Faramir Fiction Archive

Some Other End (R)

Written by Lexin

14 December 2005 | 39687 words

---

Part VI

Go directly -- find out what she's doing and tell her she mustn't.
Punch, vol lxiii p.202 1862

During the celebrations, Faramir had been peripherally aware of new buildings going up around Bree. He had given this little thought, his awareness only of a mild pleasure that business in Bree was thriving. As the crowds left, these signs became more obvious until one morning Frodo received an invitation from Bree's mayor, a hobbit called Gil Sandytoes.

It appeared that some time in the past - Sandytoes was not very specific about when - Aragorn had instructed the folk of Bree to prepare them a gift, "His instructions were rather vague," said Sandytoes, "but we've done our best. What do you think?"

On the journey north, just a few years before, Faramir had seen the ruins of the watchtower of Amon Sûl. He had specifically asked to be taken there, remembering not only Frodo's journey, but also that Elendil had there awaited Gil-Galad. The structure Sandytoes showed them reminded him, in part of the ruin in that it was a keep atop a hill.

"The hill was already there," said Sandytoes.

"Oh," said Frodo.

"That was... helpful," said Faramir, seeing they were going to get nothing more from Frodo.

Faramir thought he could guess Frodo's difficulty: hobbits were not greatly enamoured of stone buildings. Once inside, however, they found that it was more home-like than either had expected. The builders had chosen to interpret Aragorn's instruction for a castle rather freely, and there was more of the hobbit-hole than the palace about it. It was also, not surprisingly after so short a time, still unfinished.

Frodo returned to the inn looking, to one who knew him well, rather downcast. "I suppose," he said, "it would hurt their feelings if we disappeared in the night and went back to Bag End?"

Faramir held back his laugh, "I'm afraid it would."

"Furniture will improve it though."

"We can but hope."

They exchanged a glance of resignation, then Frodo said, "Bed, Prince Faramir, I have plans for you that I hope may cheer us both."

---

At least Butterbur was sorry to see them move into their new home - almost as sorry as Meriadoc was that their furniture needed to moved again. Frodo gave Bag End to Rose and Sam, and Rose's ecstatic delight almost made it worthwhile.

Still, as they had predicted, with furniture in the newly-finished living quarters the new castle looked somewhat improved. It would not be perfect, Faramir thought, not even as perfect as it was capable of being, until they stopped tripping over builders on the way to the privy.

"I never thought of anything like this," said Frodo.

"No," agreed Faramir, absently. He was looking out of the window, a hobbit was attempting to pick up a plank larger than he was and being berated for it by a serving maid.

"I hate having servants," Frodo went on. "I hated it when we were in Minas Tirith and it hasn't improved."

Faramir turned away from the unfolding scene below, "I'm afraid we cannot avoid it. I have employed as few as I thought could manage the work."

"That was a surprise. How did you know what to do?"

Faramir came over to sit beside him on the most comfortable seat in the room. "There is no riddle there."

"Tell me, then, O wise one."

"It is true that my father ruled and that the origin of the Steward was as a counsellor to the King, but my father and his fathers before him took the title of steward seriously. A steward manages a household, and father insisted that as well as learning our letters and how to wield sword and bow we learned the work of the servants from the lowest kitchen page to his own household steward. Not in great detail, but sufficient."

"I thought that when you came to Bag End you showed a remarkable ability at scrubbing floors."

"They were indeed not my first," Faramir smiled, "or the first time I had turned a spit or stirred a soup. Though I am no cook and Mistress Anareth of the kitchen was ever angry with me." He fell silent.

Frodo said, "There is nothing you can do for Boromir."

"How did you know?"

"Talking of Minas Tirith always brings him to your mind. I should have known better than to allow you to raise it."

Faramir laughed, "A pretty pair we should make, never able to discuss my homeland, my family or your past experiences. We should have to confine ourselves to the weather and the scenery."

"We should perhaps try it out for a day."

"Then our new servants would think us both addled. Not that they don't already. Come, Frodo, time for the evening meal which they will have burned or failed to cook sufficiently. Do you think we can persuade Butterbur to part with his cook?"

"Now you are addled," said Frodo.

"Do you think Samwise and Rose would come to live with us?" Faramir thought of Rose's cooking with something akin to homesickness.

"I suppose they would if we asked. But could we deny Sam the chance of being Mayor of Hobbiton?"

"And, more importantly, Rose of being his lady? No, we could not. And unless we can stand to dismiss our current servants and employ more, or train these to our needs, and I doubt we can, we must learn to endure being uncomfortable and having nasty things to eat."

"Let's hope they improve before anyone important arrives. I can just imagine Lord Elrond's face if they presented him with what they gave us last night."

---

"The 'King of Angmar' announces that he intends to visit," said Frodo. He held out a letter for Faramir to take. "I would imagine that this is the result of your recent battle on the edge of the Ettenmoors."

"It was not a battle. A minor clash of arms, merely." Faramir winced as he reached to take it.

"Which could have cost you your hand, so forgive me if I disagree."

"Our people must be protected; that village had asked for our help."

"I know that, and the men you trained acquitted themselves extremely well, considering that a year ago Bree didn't have a soldier within a days' ride. I hope only that we will not have to fight such battles often. Which returns us to the 'King of Angmar'."

Faramir reached for the letter. "His scribe is hardly worthy of the title. Still, I would imagine that he was lucky to find anyone who could write in Angmar, even more that they could write in the common tongue."

Silence for a moment, then Frodo said, "I do not remember being told there were men in Angmar. I wish Gandalf were here to advise us."

---

As it turned out, there were men in Angmar. Of a kind. The deputation which rode up was made up of Men who looked more than half orc, and orcs who had some blood of Men. But as they had sent ahead to parley and harmed none on their journey, Frodo had no reason to refuse to see them.

Uncomfortable days followed; the 'King of Angmar' claimed several villages and a small town to the south of the Ettens. Frodo, armed with the papers he had from King Aragorn, papers relating to the lengthy transactions of Faramir's dowry, rejected this claim.

While they debated, the King and his followers had to be accommodated either in the Palace, which both Faramir and Frodo disliked, or in Bree itself, which the townspeople, Big and Little, heartily disliked. Still, it was an unusual orc who even attempted diplomacy over force of arms.

King Uglûk had learned good manners, though where and when Faramir did not ask, but those of his men slipped too often to be comfortable. Insults to themselves they could tolerate, abuse of their servants was another matter entirely so when the discourtesy reached the levels of their guests spitting on the floor and pinching the maids, Frodo insisted that the orcs eat separately and be waited on by their own servants. "And we shall have to scrub the rooms out with vinegar after they've gone," he told Faramir, when they were alone.

Faramir did not like it, but there was nothing they could do short of murdering them all and that, even if it were honourable which of course it was not, would likely set the whole of the northern part of Arnor alight and embroil them in war for years to come.

"I think," said Faramir, when they were at last alone together on the fifth day of the torturous visit, "he intends to wear us down into making concessions by pushing us to the limit of endurance."

Frodo yawned, "You're probably right. Stay with me?"

"Very well, if you wish it." Faramir removed his smallclothes and slid into bed, feeling Frodo's warmth. "Is it just my company you want," he asked. He slid his hand across Frodo's side. "Or perhaps..."

"Have I told you recently," Frodo turned onto his back, "that you are the best of husbands?"

"No, for I am not. However, I believe I have my compensations." He moved to kiss Frodo.

"Indeed you do, Prince Faramir. Indeed you do."

---

As usual when they were intimately joined Faramir lay on his back, body supported by a bolster - it was a cause of some puzzlement to their servants why they needed so many, but neither of them were about to confess the reason.

Frodo withdrew from him, slowly, mindful that he was sometimes sensitive, and ran a hand up the outside of Faramir's thigh. "You are..." was as far as he got.

The door to Frodo's bedroom opened suddenly. Faramir caught no more than a glimpse of an orc - his knife flashed in the candlelight. Faramir rolled over and pushed Frodo from the bed. Hoping Frodo was unhurt, Faramir reached for the sword he'd set aside earlier. He took a swing at the orc, but missed. Faramire cursed his reflexes, or lack of them, and made a second lunge avoiding the orc blade by a fraction of an inch.

This time Faramir was successful. He spared a glance for Frodo, who looked furious rather than frightened. "Stay there!" said Faramir.

The orc, desperate by now, came at Faramir again. Faramir recognised him, without surprise, as one of the entourage of the King of Angmar. "Hold!" he said.

The orc laughed, "Die, my pretty prince, and your master with you!" He slashed at Faramir's face, unsuccessfully. Faramir did not bother to reply, he had no time for it. They turned and Faramir realised a moment too late that this brought the orc closer to Frodo. Suddenly, the orc screamed. Had the orc been able to, he'd have got another slash in against Faramir, but his attention was elsewhere: Frodo was under the bed, attacking with something Faramir did not have time to look at closely. The orc's distraction was his undoing; Faramir saw his chance and took it. In seconds the orc's black blood stained the rug by Frodo's bed. He stopped moving.

At that moment - too late - the guard arrived. Frodo came out from under the bed as naked as Faramir, holding a pearl-handled whip and looked at the guard as if they were weevils he'd found in the flour. "I think," he said, "that my husband and I will pass the rest of the night in his room. Remove this," he toed the body of the orc, "and see to it that we are not further disturbed. Come, Faramir."

"As you command, my Prince," said Faramir and bowed.

---

No such event could be without its repercussions, and next day they had to face the King of Angmar over the negotiating table.

"I am sorry from the bottom of my heart for the..." a pause while the King searched his mind for the right word, "inconvenience you suffered last night. Had the matter not been already well taken care of by Prince Faramir, the guilty one would have met his death at my hand."

Frodo's smile was somewhat tight, "Thank you for your assurance, King Uglûk. The inconvenience was slight. Yet let anyone who attempts such a thing be warned that I am not as ill-defended as I appear, and certainly not when my dear husband is beside me."

I hope that is blunt enough, thought Faramir, though he doubted it would be. Someone's need to have Frodo dead must be great indeed to attack him in his own stronghold. Yet, the apology had seemed perfectly genuine, insofar as Faramir could tell. And the King could not be quite certain that the outcome of Frodo's death would be war in the north - Aragorn and the large and well-trained armies of Gondor and Rohan were leagues to the south. Here in the north were only the Dúnedain, the northern Rangers, and such men as Faramir himself had trained.

Faramir cursed himself for a fool. There was no way they could permit these spies to return north, and yet by coming under a flag of truce they had virtually guaranteed their safe return. No wonder Uglûk had appeared genuinely angry. He was. He could not afford to give them an excuse to retaliate, not if he wanted his mission to succeed. Frodo would have to write urgently to Aragorn Elessar, but knew they could expect no help. He wondered just how big Uglûk's army was. Faramir's respect increased; this was no normal Uruk.

---

"Prince Faramir, sir, visitors..." their steward, Tod Cheesman, had a face like a beaten mastiff, and he looked even more worried than usual.

"What have they done now?"

"Not those visitors, sir. We've been keeping an eye on 'em, as you asked, and other than drinking a lot of Frodo...Prince Frodo's ale and smashing a few goblets they've been right as rain. All of 'em still here, sir. I've been counting 'em just like you told me. No, sir, these are new visitors, the Lady Prestoliel and her escort from...some place in the south I have forgotten."

"Minas Tirith," supplied Faramir. "You'd better send her to me. Have word sent to Frodo and prepare rooms for them."

"Where?"

"You're the steward, just do your best."

---

"Faramir! My dear...stepson?"

Faramir had met Prestoliel very briefly in Minas Tirith; he had to admit that he had forgotten quite how pretty she was. Beauty enough to please even his father. "Stepmother?" he tried.

She laughed, a tinkle like silver bells. "It feels wrong when you are the elder, does it not? Use my plain name and I will use yours."

"As you wish," he bowed. "I regret my husband is not here to greet you, he is dealing with the emissaries from the northlands."

"No matter," she dismissed Frodo and the emissaries with a wave of her pale hand and sat. "No doubt you are wondering why I am here."

Faramir suppressed the temptation to point out that the thousand or so miles which lay between Minas Tirith and Bree made it unlikely that she had come to borrow a jar of honey. He contented himself with an enquiring look.

"I wanted again to meet my dear stepson!" the laugh tinkled out again.

"And?" said Faramir, as it appeared that she'd stopped.

"Nothing else."

"Does my father know you are here?" After he had said it, Faramir realised that he had possibly been a trifle too blunt. Living among free-spoken hobbits and the equally free-spoken folk of Bree was clearly affecting him more than he had imagined.

"Of course!"

Faramir was quite certain that this was untrue, but was saved from thinking of a further reply by Frodo's arrival.

---

"The new lady visitor, sir," said Cheesman.

"What about her?" Faramir sighed.

Cheesman grinned, obviously in some reminiscence. "She doesn't like her room."

"Tell her it's the best we can do."

"I did that. I don't think she believed me. In fact, I know she didn't."

"Faramir!" Lady Prestoliel obviously hadn't waited for the steward to return. "I cannot remain in such accommodations."

"Which rooms do you have?" Faramir concentrated on keeping the impatience he felt out of his voice.

"Poky little ones at the back, with funny little round windows and doors."

"The little folk rooms," put in Cheesman. "The ones we keep for when the Mayor and his lady come from Hobbiton. They're the best we have other than what that King of Angmar's staying in."

"You see!" said Prestoliel. "You do have better rooms. I'm sure this King of... King will give them up when I ask him."

"Don't think so," said Cheesman, "see, lady..."

"And Faramir, your servants are insupportably rude!"

"My apologies," said Faramir, at last getting a word in edgeways. "Cheesman, please try to remember what I told you."

"Sir," Cheesman bowed, somewhat chastened.

"Now, Prestoliel. I cannot ask the King of Angmar to give up the rooms he is occupying and you wouldn't want them if he did agree. Please accept that the rooms you have are the best we can offer at present." When the door closed and he was finally alone, Faramir sank into a chair and groaned. After all that he still had to face dinner with the King of Angmar and Prestoliel, eating without obvious disgust whatever their cooks had managed to produce. He also ought to write to his father. Truly, he thought, this cup is too full for me to drink.

---

Lady Prestoliel said, "The north is not at all as I had imagined."

Faramir asked, "How so?" He was doing his best with her and hoped somebody appreciated it.

"I...had expected a city. Something like Minas Tirith."

"Did my father give you that impression?" he couldn't imagine from where else she could have gained any idea of the north.

"No. He never talks to me of important things, only of Aragorn. It's all Aragorn this, Aragorn that. Tales of his arrogance and pride."

"Aragorn? King Elessar?" Faramir was honestly puzzled. His acquaintance with the King was comparatively slight, but he had seemed the least prideful of men.

"Then, of course, there's Queen Arwen, the jewels she wears and the cost of her dresses."

"My father talks about the cost of dresses?" This was becoming more astounding by the minute.

"Of course not. But she's full of herself. If she got any fuller, she'd burst."

This didn't sound at all like the Arwen that Faramir knew. He kept quiet.

"But you're not at all like your father said, and now I've become used to your lovely little castle. And we're such friends already."

"Are we?" said Faramir.

---

"Why did my father handfast to that woman?" Faramir sat on the edge of Frodo's bed, profoundly weary.

"To make sons," said Frodo, and he yawned. "Are you getting in or not?"

"Yes." He moved the covers aside and lay down. "Please, I just want to talk to someone sane."

Frodo leaned over and kissed his shoulder. "I think, tomorrow, you will negotiate with the King and I will deal with the lady."

---

"Faramir! Your... Frodo is the most odious creature I ever met! I wonder that you tolerate him."

"Oh. Is he?" Faramir thought he probably looked taken aback at this. He felt it.

"He says I should return to Gondor."

Frodo must have had taken the opportunity to say something. Faramir said, "If you left now and took the journey in easy stages you would be through the Gap of Rohan before the first snows fall on the high peaks."

"But Faramir! I thought that you..." she stopped.

"That I?" he was honestly puzzled.

"That you wanted me to stay! That you loved me."

How to put this gently? There was no kind way of saying it, other than to say it. "Lady. I do not know what I can have said or done if I gave you that impression. I assure you I did not intend it."

"You cannot want to be near that creature."

"What creature?"

"That...Frodo."

Faramir could hear his voice turning cold, "Frodo is not a 'creature', he is a person. My husband."

"You remain here out of duty," she came to him and reached for him. "Your father told me so."

Faramir backed away hurriedly. "That is false and my father knows it to be false."

"No!" Prestoliel reached for him again.

By now Faramir was almost in the fire and had nowhere further to which to retreat. "It is false," he said. "My love is given to my husband and none other. You must understand that. Please." She tried to kiss him and he held her firmly by the wrists. "Please don't do this. Whatever feeling you have for me, I cannot return it. My heart is given to another."

She broke into a storm of weeping and he released her. If she said anything he could not make it out.

He sighed, "You would do much better to return to my father."

"And beg his forgiveness? I would rather die!"

"Then return to your own people. I am sure they would aid you." Faramir felt helpless; weeping women were not something of which he had much experience. He would far rather face twenty raging orcs armed with scimitars.

"I am sure they would not!" she said. "Oh, you are useless, like all men!" She broke into another storm of weeping, and left the room. The door slammed behind her and Faramir stared at it. He was rather glad of the quiet.

---

"My husband, I need to speak with you," said Frodo. Faramir looked up from the papers he was studying. "At once."

Faramir followed him into their private parlour and closed the door.

"The Lady Prestoliel..." began Frodo and Faramir just managed to stop himself from groaning out loud. Frodo continued, "She has made an accusation against you."

"Go on."

"She says that you attempted to force yourself on her. Did you?"

"No."

"Thank you. That's all I wanted to know."

"You believe me?"

Frodo looked up at him. "Yes."

"What will you tell her?"

"That I have investigated the matter and I do not believe her."

"Oh. I doubt she will be satisfied with that."

It was Frodo's turn to sigh. "Then she can return to your father."

"She will not do that. I have already suggested it. Nor will she return to her own people in Dol Amroth, I've suggested that, also."

"And she came here from Boromir. " Frodo must have seen the surprised expression on Faramir's face, "Yes, she came from Ithilien, not from Minas Tirith. Come, let us sit." Frodo chose the settle by the fire, and Faramir sat beside him. Frodo said, "I received a letter from Éowyn. For some reason the messenger delivered it first to Merry - it only arrived this morning."

"And?"

"It seems that the balance of the lady's mind is somewhat disturbed."

"We could have told them that; did Éowyn say why?"

"Have you noticed that Prestoliel has never mentioned her child? Not once in all the time she's been here?"

"Actually...yes. I assumed the silence was because the child died. It's not uncommon, even among the nobility of Gondor and I didn't want to raise the matter until she did."

"I would think that knowing that and having it happen to you are two different things. I cannot help but feel relief that it can never happen to us," said Frodo. "According to Éowyn, Prestoliel became somewhat strange after the death of the child; she and your father had an argument - which says something about how much backbone she has since I would not care to argue with your father. Without his leave, she called her ladies to her and travelled to Dol Amroth. From there, and Éowyn does not mention why or what her family said, she came to Ithilien. Éowyn tried to do her best for her, but was rebuffed. Her attempts at help angered Prestoliel so much she claimed she was being persecuted. She left, and came here."

"I do not believe we can help her. Besides which, we have problems of our own."

"That's the other matter I wanted to discuss with you. King Uglûk leaves at the end of the week. I think we'll follow him north and do some spying for ourselves. We will have to leave the lady to herself for a few weeks and hope she comes to her senses."

Faramir sighed, "How I long for the simple life in kindly Minas Tirith. A little court intrigue would be as bucolic monotony."

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