Faramir Fiction Archive

Some Other End (R)

Written by Lexin

14 December 2005 | 39687 words

Part IX

What is better than presence of mind in a railway accident? Absence of body.
Punch, vol. xvi p.231 1849

From the top of the castle battlements Faramir watched Thorin Stonehelm and his dwarves ride away the last few ponies carrying only baggage.

One did not die of grief, as he had cause to know, and when the sun went down behind him he climbed down the steps and went inside. It was warm in the parlour; Frodo looked up from his papers as Faramir came in, but said nothing. Faramir sat and looked into the flames without speaking. There was none he could tell, the only one he trusted sufficiently was Frodo, only Frodo would understand, but this was not something he could confide, even to him.

---

He remembered too well the day Thorin Stonehelm had arrived, his beard showed signs of grey but he was still a hale and well set up dwarf in the prime of life. Even so, it wasn't until he spoke, "Thorin son of Daín, King under the Mountain, at your service," that Faramir had felt a premonition: that deep voice which rolled like thunder had caused a shiver within that he'd been hard put to shake off. Only his self-control carried him through answering, "Faramir, husband to the Prince," after Frodo's greeting. Thorin's dark eyes lingered on him and Faramir had felt his face heat.

He had been careful, at first. He put aside his own wish to be present at every meeting and to go on every hunt with Thorin, taking care of the household until Thorin himself sought him out and said, "You are avoiding me, Prince Faramir."

"I..." Faramir looked around. They were alone. "I have had duties to attend to."

Thorin looked amused, "So I understand. Still, I believe that you can be spared from these pressing matters, at least for tomorrow."

Faramir closed his eyes for a moment. He felt as though he were being offered a time in the Blessed Realm and an interview in Sauron's dungeon at one and the same time. "I suppose... That would be very..." Faramir desperately tried to think of something to say. He was sure he must resemble a young girl asked for a walk by her first suitor, and reminded himself that he was a man, over forty, and married. "You must think me a fool," he said, at last.

Thorin smiled, "No, Prince Faramir. That is not what I think of you. Until tomorrow?"

It was cold and had rained, but the next day would remain forever golden in Faramir's heart. They had talked of nothing: the crops, the rain, the price of ale, yet every word was as precious to him as if it had been the song of Ilúvatar. Sometimes he thought Thorin knew the secret he held in his heart, that the understanding he saw in those dark eyes encompassed the words Faramir could not, dare not, ever say. At other times he was sure their guest was merely being a kind and understanding friend.

He would never know for sure.

The fire in the room had sunk lower, and Faramir looked round at Frodo, still bending over the pages, his pen moving. Frodo looked up, "What is the elvish for flower? Is it 'lote' or 'lothron'?"

"In what context?"

"I'm writing to Thranduil, I've to thank him for those plants Thorin brought. I should have done this before he left, but I was busy."

"I'd used lote. I think lothron means 'flowery'."

"Thank you."

Faramir returned to his silent contemplation of the fire. The plants had been brought by Thorin, but were a gift from Thranduil and the elves of Greenwood - as Mirkwood had been renamed. He remembered Thorin's curiosity with amusement: dwarves were not great farmers, or so he'd said.

A curiosity, then, why he'd made the journey to Eriador, which hardly had the iron or coal, gold or jewels likely to interest dwarves. He'd known, as soon as he asked, that the question presaged Thorin's leaving. Thorin had come to visit them, not merely stopped through on his way to the ancient cities of the dwarves in Ered Luin. Had Faramir imagined that his pain was shared? Probably he had. Had Faramir imagined understanding?

Thorin had almost reached out to touch him, but at the last moment had drawn back, "We are here," he said, "to prevent our enemies gaining the key to Moria."

Faramir remembered the conversation with Alagosín, and said, "We have learned that dwarves, some of them, sought to enter Moria."

For the first time with him, or so Faramir flattered himself, Thorin looked wary. "I have not given leave," he said, "nor will I."

The position of trusted friend was gone for the moment, and Faramir knew that he was now merely the husband of a foreign ally. "We have no interest in entering Moria, or any right to do so," said Faramir. "It nowhere borders our lands."

"And does your husband share your views?"

"They are Frodo's policies. I merely repeat his words." It felt strange, saying Frodo's name; they had never mentioned him before. "If you recall, Lord King, he travelled through Moria."

"He was fortunate."

"I believe that he would dispute that." Faramir considered for a moment and then asked, "Why do you and your kinsmen believe the key to Moria to be in Eriador?"

Thorin thawed somewhat. "All other places, likely and unlikely, have been searched. The last place remaining was the ruins of Fornost. Without the key to the entrance north of Hollin, Moria is closed to us."

"Perhaps it should remain so," said Faramir. Frodo hadn't told Faramir much about their journey, but what he had said froze the blood.

"Perhaps. But I would prefer that I had control of the decision rather than it be taken by others, perhaps without the good of all in mind." Thorin's voice was neutral, but there was a hint of a warning for all that.

"Had I the key, I would deliver it to you. Had I the knowledge of where it is, I would give you that, also," said Faramir. "I do not dispute your right."

"And your husband?"

"I believe he and I are of one mind on this. I also believe that he has no more knowledge of the matter than I do."

Next day, Thorin sought him out again, "I hope," he said, "that you were not offended by me words of yesterday."

"No," said Faramir. As it passed, Faramir recognised the look on Thorin's face as uncertainty.

"I am relieved," he said. "I would not wish to cause you pain." Thorin looked up into Faramir's eyes, and Faramir caught his breath. Thorin stepped back as if out of danger, breathing rather fast. "Yes," he said. "I'll go now. Good." He turned, leaving Faramir standing in the corridor.

That night the conversation turned to their experiences in Gundarbad. At least, it did not start there, but an idle question on the part of one of Thorin's entourage led to Frodo recounting their trip north, and their escape.

Faramir thought nothing of it until next day when Frodo produced the strange block Azogil had given him. He knew as soon as he saw Thorin's face, "It doesn't look like a key," he said.

"Intentionally so," said Thorin.

He only glanced up, but Faramir felt the look go through him like a spear thrust, and sitting in front of the parlour fire he felt the pain of that look in all its freshness. He looked at the fire, now burned very low indeed, and then round at Frodo, who had stopped writing.

Frodo crossed the room and sat in the chair beside him. After a moment, he took Faramir's cold hand and caressed it with his warm one. He said, "That was a cruel place. I'm glad you have returned."

Faramir reached out and pulled Frodo to him.

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