Faramir Fiction Archive

Refuge (R)

Written by Iris

08 March 2014 | 2456 words | Work in Progress

Title: Refuge
Author: Iris
Rating: R
Pairing(s): Faramir
Warnings: dubious content
This story is made up of a series of short fragments,which I'll post one at a time <del>in a shameless ploy to buy myself a little more time</del> for dramatic effect;).

Originally posted to celebrate the birthday of fabulously fantastic Minx, founder of this archive. Happy birthday darling!
Added: Part 7

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I

It was a glorious Autumn’s day, with the low-set sun shining through the leaves that had just begun to turn every colour between green, yellow, red and brown. The ground was wet and mud was flying up behind the riders, but Faramir didn’t care.

Faramir revelled in being outdoors again, feeling the wind in his hair, experiencing the freedom he always felt on horseback, and perhaps most of all, feeling the sun’s rays on his face. The past weeks had been cold, dark and wet, and even though he’d hardly set foot outside, the weather always affected him. Even at his usually bright and sunny spot by his study’s window, he had needed the aid of a lamp morning, noon and night. And the draft and damp could be felt everywhere in the citadel, despite of the thick walls.

He hadn’t expected he’d have the opportunity to go out to Ithilien again so soon. When he’d pulled aside the curtains in his bedchamber that morning and saw sunshine instead of clouds for the first time in weeks, he had felt a sudden yearning for his old life, out in the wilds of Ithilien. But that life was over now, he had told himself. Today would be another day spent at his desk, bent over proposals, minutes, records and reports – thus was the life of the Steward of Gondor. He had sighed, but then quickly berated himself: compared to the sacrifices others had made in the war, how could he complain?

Though when the queen’s brothers and Prince Legolas had come to his study, unannounced and quite unexpected, and asked him to act as their guide and introduce them to Ithilien that very afternoon, he had jumped at the opportunity, records and reports quickly forgotten. He could see to those when he returned, he decided. He’d happily work throughout the night if necessary, for a chance to visit Ithilien. Besides, he could hardly refuse the request of such high guest of Gondor, now could he?

II

“I want him dealt with,” Arwen spat out, “today.”

She turned away from her brothers to look out the window overlooking the courtyard, where her husband was sparring with Prince Legolas. “If he thinks he can get away with this, he is sorely mistaken.”

“Never you worry, sis, we’ll take care of it,” Elladan promptly replied, nodding confidently first at his sister and then at his twin. “Today!”

Elrohir wasn’t quite so sure this would be an easy task. First of all, he had to make sure he understood exactly what Arwen wanted from them. It wouldn’t be the first time that Elladan’s enthusiasm lead them down the wrong path.

“Er,” Elrohir started rather more hesitantly, “when you say you want ‘him‘ dealt with, do you mean Estel, or…?”

Arwen spun round to face him, looking more agitated than Elrohir had seen her in centuries. “No, the boy, the boy!” she all but yelled.

“And when you say ‘dealt with’…?” He had to ask: a misunderstanding on this point could turn quite nasty. He knew Elladan wouldn’t have a problem with even the grimmest interpretation of those instructions: his twin thought humans with their short lifespan were meaningless and expendable, not much different from ants or flies. But this wasn’t just any human – this one would surely be missed. By Estel, for one.

“Just make sure that little slut never touches my husband again.”

III

The familiar road looked so different now than it had in recent years. No more signs of war, but instead everything looked clean and fresh, bursting with new life and energy as if it were spring instead of autumn. The few farmers that still grazed cattle on the Pelennor were building up their homesteads instead of boarding up and burrowing in.

He felt a small measure of pride when he rode across the new bridge for the first time —he had seen the plans and budgets but never the bridge itself— instead of having to wade through the shallow part further upstream as he had done for years. And then finally, they rode into the woods. The moment they left the plains and were surrounded by the trees, the bright sunshine now filtered into that magical shimmer, he felt the stress and tension that he’d unconsciously carried in his body for months, fall away.

He looked behind him to gauge the princes’ reaction, but found that his fellow riders who were there a minute ago had now vanished. He looked around confused, and then suddenly felt a sharp stinging jab to his thigh. And then darkness came…

IV

When he woke he felt the throbbing pain in his shoulder before anything else. Only when he tried to shake out the shoulder muscle, he realised he had been tied to a tree, with his arms pulled backwards at an angle that put constant strain on his shoulders, as well as on the coarse rope that dug into the skin around his wrists.

As his vision cleared, he looked around but saw no one, nor sign of struggle. They — orcs, perhaps, or maybe men from the south? — must have taken the princes! They must have sensed he was of no value to them or anyone, so of course they had left him here, tied to a tree. Possibly his task was to relay the events to the court of Gondor, if he was ever found or managed to free himself. He looked down at his bound body, half expecting to see a ransom note tucked into his belt or pinned to his jerkin.

An all too familiar feeling of dread started to overtake him as he imagined having to inform the King of the fate of both his foster brothers and Prince Legolas, and his own failure to protect them. So often before had he come before the throne in that great hall as the bearer of bad news, and it never bode well for him.
Often before he had been blamed and punished for adversities that had been beyond his control. But that would not be the case this time. How could he have been so careless, so stupid? He had let the beauty of the day, the boundless optimism that seemed all round, lull him into a false sense of security. How quickly he had forgotten his Ranger skills! All those months spent first in bed and then at a desk had not only made him go soft around the middle, but apparently also in the head!

The king would be right to blame him for what had happened – Lords Elladan and Elrohir and Prince Legolas had come to him to act as their guide, whatever happened to them was his fault. Oh, and how selfish he was for worrying about the consequences to himself rather than what might be happening to the King’s friends. Gods, he did hope they would not be harmed by their kidnappers! Faramir did not know them very well at all —before today they had not said as much as two words to him— but as much as all three appeared fierce warriors on the outside, Faramir had read enough about elves to know that they could also be very delicate, fragile creatures.

V

Happy birthday, Minx!

Last year, I was planning to post a chapter of this one each week, but first the internet ate my homework I lost the update, and then there was all that business of finding out if Aomame and Tengo would ever get together which took up most of November, and then there was work, lots of work.

But enough with the excuses. I hope you’ll have a perfect day and a marvellous year, and here’s to many happy returns of the day!

- iris

“He’s awake!”

As soon as Elrohir cried out, Faramir craned his neck and strained against his ties to catch a glimpse of all three of his travel companions.

“Oh, you’re alive! Thank the Valar, you’re alive! Are you alright? Are you hurt? Did they hurt you? How did this to you? Did you see them?” The usually quiet, thoughtful man seemed so relieved he started rambling, so excited to see them, he voiced every thought that popped into his head without his usual inhibition. And all at the same time too.

He quickly quieted down, and the relief on his face was instantly replaced by dread, when he saw Elladan coming towards him, sword first. Well, one would, with that manic look his brother could get when properly motivated, Elrohir though. And if there was anything that’d get Elladan worked up, it was their sister’s well-being.

“You,” Elladan hissed at the boy, emphasizing his seriousness by pressing the tip of his sword up against Faramir’s cheekbone, forcing his head back as far as it would go, again straining against the Elrohir’s careful bindings, “You have been upsetting our sister by seducing her husband, you little strumpet!”

Legolas joined it, “you.need.to.stop.sleeping.with.aragorn”, speaking slow and deliberately, almost as one would talk to a child, if it wasn’t for the menacing look and the fact that he was punctuating his words by prodding Faramir’s jerking with the point of his sword.

“I…,” Faramir started, looking baffled from Legolas to Elladan, blinking.

“And we’re here to tell you, your little romance ends now,” Legolas added, jabbing his sword closer to the sensitive skin of Faramir’s neck, as if to give a little preview of what might happen if his direction was ignored.

“R-romance?“ Faramir stuttered, looking more confused then ever.

“Don’t deny it! We know all about it!” Elladan hissed, “You and Estel. You have to stop it, now.”

“But… he’s my king, I cannot refuse him!”

VI

‘Romance…’

Faramir let the echo of the word roll around in his head for a moment. He’d never thought of what the King and he did — what the King did to him — as anything even remotely related to romance, the thought had never occurred to him, and trying to marry the term with the acts in his head procured nothing but a mental blockage. The word rolled around but Faramir’s brain decided it was foreign to him. Inconceivable.

And yet… the King had hinted on more than one occasion that he’d been begging for it, as the King put it, the way Faramir had mooned over him. And there had been some truth to that. He’d been infatuated at first, those first weeks after the King had returned. He’d dreamed of the moment for so long, and now it had come to pass! Seeing his dreams come true had helped dampen the blow of losing his brother, and had helped keep his pressing loneliness at bay for some time.

He hadn’t been the only one who’d been infatuated: all of Gondor still was. He’d seen the looks the people gave him — the looks of admiration and adoration that used to be the preserve of Boromir. Though that was different: everyone knew that after the battle was done, you’d more likely find the Captain-General in one of the local taverns raising a beer with his men than in the council chamber. With Boromir, everyone knew you could go up to him and shake his hand or pat his shoulder, even steal a kiss if you were pretty (or bold) enough. Not so with the King. He didn’t socialize with the people, only with those within his trusted inner circle. A circle Faramir was resolutely not part of.

So at first, when the King had sought him out, he’d been thrilled. Elated and enthralled, and more than a little starstruck. Filled with hope that some day soon he too would be invited to sit down at the King’s dinner table and be privy to the private jokes that were always buzzing around the citadel.

But that hope has soon vanished. The King had been rough that first time. Violent even, as to assert his power and show Faramir who was boss. Not that there was any need to remind Faramir to their relative positions. He was well aware he had no alternative to obey his King. On subsequent occasions, Faramir simply did as he was told, or assumed the requisite position and let the King do as he pleased. The King still had a mean streak at times, especially when he’d been drinking or stressed — or both – but he’d never been as violent as the first time. They’d worked out a unspoken understanding. Though romantic… no, the thought had never entered Faramir’s mind to call it that.

VII

‘I cannot refuse him.’ The all knew it the moment those words left Faramir’s lips, startled and confused. It was Elladan to speak first. “This isn’t Estel’s lover!,” he cackled with obvious relief through a fit of giggles, “It’s his catamite!”

“He forces himself on you?” Elrohir asked, not quite believing the foster brother he knew would be capable of such a thing.

Faramir blinked a few times, struggling to keep up with yet another sudden shift. “Well, no — he’s my king — I’m his in whatever way he sees fit,” Faramir answered.

“But you rather he didn’t?”

Faramir was clearly struggling to find the right words, and finally came up with, “Obviously I’m honoured my king has chosen to, er, use me in this way; I’m proud I can serve him, er…”

“Quite”, Elrohir said sceptically, raising an eyebrow.

“Well-,” Legolas interjected, “Whether or not the boy is a willing receptacle of Estel’s pleasures – it hardly matters for our purposes. He’s clearly in no position to say no.”

Elrohir nodded, catching on to this complication in their plans immediately. “So how do we solve Arwen’s problem?”

“I say we kill him and say the orcs got him,” Elladan said coldly, swinging his sword back up. “Or we leave him here, as he is,” he added, plucking at the carefully tied bonds, “and then the orcs will get him. Nobody’ll miss him.”

“He will be missed,” Elrohir contradicted his brother. “He’s the Steward of Gondor after all. If nothing else, I don’t want Arwen complaining in a couple of weeks time that now she never sees Estel any more because he’s constantly buried in paperwork.”

“Right, then we’ll cut him up,” Elladan slashed his sword through the air, dangerously close to Faramir’s face, miming his intend. “If we disfigure him, he can still do his paperwork, but Estel won’t want to touch him.”

“I doubt that,” Legolas snorted. “It’s hardly as though Estel wants him for his pretty face.”

“Then what do you propose?” Elladan snapped back.

To be continued…

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