Faramir Fiction Archive

Some Other End (R)

Written by Lexin

14 December 2005 | 39687 words

Part VII

It appears the Americans have taken umbrage.
They deuce they have! Whereabouts is that?
Punch, vol lxiii. p.189. 1872

The moment they left Bree it started to rain. And it rained. And it rained. And it rained some more, just for variation.

"I thought it was meant to be May," growled Frodo, as his pony tripped and stumbled.

"It is," replied Faramir. He shook his wet hair out of his eyes and looked round. Behind he could see the rise of the Weather Hills, but ahead all was flat and slightly gloomy. "Gimli told me, more than once, about their chase across Rohan following an orc trail. In this weather, any other trail would have disappeared."

"I hope they are all feeling as cold and out of sorts as we are."

Faramir suppressed a laugh, "I would imagine not, if I know orcs."

"And these achieved their aim." Frodo sighed, "They left us a mess, too. I do hope Sam and Rosie clear up the castle before we return."

---

The land was strange; it was largely uninhabited and there was no real road, but here and there they found small villages, the people clinging to life by the skin of their teeth. Usually, these tiny places didn't even have an inn.

During his previous journey across the Ettenmoors, Faramir had steered his troops clear of these villages; this time it seemed politic to introduce themselves, and thus create distance between them and the grim orcs whose passage the people watched so warily. Their own company, Dúnedain for the most part, were greeted only slightly less distrustfully.

Faramir felt for these people; they were simple folk and such people always had the most to lose when there was a falling out of princes, battle could despoil their crops and leave them hungry for the winter. He knew Frodo would do his best for them, but Arnor was still poor compared with the south, and even they were recovering only slowly from the wars which had ravaged their lands.

"How goes it, Alagosín?" Faramir decided that to worry his mind with these matters was profitless. It may yet come to nothing.

"Well enough, Faramir. There's nowhere for us to stay unless you're prepared to brave the lice in the headman's hut, so we've set up camp in the field to the side."

Faramir did not expect the Rangers to call him by any title, and they did not. That they accepted him as an equal was sufficient honour, for some of these men had taught Aragorn Elessar. "And Frodo?" he asked.

"He's cold," said Alagosín, "Does cold always affect hobbits so? I thought for a moment that he'd bite me." Faramir smiled, considered answering, and decided that the hand of discretion should stay over his mouth.

"You need not have come," said Faramir to Frodo, when he arrived in their small tent.

"And stay behind with your father's mad wife? I'd rather freeze to death out here. And ride a pony."

"So would I," Faramir sat on his unrolled bedding and contemplated the roof of the tent, already damp.

"How far ahead are the orcs?"

"From the tracks, I'd say about a day but Alagosín thinks they're not quite that far. He's more likely to be right than I, he knows these northlands better. We need to make better speed, but in these lands I don't care to travel at night. Luckily the orcs agree."

"But we have the advantage of horses."

Faramir looked up, then remembered just how far Frodo had travelled. "Orcs do travel at speed, but we are catching them up. We should overtake them tomorrow, I would estimate at sundown - if the sun ever shines in this place."

---

Few things ever go quite as planned; they must have pulled ahead of the orcs party some time during the day, but what had held them up Faramir had no idea. They had left the trail early, not wanting to run into the back of them unexpectedly. At sundown they found themselves on a rise of land, too low to be called a hill, but with no sign of the orcs.

Alagosín and Faramir stood apart from Frodo and the others, looking out over the land behind them. "No fire," said Faramir. "They'd see it for miles."

"Cold night," said Alagosín, but not as if he disagreed.

"Yes. If we're really lucky, they'll have a fire."

"They might if they think themselves safe."

Faramir came off watch to find Frodo still awake. "Cold?" he said.

"Yes. See anything?" Frodo came over to Faramir's bedroll and slipped in.

"Nothing. Oh, perfect. You don't feel cold, more like having a hot brick in the bed," Faramir lay on his side and curled round Frodo.

"Let's hope nobody attacks. Our men are already full of tales about us." Frodo moved closer. "You don't mind?"

Faramir shrugged, he wasn't sure he cared any longer what was said about him. "What do they say?"

Frodo sounded amused, "That you are wonderfully obedient and that it is because I often beat you."

Faramir opened his eyes, "Is there no end to people's foolishness?"

"None, apparently."

---

As far as Faramir could tell, nobody had slept well. If anything he and Frodo had done so rather better than some of the others because they had been warmer. He sometimes had his suspicions of Alagosín and another ranger, Faerlach, but kept them to himself; in Faramir's experience expressing curiosity about someone else's private arrangements invited questions upon one's own, and people were curious enough about him and Frodo.

Quite what Frodo told the hobbits other than Samwise, whom Faramir accepted as a special case, Faramir had no idea. He suspected that he was a closemouthed as Faramir was himself.

He tried to keep his groan to himself as he sat on the damp ground chewing bread that was even more stale than his allowance yesterday. He was turning soft; the feather beds of the castle, even one such as Chetwood, were too much the norm rather than the luxury they had been during his time in Ithilien.

"What's wrong with you this morning," said Frodo.

"Feeling my age," admitted Faramir.

"You're what, forty five?"

"Forty two!" said Faramir, stung.

"I'm fifty six," said Frodo, perfectly calm. Faramir turned and stared, "But you look...to my eyes anyway, about twenty-five. The same age or somewhat younger than Samwise."

"Sam is of like age to you. The eyes of Men are deceived, it seems."

"Not that much."

Frodo turned back to his breakfast, such as it was. "It was one of the effects of the Ring. To preserve the appearance of youth and to prolong life, but not to give more."

"You feel it still."

"Yes."

Faramir leaned across the tent and touched Frodo's arm. "I..." he started, then was not sure how to continue. "If it were possible, I would take all of it to myself rather than have you suffer."

Frodo turned to him, "I know." He reached up as he often did, and touched Faramir's face. "I am the luckiest hobbit alive."

"I hardly think that."

"Nevertheless it is true. I do not know what would have become of me without you."

"Samwise..." began Faramir, being realistic.

"No," Frodo stroked Faramir's face. "Even had Sam ever been mine, I would have had to give him back to Rosie and to the Shire. The life he has is the one he was born for. You are the gift unlooked for." He leaned forward and they kissed, softly. "I can only hope that the life I give you is as fulfilling as whatever I stole you from." He smiled, "Come, my husband. I suspect our escort is impatient for us to join them."

There was still no sign of the orcs. "I wonder," said Alagosín, "that they have given us the slip, somehow."

"We shall have to return along our trail until we find where they slipped off," said Faramir.

"Yes," said Alagosín. He was clearly annoyed with himself, "That's what comes of trying to be too clever."

---

Faramir felt as though they were not moving, as if the grey landscape he glimpsed through the rain was shifting slowly past as they remained caught like flies in dirty amber. How much longer could this go on? But the orc trail was again becoming newer, they were catching up, and this time there was no mistake. They slowed as they grew closer, keeping the orcs always a half day ahead.

At last, even through the driving rain, Faramir could see the rise of the mountains ahead, the northernmost border of Arnor, the mountains of Angmar with Carn Dûm at their northernmost tip, and closer than that the mountains which formed the backdrop to the Ettenmoors.

The orcs had turned northwest to skirt the Ettens and Faramir wondered why. He had heard that the Ettens contained trolls and sincerely hoped that to be mere rumour. Trolls in the southern lands had all come under the control of the Red Eye, there had been none wandering freely and the idea of the damage they could do uncontrolled froze the heart.

Still, if they were there that was a problem for another day, a day on which he would persuade Frodo to remain at Chetwood. No, he told himself; Frodo was no child, he was a prince and none could doubt his courage. If he wanted to travel, none should stop him. It was for Faramir to see that he came to no harm or King Elessar would have his throat, and deservedly so. Or perhaps Elessar would understand; after all, he had been unable to prevent Frodo from crossing the Anduin and travelling to Mordor with only Samwise.

That night they again camped without fires, with the orcs just within sight. With no fire and no tents it was a cold night. Frodo spoke to Alagosín, "The orcs which captured my Uncle Bilbo lived in the mountains. Do these?"

"It's possible," said Alagosín. "Mount Gundarbad, their ancient home, is the other side of the Ettens. And if they do go in under there we could have had a wasted journey. None I know of have gone inside Gundarbad and come out again alive."

Faramir looked for a long time at the light of the orc encampment.

---

Gundarbad looked as fearsome as its reputation, a great black hulk even among the other mountains that almost seemed to shrink back from it. The orcs ahead of them did not hesitate; they headed straight up a defile and could be seen slogging their way up a path from there. None of them looked back, or not that Faramir could tell.

Alagosín stopped in a stand of trees before they even reached the defile, "We can go no further," he said.

"We have come this far," said Frodo, and probably only Faramir could hear his irritation. "We must go on or risk an attack in force on the northlands of Eriador."

"They have never attacked before," Faerlach said.

"Not since the Battle of Dale, fought while we struggled to rid the world of the Ring. They discovered then that the dwarves are well defended, but we are not. Mordor is a ruin, of no use to anyone, and they need land because even orcs do not eat rock. We have land, thanks to Sauron's defeat; that means we are vulnerable."

"What do you suggest," said Alagosín.

"I watched the orcs climb. It seemed to me that they reached a particular place and then vanished. There must be an entrance."

"You have sharp eyes, Prince Frodo," allowed Alagosín. "Very well. We could climb ourselves, but the place is bound to be guarded."

"That is no matter," said Frodo. "I shall go up and get them to announce me." All stared at him, Faramir in horror. "They called upon me. I shall call upon them."

"You are insane!" said Alagosín. Faramir was thankful someone else had said it. "They will strike you down."

"Then we will know where we stand. But I think not; their so-called King understands the rules of civilised diplomacy."

"But will he follow them?"

Faramir found his voice, "Either way, you shall not go alone."

"I imagined not. I would also doubt there is anything I could say which would dissuade you?"

"Nothing."

"Very well, then."

---

The climb to the orc stronghold was not as difficult as Faramir had imagined it might be. On the other hand, perhaps that should not have come as a surprise; orcs were known to be lazy, their preference always to take the easy way where possible and where the way was difficult to make it easier.

Frodo did not seem inclined to talk; Faramir would have like to know if there was a plan, but Frodo's silence suggested not. He could see Frodo's point; any plan was premature. As they approached what they suspected to be the door, Frodo turned to Faramir, "We're like to be captured. It would be best if we attempted to not be separated." Faramir could only agree. He half thought that Frodo was inviting death, but the expression on his face was not that of one who despaired. In which case, Faramir could only wait and protect him as best he could. Frodo led the way into a low-ceilinged cave and Faramir bowed his head to avoid the roof and followed him; the door - if such it was - proved to be unguarded.

If there had been no path leading up, Faramir would have said that this was an entirely natural, shallow cave. There was no sign that it was the abode of orcs, goblins or any other fell thing. They stood and waited, feeling and probably Faramir thought looking, rather foolish.

It seemed to him that a dark area at the back of the cave was looking somewhat darker, and then a shape detached itself from the surrounding blackness and stepped forward, followed by other shapes. It appeared that Frodo could see better in the dark than he could, for he addressed the shape, "We are here to see your leader, the one who styles himself King Uglûk."

A hideous laugh, "Then you shall!"

Faramir stayed close to Frodo during the ensuing journey through the horrible close darkness. He hoped that Frodo's eyes were up to determining where they were and in which direction they travelled for he was utterly confused, southern ranger or no.

Then, ahead of them, Faramir could see a light. At first it was green, then a green/gold and then, without warning, they were half-led, half-pushed into a vast wide open space, the ceiling disappearing up into the mountain and rooms opening around them, a space larger by far than the great halls of Faramir's youth.

The stink Faramir had expected from an orc stronghold, that he had experienced the time he had visited Orthanc with Frodo following Saruman's fall, was largely absent. There was a smell, perhaps of a midden far below and the distinct tang of worked metal tickled the nose, but distantly as if the smith worked somewhere else, far but not too far. They were pushed forward again by a press of orcs, and ahead Faramir could see a stone throne on a raised dais set at one end of a square of stone benches.

The orcs argued among themselves, their foul tongue loud and raucous, but then one gave an order and three set off apparently to obey it. They returned shortly. "The king isn't ready to see you. You must wait," one addressed himself to Frodo.

Another spoke to the messenger, and a further argument broke out; Faramir and Frodo looked at each other and then at the furious orcs. Another spoke, "The words he used were not exact."

"I see," said Frodo. "Then what was the true message?"

"The king is recovering from his journey. He asks that you wait, and join him at meat."

"Thank you," said Frodo. "We would be honoured."

Which wouldn't be quite how Faramir would have put it had he been forced to tell the truth. As they waited, increasing numbers of orcs came out from openings all the way round the space to stare at them curiously. Frodo flicked a glance at Faramir; this was indeed the information for which they were risking their lives: some idea of the number of armed orcs Uglûk commanded. More than Faramir was happy with, but fewer than he had feared.

Now their only problem was getting out of Mount Gundarbad alive with the information. And there, Faramir could only trust to Frodo's luck, for he had no clue. He wondered how long Alagosín and the other Dúnedain would wait for them - for some time, but not forever.

Faramir had never seen an unarmed orc before, but deduced that this was some kind of steward or house-servant. It - he - signalled to them to follow and at that the jeering crowd opened up to let them pass. "You need not be concerned," said the steward. "They speak of your beauty, both of you, but the King has given orders that you are to be left unharmed and he has ways of making sure his orders are followed."

"Our beauty?" said Frodo.

"They do not put it into those terms, but that is their general meaning," said the steward. Somehow, Faramir was convinced that what they were saying was far cruder, and was grateful for his lack of understanding. He was sure that he did not want to discover what a crowd of orcs wanted to do with him.

They were led along a lit passage and then through a doorway finely carved, but with terrifying images of leering faces and long tongues. "Your Majesty, the visitors from the flatlands," said the steward.

Uglûk turned away from an open fire to face them. "My friends. I had hoped to have more warning to enable me to greet you in a style more suited to your station. But no matter." He turned to the steward, "Azogil, see that suitable accommodations are prepared for our guests."

Faramir didn't much care for the stress Uglûk placed on the word 'accommodations', but he followed Frodo into the room and looked round. The self-styled King of Angmar did not stint himself. The room was extraordinarily carved, the rock decorated in an ornate style where images of faces forever seemed to be peering or peeping at the watcher, they almost moved in the periphery of vision only to be stationary when looked at fully. The floors were covered in thick rugs that Faramir knew must have come from the far south, and the walls were hung with subtle tapestries woven with images that, after one glance, he tried not to look at too closely: nobody should have scenes of married intimacy on the walls of their living space. It was both splendid and horrifying at the same time.

Uglûk said, "You must be hungry after your journey, and the long wait."

"Somewhat," agreed Frodo.

"Then we shall wait no longer." At a signal from Uglûk, three orcs, also unarmed, brought in food and drink for the three of them and laid it out on a solid table. Faramir realised, embarrassed, that the meal was far better than any they had offered Uglûk, and unbidden the thought came to him that they should persuade his cook to come south.

"You must not imagine," said Uglûk, "that because nine hundred, nine and ninety of us are ill-educated vermin, the thousandth must necessarily also be so."

"So I see," Frodo helped himself to bread and salad, tasting the salad. "Not that one, Faramir," he said. "It has sandrinard."

Faramir nodded, and took something of the other foods, avoiding any meat he could not immediately identify, noting that Frodo did the same.

"That is coney, Prince Faramir," said Uglûk, pointing out one he had missed, "and that one bear." They ate for a while in silence, then Uglûk said, "I do not imagine that either of you have had second thoughts about our negotiations. I do not know, therefore, what brings you here."

"Curiosity," said Frodo. "You spoke so often of your home in the north that we could not contain our impatience."

Uglûk laughed, and suddenly sounded more like the orcs outside, "I will not call you a liar, Prince Frodo. At least not in front of your face, or that of the formidable Prince Faramir. I inclined to think that you visit me for the same reason that I visited you. Which makes us even, with one notable exception: you are honourable, and I am not."

---

"At least it can be said," commented Faramir, "that he is not a liar."

"Nor did he insist we hurry dinner before throwing us into his cells," said Frodo.

Faramir laughed, despite himself, "Hobbits think of their stomachs first."

"And very sensible."

"Oh, very. For we are locked up, but we are not starving. At least, not yet."

Confinement was unbelievably dull, even more so than Faramir would have imagined. His experiences before this were of being sent to his room by his tutors when he was a boy, and though he had never been the favoured son, his room had still contained books and games. The only gain was that he and Frodo were imprisoned together, it seemed that King Uglûk did not fear them conspiring.

They knew also that for an orc cell it could have been a very great deal worse - there was but one bed, but it had a blanket which was not absolutely filthy and contained no bedbugs - at least, none with a taste for Men or hobbits. As Faramir said on their second day, "I suppose we should be grateful we're princes. If we were but ordinary travellers, we'd be somewhere in the dungeons."

"I shall contain my gratitude for when we leave," said Frodo. From which Faramir gathered that Frodo did not have a plan to get them out.

A noise at the door, and Faramir stood. He was expecting their evening meal, but instead the orc called Azogil indicated him. "You. The tall one. My master wishes to speak with you." Faramir looked at Frodo. "Move," said Azogil.

As Azogil was accompanied by several armed orcs, Frodo stepped back, "Be careful," he said.

"I will," Faramir moved, and was immediately surrounded by the guard, talking loudly among themselves in the foul orc speech. Faramir did his best to keep track of the twists and turns which led to King Uglûk's rooms; none of the orcs attempted to prevent this, indeed they seemed too intent on their conversation - if it was conversation - to notice.

King Uglûk was awaiting him, a fine meal laid out. Faramir stopped in the doorway, more than a little surprised. "Come in, Prince Faramir," said Uglûk. "Please join me."

Faramir stepped forward into the room, and looked round, realising that Azogil and the escort had not followed and that he and Uglûk were alone. He would have liked to refuse, but realised that the escort could not be far distant and that it would probably be suicide. He sat.

"I brought you here to have dinner with me. Eat."

"Not while Frodo is not present," said Faramir. "I cannot eat while he is denied." Faramir thought Uglûk looked annoyed. It was difficult to tell with an orc.

"Very well. Serve a plate for him, and I will have it taken to him." There was a pause and Uglûk added, "You have my word on it."

Faramir nodded, it was the best he was going to get. He chose foods he thought might please Frodo, and Uglûk called Azogil, who took the plate away. Faramir served himself rather less.

Uglûk said, "Are all halflings as stiff-necked as Frodo?"

"In my experience? Yes. Many of them are worse."

"And you endure it?"

"Of course. Frodo and I are handfasted." Belatedly, Faramir wondered exactly how much an orc would understand of hobbit or Gondorian marriage customs.

"I am told that you were handfasted by your father's wish."

"That is so."

"Not by yours?"

"I had no objection to the match," said Faramir, possibly a trifle too quickly.

"Or at least you raised none, which is not quite the same thing."

"I had none," Faramir, suddenly not really hungry, pushed his food around his plate.

Uglûk ate in silence for a few minutes, and then tried another tack. "Has your handfasting to Prince Frodo achieved your father's aim for it?"

Curse Uglûk, thought Faramir. Where does he get his information? "I have no idea," he said. "You will have to ask him."

"It keeps you well away from the White Tower, would you not agree?"

"Yes." This was so obvious as to hardly need saying. There were hundreds of leagues between Bree and Minas Tirith.

"And while you are here, you are even further away."

"I don't understand," said Faramir. Nothing more than the truth.

"Perhaps we can sit somewhere more comfortable?" suggested Uglûk. Faramir didn't particularly wish to move, but Uglûk led them over to a low seat, so Faramir had to follow him.

"I would speak plainly, Prince Faramir," said Uglûk, once they were both seated.

"Please do." This cat-stepping was getting them nowhere, and Faramir was anxious to have it over.

"Frodo uses you shamefully, yet you remain with him. Your loyalty is misplaced and I offer you release."

Faramir only just in time prevented himself from laughing in Uglûk's face, though later he wondered if he it might have been wiser to do so. As it was he smiled, and he felt his mouth twitch. "I fear you have been misinformed, King Uglûk. Frodo has never done anything to me that I did not earnestly desire. I have no need of rescue."

---

"Then he... Frodo! Stop laughing! He tried to kiss me. He said he could satisfy my need for discipline as no other could."

"Your need for..."

"He said I need a firm master who will control me and that you let me run wild. I have no idea what he meant by that."

Frodo laughed even louder, "Someone must have told him about the whip that Queen Arwen gave me."

"Oh." Faramir shuddered, "I thought he was going to...but he didn't. He was disturbed, called away."

"That must have been a relief."

"It was."

Frodo still looked amused, but he said, "You must not go to him alone again. I don't think for a moment he's given up the idea of enticing you into his bed."

"What?"

"Faramir! Sometimes you are entirely too honourable for your own good. He tried to seduce you..." Faramir choked, but Frodo went on, "and if he does not succeed it is likely he will turn to force. And I believe he is serious about discipline."

"Why me?"

"Faramir!" Frodo leaned forward and stroked his face, "You are beautiful."

"You think that only..."

"Not just because we are wedded. Many think so." Frodo sat down beside him and leaned his head on Faramir's arm. "No doubt you see yourself...were you a skinny child?"

"No! If anything, I was rather too plump. Boromir says I was too much alone, and ate for that reason. It all wore away when he taught me to handle a sword properly. I was eleven, he was sixteen and seemed already to be a man."

"You still see yourself as that podgy child who displeased his father."

"That was another reason I ate too much."

"Everyone else sees a very attractive man. I see you like that even though I am your husband,. How could I not? I like it when everyone looks at me with envy."

"Envy?" said Faramir.

"You have not seen it?"

"Not until now."

---

Faramir listened intently. The noise came again and proved to be a scratching somewhere in the corridor. He wondered if it could be a rat, until now there had been little sign of them, but it was more than possible in an orc den. He uncurled himself from around Frodo and stood, feeling his way in the darkness to the door.

There was a noise at the door and the hatch through which their guards could look opened. Faramir recognised Azogil. "What do you want?" he asked. He had a suspicion that an order to go to Uglûk in the middle of the night could mean nothing good. On the other hand, Azogil had never come to the cell without a guard before. The door opened.

"You want to get out of here?" said Azogil. He stepped back.

"Of course."

"Then go. Quickly."

Faramir woke Frodo and they left the cell, Frodo still stumbling from sleep. "What's happening?" Faramir asked. From far away he could hear shouting, fell orc voices that he remembered from Osgiliath and the siege of Minas Tirith.

"Nothing to do with you," replied Azogil. He pointed to a passage which led away from the King's chambers. "Go that way."

"Why?"

"Because it's safer than the other. Are all Men as stupid as you, or are you specially bred?"

"Let's do as he says," said Frodo.

Azogil ran off, and Faramir followed Frodo up an incline in the pitch darkness. "Can you see where we're going?"

"Just," said Frodo. Faramir felt Frodo's hand take his. He felt comforted, though would have felt more so had they had weapons, or anything with which to defend themselves. Frodo said, "I wish you were safe. I should never have brought you here."

Faramir almost laughed, "I feel the same about you. I should have prevented you from coming, but whatever we face I had rather you did it in my company than that of any other."

"So King Elessar would lose both of us and not just one."

"I confess I wasn't really thinking of him. If it cost me my life, I would rather know that I had done all I could for you, rather than wonder to the end of my days if I could have done more."

"This is a merry conversation to be having in the pitch darkness, Faramir. We're neither of us dead yet."

"I begin to see how you made it across Mordor."

"And this is a little too reminiscent of that journey if you ask me. In future, remind me to leave all orcs and their doings to the Dúnedain. Likewise trolls and all other foul... Ouch!" Frodo tripped, and Faramir felt around. A fallen orc, sticky with blood, but Faramir put his hand on a sword. Orc weapons were notoriously poor, but it was better than nothing.

They walked on in the pitch dark, a little more cautiously. "What do you think is going on?" said Frodo.

"I've no idea; we may never find out."

"And why release us?"

Faramir thought about it and said, "King Uglûk's dying wish? A sudden outbreak of kindness? Enchantment?"

"In other words, could be anything." They fell silent; there was a noise up ahead, and a flickering light. "This way," said Frodo. "Quickly!" He led the way into a chamber, and only just in time. Three orcs were coming towards them; one held a box, another held a torch aloft. The third appeared empty handed.

Faramir let go of Frodo's hand, and as the last of the orcs passed he jumped out. He had no time to warn Frodo to stay put and hoped he'd show some hobbit sense and do so without being told. The nearest orc was dispatched at speed - taken by surprise, it had no chance against Faramir even armed as he was. The second two proved something more of a challenge, but the corridor was too narrow for them to attack him at the same time.

"What's in the box?" Frodo asked when they were all dead.

Faramir opened it, "I'm not sure what it is. Well, I've seen a necklace before - opals, I think these are, but I'm not sure what this is." He held up a block of polished stone about four inches square.

"Bring it with us."

"And if it turns out to be cursed?"

"It'll be too late, we've both already handled it." Frodo took it and put it back into the box.

They continued along the corridor, avoiding the small bands of orcs as best they could and eventually reached a junction. "Where now?" asked Faramir.

"I think we should continue to go upwards; these stairs are a nuisance but they have to lead somewhere."

Faramir forbore to point out that this was not necessarily so, not least because he didn't have an alternative plan. The stairs were very steep, and harder on Frodo than on him, but Frodo made no complaint. Faramir's opinion of Frodo, always high, rose further.

"I can see light ahead," said Frodo.

Faramir squinted, "I think you're right." The light was slightly bluish at this distance, and not flickering, daylight not torches. "And I think we'd better be quick, I can hear voices."

The opening was unguarded, but higher up than Faramir would have ideally liked and there was no time to examine it closely. He lifted Frodo - who was heavier than he would have expected - and he looked out. "We'll manage," he said, "come on" and he scrambled out.

The voices were closer, Faramir scrambled up to the opening, ripping his shirt as he did so, and then out, head first. He slid down the side of the mountain onto the path, and arrived at Frodo's feet in a heap. "I'm probably going to get the blame for that black eye you're going to have," said Frodo, as he helped Faramir up. "Still, as you wouldn't have been there without me, I suppose I am to blame."

---

Alagosín and the Dúnedain were still waiting when Faramir and Frodo rejoined them. They had lost all track of time in the endless dark of Mount Gundarbad, and it was late afternoon. Both Frodo and Faramir would have sworn it was later in the evening had they been asked when inside, so they were surprised to find the sun high in the sky. The more so as it meant that it was not raining.

"We have seen little enough of the orcs and goblins of the mountain," said Alagosín, "a scouting party left two days ago, and two of my men followed them. They went north east and have not yet returned."

"I do not know what is beyond the Forodwaith," said Frodo, "we shall have to trust it is nothing to do with us."

---

"You're planning something," said Frodo, as they rode back.

"Nothing interesting, I assure you. Troop dispositions," said Faramir. "The placement of the rangers I need to discuss with Alagosín; we will need to have protection in place for our villages now that Uglûk knows how ill-defended we are."

"And we have some idea of the forces he can call upon," said Frodo. "Sometimes I hate being a prince. I feel the people blame me even for the weather."

"Blame the king in turn," said Faramir, amused. "He's a long way off, it won't bother him."

---

"Cheesman!" said Faramir, as soon as he saw the house steward on their return. "A bath for Prince Frodo - and for me."

"At once, or sooner, sir. And your father wants to see you."

Faramir stopped, "What?"

"Arrived almost as soon as we got them rooms cleaned out. Mistress Gamgee's at her wits' end. Mr Gamgee too, I shouldn't wonder, though he hasn't said much about it."

"And Prestoliel? She's still here?"

"Yes," said Cheesman, his tone conveying everything. "Mistress Gamgee's been trying to persuade 'em to go home, but...well, you know how it is."

"Faramir!" Denethor's voice came from behind.

"Yes, father," Faramir struggled to keep his tone polite as he turned.

"I would speak with you."

"Yes, father. But you will have to wait, I need to give orders to our men at arms, and then I have other duties. I will meet you at dinner, and we can talk then." He supposed 'other duties' could remotely include washing.

"I insist..."

"At dinner, father." Faramir turned on his heel and left.

---

Clean at last, he slipped into Frodo's room to find him dressing in fresh clothes. He went over and buttoned Frodo's shirt. Frodo smiled, "You avoided your father."

"I did."

"He wasn't pleased."

"I can imagine. I'm sorry if he was rude to you." Faramir reached down to pick up Frodo's waistcoat, and then helped him into it.

"No more than I was to him. I'm sorry, that's likely to make dinner even more unpleasant than our servants usually make it." Frodo stroked the damp hair out of Faramir's eyes, then pulled him close for a kiss.

Faramir enjoyed it for a while, and then said, "You are forgiven."

"In advance?"

"Even so." He laughed, feeling Frodo's hand on the lacings of his shirt. "Would you have me waste my time getting undressed and then dressed again?"

"I would. Do you know it is nearly six weeks since I last saw you on your back in my bed?"

"Is it so long?"

"It is." Frodo removed his hand. "Though if we continue, we will keep your father waiting."

"I did not need another reason to be persuaded, the touch of your hand is sufficient."

"Then let us lose no time in keeping him waiting."

---

From Denethor's annoyed expression, Faramir gathered that they had kept him far longer than he was accustomed to - for all his toughness Denethor liked regular meals and regular hours. Knowing this, Faramir tried to keep the well-pleased expression off his face but guessed that he was only partially successful.

"Good evening, father," he tried for politeness.

"Where were you?" asked Denethor. He led the way into the dining room. "I arrived to find you both gone."

"When was that?" said Faramir.

"Thirteen days ago."

"We were being held prisoner by orcs thirteen days ago," replied Faramir.

"Nonsense!"

"I assure you it is not. We were lucky to escape with our lives," Faramir caught sight of Rose's horrified expression and supposed he was putting this rather baldly.

"We are surprised to find you here," said Frodo, his tone deceptively gentle. "You are most welcome, of course, but we are curious to know to what we owe this visit."

"I came as soon as I heard my...wife was headed here," said Denethor.

"Ah yes, the Lady Prestoliel. I had thought she might dine with us; where is she?"

"I have no idea."

"Cheesman?" Frodo turned to the household steward.

"Eating in her room," said Cheesman. "Has done ever since he...Lord Denethor got here."

"Thank you." Frodo sighed. "Cheesman, inform her that in future she will eat with us. We cannot have her making extra work for the servants."

"They don't mind..."

"But I do. Inform her, please."

"As you wish," spoken in the tone of a steward washing his hands of the consequences.

"Your servants," said Denethor, "are the rudest and most ill-trained I have ever encountered."

Faramir saw Samwise's furious expression and shook his head, fractionally. He was as offended on the part of the servants as Samwise and Rose, but no good ever came of arguing with Denethor.

"Are they?" said Frodo. Denethor looked annoyed at Frodo's indifference.

"In Gondor," said Faramir, after a moment, choosing his words carefully, "there are those who have served for generations. Eriador is not the same. People work for us, but they are not trained to service in the same way and we do not expect that kind of..."

Frodo interrupted, "It is sufficient that the tasks are done. We don't expect to be fawned over." After a moment he added, "The cook's improved, though."

"I moved them around," said Rose. "The servants."

"Thank you, Rose," said Faramir, "from the bottom of my heart. And stomach. Where is the old cook?"

"Managing the cellar. He'll do much better there."

Denethor looked irritated as Rose and Faramir held a purely domestic conversation. Finally he said, "Is this what I trained you for? Pantry maids and stable hands?"

"Yes, father," said Faramir, rather surprised. "I thought you knew."

"Boromir..."

Faramir seized on the change of subject, and asked, "How is my brother?"

Denethor scowled, and said nothing more.

---

Next day, Denethor sought him out, "I would talk with you."

"Yes?" Faramir sat and indicated he continue.

"Boromir is a disappointment to me..."

"Boromir is?" Faramir stared, astonished. Though perhaps on second thoughts he should not be.

"Éowyn has parted from him and returned with the children to her own people in Rohan. Boromir says it is his doing, but not what the fault is."

Faramir sighed. He could guess but did not care to. "I'm sorry that my brother has difficulties but..."

Denethor had not finished, "Éowyn always liked you..."

"And I consider her to be the best of women and my brother most fortunate." Faramir sat back in his chair and waited while Denethor frowned at him. Finally he said, "I do not know what you expect of me, father."

"You are wasted here and should return to Minas Tirith, which is your home."

Faramir was staggered, "It is kind of you to say so, father, but Eriador is my home now. It became so when I handfasted to Frodo, a handfasting to which you fully consented."

"Indeed you do not defy my will. And now my will has changed."

At last they were getting to it. "Too late, father."

"What do you mean?"

"Had you made it possible for me to wed Éowyn I would have done so in an eye blink. But you made your wishes in the matter clear and so I stepped back to make way for my brother. If my brother has done aught which has caused his wife distress, I can only express my heartfelt sympathy for her and hope they reconcile quickly. As for me, my loyalty no longer lies with you but to the husband to whom you knowingly gave me."

Denethor raised his hands in a movement almost like an invocation, "What have I done to be cursed with two such sons?"

"I'm sorry I displease you, father. Had I known it would suit your policies better I would have done my best to have an unhappy marriage." Faramir instantly regretted his words, "I am sorry, father, I should not mock."

"Indeed not. And is he happy with you?"

---

"Frodo?" Faramir stepped into his husband's room with rather less than his usual confidence.

"What's gone wrong now?"

"Nothing."

"Oh. Then why the 'we have trolls in the wilderland and the cook has burned the soup' expression?"

Faramir sat on the edge of the bed and watched Frodo pull on a jacket. He usually dressed hobbit-style, something Faramir found endearing but mildly curious.

"Out with it," said Frodo.

"Are you happy with me?"

"Whom have you killed?"

Faramir looked up, startled, "Nobody."

"Insulted, then? It wouldn't be like you, but anything's possible."

"Nobody." Faramir smiled, "At least, not on purpose and not recently."

"In that case, why the question?"

"I just wondered."

Frodo came over and sat beside him on the bed. "I think," he said, "that your father will have to leave and that he will have to take his wife with him."

"I..."

"I will tell them tomorrow. Likely they will both come to you to express their discontent." Frodo took his hand.

Faramir swallowed, "Very well."

"To answer your question," Frodo's hand tightened on his, "you are the only thing which makes this life bearable."

---

Denethor was infuriated, as Frodo had told Faramir he would be. "You can overrule this...all know that you are the power here."

"'All' are wrong, father. I merely make suggestions; often Frodo hears them, sometimes he does not. But when he gives an order, he is obeyed, including by me, because he is the prince." Faramir tried to soften his voice, "Frodo has made his will on this matter clear, and I will not cross it."

"You would not if you could."

"Even so, father. I'm sorry." Faramir sighed, "The journey will not be so hard, and perhaps you will reconcile with Prestoliel." His father's expression said eloquently that he thought this unlikely.

Perhaps, thought Faramir as he returned to his rooms, using serving women had been easier for father. Prestoliel must not find Denethor very entertaining company during the long evenings in Minas Tirith. Her desperate wanderings appeared an extreme response to loneliness and the death of her child, but what did Faramir know of it? He and Frodo at the very least enjoyed each other's company and that was something for which he was sincerely grateful.

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