughingly pointing out 'cherry pie-like' and 'mushroom bake-ish' constellations. Legolas and Gimli sat together, an unlikely couple while Aragorn fingered his pendant and gazed into the flickering flames.
Boromir turned to his right and smiled indolently at the woman beside him, and suddenly shy, she lowered her eyes and reddened. Emboldened, by her unexpected timidness, he leaned over to whisper into her ear, and though she flinched when his lips brushed against her skin, she wore a smile beneath her blush.
"Tell me about yourself," he purred, and was gratified to see the hairs on her bare arms rise. Women loved to talk about themselves, that much he knew, and for a man to ask a question like that was the utmost form of flattery. It showed his concern, and his sincerity. Except that for Boromir, it was a calculated move towards his own gratification. Her response was exactly what he had hoped to see.
"What do you want to know?" she whispered back, smiling happily.
"Tell me about you. Tell me about your past."
The woman paused, and Boromir could have kicked himself. He had forgotten that she had wanted to forget her past, not remember it. He glanced at her, hoping that she would not withdraw into herself, and was gratified to see that she had not.
"When I found out he was dead, I didn't know what to do," she said quietly. "I was already with child. He knew. We were to be married, but he was called away. I left my village, but on the way I had no money. So I sold myself into prostitution."
Boromir glanced up and was surprised to see Aragorn listening intently. How long had he been eavesdropping on their conversation? Boromir wondered. When Aragorn looked his way, could see an almost playful look in the other man's eyes. Probably long enough for him to know my intentions, he concluded.
But the object of his attentions seemed oblivious to the look the two men had shared. She continued talking as if in a daze. "I had no money. What else could I do?" she said as she sat, head bent and shoulders drooping, wrapping her arms closely around herself as if she were a child. Boromir got up wordlessly, rummaged around his things for his fur cloak and draped it around her shoulders. She smiled gratefully and snuggled up to him, much to his delight.
So she was a prostitute before, eh? Well, that was good news. She saw him looking at her like that and smiled warily knowing his thoughts full well without being told. "You're right, I suppose. Once a whore, always a whore," she laughed bitterly.
Boromir's smile grew playful. "I don't suppose you'd like to be my whore?"
The woman grinned. "I do charge, don't you know."
Boromir shrugged and patted his money pouch. "And I can pay, don't you know."
"Oh come now! Look around you!" she cried teasingly, gesturing at the trees and bushed. "What use would I have of coin? Can you see any shops, or taverns, or marketplaces?" she laughed, then looked straight at him. "I want food," she said quietly.
"I don't have food."
"Then hunt. It's been a long time since I've tasted red meat."
A movement in the corner, and Aragorn stood before them. The ranger bowed deeply. "My lady, you must allow us to thank you for your generosity at dinner, and to apologise for the Company's intrusion. On the morrow, Boromir and myself intend to go hunting, and whatever we snare will be yours," he said, With another bow, excused himself from their circle, but not before a quick glance told him that Boromir had gotten his point.
Alone again, Boromir turned his attention back to his whore. She still leaned towards him, and he took it as a good sign. She looked youngish in the firelight, not young but youngish, as if she had had to fight to maintain whatever innocence and goodwill she had left, and he found it strangely attractive. He reached his hand out and played with her hair.
"It's very dry, isn't it," he teased as he ran his hand through her hair. "Almost feels like I'm playing with straw." Lazily, he let the coarse strands slip through his fingers. She smiled and rolled her eyes heavenward in a condescending manner, but Boromir could see that she was well pleased.
Shifting his weight so that he leaned closer towards her, he twirled a lock of her hair and grinned, then slid his entire hand into her mop of hair, so that her head now rested on his palm and lay his forehead teasingly against her left temple. The wench gazed up and grinned, then looked away and laid a hand on his chest.
He felt a strange thrill at the pressure from her hand through the thick layers of mail and garment. How he longed to take that hand and guide it to where he could feel her warmth! Or just to feel the pressure of her hand run down his body. The chain mail suddenly felt heavy and suffocating and he longed to be rid of it, if only for awhile.
"What's this?" she asked, curiously fingering the pin he had earlier fastened to his surcoat. "Is it an emblem, or badge of sorts? It seems everybody of your company has one."
"All of us were given elvish cloaks as a parting gift when we left Lorien," he said by way of explanation. "And the pins were, well, for the cloak, I suppose," he shrugged.
"They're pretty," she said, then looked into his eyes and smiled, and again, he felt a thrill run like electricity down his body. He brushed his nose against her cheek, then nuzzled her along her chin and lower lip, but before he could work his way upwards, she lay a cautionary finger on his lips. He hesitated a little, for she had given him quite a pause, but when he saw in her eyes that he had excited her, Boromir grew bolder.
Grinning slyly, he tilted his head so that it was now parallel to her finger and kissed it lingeringly, then took her by the wrist and guided her finger into his mouth, smirking at her surprise. And although, she jerked her hand away, his actions had stunned her long enough. Grasping her head securely with both hands, Boromir pinned her down and forced his mouth against hers.
For an instant, she froze, half reclined as Boromir's open mouth covered her own, his warm, wet tongue licking against her tightly pursed lips, slowly, tantalizingly teasing them open.
As soon as he was certain she would not draw back, he released her of his hold and ran his hands down her neck and chest, savouring the feel of her hot beneath his palms, loving the fact that where his hands went, they left two scorching trails against her skin. Her fingers dug into his arms as she fought to block off his assault, and Boromir grinned to feel her shudder as molten fire ran through her veins and screamed in her ears, leaving her weak and defenceless against her own mounting desire while he nibbled and sucked at her lips. He knew she would not fight him for long. With a gasp, she surrendered to his kiss, a gasp hungrily swallowed by Boromir as his mouth devoured hers.
And there it was, at last. How long had be been killing for a shag? He almost couldn't remember, it had been so long since his last one, before his journey to Rivendell. "Inside?" he whispered teasingly, breaking the kiss. She nodded, panting hard, and he would have crowed his victory if he had not been so excited himself. As it was, he struggled wordlessly to his feet.
But ye gods! It was such an effort to stand upright, let alone walk someways to her hut. His body screamed out against every second of delay. He was almost tempted to take her then and there, in full view of the rest of the Company, but he knew it was impossible, that such behaviour on his part was unacceptable. As it was, Boromir helped her to her feet a tad bit impatiently, and led her back into her little hut, supporting her as she leaned heavily into him.
~ End ~
notez: The Brandybuck Curse refers to a Bagenders inside joke. I'm a big fan. Try it. Its great. www.bagenders.stormpages.com
Note from the writer: I got the idea of a threesome after reading some bad RPS and found it really blah that the readers generally see the story from the Mary Sue's point of view. It is also an attempt to subvert the 'Non-cannons-which-shag- cannons-therefore-mary-sue' stereotype. The wench-bitch in this story is not a Mary-Sue. Let me repeat, the wench-bitch in the story IS NOT A MARY- SUE. She does not use the Fellowship: the Fellowship uses her. She is an attempt to prove that it is possible to have a non-sue character who gets away with sue-ish stuff. Whether the attempt succeeds or not is a different thing altogether, and up to you to decide. Although it was meant to be a PWP type fic, the story is quickly (and independently- not my doing! I promise!) developing plot. Read at your own risk.
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Chapter 1-Boromir
Nightfall. Just about the hundred millionth nightfall since they left Rivendell. At least it wasn't so bad in Rivendell, or Lothlorien for that matter. At least there were them elf women. Gods, they'll never let you touch them but at least they were there. And they were pretty, even if most of them had less curves than a blasted plank of wood. At least a man could look at them.
Not that Boromir ever looked at them, mind. Especially not through cracks in the door. Especially not when they were in their bedchambers. Especially not then. No, Boromir would never do that, would he? No, no.
Because Boromir was a gentleman. "Oh, right," he snorted sarcastically. As if he didn't peep. Curse it, he wanted women! And by the looks of it, so did the rest of the Company. Look at them; they were getting all strung up and restless. Tempers were simmering everywhere, people getting jittery, and.ah yes, there were the classic symptoms. It was nice to know he wasn't the only one. Yea gods, how in the world was he supposed to act all big and manly and Son-of-Gondor-ish if he hadn't had a screw in aeons!
Okay, so maybe not aeons. It couldn't have been that long, no matter how much felt like. They hadn't been in the Company all that long. But ye Gods, it felt like an eternity.
You know, it wouldn't be so bad if there were something to watch. If there was anything he enjoyed other than a good shag, it was sneaking a peek on someone else getting shagged. Spared you the trouble of finding your own bitch, really. And you won't have to worry about all that cuddling nonsense. Or the fake compliments. Let someone else play the fawning courtier, he always said. That sort of emotional sentimentality made him sick.
But out here there was nobody to watch! Not even the entertainment of a warrior's comfort! Boromir rolled his eyes in exasperation. Now why wouldn't the Halflings do something naughty once in a while? He was cursed sure that it happened a lot in the Shire. He's heard about it before, hadn't he.something about a "c" word. Started with "c", couldn't really place his finger on it. "carrot"? Boromir never really got that one. What was so interesting about carrots? I mean, you dug it up, you broke it in two, you ate it, end of story. Not like it even tasted good or anything.
C-word, c-word. Ah, that's it! "Curse"! The Brandybuck Curse! Or something to that effect. And he was practically certain it has something to do with being kinky with other males. Or was that females? No, it was a male thing, that much he was certain. Ah, shit. Well, there was a Brandybuck, wasn't there, and a perfectly kinky one at that. Why wasn't anything happening? Ye Gods, he could just die of boredom.
He was bored. Bored! B-O-R-E-D! Why didn't that Elrond fellow send a woman as well? Or why can't Aragorn take us another route? One that didn't wind through the middle of nowhere? Maybe then they could stop by someplace, knock back a pint or two and get themselves a woman each. Curse it!
But Aragorn was saying something, wasn't he? Just that Boromir wasn't listening. Why did he have to go listen to that righteous prig anyhow? Not like it'd make a difference if he ever objected to anything Lord High-And- Mighty-Aragorn-Son-of-Arathorn-Isildur's-Heir-And-Heir-To-The-Throne-Of- Gondor-And-Arnor had to say. Not if Master I-Just-Shoved-A-Cactus-Up-My-Ass Elf had anything to do with it.
He had a mental image of the fair Legolas shoving a cactus up himself. It wasn't a good idea. Pleasurable to imagine, yes, but good, no. Boromir stifled a laugh.
Legolas frowned. "You will listen when Lord Aragorn speaks," the elf reprimanded quietly. Boromir had a sudden urge to hit him. And perhaps shove a cactus up the elf's annoyingly taught behind. If only they had a cactus plant around here somewhere. He craned his neck to look around but there was none in sight.
Curses!
Aragorn looked wearily at Legolas and murmured something in Elvish. Curse Aragorn too! Why did that prig always have to use that god-awful elvish tongue as if the language of his own people was lacking! Hah! "He thinks he's too good to use such the foul, base language of men," Boromir sneered, just loud enough so it would be heard by Aragorn and Legolas. Aragorn tactfully pretended not to have heard, but Legolas bristled at the insult. Ah, is that protectiveness I see before me? Boromir thought gleefully. Might they be messing about somewhere when the rest of the Company was asleep? Perhaps there was some potential between these two after all.
Yea Gods, he was bored! He had to be, else such an insane idea would never have crossed his mind! Bracing himself for the worst, Boromir forced himself to pay attention. At least it would stop any more brilliantly insane ideas with regards to the hind quarters of the Royal Pain of Mirkwood.
".supplies..blah, blah blah.. third nightfall. make it.blah, blah, blah," Not even Aragorn's charisma could make him listen properly. Letting his mind run wild, the Gondorian only caught brief snatches of it. "blah, blah, blah." Boromir yawned.
Suddenly Aragorn stopped and sniffed the air, then looked at Legolas. The Elf looked equally dumbfounded. "What the-" Boromir breathed, standing up. Through the dense vegetation that grew along the riverside came the very distinct strains of someone's singing. "What the-?" he repeated again. He glanced at Merry. The hobbit was salivating, and Boromir trusted Hobbit Sense enough to conclude that whoever was doing the singing must have been cooking too. The voice was distinctly female, and by all the gods, she sounded reasonably young as well.
Good!
Exchanging a look. Aragorn gestured to the others to stay behind while he and the elf crept forward to 'investigate'. When they were not back yet after a few seconds, Boromir went after them, closely followed by first Gimli, then Pippin, then finally the rest of the hobbits.
Together they found Aragorn and Legolas crouched behind some bushes, peering out into a clearing in a confused manner. The others took one look at the woman in the clearing and wisely decided to do the same. She was tending to a well-kept garden that grew around what looked like a passable hut standing in the centre of the clearing. Beside the hut, a single oak tree spread its branches. The Company exchanged a look. From where they were, the Company could see that she was indeed rather young, fairly pretty and very, very naked. It was an altogether pleasing sight, and Boromir felt himself harden.
They waited for some minutes while she mucked around her plants, but when it seemed clear that she was not about to clothe herself anytime soon, Boromir stood tall, stepped out of his hiding place and cleared his throat.
Immediately her head jerked up. "Oh!" she cried. He had apparently given her a bit of a start. Still looking more than a little stunned, she stood up slowly and rested a hand between her ample breasts to calm herself from her fright. Ye gods! he thought, his eyes fixed on her chest. His phallus positively throbbed.
"What are you doing here?" she said quietly. Her voice was deep and rich. Deep and rich and firm. "You're not here to hurt me, are you?" she asked suspiciously, then noticing the other faces still half hidden in the shrubbery, turned and shook her fist at them. "Get up!" she bellowed angrily. "Get up, all of you! Come out and show your faces! How dare you hide from me in my own garden!" she cried. The others stepped out and fidgeted uncomfortably. Most of them had never faced a naked angry woman before.
Boromir hid a smile. She still seemed perfectly oblivious to her state of undress. How nice. "Begging your pardon, my lady," he said, still amused, "you must forgive us. The little ones have hardly seen much of the world and." at this he shrugged and gave a polite cough then waited for her to catch his drift. And catch it she did.
"Oh!" she whispered as the realisation dawned. Her hand flew to her mouth as she looked down at herself in dismay. "Oh, I am so sorry," she stammered, backing towards her hut. "Oh dear.oh.. Give me a moment." She slipped into her hut, and slamming the door behind her, began a desperate search for something to wear.
Outside, Aragorn, Boromir and Gimli looked at each other and shrugged. The more bashful of the hobbits avoided eye contact. Legolas stared grimly into the distance, his mouth fixed in a thin set line. Boromir guessed the elf did not approve. Or perhaps, he wondered, perhaps Legolas was so cold because. Boromir glanced down, but even if there were any telltale bulge on the elf, it was hidden beneath the thick folds of his garments.
Perhaps Legolas really didn't approve.
The door opened some ways, just enough for her to stick her head out while keeping the rest of herself hidden. "Ahh.would. I mean.oh dear.." she faltered, an agonized look playing upon her features. Boromir grinned widely and strode up to her hut, proudly unclasping his cloak.
"There, is that enough?" he said, handing her the garment. Up close, he could make out the silhouette of her body against the dim interior. He wondered how it would be like to touch her.
"My thanks."
"Do you need the pin?" he asked, partly out of concern and partly to keep her at the door just a little bit longer.
"No, I think I can manage," she replied and firmly shut herself in.
Shrugging a little, he fastened the pin to his blue surcoat. It was a pretty pin, and he didn't want to misplace it. Besides, it was a memento. Boromir was never big on mementos, but a memento from Lothlorien was not so easily dismissed.
He looked up as the door opened and she stepped out with nothing but his cloak on. But Boromir was a large man, and she was a small woman, and she somehow managed to wrap it around her twice- once around her body and another around her shoulders- so that now she was decently if not queerly dressed.
And now, finally the rest of the Company came up. She grinned at them. "What are you doing here?" she said.
"We were going to ask you the very same." Aragorn replied. "There are no human settlements for miles around."
"So if you know that, why are you here?"
"We were passing through," he stated gravely.
"Nobody passes through. I've lived here for years and I've never seen a single soul. Not since. my. my son died."
"Your son?" Aragorn was shocked. "What are you?" he breathed.
Almost too fast for him to react, the woman swung a punch at him. As it was, he caught her wrist just inches away from his face but it just incensed her further. She struck out at him again, but this time, Boromir intervened.
"Hush," he crooned even as he pinned both her arms firmly behind her back. She struggled wildly. "Hush, my companion meant to ask if you were elf or human or maybe of some other race we do not yet know about."
"Hush now," he continued when she was calmer. "He was raised by the elves. He knows not our reality. He does not understand." By then she was still, and Boromir relaxed his grip. When she made no move to break out, he released his hold completely.
But now Frodo was puzzled. "It doesn't make sense!" he cried. Boromir held a finger to his lips and shook his head disapprovingly, but the hobbit ignored him. "How old are you?"
"I have no idea how old I am," she replied with a bitter shrug. "Once I came here time lost all meaning." She sighed softly and glanced at Boromir, the only other person who hailed from the world of Man. When she did continue, she spoke haltingly. "I was thirteen when I met. somebody. We meant to be married, but there was a war and he was made to fight. And I didn't dare face anybody. I wasn't his widow. We weren't married. So I went away." She looked up and gave a hollow laugh. "And if you still don't understand, ask your friend here to explain."
That night, the Company camped outside the hut, and for the first time in days had much more to eat than elven lembas. The lady had given the hobbits leave to take anything they wanted from her garden, provided they cooked a portion for her as well, and needless to say, they plundered it for all it was worth.
Dinner that night was a joyous affair. Their plates piled high with potatoes, carrots, turnips, peas, tomatoes, mushrooms and various other fruits and vegetables, they had fresh water from a well, and just when they thought they were done, their host produced a huge pot of jam, and though there was not enough bread to go around, Merry, Pippin and Boromir wasted no time in plunging their fists into it, laughing and joking as they licked the sticky sweetness off their hands. And while Legolas said nothing, the remainder yelled out for the three to pass the jam around.
As they sat by the fire afterwards, contented and well fed, a drowsy thought returned to Boromir. He looked around lazily. As usual, Sam was curled up at Frodo's feet. Merry and Pippin lay side by side, both watching the stars and laughingly pointing out 'cherry pie-like' and 'mushroom bake-ish' constellations. Legolas and Gimli sat together, an unlikely couple while Aragorn fingered his pendant and gazed into the flickering flames.
Boromir turned to his right and smiled indolently at the woman beside him, and suddenly shy, she lowered her eyes and reddened. Emboldened, by her unexpected timidness, he leaned over to whisper into her ear, and though she flinched when his lips brushed against her skin, she wore a smile beneath her blush.
"Tell me about yourself," he purred, and was gratified to see the hairs on her bare arms rise. Women loved to talk about themselves, that much he knew, and for a man to ask a question like that was the utmost form of flattery. It showed his concern, and his sincerity. Except that for Boromir, it was a calculated move towards his own gratification. Her response was exactly what he had hoped to see.
"What do you want to know?" she whispered back, smiling happily.
"Tell me about you. Tell me about your past."
The woman paused, and Boromir could have kicked himself. He had forgotten that she had wanted to forget her past, not remember it. He glanced at her, hoping that she would not withdraw into herself, and was gratified to see that she had not.
"When I found out he was dead, I didn't know what to do," she said quietly. "I was already with child. He knew. We were to be married, but he was called away. I left my village, but on the way I had no money. So I sold myself into prostitution."
Boromir glanced up and was surprised to see Aragorn listening intently. How long had he been eavesdropping on their conversation? Boromir wondered. When Aragorn looked his way, could see an almost playful look in the other man's eyes. Probably long enough for him to know my intentions, he concluded.
But the object of his attentions seemed oblivious to the look the two men had shared. She continued talking as if in a daze. "I had no money. What else could I do?" she said as she sat, head bent and shoulders drooping, wrapping her arms closely around herself as if she were a child. Boromir got up wordlessly, rummaged around his things for his fur cloak and draped it around her shoulders. She smiled gratefully and snuggled up to him, much to his delight.
So she was a prostitute before, eh? Well, that was good news. She saw him looking at her like that and smiled warily knowing his thoughts full well without being told. "You're right, I suppose. Once a whore, always a whore," she laughed bitterly.
Boromir's smile grew playful. "I don't suppose you'd like to be my whore?"
The woman grinned. "I do charge, don't you know."
Boromir shrugged and patted his money pouch. "And I can pay, don't you know."
"Oh come now! Look around you!" she cried teasingly, gesturing at the trees and bushed. "What use would I have of coin? Can you see any shops, or taverns, or marketplaces?" she laughed, then looked straight at him. "I want food," she said quietly.
"I don't have food."
"Then hunt. It's been a long time since I've tasted red meat."
A movement in the corner, and Aragorn stood before them. The ranger bowed deeply. "My lady, you must allow us to thank you for your generosity at dinner, and to apologise for the Company's intrusion. On the morrow, Boromir and myself intend to go hunting, and whatever we snare will be yours," he said, With another bow, excused himself from their circle, but not before a quick glance told him that Boromir had gotten his point.
Alone again, Boromir turned his attention back to his whore. She still leaned towards him, and he took it as a good sign. She looked youngish in the firelight, not young but youngish, as if she had had to fight to maintain whatever innocence and goodwill she had left, and he found it strangely attractive. He reached his hand out and played with her hair.
"It's very dry, isn't it," he teased as he ran his hand through her hair. "Almost feels like I'm playing with straw." Lazily, he let the coarse strands slip through his fingers. She smiled and rolled her eyes heavenward in a condescending manner, but Boromir could see that she was well pleased.
Shifting his weight so that he leaned closer towards her, he twirled a lock of her hair and grinned, then slid his entire hand into her mop of hair, so that her head now rested on his palm and lay his forehead teasingly against her left temple. The wench gazed up and grinned, then looked away and laid a hand on his chest.
He felt a strange thrill at the pressure from her hand through the thick layers of mail and garment. How he longed to take that hand and guide it to where he could feel her warmth! Or just to feel the pressure of her hand run down his body. The chain mail suddenly felt heavy and suffocating and he longed to be rid of it, if only for awhile.
"What's this?" she asked, curiously fingering the pin he had earlier fastened to his surcoat. "Is it an emblem, or badge of sorts? It seems everybody of your company has one."
"All of us were given elvish cloaks as a parting gift when we left Lorien," he said by way of explanation. "And the pins were, well, for the cloak, I suppose," he shrugged.
"They're pretty," she said, then looked into his eyes and smiled, and again, he felt a thrill run like electricity down his body. He brushed his nose against her cheek, then nuzzled her along her chin and lower lip, but before he could work his way upwards, she lay a cautionary finger on his lips. He hesitated a little, for she had given him quite a pause, but when he saw in her eyes that he had excited her, Boromir grew bolder.
Grinning slyly, he tilted his head so that it was now parallel to her finger and kissed it lingeringly, then took her by the wrist and guided her finger into his mouth, smirking at her surprise. And although, she jerked her hand away, his actions had stunned her long enough. Grasping her head securely with both hands, Boromir pinned her down and forced his mouth against hers.
For an instant, she froze, half reclined as Boromir's open mouth covered her own, his warm, wet tongue licking against her tightly pursed lips, slowly, tantalizingly teasing them open.
As soon as he was certain she would not draw back, he released her of his hold and ran his hands down her neck and chest, savouring the feel of her hot beneath his palms, loving the fact that where his hands went, they left two scorching trails against her skin. Her fingers dug into his arms as she fought to block off his assault, and Boromir grinned to feel her shudder as molten fire ran through her veins and screamed in her ears, leaving her weak and defenceless against her own mounting desire while he nibbled and sucked at her lips. He knew she would not fight him for long. With a gasp, she surrendered to his kiss, a gasp hungrily swallowed by Boromir as his mouth devoured hers.
And there it was, at last. How long had be been killing for a shag? He almost couldn't remember, it had been so long since his last one, before his journey to Rivendell. "Inside?" he whispered teasingly, breaking the kiss. She nodded, panting hard, and he would have crowed his victory if he had not been so excited himself. As it was, he struggled wordlessly to his feet.
But ye gods! It was such an effort to stand upright, let alone walk someways to her hut. His body screamed out against every second of delay. He was almost tempted to take her then and there, in full view of the rest of the Company, but he knew it was impossible, that such behaviour on his part was unacceptable. As it was, Boromir helped her to her feet a tad bit impatiently, and led her back into her little hut, supporting her as she leaned heavily into him.
~ End ~
notez: The Brandybuck Curse refers to a Bagenders inside joke. I'm a big fan. Try it. Its great. www.bagenders.stormpages.com