Faramir Fiction Archive

A Clever Man (R)

19 December 2009 | 5014 words

Chapter 4

When Gríma found him in his chambers, he was already armed and cloaked in green. Captain Faramir did not refer to what he must have seen in Gríma’s eyes at the moment of Éomer’s accusation, nor to whatever had been said afterwards in that shed. The Captain said only, “If I have done anything to make your position in Rohan difficult, then I apologize for the fault.”

“You did nothing that could be faulted!” It was perhaps the most truthful thing Gríma Wormtongue had uttered in a long time, but he did not care for truth, one way or the other. All that mattered to him at that moment was the look on Faramir’s face, which slowly softened from chilly formality to a strange regretfulness.

Faramir held out his hand. Gríma took it, clasped it, and held it for a while, looking at their hands instead of at the other man’s face. He didn’t know how to say that it had been different with the captain than with the king’s sister-daughter. Had it been different? And what did such a difference avail him? A clever man wouldn’t have come to this room again, when it could hardly profit him. But then Gríma had always known, in his most secret heart, that he was not as clever as he wanted to be. Not clever enough to lead men openly, without lies. Not clever enough to break free of a master he feared and worshipped and loathed. Not clever enough to keep a man of Faramir’s quality. If Éomer hadn’t revealed what Gríma truly was, Faramir would have figured it out before long. He was far more wise and more masterful a man than he himself or that Uruk of a father gave him credit for.

“I’ll send a copy of that map to you in Gondor.” Ridiculous thing to say, but Gríma could not simply let go of the young man’s hand in silence. Of his voice, at least, he could be certain: smooth and low and implying more than was said.

Faramir’s grip tightened, causing Gríma to realize he had in fact not let go, and then their hands came gently apart.

“Thank you.” Faramir’s tone also conveyed more than his words. There was understanding there and some other emotion that matched the one which Gríma himself had tried to put behind his promise.

Gríma left the chamber first, moving quickly away so that Faramir could not have caught up with him in the corridor.

Written on a map case in the libraries of Minas Tirith:

To Faramir, Captain of Gondor, of the White Tower, and of the Ithilien Rangers

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