Faramir Fiction Archive

Under Pressure (NC-17)

Written by RubyElf

20 October 2011 | 40533 words

Title: Under Pressure
Author: RubyElf
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Faramir
Warnings: violence, hurt/comfort

With Boromir and the hobbits missing, an attempt on Arwen’s life that endangers Legolas instead, and an army gathering at Gondor’s southern borders, Faramir’s unique abilities are called upon to help defend Gondor even while those he loves most are in grave danger.

---

Arwen stood for a long moment, looking down at Faramir where he sat on the bed in the golden lantern-light, holding out his bleeding hand.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “I was just realizing why my father refused to perform these bindings, no matter how desperate the situation.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Because he’s a healer. And as a healer, it would be against everything he had learned to take the life of a healthy, unharmed person into his hands and put them at risk of death, even if it was to save another life. It’s the same reason Estel would stop me from doing this, if he could.”

“But you’ll do it.”

She nodded, sitting down on the bed beside him. “My father chose immortality, when given the choice. I had the same choice, but I chose to live as a mortal.”

“And…”

Smiling, she reached toward Legolas and lifted his pale hand marred with a streak of red.

“There are things in this world that are worth giving up everything for, Faramir.”

He nodded, understanding. She drew the elf’s lifeless hand into her lap, then reached for Faramir’s and brought the two bleeding palms together. Faramir held his breath, not sure what he was expecting, as Arwen took a strip of white cloth from beside the bed and wrapped it around the joined hands, binding them together. The lanterns seemed to flicker and flare more brightly as she began to speak. The words were Quenya, Faramir was sure, but he read the old elf language better than he spoke it, and he had a feeling these words were not to be found in any book he’d ever opened. Her eyes were closed, all attention focused on her task, and as she spoke, Faramir realized that the blood-slicked contact between the elf’s hand and his was rising to a burning heat, as if the blood had become something caustic and searing. Startled, he might have jerked his hand away, but Arwen’s cloth binding kept their hands together. The man felt sweat beginning to run over his forehead and down his neck, his tunic clinging to his skin. The heat seemed to flare through him, and he found that his free hand was clenched tightly into a fist, grasping a handful of the bedclothes.

After what seemed like a very long time, the burning pain began to fade, leaving behind a hollow numbness. Arwen watched as Faramir’s eyes drifted closed.

“Faramir? Are you still with me?”

He nodded.

“Good. Do you feel another presence?”

“Only yours and my own.”

She frowned. “He may be too far away to realize you’re reaching for him.”

“What can I do?”

“Is there something you could say to him, reach out to him with? Something he knows only you would say, that would have some meaning to him?”

She saw a trace of a smile cross Faramir’s face. “Perhaps.”

“Tell him. See if he can hear you.”

She watched the man’s face closely. His eyes were still closed, his expression intent, but after a long moment he suddenly grinned broadly.

“What? What is it?” Arwen demanded.

“Oh, he heard me,” Faramir said, chuckling. “I don’t think he appreciated it, either.”

“You insulted him?” she asked, shocked.

“Do you really think terms of endearment would have got his attention from that far away?”

“Is he reaching back to you?”

“Maybe… I can’t…”

She knew the instant the connection had been made. The joined hands under hers flared with a sudden heat, and Faramir’s eyes flew open, registering confusion and a flash of alarm, then rolling back as he slumped to the bed. Arwen kept her hand on theirs as she glanced toward Legolas, and for a moment she saw no change, but then his chest heaved, drawing in an unsteady gasp of air before falling still again.

She heard footsteps in the room behind her, but only smiled to herself.

“How did you manage to get the door open, Estel?”

“I went home and got one of the master keys.”

“It’s too late to stop it.”

He rested a hand on her shoulder. “I wasn’t going to stop you.”

“No?”

“You’re right. This is between Legolas and Faramir.”

He stepped past her and leaned over, pressing his fingers under Faramir’s jaw to find his pulse, rapid but strong. When he touched Legolas, the elf’s body twitched and he took another gasping breath. Aragorn drew his hand back abruptly, staring.

“Faramir managed to reach him?”

“Faramir may be a bit more refined than his brother, my love, but he can be equally stubborn. He appears to be all right for the moment.”

Aragorn glanced back at Faramir. “His pulse is fast, as if he’d been running hard, but he seems to be all right.”

She smiled and took her husband’s hand. “Your pulse would be racing too, Estel, if your heart had to beat for both of us.”

He looked toward Legolas. “He’s far from safe, you know. I’m surprised he had strength left to reach back to Faramir, but there’s no telling how badly damaged his body is, and whether he’ll be able to come back to it. Or want to come back to it.”

“He’ll come back if he can,” she said.

Aragorn nodded. “If you wish to stay with them a little longer, I’ll go home and get my bag. I doubt either of them will be up for drinking tea at the moment, but I can still brew some… even the scent of athelas is healing, and to elves particularly it’s soothing and refreshing.”

“It reminds me of my father’s halls,” Arwen said. “He used it, though it would not do for him what it does in the hands of the King. Of course I’ll stay with them… I don’t intend to leave them any time soon.”

She watched him go. Through the windows in the main room, she could see dawn beginning to creep across the sky.

Boromir paced and wandered impatiently in the early morning light, to the great amusement of the wood elves. They had felled three large trees already and were now busily working them into a rough canoe shape with their knives.

“This is taking too long,” he muttered.

Berendir, who had just returned from checking on the boats’ progress, chuckled and patted Boromir’s shoulder. “They’re working quickly, but the boats must at least be able to keep us afloat before we can use them.”

“I only see seven of your elves. Where’s the other one?”

“Scouting. I sent him out to make a quick circuit of our surroundings. He’ll be back shortly. Where are your little ones?”

Boromir smiled. “Either sleeping or engaged in some other sort of activity.”

Berendir nodded, glancing across the clearing to the edge of the trees. “We did hear them making… odd noises earlier.”

“Every chance they get.”

“I see. Are all of their kind such… enthusiastic creatures?”

“As far as I know, those two are worse than most.”

“They certainly don’t seem to be ashamed to take their pleasure where it’s available,” the elf said, looking sideways at Boromir out of the corner of his eyes.

“I don’t think they understand the concept of shame,” Boromir said. “How long till those damned boats are ready?”

“Within an hour or two. Perhaps while they work, you and I should take a walk along the river bank and you can tell me about the course of the river before it reaches your city.”

Boromir nodded, happy to be doing something other than standing in the clearing watching elves carving chunks of wood. He started off through the trees and down toward the Anduin, kicking occasional fallen branches to express his overall annoyance with the delay. Berendir followed him, light on his feet as all elves were, smiling inscrutably.

Merry had arranged a very cozy bed under a treee with his cloak over a nice pile of dry leaves, and he and Pippin had been dozing there contentedly since Berendir had called for a halt. The two hobbits, however, were well aware of Boromir’s location and movements at all times, and as he left the clearing, Pippin yawned and raised his head.

“Where’s Boromir off to?”

Merry looked up and plucked a leaf from Pippin’s hair. “Appears the elf is taking him for a stroll.”

Pippin scowled. “He didn’t even come to find us and tell us he was going off.”

“Are you jealous, little one?”

“I’m not little. And I’m not jealous. It’s just that we belong to him, and he belongs to us, and that stupid elf has no right taking him off wandering around…”

“Hush, silly thing. There’s no tag on the man that says “Property Of Peregrin Took”, first of all, and second of all, can you blame the poor elf for wanting him?”

“No,” Pippin admitted grudgingly. “But I still don’t like it. And what if he should… tempt Boromir too much?”

Merry snorted. “I don’t think he’s the sort that Boromir would find tempting. And even if he was, you know how he is about Aragorn. He’s not just his lover, you know; he’s his King, and that’s a loyalty he’s not going to waver on, not for the prettiest elf in Middle Earth.”

Pippin crossed his arms. “I still don’t approve of this elf going off with him. He might… try something.”

Merry flopped back in the leaves, laughing. “You are funny, Pip. You don’t think Boromir can protect himself from being molested?”

“You may think it’s all a joke,” Pippin said sharply, standing up, “but I’m going to go and keep an eye on this situation.”

Merry sighed and gathered up his cloak, shaking off the leaves. “Then I’m going to go and keep an eye on you… and watch you make an idiot of yourself.”

The two hobbits followed the man and elf at a distance, knowing that Berendir’s elf hearing would pick up any wayward footstep, but also that with Boromir trudging along and kicking things it was unlikely the elf could hear much over that racket. When they caught up to the pair, they were standing along the side of the fast-moving Anduin, looking out over the water. Boromir’s hands were gesturing, probably pointing out possible points of attack or defense, while Berendir stood easily, hands clasped behind his back, listening. On the western bank of the river, with the sun hanging in the eastern sky, they were both painted gold and luminous, the warm light bright on their faces.

“I don’t like the way that elf is looking at Boromir,” Pippin muttered.

“He’s not even looking at Boromir.”

“Fine. Then I don’t like the way he’s listening to Boromir.”

Merry snorted. “How exactly does one listen in an offensive way, Pip?”

Pippin scowled and leaned against the tree they were using for cover. “Just look at him. He’s listening so hard it looks like his ears are going to come off his head and start groping Boromir.”

Merry raised an eyebrow. “That could possibly be the stupidest thing you’ve ever said.”

Pippin glared at him. “You don’t seem to be properly concerned about our friend.”

“You’re quite right, Pip,” Merry said, peering around the tree. “I mean, just look at him. Surrounded by danger, about to be attacked at any moment.”

“You’re not being nice,” Pippin pouted.

“You’re not being smart,” Merry shot back. “And I…”

Pippin grabbed his arm suddenly and pointed. Merry followed his gaze and found that the elf had stepped quite close to Boromir, who was still busily discussing the merits and drawbacks of fighting along the Anduin, and was watching the man’s face intently with bright green eyes. His hand drifted slowly to rest on Boromir’s shoulder. The man appeared to be entirely unaware of this and continued talking.

“That’s enough of that!” Pippin hissed, standing up and stepping into view. “Boromir! Hey! Boromir!”

The man immediately turned, frowning with concern, and strode toward them, hastening to pick Pippin up and look him over.
“Are you all right, little one?”

“Yes. I just… err… I thought I saw an orc.”

Boromir glanced at Merry, but the older hobbit just shrugged and rolled his eyes. Boromir set Pippin back on his feet and straightened up.

“Well, I suppose we should be getting back to see how the boats are coming.”

He headed back toward the clearing. Berendir followed him, giving the hobbits a curious glance as he passed them.

“There. Happy now?” Merry asked. “Now not only does the elf know what you’re up to, but Boromir thinks you’re going daft.”
“I’d be happier if you would go away,” Pippin said, following the man and elf through the trees. Merry trailed after him, trying not to laugh.

Arwen refused to leave Faramir and Legolas for the rest of the morning, but as noontime approached, Aragorn found her dozing off sitting by the bed and insisted that she go home and sleep.

“Only if you promise to stay with them,” she said, yawning.

“I will. Have you seen any changes?”

She smiled ruefully. “Not as much as I’d like. Faramir is starting to look rather exhausted, and Legolas takes one of those gasping breaths now and then, but he doesn’t seem any better.”

Aragorn sat down on the bed and studied Faramir’s face in the light from the window. The man’s face had lost most of its color and his forehead was creased as if lost in thought. Pressing his fingers under the younger man’s jaw, he found that Faramir’s pulse was still fast, but weaker and less steady.

“This is taking too much from him, and it doesn’t seem to be helping Legolas.”

“We have to give it time, Estel.”

He sighed. “I’ll give it time, but if I think Faramir’s life is in danger and Legolas is beyond hope, I’ll do whatever I can to try to break this bond before Faramir loses too much.”

“I don’t think it could be broken now even if you tried,” she said, shaking her head.

“It’s not fully complete yet. Neither of them have been able to speak the bonding words, or…”

“It won’t break,” she said, smiling as she stroked Faramir’s hair. “The only possibility for breaking this bond before it’s completed would be if one of them wished to break it, and that’s not going to happen.”

He looked over at her, frowning. “Are you sure this was the right thing to do?”

“Yes,” she said. “I wasn’t before, but I am now. Legolas wants to come back to him, and Faramir wants to bring him back. I don’t regret giving them the chance to try.”

“Even if it kills them both?” he demanded, wincing at the harshness of his words, but Arwen didn’t seem to notice.

“Even if it kills them, Estel. All mortal lives end. Faramir knew the risk. I have no regrets.”

She rose, kissing her husband on the forehead, and left him sitting on the bed to contemplate her words in silence.

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

Enjoyed this story? Then be sure to let the author know by posting a comment at https://www.faramirfiction.com/fiction/under-pressure. Positive feedback is what keeps authors writing more stories!