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The Moon Has Waned (PG-13) Print

Written by Erfan Starled

22 August 2010 | 17300 words

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Title: The Moon Has Waned
Author: Erfan Starled
Fandom: Film-verse Tolkien
Characters: Faramir/OMC
Genre: FCS
Rating: PG-13
Beta: Ignoblebard
Comments (and much else): Malinornë
Summary: Gondor’s watch on Mordor is not always uneventful. An encounter with the enemy surprises Faramir, in more ways than one.
Disclaimer: All characters and settings from the books belong to Prof. Tolkien. The story is written for entertainment and shared without profit.

A.N. My thanks to Ignoblebard and Malinornë for divers and much appreciated help, and to Enide for all her faithful reading, crit, endless patience and assorted noises. And for making me laugh.


Prologue

The Moon Has Waned

The moon has waned
and the Pleiades have reached the middle of their night;
youth fades,
and I in my bed remain alone.

Eros shakes my heart
like wind on the mountain
which bursts among the oak trees;
and he melts my limbs and stirs his fire into them,
sweet bitter untameable serpent.

But for me neither bee nor honey;
I suffer and I desire.

~ Sappho ~

Gondor

The tavern was loud. Faramir grinned crookedly at the man looming at his elbow and gestured, sliding along to make room. “Esgarin! Have a seat.”

“You started drinking early?” Faramir’s friend and lieutenant seated himself with a wave across the room for service.

Faramir glanced at the emptied jug in front of him and ruefully smiled his lopsided smile. “We leave before dawn and the trail will furnish no such mead as this.” He raised his cup but his eyes were resting on the approaching tavern lad.

“And no such servitors either,” Esgarin rejoined under his breath. “But you are still going to have a hangover. Don’t expect me to prop you up.”

“That’s insubordination to a commanding officer, and my legs never failed me yet, I would have you know,” Faramir reproached him, self-mocking and with mock-dignity. His eyes were still elsewhere. He counted out four coppers in payment for the fresh jug and added a silver sixpence.

“For you,” he offered the servant. “For luck.”

The lad swept up the coins along with the old crock of mead, and tossed off the dregs with a smile.

“Well, he’s not unwilling,” commented Esgarin, with a sidelong look at Faramir. They watched the youth flirt his way through a forest of sprawling legs. Too burdened to prevent someone pinching him, all innocence he stepped back hard on an instep with a quick apology and a wide grin. The flash of dark eyes gave him a touch-me-if-you-dare expression and then he was gone, into the kitchens.

Faramir frowned a little. “Such fare is none of ours to sample.”

“Who takes notice when we are discreet? It’s not illegal among civilians. Everyone knows the soldiery are not immune, no matter the proscription.”

Faramir grimaced and let the old argument lapse. Esgarin’s father might turn a blind eye. His own father’s restraint he doubted rather more, should any such liaison come to his ears.


As the tavern emptied of those who sought their beds at a civil hour, it refilled in turn with tall men in green cloaks. The innkeep smiled and served. In the morning, his barrels would be empty, his coffers full, and the city the poorer by six score rangers.

Well-satisfied that fully a third of their number currently thronged his rooms, he refrained from cuffing Eswin back to work when he found him idling on a stool. Instead he bade him get himself a hunk of bread and cheese and a cup of milk. “The night’s not over yet. You’ll need your strength.”

Eswin grinned. “If only!”

“None of that from you!”

“Well, but look at them!”

“They’re not here for you, no matter how pretty you think you are.” The innkeeper shook his head disapprovingly.

“There’s nothing to stop me looking.” His eyes were on the Steward’s son.

Knowing the risk Eswin took, if once he bedded the Captain Faramir, the inn-keeper lowered his voice in part-rebuke, part-warning. “No encouraging them, do you hear me? This is no brothel I’m running.”

He knew the stubborn look Eswin flashed at him, and sighed. “You’re young. You don’t realize. Mark me, it’s a dangerous game lying with a soldier, especially the high-born, and not just for the soldier. All it takes for folk to express their disapproval is two men, a little coin, and a back alley.” Few would care if some light-of-love lad came to grief over a noble family’s hurt pride, or fell apparent victim to prejudiced thugs.

Eswin nodded dutifully but danced out of the door undaunted, a young man who knew the value of his looks. His master shook his head, but indulgently. He knew full well why Faramir returned here. He also knew that the captain came to look, never to touch.

Only when he was deep in drink did the Steward’s son betray his predilection, and never, even then, by more than his eyes. The inn was a favourite of the rangers, a safe place to congregate where tale-tellers and gossip-mongers would meet with short shrift, for the rangers took care of their own. Faramir betrayed nothing to the city at large by his visits.

The innkeep watched from his doorway for another moment as Faramir laughed with his fellows and let his eyes wander after Eswin around the room. That much the law permitted, even to a soldier, without reprisal.

End of Prologue

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

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4 Comment(s)

Elegantly done. I enjoyed this story very much.

— Bell Witch    Wednesday 25 August 2010, 14:34    #

Beautifully written! Excellent job of getting inside Faramir’s head.

— trixie    Saturday 28 August 2010, 17:29    #

Gorgeous story, Erfan!

— elfscribe    Monday 6 December 2010, 0:00    #

Hi Erfan,
I wanted to leave my MEFA review for your gorgeous story here. This story was one of my favorite discoveries during the awards.

The premise of this story is deceptively simple. Faramir, a man in denial of his own nature, is captured by a Southron and in the course of their journey, they become attracted to one another. However a premise we’ve seen before of two enemies drawn to each other, in Erfan’s expert hands, is written afresh in gorgeous, clean, sensuous language. Although there are exciting scenes of battle at the beginning, most of this story feels quiet, perfectly paced, as we inhabit Faramir’s head and find him disquietingly attracted to the Southron leader, Hajiri. The physical journey as Faramir is taken further and further from the land of his fathers is told lyrical detail [The change, when it came, was gradual as the grasses grew shorter and the earth turned sandy. Narrow-leaved thornbrush and other spiky vegetation made their first appearances followed by fat, fleshy growths of brilliant green. The heat increased and the soil petered out until it was only sand that sank underfoot: the great desert was nearly upon them.] The interior journey is equally well drawn as Faramir fights with his attraction for the compelling Hajiri (a wonderfully drawn character ) as well as his notions of what he “should” be doing or feeling. [In night’s large dark, the idea came that perhaps the true betrayal he committed was to his own nature, in his long denial of it.] In time, Hajiri leads Faramir to self-acceptance as surely as he leads him through the changing landscape to exotic lands. The theme of the landscape is echoed in Erfan’s description of Hajiri’s face that Faramir comes to appreciate. [Hajiri’s face had its own landscape of lines scored beside his nose and around his eyes, and on his forehead between his brows. When he laughed with his men they took on their full depth.]

The final scene of seduction [tonight lay between worlds] as Faramir explores his own boundaries, is deeply erotic, a feast for the senses. We hear the sounds of the dripping water, smell the flowers and Hajiri’s musk. It seems almost dreamlike. Freed by his captor, Faramir returns to the hard reality of his former life — forever changed. The opening prologue with Sappho’s exquisite poem echos the story. This is a lovely story well worth savoring again.

— elfscribe    Monday 3 January 2011, 0:34    #

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