Faramir Fiction Archive

Bird Watching (NC-17)

Written by Foofy

02 February 2005 | 9572 words

Pairing: Haldir/Faramir (Boromir/OCM)
Summary: After running into a young Faramir in the woods, Haldir decides that the boy’s training requires elf assistance. As Faramir grows to be a man, the Gondorian sees his tutor in an entirely different light.

Cookie Challenge: X tried to convince Y to go with him. Y is either a lot older or a lot younger. Has to include broken arm, apples and soap.

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It had all started when Faramir was eight. Despite his best efforts, his father had decided that a boy of Faramir’s talents – talents said with a particularly dismissive look in his eye – was much more suited to that of a ranger, of one who ambushes the weaker areas of an enemy whilst not relying as heavily on the physical power required to be an infantry soldier. No, a ranger could get away quite happily with just archery and their wits, or at least the cunning that was normally mistaken for intelligence. And they had the added bonus of being hidden away from sight.

Boromir, of course, was destined to be a soldier. He already had the armour, carefully crafted to fit the noble elder son of the Steward of Gondor. He hated it and spent most of his time using excuses to get out of wearing it, but still he had it and that was the main thing. The current and quite good excuse was the fact that he had managed to break his left arm and therefore training was completely put to one side whilst he healed.

However, Boromir’s injury had not managed to save Faramir from his daily training ritual, much to their joint disappointment. The current games would have to be put on hold until Faramir was told he could come home again, no doubt with plenty of new bruises and leaves stuck in his hair as he normally did. Iraldir, the current ranger who had been teaching him the skills of a tracker, was far too happy to ambush his young charge in order to prove his point on concealment, and Faramir had ended up sulkier than ever before after being twice pushed into the largest mud puddle the ranger could find.

Other than the occasional mud baths, the forest was a nice place to be. The sunlight was dabbled on the forest floor through the branches of the trees, the wind was low and simply rustled the bushes and trees in a decorative way, the sound of the leaves almost hypnotic. More than once Faramir had come across a few deer grazing in the woodland. The does looked up at him with their brilliant black eyes, twitched their tails and were off, bounding into the depths of the woodland. A fox yapped an alarm at the human intruder, before disappearing into its earth with a flick of its red tail.

Faramir continued on into the forest, his mind only partly on the job in hand. He was supposed to be tracking Iraldir, but he had already come to the conclusion that if he failed to do this the ranger would simply collect him when it was time to make their way back to the walls of Minas Tirith. This forest, far from the borders, was still considered reasonably safe. The Haradrim did not bother such a lonely place, and merchants did not pass by, thereby reducing the problems of bandits in the area.

It was just as well. The game that he had been playing with Boromir was certainly entertaining, but needed a lot of his concentration. They were almost war games, although it was a certain type of general who would have grapes as his infantry and polished stones as his cavalry. The enemy infantry were, understandably, much more pleasurable to capture and devour. Boromir still held the nearby fort, but his numbers were few and far between, his backup still trying to hold the river position as well. Faramir knew his brother would fall eventually. But how?

His mind full of plots and plans and diplomatic strategies, Faramir failed to see the root that poked out from the forest floor. The root, however, did not fail to ignore him.

Balance thrown, foot hurting, body falling heavily on the floor, Faramir was only really aware of the large crack that occurred as he hit the floor, a crack almost as foreboding as the one that had accompanied Boromir’s fall from the tree. However, where Boromir had shrieked in pain, there was nothing but a dull throbbing in parts of his body, his head a whirl. Nothing in him screamed agony or the red hot burning that Boromir had claimed. Nothing in him suggested that it was he who was broken, in fact.

Faramir slowly shifted himself off the ground onto his knees and looked aghast at the damage he had actually caused. He was fine. Bruised, but fine. His bow, however, was a different matter.

“Oh no,” he whispered to himself, collecting the two parts that the bow now formed. The wood was splintered and damaged, its shape more bent than the design was happy with. His father was going to kill him. No, he would be lucky if that happened. His father was going to flay him alive. Slowly.

Faramir turned the bow in his hands desperately, as though the damage was all but an illusion to torment him. Reality failed to change. He threw the pieces of the bow down in frustration, a feeling of anger welling up in him. How could he be so careless?! Now all he had was his knife, and this did not make him feel any better in the slightest.

“For fuck’s sake!!” he exploded into the stillness of the air, using the forbidden words with almost a type of relish, allowing his fears and frustrations to find some type of exit. A soldier had accidentally used the word when Boromir had been in earshot, and it had been carefully discussed under cover of darkness between the two brothers. Neither entirely knew what this fuck was, or possibly who it was, but it was certainly a bad thing by the look of those they had carefully asked. It was not for boys, apparently.

On the plus side, it appeared to attract attention.

“Boy. Are you hurt?”

Faramir’s head whipped round in fear. That had not been Iraldir. That voice had all but come from the air itself. His eyes scanned the forests nervously, not bothering to move. The speaker knew exactly where he was, after all. To run might be to crash straight into him.

The young Gondorian slowly shook his head, still unable to see from where this man spoke. Images of possibilities flashed through his mind. A farmer? No, they were too far from any agricultural lands. There were no rangers due to cover this area, no soldier units destined to crop up. Haradrim? Impossible. There had been no accent of the south, the voice soft and what his father would have labelled ‘cultured’.

“Who are you?” Faramir’s eyes continued to scan the surroundings desperately. There was the lightest of laughter.

“Surely, boy, you meant to ask where I was? You do not have to worry. I mean you no harm,”

Faramir slowly got to his feet, one half of the short bow still held uselessly in one hand. He looked around himself, not caring that there had been a promise that no harm would come to him. The enemy could say many things, have many tricks. Be alert, be cautious, and trust only yourself and your men.

“Then where are you?” he asked. His other hand drifted to the hilt of his little hunter’s knife as though of its own accord.

“You do not need that,”

Faramir froze, one finger touching the brief security of the knife hilt. He took an involuntary step backwards, focusing on the area of the wood that the words seemed to originate from.

“How do I know that?” he began to ask, when suddenly he saw something behind him out of the corner of his eye. He turned on his heel as fast as he could, his blue eyes widening in shock and fear at the figure who stood no more than a metre behind him. Faramir tried to back away, stumbled over further roots of the same tree, and fell to the earth heavily, his gaze still on the figure as though some how hypnotised. The impact of the ground on his backside and back was completely ignored.

The figure looked down at him impassively. His arms were folded. His outfit was almost that of a ranger, except the material was lighter in some way, glimmers of colours other than green suggestive in the cloth. A fine wooden bow was on his back, a delicate but still vicious slim knife at his side. His eyes were the darkest of blues, his hair the colour of sunlit sand on a beach. But these were not the things that Faramir was focusing on.

The figure’s ears were pointed.

“An elf?” Faramir breathed to himself. He had read about elves in the books in the library, but had thought them all either dead or hidden away from man’s gaze. The boy struggled to remember the details of them, but all he could remember was the fact that these beings lived forever, if left alone. Their magic was both feared and envied. His father would do his nut at this development.

The elf nodded as though the question had been said with authority. “I am from Lothlórien, although I see that name does not mean anything to you. As you have not answered my previous question, can I assume that you are indeed unhurt, child?”

Faramir’s eyes were fixed to him in wonder. The question again was brushed to one side. The elf sighed lightly, and held his hand out to the Gondorian child. After a moment, Faramir accepted it and felt the strength as the elf carelessly pulled him to his feet without effort.

“You appear to have leaves all over you,” remarked the elf after a while. “What is your name, child?”

Faramir started to brush himself off hurriedly. “Faramir,”

The elf simply looked at him as though expecting a little more. Faramir forced his mind back to the more mundane aspects of discussions and manners.

“Faramir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor,” he amended hastily. “I welcome you to Gondor, my lord,”

The elf seemed amused. “I am no more your lord than you are mine, child,” he said idly. “I accept your greetings, Faramir of Gondor. I am Haldir, Warden of Lothlórien and servant of the Lady of Light. Let me see your bow,”

Wordlessly, Faramir handed the remains of the bow to the elf, who studied it thoughtfully.

“I am impressed, young one. You could not have destroyed this bow more successfully had you tried,” Haldir swiftly concluded his assessment and took in the disappointed expression on the young Gondorian’s face. “Can I assume this will be a problem for you?”

“My father will not be happy,” Faramir had gone slightly pale at the thought.

“Fathers are not there to be happy,” Haldir shrugged.

“He is with my brother. I’m so stupid!” Faramir kicked a stone, which bounced off a tree trunk. “I can even get defeated without an enemy in sight!” His hands were clenched into fists, his eyes undecided to either flash with anger or melt with sorrow. Haldir watched him briefly.

“I can offer to pretend to be an enemy, although I believe that this unlikely to solve your problem. Come with me,” the elf turned to walk towards the forest, pausing at the edge of the path as he realised he was alone. He looked back in honest surprise. “You are not coming?”

Faramir looked awkward. “I don’t think I’m supposed to,” he mumbled.

“Your father again?”

“Everyone,” Faramir refused to look the elf in the eye, looking down at his boots. “I’m useless,”

“Nonsense. At the very least you can ruin a good bow in less time than it takes to string it,” Haldir held his hand out to the boy. “Come with me and I will see if I can make you a new one. I promise not to eat you,”

Faramir looked up from his inspection of his boots. “A new one?” he echoed, disbelieving.

“A new one,” confirmed Haldir. “And one that actually takes into account your size and age. The bow must work for you, not the other way round.”

The young Gondorian took a few hesitant steps towards the elf, his eyes scanning Haldir’s as though trying to work out the truth behind the offer. Haldir was obviously amused.

“Does no one do anything for you just because it’s a nice thing to do?” the elf asked idly. Faramir shrugged his shoulders.

“My brother does. I think everyone else does things for me because my father scares them,” his voice had managed to get back down to mouse levels. Haldir raised an eyebrow.

“Your father is a scary man, I assume?”

“He scares me,” admitted Faramir, his eyes back on his boots. “He shouts,”

Haldir watched him for a moment more, then smiled as Faramir’s hand found his own. Faramir’s look of caution had not entirely vanished, but at least there was a little more warmth. Haldir turned to lead them into the wood.

“Let us not find more things for him to shout about then,” Haldir replied. “And you can tell me exactly why you are here in the first place as well,”

His hand grasped in the elf’s hand, Faramir followed him in almost a daze. It would prove to be one of the most informative and entertaining afternoons of his life.

The bow, of course, had been made. It still hung on Faramir’s wall when he had grown too large to use it, the elven weapon being replaced by a sturdy Gondorian bow, which swiftly moved to one of the longbows that put fear in any who were on the wrong side of one.

Faramir had refused to tell anyone where the little wooden bow had come from. Iraldir was more than a little baffled at its production, but decided to keep it out of the report to the boy’s father. Faramir had returned with a bow, and that was the main thing. The ranger did not want to cause more problems for the young lad than he already had with his father.

Boromir had sulked and wheedled and pleaded and shouted and still was no closer in finding out either how Faramir had made the bow or where he had got it from. The bow, despite its humble beginnings, was a fine piece and the wood grain seemed to glow from the inside. Its flexibility was impressive. Faramir had still been using the same bow throughout the time that Boromir had got through at least four.

Equally, much as he hated to keep secrets from his brother, Faramir revelled in the fact that for once his brother did not have the upper hand. Haldir had returned to Gondor every year on his trips for the White Lady, and they met each year on the same day to exchange pleasantries and tales of what occurred in the cities. Occasionally Haldir’s trips lasted several days, the elf presumably staying in the forest once night fell. Haldir’s tales spoke of light and magic and singing, his light voice musical in the still air of the forest. He spoke of his brothers and their antics and the time when Orophin managed to catch a dwarf at the edge of the woods of Lórien, or when Rùmil’s pet squirrels stole the last of the lembas bread one time and had to sleep it off, five fat little bundles of fur in his bed.

Faramir spoke of Minas Tirith, his training and the soldiers who paraded so proudly outside his window. He spoke warmly of his brave elder brother, Boromir, who had reached the age where he could accompany the scouting unit to the wilds, of Boromir’s first kill and how he had had to soothe the upset soldier when the cheering had died down and Boromir had had to face the first night with the vision of the man’s dying face in his mind.

He was reluctant to speak of his father, but Haldir insisted, his questions always turning around to this aspect. Faramir had managed to avoid the questions for the first few years, but once they had become more comfortable with each other he found it more and more awkward.

“But why do you not speak of him? I wish to hear everything in your life!” the elf was as exasperated as he.

Faramir had shrugged, but this was not enough to get him off the hook. Haldir shook his head and simply asked about his training, discovering soon enough that these two were interlinked.

“Faramir,” the elf had said after hearing about how the training was not progressing to the speed that Denethor wished. “if you wish for training in your archery, allow me to assist you,”

Faramir had stared at him, not understanding. Haldir smiled.

“You will find there is no one who fires a bow better than an elf, young one,” he said softly. “And I mean to teach you why,”

Many years passed in this fashion. They met. They talked. They trained. Faramir’s aim improved, his confidence increasing. This year promised to be no different.

Apart, of course, from a little interference from his brother.

It was the last night of Boromir’s stay in the city before he was due to leave on a mission to Rohan. The mission itself was nothing spectacular; the now twenty one year old had simply been given a parchment to deliver to King Théoden in order to keep some of the traditions alive. Not that Denethor particularly cared what happened with the horse lords, as long as the young colts and fillies were delivered as promised. Rohan’s horses were the best in the kingdom, and the few young animals they were able to purchase were always kept for breeding purposes.

It was on one of these fine animals that Boromir would travelling tomorrow. He had been given a fine young black stallion who seemed as temperamental as his owner. Few stable boys wished to spend too much time with the animal, who seemed to be well aware of who it could bite and kick, being as good as gold whenever Boromir or Faramir approached.

On this basis, Faramir decided he would prepare the animal for Boromir. The stable boys had been busy with other horses, and it wasn’t fair that they kept having to deal with Boromir’s nightmare of a beast rather than the more placid Gondorian horses. Faramir’s own mare, she herself of Rohan stock, was smart but patient. Not for her was the viciousness of sinking teeth into an unwary buttock. She had better things to do with her time, mostly to do with oats and locks.

Faramir picked up a brush on the way to the stables, the rug over his shoulder. He still ached in the leg from where Boromir had accidentally hit him whilst they were sparring, the twenty one year old still having much more strength than his eighteen year old brother. This was unlikely to change. On the plus side, Haldir’s training had improved Faramir’s hand eye coordination tremendously in sparring. Faramir’s archery was already well known throughout the lands.

There was a rustling from the stable as Faramir approached. The young man frowned, pausing. It hadn’t sounded like the impatient thud of a hoof, or the noise of an animal turning. He began to walk forward steadily, using his stealth to keep quiet. He all but froze at the sound of a chuckle from the stall, and ducked nearby, unable to believe his eyes.

Boromir was naked, lying on top of what appeared to be a horse blanket, his shining eyes looking up at the young man who was riding him. The young man, one of the soldiers that Faramir had seen laughing and drinking with Boromir earlier in the tavern, had thrown his head back as he continued to thrust himself onto Boromir’s hard length, his light pants and gasps reaching Faramir’s horrified ears.

So this was the special meeting that Boromir had planned? Was this what all the soldiers did in their spare time?

“By the Valar, Boromir, you seem to get larger every time I see you!” gasped the young man. There was another chuckle from Boromir, who adjusted his position and thrust harder into the willing young man.

“I try my best, Territh,” he replied with such a familiar grin on his face that Faramir’s heart thudded in his chest. Territh gasped again, louder, as Boromir’s hand seized hold of his erection, stroking it in time with his own thrusts.

Faramir couldn’t drag his eyes away. He had heard of this type of thing happening, but had always dismissed it as an old soldier’s tale, full of exaggeration and someone’s over active imagination. Either way, it wasn’t the done thing. It couldn’t be the done thing. Certainly not for a man of their positions, surely?

Boromir, however, seemed completely happy with his current position. His eyes had drifted shut, his breath hard and fast and irregular. Faramir could see the sweat gleam on their skins under the flickering light of the torch in the stable, the way that hair had been plastered to their foreheads. They were beautiful. It was beautiful. And yet it was still so horribly, horribly wrong.

Realising he couldn’t sit here and wait for it to end, Faramir backed away. However, his foot hit one of the buckets left by the last stable hand, knocking the grooming brush onto the floor with a clatter. Faramir froze in place, his eyes wide and scared towards the stall where his brother was.

“What was that?” Boromir sounded far too alert for a man nearing his climax, but then that was what he was trained for.

“A horse. It’s nothing,” obviously by the strain in the young man’s voice, Territh wasn’t so bothered about noises.

“That wasn’t a horse,”

Faramir cursed his brother’s efficiency and shrank a little further back against his wall. There was no way he was going to get out of here without Boromir seeing him, no way at all. Should he wait to be discovered, like some grubby thief in the night, or should he just come out and say he was there? Faramir deliberated to himself even as the disappointed noise of Territh briefly filled the stable.

“Boromir-” the name was pleaded.

“I want to check,” Boromir’s voice was full of warning, but obviously against anyone who dared be nearby when the Son of Gondor was busy with his pleasure. There was a heavy sigh at this, but no further noises. Faramir shut his eyes briefly, feeling his heart pound in his chest. When he finally opened them he could see Boromir standing naked, looking thoughtfully towards the closed door that had drifted shut since Faramir had entered. His brother’s nakedness simply increased Faramir’s agitation. He had seen him naked before, seemingly hundreds of times. This, however, was the first time that he had seen him in a state of arousal, his whole body a display of firm muscle and flesh.

Boromir muttered something to himself, then turned to go back. He stopped suddenly. Their eyes met.

“Faramir?” it was a soft question, one full of horror.

Faramir wasn’t entirely sure who was more aghast. Boromir was staring at him with a look that spoke volumes on how he really wished he was wrong, that Faramir was simply a figment of his imagination. Boromir took a step towards him, remembered what position he was in, and swiftly obtained a blanket from one of the hooks, wrapping it around his waist.

Faramir gave a short, sad laugh.

“When did we ever hide ourselves from each other, brother?” he asked wearily. Boromir’s eyes flickered back to the stall he had been using, then forward again.

“Faramir, how much did you see?” it was clear that he was hoping to keep his voice level. Faramir shrugged.

“Enough,”

“Boromir?” That was Territh. Boromir glanced towards him and shook his head. Territh took a few more steps out of the stall and glanced towards where Faramir was sitting. Faramir saw brown eyes widen in shock and horror, no doubt imagining the problems should Faramir decide to tell Denethor. The Steward’s wrath would be unmistakable.

“It’s okay, Territh. I’ll see you later, okay?” Boromir spoke but his eyes didn’t leave Faramir’s. Territh looked at him doubtfully, then sighed.

“Fine.” The young man disappeared again, and there was the scuffling noises of clothes being put on. Throughout this, the brother stared at each other. Finally, as the door shut quietly again, Faramir found the effort to speech.

“How long has this been going on, Boromir?” he could hear the sadness in his voice. Boromir studied the floor briefly, either in embarrassment or thought, before bringing them up again slowly.

“A couple of years,”

“Years?” echoed Faramir. “Just with that man?”

Boromir hesitated. It was only too clear that Territh wasn’t the first. The embarrassment in his brother’s face was almost too difficult for Faramir to bear.

“I –” Faramir found he didn’t know what to say. He broke off and looked at the floor of the stable, a few loose strays of straw littering it. Boromir moved to crouch beside him, his hand on Faramir’s arm, his eyes anxious.

“I didn’t mean for you to find out like this,”

“Didn’t you? When were you going to tell me?” Faramir met his eyes steadily. Again, it was Boromir who dropped his gaze first.

“When you were older. I didn’t think you’d understand,”

“I don’t,” sighed Faramir. “By the Valar, I don’t, Boromir. How can you sleep with him? Isn’t it wrong?” His eyes were fixed on Boromir, pleading with him to give him something, some way to understand. Boromir played with a piece of straw in his hand, before looking up. Even then he couldn’t quite meet his brother’s gaze.

“I was lonely,” Boromir said finally, and it was just louder than a whisper. “And when you’ve been with these men for so long, you trust them with anything. You know them better than you do yourself, and it’s difficult Faramir, when you’ve gone through what feels like hell and back and you’re hurting and tired and just want some comfort, something which isn’t the blood and guts in front of you. And then one time goes into twice. And then again. And then suddenly the idea of doing without it is more terrifying than the enemies you go out there to defeat,”

Faramir stared at him, not quite being able to put this description with the happy carefree scene he had just witnessed. However, Boromir was not a poet. He was not good with words, certainly not emotional scenes. These words had to have come from somewhere.

“I thought you liked the army,” Faramir said doubtfully.

“I do,” Boromir shrugged. “But a month ago we ran into a little group of Haradrim who were attacking one of the outer villages. They didn’t surrender. They never do. There was one boy younger than you screaming full bloody murder, charging at me. I had to defend myself, didn’t I? It was me or him.” There was a brief silence. “ It turned out to be him,”

“Good,” Faramir said finally. “Boromir, you don’t have to sleep with these men-”

“I do. Faramir, please, I enjoy it. Sure, first of all it didn’t seem right. You know what father’s views were on the subject,” Boromir tried a grin, but Faramir couldn’t find the smile in himself to be able to return it. “And then, well, Father’s opinions just seemed really unimportant. We’re not hurting anyone, Faramir. I hope not you, I really do,” Boromir almost looked to be on the point of tears, a sudden step from the happy young man Faramir knew him to be. Faramir felt his own eyes moisten in sympathy.

“Okay,” Faramir said finally.

Boromir looked at him. “Okay?” he repeated, a glimmer of hope in his voice. Faramir nodded.

“I can’t say I understand it, Boromir, but I understand it’s important to you and therefore that’s the only thing that matters,” Faramir looked at him. “Give me time. I’m sure I’ll understand it then,”

Boromir pulled him into a hard embrace. Faramir could feel him shivering underneath him, but whether that was through nerves or cold he couldn’t say. He could hear Boromir murmuring that he loved him in his ear, and that was the main thing. Faramir could feel the relief working its way through his body.

“Go on, you,” Faramir finally pulled away, a smile on his face. “Go get dressed before someone else catches us. I’m really sure brothers aren’t supposed to be sleeping together,”

Boromir flashed a grin at him, nodded, and disappeared to pull on his clothes. Faramir’s smile froze a little bit as his brother left, an uncomfortable look in his eyes. If it was what his brother wanted, this was what would happen. He would understand what his brother was going through.

He would make sure of it.

Haldir’s visit was almost a month later. In this time Faramir had worked out exactly what he wanted, but not exactly what he should do. It was almost a shock to admit to himself that if anyone, it would be the strong beautiful elf who attracted Faramir the most, but he was under no delusions. Why would an elf wish to lie with a man like him? As men went, Faramir was sure he wasn’t too bad looking, his father being a good indication of this. If he hadn’t, it would have been another thing to be sneered at. But even the most handsome of men did not come close to the beauty of the elves.

Faramir had panicked over the decision for many, many nights. What if the elves didn’t do this sort of thing? What if he disgusted or insulted Haldir? The elf would never visit again, that was for certain. Should he confess the reasons for his decision? Should he keep them to his chest? Should he offer him a present, as though the elf was a fair maiden that he wished to woo?

The fine detail of the plot was still to be decided when Faramir was stood in the now familiar glade, trying not to twist his hands together as he sat on the nearby log, waiting, trying to keep the dread from his face. It was always him waiting for the elf. Perhaps Haldir was trying to tell him something, to dissuade him before he had even considered it. After all, it couldn’t be too rare for such beautiful creatures to be propositioned. Perhaps this had even-

“By the Valar, Faramir, what is the matter?” Haldir had arrived, and looked almost as stunned as Faramir himself. The elf walked forward, his eyes firmly fixed on the young man in front of him as though expecting him to keel over. “Are you ill?”

Now that he was faced with him, Faramir found he couldn’t speak. He shook his head numbly. Haldir, unremarkably, was unconvinced.

“Is it to do with your father?” Haldir had always let his opinion on Denethor be known to Faramir. Although Faramir had once found it a shock that someone could possibly criticise his father, he also felt it a relief that someone else found his father’s behaviour unsuitable, and even possibly unreasonable. Faramir shook his head again.

Haldir frowned at him.

“Well, speak, child! What is it?” A thought occurred to him. “Nothing has happened to your brother, has it?” the elf’s voice was gentle.

Faramir thought of his brother. His noble, strong brother. And his strong and willing lover.

“Faramir, you are beginning to scare me, and I dislike that feeling immensely. Now, I will say it again and I want an answer. What. Is. Wrong?” Haldir’s eyes scanned his own. Faramir finally found his voice.

“Do you fancy an apple?” he asked in a small voice.

Obviously whatever the elf had been expecting, it had not been that. A look of complete bafflement crossed the face of Haldir, his eyes moving to the basket that Faramir had brought with him.

“An apple?” he echoed, as though the elven realms had no need for such fruits.

“I have some wine as well. And some bread.” Faramir found some ease in simply speaking of the meal he had brought. The wine was the most important factor, but he didn’t think he could have brought it without some other food to explain the reason why he would require alcohol this time in the day. “I even have cheese but I’m afraid it’s just one of the hard types made in Rohan-”

Faramir stopped as Haldir held up a hand, obviously indicating for Faramir to shush. The look of bafflement had not completely vanished from the elf’s face, Haldir staring at the basket as though it contained something far more sinister than a simple picnic meal.

Oh, by the Valar, thought Faramir desperately. He knows. He must do.

However, Faramir was not betrayed by the bread, nor the wine, nor even the apples. It was clear that his tone had given most of it away already.

“Faramir, we have known each other some time now,” Haldir folded his arms. “What exactly are you planning? And don’t,” he added as Faramir opened his mouth to comment. “give me useless information about cheese, or attempt to claim that a meal could make you this agitated. The truth, please.”

Faramir looked at his hands which were clasped tightly together on his lap. It was a very childlike pose, he realised suddenly, and moved himself immediately. Haldir watched him carefully.

“Well?”

“I-” Faramir broke off again miserably. No, he couldn’t do this. He was foolish to even try. Haldir frowned slightly at the look of defeat that crossed Faramir’s expression.

“Come now, little one,” his voice was softer. “Whatever it is, I can help you,”

Faramir shook his head. No one could help him. He was pitiful and pathetic. He didn’t deserve to lie with anyone, let alone an elf.

Haldir looked at him a moment longer, then simply pulled him up from his sitting position and into a hug. Faramir was aware of strong warm arms encircling him, a heartbeat against his own, the softest breath against his ear and was suddenly struck by such a feeling of longing that it was almost painful. His groin began to throb gently in response. He could feel his breathing quicken, his muscles begin to tremble.

By the Valar, no! He shouldn’t-

Faramir pushed himself backwards violently, seeing the startled look on the elf’s face just before the back of his legs hit the log he had been sitting on, destroying his balance and causing the young Gondorian to fall over backwards, sliding off the log and into a most inconvenient muddy area. There was a squelch, then silence.

Haldir took a step towards him and peered over the log. His expression was neutral.

“You look as though you could do with a bath,” he commented. “But then again, so many Men do,”

Faramir struggled to a sitting position, groaning as the hand he had placed on the floor to steady himself sunk briefly into the mud, the cool wet earth oozing between his fingers. He could feel the dampness seep through the material in his breeches, and this seemed to be from his waist to his knees. He rolled slightly and managed to stumble out to firmer ground, cursing.

Haldir, unsurprisingly, had a small smile on his face by the time Faramir turned back to look at him, which was wiped clean immediately. However, the smile lived on in those dark blue eyes.

“Would you like to borrow some soap?” he asked.

“No, I think I can…,” Faramir trailed off as the thought hit him. “Soap? Who carries soap around with them?”

“Me,” replied Haldir calmly. “However, I do not have a change of clothing with me. You may have to quickly wash those breeches of yours and wait for them to dry out. Unless you wish to walk into Minas Tirith with dark brown stains on those wonderfully pale breeches of yours,”

Faramir growled to himself. He had chosen these breeches because Boromir had always told him that they looked good on him, the lightness of the green-grey going well with his favourite jacket. However, obviously Boromir was going to get himself shot by his innocent suggestions.

“I don’t know where-” he began but he was yet again interrupted.

“Don’t know where? How long have you been coming to these woods, Faramir?” the elf’s voice was disciplinary. “Follow me. There’s a lake not too far away, which is fed by a fast running stream. You should be able to get the majority of the mud out of those clothes,”

Without waiting for an answer, the elf turned and began to walk towards the correct location, Faramir stumbling along behind him. He had managed to pick up the basket beforehand, and thanked the Valar for doing so. Once at the lake, it gave the elf something to look at other than his half naked form.

The lake wasn’t so much a lake as it was a series of large ponds. Seeing the elf’s expectant gaze on him, Faramir grudgingly struggled out of the clothing, knelt by the edge of the stream and began to wash the mud out of the breeches, safe in the knowledge that his tunic hung low enough to cover himself. He was aware of Haldir’s look on him as he did so, and scrubbed harder. The water was ice cold, but even so it still did not take his attention away as Haldir rested a hand on the small of his back.

“Faramir,” the elf’s voice was gentle. “Did you want to talk to me about anything?”

The breeches paused in the wash. Faramir struggled to get his mind working.

“No, it’s okay. Did you want some wine?” he offered as a victim to the slaughter. However, Haldir’s hand did not move.

“I don’t believe you, Faramir,”

“I promise you there is wine in there,” Faramir desperately didn’t want the other conversation to start. There was a heavy sigh from Haldir.

“I do not doubt that you brought wine, child. I doubt the fact that you have nothing to say. Nothing to comment.” The elf’s voice dropped a little further. “Nothing to confess,”

Faramir couldn’t stop a whimper from escaping his throat. He struggled to find the control to his voice.

“I’m not a child anymore,” he managed. There was a soft chuckle behind him.

“So I gather. Although you will always seem young to me,” the elf moved away slightly, the hand finally moving from Faramir’s back. After three beats of the heart, Faramir finally glanced over his shoulder at him, the breeches all but forgotten.

“Boromir has a lover,” he said finally. It hadn’t meant to come out. But even so the words were there. Faramir flushed and went back to the washing. Rub – rub – rub.

There was a pause from Haldir, who had sat down on the grass in the meantime. Faramir could almost feel the weight of those eyes on him, eyes belonging to someone who had been in this world far too long not to know that embarrassment was but a foot away. Faramir put his back into washing the clothes a little harder.

“And do you like her?” came the soft question. And it was at this point that Faramir frozen entirely, his hands stilling in the water, ice cold liquid running over them. He needed to move. He needed to speak. For the Valar’s sake, speak!

“It’s not a her,” he said finally. “It’s one of the soldiers,”

He almost jumped as Haldir’s hand was on his arm, pulling his hands and the sodden breeches out from the stream. Faramir watched him numbly as Haldir took hold of the trousers and lay them out to dry, his attention seemingly all for the washing.

“And you don’t agree with his choice?” the elf asked lightly over his shoulder.

“Do you?” Faramir looked at him nervously. Haldir paused and glanced across at the young Gondorian. Faramir was desperate to hear the agreement or the denial. Something, anyway.

“I quite fancy one of those apples now,” came the actual response. Faramir could have wept.

“Haldir, please!” desperate eyes turned to the elf. Haldir shook his head.

“Why is it important what I think? He’s your brother. Come to your own conclusions, but do it on the evidence in front of you, not on someone else’s opinion.” The elf sighed. “Ask yourself whether you would be this concerned should the partner in question be a female rather than a male,”

Faramir hesitated. It probably wouldn’t have made a huge amount of difference. At least with the soldiers he had no fear of an unplanned pregnancy in the background, and their father was reliable enough to hit the roof if he found out about either. Haldir nodded in satisfaction and turned back to the trousers.

“Good,” he said, as though Faramir had said something. There was a pause. “There’s something else, isn’t there,” It was not a question.

Faramir looked down at the ground as though it offered some means of escape. He was aware of the elf moving towards him, crouching almost in front of him in a similar way that Boromir had in the stables. Wide blue eyes looked at him nervously. Faramir couldn’t stop trembling as Haldir gently touched his shoulder with a look of concentration that suggested that the elf was doing more than simply trying to comfort him.

“Isn’t it wrong?” Faramir said softly. Haldir snorted his amusement, then gently leant forward, his lips touching Faramir’s briefly. Faramir’s heart began to hammer in his chest. He almost felt as though he was about to faint, but not as much as when Haldir moved away again, the space that had seemed small before suddenly as large as an ocean. Faramir stared at him in shock.

“Was that wrong?” asked Haldir softly, before moving to stand up. Before he realised what was happening, Faramir found he had shot his hand out apparently without his knowledge, grabbing hold of the elf’s arm as though it was a life line. The elf stopped, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Haldir,” Faramir’s voice was desperate, strangled. “Would you…?”

If he was hoping for an easy ride, the elf was obviously not in the mood. Haldir’s head lifted slightly.

“Would I…?” he echoed. Faramir cursed him inwardly and looked briefly away, then back again as Haldir attempted to move.

“Would you .. show me what it’s like?” Innocent eyes turned to the elf pleadingly. Haldir hesitated for a long period. Finally he sighed.

“No.”

“No?” Faramir had a sudden urge to flee. His eyes were wide and scared on the elf. Haldir growled softly to himself and sunk back down onto the grass, his hands seizing hold of one of Faramir’s and holding it gently but firmly, not allowing the young Gondorian to escape.

“No. Not to show you what it’s like. If you are supposed to discover this, you will discover it on your own timetable, with someone you truly care about,” Haldir’s voice was soft.

“I truly care about you!” protested Faramir, his voice almost breaking. “You must believe that!”

Haldir was silent for a moment. “Would you have thought of such a thing had your brother not taken a male lover?” he asked.

Faramir opened his mouth, then found nothing came out. He paused, searching for the words. “I thought men only slept with women. That was how it worked. For babies,”

He looked back at Haldir who was giving him a sad look.

“You haven’t been with a woman either, have you Faramir?” he asked. Faramir thought about lying, then realised the elf would know exactly when he did this. He sighed.

“Not as such. But I have the rest of my life to sleep with women! My father wishes to marry me off as soon as he has found a suitable match. Please, Haldir. I beg you,” Blue eyes searched Haldir’s desperately. “I want you,”

“You have no idea of what it is you ask for, child,” Haldir shook his head.

“Then teach me! For pity’s sake, Haldir, you have taught me everything else!” Faramir pleaded.

“Perhaps I want you to have a level education? To allow someone else’s views to influence your own,” Haldir’s voice was still soft although it bore all the signs of being impatient. “Faramir, you should not enter this lightly, regardless of how brief you might want it. It is not supposed to be as casual as a cup of tea. Or,” he added, his eyes flickering to the basket briefly. “a picnic lunch,”

“I’m not entering this lightly,” Faramir retorted, almost angrily. “I have thought about this for a long time. I want you. Please, what do I have to do to show this to you?”

Haldir looked at him for a long, long moment. Finally he smiled.

“How about you stop talking?” he suggested, leaning forward again. Faramir almost melted again at the feel of the elf’s lips on his own. He was only briefly aware that Haldir’s arm had escaped his clutches as the elf deepened the kiss, pulling the young Gondorian closer to him. And this was surprisingly easy. No internal mental scream to say that it felt wrong. No desire to pull away. Just a craving to pull the elf tighter to him, a faint longing that was growing stronger by each passing moment to press himself tighter to the elf in front of him.

Finally Haldir drew back, his eyes questioning on Faramir. Released of Haldir’s attention, Faramir almost lost his balance again. His breathing was fast and ragged. A faint smile played on Haldir’s lips as he surveyed the current mess of the younger son of the Steward of Gondor.

“Still want to play, little boy?” his voice was low. Faramir shivered like a dog left out in the rain and simply looked back at him, eyes wide and pleading. Haldir paused for a moment, then nodded his head.

“Take the rest of your clothes off, young one,” he requested in a manner that suggested this was no request at all. Faramir’s hands were eagerly pulling off his tunic, although they lingered at the point of completely removing it from his person. Faramir’s tunic had been long enough to be considered a short dress, covering him from Haldir’s gaze. As soon as the cooler air hit Faramir’s chest, the feelings of being extremely exposed and vulnerable were overwhelming.

“Are you still muddy, Faramir?” Haldir asked almost casually, his eyes running over Faramir’s chest thoughtfully. Faramir shook his head automatically, not knowing and not really caring. The elf sighed and began to carefully and agonisingly slowly remove his clothing. The tunic was lain neatly folded. If Haldir noticed that Faramir was staring at him with his mouth slightly open, he did not show it. His hands merely continued work on the drawstring of the leggings he wore.

And it was done. Faramir knew he shouldn’t be staring quite so hard at the elf in front of him, but by the Valar, it was hard not to. Where Boromir had been a figure of golden muscle and power, Haldir was one of sheer beauty. His form was lean, not through endless exercise like Boromir, but naturally so. His skin was pure and unblemished, almost luminescence in the sunlight. Faramir had to swallow before he could speak properly.

“I….,” Faramir broke off as Haldir approached him again, his fear fighting against his trust. How would this go? Like Boromir and his lover? But the sheer size of the elf! He would be cut in two, Faramir could almost feel it.

“Calm down, little one. We have all day, unless you have failed to inform me of any pressing matters that require your attention,” Haldir spoke gently, aware of the distress within him. “Lie on your back,”

Faramir obeyed orders without question. Haldir moved to lie down beside him, his hand resting on the smooth flat surface of Faramir’s stomach. The young Gondorian knew the elf would be able to feel his trembling, the embarrassment causing a flush to his face. Some hardened fighter he was. Unable to even stay still when a lover touched him-

“Faramir, I know it is hard but you must try to relax,” Haldir’s hand started to stroke his skin gently. Faramir was shocked to notice how nice the movement actually was, as though long forgotten nerves had been played. He moaned slightly as Haldir’s hand moved slightly downwards, exploring, the solidness of the elf’s body against his, the elf’s length pressed against his thigh as proof of the desire that was running through him. And yet Haldir was calm personified, his gaze on Faramir constantly, checking that no line was being crossed, that the moans that were coming from the young man were those of pleasure rather than fear.

All too soon, Faramir felt a growing frustration in his own body, which indeed was a shock to his system. Haldir had refused the young Gondorian’s attempts to speed things up, and, apart from his hand which was smoothing the young man’s skin, the only other sensation he was providing was the feel of Haldir’s teeth gently on the sensitive skin of his neck. Faramir growled softly and tried to get Haldir’s hand on the more pressing concern of his body. This, needless to say, failed miserably.

“Patience,” murmured Haldir in his ear. Faramir almost howled his frustration, his hips arching towards Haldir’s hand, silently begging for attention.

“Please,” whispered Faramir.

“Are you relaxed?” asked the elf idly. Faramir gave a shaky laugh.

“Do I look relaxed to you?” he replied. Haldir gave a snort of laughter.

“Not entirely. But I guess that would be up to you,” his hand drifted across Faramir’s erection. The young man arched his back at the contact, his mouth opening in a silent scream at the long awaited sensation. But it was fleeting; Faramir whimpered softly and tried to get Haldir to touch him again, but the elf resisted.

“Hush, Faramir. Just wait a moment,” the elf leant towards his clothes. There was a brief fumble.

Faramir jumped again as Haldir finally rolled back to position, his hand gently moving between Faramir’s legs.

“Spread your legs, Faramir,” he murmured in the young man’s ear. “ And raise your hips a little,”

Wordlessly, Faramir obeyed, uncertain what was going on. A yelp scared away several birds who had been roosting in the trees as a finger circled the young man’s opening, tickling, flickering, occasionally dipping as though to breach but always pulling out at the last moment.

“Fuck,” breathed Faramir, trying to calm himself. Haldir seemed to be in no hurry whatsoever. Faramir was aware that the elf’s eyes were resting on him calmly, judging the expression. The young Gondorian would have commented on this if it wasn’t for the fact that Haldir chose that exact moment to steadily slide a finger in to the second knuckle inside him. As it was, he had to be content with another yell.

“You’re doing well,” Haldir commented. “Still want to go ahead?”

And that was a silly question. His whole body screaming at him to find release, Faramir had to find the resistance to jump on the elf and force him to do whatever it was he was planning to do. No wonder Tirrith had pinned down Boromir. If his brother had delayed to this extent, Faramir would have punched him.

Another slippery finger added itself to Faramir’s innermost areas. How they had managed to get quite so slippery Faramir wasn’t entirely sure. He was entirely sure he didn’t care, either. He whimpered and moaned and moved on Haldir’s fingers, which had started to thrust gently within him, occasionally stopping and opening slightly, trying to spread him further. His muscles protested at this treatment, but his groin protested at the slow speed.

“Please,” he whimpered again. Another finger. Faramir moaned louder as Haldir increased his ministrations, then suddenly had to bite down a scream as the elf managed to find a bolt of pure pleasure within him. The young Gondorian was left panting and speechless, his whole body tingling, eyes fixed on Haldir in shock.

The elf seemed less surprised. However, after so many centuries of life, Faramir supposed that was only natural.

The young man tensed more as the elf moved into position, gently pushing Faramir’s legs further apart, bending them at the knee and pushing them towards his chest. Faramir wasn’t entirely sure how far Haldir imagined his legs could go, but he could already feel a slight stretch in his thigh muscles. However, thigh muscles were entirely forgotten as Faramir felt the elf line himself up, pressing against the young man’s entrance but not yet penetrating.

“Last chance,” he murmured. Faramir laughed, and tried to push down on him, unsuccessfully as it turned out. Not that this was particularly problematic. At Faramir’s squirmings, Haldir slowly started to push into him, breaching the tight ring of muscle and causing a whimper to escape Faramir’s throat.

Yep. Definitely splitting. Faramir tried to relax a little more, helping what the oil had started, but by the Valar it was an odd sensation. There was pleasure, certainly, but more than a little pain and it kept coming steadily. Faramir took a deeper breath of air and tried to accommodate him, but he had a horrible feeling he was just too small, too tight, too useless.

He was jolted back into sensation as Haldir began to stroke his arousal, his own not yet fully sheathed inside him. Faramir was aware that dark blue eyes were watching him carefully. Suddenly with something else to focus on other than his rear, the young Gondorian managed to slowly relax again, the pain lessening as he did so. Haldir slid in further, slowly, his hand still working Faramir who was moaning and purring like a kitten in front of a warm fire. Finally the elf was fully sheathed inside him.

The first few thrusts were almost as cautious. Haldir had taken his time to allow the young man to properly adjust to the invasion, but even his patience was not limitless. Faramir groaned as Haldir moved inside him, his hands almost scrabbling on the floor beside him for something to grip on to. Haldir’s hand continued to caress him, rubbing his thumb over the top of Faramir’s cock before stroking the entire length, playing with the heavy sacs. Faramir was whimpering steadily now, his eyes shut, a look of complete concentration on his face.

The thrusts soon picked up in speed and power. Faramir moaned in accompaniment, his mind trying to focus on so many things at the same time. Suddenly Haldir introduced a whole new thing as he adjusted the angle slightly, hitting the same bundle of nerves that he had struck previously. This time Faramir was unable to stop the scream, his back arching in either shock or pleasure as pleasure flooded through him.

After that, it was only a matter of time. Haldir seemed to be able to strike that spot every single time until Faramir was openly sobbing with pleasure, the hand on his erection keeping pace. The scream as he reached orgasm beat even the previous ones, and if he had focused on it, Faramir would have been sure that anyone within a mile would assume someone was being murdered in these woods. Not that he was focusing on it. He could feel his whole body clench as though subject to sudden cold, before Haldir gasped something in elvish and shuddered against him.

It was actually nice to consider that the elf might too have his weaknesses.

Haldir slid out of the young man, and moved to lie beside him, their panting evenly matched in the stillness of the forest. Faramir smiled weakly as Haldir kissed his neck, and gave a playful swat.

“So,” asked Haldir after their breath was returned to them. “ Have you felt what it’s like?”

Faramir smiled again, looking back at him.

“I think I might have missed a bit. Could we try again?”

Haldir sighed wearily. “Impudent pup!”

Faramir nodded. “That’s me,”

Faramir was never quite sure whether Boromir knew something was up. His brother was often away from the city and therefore there were plenty of times when there was no possible way that Boromir could have seen the far away look in his younger brother’s eyes, or heard the light singing, or realised that he spent far too much time in the woods.

He told his father that he was bird watching.

It was not to his father’s credit that he believed him.

END

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