Faramir Fiction Archive

Reasons Not to Trust an Elf (NC-17)

Written by RubyElf

21 January 2011 | 12129 words

Part 2

“My brother doesn’t give gifts,” Faramir said.

Legolas ignored him, absorbed in the selection of wine bottles on the shelf in front of him. The shopkeeper watched the two of them with curiosity, probably wondering what they were doing browsing around in his store when Faramir usually had his favorites sent to his rooms when he was running out and Legolas usually just helped himself to someone else’s.

“Did you hear me?” Faramir asked.

Legolas glanced at him. “Yes. I just wasn’t aware that your comment merited a response.”

“Boromir doesn’t give gifts. There’s been no gift-giving in my family since our mother died when we were children. Father certainly didn’t approve of such things.”

“And?”

“And Aragorn knows perfectly well that my brother doesn’t indulge in random gift-giving.”

“Well, that will just make this an even more romantic gesture, won’t it?”

“No, because as soon as he sees that it’s from Boromir he’ll assume that either someone’s put something in it or that Boromir is trying to make him look like a fool, and he’s as likely as not to end up tossing it as somebody, and if I’m lucky it’ll be you.”

“You may have a point,” the elf mused.

“Wait… did you just agree with me?”

“No, I still think you’re entirely wrong. I just said you had a point. I didn’t say it was a good point.”

Aragorn stared suspiciously at the bottle of wine sitting on the dining table. Arwen, who had been occupied with a book, looked up at him and smiled.

“One of the guards brought that in.”

“What is it?”

Arwen looked at him as if he might have been hit in the head while out during the day. “It’s a bottle of wine.”

“It has a note on it.”

“Yes…”

“Did you read it?”

“No, I didn’t read it.”

“Why not?” he demanded.

“Because it says ‘Aragorn’, not ‘Arwen’.

“Where did it come from?”

“The store that always delivers our wine. He said someone purchased it for you but didn’t wish to be identified.”

“Who would do a thing like that?”

“Well, maybe if you read the note, you’d find out,” Arwen suggested, sensibly enough.

Aragorn opened the note and read it. Arwen noticed his scowl and raised her eyebrows curiously.

“What does it say?”

“It says it’s a peace offering from Boromir.”

“That’s unusually magnanimous of him,” Arwen observed.

Aragorn snorted. “I doubt it. He’s probably put something in it. Or he just intends to come in here laughing at me tomorrow for thinking he’d really give me anything besides a black eye.”

“He wouldn’t say that,” Arwen said.

“He said it this morning,” Aragorn argued.

“Was that before or after you told him his head would make an excellent battering ram?”

Aragorn scowled and snatched the bottle off the table. “I’m pouring this out the window right this moment.”

Arwen shrugged. “Mind the topiary.”

Boromir arrived back to his own rooms later in the evening and had just finished lighting the lamps and removing his boots when he heard a soft knock at the door. He opened it warily to find a slender young woman, bundled up against the cold, holding a wooden box tied up with a ribbon.

“What is that?” he asked, frowning.

“It’s a gift, sir.”

“What?”

“A gift.”

“What’s in it? More itching powder? A giant spider?”

She looked puzzled. “Sir? No… not that I know of. The fellow came into the shop and ordered this earlier and asked to have it delivered to you this evening. There shouldn’t be anything like that in here… I wrapped it up myself before I brought it.”

Boromir took the box cautiously. “There’s a note on it.”

“Yessir. That’s for you.”

Before he could ask her for any details about the fellow who had ordered the gift, she was hurrying off down the hall, probably suspecting that the Steward of Gondor had possibly lost his mind. He took the box into his room and set it down on the table, opening it gingerly so he would be able to jump away quickly if anything attacked him. When nothing dangerous or unpleasant appeared, he leaned forward to look inside and discovered what appeared to be a very nice pair of leather gloves, lined with fur for the cold winter weather. He pushed the box aside and picked up the note.

“Peace offering?” he blurted out, furious. “Smug bastard! Think a little gift is all it takes, does he? Supposed to go over there wearing my nice new gloves and tell him he’s made it all better?”

From the snow-bound garden below, Faramir watched as the box came hurtling out of Boromir’s window, landing with a soft thump in a snow drift as the gloves came fluttering down after it, followed by a hailstorm of curses and then a slamming of shutters.

“I told you it was just going to make it worse,” he said, shaking his head.

Legolas frowned thoughtfully. “It appears that Aragorn must have really pissed him off this time. Any idea what exactly…”

“No,” Faramir said. “And now you’ve just made him more angry, and I’ll bet you a week’s wages that there’s a whole bottle of wine poured out in the snow under Aragorn’s window.”

“I don’t bet,” Legolas said shortly. “Now, it seems that we’re going to have to find out exactly what Aragorn has done to offend your brother so much, and then…”

“Oh, no. No ‘we’. I told you this was a bad idea, and I was right.”

“It was not a bad idea,” Legolas argued.

“What was it, then?”

“An experiment,” the elf said firmly. “We have gained valuable information…”

“I told you, I don’t want anything to do with this…”

“No, but you’ll do it anyway.”

“Oh? What makes you think that?” Faramir demanded.

“If you don’t, I’ll just carry on by myself, and then I’ll make a huge bloody disaster of it, and then I’ll ride back to Mirkwood and let you clean up the mess by yourself.”

“How is that different from what’s going to happen anyway?” Faramir asked, feeling suddenly very tired. .

“This way you’ll at least know what to expect,” Legolas said brightly.

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