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Family Games (NC-17) 
Written by December19 December 2010 | 65301 words
Chapter 18. Family Honour
A recurrent demanding sound nagged and nagged at his hearing, forcing him to surface out of his slumber. Faramir felt saturated and warm, his head filled with lazy grogginess, and he did not wish to wake up – but the sound would not stop.
The young man stirred, and awoke enough to identify the disturbance as an importunate knocking on the door.
Then his mind registered the insistent words accompanying it.
“Faramir, look, I understand you’re not up yet, but I do need to talk to you.” Another knock. “The messenger came for me in the middle of the night, says it’s urgent and I have to see Father right away, but…” Knock-knock-thud. “I truly can’t miss this chance to get you in private. Please, we have to talk, it can’t go on like this!” Thud-thud-bang. “Faramir, are you awake? I’m sorry, but I just could not stop thinking –”
Faramir blinked his eyes open, and saw it was just the beginning of morning, barely light outside – and also saw his older brother, who had apparently run out of patience to wait for an answer and now stood in the doorway, all clad in travelling gear and armour. Boromir’s face was intense, brow furrowed, eyes bright with both great wariness and great determination.
“Faramir…” he began very softly, and despite his warrior attire looked strangely helpless and insecure as he took a hesitant step inside.
“Brother? What…?” Faramir made to sit up – and could not, for there was a great weight on his front, one he had not been aware of before. He looked down in confusion, and in that very moment Orophin raised his head off the Man’s chest to frown in sleepy incomprehension and murmur something in his native tongue. The blanket covering the two of them slid down as the Elf propped himself up on his elbow, and the tousled gold of his hair, so rich and dark of colour in the pre-morning gloom, fell in heavy loops over his naked shoulders and Faramir’s bare breast. The young man was somewhat surprised to observe he had an arm around the Elf’s waist, and to sense Orophin’s leg was slung over his thigh…
And in that second Faramir finally awoke. Everything fell into place: what had happened the previous night, and what was happening now.
He gasped and turned to his brother, who had now also become aware of Faramir’s company.
For one long moment Boromir stared at them with a completely blank expression, his mind apparently refusing to take in the sight before his eyes. Then he jolted, as though slapped, and went very pale.
Faramir opened his mouth to say something – and faltered, for the unguarded emotion that came to reveal itself in his brother’s steel-grey eyes rendered him mute. It was not the appalled stupefaction of a man finding his kin in bed with an inappropriate lover – it was something altogether different…
Faramir then came to acutely wonder why Boromir was here in his bedroom in the first place, and recalled the strange things Boromir had said when pounding on his door – and for the change in his brother’s face knew that Boromir perceived the direction of his thought. And all too late Faramir registered the expression his own features had assumed, and it was not that of awkward embarrassment at having been caught with another male in his arms. With a cold empty sensation spreading in his belly, came the realisation that, among other things, he had shown his older brother what should never be allowed to come through in such circumstances.
Pity.
It all had happened too fast, Faramir had had no time to control his reactions – and now there was no taking it back. Everything had been said without a word being spoken.
Boromir’s face went hard and stiff, as though a sudden seizure had gripped his muscles – and so dangerous and unpredictable he looked in that moment that Faramir felt Orophin press himself back into their embrace, as though in search of shelter.
For a second it seemed to Faramir this little gesture of trusting intimacy on his lover’s behalf would tip Boromir over the edge and send him right into some violent outburst. But instead the older man only threw the Elf a murderous look of undiluted ice-cold hatred, turned around sharply and in another instant was gone.
When his chest began to quaver with tension, Faramir let his breath out in a slow ragged sigh – and then his stupor lifted.
With a muttered curse he rolled out of bed, grabbed his undershirt and hastily pulled it on over his head on his way to the door, tripping over his boots and nearly falling with yet another curse.
“Wait!” Orophin’s urgent appeal caught him, and Faramir pulled up short.
In his moment of urgency and despair he had completely forgotten about the Elf… But urgent as his business indeed was, how could he leave him now – leave him like this, leave him after everything that had passed between them…? And yet how could he not run after Boromir, what with the all-consuming anguish his brother was now in, how could he not strive to soothe him, to explain somehow…?
In great hopelessness the young man lifted his eyes to the sky he could not see, and bit his lip to hold back a groan of powerless frustration.
He swallowed hard and slowly turned back to the Elf.
“Orophin, I…” he began contritely, spreading his arms in a gesture of defeat.
“You are going to run after him now? In a state like this?” Orophin asked doubtfully. He was sitting upright amid the crumpled bedclothes, naked save for the blanket covering his lower body, his voluminous mane in disarray, hanging messily over his shoulders and chest. But there was no fear, or distress, or fluster in his fair face, only great sadness – and also lucid, quick-witted concern for his friend.
Faramir was not certain whether it was his own state of more than partial undress, or Boromir’s state of barely contained fury Orophin was referring to, but in whichever case he had a point hard to argue with.
“No,” Faramir said heavily, and at once his haste deflated. “You are right, there is no point in rushing now,” he added in great weariness.
Quickly he walked back to the bed and, putting one knee on the mattress, leant in to bring the Elf to his chest and hold him tightly. “Oh, Orophin,” he whispered into the other’s sweet-smelling hair. “I am so sorry…”
“Don’t be,” Orophin replied quietly, and pulled back a little to smile up into the Man’s face. He raised his hand and stroked Faramir on the cheek. “I regret nothing – if only that I had waited so long.”
The first place the young captain headed in search of his brother was Boromir’s chambers. As opposed to Faramir’s remotely placed room, the heir’s were next door to the Steward’s – and if Boromir had indeed gone to see Father like he had said he was requested to, then this would be the most likely part of the palace to find him.
And indeed just as Faramir entered the tall arched corridor, he saw the warrior exit their lord’s quarters and head for his own.
“Brother!”
Faramir had called loudly, but Boromir did not even pause in his step, let alone throw a glance over the shoulder.
“Boromir!”
It was quite obvious the older man was intent on retiring to his quarters and bolting the lock, and then there would be no talking to him at all.
For a second Faramir considered letting him be, giving him some more time to come to terms with this new knowledge – except that Faramir knew his brother, and knew that coming to terms would be the last thing Boromir would manage, and least of all on his own. It was not likely, however, that anything Faramir could now say to him would be of much help – and were Faramir some ten years older, perhaps he would have stood back. But he was only twenty, and to stay the impulse of his heart, and find patience and prudence in the face of his brother’s outrage and suffering, both of which had come about through Faramir’s own actions, was quite outside the young man’s power.
And there was one more thing. There still remained a thread of the hope that maybe, just maybe he had misinterpreted everything, that Boromir was angered and scandalised in no other way than any older brother in his place would have been. Well, perhaps a little more than most – but he was a very passionate man, after all.
This hope direly needed confirmation.
So Faramir pursed his lips resolutely, and caught up with his brother at a run.
“Boromir, come –”
Boromir swung round with the swift precision of the fine warrior that he was. The force of the punch threw Faramir against the wall.
“You stay away from me!” Boromir bellowed not so much lividly as rather desperately. “Else I don’t know what I would do to you!”
Staring at Boromir round-eyed, Faramir leant all his weight against the cool stone behind, and raised his hand to feel the side of his face. His jaw miraculously seemed to still be in one piece, but he could hardly feel it for the pain.
“Goodness… Boromir…” he panted breathlessly, and smacked his lips, for speaking made him realise he had blood in his mouth.
“Oh, no, don’t tell me your jaw got dislocated,” Boromir said with a mockingly sympathetic expression, and Faramir saw what a great effort it had cost him to tame his rage into sarcasm. “What a pity, now you won’t be able to suck your little friend off, will you? Or if you want, I could punch you on the other side too – for symmetry – maybe that’ll set it right?”
Despite his clenched fists Faramir could tell the man was not going to hit him again, yet the words themselves made him wince.
“Bo… Boromir, please…” he could barely speak, one side of his face utterly disobeying him. “I un… understand you are shocked, but –”
“Aye, but more than I truly ought to. And to think of it, what a cretin I’d made of myself…” Boromir mused with a bitter smirk. “Do you know, when Father said you were a little loose in this department,” he made a wavering gesture with his hand, “I wouldn’t believe him, I wore myself blue in the face denying it, defending you, saying you were not like that.”
“Loose…?” Faramir repeated blankly.
“Aye,” Boromir confirmed with an unkind grin. “He told me all about how half of Dol Amroth had had their way with you. I honestly didn’t think you were that sort of person – but now, well…” he spread his arms, as though the proof to the otherwise was there for all to see.
Faramir gazed at him incredulously, and before he could find anything to reply, Boromir went on, his voice rising again. “But you are not in Dol Amroth anymore, and I see no one has explained you the difference. You can’t just go and bloody fuck everyone you like around here! You bespatter the whole family with such conduct,” the heir stepped closer and, grabbing Faramir by the collar, yanked him forth. With a distance of only a few inches between their eyes, Boromir growled quietly into his face, “You are the Steward’s son, Faramir – you have to control yourself…”
Faramir held his breath staring into his brother’s eyes with nothing but wistful sadness, and suddenly both Boromir’s tone and expression softened. “Because if you can’t,” he said, “it shall be taken care of for you, and not in a manner you would enjoy – believe me, I’ve learnt the hard way.”
Faramir made to say something, but immediately Boromir shut himself up again, his venom returning with doubled force.
“Looks like you might be getting a bruise,” he said with a nod to Faramir’s face where he had hit him. “But not to worry, perhaps it’ll come to match the ones on your neck. You’ll be all set then,” he let go of the younger man and stepped back, as though suddenly disgusted to touch him. “My goodness, he has actually kissed you there… Why am I even talking to you…? Ugh, just to imagine all this… what you’ve… You even smell of him! Where else did he kiss you, Faramir…?” A faintly delirious look had come into Boromir’s eyes, and he shook his head, as if trying to banish the images from his inner vision.
And even though he knew he should not, Faramir could not help but ask quietly, “And why… would you want to imagine something like that?”
His brother gaped at him speechlessly, and Faramir wondered if Boromir would bash him again after all.
“Because…! Because…!” All of a sudden Boromir as though could not get enough breath into his lungs. “Because you’re a damned bleeding idiot, that’s why!!” Bright red in the face, he threw his hands up, his fingers spread in irascible eloquence. “What do you want from me?!!” Boromir shouted at the top of his voice, sounding rather on the verge of going hysterical. “Why do you come running after me – now?! I’m ashamed to have you for a brother! Have you not thought of us, what a disgrace you’re bringing upon the family?! How can you so easily trade your honour for a night with some… some creepy stranger?! You –”
But then something caught at Faramir’s side vision, and distracted him. He turned his face, and saw Denethor standing only a few yards away from them, the man’s arms crossed over his chest, a thoughtful expression on his face, his hard eyes dark and bright.
“All right, Boromir, ‘tis enough already,” the Steward cut in drily when Boromir caught sight of him too and momentarily faltered in his outburst. “Pray wrap up your farcical ‘jealous lover’ act: not only is it profoundly embarrassing, you might be overheard by the servants. Besides, I wouldn’t deem you in a position to shame your brother, given our family’s good name would have hardly been at the top of your own list of concerns had you chanced to find him alone this morning. And hardly would have you shamed him had he chosen to trade his honour for a night with a close kin – would’ve you, Boromir?”
Boromir only glared at their father – his nostrils flared, his fists clenched white at the knuckles, but he remained very still and said nothing.
Faramir stared at his brother wordlessly, still, still harbouring a forlorn hope.
Boromir, please! You can’t just acknowledge this! Please, object! Shout, scream, go purple in the face, tell him how wrong he is, deny everything!
But Boromir did not. Instead he did what never had Faramir seen him do: he let an open insult pass unanswered, and simply averted his gaze from their father’s. He looked at Faramir instead, and the heir’s fair proud face contorted momentarily, as though he were in acute pain, or else would cry for his shame.
He then gave a curt official nod, turned about-face and left. He did not go to his rooms – the man’s back straight and his head high, he walked all the way down the long, long corridor that hollowly echoed his footsteps – to finally disappear around the corner, as though it were his desire to altogether walk out of his father’s and brother’s lives.
“Now, you,” the Steward turned to his younger son, “come with me. A word is obviously in order.”
“Well, Faramir, I take it all my points have just been proven to you – they have certainly been proven to me,” Denethor announced casually once the two men were well out of earshot in the Steward’s private chambers. “And I believe you owe me an apology.”
“An apology…?” Faramir repeated breathlessly.
“Oh, yes,” Denethor confirmed with a pleasant smile. “Do you not remember? Your earlier reproach concerning my lack of trust in my own sons. Well, I believe I had bestowed plenty of trust upon you. The way you chose to deal with the trespasser, for instance. It was, admittedly, quite noble and grand on your behalf – although extremely impractical and perilous, too. Yet had I critisised your actions? No. What next? This handsome amiable tramp saves your live – and you see that as reason enough to welcome him into your home with open arms. Very well, had I said a word of objection to that?” Denethor spread his hands, raising his brows. “Now then, he gets a just little too amiable, and soon enough you share your sheets with him. Why, I deem that is taking it a little too far, I truly do. Given the sort of man you are, I understand you had indeed made the only choice you could have – which is absolutely not to say that it in any way whatsoever excuses you. But naturally, since you are my son – and you know to what lengths I go for the sake of my children’s well-being – and since, judging by his howling and wauling, it is your genteel friend who had been the lady in your nightly encounter, I am willing to overlook this little slip on your behalf, assuming you shall abstain from making the like of it again. Don’t you see how much faith I have in you?”
Faramir pressed his lips, and closed his eyes for a moment. His face was exceptionally stern, yet when he spoke, his words came even and calm. “Yes, Father, I do apologise.”
Denethor inclined his head in a polite gesture of gratitude. “Good.” He took a deep contented breath and turned to the window.
The Steward stood quiet for so long Faramir deemed he was expected to go, which he did – and only when the young man nearly reached the exit did his father’s voice catch him and make him stop dead in his tracks.
“The boy has to leave at his earliest convenience, of course – I wager you understand that,” Denethor said in a most casual manner, as though making an observation on an utterly self-evident matter. “I do not wish to have him anywhere within my realm.” When Faramir failed to say anything in reply, he added propitiously, “You may tell him yourself, if you wish.”
“But where would he go, my lord?” Faramir asked quietly, without turning.
“Perhaps he should have thought of that beforehand – or you should have, seeing as you have appointed yourself his benefactor.”
Faramir swallowed hard, then nodded, as though in obedience to an order. “Very well, my lord, I shall speak to him.”
When the young man was already by the door and grasped the handle, Denethor spoke once more.
“I know this is not the end, Faramir.”
“End, Father?” Faramir repeated frowning, so weary and sick at heart he could not at once grasp what Denethor was speaking about.
“Yes – of our little predicament. ‘Tis but an intermission, and you shall see as much in due time – and so shall Boromir. You are too gentle of heart to ever turn from him, to ever scorn him for anything he does: even now you feel sorry for him more than anything else. And he shall come around, too – not for a while yet, but he shall, for as winds blow in full circles, so shall his heart return to its paths. Like I’ve told you before: he shan’t stand to be denied what he wants, and he is a man loyal to his desires – even if they are not loyal to him. It was a little cruel of you, of course, to choose someone so unlike him: had there been the remotest resemblance between him and your nightly companion, Boromir could have told himself it was him you craved, him you tried to find a substitute for. Now he is denied even that little consolation, which naturally is all for the best, yet nevertheless time will blunt his pain and cool his wrath, for my Boromir is not the sort of man to nurse a hurt forever. It would have been simpler if he were – but don’t you forget that neither am I a man to let my vigilance be dulled. It may not be in my power to show him that which is not there – but I am certainly well capable of showing the right part of what is there at the right point in time, and usually that proves to be perfectly enough.”
Faramir was shaking with rage and did not know what he would have liked more – to growl or to scream. But both of these desires he swallowed down and asked very drily, “Is that all, my father? May I go now?”
“Why, you certainly may,” Denethor agreed with what seemed to his incredulous son to actually be a note of amusement. “In fact, you may altogether leave and return to your post in Ithilien: I believe you have already had enough of a vacation for the time. Besides, I’ve heard the men have grown quite fond of you – why deny them the joy of your company?”
THE END
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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 #