Faramir Fiction Archive

Under the broken sky (R)

Written by Fëawen

22 November 2009 | 21704 words | Work in Progress

I

Minas Tirith T.A. 3019

They were all dead. Father, Boromir, Uncle Thorongil had most certainly been dead for many years. He had stop visiting them so long ago, his fault no doubt, and Uncle Imrahil, well he was alive but Faramir had never got the chance to get to know him other than by name.

Even though he was surrounded by many, the King and his beautiful Elven maid, the King’s foster brothers, Legolas Thranduilion, Gimli son of Glóin, the hobbits, Meriadoc Brandybuck, Peregrin Took, who had saved him from the fires that had taken his father, Samwise Gamgee and Frodo Baggins, whom he had met in the Ithillien forests and of course, Mithrandir, his old mentor and tutor. Even so, he had never felt lonelier than he did now.

Faramir, second Son of Denethor Steward of Gondor, was now Steward himself, a task he had never thought would fall upon him.

In the House of Healing he had met the shield maiden of Rohan, Éowyn. She was recovering from the deadly wounds caused by the Witch Master of Agmar. This woman had killed him, the King of Nazgûls, the one who was said to be unstoppable, that no man could kill him. He smiled; no man had killed him, he had been slain by a woman, by Éowyn.

He had walked with her in the gardens and listen as she shared memories from her childhood with him. She had told him what it had been like growing up as a woman in a world surrounded by men. She had told him how much she had hated doing the women’s tasks, like sewing, singing, painting and cooking, how much she had preferred training with the arms master and riding bare back over the plains near Edoras, like her brother and cousin. Instead she had had to learn those things for herself and she was quite proud of herself for the skills she had developed. She had laughed when she told him about how she used to sneak away from the kitchen duties and that she hadn’t been caught a single time.

“Now I wish I had paid at least some attention to it. They say that the way to a man’s heart is trough his stomach and I think that when Aragorn tasted my stew all possible love for me ended with one spoon full.” Even though she was jesting, the sadness in her eyes could not be mistaken. She loved Aragorn.

She had asked him of his childhood, he had answered her politely but reserved, that he could not have wished for a better life within these walls.

He enjoyed spending time with her, her smile made her blue eyes sparkle like sapphires and her ray blond hair glistened like Mithril in the gazing sun. She was a beautiful woman and any other man would have given his life to wrap his arms around her willow thin waist, taste those rosy full lips and inhale the sweet sent of her skin.

Faramir, however, never saw her as anything but a dear friend.

He knew there was something wrong with him; he had never felt drawn to any of the maidens of Gondor and no other woman either. He had once, when he was fourteen, spoken of this with Boromir but his brother had laughed and said that he still was young and that it was simply something that he would grow to love. He had told him about the pleasure when you for the first time had a sweet and soft maid in bed with you, when you woke up the next morning with a blushing rose on your arm and the smell of your sweat mixed together. Faramir had nodded and never spoke of it again.

Now, twenty two years later, he still couldn’t feel that way about a woman.

Éowyn had become his friend; he had felt calm in her company. He had felt the weird and wonderful anticipation of not having to portray someone ha was not, just to make her not detest him, and now she was gone too. She had travelled back to Rohan with her brother to help him with his newly given role as King of Rohan.

“Faramir, come and join us in the gardens. It is a far too beautiful day to sit in this dusty old archive reading. Arwen and the hobbits have prepared a lovely picnic.” Faramir leaped from his seat. He hadn’t heard when Lord Elledan and Lord Elrohir had come in, but then again how could he? They were Elves. From what he had been reading about Elves he had learned that they were noiseless, lithe and always ready to act. The First Born, the mythological creatures, only heard of from long ago written tales. Here in front of him stood the twin sons of Lord Elrond. Some would say they looked exactly alike, but if one would care to look closer they would see that Lord Elrohir had a thread thin scar across one of his perfect sculptured eyebrows. A scar, until recently, only known to himself but had been noticed by Faramir the first time he had seen the two young Elves.

“Forgive me, my Lords. I did not hear you come in.” Faramir knelt, as he had been taught to do when someone of a higher title than he was to be addressed. He was never sure, though, who was and who was not so he had made it a habit to always kneel whomever he spoke to.

“Do not kneel for us Faramir. We are your friends and please, call us by our birth given names.” Elledan smiled at the young man in front of him. He was still so innocent, so childlike; he couldn’t help but feel sad when he looked on the young Steward. The raven black hair made his already pale skin even paler, it was stretched over his cheek and collar bones and dark shadows in framed the closed eyes. His green tunic hanged on him like a piece of cloth on a scarecrow and his belt had been tied around his waist in stead of the buckle being secured in the ordinary holes. Elrohir narrowed his eyes when he saw him grasp his right shoulder; the wound from the Haradric dart obviously still caused him pain.

“So, are you going to accompany me or not?” Elrohir continued. Faramir rose, bowed and forced himself to smile. He was a good actor, could easily fool anyone, but should one have looked closely they would have seen that the smile did not touched his eyes.

“If you would not find me disturbing you I would be honoured to join, if you do not mind.” Again Elrohir felt that soreness. Faramir was their friend why could he not see them as his?

He sat on one of the stone benches in the shadow of the almond tree and looked at the others. He was contemned just sitting there and watch them enjoying themselves. The hobbits and the King’s foster brothers, the twins Elledan and Elrohir, played a strange game, Frodo had been blindfolded and was trying to catch the other five, who ran around him and poked him now and then. It looked like fun, he would have loved to join them but that was not seemly. He was the Steward of Gondor now and he had to act like that too.

Legolas and Gimli were in the middle of a lively discussion of the best way to kill an Uruk-hai, axe or bow and arrow. Mithrandir and Lord Elrond took grate pleasure in pretending to ignoring everyone’s unsophisticated behaviour, but smiled when Elledan stumbled over Pippin’s large foot and was caught by Frodo. Elledan complained loudly that it was not fair and he would not tolerate cheating.

Faramir smiled as well, but covered it with his hand; he didn’t want to make the Elf feel uncomfortable. Instead he glanced over at the King and Queen, who sat on a blanket head to head and kissed long and passionate, he felt his face turning red and quickly looked away. “Stop being such a fool, focus on the view instead of gawking at your King and his Queen. What would father say if he saw you behaving like a complete idiot?”

“Faramir, come and join us!” Pippin and Merry came running towards him and before he had a chance to protest he was dragged up from the bench by two very persuasive hobbits.

“Yes Faramir, join us. Since you are the last to join you will be the one blindfolded.” Elledan tied the piece of cloth around his head so that all he could see was darkness. He felt the panic rising, the smell of blood and grime infolded him. Flickers of memories from a long time ago past in front of his closed eyes and he felt nauseas.

“Do not act like such a fool ‘Dan. Faramir has never played this game before. He should at least have tried to be chased first, do you not concur?” Elrohir snatched the cloth from Faramir’s face; he kept his eyes shut and his head bowed down. His breathing was shallow and his throat ached. Again he felt the sharp pain shoot from his wounded shoulder and travelled down all the way to his fingertips. He gasped.

“Are you alright child?” He heard Gandalf’s worried voice from a distance; he felt light headed and his stomach roared. He hadn’t been eating since yesterday morning, too much work and too little time.

He carefully rose from the ground; he prayed to Estë that he had enough strength to walk over to the cool spot under his mother’s favourite tree.

“Do not be concerned about me, Mithrandir. I was just caught of guard, nothing else.” He gave his mentor a soft smile and began to walk over to the bench.

“Faramir, do you not want to play?” Marry yelled after him.

“I thank you for your invite, but I am afraid that I would not be a very good playmate. Forgive me.” He bowed to them and took his place I the shadow well aware that all of them were looking at him. “You have really done it this time, haven’t you? You have spoiled a wonderful picnic, you knew this would happen and yet you had to accompany them. You useless fool, why don’t you just throw yourself down from the White Tower and save everyone from your folly?”

“Faramir, talk to me. Tell me what it is that bothers you so.” Gandalf sat down next to him and placed an arm around his thin shoulders.

“I am just tired nothing else. There are just so many things that need to be taken care of, the rebuilding of the city, the still remaining Orcs and Uruk-hai that are dwelling in the woods.

This task was not meant to be mine. It should have been Boromir’s. He was the strong one, he was the brave one, he…” Faramir swallowed hard to try to get rid of the lump in his throat. Ignoring the throbbing pain in both his shoulder and his head he rose and started to walk away from them. His feet moved on their one, they knew the way well. He had walked it many times before. “How can the likes of me ever fill the place after a man like my brother? Why did he always have to be so stubborn? I should have gone to Rivendell; I should have joined the Fellowship. If I had, Boromir would still be alive and Gondor and King Elessar would have had the Steward they deserve.” He thought to himself.

“He is a strange one, that lad. The things Boromir used to tell us about him does not quite match up to the real person.” Gimli picked up one of the shiny red apples from a basket on the blanket and shook his head.

“I think that he misses his father and Boromir more than he will admit, even to himself. He is always working. Every day he sits in that depressing old archive reading and writing, either that or out supervising the reparations of the city. Really Aragorn, do you have to give him so much work, can you not do anything on your own?” Elrohir said in an irritated tone. Aragorn rubbed his forehead.

“I can assure you, muindor-nin², that I have tried to pull my young Steward away from his work and join us whenever we are about to do something I think he would appreciate. I have tried to make him understand that we are all his friends, but he refuses to listen to me. Ada, can you not talk to him, I am sure he would listen to you?” Elledan and Elrohir muffled a laugh and got a glair from their father.

“Do you not think you should speak to him yourself, ion-nin³?”

“I can not bear to speak to him, you know why. I have already let him down twice; I could not live with the fact that I might let him down once more.”

“What do you mean, Aragorn, how have you let him down? You did not even know he existed until Boromir mention he had a brother. You saved his life, brought him back from the darkness and he immediately showed you his allegiance, he gave you his life without hesitation.” Legolas sat down next to his friend and Aragorn found that all eyes were fixed upon him.

“I have sworn to never speak of this, but now it seams I have no other choice. Do I ada?” Lord Elrond shook his head.

“I think it is only fair that your friends should learn of your past, it might even be a relief to yourself, Estel.” Aragorn sighed; he didn’t know how to begin. How could he possible explain or excuse his actions to his friends. The best way to begin is always at the beginning and end with the end. He remembered Lord Elrond once had said to him.

“I have known Boromir and Faramir since they were infants; I was there when they were born. Denethor and I were once good friends and brothers-in-arms. I was their Uncle Thorongil. When Finduilas, Boromir’s and Faramir’s mother, passed away I promised her that I would see to that her children would be safe and alright, but I did not. After her funeral I left. I suspected that Faramir had difficulties with his father but I choose to tell myself it would be alright, as soon as the grief had subdued. I left him with a father who was slowly falling into madness and for that I can never forgive myself.

On top of everything else I failed to keep the one person who cared for him alive. I failed to save Boromir and left the boy with a deeper wound in his heart than he already wore. Legolas, you tell me I saved him from the darkness, but it was from my lack of care and heed that put him there in the first place.”

Aragorn hid his face in his hands. He had felt heartbroken when Boromir had spoken of Denethor’s cold behaviour towards his youngest.

Boromir had told them all about his younger brother, a gentle man who was more a scholar than a soldier, a warm hearted person who did everything for everybody but never asked for anything in return and never got any credit, although still continued to try. Faramir was his witty and wise little brother who never spoke a bad word about anyone and always hungered for learning.

The Fellowship had red the love between the brothers like it had been carved in their own hearts and they all had looked forward to get a chance to know this young man.

The others now stared at their friend, husband, brother, son, companion and King, Pippin looked absolutely furious.

“How can you treat him like this, Strider? Does he know that you know him, that you knew his father? Does he know who you are?” Aragorn shook his head.

“Be quiet, Pippin. You are not helping.” Merry elbowed his cousin in his side but Pippin didn’t pay him any attention.

“Do you not think he deserves more? You can not continue feel sorry for yourself, think of Faramir. He has no one left and here you are, telling us how he used to call you uncle and you do not even want to talk to him because you are afraid you might let him down. How do you think he will feel when he realizes who you are? Has he not been abandoned more than enough?” Tears ran from the hobbit’s big hazel eyes and dripped down on the grass.

Aragorn knelt be fore his depressed friend and embraced him.

“Do not cry, Pippin. You are right; I should talk to him should I not?” Aragorn’s own eyes were shiny with tears. Pippin blushed and lowered his head.

“I am so sorry, Strider. I did not mean to sound so harsh. It is just that I care so much for him. He looks so small, so alone; can you not do anything to help him? I want to get to know the Faramir Boromir told us about.” Pippin returned the embrace and Aragorn rose.

“We all do. I will try my best, my brave little friend.”

“Wait, Estel. Let me get him for you.” Elrohir placed a hand on his younger brother’s arm.

“Why, ‘Ro, do I sense the whiff of love and with a human too? Oh ada you have really done a poor job raising your Elflings, first Arwen and now ‘Ro.” Elledan smirked and made some kissing sound to his twin brother.

“Albeth vin, Orchvund!⁴“ Cried Elrohir and pinned his brother to the ground. Elrond shook his head at his still so naïve sons and as the other laughed at the twins wrestling, Aragorn left to follow Faramir.

A cloud of dust met him as he opened the door. He had not been here since he left to join the rangers at seventeen. Faramir bent down, lifted a loose stone and picked up a piece of blue cloth and stoked it gently with trembling fingers. It was a piece from the same fabric his mother’s favourite mantel had been made of, the one she had taken with her to the halls of their ancestors. He had hidden his tears in its soft surface more often than not.

He stroked it against his cleaned shaved chin and let the scent take him back to a time when living in Minas Tirith had been a place where even the thick and cold stone walls had taken part of his humiliations, fears and pain. Back then, all he had ever wished for was to hear the sound of his mother’s soft voice and feel her gentle touch on his cheek one more time.

Carefully he folded the fabric and replaced it; put the stone back and sat down with his legs pulled up to his chest and put his arms around him like a shield.

In the darkness and silence of his old childhood room he let his tears fall. Not a sound came over his lips. The skill of cry in silence was something he had been forced to develop at a very young age.

Aragorn couldn’t find Faramir anywhere. He searched the archives, the library, the stables and even Faramir’s own chambers but not a sign of him. Just as he was about to give up his search he became aware of a small door, it was not quite closed and he caught the sound of breathing from within. Carefully he pushed the door open and in the darkness he saw a figure sitting slumped forward.

“Faramir, are you alright?” Faramir stood up as he had been struck by lightning. He wiped his face with his sleeve and cleared his voice.

“My Lord, what a surprise, I did not expect you. How can I be of service?” He knelt and lowered his head in shame. “Oh for Valar’s sake, do not let him see my weakness.”

“I would like to have a word with you.” Aragorn said in his calm but firm voice.

Faramir swallowed hard, what had he done? Had he offended him or any of the others?

Of course, he must have noticed that he had staring at him and the Queen. He had been most disrespectful towards the hobbits and the elven twins and he had walked away from Mithrandir without any explanation. Faramir felt his limbs go rigid and his heart began to pace.

“Certainly, My Lord, if there is anything amiss I will do what I can to sort it out.”

“No Faramir. I came to talk about you, would you care to join me for some spiced wine in my study?” He moved so that Faramir could take the lead. As he did he leaned against the wall and under his hand a loose stone gave in. he turned around and behind it he found a wooden chest with Faramir’s name carved in the lid. He picked it out and intended to ask his young Steward what it was. But Faramir seemed lost in his own thoughts. He decided he should take it to his study and there bring it up again.

Faramir did not see what Aragorn had done; if he had he would have taken the chest from his King and hide it far from everyone’s eyes.

“Well Faramir, are you coming?” Faramir tried to ignore the knob in his stomach.

He was so frightened; he knew what was coming to him but he also knew he deserved it. He always did.

“Why do you constantly have to do this? You have no right to be afraid; it is only your own fault. The least thing you could do is to face it like a man and not like the coward, useless, ignorant rat that you know you are.”

He walked outside and carefully closed the door behind them and locked it.

Aragorn didn’t say anything and together they walked through the narrow hallways and steep stairs to his own study. He didn’t want to upset Faramir by starting questioning him before they at least had had one cup of wine and maybe something to eat as well. It hadn’t escaped Aragorn that his Steward was loosing weight and looked possibly exhausted. He put the chest down under his desk and poured some wine into two cups.

“So Faramir, I gather you know why I wanted to talk to you? Would you care to sit down? “ He said as he offered Faramir one of the cups and showed him a soft chair.

Faramir could hardly breath, his throat was dry and his lips were parted.

“Forgive me, My Lord, but if you do not mind I would prefer to stand. I am truly sorry, My Lord. Yes I do believe I know what it is you wish to speak to me about.” Aragorn nodded; again he was not sure how to begin. He didn’t have to, Faramir begun before he had had the opportunity to gather his thoughts.

“My Lord, before you say anything I want you to know that I never meant any disrespect towards neither you, nor My Lady, I am deeply sorry if my behaviour has offended the Hobbits or Lord Elledan and Lord Elrohir. I would also like to ask you to forgive me for acting so impertinence to Mithrandir, I needed to be alone. I know it is not an excuse but it is an explanation, My Lord Sire.” He stumbled over the words and found it impossible to meet Aragorn’s kind eyes. He feared kindness; it made him vulnerable and put him of guard. He threw himself down before his King and pressed the man’s hand to his forehead, a token of submission. Aragorn stared at him.

“Please, Faramir. Be at ease, you are making it very hard for me to understand what it is you wish to tell me. I asked you to join me so that we could talk about why you will not let your grief come clean. Why you do not wish to share your pain with the rest of us. We all want to be your friends and we are offering our help, why do you not accept it, do you not wish to be our friend?”

Aragon gently cupped the younger man’s chin in his hand and lifted his face so that he could see into the deep, bottomless eyes. “So like his mother’s”.

Faramir flinched, Aragorn immediately let go. Faramir rose quickly, the colour of shame was spread al over his pale face.

“Forgive me, My Lord. I am… I mean… You are… I mean… Forgive me” Faramir saluted smartly, turned around and left the room cool as a cucumber with his head held up high. It took all his willpower not to run. He could never talk to this man, who resembled him so much of his brave and fearless Uncle Thorongil. What would he think of him if he learned what has happened in the past. It would prove the King’s suspicions of him, how weak and unworthy he truly was.

“Faramir! Please wait,” Aragorn sat down heavily on his stool. “Still so stiff and afraid of letting anyone near him, to let anyone love him. Oh Denethor, you old fool what have you put him through?”

As he sat down he felt an object under his desk and he remembered the chest he had found in Faramir’s room. He opened it and found several books in it, numbered and carefully placed in order. They weren’t bigger than his palm and its surface were stained and rough. He opened the first one and saw round and carefully formed letters by someone rather young.

It was dark in his study. In the summer they didn’t lit the candles until it was time for dinner, a suggestion from Faramir, so that they could spare the money it cost too constantly by new ones when they weren’t really needed. Aragorn had accepted the proposition and it had saved enough money to repair not only the orphanage but also compensate the herbs, band aids and salves in the House of Healing, which was almost empty since the War of the Ring.

At first he couldn’t see what word the letters were spelling. He walked up to the window and held it up high. The letters spelled.

To Faramir on his Sixth birthday, remember who you are and never change.

Happy birthday, Love Boromir.

Aragorn smiled and continued to the first page.

October 24 Third Age 2989.

Today it has been a year since mother left us to go to the halls of our ancestors and I still can not believe that she will never return to us. It feels as if she is still alive and that she will come in to my room, tug me in, making sure that no Orcs are hiding under my bed, kiss me and sing me a lullaby. I fear that the pain and this emptiness never will go away.

Yesterday was my birthday and Boromir gave me this book. I did not know that he knew that I had learned how to read and write…

Aragorn stopped reading something told him that this was not for his eyes, but his curiosity took over and he continued.

Today I dropped my sword when I practiced with the arms master; it was too heavy for me. He slapped me and I know that I deserved it, but still I could not prevent those shameful tears to fall. I was told that when Boromir was my age he could swing a sword twice as big and twice as heavy. I am constantly displaying my weakness and confirming that my birth was a curse and a mistake. Father will be very disappointed with me when he hears this. I must practice harder; I must prove to him that I can be a worthy son, that I am not a…

Aragorn closed the book angrily, and threw it against the stone wall.

“Hey! You almost hit me. You really should be more careful with these items. Do you not remember ada’s lessons in book binding? It takes ages to make just one of these, for a human anyway.” Elrohir came in to the room just as the book hit the wall; he bent down and picked it up. “Is this a diary? I would never think that one would find a diary here in Minas Tirith. It is rather Elflike to keep a diary do you not think so?”

Aragorn walked over to him and held out his hand.

“Give it to me ‘Ro. It belongs to Faramir and I will not have you gawking on his private thoughts. I do not care that you love him but being meddlesome will not help your cause.”

“I would never read anyone’s diary, you know that. I stop saying that I love Faramir, so what if I do. It does not concern anyone except me.” Aragorn snorted.

“Never read anyone’s diary, you say. Have you forgotten about the one you and ‘Dan `find´ in my room back at Imladris when I still lived there? “

“But that was your diary Estel. You are our tithen-muindor⁵ it is our job to tease and torment you, as you tormented us.” He grinned and ruffled his brother’s wild and tangled hair. He loved his foster brother dearly and knew all of his soft spots. Aragorn too loved ‘Ro, he had found that he had more in common with the younger of the twins, even though they were inseparable.

“You know he loves you too, but I guess he do not know how to tell you.”

“You should ask Arwen to help you comb out those knots, or you will have to cut it of. Forgive me for saying this, but you do not have the head for a short hair cut… Wait a second, did you tell me that Faramir loves me? “ Elrohir swallowed and stared at him. Aragorn shook his head.

“Are you really that blind? Have you not seen the way he looks at you? He has investigated every inch of your body in his mind. He saw that tiny scar across your brow even before ‘Dan did. Is that not proof enough for you that he cares a great deal about you?”

“I never thought he was capable of love. I mean in a romantic way. He always shut everyone out who tries to come near him. I know that Boromir meant a lot to him, but that is not an excuse to shrug away and pretend like no one matters to him.” Elrohir gave the book back to Aragorn. “By the way, you are not precisely in the right place to tell me that that book is for Faramir only. What were you doing with it just before you so abruptly throw it against the wall if I may be so bold to ask?” He narrowed his dark and almond shaped beautiful eyes.

“Faramir is one of the most loving creatures I have ever met. I suspect that the answers to the questions we have been asking are in these books.” Aragorn offered the untouched cup of wine to the annoyed Elf. Elrohir put out his hand and shook his head; he would not be distracted by such a trivial thing as a cup of wine. He was actually annoyed that Aragorn thought it would be in his place to read and judge something as personally as a diary.

“So where did you find it?”

“I found a wooden chest in Faramir’s old childhood room and in it where his diaries from when he turned six till the day he left to join the rangers at seventeen. I do not know why I began to read them, but now I can not discontinue.” Aragorn flipped through the pages, so carefully written, not a single stain that should not be there. The words were even spelled correctly and the only thing that confirmed that it was a young child that had written it was the dates.

“It is very remarkable. Look at this, can you believe that he was but six when he wrote this?” Elrohir took the book and read a piece from it.

“The wind blows outside my window. The White Tree of Gondor’s branches looks like bony arms stretching and bending to reach the threatening sky. Leaves are travelling with the North wind and seek their rest inside The Ithillien Forrest.

If only I too could travel with them…” He closed the book and put it back with a graceful movement in its place in the chest.

“It is truly a lovely poem, again something more expected by Elves than human. You know Estel; I really do not think you should be reading these books until you have talked to Faramir about your past relation.”

“You mean to say, as long as I am not telling the whole truth I can not demand that he should?” Aragorn looked down at his hands.

“I do not mean to put any more pressure on you than you already feel, but do you not agree with Pippin that the young one have been abandoned more than anyone should ever have to be?” Elrohir sat down next to his younger brother with and with gentle fingers he started to comb out the knots in the wild hair. He smiled when he saw a few traces of silver mixed with the dark, the only sign that he was not of Elven blood. Aragorn rested his head in ‘Ro’s lap and closed his eyes.

“I know that, but you also have to know that it is not that easy to talk to him. You said yourself that he shrugs away from anyone who tries to come near him and show him any sort of love and care.

“Only more reason for us to keep trying to let him know that he is not alone anymore.”

² muindor-nin – my brother

³ ion-nin – my son

⁴ Albeth vin, Orchvund! – Not a word, Orc nose!

⁵ tithen-muindor – little brother

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

Enjoyed this story? Then be sure to let the author know by posting a comment at https://www.faramirfiction.com/fiction/under-the-broken-sky. Positive feedback is what keeps authors writing more stories!