Faramir Fiction Archive

Under Pressure (NC-17)

Written by RubyElf

20 October 2011 | 40533 words

Title: Under Pressure
Author: RubyElf
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Faramir
Warnings: violence, hurt/comfort

With Boromir and the hobbits missing, an attempt on Arwen’s life that endangers Legolas instead, and an army gathering at Gondor’s southern borders, Faramir’s unique abilities are called upon to help defend Gondor even while those he loves most are in grave danger.

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Boromir sat with his back against a tree, impatient and irritated, while the two hobbits laid across his outstretched legs, Merry dozing in the noonday sun and Pippin occupying himself by putting small twigs among Merry’s curls.

“Stop tormenting your cousin, little Pippin,” the man muttered, chuckling. “Otherwise you’ll fight when he wakes up, and I’m cross enough waiting for these bloody elves to get these boats finished.”

“That’s what you get for associating with elves,” Pippin said, refusing to look at him.

Boromir raised an eyebrow. “I thought you liked elves.”

“I like SOME elves,” the young hobbit replied, reaching for another twig to put into Merry’s hair.

“You’re not still angry with them because of what happened in Mirkwood, are you? Seems things have changed quite a bit there since our visit, from what Berendir told me…”

“Oh, yes. Berendir tells you lots of things.”

The man frowned. “What in the world has gotten into you, little one?”

“He’s been nipped by the green-eyed monster,” Merry muttered sleepily. “And if he keeps putting things in my hair, I’ll box his ears.”

“Green-eyed monster?” Boromir repeated. Pippin flushed bright red as the man looked down at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Boromir!”

Berendir was walking briskly toward them. Boromir gently disengaged his legs from the hobbits and stood up.

“What is it?”

“The elf I sent to make a circle of the area has just returned.”

“Must have been a large circle, considering how fast your folks move.”

“There are other folks moving faster,” the elf said. “From the north. Ten men on horseback. Accordng to the report they’re wearing dull green and brown clothes and carrying bows and swords.”

Boromir thought for a moment. “You said Aragorn knows of the planned attack on Pelargir, right? These men may be from Gondor. Did your elf try to speak to them?”

“No. That would have given away our position, if they should be enemies.”

“How far from here?”

“They’re traveling along this side of the Anduin. At their pace and direction, they’ll run right into us within two hours or so.”

“How long till the boats are done?”

The elf grinned. “Two hours or so.”

“Damned elves… all right. Have someone go keep a look out and alert us when they’re getting close. If they are from Gondor, they’ll know me as soon as they see me, but if they’re not…”

Berendir reached over his shoulder and brushed his finger over the feathers on his arrows. “Ten men on horseback would fall before they knew what was happening if I ordered my men to fire.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Boromir said, grinning at the picture in his mind of their enemies falling under a hail of elf arrows. “When we get word that they’re getting close, I’ll have you fellows hide and let these men stumble upon me, and we’ll see whether they’re friend or foe.”

Faramir woke to a sharp acrid smell, which he discovered upon opening his eyes to be coming from a small jar Aragorn had stuck under his nose.

“Ugh!” he protested, as Aragorn’s face came into focus. He raised a hand and smacked the jar away, drawing a giggle from Arwen somewhere in the room.

“There you are,” Aragorn said, smiling.

“What did you stick that foul stuff up my nose for?”

“It woke you up, didn’t it?”

Faramir moved to sit up and realized something was attached to his left hand. When he looked down at it, he abruptly recalled at least a good part of what had happened, as the thing attached to his left hand was someone else’s left hand.

“Oh, that,” Arwen said, leaning over to untie the white cloth holding the two hands together. Faramir, alarmed, looked over at Legolas.

“He seems to be much better,” Arwen said, nodding.

“He still looks awful,” Faramir said, shaking his head in an attempt to clear the fog from it.

“I doubt he’d appreciate you saying so! His breathing and his pulse are still very slow, but they’re steady. Aragorn spoke to him earlier and I think he may be able to hear us.”

Faramir jumped as a voice seemed to speak not into his ear, but deeper in his head. For a moment he had difficulty understanding it, as the words seemed muddled and slurred, and it didn’t help that the voice was speaking an odd combination of Westron and Sindarin. After a moment it paused, as if realizing it wasn’t making much sense, and tried again, still hard to make out but at least speaking one language this time.

Tell them I can hear them.

Faramir glanced over at the elf, but he had not stirred.

Tell them I can hear them and if they’re going to say stupid things I want them to go away.

Arwen cocked her head. “Faramir? Are you all right?”

“He can hear you,” the man said, trying not to laugh. “He doesn’t seem to appreciate whatever you’ve been talking about, though, and thinks you should go away.”

Aragorn frowned, but Arwen laughed.

“My wife seems to think you both ought to be outside in one of the gardens for a while,” Aragorn said, looking a bit doubtful.
Faramir shared his doubt and thought that the bed was a perfectly acceptable place to be, but the voice in his head began to clamor so vehemently that Faramir raised a hand to his ear as if to block it out.

Yes, yes, yes, outside!

“Fine!” Faramir exclaimed. “Just be quiet!”

He realized Aragorn was staring at him as if he’d lost his mind, which was when he remembered that he was the only one who could hear Legolas.

“I do believe he thinks we should take you up on your suggestion,” the younger man said.

“You can hear him.”

“Unfortunately, yes. He’s rather loud at the moment and not very patient.”

“You can really hear him?” Aragorn repeated.

Faramir scowled at him. “Yes, I can really hear him. Why? I assumed it was because of this binding business.”

Stupid mortal.

Arwen shook her head. “This isn’t normal, even for people that are bound together. I can only assume it’s because of your gift, Faramir… you’re able to sense and see things others don’t.”

“I’m not sure that ‘gift’ is the proper word for it,” he muttered. His head hurt.

Arwen turned to Aragorn. “I believe we should escort our friends here out to the garden and give them some peace and quiet.”

Faramir dragged himself to his feet, feeling stiff and weary. Aragorn managed to lift Legolas, although Arwen laughed at the effort he had to put into it; the slender elf was heavier than he appeared. The four of them made their way through the halls and toward the walled garden. By the time Arwen had gotten the latch on the iron gate open, Aragorn was making rather impatient noises, trying to communicate his anxiousness to put Legolas down soon.

Faramir glanced toward the large hammock strung between two of the largest trees, woven like a fishing net stretched over a wooden frame at each end. Gandalf had installed it at his last visit, noting that he had discovered the thing on one of his mysterious travels, and Boromir and Aragorn had established through personal testing that it was fairly comfortable for two men to lay in together, but that it was not designed to tolerate two men engaging in any sort of activity. Arwen studied the spot for a moment before nodding.

“That will do, Estel. Faramir, make yourself comfortable.”

The younger man climbed into the hammock and stretched out, enjoying the feeling as it swung gently. It swung more roughly when Aragorn unceremoniously dumped Legolas into the hammock, half beside Faramir and half on top of him.

“Estel!” Arwen scolded.

“He’s heavy,” Aragorn muttered, but obeyed her sharp look and helped Faramir arrange the elf in a more reasonable position. All the while, Faramir could hear Legolas muttering comments about the overall intelligence, behavior, and aroma of mortals.

Eventually Arwen declared herself satisfied with the situation and offered her arm to her husband, allowing him to escort her back toward the gate.

“I’ll come back later with something for you to eat,” she said, glancing back at Faramir. “No one else will disturb you. And don’t worry about my husband… he won’t have too much time to worry about his back, since he’s riding out at the head of the army of Gondor in an hour.”

The gate closed behind them, and the garden fell back into its usual peaceful quiet, with a few birds hopping along the branches high in the trees.

About time those two went away.

Faramir chuckled. “Why were you so anxious for them to leave?”

Distracting.
“Distracting from what?” Faramir asked, finding it highly unsettling to be conversing with the elf who was stretched out beside him, unmoving and to all appearances unconscious.

Me. You. I’m trying to keep my attention on you, and they’re making it difficult. Hard to stay focused when you’re this tired.

“You don’t have to pay attention to me. You can rest.”

Rather not. It was hard enough making my way back to you once. Not sure I could do it again. I think I’ll just stay awake.

The voice had taken an uneasy tone to it that made Faramir feel suddenly protective, and he pulled the elf against his side.

“It should feel good to be outside. We’ll just stay here for a while.”

Can’t feel much, except you. And cold.

“Well, the sun is warm, so we might as well enjoy it. Besides, I don’t think we’re likely to get back to my room any time very soon… I think you made Aragorn throw out his back.”

A soft chuckle. At least I accomplished something useful today.

Boromir leaned against a tree, arms crossed, awaiting the riders who approached him with caution. They had clearly been riding very hard; their horses’ sides were lathered with sweat. He could not see faces beneath the hoods, but he smiled, recognizing the cloaks as the ones his brother’s Rangers wore, intended for moving unseen among trees and brush.

One of the riders reined in his horse abruptly and tossed back his hood, eyes wide.

“Captain Boromir?”

“It appears so, yes.”

In moments all ten of the men were off their horses and upon him, patting his arms and shaking his hands as if to make sure he was real. He tolerated it good-naturedly for a moment before ordering them to settle down.

“Captain, what are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere all alone?”

Boromir grinned. “Alone?”

He motioned with his hand, and the men jumped in surprise as the wood elves seemed to appear from nowhere, detatching themselves from the trees.

“You’re commanding a troop of elves now?” someone asked.

“No. These fellows are under the command of this elf here, Prince Berendir of Mirkwood. Now, I’m assuming Elessar sent you, so come here and sit down and tell me what you’re up to while these elves finish these bloody boats.”

“Well, Captain, it was all your brother’s idea…”

“Hmm. Not sure I like the sound of that at all. And what’s in all those bags you’re carrying?”

The sun was sinking low in the sky when Boromir set his rearranged plan in motion. Besides a few minor details, the two teams could not have been more in accord if Faramir had known exactly where Boromir was going to be. The major difference was that when the men departed on foot, following the west bank of the Anduin south, they were accompanied by five wood elves; Berendir had correctly pointed out that no creature on Arda could move undetected among trees better than a Mirkwood elf, and when Berendir translated the plan into Sindarin for them, they were delighted by the idea and immediately began plotting to add to the chaos. Boromir proceeded down the tributary, two hobbits and Berendir in his boat and three wood elves in the other. Pippin, who had overheard discussions of Faramir’s plan, was much too excited to concern himself with Berendir and sat at the front of the boat with Merry, impatient to get on with it.

“Are you sure the timing will work out?” Boromir asked. “I want them to start their work before we arrive at Pelargir from the south.”

“It should,” Berendir said. “They’re on foot, but not traveling as far. If we’re lucky, by the time we walk into the city, no one there will be paying any attention to what we’re up to.”

“Do you think the old man the orcs talked about will be in the city?” Merry asked.

“If he’s commanding the Harradrim troops, he may be traveling with them,” Boromir said. “There has to be someone with strong leadership skills in direct command of this operation… the Harradrim aren’t organized enough to work like this on their own, and orcs certainly don’t come up with plots by themselves. By the time we arrive, though, he may already be in the city, waiting for his troops to arrive. He’ll be in for a surprise when they’re delayed.”

“Are we going to miss the fireworks?” Pippin asked.

“If this works like it’s supposed to, little one, no one will miss these fireworks.”

“Are fireworks really enough to stop a whole army?”

“No,” Boromir said, grinning. “Just to delay them. If all goes well, Aragorn himself will be showing up at the head of the whole army of Gondor to deal with them… we just have to give them time.”

“The Harradrim must not be very bright, if this is going to work,” Pippin said doubtfully.

Merry raised an eyebrow. “The first time you saw Gandalf setting off fireworks, you had to go change your pants.”

“Did not!”

“Did so.”

“That’s a lie. Take it back.”

“I won’t…”

Boromir rolled his eyes and grabbed the closest hobbit, which happened to be Merry, by the shirt, and deposited him in the back of the boat in front of Berendir.

“There. Stop fussing. If you two idiots tip this boat over, I’ll…”

“You will not,” Pippin said, laughing.

“Well, I’d at least…”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Merry said.

Boromir scowled. “Give me an oar, Berendir. I’m suddenly in a hurry to be out of this boat.”

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