Faramir Fiction Archive

Faramir's Dilemma (R)

Written by RubyElf

05 March 2011 | 19031 words

TITLE: Faramir’s Dilemma (Part 6)
AUTHOR: rubyelf
CHARACTERS: Faramir, Legolas, Aragorn, Boromir
RATING: R
WARNINGS: AU (ruby-verse)
SUMMARY: An elf with nothing much else to do has all the time in the world to be persuasive…
DISCLAIMER: Characters do not belong to me. They are just here to play.

(FYI: “draughts” is a much older name for the game Americans like myself know as checkers)

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Part 6

Aragorn had been correct; Faramir woke up the next morning feeling almost like himself again. As soon as he raised his arms to stretch, though, he realized that apparently the fever had made him sweat quite a bit and that he was much in need of a bath. He collected some clean clothes from his dresser and walked out into the living room, where he found Legolas stretched out on the sofa, reading one of his books.

“Good morning.”

The elf glanced over at him. “There you are. Feeling better?”

“Much. But I won’t feel quite right until I get a hold of some soap and get cleaned up. Whatever Aragon put on my head last night is making my hair feel like it’s full of glue.”

“You can’t be off scrubbing your head,” Legolas said. “You’ll have that wound opened up again.”

“Well, I’m not leaving this foul mess in my hair. It’s sticky and it smells.”

Legolas shook his head. “And your brother growls at me for keeping my hair neat and clean… I’m more than in need of a bath myself, and I’ll help you wash that stuff off.”

Faramir was accustomed to bathing in the presence of his Rangers, but his moment of hesitation made the elf laugh.

“I’m neither a busy-fingered hobbit nor an over-excited Horse Lord, Faramir, and I’ve got much better things to do than play games. If I have any such intentions toward you, you’ll know it. Otherwise, I really would just like a bath and to assist you with getting that stuff out of your hair. All right?”

Faramir grinned, relieved; if Legolas told him there would be no unexpected approaches or surprise antics, he would take him at his word. “It would be nice to have some idea what to expect for a change. Are you supposed to get that splint wet?”

Legolas shrugged, reaching for his crutches. “I think it’ll be all right. If not, Aragorn will shout at me and put a new one on. It’s not the end of the world. Aragorn’s shouted at me enough times that I’ve become quite skilled at not hearing a word he says.”

“I’ve been working on that skill with Boromir, but unfortunately he shouts too loudly,” Faramir said, chuckling. “Come on, then… the maids usually have water on the stove in the bath down the hall, and it should be safe to use as long as there aren’t any hobbits in it.”

The elf frowned. “I would prefer to have some clean clothes to change into. These trousers that Arwen gave me fit over the splint, but they’re absurdly large and I don’t have another pair at the moment.”

Faramir thought for a moment. “You’re not bothered by cold, are you?
”
“No.”

He went to his room and returned with a pair of loose-fitting, knee-length shorts intended for wearing to sleep on hot summer nights.

“These are the best I can do at the moment. And one of my shirts, although it’ll be quite a bit too big.”

Legolas shrugged. “It’ll be better than wearing these dirty clothes another day.”

Faramir laughed. “I know you’ve been on journeys for weeks without a chance to get properly clean.”

“Just because I tolerate it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t prefer bathing regularly. And that’s what I’m going to do right now.”

The bath room was small and very warm, with the small woodstove radiating heat from every inch of its iron surface as it heated the two large kettles of water set on top of it. Faramir tossed the clean clothes onto the low wooden bench and collected two towels and a fresh bar of soap from the cabinet by the door, then carefully retrieved one of the kettles and poured the steaming hot water in to heat the cooler water in the low marble bath set into the stone floor. He slipped off his shoes and gingerly pulled his shirt over his head, then stripped off his breeches and stepped into the bath, sliding down to let the water rise up to his shoulders. He felt the elf sit down behind him on the edge of the bath, but didn’t turn around, preferring at the moment not to know what state of undress his companion might be in. Legolas chuckled to himself as he leaned over the man’s shoulder and scooped up water in a wooden bowl.

“Unless you want this nasty stuff from your hair to end up in your eyes, I suggest you close them.”

Water poured over Faramir’s head, and he winced at the sting of it in his open wound.

“Sorry,” the elf said, reaching for the soap, and a moment later long fingers were working their way through Faramir’s hair, quickly scrubbing until the clumps and stickiness were gone, then continuing to rub steadily over his scalp, deftly avoiding sore spots.

“I occasionally wonder if Aragorn tortures his patients on purpose,” Legolas said absently.

“I wouldn’t doubt it.”

“Well, he won’t put honey in medicine to improve the flavor when you drink it, but he’ll put it in a salve and rub it all over your hair.”

“Is that what’s so sticky?”

“Appears to be. It’s not as silly as it sounds, though… honey is an excellent wound dressing. Close your eyes, unless you want soap in them.”

Another cascade of water continued until Legolas, apparently satisfied with his work, set the bowl down and tapped Faramir’s shoulder.

“Move over.”

Faramir slid obediently to the other end of the bath as Legolas slid into the water, noticing that every part of the elf was pale and lean, entirely smooth with the exception of a small patch of gold curls and the awkward splint.

“Soap, please.”

Faramir handed him the bar of soap, eyes directed studiously in another direction. Legolas sighed and shook his head.

“Are you this unsettled when you and your Rangers jump in a pond to get clean?”

The man smiled, embarrassed at having his unease pointed out to him. “No. Not at all.”

“And this is different?”

“Well, yes.”

“Why?”

“Well, first of all, this water’s quite a bit clearer,” Faramir said.

Legolas glanced down lazily. “It is that. Warm, too. What are you thinking about, Faramir?”

“Mostly about trying to behave like a normal person and not say or do anything stupid,” he admitted.

“You’re a man. You can’t help it.”

Faramir scowled. “I’m quite certain elves do stupid things too.”

“Of course we do,” Legolas agreed cheerfully. “But we never admit it.”

He vanished underwater for a moment, came back up with his wet hair curtained over his face, and began rubbing soap through it.

A sharp knock at the door startled Faramir, but Legolas seemed to have been expecting it; he parted his hair, glanced in the direction of the door, and then let it fall back over his face and continued scrubbing it.

“Who’s that?” Faramir called.

“This door had better not be locked,” Boromir’s voice muttered. The handle turned and the door swung, leaving Faramir’s brother looking at it curiously as if he hadn’t expected it to open. His eyes flashed to the bath, flicking back and forth between his brother and the elf.

“Boromir, what the hell are you doing?” Faramir demanded.

“Checking in on you. Aragorn said he saw you last night and… why are you looking at me like that?”

“You went to my rooms, and I wasn’t there, and neither was Legolas, so you just assumed someone else was attempting to seduce your poor innocent little brother,” Faramir said.

Boromir gave Legolas a suspicious look. “He is in the bath with you.”

“Yes, he is. Because I needed some assistance with getting rid of the honey Aragorn put all over my head last night.”

“Honey? In your hair? Was that as a treatment or a joke?”

“Possibly a bit of both,” Legolas said, leaning forward to wash the soap out of his hair. “Not that Faramir needs to explain his choice of bathing companions to you, as far as I can see.”

Boromir glared at him. “It’s none of your business.”

“You’re correct. But it’s none of yours, either, and at the moment only one of us seems to be meddling in it, Boromir, and it isn’t me.”

Boromir gave Faramir a sharp look, demanding that he say something, but Faramir met his glare for a long moment before turning back to Legolas.

“Soap, please.”

Boromir turned and slammed the door behind him, muttering curses about elves in general and certain blond elves in particular.

Finally scrubbed clean, Faramir stepped out of the bath and looked back at Legolas.

“Need a hand? You’re not supposed to be standing on that leg.”

“So I’ve been told,” Legolas said, but he held out a hand and let Faramir balance him as he stood up.

They sat by the fire in the living room, watching snowflakes drift past the window. Legolas looked rather out of place in the too-large shorts and shirt, but this didn’t seem to concern him as he picked through the food the kitchen had sent for them and selected a biscuit.

“This arrangement is much more satisfactory than that unpleasant little guest room,” he said.

“You’re more than welcome here. I don’t mind the company.”

Legolas sat back in his chair. “Out of everyone here, you seem to be the only one whose bed it always empty, you know.”

Faramir shrugged.

“Do you plan to marry the Lady Éowyn?” the elf asked, his tone conversational, as if inquiring about the weather.

Faramir thought about it for a moment. “No. I don’t think so. It would be for convenience only. She’s made it clear that she has… other interests.”

“If she intended to marry you out of love, would you have her then?”

Faramir shrugged again. “She’s beautiful. I did fall rather hard for her when we met… she’s extraordinarily brave and open-hearted.”

“So you found her desirable?”

“Found her desirable? Of course I did. I intended to marry her.”

Legolas inspected his uneaten biscuit for a moment before tossing it carelessly into the fire. “Do you find men desirable also?”

Faramir was not as stunned by the question as he might have been; he had known since his teens where his brother’s preferences lay, and although Boromir and Aragorn never shared a touch between them while anyone else was around to see it, he was fully aware of the relationship between them.

“I suppose I don’t find them undesirable. I just don’t…”

“You have discriminating tastes,” Legolas said easily, smiling. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“It does make for some lonely nights,” Faramir said.

“Would you care to take a guess at how long it’s been since I had company in my bed?”

“You’ve had lots of offers. I’ve heard them. Here in Minas Tirith you’re a celebrity, and I know women are always chasing after you.”

“True,” Legolas agreed. “But I much prefer the company of other men. And I’ve had plenty of those offers too… but like you, I have discriminating tastes.”

The snow continued to fall throughout the day, the storm worsening until Faramir found he could see nothing out of his window except drifting flakes against a background of flat gray. Opening the door, he found that even in the covered hallway the snow had blown in and drifted against the walls, accumulating silently but swiftly. He closed the door, shivering, and tossed another log into the fire.

“Doesn’t look like it intends to stop any time soon,” he said.

Legolas, who had been stretched out on the couch with one of Faramir’s books again, sat up and glanced toward the window.

“No. It’ll be up to your knees by the time it’s done… which will make it unreasonably difficult to get around with crutches.”

“Do you play draughts?” Faramir asked.

The elf sat up, interested. “I do. I didn’t know that game was known among men.”

Faramir went to the cabinet and found the slightly dusty box he was looking for. “It’s not well-known. Gandalf taught me to play when I was young, and he gave me this set. Aragorn knows how to play it, of course.”

Legolas snorted. “If he learned from Elladan and Elrohir, I can guarantee you he cheats, because I know for a fact they always do. Wouldn’t put it past Arwen, either.”

Faramir pulled a chair over and set the box on the low table between them, taking out the board with its black and white squares, then the round disks of dark and light marble.

“This is a very nice set,” Legolas noted, collecting the dark-colored pieces and setting them up in rows on his end of the board. “Not that I’d expect anything less of Gandalf.”

For some time, the room was quiet except for the click of the stone pieces against the board, an occasional chuckle, and a few declarations of victory or good-natures accusations of cheating. The peace was interrupted when Aragorn arrived and alternated between scolding Legolas for getting his splint soaking wet and Faramir for washing the honey salve out of his hair.

After a minute or two of this, he stopped and looked at both of them. “Neither one of you gives a damn what I’m saying at the moment, do you.”

“I was listening very intently,” Legolas said. Faramir snorted.

“Draughts, eh?” Aragorn said. “I haven’t seen you take that out for a while. Just finishing a game?”

Faramir nodded. “Legolas won again… I’ve beat him once, though.”

“He’s not nearly as good as he thinks he is,” Aragorn said.

The elf’s eyes narrowed. “Faramir, come sit over here and give Aragorn the chair. I believe I shall need to remind him of exactly who he’s speaking to.”

Faramir laughed and took a seat on the couch next to Legolas, and Aragorn sat down and began arranging his pieces.

“Shall we make a bet?” Legolas asked.

Aragorn raised one eyebrow, and Faramir caught a hint of hesitation before the man nodded briskly.

“Of course. What’s the bet?”

“Just a minor wager,” Legolas said lightly. “If you win, I guarantee that as long as I’m your patient and until my leg is healed, I will refrain from deliberately irritating Boromir or any other member of your household.”

“Is that so? And if I lose?”

“If you lose, it will become your responsibility to take Boromir off this afternoon and persuade him to stop meddling with his brother’s personal affairs.”

“I can’t promise I’ll succeed at that,” Aragorn said, chuckling.

“You may not,” Legolas said. “But regardless, you will be sure to take him away and keep him away from this room for the rest of the day.”

Aragorn extended his hand. “It’s a bet, then.”

Faramir glanced at the elf, wondering what the point of this wager was, until he found the blue eyes glancing back at him with knowing amusement and a hint of a promise that left Faramir completely unable to say anything at all.

“You’re first, Aragorn,” Legolas said, turning his eyes back to the board.

Faramir discovered that he was suddenly extremely interested in the outcome of this game, and also quite interested in watching the lightning-quick motion of the elf’s long fingers and the teeth that pressed slightly into his lower lip for just a moment as he contemplated Aragorn’s last move.

“Excellent,” Legolas said suddenly, grinning, and he took up one of his pieces and neatly hopped it over three of Aragorn’s, ending up in an empty space at the far end of the board and flipping the piece over to reveal the star on the other side, indicating that it was now a king and could move freely in any direction. “I do believe that leaves you with very few moves left, Estel.”

Aragorn frowned, studying the board. “A few, but I can see where this is going. You’ll have those last two pieces trapped in three moves.”

“That’s correct.”

“So I suppose you’ve won the bet, then.”

Legolas smiled. “It seems I have. Good luck with Boromir. Even if he won’t listen to you, I’m sure you can find some other way to occupy him until tomorrow morning.”

Aragorn shook his head and grinned at the elf. “I can’t promise he won’t try to get his hands around your neck if you’re up to something.”

“I,” Legolas said, “am always up to something. And Boromir is welcome to try it… tomorrow.”

Aragorn was laughing to himself as he closed the door behind him.

Faramir looked at Legolas with a curious expression.

“What’s that all about, getting rid of my brother for the rest of the day?”

“Well, at the very least, it frees either one of us from having to be annoyed by him barging in to protect your virtue. Anything beyond that, Faramir, is entirely up to you.”

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