Faramir Fiction Archive

Things have not improved (Letter #2) (PG)

23 December 2008 | 1720 words

Title: Things have not improved. (Letter #2)
Rating: PG
Fandom: LOTR
Character: Haldir, Faramir, Rúmil, Orophin
Beta: The ever so talented minxkat

Author’s Notes:
1. Written for 10_letters Prompt: 15: Laugh
2. No money was made from this. All characters belong to JRR Tolkien and his estate.
3. SUMMARY: Haldir updates his brothers on his progress in his pursuit of a certain Ranger.
4. Totally AU – follows neither bookverse nor movieverse.
5. This really won’t make sense unless you read the letters in order.

Letter #1

Well. Obviously I am still in Gondor. Faramir is proving to be quite… difficult, but this has in no way altered my feelings for him. If anything, I am more intrigued (and in love) than ever before.

I suppose you are wondering what has happened in the month since my last letter. I shall start by saying that while Faramir is not mine (yet), I have not lost all hope.

I left you, in my last letter, with him slamming the door in my face.

Things have not improved.

He seemed determined to push me away, but I was persistent. I “happened” to be everywhere I knew he would be at just the same times; the smaller dining room in the east wing for breakfast, the larger one in the west wing for the evening meal, the library at the end of the day. At one point, I heard him tell one of his Rangers that an Elf was stalking him… and I was thoroughly embarrassed until the Man, seeming concerned, asked Faramir if he should gather all the Rangers together and teach the Elf a lesson. Faramir’s answer was immediate – a hearty “NO! You are not to touch him!” It gave my heart hope, even though he went on to explain (rather badly I might add, for he suddenly seemed nervous and at a loss for words) that he would not dare put the treaties his father had worked so hard on, in jeopardy over such a small thing. When Faramir’s companion asked Faramir if he was afraid, he responded by saying, (and I quote), “No, I am fairly certain he means me no harm. Perhaps I should talk with him one day…”

That, my brothers, was all I needed to hear.

He still refused to speak to me for many days, however, and I often wished I had not sent Maridin home before he could explain to Faramir that I am indeed a single, unattached Elf. I had even thought of asking Maridin to come back, but then I realized that since Faramir and I will be spending a lifetime together (he just has not realized that yet) then he will, at some point, have to learn to listen to – and trust – me.

I cornered him in the library yesterday and the results were… less than spectacular.

You should know that Faramir is not a small man and I have heard so many tales of his bravery that I knew I could possibly have a fight on my hands should he not want to speak to me just then. I would sooner have cut off my hands than hurt a hair on his handsome head, but I had to at least explain that Maridin was not my mate, or even my lover.

I called his name and though I had hoped to see his lovely blue eyes lift to look at me, I was greeted with a heavy, put-upon sigh. I told myself that it was all an act, that he did not want to give in to my charms too easily. “Whatever do you want, Haldir?” he asked.

Now, many Men are in awe of Elves, we have all seen that first hand. We know how they are afraid of our strength, envious of our grace; how they often fall all over themselves to keep us from getting angry.

Yes. Well, Faramir is not like that.

He seemed… irritated.

“Do you not like Elves?” I asked him.

“On the contrary,” he sniffed, not even looking up from his book, “I am fascinated by Elves. Most of them anyway. But when anyone, Man or Elf or any other creature on Arda, tries to romance another behind his mate’s back, then I lose all respect.”

“Maridin is not my mate,” I explained, hoping he might fall into my arms and beg me to forgive his irrational jealously and his innate stubbornness.

That was not exactly what he had in mind.

Faramir finally looked up at me, and I swear, I fell even harder for him when our eyes met. I could wax poetic about his eyes, you know – how they were the lightest shade of blue when he rode into the city that first day, how they sparkled as the men and women welcomed him home; how they darkened in anger just before he slammed the door in my face the night of the dance; how they were somehow a shade in between as he looked up at me then, with a mixture of disappointment and frustration.

But, no, if I were to tell you how every bit of him is perfection, his eyes, his body (what I can see of it) his hair, the smile he bestows on everyone but me… If I were to tell you all of that, I would be writing for years, and you would never receive this letter. And since I have to convince him to speak to me, court him, win his heart, and bond and marry him, I cannot spend the next few years recording all his virtues.

“So, the time you spent in his rooms in the middle of the night, you were merely… what? Playing games?” he asked.

“Yes, exactly!” I was thrilled that he was finally beginning to understand, and it did not escape my notice that he had evidentially been inquiring about my habits during the time he had been on patrol. How else would he know of my visits to Maridin’s rooms? I did not think to tell him of my trouble sleeping, or of my love of the game men call chess, and so I continued, digging myself into an ever deeper hole.

I cannot explain it, other than to say that my mind does not work right when I am around him. I cannot seem to think, I am so dazzled by him. And so, to my everlasting horror, I continued. “I play with many Elves. Every night, a different Elf – that is, until they tire and wish to sleep. Most of them cannot carry on all night as I can. Many nights, I would play with several Elves at once, or if one was particularly talented, I would play with him many nights in a row, and, you see, Maridin is very talented.” Gods, I am a foolish Elf, but I was just so happy he was listening to me, I fear I rambled and did not notice the ever darker look on his face. “I have been forced to play by myself since I sent the others home, and it is not nearly as stimulating.”

There, I thought, hope sparking in my heart that we might at least have dinner together that night. I gathered my courage, took a deep breath and gave him my most dazzling smile (you know the one – the one that convinced Lord Celeborn that my letting the two of you patrol together was not a bad thing despite your being lovers; the one I use when bartering at the markets that saves us a fortune every time). “So,” I said, quite proud of myself for explaining things so eloquently. “I thought maybe you and I…”

It was then that he threw the book at my head.

“You are an Elf with no honor!” he snapped. “I let myself be cornered here, thinking that you might have a good reason for wanting to speak with me, but, Gods, you make me sick! Why you think I would ever want to even be friends with you is beyond me, and despite your beauty and your grace and the way your laughter sounds like music and the way your eyes… Oh, balrog dung! Stop following me Haldir! Go home to Lothlorien and leave me and my city in peace!”

I stood there like a fool, rubbing the knot on my head (had I not been so enamored, I surely could have avoided the book, but I already explained to you how he makes me feel all muddled up inside), and trying to follow what he was saying.

He brushed by me and stalked away, as I simply stared at his retreating form, wondering how I had offended him. Again.

I think, perhaps, I could still have salvaged the situation had I responded with something other than, “So, you think my laughter sounds like music?”

The noise he made was most certainly a growl (deeper and longer than the warg we killed in the Blackwood Forest, Oro – I am sure you remember that well!). I shivered and said little else, because, well, my head hurt, I had been scorned yet again by the love of my life, and worst of all, the growl had made me want him even more. I could imagine him beneath me, legs tight around my waist, making that same noise as he pleaded for me to take him; or behind me, pressing me against a wall, whispering/growling/panting into my ear as he prepared me to be taken.

Yes, my dear Orophin and Rúmil, I would let him take me, should he want to. I have laughed at your willingness to trade positions according to your whims, I have sworn I would never let another inside me, but…

I would let him.

In fact, I would beg him for it. I am that far gone for him.

I am hopeless. I know this, and yet, I cannot stop thinking about him. I cannot stop wanting him or loving him.

And so, I close this letter with a both a sore head and a sore heart, and I will hope the next time I write, I will have better news.

Until then,

All my love to you both,

Haldir

On to Letter #3

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