Faramir Fiction Archive

Loving the Steward (R)

Written by Minx

22 December 2006 | 4389 words

Pairing: Elladan/Faramir
Rating: R
Summary: Elladan talks of falling in love with Faramir
A/N: Much thanks to Iris for her help

Written for the 2006 Midwinter Swap.

Request by Anorienbean: Faramir/Haldir, Faramir/Boromir, Faramir/Aragorn, Faramir/Elf, fluffy, with either of them being a virgin. I’d love a happy ending too :)

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It was a lovely day, I suppose, but it’s difficult to notice these things when you’re not in a good mood. And I certainly wasn’t in a good mood. I was tired, having had no sleep all the last night, thanks to my fool brother and that idiot archer from Mirkwood. I am after all only a half-elf and we do need our rest unlike the archer and his kin. My brother knows that, of course but he forgets these things.

And ever since he and that idiot archer got together, well, let’s just say the citadel in Minas Tirith gets to see newer and newer sights! Especially now since Merry and Pippin added themselves to the fray. The four of them take merrymaking to new heights, sometimes quite literally.

We were waiting for Estel’s Steward to join us. He had requested that he come along with us on this short journey; something about wishing to inspect the buildings by the river, I believe. I’m not sure. He mumbles so softly when he speaks.

He was late now and I was not pleased.

It had taken me a while to get rid of twenty frogs from my bed, and we had risen early.

The horses are standing ready to leave. A very small party accompanies us. We will ride across the river, inspect some of the land there and return the next day. Elrohir and the idiot are laughing. I let them laugh, for now. That I can deal with later. For now, the errant steward needs to be dealt with. I know I am frowning a little because I see my brother’s new found idiot friend staring at me.

I do not feel I am wrong in frowning. Estel’s Steward is not so errant with Estel. On the contrary he is usually dogging his footsteps with reports that he keeps ready much before Estel expects. It scares my little brother when that happens, for he never seems to have planned for the amount of work he has in a day. It is entirely his fault. Ada taught him administrative aspects as well; Estel didn’t bother to learn. He asks instead now, that Elrohir and I stay back here and help him. We have not assured him as yet that we will. It is not that we cannot. Grandfather Celeborn intends to move to Rivendell, and Ada shall leave for the West soon. We will have little to do there. But it would be just too easy to agree!

Our unpunctual companion runs down the steps right then. His collar is askew, and the bindings on his tunic are unravelling, and his hair is flying.

“Forgive me for the delay,” he gasps, as he runs down the last few steps.

I notice that his tunic is falling open, exposing his chest, the fading tan barely covering the scars left by his wartime injuries. He does not wear a vest under his tunic, I realise. That is stupid. We ride long today and intend to camp overnight by the river. He will feel the cold.

I open my mouth to let him know it is all right. I have learnt from watching Arwen that graciousness if displayed when not expected can be a useful weapon, and Faramir isafter all not often know for such delays.

“Elladan is annoyed,” Legolas interrupts in that unnecessarily sweet tone of his, the one that makes me want to hit him.

Faramir gives me a worried gaze and I notice that his grey eyes look much larger, as his features contort into a strangely desperate look. I find I feel like hitting Legolas very hard, and I find it is not because he has interrupted me.

“Forgive me,” Faramir says again, softly, and dips his head, reaching quietly for the reins of the horse the groom hands over to him.

I feel like a fool when I notice the fresh stains of ink on his fingers. He’d had some reports to prepare for Estel, he’d said last night. His rooms are near mine, I remember now, and my frog driving expedition of the previous night would have disturbed his work as much as it disturbed my sleep. He works late into the night often, I have noticed.

“It is all right, Faramir,” I say politely, “Legolas is merely teasing you. I am not annoyed. We know you would not have delayed without good reason.”

“That is very kind of you, my lord,” he stutters.

The others have mounted their horses, and I wave to Elrohir telling him to lead us out, “Faramir and I will take the rear,” I state. Elrohir looks as though he is about to protest my assuming command of this small party but then says nothing. Faramir is fumbling with the bindings of his tunic when I walk my horse over.

I watch him for a moment, and then reach over and nudge his fingers away gently, “Let me help,” I tell him. He stares at me in surprise but lets me help.

I have to undo the tangled bindings first, I realise. The flaps fall open, revealing a slender but firm chest. He is a fine looking young man; it is a pity he shuts himself up all day in his work. I retie the bindings and then smooth his tunic over his upper body.

He looks slightly flushed and I realise he is not used to intimacy in his dealings with others. He should get used to it.

We mount our horses and set off behind the others.

“Were you working on Estel’s reports?” I ask him, after a while. We are trotting along at a brisk pace.

He nods slowly, “Elessar needed them for his council today.”

We ride along the rest of the way mostly in silence, barring a few occasions where I ask Faramir about some land feature or plants. He answers readily, and with interest. I have been curious to hear more from him. He is after all Estel’s Steward. We see him only at meals, where he speaks little. Estel says he did not speak much initially at the councils either, but is opening up a little more now. Some of the older members understandably have reservations about letting the younger ones like Faramir volunteer opinions. What I hear from him now though, I find I like. He is young, yes, but no fool.

We ride long and hard, and reach our destination well in time. It is still early in the evening when we are done with our task, and we decide to set up camp for the night. Faramir finds us a fine clearing near a stream, easy to secure. He knows the land well.

It is not long before we have settled down by a warm fire, with some excellent lembas and a well aged Dorwinion. Legolas has his uses.

I am feeling nicely drowsy by now, and find that if I lean against one of the rocks that surround our little nook, I get a fine view of the sun setting over the trees, and the birds flying over a marsh not far away. I am sleepy, and I realise happily that I will not have to worry about little animals in my bedclothes tonight.

Elrohir and Legolas are laughingly whispering about something though, and that makes me wonder whether I should not watch out. Gimli smiles indulgently at them, and I grin as I remember how well the dwarf has learnt to seat himself on a horse by now. He is still uncomfortable but he manages fairly well. Faramir is sitting quietly, a little way away from the fire, his knees pulled up to his chest, hands wrapped around his legs.

As I glance at him, he moves so that his cheek rests on his knees and his gaze is directed upon the grass. What I see of his expression now is at once unhappy and dulled. He is tired, I suppose.

But I have little time to think about this as the loud noises ensure. I curse myself for not keeping a closer eye on the two idiots. The fire spits and hisses and soon the air is full of popping, crackling sounds as tiny fireballs whiz around – Gandalf’s firecrackers, in the wrong hands. The sounds have startled everyone. Our other companions dart forward first, scared, very briefly, and then watch bemused, and then laugh delightedly as the firecrackers take on various shapes – flowers, birds, a frog. These are the smaller ones, I am glad to note.

I smile too, for a after a while, once I was used to the loud sounds, I could appreciate the bright colours and beautiful shapes materialising in our little clearing.

It is then that I notice young Faramir. He has moved further away, and is sitting huddled back against a tree. He is staring at the sight too, but with a look that mirrors none of the delight the others show. Instead, I realise that his face is pale in the firelight, his mouth hangs slightly open and he appears to be hugging himself tight as one would do if one wants to stop trembling. And then he closes his eyes and bends his face onto his knee. He sits like that until the firecrackers have subsided, and I watch him all through. Soon, the sounds have died out, replaced by light laughter and talk as Elrohir explains to Gimli how he got hold of the firecrackers.

Faramir raises his head very slowly, and then stands up, shakily, using the tree to support himself. He is unsteady on his feet, and continues staring towards the fire.

And then he moves away, walking slowly towards the stream.

I stare at the fire too and remember the sight of the flames jumping high, caught by the swirling papers of the firecrackers, and the sound of flames cackling. I move swiftly after Faramir.

Elrohir and Legolas mean well, I know but there are times I wish they would stop to think. Estel is loath to stop our resident pranksters, I know. He has developed a soft corner for the young hobbits, and after all they have gone through these last few months, and the way they have stood up to all they have faced, this bit of foolery and childishness is allowed to them. It is why I too am loath to say much to Elrohir or the idiot archer. It feels good to hear my brother laugh. And Legolas, well he’s from Mirkwood after all. He looks his age now.

Most of all though, it does good to see how the people in the citadel react. They were shocked initially, when these two used to run around the hallways yelling and shrieking as played that strange game the hobbits taught them. Strange indeed, for all one does is run around after people, aiming to touch them. Apparently no weapons are to be used. But a few days of this, and now there are smiles and pleasantness all round. Gandalf stalking up the roads dripping water all along the cobbles stones was enough to amuse the entire fifth street for an entire morning. Even Gimli, who is otherwise as sour as you could expect a dwarf to be in the presence of anything that does not glitter has been known to smile at the sight. I must admit the idiot archer has a nice laugh, and even the grim head cook has been known to smile more these days. Faramir, I think suddenly, should smile and laugh like that too.

He is sitting by the stream, when I near him.

“Are you all right?” I ask softly.

“You saw.” It is not a question and I know he has seen me observe his reaction to the firecrackers.

“Yes,” I say, quietly, “They meant no harm by it.”

“I know,” he replies.

“May I sit here with you awhile?” I ask him gently. I do not like the idea of him sitting here alone, and grieving, for I can tell that is what he does now.

He shrugs tiredly. I sit down on a flat rock, some distance away from him, and look towards him expectantly. I do not wish to crowd him. He moves closer, but with reluctance I note. I wonder if his old aloofness is returning, but then I notice his eyes seem dull.

We can hear talk and laughter from the camp, as we sit there watching the stream. We sit for some time, in silence. Elrohir and Legolas are laughing louder and longer now back at our camp, and trading stories with each other, that Estel will not like to hear have been traded.

“They are young,” I say quietly, “And they do not realise all. I’ll speak to them.”

“Nay,” he says quickly, “Nay.”

“They are so happy,” he whispers, “I wish –“ his voice falters and he stops and takes a deep breath.

I wait for him to continue. He sighs so I edge a little closer to him.

“What is it you wish for?” I prompt him after a while, watching him. He is thin, I realise, and it is no surprise given his injury and illness during the war. He should have regained his weight by now, though. I must speak to Estel of it. His face is drawn, and there are lines on it that he is too young to have. Underneath his dull grey eyes, there are dark circles that come only from lack of sleep, and excessive work. More to speak to Estel about. And when he runs shaky fingers through his hair I notice a few strands of silver standing out against the black.

“I wish,” he says softly, “I wish – I could be like them.”

I glance up at his eyes sharply, and see the unhappiness in them.

“I – my – everyone around me, the whole city, they are happy the war is over and – I – I find I can’t join in that because all I think of is what the war took away.”

“You are not alone,” I tell him, “Nor do you alone grieve.”

“But they do not grieve publicly as I do. They grieve alone, or with family or friends. When they come out, they try to spread joy and hope.”

“If it is all right for others to grieve with their friends and family, then why not for you?” I ask gently.

He looks up at me, confused, and I find myself getting lost in those grey depths again.

“If you grieve around us, you grieve around your friends,” I said and wrapped an arm around him, pulling closer, “Around people who are fond of you, and wish to help you feel better soon.”

He holds himself awkwardly in my arms but I do not let go of him. If he were truly uncomfortable he would moved away but he has not moved. He needs to relax though.

I lift my other hand to his cheek and rub it gently., as I would a skittish colt. It works here just as well. Faramir turns his face towards me, and I can see his eye have filled up. I pull him closer, and then he is in my arms, crying softly into my tunic, as I hold him. I’m not sure what I should say, so I settle for rubbing my hands over his back, and through his hair, as his sobs intensify and then slowly, come down to sniffles.

He is exhausted when he is done, and cold.

“We need to get you back to bed,” I tell him gently, and he nods in response, head still buried against my chest.

He moves away slowly, and I can see he is confused and unsure. It is never easy to give in to one’s emotions, and I can sense he is embarrassed and a little shocked at himself.

So I hook my finger under his chin, and turn his face towards me.

“It will be all right,” I tell him firmly but gently. He stares back at me and then nods slowly.

I help him back to his tent. He’s tired and the short walk is clearly an effort. I’d like to carry him over, but he is shy enough about having cried.

He is stumbling by the time we reach his tent. I make him sit on his bed and help him undress. He does not protest, he is far too tired now. I can see that he has as much a warrior’s body as a scholar‘s. He has the sinuous frame of an archer, and a multitude of scars. I help him with a nightrobe and turn away as he removes his leggings. Men in Gondor, I have noticed, tend to be shy. I should tell Estel that too. He needs to know that before he goes swimming in the river. Or perhaps, that I should not tell him. Let him find out on his own.

I stay by him until he is sleeping peacefully. I would like to stay by him longer but he may be embarrassed by that, so I leave.

He looks better when we have risen the next morning, although he is still quiet. We ride together again, and this time he points out things to me without my asking. He shows me plants and birds that I would be interested in, and I am. He has observed from my queries yesterday.

The rest of our trip is quiet.

Over the next few days, I find I would like to spend more time with the young Steward. This is usually possible only late in the evenings, once the councils are over, and Estel has let the boy go, and just before he comes up with some other unreasonable request for the next day’s council.

In the late evenings, Faramir usually sits in the gardens alone. I join him there one day, not long after our ride. He smiles when he sees me, and I smile in return. He is a sweet young man, and I find it makes me unhappy when he is distressed. The first evening we sit together in the gardens, we talk little, as on the second. When we do start speaking, it is of plants.

We spend many an evening together, and I find I like listening to him speak. His voice is soft and melodious and he is ever courteous.

“Thank you,” he says quietly on evening.

“Whatever for?” I asked him, smiling. I seem to smile a lot when I see him.

“For – for – our ride. I was unhappy. You helped me – I – thank you,” he stuttered.

I squeeze his hand gently, and he smiles at me, a small, brave smile, in a tired, lonely face. And I know I need to see that smile a lot more.

We also talk as the evenings go by, of books, songs, and finally one day of lovers. That is my doing. One night as we sit in the gardens after supper, I tell him of an old poem Elrohir had once written for a lover. For all his faults, Elrohir writes well, especially in the romantic line.

He likes what I remember of the poem, and then asks in that faltering tone of his, “And did you not write lays to your lovers?”

“No,” I say calmly, “For me to write such poems I would need to truly love someone.” I do not often speak in dramatic a fashion but it is true so I speak so nevertheless.

“What of you?” I ask, “Is there none for whom you will write so?”

He shakes his head, “I have had no lovers. There were brief dalliances but they progressed little for the war left little time for aught else.”

“And now?” I ask quietly.

He turns towards me. He looks troubled, and his mouth hangs slightly open. I can see his lips glisten, as though he has just licked them. His pink tongue darts out to lick them again, so I move forward and capture his mouth in mine.

He does not react, I realise, but he has not pushed me away. And then he begins to move slowly. I feel his tongue sliding into my mouth.

“I seem to have become extremely fond of you,” I tell him softly, when we pull apart for air, and watch as he reddens a little.

I kiss him again, and this time he responds immediately.

It is after we have kissed twice more that he haltingly tells me that he too likes me, and has liked me ever since he saw me. His words may be awkward but there is a depth of feeling behind them that makes me immensely happy.

I realise I can keep kissing him, and I tell him so, as I slip my hands into his robe and feel his skin. He makes a soft moaning sound of pleasure when I run my fingers gently over his ribs. He moves to remove his robe but I stop him. He is puzzled, but I hold him close to reassure him. I would like no more than to rip that ugly robe that Arwen has gifted him off him and see him but, while it is a fine night, but it is starting to get a little cold.

“Inside,” I say softly, “I would see you, but inside.”

We move inside, into my chambers. The bed here is large, soft and covered with silken throws and sheets that I do not use.

“Have you ever lain with another man before?” I ask him, curiously. Men in Gondor are known to be strange.

“No,” he admits softly, “But – I’ve read books, and –“ he stops indignant when I burst into laughter. I can’t help it. Only Faramir could have –

We kiss again with greater urgency now, and I slip off his robe now. He wears an old tunic and trousers underneath that I help him remove. Our fingers move frantically, but we manage with few fumbles. Then I shrug off my own robes, and find myself grinning like a young maiden when he gasps slightly.

“You’re beautiful,” Faramir says.

“As are you,” I tell him, looking at him. He is even more beautiful without that ugly robe. My sister has no taste in clothes if they are not her own.

The lamplight imparts a golden hue to his body and I find myself hardening at just the sight.

I nudge him back onto the bed.

“You’re beautiful,” I tell him again, and he reddens slightly, not just in the face but even on his chest.

I move over him, kissing him gently wherever I can reach. He reciprocates and I shiver slightly as his lips run over my shoulder. I run my tongue over his chest, and lavish attention on his nipples one after the other, gently working at each one with my fingers, then my teeth and lips until they are hard and sharp and glistening in the yellowing light. Faramir is gasping softly by the time I’m done. When I lower my tongue into his navel, he releases soft, soundless cries. My sweet young lover seems to be as quiet in bed as elsewhere but I’ll warrant that wild, unrestrained look in his eyes is for me alone. I move further down, and take his hardened shaft in my hands, stroking gently before taking him in my mouth. The sudden wetness surprises him, causing him to nearly sit up, his eyes flying open. I smile.

He cries out again, still as soft but with more urgency. I can feel him swelling. I spread myself over his legs to keep him from kicking out, so he is forced to buck his hips up.

I make him lie back again, before lifting his legs and nudging them apart. I push my oiled finger through his tiny entrance slowly, gently stretching the tight ring, all the while kissing Faramir so he would not notice the pain. It seems to work for the wariness vanishes after a while, and he takes in a second finger with more ease.

I enter him slowly, and gently, even as I continue kissing him. He is beautiful, I think as he pulls me into him, rocking back and forth into my hardness, begging me not to stop, until we have both collapsed in a heap on my bed, unable to speak.

We make love again that night.

As we lay in each others’ arms later that night, I ask him if he is happy, and he tells me he is. I can sense the question he has though, although he does not voice it yet. If he would, I would answer. But he does not. I shall answer him myself on the morrow.

He has council early the next morning so we do not meet again till the noon meal. He has been eating fruits from the bowl on the table when I walk in. We smile at each other.

“Estel,” I tell my brother, “I have decided to accede to your request and stay here awhile to help you out. Elrohir, what of you?” I ask my twin, ignoring Estel’s stuttered words of thanks.

Elrohir promptly he will travel awhile with Legolas and Gimli but return here after that to help.

That settled, I return to the task at hand. I sit next to Faramir and greet him by gently squeezing his hand pulling him closer to me and kissing him on his lips. He is surprised, but happy, and reciprocates. I get a fleeting taste of strawberry when I dart my tongue out.

The others are smiling at us, when I move away. I have not been as unobtrusive as I thought I was.

Faramir looks at me nervously. I smile.

“You taste of strawberry,” I inform him before I attack his lips.

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