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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Both men stared at Arwen as tears began to well up in her eyes.

“What do you mean, it was intended for you?” Aragorn demanded, his voice rising in alarm.

“One of the ladies from the kitchen came up earlier and said one of the boys that collects mushrooms for them had just brought some fresh ones in, and she knows how much I like them, so she brought them to me. I wasn’t hungry, but I didn’t want them to go to waste, so I told her to go down the hall and see if Legolas wanted them.”

Faramir’s eyes widened. “You told her to give them to him?”

“I didn’t know, Faramir,” she said, tears spilling down over her cheeks. “You know I would never harm Legolas.”

Faramir was immediately apologetic and took her hand. “I know, my Lady. I’m sorry. Who would want to harm you, though?”

Aragorn frowned and, spotting one of the citadel guards at the end of the hall, motioned for him to approach. Only the most trusted and well-trained guards served in the citadel; it was considered a great honor and one that the men did not take lightly.

“Sir,” he said quickly, bowing.

“Please locate my Steward for me immediately. It’s urgent. If he’s not in the citadel, have some of the other guards look around the city for him.”

“Yessir,” the guard said, looking rather unhappy; Boromir generally did not appreciate being summoned when he was busy with something else, and had a tendency to be rather sour with the bringer of the summons.

“He’s probably being dragged around the forest by Merry and Pippin,” Faramir said, as the guard hurried away.

“I need him to start looking into this right away,” Aragorn said, tense and uneasy. “And I need to think of a way to keep you, my dear, safe. If this poisoner finds out their plans failed…”

“They don’t have to know that,” Faramir interrupted.

Arwen raised an eyebrow. “Let them think that they have succeeded.”

Faramir nodded. “Have the guards spread the word that the Queen is ill… dangerously ill, and let them drop some rumors that she may have been poisoned.”

Aragorn smiled grimly. “Very good. Arwen will go back to our rooms and let no one in but our most trusted staff. I’ll instruct one of the guards to keep an eye on the kitchen, and no one who doesn’t belong in the citadel will be allowed in.”

Arwen kissed his cheek. “I should go now, before too many people see me up and walking around.”

“Yes…”

“And Boromir will find out what’s happening, my dear. If I were really on my deathbed, all your people know you would be at my side, not roaming the city asking questions.”

“She’s right,” Faramir said. “But what if the poisoner starts to wonder whether they’ve… finished the job?”

Arwen turned her gaze to him. “They are probably quite certain that they finished the job, Faramir. For that poison to have affected Legolas as badly as it did, any one of those mushrooms probably had more than enough poison in it to kill several mortals.”

Aragorn had gone rather pale as he listened to her, and Faramir knew he was imagining what would have happened if Arwen had eaten the food that was intended to kill her.

“Legolas is not a mortal, though,” Faramir said, glancing from Arwen to Aragorn. “Elves don’t die from illness… they survive many things that would kill mortals.”

Aragorn sighed. “Elves don’t die from illness. They can survive wounds that would kill a man, and they can survive a dose of something poisonous that would kill a man. But an elf can die from a wound that’s bad enough, and they can die from poison if they’re exposed to enough of it.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Faramir argued, hands clenching. “You’re a healer. There’s something you can do for him.”

“I can try,” Aragorn said, lowering his eyes. “I’ll speak to the healers, and I’ll look in the library, but I’m afraid that I may not…”

“You’ll find something,” Faramir said sharply. “He’s strong. You can find something to…”

“He is strong,” Aragorn agreed, his voice low. “That’s why he’s still alive. But enough poison to have that severe an effect on him that quickly…”

“You’ll find something,” Faramir insisted.

“I may not have time,” Aragorn said.

This stopped Faramir abruptly, and he stared at Aragorn as if seeing him for the first time. “What do you mean, you may not have time?”

“I mean, he’s fighting off the effects now, but he won’t be able to do that for very long, and then it will be…”

“How long?” Faramir demanded.

Aragorn glanced at Arwen before answering. “Maybe a few days. Maybe less.”

“What? That’s not… you can’t mean that!”

“Shh,” Aragorn hissed. “He’ll hear you, and he doesn’t need to know…”

“He already knows,” Arwen interrupted, laying her hand on Faramir’s arm. “He’s not a fool. He knows how bad this is. And he’s afraid, though he would never have either of you know it.”

Aragorn nodded slowly, seeing Faramir’s stunned expression. “I’ll go talk to the healers now. As far as they know, it’s Arwen I’m asking about, not Legolas. You, my dear, will go directly back to our rooms and stay there, out of sight, and perhaps have a few of your handmaidens spread some gossip. If you see your brother, Faramir, please send him directly to me so I can have him and the guards start investigating.”

“What can I do?”

“You can stay here with Legolas.”

“I want to do something to help him!”

“That will help,” Aragorn said. “Whether he wants you to know it or not, he has to be frightened and upset, and if you can keep him calm and keep him from wasting his strength with dark thoughts, it may buy us a bit of time. So go talk to him, please.

Arwen waited until the door closed behind Faramir before glancing at her husband. “Do you really think that will make a difference, my dear?”

Aragorn shook his head. “No. But I don’t think anything else will either, and at least he won’t be alone if…”

Arwen interrupted him with a small smile. “You aren’t giving up on Legolas just yet, are you? You are the Healer-King, my love, and if hobbits can be heroes and dwarves and elves can work and fight side by side, I doubt anything is entirely impossible.”
“You’re right,” Aragorn said, then frowned. “Speaking of hobbits, where exactly is Boromir, anyway?”

“Wake up,” a voice grunted.

Merry woke abruptly as a large, ugly foot prodded him. His first instinct was to kick it away, and his second instinct to grab for Pippin and pull him closer. The younger hobbit, the muscles of his injured shoulder still aching and sore, cried out and woke up in wide-eyed alarm, clutching at Merry’s shirt. Boromir blinked, dazed, before realizing where he was.

“Get up,” the orc muttered. “We’re moving on. Can’t just sit in the shadow of your city and wait for them to find us, can we?”

“But it’s night time,” Pippin protested.

“Mmm-hmm. Night time. Time for orcs to be on the move. Now get up, before I pull your other shoulder out.”

Boromir, still struggling to bring his mind back to full awareness, glared up at the beast. “If you hurt him, I’ll make sure you die very, very slowly.”

“Just get up,” the orc growled, reaching down to grasp Boromir by the shirt and haul him to his feet. Bruised and battered from fighting, he could do little more than attempt to keep his balance when he was abruptly set on his feet. Merry and Pippin hurried to grab his hands to steady him. The orcs were shuffling through the dark clearing, rapidly gathering their supplies. Boromir squeezed the small hands that held his.

“You can run, little ones,” he said quietly. “You may be able to get away.”

“We’re not leaving you here,” Pippin said.

Merry nodded his agreement. “Definitely not. Besides, there are quite a few of them, and I doubt we’re as valuable as you are, Boromir… if they catch us running, they would probably just kill us.”

Boromir shuddered and rubbed their heads. “We can’t have that, can we? Don’t be afraid, little ones… Aragorn surely has already noticed we haven’t come back, and they’re probably already looking for us.”

“Your king has other things on his mind,” one of the orcs grunted, grinning at them.

“You know nothing of my king,” Boromir muttered.

“I know that if the Southron men have done as they said they would, your king is too busy mourning the death of his wife tonight to worry about you.”

Boromir’s eyes widened. “Arwen.”

“They can’t hurt her!” Merry said angrily. “The citadel guards would never let a bunch of filthy Haradrim get to their Queen.”
The orc chuckled. “Of course not. But do they guard every bite of food she eats?”

Boromir’s fists clenched. “I’ll find a way to stop this.”

“Hehe. Stupid man. Do you think I tell you this in time for you to run off and warn her? She is already dying. Did you not hear the bells ring while you slept as the people offered up prayers for her?”

“I thought I dreamed that,” Pippin whispered.

Merry clasped Pippin’s hand without letting go of Boromir’s, suspecting this touch was the only thing keeping the man frozen in place instead of lunging at the orc.

“They’re full of it, Pip. What do orcs know about anything? They could have been ringing those bells for lots of reasons.”

Another orc approached and scowled at them. “I thought I told you to start walking. You… tie their hands.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Merry said quickly. “We hobbits see in the dark quite well, but men can’t see a hand in front of their face at night, and if you tie our hands, we won’t be able to lead him.”
The orc shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. We see better in the dark than any hobbit, and if you try anything we will hurt you so badly that you won’t try it again.”

Faramir stepped into his room, finding it now in darkness. He quickly gathered a few lamps and lit them at the hearth before carrying one to set down on the table by the sofa. He didn’t like seeing how still the elf was; Legolas was always in subtle but constant motion, even if it was only a brief flick of a wayward braid or long fingers dancing over a surface like dragonflies about to alight. Despite his stillness now, though, the blue eyes were busy, following every move he made.

“You could probably hear us talking in the hall,” Faramir said.

A slight nod. “Yes. I heard you.”

Faramir smiled. “At least you can speak now.”

“Yes, well… Estel was a bit overly enthusiastic with that foul medicine of his, but it wears off quickly.”

“How do you feel now?”

He frowned. “Like my muscles have been turned into lead weights. I wouldn’t say it’s a pleasant feeling, but it’s not painful.”

“So you heard that it was supposed to be Arwen…”

Legolas smiled. “I did hear that.”

“You’re not angry?”

“No. If she had eaten them, or Estel, or one of the hobbits, or you… any of you would be dead already. I would not wish for Estel to lose his Arwen.”

“He would prefer not to lose you, either.”

“Hmm. That may not be his decision to make,” Legolas said, looking up at the ceiling.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

The blue eyes flicked back to him, amused. “Of course not. You would have to find someone else to keep your bed warm.”

Faramir scowled at him. “Is that what you think…”

“No, but I do find it funny that you would get so irate at the suggestion.”

Faramir grasped the elf’s hand. “You’re an intolerable creature.”

“Well, perhaps if you’re lucky you won’t have to tolerate me much longer.”

“Don’t joke about that!” Faramir said sharply.

Legolas looked up at him. “Would you prefer that I be terrified, Faramir? Because if I stop joking about it, I’ll have to think about it, and…”

“You don’t need to be frightened. Aragorn will find something.”

“I hope so,” Legolas said, glancing away.

Faramir sat up. “Is there something you could eat, or drink? Are you thirsty?”

“Hmm. I don’t think I could eat anything, but perhaps some wine… at least that would steady my nerves a bit.”

“I didn’t know elves had nerves to steady,” Faramir said, rising to retrieve a bottle of wine from the cabinet.

“Normally, elves have very little cause to lie around and contemplate their own death.”

“We’re not talking about that.”

Legolas raised an eyebrow. “Under the circumstances, what else were you planning to talk about?”

Faramir stood, thinking about this, as he poured two glasses of wine. He found himself remembering how many very long and pleasant nights had begun like this, with wine and lamp light. He turned back to the sofa and sat down.

“Can you hold this glass?”

“Possibly, if you prop me up so I’m not spilling wine all over my face.”

‘I thought of something else to talk about,” the man said, reaching for some extra pillows.

“Oh?”

“That’s right. I think we should talk about all of the things I intend to do to you when you’re back to your usual self.”

Legolas glanced at him. “Are there things you intend to do to me that I don’t know about?”

“Things I’d thought about doing to you, yes, and hadn’t got around to suggesting, but since we’re looking for distracting conversation, now might be a good time to bring them up.”

Legolas chuckled as Faramir propped him up with the pillows. “I must admit, I’m quite curious.”

He handed the elf a glass of wine, waiting for a moment to make sure he had a grip on it before letting it go. “That’s only half the bargain, though.”

“What’s the other half?”

“You have to tell me all of the things you’d like me to do to you.”

“Oh, and I don’t get to do things to you?”

“Have you forgotten how this game is played?” Faramir asked, and his voice dropped just slightly into the tone that always sent a shiver of anticipation up the elf’s spine, even if whispered to him in the middle of a crowd. “What you do is entirely up to me.”

“Perhaps when I’m feeling a bit better, I will need to be punished for my forgetfulness,” he said, smiling. “Now, what were those things you’d been thinking about doing to me? This is a most interesting topic of conversation indeed.”

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