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 3

Searching for Legolas kept both hobbits busy for the better part of an hour, but eventually they located him in one of the small gated gardens of the upper levels of the city, sitting at the foot of a maple tree and whittling at a piece of wood with a small knife.

“Hello!” Pippin called cheerfully.

The elf smiled slightly, but didn’t look up from his task. “Hello, little ones. What are you doing here instead of in the kitchen?”

“We were just taking a stroll,” Merry said.

“You’re a very poor liar, Meriadoc,” Legolas said.

“We were looking for you to see if you could show us where to find… err, something,” Pippin suggested.

“You’re an even worse liar, Peregrin. Did Boromir send you?”

“Of course not,” Pippin scoffed.

Legolas chuckled. “Of course not. What do you want?”

“We just wanted to talk to you,” Merry said. “We heard a rumor that there might be a visitor coming to Minas Tirith that you might not be very happy to see.”

Legolas glanced up at the hobbits and then looked back at the scrap of wood he was working on. “You two don’t need to worry about such things. It’s not your concern.”

“Why are people always telling us that?” Pippin asked, scowling.

“Because it applies to almost everything you usually want to talk about,” Legolas answered.

“That may be true,” Merry said, “but if you recall, this one actually is our concern. After all, unless you’ve forgotten, the two of us were along for the visit last time you saw your father, and we do remember what happened while we were there.”

“Good,” Legolas said, refusing to look at them. “Because I don’t. At least not a good part of it.”

“That’s not your fault,” Pippin said, sitting down cross-legged in the grass next to the elf. “You were drugged. You can’t be expected to remember things clearly.”

Merry shoved Pippin over and sat down beside him, watching Legolas carefully.

“What exactly do you remember?”

The elf rolled his eyes. “What makes you think I want to talk about any of this with you two, of all people?”

“Because we’re your friends,” Merry said.

“And because nobody takes us seriously anyway,” Pippin added.

“And,” Merry concluded, “because you know perfectly well that Pip and I are very, very good at this, and even if you are immortal we can probably manage to annoy you to death. We always find out what we want to know, eventually.”

“You still haven’t gotten Boromir to let you molest him,” Legolas pointed out.

“I didn’t say we could make people do whatever we want,” Merry corrected.

“Besides, we did get him naked in a bath with us,” Pippin added.

Legolas raised an eyebrow questioningly. Merry gave Pippin a warning look, knowing that Legolas hardly needed more ammunition with which to bait and irk Boromir when the two were in an argumentative mood.

“Nothing happened,” Pippin clarified quickly. “I mean, except for washing off the jelly. And Boromir didn’t have anything to do with the jelly. That was all Merry’s fault, except for the part that was mine…”

“Pip.”

“Sorry.”

“Anyway,” Merry said, looking back to Legolas. “What parts do you remember?”

Legolas put down his wood carving and his knife and crossed his arms over his knees. “You do intend to get your answers, don’t you. All right, then. I remember having dinner with you two and Boromir at my father’s table. I remember going back to the room and having some sort of conversation with Boromir about not feeling quite right, and that’s when it all goes away. I remember parts of when we left… I remember how I ended up with my face cut, and getting to the stables, and after that, I remember parts of us riding toward home, and everything becomes clearer from there.”

“You don’t remember anything that happened while you were away from us?” Merry asked, giving Pippin his sternest don’t-say-anything-stupid-right-now look.

“No.”

The hobbits glanced at each other.

“You don’t want to run into your father again while he knows what happened then, while you don’t,” Pippin said, realizing what Merry was getting at.

Legolas shook his head. “Aragorn should hire you two as his official interrogators. Our enemies would be revealing their secrets over a cup of tea without even realizing it was a form of torture.”

Merry crossed his arms thoughtfully. “You know, there’s someone who probably knows exactly what happened while you were drugged.”

“Oh?”

“Berendir,” Pippin realized.

Merry nodded. Legolas frowned.

“I am not discussing this with my brother. He has his own memories to live with, without having to trouble himself about mine.”

“But…”

“No,” Legolas said sharply. “Absolutely not. And before you two sneak off, I’ll tell you right now that I absolutely forbid you to bring this up with Berendir.”

He stood up abruptly, sliding his knife into its sheath and tossing the piece of wood off into the bushes as he strode toward the gate and out into the halls. Merry waited until he was quite certain that even an elf’s keen ears wouldn’t catch his words before leaning over to whisper to Pippin.

“We must go find Berendir.”

“Legolas said we weren’t allowed to talk about it with him,” Pippin said.

“No, he didn’t,” Merry pointed out. “He said we weren’t allowed to bring it up with him.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“No, Pip. Legolas told us not to bring this up with Berendir. But if for some reason Berendir would happen to bring it up himself, he never actually said we couldn’t talk to him about it.”

“You, Meriadoc, are a very clever hobbit.”

“I know. Get up and let’s go find Berendir.”

…..

Riding over the curve of a low hill, Faramir found the small party of elves settling in for the night in a shallow valley under the protection of a small grove of trees. He made a quick count and determined that there appeared to be somewhere around a dozen of them, although it was rather difficult to be certain, since at the sight of him they were all immediately in motion, and most of the darker-haired wood elves were dressed in the same green clothes and were difficult to tell apart. One elf stood out clearly, though; he was very tall, with white-blond hair and a lean, strong face with high cheekbones and golden-green eyes that watched the man’s approach with unwavering attention.

Faramir reined in his horse and dismounted as the fair-haired elf walked toward him, dressed in the same Mirkwood green as the others, but adorned with silver buttons and trim.

“You are the commander of the soldiers who intruded on our camp?” he asked.

“They’re soldiers of Gondor, and this is territory of Gondor. They have every right and reason to question strangers traveling here.”

“Of course,” the elf said coolly. “I forget that men have little knowledge of, or respect for, elves or their ways.”

Faramir had to force himself to keep from chuckling when the elf’s eyes widened at hearing the man respond to him in heavily accented but well-spoken Sindarin.

“Of course. I know nothing of elves.”

“You are a well-educated man, it seems,” the elf replied, in Westron. “Who are you?”

“My name is Faramir. I’m the Captain of the Rangers of Gondor. And you are?”

Expecting a lie or a refusal to answer, Faramir was surprised by the elf’s response.

“I am Thranduil, King of Mirkwood.”

“You’re a long way from Mirkwood, sire,” Faramir observed. “What brings you to Gondor?”

Thranduil studied the man’s face for a moment before replying. “I am looking for my youngest son. I had heard that he had taken up residence in the city of Minas Tirith.”

“Your son?” Faramir asked, feigning casual curiosity.

“Yes, my son. His name is Legolas, and it’s very important that I find him and speak to him.”

“You couldn’t just have sent word to the city for him?”

The elf frowned. “I wish to speak to him in person. We will continue on to Minas Tirith in the morning.”

“Excellent,” Faramir said. “It would only be proper if my men and I escort you to the city, since you’re visiting royalty. I’m sure your son will be very pleased to see you. I’ll send one of my men ahead to notify everyone of your arrival…”

“That will not be necessary,” Thranduil said quickly.

“Surely you don’t wish to just wander into the city unannounced, like a common merchant? That’s hardly the welcome we give to royal visitors in Gondor.”

The elf raised his eyebrows doubtfully, an expression that struck Fararmir as instantly familiar; he had not expected how much of Legolas he would see in his father. After a moment, though, he sighed and lowered his eyes.

“Faramir, is it? Faramir, do you have children?”

“No, sir. I have only my brother. Why do you ask?”

“This is not a royal visit between our kingdoms. I have come to see my son, and I have reason to believe that he may… misunderstand my reasons for seeking him out.”

Ruthlessly feigning innocence, Faramir frowned. “Why would he do that?”

Thranduil frowned. “That is not your concern, even if you are a Captain.”

“No, but it may be my King’s concern.”

“Oh?” the elf asked; it was his turn to pretend he didn’t know what the other meant.

“Your son, Legolas… he’s well-known as a hero in Gondor, and he is a personal friend of King Elessar and his wife, the Lady Arwen. They will certainly take a great personal interest in your visit.”

Something flashed in the green-gold eyes, and the elf’s jaw tightened. Faramir maintained his gaze defiantly as he watched confusion and then suspicion and understanding settle into the Elf King’s expression.

“I do not know what you think you know about my son and I, Captain Faramir, but you will not stop me from speaking to him.”

“Perhaps I won’t,” Faramir said evenly. “But I will tell you that while I am a friend of your son, I’m far from being the most powerful or the most dangerous friend he has, and you could be the King of all of Arda, but if you harm him…”

“Do not threaten me, Captain Faramir,” the elf said sharply.

“I’m not threatening you, King Thranduil. I’m merely warning you.”

He turned, took his horse by the reins, pulled himself into the saddle, and rode back toward his men without looking back. His men greeted him uncertainly, not sure what to make of the unreadable expression on their Captain’s face.

“Captain Faramir? Is everything all right?”

He nodded. “Everything is fine.”

“Did you speak to the elves?”

“Yes, I did. They’re traveling toward Minas Tirith, so we shall accompany them there tomorrow.”

“What should we do tonight, sir?”

“Set up camp, and get some rest. I want a watch to keep an eye on those elves; they’re not to be disturbed, but I want them to know they’re being watched, and if any of them tries to leave before morning, I want to know immediately.”

Leaving the men to prepare for the night, Faramir walked a short distance away and sat down with his back to the camp, leaning against a tree and closing his eyes.

Legolas?

For a long moment he thought the elf would not answer him; it was usually Faramir, not Legolas, who kept the connection between them largely silent, although it had been the elf’s continuous abuses of said connection that had necessitated this.

Faramir.

The man smiled to himself. There you are.

What’s wrong? There’s something. I can feel it.

Faramir frowned. I could ask you the same thing, Legolas. What is it?

Nothing you need to worry about, Faramir.

Hmm. It wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain Elf King, would it?

Perhaps. What do you know about it?

Faramir chuckled at the suspicious tone of the elf’s thoughts.

I just had a nice chat with him.

You… what?

He’ll be in Minas Tirith tomorrow by noon, Legolas. If you want to avoid him…

No.

Are you sure…

This is my home. My friends will be here with me. And so will you, Faramir. Go to sleep. You’re tired and this exhausts you more, talking to me this way. I’ll see you tomorrow.

Faramir might have retorted that communicating across a distance was exhausting for Legolas as well, despite the elf’s denials, but Legolas had shut off the connection between them. The man shook his head and hoped that Legolas was not the only one who knew Thranduil was coming. He’d spoken to Boromir about the Elf King before, and the murderous look that the mention of that name roused in his brother’s eyes reassured him that if Boromir was expecting the King of Mirkwood’s arrival, it was likely to be a less-than-warm welcome.

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