Faramir Fiction Archive

Devoid of Love (R)

Written by Minx

29 March 2004 | 11953 words

Chapter 3

Legolas awoke to the feel of something soft underneath him, his head throbbing, his mouth dry, and the overall feeling was not a happy one. He groaned cursing Gimli. It had to be his ale of course, each time Legolas drank it, he did something stupid, and he wondered idly what it was he’d one this time.

As long as he hadn’t jumped into the fountain in the courtyard fully clothed, he shuddered to himself, and lowered his head again back on the pillow…

… and sat up almost immediately, eyes flying open.

He gasped at the sight under him. He was lying in his tunic… atop the steward of Gondor. He backed away, almost falling off the bed, and took in the sight, horrified. Faramir lay half on and half off the bed, his head dangling down, eyes shut tight against a white face, mouth slightly open, cheeks covered in dark bruises, and lips swollen. His hair was all mussed up, and the clothes … *the clothes, * Legolas thought to himself, his horror increasing as he took in the half-naked, bleeding body.

The tunic lay bunched around the waist, the lower body bare and exposed and showing up clearly against white sheets, was a trail of blood between the legs.

He reached out shocked; a tentative hand to touch the figure underneath and assure himself it was real and no apparition.

Faramir did not respond to the touch. Legolas collected himself, and then tenderly picking up the steward’s body laid him carefully on the bed on his back, his own eyes filling up as he saw the young man’s condition. The startling memories of the prior night flooded back to him, and he felt an overwhelming feeling of shame course over him.

“Elbereth, what have I done?” he cried out softly, anguish and pain lacing his voice.

“Faramir,” he whispered softly to the steward, who lay there still and prone, the only sign of movement the small rise and fall of his chest.

He bit back a loud sob, and grabbing a nearby jug of water, tore a piece of cloth off the sheet, and began to clean up the man. Faramir moaned as his hand flew over the bruised sections of his face and lower body, and his eyes flew open.

They stared wearily out at Legolas.

“Faramir,” Legolas started brokenly.

A small tear rolled down the steward’s cheek, but he made no attempt to move.

“I am sorry,” Legolas whispered, softly touching the other’s cheek and wiping the tear away, “did I hurt you very badly?”

Faramir shook his head.

Legolas grabbed him suddenly and embraced him fiercely.

Faramir just lay in his arms, too spent to think clearly, if at all.

“My poor dear one,” Legolas whispered, “You should not have let me! I did not want for it to be like this.”

He held the slight body in his arms. Still to recover fully from his wound in the war, Faramir was as yet in the process of regaining his lost weight.

Now he lay in the strong arms, blinking back tears as he remembered the words Legolas had said to him last night. He wished he had the strength to pull away from the man who had humiliated him verbally, but could not. His heart would not agree. He felt himself being lowered back on the bed, and the wet cloth was again cleaning him up.

A hand reached for his tunic, and somewhere his befuddled mind raised a protest and told him the prince must not be allowed to see – but his body was too tired. The tunic rose, the cloth touched his chest, and calmed him down, he was turned onto his stomach, and then he heard the sharp gasp.

“Valar! What are these scars?”

The gasp brought him back to reality, and shame made him go red all over. He squirmed out of the elf’s grasp, tears coursing down his eyes, and grasped at the robe lying near his bed. He stared wild eyed at the elf, and a sob escaped his throat, as he backed off the bed, and pulling on the robe, raced out of the door before Legolas could come out of his shock and react.

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