Warning
This story is rated «NC-17».
Since you have switched on the adult content filter, this story is hidden. To read this story, you have to switch off the adult content filter. [what's this?]
Remember that whether you have the adult content filter switched on or off, this is always an adults only site.
Family Games (NC-17) 
Written by December19 December 2010 | 65301 words
Chapter 10. Resolutions
The next time Faramir arrived to Minas Tirith with a military account the young man could not shake off the feeling that the Steward knew everything.
Everything – what?
There was nothing special to know.
Yes, Boromir had paid a visit to the camp – and why should he not? These used to be his men, this used to be his area of responsibility – was it not natural that he wished to stop by every once in a while and see how they were doing?
Yes, Faramir had been there at the time – but so what? They had greeted each other warmly, had supper together, and talked for a while – what was wrong with that?
And yet, if there was nothing wrong, why was it so that during the audience Faramir was careful to make no mention of their meeting, not even in passing…? Why was it so he felt guilty about the encounter and hoped so strongly his father did not know of it? Why was he stiff with tension, ever expecting Denethor to try and catch him off his guard with some clever question or remark?
In fact, the extent of the captain’s apprehension was such he noticed something was amiss only when his report was finished and the Steward was about to dismiss him.
“Oh, but Father, where is Orophin?” Faramir asked in puzzlement, throwing a glance around the tall hall. “I thought you kept him at your side at this time of the day…?”
The Steward inclined his head in confirmation. “So I do, but I gave him leave to go to the Houses of Healing today: apparently, he enjoys the garden. He says watching Anor set from amid the trees brings joy to his heart.”
“I suppose it would,” Faramir agreed ponderously, then ventured tentatively, “If I remember correctly, Orophin had requested to join our patrols once his injury healed. He must be quite looking forward to that day, to be back in Ithilien, especially now that summer is almost over…”
Denethor shrugged noncommittally, and motioned for his esquire to invite in the next caller waiting to be received.
“You had a busy term this time, go have some rest,” he said to Faramir, and although his tone was almost warm, the warmth in no way spread to his gaze.
It was a windy evening, and what few patients were at the infirmary had chosen to stay inside.
Faramir walked slowly through the empty garden, the grass bowing soundlessly under his feet, and was glad for the silence. A grave, solemn beauty was upon the place in that hour, and he did not wish his presence to disturb it.
The terrace faced mostly eastward, and there really was only a small part of it whence the setting sun could be observed – but Faramir did not head there, not just yet.
He stayed where the twilight had already settled, and treaded over the silky lawns for a time. Slowly the constriction in his chest dissipated, and as his breathing became deeper, the taut muscles in his neck and shoulders began to relax. Faramir did not feel uplifted, nor hopeful, yet the foggy turbulent concoction of anxiety, dismay, and confusion that had clouded his mind pulled back and gave place to sadness, weary and weighty, but clear.
The vague oppressive despondency that had troubled him for the past weeks stirred and turned over, uncovering the rawer and sharper emotions that hid underneath. Unpleasant as it was to face them, it brought a sensation of relief and closure, for now the man could admit to himself that deep inside he did not deem the gloomy foreboding that haunted him lately to be entirely devoid of grounds. Nor did he honestly believe that everything would somehow blow over and all by itself become as it should be.
Yet much as it was his long-established and rather enduring habit to ever seek a way to ascribe the mistakes of others to his own faults, Faramir saw that perhaps time had come to try and let it go. Maybe he would never succeed: it did, after all, bring a bitter-sweet comfort to think the responsibility was his, for if it was, it was also in his power to fix what had gone wrong. But he ought to try and finally stop brooding, stop asking himself what he could and should have done and said – because what had gone awry already had, and likely would have done so all the same. It would be only childish and desperate to choose to delude himself into the belief that if only he tried hard enough, then perhaps…
For all he knew, perhaps everything was not meant to ever become as it should be – and dreary as the prospect looked, he ought to prepare himself for it. Not dread it, or resent it, or turn a blind eye to it, but accept that some knots in his life might never be untied, and some losses might not be recovered, and sometimes his thought would stray in directions he would rather it did not.
How much sense even a very young man can sometimes make with himself if only given a chance to stop and turn his gaze inwards…
For that alone Faramir was glad to have come to the gardens in this shadowy hour.
And he knew then that Orophin had not been candid as to the reason why he wished to be here, or else the Steward had accidentally or otherwise misstated the Elf’s meaning. This was not a place where one would head in search of joy – this was a place to be alone with one’s sorrow.
The young man stopped in his tracks, wondering if in that case it be better that he abstain from intruding on his friend’s privacy. If Orophin was alone, probably he wanted to be alone.
But such was the nature of Faramir’s character that he would have much rather left to his own devices a man blithe than a man aggrieved. Perhaps this was because the pain of others hurt him too and he could not be at peace with himself without at least trying to lessen it in some way – or maybe because he himself had often nursed a pain he had no one to share with even when he would.
And so Faramir put his doubts behind himself, and headed to the corner of the garden that was warmly lit by the last horisontal rays of the retiring sun.
And then through the trees he saw Orophin.
The Elf did not watch Anor the way he had said he would – he was standing before the very parapet that trimmed the terrace, the garden behind him, and his gaze was turned northward and only a little to the west, where the Elven woods lay.
Somehow he looked more ill than when Faramir had last seen him at the Houses, back when Orophin’s arm was in a sling.
There was a piercing forlornness in his solitary white-clad figure, and the fact that the Elf had chosen to forgo his festive emerald attire and wear something plain and unshowy further confirmed Faramir’s assumption his friend was in no mood for joviality. And the stern, distant expression he bore told the Man that whether the Elf wanted to be alone or not, it indeed be better that he was not. Admittedly, he did look strong, and resilient, and uninviting as he stood tall and still, his clear eyes hard and unblinking as they beheld a sight open only to them – and yet at the same time Faramir perceived in him the same thing that had so shaken the Man back when he had watched his wounded friend sleep in the hospital ward some five months ago.
Vulnerability.
Not the soft teary vulnerability of a weak spirit, one that openly begs to be pitied and shielded from the uncertainties of the world, but rather such vulnerability that is not even aware of its own existence or else consciously chooses to overlook itself – one that is all the more endearing, and all the more requires protection from the outside, for on the inside it breeds only denial and despair.
Yet even with such insight it was a balm to the heart to look onto him. Was it for Orophin’s innate loveliness and grace that did not abate even in sadness, just as the poignant beauty of an autumn forest is not lessened by the sure approach of winter? Or was it for Faramir’s own sorrow that to see the same feelings in another took him out of the shell of his loneliness, and washed his heart with compassion and fondness, and showed him the possibility of companionship and even kinship where he had not sought to find it? Or was it for the Elf being so different from everything that had ever surrounded Faramir, and in that difference connotatively holding a promise of a fresh start, a new beginning, an escape from all the burdens of the past and present…?
Faramir did not know the reason, and cared little for it – he simply smiled, and felt better than in a long, long while.
And then, just as he was about to make his presence known, the air moved above the city of Minas Tirith, and wind came. It stirred the leaves and ruffled the grass ever so lightly at first, naught more but a playful loving caress and a gentle sigh – to then abruptly switch to potent passion, which it exerted with overwhelming speed and force, throwing itself at the slender trees and making them strain and groan as it bowed their branches and tousled their foliage.
Orophin alone stood unperturbed, as though in being oblivious to his surroundings he had become immune to them, and the gust of cool air thrown full in his face did not as much as make him wince. He did close his eyes, however, or perhaps it was not the wind but rather his own thoughts that moved him to do so.
And that was how Faramir would remember him for years to come: straight and unmoving in his doleful serenity, engulfed by the aurulent glow of the setting sun, hair opalescing with a myriad candescent shades as it flapped, and twisted, and shimmered in the wind. Orophin’s fair youthful face remained pale and smooth as his thought wandered far in space and time, yet at once he radiated such depth and intensity of emotion that it was not possible to draw the eyes away from him.
Then time moved, and the enchantment dissolved.
The Elf sighed – and as he opened his eyes and came out of his reverie the wind sighed also and quietened down, sending one last whispering ripple through the supple grasses of the lawn before dying away altogether. Only the ambient gold of the sunset remained, and it too seemed to have grown fainter, as though meaning to linger one last minute before giving way to the thickening blue dusk.
Orophin took another deep breath and stepped away from the parapet, and as he turned, his gaze fell on Faramir and he stopped. The Elf did not appear in the least bit surprised though, and when he took in the wonder so clearly written across the young man’s features, his face lit up with a welcoming smile.
“I was just thinking of you,” he said softly as Faramir approached with greeting.
“You were?”
“Uh-huh,” Orophin nodded and with his eyes indicated the high skies above, “that it was such a pity you were not here to see all this. I know how you appreciate beauty.”
“So I do,” Faramir agreed quietly.
Orophin tilted his head to the side and looked at the Man with concern. “Is something troubling you, Faramir?”
Faramir smiled and shook his head. “It won’t – if you tell me it was only today, and not every day that you come here to be sad all on your own.”
Orophin laughed with a light melodious laugh. “There is nothing wrong with being sad, however often,” he said brightly, “if there is joy to come afterwards. And now that you are here, you have already brought me plenty.”
Faramir frowned at his evasive answer, and the Elf laughed again.
“Everything is as well as is only reasonable to ask for,” he said in a tone implying he spoke in earnest this time.
“Is there something else you would have asked for were you allowed to be unreasonable?” Faramir curved his brow so as to make the question sound less gave than it truly was.
Orophin grinned in playful reproach. “Do not tempt me, o Faramir of Gondor, for I have given myself such allowance many a time before, and hardly ever had it proved beneficent for my well-being: so I’d rather try and be sensible for a change.”
Faramir nodded, taking the cue Orophin was not disposed to speak with any degree of seriousness. Fair enough, he could adopt a lightweight manner as well.
“So I see being around us mortal folk is making you somewhat more down-to-earth already,” the man observed with a merry twinkle in his eyes.
Orophin crossed his arms and gave him a sidelong glance. “Down-to-earth, you say? Could it be you too are entertaining this popular notion my kind is all ether, and elegy, and aeriality of flesh – and cares little for the joys a mortal man seeks along his road?”
“Apparently your kind is also given to self-contradiction,” Faramir retorted in the same tone of friendly jesting. “Or would I wrong you by saying it was no other than yourself who once told me an Elven body requires neither sleep nor nourishment? To be any more aerial than that one would have to actually walk above the ground, I am afraid.”
“What’s with the clarity of your logic today, my friend? Or is the altitude getting at you after such long an absence? Not needing food does not yet go to imply one lacks the capacity to enjoy it,” Orophin pointed out, the corners of his mouth curving foxily. “In our Elven-homes we take meals no less often than you do here, and we have beds where we sleep, among other things – so I wouldn’t say your people have aught to teach me in that respect. In fact, were I to have any money on me, I’d bet it on having no trouble drinking any soldier of Gondor straight under the table, and then perhaps another one.”
“My, could that by any chance be a challenge?” Faramir asked with a broad grin, only marvelling at the turn their conversation was taking after what had indeed been quite an elegiac beginning.
Orophin curved his brow. “Would that by any chance be a challenge you would consider accepting?”
“Hardly so,” Faramir admitted. “Under the table? Nay, I doubt you’d wish to see me in a state of such unravelment.”
Orophin raised his eyes to the sky and shook his fair head as though in helpless frustration. “But that would be exactly the point, Faramir. Goodness, how tight-laced you really are.”
“I see you too are entertaining some popular notions that are not entirely correct,” Faramir replied in amusement. “And since we are speaking of this, I may as well tell you that a little later tonight I am, in fact, going to risk quite a good measure of unravelment and whatnot.”
For a fleeting moment Orophin’s face dropped, as though in shock or hurt, but in another instant he laughed loudly. “Right – a soldier on a break home… Say no more!”
“Oh, I’m afraid to disappoint you, I’m not planning on making that much of a debauch,” Faramir assured him modestly. “A few of my Rangers who are also here on a break are heading to an inn in a short while, and it shall be no understatement on my behalf to say I am extremely pleased they have asked that I come with them. I doubt anyone shall get as far as dancing on a table, let alone falling under one – but I do believe it shall all be rather enjoyable nonetheless.”
“Yes, it sounds nice,” Orophin mused softly, and strange as it was it seemed to Faramir the Elf actually heaved a sigh of relief as he said it.
“Would you like to come with us?” the man asked on an impulse, but immediately knew he indeed would have liked it.
Orophin stared at him in unconcealed surprise. “Why, that is certainly an invitation I appreciate…” he began vaguely.
Faramir raised his hands quickly. “‘Twas only a suggestion, if you are not inclined…”
“Nay, I suppose not,” Orophin shook his head, and there was again a tinge of dejection in his faintly green eyes. “Not today, that is. I truly am touched that you should ask, but a tavern sounds like a crowded place, and for the present my heart would rather I stay alone.”
“As you wish,” Faramir said with a smile in his gaze. “But may I specify, would that be ‘alone’ alone – or ‘with a little company’ alone?”
By the look in the Elf’s eyes he saw it was indeed the latter case, but Orophin did not say as much. Instead he curved his brow in concern and asked, “But aren’t your friends eager for you to join them?”
“My friends, above all, are eager for ale,” Faramir retorted laughing. “Besides, I had seen them every day for the past few months, and if fate is kind to all of us, that shall continue for yet many months to come. But you… Indeed, I could stand to spend more time with you. I don’t mean this to sound pompous, but after all you once put yourself in mortal danger for me, and an hour with a friend like this, even be it an hour of darkest melancholy, would be more dear to me than a whole night of revelry among my soldiers.”
Orophin blushed and let out a short awkward laugh. “Nay, don’t bring that up, it wasn’t such a big deal.” Faramir stared at him, and the Elf hastened to correct himself, “I mean, of course to you your life is a big deal – and so it is to me. I’m only saying, don’t go making me into a hero, that is the last thing I want. Besides, ‘tis something you should get used to: for a kind and regardful man that you are, there shall always be those ready to risk themselves for you.”
Faramir sighed. “Now you are deliberately embarrassing me, and I see I should better leave you in peace for the sake of my own comfort – unless, of course, you would rather I stay…” He looked at the Elf expectantly, to show he meant it. The short bout of good humour on Orophin’s behalf had done little to fool the young man, and he was loath to go knowing whatever burden it was his friend bore was still high on his mind – and he doubted Orophin had remotely enough joy to follow his sadness.
“I would rather you have a merry night and enjoy yourself ,” the Elf said gently. “There shall be yet plenty of chance for you to wander about in dark melancholy, so don’t hurry to invite it upon yourself. And do not vex yourself over me – you have already brought me more comfort than you know. Besides,” he looked away, once more to the heavens and the horison, “there is a little business that calls to be finished first, before I could surrender myself to gaiety and fun.”
“Of course,” Faramir said agreeably, and with yet another warm smile turned to go. But as he walked back along the pebbled paths in the gathering darkness, a great worry for his friend rooted itself in his very stomach, so that he did not even notice how it smoothly supplanted the unease his own situation had bred.
And as he stepped out into the torch-lit streets, Faramir came to a firm resolve to indeed vex himself over Orophin, and pester him with his company, and not get off his back until he could be certain the only shadows to ever cloud the Elf’s heart would be the product of the latter’s own volatile moods, and be as swift to pass without trace as they been to appear without any grave cause.
Thus no later than early the following morning the young captain found himself knocking on the Elf’s door.
Intrigued as Orophin obviously was as to the reason of this unprecedented call, he seemed in no hurry to get to the bottom of it. Instead the Elf leant against the doorframe in leisured amusement and crossed his arms.
“My, don’t you look fresh and sprightly,” he observed teasingly. “Perhaps they had tricked you at that inn and gave you water instead of ale…?”
Faramir was smiling. “Good to see you are already dressed but not yet occupied,” he said in way of answer. “Come with me.”
Orophin smiled back, although a little uncertainly as the decisiveness of Faramir’s tone clearly implied significant importance if not altogether singularity of occasion.
“Where to?” he asked stepping out into the corridor and gently closing his chamber’s door behind himself.
Faramir beamed even brighter, with that shining white smile that brought light to his face.
“I am stealing you for the day,” he announced. “I’ve convinced my father to give you a full day off duty: we shall ride out to one of the fair groves by the River and enjoy the last of the summer’s sun. ‘Tis a quiet place, there shan’t be any crowds – I for one could certainly appreciate that after last night. The water’s still good, and we can swim, if you like. I’m taking along some food and wine too, of course. The horses are already waiting for us – what do you say?”
NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]
Enjoyed this story? Then be sure to let the author know by posting a comment at https://www.faramirfiction.com/fiction/family-games. Positive feedback is what keeps authors writing more stories!
Filter
Adult content is shown. [what's this?]
Adult content is hidden.
NB: This site is still for adults only, even with the adult content filter on! [what's this?]
Wow, December, I did hope that my request would go to you, I know you write so well… but I never expected to get an eighteen-chapter story! And how will I find the time to read it all, now?
Well, thank you so much, I’m sure I’ll love it, and I’ll start reading at once; but you might have to wait a bit for a full commentary…
— Nerey Camille Sunday 19 December 2010, 13:50 #