Faramir Fiction Archive

Intentions (NC-17)

Written by RubyElf

18 March 2012 | 26062 words

Title: Intentions
Author: RubyElf
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Faramir

Thranduil arrives unexpectedly, Arwen solves everybody’s problems before dinner, Eomer is looking for his elf, hobbits are unhappy, Boromir is annoyed, and apparently Gandalf has shown up with some plans for Legolas and Faramir that perhaps he should have asked them about first.

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Intentions – Part 10

In the private conference room where the King of Gondor held meetings with his most important guests, Thranduil tapped his fingers impatiently on the table, leaning back in the richly upholstered chair and scowling. Across from him, Arwen smiled serenely, only someone who knew her extremely well might have been able to detect the slight hint of growing desperation. Gandalf blew a large smoke ring, sent several smaller smoke rings spinning through it, studied the ceiling for a while, and then glanced at Arwen.

“Your husband is aware that we’re waiting for him, isn’t he?”

“Of course,” she said. “I sent several of the guards out to find him and give him the message.”

“This is very poor treatment of a foreign dignitary,” Thranduil muttered.

“I apologize,” Arwen said, eyes flashing in a way that made Gandalf move his chair a few inches back from the table. “You’re right… this is much worse than when Gondor sent foreign dignitaries to your realm and you drugged and kidnapped them.”

The elf’s face tightened. “You…”

“That was quite a while ago,” Gandalf interrupted quickly. “No need to rehash it now, is there? I’m sure Elessar will be here soon.”

“And where is my son?” Thranduil demanded. “He knows he is expected too.”

“Perhaps he doesn’t care to come when you summon him,” Arwen said, her voice smooth and cold as a frozen pool.

Thranduil clenched his jaw, but Gandalf spoke again.

“No, but I summoned him, my Lady, and generally when one of the Istari summons people, they make every attempt to arrive promptly.”

She nodded and rose. “I’ll speak to the guards again and see if anyone has managed to locate any of them yet.”

She had just reached for the door when it swung open, and she found herself face to face with a slightly disheveled and sheepish Aragorn.

“I seem to have dozed off, my dear.”

“Of course,” she said, patting his shoulder and straightening his tunic. “Have fun.”

She kissed him on the cheek and darted into the hall. Aragorn turned to protest, but when she showed no indication of turning around, he looked back to the elf and the wizard seated at the table, both staring at him impatiently. He attempted to smile pleasantly.

“A pleasure to see both of you again…”

“Sit down,” Gandalf said.

Aragorn pulled out a chair and sat down. “I didn’t know we were expecting you, Gandalf…”

“No,” the wizard said thoughtfully, glancing at Thranduil. “It seems that someone didn’t bother to mention to you that I was the one who called this meeting.”

“I didn’t think I needed to mention it to individuals who were being impolite,” Thranduil said coolly.

“Well, maybe they wouldn’t have been impolite if you’d bloody told them why you were here!” Gandalf snapped.

The elf king’s lips tightened, but he said nothing.

“Are you going to tell me why he’s here?” Aragorn asked.

“I will as soon as Legolas gets here,” Gandalf replied. “This concerns him too.”

“I thought I saw him on my way here…”

A knock at the door gave Aragorn a momentary respite from the two piercing gazes.

“Yes?”

The door opened, and Legolas stepped in, neatly dressed in a fine blue linen tunic, a distinct contrast to the Mirkwood green and brown he usually worse. Before anyone could speak, however, Faramir stepped in as well, tall and serious in his captain’s uniform; Aragorn could not help but notice with some amusement that the young man had nearly managed to match his brother in his stern, determined expression.

“You were not requested,” Thranduil said sharply, glaring at the man.

“Not by you,” Faramir said.

“Who requested that you attend this meeting, then?”

Faramir nodded to the elf at his side. Thranduil glanced from his son to the man and back again, then again, his frown deepening as his eyes fell on the braids tucked behind the younger elf’s pointed ears.

“I assumed this ill-mannered mortal was mocking me when he spoke of having you in his bed,” he muttered. “I would not have believed a prince of Mirkwood would make a whore of himself…”

“Thranduil,” Gandalf interrupted.

“This is between my son and I.”

“No, it’s not,” Aragorn said. “Legolas is a hero in Gondor and a dear friend to me, and you will not speak of him like that.”

“I’ll speak of him as I please! Legolas, what could any foolish mortal possibly do or say to provoke you to such a thing?”

The blue eyes narrowed slightly. “Everything that no one else ever has.”

“Regardless. No mere man deserves to have my son at his side.”

“Not even one who gladly risked his own life to save your son’s?” Gandalf asked, studying his pipe intently.

Thranduil glanced at him. “I didn’t say men could not fight. Perhaps they…”

“Faramir didn’t go to battle for Legolas,” Gandalf said, sharp gaze now falling on the elf king. “He went to the Halls of Mandos.”

The elf king’s eyes widened slightly. “You can’t possibly mean that… Legolas, you allowed yourself to be bound to a man?”

Legolas spoke without emotion. “Would you prefer I be dead?”

“Perhaps I would!” Thranduil growled, shoving his chair back as he stood. “Gandalf, what do you mean by all this? You asked me to travel all this way to give my son away to the one he had chosen to be bound to, and this is what I find? This is ridiculous and want nothing more to do with it!”

He pushed past Faramir and Legolas, throwing the door open and storming out into the hall. Aragorn watched until he had disappeared around a corner before turning on Gandalf.

“What the hell was that all about? You called him here thinking he was going to give Legolas away to his bride-to-be?”

“I’m quite certain I never used the word ‘bride’,” the wizard said, drawing calmly on his pipe.

“What… why?” Aragorn demanded. “You brought him to Gondor for this? Why? You had to know how much trouble…”

“Of course I did.”

“Then why?”

“Well, if you would stop shouting, and Faramir and Legolas would have a seat, I might think about explaining it to you. And at some point we’ll have to have Boromir come in… after all, he’s the closest family you have, Faramir, so this concerns him too, although he’s not going to like giving away a brother any more than Thranduil will like giving away a son.”

Faramir and Legolas glanced at each other; after a moment, Legolas shrugged and sat down.

Boromir was stalking through the halls, torn between going to the meeting even though he’d been forbidden to and going to find Éomer and start a fist fight just because the Horse Lord was asking for one, when he nearly collided with Arwen.

“Watch where you’re… oh! I beg your pardon, my Lady.”

She smiled. “Your tunic appears to be on backwards, my Steward.”

Boromir flushed and dropped his eyes. She laughed and patted his shoulder.

“Perhaps after you go and fix it, you should stop and look in on Merry and Pippin.”

He frowned. “What have they done now?”

“Nothing that I know of. But I believe young Pippin may be in need of some comfort, and you know how they both adore you.”

“I have no idea why,” Boromir muttered, embarrassed. “They never get what they’re after.”

“No,” she said. “But they’ve already got what they really wanted.”

“Oh? What’s that.”

“Your love,” she said, brushing past him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m nearly finished managing everyone’s tantrums and heartaches for the moment… if I can negotiate an agreement between a certain Horse Lord and a certain elf, I believe I’ll be finished for the day.”

Boromir passed his own room and headed for the one belonging to the hobbits. When he knocked, he could hear Merry shushing his cousin before coming to the door. The older hobbit looked up at Boromir and his face brightened.

“Hello, Boromir! I thought with all the important people in town today, you’d be too busy to waste time with us.”

Boromir winced. “No, little one. May I come in?”

He stepped into the room, looking around for a moment before he discovered Pippin, sitting cross-legged on the rug by the hearth and staring unhappily into the flames. Merry sat down next to him.

“You can sit wherever you’d like, Boromir.”

“I think I’ll sit here with you two,” he said, lowering himself gingerly into a sitting position on the carpet despite some protest from his knees. Pippin looked up and attempted to smile.

“Hello, Boromir! We thought you’d be busy all day.”

“I’m not busy at the moment.”

Merry gave the man an expectant look over Pippin’s shoulder, and Boromir realized he was supposed to say something.

“Why are you so sad, little Pippin?”

The young hobbit shrugged. “Gandalf was in the Shire before he came here, and he brought us some letters from home.”

“Oh? Another letter from your father?”

Pippin nodded miserably. “He says that Gandalf is planning to return to the Shire after his business here, and that he expects me to be with him when he arrives. And he said awful things about Merry…”

Merry rolled his eyes. “Hush, Pip. You know I don’t care what he says about me.”

“I care what he says about you,” Pippin protested. “And he says you’re a bad influence and it’s your fault I’ve gotten into all of this, and that when I get home I’m never allowed to so much as speak to you again!”

“We don’t have to go home, Pip,” Merry said.

“What should we do? Just stay around here forever being underfoot and bothering everyone?”

“Boromir likes having us here,” Merry said, giving Boromir another look.

“Of course I like having you here, little ones,” he said.

“Yes, but you’re the Steward and you’ve got all sorts of people who want to talk to you, and all sorts of important things to do, and…”

“He would miss us if we left. Wouldn’t you, Boromir?” Merry asked pointedly.

“Of course I would. I would miss you both.”

“He would forget all about us,” Pippin said, refusing to look up.

“I would not,” Boromir said firmly.

“No?” Pippin asked.

“Never,” Boromir said.

Realizing he was doing a very poor job of this, and annoyed at the way Merry kept looking at him as if expecting him to say something better, he sighed and attempted to think of what someone with slightly more skill at comforting people might say. As he was thinking, though, there was a sharp knock at the door.

“Lord Boromir!”

“What?” he demanded.

“You told us to alert you if any of us saw the elf king in the halls without a guard!”

“Yes?”

“Well, he’s walking around in the halls without a guard!”

Boromir looked at Pippin, who waved dismissively. “Go on. You have important things to do.”

“Lord Boromir?”

“Damnit, I’m coming!” he growled, standing up. “Stay here, little ones. I’ll be back, I promise.”

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