Faramir Fiction Archive

Paying the Piper (G)

Written by Shireling

15 November 2005 | 22964 words

Chapter 5

It was a subdued Steward who presented himself to the King the next morning. Having given the report and discussed the latest information from the scene of the fire the meeting came to an awkward silence. Faramir had no doubt that the King had been informed of the details of all of his misdemeanours and he wanted to own up to his stupidity and throw himself on the King’s mercy. Before he had he chance to begin the King surprised him with a request.

“My Lord Steward, would you walk with me; there is something I would like to share with you.” With an arm around his shoulder, the King ushered Faramir along the quiet corridors and out into the early morning sunshine of the Queen’s garden. In a peaceful arbour overlooking the Pelennor they found a table set with a breakfast repast.

“Sire!”

“Humour me, Faramir. I would like to tell you a story.” The King poured two mugs of steaming, sweetened tea and encouraged Faramir to fill his platter. They ate in silence and encouraged by the tranquillity of the surroundings and the King’s obvious placid temperament, Faramir allowed himself to let go some of his anxiety.

“When I was a young man,” the King began, “several years younger than you are now, I spent several years living and riding with my kin, the Northern Rangers. It was a hard and unsettled life, constantly on the move as we tracked and fought the Orcs and Goblins that threatened the northern Realm. During a skirmish I took an injury to my sword arm and despite the best attentions of my comrades the wound became poisoned and refused to heal. As you know, the wilds are not the place to be when one is incapacitated and I was a danger and a burden, unable to defend myself or my brother Rangers. For my sake and for theirs I was escorted back to the borders of Imladris and handed into the care of the Elven guards, who brought me to my Father’s house.

“It took many weeks and some unpleasant and painful treatments but eventually my Father’s skill prevailed and the wound started to heal. There was no question of my returning to my Rangers until I had regained full use and strength in my arm. My brothers and Lord Glorfindel all helped in my recovery but I was becoming increasingly restless with the continued restrictions my injury placed upon me.”

“But wasn’t it good to be home and away from danger, Sire?” Faramir asked, remembering the hardships and deprivation of his own days in the wild.

“It was. Good food, warm dry clothes, a soft bed and good company were all wonderful but I had been away for so long that I had forgotten the constraints and protocols of living there. I was used to freedom and independence but in my family’s eyes I was still the child they had nurtured. I became irritable and restless, longing to get back out into the woods long before I was recovered enough to do so. As an incentive to keep me at my rehabilitation, my brother’s promised that when I was deemed fit that I could go out on an expedition with them.

“I had nearly acquired that level of fitness required for Ada to pronounce me fit to return for duty when I got the first symptoms of a developing head cold; sore eyes, prickly throat, general aches and pains. I was determined that nothing was going to delay my ‘escape’ so I dosed myself up with herbs from the infirmary and tried to hide my discomfort.”

“Oh, no!” Faramir cringed in sympathy.

“Oh, no, indeed! My deception lasted all of a few minutes. I had barely taken my seat at the breakfast board when my Ada came over and put his hand on my forehead. ‘You have fever,’ he announced. I assured him that I was well. ‘And I suppose you are going to tell me that your head doesn’t ache and your throat isn’t sore!’ That statement was accompanied by one of his patent stares, the one that has you convinced that he can read every thought in your head. When I assured him again that I was alright, rather than argue or make a scene he proclaimed that as I was well I could spend the day with him in the library and he would continue instructing me in healing lore.”

“Lord Elrond has a very ‘trying’ manner of making a point, Sire. How long did you last?”

“I struggled on for an hour but by then I was feeling truly dreadful and the words were dancing before my eyes. With a fond, if slightly exasperated grin, he helped me to my feet and supported me back to my room. By the time I was wrapped up in bed I could no longer disguise my shivering or my streaming nose and sneezing. I drank his potion and settled in to ride out the worst of the fever.

“Did he take you to task for your deception, Sire?”

The King shook his head. “No. I got a scolding lecture when I was feeling slightly better but my Ada knew me well and he knew how much I hated being ill, so he took pity on me.”

With a chastened expression Faramir spoke, “And I presume the moral of your tale is that one should never try to hoodwink a healer, Sire?”

“Oh, no. My story isn’t finished,” the King explained with a grin.

“You mean it gets worse?”

“Much worse! Shall I continue?” Faramir nodded by way of confirmation.

“Well, after two days in bed I woke feeling a little better and more aware of my surroundings. I was a little surprised that it was a servant rather than Ada who brought my breakfast but I knew how his duties ate into his time and he had spent much time with me while I had been ill. As the morning progressed I realised that the house was unusually quiet and that I hadn’t had a visit from either Ada or my brothers. When Ada finally appeared to check on me I asked him what was happening. He seemed reluctant to tell me but I was so persistent that I think he realised that I would give him no peace until I knew.”

“And what had happened?” Faramir enquired.

“During the night a messenger had arrived with word from the border patrol that a band of Orcs had been sighted and were trying to penetrate the forests. My brothers, Lord Glorfindel and a large contingent of warriors had been despatched to deal with the threat.” The King looked off into the distance, lost for a minute in the long forgotten memories.

“I was livid. I was all for getting out of bed that minute and going after them. I couldn’t believe that they had left me behind, that they hadn’t even informed me of what was happening; my Rangers patrolled the area beyond the border and they were at risk! I fumed and raged and pouted but Ada was not to be moved and he ordered me to stay in bed, threatening to post a guard if I didn’t agree to heed him.”

“And did you heed him, Sire?”

“What do you think, Faramir! I stayed in bed and plotted. I knew that I would never successfully sneak out in daylight, so I waited until nightfall. When Ada came to say goodnight I pretended to swallow his sleeping potion and tipped it into a balled-up handkerchief when his attention was diverted and then I snuggled down and feigned sleep.

“When the house was quiet and all were settled I made my escape via the balcony, utilising all the tricks and evasions my brothers had perfected and taught me over the years. I set off on foot in pursuit of the guards determined to help rid the area of the Orc threat.”

Faramir seemed caught between disbelief and apprehension as he listened to the tale unfold. “Sire, I-I. . .”

“Worry not, Faramir,” the King reassured him, “I lived to tell the tale. Do you want to hear more?” Faramir’s eyes said no but his head nodded in agreement, so the King continued.

“I tracked for two days without catching sight of either the Elves or the Orcs. I tried hard to ignore my worsening health but by the second night I had to acknowledge that the rain and the cold had aggravated my condition. I stopped in a small glade and made a shelter out of branches and leaf litter between the roots of a tree and wrapped myself in my cloak.

“I woke in the dark aware of movement in the undergrowth. I remained hidden and waited to see who or what approached, my sword in one hand and my knife in the other. There were four huge, stinking Orcs and they were obviously following a trail, my trail. The grunted to each other in their own tongue and I knew it was only a matter of time before they found me. I attacked first, taking them by surprise. They kept shouting and yelling and soon had me surrounded. I attacked as hard as I could but they seemed to be toying with me and I realised they wanted to take me alive. I was getting desperate as my strength failed. I had just manoeuvred myself into a position to take the head of the nearest Orc when I felt a blow to the back of my head and saw the ground coming up to meet me.”

“When I came to I found myself in my own bed, my Ada and brothers keeping vigil at my bedside.”

“How were you rescued, Sire?”

“A good question, Faramir and one I wanted answers to. Apparently I was babbling about Orcs and was generally rather incoherent but when Ada was convinced that I at least knew where I was he sent me back into a healing sleep.

“The next day I faced the ‘Elvish Inquisition’ and I was required to recount all of my actions from the time I heard of the Orc sighting. So I explained about the medicine and about sneaking out and what I recalled of my time in the forest up to, and including the Orc attack. My explanation was met with teasing exasperation and then I begged my brothers to tell me how they had discovered me and rescued me from the Orcs.”

A look of comprehension suddenly flashed across Faramir’s face as he waited for the King to continue his tale. “There were no Orcs, were there?” he gasped. The King smiled at his insight.

“No, Faramir, there were no Orcs. I was only a two hour walk for home; I had been going round in circles in my confusion and the ‘Orcs’ were none other than my brothers and their troop,” Aragorn explained. “I could scarcely believe it, it was all too much for me to take in and I asked Ada and my brothers to leave me for a while whilst I tried to comprehend what had occurred. Ada granted my request, though when they left a guard took up post inside my chamber.”

“Another of your Ada’s expressions of disapproval, Sire?”

“Yes,” the King chuckled, “I discovered later that there was also one posted in the garden beneath my window.”

Faramir shuddered, “I take it you were eventually taken to task for your actions?”

“Oh, yes. That very evening after supper Ada came in, dismissed the guard and came and sat beside me on the bed. The discussion was short and to the point, the chastisement was not! And within minutes I was begging and pleading and flailing about over Ada’s lap as I endured the worst spanking of my life and he took not a blind bit of notice of my wailing. He just kept on spanking until he recognised in my surrender that I had let go of all my guilt and regret.”

“I’m sorry he spanked you, Sire. You only went out with the intention of protecting your Kin.”

“Faramir, he wasn’t spanking me for my intent but for my actions, for my deceit in sneaking out, for my disregarding his orders, for not safeguarding my health. I wanted, no I needed his attention. I would have been devastated, bereft, if I had thought for one second that he didn’t care enough about me to make me answerable for my thoughtless actions.”

They sat in silence for a while as Faramir considered the Kings words. “Was that the end of the matter, Sire?”

The King grinned and made no effort to hide the blush that painted his cheeks. “Not exactly!”

“Will you finish your tale for me, Sire?”

“You want all the gory details?”

“Of course, it is a novelty not to be the subject of such a tale!” That made the King laugh out loud as he hugged Faramir briefly

“Well, to cut a long story short. After he had comforted me my Ada settled me on my front, called in the guard and left me to sleep. The following day I was confined to my room and as I still couldn’t sit comfortably I lay in bed reading and visiting with Ada. After supper, when Elladan came to keep me company, I braved sitting up determined not to betray the after effects of Ada’s attention. He asked me if I was recovered and I was foolish enough to say that I was.

“ ‘Good’ he replied, ‘then you won’t object to me reinforcing his lesson!’ and before I had a chance to even react I was back in that all too familiar position with my nightshirt around my waist as Elladan beat a tattoo on my still very tender backside, all the while lecturing me for worrying my family and friends and for putting myself in danger and for behaving like a petulant child. With only a few spanks I was squawking like the child he called me; to blazes with dignity or restraint, I bawled and howled and begged until he turned me in his arms to comfort me.”

“I guess you spent another night on your front, Sire!” Faramir grimaced, fidgeting in sympathy.

“Aye. . .and the next night too!”

“Not Elrohir as well!”

“Oh yes. It hadn’t occurred to me before but the ‘Orc’ that I had been set to behead had in fact been Elladan. Elrohir had saved his twin’s life by knocking me senseless before I could land the strike. Elrohir exorcised his fear for his brother by re re-warming my backside!”

“Ouch.”

“Ouch, indeed. He also informed me that I was to join the household for the morning meal and after a public apology for the concern I had caused I was to spend the morning writing out a full account of my misdemeanours and their consequences so that none of us would ever forget or be tempted to repeat such foolishness.”

“I hardly dare to ask but what happened to that report, Sire?”

“I suspect that it still resides in a special folio in the Library of Imladris. . .along with all the other such reports my brothers and I wrote over the years. I suspect there are also a few there in the hand of a certain Prince of Mirkwood,” the King grinned.

“Thank you, Sire.”

“And what is my admirable Steward thanking me for?”

“For your tale and for the thought behind it, Sire.”

“And what would that be?”

“That we all make mistakes and it is not the end of the world. . .as long as we learn from our mistakes.” Faramir graced the King with a look of such heartbreaking vulnerability that the King had to resist the instinct to grab him into his arms and squeeze the fear right out of him. “What now, Sire? What happens now?”

“Well, you have had a difficult few days and have made some less than sensible decisions. I think we both agree that some response is warranted.” Faramir nodded and the King continued, “who do you think should help you deal with is?”

“Well, it was against Lord Elrond that I enacted my greatest folly but I also let you down, both with my actions and with my failure to report the matter to you directly. . .So I suppose I owe you both penance, Sire.”

“Hmmmm, I suppose you are right but in the strictest sense your offences against me were ones of omission and I think that given the circumstances we can include reparation for those when the main matter is dealt with,” the King adjudged. “Tell me Faramir, have you formed any insight into why you found it so difficult to give yourself into Lord Elrond’s care? You had no such difficulty with myself or Legolas and we both made it clear to you that, should the need arise, you should accept the care of those seeking to support and protect you.”

“No one mentioned Lord Elrond, Sire!” Faramir pouted.

“Only because his imminent departure made it unlikely that you would find yourself subject to his disciplinary attention, “the King said sternly. Faramir flinched under the gentle rebuke.

“It was just. . .just different, Sire”

“How so?”

“Well, you are my liege Lord, so even if I didn’t already hold you in such high regard, I would be obliged to submit to your attention, and with Legolas, well, despite his age and his prowess as a warrior, he looks so young and fair and he has such a gentle spirit that I know I am safe with him. Do-does that make sense, Sire?”

The king smiled in sympathy. “More than you realise, Faramir. But are you telling me that you didn’t feel safe with Lord Elrond?”

“Oh, no, Sire, I wasn’t afraid, at least not of a physical sense. . .It’s just that he is an Elder, an Elf Lord, a being out of myth and legend. When I was a child Mithrandir told me heroic tales of him from the time of Isildur. . .and. . .and I was about to go over his knee like a bawling infant. I just couldn’t do it! I’m sorry I let you down.”

“You didn’t. Faramir, there is nothing you could do that would change my good opinion of you. You do not have to keep proving yourself to me or to anyone. And I do understand how you felt. I was never in awe of Lord Elrond, as he was first and foremost my Ada. But the first time I went to Mirkwood as a youth and attracted some disciplinary attention from King Thranduil I was near paralysed with mortification. The thought of being upended and spanked by a ‘King’ seemed the very worst form of humiliation. But he approached the whole matter in much the same way as my Ada did. . .not only the spanking but the comforting and the forgiveness. I realised then that it matters not who is giving the attention as long as it is done with care and love.”

“I feel foolish now for my actions, Sire.”

“Put that thought aside, Faramir, let us just decide how to proceed.”

“What do you think is best, Sire?”

“This is not about me, my friend. If you feel unable to allow Lord Elrond to conclude this matter then I will gladly do so in his stead and I will think none the less of you. If you feel able to go to him and want my presence for moral support then that is fine too. But I will not make the decision for you.”

“I would have an end to this matter, Sire. It has been hanging over me for too long.”

“And your decision?”

Lord Elrond was resting in his chambers, allowing the breeze from the window to waft over him and help blow away the residual tension from what had been a difficult night. He had spent many hours in the Houses of Healing in a failed battle for the life of one of the soldiers injured in the fire. He had done his best but the fight was hopeless, the boy’s burns too severe for even the Elf Lord’s skills.

His acute hearing detected the approaching footsteps well before the visitor reached the door. He allowed himself a small smile as the visitor hesitated on the threshold trying to pluck up the courage to knock. The Elf Lord had been hoping for this meeting, though in his heart he had not been convinced that it would occur. He knew that if it had been necessary Estel would have dealt with the matter in his stead, knowing that for Faramir a conclusion was long overdue. He rose from his seat and opened the door before the knock sounded, not wanting the uncertainty to risk Faramir bolting.

“Faramir, welcome. Come in.” With an arm across the younger man’s shoulder he ushered the Steward into the room and closed the door.

“I am very pleased to see you, Faramir. What can I do for you?” The initiative had to come from Faramir. He was doing his best to appear composed but the Elf Lord was not deceived, he noted the slight sheen of sweat on his brow and the way he fidgeted absently with the hem of his tunic.

“I have come with a request, Sir,” the youngster said, hesitantly raising his eyes to meet the Elder’s gaze, his hands now clasped in front of him, unconsciously worrying the skin at the edge of his thumb with the nail of his forefinger until his thumbnail was rimmed with blood. Lord Elrond moved closer, taking the restless hands within his own grasp and tenderly wiping away the blood with the corner of a clean handkerchief.

“What would you ask of me, Faramir?”

“That you conclude the unfinished business between us, Sir. That you deal with my foolishness and allow me to atone and find peace.”

“And is this your request? Are you asking this of your own accord?”

“Yes, Sir. I have spoken to the King and confessed to my actions and omissions and following his council I have come to request your assistance.”

“You were not ordered to come?”

“No, Sir. The King left the decision with me. He offered to assist me in this matter if that was my wish but I realise now that honour demands that I seek your ministrations.”

“I am honoured that you feel able to place your trust in me. I will do my very best to honour that trust.” He ushered Faramir across the room and settled them side by side on a long padded settle.

“We both know what has brought us here, Faramir but I would like you to tell me in your own word what you seek to atone for,” Lord Elrond said, tilting the youngster’s chin until their eyes met.

“For disregarding your instructions, for sneaking out of my chambers in contravention of your orders, for putting my health and the safety of others in jeopardy and for not allowing you to help me when you first offered, Sir.”

“Well that is quite a catalogue,” the Elf Lord joked, raising just the hint of a smile from the troubled youngster. “Very well, seeing that I taught them all they know! I suspect my manner of handling this process is much the same as those who have helped you in the past. Are you ready?” Faramir nodded, releasing his hands from the Lord’s grasp to loosen the ties of his leggings.

Lord Elrond leaned across in front of Faramir and clasped his shoulder with a firm but gentle hand and guided the tense youngster over his lap, settling him with his chest supported on the seat and his legs unrestrained; all the while keeping up a whispered litany of reassurance, his movements calm and controlled. There was no need to restrain him; Faramir, while not relishing this process, accepted the necessity and had long since resigned himself to the Elf Lord’s care. Lord Elrond used his left hand to try to ease some of the tension in Faramir’s tense, rigid shoulders but there was really no way to make this easier. “Lift up for me, Faramir,” he requested, easing his leggings down to rest at mid-thigh.

“Ready Faramir?” Faramir tensed, anticipating the first blow, memories of the King’s story of a ferocious spanking suddenly flashing through his mind. When it came, the impact was sharp but without the strength of either the King’s or Legolas’ attentions. The Elf Lord wasted no time in establishing a steady but insistent rhythm, the strength of his hand falls gradually increasing until Faramir was squirming and flinching with each blow to his rapidly heating skin. Faramir was still locked in rigid tension, his shoulders hunched and his face buried within his cupped hands. Lord Elrond kept up the soothing massage with his left hand, even as his right maintained its steady rhythmic percussion.

Despite his increasing distress, Faramir recognised that the Elf Lord was treating him lightly, far more lightly than his offences warranted. But lightly or not he was fast approaching the point where he could no longer control his reactions, strangled gasps forced their way past gritted teeth and he was fast losing the ability to control the jerking of his limbs with each impact of the Elven hand.

Lord Elrond looked down sadly at the youngster draped over his lap. He wanted this finished, he recognised that his purpose was not to chastise but to allow Faramir the opportunity to let go of his guilt, a guilt that the young man had locked deep within himself. Only stubbornness was now keeping that guilt contained and the Elf Lord had no intention of allowing the situation to continue.

“Let it go, Faramir,” he demanded, landing three harder spanks on his already blazing backside. The shock of the impact was enough to tip him over the edge and he collapsed, limp and boneless over the Elf Lord’s lap, submitting himself, mind and body, to the Elder’s care, his sobs unrestrained by thought or will.

“I’m sorry. . . so so-sorry,” Faramir gasped through his tears.

“Hush now, be at peace, all is forgiven,” Elrond soothed, not quite sure how to proceed; with his own sons or Legolas he would have scooped them up into his arms to offer them comfort but he was not sure if Faramir was ready to accept that degree of intimacy. The youngster answered the question for him by dropping back off his lap onto his knees, pulling up his leggings as he moved. Hesitantly, Faramir dropped his forehead to rest on Elrond’s knee as he continued to weep. Elrond accepted this small gesture of trust and cupped his wet cheek with one hand while with the other he stroked a soothing hand over damp red-gold locks.

To the Elf Lord’s alarm his attempts to comfort the youngster seemed to have the opposite effect; Faramir’s weeping became more desperate. Unable to bear the sight of his distress, Lord Elrond gently pushed the inconsolable Steward away from him so that he could himself drop to his knees and take the youngster into his arms, hugging him tightly to his chest. Faramir’s arms wound around his back, taking a desperate grip on his tunic.

“Easy, Faramir. I have you now. You are quite safe,” The Elf Lord whispered, his hand guiding the youngster’s head down onto his shoulder. “Easy now, I have you. Calm now, be at peace.” Very slowly Faramir’s sobs eased as the Elf Lord’s calm wrapped itself around him.

“Can you talk now, Little One? Can you tell me what’s in your heart that gives you such pain?”

“He-he never once offered me a kind word or-or a gentle touch,” Faramir sobbed. “Why could he not love me!” he wailed, his tears overflowing again. Lord Elrond realised that he had unwittingly breached the well of anguish that Faramir had not yet managed to deal with. Estel and Legolas had helped him to grieve for his lost brother and for the comrades lost in the conflict but his grief over his Father’s actions and death had so far escaped their ministrations.

“I never wanted grand gestures, just a small sign would have been enough; a smile, a kind word, an expression of pride, of acknowledgement. Was that too much to ask? I never wanted to usurp Boromir’s place in his affections. I did everything I could to appease him, took his spite and his punishments without complaint. What did he see lacking in me that drove away his love?”

“Nothing!” Elrond shook him gently to emphasise his words. “There is nothing lacking in you, Faramir. Nothing! You were not to blame for his deficiencies as a father. Imrahil and Estel and others who knew him as a young man say he wasn’t always like that. But whether it was grief or the seeing stone or just the pressure of rule he should not have taken his feelings out on you. His duty as a Father was to love and nurture you, as he did your brother. That he failed in that duty was Not. Your. Fault.” The Elf Lord emphasised. “It was never your fault.”

Estel stopped outside the door to his father’s chambers and listened. Hearing only the quiet murmur of voices he took the tea tray from the servant and dismissed the lad before knocking and pushing the door with his hip.

“May I come in?” he asked. ‘Is everything alright?’ he mouthed silently to his Ada. Lord Elrond nodded in confirmation and gently roused Faramir who was still resting within his embrace.

“I though you might both welcome some refreshments,” he explained, placing the tray on a side table and pouring three cups of tea.

“How fares my Steward?” he asked as Faramir untangled himself from Lord Elrond’s embrace and got to his feet, perching gingerly on the arm of the sofa.

“As well as can be expected, Sire,” Faramir admitted rubbing the sleeve of his tunic across his cheeks.

“How was it Arwen described you, Faramir? Ah yes ‘A delightful Mess’” the Elf Lord chuckled causing Faramir to blush.

“I take it you would rather not spend the afternoon sitting in council,” the King enquired, openly grinning at Faramir’s inability to sit still without squirming.

“Oh, please. No!” Faramir groaned at the prospect.

“Then it is a good job that I have cancelled the Council until tomorrow, isn’t it?” the King teased. “I suggest instead that you and I take a walk down to the First Circle and you can show me the damage caused by the fire and we can discuss the rebuilding. Of course, if you are not up to walking that distance I could have our horses saddled!”

“NO! No, Sir, walking is fine,” Faramir blustered causing both Lord Elrond and the King to laugh.

“May I be excused for a while, Sire? I believe I need to freshen up before I venture out in public.”

“Of course. I will meet you at the front of the Citadel in an hour. Will that be long enough, Faramir?”

“Yes, Sire. By your leave, Sire, Lord Elrond.” Faramir saluted and turned to leave. The King waylaid him on the threshold.

“Oh, Faramir,” the King called, his eyes flashing with laughter, “ if you ask Tamir nicely he has a large pot of Lord Elrond’s Cooling Lotion!”

“Sire!”

“You should not tease him, Estel,” Lord Elrond chastised, though his words held no censure.

“Do not spoil my fun, Ada. Until now I have always been the little brother. . .it is a novelty to have a little brother to torment. Besides, I suspect that under that sad and reticent veneer Faramir has quite a pixie sense of humour. . .he just needs the opportunity to let it loose.”

“Can you just picture him and Legolas together in devilment?” the Elf Lord asked with a shudder.

“Life could get interesting, Ada!”

“Yes, and I will not be the one to deal with the consequences, thank goodness.”

Faramir appeared in the Queen’s garden in answer to Arwen’s invitation. A table was set with drinks and refreshments for a large gathering but only Arwen was present. She sat in the shade, an unopened book in her hand; she appeared lost in thought. Faramir was reluctant to disturb her peace but the crunch of his boots on the gravel path drew her attention.

“Forgive me, My Lady.”

“Welcome Faramir. Thank you for coming.”

“Can I be of assistance, My Lady. . .Arwen?”

“No, only in offering me your company. The others will join us shortly. Estel has been delayed by an unexpected visitor. He will be finished soon,” she explained, urging Faramir to sit beside her and tucking her arm through the crook of his elbow.

“You look happy, Faramir. I take it the word from Edoras was good news.” Faramir blushed and touched his hand to his tunic where Éowyn’s letter lay over his heart.

“Yes, Arwen.” he flushed again over calling her by her name but her smile of delight eased his discomfort. “King Éomer will be returning here at the end of the month and I will petition him formally for his permission for our betrothal.”

“And will he say yes,” she teased.

“I believe Éowyn has convinced him that withholding his permission will be detrimental to his health and wellbeing.” Faramir smiled.

“Yes, I can believe that even Éomer would not want to elicit Éowyn’s wrath!” the Queen chuckled. “I have the greatest respect for Éowyn’s forthright manner.”

“I didn’t realise you had met Éowyn?” Faramir queried, knowing that the Rohirrim had returned to Edoras before the Queen’s entourage had arrived in Gondor.

“We stayed in Edoras on our journey here. Éowyn was very kind to me. I will be happy when she comes here. I do hope your betrothal will not be too extended.”

“You are likely to see her before I do, I am relying on you to convince her a short engagement would be best.”

“Why will I see her before you? I don’t understand, Faramir?”

“You are planning on journeying to Edoras for King Théoden’s funeral, aren’t you?” Faramir asked, seeking confirmation for what he had assumed was a foregone conclusion.

“Yes of course.” Arwen was confused by the direction this conversation had taken and from the sudden anxiety in Faramir’s manner he was also floundering. “Faramir, what is this about?” She watched him trying to seek out the answer, hampered by not really understanding the question. He drew away, his hand playing out its unconscious dance, first to the hem of his tunic then to his throat, finally to rest in his lap where he worried ruthlessly at already sore and broken skin.

“Faramir? Faramir, look at me,” Arwen demanded, her voice stern yet gentle, two fingers curled under his chin to reinforce her message.

“You will be coming to Edoras with us,” she affirmed.

“Oh, no, Lady. I cannot. My place is here; with the King away I must stay and see to the city. It is my duty.”

“And what of you duty to Éowyn? You cannot be betrothed by proxy. What sort of message would it send to her and to the people of Rohan? No, I will not have it. You will go to Edoras and claim your Lady, even if it means I must stay here and stand in for Estel.”

“But you cannot do that.”

“Why, do you not think me capable?”

“Of course not. I know you are capable, more capable than I will ever be. . . but your family, your father! I would not have you sundered from them a moment sooner than necessary. I will not allow that.” His words were forceful, with a hint of anger that she should be willing to sacrifice her own needs for his convenience.

And then she was weeping.

“Arwen. Pl-please don’t cry. I’m sorry. . .forgive me. Please. . .!” He did the only thing he could think of in the face of her distress, he wrapped his arms around her, awkwardly patting her shoulder as she wept against his tunic.

When she finally sniffed and pulled away from him she gifted her with a watery smile.

“The king will have my head for making you cry.”

“And Estel will be thankful I have a friend I can turn to,” she countered. “I will need all my friends, Faramir. All of them.”

“And Faramir. . .we will all go to Edoras! I would have all my friends and family there to celebrate your betrothal before they go their separate ways.” Faramir nodded, too full of emotion to speak.

In ones and twos the rest of the company joined them in the garden and amid the warm sun and the gentle companionship the earlier sadness was pushed aside. The King had still to make an appearance and Faramir was beginning to curse the visitor who was keeping him occupied.

A familiar booming voice caught his attention. “Gimli!”

“Aye, Laddie. The one and only. Don’t stand there grinning like a fool, lad. I’m parched and in dire need of some refreshment.” Faramir signalled to a servant and within minutes Gimli was nursing a large tankard of Ale.

“How was Ithilien, Gimli?”

“It’s a pretty enough place, I’ll grant you. . .though in my humble opinion, too many trees and not enough caves!” he chortled.

“We have caves. . .you just need an expert to show you where they are.”

“And you’d be the expert, would you, Lad?”

“I have been known to stumble my way around occasionally,” Faramir grinned. “By the way, did you happen to bring Legolas back with you?”

“Aye, he’s just prettying himself up! ‘getting rid of the dust of the road’ he said. I’ll never understand that lad’s priorities,” the dwarf explained with a belch, holding out his tankard for a refill.

“Missed me, have you?” Faramir turned to the familiar voice with a smile that lit up his face.

“No, we were just saying how peaceful it has been around here,” Faramir’s attempt at nonchalance failed miserably and he found himself swept into the arms of his Elven warrior. The embrace lasted only a moment before a cough alerted them to another’s presence.

“Sire, has your visitor gone?” Faramir thought at that moment that nothing could dim his pleasure at having his friends returned.

“Not exactly, Faramir,” the King’s smiling eyes flicked to Legolas.

“You mean Legolas was the visitor?” a shiver crawled slowly down Faramir’s back as it dawned on him just how long the King and the Prince had been in conference. He pulled slowly away, his gaze darting between the two of them and Lord Elrond who had appeared over their shoulders.

“I’ve been hearing some interesting tales, Faramir!”

“I-I. . .um”

“Very interesting tales. . .!”

“Has the lad been up to mischief?” Gimli asked with feigned surprise.

Legolas clasped his hand to his chest. “Gimli, I could hardly believe the reports!”

“Really….that bad!”

“Indeed. In fact, I had to insist on Lord Elrond confirming these damming rumours.”

Faramir took a pace backwards in the face of Legolas’ suddenly predatory expression. His backward progress was halted by Gimli’s sturdy frame.

“Going somewhere, Laddie?”

“No, I-um. . .” His mind went a fearsome blank and words became impossible.

Legolas grinned and crooked his finger. “I think, Faramir, you and I have some things to discuss, some little truths that seem to have slipped your mind in my absence.”

“That is really not necessary. All matters have been dealt with.” Faramir stuttered

“Indeed?” Legolas made no move to close the gap between them but he drew himself up and again crooked his finger. “Come Little Ranger, you really don’t want us to be having this discussion in public.” Legolas flicked his gaze to where Arwen and the Hobbits were observing the proceedings.

“I have done nothing to deserve such treatment! My ‘foolishness’ has been more than adequately discussed,” Faramir blustered. “It is all sorted. Tell him, Sire, Lord Elrond, please. . . tell him he cannot do this.” Faramir pleas were met with only gentle smiles and a slight nudge from behind. Legolas beckoned again and waited for Faramir to join him before he turned to walk back into the palace. As he got to the door Estel called and the Elf turned in time to catch a small earthenware pot.

“What is this?” Legolas asked, examining the sealed pot with a dawning smile of comprehension.

“Tamir decided that ‘Lord Elrond’s Cooling Lotion’ was too big a mouthful so he has renamed it ‘Faramir’s Friend’.”

“SIRE!” Faramir’s outraged bellow could be heard even as he was led away to face another reckoning from the firm but tender hands of his Elven mentor.

“Was that really necessary, Estel. I thought Ada had taken care of all matters outstanding between them.” Arwen looked between her husband and her Ada, her protective instincts roused by Faramir’s plight.

“He will be fine, my Love. Trust that Legolas knows what he needs and, more importantly, that Faramir trusts him. He is in safe hands.”

The End

Shireling. November 2005.

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

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