Faramir Fiction Archive

Cedar and Cloves (PG)

Written by Mira Took

19 December 2010 | 7721 words

Title: Cedar and Cloves
Author: Mira Took
Pairings: Faramir/Elladan/Elrohir; Aragorn/Boromir
Rating: PG
Summary: AU. The sons of Elrond visit Minas Tirith.
Disclaimer: The characters and settings are Professor Tolkien’s. I have no permissions and make no profits.

A/N: To fit the request, Aragorn became King of Gondor in TA 2994. As in the original timeline, Boromir was sixteen years old at this date and Faramir was eleven. However, their grandfather, the Ruling Steward Ecthelion II, lived ten years longer in this AU. Realizing the growing threat of the Shadow, Ecthelion tracked down “Captain Thorongil,” who had won the battle of Umbar for him back in 2980 and whom he had somehow recognized to be the rightful King. Instead of the rulership passing to Denethor at the old Steward’s death, Ecthelion returned the crown to Aragorn. The current story takes place in 3003: King Elessar has been on the throne for nine years; Denethor is the Steward; Boromir is twenty-five and leads the Guard of the Tower; Faramir is twenty and has just come of age; and the Ringwraiths are still fifteen years away from setting out for the Shire.

Written for the 2010 Midwinter Swap.

Request by darkstar0203: Elladan/Elrohir/Faramir. AU. Aragorn is king of Gondor, possibly when the brothers are still young. Denethor is manipulative, trying to turn his sons against the king, and Faramir wanting his father’s approval is wary and distant of Aragorn. The Twins visit Aragorn and take a liking to Denethor’s youngest son and despite Faramir’s avoidance are persistent in courting him leading to much exasperation on Fara’s side. Flustered, shy and insecure!Faramir is preferred along with trying-to-act-tough-and-cold!Faramir. Persistant and mischievous!Twins. Naive!Boro whose being wooed by Amused!Aragorn. I’d like it more light and fun concentrating on the courting of Fara with just a bit of Denethor’s manipulating in the background. Bottom!Faramir is preferred. Extra points if over protective brother!Boro confronts the Twins after their night together leading to embarrassed!Fara.

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Chapter 1

Placing his right foot firmly on the forty-seventh step of the spiral staircase while his left balanced on the forty-sixth, Faramir braced his hands on either side of the narrow window ledge and heaved himself up onto it. Standing here, where an archer would be positioned during a siege, he could see out the narrow slit of a window down to the Third Circle Gate below. Faramir leaned his cheek against the cool stone and watched the old mulberry tree that grew up the side of the gatehouse sway in the wind. He’d come here often when he was small, to watch visitors enter the White City. He wasn’t sure why he’d come today. The King’s guests would be greeted by all the Steward’s family tonight, in the West Antechamber as was proper. Faramir’s clothes had already been laid out for him by one of his father’s servants and he had received a note detailing the sort of conversation he should make: mostly suggestions for smooth follow-ups to any spontaneous and over-cheerful remarks his brother might advance. Denethor approved of Boromir’s hearty goodwill when expressed to soldiers or common citizenry. Nevertheless, in the presence of the King, the Steward’s family were to be decorous at all times. Faramir would try his best to be civil but aloof tonight, as he always did whenever he came in contact with Elessar. But he supposed there was no harm in merely seeing the visitors beforehand. After all, it was many centuries since the City had last hosted Elves…

A single clear note on a horn preceded the King’s party through the gate. Elessar rode at the front talking with Boromir, who as Warden of the White Tower had led the King’s escort for the last leg of the journey. Faramir’s brother was laughing about something and – were he not a king – the expression on Elessar’s face could rightly have been called a grin. Faramir supposed they were talking about sword practice. When the King had offered to tutor Boromir alongside a few of the most promising members of the Tower Guard, Denethor had searched furiously for a reason to refuse. He could hardly say that the heir of the House of Mardil did not deserve the King’s attention, when common guardsmen were being granted the same honor. Nor could he argue that there was a teacher more suited to Boromir’s style: while the King rarely fought with a shield, he was an acknowledged master of swordplay in many forms. In the end, Boromir and the King had resolved the matter between them: Boromir by loudly asking if he could join the sparring – at supper, in front of the whole hall full of Gondor’s notables – and the King by accepting the request in a suitably gracious manner (as if, said Denethor darkly, it was not all his doing from the start). Faramir had not asked to join his brother at practice. Denethor blamed Elessar for encouraging Boromir. Faramir knew who would be blamed if he himself were to spend time in company with the King.

The procession was through the gate now, and bringing up the rear were the two Faramir had come to see. He had expected somehow that the Elves would be fair-haired, blue-eyed, and slender, as was the illustration of the ancient lord Glorfindel in his favorite book of Elvish tales. Ethereal beings, half-outside the bounds of Middle Earth. The sons of Elrond were not like that at all. Their long hair, loose save for the braids at their ears, was pure black and their eyes were as grey as their foster brother’s. Although they did not have the bulky look of the guardsmen riding before them, they were tall and lordly in their bearing. Yet it was clear they were not descended wholly of Men. It was not their pale skin, nor yet their pointed ears that set them apart. It was as if, far from being outside the living world, they were utterly a part of it, more deeply attuned to their surroundings than the Men whose home this was.

The twin nearest to Faramir turned his head and looked straight at him, despite the interference of wind-tossed mulberry branches and a window deliberately designed to conceal. He smiled ever so slightly, no more than a warmth in his eyes and a curl at the corners of his mouth. A movement of the tree blocked Faramir’s view, and his next glimpse of the procession was of the other twin, who had moved alongside his brother. He, too, was looking up, but there was nothing slight about his flashing smile. As Faramir watched, the second brother raised his hand high above his head and waved it vigorously in greeting, before his horse carried him out of sight of the narrow window. Bemused, Faramir did not realize that he was smiling back.

Chapter 2

Faramir’s formal introduction to the visitors had gone more smoothly than he had hoped. Denethor had presented him with punctilious correctness, Faramir had bowed politely, and the sons of Elrond had bowed back in perfect unison. Then the King had drawn Boromir and one of the twins – Elrohir, who had waved up at the window – into a conversation about horses. Elladan, who had smiled first, spoke in a quiet voice to Denethor about the beauties of the City, a tone and a topic that led the Steward into speaking to him with something close to enjoyment. Faramir was of course ignored by his father, but not by Elladan, whose keen gaze somehow included the silent young man in what was being said. For his part, Faramir was glad to listen to the City’s praises told in the Elf’s quiet, musical voice with its faintly Northern intonations.

This meeting between the King’s foster brothers and the Steward’s family had lasted only a quarter of an hour before it was time to proceed to Hall. Faramir was seated between the Castellan and the Librarian as usual, a happy arrangement that gave him an excuse to glance at the visitors whenever the Castellan mentioned the preparations made for their comfort and to listen to the Librarian repeat everything of interest he knew of Elrond Half-elven, his sons, and their home in Imladris. The twins seemed perfectly content in their place between their brother and Faramir’s (the Castellan confided that he had seated them side-by-side at the King’s own request). At one point, Faramir even had the fun of seeing them raise their eyebrows – a single eyebrow each – at something Boromir had said. Elladan raised his right and Elrohir raised his left, but otherwise their expressions in that moment were perfectly identical. The King laughed aloud at whatever it was and the talk moved on.

All in all it was a very satisfactory evening, which ended with Faramir being able to slip out unnoticed through the anteroom toward the gardens. Not even the pleasure of watching the two Elves take a graceful leave of the company was worth being pressed into one of his father’s after-supper lectures. He would let Boromir have the honor of listening to strictures upon the King – disguised always as lessons in statecraft – and instead enjoy the gardens at dusk.

Faramir walked along the longer path by the ornamental pool, thinking about what he knew of Imladris. “The Hidden Valley, the Place of the Waterfalls,” the Librarian had quoted one ancient source saying. How Faramir would love to see such a place.

He came to a sudden halt when he realized that a dark figure ahead of him, which he had taken for the shadow of one of the saplings, was actually a person. An Elf, in fact, clad in a long grey mantle. The figure spoke, and Faramir could hear it was Elladan.

“Good evening, Faramir.”

“And good evening to you,” the answer came automatically. As the Elf moved closer, Faramir thought that his face could have been carved from marble like the statues of the old kings. And yet not like, for his eyes were bright and alive in that pale face. Faramir had never seen anyone so fair.

“This is a peaceful place,” Elladan said, taking an audible breath. “It smells of fresh earth.”

Faramir mirrored that breath a second after and caught a smell like cedar wood among the familiar scents of the garden. Elladan now stood near him, close enough to touch.

“I- I’ll- I won’t disturb your walk, then. Since it’s peaceful. I- I ought to be going back anyway. In case my father wants to talk to me. He often does, after supper I mean. I’ll- I’ll take your leave then. Good night.” He turned on his heel and left the way he’d come without waiting for the Elf to answer.

Idiot. Driveling fool. Lackwit. Faramir walked quickly toward the nearest garden gate. All he wanted was to get back to his room, to his books, to his old sheepskin rug by the fireside. How could he have made such a fool of himself? And in front of one who was not only the King’s guest, but an Elf. Faramir had waited all his life for a chance to talk to Elves, and now all he wanted was to find a place where he would not have to talk to anyone.

When Faramir rounded the corner of the hedge, he could see ahead of him a tall, dark-haired figure dressed in grey. It did not occur to him that Elladan might also be heading toward the gate. Faramir knew at once this was Elrohir and did not consider how he knew it. Instead, his first thought was that he had another chance to behave in a manner becoming his City and family. Elrohir would respect him for at least that short time before Elladan told him of Faramir’s incredible lack of poise. Resolved, Faramir squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and stepped forward.

Elrohir turned on silent feet and put a finger to his lips. Then he swung around again and knelt, bending toward the ground, so that Faramir was looking down at his curved back. Whatever the Elf was hunched over was down low by the bottom of the hedge. Faramir wondered what plant could possibly have attracted such concentrated attention. One that they did not have in Imladris perhaps, that deserved to be given a Sindarin name? Or one that was ailing, that Elven magic could heal?

“He blinked!” The exclamation was whispered but none the less enthusiastic for that. The twin turned his head to smile broadly at Faramir. “I love it when they blink their eyes. As if a rock had winked at you.”

“I beg your pardon?” Faramir replied, striving for a tone of blank civility. He feared he sounded more bewildered than polite.

Elrohir craned his neck to look up at him and point out, “You can’t see from that great height. I’ll move to the left because moving the other way’d cast a shadow, and you kneel down here.”

Faramir would never have guessed that the twin brother of the serene, dignified, altogether perfect Elf that he had just met would be the sort of person to pull schoolyard tricks. But the young man had dealt with bullies all his life, and he knew better than to follow a suggestion so obviously made in mockery. He lifted his chin slightly and prepared to go.

“Come down as quick as you like,” Elrohir said cheerfully, shuffling leftward on his knees. “It’s the shadows that are the problem, not the movement.”

Faramir knelt. He hadn’t meant to and he was still thoroughly confused, but now he was on the ground next to the Elf. Elrohir had an entirely different scent than his brother: cloves and spice. And the two braids in his hair were of another style – made with four strands, it looked like – though the beads that ended them were the same as Elladan’s. His face was identical: ageless and fair. Yet his smile as he returned Faramir’s stare was broad and bright. Sunny even. It would have been difficult just then to compare Elrohir to his twin by calling him either serene or dignified. But he was just as perfect.

“He’s over there, m’dear,” Elrohir said softly, and used one gentle hand to turn Faramir’s chin.

For a moment, the young man still didn’t understand who Elrohir had crouched down to see. And then Faramir spotted him: a tiny, brown, warty toad with perfectly rounded yellow and black eyes. He did indeed look like a rock, and as Faramir watched, he blinked, closing his slitted pupils for a fraction of a second before resuming his impassive stare.

“There!” Elrohir said, pleased. “He winked for you.”

“He is like a stone, he’s so still,” Faramir replied. “He looks as though he’s never moved from that spot.”

“He’d move quick enough if a shadow fell over him. That’s why you had to be careful how you approached him. Frogs are harder, but toads stay still unless you worry them.” Faramir had no ready response to this sage advice, but Elrohir seemed content without one. The young man was so occupied studying the Elf’s face that it was a long moment before he realized that he was being studied in return. As soon as he did, Elrohir grinned again and stood.

Faramir stood as well and began to think up ways to take his leave. He usually had one or two ready before he even began a conversation with a new acquaintance, but this particular acquaintance was far from usual. And he had no wish to repeat his stumbling retreat from the Elladan’s company.

“I think I should go find Twin,” Elrohir remarked. “We like to have a walk before bed.”

“I’ll bid you a good night then,” Faramir said, relieved.

“Good night!” Elrohir replied warmly and set off deeper into the garden. The young man himself walked at a rapid pace toward the gate, the Citadel, and his quiet room.

Chapter 3

Faramir stood, soldier-straight, in front of his father’s desk. Boromir had one arm along the mantel while he stared into the fire. The Steward had summoned them both to his study in the afternoon, apparently for a lecture on the hazards of allowing Gondor’s councils to be influenced from afar by Elrond of Imladris. The visit of Lord Elrond’s sons was the initial theme, but Denethor also touched on the danger of the King being reminded of the Elvish ways of his childhood and from there passed on to a wide-ranging critique of Elrond’s upbringing of his foster son.

“It’s a wonder that the great Lord Stardome can tell his sons from his fosterlings, the way he names them all after himself. El-rohir, Ell-adan, El-essar, as though he were creating a constellation.”¹

Faramir forbore to point out that the names of many Men of Gondor, including several in the line of Mardil, shared a first syllable with those of their fathers or brothers. As he had been told many times, no one had asked his opinion.

“I don’t see why he goes by that Elf-title Elessar anyway,” commented Boromir. “Aragorn is a much stronger name. Kinglier-sounding, too, for that matter.”

“His name is not the point,” Denethor said testily and with no regard for the fact that he had brought up the question of names himself. “He could be called Wilwarin² for all I care. The point is that these so-called brothers of his are to be avoided. Civilly, of course. The House of the Steward does not slight the King’s guests. But there is no need to be friendly towards them. Faramir!”

“Yes, Father?”

“I noticed you speaking to the pair of them after breakfast today. I desire you to avoid them in future.”

Faramir had had every intention of doing just that. Last night’s meetings in the garden had been unsettling. This morning after a formal breakfast, the twins had come up to greet him, and though they spoke commonplaces yet he was keenly aware of their presence. He had thus decided it was best to see them only in public for the rest of their stay. Indeed, his father’s warning did not lessen his desire to avoid the twins; it was not in his nature to respond to admonitions with rebellion. Yet something in his father’s voice gave him pause. If Faramir did not know the Steward to be fully master of any situation, he would have thought his father was unsettled by them, too.

“It’s hardly Fara’s fault if the Elves decide to speak to him,” Boromir said reasonably. He was the only one who could get away with the nickname, which Denethor hated and Faramir would not accept from anyone but his brother. As a child, Boromir had stubbornly refused to stop using it and eventually even his father had given in. “It’s not as if they were speaking about affairs of state. It sounded to me as if Elladan was just being courteous.”

“And Elrohir?” questioned Denethor, scenting a possibly deliberate omission.

“He was going on about some young woman he’d met who shared his taste in green apples over red. I’m not sure who it was, but it can’t have been anyone important or she’d have been invited to the breakfast banquet.”

The young woman was in fact the stablemaster’s prize mare, Faramir remembered with an inward smile. He had followed the Elf-knight’s conversation from beginning to end that time, being familiar with both the speaker and the horse in question. Hardly a wonder that Boromir hadn’t. Faramir wondered, though, at his brother’s characterization of the other twin. Courteous Elladan certainly was, but there was a hidden current to his conversation that could be just as difficult to follow as Elrohir’s non sequitors. Why, for instance, had he asked if Faramir liked eating in Hall? What was the point of such a question? Surely Elladan, the eldest (if only by moments) son of a great lord, saw public banquets as a matter of course. He was certainly good at them: conversing easily, eating gracefully, and never showing a sign of the strain Faramir felt. What had he meant by asking what Faramir liked?

Faramir turned his attention back to his father, who had now moved into a well-worn rant about the sort of folk that the King saw fit to invite to Hall. The solution to the problem of the twins was simple. Faramir would stay out of their way.

¹ El is the word for ‘star’ in Elvish: Elrond = ‘star-dome’. However, the root in the other names refers to ‘Elf’: Elrohir = ‘Elf-knight’, Elladan = ‘Elf-man’, Elessar = ‘Elf-stone’. Denethor is apparently unaware of this derivation.

² Wilwarin is the group of stars called ‘the butterfly’ in Sindarin. (Denethor’s scholarship does extend to childish insults.)

Chapter 4

Faramir drew a deep breath and let it out with careful control, waiting for his heart to stop hammering before he knocked on the door. He was standing outside the Blue Haradic suite that the sons of Elrond had been given for their stay, which had started three weeks ago now.

Faramir had come here to ask the twins to keep their distance. It wasn’t that they were always around – they were more often in the company of the King than not, and Faramir avoided Elessar as he had always done. The twins might even have been said to see more of Boromir than of Faramir, since they joined in the sword practice every day and were seated near the center of the high table for every formal meal. It was just that Faramir kept seeing them whenever he stole a moment alone. When he went to the gardens, there was Elrohir sitting against Faramir’s particular tree, looking just as at ease as he did on a chair in the King’s receiving room. When he went to the library, there was Elladan, leafing through a volume of Haradic history that Faramir had rescued from the Librarian’s weeding of unwanted volumes. At first, Faramir had suspected that they were doing it deliberately. Yet they never made it a point to speak to him. Elrohir would smile or Elladan would nod a greeting, and then Faramir would turn away and busy himself nearby until he could decently walk away again. In fact, the twins couldn’t be following him, for they were always there ahead of him. Apparently, they just enjoyed doing the same things he did himself, in the same places and at the same times of day.

Faramir took one more breath and then knocked on the door. He waited in mounting tension for his knock to be answered. Surely they had not gone to bed thus early after Hall. Surely one or the other would answer. Faramir began to consider leaving rather than suffering the agonies of waiting or – worse still – the embarrassment of knocking more than once. Like a schoolboy hanging on the bell on May Day, determined that his sweetheart should come down and admire the bouquet he had picked her… Faramir wondered what Elrohir would make of the May Day customs here in the city. He had always liked them himself, but they did require gathering rather a lot of foliage. Would Elrohir enjoy the carefree sneaking about? Or would he find it barbaric: ripping flowers from the ground to wilt in vases?

The door opened on a sunny smile below a pair of shining grey eyes. “You’re here!” Elrohir said, pleased but not noticeably surprised.

“Do Elves pick flowers?” Faramir asked without thinking.

“Pick them up?” Elrohir replied, taking the young man’s elbow and drawing him into the room. “We do when the blossoms fall.”

“No, I mean pick them to give to people,” explained Faramir, somehow not feeling in the least self-conscious about starting a conversation on this absurd topic. Besides, now he really wanted to know.

“Well, for that we usually put them in pots. Or even boxes. My favorite flower-gift came from my sister. She grew the flowers right inside a box of soil, you see, and talked to them just as if they were trees. So we put that box on our terrace, Twin and I, and I usually talk them into blooming well into autumn.”

“He does, too,” confirmed Elladan, walking in from the inner chamber. “Good evening to you, Faramir.”

Faramir seconded the greeting, feeling his self-consciousness creep back up on him. Not because of what Elladan had said, but rather because he had so obviously just come from bathing. He was wrapped in a loose robe made of a thick, cream-colored material, and his hair was wet. So was Elrohir’s, for that matter, though it was braided back and he was wearing one of the twins’ customary grey mantels.

Elrohir insistently drew the young man over to the hearth and pulled him down so that they both sat cross-legged on the thick Haradic carpet. Elladan came to join them, sitting sideways so his shoulder almost touched Faramir’s and his long legs stretched out towards his brother. He was barefoot. They were both barefoot and had slim, pale feet with high arches. In panic, Faramir said the very first thing that came into his head, “Why do you have a fire this late in the spring?”

Idiot. Graceless, blundering dolt. Stupid- Elladan started singing in a low voice. Faramir could not follow the words, though he read Sindarin almost as easily as Westron. Perhaps this was Quenya or some other dialect. It hardly mattered, for the words wound themselves around the young man’s mind until he could see two high pillars, rich with carvings, on either side of a hearth on which burned a bright fire. He could smell a scent like fresh pine-wood and hear other voices blending with Elladan’s. And then the song ended and the vision faded, leaving Faramir once more on a rug with two Elves, before a smaller fire.

“Fires are good for telling tales and for drying hair,” said Elrohir softly. “Here, Twin, let me see to yours.”

Elrohir came around behind the other two and produced a comb to run through his brother’s hair. Faramir looked on as the long, steady strokes began. Such tenderness in such a homely gesture. Faramir wondered what Elladan’s hair would feel like to the touch, falling wet down his back, and at the same time wished Elrohir had reason to comb Faramir’s own wavy hair.

“Who goes first, then?” asked Elrohir, continuing his combing. “Faramir?”

“Yes?”

“Why do they call it the Tower of Ecthelion? I know of two Ecthelions, the Elf of Gondolin and your grandfather, and I doubt that either of them built the Citadel.”

So Faramir began to relate some of the story of the City, safe ground for one who had read so much of his people’s history. And then Elrohir told a story about the building of bridges in Imladris, which Elladan countered with one about a jackdaw living in an abandoned mill, surprising Faramir with his quiet humor. That led to more talk, until Elrohir declared Elladan’s hair to be dry and Elladan turned around to kiss his twin full on the mouth.

The kiss made Faramir catch his breath. He was not conscious of any feeling of surprise or censure, just a yearning toward the twins. He wanted to hold them, closer to each other, closer to himself.

They came apart, Elladan moving to kneel in front of Faramir and Elrohir to sit almost directly behind him. They both regarded the young man for a moment from their different angles and then Elladan reached out to clasp Faramir’s hands and Elrohir unfolded his legs alongside Faramir’s. Elladan kissed each hand and Elrohir bent his head to kiss a place just where Faramir’s neck curved into his shoulder. Faramir inhaled sharply and stared at the Elf in front of him.

“Elladan, I don’t- I don’t understand.”

He had tilted his head to look up at Elladan, who leaned in to kiss Faramir’s forehead. The Elf pulled back enough to look into the young man’s eyes and then spoke softly.

“Twin and I have always loved each other in all the ways we could. You don’t ‘fall in love’ with someone who has been beside you every day all your life, but you do share things. We shared thoughts, and experiences, and clothes, and toys, and hugs. And when we came of an age to enjoy kissing and more than kissing, we naturally shared that too. I imagine it wasn’t all that different from someone who is one person learning about those things on their own. We are two people and we learned together. So we love each other, and we show it in many ways.”

“I can understand that,” Faramir replied slowly. His brow furrowed slightly as he considered the matter. Over Faramir’s shoulder, Elrohir gave his brother a look indicating helpless admiration. The man was breathtaking when his mind was working. “What I don’t quite understand is what- I mean, I know if you didn’t want to, you wouldn’t be- but where do I… where do I come in?”

Elladan moved in again, this time to kiss him gently on the mouth. “We’re in love with you, Faramir. We’ve always known – hoped – that there would be someone we could love like that and when we saw you, we knew.”

“All at once?” demanded Faramir with a stern note to his voice. He had never believed in love at first sight. Attraction, certainly, perhaps even a strong instinctual liking, but to use the word love for it…

“It helps to be about thirty centuries old,” Elrohir answered, with a smile in his gentle voice. “You’ve met a lot of people by then and you know your own mind fairly well, so it’s easier to pick your true love out of a crowd.”

Elladan, watching Faramir’s expression closely, could see that he was thinking over Elrohir’s answer as though it were a line from a learned tome to be compared carefully to the dictates of a larger philosophy.

“And we knew something of you before we met you,” Elladan added, trying to satisfy that scholarly mind.

“How?”

“I am not sure how to explain it. It was akin to the way you saw the pillars in Imaldris’s Hall of Fire. We recognized you when we saw you because we had seen you before.”

“We recognized you, and then we met you and knew for certain you were the one we love,” Elrohir finished.

Faramir nodded, still thoughtful. Then he looked up and met the eyes of both in turn. Elladan decided that Faramir’s courage was even more breathtaking than his intelligence.

“I do not know if I can say that I love you. For I am young, even as my people reckon such things, and I would not say those words unless I were sure I could say them forever. But, as to falling in love…” Here Faramir paused and then went on in a whisper, “I’ve been falling in love with you both since I saw you through that mulberry tree.”

At that, both Elves moved at once. Elladan reached around Faramir to clasp his brother’s elbows, allowing Faramir to hide his flushed face against the older twin’s chest and Elrohir to come up even more closely behind Faramir. The younger twin’s arms slid around him and then tightened, until Faramir could not have moved if he tried. The young man sighed a little and relaxed into that unbreakable hold.

Held and safe. Safe and warm. So warm. Faramir breathed in the scent of Elladan in front of him, with traces of Elrohir behind. Cedar and cloves. He could feel the strength of their arms, of their bodies against his. Held.

Elladan pulled one hand free in order to slide it through the hair at the back of Faramir’s head. He flexed his fingers slightly and Faramir made a small sound as the touch raised wisps of sensation along his spine. Just that one touch had him ready to yield completely to whatever the twins asked him to do.

Elrohir continued to hold him fast, while Elladan pulled back slightly. “Will you lie down, love?” he whispered.

Faramir nodded. Elrohir loosed his grip to help Faramir lie face-up on the rug, with Elladan looking down on him and his head in Elrohir’s lap. Voice also hushed, Elrohir said, “Tonight we just want to touch you, Faramir. Is that well?”

“Yes.” Faramir whispered back, feeling his heart beat faster in anticipation. His eyes darted back and forth between the twins. Then Elrohir’s hands were upon his head, thumbs at his temples and fingers sliding down to massage around his ears. Faramir’s eyes shut almost at once and his head lolled back against the Elf’s folded legs.

Elladan meanwhile was moving his hands in deliberate movements up Faramir’s body. He pressed firmly in each spot, his hands warm through Faramir’s clothes. Faramir relaxed even further. Then Elladan was removing his boots, carefully unlacing them and drawing them off. He put his hands around Faramir’s ankles. Faramir opened his eyes just a little to see Elladan smile down at him and then across at his twin. The young man smiled back, feeling as though he might laugh at any moment. And then Elrohir supported his head in one hand, lifted it, and used the other to rub strongly from between his shoulder blades to the nape of his neck. Faramir moaned instead of laughing.

As Elrohir continued, Elladan moved his hands from Faramir’s ankles up his legs and the young man discovered that he had a spot just above each knee that made him gasp when a thumb pressed into it. And Elladan kept pressing until Faramir moaned again, and again. Elrohir lay Faramir’s head back down and soothed his temples once more. Faramir moved his head – just a little, it was so heavy now – to rub back against the warm hands. Elrohir bent himself in half to kiss Faramir’s check. “Dear love.”

Elladan stroked his fingers along Faramir’s feet, finding some places that caused the man’s whole body to become boneless and loose, and others that caused shivers to run up his legs, his spine, his arms. Faramir started to drift and tried to open his eyes, to keep awake and feel everything that was happening. But Elrohir was caressing his forehead now and Elladan was cradling his feet as he touched them, and Faramir was too far gone to do anything but sigh.

Chapter 5

Faramir woke the next morning on the divan in the middle of the room, with a cushion under his head and a thick white robe smelling of cedar covering him. Elladan was sitting on the floor with his head propped against the side of the divan and his eyes resting on Faramir’s face. Resting in truth, for Faramir thought the Elf was more asleep than awake, though his eyes were still open in Elvish-fashion. Elrohir was lying on his side with his head on his brother’s lap, breathing evenly. Sometime in the night, Elladan had retrieved a mantle to match his twin’s and it was hard to tell one body from the other as they slept curled together. Faramir smiled lovingly down at them and Elladan’s lips slowly curved in an answering smile as his eyes grew more alert.

A sharp knock on the door broke the morning’s peace. The twins had time to leap to their feet, but Faramir was still scrambling off the divan when Boromir strode straight into the room. “Faramir! There you are! My manservant found you had not slept in your bed, and luckily he came straight to me and not to Father.”

Boromir turned to look at the Elves and said hotly, “Lord Elladan, Lord Elrohir, what were you about, to have my brother here overnight?

Faramir heard a roaring in his ears and felt his hands grow cold. He had felt like this before, but never with his brother. He had a sudden, sick certainty that Boromir would want to march him out of the room and straight to the Steward’s chambers, and that he would never see Elladan and Elrohir again. Last night had been the sweetest of his life, but he should have known he couldn’t keep it. Now it would be destroyed by his brother’s disapproval, by his father’s punishment, by Elladan and Elrohir’s offense at being taken to task by his protective elder sibling. And he couldn’t bear it, he could not, to have Elladan look at him with disdain because of his fear, to have Elrohir look at him with disgust because of his weakness. Almost imperceptibly, Faramir began to tremble.

Elladan took a step forward, placing himself halfway in front of Faramir and drawing Boromir’s attention before he spoke. “I am at a loss to understand, Lord Boromir, why you should object to our spending the night in your brother’s company. Were he himself to demur, you would have every right – indeed every obligation – to support his refusal. But as he is a man grown, and in no way unwilling, I cannot accept your interference in a matter that is between Faramir, Elrohir, and myself.”

With a small corner of his mind, Faramir wondered how the Elf could be so disapproving and yet not sound like Denethor. Elladan’s tone was cold, so cold, but not in the least bit like the biting chill that Denethor used to freeze his councilors or his youngest son. Rather, it was the sort of bracing cold that woke you on a winter’s morning. Nothing at all like Faramir’s father – though Elrohir thought that Elladan sounded remarkably like theirs.

The elder twin’s tone had the effect of snapping Boromir to attention. “You don’t understand, Lord Elladan. Our customs in the City are likely different than yours. For him to spend the night here—”

Elrohir, meanwhile, had slowly circled the room to stand behind Boromir. Now he crept up behind the Man, leaned forward slightly and sniffed. Boromir didn’t notice, but Faramir saw the Elf raise an eyebrow – his left – and wrinkle his nose at his brother. Elladan asked without missing a beat, “And where did you spend the night, Lord Boromir?”

Boromir stared at him. Then he cast a quick glance at Faramir and said, “I was up late reading and—”

Faramir couldn’t stop himself, “You were up late reading?”

“Yes,” Boromir sounded defensive. “It was a book on the defense of Maglor’s Gap that Aragorn lent me and—”

“Was it the one with the drawings of the fortifications?” asked Elrohir interestedly, from the spot near the window where he was now standing. “I’ve always liked the bit about the engineering of the trebuchet.”

“Yes, it had lots of diagrams and schematics, and we fell to discussing them, and then we- that is, I was up late looking at the book. That’s all.” Boromir seemed rather disconcerted to find himself responding to the twin’s digression.

Elladan’s face remained impassive, but Faramir could see that he had relaxed. “We mean no disrespect to your customs, Lord Boromir, and certainly none whatsoever to your brother.”

Boromir had started to blush. “I- Yes, I can see that. I was worried when my manservant told me he was missing, but now I can see he’s well, I’ll take your leave. My lords.”

He gave a proper bow and went back out the door. Faramir ran after him into the corridor. “Boromir!”

Boromir turned back toward him. “Fara, I’m sorry about all that. Of course, you have a perfect right to be with whomever you wish. It was just that they’re Elves and I know what Father would say, and, well—”

“I know you’re only taking care of me, brother. I just wanted you to know that I’m- I’m serious about this and that I hope you’ll understand.”

Boromir put out his arms and gripped both Faramir’s shoulders. “I understand, little brother. I was worried about you, but I know you’d never anything that wasn’t right. I think it’s just that I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night and—”

Faramir interrupted him again. “That’s the other thing that needs to be made plain between you and me. Nothing happened. I mean, a lot happened but that didn’t happen. We just… kissed each other. And talked. We didn’t… hm.”

“That is indeed the other thing that needs to be made plain,” Boromir said slowly, ruefully. “We did.”

Faramir returned to the outer chamber to find the twins standing at the window. They turned to face him and he smiled shyly.

“My older brother can be a little over-protective.”

“You needn’t worry about that,” Elrohir said blithely. “I have a protective older brother of my own. You should see him when he thinks I’ve gotten myself in trouble.”

“When you have gotten yourself in trouble,” Elladan corrected, with the solemnity that Faramir was beginning to see often hid a sense of humor as lively as his twin’s.

“Of course,” Elrohir explained, “We go everywhere together, so when I’m in trouble…”

Faramir laughed and felt the last of his tension dissolve.

“Now,” Elladan said briskly. “You never answered my question the other day. Do you take pleasure in formal banquets with crowds of people first thing in the morning, or shall we send Estel our excuses?”

Chapter 6

A far too brief week later, Faramir stood with his back against the mulberry tree in the outer courtyard where he had first seen the twins. There had been a formal leaving-taking that morning, under Denethor’s watchful gaze, at which Elladan had said all that was proper and Elrohir had recited a verse he had made about the White City and a tree swaying at her gates. From the wink Elrohir had given Faramir just as the Steward’s eyes glazed over, the young man had gathered where he was to meet the twins for their private farewells.

Elessar, too, was leaving soon: journeying to Rohan for a meeting of good fellowship with Théoden King. Boromir was to accompany him and Denethor was almost reconciled to the idea, remembering that there was a niece of about the right age to make a suitable alliance with his heir. She would have to be given proper training, of course, if she were to come back to Minas Tirith, but her grandmother had been a lady of Gondor and the Steward would see to it that young Éowyn lived up to the more noble side of her ancestry.

“I wonder if he’s considered that a King might be a more attractive match than a Steward’s son,” Faramir gave voice to his musings as he sensed the twins entering through the arch to his right.

“I don’t think so,” Elrohir disagreed at once. “I can’t think of a more beautiful person than a son of the Steward.”

Before Faramir could protest this willful misunderstanding, Elladan added, “And Estel never would wash his hair as a child. Impossible to find when bath-time came around. Does that sound like a more attractive match to you?”

“Really, m’dear,” Elrohir concluded in mock-seriousness. “I think whoever he is ought to consider carefully. Hair is very important and yours is lovely.”

“You know perfectly well I wasn’t speaking of myself. I meant my father’s notions about my brother and the lady from Rohan. I fear I have picked up your habit of starting conversations in the middle,” Faramir laughed, and added to Elladan, “How it is that you always remember to start with a proper greeting?”

The corner of Elladan’s eyes wrinkled into his subtle smile. “Easy. I merely begin the conversations that Twin has already finished.”

“What amazes me,” said Elrohir, grinning, “is that no one has noticed your redundancy. Truly, does anyone want to have the beginning of the conversation when they’ve already had the end?”

“I like having both,” Faramir replied, and then immediately: Fool. Over-serious idiot. What was that, some obscure attempt at a compliment?

His thoughts came to a halt as Elladan stepped in front of him and framed the young man’s face with his palms, at the same time that Elrohir came behind and put two warm hands just along Faramir’s shoulder blades.

“We will miss you,” Elladan said simply and kissed him. Faramir leaned in and prolonged it with tiny kisses against the edge of Elladan’s mouth. Elladan’s hands had moved to his hips to hold him, while Elrohir supported him with long, soothing strokes along his back. Finally Elladan pulled away, catching up Faramir’s hands, and Elrohir bent to kiss his favorite place at the corner of Faramir’s neck and shoulder. The younger twin remained there for a long moment and then tucked his chin over Faramir’s shoulder and slipped his arms around his waist.

“I’ll miss you, too,” Faramir told them.

“We’ll come to you again,” Elrohir murmured against his ear. “As soon as ever we can.”

Elladan squeezed his hands hard, and Faramir realized with shock that the Elf before him was almost in tears. He didn’t know what to say to someone who cared so deeply about leaving him. So he squeezed back and looked straight into Elladan’s eyes and tried to put all his own feelings in his voice when he said, “I love you, Elladan, Elrohir.”

Elrohir kissed him again on the back of his neck just below his hair and then went to fetch the horses through the arch. Faramir and Elladan watched him, still holding hands, until he returned and there was nothing left to do but let go. Faramir stepped back and took a firm grip on the mulberry’s trunk as the twins mounted.

Elladan’s eyes lit in a smile even as the tears spilled down both his cheeks. Elrohir smiled as sunnily as ever and promised again, “Soon.”

Then they wheeled around and rode through the arch, dark hair and grey cloaks blown back behind them. Faramir waited until he could no longer hear the sound of their horses’ hooves and then turned to begin the walk up to the Citadel.

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