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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There were some mutters of confusion and uncertainty among the captains of Gondor’s troops when the King strode into the meeting room without Boromir at his side. While they willingly acknowledged Aragorn as their King, they had continued to look to Boromir, still the Captain-General of the White Tower, to command them. They did not doubt Aragorn’s leadership, knowing that Boromir trusted him completely and would box the ears of anyone who suggested otherwise, but to discuss battle without their commander made them uneasy.

Aragorn took his place at the head of the long table, leaving his Steward’s seat to his right noticeably empty. He laid out his notes in front of him and studied them for a moment before speaking.

“According to the message we’ve received, there are four large Corsair ships and several smaller ones on their way to Pelargir, which alone are not enough to blockade the harbor, but the numbers of Haradrim are somewhere in the hundreds. If the ships can win them access to the city, as well-fortified as it is, it will be extremely difficult and destructive to rout them from it.”

“My Lord,” one of the men said. “If I may speak…”

“If you would say it to Lord Boromir, please say it to me now.”

“It will be nearly impossible to prepare that number of troops to move out in time to prevent the attackers from reaching the city.”

Aragorn nodded. “Can you tell me how long we would have to delay their progress to give our men time to fortify Pelargir?”

“At least a full day, my Lord. But I don’t see what we could do to delay the progress of such a large…”

The door to the room opened, and all heads turned as Faramir walked silently to the table and sat down in Boromir’s chair. Aragorn could see the weariness on the young man’s face, but he was in uniform and he was a face the captains knew just as well as his brother’s. Aragorn saw heads raising around the table, gaining a measure of confidence, and he glanced at Faramir, who returned his gaze with a small, tired smile before taking the notes and looking them over.

“I heard you speaking of some way to delay the progress of our opponents,” he said. “We have dealt with the men of Harad before, haven’t we?”

“We have,” one of the captains agreed. “But only when they were fighting under Sauron’s commanders could they mount an effective attack.”

Faramir nodded. “The tribes of Harad are at war with each other when not with Gondor. There’s a leader somewhere putting this attack together… and in an attempt to prevent us from acting, this person has ordered attempts on the life of both your Queen and your Captain.”

Exclamations of alarm rose down the length of the table, and demands for more information. Faramir looked to Aragorn, uncertain how much to reveal.

“Boromir has been captured,” Aragorn said. “He is alive, and even before we knew of this larger threat, we sent a skilled team of trackers to liberate him.”

He deliberately neglected to mention that the trackers happened to be Mirkwood elves, but he did not find this bit of information necessary to disclose at the moment. Information about Arwen, however, was trickier.

“The Queen’s life is in grave danger,” he said solemnly. “But I’m hopeful that she will recover.”

The attitude at the table had rapidly transformed from one of uncertainty to one of anger; this unknown foe had not only dared to kidnap their Captain-General, but had also stooped so low as to harm Gondor’s well-loved Queen, a cowardly and underhanded tactic that seemed below even the Haradrim. Vengeance was clearly called for.

“The Haradrim cannot carry out a plan like this without a leader,” Aragorn said. “And if we knew who this leader was or where to find him, targeting him might delay the attack, but we don’t have that information.”

“We don’t,” Faramir agreed, smiling slightly, “but we do know other things about the people of Harad that could be used against them… if not to defeat them, at least to create confusion and delay their progress.”

Aragorn raised an eyebrow.

“The Haradrim are a superstitious people,” the younger man went on. “Highly superstitious, and they put great faith in signs and omens and evil spirits. I’m sure their encounter with the Army of the Dead did not decrease this.”

“The Army of the Dead are gone,” someone said.

“True,” Faramir said. “But there are other things the Haradrim fear enough for us to make use of.”

“What are you suggesting?” Aragorn asked.

“My Rangers are too far away to summon them quickly. I need ten men who can travel very quickly and avoid detection. They are to meet me here with their travel gear before sunset, and we’ll leave…”

Aragorn shot him a surprised look. Faramir ignored it.

“Faramir…”

The captains glanced at each other and muttered back and forth

“Captain Faramir,” one of them said, “You can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Well, sir, you are the acting Steward in your brother’s place, are you not?”

“It appears so,” Faramir said, raising his eyebrows. “What are you thinking?”

The man looked down at the table before speaking. “Sir, if the Queen were to… take a turn for the worse… or if something were to happen to you, King Elessar… it would not do to have no Steward here to take the reins. Our enemies might take advantage of that situation…”

“He’s right,” Aragorn said. “Faramir, I cannot have you away from the city now. Too much is uncertain. As long as you’re the acting Steward, I need you here.”

“Sir,” one of the other captains said. “Our men will carry out your plan exactly as you direct them to.”

“I’m sure they will,” Faramir said, and Aragorn could not help but notice how these men, though all of them were older than Faramir, listened to him attentively and with respect. “Ten men will be able to prepare and move much more quickly than an army.”

“Sir… ten men to stop an army of hundreds?”

“Not to stop them,” Faramir said. “That will be the task of our troops. These ten men will be responsible for delaying them so that our troops can be waiting for them when they arrive.”

The captains departed with instructions for preparing their men to move out the next day, and discussing amongst themselves which ten men would be sent to carry out Faramir’s plan. Aragorn waited until the room was empty before turning to Faramir.

“What are you doing here?”

“My duty to my country,” he said evenly. “If Boromir isn’t here to serve as your Steward…”

“What about Legolas?”

Faramir smiled wryly. “I highly doubt that he’d approve of me neglecting my duties to sit around and stare at him all day.”

A chill made its way up Aragorn’s spine. “He’s not…”

“He’s alive, for now. And if I thought he could tell whether I was with him or not, I wouldn’t have wanted to leave him. And if you’re keeping me in the city to stay with him…”

“I’m keeping you in the city because your captains are right. You know perfectly well that the laws of Gondor dictate that the King and his Steward can’t both place themselves in battle or otherwise in harm’s way at the same time. One of us must always be here to command, and right now, it’s hard to know what might happen to any of us.”

Faramir nodded. “All right. If we could go to your rooms and I can explain what I’m thinking of as a way to delay the Haradrim… I can’t guarantee it will work, though.”

“We have nothing to lose, Faramir. There’s no way to get enough men in place unless we can delay them, and if we send a smaller contingent to fight them directly, they might delay them, but they would certainly all be killed in the process.”

“Good. Let’s go, then, and I’ll lay out my plan for you.”

“Should we stop and look in on Legolas?”

Faramir shook his head. “I’ll go back after we’re finished. Anyway, he’s not alone… Arwen is with him. She came to see me not very long after you left us earlier and said she wanted to speak to him alone for a few minutes. I told her I wasn’t sure he was listening, but she just smiled at me and told me to take a walk. And once I was outside and could think properly again, I realized that where I should be was at your side when my brother can’t be. So I asked her to stay with him, and I headed up here.”

“When did you think of this clever plan of yours?”

“Between when I opened the door and when I reached my chair,” he said, smiling.

“Arwen has known Legolas most of her life, and that’s a longer time than you or I can possibly imagine. She’ll take good care of him.”

“I know.”

“She said she wanted to speak to him alone?”

“That’s right.”

Aragorn shrugged, suddenly weary. “Perhaps she had some last words for him. I would try to think of some, if I had time, but that’s a luxury we don’t have right now.”

“Not at the moment, no. So let’s go and get to work, shall we?”
Aragorn studied the young man; his eyes wore circles so dark they looked like bruises.

“You look terrible, Faramir.”

“So do you, my Lord,” he said, chuckling. “Let’s go and get this done, before I fall asleep halfway through what I’m telling you.”

As soon as the sun began to sink toward the horizon, the orcs were awake and prodding their captives to get up and start walking. Boromir had some choice words for them, and one seemed to be considering prodding him with a spear, but one of the others that seemed to have some degree of authority snapped at him, and he grudgingly lowered his spear.

“They want us alive for something,” Boromir said.

“Alive and in reasonably good condition,” Merry added. “They did let us have water and clean your wounds.”

“They did. And the big one there doesn’t seem to intend to allow any of the others to harm us.”

“I think it’s mostly just you,” Pippin said. “We’re not important like you are… the only reason they’re keeping us around is to make sure you mind your manners and don’t do anything foolish.”

“If they try to hurt either one of you, I will do something very foolish, and they’ll wish I hadn’t,” Boromir muttered.

Moving in twilight, the orcs brought them to the banks of the Anduin. At this point, having collected most of its tributaries, it was a vast river, broad enough for large ships to travel up from the coast. While to the hobbits any dimly lit riverbank was likely to look much the same, Boromir smiled and looked down at them.

“I know where we are now, little ones.”

“Well, I’m assuming this is the Anduin, but considering that it runs from the Grey Mountains to the sea, that doesn’t tell us much,” Pippin said.

Merry rolled his eyes. “That’s what you get for never looking at maps, Pip. We haven’t crossed the Anduin, so we’re still on the west side of it, and we haven’t crossed the River Erui yet, but we must be getting close, considering how far we’ve travelled… so we’re somewhere in the lowlands of Lassarnach, and we should be crossing the Erui very shortly.”

He glanced at Boromir, who smiled proudly. “Excellent, Meriadoc. Very clever. I expect we’ll cross that river within the hour. That means that if we are on our way to Pelargir, at the pace these brutes are setting, we’ll be there about two days from now.”

“Two more days of this?” Pippin said unhappily. “I hope they’re planning to feed us soon, at least. That bread they gave us wasn’t much of a meal.”

“You’ll make it through the night, little ones,” Boromir said, “and when we stop at dawn we’ll see if they’ll let us find some food.” The man tried to ignore his own stomach twisting emptily at the mention of food. He had slipped the hobbits most of his bread before they’d noticed what he was up to and insisted that he eat the rest of it.

Boromir’s estimate had been correct, and within the hour they had reached a juncture where a small river, wide and rocky and shallow after flowing across the lowlands in the summer heat, poured itself into the Anduin.

“You wouldn’t walk across this in the spring,” Boromir said. “It’s much deeper, and the meltwater from the mountains is freezing.”

“It still looks deep enough to me,” Pippin said, eyeing it suspiciously.

The orc behind them growled. “Move.”

Boromir reached down and gingerly lifted one hobbit in each arm. “I’ll carry you across, but I’m putting you down on the other side, you know.”

The party of orcs and their prisoners reached the far side of the Erui. Boromir set the hobbits down and took a moment to shake the water out of his boots, looking around at the dense, scrubby trees that followed the smaller river’s banks off to the north and west.

Something moved among the trees. Boromir spotted the shifting figure, but the orcs had not, so he said nothing, but drew the hobbits closer to him. A quick look at his face told them that he was on the alert, and they shifted to stand at his side, Merry shifting his weight so he could get at the small knife in his boot quickly.

When he turned his gaze from the hobbits back to the trees, he was startled to find a pair of vivid green eyes watching him intently. A quick flash of white teeth in a hint of a smile, and then the face vanished again.

The orc behind Boromir made a strange, choked sound, and then it collapsed to the ground with an arrow still quivering in its neck. The other orcs spun in circles, seeking the source of this silent attack. Boromir glanced down at the arrow and smiled; it was clearly of elf craftsmanship, although the arrangement of feathers was unfamiliar. He grasped both hobbits and scooped one up with each arm, and they grasped his shirt tightly, prepared for anything.

The air was suddenly filled with the hiss of flying arrows, and orcs began to drop all around them. As the three of them watched, more arrows flew from the trees, and their aim was so precise that almost every one of them struck an orc target. The ground became rapidly smeared with black blood as the creatures thrashed and died. Within a minute of the first shot, Boromir and the two hobbits were standing amidst a field strewn with orc corpses, blinking in surprise and confusion.

The blond-haired elf dressed in Mirkwood green that came striding toward them reminded Boromir first of Legolas, but then he realized he had seen this particular elf before.

“Greetings, Lord Boromir,” he said, grinning broadly and extending his hand. “Do you remember me?”

“You’re Berendir,” Pippin said. The elf, man, and his fellow hobbit all stared at him. “What? I’m good at remembering names. You’re one of Thranduil’s sons. You look much different, though…”

“I am much different,” he said, lowering his hand when he realized that Boromir’s hands were both full of hobbits. The man quickly set them down and shook the green-eyed elf’s hand heartily.

“What exactly is a Mirkwood prince doing hunting orcs in the Pellenor?” he asked.

The elf laughed. “Looking for you, Lord Boromir, and your two companions. When I heard that you had been captured, I begged Aragorn to let us come after you.”

“Us?” Merry asked.

Berendir waved, and eight more elves stepped out of the trees, these ones darker-haired and obviously wood elves. Boromir looked past them and frowned.

“I’m surprised Legolas didn’t decide to accompany you.”

Berendir’s smile vanished. “You don’t know what’s happened to my brother, then.”

“No. What are you talking about? What’s happened to Legolas?”

Berendir motioned to one of the wood elves and spoke quickly in a dialect of Sindarin that Boromir had no ability to translate.

“Sit down, friends, and rest for a moment. My associates will bring you some food, and I’ll tell you where things stood when we left Minas Tirith.

As the sun hung low in the sky, guards pointed Aragorn toward Faramir in an empty storage room at the far end of one of the halls. Aragorn re-lit his pipe before striding off down the hall, drawing on it until the burning pipeweed glowed red in the dimming light. He found the room the guard had indicated and, finding it barred from the inside, knocked on the door.

“Who is it?”

“Aragorn.”

“Come in… carefully.”

Aragorn stepped into the room, which was lit only by the fading light from the windows. He had a brief moment to see Faramir standing over a table stacked with jars and paper packets of some sort, but then Faramir looked up at him, eyes widening with alarm, and before he knew what was happening he had been shoved unceremoniously out into the hall and the door slammed in his face.

“What was that for?” he demanded.

“Put out that damned pipe before you kill us both!”

Puzzled, Aragorn stepped several paces away from the door before tapping out the still-burning pipeweed and tucking the pipe into his pocket. He knocked on the door again.

“It’s out.”

“Leave the pipe in the hall. Your matches, too. And your sword, if you’ve got it. Nothing that might spark.”

Aragorn frowned, but did as he was told. “All right. Can I come in now?”

“Carefully!”

Gingerly opening the door, Aragorn became aware of a sharp, acrid scent in the air, and gray dust drifting across the last streaks of sunlight from the window. Faramir looked up at him, smears of gray and black across his sweating face, his hair powdered with the same stuff. His hands were nearly black, and the surface of the table was covered with small piles of various powders, which Faramir appeared to be carefully measuring into wooden tubes. The younger man’s eyes bore the blankness that came from working under extremely stressful circumstances for too long without a rest.

“What are you doing?” Aragorn asked. “What is all this?”

Faramir grinned wearily. “Gandalf’s secret recipes. Although I’m not at all sure I’m doing it correctly.”

“Recipes for what?”

“Fireworks.”

“What?” Aragorn exclaimed.

“He was going to teach me how to make them next time he came back to Minas Tirith. He had started showing me last time he was here. He left his materials in this store room and gave me the only key and told me to make sure that no one came near here with fire or with anything metal. All of this stuff was in jars and packets till I started getting it out…”

“What is it?”

“Powdered metals, most of it. He left the book about what kinds and where they’re found… powdered metals and this stuff… it’s charcoal and saltpeter and some other sort of rock that smells like rotten eggs.”

“That’s what he makes his fireworks out of? I thought there was some magic to it.”

Faramir smiled. “This isn’t enough magic? To take rocks and metal out of the earth and grind them up and turn them into bright flaming lights in the sky? Mine won’t be as pretty as his, but I don’t intend them to be. And I’m hoping that with a bit extra of this stuff here, I can get a bigger bang out of them…”

“You’re getting that odd look in your eye that Gandalf gets when he’s thinking of doing something extremely dangerous,” Aragorn said.

“This is fairly dangerous,” Faramir said. “If you drew your sword right now and it sparked off the scabbard, everything in this room would explode with enough force to blow this entire wall of the citadel off.”

Aragorn looked around, alarmed. “Err… perhaps I should go.”

“Are the men almost ready? The ones that are leaving tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ll be finished with these before dark… I have to be, since I can’t light a lantern. I’ll come to the room where we met earlier. Make sure that some of the men have some very sturdy leather bags that can be tied up tightly enough to keep out water… these won’t work if they get wet.”

Aragorn nodded and backed out of the room quickly, closing the door carefully behind him, thinking that perhaps Faramir was becoming a bit more like Gandalf than was probably good for him.

Berendir glanced down at the hobbits with some amusement.

“They certainly can eat a lot.”

“True,” Boromir agreed, laying a fond hand on Pippin’s head. The younger hobbit grinned up at him with his mouth full of buttered bread.

“We’ve been starved for days,” Merry said.

Boromir rolled his eyes and turned back to the fair-haired Mirkwood elf.

“And they’re certain this poison was intended for Arwen?” he asked.

“It doesn’t sound as though it could have been intended for anyone else. The poisoned food was a favorite of hers and sent directly to her rooms. It was only her luck that she wasn’t hungry.”

“And Legolas…”

Berendir’s previously bright eyes darkened. “He was alive when we left, but I’m not sure he is now. He looked too much like my mother looked as she was fading…”

Both hobbits looked up, alarmed.

“Did you say Legolas is…”

“He didn’t say anything,” Boromir said firmly.

“He did,” Pippin argued. “He said Legolas might be dead.”

“I thought you were supposed to be eating, not listening.”

“If we couldn’t eat and listen at the same time, we would miss a great deal of useful information,” Merry said. “Besides, Legolas is our friend. It’s not fair not to tell us what’s happened to him.”

“He was alive when I left,” Berendir repeated, glancing at Boromir for approval before continuing. “I fear he was closer to the other side than to this one, and from how he looked when I saw him, I have very little hope that he will still be with us when we get back.”

Boromir frowned, realizing that Berendir was speaking of his youngest brother. “I hope you didn’t miss your chance to be by his side just to come here hunting for us.”

The elf smiled uncertainly. “Elves are not accustomed to farewells. I doubt I would have had anything to say. And your brother… he has a way about him… no matter what happens I doubt Legolas could be in better hands.”

For a moment Boromir feared that the elf was going to inquire about the nature of the relationship between Faramir and Legolas, but the hobbits interrupted that with exclamations of alarm and defiance.

“Of course he’s still alive!” Pippin protested. “Aragorn is the best healer…”

“That’s right,” Merry agreed. “And he wouldn’t let… and neither would Faramir…”

“Little ones,” Boromir said solemnly. “Do you think that if they intended to poison Aragorn’s wife, they would use a poison he knew how to cure?”

“Oh,” Pippin said, his voice small and quiet.

“Do they have any idea why someone would do this?” the man asked.

Berendir shook his head. “No… although elves do hear things. As we were at the main gates preparing to leave, the guards were talking amongst themselves, saying that a messenger had come from the south, and that the attacks on you and on the Queen had been a cover for a large number of enemy troops to make a move on a place called Pelargir.”

Boromir’s head snapped up. “The city of Pelargir? The great port of Gondor?”

“That’s the place they spoke of.”

Boromir frowned and glanced down at the hobbits before turning back to the elf. “Can you and your men get these little ones back to Minas Tirith safely?”

“Of course…”

“Oh, no!” Merry said sharply. “We’re staying with you.”

“Always,” Pippin added.

“It’s not safe…”

“We don’t care,” Merry said. “We’re not going back without you. If you make us go with the elves we’ll run away and come back to you.”

“We will, too,” Pippin said firmly, in case Boromir doubted it.

“You don’t understand, little ones,” the man said. “If there’s to be an attack on Pelargir, I have to go there.”

“We understand,” Pippin said. “We’re going with you.”

Berendir looked down at them and smiled. “Captain Boromir, I have seen men command much larger troops, but never ones more loyal.”

Boromir tried not to laugh as he looked at the hobbits with mock sternness. “If we’re going to Pelargir, young Pippin, I am NOT carrying you there.”

Pippin made an indignant sound. Boromir ignored it and turned to the elf sitting cross-legged on the grass in front of him.

“I thank you and your men for coming to our aid. I’m sure you’re anxious to return to Minas Tirith and…”

Berendir shook his head. “And what? There’s no battle to fight there. I see no benefit in sitting helpless at my brother’s bedside when I can be out putting arrows through the heads of anyone who might be remotely responsible for putting him there.”

The hobbits glanced at each other, grinning knowingly. Boromir laughed and extended his hand.

“Well, then, Master Elf. Who am I to deny you your opportunity for vengeance?”

The elf smiled fiercely. “If we had as many arrows as the enemy had troops, Captain, we would kill every one of them. Let one of my men see to your wounds while the others go hunt us some supplies, and then we’ll proceed.”

Boromir nodded. “Maybe you should have one of them look over the little ones… the younger one had his shoulder dislocated, and I put it back in place, but… Pippin?”

He looked to where the hobbits had been, but both of them had vanished. Boromir rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath. Berendir raised an eyebrow.

“Shall I send someone to find them?”

“They’re fine,” Boromir sighed. “Just fine.”

Pippin raised his head to peer through the bushes where they had hidden themselves.

“Is Boromir looking for us?” Merry asked.

“No. He’s just sitting there, and one of the elves is bringing some water and bandages.”

“Good,” Merry said. “That will take them some time, don’t you think?”

“Mmm. He does have a great many cuts and scrapes all over his arms,” Pippin agreed, as Merry’s hands found their way beneath the hem of his shirt and began to trace along his ribs.

“He does. And they should make sure to take the time to clean them correctly,” Merry said, his last words muffled as he lowered his head to Pippin’s throat.

“Merry?”

“Hmm?”

“The… ooh! The elves are going to hear… you know they can hear everything…”

“You’ll just have to be very quiet, then.”

“You know I can’t be quiet when you’re doing… oh, THAT!”

“Hmm. Perhaps I’ll have to give you something to keep your mouth busy,” Merry suggested.

“That’s definitely worth trying,” Pippin agreed happily. “But then it’ll be you they’re hearing, Meriadoc, and I know YOU can’t be quiet while I’m doing that.”

“Let them hear,” Merry said breathlessly.

Pippin giggled and returned to his work.

Aragorn stepped quietly into Faramir’s rooms, finding Arwen at the hearth, taking a kettle of hot water from the fire. Seeing him, she smiled.

“Hello, Estel. Did you find Faramir?”

“Yes… I’m a bit concerned he may have gone quite mad, but I suppose I have to assume for the moment that he hasn’t. Is the tea for Legolas?”

She shook her head. “No… I was just making some for myself. I tried to get him to drink some earlier, but I think he’s too far away to hear what I’m telling him.”

Aragorn sighed and slumped into a chair at the table as Arwen set the kettle down and sat across from him.

“There may be a way, Estel.”

He looked up. “What?”

“There may be a way to help him.”

Aragorn frowned. “Whatever you’ve found, I’m afraid it’s too late… he’s much too far gone to fight for himself, no matter what…”

“What if someone else could fight for him?”

He looked at her sharply. “How…”

“You know how, Estel.”

He raised his eyebrows, eyes widening. “That’s… we can’t do that. There’s no one here that could, even if I did think it was…”

She laid her hand on his. “What about Faramir?”

He drew his hand back, alarmed. “We can’t. He can’t… no. Your father refused even to bind two elves like that, much less an elf and a mortal. If it doesn’t work, if it’s not enough… we could lose both of them. I can’t take that risk.”

“It’s not your risk to take, Estel.”

He frowned. “Have you spoken to Faramir about this?”

“Not yet.”

“Then don’t. You know he’ll jump at the chance to save Legolas, without considering the consequences… even if they both survive it, what will happen to them afterwards? I can’t…”

“It’s not your choice,” she said, meeting his gaze with a flash of determination that reminded Aragorn of her father’s stern expression. “It’s Faramir’s. Estel, if I were dying, and there was a chance you could save me…”

“Don’t ask me if I would do it. You know I would.”

“I was going to ask you, my love, how you would have felt if you found out later that there was a chance, and no one told you because they knew what your choice would be.”

“Damnit,” he muttered, frustrated. “Don’t you understand? Legolas could still die, and he could take Faramir with him.”

“It’s his choice.”

“You know what he’ll choose.”

She nodded. “Yes. But I won’t be the one to deny him that choice.”

Aragorn sank back in his chair, closing his eyes. “I can’t lose both of them.”

“It’s Faramir’s risk to take, my dear.”

He glanced at her. “Who put this idea into your head? I know it wasn’t your father’s notes. He refused to ever conduct that kind of binding.”

She laughed softly. “You’re right. It wasn’t my father’s idea. It was my grandmother’s.”

“Galadriel? She thought this was a good idea?”

“No,” she said, smiling. “But she gave me permission to try.”
“He’s meeting with the men in a few hours. He’ll be back here after that.”

She nodded. “I need time to prepare anyway. This is complex, and I’ve never even seen it done, much less done it myself. Just make sure Faramir comes back here soon. I don’t think this can wait till morning.”

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