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 14

“This is our fishing pond,” Pippin whispered to Merry, as they followed the others down the well-worn path through the woods.

Merry looked up through the sun-dappled trees. “I suppose we can share it, Pip.”

“Boromir looks to be in a rather foul mood.”

“Well, it is rather bright out here. And Gandalf did wake everyone very early. And he did have rather a bit to drink last night,” Merry pointed out.

“And I’m sure it has nothing to do with Gandalf marrying off his brother today,” Pippin murmured.

Merry gave him a sharp look. Boromir glanced over his shoulder at them and gave them a sharp, stop-your-whispering-you-two look.

“I think he’s just annoyed Aragorn made him carry the picnic basket,” Pippin said.

“You know,” Berendir said, looking back at them, “the men might not be able to hear you, but my brother and I can hear every word you’re saying.”

“Good thing we’re not talking about you,” Merry retorted.

Ahead of Boromir and Berendir, Aragorn walked next to Gandalf, heads lowered in conversation. Legolas and Faramir were somewhere behind them, not apparently in any sort of hurry.

“Not that they ever are,” Boromir had muttered that morning. “Not with all the damned braids and such.”

Of course, it was generally assumed that it was not the braiding that was taking quite so long. However, Boromir had managed to get himself into a fairly nice dress tunic without being told to. And Berendir was dressed very smartly all in tanned Rohan leather.

“I think we’re a bit under-dressed,” Pippin whispered.

“Maybe that’s because we weren’t technically invited,” Merry reminded him. “We’re not related to either of the parties in question.”

“Neither is Aragorn.”

“He’s the King, you idiot. That means he’s automatically invited to everything.”

“Wonder what he and Gandalf are muttering about,” Pippin said.

Berendir smiled. “If you must know, they are talking about the fact that Gandalf is extremely displeased that Thranduil has stormed off back to Mirkwood without any arrangements being made, and that Aragorn is blaming Gandalf for being mysterious and wizardly and not doing anything in any sort of sensible fashion like anybody other than an Istari would.”

“Well, Aragorn’s got a point,” Merry agreed.

“What’s that?” Berendir asked.

“Well, Gandalf does have a tendency to show up in his own unannounced, mysterious way and then act tremendously offended when everyone hasn’t been sitting around anticipating his arrival. And It wasn’t really very good diplomacy on anybody’s part to have Thranduil show up here just to find out one of his sons is to be engaged to another man, especially another man whose brother he doesn’t think much of.”

“Walking in on you and Éomer didn’t help, either,” Pippin added cheerfully.

Berendir’s eyes widened and he glanced at Boromir before replying.

“What exactly would you know about that, little one?”

Boromir waved a hand dismissively. “They’re hobbits. They know bloody everything. Don’t ask how. I have no idea. Besides, that just gives me something else to infuriate Éomer with.”

Berendir shrugged. “I’m agreeable to that.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Because I’ve noticed on a few occasions that when you’ve pissed off Éomer, I tend to benefit from it.”

Boromir closed his eyes. “I didn’t want to know that.”

Gandalf had reached the edge of the pond and stuck his staff into the soft ground near the water. Aragorn looked up the path impatiently.

“Where are those two? They don’t seem to be taking this very seriously,” Gandalf complained.

“Maybe that’s because it wasn’t their idea in the first place,” Boromir muttered. He glanced over his shoulder and shouted. “Faramir! Whatever you and your bloody elf are doing back there, put your clothes on and get down here before we all get bored and go home!”

Right on cue, Legolas strolled out from among the trees, looking perfectly composed. “You don’t need to shout, Boromir.”

Boromir growled at him. “Where’s my brother?”

“Well, you did tell him to put his clothes on.”

Boromir’s face reddened. “You two had better not have…”

“I’m joking,” Legolas said. “He’s fixing his boot lace. He’ll be along momentarily.”

Berendir grinned and stepped toward his brother, smoothing the braids in his hair and adjusting the seams of his green and gold tunic. “You know, father is going to be even more impossible now.”

Legolas shrugged. “Galadriel can manage him, I suspect. She knows him well, and I imagine she knew perfectly well this scheme of Gandalf’s wouldn’t work, or else she’d have come herself.”

“So why did she let him come and make such a mess of everything?” Berendir asked, frowning.

“Because she wanted father to see that you were never going to belong to him.”

“Hmm. What about you?”

“I think that was just an entertaining bonus.”

“Where exactly did he stumble upon you two, anyway?”

Berendir flushed. “Does everyone know about that?”

Legolas shrugged. “Hobbits.”

“We were in the garden with the iron gate at the end of the hall…”

“Ah,” Legolas said knowingly. “Faramir and I stay out of that one.”

“Why?”

“Well, first, because the gate doesn’t lock properly. And second, because there’s a small balcony up there, and a certain royal lady happens to like to look in on things occasionally.”

“Arwen… you mean…”

Legolas grinned. “Don’t worry. She just likes a glimpse now and then.”

“Has she got a glimpse of you and Faramir?”

“Not yet,” Legolas said, chuckling. “She’s going to have to be much more creative if she wants to get a peek at that.”

Faramir strode down the path, looking a bit flustered despite the familiar dress uniform. Boromir had to laugh.

“Trouble, brother?”

“Bloody bootlace broke. And… did you invite the hobbits?”

“Does anyone ever invite the hobbits?”

Faramir thought for a moment, shrugged, and then walked forward to join Legolas.

“This had better not be long and boring,” Pippin muttered. “I’m hungry and I only come to weddings for the food.”

“This isn’t a proper wedding, Pip,” Merry said.

“Then what’s in the picnic basket?”

“From the sound of it, mostly bottles of wine.”

Pippin shrugged. “That’s fine too.”

They settled themselves in the grass as Gandalf motioned Faramir and Legolas to stand in front of him, Boromir and Berendir on either side. Aragorn stepped back, giving the hobbits a warning look in case they intended to disturb anything.

Gandalf took up his staff and began muttering to himself.

“What language is that?” Merry asked.

“Not one spoken in this world,” Aragorn said quietly.

“I think he’s making it up as he goes along,” Pippin said.

Merry elbowed him. “Shh.”

Gandalf continued his muttering for a few minutes, and it seemed to those observing that the sun over the pond might have gotten just a little bit brighter for a few minutes, and that possibly a breeze stirred the leaves of the trees with what sounded like whispers. Gandalf thrust his staff back into the ground.

“The Valar are listening. Does anyone wish to speak?”

“Hopefully not,” Pippin whispered. “Someone always wants to make a long speech.”

“I don’t believe anything requires discussion,” Legolas said, giving Faramir an amused glance. “The approval of the Valar is more their business than ours.”

Gandalf’s eyebrows shot up, alarmed.

“We’ve managed well enough without their blessing so far,” Faramir agreed.

Gandalf closed his eyes, scowling deeply. There was another stirring of air through the trees, and a flash of brightness across the surface of the water. The wizard shook his head and smiled.

“You two are lucky. It seems the Valar find your irreverence entertaining. They offer their blessing, and say that what has been joined by the Valar shall not be separated until it is their will to do so.”

“Much obliged,” Legolas said, nodding.

“You are the most disrespectful…” Gandalf muttered.

“He can’t help it,” Faramir said, taking the elf’s arm. “It’s just his nature. He can be entirely respectful when properly persuaded.”

Legolas shot the wizard a sharp look. “It won’t be by you, so don’t get any ideas.”

“You’re too young for me, Greenleaf,” Gandalf said, chuckling. “Go play with your mortal. I’m off to the Shire. And are you two joining me, young Brandybuck and Took?”

“They certainly are not,” Boromir said sharply.

“They have more important work here,” Aragorn added, glancing at Boromir. “They’re much needed.”

“Suit yourself,” the wizard muttered. “What a bloody waste this trip has been! Go back to the city and have my bags packed immediately!”

He swept up the path toward the city. Legolas glanced at Faramir again.

“Arwen did have some of that itching powder left from all those pranks, didn’t she?”

Faramir nodded. “She wasn’t keen to allow it to fall into the wrong hands.”

“How did you persuade her?”

“Well, first I made a few concessions,” Faramir said, grinning. “Then I reminded her of what Gandalf would look like trying to get itching powder out of all his clothes, and she was sold.”

Aragorn stared. “Have you two become hobbits?”

“Certainly not,” Legolas said, faking offense. “I am not nearly fat enough to be a hobbit.”

“You’re not nearly good-looking enough, either,” Merry retorted. “Come on, Pip. Let’s go see about some food. Are you coming, Boromir?”

“I do believe I am. And you, Berendir?”

“Éomer and I are riding back to Edoras this afternoon.”

“Hmm,” Merry said. “You’ll have to make sure he leaves you able to sit in the saddle that whole way.”

“Meriadoc!” Boromir scolded.

“It’s all right,” Berendir said, smiling. “Elves recover remarkably quickly. A fact your brother seems to have already discovered.”

“So it seems… where the hell have they gone, anyway? They’re not already off…”

Pippin grasped his hand. “Whatever they’re up to, you don’t want to know about it.”

Boromir shook his head. “Bloody elves. Bloody hobbits. Bloody wizards…”

Merry grinned and motioned for Boromir to come closer. He dropped down on one knee, prepared for the hobbit to whisper something in his ear. Instead, he found four small arms twined around his neck and two sets of lips pressing noisy, wet kisses on each of his cheeks.

“Stop fussing, and let’s go have lunch,” Merry said.

Boromir shook his head and rose, one hobbit in each arm. “All right, then. But no more kissing. You two are worse than sloppy teenagers.”

They headed up the path back to the city together.

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