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The Two Trees (R) Print

Written by Geale

06 July 2009 | 6106 words

Title: The Two Trees
Rating: R
Pairing: Faramir & Elrond
Summary: What are they, time and history, in the face of love? Faramir’s road leads to Rivendell, and there someone awaits him.
Warning: Explicit slash between one man and one elf.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.
A/N: This is a pairing that I have wanted to explore for some time now. I still don’t know exactly what I want to say, but if it carries a message, hopefully the story speaks for itself.


The Two Trees

Beloved, gaze in thine own heart,
The holy tree is growing there;
From joy the holy branches start,
And all the trembling flowers they bear.
The changing colours of its fruit
Have dowered the stars with merry light;
The surety of its hidden root
Has planted quiet in the night;
The shaking of its leafy head
Has given the waves their melody,
And made my lips and music wed,
Murmuring a wizard song for thee.
There the Loves a circle go,
The flaming circle of our days,
Gyring, spiring to and fro
In those great ignorant leafy ways;
Remembering all that shaken hair
And how the winged sandals dart,
Thine eyes grow full of tender care;
Beloved, gaze in thine own heart.

– The Two Trees, William Butler Yeats

Does Anor spill her light upon your hair, my love? Does she guide your horse’s hooves so that the shortest roads lay before you? At night, do the stars sing you to sleep as I have begged them to?

Like a lovesick youngling I wish you would hurry, and yet I have all the time in the world. So many sunrises I have watched without you… In days past when you were not even a spark of living energy held in Ilúvatar’s hands. Now I count them – and I count the Moons that have passed since we parted.

And in the darkened night sky, my father’s bright light smiles at me, and he reminds me I am still a son, though ancient I may be.

Imladris longs for you already, for mine is the power over this land, and if I miss you, so does my home. I wish you would hurry; all is ready for your return.


Faramir, Steward of Gondor, was quite certain that he had been riding forever. If he had not seen the change in the land that alternatively rose and fell around him, he could have sworn that for every step Melden, his mare, took, he ended up further away from Rivendell than before.

“Do you not wish to see your home again?” Faramir finally asked his horse exasperatedly as he spotted a large moss-covered boulder that he was sure he had ridden past that very morning.

Melden, who had quickly learnt to deal with her master’s building anxiety, ignored him but perhaps quickened her pace a little; these lands were not unknown to her and memories of soft singing still ran in her blood.

Faramir lost sight of the boulder as the road began bending southwards and the woods closed in on them. He desperately peered through the trees but could see nothing but the fresh greenery. Behind them still towered the Misty Mountains and Faramir was glad to have left the High Pass behind. It had been a tricky climb for the late winter storms had torn the rock walls to pieces, and though most parts of the roads had been cleared, there were still treacherous spots where any traveller needed to proceed with much care. He had been delayed of course, when he had been obliged to slide to his feet and lead Melden by the reins. He had made camp on the western side of the Mountains, and uneasily slept the darkest hours of the night away, at last grateful for the rocks that shielded him from any curious eyes and chill winds.

Now the land was falling steadily before him and firs and pines gave way to birches, elms and alders. The early spring that now ruled these parts of Middle-earth was warming to its duty, and consequently warming the air. The Sun slipped in and out of his view as tall oaks towered above him and the day dragged on.

When the land finally evened out and the downward slope melted into a new wood, Faramir’s heart beat a little faster. He had ridden for weeks but in this very moment all matters of state suddenly rushed into his mind, and he found himself fretting over the possibility that he might have forgotten some crucially important document in Calenhad where he had met up with Éomer who generously had offered to meet him halfway. Or in Lórien where Galadriel and Celeborn would still dwell for another year before they sailed. Or in the large camp on the border of Mirkwood, where he had spent three nights discussing the patrol of the lands with the Men of the North and a group of Wood-elves.

It was not only King Elessar who considered vigilance an important factor in maintaining peace, but the modes of procedure differed. Suffice to say, Faramir had learnt much about cultural differences in a relatively short while.

The last stop on his journey north should be the most pleasant one, but even so, it was the one that caused Faramir to worry the most. He tried to calm his wavering senses by drawing a series of long, deep breaths as he began recognising the signs around him, but now that Melden clearly felt the tug of her old home, she increased her pace and the wind came rushing into his face.

And then, as sudden as a summer rain, the Valley gracefully spread out before him and its waters glittered in the sunlight that cascaded down from the clear blue sky. He knew not when he had passed the border, but here he was and he decided that was sign enough he was welcome.

“Easy,” he mumbled to Melden as she trod along the road that lead straight to the House. He had visited Rivendell twice before: once in the company of Aragorn and Arwen, and once with a whole party of guests come from all over Middle-earth. The first stay had been slightly longer, stretching over nearly two weeks, but that last one had ended after only three days. It was his deepest secret but one how much he had mourned when the land began to climb and Rivendell was lost to his eyes. His other secret, the one that he hid even from himself, was how much he had missed its Lord.

He crossed a small stream and then the road gently began rising. He was sighted and he did not know exactly how it was done, but he was sure word of his arrival was brought to the House, for when the road twisted again and the principal dwelling of the Valley came into view, he spotted a few figures assembling in the courtyard.

“Here goes,” he muttered, partly to himself and partly to Melden who really showed very little compassion towards him in this matter. Faramir, a son of Gondor, straightened in his saddle as he approached the elven Lord of Imladris. “Wish me luck.”

He passed through the low gates and underneath the arched vault that was the gateway to Elrond Peredhel’s home; vines clung to it and here also the Sun shone. Had Faramir not been so nervous he would have better appreciated the beauty and the peace that were as much a part of this place as were the stone walls and the wooden panels.

“Faramir, suilad!”1 Elrond was waiting for him by the broad flight of stairs that lead up to the main entrance. He was formally dressed in robes of a deep green shade and something gleamed of silver on his brow. His long dark hair was intricately braided and his demeanour proud. But there was a smile in his eyes and a twinkle there that momentarily caused Faramir’s carefully designed balance of mind to sway.

Hîr nín,”2 Faramir greeted Elrond and he brought Melden to a final stop and swung down to land on the grass. He desperately turned over some phrases in elvish in his mind, chiding himself for not thinking of this earlier. With the Lady of Lothlórien he had spoken in the Common Tongue, but with Elrond it was different. He had always sensed that this particular elf liked it when he tried to adapt.

Now Elrond was waiting for him and he looked up. “Goheno nin,3 he said with a weak smile, “I seem to have lost all my knowledge of your language.”

A bright smile crossed Elrond’s features. “Not all of it, I hear,” he said. “You are forgiven, Faramir. Tolo sí.4

Faramir did as he was bidden and walked up to Elrond and they shared a quick embrace. The elf-Lord’s hand stayed on Faramir’s shoulder however.

“How was your journey?” he continued in the Common Tongue for which Faramir was immensely grateful. “I did not know when you would be arriving but I admit to some worrying.”

Faramir smiled, all too aware of the warmth that Elrond’s hand sent into his body. “It was long. Rewarding though… Your son will be pleased with the results of my diplomatic talent.” It was partly jest, but also partly true.

“I do not doubt it. Your knowledge of politics is a great asset to him, I am sure.”

Elrond spoke with sincerity but his eyes were busy searching for something else; Faramir felt their grey, silvery power penetrate him and he resisted the urge to cringe before it.

“And you, Faramir, are you well? You ought not to journey alone.”

His hand left Faramir’s shoulder and the patch of skin that it left tingled with loss. The young man shifted his weight from one foot to the other and tried to chase this sensation away.

“I am well,” he assured Elrond. “Éomer and I parted on the Great West Road, and I followed Anduin all the way to the High Pass.”

Elrond frowned. “You did not travel through Dunland? You could have crossed the Mountains at the Gap of Rohan and ridden along the Fords of Isen.”

“I could have done so,” smiled Faramir, “had I not had business in the Golden Wood.”

Elrond did not look convinced as he signalled for Melden to be lead away by the grooms. “We cannot know if there are stray bands of orcs still hidden in the Mountains.” With a move perfected by years of practice, he turned them both around without even touching his guest and together they climbed the steps and moved indoors. “You took a great risk, my Steward.”

“I took no such risk,” objected Faramir. “The roads are quite safe and I rely on my horse to guide me when in doubt.” He chanced a grin and took much pleasure in seeing a reluctant smile tug at the corners of Elrond’s lips.

“She is useful to you then?”

“I would not be here without her,” Faramir said though both of them knew well that the Steward could choose any horse in Gondor that he fancied, except perhaps for the King’s.

“That is indisputably untrue, but I appreciate the effort,” said Elrond, shaking his head, but unable to refrain from smiling.

Faramir slowed his pace from already leisurely and nearly came to a stop in the hall they had entered. “I am serious though, my Lord. She is beautiful – a splendid gift that I am not certain I have thanked you enough for.”

Elrond did not answer him at once. His gaze lingered on Faramir’s face and his expression softened. “You need not thank me, mellon nín,”5 he said slowly. “You deserve her, I am sure.”

Sunrays filtered through the cream coloured, thin curtains that were hung across the arched window-openings in a complicated pattern that kept the wind out. As the winds’ courses changed throughout the day, they were taken down and moved to where they were then needed; sweetly scented air still wafted through the House in waves, but these were no more than the gentlest of breezes.

Imladris had an effect on most visitors. Some felt intimidated by the obvious elven design – not mentioning the elves themselves – but the majority immediately fell into the routine of everyday life and was forever marked, in some way, by the powerful healing magic that inhabited the walls and the fabrics. On the two occasions that Faramir had come here, he had at once felt at home.

Mar bedithach?6

Faramir stirred and blinked at Elrond. “I am sorry?”

The Lord smiled at him. “When will you be leaving?” Before his guest could say anything however, he rephrased his question. “For how long will you stay?”

“I do not wish to cause you any inconvenience,” said Faramir and his heart sank low in his breast. “I will not abuse your hospitality longer than needed.”

“No, no, you misunderstand me, Faramir. I am sorry, you may stay as long as you like.” Elrond spoke uncharacteristically quickly. “Indeed, I have a proposition for you if you would join me in my chambers?”

Slightly puzzled, Faramir nodded and followed Elrond through the House. While they walked, Elrond spoke of recent events and he mentioned that his sons were both away from home at present. They had ridden out with Glorfindel a week earlier to scout the northern lands for any of those stray orcs.

“And you are sure they even exist?” asked him Faramir. “There have been no sightings of fell creatures for some months at least.”

Elrond sent him a wry smile. “My sons have been hunting orcs for hundreds of years. Please do not take from them their only pastime.”

“Ah.” Faramir grinned.

The large curtain that indicated the entrance to Elrond’s private chambers bore an embroidered image that was well-known to Faramir despite his heritage. He strayed in front of the Two Trees, momentarily lost before their beauty. He barely noticed when Elrond came to stand behind him.

“Telperion and Laurelin…” the elf said in a low voice.

“They are beautiful.”

“Oh, they were, Faramir… They were.”

Elrond sighed and his warm breath filtered through the young man’s copper locks and washed over his neck.

“You need not have seen them to know that… We have but remnants of their splendour and yet we stand in awe before both Moon and Sun. They are a blessing of the Valar.”

A shiver ran down Faramir’s spine as Elrond moved yet a little closer. The Lord reached around him and pulled aside the curtain.

“Please.”

Elrond’s chambers were tastefully decorated in light colours. All furniture was made of wood, carved into slender objects with the appearance of weighing nothing at all. Soft cushions were scattered around this first sitting-room that they had now entered, and several quilts were draped across the backs of low chairs and one, gloriously large divan.

Faramir became suddenly aware of the state of his clothes and he hesitated. “Elrond,” he tried, hoping that he may also be past formalities by now. “I am not fit for this, I am afraid.” He glanced down at his soiled boots and breeches that appeared now very out of place.

His host followed his gaze but dispelled his worries with a graceful wave of his hand. “You are a man, so you don a man’s attire,” said he simply. “And you have ridden far and so the dust of the road clings to you.” He smiled. “You may leave to wash whenever you please, but there is something I wish to ask you first.”

Elrond crossed the floor and proceeded to slide the robe off his shoulders. “You will forgive me.”

Faramir did. He watched avidly as the flowing fabric left Elrond’s form and revealed a very male body, its details hidden only by a tunic and leggings that attractively hugged well-sculpted thighs. He watched as Elrond stored his robe away in a closet that was of absolutely no interest to Faramir whatsoever, except that it apparently swallowed items of clothing that otherwise aided in covering Elrond up.

He closed his eyes and slowly opened them again. It all seemed so unlikely – that he should ever be the one who was chosen by Elrond. Still, he sometimes thought…

They had met in Minas Tirith the first time of course, when Aragorn wedded Arwen. Elrond had stayed for a fortnight, mostly aiding in the healing of the injured and sick. Back then, he was expected to sail, but as the months passed, he had remained in Rivendell to the delight of his family – and Faramir.

The new Steward of Gondor was drawn to Elrond even before he knew it himself. He sought out his company, shyly at first but often enough to form a friendship with him. They had discovered a few things they had in common and had started off there. The days were long then and conversation tended to continue far into the night. At times Faramir imagined that they sat closer than necessary and that Elrond looked at him in a certain way, but he could never be sure.

During his second stay in Rivendell it was only natural that the topic of horses came up as Éomer was among the guests. It was then that Elrond had learnt Faramir had no horse of his own and so he had been given Melden. It was not the beast in itself that lightened Faramir’s heart, but the thought behind the gift. The young Steward knew then that should the day ever come, he would be willing to try…

“Lost in thought?”

Elrond was standing in front of him with a raised eyebrow and half-smile on his lips. Faramir shook his head to clear his mind and smiled, he too.

“I am tired, perhaps.”

“Come, Faramir. Sit down.”

Elrond laid a hand on his shoulder and steered him towards one of the low, cushioned chairs. Faramir gratefully sank down and let go of a long breath; he was left empty and with a pleasant feeling of calmness within. The elf took the chair opposite his and leaned forward.

“As I said, I have a proposition for you. I know you have accomplished much these past weeks and that Aragorn should see the treaties that you have undoubtedly managed to convince the most stubborn rulers to sign, but…” He paused, acknowledging the small, self-conscious shrug that Faramir gave. “But as this is your last stop before you head back to Gondor, I propose the following: stay here for some time and let my swiftest riders bring your documents to Minas Tirith.”

As Elrond’s words sank in, Faramir contemplated them. It was a tempting offer but it made him hope for other things that were much more unattainable. “The King…” he began uncertainly but was gently cut off.

“The King already knows of this.” Elrond met his gaze steadily. “Do not think for a second that we conspire against you. It was merely an ancient elf informing his son of his plans.”

Faramir fell silent. He felt like a fly drawn to the light but not quite daring to touch it lest he should burn himself. “Why?” he said at last in a voice that barely exceeded a whisper.

“Beacuse…” Elrond sighed, “this elf is also foolish enough to think that maybe, just maybe, his son’s Steward would not mind.”

Faramir dropped his gaze and sat staring at his knees. “He does not mind,” he mumbled. Clear thinking as an ability deserted him and he felt now like a shell, an empty void waiting to be filled with something new and fresh, and most desired.

He sensed Elrond leaning forward and ever so tentatively the elf sought him out with his mouth. With a gentle pressure on Faramir’s lips, Elrond tilted his head upwards again.

“There should always be light in your face, my love,” he whispered before he deepened the kiss.

Elrond’s lips brushed against his own with caution but when Faramir responded, as shyly as he had first initiated their friendship, the elf seemed to gain some more confidence. He opened up slightly and Faramir could taste more of him, daring to trace his bottom lip with the very tip of his tongue. A faint hum from Elrond encouraged him and he ended their kiss by repeating the action and then staying immobile for another second, savouring the closeness.

Elrond was serious when they drew apart and his grey eyes were shimmering like the Anduin in twilight. His voice was low-pitched when he spoke.

“I longed for you, Faramir… It was new to me and I thought I had known everything. And to tell these things to my own son… To admit to him that I had lost my heart to one who is younger than even he is. It seemed… beyond me.”

“Aragorn knows of this too?” Faramir swallowed. He had no idea what it must look like.

“He knows of the hope that I harboured, yes…” Elrond nodded slowly. “The hope that I still harbour, Faramir. He knows it and he does not mind.”

Trying to sort all this out, Faramir raked a hand through his hair. “But he… He knew when I left?”

“Yes.” Elrond’s face was suddenly captured by a mischievous grin. “But by using some age-old threats that have always worked well I made him promise not to bring the matter up with you before I had had the chance to do so myself.” His grin faded as a distant light filled his eyes and he sighed. “A man is always his father’s son. And it is so also with elves.”

Faramir watched the change in him but shook his head. “Some fathers are better off forgotten.”

Elrond lifted a hand and traced a line from his temple to his upper lip with his forefinger. “So that the sons can live.”

Numbly, Faramir nodded.

They sat in silence for a while as Anor sank towards the horizon and painted the sky a shimmering orange. Elrond’s hair caught some of her glow and in this light he looked more ethereal than ever. In some other world and in some other time, this would have scared Faramir away, but not now.

“I will stay,” he said quietly.

Elrond rose from his chair and held out a hand. Faramir stood also and accepted the hand in his. He was lead to a great window-opening that looked out on the Valley beneath them. It was there that Elrond slowly undressed him, taking his time to brush his palms over every inch of naked skin that he revealed little by little. To Faramir it was like being stripped to the bone and not only because his clothes fell away, but because he felt lighter and lighter as old sorrows and wounds ran off him like the mountain sides were washed clean after the winter by the spring rains.

Elrond circled him and came to stand behind him once again. Warm lips left a trail of kisses on his shoulder and along his neck, and beneath it Faramir trembled slightly.

“Anor,” whispered Elrond against his skin, “the fruit of Laurelin… The young one.” He moved closer still and Faramir could feel the heat of his body and the obvious arousal that was pressed against him. “The golden one.”

Faramir swayed back, seeking more contact with the still clad form behind him. His own flesh was stirring and though the evening air was chilly he burned as hot as Anor herself.

“Shall I tell you the tale?” asked Elrond as his arms circled Faramir’s waist and his hands began their quest downwards. “Of the Two Trees of Valinor?” One of his hands brushed against the growing arousal and he simultaneously traced a small circle with the tip of his tongue on Faramir’s neck.

Faramir swallowed hard and let his head drop back on Elrond’s shoulder. He was not allowed, however.

“No, my love,” whispered Elrond. “I want you to see the Sun as I tell you her story.” He urged Faramir to lift his head and rewarded him with a first stroke. The young man let out a moan but forced his eyes to stay open.

He saw the Valley drenched in gold before him; every river and stream reflected the glow and sent it back to the heavens from whence it came. He stood like a burning beacon himself, illuminated by the light and scorching hot like the very flames that surely licked him. When Elrond’s hand began stroking him in earnest he became one with that golden haze, as the tale of the Lights of the Land of the Valar enfolded him in all its sorrow and immense beauty.

When he could take it no longer, he emptied himself to the sounds of his own pleasure; his moans were swallowed up by Elrond who caught his mouth and eagerly drank them down. Faramir shook in the elf’s embrace and was finally allowed to sink back into strong arms.

He stayed there for long moments as the tremors gradually died away. Elrond was caressing his chest and he opened his eyes to the sky outside and to the last rays of the Sun. As air once more seeped into his lungs he saw the first stars twinkle in the deep blue, far away in the North.

“I give my love to you, Faramir. If you will have it… If you will be my last adventure in Arda.”

“You already have my love,” said Faramir as speech came back to him. “Gerich veleth nín.”7

Elrond’s laughter was like the singing of a woodland stream. “Now for that you will be rewarded!”

Faramir turned in his embrace and smiled. “I think it is not I who need attention.” he glanced downwards knowingly.

“For you the Sun,” Elrond kissed him lightly on the lips, “for me, the Moon.”

Faramir was lead to a new doorway with a proper, actual door this time. Behind it was a large bedchamber wherein most of the space was taken up by a great four-poster bed with a carved headboard and long curtains that would encircle the whole structure when its owner desired further privacy. But it was not the bed that impressed Faramir the most. It was the light. In here, the windows faced east and north and now Ithil was spilling his silver across the floor and the covers.

He heard the click when Elrond closed the door behind them and he smiled to hide some newly awakened anxiety. Though he may have accepted his feelings for the elf-Lord, he had rarely, if ever, permitted himself to think of what might actually happen if Elrond felt the same.

He took a few steps closer to the bed and watched as the moonlight played on his skin. Then he looked up.

Elrond’s gaze lingered on him and his face was soft. The elf was still clad in his tunic and leggings but he had left his slippers by the door. He seemed to hesitate, but then he slowly pulled off his shirt, revealing pale skin that must have been of the same essence as the moonlight. His chest was broad and there were well-toned muscles playing underneath that skin. Faramir could do nothing but watch as Elrond slipped out of his leggings to expose his risen flesh. He stopped breathing as the elf began moving towards him, his eyes sending forth a never-ending flow of lust. Lastly, when Elrond was only inches away, he lifted his hands to remove the slim silver circlet that encircled his head. He placed it atop a chest so close by that he did not have to draw his eyes away from Faramir’s face.

“I have no words, my Lord,” Faramir said quietly and sensed his voice being soaked up by the moonlight.

“Then waste no time trying to find any.”

Elrond’s kiss was slow. It sent Faramir’s blood rushing through his veins and yet it held him perfectly immobile, and without desire to lie down, or even touch. This simple meeting seemed enough, indeed all that he could handle. Elrond gently sucked on his lower lip, let him go and then brought him back by teasing his upper lip with his tongue. It was a light kiss but in no way chaste. The elf gently coaxed Faramir to open his mouth further but when he did so, still the kiss remained light, almost shallow. It was a kiss that would bind Faramir’s heart forever, or so his dizzied mind suggested. The man swayed and Elrond’s hands held him steady, and the kiss did not end.

Then there was touch as Elrond eased them both down onto the bed. The kiss must have ended then for Faramir found himself stretched out with Elrond beside him and such a change could not have taken place with their lips pressed together. Still all he knew was that Elrond’s tongue slid against his own and caused shiver after shiver to race across his skin.

Hands were exploring his hips and abdomen; he rolled onto his side and his partner followed him, placing himself behind his back. Faramir closed his eyes as experienced fingers slipped between his thighs and sought out the furled entrance to his body. Elrond’s lips were no longer on his but they placed kisses all over his shoulder.

A dull sound somewhere in the room coincided with the withdrawal of Elrond’s questing fingers and Faramir groaned involuntarily.

“Hush, love… There…” Elrond soon lay against him again and he left a kiss at his human lover’s temple.

When his fingers resumed their circling motions they were slick with oil. Faramir exhaled deeply, readying himself for the intrusion. It had been some time but at least he was no untouched youngling. A low, musical humming from Elrond helped calm him further and as the first finger slipped inside, Faramir was able to welcome it without pain.

He was stretched carefully and thoroughly but he still writhed against the body behind him as three fingers filled him. Elrond stopped his ministrations and waited. With Faramir’s body once again relaxed, he continued.

“Telperion…” His low voice floated all around Faramir and the tale wove itself into his system. “The white one… The elder one.” Elrond kissed the skin beneath his earlobe and his fingers slipped out.

Faramir exhaled once more as he felt the blunt head of Elrond’s arousal press against his opening. He fell forward a little, letting the elf hold him in his arms as he entered him.

“Shining, brilliant flowers of silver dew…” Elrond sheathed himself deep inside and the man could hear the strain in his voice. “Oh, love…” He dropped his forehead onto Faramir’s shoulder and drew a long breath.

Shakily, Faramir smiled into the covers but this smile was wiped from his face as soon as Elrond began moving and hit his gland at once. He let out a long moan and Elrond pushed into him again, holding him securely in his embrace, but trembling all the same.

With much effort, Faramir opened his eyes as Elrond filled him a third time and though his view was obscured due to his own hair that fell into his face, he saw shimmering silver and how it played in the thin sheen of sweat that covered his arm. Set in the heavens by the Valar, Ithil sailed across the sky – the celebrated last flower from Telperion.

He let Elrond set the pace and he followed him into the spiralling flow of desire. Still his own flesh did not swell again but this came almost as a relief to him: like this – without having to consider his own needs – he was able to concentrate fully on his lover. He clenched his inner muscles, causing Elrond to shudder against him. Having Elrond thrust into him, brushing his sensitive spot every time, he bit his lip hard to not cry out his pleasure. He did smile though, when the elf suddenly stilled and then sent forth his release with a long moan that reverberated around them for a long while.

Faramir’s pounding heart gradually slowed and he could once more see. Elrond still lay draped over his side, breathing deeply but steadily. Gently Faramir twisted a little to find some more air and at least try to leave a kiss on Elrond’s skin. He managed both, albeit somewhat awkwardly.

Elrond gave a long contented sigh, and rolled off him, slipping out of his body at the same time. The elf-Lord lay bathing in the moonlight when Faramir turned to face him.

“Now it is I who have no words, Faramir,” he said, pulling the man close.

Faramir smiled into his hair. “You need none I think, my Lord.”

Elrond raised his head. “Back to formalities, are we now?”

He did not answer at once. “History,” said Faramir quietly. “Is that not what forms us?”

His lover lay back down and begun tracing patterns across his chest with his fingertips. “It is,” he agreed softly, “and yet history is always added to. You are all of this…” He fell silent and Faramir was given a glimpse of something much larger, something in which he was only a small spark of life. “You lived beneath the branches of the White Tree for many years. Though withering I believe it saved some of its ancient magic for you.”

He loosened his embrace and shifted onto his side. Faramir was brave enough to meet his gaze. “And the other Tree?” he asked.

Elrond smiled and with his forefinger drew a line from Faramir’s navel to his heart. There he placed his hand, palm down. “Here. It is love, and it resides in here. If we let it, it grows with each passing Moon, and if we nourish it, it stretches its branches wide and encompasses all of Eä.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Faramir’s lips. “They are not history, they are eternal.”

The night progressed and Faramir finally fell asleep in the moonlight. Ithil leisurely completed his journey across the sky and for a while the world lay in darkness. Then Anor rose in the East and the cycles of time began turning once more. Elrond lay awake, making sure that golden rays again would touch this new love he had found.

From his place in the sky, his father smiled at him, a brilliant flow of light that also would last forever.

End


Translations (all Sindarin):

1 Suilad – greetings

2 Hîr nín – my lord

3 Goheno nín – Forgive me

4 Tolo sí – come here

5 mellon nín – my friend

6 Mar bedithach – When will you leave?

7 Gerich veleth nín – You have my love

Anor – the Sun

Ithil – the Moon

Arda – the World

Ilúvatar – Eru, known to the Elves as Ilúvatar, the creator of the World

– the Universe


Notes:

1) The name of Faramir’s horse, Melden, is a play on the Sindarin words for ‘love’, meleth, and ‘new’, eden. So you see, Elrond was already letting Faramir know of his love when he gifted him with the horse.

2) Elrond’s father is Eärendil, the mariner who sailed the Great Sea, and who with the power of the Silmaril reached the Valar with his plea for aid against Morgoth. He sails now across the heavens with the last visible of these jewels on his brow, as the Morning and Evening Star.

2) The tale of The Two Trees of Valinor can be found in the Silmarillion. These were Telperion (the White/Silver Tree) and Laurelin (The Golden Tree) and they both brought light to the lands. During the Darkening of Valinor, they were destroyed by Melkor (the Dark Lord) and Ungoliant, but their last flower and fruit were saved and made by the Valar into the Moon and the Sun. Though Telperion died, this was not the last of the White Trees; Elrond speaks here of the White Tree that grew in Minas Tirith and was said to be a descendant of Telperion, although I suppose more in spirit than actual… root.

3) The interpretation of the “other Tree” that Faramir asks about is inspired by the poem The Two Trees by W.B. Yeats as quoted above. This poem is beautifully adapted by the amazing Loreena McKennitt on her magical cd The Mask and the Mirror from 1994.

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The following people read the story, enjoyed it, and would like to thank the author: Gemenice , caldosangue

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9 Comment(s)


NB: Comments may contain spoilers!

As always, I love!!Thanks Geale!
And what about a long (very long, please….) A/F story (anxiously awaiting,bitting my nails!!!!!!)
Amicalement.

— camille    7 July 2009, 09:36    #

Thank you! I’m glad to have entertained you!
Hm… I did promise you something along those lines, didn’t I? I hope you’ll be happy to know that I plan to post the first chapter of my new A/F story within a month! :)

— Geale    8 July 2009, 05:46    #

Absolutely wonderful! As always, I enjoyed this immensely. Can’t wait for the next one! It doesn’t seem to matter what pairing you decide to write with. Whether it be a favorite of mine or not I still become a convert in the end. I used to be stuck on F/Haldir but thanks to you I’ve become a A/F or E/F or whatever else you give me. As long as you keep them coming, I shall be happy to keep reading. Thank you.

— Kelly    8 July 2009, 23:25    #

Beautiful! I was moved by the story. Usually I’m not so emotional but the style and tone of the fic got to me. I loved it and how you captured the two characters. It was heartbreaking, warm, funny and I enjoyed it so very much.

The analogy of sun and moon was cleverly done. Like a painter you managed to paint pictures for me with your writing – the golden sun which flooded the bedroom, the silver moon which shone on the couple and the aching and wanting of the land which mirrored Elronds longing. Really beautiful.

Dunderklumpen    9 July 2009, 23:24    #

Yes… This pairing fascinates me so much I had to try it.
Kelly, I never mean(t)to convert you, but I take it as a great compliment that I manage to ;) Thank you so much for faithfully sticking by me and I hope you will like the next story too.
Dunderklumpen (swedish?), I’m still slightly dizzy from reading your lovely comment. It was quite an intense experience writing this (I didn’t leave my flat for 24 hours) so I’m glad I got all the emotion across. I’m especially glad that you picked up on Elrond’s feelings. Tolkien did an astounding job, using all kinds of symbols in his stories, and I do love taking it a step further. I am very happy that you liked it! Thank you!

— Geale    12 July 2009, 22:22    #

Honey, why didn’t you tell me abut that awesome story earlier? It is Elrond here! Beloved, wise Elrond!… Probably because I should check in more often… I will do my best to repair that mistake, mind my words.

This was pure brilliance. I understood the conotations because thankfully I read as much of the Silmarillion to reach the tale of Two Trees. Using the tale here, to refer to Faramir, who was raised under the White Tree, seemed so beautifully obvious while reading, but I bet it was hard to come up with something like that. Beautiful idea, combining two Tolkien stories into your own universe. Wow. And, not to make it too easy, the poem. What was the inspiration, actually? The poem or Silmarillion?

About the pairing. Never seemed actually so very very appealing and a bit impossible. But just give it to Geale. She will look at it, think it over, write a story. (Oh well part II.)^^

I enjoyed the story so very much. It’s beautiful!

— Grey Pigeon    14 September 2009, 19:46    #

Why did I not tell you sooner? Well, if I promoted all of my stories all of the time you’d tire rather quickly ;) So I leave some surprises for you here and there…

I actually don’t remember how I came up with the plot for this story. There are too few F/E fics out there and I wanted one without healing. That was important. And then there was this image of the Trees created by mefa for nominated authors to sport, and it was so beautiful. And Yeats poem is such a gem too… There was simply too much material for me not to work with it!

I’m very, very happy that you liked it, darling. Thank you.

— Geale    20 September 2009, 14:30    #

Your interweaving of the imagery,legend and relationship is just so beautiful..the yeats is perfect. The story has such a dreamlike quality it is almost mystical. I can hear Mask and the Mirror with it perfectly. Thanks so much for this

— Sian    30 May 2014, 03:29    #

Thank you so much! Yeats is always perfect! If there is any magic to this story, he did half of the work ;)

Geale    23 July 2014, 22:09    #

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About the Author


Geale

Greetings,

This is me and this is where all of my Faramir stories are posted. I write mostly Faramir/Aragorn, but like to toy with other pairings as well. Hopefully, you will find something you like!

If you should feel like it, visit my livejournal Wildwood or find me at FanFiction.net or contact me via email: wildwood@live.se

Have a pleasant stay, wherever you end up on your journey.