Faramir Fiction Archive

Unexpected Blessings (NC-17)

Written by Nissi

14 November 2006 | 18644 words

Chapter 6: The Nature of Spirit

Faramir woke to darkness, only the flicker of a single candle illuminating his room. He felt the pressure of Legolas’s arm around his chest and laughed softly.

“What is it?” Legolas whispered.

“You haven’t moved a muscle, have you?” Faramir chuckled.

“Was that wrong of me?” Legolas frowned.

“Absolutely not,” Faramir smiled tenderly at his friend. “It’s quite touching, really. I hope watching me sleep for…how long has it been?”

“Almost eight hours,” Legolas replied.

Faramir’s eyes widened. “I hope watching me sleep for almost eight hours was not too dull a task.”

“On the contrary. I enjoyed it,” Legolas beamed.

“Did you?” Faramir grinned playfully. “You are easy to entertain.”

Legolas grinned. “I suppose. But it was nice to…hold you. I have not had contact like this since I was a child.”

Faramir tilted his head curiously. “Since you were a child? You’ve had no lovers?”

Legolas looked taken off-guard. He cleared his throat and began to speak.

“I am sorry,” Faramir interrupted him. “That was out of line.”

Legolas smiled warmly. “With all you have entrusted to me it is the least I can do to answer that question. And the answer is ‘no’. As I have told you, it takes a long time for elves to love…”

Faramir nodded. “I understand,” he said softly. He reached up and traced the line of Legolas’s arm as it stretched over him. After a quiet time he asked, “Have you ever desired someone? Even without love?”

Legolas watched Faramir’s fingers pass up and down the length of his arm. Something in Faramir’s touch allowed him to answer the question with absolute honesty. “Yes, Faramir. I have.”

Faramir sighed softly. The angry grumbling of his stomach ended the inquisition. The man shifted and stretched as far as the bed would allow. “My head feels remarkably better,” he observed. “But I seem to be rather hungry.” He withdrew his hand from the elf’s arm and patted his stomach in an exaggerated fashion.

“I am relieved to learn that is the extent of it. I thought perhaps a small feral animal had taken up residence,” Legolas joked. He released Faramir and rose from the bed. “I will bring food.”

“You need not wait on me hand and foot, Legolas,” Faramir said with an appreciative smile. He moved to sit up.

Legolas clucked his tongue behind his teeth. “Stay where you are,” he commanded. Faramir obeyed. “As long as you are ailing, you require care. I am glad for the chance to offer it to you.”

“I hope that I may someday repay you for all your many kindnesses, Legolas,” Faramir said.

“I do not do this with hope of repayment, mellon nin,” Legolas replied softly. “Now rest. I will return shortly.”

Faramir watched as the lithe elf exited his room and strode down the hall towards the kitchen. He marveled at his good fortune in finding a friend who cared for him so deeply. Legolas looked after him much as his husband did.

The more he thought about Legolas’s behavior, the more he realized that his feelings for the elf were growing deeper by the day. He cursed himself to think he could be speeding towards yet another betrayal of his vow of exclusivity to Boromir. Yet somehow the idea of loving Legolas felt a less severe transgression. He fancied that perhaps in a different time and a different situation, sans Boromir’s promise to him, that Boromir himself might have fallen for the beautiful elf. Perhaps Boromir would understand the elf’s pull.

Faramir touched his chest and missed the feeling of Legolas’s arm upon it. He remembered how boldly and naturally he had touched Legolas earlier. He thought about the elf’s hand upon his hair. And he remembered Legolas’s words from the night before. He remembered the riddle of Legolas’s offer to give him anything.

Faramir felt his body respond to the thoughts, tiny tingles of arousal moving through him. In some inexplicable way he knew that Legolas felt something deeper than friendship for him, too.

Legolas returned with a plate of foods and a book tucked under his arm. He took the initiative to amuse Faramir by reading aloud to him while he ate. Faramir was nearly mesmerized by Legolas’s dulcet voice as he read. He felt as though he was noticing new details worth appreciating with every passing moment he spent in Legolas’s company. When he had finished eating and was sleepy with injury, a full belly, and the lullaby of Legolas’s voice, he settled into bed and prepared for sleep.

“Would you like me to stay?” Legolas asked with unmasked hope.

Faramir nodded swiftly. “Very much.”

Legolas beamed, climbing onto the bed and preparing to lie against Faramir, once again on top of the blankets. Faramir shook his head. “No, come. Beneath the blankets, close to me.”

Legolas smiled gently. He did not protest, but swiftly acquiesced. Faramir rolled gingerly onto his side. “Boromir used to nestle along my back…” he said by way of suggestion.

The elf settled into position, locking his front to Faramir’s back. He slid his arm around Faramir’s waist. “Goodnight, Faramir,” he said politely.

“Goodnight, Legolas,” Faramir yawned, and then added, “You need not stay the whole time, if you will not sleep…”

“I want to stay,” Legolas whispered close to the Steward’s ear, so quietly he doubted Faramir would hear it. It was the last of his modesty reining him in; part of him wanted to express to Faramir how he was feeling.

Faramir heard Legolas’s whisper and for the first time since Boromir’s departure for Rivendell he felt a hint of real happiness within him.

Faramir and Legolas grew inseparable in the days and weeks following Faramir’s drunken night in the memorial. They had made no formal declarations of romantic or sensual feelings for one another, and their physical contact was limited to the occasional caress, though they shared a bed almost every night. But both felt on the brink of something that could take hold at any time.

Faramir found himself with business to address in Minas Tirith, and Legolas rode with him to the White City to pay respects to the Evenstar, who was nearly at full term with Aragorn’s firstborn. The two elves walked across the courtyard of the tree, engaging one another in friendly conversation.

“Something is changed about you, Legolas,” she said with a smile.

“I cannot fathom what the change might be, my lady,” Legolas replied.

“The change is not corporeal,” Arwen said thoughtfully. “No…it is deeper. There is lightness to you…” Realization struck her and she declared, “You are in love!”

Legolas looked away. For the first time in his life he rued the intuitive nature of his people.

“Do not deny it, Legolas. It is no reason for shame. It is a reason to celebrate!” Arwen said happily.

“I am not shamed…merely reluctant. It is not an easy thing,” Legolas sighed.

Arwen nodded slowly. “I understand all too well. What is it that makes your love complicated?”

Legolas searched Arwen’s face. He wondered how much he could tell her—if she would keep his words secret even to her husband. “You will not speak of it to another?” he queried.

“I promise I will say nothing of this conversation to anyone,” Arwen replied solemnly.

“He is a mortal,” Legolas replied simply.

“He…a mortal?” Arwen was not sure which to process first—that Legolas loved a male, or that Legolas loved a mortal. Legolas’s situation was complicated indeed. She smiled supportively and said, “Then it seems we have much in common now, Legolas.”

Legolas smiled warmly, despite the fact that the admission had sent him into turmoil. He had not fully admitted his feelings for Faramir to himself, let alone to another. But he could deny them no longer.

Faramir stepped out of the great hall and spied the two elves strolling across the courtyard. As Arwen watched Faramir approach them, she noted the particular smile with which the Steward looked to Legolas, and the bounce in his steps as he walked. She saw Legolas brighten further at the sight of him. It did not take the wisdom of an elf to see that Faramir was the object of Legolas’s affection, and that Faramir felt more than just friendship for Legolas in return.

That night Faramir and Legolas slept in Minas Tirith—Faramir in his old chamber, and Legolas in a guest chamber. As Faramir laid in his familiar bed he thought on the countless nights he had spent there with Boromir. He contrasted them to the relatively few nights he had spent with Legolas, and all the guilt he’d felt about his marriage to Éowyn began anew—morphing into guilt for what was occurring between his friend and him.

Faramir rolled onto his side and squeezed his eyes shut. “I am sorry Boromir, my love. I cannot seem to stop myself from breaking my promise. I cannot refrain from feeling for others what I should feel only for you. But never…never do I feel for any with such intensity. Never will I love another the way that I love you. You must believe that. You know it is true…”

“What if I came to you, Faramir, and gave you permission to be with him…would you stop torturing yourself, my love?” Boromir’s voice was unexpected at the very least. Faramir sat upright and gasped as he saw Boromir, dressed in his fine leathers and gold-embroidered velvet, sitting in the chair beside Faramir’s writing desk.

“Boromir?” Faramir questioned the vision tentatively.

“Has it been so long you’ve forgotten my appearance?” Boromir joked good-naturedly.

“I have had nothing to drink tonight. This cannot be another drunken hallucination…” Faramir tried to understand. He closed his eyes and whispered, “I am dreaming.”

“Then dream,” Boromir said. His voice sounded close, and Faramir opened his eyes to find his brother kneeling by the bedside.

“I don’t want to dream. I want it to be real. This is painful…” Faramir’s eyes filled with tears as his words trailed off.

“You’re wide awake, Faramir. I am here,” Boromir cooed, gently cupping the side of Faramir’s face.

“I do not understand…” Faramir protested, but nuzzled into Boromir’s hand.

“There is much we do not understand about the spirit. Even all your books cannot prepare you for what you will see and experience when it is your time,” Boromir said evenly. “But it is not unheard of for the dead to visit the living. You have read the tales of ghosts walking freely among men.”

“Ghosts?” Faramir gazed into his brother’s eyes. “Boromir, this is…”

“It is possible. Since the moment I breathed my last I have sought to find you again. I knew that you would be devastated by my passing. I remembered my vows, Faramir. I found a way. I can be with you, Faramir, if you want me…” Boromir said.

“If I want you? You’re my brother, my friend, my hero, my lover, my husband…my everything, Boromir, you are my life. I want you. I want you always. Please. Do whatever it is you must do to come like this and stay like this. Stay with me…” Faramir enthused.

Boromir laughed happily. “You sound excited as a little boy,” he grinned. “I do not know what power is in me for this…but I will come to you whenever it is possible, and remain with you as long as is possible. We have been given this gift, Faramir. I would never squander it.” Boromir leaned up and brushed his lips against Faramir’s brow. “But what of the one with whom you said you were breaking your vow?” Boromir tilted his head. “Won’t he mind if suddenly the ghost of your husband appears to occupy your time?” He quirked a brow.

“Nothing is certain with the other…I feel something unspoken there. I feel as though I could love him, and that he could love me, if we opened ourselves to the possibility. You…might even enjoy joining us on that journey,” Faramir wriggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Boromir laughed heartily. “There are not many people who would take kindly to interference from the dead, little brother. We must have a care to meet in private, just as we did when I was living. But I will visit you and when I am away, you will have your other. The rest of our vows hold true, yes?”

“Yes, they hold true, always. My Boromir,” Faramir cooed, lifting his fingers to trace the outline of his brother’s beard. “My beautiful husband, seeing you…seeing you makes life worth living. I came very close to giving it up on Amon Hen,” he admitted shamefully. “I despaired.”

“I despaired before my death, Faramir. We have lived in desperate times. Now there is peace, but there is also grief. There are many who mourn. Many who can find no happiness. You were not alone in your plight,” Boromir’s hand strayed from Faramir’s cheek, his thumb passing over his lover’s full lips. “One way or another, my love, you will never be alone again.”

Faramir’s beautiful face contorted with a sob and he lunged forward, throwing his arms around Boromir and burying his face against his neck as he cried. “I don’t care if this some trick of insanity. If it is a trick that brings us together again and again, I will gladly bear its madness.”

“My darling Faramir,” Boromir whispered, holding the younger man tightly. “I remember the first time I held you in my arms. Mother made such a fuss. She wouldn’t let me hold you without placing you on a pillow atop my lap,” he chuckled lightly and paused with recollection. “You were so small and you seemed so fragile. But you looked at me with your big blue eyes…curled your tiny fist around my finger…and I was yours.”

Faramir’s sobs subsided and he drew away far enough to gaze into his lover’s eyes. Faramir nodded slowly, feeling confidence inspired by his brother’s words and the look of love upon his face. Boromir wiped away Faramir’s tears and smiled adoringly.

“You look so lovely,” Faramir complimented his husband as his eyes drew down to the rich red hue of his brother’s vest. The fingers of one hand rested atop the suede laces at the collar of Boromir’s shirt. “And handsome as ever,” he whispered lowly, placing a brief kiss upon the older man’s lips.

“I wanted to dress my best for you,” Boromir grinned, kissing the tip of Faramir’s nose.

Faramir chuckled softly. “Next time save us the trouble and appear nude,” he quipped cheekily.

Boromir laughed as Faramir leaned back on the bed, tugging Boromir towards him. Boromir settled into Faramir’s arms and sighed as his husband lovingly stroked his back.

“I fell in love with my brother…married my brother…survived orc arrows…survived a funeral pyre…became Steward of Gondor…became Prince of Ithilien,” Faramir recounted slowly. “Somehow holding my brother’s ghost in my arms seems normal for the course of my life.” He grinned good-naturedly.

Boromir brushed Faramir’s hair back from his brow as his eyes met Faramir’s. Green to blue they held the gaze for a silent time, while Faramir’s hands caressed his lover’s body. Soon passion swelled and they clasped each other tightly, sharing bruising and breathless kisses.

As Boromir gently rolled Faramir atop him the younger man marveled at the turn of events. Some odd magic had taken hold—something that made these encounters with Boromir terribly realistic. He had rued his behavior with the statue and dismissed it as the influence of alcohol, but now he had no desire to fight it. Now he would carry the magic and accept Boromir whenever he came to him. Whether it was truly Boromir’s ghost in his bed or merely a disease of the mind, Faramir welcomed the opportunity to be with his husband again.

When Boromir’s hand slid up his thigh and beneath his night shirt Faramir could think no longer. He gave himself to the moment. He gave himself to his brother.

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