Faramir Fiction Archive

Family Honor (NC-17)

Written by Mcguffan

14 July 2006 | 162886 words

Chapter 5a

Strider did not even bother looking for a place to unfold his blanket. He would get no sleep. Shouldering his pack for he did not feel entirely uncomfortable leaving it with the Gondorhim, he left camp. He walked quickly, covering ground at the astonishing pace that had given him the name he currently used. When the ranger realized that he had been searching the ground for orc sign, he forced himself to stop. Leaning back against a tree, he did his best to calm down. There was no point in letting his emotions lead him into a battle he might not be able to win. As much as he might wish it, his current problem could not be solved with his sword. The look of confusion and heartbreak on Faramir’s face haunted him. Strider threw his head backwards against the tree and allowed the sudden pain to carry away a small measure of his frustration. Hurting Faramir was the very last thing he had wanted to do, yet he had done it. He had been afraid to lose his disguise though, and so he had left. Even now, gripped with remorse, Strider could not entirely fault his reaction. If his abrupt departure had pained Faramir it must be less of a betrayal than he would have felt had he understood the full import of his dream. Not only that, but if Faramir learned the identity of the Heir of Isildur he would feel himself duty-bound to inform Denethor. That would be disastrous, for Aragorn sensed that the Steward would scour the west looking for `Strider’. The secret would then be impossible to keep and search-parties form Gondor would be the least of the Dunedain’s worries.

Sighing, Strider pushed himself away from the tree he had leaned against and resumed his walk. A part of him wanted to flee, to go and keep going. It would not be so difficult to avoid Faramir at the gathering. Strider would have a much greater ability to fit in and he could accomplish his mission and be gone without ever having to see Faramir’s face again. Removing himself from temptation was very likely the only way Strider would be able to resist that temptation. He could not leave, though. Faramir was relying upon him to guide him through the more exacting rituals of the gathering. The more he thought on it, the more Strider came to believe that it was Faramir’s mission not his own that was most important. What was one item of black sorcery more or less in an arsenal overflowing with dark magic? Forging bonds with the oppressed of one’s own kind was surely a more significant goal. And Strider wanted to stay. He could not abandon Faramir. Such a thing was not in him.

If he stayed, though, how could he protect himself? It would be easiest if Faramir wanted nothing more to do with him. If Strider’s own erratic behavior had alienated the young man then the ranger would certainly suffer but perhaps then Faramir might be saved some pain. If Faramir wished only to have his advise as guide then, while Strider would be heartbroken, he would be able to respect the other man’s wishes. Strider had little hope of such a solution though. He did not think that his sweet Faramir was capable of being fickle, if anything the young man was likely to be more loyal than was good for him. The bond between them was already too strong to be so casually broken. Strider felt a sudden surge of resentment that circumstance prevented him from having Faramir with him always. He felt such a great desire for the young man that the ranger raged that he should have fallen in love, once again, with someone who could not be his.

Strider knew he lacked the strength of will to sever all romantic and friendly relations between them. He could not hold to a resolution that forced him to be unkind to Faramir or to conceal the affection he had for the young man. So the ranger had to find some way to keep Faramir from guessing the truth. Yet Faramir’s own dreams worked against safeguarding the secret. Then too, something within Strider wanted to be recognized, something he had tried to bury beneath dirt, worn leather and patched clothing. Something that was tired of hiding and was ready to emerge as a shining beacon to all still able to discern the right. There was something within Faramir, descendant of Hurin, also; something which sought for Aragorn. Blood called to blood, even when the mind bid silence.

Again the ranger paused in his fretful travel. He had been walking around the camp in ever widening circles and he was now some distance from the Gondorhim. There were perhaps two hours left before dawn. Strider would have to think quickly if he wished to return before the journey resumed. He had no time to consider the indignity of what he was plotting. It would pain him to lie, the more so because lying to Faramir seemed somehow to be a greater evil but he would do it. If Faramir began to suspect then Strider would have to have something to tell him to put him off the track. Resolving to save the guilt for a more opportune moment Strider considered his options.

Everyone seemed very glum this morning, Lieutenant Gildel observed to himself. Strider had been nowhere to be found when the troop had roused itself. Faramir noticed the ranger’s absence immediately. He didn’t say anything but he kept looking around with an expression that reminded Gildel of an abandoned puppy. Almost against his will, Gildel saw that his captain’s eyes were red-rimmed , the flesh around them puffy. The paleness of his skin and the dark smudges beneath his eyes completed the picture of abject misery. The lieutenant hated to see anyone so obviously suffering and he had been on the point of deciding that he really ought to say something by way of comfort- though he had no idea what when the ranger entered the camp.

Instantly Faramir’s face transformed. For a moment his eyes shone with relieved joy but this was quickly replaced by a stramge mix of fear and hopefulness. The ranger approached Faramir and the two spoke briefly. When the quiet conversation ended, Faramir looked much better than he had but there was an anxiety about him that he had not shown for many days. The ranger did not look his best either and Gildel felt certain something must have happened between them. The lieutenant could not imagine what and he was frankly glad not to know.

Gildel would have happily dismissed the strange behavior of both men as the result of some little lover’s quarrel if Flyn had not also been strangely subdued all morning. His fellow lieutenant watched Faramir as though he were trying to decide if he wanted to feel resentment or not. The unaccustomed silence of the other man made Gildel itch and he wished again that he had had the sense to have been out with the flu when he had been called for this duty.

Sorting out complex emotions was not Gildel’s forte and he did not like the tension he sensed around him. He did not worry much about Strider and the captain, the two would make it up or not but he did not think either one of them would end by doing something stupid no matter what they felt. Flyn, though, was a bit different. He had been far too happy to find Faramir so polite and amenable to all his suggestions. It gave him a sense of entitlement. Now the captain was showing more signs of leadership and Flyn could not help feeling cheated. He had become accustomed to his influence and he saw Strider as a threat to that influence. This was bad enough but Denethor’s orders only convinced Flyn that he was fully justified in treating Faramir as he did. Gildel wished the Steward had never given orders to himself and Flyn that would allow them to disobey Faramir when they felt it necessary. No good could come of it, he had thought so at the time. Now he wondered just how much mischief those orders would cause before they were all safely back in Minas Tirith.

On top of all this, they were less than half a day off from the `great gathering’ and the ordinary soldiers were nervous. None of them had been so far east before and though they trusted Faramir, they were entirely sure what they were supposed to do. The men were used to fighting, none of them felt completely at ease with a peace mission. It all made for a very tense group. Gildel finally decided that there was nothing he could do for Faramir, Strider or Flyn so the wisest thing to do would be to leave off bothering about them and do what he could to raise the spirits of his men.

It was just past noon as Faramir watched his men set up a semi-permanent camp at the fringe of the great gathering. Looking out across the plain the Gondorhim captain took in the hundreds of tents, dozens of pavilions, innumerable market stalls, hastily constructed stands overlooking roped off fields and the vast sea of people. The colors and noise in a land he had come to think of as bleak and empty astonished him. No one had taken any particular notice of the Gondorhim contingent, but Strider had assured the young captain that that was to be expected until Faramir introduced himself among the Great tribes.

Strider Faramir thought, instantly diverted from the scene before him. After the ranger had left him the night before Faramir had wondered over and over again what was wrong with him that the love of his life could not bear to spend an entire night with him. He had not felt so alone and heart-sore since childhood when he had tearfully demanded of Boromir what was wrong with him that their father hated him so. Boromir had insisted that, far from hating him, Denethor loved him. Further, his brother had insisted that there was nothing at all wrong with Faramir and that if he ever heard anyone say there was then Faramir was to come to Boromir immediately so the elder brother could kick the shit out of the fool. There were, Faramir mused fondly, a great many things that he had been told to report to Boromir if he ever heard them. His brother’s protectiveness comforted him but Boromir could not protect Faramir from the man who had the greatest power to hurt him.

Strider, though, was not Denethor. Strider could never be so cold, so contemptuous. After the ranger had returned to camp he had taken Faramir aside and apologized for the night before and asked if Faramir would speak to him again as soon as they had the opportunity to be alone. Faramir had instantly agreed, filled with elation that he might get another chance. Now, the time was near and he could adjourn to his own tent with the ranger. They could have their private talk and then Faramir could receive instructions on the formal greetings the young captain would need to deliver to the most powerful of the Khandrim. Yet, suddenly, Faramir felt a strange desire to delay, to keep hope alive a little longer in case Strider told him that he never wished anything more to do with him. The suspense was terrible but it was better than losing all hope. Faramir waited a few more minutes but he finally decided he could delay no longer. Gathering his courage the young captain made his way to his tent where Strider waited for him.

When he came in, the ranger was writing something out on a sheet of parchment. He looked up and smiled a greeting at Faramir but the smile seemed strained and did not touch his eyes. “I am writing down some notes as well as the ritual greeting you will use when you visit each of the great tribes. The form is important.”

Faramir nodded and moved to look over Strider’s shoulder. The ranger formed each letter with an inattentive grace as though there were no other way to write. Faramir found his mind starting to drift as he lost himself in the aesthetic appreciation of Strider’s script. With a mental shake, the captain remembered himself and managed to take the parchment as Strider’s finished writing with a steady hand.

“You will have to visit the representative of each of the ten tribes individually.” Strider began with an unusual degree of nervousness for him, looking away from Faramir as their fingers brushed over the parchment.

“Forgive me, Strider.” Faramir interrupted, his own gaze sinking. “I do not wish to postpone my duty but I am afraid I will have difficulty concentrating on what I must learn if… if we do not speak of others matters first.”

“You are right, Faramir. I apologize for my reluctance to speak of it right away but my feelings confuse me greatly. In part, it was this confusion that sent me from you last night.” Strider took a deep breath and drew himself up to his full height. “I told you before that there were things I could not tell you about myself. Last night I was reminded suddenly of something I must keep secret. It frightened me to think how close I had come to… to an indisretion and I acted without thinking. I am very sorry.”

“You are not angry with me, then?”

“No, Faramir, no.” Strider was saddened but not surprised that the younger man would seek such reassurance. “I know that I upset you and I am deeply grieved to have done so. If I am angry at anyone then I am angry at myself.” The ranger paused a moment as he gazed into Faramir’s earnest face. He reached up and carefully pressed the backs of his fingers against Faramir’s stubbled cheek. “You have a right to be angry with me also Faramir.”

As these words and this gesture Faramir’s eyelashes fluttered shut and he leaned into the ranger’s touch. When he let his breath out it was as though he were exhaling all the fear that had been building within him since Strider had left him the night before. “No, I am not angry. How could I be when you have brought such joy into my life?”

“Faramir-”

“No Strider, there is… something I must confess. I thought perhaps it would be wiser not to speak of it but I find I must be honest: I love you.” The ranger remained perfectly still, down to his hand resting gently against Faramir’s face.

“Ah, `tis all right.” Faramir said quickly, taking the ranger’s hand from his face and pressing it within his own. “I do not expect for you to love me. Please, don’t feel under any obligation. I told you because I wanted you to know how happy you make, how much more beautiful the world seems to me because you are in it. I meant to tell you even if I had done something wrong last night. I wanted to tell you so that you would that I was grateful. I… I hope I have not ruined everything by speaking so boldly. I felt as though it was right that I should tell you the truth of my feelings. I’m sor-”

Strider’s kiss stopped Faramir mid-sentence. The ranger sealed his mouth tightly over that of the younger man before him, needing to stop the flow of words that brought him so much joy and so much sadness in the same sweet words. After the first startled second, Faramir began returning the kiss, pressing himself into the ranger’s body. Feeling the delightfully eager response of the younger man, Strider continued the kiss. Relentlessly, he drove inside Faramir’s mouth, his tongue sliding insistently against Faramir’s own. The ranger meant to drive every thought from the younger man’s mind save that of his own presence, his own passion for Faramir.

When the kiss finally ended, Faramir sagged against Strider, not sure if he would be able to stand on his own. The ranger lifted his chin gently from where the younger man had rested his head on Strider’s chest and looked into his eyes. “I love you, too, my brave Faramir. Though, I doubt that I would have had the courage to speak of it.” Confusion etched itself into Faramir’s brow as he gazed up at the man who held his heart. Smiling gently Strider bent and kissed the small furrow on Faramir’s forehead before repeating: “I love you.”

“But, why?” The question was utterly spontaneous and Faramir was even further confused by the look of pain that shot across the ranger’s face before he replaced it with a smile that radiated warmth and affection.

“Shall I give you a list of your charming attributes? Shall I go feature by feature?” Strider asked, gently tracing a line from Faramir’s forehead to his chin. “But then I would not do justice to the indivisible effect you have upon me. I love you, Faramir and it is not because of one thing or even a dozen things but it is because of everything about you; that is why I love you so.”

“You are very kind.” Faramir murmured, closing his eyes and leaning into Strider. Clearly, the ranger’s words had not fully penetrated into the younger man’s understanding but only glided along the surface of his mind. Stroking Faramir’s hair, Strider reminded himself that Faramir had spent a long time seeing himself in a particular way and it would take more than a moment to erase a lifetime’s worth of habit. It still grieved him, though, that Faramir did not truly, in his heart of hearts, believe the ranger’s words.

“If duty did not insist that we soon lend all our concentration to the Khandrim I would ask you to come with me over near that very convenient pile of animal skins and blankets.” Strider whispered, teasing Faramir’s ear with his breath.

“For what purpose would you lead me thither?” Faramir asked, writhing against Strider’s body, excitement whisking through him at the suggestive words.

“First, I would kiss you very soundly.” The ranger promised in a deep purr as he enjoyed the feel of the younger man’s body flowing against him. “Then, I think I would have no choice but to touch you- everywhere and then taste you.”

Faramir sighed happily, finding himself very aroused by the rich and melodic sound of Strider’s voice and the strong hands which were roaming down his chest, across his belly and even over his backside. “What else would you do?” Faramir demanded, savoring the heat in his groin that had been sparked by Strider’s hand on his rump.

“Why, then I would like to make love to you, Sweetheart. I would like to see you trembling with the pleasure that I’m going to give you. I want to hear you moan with passion as I bury myself deep inside you again and again.”

Faramir was already breathing hard but as Strider punctuated his words by working a thigh between the younger man’s legs and rubbing it up and own, Faramir felt himself go weak in the knees. Hearing Strider speak of such things was unbelievable. Faramir could not believe how excited he was, how much he wanted everything the ranger promised. He realized he was moaning softly but he couldn’t stop. He grasped the ranger’s shirt, trying to keep himself upright. Just as he thought he would lose control of himself, Strider started to slow things down. Supporting Faramir around the waist the ranger held the younger man until coherent thought returned.

“I think I should like that very much.” Faramir breathed, wondering how he was going to live through the hours of waiting before Strider could fulfil his promises. Strider kissed him gently then released him with a final hug. There was silence for a few moments as both men struggled to collect themselves and think sobering thoughts. As Faramir commanded his heart to slow its frantic pace, he let his eyes wander, once again, over the parchment upon which Strider had copied the formal greeting of the tribes.

Strider watched with amused affection as Faramir, who had been a panting, helpless thrall to passion scant moments before, quickly lost himself in study. Strider, himself was not able to shift his attention quite so swiftly and Faramir had read the parchment twice over before the ranger stopped having the nearly irresistible impulse to drag the young man over to the bedding and take him.

“Some of these words I don’t know and the phrasing seems flowery and elaborate.” Faramir commented, finally.

“The language is a bit archaic. They have been using the same formula for centuries.”

“Mm, well, I do not think I shall have too much trouble memorizing my part but is it really necessary to drink with each of the ten representatives?” A shadow of nervousness was creeping into Faramir voice as he contemplated reciting his lines after five or six glasses of a local concoction Strider had already described to him as `rather potent.’

“It would be very rude to drink less than your host. Fortunately, the more liquor a host drinks corresponds to the amount of friendliness he feels for his guests. I doubt any of the tribal representative will offer you more than half a glass.” Strider told Faramir as he grinned and clasped the younger man’s shoulder.

“Ah well, that is fortunate.” Faramir said returning the grin, though he was clearly still worried. “Though, I could wish that alcohol did not take such a central place in Khandrim cultural life.”

“I suppose a head for wine is assumed to signal strength, endurance and imperturbability under pressure, though it is a very bad proxy. The Khandrim are not the only ones to use alcohol in such a manner, however. I spent some time among several dwarven communities and, as a rule, no dwarf would trust anyone who could not drink half a barrel of ale then bury an axe head into a target twenty paces away. I need hardly say that I was regarded with the utmost suspicion throughout my stay.”

“I am grateful my own ordeal will not involve anything sharper than word-play.” Faramir replied with a laugh. Strider always seemed able to banish his nervousness and restore his opptimism. “Do the Khandrim always rely so heavily on formality and ritual? It seems one must learn a great deal before one can gain a hearing.”

“It is very different within a tribe than it is between tribes. Many of these people have been at long standing hostilities. If they don’t keep strictly to a script then they are likely to start hurling insults followed quickly by spears and that would be the end of the gathering.” Faramir nodded. Suddenly, remembering how long it had been since he had felt able to enter the Steward’s presence without an official summons and how much he relied on military protocol to govern his own behavior towards Denethor on the rare occasions when he was summoned.

For a long moment Strider watched Faramir. The young man’s thoughts seemed far away. The ranger found he disliked the sad wistfulness in Faramir’s eyes and he wished he had the opportunity to truly help the younger man deal with his sadness. Strider knew, though, that their time together was limited and Faramir had obviously been long oppressed. As a healer, he knew better than to reopen old wounds when he would not be able to fully treat them. Hating his powerlessness to do good where it was most deserved, the ranger put his arms around Faramir calling him back to the present. The younger man showed no surprise at the sudden embrace but instead clung to Strider as though the older man were his only hope.

Eventually, Strider forced himself to release Faramir. He needed to reconnoiter before Faramir introduced himself to the Khandrim. The ranger wanted to learn the names and family connections of the representatives as well as the local news. Strider had no intention of letting Faramir go out without a decent grasp of the lay of the land. It was true that very little of substance would be discussed at the first meeting but he still wanted Faramir to be as fully informed as possible. Flyn and a couple of men had been sent out to do some exploration but Strider preferred that Faramir not have to rely on whatever information the lieutenant managed to gather. Strider still felt uneasy about Flyn, not that he thought the man meant harm but rather the ranger did not think he was as loyal to Faramir as a lieutenant should be to his captain.

Strider also had to see about entering his name in the tournament, though that was not something he was looking forward to. Faramir had insisted that he be allowed to be present for at least one of the bouts so that he could show his support. Though Strider had strictly forbidden the younger man to do any cheering the ranger still found himself unaccountably moved by Faramir’s loyalty. Truly, Strider preferred to do his fighting without an audience and not as part of a game. Still if he lasted long enough Faramir would have his chance to watch him. The final few rounds of each of the tournaments were attended by just about everyone.

The ranger drifted through the small tents with blankets set out before them where men and women sold food and drink and trinkets. He paused for a while by knots of people letting the sounds of their conversation wash over him before moving on. Gradually he made his way towards the open areas where a few men were already paired up and fighting their bouts where the winner of two contests out of three would advance to a new opponent. The tournament had started the day before but because of the large number entering the first round the lists were still open. Half the contenders would be eliminated in the first round but a great many more would be added in the second thanks to what Strider still thought of as bribes even though the practice was perfectly above board.

The contenders were matched randomly and there were several very obvious mismatches in progress. Strider avoided these and gravitated to the more evenly matched fighters as had a great many other men who, like the ranger, wanted to assess the potential competition. Strider found that he was more readily accepted into conversations here than he had been among those at the shops. One look at his grey eyes and comparatively pale skin announced that he was not of the tribes and the condition and quality of his clothing had announced that he was not wealthy and thus he had been largely ignored among the merchants. The aspiring warriors who watched the fights were less fastidious about their companions and Strider was able to hone some of the general information he had already acquired from listening in at the markets.

The afternoon was fading into evening and Strider decided it was time to return to Faramir. He had been told, by one of the harried men trying to keep track of all the contestants and the results that had already come in, to return tomorrow morning where he would meet his opponent and a judge. All Strider could do was hope that he would not have the misfortune to square off against a swordmaster in the first round. With this thought in mind the ranger hurried back to the Gondorhim camp.

When he arrived at Faramir’s tent he found the young captain reading over the notes he had taken when Flyn had reported. At his invitation Strider glanced over the information Flyn had found. It was scanty but to Faramir’s great relief Strider told him that Flyn’s information matched what the ranger had learned, except in a few places where the lieutenant had confused the family name and the tribal name of some important personages. The ranger corrected the errors and added a few more details. It was true that Flyn had been disadvantaged in that he had had to rely on finding someone who spoke and understood common before he could ask any question but even so it seemed to Strider that Flyn had either been very unlucky or he had not asked question that would be very useful to his captain’s mission.

“I’m not sure that I’m ready.” Faramir explained as he fiddled with the velvet collar of his formal tunic after he and Strider had been through everything twice.

“You are more than ready. You will leave each representative with the conviction that Gondor not only takes a day to day interest in the affairs of the East but that she employs the most brilliant and persuasive of captains.” Faramir ducked his head, shaking it in a negative, though Strider thought he saw a small smile ghost over the young man’s lips. “Everything will go very well. And even in the unlikely event that it doesn’t you have plenty of time to recover. A small misstep will not signal the end of everything.”

“Of course, you’re right.” Faramir admitted, trying to relax a little. “I suppose I should get started.”

Strider kissed him once before holding aside the tent flap. The two men who had been chosen to accompany Faramir waited outside, breastplates shining. All trace of the anxious young man disappeared beneath the imperturbable captain of Gondor. As Faramir stepped before his soldiers he inspected them with a quick but critical eye. Then nodding with satisfaction the captain turned and moving with grace and dignity led the way toward the encampment of the first of the Great Tribes.

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