Faramir Fiction Archive

Seeking (G)

Written by Shireling

27 June 2005 | 45981 words

Chapter 9>

As I stood and observed, the tension was an almost tangible entity, though I don’t think the other two present in the room were aware of anything but the mess of their own emotions. The tableau before me was tragic and awful and I could not tear my eyes away from it.

Never in all my years could I have anticipated this. I knew that Estel had a plan but I could not have envisioned this turn of events! He had said that he intended to push Faramir but this was a desperate way of securing his objective

I stood watching; watching and waiting to see if Faramir would choose honour or duty; if he would do as ordered or if he would listen to the honourable council of his own heart and step back from this deed.

I could feel his conflict; see how his body shook, caught as he was between two impossible choices, how the crop quivered in the death-grip of his sweating palm, hear his gasping breaths and sense the relentless pounding of his heart. As he stood with his arm raised his head was lowered and I could not see his face for the blanketing curtain of red-gold hair but I could see the wet slashes on the floor at his feet where his tears had fallen in silent confirmation of his anguish.

And Estel? His own anxiety thrummed and writhed in the air between us. I could see the tension in his stance and in the way his fingers clutched at the edge of the table. He raised his head to me only once and he flashed me a smile of such concern and compassion; compassion not for himself but for me who was forced to witness this and for Faramir. I could see now his intention and I marvelled again at the lengths he would go too to rescue a friend in need! In any other circumstance I would not be a passive observer to this tragic, awful display, I would be at his side, guarding and protecting him from wilful harm but I was helpless to act; I had to abide by his wishes and trust that, in his wisdom and compassion, he had read Faramir truly.

Time stilled and seconds stretched to last an eternity.

I heard Faramir whisper ‘I’m Sorry’ as the crop fell.

And time suddenly raced, speeding up until actions and movement blurred. I watched the crop fall through the air to impact with Estel’s shoulder and slide down his sweat-slicked skin to land on the floor. In that same instant Faramir let out a cry, the desperate keening of a lost soul, as he turned away and lurched towards the door, towards me. My role now was to catch him, to hold him and keep him safe. I caught a glimpse of Estel and saw him slump down against the table, the sudden relief of tension running out of him and turning his legs to jelly as the battle-rush ebbed away.

But my focus was on Faramir; he ran straight into my arms, my body blocking his retreat; his desperate struggles to free himself accompanied by the eerie howls of distress. It took me a moment to get a firm grip on him, to subdue him so that he could not injure himself or me. I finally managed to turn him and draw him back against my chest, crossing his own arms in front of him and holding his wrists gently but firmly. Our struggles had managed to propel us so that I was now backed up against the door with him pinned against me. He still struggled and thrashed and he could have hurt me, could have used his head to butt me and cause both pain and injury and yet he did not; even in the extremity of his distress he could not bring himself to hurt me.

All of this time I kept up a constant litany of reassurance, of soothing and gentle endearments whispered against his ear. His own distress was still too loud and vociferous for him to heed my words but I hoped that the essence of what I was saying would somehow filter through his distress and settle within his heart.

With Faramir gently subdued I now turned my attention back to Estel. He was on his feet and had replaced his shirt. He picked up the crop from the floor and threw it into the fire, rubbing his palms against his breeches as though the mere touch of the thing had sullied his skin. With shaky hands he poured himself a drink of water from a carafe on the side table and he flashed me an equally shaky smile.

He had known!

He had known that Faramir would not, could not bring himself to inflict an unearned and unjust punishment on an innocent being… not even when ordered by the highest authority, not even when it was offered as a prequel to him receiving what he considered his just desserts. He had known that Faramir’s strength of character and sense of honour would triumph over self interest; that his gentle and compassionate heart would prevail.

I offered him a smile and he returned it, mouthing a silent ‘thank you’.

Faramir was still fighting me, desperately trying to free himself from my firm but loving embrace. To be held in such close and intimate proximity was for him unbearable and yet I could not let him loose. His struggles, though heartfelt, were ineffectual; even at the peak of his powers his strength he would have been no match for mine and now his strength and his reserves were all but depleted; he simply had nothing left to offer. He struggled because he could not bear the alternative; he could not allow himself the weakness of surrender. He gave one final heave, one last futile attempt to release himself from my grasp and then he simply collapsed. His legs would no longer support him and my arms were the only thing holding him upright.

I allowed myself to slide down the door taking him with me until we were both sitting on the floor, my knees bent up on either side of him, helping to cradle him against my body. I still had his arms pinned across his chest and he huddled his knees up against his body, curling his head in tight. He may have surrendered the fight but he was not yet ready to surrender in spirit. I kept up my constant, whispered narrative of reassurance, my chin resting on Faramir’s hunched shoulders.

Estel had moved to join us and he settled on the floor facing us, his legs crossed.

“Faramir,” he whispered softly, letting his hands rest on Faramir’s knees, his thumbs moving against red-gold hair.

“Leave me alone!” the whispered words were muffled and accompanied by an involuntary shudder.

“I’m sorry, Faramir. I know you don’t see it but I had no choice… I had to make you see!” Aragorn said, not withdrawing his hands.

“You tricked me… lied to me… you never intended to help me, did you? It was all a sham. I trusted you!… I TRUSTED You!” He exploded into motion again, taking me by surprise and almost freeing himself from my grasp. “I could have hurt you!” he choked.

“No, Faramir! My brave, brave Steward. I knew you would never hurt me!” Estel crooned. “I knew you would not hurt me… just as I could not do that to you!”

Estel slid his arms around Faramir’s shoulders and pulled his curled body against his chest. I released my hold on his wrists and rubbed up and down his upper arms in what I hoped was a soothing manner. We must have presented a curious picture, huddled together on the floor, Faramir enfolded between us.

“Why?” The question was uttered after a long period of silence.

Such a small word for such a big question. I wasn’t sure of the context of the query but I left it to Estel to discern where Faramir’s thoughts were going.

“Why, what, Faramir?”

“Why… why do you hold me? I-I don’t understand! You don’t need to… it is not necessary. I will not try to get away… I could not even if I wanted to… just do with me what you will and get this over with! I no longer have the energy to care!” For the first time he raised his head briefly and I could see the relief in Estel’s troubled eyes. Estel tilted Faramir’s chin up and waited for their eyes to meet.

“Tell me, Faramir,” Estel asked, “do you remember the evening when Pippin got so upset?” Faramir nodded and tried to duck his head away as the memory of that distress hit him again; Estel wouldn’t allow him to retreat. “Easy, Faramir… it’s alright! Remember how upset Pippin was… how he beat on your knees in his distress? Tell me what you did, Faramir?”

“I talked to him. I tried to make him understand!”

“Yes you did,” Estel smiled, “but what else did you do?”

“I don’t understand!”

“Did you leave little Pippin alone in his distress?”

“No… no I picked him up.”

“Why? Why did you do that? Why did you hold him?”

“He was so upset… he wanted to remember Bor-Boromir and he thought I didn’t care!”

“So you held him to soothe and comfort him, Yes? And that is exactly why we are holding you now, Faramir… .to sooth and comfort you in your distress. We cannot bear to see you hurting and not offer you the comfort that you so desperately deserve. Never again will we leave you to suffer your distress alone. We care for you, Faramir. We care for your wellbeing and happiness. You are suffering and we cannot and will not allow that to continue.” When Estel dropped his hand from supporting his chin, Faramir again dropped his head forward to shield his gaze from view.

“If you had only done what I requested,” he whispered, “I would not now be suffering the burden of guilt!”

“Faramir. It is not necessary to be beaten bloody to achieve absolution. There are other ways!” Estel said, gently shaking the curled body.

“NO!… No, not for me. It is my duty to submit!”

I could not keep quiet. “You would submit without question or complaint to your Father’s lash and yet you turn away when those who care about you offer you a caring touch! Why is that, Little Ranger?”

“Because I deserved the lash!…..”

“And?” I thought he wouldn’t answer but he surprised me.

“I-I don’t deserve the comfort… .comfort is for women and children… not for warriors!”

“Oh, Faramir! You are so very, very wrong.” I grasped his arms and swivelled him around towards me, bringing us both up onto our knees, face to face. “Everyone deserves the loving attention of those who care for them. Am I weak in your eyes? Is Estel? Do you think any the less of us because we seek and welcome the love and comfort of others?” I demanded, pulling his resisting body to me and crushing him against my chest

“Of course not… but you are an Elf and he is a King and you are above the weaknesses of lesser men!”

“You are not a lesser man, Faramir!” Estel insisted. “You are unique and special to us. Not because you are our Steward, not because you are a son of the house of Hurin, not even because you are a brother of our dear friend Boromir… but because you are you, Faramir!”

“You are wrong. You will see before long… No matter how hard I try, I cannot help but display the weakness that my father saw so clearly. You are kind and I know that you mean well but I cannot change the truth of my nature. Has it not been proved to you over the last few days? … and now you have refused me my only means of… .my father beat me, yes, but he did it for my benefit… to purge me of the weakness that blighted his opinion of me… he wanted to make me stronger… to be more like… to be more like Boromir!”

“Aye, it all comes back to Boromir, doesn’t it?” Estel said sadly, patting Faramir on the shoulder as he rose to his feet. “Come, my friends, my bones are too old and creaky for sitting on cold floors. Let us find a more comfortable venue for our discussions.” He helped Faramir to his feet and I rose with him. Faramir seemed shaky on his legs and we both supported him to a long low settle near the fire.

With the two of them settled I stepped out and retrieved a tray of refreshments I had requested earlier. Faramir was shivering, not from cold, for the room was warm; more I suspect from tiredness and a reaction to the emotional distress of the mornings events. I snagged his woollen robe and drew it around his shoulders. He ate little and while we ate he slumped back against the cushions and watched the flickering dance of the fire.

I knew from experience what would happen now. Faramir was exhausted and vulnerable but he was at last reasonably calm. Estel had truly pushed him over the edge and we had halted his fall, now we had to build him back up again with our love and understanding; we had to gently lead him to a point where he would accept our care and attention, if not willingly then at least with the reassurance that we have his best interests at heart.

Estel is a master at this, he sees beyond the words and actions of those in his care; he sees into hearts and unscrambles the convoluted stranglehold of grief and remorse. He has rescued me from my demons more times than I can recall and I will draw on that experience now to help him reach out and rescue my dear Little Ranger.

In battle situations, in times of threat, instinct takes over and there is no time to fear; the fear, the reaction comes later when the battle rush fades and the realisation of possible consequences finally breaks through. I have been in many frightening situations in my life but never have I stood waiting for a beating. That is not to say I have never been punished, for I have found myself many times on the receiving end of a sincere and painful chastisement but they were always performed by those who cared for me; who delivered a loving chastisement, meant to nurture and protect.

But to stand waiting in fearful anticipation!

Nothing could compare to that. My heart was pounding in my chest, my mouth dry and my palms slick with sweat as they supported my weight over the desk. I couldn’t help but quiver with dread, acutely conscious of every sound within the room, of Faramir beside me; his distress even more evident than mine.

The waiting was gut-wrenchingly awful. I couldn’t bear it… and yet I had no choice; I had been waiting only moments, Faramir had waited for me for hours! His courage and fortitude never fails to astound me. Inside that frail, vulnerable frame is a core of matchless strength.

When I felt the touch of the crop leave my shoulder and sensed the whisper of air as it hung poised to descend for the first stroke I knew real fear. I thought I had misjudged Faramir’s nature. But I was not wrong. He turned away in his torment, a heartrending cry torn from the very roots of his soul.

He would not hurt me!

He would not hurt an innocent being, though I felt anything but innocent for reducing him to such extreme distress but we were past the greatest hurdle. As I waited to regain the strength in my traitorous legs, I relied on Legolas to keep Faramir safe. I had confidence that my dear friend would utilise his prodigious strength and tender compassion to keep Faramir from harm. I could hear him, even through the pounding in my own ears, soothing with his voice as he captured the flailing limbs of my distraught Steward

He is calm now; gentled to a state of passive acceptance by my dear Elf’s comforting endearments and loving embrace and, I hope, by my reassurances. In a very real sense he has already surrendered himself to our care; he no longer has the strength or the inner resources to resist the desperate cry of his own heart for comfort… he just doesn’t realise it yet. For so long he has blocked out the call of his heart, knowing that he would find no relief or succour, that he no longer recognises his inner voice. His exhaustion is in danger of tipping him into sleep and I do not want this window of opportunity to slip away; to risk allowing him to pull back into place his well perfected art of concealment.

Legolas had his arm extended along the back of the seat and as Faramir had slumped down in the seat his head had come to rest on the slender Elven limb. Legolas curled his arm around, pulling Faramir’s back to rest against his chest. It wasn’t quite an embrace and he didn’t resist but he did flash me an anxious glance that screamed of apprehension, as though he feared I would call him for his ‘weakness’.

“Faramir,” I asked, “tell us something of your childhood. What is your first memory of being disciplined? Did your father involve himself in care, in your upbringing?”

His gaze went distant, as though this exercise in returning to his past required great effort. Suddenly a small brief smile played across his face.

“Mimi!” he exclaimed, “The first person to lay a correcting hand on me was Mimi!”

“Not your Father then!” I queried.

“No, he didn’t involve himself when I was a youngster.”

“So tell us about your Mimi?”

“Mimi, Lady Mimaver, was a kinswoman of my mother. I believe she came to Gondor as a companion for my Mother on her marriage. When my Mother died she stayed on to look after us. I suppose you could say she was my Nanny; Boromir was by that time already under the care of a tutor,” he said, lost in the memories.

“I would have been about seven and Boromir twelve, for he had progressed from the schoolroom to the cadet barracks to begin his military training. It was approaching the Midsummer Fayre, the highlight of the year. Tradition had it that the cadets put on a display of their skills in a series of tournaments and exercises and it was all Boromir could talk about; he was so enthusiastic and his excitement rubbed off on me! Every afternoon when my lessons were finished, Mimi and my personal Guard would take me down to the practice field to watch them train.”

“On the day of the Fayre I was bouncing so much that I couldn’t sit still for my lessons. When it was time to go, we walked down through the levels and I remember feeling ten feet tall. As you can imagine there were big crowds and I was in such a hurry to see Boromir that I dashed away from my attendants. When I got to the arena I could see the Cadets forming up, and in my excitement I ducked under the fence and headed straight for Boromir… right into the path of a mounted troop!”

“The next thing I knew I was flying through the air, snagged up by my collar and the seat of my britches by the Cadet Commander, a giant of a man with a mean face and a very loud voice! He yelled at me and threw me over the fence into the arms of my Guard who had arrived just in time to witness my impetuous actions.

“‘Take his Lordship back to the nursery and impress upon him the folly of trespassing where he does not belong!’ The Commander bellowed at my Guard, and with a salute to Mimi he marched back to his cadets. I was carried, kicking and screaming back up to the Citadel. I can vividly recall the rage that gripped me. Even when the Guard whacked my backside I didn’t cease, so he clamped me under his arm and gagged my screams with his hand.

“When we arrived at the nursery I was unceremoniously handed to Mimi and very quickly found myself balanced over her knee, with my breeches around my ankles as she spanked me… long and hard! When she had done with me, she stood me on my feet, rearranged my clothing and instructed me to apologise to the Guard for my disgraceful behaviour.

“I remember I was so upset that I could barely get the words out. When the Guard left I turned back to Mimi and I was horrified to see that she was crying too. I was more distressed by the fact that I had made her cry than I was about missing the tournament or the spanking… I flew into her arms and she hugged me so hard I could scarcely breath. I think I fell asleep in her arms.” Faramir explained, lapsing back into a thoughtful silence. I noticed that Legolas was rubbing Faramir’s shoulder in a gentle, soothing gesture.

“And did she ever have to repeat her lesson in acceptable behaviour?” Legolas asked, with a cheeky grin.

“No… no I was on my best behaviour, one lesson was quite enough… and she left me not long after!”

“Why? What happened?” I asked, seeing the shadow cross his face.

“I turned eight! And I was considered too old for a Nanny. I was introduced to my Tutor on my eighth birthday; the nursery was turned into a schoolroom and Mimi returned to Dol Amroth…I never saw her again!” Oh, this was harsh indeed; another abandonment in a lifetime of losses.

“I’m sorry!” I said, taking his hand “That must have been so very difficult for you… you must have missed her greatly.”

“Aye. I was more aware of her absence than I was of the loss of my Mother; my Mother was ill for so long that my memories of her were fragmentary; a sense of her presence rather than clear memories, but Mimi was such a vibrant and loving person and for many years she had devoted herself to my care,” he whispered. “How could I have forgotten that… I hadn’t thought about her in years?”

“Perhaps that is because her leaving was so painful for you! Sometimes it is easier to lock memories away when there remembrance causes us distress!” I said gently. He simply nodded miserably.

“What of your Tutor? Was he a good man?”

“I was terrified of him at first and I was determined not to like him! He was tall and thin with black hair, a pale face and a beak-like nose… he looked very forbidding. But I soon discovered that he was a good teacher and he always treated me fairly. He expected me to work hard but I was a diligent student and he always made his lessons interesting. If I finished my set tasks he would take me to the archives and we would explore the old texts and parchments.”

“And did he ever have cause to chastise you?” I asked.

“No. He had a ruler and he would wrap my knuckles if my attention wandered but generally we got on well. I enjoyed my studies and he was always very encouraging. I missed him when I left the schoolroom for the Cadet barracks.”

“I’m sure!” I said. “I know something of how Cadets were trained. It was not an easy life, was it?”

“No… it was harsh and as the son of the Steward and the younger, weaker brother of Boromir I had a lot to live up to. It was hard to measure up favourably to that sort of expectation. It wasn’t until I showed an aptitude for archery that I began to be accepted in my own right. I was never good with as sword, I didn’t have the build or the strength but I made sure I could beat all-comers on the range… even my Father couldn’t decry that skill!”

“So when did he start to take a hand in your discipline?” I asked.

“When I became a Cadet! Each week the Training Commander and I would present ourselves to the Steward and he would quiz the Commander on my progress both in my studies and out in the field; successes, failures, merits and demerits. He would always end by demanding to know of any sanctions or punishments I had incurred. Then he would lecture me, in front of the Commander, about my failings and weaknesses. The first time he was told I had received a thrashing he was livid. The favoured method of punishment for Cadets was a birch, a bundle of long slender birch twigs bound at one end to create a handle. It was applied to the miscreant’s bare back. It was very painful but designed not to inflict injury. Anyway, when he learned that I had earned a beating he sent me all the way down to the barracks to retrieve the birch and then he had me strip off my tunic and shirt and proceeded to repeat the punishment, doubling the tariff as a warning not to show such weakness in the future. After that I had to bring the birch with me to every audience just in case it was needed!”

“And when did he progress from using the birch to more extreme methods?” I asked.

“When I graduated from the Cadets,” he explained. “He said that I was doing an adult’s job and I should suffer an adult’s punishment.”

I found it disturbing that Faramir could recite this catalogue of abuse so calmly and with so little appearance of distress, it was as if he were talking about things happening to another person rather than himself; it said much of his ability to close himself off from difficult or painful recollections.

There was much more that I wanted to ask him about but time was moving on and I could see him sagging under the weight of his exhaustion. Legolas helped him to his feet and I sent him off to his bathing chamber to prepare to rest.

While Faramir was thus engaged Legolas and I stood together at the window of his bedchamber and looked out over the noon-tide city.

“Do you think he realised how neatly his tale played into your hands?” Legolas asked me.

“No. I don’t think he is in any condition to analyse what he was saying or the significance of it. I think his guard is so low that he was speaking without conscious thought or without any attempt at concealment. I think he was surprised at some of the things he revealed.”

“And are you going to attend to him now?” my Fair Elf asked.

“Yes, though I don’t believe he will be able to tolerate much. He is too fragile to deal with all of the matters that require attention. We will need to spread this lesson over more than one session.”

“We will need to tread carefully, Estel!” Legolas’ voice carried an under layer of concern.

“We will give him our best attentions. We will not fail him!” I soothed. “When we are done, would you stay with him?” I asked. “I want him to remain here in his room, resting until I give him leave to return to duty.”

“And how do you propose I go about keeping him resting?” Legolas blustered.

“The force of your personality… plus physical restraint, if necessary!” I laughed. “I will dose him up with Lord Elrond’s medicine when we are done here and again after supper. That should at least allow him to sleep peacefully until tomorrow. After that we will have to see what happens!”

We heard movement that suggested that Faramir was returning. Legolas took a seat on the bed and patted the mattress on his right indicating that Faramir sit beside him. As Faramir took his place I moved a chair forward so that I was sitting right in front of him, close enough that I could place my knees on either side of his. He tensed when I took his hands and I smiled as Legolas placed a hand on his shoulder and murmured some words of encouragement. Faramir raised his eyes to mine and took two or three deep breaths, consciously allowing his tension to ease away as he exhaled.

“I know that this morning has been very difficult for you, Faramir, but you did very well. We are very proud of you!” I praised him. “But we still have some matters to deal with before I let you rest. You revealed something very important when you told us your stories. Do you know what that was?”

“No, Sire.” His puzzled gaze switched from me to Legolas and back. I smiled at his innocent confusion.

“You told us about Your Mimi and how she had occasion to chastise you for running away from her and putting yourself in danger… “

He interrupted me “It seems I haven’t outgrown all my childish folly,” he said with just the hint of a smile.

“Yes, well! That wasn’t quite the point I was trying to make but, yes! Though now it is yourself you seek to run from!” I confirmed, squeezing his hands to show my understanding.

“Never mind, Little Ranger. We will help you to work on that habit!” Legolas teased, playfully ruffling the blushing Steward’s hair.

“No!” I continued, “The point I was trying to make was that despite your Father’s harsh and unjust punishments, you have in the past received lovingly applied discipline; discipline enacted to nurture and protect you and undertaken in such a way that you felt safe, loved and protected!”

“I don’t understand, Sire!”

“Yes you do, Faramir. The answer is there in the story you told us. Mimi held you over her knee and spanked you ‘long and hard’ and yet despite the pain of her attentions you went straight into her arms to be loved and comforted. And you felt so safe in her embrace that you fell asleep. What greater demonstration can there be of love and trust? She loved you so much, Faramir, that she would not allow your dangerous and heedless actions to go unanswered,” I explained gently. “And that is why, my brave Steward, I now intend to repeat her actions!”

I watched him carefully and saw the slow realisation dawn upon him. I kept a tight grasp of his hands as Legolas put an arm around his shoulder. We both saw him pale and then blush, his breathing becoming rapid and shallow as his body prepared for flight.

“Oh… no… you can’t. yo-you mustn’t! Oh, please no… no! I am no longer a child in the nursery to be upended… Legolas… please… please!” he begged.

“Gently, Faramir. There is nothing to fear! You can trust us to keep you safe, but this is fair and just. For your own peace of mind we must give you the opportunity to atone for your misdeeds and, more importantly, to forgive yourself.” Legolas crooned. “You have lived with guilt and fear and grief for too long and we cannot allow that to continue; it is damaging your health and your peace of mind.”

I released his hands and cupped his face between my palms, leaning forward until our foreheads touched. “Faramir you will be alright, we will allow no harm to come to you. You will be spanked and you will put all of this behind you and you will allow yourself to accept our comfort.”

I got to my feet and moved the chair away, giving Legolas a few moments to continue calming Faramir.

I knew that the next few moments would be crucial in building a trusting relationship with Faramir. I needed to make sure the coming experience was totally different to what he had endured at Denethor’s hands. But Faramir’s narrative had described that horror in excruciatingly vivid detail and I now knew what I had to avoid.

Yes, the spanking would be difficult and painful to endure but it would be the emotional aspect that was most difficult for Faramir. He had learned to endure physical pain without cry or complaint and a hand spanking could not begin to compare with a lash or a whip. But Faramir had learned to enact an emotional distance during his punishments, locking his emotions in so tight that the physical pain could be weathered in silence; a process enabled by the physical and emotional detachment of Denethor, who could beat his Son bloody, without a nurturing touch or a word of comfort, and all in the guise of helping him to be strong. Such a process was a travesty of loving discipline! I would not allow him to erect that barrier nor would I allow him to retreat into his internal cell of self-preservation.

When I turned back Faramir was no longer sitting with Legolas but was standing at the foot of the bed, leaning over, his hands tightly gripping the wooden bed-stead.

“Faramir, what are you doing?” I asked gently, moving to his side.

“Is this alright, Sire? Is this where you want me? Or should I move to the desk? I haven’t… ? I don’t know… how- how to do this, Sire. I’m sorry… so sorry..I just… I don’t know!” His words came out as an almost incoherent babble, his grip on the wood getting tighter and more desperate as he spoke.

“Peace, Faramir,” I soothed, peeling his rigid fingers free. “You don’t have to do anything. Just follow my lead; you don’t have to do anything.”

With an arm around his shoulder I led him slowly back to where Legolas waited for us. As I sat down on Legolas’ right side I moved my arm from his shoulder to his waist and gently guided him down over my lap. At the last second he tensed and went rigid, the enormity of his predicament suddenly slamming into him, but at that moment Legolas reached out and helped to ease him down. With Legolas and me side by side Faramir lay across both our laps, his abdomen on me and his chest supported by Legolas. We sat back far enough that I could draw his legs up to be supported by the mattress.

He wriggled and fidgeted, seemingly unable to keep still or to find a way in which to lay. Even our combined efforts to calm or settle him seemed to make no difference and I was on the point of commencing the chastisement when I heard his whispered cry.

“Legolas,” he whispered, his voice laden with barely suppressed tears. “Help me… I don’t… I don’t know what to do with my hands!” Legolas flashed me a grin at this odd but endearing admission.

“Here, my brave Little Ranger! Hold on to my hand. Hold it as tightly as you like, you will not hurt me!” With his hands grasping Legolas’ left hand under his chin he seemed to calm slightly. I eased up the hem of his nightshirt and tucked it up out of the way.

“Are you ready, Faramir?” I asked.

He answered with an almost imperceptible nod of his head; I tightened my hold on his waist and drew him tightly against me.

The first fall of my hand was gentle, hardly more than a pat but I didn’t want to frighten him. I set up a steady pattern, increasing the strength of my spanks gradually until I reached a point that was sincere without being severe. By the time I had painted a rosy glow on the pale skin he was weeping the same silent, desperately controlled tears that he had share with Pippin. Legolas was whispering a poem of reassurance, comforting him with his words and his caresses.

Now I wanted to talk, to get Faramir to get him to hear the words I hoped would break through and release the dam that contained his grief. He was struggling now, holding and releasing his breaths in gasping, explosive sobs. My hand continued to fall in a steady, even rhythm leaving no part of his pink, warm flesh unattended.

“Faramir, you ran away from the city. You left to find Boromir, to find your connection to your brother… tell me, My Steward, did you find him?”

“Noooo!”

“No, what, Faramir?”

“No… no, I didn’t find him! He… he’s gone!”

“So you abandoned your post, ran away for nothing?” I felt guilty for pushing him but I needed to get through the barriers he was hiding behind.

“NO! I didn’t run! I went to find Boromir!”

“But he wasn’t there, was he?”

“No… h’s gone!”

“And then you had to come back and face up to your actions, to face me, with all that pain and grief still locked up in side of you?”

“Yes, Sire… .I’m sorry… so-so sorry.” He was weeping harder now and I continued to spank him.

“Faramir, you haven’t lost Boromir, you were just looking for him in the wrong place!” I explained gently.

“No… no… he’s gone! Every night I see his boat floating away from me!” he sobbed, still fighting to keep his grief contained, lest it overwhelm him.

“No, Faramir, that is just a dream, a vision. Your Boromir is still here, still inside you, just waiting for you to set him free.”

“He’s dead! You saw him. He’s dead… he left me!” He yelled.

“Yes, my friend. He is dead. But in your grief you have locked your memories so tight inside of you that they cannot break through! Only you can free him from that prison, Faramir, only you can set those memories free.”

He was so close now that it took just a few harder spanks, concentrated in one spot, to push him over the edge.

“Let it go, Faramir!” I demanded. “Let down the walls and let your pain go. Let Boromir’s memories out of the prison of your heart. Give us your grief, Faramir!” I said. “Let us help you bear that burden!”

The last blow fell and he finally collapsed and allowed his grief to wash over him in a raging, uncontrollable torrent. Between gasping, soul shaking sobs he called out over and over for Boromir. Neither Legolas nor I could hold back our own tears.

I gathered him up against my chest, his head in the crook of my arm, his legs curled around behind me. I soothed and whispered my own endearments against his face, pressing chaste kisses against his brow. Legolas enfolded us both within his embrace, rocking us all gently.

It seemed that Faramir cried out his grief for hours, until my sleeve and tunic were soaked with his tears. Gradually he did calm, his breathing settling to the occasional hiccoughing sob, his face burrowed into the fabric of my tunic.

“How do you fare, Faramir?” I asked quietly, brushing the damp, red-gold curls away from his swollen, tear-streaked face. I received no answer and I leaned him away from me slightly so that I could see him better.

There would be no need for Lord Elrond’s sleeping draught.

Faramir was deeply asleep.

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