Faramir Fiction Archive

The Steward’s Moon (NC-17)

Written by J_dav

01 February 2010 | 12184 words

Chapter Two

“It’s a new day,” the crone greeted me.

I frowned at her before rubbing my eyes and looking blearily at the sunlight which washed in through the entrance. I tried to test my thigh surreptitiously, would it stand my weight? It complained with a spasm and I resigned myself to yet another bedridden day in this hovel.

The gnarled fingers came up authoritatively to push the blanket away from my form. I suffered her inspection in sullen silence. When she prodded and poked in the area of the wound, I had to bite down on my lips to stifle the gasp of pain that threatened to escape me. She chuckled and continued her examination. I made a mental note to give the healers of Lothlórien more say in the matters of medicine. I had truly not recognized the paragons for being the stellar examples of patient-care that they were.

I made to sit up as she drew away. I was casting my eyes about for a chamber-pot when she remarked, “You are a pretty one.”

I had believed that my blushing days were far behind me. But this crone had a way of upsetting my fine composure with her lurid statements.

“I thank you,” I managed to splutter before renewing my search.

“What do you need?”

I debated for a fraction of a moment before giving in. She was in charge. It would not do to gainsay her.

“I need the chamber-pot, my lady.”

The last two words were pure flattery on my part. I did hate myself for being brought so low to call this unappealing, rude creature a ‘lady’. Still, circumstances rule us.

She ran a cool, measuring look over my blanket-covered form before nodding and saying, “I’ll ask one of the men to help you with it.”

I waited impatiently as she sidled out. A few moments of suppressed tension later, Faramir strode in, a worried expression on his face.

“Good morning,” I greeted him.

He made a noncommittal noise deep in his throat before sitting down on the pallet beside my prone form and clasping his hands together in tension.

“Yes?” I prompted him. He did not look quite the calm, young lord he had been the previous day.

“The midwife says that your wound is getting worse.” Those brown eyes were filled with remorse. “The men are preparing a litter. We need to get you to a good healer.”

I was touched by his guilt about my condition. I was even more touched by the fact that he had chosen to admit his remorse openly unlike my wife who seemed to believe that deception was the antidote to hurt. And the fact that he had been stirred enough by guilt to immediately start doing what he judged the best course added yet another golden reference in the mental archive I was compiling on him.

“Yes?” he was asking me concernedly.

“I’d be grateful if you sent someone in to help me with the chamber-pot,” I said easily. “As for the wound, you need not worry. I have always had a history of getting sicker before convalescing.”

“I am not sure,” he shook his head querulously. “You cannot possibly know what is wrong with your body with your reflexes so dulled. You did not even notice that I came in last night four times to look in on you.”

I was even more touched by this latest revelation. But the prideful creature that I was, I could not help acerbically saying, “My reflexes were dulled because the crone saw it fit to sedate me senseless with her hellish concoction.”

“What?” he asked in alarm. “I will immediately get someone else to watch over you! I am extremely sorry for her callousness.”

“Don’t be,” I sighed. “She drugged me because she felt it would be better to let my body rest completely without the pain keeping me awake and restless. Drugging a patient is a healer’s privilege. My son-by-law has been known to drug those who incur his wrath. I wouldn’t put it above my wife too.”

“Oh,” his lips parted in a perfect round as he contemplated my revelation.

“Yes.” I yawned and stretched. “I’d be happy to tell you more about their devious tricks, but I really need the chamber-pot. Could you send someone in?”

“I am sorry,” he apologized oh-so-charmingly that I had to smile. He would go far in life, this young lord of Gondor, I was sure.

I was still mulling over his courteous manner when I felt a tentative hand come to rest on my shoulder. I looked up to see Faramir trying to guide me into a sitting position.

“A menial-” I began.

“No task is menial, my lord.”

I did not quite know what to reply. So I remained silent as I obeyed his touch and rose dutifully into a sitting position. The crossbow bolt had neatly torn apart the ligaments of my thigh. The crone’s herb poultices stung badly as the raw flesh was exposed to the air. If only my wife had been there…

“Brace on me,” he said firmly.

I complied. As he helped me brace my weight onto his shoulder, I noticed that his eyes were discreetly trained away from my body. A small flare of discontentment rose in me. Didn’t he find me enticing enough to peek at? The onerous task was soon accomplished and he restored me to my previous dignity as he tucked the blanket up till my chin.

“Thank you,” I said politely. I did not what else to add. What could one say to lords who insisted upon menial tasks?

“If your wife and son-by-law do these services for strangers without the slightest expectation of gratitude, then can’t I do the same?”

“But you are not a healer. It is their vocation to be of service,” I said perturbed.

“It is the duty of a warrior to serve.” He shook his head in conviction. “It is the duty of a leader to serve.”

“Spare me the philosophy,” I said irritably. “I hear enough of that from my wife and I think it is more than ample to last me an eternity.”

He laughed; a clear, rich sound that helped to alleviate my pain considerably. For all his wisdom and politeness, there was a wonderful freshness in him that soothed the world-weary spirit. My wife would have liked him, I thought. Such an honest specimen of mankind, how had he grown untainted by vices in the court of Gondor?

“My parents were determined to raise my brother and me away from the court affairs,” he divulged.

“How did you know?” I asked in surprise.

“My mother told me so,” he laughed again, his clear eyes shining in suppressed mirth.

“No,” I said huffily, “that I was thinking of your tutelage and upbringing, how did you know that?”

“You spoke aloud.”

His laughter was so contagious that I had no recourse but to join in. My mirth was abruptly drawn to an end however, when I accidentally slapped my thigh with my hand as was usually my wont when ensnared in laughter.

“Ow!” I whimpered in pain and clenched my eyes shut, cursing myself for the stupidity.

“Should I call the midwife?” he asked; all concern. His hand hovered over my fingers, touching but ever so slightly.

The mention of the midwife provoked my reply. “That crone? She belongs by a birthing-bed, not a warrior’s bed.”

“Are the two so different?” Faramir smiled mischievously as he wantonly baited me.

“Am I so entertaining when I am angry?” I asked sardonically. This was one of my wife’s pastimes too, baiting me. Before my marriage, Oropher had loved to provoke my anger. Would it never change?

“Indeed,” he laughed, his hand coming to rest securely over mine. “I have found that you are irresistible when roused to anger.”

If the last two words had been omitted… I would have probably run back all the way to Lothlórien despite my current state. But he had not omitted those words and why did I think of such an outré scene?

“What are you thinking?” he asked me curiously.

“I wanted to see the outside world. It’s boring to be cooped within,” I lied coolly.

“Is it true that elves fade when they don’t see the starlight?” he asked with deep interest.

“I don’t know. I have never met elves of that sort.” I winked at him. “Have you?”

“You are my first,” he said happily, oblivious of the stunned look that glazed my features. “I am so delighted to meet you, you know, despite the less than favorable circumstances which brought us together.”

“So am I.”

Did he have a unique talent of spouting all these quirky word combinations or was it deliberate? I met his open gaze. No, he was anything but deceptive. He simply seemed to possess the knack of coming up with odd sentences every now and then. I was to blame. Centuries of leading a depraved, hedonistic life had given me finely honed instincts to track down innuendo in even the most innocent of words.

“So what do elves actually fade of?” he asked. “Unrequited yearning?”

I pondered quietly. Normally, I would have been reticent with strangers. But with Faramir, I felt at ease enough to speak my mind.

“Perhaps,” I said quietly. “Lúthien’s love proved that.”

“Elves loving mortals must be the cruelest fate to befall our kindred,” Faramir remarked in a hushed voice. “I cannot imagine the grief involved.”

“Fortunately, it does not occur everyday.” I smiled and tried to lighten the dismal gloom that had fallen upon us. “In recent times, the sundering of our kindred has ensured that such unions don’t perchance occur.”

“Do you see always the better side of everything?” he queried, his features frowning in puzzlement at my unflagging optimism.

I laughed and clasped his hand saying warmly, “Indeed, Lord Faramir. I believe it is one of those virtues that my wife found irresistible when we met.”

“You love her.” It was a plain statement.

I looked up into his slightly darkened eyes before asking, “Is it that obvious?”

“Very,” he laughed. “My father speaks in the same wistful, reverential tones when alluding to my mother. They loved each other deeply.”

“My love for her…” I shrugged. “It is a strange thing, Faramir.”

“What happened?” he asked quietly, as if torn between hesitation and curiosity.

My reticence resurfaced again and I said rashly, “It is none of a stranger’s business.”

He nodded and rose from the pallet. I watched the cold composure setting in on his features and sighed. How often had I seen my wife hide behind this calm when her feelings were hurt?

“It is just that-” I tried to be apologetic and reasonable, “that I am not used to speaking about my personal matters to anyone.”

“I am sorry.” His ready apology told me that I had done the right thing.

“We are estranged, my wife and I.” There, I had finally said it.

“I am sorry again,” he sighed as he resumed his seat on the pallet. One of his hands patted my shoulder in an awkward gesture of comfort. It shouldn’t have wrought an effect at all, but strangely it did. “My parents had never fought in their life together. I know less about martial estrangements than my brother, which is saying something since he has never been drawn to women.”

“And you?” I asked. It was my turn to be curious.

“I love women.” His fingers seemed warmer as they clasped my shoulder. “I find their company pleasing. If not for the fact that the war is nearing, I would have wooed and married a suitable girl by now.”

“I see.” That is a pity, I added mentally.

Had I expected young men to descend to the levels of carnality that I practiced? I had found pleasure with both women and men. I continued to do so.

“I will not ask you the same question.”

Was I paranoid or was there a subtle undercurrent of teasing in his tone? I looked up and met his gaze.

“Why?” I had to ask.

“You look like a,” he groped for words, “like a sensualist.”

I fought down the heat that blossomed in my damned body. Sensualist indeed! That he was true merely served to make me more enflamed. But I brought myself back under the strict control of long discipline.

“It is not what you think. My wife and I are not estranged because of my sensual tendencies. She knows me too well.” He would not believe me, I was sure. But a part of me wanted him to believe me.

“I am sure that you are right.” His ephemeral smile graced me with its radiance again.

“Can I return home after I heal?”

“The lawmakers of Rohan are strict, my lord. If you continue to keep the purpose of your journey a secret, then I will have no recourse but to fall in with the local administration. I might be held answerable for your release otherwise.”

“There was no purpose to this journey,” I grinded my teeth in helpless exasperation. “How many times should I tell you that?”

“Many would find it hard to believe that the famed lord of Lothlórien wandered into Rohan, lost and emaciated,” Faramir said frankly. “I wish you could at least tell me. You cannot roam about aimlessly, that is simply too far-fetched to believe.”

“I was running away.” It would be easier to get it over with. His brown eyes were wide in shock as the words left my lips.

“Aren’t you a tad older to know better than running away?” he asked incredulously.

“I had nothing left,” I whispered. I did not know what had driven me to confess the deepest secrets of my being to this stranger, but confess I did.

“I made a mistake once.” I cleared my throat and looked away from that all-too seeing brown gaze. “What was a hobby for me turned into an obsession for him. When I was reconciled with my wife, he changed. At a later occasion, he threatened me with my wife’s destruction. I had to give in. I allowed him ascendancy over me in every little whim of his. I did not care,” my voice broke down completely as I had feared it would, “I did not care at all as long as she was safe. But she knew me too well. She asked me to stop. She’s a proud woman. So when she begged me to end this, it broke something within me. I…” I clenched my eyes tight shut. “I killed him. The coward that I was, I rushed directly to her, the blood fresh upon my hands. She has always been a brave soul. She took the blame upon herself. How she must hate me! I am her husband. I vowed to protect her. But look where that love led us to!”

“My dear Celeborn.” His voice pronouncing my name just hollowed out what remained of my shriveled-up heart.

“Look at me.”

There was something powerful and commanding in his voice. I complied sullenly. He chose his words carefully, “She loves you. That is why she did it for you.”

“I know!” I cursed again. “It makes it harder to ever gain her forgiveness. I hate her for being so noble. I just don’t deserve her, you see.”

“Why else would she love you then?” he asked kindly.

I shrugged. “Even the wisest can make foolish choices. I was her folly.”

“Can I tell you something?” he asked solemnly.

I nodded uncaringly. He was barely past his youth. What secrets would he have nursed in his young heart that I had not heard before a hundred times in the course of my life?

“You are very rash in judging people. Your wife did not make a foolish choice. You treated your former lover very badly. Casting lovers away like used clothes is not something that will endear you to them. Now, she has given you another chance. All you need to do is return to her.”

I cursed; a long list of expletives that I had hoarded down the centuries. He looked extremely impressed, but refrained from remarks.

“I cannot return,” I said finally in a very quiet tone.

“Why?”

His fingers were now drawing circles on my shoulders as he twisted in his seat to face me completely. The gesture reminded me of Elrond. He had a technique to soothe people by drawing circles on their inner wrists.

“Why?” he asked again patiently.

“Because I am broken,” I whispered. “What I had with my lover was brutal and extreme. I was the laughing stock of my country. But I learned to crave it. It was never like this before. I had lain with men, but I had always stayed away from such extreme practices. I was shocked when my lover first subjected me to… to it.”

“But you did not remain shocked?” he asked wisely.

I nodded. “I learned to need it. I cannot touch her again knowing that I crave something more sinister. I would die of shame were she to realize the truth.”

Somewhere along the narrative, my voice had given away again. I despised my weakness. But there was nothing to be done about it.

“We’ll find a way,” he murmured reassuringly. Inane words, I wanted to shout at him, inane words! There was no way.

“Try to rest now. You need your strength to help you heal.”

His gaze was still as warm and comforting as it had been at the beginning of the conversation. So he did not think any less of me? I found that an absurdly comforting thought.

“There’s really no way,” I said, “though I am very touched that you have listened to my follies without judging me.”

“Celeborn,” he omitted my title and it sounded even more welcome this way, “I may be young. But I have seen my share of war and warriors. I know what drives us to these practices. Once that driving force is eliminated in some other manner I believe that things will be all right.”

“What?” I asked in disbelief. “Not even my philosopher of a wife preaches like this, if I may say so.”

“I am not a preacher, Celeborn.” He bent to regard me carefully.

The atmosphere felt extremely suffocating all of a sudden. I tried to control the tension in my voice as I spoke, “Well, how do you propose to eliminate the driving force?”

A warm hand cupped my jaw and he leant forward to breathe, “I am sure that I can find a suitable way if you have no objections.”

“I love my wife.”

“I will help you renew what you had with her. You won’t be tormented anymore by your past, I swear.”

I wanted to believe him. I would have done anything to achieve the end he promised. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. My composure was rapidly falling apart and I did not want him to see that.

But he was a very kind man. His fingers resumed tracing circles on my shoulders making me sigh. He was speaking softly about some boring subject that I would not recollect in the least the next morning. His warm tones achieved what the subject could not, I felt at peace. Thoughts drifted away from me until I was all alone in the comforting darkness of slumber. Not alone, for a compassionate, wise voice that belonged to the owner of the warm, brown gaze still continued to utter soothing words that lulled me into deep reverie.

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