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 5

Faramir made a point of riding at the rear of the group of men and elves as they set off for Minas Tirith in the morning, making sure Thranduil knew he was being closely watched. He had expected the Elf King to avoid him, so he was rather surprised when he found him walking beside his horse.

“Did you wish to speak to me?”

The elf looked up at him with a scowl. “You are to address me as “King Thranduil, or Sire.”

“Hmm,” Faramir said.

“Are all men so disrespectful as you are, Captain Faramir?”

“Have my men been disrespectful?”

“No. They have been very polite. I am not sure where they learned to be, with such an ill-mannered captain.”

“I’m well-known in Gondor for my good manners, King Thranduil,” he said easily. “Now, my brother, on the other hand… perhaps rumors of his temper have spread even as far as Mirkwood?”

“The deeds of mortals do not concern us in Mirkwood.”

“No? I thought perhaps my brother’s antics might be talked about even there. Perhaps you’ve heard of him… his name is Boromir.”

The elf’s face twisted in something between astonishment, realization, and alarm before settling back into its mask. “Boromir, is it? Not the same Boromir who currently serves as the Steward to King Elessar?”

“Yes, that Boromir,” Faramir said, smiling. “You have heard of him, then. I’m sure he’ll be very pleased to meet you… again.”

This time Thranduil could not manage to put his face back together properly, and Faramir had to turn away to keep his grin to himself.

“You didn’t care to mention to me that you are the brother to the man who came to Mirkwood, disrupted my kingdom, wounded and kidnapped my own son, and…”

“Calling it kidnapping would imply that your son was unwilling to leave, and I happen to be fairly certain that the opposite was the case. And as for Boromir disrupting your kingdom… well, that’s to be expected. He does things like that rather often.”

The elf king took a moment to compose himself, and when he spoke his voice was deliberately unconcerned. “And what makes you, Captain, think that you would know anything about my son?”

Faramir leaned over on his horse to face the elf more directly before answering, keeping his tone low enough that only Thranduil would hear him.

“I know a lot about your son, King Thranduil. Perhaps that’s because he sleeps in my bed every night.”

The elf stopped in his tracks. Faramir grinned and rode onward to catch up with his men.

“Wake up, Boromir!” Pippin called cheerfully, pounding on the man’s door.

From inside, the hobbits could hear Finn whining and scratching at the door, but nothing else.

“Boromir! Your dog wants to go out!” Merry shouted.

Again, there was no response.

“Well, the guards said he hasn’t been out of his room yet this morning,” Pippin said, crossing his arms.

“Hmm. Perhaps he was up and left early. Maybe we should let Finn out.”

“The door’s locked.”

Merry rolled his eyes and reached into his pocket, pulling out a key and reaching up to unlock the door.

“I thought Boromir took away your key,” Pippin said.

“He did. This isn’t my key.”

“Then whose key is it?”

“Boromir’s.”

Pippin frowned. “If you have Boromir’s key, whose key does he have?”

“The new one the locksmith made him after he realized he’d somehow managed to misplace his,” Merry said, turning the latch on the door.

As soon as the door swung open, Finn bolted past them and off down the hall toward the garden. The hobbits ignored her; after her last escape, the guards on the upper levels had been instructed not to allow the Steward’s dog to leave, so she usually just made her way to the gardens, stopped by the kitchen to beg, and would be found not too much later napping outside Boromir’s door.

“Shame on Boromir, not letting the poor thing… oh, my!”

Pippin’s complaint was interrupted by an exclamation of astonishment as he walked into the room. Merry nearly ran into him before stopping abruptly.

“Well, then… what’s happened here?”

Boromir and Legolas were sprawled in the chairs by the fire, both looking rather disheveled, although only Boromir was snoring. There were several empty bottles and mugs strewn across the floor and a few more had been tossed into the fireplace and now lay half-charred among the ashes, the fire apparently having disapproved of having ale thrown on it. The man and the elf were barefoot, their boots tossed somewhere in the room, and neither of them showed any indication of having heard the hobbits enter.

Merry crept closer, leaning over Legolas and sniffing curiously before backing away, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Good gods! What have they been drinking… Sauron’s piss? That smells terrible!”

Pippin picked up one of the bottles. “Hmm.”

“Has it got a label?”

“Not a label, exactly. But it’s got W-I-S-K-Y written on it in grease pencil.”

Merry snorted. “No wonder… that’s the stuff we found in his wine cabinet that nearly knocked us both on the floor just from opening the bottle.”

“Look at this, Mer,” Pippin said, giggling as he lifted Boromir’s arm and let it fall limply onto his chest. The man mumbled something, but didn’t stir.

“Hmm,” Merry said, trying the same thing on Legolas and discovering that the elf was, if anything, even less responsive than Boromir. “This is an interesting situation, Pip.”

“Why’s that?”

Merry smiled knowingly. “How much trouble do you want to be in today?”

“Oh, quite a bit, I think We haven’t been in any real trouble in several days. I think we’re overdue.”

“This could be more than quite a bit,” Merry advised him.

Pippin grinned. “Then of course we must do it.

It wasn’t difficult to strip Legolas to his underclothes; the elf was quite light, and between the two of them they could roll him around and lift his limbs in order to tug his clothes off. Boromir took quite a bit more work. They managed to get his pants off, but only with one of them pulling quite hard on each leg, and Pippin was in the man’s lap, attempting to get the buttons on his tunic undone, when someone knocked on the door.

“Boromir? I seem to have found your dog…”

“Who is it?”Pippin asked.

“Maybe they’ll go away,” Merry said; he was preoccupied with attempting to pull Legolas out of his chair by the arms.

When the door opened abruptly, both hobbits found themselves staring blankly at the intruder, with Pippin straddling a half-naked Boromir and Merry with Legolas sprawled half on top of him.

“Hello, Arwen!” Pippin said merrily, as if he’d just walked into breakfast.

Arwen raised her eyebrows. “What exactly are you two doing?”

“Nothing,” Merry said.

“Having a bit of fun,” Pippin added.

“Are you undressing those two for a reason?” she asked.

“Is ‘because they’re too drunk to do anything about it’ a reason?” Pippin asked. “Because if it is, we’ve got a perfectly good reason.”

Arwen considered the situation for a moment.

“That seems to be an acceptable reason,” she said. “Come, Finn. Let’s go see what the cooks have been saving for you.”

She closed the door. The two hobbits looked at each other, and Merry grinned.

“Well, then. Shall we carry on?”

“Of course!” Pippin said. “It would be just silly to stop now!”

Some time later, two sweaty, tired, but very pleased hobbits stood surveying their handiwork: a man and an elf, stripped to their underwear, lying on the floor by the fire. To be entirely correct, the man was lying on the floor by the fire. The elf was laying mostly on top of the man, arms draped over Boromir’s shoulders and his disheveled blond head pillowed comfortably on Boromir’s chest.

“Is that it?” Pippin asked.

“Almost,” Merry said. He walked over, grabbed Boromir’s arm, and wrestled it around until he could plant the man’s hand firmly on the elf’s buttocks. “There. That’s it.”

“He’s going to have us hung in the town square,” Pippin said.

Merry grinned. “It’ll be worth it. Now, let’s go find Aragorn and come up with a reason for him to come down here.”

“What if Arwen already told him…”

“Arwen’s not going to ruin our fun, Pip.”

Pippin giggled. “All right. It’s a shame Faramir’s not home.”

“Maybe he’ll get here before they wake up. Now, come on, and let’s go find Aragorn.”

“They do look very comfortable together,” Pippin said, trying to stop his giggling.

“They do,” Merry agreed proudly.

“Do you think we should have taken all their clothes off?”

“I think that might have caused more trouble than even we care to be in, Pip.”

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