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Some Other End (R) Print

Written by Lexin

14 December 2005 | 39687 words

[ all pages ]

Part III

"There was one poor tiger that hadn't got a Christian."
Punch, vol lxvii, p.143. 1875

Nothing had been said that morning. Probably Meriadoc or Peregrin, Faramir considered Meriadoc to be the most likely, had explained to Samwise exactly what that locked door signified. Samwise was very obviously not happy but was saying nothing. At least, nothing to Faramir; there was a distinct coolness between Frodo and Samwise. Faramir wondered what he should do, and fell back on pretending he had noticed nothing untoward.

As he had said he would, Mithrandir left them before they reached the Buckland Gate. The mood of the hobbits was quiet, almost melancholy; Faramir understood from their conversation that when they had left the Shire there had been no gate, just an open road.

Faramir remained beside Frodo; he could see, through the mess and grime left by the strangers, the outline of a fair and prosperous land, something he had occasionally glimpsed also behind the bones of Ithilien, Ithilien that Boromir now held as Prince, as his sons would after him. Faramir caught his moment of envy and killed it. His brother was not to blame for what had come to pass, and Faramir had a life to lead, wherever it might take him.

The new houses the hobbits pointed out half in horror and half in amusement, were small and mean, but the beds had been built for men not for hobbits, and it was no surprise to him when they began to encounter men who appeared to have orcish blood.

Faramir's heart smote him. He did not mention to Frodo his thoughts that such half orcs as these were not bred in pits; their mere presence told a tale of unimaginable horror on the part of nameless women of Gondor and Dunland.

"What's wrong?" Frodo must have caught sight of his face.

"I am saddened by the damage done to your land," said Faramir. Rather over-formal, but he supposed Frodo was accustomed to that kind of thing from him by now.

"Thank you." Frodo seemed touched, and Faramir looked away, a little self-conscious.

To Faramir, Samwise had always seemed to be a hobbit who knew his own mind and spoke it without fear or favour. Indeed, he had once overheard him accuse King Aragorn of 'foolishness' and for a wonder the King had not rebuked him as Denethor would have done, but asked him for an explanation and, satisfied with Samwise's view, changed his opinion.

It was therefore with some surprise that Faramir noted the flush which coloured Sam's cheek when he spoke to Rose Cotton. Frodo saw him looking and signalled him closer. "Sweethearts," he said, too quietly for Samwise to hear. "Always have been."

"I see," said Faramir.

"Are you quite sure you won't take some more potato, Mr Faramir?" asked Mrs Cotton.

"Thank you, no."

"Don't press my husband, Mrs Cotton," said Frodo. "Men eat less for their size than we do."

Once, when they were boys, Boromir had bought some kind of black and gold striped cat the size of a mastiff from a trader who said he'd had it from a corsair. The stares the cat received while it lived, and that was not long, were akin to the stares Faramir was now receiving from the Cotton family.

"Well, if you're sure?" said Mrs Cotton, and the dish was withdrawn.


Faramir took little part in the Battle of Bywater; he understood now what Mithrandir had said before he left: the matter was one the hobbits must settle for themselves. He therefore contented himself with following Frodo's orders.


That left Bag End about which Faramir had heard so much, and Sharkey. He looked at Bag End as they approached, and remembered with a pang that surprised him that Bilbo had been utterly unsurprised by his cousin's handfasting to a man. He could see at a glance what the despoiling of Bag End meant to Frodo, even without the tales Bilbo had told him of the old place. As they drew closer the feel of it set his soldiers' instincts to alertness and he nocked an arrow to his bow.

"It's so much harder when it's somewhere you knew and loved," said Frodo.

"I should have shoved my pouch of pipeweed down dear old Saruman's throat," said Meriadoc from behind him.

"And so you should," came a new voice. Faramir had never met Saruman, but knew him instantly from the descriptions he'd heard and read. "Here I am to welcome you back," continued Saruman. "And your peculiar fancy, the son of Denethor. You see, I keep up with all the news."

"Do not speak of the Lord Faramir," said Meriadoc, somewhat to Faramir's surprise.

"And why not?" said Saruman. "The last shame of a fallen house, dancing to the whim of a halfling..."

"You may leave if silent," said Frodo. "But if you continue I will give the order to have you cut down where you stand. Do you understand me?"

"See the halfling, so very lordly, and as he will let me leave, so very kind. He robs even my revenge of honey. Come, Worm!"

"Gríma son of Gálmód?" said Faramir, seeing the man come out from behind the broken door. Though he had heard Mithrandir speak of Gríma's fall, he had not imagined that he would still be with Saruman.

"Yes, indeed," said Saruman. "Are you surprised, son of Denethor?"

Faramir ignored him. "Gríma. I remember when you visited the Court when I was a boy. You came with Théoden on an honourable embassy. You were kind to me." That it was because Théoden himself, despite seeing how Denethor despised him, was first kind went unsaid.

"I remember you," Gríma spoke in a hoarse growl, different from the man Faramir remembered. "Beautiful you were. And braver than your brother, the one whom all loved."

"You do not have to go with him, Gríma," said Frodo. "You can remain here and receive succour until you are ready to go your own way. Back to Rohan if you desire it."

"No!" Saruman's voice was loud in the unbelieving silence. "Worm comes with me."

Frodo spoke again to Gríma, "I know of no wrong you have done me or mine."

"No wrong? His was the hand which cut down Lotho. Poor old Lotho!" Saruman laughed. "Buried him I hope, though his hungers are not those of other men. Best let him come with me."

Gríma shuffled forward as if in pain. "You told me to," he said, like a sulky child who has misunderstood an instruction from a hated tutor and been beaten for it. As he passed Frodo, Gríma's hand reached inside his cloak. Before he could pull the weapon Faramir stepped between them.

The hatred in Gríma's eyes was not for Frodo, or so Faramir judged, nor for himself. He realised too late that Gríma's weapon, swift to his hand, was for Saruman. It went home cleanly; like all men of Rohan and Gondor, Gríma had been trained to arms.

Faramir lowered his bow on Frodo's order, but three of the hobbits did not and Gríma lay dead.

"Look to Saruman," came the voice of Meriadoc. Faramir marvelled as the wizard's power left the body and dissipated into the air around Bag End leaving the shell behind. Out of respect, Frodo covered the face with the end of his cloak.

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