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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Upon their arrival in the city, the King and his Steward were immediately mobbed by an anxious crowd of advisors and other people demanding the news from Pelargir, details of the Steward’s capture, and information about the instigators of all this trouble. Arwen stood with Faramir and Éomer at the edge of the courtyard, watching with amusement as Aragorn and Boromir each attempted to redirect the questions to each other while both looking for an excuse to break free of the throng.

“Are you going to rescue them?” Faramir asked.

“Eventually,” Arwen replied.

Éomer grinned at her. “I am very relieved, my lady, to find you not only alive, but with your sense of humor intact.”

Faramir glanced around for Merry and Pippin, but hobbits were almost as good at avoiding attention as they were at getting attention, and they had disappeared entirely. However, he spotted a slender elf with wind-blown but still shining blond hair standing off to the side, leaning against the wall of the courtyard and watching everything with alert green eyes. Éomer followed his gaze and raised his eyebrows.

“That’s not Legolas, is it?”

Faramir shook his head. “That’s his brother.”

“Hmm. I think you should introduce us, Faramir. Perhaps immediately.”

Arwen chuckled. “I think there’s someone else he’d rather see first, Éomer. I’m sure we can arrange for him to join us for dinner, though. Let’s go and rescue my husband and his Steward, and Faramir, you can go and have a chat with our elf friend.”

She offered her arm to Éomer, who took it and escorted her through the crowd toward the besieged pair at its center. Faramir slipped around the edge of the courtyard till he reached Berendir.

“Hello.”

Berendir looked up at him, interrupted from his musings. “Oh… Captain Faramir. I’m glad to meet you again. Your fireworks worked splendidly.”

Faramir glanced toward Boromir, who was at the moment frantically attempting to convince his attackers to go after Aragorn instead.

“You saved my brother’s life,” he said, grinning. “I owe you a great deal.”

Berendir looked over at him hopefully. “King Elessar said that my brother was still alive when he left the city…”

“He’s definitely alive,” Faramir said. “And possibly more obnoxious than before. He’s still recovering, but I’m sure he wants to see you.”

Berendir’s face brightened. “I hadn’t dared to believe it… after I saw him, before we left, I couldn’t imagine an elf being that ill and surviving it… I heard your King was a healer. He must have done something wonderful…”

Faramir held his tongue; he would let Legolas explain his recovery and the circumstances of it. “Come on, then. He’ll be glad to see you and maybe he can torment and complain to you for a while instead of me.”

The appearance of the Queen, alive and well, caused enough stir among the gathered crowd that Éomer was able to push his way through them, escorting her to Aragorn’s side. After a moment of silence, though, a new barrage of questions erupted, demanding to know about the rumors of her death. She listened tolerantly for a moment before the desperation in the eyes of Aragorn and Boromir won her over, and she turned to the crowd.

“Thank you, all of you, for your concern about my health. I assure you I am well. King Elessar will dictate a complete report of this entire incident to his scribe this evening, and it will be read for all of you in this courtyard in the morning. Now, please allow us to…”

Another burst of questions. Arwen raised an eyebrow and, seeing that neither Aragorn not Boromir had the ability to engineer their escape, turned to Éomer.

“If you would, my dear Horse Lord…”

Éomer grinned and turned to the crowd, letting loose with the voice that could carry across an entire battlefield or across the vast plains of Rohan.

“That’s enough! Out of the way! Move!”

He began shouldering his way toward the exit, deliberately knocking aside anyone who happened to be in his path, and Arwen and the two men hurried behind him. Finally taking a hint, the crowd began to disperse, mostly because Éomer was not a small man and his idea of brushing someone aside could be rather painful, and the four of them were able to escape down one of the corridors toward the King’s rooms.

Faramir opened the door to his room carefully; he was never entirely sure what Legolas might have been up to in his absence. To his relief, though, the elf was where Faramir had left him, stretched out on the couch, hair disheveled and face peaceful in slumber.

“I don’t think I’ve seen Legolas sleep since he was a small elfling,” Berendir said, amused and slightly awed.

“He’s been doing quite a bit of it lately, but Arwen says elves sleep when they’re healing”

Legolas blinked and looked over at them. Seeing Berendir, he sat up abruptly, wide-eyed.

“Berendir? What are you doing here?”

“Coming to see you!”

Legolas frowned. “You came all the way from Mirkwood to see me? When did you get here?”

Berendir raised an eyebrow. Faramir shook his head. “He was here before. You don’t remember? He and his wood elves went off and rescued Boromir and the hobbits. He saw you before he left, while you were…”

“I see,” Legolas said. “I’m sorry I don’t remember it, brother, but I’m very glad to see you now!”

Berendir smiled. “I feared I would be returning to mourn your death.”

Legolas shrugged. “I am tougher than you’d think. And…”

He glanced at Faramir. The man laughed. “You can tell him all about that, Legolas. And I’ll leave you to it.”

“Fine,” the elf shot back. “I’ll tell my brother… and you can tell yours.”

Faramir winced. “Maybe we should trade.”

“Oh, no. Because if Boromir hears about this from me, I’ll definitely be dead.”

“Hears about what?” Berendir asked, curious.

“You did what?” Boromir demanded.

Faramir raised his hands and looked toward Arwen for help, but she had collected her husband and disappeared into their bedroom, obviously intending to let the brothers discuss this on their own. Faramir glanced around the dining room, trying to determine how many things Boromir could throw.

“You heard me.”

“You let yourself be bound to an elf? That elf? What does that mean?”

“It means that we’re bound to each other. For as long as I live, at least.”

“Well, you’d better figure out how to un-bond yourself!” Boromir snapped.

“I don’t think that’s…”

“I don’t care! Whatever Arwen did, she can undo, and she’s going to undo it right now!”

Boromir was heading toward the door when Faramir spoke.

“He’ll die.”

The older man stopped. “What?”

“He’ll die.”

“He’s an elf. They don’t…”

Faramir motioned to one of the dining chairs. Boromir stalked to the chair and sat down, scowling, but listening.

“He was dying, Boromir,” he said, sitting down across the table from him. “There wasn’t any other way to save him.”

Boromir frowned. “What exactly have you done, Faramir?”

The younger man sighed. “Exactly? I don’t think I’m entirely sure. But I know that part of him is tied to part of me now, and it’s what I gave him that let him come back. And if Arwen could undo that bond, he would die.”

“Did you even think about giving up the rest of your life…”

“I didn’t give anything up,” Faramir said sharply.

“What about a future with a wife, and children, and…”

Faramir raised an eyebrow. “Boromir?”

Boromir stopped and smiled slightly. “Yes?”

“Of all the ridiculous things…”

“I know, I know. But you… it’s supposed to be different for you, little brother.”

“Why is it supposed to be different for me?”

Boromir looked down at the table. “Because… you deserve more.”
“More than what?”

“More than a bloody ill-tempered, arrogant, smug, impossible elf,” he said, shaking his head and grinning. “I’d like to kill you both right now, but I’m tired and it’s been a very, very long week.”

“Boromir… you have no idea.”

“Legolas is not amused that you wouldn’t let him come to dinner,” Faramir said, reaching for his mug of ale.

Arwen smiled at him across the table. “Perhaps if Legolas would stay in bed like I told him to, he’d recover more quickly and be able to come to dinner.”

“Bloody elves never listen,” Boromir said, rolling his eyes.

“Boromir,” Aragorn said sharply, motioning toward Berendir.

Boromir chuckled and leaned over to whisper to Aragorn. “Are you serious? He hasn’t heard anything all evening except what’s come out of Éomer’s mouth.”

Aragorn glanced toward the far end of the table, where Éomer did seem to have the Mirkwood elf entirely focused on him, the green eyes watching the Horse Lord intently.

“I hope you arranged for Éomer to have a room a good distance down the hall,” Aragorn muttered to his wife. “Otherwise, none of us are going to get any sleep.”

“You’ve been gone for a week, dear,” Arwen said, patting his knee. “If you think you’re going to get any sleep tonight, you’d best think again. Boromir’s had you to himself for days.”

Boromir snorted. “You can have him. I need a bath and a proper sleep in a proper bed. Besides, wherever Merry and Pippin are at the moment, they’ll be fighting Finn for a spot on the bed tonight.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Faramir said. “I should go, though, and take some dinner back for Legolas before he gets bored and starts looking for ways to make my life difficult.”

“Serves you right,” Boromir muttered.

Faramir raised an eyebrow. “So there’s an obnoxiously bored elf in my bed and two hobbits in yours. Which one of us is going to have more fun tonight?”

“Ugh,” Boromir groaned, standing up. “That’s it. I’m finished. Goodnight to all of you.”

Neither Éomer or Berendir seemed to notice Boromir leave, or to notice Faramir departing shortly afterwards. When Arwen rose from the table and took her husband with her, Éomer waited until they were gone down the hall before turning back to Berendir.

“Do you have plans for tonight, Master Elf?”

Berendir’s green eyes flashed. “You tell me. Do I have plans for tonight?”

Éomer emptied his mug of ale before answering. “You had mentioned being interested in learning more about the riding techniques of the men of Rohan.”

“Hmm. Yes. I am quite interested in that topic.”

Éomer stood up, grinning broadly. “Allow me to offer you a first-hand education.”

Aragorn was on the way to the library the next morning, hoping that the scribe would forget about their meeting and spare him from having to dictate the week’s events to be read and posted all over the city, when he spotted an open door and stopped.

“You, there,” he said.

The man walking out of the room with a box of tools stopped and quickly bowed. “My Lord?”

“You’re a carpenter.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Why is there a need for a carpenter in the guest room this early in the morning?”

The man’s mouth twitched slightly. “My Lord… I was called to repair some damaged furniture.”

“Damaged furniture?”

“Yessir.”

“What kind of furniture?”

“Well, my Lord… it appears that King Éomer and his… company have managed to break some things.”

“What did they break?”

The man failed to subdue a smirk. “The bed, my Lord.”

Aragorn groaned and pressed a hand to his forehead. “I see. Carry on with your work, then.”

“Oh, I’m done here, sir. I’m off to Captain Faramir’s rooms now.”

Aragorn frowned. “Captain Faramir’s rooms?”

“Yessir. Seems that his dining table has met with some misfortune during the night. Appears that…”

“I beg your pardon, but I must go and meet my scribe in the library. Thank you for your… repairs.”

The man bowed, still grinning. “Any time I’m needed, sir. And with what I heard from the other guest room on my way down here, it seems that King Éomer may be making some more work for me.”

THE END

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