Faramir Fiction Archive

Reasons Not to Trust an Elf (NC-17)

Written by RubyElf

21 January 2011 | 12129 words

Title: Reasons Not to Trust an Elf
Author: RubyElf
Characters: Faramir, Legolas, Aragorn / Boromir (implied)
Rating: PG-13 for the first parts; NC-17 for the epilogue
Warnings: AU (ruby-verse)
Summary: The King and his Steward are in foul moods; Legolas has plans to be “helpful”; Faramir should know better, and Arwen does.
Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me. They are just here to play.

Why, yes, it is another crappy, snowy, ugly day in my office! How did you know?

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Part 1

“I can’t think of a single good reason why I should trust you,” Faramir said, shaking his head.

Legolas put on a pained expression and leaned forward across the table toward Faramir. The young man frowned and drew his mug of ale closer to himself and out of reach of Legolas and anything he might attempt to do to it.

“Why would you not trust me?” he asked.

“Because you dyed my feet blue. And put a rock in my pillow case. Oh, and switched my riding gloves with lacy pink ones.”

“Well, Aragorn would have done it himself if your brother hadn’t had the clever idea to keep an eye on him,” the elf pointed out. “Besides, we have a truce. Remember?”

“Vaguely,” Faramir said, “since you did take me out and get me quite drunk, and then tell me some things, most of which I don’t remember, and then take me somewhere else where I managed to get dosed with sleeping powder and didn’t wake up till dinner the next day.”

“I had nothing to do with the sleeping powder,” Legolas said, raising an eyebrow. “I already admitted that it wasn’t wise of me to underestimate the deviousness of any of Elrond’s children, particularly Arwen.”

“You still got me into it,” Faramir argued. “And you’re not getting me into anything else.”

“You’re starting to sound like your brother,” Legolas said. “Grumbling and growling.”

“Perhaps I’ve realized my brother has more sense than me and I should have listened to him when he told me not to trust you any further than I could throw you.”

“Well, if your brother and the King didn’t have to be so stubborn, we wouldn’t be having this discussion, would we?”

“I’m not sure why we’re having it anyway,” Faramir muttered.

“Because I,” Legolas said proudly, “am extremely persuasive.”

“You’re extremely arrogant.”

The elf shrugged. “Regardless, we must do something about Aragorn and your dear brother.”

“Must we? I’m quite content to leave them alone,” Faramir said, glancing across the inn and hoping one of the other Rangers might come and interrupt the discussion, but they were all busy either watching or playing a game that apparently involved flipping several coins and consuming a corresponding amount of alcohol, with much cheering and encouragement from the other participants.

“They haven’t spoken to each other for a week,” Legolas said.

“Yes, and it’s been a very quiet week,” Faramir said. “I’m inclined to encourage them to never speak to each other again.”

Legolas chuckled. “Do you really want your brother to be in such a foul mood forever?”

Faramir sighed. “He is rather awful to deal with when the two of them are at it.”

“Well, Aragorn’s just as bad,” the elf said. “Well, not as bad, but almost.”

“Aragorn has a wife,” Faramir pointed out, as a loud roar erupted from behind them, indicating that one of the players was now on the floor and therefore had forfeited their bet.

Legolas raised his eyebrows. “And your brother has no other… companionship?”

Faramir scowled. “I’m not discussing this in an inn full of drunken soldiers.”

“Shall I tell the soldiers to go away?” Legolas asked helpfully. “No? Well, then. We shall have to go somewhere else.”

He took Faramir by the arm and briskly escorted him out the door and into the quiet, snowy street, illuminated by the flickering oil laps in the windows of the inn. Faramir thought about resisting, but he’d forgotten how strong elves were despite their deceptively slender build, and decided it would be wiser to just go along with him.

“So you’re saying,” Legolas asked, “that your brother hasn’t been…”

“No, he has not,” Faramir said shortly. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Everything is my business,” Legolas corrected him cheerfully. “Surely there are some lovely ladies in this city that would be happy to…”

“He’s not interested.”

“Oh. Well, surely there are some very nice fellows…”

“He’s not interested.”

Legolas snorted. “Well, what’s he interested in? Dwarves? Goats?”

“Hey, now!” Faramir snapped. “That’s my brother you’re talking about.”

Legolas took note of the flare of anger that flashed across the young man’s face, and when he spoke again it was in a moderately more respectful manner.

“Well, he must be interested in something.”

“He’s interested in Aragorn.”

Legolas sighed. “Besides him.”

“Then no, he isn’t.”

“You mean to tell me…”

“I mean to tell you that he won’t so much as look at anyone else, so don’t bother with any silly ideas about finding him a companion to cheer him up or anything stupid like that.”

The elf cocked his head with a puzzled expression.

“I’m certain Aragorn wouldn’t object… he is married, after all…”

“That’s not the problem at all,” Faramir muttered.

“Well, then, what is the problem?”

Faramir gave him a sharp glance. “He’s in love, you daft elf.”

“Oh.”

“What do you mean, ‘oh’? Or don’t elves understand love at all?”

“Of course we do.”

“So what’s the mystery? He’s in love. He doesn’t want anyone else.”

“But…”

“Oh, just stop. You don’t understand at all.”

Legolas followed the man as he stormed off down the street, sending snow swirling and settling behind him.

“I understand just fine,” he said. “Your brother’s moping around making everyone’s life miserable, including his own and Aragorn’s, which doesn’t seem to make much sense when they could be off happily keeping each other busy instead of growling at each other. What’s the matter with him?”

“Arwen…”

Legolas laughed. “Arwen is very fond of her husband. But female elves aren’t the same as mortal women, and though Arwen may have decided to become mortal, she’s still an elf.”

“And?”

“For elves, especially female elves, the intimate activities between a husband and wife are generally intended for the production of offspring. Elf marriages are based on love and respect and enjoyment of each other’s company….”

It was Faramir’s turn to look puzzled. “Men marry for those reasons.”

“True… but elves have an immortal lifetime to decide when they wish to have children, and you have noticed, I suspect, that most elves have only a few children over all that time. Elves marry once and for life. For us to engage in… casual relations for the purpose of pleasure only is considered to be very poor behavior.”

“No wonder your father’s always sending you off on visits instead of letting you hang around his court,” Faramir chuckled.

“My father is unimpressed with my behavior for a wide variety of reasons. But I was attempting to explain to you that passion and desire aren’t really part of what goes on between married elves.”

“Hmm,” Faramir mused, smiling to himself. “You seem to be implying that…”

“That Aragorn probably isn’t being provided with much more of that sort of entertainment than your brother is.”

“No wonder they’re both in such bad moods,” Faramir said, grinning.

“Aragorn loves his Queen, but it seems you mortals need the kind of passion that you can only find with one of your own kind. I’m quite certain that he loves your brother as well, and that whatever it is he finds with him… he finds it only with him.”

Faramir glanced sideways at him. “Perhaps that’s true.”

“Well, then, how shall we go about putting things in order with the two of them?”

“Oh, no, elf. I still don’t trust you for half a moment. Nothing good ever happens to me or anyone else when you’re around.”

“I hardly see how I’m to blame for such unfortunate coincidences. Besides, if you’re not going to help me, I’ll just have to do it all myself.”

Faramir scowled and glanced over his shoulder at the light pouring into the street from the cozy inn where the other Rangers, at least those still able to, were continuing with their game.

“Why don’t you find someone else to help you with these schemes? Like Arwen, for instance?”

Legolas, already striding down the snow-dusted street, burst out laughing. “Don’t be silly. Arwen’s not nearly that stupid. Now, are you coming or not?”

“Intolerable bastard,” he muttered, trying not to notice exactly how much like Boromir he sounded, and hurried to catch up with the elf.

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