Faramir Fiction Archive

Because of You (NC-17)

Written by Sairalinde and Anorienbean

24 December 2008 | 98532 words

Chapter 15

The following days were not easy, Faramir was not comfortable taking over the role of steward but he knew it was what had to be done. His father was simply not able to do the job any longer, as he was still so lost inside his own grief. Each day Faramir did attempt to connect with him, did attempt to see if his father recognized him and it only served to agitate Denethor and simply depress Faramir.

If Haldir had not stayed in Gondor with him, Faramir was afraid he would be as mad as his father by this point. He had argued with councilors who thought him too young to run the city, he had dealt with problems within the city, military issues, and so many things that by the end of each day he was exhausted. His shoulder, which he thought was healed, seemed to ache now more than before with all the stress of dealing with everything and at points he thought he was simply not able to do it all.

No wonder my father lost his mind. He felt horrible for the thought immediately but he couldn’t help wonder if it hadn’t been a part of it.

Faramir was alone in what used to be his father’s study, trying to go over some of the inventory reports and see if he could balance everything out. It had been a mess, nothing documented properly and he and Haldir had discovered that notes had been left in a myriad of books and ledgers. He was only alone for the moment; Haldir was searching through the archives for a book that one parchment had mentioned contained the tallies of all of the military supplies in the armory.

Denethor looked over his shoulder, still certain that someone was following him. His fingers toyed with the edge of his long black robe, the one no one, not even his most trusted servants could convince him to remove. They had all turned on him – his staff, his counselors, his Rangers, even his servants. They had all gone mad.

They wanted to kill him, he knew that. The food was poisoned, so he’d almost stopped eating, making do with the leftovers from the trash in the kitchen long after everyone else was asleep. There were traps all over the citadel set for him too, most likely by the followers of this Aragorn-person – yes rumors came to him about the man who thought he had the right to rule Gondor. Denethor knew better… he had sweated over the people and land of Minas Tirith, not Aragorn.

He had lost his sons – not only his best and brightest, but his other one as well, the only one he had left. Oh, there was the imposter who came to him every day claiming to be Faramir, but Denethor knew better. The man might look like Faramir, but Faramir was dead. Faramir had died shortly after Boromir, and now there was no one left to carry on his name. The bloodline ended with him. This imposter obviously worked for Aragorn, and only wanted the secrets of the city, secrets only Denethor knew, to pass on to his new master.

Another thread unraveled in his fingers as he turned the corner and moved almost silently down the hallway to his offices. The imposter had taken to working there during the day, usually with that infernal Elf who never seemed to leave his side. While the imposter at least tried to be kind to him, the Elf never bothered, not even sparing him the pitying look everyone else in the city gave him with now and then – the look he deserved as a man who’d lost his entire family in what seemed like the blink of an eye.

But the Elf was gone, Denethor was certain of that. He’d seen him in another hallway and pretended to look away, but the moment the horrid creature was out of sight, he’d made for his study. Now was the time to confront this person who was pretending to be his son… now was the time to take back the city that was his.

As he quietly opened the door to his old offices, he saw the man’s head bowed at the desk he, Denethor, had spent so many hours toiling over. He could play this game for a while, if that was what it took. “Hello?” he asked timidly, hoping to fool the boy into trusting him. “Is that you, Faramir? Have you really come back to me?” As he spoke, he shut the door behind him, and locked it for good measure. A gentle tug on another loose string on his sleeve for luck, and he approached the desk, looking as innocent and guileless as he possibly could.

Faramir had been completely lost in thought when he heard a soft voice in the doorway. He looked up, surprised to see his father standing there. Then his next words brought such a wave of hope through him that Faramir failed to hear the snick of the lock in the door. “Father?” he asked standing up and moving around the desk to greet the other man. “You… you recognize me today?” he asked happily. “Gods… I have hoped for this for weeks now…”

Denethor couldn’t suppress a smile, though he was certain the man who looked like his son thought he was smiling for a different reason entirely. He was playing his part well, though, even down to some of the mannerisms Faramir had had when he was alive, and the soft, hopeful timber of his voice. Gods, this was going to be easy, just as the small globe he kept hidden away in his rooms had assured him it would be – dispose of the imposter, show Aragorn’s followers what happens to traitors in Gondor, and reclaim his position as steward and ruler – the only ruler – of his city. “I missed you, Faramir, so much,” he said, reaching out one hand, various lengths of black thread trailing aimlessly over his outstretched fingers as his other hand reached inside his robe. “Have you really come back to me?”

When his father reached toward him, Faramir felt tears of happiness gather in his eyes as he nodded. “Aye, father, I have. I was injured in Rohan but as you can see I am fine, just as Gandalf told you,” he said softly and made to motion Denethor to sit down. “Please… sit with me… how are you feeling? The servants say you have not been eating…”

Rather than make his way toward the chair, Denethor’s hand clamped down on Faramir’s arm – the arm that just happened to have been attached to the shoulder that had been so badly injured. The fingers were long, slender, and clawlike, with nails that hadn’t been trimmed in far too long, and were dirty and sharp. “Sit down with you indeed!” he hissed, digging his fingers, nails and all, deep into Faramir’s arm and wrenching it behind him. Before the young man could respond, Denethor, fueled by grief and utter madness, pulled the small mallet from his robes and raised it over his head. “Your mistake, boy, was believing that I was mad. I have never been more sane in my life, and I know that you and your Elf are simply trying to take my city to give to your so-called king!” He kept Faramir’s sore arm twisted behind him, and even as he spoke, he brought the mallet down on the side of the boy’s head. His son would never betray him… His son was obedient and quiet – His son would never take what had not been freely offered. No… this was most definitely not his son.

Faramir cried out in shock and pain when his arm was gripped that way, he struggled and tried to use his other arm to push Denethor away but the old man was quicker and stronger than he could have imagined him to be. Denethor moved behind him and out of his reach. Pain raced up from his wrist where sharp nails dug deeply, blood welling around them and his shoulder screamed in pain where it was wrenched behind him. Faramir cried out again, hoping someone would hear him but suddenly everything went black, the last thought he had was that the name he called out was Haldir’s.

A cold, soulless laugh fell from Denethor’s lips as the man pretending to be his son fell to the ground. He quickly hid the mallet beneath the desk and threw the imposter over his shoulder. Toeing the rug over the blood in the center of the floor, he looked around, grateful to be alone again, but feeling certain that a spy might try to break down the door at any moment. He didn’t have far to go, or he would have worried about someone finding them, and besides, he knew this citadel like no one else – not even his late, beloved sons knew of some of the secret passageways. With the flip of a small hidden latch behind a bookcase, a door no one but he knew about slowly swung open and he made his way inside, the heavy burden of carrying this stranger barely affecting him, so great was the strength he’d gained from his madness.

Haldir looked around the archive room and sighed. Everything was such a mess; he was certain he could search through the walls along the eastern shelves for a month and still never find what he was looking for. Hot and frustrated, he put the book in his hand back where he’d found it, and decided to see if there wasn’t some other way for Faramir to determine where and what the military supplies were. As he turned back toward the doorway, however, he felt a stab of pain on his right temple, and saw stars in his right eye. He fell back against the shelf he’d just been perusing and moaned… but the pain was gone before the sound had even faded from the room. Though he had never experienced such a pain, he would have thought little of it, had he not heard a single word being shouted, then cut off in his mind. His name, spoken by his lover, only once.

“Faramir.” Something was wrong, but he didn’t even try to understand what… he simply ran to the steward’s study as fast as his feet would take him.

Denethor’s blow had rendered Faramir completely unconscious as he bounced his way down the narrow passageway on his father’s shoulder. If he had not been taken by such surprise, if he had reason to suspect his father might actually attack him, he certainly would have been more careful than he had. But in his desire to see his father normal again, to see him back in control of himself, Faramir had failed to see the true intent in the man’s dark eyes. He’d had little time to wonder what was going to happen or even why it was happening.

The former steward’s arm was wrapped around Faramir’s waist as he made his way toward the highest point in the city – the place where he would show all who followed Aragorn their fate unless they turned from this false king and pledged their lives to their true leader, the man who had led them through so much, for so long. He stopped only once, when a frayed edge of his cloak caught on the lock of yet another hidden door and almost ripped the entire piece of fabric from his body. Denethor unhooked his cloak from the edge of the lock, whispering to himself the entire time, almost chanting the words. “Everything is ready. The oil is there, the fire is lit, the pyre is stacked. Everything is ready. Nothing can go wrong. Everything is ready. The oil is there, the fire is lit…” Finally, he burst out into the large mausoleum, taking heart in seeing the pyre he had spent the last several days building. With no gentleness at all for the stranger on his back, he threw the man on top of the pyre and climbed up next to him, the torch that he’d lit earlier within easy reach. “Imposter… trying to fool me… we shall see how your king likes this. The fire is lit, the pyre is stacked… the king and all his men will die…” As he continued, he poured oil over the unconscious man at his feet, laughing loudly and only now hoping everyone would see what he was doing… that he hadn’t been mad or foolish… he had only been pretending – just like the orb had told him to do.

Haldir was in the office Faramir was now using, frantically looking for his lover, having broken down the door with no trouble at all. There was no sign, only a cold, empty room that still spoke of Denethor’s influence, and a single, black piece of thread on the floor by the rug. He started to leave, to send the servants to find Faramir, but the thread seemed… wrong. It took him a moment to remember where he’d seen the black threads – on Denethor’s cloak as he obsessively picked at the edges of the fabric, whispering to himself and looking over his shoulder every time Faramir had tried to talk to him. It was then that he saw the rug had been moved. Kicking it away, he gasped as he saw what was underneath, and he would have sworn at that moment that his heart stopped. “No… gods, no…”

The door had been locked, so they had to have left through this room. It took him only a few moments to find the hidden doorway, and he raced down the dark corridor as silently and quickly as any cat. A bit of fabric on the wall let him know he was going in the right direction, and he was already calling Faramir’s name when he saw the sunlight coming from the edge of the hidden tunnel. Denethor had failed to close the door behind him when he’d stepped into the mausoleum, thankfully, and Haldir began calling his lover’s name at once.

Denethor startled when he heard the Elf’s voice and spilled some of the oil down the front of his robes as he stood over the unconscious man. He glanced down at the man, he looked as if he were merely sleeping and for a split second he thought he saw his son. “Do not be fooled, he is not your son… not yours, not Faramir… Faramir is already dead,” he muttered as he tossed away the copper basin and picked up the torch, holding it for only a moment before tossing it onto the pyre at the man’s feet. He laughed as the flames quickly leapt up and tried to get down from the pyre himself. “He is too late… the Elf is too late…” he chanted but the frayed edges of his robes caught on the wood stacked around the man’s body. Tugging at the robe ineffectually, he began to struggle as the flames raced around the base of the pyre toward him.

As Haldir burst into the room, he had trouble believing what his eyes were telling him. Wood and fire and oil and Denethor… and Gods, there was Faramir – his Faramir laying in the middle of it all, flames already surrounding him, already licking at his clothes. Faramir looked… by the Valar, he looked dead! Without thinking, Haldir raced up the pyre, scattering large blocks of wood behind him, feeling the flames hot and greedy around his legs, his hair, his back. Shouldering Denethor away, he scooped Faramir up in his arms, and tried to cover him at the same time, doing his best to douse the flames that were burning through his tunic and onto tender skin. There was no time to find his balance or secure his footing, or look for a way out, so he did the only thing he could do. Wrapping both arms and legs around his lover, he cradled him as well as he could and rolled, knocking Denethor off his feet and falling hard onto the cold stone floor beneath them. He cried out as his back bent over a stray piece of wood, but kept rolling until they were well out of the reach of the flames.

Denethor screamed in anger as the Elf destroyed the pyre, sending burning wood scattering throughout the marble lined room. He fell to the floor hard when the Elf shoved him away and scooted on his backside away from the flames, watching in disbelief as the blond Elf wrapped the man up in his arms and rolled until the flames on the man’s clothing were gone. Scrambling to his feet, he reached for his dagger, thinking that maybe he could overpower the Elf now that he was distracted with the man.

When his body was so roughly handled, his back hitting the hard cold floor, Faramir’s eyes opened only a little, seeing blond hair, smelling the scent of burned fabrics and he struggled a little to get his bearings. What had happened? When he looked up he saw his father and gasped. Denethor was standing now, a dagger in his hand. “Father?” he breathed the words, his throat already scratchy from the smoke and thick from confusion.

In that moment, Denethor recognized the blue eyes that looked at him so intently. He saw the little bright eyed boy he had so adored years ago, remembered the bright copper waves he had tousled so many times and the dagger fell from his hands. “Faramir… Faramir… my son…” Before he could move though the oil on his robes caught fire, one of the bundles of burning wood that had been scattered lighting the dark fabric. As the flames began to lick up the front of his body, Denethor stared at his son in disbelief, the planitir had been wrong… this was his son! The pain of the flames hit him suddenly then and unthinking he ran from the room… ran, forgetting where he was, expecting to spill out the door into the garden where a fountain would be, only to find himself on a small ledge. The last sound that was heard was Denethor’s scream as he toppled over the edge of the tower wall.

Haldir’s arms tightened around Faramir’s unresisting body, and he could only thank the Valar when he saw familiar blue eyes open and stare at the man who had just tried to kill him. His first thought was that he was so very grateful that Faramir still lived, the second was that he that he couldn’t let him see his father die, knowing it would haunt him for the rest of his days. He gently rested his hand on Faramir’s face and turned his head away. “No, look at me,” he whispered softly. “It is too late for your father.”

Faramir cried out when he heard his father’s screams, knowing what the man’s fate had been. Before he could even draw a breath he buried his face against Haldir’s neck, sobbing as tears streamed down his face. His body ached, his shoulder felt as if the orc’s axe was buried in it again and his head was throbbing, yet none of that compared with the pain in his heart. His own father had tried to kill him! He’d been so lost in his madness he tried to burn him alive, too late had Denethor come back to himself, too late had he realized what he was doing. Faramir felt as if he were the one who failed. He had not tried hard enough to reach his father, he had focused too much time on assuming the role of steward and not enough being a son and trying to break through whatever held his father.

Haldir’s hands, which could be so rough when he was fighting or angry or simply living his normal life, were now as gentle and careful with Faramir as if he were being lifted on a bed of clouds. He was sick with worry, and his heart felt as if it were being ripped from as his chest each time Faramir sobbed against him. He would never, ever forget the feelings he’d had as he’d seen Faramir there, so close to death, so close to being burned alive. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t say what he was thinking, had never used the words before, so he had no idea how to speak them. Instead, he leaned against the closest wall, Faramir held safely in his lap, a single tear falling from his eyes for every one of his lover’s.

Still unable to believe what had just happened, Faramir looked up at Haldir and was shocked to see tears on the Elf’s face. His hand rose to touch his lover’s cheek in wonder as he looked at him. “You… why…” he paused and looked away, shaking his head. He never thought he would ever see the Elf cry and thought perhaps he was just seeing things. “I do not understand what happened,” he whispered as Haldir cradled him against his body. “I could not fight him, he used… my weakness, my… my shoulder against me. Gods… I have lost everything now. My ability to really defend myself, my brother, and now… now my father,” he whispered as he clung to Haldir. And now that my father is gone, in a few weeks, you will deem me safe and you will leave me too.

Haldir’s arms tightened around his lover for a moment before he could speak. “You have not lost everything,” he said softly, resting one hand on the back of Faramir’s neck and pulling him away just enough so that their eyes met. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t ashamed of the tears that flowed freely down his face. That didn’t matter… all that mattered was that he had almost lost the most important person in his life. Now… if he could only say as much and not make the situation even worse. He took a deep breath and used the pad of his thumb to wipe away the tears on the dear face before him. “You have not lost me.”

Faramir looked up when Haldir spoke, his eyes meeting tearful blue ones and certain now that Haldir was crying. Faramir started to shake his head when Haldir spoke but his final words stopped him, almost stealing his breath. You have not lost me. Fresh tears joined those already streaming down his face as Faramir shook his head. “But… but I never had you… you said yourself that not even friendship is what kept you here.”

“You have me, Faramir. In fact, you have have had me for quite some time now,” Haldir said softly. “I was just too stubborn to see it.” He took another deep breath and simply pulled Faramir against him again, closing his eyes and just feeling the warm breath and warmer tears against his skin. “I was wrong about friendship keeping me here. I mean… it was friendship, but… Gods, it is much more than that, Faramir. It took almost losing you for me to realize it. What we have… It is trust, and passion and honesty and… most of all, Faramir… it is, I know now, love. I have no idea how you feel about me, but I am utterly and completely in love with you.”

Faramir stared in confusion until Haldir pulled him close, his face buried against the warmth of his lover’s neck. He tried to understand everything the Elf was saying. Haldir was admitting not only that he was wrong but that they were more than friends? Then it seemed his heart stopped in his chest as his lover spoke. Love. He closed his eyes and clung tighter to the Elf. “I love you too… I have been in love with you since Helms Deep, I think… maybe even the first moment I saw you that night,” Faramir admitted. He knew this was not something Haldir had planned for. “What… does it mean though? Does it mean you… you have given up your plan to seek a death elsewhere? Haldir… I’ve been wanting to tell you for weeks that I do not think I could survive it when you left…” his words were almost in a panic, afraid that even though Haldir admitted he loved him, that he still planned to go through with the honorable death he had anticipated for so long.

Haldir’s tears were still half of fear, but now, despite everything, he was finding that a few were tears of happiness as well. To be honest, he hadn’t thought that far ahead, but if he loved, finally – and was loved in return… then to walk away from that would be foolish and ridiculous and the cruelest, most dishonorable decision he could possibly ever make. Even talking about it was making Faramir agitated again. “Shhh, meleth,” he said softly, using that word for the first time in all his years, and being grateful that it felt so right to say it to this man in his arms. “If my leaving would hurt you, I would not do it… besides the fact that the death I sought is no longer what I want. I want life – a life with you, if you will have me.”

Faramir looked at his lover for a long moment, his heart leaping in his chest as he heard the word ‘meleth’ in reference to him. “If I will have you? Gods, Haldir… of course I will have you,” he whispered earnestly. Leaning forward just a little, he brushed his lips against Haldir’s. “I think it would destroy me completely if you left.” It was true, Faramir had known for a long time that it would kill the man he was now if Haldir left, it is true he would live on but it would be with no joy… he would cease to be the man he was before and then he realized with sudden clarity what happened to his father. He had endured so much loss. First his wife, but then he had two sons… then he lost his most beloved, his eldest and then thought he’d lost his youngest as well. Gods, it was no wonder the man lost his grip on reality… everything he loved had been stripped away from him. Then… because he refused to accept that Faramir was alive… his city was being taken away from him too. That realization coupled with the physical pain was almost too much. “Take me away from this room? I cannot stand the smell of it anymore…”

Haldir stood up at once, wincing as the smell really registered. “Of course,” he murmured, keeping the pyre from Faramir’s sight and carrying him back through the tunnel so they wouldn’t meet anyone. “I think we have a lot to discuss, but most importantly, are you all right? I mean… I know this was unspeakable, what he did, but… Gods, I mean is anything broken? Do you need the healers? Or shall we go back to our room?”

Grateful when Haldir began to take him out of the room, Faramir found himself surprised by the tunnel he had never known of before. He decided to think about that later though. “I… I think I am all right… I… am sore,” he admitted. “But I do not think anything is broken… and… I do not feel as if I was burned… though my skin feels… tender in a few spots,” he realized that only when he shifted just a bit in Haldir’s arms. “Gods… I have to explain all of this… no doubt that people… saw him,” Faramir closed his eyes against the thought. “I still do not understand how this happened or why.” When they emerged from the tunnel back into the steward’s study, Faramir remembered part of what happened. “I think he truly believed I was not really myself… that I was trying to… to take Gondor from him.”

“I am so sorry I let him get near enough to you for him to do this,” Haldir said, toeing the door closed behind him and looking around the large, sparsely decorated room. “You are going to… I mean… would you possibly consider letting Gandalf explain everything to the council? I think it will be too much for you, and… right now, at this moment, I am jealous of Gondor. I want you all to myself. You have given so much to Gondor – can she not give back to you, just for a few hours?”

Faramir looked up at Haldir and smiled just a little. “Aye, Gandalf can explain… I am just so tired,” he said softly and then touched Haldir’s cheek gently. “And you my love… have the capacity to say such sweet things sometimes when you have no idea you do so,” Faramir said softly. It was true; there had been brief moments ever since meeting Haldir in Rohan that the often brusque and even rude Elf would say things that simply took Faramir’s breath away. The day he had said that his lips tasted like honey… he had practically melted at the Elf’s feet and again now his heart was filled with such tenderness toward Haldir he would never be able to quite explain it.

Haldir smiled and he actually blushed a bit at the compliment. “I… I think your ears hear things I do not mean, because I am many things… but a sweet-talking Elf is not one of them.” He blustered a bit, then opened the door to the study and made his way toward their bedroom, hoping to avoid saying something that might take the smile from his lover’s face. “Which,” he added as they slipped inside their bedroom, thankful that no one had seen them and asked questions, “I should ask you… I am over 2000 years old, Faramir, and not likely to change. I will try to learn to be the Elf you deserve, but… if I cannot change everything will you… will you still love me?” He almost didn’t want to hear the answer to that question, actually, because he knew he wasn’t a lovable Elf by any stretch of the imagination. He was, in fact, quite irritating and pushy and cold and… totally and completely in love and willing to do whatever he could to be what Faramir wanted.

Faramir bit his lip when Haldir blustered about not being a sweet-talking Elf. He remained silent when his lover carried him to the bed and shook his head at the question. “I cannot believe you would even think that… I did not fall in love with an Elf I wished to change, I fell in love with the Elf that you are… that includes the arrogance and the brusque way you sometimes speak. No, Haldir, I do not wish to change you, nor do I wish for you to change. You are who you are and I love you for that… and I think because I can see past it sometimes is why I love you… because in here,” he said laying his hand over Haldir’s heart, “is a good heart… I’ve known that since the night we met.”

Now blushing furiously, Haldir began untying the laces to Faramir’s tunic and helped him undress. He was surprised that he wasn’t being asked to change, because he certainly didn’t see anything loveable about the way he was just then. He remembered seeing other Elves holding hands, stopping just to share a kiss on the streets for no reason at all, exchanging small gifts just because the sun was shining or the leaves were particularly beautiful that day. That was what Faramir deserved. But not, apparently, what he wanted. That very thought made Haldir smile. ??Maybe this love-thing is not so bad after all… ?? “I am not so sure about the good heart, but I am glad you think so, for it belongs completely to you,” he said softly as he let his fingers trail over his lover’s skin, checking
for injuries. “I am surprised it took me so long to realize that… and so sorry it took this happening to make me see what I had been feeling for months now.”

Seeing Haldir blush was surprising and Faramir, despite all that happened, found himself smiling. He leaned up as Haldir helped remove his tunic, the charred material thankfully had not burned through enough to be stuck to his skin and his skin only bore a few dark red marks but not serious burns. If Haldir had been just a few seconds later, Faramir’s fate might be completely different. Then when Haldir said that his heart belonged to Faramir, the man smiled thinking that yet again the Elf said something sweet without knowing it was… it wasn’t poetry or a contrived bit of romantic prose… it was what he felt and that meant more than all the poems in the world to Faramir. “No, love, do not be sorry… at least we… we both told each other how we feel… I wasn’t exactly being honest myself you know. I… I was afraid that if I told you how I felt… that you would certainly leave.”

Haldir set about unlacing and carefully removing Faramir’s boots, then his breeches, all the while checking for injuries or bruises as he spoke. “I am ashamed to say I most likely would have,” he said softly. “I would have panicked and left, and may very well have found my death before I came to terms with what some part of me has always known – that I fell in love with you long ago, back in Helm’s Deep.” Finally, his lover was undressed, and Haldir undressed as well, slipping beneath the covers to lie next to Faramir, still somewhat awkward about reaching out to hold him. “The part of me that has always known… I think, Faramir that we have somehow been bound together by an Elven bond. Earlier, when… when you were injured, I… I heard you calling out to me. I was in the archives at the time, so there was no way I could really have heard you.”

Faramir was surprised when Haldir spoke of an Elven bond, he had read of those before and practically gaped at his lover for a moment. “Elven bond? You… I wondered how it was that you found me… I did not even know of the secret passage from the study to the tower. Gods… if we had not formed a bond… I would have died today,” he said softly and closed his eyes against the pain of his father’s death. “Why did he do it? Gods, Haldir, he knew who I was at the end… when it was too late,” he whispered feeling his voice thicken again with repressed tears.

Haldir let his fingers trail over Faramir’s stomach and tried to piece together everything he knew. “I think he was being influenced by someone or something dark,” he said after a moment. “While I was in the archives, I found something odd. As I was looking at your father’s records, I noted he had taken to drawing in the margins. The drawings grew in number as the days and weeks passed by, and if I did not know better, I would say they resembled one of the old seeing-stones, or palantirs, though I do not see how he could ever have seen one. If, indeed, he had somehow acquired a palantir, it could well have been the key to his madness, especially if he used it to communicate with someone who wished to use him in some manner. Only seven were brought to middle-earth, and I have no idea who might have the others, but if one fell into the wrong hands…”

Faramir stared at his lover in disbelief. “A palantir? There… there once had been one here in Gondor, it was kept in the tower of Ecthelion, according to the histories that Gandalf taught me as a child. But… I thought it had been taken, had been locked away after Isildur’s death,” he said still puzzling over it and then sucked in a breath as the rest of the tale came back to him. “Oh Gods… the stewards were the protectors of the stone, they were to keep it hidden away until the true king returns. Father… did not believe that a true king would ever return and if they did he did not believe they deserved Gondor… because they had not served her as we had… as the stewards had. He would never accept, Aragorn’s rule,” Faramir’s voice trailed off as he clearly saw what would have happened. Gondor would not only be fighting a war with Mordor but it would be fighting a civil war as well. Those loyal to the house of stewards and those loyal to the blood of Isildur.

Nodding, Haldir took Faramir’s hand in his own and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I think we have determined why this happened then,” he said softly. “If you like, I will talk to Gandalf first thing in the morning and tell him what we have discovered. He will know how to dispose of the palantir. And no one has to know what happened today. Though I think your father wished for everyone in Gondor to see your death, I think his use of the secret passage way prevented anyone from seeing who was on the pyre. We can truthfully tell your people that he came to his senses, but his robes accidentally caught fire, and he fell to his death. That way his good name will be restored and Gondor can remember him for all the good things he did for her – not the bad.”

Faramir nodded and buried his face against Haldir’s neck. “Thank you,” he whispered softly. “I know he was not himself these last few years and especially these last weeks but even so, I did love my father and I would hate to see him remembered in a poor light,” he whispered against Haldir’s neck, grateful that he was willing to do this for him. “Gods… there is so much left to do, but I am just so tired.” Faramir snuggled closer to Haldir, holding him as close as he could. The pain in his shoulder seemed to be easing now and the soreness in his body was starting to slowly ebb away. He would have bruises and a few marks on him but would be fine. For now, he just wanted to be held.

Haldir’s arms tightened around his lover and his hands moved over his back and shoulders, soothing away the tension as best he could. For one, he snuggled back freely, entangling their legs and enjoying the feeling of having Faramir’s skin against him. “Rest, meleth,” he whispered, pressing a kiss against soft, dark hair. “I will help you, and we will do everything that needs to be done. In the meantime, I am going to lie here and watch over you while you sleep and heal.” He paused, tilted Faramir’s face up until their gazes met, and smiled. “And remember, in case I don’t say it often enough in the future, that I love you more than you could possibly imagine.”

The feeling of Haldir’s arms around him, his hands moving over his body, helped relax Faramir and he smiled when Haldir called him ‘meleth’ again. When he looked up into his lover’s eyes Faramir returned the smile, his heart tripping in his chest. “And I love you, Haldir… so very much,” he whispered in return. He rested his head back against Haldir’s shoulder, snuggling against his neck and breathed in the scent of his lover’s hair. Within moments it seemed he had fallen asleep, exhausted from the weeks of work trying to straighten everything out in the city and the events of the day. Despite the horrible loss and pain, he had also gained something today as well. He had learned that Haldir loved him and no matter what came his way, Faramir was sure he could weather it with Haldir at his side.

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