Faramir Fiction Archive

Elves, Orcs and the Road to Recovery

Written by KC

06 November 2004 | 58662 words

Part 8

As was his wont in regard to mornings in general, Faramir, who was lying on his stomach on a camp bed, awoke slowly and in stages. From his position perched on the camp bed in which their ada had slept, Legolas watched his brother's battle to consciousness with amused affection. During the journey of the Fellowship, Boromir had regaled them with stories of his little brother. The burly man of Gondor had warned all that if they should ever chance upon his little brother awakening upon the morn, they should allow Faramir to wake completely before attempting to engage him in conversation for his brother could not be considered, under any current or past definition, a morning person. Should any be foolish enough to attempt such a feat he warned, they would find themselves in their respective ancestral halls so fast as to be wondering just how they came to be there in what seemed to be between one moment and the next.

The first thing of which Faramir became aware on gaining consciousness was the scents and sounds associated with being housed in a tent. The second was the soreness in his hindquarters. Memory followed immediately upon cognisance of pain and Faramir groaned into his pillow. Before Legolas had a chance to bestow his most musical greeting on his brother, Faramir's pillow hit the elf squarely in the face. Light elven laugher greeted the brothers from the tent's entrance. Legolas greeted their father with a smile whilst Faramir looked at him blearily, still obviously attempting to awake fully as the young Steward turned onto his side and used his arm, bent at the elbow and resting on the bed, to prop up his head. Thranduil and Legolas shared a knowing smile as the elven King walked towards his human son, kneeling down beside him.

"How fare you this morning, tithen-pen?" Thranduil asked quietly, looking at Faramir intently as he gently brushed hair back from his human son's face.

"I am fine, ada," Faramir replied in a whisper. The elven King continued to look at his human son. Faramir blushed averting his eyes downward under his father's intense scrutiny. "As well as can reasonably be expected given the circumstances," the young Steward amended in an even quieter whisper.

"That is good to hear, tithen-pen," Maglor said in a booming voice as he entered the tent carrying a tray filled with food.

Faramir startled putting the hand that his head had been propped up by upon his heart, which he felt might leap from his chest any moment.

"Really ada! Have you ever considered putting a bell around that elf's neck?" the young Steward admonished in a harsh whisper, trying to catch his breath and calm his furiously beating heart as he sat up. "And I hope you do not expect me to eat all that? I am a man not a hobbit." Faramir complained in a louder voice, glaring at the Seneschal.

Maglor raised an eyebrow. Faramir groaned. Legolas chuckled earning a glare from his brother.

---

After the young Steward had eaten, washed and dressed, preparations were completed for trip to Northern Ithilien. As Faramir exited the tent he had shared with his father, followed by Legolas, he saw the Elrondion twins moving to secure their sleeping gear to their horses. Both seemed subdued and still in pain evidenced by the stilted way in which they moved. The young Steward knew that both been given a taste of his dreaded namesake but was surprised that they still seemed so pained. Legolas saw the look of concern and bewilderment on his brother's face as he looked at the twins and deduced its cause.

"Lord Elrond is half human. They are a little slower in healing than other elves," Legolas informed quietly.

"Ouch," Faramir winced in sympathy. "I do not envy them this day's ride then. I know what that feels like after a session with that… that…'thing'."

Legolas smirked at his brother's inability to say the word paddle.

"Aur Vaer (good day)," Faramir greeted the twins as he walked over to his own horse to secure his sleeping gear.

"Mae govannen," the twins greeted in unison. The young Steward winced in sympathy when Elrohir winced from what was obviously a flare of pain from his abused rear. Elrohir graced Faramir with a small, chagrined smile.

"That…" Elrohir frowned searching for a word to best describe 'Faramir's Bane'.

"Thing," Faramir supplied.

"Thing," the younger twin repeated, "has the bite of an orc!" he confided in a whisper. Elladan nodded in agreement wincing as he felt a flare of pain from his own hindquarters. "How often have you faced that… monster?" the younger twin asked.

"Between the elvish version and the equally painful older human version over the years, enough times to require several new coats of paint," Faramir replied in a beleaguered tone.

The twin's eyes widened in both alarm and in newfound respect for their young human friend.

Faramir searched through his medicinal supplies for the jar of numbing salve that Maglor had given him, knowing - or rather hoping - that the Seneschal would have stocked more.

"Apply this salve. It will deaden the pain enough to make riding bearable… almost," the young Steward corrected as he handed the jar to Elrohir. The twins smiled their thanks and scurried back to the tent in which they had slept, with little of their elven grace in evidence. Faramir turned around to Legolas whom he could hear chuckling behind him. "I do hope Maglor packed a goodly supply of that salve, brother. I have a feeling it is going to be needed."

---

Faramir and Legolas walked their horses to where Thranduil, Maglor and Finrod were waiting, ready to depart. The twins arrived a short time later walking with more elven grace than they had previously. Mounting their horses the company set out for the forests of Northern Ithilien. The company rode at a steady pace stopping briefly for a noonday meal. The Elrondion twins were glad for the short respite for their respective rears still ached. Both elves disappeared into the forest with the jar of salve that Faramir had given them. The young Steward and his elven brother shared a knowing look and smiled. Faramir, in his own opinion if not that of Maglor, was presented with enough food to satisfy even Pippin Took. The young Steward ate the meal, although not without much grumbling and protesting, under the watchful eye of the Seneschal. After the meal was concluded and the twins had returned with much-relieved looks on their faces, the company remounted and continued their journey until almost nightfall when they stopped in a clearing near a stream, just off the main track.

Elves and human set about making camp and preparing a hot meal. Faramir was again presented with what seemed to the young human to be a double sized portion of stew by Maglor, which, after protesting yet again, much to the amusement of all, that the Seneschal was mistaking him for a hobbit, he ate. After the meal Thranduil, Maglor and Finrod dispersed into the forest taking the first watch, leaving the young members of the company to relax around the campfire. Faramir and Legolas were sitting side-by-side, leaning back against a fallen log. Elrohir was lying on his stomach, as his posterior was still sore although not as sore as it had been, to the left of the young Steward. Elladan was in the same supine position as his twin for the same reason on the side of the campfire opposite to his brother and to the right of Legolas.

Elrohir looked at Faramir intently as if he would like to ask a question but had chosen to puzzle it out instead. Faramir was aware of the intense scrutiny but had chosen to ignore it for the moment.

"I would suggest that it would be easier to ask, for your curiosity seems almost bordering on painful," Faramir suggested in a gentle though amused tone as he continued to look straight ahead and into the fire.

All three elves started and Elrohir blushed to the tips of his pointed Noldor ears and smiled in chagrin at having been so obvious.

"I was just curious…" Elrohir began.

"That much is glaringly obvious, my friend," Faramir chuckled wryly.

"We had heard about that…" Elrohir said, again searching for the word.

"Thing," Faramir supplied, knowing exactly to what the younger twin was referring.

"Thing," Elrohir smiled wryly in agreement. "But Estel would not tell us about its creation."

"There must be a story there," Elladan concluded for his brother, much in the manner of twins.

"Yes…there is," the young Steward sighed and smiled wanly as his thoughts turned to the past and to Boromir.

---

At seventeen, Boromir had reached a man's height and after his first battle campaign against forces of Mordor in the defence of Osgiliath, was fast filling out in heavy muscle. Boromir returned to the White City victorious after several months away and was looking forward to spending three months in Minas Tirith with his little brother. Upon riding through the city gates, Boromir expected to be greeted by Faramir but the youngster was nowhere in sight. The heir to the Stewardship rode through the winding streets to the top level of the city and into the courtyard in front of the palace whereupon his father and other members of the court greeted him.

"Greetings father," Boromir said somewhat distracted as he searched amongst the faces for his little brother.

"Welcome home my heir, my first born," Denethor crowed as he embraced is son. "You return victorious from your first campaign!"

"Where is Faramir, father?" Boromir asked quietly, "I would have expected him to meet me at the gates as he always does". The heir did not miss the slight flinch and look of disgust on his father's face before the Steward's impassive mask returned.

"Somewhere sulking I expect. But come, my son, we should celebrate your victorious return!" Denethor exclaimed as he guided his son to the palace.

"My pardon father but I need to freshen, for the journey was long, hard and hot and I must smell of horse and sweat. I will meet you in the great hall later," Boromir promised as he ran ahead towards the living quarters in search of his brother.

Faramir was nowhere to be seen. After much searching Boromir came upon his brother asleep on his stomach, beneath the oldest tree in the private garden their mother had created. Boromir crouched down beside his little brother and put a hand on his brother's back but was not prepared for the reaction from his younger sibling. Faramir woke abruptly yelping in pain and scrambling backwards on hands and knees as if to escape.

"Easy little one, easy," Boromir soothed quietly.

"Boromir," Faramir's face light up with a smile of such love and adoration and then he fainted.

Lifting his brother gently, Boromir hurried back to his quarters with his precious burden. Upon arrival he placed Faramir gently on the bed and removed the young one's shirt. The heir of Gondor swore mightily when he saw the thin red stipes that covered his brother's back; stripes the heir knew were created by a cane - his father's cane. Boromir cleansed his brother's wounds, for some of blows had broken the skin and had subsequently become infected. It was obvious that the caning had occurred a few days ago.

Faramir, fevered from the infection, woke briefly and graced Boromir with another beautiful smile reaching out to touch his brother's face as if to test he was real and not a vision. Boromir choked back tears as he fed his brother something for the pain and to allow his little one to sleep. Boromir smiled as Faramir fell quickly into a slumber. Sleeping draughts had always had that affect on his little brother. Boromir wondered briefly if he would ever outgrow the tendency.

Knowing that Faramir would sleep for some time, Boromir bathed and changed into fresh clothes before going back to his bedroom to check on his brother. When the heir entered he saw Denethor looking down upon his youngest son with something akin to guilt for Boromir had not yet applied bandages and the welts were plainly visible.

"I did not realise I had been so harsh for he made not a sound when I punished him. He has become so unruly, so defiant," Denethor said in a harsh whisper in a mixture of regret and anger.

"He is but twelve years old father and still has the stature of a child. You cannot continue to be so harsh with him father, for you risk damaging him," Boromir pleaded on his brother's behalf.

"I do not know what else to do," Denethor replied.

"I do father. If you trust me enough to turn his discipline over to me, whilst I am resident in the White City," Boromir implored.

Still looking down upon Faramir, Denethor nodded his head in agreement. The Steward held his hand just above his youngest son's head as if to pet him but pulled his hand back abruptly, turned and left the room.

---

Two weeks later Faramir was healed fully and in trouble again. Denethor was looking out of the window of his study and had just told his youngest son in no uncertain terms that he would not be allowed to accompany Boromir on the morrow for his brother would be spending time with his men. Alarmed, Boromir recognised the signs of his brother's impending explosion and clamped a hand over his young sibling's mouth and dragged him to the door, opening it and shoving his struggling brother into the hands of Beregond, who was standing guard. Beregond, understanding the situation immediately, clamped his hand over the young Lord's mouth before the young one had a chance to say anything and held him tightly.

"He will not accompany me father. I will make sure of it," Boromir said as he popped back into the room and then left again to see to his brother.

Denethor smiled as he had seen what had just transpired in the reflection from the window. The Steward trusted his first-born and knew that Boromir would handle the situation.

The Steward's heir grabbed his younger sibling by the scruff of the neck and marched the cursing spitfire down to the carpenter located in the commercial district in the second level of the city.

"Master carpenter," Boromir asked the startled carpenter as he all but threw his cursing brother onto a box, "can you please assist my brother in creating a paddle that would prove very effective on a bared behind?"

Faramir's cursing stopped abruptly and his eyes narrowed as he took in the meaning of his brother's words to the carpenter. In a flash the young Lord was up and running but unfortunately his move was anticipated by his brother. Boromir caught his cursing younger sibling around the waist and threw him back down onto the box.

"Yes, my Lord," the carpenter acknowledged trying not to show his amusement.

Under the watchful eye of the heir of Gondor and with the assistance of the carpenter, Faramir, cursing in various languages the whole time, finally finished the paddle. Boromir tested the paddle on his hand, much to the embarrassment of this brother, and was satisfied with the resulting sting. Boromir then asked the carpenter if he had any red paint. The carpenter answered in the affirmative and went to look for the paint. In the carpenter's absence, Boromir explained that he would be taking over his brother's disciplining whilst he was in the White City and that whenever he was forced to chastise his brother, he would not stop until Faramir's buttocks were the same colour as the paddle.

The carpenter overheard the conversation and chose a deeper shade of red than he had originally intended. Again under the watchful eye of his brother, Faramir painted the paddle in what he considered to be an alarming shade of red. The young Lord continued muttering curses in a variety of languages as he set about painting the 'thing'. The carpenter knew some of the languages in which the young Lord was cursing and could guess the meanings of some of the words. Overall, he was very impressed by the young Lord's fluidity and ability with languages if not the actual content.

It took about an hour for the paddle to dry upon which Boromir grabbed his young brother, laid him over his lap and pulled down his brother's leggings.

"What is this punishment for little one?" Boromir asked.

Faramir's stubbornness manifested itself in silence. Boromir let loose a mighty slap to his brother's bared behind.

"Owwwwww!" Faramir cried out in pain.

"I ask again little one. What is this punishment for?" Boromir asked again.

"For arguing with father and cursing at you," Faramir growled through gritted teeth.

"And Master carpenter," Boromir prompted

"And Master carpenter," Faramir mumbled contritely.

"Good, now that we are on the same page…" the Gondorion warrior said as he continued to land blistering slaps to his brother's posterior. Boromir maintained a fast pace as he landed whack after whack to his brother's ever reddening buttocks. Faramir's whimpers turned to sobs and sobs to howls as his brother continued to blister his rear.

"I… am… sorry…sorry," Faramir repeated over and over as Boromir continued the slaps unrelentingly. "Why does he hate me so?" Faramir wailed in abject bewilderment and pain.

On hearing the words, Boromir stopped the chastisement immediately, pulled up his brother's leggings, turned him over, enveloping his little one in a comforting embrace.

"Shhhh, little one," Boromir soothed. "Shhhh. He does not hate you. I know he has been harsh with you little brother but you must not push him, for he does not know how to deal with you. I will not see you hurt so again because you have pushed him too far, even if I have to paddle you every day that I am in the White City. Do you hear me little brother?" Boromir asked holding his brother more tightly.

"Yes," Faramir whispered in a hoarse voice as he put his arms around his brother's neck and cried into his brother's shoulder. "I… love…you," the young one said between gasps for breath as he cried out his pain for his father's inability to love him and his loneliness now that Boromir was a soldier.

"And I you, little brother, I you," Boromir crooned with unshed tears in his eyes, as his brother fell asleep in his arms.

The heir of Gondor carried his brother and red paddle back to his apartment and placed his younger sibling in his bed. When Faramir woke the next morning, Boromir was still there, asleep beside him on top of the bed and still fully clothed. He smiled at his brother and then winced and hissed at a flare of pain from his much-abused bottom. The young lord saw that the red 'thing' was on the bed as well. At some stage during the night Boromir had carved the words "Faramir's Bane" into the wood. Of all the times for the great oaf to develop a sense of humour, the young lord thought as he watched his sleeping brother affectionately.

---

Legolas and the twins whilst appalled at Denethor caning a little one of but twelve years old, could not help laughing at Boromir's attempt to get his brother out of Denethor's presence before the young one had a tantrum and the antics of sons of Gondor at the carpenters.

"Your brother must have loved you dearly," Elrohir said as he looked at Faramir.

"Yes he did," Faramir replied with unshed tears in his eyes.

"And does, muindor tithen," Legolas said in a whisper hoarse with emotion as he patted his human brother's knee in a gesture of comfort. "And does."

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