 SERIES: "Boromir's Elves" (8/WIP) Prologue: Volume Two of the Chronicles of Aster, found in the great and ancient library of the White City, Minas Tirith, tells a story of one of the heroes of Gondor and his adventures before, during and after the War of the Ring. This hero was a member of The Nine who went out from Rivendell to destroy the One Ring before it could fall back into the hands of Sauron. He was Boromir, son of Denethor, and he was believed killed during the journey to Mordor while trying to defend two hobbits, members of the Fellowship, from marauding Orcs who bore the mark of the white hand. The traditional tale has Boromir felled by Orc arrows and his body set upon the Great River Anduin in a boat holding his shield, his sword and the Horn of Gondor, which had been split in two during his final battle. When members of the Fellowship last see Boromir, his boat is headed toward the cataracts of Rauros. The Chronicles pick up the tale after Boromir has been set adrift, when his body is discovered by a group of elves who live in a cave beneath the falls. These elves are rarely found in any of the histories of Middle-earth, and their very existence holds a sense of legend. The Elves of Rauros were descendents of the Nandor who had taken to the woods and settled near Lorien. At the beginning of the Third Age, several dozen of these sylvan elves had broken off and founded a colony of their own, which became a sort of elven cult later spoken of in whispers as the Worshippers of Man or Man-Loving Elves. Gifted with the secret of male procreation, they were known to take a man as their king and to mix their blood with his. Before they found Boromir, their number had dwindled greatly, many having been killed by Orcs or dangerous beasts in the surrounding woods. Several had pined away and died after the loss of their most recent lord many years earlier. Without a new Manlord, the Elves of Rauros would soon cease to be. When one of their number found the boat containing the son of Gondor, their fate was left to be decided by he alone. They were forevermore to be known as Boromir's Elves. Part Eight, The Ring of Ubertas The elf Fael made his way to Boromir's chamber carrying the elaborate robe he had just finished sewing for the new Manlord. Fael, tall and slender, was known by the Elves of Rauros to be patient and unassuming, but he took great pride in his ability with a needle. One of the youngest of the group, Boromir was the first man he had ever seen, and thus he found himself sometimes overawed when in his presence. Having no females among them, some of the elves were required to take on the chores and roles more traditional for that sex. Fael was one of these, serving not just as the tailor for the group, but as a decorator and hairdresser as well. Fael was expected to take care of the laundry and sometimes to even help Mirion in cleaning the caves' chambers and maintaining the privies. While he didn't relish all of these tasks, he knew his contributions were important and he never complained. Secretly he believed his natural gifts would serve him well when it was his turn to carry the Manlord's seed; and his aspiration was to someday head up the nursery where the babies and children of the elves would be raised. This nursery was something he, Fael, had spent some time helping to outfit and decorate. Gondeg, the best furniture-maker, had constructed seven small beds with rails, and Fael had sewn tiny mattresses stuffed with the softest rushes for each crib. Someday this chamber would be the most important place in the labyrinth of caves, a sheltered nucleus for their dwindling race. He found Boromir waiting alone, sitting in a beautiful carved chair, dressed in the clothing he had been wearing when the elves found his boat run aground on the riverbank. Fael himself had repaired that clothing, carefully sewing the rents caused by Orc arrows. He could not help noticing now what an excellent job he had done, and he blushed at the audacity of his own pride. Boromir looked up expectantly. "Here is your robe, Lord," Fael said, proffering the fur-trimmed cape. Boromir nodded to him and stood up. Fael helped him don and fasten the robe with the leaf-shaped broach from Boromir's own cape. "Very nice," Boromir commented. He watched Fael closely, evidently noticing the pleasure the young elf took in his compliment. Fael blushed again. "May I comb your hair?" Fael asked. Boromir laughed, running a hand over his shaggy head. "It could use it." He sat back down and waited expectantly while Fael searched for a brush. Then his eyes closed in pleasure as the elf massaged his scalp with gentle strokes. "I could use a trim. My hair has grown long," Boromir commented. "No, Lord. It's beautiful." Boromir looked up at the tall, young elf. "Why is your own hair cut short?" he asked. Fael's dark blonde hair grew barely to his chin. Fael found himself blushing for the third time in Boromir's presence. This was the longest conversation he had ever shared with the Manlord. "I was caught in a bog and my hair was spoiled some time ago. We had to cut it to the scalp." Boromir's hair now gleamed in the light from the lamps. Fael stepped back, satisfied, just as Brogadan entered. Brogadan's eyes looked with approval at the scene. "You look fine, my Lord," he said. "All is ready." Smiling, Boromir shrugged in Fael's direction. "Wish me luck," he said. Fael looked at him curiously, not understanding. Boromir chuckled and reached out a large hand to tousle Fael's hair as he passed. "Thank you for the beautiful robe," he said in his resonant voice. Fael's answering smile was one of barely contained adoration. Brogadan led Boromir through the corridors, all the while explaining the upcoming ceremony. He wanted to be certain the new Manlord was not taken by surprise by any of what lay ahead for him. Boromir listened and nodded, his attentive eyes taking in their surroundings as they walked, memorizing the route they took to the cave's inner grotto. When they arrived and stepped out into the huge cavern, they paused, both man and elf momentarily arrested at the breathtaking sight. The glittering grotto reflected a golden hue from the shimmering rock of its walls; only a few lamps were necessary to set the entire space alight. The floor was a smooth, bluish agate, like the still water of a mountain lake somehow hardened into stone. And far away could be discerned the roar of the falls, sounding in the open air like the deep breath of the earth itself. "Beautiful," Boromir said. Brogadan nodded. The elves rarely came into this place, so that when they did, they were always filled with reverence. This was the throne-room of the Manlord -- the Chamber of the King. The throne itself was another intricately carved chair, this one twice the size of those in Boromir's bedroom, raised on a platform of rock toward the back of the cavern. A deep red cloak covered the seat and fell to the pedestal, its plush nap undisturbed, unimpressed as yet by the weight of man. The most imposing sight in the grotto was not the throne, however; it was the huge bed set on a stone platform in the center of the chamber. A massive stuffed mattress, strewn with fine, luxurious furs, nestled in a giant cradle of dark, polished wood. The headboard was not excessively tall, but it supported several stuffed pillows. This piece of furniture was large enough to hold several full-grown men. Now the Elves of Rauros surrounded it, and at Boromir's entrance, they all stood back and gazed at him expectantly. "Come forward, my Lord," Brogadan said, steering Boromir by the elbow. "Take your place on the bed." Brogadan led Boromir into a circle of elves. These elves were either completely or partially un-clothed, their luminous skin reflecting the golden hue of the grotto; a dozen pairs of hands helped to remove the specially-made robe and the clothing beneath. When the new Manlord stood naked, shivering slightly in the air of the cave, Balan, second-in-command of the elves, pulled back the furs on the bed and motioned for Boromir to lie down. Several elves bustled about, helping to prop Boromir's head up with the plush pillows. His nude body was covered with a robe, and two elves, Elsand and Adan, quickly climbed in on either side of him, nestling close to warm him. The tall, impassive Balan handed Brogadan an ornate box, and Brogadan approached the bed slowly, opening the small container as he came. When he stood over Boromir, he lifted the box in his palm and held it open in plain view of the elves. Inside, tucked into a small square of deep blue cloth, was a thick, silver ring etched with Elvish words. "The Ring of Ubertas, the secret of our line," Brogadan intoned. The elves seemed to inhale their breath in unison at the sight. Brogadan lifted Boromir's right hand and placed the ring on his middle finger. It was a perfect fit. Clearly, this too had been measured and matched prior to the ceremony, leaving nothing to chance. "You are now our King," Brogadan said. "Behold the Manlord of the Elves of Rauros, Lord Boromir, our new protector, husband and father!" "Lord Boromir," the elves repeated reverently, and two of them -- Auron and Aradol -- broke into song. The song was one of rejoicing and hope, rejoicing for the coming of a new Manlord and hope for the strength of his seed. The great grotto echoed with the beautiful strains of the elfsong composed by Auron and practiced for many hours just for this occasion. It ended: "And now, at last, he shares his grace, Now two other elves -- Mirion and Tinu -- began to dance around the large bed. As they did so, they sprinkled spring blossoms on the furs covering Boromir and his two elf companions. Under these furs, the hands of Elsand and Adan moved over the new Manlord's naked skin, caressing and encouraging him. Elnestor came forward, holding two of the golden goblets, one in each hand. Balan carried the third; this he passed to Brogadan. Brogadan nodded to Elsand, and the beautiful elf climbed beneath the coverings of the bed and began to minister to Boromir with his mouth. Boromir sighed and let himself slip down from the pillows, his eyes closing with pleasure. He seemed oblivious when Brogadan pulled back the fur to reveal the scene beneath to the entire company. The leader held the cup for Elsand and helped to catch Boromir's seed when it came. Then Brogadan motioned to Berion. The young elf had stayed back from the group, watching the activity with wide eyes, his athletic form covered only by a fine robe which he now discarded. His skin shone pale and smooth in the light of the cave, accented only by the livid mark of the cat across his chest and the dark hair of his pubis. He nervously approached the leader, reaching out to take the golden goblet. "Drink of his seed," Brogadan commanded, and Berion took the cup and complied, sipping tentatively at the contents, fighting to keep his face calm. He swallowed and handed the goblet back to Brogadan. Elnestor then gave the young elf another golden cup, this one filled with potent wine. Berion looked at the healer gratefully and took several long drinks. While he did so, Brogadan handed the third goblet to Boromir and held the Manlord's head while he, too, enjoyed the rich liquid. When he had finished, the two elves beside him resumed their stimulating caresses. Then Brogadan stood back and addressed the company of elves. "Berion has been first chosen to take the seed of our new lord. We will all witness this historic moment and give all our concentration and support to this union. Berion, go forward." A slightly dazed looking Berion walked toward the bed, pushing his shoulders back and breathing deeply as he approached. When his hand reached out to touch the plush mattress, he was taken and lifted up by several of the strongest elves -- Balan, Brogadan, Himmion and Gondeg. With the help of Elsand and Adan, already snuggled beside the Manlord, Berion was raised over the bed, then lowered over Boromir. Elnestor came quickly forward and stroked his fingers between Berion's muscled buttocks, depositing a soothing unguent on the opening. Berion had never experienced the possession of an elf, much less a man, and men's bodies were sometimes not well-formed for easy penetration. The new Manlord, in fact, would not be easy for an inexperienced elf to take, but Brogadan and Elnestor had anticipated this and prepared for it. Boromir reached up and lifted Berion's hips himself. Then the hands of at least a dozen elves extended to guide and assist the Manlord and his chosen. For several minutes the pedestal in the center of the grotto was alive with the luminous forms of the Elves of Rauros, naked and filled with abandon, closing around the bed, intent on the coupling forms in its center. Berion sat above them all atop the Manlord, his face stoic, biting his lip at the first penetration. Then as his brothers reached out and aided his rhythmic ride, his taut muscles relaxed and he, too, was carried away on the courses of the Manlord's ignited passion. "Take his seed, Berion! This is the moment," Brogadan called out, sensing the culmination of this coupling. Now all the elves surrounded the bed, save one called Alfarin who stood back, his face stiff. Brogadan noted Alfarin's reticence, but kept his attention focused on Berion and the Manlord. Boromir shouted out with finality, gripping Berion's strong arms. He then pulled the young elf against his chest, burying his face in Berion's thick, dark hair. The elves moved back, and once again several of them began to sing. This time it was Himmion who led the song, one that praised the Manlord but also told of the bravery of Berion, the Protector, who had just that morning saved him from the deadly jaws of the big cat. Himmion's deep voice was enthusiastic and proud, if not as pleasing as Auron's or even Brogadan's. As he sang, he gazed fervently at the compact form of Berion, held tightly in the arms of their Manlord. Then Melvedir and Fael uncovered the many dishes of carefully prepared meats and breads laid out nearby on festively decorated tables, and the chamber was filled with enticing smells. They passed out dandelion wine and fresh-brewed cider to the entire company. The elves would feast and drink, dance and sing into the night, waiting for an announcement from Elnestor that the seed of the Manlord had germinated in the first chosen, Berion. When that announcement came they would rejoice, embracing one another and celebrating the good news with kisses and caresses. The Elves of Rauros had not had reason for such exaltation in many years. Their joy could not be contained, and even Brogadan found himself reaching out to his fellow elves, holding them close and pressing his lips to theirs, spilling happy tears on smiling faces. In the center of this revelry, the Ring of Ubertas glinted on Boromir's hand. The End, Part Eight
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