Faramir Fiction Archive

New Moon (R)

Written by Laurëlóte

20 January 2012 | 3642 words

Title: New Moon
Author: Laurëlóte with some expert help from Kissa when I needed the final push
Beta: Minx
Pairing: Faramir/Elrond
Rating: R
Warnings: AU, supernatural elements
Summary: When Faramir is infected with a curse, Elrond helps him deal with it in more ways than one.
AN: The name of the healer’s apprentice is taken from this webpage which is fantastic, if like me you’re rubbish at naming characters!)

Angelstar3999 – This probably isn’t what you bargained for but I hope you like it. Please accept my apologies for being late

Written for the 2011 Midwinter swap.

Request by Angelstar3999:
Elrond/Faramir. I would love the story where Faramir somehow finds his way to Imladris (how he does is up to you.) It would be nice is Faramir is not fully human and I would prefer him to slightly sub to Elrond.

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New Moon

Somewhere deep in Ithilien

Faramir ran for his life. He could hear the beast closing in upon him but he did not dare to glance round and lose valuable seconds. He was starting to tire, his chest burning, struggling to get enough air to his lungs as he pushed onwards.

The beast was big and black, larger that any natural creature of the forest. His eyes a piercing yellow, his teeth snapping and snarling as he bounded after his prey. Governed by the moon, the werewolf flung itself at Faramir, tackling him to the ground.

Oblivious to his exhaustion, Faramir fought for his life; his fingers finding the handle of the dagger sheathed inside his boot and driving it deep into the monster’s side.

The beast howled and retaliated, biting down hard on the ranger’s thigh, ripping into the flesh.

A howl in the distance caused the monster to pause for a few moments and then suddenly he was gone, vanishing as quickly as he had appeared, summoned into the darkness.

With difficulty Faramir moved; dragging his leg behind him as he tried to make it to the cave that he knew was nearby.

He was pleased to see that he wasn’t hurt badly, but any bite was bad enough. He had known the risks when he and his men had set out after the werewolf. They had lost three men the full moon previously and another before that. He had not intended on becoming separated from his men. Now they had not only failed to destroy the creature but he could no longer return home. He had to put some distance between himself and Gondor before he turned into the very creature they had attempted to destroy.

Faramir tended to his wound and made himself comfortable in the cave he knew was going to be his home for the next few days. As soon as his leg was sufficiently healed, he left. He had no idea where he was going to go, just that he could not stay.

Leaving the sanctity of Ithilien was hard, he had come to think of it as home, and his men had become the family he never had. He adored his brother of course, but his father had only ever viewed him as an embarrassment to the family name. Much of his life in Minas Tirith has been spent alone and now, just as he was beginning to form the friendships he had always desired, he was forced to leave.

He did not know how many days he walked; it was funny how they had all merged into one day of endless hunger and exhaustion. Still he did not stop. Every time he thought himself far enough away from civilisation he found himself walking past a small village or hamlet and so continued on a little longer. Finally he could walk no more. He found a small cave, created a bed from the leaves on the forest floor and finally allowed himself to sleep.

Some days later a group of elves found themselves huddled inside a cave, sheltering from the storm outside. None had wanted to stop, it had been a tiring journey from Mirkwood and they were eager to to get home to Imladris. Eventually though, the fates had got the better of them and as lightning lit up the evening sky they were forced to stop for the night.

They were startled to find that they were not alone, someone had made it there before them. They somehow had failed to sense his presence until they had seen him huddled at the back of the cave. Trying not to startle the stranger, Glorfindel carefully crouched down beside him and held his torch up to his face. From the dim light he could make out that this was a man of human race. The man was handsome enough but very thin and looked troubled even in his sleep. He was clearly exhausted, failing to even stir slightly at the movement around him; in normal circumstances any soldier or lone traveller would be on high alert in these troubled times.

Although Glorfindel could sense some darkness surrounding the young man his heart seemed pure. He knew that in the morning they should just continue on with their journey, forgetting all about the man in the cave, but there was something about this man that he just could not ignore. He reached out a hand a touched the stranger’s forehead, it felt warm with fever. Somehow he knew that this man needed to return with them to Imladris.

In Imladris

Faramir slowly stirred, battling to stay asleep, enjoying the feeling of warmth that surrounded him. It made a change from waking up cold as fellow rangers started stomping around the camp. The thought woke him with a start. If he was not at camp then where was he? He had had to leave Ithilien. Why? If only he could remember. Deep down he knew that it was something terrible.

He looked around the room he was lying in, trying to look for anything familiar, for any clues to sense where he might be. The shelves lined with potions and herbs, and a figure, no an elf, tending to a wound on another’s leg led him to the conclusion that he was in a healing house of some sort. Though he couldn’t remember being hurt.

Suddenly, as if the dam had broken everything came flooding back. He remembered why he had left; why he could not stay. Faramir tried to get out of bed. He had to leave as soon as possible if he was to put distance between himself and these elves. It was too dangerous to remain here.

As soon as he tried to rise, the figure he had noticed earlier rushed over, pushing him back down. “My lord, you are not well enough to rise,” said the healer. “You need to rest”

“Taegen perhaps you could get Lord Elrond?” he asked as a young elf entered the room.

“You are in the healing houses of Imladris,” explained the healer in a soothing manner, as if in an attempt to calm his patient. “You are in no danger, we just want to ensure you are well enough to continue on with your travels.”

“I cannot,” Faramir protested. “It is too dangerous. I must leave now.”

Faramir knew that he had to get away as soon as possible but to his frustration the healer refused to listen and pinned him firmly to the bed.

After a few moments, the young elf reappeared with a rather stern looking elf following close behind.

Faramir immediately stopped struggling as he drank in the sight of the elf who had just entered. He was very handsome, with dark hair and had a kind look in his eyes, even if he did have a far too serious look upon his face. Faramir could not help but wonder what it would take to make the elf smile.

“Greetings,” said the elf, extending his hand in greeting much to the ranger’s surprise. “I am Lord Elrond and you are safe here in Imladris.”

“I would like to speak with you about the wound on your leg. It is quite recent is it not?” he continued.

“My Lord, I appreciate your hospitality but I really must leave at once. It is not safe for your people if I stay here,” Faramir tried desperately to explain.

The elf smiled softly and shook his head. “The full moon is just over a week away. There is time. Now what happened?”

Faramir’s worries flooded away at the softly spoken words as if they were a wave upon the rocks. He did not understand why the elven lord was not horrified by his presence knowing what he had become, but he was not going to question it. Somehow he felt as if he may find comfort here, if only for a while.

Slowly he began to tell his story.

“I do not pretend to understand how you are feeling, but there is no need to worry about harming others,” said Elrond softly when the ranger had finished. “There is a medicine I have concocted myself. It can not stop you changing into a werewolf but it has been very successful amongst infected elves at reducing aggression. They have passed the full moon quite happily in the company of others without anyone being at risk. I see no reason why it can not help you.”

“So I get to be some pet dog once a month if I take my medicine,” Faramir retorted sulkily.

Elrond sighed. He knew it must be scary for the young man but there was only so much he could do to help if Faramir refused to try and be at least a little more positive about his situation.

“You can see it that way, yes,” he replied angrily. “The others I have helped have been grateful that it has allowed them to live a normal life without putting all those they care about at risk. If you would rather spend your life on the run then go ahead.”

Faramir was instantly ashamed of himself. Anything that helped his situation was a good thing. What had he expected? Some miracle cure which would make everything alright? Where would he go if he did not accept Elrond’s help?

“Alright, I will give it a try,” he mumbled looking down at his hands. “But it might not work?”

For the next week Faramir buried himself in a pile of books and scrolls, desperate to read every little detail he could about werewolves and the accounts of those elves who successfully took the medicine that Elrond had created. Finally the night had arrived that would change his life forever.

Elrond guided him to a room which had been made for the other werewolves in his care. It was large and secure, Faramir bit back the urge to point out it looked like a luxurious prison cell. It needed to be if the worst happened. There was a large opening, covered with some kind of tough transparent material, which later would allow a beautiful view of the moon and would fill the room with light.

The room itself was sparsely furnished; there was a bed, a desk, writing materials and some books. Elrond had obviously taken some time to consider what might serve as a distraction for Faramir until the time came.

The one thing that did disturb Faramir was the pile of raw meat in the corner. He had asked the elf lord about this, but only received a chuckle and a “you will see” in response.

All too soon, Elrond took his leave and Faramir was left alone. He had resisted the urge to ask the half-elf to stay longer, knowing that it was inadvisable.

At a loss for what to do he sat down at the desk and started to write all that he was thinking and feeling. Gradually he found himself becoming more and more aware as the sun set until finally he found himself drawn to the window, where he stood staring at the moon.

Suddenly he felt an immense pain in his chest and he fell to his knees. He felt weak, his hands and feet tingled as if they were numb.

As he gazed down as his hands, he watched in horror as they appeared to change before his eyes into something larger, more powerful and somewhat more canine.

Finally the transformation was complete. From his readings Faramir had expected a release of fury, of anger, a desire to destroy.

He felt nothing.

Well perhaps a little hungry; that pile of meat suddenly more appealing than it had been just a few hours ago.

In the morning, everything was as it had been. There had been no destruction, no trying to escape. Contrary to what Faramir had expected, the wolf in him it seemed, had just wanted to have something to eat and then to settle down for a nice nap.

Perhaps he could live a normal life after all.

Elrond simply did not know what to do about the young man in his care. Four moons had passed since he had arrived and despite the medicine working beautifully, the ranger would become desperately panicked at each transformation, that this time the medicine would not work, that someone would get hurt, insisting that it would be better if he just left.

He found himself drawn to Faramir, enjoying his company and choosing to seek him out often. The young man was well versed on many topics and was even familiar with the old elven tales. In fact, he had found himself caring about him a great deal.

Unfortunately it seemed that Faramir had a much lower opinion of himself. He often insisted that Elrond should not waste his time upon him and was wracked with guilt for abandoning his home land, despite the fact he had only done this to protect those that lived there..

The elf lord had once suggested that there was no reason Faramir could not return home should he wish, but this was immediately taken as a sign that he had over stayed his welcome. Elrond had then spent a good part of the evening convincing him that he could stay as long as he wanted here in Imladris.

It was a couple of days before the next full moon that Elrond found the young man brooding. He watched as two elflings played with their mother.

“I will never have that,” he said sadly. “I will never have a family to call my own. No one would ever want me now.”

“Faramir, why would anyone not want you?” asked Elrond softly, placing a hand on the ranger’s arm. “You’re kind, brave and immensely loyal. Not to mention the fact that you are rather handsome.”

“You, find me handsome?” Faramir asked in disbelief. He was not handsome, his brother was the attractive one, the one that men and women alike flocked around. He was just pale and too thin; a pathetic figure that followed his brother’s shadow. And yet, somehow he found himself wishing that Elrond did indeed find him handsome. He found himself wanting to please the half-elf in a way he never had anyone else.

“Faramir, I have lived for centuries, I am older than you could probably imagine. I have no right to be attracted to you, yet I find myself drawn to you like a moth to a lantern in the night,” as the younger man turned towards him, his hand glided upwards to stroke the ranger’s cheek. “Could you find it in yourself to care for an old elf?”

Faramir found himself paralysed at Elrond’s touch, scared that if he moved even slightly then he would wake up from some cruel dream. He tried to speak but no sound left his lips. Eventually the words were there, in a hoarse whisper that only an elf would be able to hear. “I already do.”

It was the first time perhaps that he had seen the serious elf-lord truly smile and it soon vanished as Elrond moved closer to him, tilting his head slightly as his lips met Faramir’s own.

The kiss was ever so sweet at first but quickly deepened into something more intense; a promise of what was to come and Faramir could feel himself melting at the elf-lord’s touch.

Gone were the painful memories of his past, the visions of his brother taking him to the wenches in the lower levels of the White City and the women laughing at his inexperience, or his fumbled, painful first time in a bush somewhere outside their outpost in the wild, with one of the elder rangers. In a heartbeat, Elrond’s touch managed to erase all the past sorrow and healed Faramir’s wounded soul. For the time being, everything was as it was meant to be and all the pieces fell together in a harmonious picture, Faramir a part of it and no longer watching from the outside, forgotten.

He liked the fact that the half-elf was taking the lead as he was sure his nervousness would ruin the encounter or at least cause unwelcome delays. Elrond was such an appropriate match for Faramir – the Valar themselves could not have chosen any better.

More heated touches ensued and layers of garments were peeled away, baring the two, half-elf and man to each other’s gaze. Elrond looked at Faramir with such burning desire in his eyes that the ranger’s worries that maybe the elf lord would administer his caresses with clinical attention dissolved on the spot, as well as any remaining inhibitions. He had been through a lot and he had been through it all alone. Now it was time for him to taste the happiness cake and seize it with both hands.

Soon, Elrond made him back towards the bed slowly, guiding him to lie down on the soft sheets and covers, coming to recline next to him and kiss him searingly. Faramir himself clung to Elrond, as though afraid the vision of male beauty and elven grace before him would vanish like a dream at dawn.

But Elrond was not going anywhere, but he was determined to take Faramir to places of delights he could only have dreamt of so far. He had seen much in his long life and while he had seldom engaged in amorous pursuits and even less often lost his heart, Elrond knew he had a cure for this ailing creature who had sought to be loved and accepted all his life.

The half-elf let his body rest half on top of Faramir’s, letting him feel the reality of their touching naked skins and the pleasant warmth their closeness wrapped them in before he started covering the ranger with kisses.

Faramir found himself moaning and gasping as the elf lord kissed him in places where he had never imagined lips would go.

Faramir cried out as lips found his neck and Elrond’s tongue ran the length from collarbone to jaw. He found his fingers wrapping around dark locks of elven hair as it swept across his face. It seemed as though Elrond was never going to let up in his blissful torture and all Faramir could do was hold on for the ride.

In his passion, he pulled at the elf-lord, trying to get him closer, giving in to the warmth that enveloped around him. His hand drifted downwards, exploring the feel of Elrond’s firm, hairless body. Never had it felt like this, Faramir was worshiped by the elf-lord’s touch. For the first time in his life he was made to feel the most important person in it.

The calm and composure of elves seemed like more of a fabrication of folk tales, if Faramir were to judge by the urgency and need in his healer’s every touch. His body, he feared would soon burst like an overly full waterskin from the onslaught of sensation that the half-elf subjected him to. He then briefly recognized this new state as something he did not remember ever feeling in all his life: the absence of pain, which was completely replaced by sheer white pleasure. He did not feel the elf lord’s fingers caressing him and breaching him as an assault, but as a touch of infinite care and tenderness. He could actually feel, for the first time, that the other wanted to shelter him from pain instead of simply making him more accommodating for their own pleasure.

White spots danced before his eyes as healing fingers curled round to brush the sweet spot within him, belatedly he realised the cries of pleasure which reached his ears had come from his own mouth.

Aroused to a point he had never experience before, Faramir stroked the elf-lord’s hardened length with his own slender fingers, causing a seductive growl to fall from Elrond’s lips.

Soon the finger’s breaching his body were removed and replaced with a sensation of fullness that only brought Faramir more pleasure, unlike the discomfort and pain of his past experiences.

As eyes met, Faramir was blown away by the darkened lust in the elf-lord’s gaze. It was as if the world outside had ceased and only this mattered.

Passions reached ever higher as the two bodies moved together as one to a tune that only they could hear and cries became ever louder as they reached their completion.

They continued to hold each other tight as their bodies fluttered back down to earth from the heavens; an unspoken promise that never again would they be alone. Finally they had found what they had both been searching for. With a contented sign, Faramir knew that he would never have to worry about being alone, what he was or the full moon. For the first time in his life he could just simply be.

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