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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Aragorn tapped his foot impatiently. “What do you mean you can’t find him?”

The guard took a wary step backwards. “We can’t find him anywhere, my Lord. We’ve been through the city from top to bottom and no one has seen Lord Boromir since after lunch today.”

“What about the hobbits?”

“No one seems to have seen them either, my Lord. And yes, we checked all of the kitchens.”

Aragorn frowned. Boromir being off somewhere where he couldn’t be found was unusual, but hobbits going all day without showing up at one of the kitchens was unheard of. “Keep looking for him. Has anyone looked outside the city?”

“I sent some men out to look around that pond in the woods. They didn’t see anything, but it was rather dark by then. They’re going back out to look in the morning.”

“I need him tonight. Keep looking.”

“Yessir.”

Arwen waited till the guard had given his report and departed before emerging from her room. She found her husband at the window, scowling at the darkness. She crossed the room, feet light and almost silent on the stone floor, the heavy tapestries on the walls muffling the faint echoes. She glanced at the heavy wooden table with its elaborately carved legs and pale oak inlaid into the polished surface, now hiding beneath several stacks of books from the library.

“If Boromir isn’t here, you must become the master of threatening glares?” she asked.

“I would very much like to know where he is.”

“So would I, my dear. It’s not like him to be away for so long without telling anyone. Did the healers have anything to tell you about the poison?”

“Nothing useful,” he said. “Some of them had heard of such things being used by the Southern tribes, but none of them knew of any treatment or antidote for it.”

She sighed. “And nothing in the library?”

“Not that I’ve found. There are still those books on the table I brought back to look through.”

She sat down at the table and lifted one of the books, a heavy leather-bound volume with her husband’s handprints in the dust on its surface. “What are we looking for?”

“I’m not sure. Something useful.”

She glanced up at him. “How long have you been reading?”

“I don’t know,” he said, rubbing his eyes “Hours.”

“Perhaps you should take a walk.”

“I don’t need to take a walk.”

She smiled slightly. “I’m telling you to go away, Estel. Go see how Faramir and Legolas are managing.”

“They’ll ask me if I’ve found anything, and I don’t have an answer for them.”

“You have an answer, my dear. Your answer is that you haven’t found anything yet, but we’re still looking, and there’s no reason to give up yet. Or tell them something else, but please, Estel, go away for a little while before you drive me quite mad.”

The sky above the walls of the city was overcast, with only a few stars and a weak outline of the moon visible overhead. In a few hours the eastern horizon would begin to brighten. Aragorn wandered through the halls for a while before steeling himself to go look in on his friends. He knocked softly on the door but received no answer. Trying the handle, he found that the door was unlocked, so he pushed it open enough to look in. Banked coals glowed in the hearth, and an empty bottle of wine stood on the table, but he did not see Faramir or Legolas.

“Is that you, Aragorn? For a Ranger, you’re not very stealthy.”
Aragorn stepped into the room, looking around, but he had to make his way back to the bedroom to find his friends, both stretched out on the large bed, taking advantage of the cool air from the open window that gently stirred the curtains and wisps of Faramir’s hair. The man was asleep and oblivious to Aragorn’s presence, but Legolas watched him alertly from here he lay with his head pillowed on Faramir’s shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Aragorn asked.

“I can name at least twenty things I’m not doing,” the elf answered, smiling lazily.

Aragorn blinked at stared at him. Legolas laughed.

“We’ve come to the conclusion that there seems to be very little point in worrying at the moment,” he said, flicking his eyes in Faramir’s direction. “So we have determined that we aren’t going to.”

“Oh?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“How is that working?”

“Very well, with the addition of alcohol. Now I know why mortals like getting drunk so much. Makes it remarkably easy to forget about one’s problems. And of course, no point in worrying about unpleasant effects in the morning when you’re not entirely sure you’ll see morning, so…”

“Is that supposed to be funny?” Aragorn asked, frowning.

Legolas raised an eyebrow. “I strongly suggest that you have some wine. It will improve your sense of humor.”

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Oh, not terribly much. Faramir finished that one bottle, and I think I had the other four…”

“Four bottles of wine?” Aragorn exclaimed, loudly enough that Faramir stirred and muttered in his sleep. Legolas glanced over to the sleeping man and murmured something Aragorn couldn’t hear before turning his attention back to him.

“It takes a lot of work to get an elf drunk. You should know, Estel. Now, don’t you have some work to do?”

Aragorn shook his head and smiled. “I’m glad to find you in a better state of mind than I expected.”

“For now,” Legolas said, his smile vanishing for a moment. “Estel, you must promise me something.”

“Legolas, you know I’ll do everything I possibly can…”

The elf rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Stop it. I just want you to promise me you’ll make sure Faramir takes care of himself. You know, the man will do anything for anyone, but nothing for himself?”

“I know,” Aragorn said, thinking that he probably did not, at least not the way that Legolas and Boromir did, being the only two people who could convince the quiet young man to speak freely.

“Well, promise, then.”

“All right, I promise that I’ll make sure he looks after himself. And I promise to look after him too.”

“Excellent. That’s all. Thank you, Estel.”

Returning to his task, Aragorn found Arwen still at the dining table, now flipping through a large book bound in darkened green leather.

“What have you got there?” he asked. “I don’t recall seeing that in the library.”

She glanced up at him and smiled. “It’s not from the library. It’s mine. It was in one of the chests my father sent here… things he wants me to keep after he’s sailed.”

“What is it?”

“It’s all of his notes from his training as a healer and from all of his research. I used to see him writing in this all the time. I know he spent a lot of time with Galadriel before I was born, writing down everything she would tell him about elves and their history and everything else she knew.”

“You think there might be something in there about…”

“I thought it was worth looking. How are Faramir and Legolas?”

Aragorn raised his eyebrows. “Drunk. Well, Faramir’s asleep, but I’m sure he was drunk before that. And…”

“Well, that’s good,” Arwen said.

“What? It’s good that they spent the evening getting drunk?”

“Would you have preferred them to spend the evening worrying, or fearing the morning, or fighting off tears?”

“It hardly seems an appropriate response from someone whose life is in danger.”

“And what response would be appropriate, Estel?” she asked, standing and straightening her dress before walking toward him and taking his hands. “Elves don’t think about their death like mortals do.”

“Like you do, now,” he sighed.

“True, but I chose that. And I’ve also found that as a mortal I do need to sleep occasionally, and so do you.”

“I can’t sleep now. I can’t waste time…”

She tugged him by the hands toward their bedroom; he followed, still mumbling protests, but she was insistent, steering him patiently and pulling back the sheets for him, and he was asleep almost as soon as he fell into the bed.

Boromir looked up at the overcast night sky. “I wish the clouds would clear. At least then I’d know for sure which way we were going, but I believe I know anyway.”

“Where are we?” Merry asked, looking around at the flat land scattered with trees and brush. Many of the trees were crooked and scarred, as if a great storm had passed through.

Boromir recognized the blighted land where some of the armies of Mordor had made camp in preparation for their assault on Minas Tirith, the ground still bare in places where the mumakil had trampled and gouged it in search of food.

“South of Minas Tirith, and traveling southeast now. If we keep on this way we’ll reach the Anduin some time tomorrow.”

“Not toward Mordor?” Merry asked uneasily.

Boromir shook his head. “We’re too far to the south, past the gates, and the entrances to Mordor are well-guarded these days.”

“So what were these orcs doing lurking around so close to the city?” Pippin asked, rubbing his aching shoulder unhappily.

“I believe they were waiting for you, little ones, knowing I would come looking for you. They had apparently been told where your fishing spot was…”

“We would have noticed if orcs had been wandering around our fishing spot,” Merry said, frowning.

“If you weren’t too busy entertaining each other,” Boromir said, chuckling. “But yes, Merry, you would have noticed, and so would the sentries. The orcs already knew where to find you two, and they also knew that I would come for you. That means that someone gave them that information… someone who would have been able to pass freely around and through the city, and ask questions about me and about you two, without rousing suspicion.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Merry said, glancing cautiously at the three orcs walking behind them, spears in hand. “But any ordinary-looking man could do that.”

Boromir nodded and started to say something else, but Pippin suddenly stumbled over a rut in the ground and fell. Merry and Boromir stopped abruptly, ignoring growls from their orc guards, and Boromir lifted the young hobbit and set him back on his feet. Pippin rubbed his face miserably.

“Are you all right, little one?” Boromir asked, frowning.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“You’re not,” Merry argued.

“My shoulder hurts,” he mumbled, looking at the ground.

“I’m sure it does,” Boromir said, rubbing the curly head gently. “Those muscles aren’t made to be pulled that way, and they will ache for a while.”

“I know you’re tired, Pip, but I don’t think these brutes are going to let us rest.”

Boromir shook his head and stood up, reaching down to lift Pippin and tuck him against his shoulder, cradling him with one arm.

“Put me down,” Pippin protested. “You’re hurt too.”

“Hush, Pippin,” the man said. “They’ll stop somewhere at dawn to get out of the sun; even if these are uruks and can stand the sunlight, they still don’t like it. We just have to go a little while longer, so be still and don’t complain.”

Pippin sighed and buried his face in the man’s shoulder. “Thank you, Boromir.”

Boromir glanced down at the other hobbit. “Are you all right, Merry?”

He nodded. “I’m fine. I’m the only one of the three of us that isn’t hurt. Don’t worry about me; just take care of Pip and yourself.”

Boromir picked up his pace again, looking toward the eastern sky and hoping that it would begin to lighten soon. His battered arms had pained him even without carrying Pippin, and the adrenaline of the fight had long since drained away, leaving him numb and weary. He had no doubt that Merry knew it, observant as the older hobbit was, but would not speak of it; the orcs behind them were listening, and if they knew Boromir was wearing down they might take advantage of it.

“Do you think they meant what they said, about Arwen?” Merry asked, as they walked.

“I don’t know, little one. But if someone wanted to make sure Aragorn was too distracted to respond to a threat, taking both his wife and his Steward from him would be a good way to do it.”

Merry sidled closer and smiled up at him in the darkness. “You aren’t just his Steward.”

“No, little one,” Boromir argreed, smiling back. “But these idiots don’t know that.”

“I hope Arwen is all right.”

“I do too, Merry. Aragorn would never forgive himself if anything happened to her.”

“Or if anything happened to you,” Merry said. “I wish morning would get here sooner.”

“So do I.”

Faramir woke slowly, fighting off strange dreams, to find a pale gray morning outside the window. He struggled for a moment to remember the night before, and as soon as he could drag it back into focus he rolled over quickly to look to Legolas. The elf was so still that for a brief instant Faramir feared that something terrible had happened, but then Legolas smiled, eyes still closed.

“Good morning, Faramir.”

The man exhaled, relieved. “How are you?”

“Hmm. Tired. I think I was asleep. Aragorn came in last night to check on us.”

“Oh? What did he have to say?”

“I don’t think he approved of us being drunk.”

Faramir chuckled. “That doesn’t surprise me. Did he say anything about…”

“No.”

Faramir sat up, rubbing his face. “Hmph. All right, I’m awake… what do you need?”

Legolas yawned. “More sleep. Wake me up in a little while and maybe I’ll feel like eating something.”

Wondering how bad a state an elf had to be in to need sleep, Faramir found his pants tossed across a chair and pulled them on, watching Legolas out of the corner of his eye. He was hunting for a clean tunic to put on, preparing to go looking for Aragorn, when there was a knock at the door.

Expecting Aragorn, he was startled to find a slender, blond-haired elf in green clothes standing in his doorway.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“My name is Berendir, sir. I’m looking for my brother.”

There was no need to ask which brother he meant; this elf had the same golden hair as Legolas and the same high cheekbones, but his eyes were green. Faramir’s eyes narrowed, remembering what Aragorn had said about Legolas and his last visit to Mirkwood, but this elf smiled back at him without any indication of malice.

“Your brother isn’t here,” Faramir said. “He may be back around lunch time, if you wish to come back then.”

“Certainly, if you don’t mind. Is there any possibility I could speak to Lord Boromir?”

“Why do you want to speak to the Steward?”

The elf’s smile faded and he glanced over his shoulder before answering. “I wanted to thank him.”

“For what?”

“Since he and my brother came to Mirkwood, word made its way to Galadriel and Celeborn about… things that were happening there, and Celeborn has been spending quite a bit of time visiting my father’s palace… things are much better there, since then.”
Faramir did not like the haunted look that flashed through the elf’s eyes. “I’m sure Boromir will be very happy to hear that. As soon as I see him, I’ll have him come speak to you.”

“I would appreciate that… I would like to…”

Before he could finish, Faramir heard a voice behind him, and saw the Mirkwood elf’s eyes widen. He turned to see Legolas leaning against the bedroom doorway, his expression distant and puzzled.

“Hello, Faramir… I just wanted to see who you were out here chatting with…”

He abruptly lost his grip on the door frame and slid to the floor. Alarmed, Faramir ran to grasp him by the arms and pull him to his feet. To his surprise, the fair-haired Mirkwood elf was at his brother’s side almost as quickly as Faramir, his eyes wide and shocked. Legolas, held up between them, glanced from one to the other and laughed.

“Well, hello, Berendir. What brings you here?”

“Legolas? What…”

Ignoring the stunned elf for the moment, Faramir hooked his friend’s arm over his shoulders and pulled him toward the bed, laying him down carefully while Legolas looked up at him with a dazed, curious expression.

“Faramir? What is my brother doing here?”

“Shh. I don’t know, Legolas. Stay here, please, and go back to sleep, and I’ll be back in just a moment.”

“All right,” he agreed, eyes drifting closed. “You’d better come back, though. It’s cold in here.”

Faramir stepped out of the bedroom to face Berendir, who was still standing wide-eyed and bewildered.

“Sit down,” he said, motioning toward the chairs. The elf obeyed silently and waited for Faramir to sit down across from him before he spoke.”

“What happened to my brother? I’ve never seen…”

Faramir sighed. “It’s… I don’t know if I can explain…”

“What do you mean? How can you not tell me…”

“It’s… it’s bigger than just Legolas. It’s…”

The elf stared at him, green eyes darkening just as Legolas’ blue ones did when he was upset or intensely focused. “Please. I have to know. Do you have a brother, Lord Faramir? If you do, you must know…”

“I have a brother,” Faramir said. “And I do know. If I tell you what’s happening to Legolas, though, you must swear that you will discuss it with no one else.”

“I swear it. Please.”

Faramir took a deep breath, then leaned forward and started talking.

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