Faramir Fiction Archive

If you can't see me as who I am, then why bother? (NC-17)

Written by Laivindur

22 April 2012 | 74699 words | Work in Progress

Chapter 10

Boromir woke up lying sideways in his bed snuggled under his quilt, and smiled thinking that Faramir would be home soon. He turned and looked at the sun which shone through his open window. Summer made its way. He could hear birds chatter and the soft sounds of the city, and moved impatiently thinking back to his brother. He grinned and tossed himself to many times around in excitement until he fell down on the other side of the bed with quite a thud with the quilt twirled around him.
The stone floor was cold, and calmed the overexcited older brother. He didn’t care the cold bugging his back, and only thought back at the times where he and Faramir had been wrestling. Playing king of the bed, and Faramir had always been pushed out of bed leaving Boromir the king.

He smirked and thought he’d still be the king. He could picture Faramir’s face when he’d…” Boromir smirked even more and laughed out loud. As the laughter increased, he did not hear the door open, and got surprised by his father standing in front of him.

The jolly laugh slowly disappeared into small chuckles before greeting his father while pulling himself to sit. Denethor flared his gaze around the room and back at Boromir, and placed his hands on his waists “Is there something I have missed out on this cheerful morning, son?”

As Boromir rose, still with a grin at his face he jollied “Faramir is coming home soon. I was just thinking about a memory, and…”
Gracefully turning to the son Denethor could recognize as his firstborn, he continued
“…it was funny. I am looking forward to his return.”

Denethor smiled and walked to look outside the window. He looked at Boromir’s empty desk and spoke “Yes. I’m glad to see you two have grown up to such good friends, but you know what I’ve been telling you.” Denethor looked at Boromir with firm and warning eyes without seeming too offending.

Boromir remembered Denethor telling him not to let Faramir interfere with his progress or reputation. Suddenly Boromir wished his father out, but answered polite “Yes, father.” Denethor tapped Boromir’s shoulder and was about to exit the door when he spoke “There’s an arrangement for you at the fine dining room. A servant will escort you there, so get ready. And dress your finest.”

Boromir wondered what kind of arrangement he could have fixed in the fine dining room. No one got to go in there but Denethor and Boromir on rare occasions, the same room where Faramir had broken Findulias’ vase.

As Boromir had washed himself and dressed up in nice green tights, a pair of black soft boots, a red tunic with golden patterns, and a nice darker vest with beautiful patterns to match, both he and the servant who had helped him, looked at him in the mirror. The servant seemed to be more pleased than the wearer with her hands folded into an admiring stare.

When Boromir entered the sacred room filled with treasures and fine furniture, he noticed a fine lady sitting by the table set for two. ‘Oh no, father has set me up with a lass’. He walked towards her and looked at her as gently as he could spite his discomfort.

She rose and they greeted each other with formalities. As they sat down, the servants served breakfast, lovely tea, milk, bread and everything they wanted. Boromir was nervous and started to peel an egg. The lady had long dark hair with a golden diadem fitting her gracious appearances. Her dark green dress matching the general’s tights made the man even more nervous.

They seemed like a married couple from a far, but Boromir felt like being shot hundreds of miles away. ‘What am I going to do? I never expected father to just choose one for me, if that is what he’s done, but I certainly hope not.’ It sure was a lot of a big deal taken their choice of room in mind.

After he finished peeling the egg, he nervously chose bread and meat. He thought it strange to be so nervous around a girl since he’d been with so many before. He smiled at her as she sat silent and shy “Please, dig in.” He said while tentatively looking her in the dark green glistening eyes before blushing down to his plate once again.

She smiled by the warrior’s manners and thanked him before starting carefully to prepare her plate. She had lovely sweet hands, and her lips ended the perfect portrait of a dream woman.

He thought her most beautiful, and smiled at her his typical Boromir smile as the tension loosened by her smile. Her name was Tiriamulie, and she was here to teach girls to sow and prepare clothes of different fabric.
She had good manners and seemed like every other women belonging to Gondor, quiet, beautiful, and secure in presence.
They had a nice conversation, but mostly of the city and the people, little about themselves. Boromir had nothing to talk to a woman about but how splendid she appeared, and she was too shy to ask him too many questions.
He wanted to know more about how she got there and if she and the steward had been arranging something, rather than knowing about her. She didn’t mention anything of the sort, and he didn’t dare to ask as he did not want to ruin a nice breakfast or give message to his father of disapproval for the lady or plans.

After the breakfast was done and the awkward silence appeared for a while, a sudden sound of horse-hooves made it to both ears. Boromir moved abrupt in the chair from his relaxing position as people called the son of the steward home. He stared at the shining windows as he listened to the splendid sounds and rose abruptly.

“I’m sorry fine madam, but I have to go.” Boromir barely took time to nod at the lady and nearly ran out of the room. She smiled and sighed knowing it was his brother (she had gotten the idea of their great relationship in the earlier conversation), and as she sat back down in the chair while staring blunt in her tea, she pondered about their good relationship.

Boromir ran through the hallways past his own room, then Faramir’s. He startled the servants by his swift and sudden appearances around the corners and past the rooms and they gazed bedazzled and confused after the eldest son of the steward disappearing just as fast as appearing. With some maidens bent out of the rooms to see what all of the ruckus was about still with the sheets in their hands, the heir was gone.

Denethor greeted Faramir at the door with guards walking beside their Captain with a worried expression, still with orders of keeping quiet and not bothering their leader about the wounds anymore. But as Denethor noticed Faramir’s pale face and the guards’ anxious faces he asked “What is amiss?”

Denethor noticed a restrained face of his youngest son as he failed an attempt to bow. Beregond was at Faramir’s right and seemed worried. “Faramir, are you injured?”

Their Captain had insisted to walk by himself and greet his father without their help. Faramir made a apologizing smile and nodded to his father with a hurting twitch in his mouth.

“It’s alright, my son” Faramir felt his father’s warm palm at his shoulder while he called out the healers and ordered preparation for a meal to those who needed it.
“Watch him, he already made to open the wound once because of his stubbornness.” Beregond said.
Denethor frowned at first discreetly at his own uncommon actions towards his uncontrollable lesser son, but then he stared strict and worried at his youngest while hearing what Beregond told him.

The lieutenant was ready for his Captain’s chagrined gaze for defying his orders and Denethor waited for his son to look him in the eyes for explanation, but just then, Faramir almost ran away from the older men, leaving them startled and bewildered by the sudden move.

The loving brothers had fixed their eyes upon each other at the exact moment Boromir had entered the hall. Boromir noticed Faramir was injured by the uneven pace of his hurried walk, and ran faster making Faramir stop in a smile to greet him. Knowing the strength of Boromir, Beregond saw he would split Faramir in two and called out in horror “No, Boromir!”

As he noticed Boromir didn’t dash into him as he mostly did when greeting a good friend, especially his little brother who he usually slammed to the ground, he instead held around him like he could have held a puppy or a butterfly, Beregond lowered his alarming arm and shook his head while sighing in relief.

The brothers did not listen to anyone, and everybody smiled at their carelessness. The cut burnt, but the hug was worth it. Denethor frowned by the childish acts and disapproved of it, but couldn’t figure out anything to do with it at the moment.

“I’ve missed you so much brother.” Boromir said and withdrew to take a look at him. Faramir was pale and seemed tired, but very happy nonetheless.
The older brother got worried seeing there was pain souring through his little one “Are you injured? Why aren’t you at the healing houses?” Before Faramir could answer, Boromir yelled to the healers who had just been summoned to escort Faramir “Why isn’t my brother at the healing houses?”
Faramir placed his hand abrupt on Boromir’s shoulder and spoke firm but low “Boromir, don’t overreact. Calm down.”

Boromir noticed his stupid behavior and tried to row himself out of his outburst “I mean; he looks pale and should rest.” Boromir was about to walk along with the healers and Faramir, but Denethor called him, and the older brother stood still, feeling torn in two as he wanted to follow Faramir, but his father’s commands were to be put first.

It wasn’t until Faramir whispered abruptly “Go.” before he actually did go to the steward.
After Denethor told Lahadrar and Beregond he would listen to their rapports later, he waited for Boromir with a strict glare. Boromir met his father with restlessness, but the father asked in a small and calm excitement “How did it go with the fine lady? Did you like her?”

Boromir answered his father with words he knew he wanted to hear, and using the joy of seeing Faramir again as a boost in his voice “Yes, she was splendid father. Just my taste, but I have to think about it a bit more, you know, get to know her better.”

Denethor had smiled, but frowned now by the last words of his finest son, and seemed confused until his voice changed jollier in the end.
“That sounds fine, and will be arranged. I’m glad you like her. See to that you behave your outmost in her presence.”

Boromir nodded and the steward gave his son a pleased smile before going off. Boromir waited until he was gone to sprint to the healing houses.

He opened the door to the healing houses and saw the healers wash an enormous cut at Faramir’s waist. He closed the door silent despite his shock, and worried great for his brother. It was closer to a normal damage than a severe one, but the fact that his beloved was injured made the overprotective brother strengthen.
He looked horrid at the giant red line, and as he got closer, he saw he bled from a huge ripped spot in the cut. The worried elder brother kept his cool seeing the well done stitches at the other places, and that Faramir was in no greater pain.

When Faramir noticed his elder brother entering, he felt safe and secure while the healers finished cleaning the cut. A small smile in Faramir’s face vanished as the worried brother’s voice trembled “When did you receive these damages?” He sat down by a chair at the head of the bed, gently placing his palm at Faramir’s right shoulder.

The healer was burning a needle to stitch the opened wound with, and Faramir followed the healer’s movement nervously while answering “We were set by an ambush in Ithilien one night after I left you.” Seeing Boromir’s confused look; since it was weeks ago they had parted, he added with a tiny self ironic smile and explained “I have ripped the stitches several times.”

Hearing this Boromir looked strict at Faramir who smiled as innocent and apologizing he could. The healer gave Boromir a short smile before turning to stitch the crack on Faramir’s tummy. Boromir shifted and grasped his little one’s hand. He whispered while pressing his cheek lightly at Faramir’s forehead “You can hold on to my hand if it hurts, little one.” Faramir’s heart melted by his brother’s protective care, but felt awkward in front of the healers.

Faramir had watched the healers stitch the cut a couple of times by now and gazed up in the ceiling as Boromir sat back again and watched the healers with hypnotizing worry. They were nervous thinking Boromir would ravage them if they made Faramir wince just once. The patient got lost in thoughts of his mother as he’d been with her in the houses of healing several times as a child. He wondered how she’d react by her sons’ relationship, and when he looked at Boromir with a tiny smile, he could guess he was thinking just the same.

Faramir closed his eyes and clenched teeth as pain got to him by the stitching. Boromir was unsure how far he ought to go on comforting his little brother; he didn’t exactly know where the limit of queerness ended in the comforting. He gently placed his palm on Faramir’s forehead and caressed him slowly.

“You have probably heard this many times, Faramir, but you must lie still while the wound heals. Do not do anything by yourself. Lie completely still. You hear me!”
Faramir smiled, trying to ease up the strict face upon the healer, and as it did not work, his smile faded and he went humble with eyes on the ground and a yielding nod as an understanding. The healer gave Boromir a hidden for Faramir to see smile before leaving the room for only them to share.

While Faramir was still in his humble and sorry state, he felt Boromir’s gaze at him and looked carefully back. Boromir smiled and stroke Faramir’s arm as he’d not let go of it through the whole time. He pressed the hand to his cheek while sharing his brother’s gaze, and was relieved he had come home alive. He kissed the palm, and placed it back on his cheek before speaking.

“I’m so glad you came back. I can’t think of any other time I’ve been more afraid for you.”

Faramir smiled, not daring to laugh “You always say that every time I’ve been in here.” Boromir smiled and breathed out the laugh through the nose, and the quick cool air from it felt nice and reawakening to Faramir’s palm.
Boromir bent down and kissed Faramir on his cheek, a long kiss that forged a small color in Faramir’s pale face. Boromir withdrew from the kiss, but stopped as close as he could get to the grey captivating eyes. Faramir spoke gently “We are alone, Boromir. It’s alright.” and gently received Boromir’s lips.
Boromir couldn’t quite enjoy the kiss since he had to hold back a lot of his pleadings, but had never felt happier. He never thought he’d be able to do this under the walls of the citadel and almost wept by the sensation.

Faramir’s body was tired and weary, but protested as he didn’t go any further. Faramir pulled back and laughed a short rolling laughter as the new emotions screamed in his body. His body screamed by not being able to pinch his brother to the floor, and it was a new and giggly feeling to him.

When he swung his head back to Boromir’s lips, he grimaced in pain, but the smile lingered to threat with more laughter from the wounded body, and Boromir teased
“Faramir, don’t laugh.” while chuckling still close to the adorable face.
Hunting for Faramir’s mouth once more he gave him a deep and loving kiss. Faramir lifted his hands to drown them in Boromir’s hair, and he himself drowned in the kiss. The older brother grasped the wounded man’s shoulders and did not know what to do with himself but to kiss hard and wanting, but retreated as the young one underneath him stiffened and repressed a scream.

Faramir moaned and spoke between gasps of air after his brother’s retreat “This time… it was not my fault.” Boromir studied Faramir’s wounds abruptly still holding on to his shoulders. He saw the cut was still fine. Then he gently let go off the shoulders and caressed the bandage on Faramir’s upper arm, thinking that was the reason for his pain.

As Faramir lowered the arm to the mattress Boromir asked “Did I touch this?” Faramir had his eyes still closed as he answered “Yes, but it is fine now.” He opened his weary eyes and breathed slower. Boromir smiled awry in apologize and Faramir placed his good arm on his strong shoulder as forgiveness.
When Boromir sat back he seemed bothered by something, and didn’t quite know where to begin complaining. Faramir studied him for a while where he sat and stared at the injury, to the floor, then back again at the red healing line.

The worried line on Boromir’s left brow told him he worried for him. Faramir did not really want to ask his brother what he was worried about, as he could imagine the cause, but could not go on with this unspoken matter. It seemed to bother his brother a lot, so he made the risk “Tell me what’s wrong, brother.” Faramir asked just as caring as only Faramir could do.

Boromir blinked before he flared his gaze from Faramir to the floor once more still not knowing where to begin. “Come on, Boromir, you are scaring me.” Boromir was about to speak but breathed heavily instead. It was like he was on the merge to weep. Finally he made sounds at least “I… I mean, the times you…” his breath continued to be bothered. Faramir waited patiently until his brother finally asked calmly “That time where you had bandages all over your upper body. After my return from one of my first travels you had spent time here in the houses of healing, and I got home seeing you just getting out all twined up with bandages. Father was quite eager to hold me away from you that period, and I had that feeling again.”

Boromir looked after explanation in Faramir’s sad unwilling face, and kept on almost bursting “Father was keeping me quite busy with duties and formalities at that time. I’m sorry Faramir, but what happened then actually? What did really happen?”

Faramir shook his head slowly and didn’t dare to look his brother in the eyes, keeping himself from crying.
“Faramir?” Seeing Faramir’s stone face he knew he didn’t just fall off his horse that time. Boromir whispered
“What did father do to you?” Faramir shook his head, still not daring to meet his brother’s eyes, and his voice was harder.

“It doesn’t matter what father did or what I did. Those days are over. Either way, I didn’t do what was needed for Gondor, and had not father made me, I would not be able to defend myself or Gondor. I shouldn’t have stood up to my father as much as I did as a child…” Faramir’s voice broke to weep, but he did not. His stone face remained.

Faramir remembered the time where he’d tried to make Denethor listen, but he was not to be reached. The lesser son had gone against his father’s orders for a good reason, but the steward did not listen, and had punished his son without a second thought.

Flashback ~

A 16 year old Faramir was pinned to the ground on his knees by three soldiers who followed Denethor’s orders; two holding his hands and the third making him bow his head.
Even though Faramir didn’t struggle, the soldiers behaved like it, and afraid as they were of their lord pointing them out as treacherous, they overdid every command.
As Denethor got closer; getting up from his chair after scolding Faramir, the soldiers lifted Faramir to his feet still holding his hands tight behind his back.
“What kind of soldier of Gondor skips his fencing classes? Were you born to make fun of me, Faramir?! Were you born only to mock me and go against me?!” Faramir was to speak but a slap made him silent.
“Has the enemy taken your body and corrupted you. Is that why you show yourself so worthless?!”
Faramir looked back at his angry father with wet and sorry eyes. He drew breath to speak, but got interrupted by another slap.

A short cry left the youths lungs, and he sobbed at the throbbing pain on his cheek.
The steward grabbed Faramir’s ear and hair to make him face him. “What am I to do with you? All these five years I have had to cope with all the complaints from your teachers. And now, even at your age, one might not believe you will ever grow up, you skip classes…” As brave as Faramir was, he interrupted his father and tried once more to explain exactly why he’d, more precisely; escaped.

“Mindor might be good at his sword, but…” despite Denethor’s hardening grasp at Faramir’s ear, he kept on, of course with a voice growling with pain “…he has no idea how to treat people.”
Denethor pulled and pinched harder as he wondered how far Faramir was to go after interrupting him in the first place.

The pain was great, but the boy made it to keep his voice somewhat proper “Nor does he know how to fight with honor; all he knows is killing and stabbing, he knows nothing of…” As Denethor’s grasp hardened and it felt like he almost tore his ear off, Faramir growled and screamed “Aaarrg, it is bad of me to say, but he is no better than an orc…aaah…maybe worse! Please…!” Denethor let go off Faramir’s ear in astonishment of the boy’s vitality and stubbornness.

Denethor spoke with a low and dark voice “Even though I am about to tear your ear off you oppose me!”
Faramir met his father’s horrendously fierce gaze as the steward kept on “What am I to do with you, Faramir?”
Faramir moaned in pain and moved what he could in the tight grasps of the soldiers. His ear ached and begged him to yield to his father. Instead he took a few deep breaths to dig up more courage

“Have you listened father? Have you listened to what I’ve tried to…” Another quite hard slap hit Faramir’s throbbing red cheek and echoed in the great hall. Denethor’s patience almost lost track.

Faramir felt the burn on the cheek emerge to half of his face, and his eyes stung of tears, but he was determined to not let one single tear show. His anger filled up and he heaved for breath before screaming so the halls echoed “Why won’t you listen?!”
By that, a single small tear chilled his hot cheek and his breath shook. Denethor’s eyes burned with rage.

Faramir’s screams echoed the great hall and the guards flinched by the roaring child “Why must I always fight my way to get to you, but even then you will not listen! You never do!”

“Be silent!” The steward raised his hand for another slap, and a long squeak went through the boy’s head as his ear was hit by the strong and angry steward.
“Let’s see if…” the steward’s voice mingled with silence and squeaking sounds as Faramir had troubles hearing, but managed to hear some bits and put it together “…traitorous…” The great hall would not stop swaying “…flogged.”

Faramir’s adrenalin rose by that last word. The guards started to drag, mostly carry him away.

‘What!? Was he going to flog him like some other murderous malice he had sent away countless times before?!”

Faramir had witnessed enemies and prisoners being flogged and tortured, and did not envy not even the foulest creature on earth that kind of treatment. Without being sure if he’d been hearing right, or was sure where they were heading, he instinctively fought against the soldiers.
The youngling twisted and decelerated what he managed in his state, and sobbed between whimpers of fright in the dark dungeon.

His dizziness wore off just in time to notice the giant brown door fastened with huge metal locks at the beautiful and yet horrific marble. The air was cooler down there, and the sound of the giant door closing behind him made Faramir’s legs numb by fear. He couldn’t believe this was happening and hoped it was only a way of Denethor to scare him. That was also a bit of reason why he had not begged them to let him go; so his father would not have the opportunity to see him beg. Perhaps both of them possessed a bit too much proud.

He sobbed quietly and tried more and more to release himself as his guesses were not reliable. He got pushed and dragged inside a dark and cold room, where guards of the chamber looked confused at the young lord Faramir “Please…”, struggling not to be pinned at the diagonal board with clenches at both sides. The guards of the chamber thought them too big for the kid, but his gracious being lured them. His wrists had no problems getting locked, and he tried at once they were fastened to free them.

He looked pleadingly at the guards while they grasped him painfully and pinned his hands to the board. The tinier prisoner than usual hyperventilated and waited for his father to make this as a warning.

As a child trusts his parent he still waited for his father’s voice to appear behind him and take back the order.
His tunic was pulled and cut off him, revealing the still innocent back of his.
The board was meant for a grown man, and made the teenager Faramir almost stand on his toes while testing the strength of the metal locks around his wrists.
He smelled the scents of all the other poor bastards being flogged at the board, and felt his tummy twist; the board was moist and rough at the same time.
Even though he could hear the leather from the lash tighten in the grasp of its owner, he still awaited his father to come save him.

He felt his heart bounce at the board, and it reminded him of how frightened he was. He sobbed, not knowing if he could talk his way out of this. He wanted to start with ‘Please don’t do this’, but knew his prisoners had heard it all before, and would not let him go. His father had ordered it, and no one but him could get him out.

That night Faramir could not sit in his window sill and ponder at the stars and of his brother. He was bleeding half to death in the basement, and had to tell a lie to his brother days later.

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