Faramir Fiction Archive

Under the broken sky (R)

Written by Fëawen

22 November 2009 | 21704 words | Work in Progress

Title: Under the broken sky
Author: Fëawen
Feedback: Email or use the comment form below
Paring: Faramir/Elrohir Faramir/Denethor
Warnings: Incest, violence.
Rating: R
Summary: Faramir is in love with Elrohir. However, after constantly being told that he is worth nothing and that there is something very wrong about not being attracted to women, he refuses to admit to anybody what he truly feels, not even to himself.
Little does he know that Elrohir share his affection, but that since Faramir will not let anybody close enough to hurt him, ‘Ro does not know how to approach him.
No one really understands why Faramir acts the way he does until one day, Aragorn finds Faramir’s old diaries and a truth that has been hidden for many years is something no one could even imagine, not even in their worst nightmares.

This story has not been beta-read so the mistakes are all mine, and no one else. English is not my first language, but I hope that one can read and understand anyway. The Sindarin I have been using comes from a Swedish site, which I have tried to translate to English, I do hope it will not be too bad.

I would like to thank Minx and Iris for starting this site, until now I have been a passive member, not feeling that my work would be good enough. I am very new at this and this is actually my first fic and I would be so happy if I received some feed back on it.

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Prologue

Minas Tirith T.A. 2988

A tall man with weather beaten look and dirty clothes rode over the plains. He drove his black stallion into a sweat and around its mouth there were traces of foam. The warm horse’s body steamed in the cold autumn evening but the rider wouldn’t stop to rest. He had to hurry; soon it would be too late.

Finally the towers of Minas Tirith revealed themselves at the horizon; for the first time since he set out from Edoras he felt how tiered he was. He had ridden for three days without any rest and now, finally, he was here.

The heavy oak gate opened in front of him and he rode in and through the narrow streets to the first circle up to the Citadel.

He leapt of the stallion and throw the reins to a young boy, who lead the horse to the stables and gave it water and hey.

He ran inside to the Grand Hall.

“Denethor, my friend. How fare you?” He embraced the man and pulled him into a tight hug.

“Oh Thorongil, you made it. Thank Valar for it, I fear that there isn’t much time left. She is slipping away and I’m powerless to stop it.” Denethor grabbed his friend by his upper arms and looked on him with grieving eyes.

“Your sons need their father to be strong for them; they need you now more than ever. Know this my friend and fear not, I’m here for you. Come now, let us go and see them. Are they with Finduilas?” Thorongil placed an arm around Denethor’s shoulders an together they headed to Finduilas’ bed chamber.

Denethor grip on Thorongil’s arm tightened as they approached .

“I must warn you, my friend. The Finduilas you once knew isn’t the Finduilas who now rests in her bed. You may not even recognize her.” The Steward swallowed hard, his throat felt dry and it hurt when he breathed.

Thorongil nodded but he knew in his heart that he should always recognize the girl who had softened the cold heart of his friend and brother-in-arms. No matter how much she changed in looks, her eyes and soul would always give her away.

Those eyes, they never stayed the same colour, always changing. They were as changing as the sea that she has left behind her, to live with her husband.

He remembered Denethor’s and Finduilas’ first meeting. Denethor had been forty five, but still very young in his mind, Finduilas a maiden of twenty five.

She had visited Minas Tirith with her brother and father. Her raven black hair had been forced into a thick braid and secured high up on her head. Her eyes had glistened in the sharp sunlight, at first he had thought them blue, but then they changed and were grey and in the next moment they were green.

He smiled to himself as the memories came back to him.

Minas Tirith T.A. 2975

She was speaking to an old mare when he and the Steward’s son, Denethor, had entered the stables.

He remembered the look on Denethor’s face when he saw the young girl. The Son of Ecthelion looked like he had swallowed a fish.

Suddenly the young girl noticed that she wasn’t alone.

“Oh Valar! My Lords, You gave me such a fright. Why were you standing there like two Nazgûls, all silence? Forgive me, but have you not better things to do than go sneaking up on an innocent girl like this?” She laughed and stroked the horse over the soft muzzle.

Denethor’s face had turned blood red and he had mumbled something that could have been translated to some sort of apologize.

Thorongil had known that look upon his friend’s face, although he had never expected to see it on him. Denethor was in love.

This man, the strong and cold hearted Denethor. Who always had thought of love as something reserved for the less powerful and for women and children. No, he corrected himself, not always. He cursed the old fool of a Steward who had made his son believe that a man should not show love, but power. A real man should not be reading books and poems about grate wars, he should fight in them.

Once he had been a young man full of hunger for lore and music, full of love and care. The Steward, his father, had made him believe that as long as he didn’t learned sword skill or how to plan a successful ambush, he would never be a son worthy of the Steward.

“What’s the matter? Cat’s got your tong?” The girl looked at him with those strange and bottom less eyes. He smiled.

“No my Lady, forgive me, but I do not think I caught your name.”

“That’s because I did not give it to you” She giggled and glanced at Denethor.

“May I be so bold of asking you what it is?” He continued. He started to get a bit agitated.

“Give me your names and I shall give you mine,” she answered back. Denethor hide a laugh behind a sneeze.

Thorongil gave him a surprised look; he hadn’t heard his friend laugh for many years. This girl obviously had a positive effect on him.

“My name is Denethor II, Son of Ecthelion my Lady. This cranky old man is Thorongil.” Thorongil gave his friend a glair, old my foot. He was one year younger than Denethor. He turned his eyes towards the sweet looking girl

“Now would you please be so kind to give us your name.”

“My name is Finduilas; my father is the Lord of Dol Amroth.” She answered and smiled one of her most breathtaking smiles.

Minas Tirith T.A. 2988

That was now more than twelve years. Denethor and Finduilas had married the next year and after two more years she was in childbirth. He remembered how nervous Denethor had been when he waited outside the bed chamber.

Minas Tirith T.A. 2978

Denethor had been as pale as a sheet and Thorongil had to laugh.

“By the look on your face, one could easily believe that it was you who were in there delivering.”

“That is not funny, Thorongil. What if something happens? What if…”

“Calm down my friend. This is not the first time a woman has ever gone trough childbirth, and not the last.” When the first cries of the new born was heard through the closed door, Denethor had stormed in but been haltered by the midwife.

“My Lady has lost a lot of blood and her body is very weak. I am afraid that she has burst inside. She may never recover. My Lord, she must never be with child again, next childbirth will be her death.”

Thorongil groaned and cursed under his breath, he reached out for his friend but Denethor pushed him away.

“I do not believe you, you are wrong. Finduilas is strong she will live trough this.”

He went inside and kneeled beside his beautiful wife. He kissed her and picked up the babe.

“My son, my heir, my life” He had held the baby close in his arms and pressed a kiss on his red face.

“Congratulations to you both. He looks like a fine little lad. Would you introduce us, Finduilas.” Thorongil came in to the room and with those words he kissed Finduilas on her pale forehead which was still wet from sweat.

“My love, Lord Thorongil, I am pleased to present Boromir.” They both had been so proud and a tear had made its way down the Steward’s cheek.

By the second time, T.A. 2983, when Faramir was born, Denethor had been occupied by Boromir, a five year old bursting with curiosity. Denethor had time and time again had to fetch him as he ran to the bed chamber where Finduilas laid in torments. This was a far more extended birth.

Finally it was over and a very young and pale midwife came out and shook her head. Both Denethor and Thorongil had jerked up from their seats.

“Tell me, is she alive, is she well?” Denethor had grabbed the poor girl by her arms.

She had winced and her eyes had filled up with tears.

“Please, My Lord. You are hurting me. My lady is weak and in pain, I need to go.” However Denethor had not let go, he wanted answers.

“What is it? Please, tell me, is it the daughter that I prayed for?”

“Nay my Lord, You have received another son, but he is small and I do not know if he will live. Please My Lord, let me go!”

The young woman hurried away to fetch some more cloths and some herbs from the House of Healing.

Before either Denethor or Thorongil had the time to react, Boromir had hurried in to his mother.

“Mama, are you alright?” Boromir clanged up into her bed and stared at the little body that lied next to her.

“My little wilwarin¹, of course I’m aright. Say hello to your baby brother.” Finduilas pulled down the cover a bit and reviled the baby’s face. Boromir looked at him and frowned.

“He looks so small. Will he be able to play with me soon?”

Finduilas laughed.

“He is only minutes old little wilwarin, it will be yet some years before he can play some of your adventures games. But you can help me take care of him, would you like that?

Boromir’s childish face shined up.

“I will be the best brother in the world; I will protect him from Dragons, from Balrogs, from Nazgûls, from Goblins, from Trolls and from Orcs.” Finduilas had laughed; her sons would become best friends, no doubt. Boromir leaned over and pressed his nose against his little brother’s.

“I’m Boromir, your big brother. What is your name?” The baby had blown a spit bubble and it made his way past the little chin.

“He can’t speak yet, he’s too little” Denethor appeared in the doorway with Thorongil behind.

“Do you know his name papa?” Boromir slipped down from the bed and reach up for his father who picked him up.

“Something that ends with Mir. He is our second little Jewel.” Finduilas spoke with a very week and soft voice.

“Faramir. That is a suitable name for him” Denethor had decided and not another word was said and the child was named Faramir.

Minas Tirith T.A. 2988

Here they now stood. Five years later and the illness that Finduilas had suffered from had not give in, but increased. She was dying.

They entered the bed chamber and the first thing that met their eyes was a young boy by the head side of the bed, stroking his mother’s hand. Her black hair was spread over the pillow. It had lost its formal shine and even though she was still young there were traces of silver blending in with all the black. A younger one in the bed beside his mother sang a soft tune in flawless elvish.

“Get down from there! How dare you disturb your mother like that?” Denethor shouted and before the little boy had had the time to react his father had grabbed him by his arm and pulled him harshly of the bed. The drag had been forceful and Faramir lost his balance and tumbled into the stone wall.

Thorongil noticed that Finduilas had seated up with a jerk and Boromir had grabbed her hand.

The ranger looked over at young Faramir, he didn’t show any visible sign of being injured, only his eyes, the mirror of the soul, showed his fear and hurt. Thorongil noticed a fading bruise on the boy’s cheek; he prayed that it hadn’t been inflicted by what he suspected. However by the reactions from both Finduilas and Boromir, it wasn’t likely.

“Haven’t you done enough harm? Get out from here. Now!” Denethor took a step towards the little boy who fled from the room. When he passed Thorongil, the man saw tears in the child’s eyes.

“My love, please, he was just singing to me. He didn’t disturb me at all” Finduilas laid a thin and pale hand over Denethor’s. Boromir moved to the other side of the bed and hugged his father.

“Father, must you be so hard on him? He is not yet five years old.”

Denethor sat down on the bedside and picked up his son and placed him on his lap. He kissed the boy’s forehead and held him tight.

“I’m glad to see you again My Lady. How fare thee?” Thorongil approached and stroke her gently over her arm.

“Please, Thorongil. Don’t speak to me in such a formal way. I would feel much more like the old me if you would address me with my name and not my title” She smiled and Thorongil noticed that her eyes were dark blue this time.

“Certainly. How fare you Finduilas? It has been too long since last time we met.”

“Indeed it has, I feel better now that I know you are here. You will stay now will you not? You are needed.”

She didn’t have to say more. The ranger understood her worries. Denethor would have too much to handle after she had passed and the caring for their sons had to be addressed. The ranger gave his promised that he would stay as long as he was needed.

Later that evening Finduilas took her last breath before she was lost to the halls of her ancestors.

By her side were Denethor, holding a violently crying Boromir in his arms, Thorongil stood on the Steward’s left side with a comforting arm around his shoulders and the other around Faramir. The boy was wiping away his silent tears from his eyes. Even though his father had told him over and over again not to cry they fell. The emptiness in his heart was too big for him. He wanted to say his farewell to his mama, but he could not. Saying farewell meant that she would never come back and that he would never see her again. No one noticed his tears except his mother who had given him a warm smile and mouthed the words “I love you” to him.

Finduilas funeral was over. It had been an informal ceremony; Thorongil was the only one who wasn’t part of the Steward’s family who joined the family in their grieving.

Finduilas’ family was not aloud to enter the city walls, and had never been so. That was why Boromir and Faramir never had had the opportunity to get to know their relatives from Dol Amroth.

The falling rain wetted them into the skin and their hair dripped.

Denethor held an arm around Boromir shivering shoulders. Faramir stood on his other side clenching and unclenching his small hands, trying desperately not to cry. He knew how much his father hated when he showed any sign of weakness.

Faramir looked up in the sky, he wondered if the Valar too were crying over the loss of his mama.

“Father, are the Valar upset over mama’s death?” Faramir tugged his father’s robe; he had never called his father `papa´. It would be disrespectful.

“What do you mean boy?” Denethor wasn’t use to that Faramir asked him questions or spoke before spoken to, and he didn’t like it all. “Why are you asking such a foolish question? You should pay more respect towards your mother. Boromir is quiet and I expect you to be so as well.” If Faramir had been older he might have heard the threatening tone in his father’s voice. However he was only five years old and still full of imagination and daydreams. So he continued.

“The clouds, they are crying. Aren’t they?” He heard the slap before he felt it, the raw and burning feeling. He felt tears pricking behind his eye lids. It was not only the pain, it was the humiliation. He had been slapped before and he knew the strength of his father’s hand, but he hated it when it occurred in front of others. This time it happened right in front of strong, brave and heroic Uncle Thorongil. A man he admired and looked up to.

“If you don’t hold your tong I’m going to let you learn the true power of my hands and give you something to justly cry about you worthless little fool.” Denethor lowered his voice so the words could only be heard by his second and lesser son.

Faramir carefully touched his burning cheek with trembling fingers and bit his lower lip to prevent him from crying.

As they left Thorongil gripped Denethor’s arm and whispered something to him. The Steward glared at him, but nodded.

“Boromir! Take your brother to his room and wait there for my return.”

Boromir took his younger brother by the hand and led him away, towards the child’s bed chamber. When they were out of reach for their father’s eyes he kneeled in front Faramir and carefully examined the bruised cheek.

“You really shouldn’t agitate him so much. Just stay silent when ever you are near him. He misses mother so much, he’s just sad that’s why he hits you.” He hugged his brother and started walking again. He detested it, when their father hit Faramir, but there was nothing he could do about it except comfort his sibling after a session with the Steward, and he hated the incapable felling even more. He knew that his father’s sadness wasn’t the whole reason why Faramir constantly was the target of their father’s violent behaviour.

“Do you not think you were overreacting against your son? What did he do to make you so enraged?” Thorongil was disturbed over the way he had witnessed the slap at the funeral and the harsh treatment in Finduilas’ chamber earlier.

“I did what I had to do. He should learn that there are acceptable ways to act and those which are not. I am the boy’s father so it is my responsibility to discipline him. Do you not agree?” Denethor tried to stay calm; he had no wish to be lectured about his temper.

“Certainly, but still, a slap, was that necessary? He is only five years old.”

Denethor glared at his friend.

“I am well aware how old my son is. I am also aware of his weaknesses and those should be controlled while he is still young and adaptable. I thank you for what you have done for me and my sons, but enough is enough, I think it is time for you to leave. You must be missed by your family in Rivendell. How long is it since you last saw your `ada´ and your beloved Arwen.” The words `ada´ and `Arwen´ almost sounded like they were substitute for something vicious and revolting.

“My friend I wish you would not let your feelings about Elves out in the open. I understand that you are grieving but still, think before you speak. Isn’t that what Lord Ecthellion always told you?” Denethor swallowed hard.

“Do not ever bring up that fools name within my hearing ever again. Do I make myself clear `friend´?”

“Loud and clear My Lord. I will take my leave but I suggest you try to learn to control your temper. I should go and take farewell of your sons. Until we meet again my friend, good day.” Thorongil turned around and left.

The knock on the door separated the two boys from their embrace. The older comforting the younger as he always did. No one, beside their father, ever used to come to Faramir’s room, and usually he never knocked.

“May I come in?” Thorongil’s soft voice was heard outside the thick oak door.

Boromir smiled at his `little one´.

“You don’t have to be afraid it’s only uncle Thorongil. Please, come in.”

Thorongil poked his head inside. He wasn’t the boys’ real uncle but he had known their father for such a long time and had visited them on several occasions so it was only natural that they would call him uncle.

“I was just coming to say good bye. I’m leaving first thing in the morning.” Boromir left Faramir’s side and walked up to him.

“You promised mother that you would stay with us for as long as we needed you. We still do.”

Thorongil bent down so that his eyes met Boromir’s.

“Your father has begged me to leave, he want to spend some time with you alone.” He knew it wasn’t quite true but he hoped that it would be.

“You do not need to speak untruth dear uncle Thorongil. It is because of me is it not? That is why father has asked you to leave. I know it is. It is always my fault when something poignant happens” Faramir’s soft and childlike voice caught the ranger of guard.

“Oh Faramir, do not ever say that again. You are not to blame for me leaving” here he paused for a moment “or your mother’s death” Thorongil pulled the small child so that he too was facing him; he is so thin, far too thin for a child of his age. “Do you hear me? Answer me Faramir.”

“If it had not been for me mama would never have fallen ill and she would never have left my father and brother, and you and father would not have been arguing. I am to blame. I must face my faults and my weaknesses with courage. Then I possibly will have earned my father’s care.”

Thorongil’s felt his heart aching by such immense words coming from such a young child.

“You are so very wrong Faramir. You do not have to prove yourself to `earn´ your father’s love. He should give it to you without any demands, requests or claims. Do you understand what I am saying to you?” The boy’s eyes started to fill up with tears, he looked away and Thorongil saw the child struggle to keep his tears from fall free. Without a word the ranger picked him up in his arms and held him close. Faramir’s slender body shivered from suppressed emotions.

“Let your feelings out, little one. There is no shame in shedding your tears” The man stroked the boy over his back and combed the boy’s dark tangled hair with gentle fingers. Slightly rocking and mumbling words of comfort in the child’s ear, just like Elrond had done to him when he was a child and his mother had died.

“I can not; tears are for women, children and those who have the courage to face their fears and deal with them victoriously.” Faramir’s voice trembled, but he was decided not to display his weakness.

“Look at me, Faramir. Answer this question, do you find your brother weak? Do you find me weak?” The ranger sat down on the bedside, still holding Faramir in his arms. Faramir looked puzzled. How could uncle Thorongil ask such a thing, of course his brother wasn’t weak. Neither was Thorongil. These two were his heroes, he looked up to them. He wanted to be just like them. He couldn’t find the right words and he feared that his voice wouldn’t hold, so he just shook his head.

“So why is it not a display of weakness when we cry? What makes us so different from you?”

The man wanted the child to understand for himself that his thoughts didn’t make any sense. Little did he know that the child had had time to think about this and should he ever have second thought or fail to remember it his father would always jog his memory. Remind him of his lack as a good and worthy son of a Steward.

“You are a ranger, uncle Thorongil. You have fought in many battles and shown your strength. I have been told that you served under my grandfather, when he was the Steward of Gondor. Your bravery permits you to show other emotions than just courageous. Boromir proves himself worthy with the arms master. Every time he is facing a new challenge he copes with it in a heart beat. He can ride any one of the horses in the stables without any trouble. Every thing comes easy to him so of course no one sees him as weak if he should ever cry. If Boromir cries he has reasons.” Boromir moved over towards the man and his little brother and gently touched the little boy’s cheek, which were already started to darkened.

He opened his mouth to begin to say some words of comfort but Thorongil haltered him.

“You speak only of our virtues. Do tell me `little one´ what are yours?” He smiled broadly. Faramir blushed and looked down on his hands.

“I am afraid I have to disappoint you, but I do not have any virtues, only flaws. I am not strong, like Boromir, I do not posses your courage, my efforts with the arms master have been nothing but merely a feeble act of becoming something that I will never be. To make matters worse, I have no wish to become a soldier. All I want to do is study history, language, music and art. I want to learn about other creatures than just the humans, like Elves, Hobbits, Dwarfs and even Orcs. I would like to learn how to speak their language so that I could communicate with them instead of fighting them.

So you see, uncle Thorongil, I am weak and a coward, I can learn how to kill but in my heart I know that no matter what I could never deliver the killing strike, you can never wash blood from your hands. It will always be there even if you do not witness it and I do not think I could live with that, ever…

If all I can ever prove is weakness and faultiness I am not entitled to show my grief.”

Thorongil felt tears pricking behind his eye lid. Faramir was too young to have learnt these so called and cold truths about him for himself. This was something that clearly had been told him over many years. He couldn’t understand how someone could ever tell a child of five that he was weak and a coward. It wasn’t right that a five year old should learn sword skills, he should be playing. Thorongil remembered how he himself had begged his foster father, when he was seven, for a sword but had been denied on account that he was still too young.

“You have virtues, little brother.” Boromir sat down beside them. “You are kind and thoughtful, you care for other people. You have so much love in you that sometimes it appears that your heart is to big for your own good. You are intelligent and witty, you are my ‘little one’ and I love you. Don’t ever change, promise me that” He kissed his brother on his forehead and reached out for him. Thorongil shifted the slender body from his lap and placed him on Boromir’s.

“Will you give me our word that you will take care of each other? I do not want to have to worry about you when I’m gone.” The man rose from the bed, gently placed a kiss on each boy’s cheek and left. He turned in the door way and saw the older boy hugging the younger. With a crooked smile on his lips he carefully closed the door behind him and left.

¹ wilwarin – butterfly

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

II

With special Thanks to Anastassiya for being a truly wonderful Beta-reader.

He could still feel King Elessar’s touch as he hurried down the passages. It had been friendly and yet he had shrugged.

The ignominy was almost unbearable, what would his Lord think of him? He had had to leave. It surely had been a visual delusion, but when he for a brief moment had eye contact with his King, he thought he had seen tears in his Lord’s eyes. How could that be? Had he disappointed him so deeply? With these thoughts rumbling through his head he did not see, nor perhaps care, were he put his feet. At the same time as he rounded a corner he stumbled into Elladan.

His slender frame collided with the broader chest of the Elf. Since he did not have much to put against the well toned one of the Elven prince’s, he staggered backwards and fell hard on his back.

“Watch where you’re going you little imp. A human should take better care in where he placed his feet” The Elf bellowed and the man in front of him covered his face and head with slender arms. As soon as the words had left Elladan’s lips, he regretted them.

“Forgive me Lord Elladan Elrondion. I did not mean to cause you any nuisance. I do hope I did not hurt you, in any way.” Faramir hasty got himself up and kneeled with his right hand over his heart and head bowed. Elladan felt like kicking himself and he would not have minded having his own tongue cut out either. No one, if they had their senses left, could ever hold any rancour towards this young man. Faramir had always treated him and his kin with respect, never made them feel as their beauty was all that they had and something for everyone to take delight in. He had been so eager to meet up with Elrohir for their daily chess game that he hadn’t become aware of who had run into him. If he had, he would not have sounded so inconsiderate.

“Come now Faramir! You know, calling me by my full name and kneeling before me in this manner, makes me feel like I were older than the Valar. Which, I might add, I am not. You need not to worry about me. It takes more to knock me down than a mare collision. Are you alright there yourself? You took the hardest blow I see.” Faramir looked up on the Elf. He had been sure that Lord Elladan would show his annoyance with some sort of physical reaction. But he hadn’t. Why was that? He had made so many errors during the past weeks, but had not yet faced the consequences of them.

“Thank you, my Lord, but I am well. Again I am sorry for my lack of attention. I am afraid that my minds were elsewhere. A slightly pale red colour spread over his cheeks. He couldn’t help it, but lately it seemed that he could not speak to anyone without flush. Elladan laughed.

“Could they be with a certain dark haired son of Elrond, if I may be so bold to ask? I am actually looking for my dear younger brother. You would not, by any chance, have an idea where I can find him? “ Elladan couldn’t help but tease ‘Ro by calling him little brother, even though he was only older by minutes. Faramir’s heart started pounding like a sledgehammer, the dark eyes wide open, his dry lips slightly open and a face completely drained from blood met Elladan’s. Was his ill mannered reaction in the King’s study already known to everybody?

He licked his lips, cleared his throat and forced himself to smile. He would not embarrass himself by running away without clarification of the fourth time this day.

“I believe that he is in the study in the west wing, my Lord. Does my Lord know where that is located or does my Lord wish me to find a guard that can lead you the way. I hope that my Lord can forgive me for not accompany You myself. It is simply that I have appeared to neglect my obligations. His Majesty has an early meeting with his counsellor in the morning and I have not yet begun summing the reports.” He choked and his voice went up into falsetto.

“Do not worry about such trivial matters, I can find the way by myself.” He gave Faramir a friendly one armed embrace. As he did so he felt the lean muscles contact and the slim body got ready for flight. He frowned.

“Did I hurt you Faramir? Is your shoulder hurting badly?” Faramir shook his head violently.

“No My Lord, not at all. Please forgive me, but I must hurry.” He said in all but a whisper. He left Elladan with a bow and started moving towards the archive. Elladan looked after him.

“What is the matter with that echil⁶? He acts like a dog, waiting for his master to thrash him.” He muttered to himself and went to seek for his twin.

Faramir closed the door to the archive and leaned his pulsation and fiery head against the cool wall. He focused on his breathing. He must get control of himself, not let his guard down and not let it be witnessed by everybody what an emotional fool he was.

His muscles ached as the tension let go and the soreness in his shoulder was worse than before.

With trembling hands he pulled his fingers through the black locks and raised his head. He really had to finish his task. He sat down by the desk and started going through the parchment. The summary of the reports were already done but he did not trust that they were good enough. There was always opportunity for improvement.

The thoughts of attending to the council in the morning made him want to crawl out of his own skin. Some of the men were loyal to his father and he was painfully aware of that they shared the old Steward’s opinions of him, and he himself could not second those estimations.

The King, however, trusted him, why? He could not understand. The only reason he could think of was that King Elessar had probably promised Boromir to take care of the youngest son of Denethor.

“Boromir… Why did you leave me? How could you think that I would be able to live without you? You swore that you would return. And all the talk about you being indestructible, those were just meaningless words weren’t they? You told me that so I would not fear for you and I, your ignorant worthless brother, would be spared of the danger the quest brought with it. When I lost you I lost not only my older brother but the best friend I could ever dream of having. You were my whole family, the one who never lost faith in me. You were the one thing in my life that was good. You shared your deepest secrets with me, but I could not do the same. You gave me everything and I only gave you heartache, worries and lies.

Oh Boromir, forgive me. I should have gone after you, I should have stopped you. If I had you would have been alive and father would finally be rid of the lesser one, the one doomed for a life in solitude and isolation. The one, no one, but you, could ever love”

The words were spoken, but there was no one there to reply. The questions remained unanswered and they were condemned to stay that way.

He snorted. Love that was something he only knew as a word. It was something unfamiliar to him.

Again he closed his eyes and in his mind he saw how a soft breeze played with long, dark hair. Eyes, almond shaped and auburn, looked straight at him. One of the dark and fine sculptured eyebrows split in two by a thin, almost invisible, scar. Lips, so lovely that all he wanted to do was taste them to see if they were as sweet as they seemed, smiled at him.

He imagined how he reached out his hand, tracing the soft jaw line with a trembling finger and tucked the free hair behind a perfectly shaped pointy ear. The lips spoke of things he did neither hear nor knew anything about, but that was not important. All that mattered was that they were here and together. Cool and tender hands now touched his burning cheeks; they wiped away all the worries, fears and doubts. A scent of lilacs and honeysuckle infolded him as the face came near him. He was drawn into an embrace of soft lips, gentle eyes and smooth, sweet fragrance, suntanned skin.

A sudden knock on the window woke him up from his daydream. Who was that? Who could reach this high up? Faramir jolted up and leaned over to see who, or what it was.

Outside the sun had hide behind a veil of steel grey clouds. A fierce wind huff had set a tree’s branches in movements. That was what had made the tapping sound. With a disappointed sigh he sat down. The spell was broken and he could not go back to that special moment and those unspoken feelings between himself and the one, by his family and friends, called ‘Ro.

How he wanted this daydream to continue, he knew however it could never come true. In bed at night, when the nightmares were too frightening, the loneliness too excruciating and the darkness too hostile and antagonistic, he would pray to Nienna. He prayed that she would give him some guidance to what he should do and that she one day could show him some compassion and release him of the pain and emptiness in his heart.

A man should not love another man; it was not normal, not sane. And for him to even dream and fantasize about an Elf in that way was preposterous

No, this was something he did best forgetting and got over. But somehow it seemed like a fruitless mission. To forget that perfect, sweet, gentle and beautiful Prince of Elrond was like asking the sun to stop shining or telling the vegetations to bring their growth to an end. It was impossible. This affection was fated to be yet another secret, supplementary to countless more. Then again, how could it be something erroneous to have love for another? Could the threatening words of being institutionalised, for only having such thoughts and feelings, just be that, threats?

“You really are something, are you not? You should be working not sitting in here feeling sorry for yourself nor should you ever questioning father’s knowledge in things like this. After all that father told you over and over again and you still keep making these errors. No wonder you were punished. You deserved everything, remember that.

The punishments were light considering your crimes. Every father disciplines their child, why would you have been an exception?

The fact that the King has not yet put his thoughts into action does not mean he will not in the future. So stay silent and invisible, take what is given to you with no complains and for Valar’s sake, try not to disappoint him so deeply again. He deserves so much more than you could possible ever wish to offer him.”

Faramir cleared his throat, picked up one of the files on his desk and began to edit the already perfect work in hopes of getting it better.

In moments his eyelids started feeling heavy, he could hardly keep them open. As a soft summer’s rain fell and a thunder echoed over Pelennor he fell into a deep sleep.

“Oh but ‘Ro, he is alone. You can no longer go around like a cat going around a hot plate and try to deny your feelings and I have to tell him about myself. Until then he will always be alone, no matter what we do to ensure him he is not”

“So how do you suggest I prolong this voyage with your young Steward? I feel so lost. How can I ensure him that he is no longer alone and that he has so many friends who care about him and how do I tell him about my feelings without frightening him?” Aragorn hid his face in his brother’s lap and just wanted to fall asleep and that every problem was sorted out when he awoke. ‘Ro sighed and pulled up the man from his resting position.

“I love him Estel, but a heartbreaking fact is that I do not know him. You do, at least you did. What if he is nothing of the things I think of him?” He rose and walked hasty towards the window.

“Do you realise that the things you say make no sense at all? You know as well as I do that love is something you can not explain, it is there and that is all you should care about. I do not think one should analyze on their affection.” Aragorn smiled and joined ‘Ro by the window. The Elf groined.

“Ada would be proud of you. You have taken in more than I of what he used to tell us. But Faramir is nothing like the men I have been with before. I feel so strongly that there is something more than what meets the eye. His way of hiding from anyone’s care must be rooted in something. You told us his father hit him, do you not think that would cause trauma?”

“Denethor’s behaviour towards his youngest was cold and heartless, I do not argue with you about that. But he was always fair and I would not think he punished his sons more than it was needed.” He took a sip from the goblet and lowered his eyes.

“More than what was needed! How can you even say that? You do not slap a child of five for asking a question or grieving his mother. You do not tell a child that his birth was a mistake or that he will never be as good as his sibling.” Elrohir was so furious that he trembled.

“Calm down ‘Ro. Of course I do not agree with what Denethor told his youngest. Those words were truly cruel and heartless. But I do not think that it was neither the words nor the slaps that caused him to be so reserved. Faramir is too intellectual to understand that every one say things they do not mean when they are angry or grieving. He might not have been aware of it when he was a young boy, but later I am sure he understood. All fathers punish their children, even ada and our loving tutors did.”

“We were sent to our rooms without dessert, got extra homework and detentions from Erestor and Glorfindel or grounded but never ever slapped. Are you telling me that, if your future son or daughter was to do something that you did not approve of, you then would even consider slapping them?!” Aragorn stared at his brother and almost dropped the brass carafe filled with spiced wine. He could not believe what he heard. Just conception of causing a child any harm made him sick to his stomach. Elrohir should know better, how could ‘Ro even ask him such a horrendous question?

“How can you even ask me such a thing? Have you ever seen me raise a hand towards a child or even consider it?” The man’s eyes had started to fill up with tears.

“No Estel, I have not. You are a kind and gentle soul and that is way I can not understand why you are defending a demented old fool as Denethor for his actions. Explain that to me, make me understand.” He placed an arm around his distressed brother and forced him to sit down next to him.

“I am not defending him ‘Ro. Believe me, I am not. In Gondor these days it is forbidden to administer corporal punishment on a minor. I have seen to that. But when Faramir was growing up, it was not. So I am not surprised that he was chastised. It is poignant but I am sure that Denethor knew what he was doing. He was never a violent man; he just had troubles expressing feelings. I think that Faramir reminded him to much about Finduilas and he was devastated when she fell ill and departed this life. When Boromir was born something inside Finduilas broke beyond repair and she and Denethor were told that if The Lady ever should be with child again, it would be at the expense of her life. But did not listen and once again Finduilas was with child.

No one believed that she would survive the birth of Faramir, but she did and for five more years. She was sick and weak, yes, but she managed to stay alive for her sons’ sake as long as they still needed her care. When she judged that they would be safe, though without her, she let her ancestors fetch her. To ease his aching heart Denethor had begun to seek answers and solutions in the Palantír, which finally drove him mad.” As he refilled his cup he noticed that ‘Ro had picked up the other and drank its content in a mouthful. Aragorn took the goblet from him and without a word he poured a generous amount into that one as well.

“Poor Denethor, I cannot imagine loosing anyone of our family. I am worried every time when any of you is out, doing Valar only know what, and I am not with you. He had to wait for years. Not knowing when he went to bed at night if his wife would still be alive in the morning. Not to mention him having to deal with bringing up two young boys by himself. I think you are right, Faramir certainly knows that he himself was not the root of the problem, just the closest target. His feelings were no excuses for treating his son the way he did but I think I understand Denethor a bit more now.

Well tithen-rusc-nin⁷ I think you should continue reading those diaries. Maybe we will get some answers, for we are not likely to get them from Faramir himself. You do intend to fill me in do you not?” The Elven prince grinned at his human brother and Aragorn nodded and they embraced each other.

“Is this a private party or am I allowed joining you?” The two turned around and met Elladan’s smiling face in the door. “Have you forgot, dearest tithen-muindor, about our chess game. I can not wait to see your face when you loose.” He had expected to get a rather displeased growl from ‘Ro, but he just nodded and rose. He also saw that Aragorn’s eyes were shiny and red. “What is the matter with you two? ‘Ro, what have you done to Estel? He looks terrible. Come to think of it you do not look so peachy yourself. Tell me, please.” He sat down on a chair in front of the two.

It was Elrohir who begun.

“Estel found Faramir’s old diaries and he… I mean, we think that they can give us the answers to why Faramir is acting the way he is. The facts might help us understand what the best way of helping him is.”

“Is that not obviously? His father used to hit him when he was a child of course that leaves marks. Why should we force him to face that again?! Better for him to try to forget it, right? I do not think that we should tell him anything that reminds him of his past. Forgive and forget – that is the best way to handle these sorts of events, I suppose”

“Oh ‘Dan, shut up! You can not be serious. How can you even suggest that we let him deal with his ghost on his own? I really thought better of you.” Aragorn was furious. What was happening to his brothers? One thought he could strike a child and the other wanted to leave a distressed and lonely friend to his destiny.

“You can be such a tûgdhôl⁸ sometimes. Do not mind him Estel, you know him too well to think that he actually means what he is saying. I do not think he has given our sweet Faramir many thoughts. Tell ‘Dan what you told me. He might understand better, but it is not likely.” He gave his brother a smirk and Aragorn took a deep breath. These problems with his Steward started to affect them all.

“All I meant was that maybe, just maybe, Faramir does not want to deal with it. Ada always told us that if you should ever force someone to deal or face their problems, phobias or worries you could very well send them away further than before. But tell me what you told ‘Ro? Do not leave me hanging.”

⁶ echil – human

⁷ tithen-rusc-nin – My little fox

⁸ tûgdhôl – thickhead

III

In the archive Faramir’s sleep was neither a peaceful nor a well needed rest. He whimpered as memories haunted his dreams.

Steps echoed through the corridor. He could hear himself breathe and his racing heart pounding in his ears. He did not know what he had done this time, but surely it must have been something despicable. How he wished that Boromir was at home. Then father would not be as ruthless. But sadly he was not. He was out hunting with two of his best friends, Targon and Mardil.

His legs ached as he sat curled up behind the marble statue of Isildur.

“Faramir, I know you are here. I can hear you breathe. Come out now and take your medicine. Be a man and accept your punishment. You know you deserve it.” His father’s voice was soft and low. He hated that tone even more than when he bawled at him.

“I am not angry with you. I just want you to understand for yourself that what you did is not an acceptable way to act.” In his mind, Faramir went over every possible way to handle this situation. He could stay here until Boromir returned, but that could take hours, days even. He could come out freely or being dragged out by his father. He was caught in a corner with no way to escape. Suddenly the light above him disappeared. His father’s dark figure was over him. He was dragged out in the open room, stumbling, trying to find his feet. A hand with a sharp cut emerald ring met his face and split his lip. Before he fell to the floor, the hands were there again, grasping the neck of his tunic.

“My study, now!” no other word was needed. At barely nine years old, he already knew what that meant. The punishment was not to be light, thirty strokes at least.

“Remove your shirt and your tunic.” As in a dream he untied the bindings and exposed his naked torso. It was not only the chill, from the cold stonewalls in his father’s study, which sent shivers down his spine, he new what was coming. In the back of his head a small voice cried out for help, begged him to run away and hide. But how could he?

“Bend over.” The orders were short and said with the same emotionless tone Denethor always used when he spoke to his youngest.

“Count” The first strike with the multi tailed whip punctured him, made him grasp for breath. He bit hit lower lip to prevent him from crying out his pain but a small sob escaped his lips. He felt a hand grip him from behind and lifted his head by his hair. “You are in no position to be allowed crying. If I hear one more snivel coming from you I will administrate the whole retribution again. Now I said ‘count’.” His head was slammed against the hard wooden desk. A thin trace of blood made its way from a cut on his forehead, down his cheek and rubies dipped and tainted the desk’s surface. He took a deep breath…

“One…” His voice was frailer than he would have wished it to be. The whip fell over and over again, slowly, so that the new pain would not subdue the old. Faramir continued to count and kept his voice as steady as possible.

“Two… three… four… twenty… thirty two… fifty.” His back was on fire, he could feel the stickiness of blood and sweat all over him. His arms were numbed and he could not move his hands, they were frozen in cramp.

He felt his father’s breath on his neck, felt the ice cold grip around his arms tightened.

“Lower your leggings.” Faramir froze. No, no please no. tears welled up in his eyes. The pain on his back and the fear of what was going to happen made him overlook his father’s hatred towards emotions. He fell to his knees and clanged to his father’s robe.

“Please father, not that. I beg you. I will do anything, just say the word. Please father, if you love me than please let me have some dignity left. I beg you. Please, I am sorry for the troubles I have put you through. I am sorry that I am a poor excuse for a child. I am sorry that I was born, but I plead to you. Do not expose me to that. Please, I beg you.” The tears streamed down his face, he had lost all power of control them. He repeated over and over again prays of redemption. Any other person would have had their heart shattered by the site of this thin and pale child begging his father to spare him from a fate worse than death. A child pleaded for a sign that his father had at least some fatherly feelings towards him. He begged for an absolution that would never come.

Denethor stood as cold and motionless as one of the statues in the Grate Hall.

“Lower you leggings.” Faramir’s whole body shook as he stood up. He turned around and started to loosen the ties of his pants. Slowly he pulled them down and bent over the desk yet again. On the desk was his belt, he took it and folded it in four. He sank his teeth in the smooth fabric and waited. He heard the sound of his father’s metal buckle cling and fall to the floor, he jerked at the sound it made as it came in contact with the floor. An arm meandered around his waist, the fingers played on his clearly visible ribs, and the other stroked his hair. These times were the only times his father ever showed him any satisfaction, love and care. He so longed for a gentle word, a friendly touch and yet he would rather be beaten and ignored every hour for the rest of his living days than have this done to him. He hated this more than everything else he had to endure.

A sharp pain travelled up along his spine and he was glad that he had learnt to put his belt in his mouth. It helped him from not screaming from the top of his lung. But it could not stop the tears. Almost as quick as it had started it ended. “Father must be in a rush today or maybe Boromir is on his way home” He put on his leggings, shirt and tunic, he would have to burn these before anyone saw them. They were covered with blood, sweat and semen. He cleared his throat and bowed to his father.

“Thank you for teaching me how to present myself as a son worthy of a Steward Sir” Denethor snorted.

“You will never be a son worthy of a Steward you useless, emotional fool. You should thank me for showing you some attention. I curse the day you were born. Had it not been for you Finduilas would still be alive and I would have had a family worth killing for.”

“Father please, believe me, I never wanted mother to die. I would give my life if I thought that it would bring her back.”

“So why do you not? And do not dare to speak of Finduilas as your mother. If I hear you one more time utter her name in any family way I will make sure that you would be wishing for death before I was halfway done with you. Now leave!” Denethor emphasized the last word with a stinging slap that sent Faramir into the wall and down on the floor. He crawled back up on his feet, bowed and started walking the long way to his own chamber. Every part of his body ached and he left traces of blood after him. “Poor Alassea and Nessa, they will be forced to clean this up.”

He walked past a few guards on his way to the safeness and seclusion in his chambers. He did not dare to look at them. Surely they would be able to read in his face what had happened. What a filthy and disgusting boy he was. If he had dared to meet some of the guards’ eyes he would have seen neither loathing, disgust nor a smirk. All he would have seen would have been pity, sadness and anger. Not towards him himself but what had been done to him.

He tried to swallow down the vomits that threatened to come up but failed. He bent over and let all his anxiety, agony and pain out on the stone floor. He sank to his knees and kept on till there was nothing left in him but sour bile.

“Come child let me help you.” A young guard, no more than twenty, caressed Faramir’s damp face with a soft cloth. Faramir stared at the man, why was he so nice to him? Before he had the chance to say his thanks an older man came up to them.

“Iorlas, leave him alone. If the Steward sees you caring to much about his son the child will suffer twice the next time.” The man called Iorlas looked puzzled.

“But Cirion, he is obviously sick, should we not get him into bed. Surely Lord Denethor would not mind that?”

“Please Sir, but I am quite alright. I must have eaten something my stomach did not approve of.” Faramir tried desperately to get away from this nice man. Cirion was right if his father was to find out it would add at least fifteen strokes to the next punishment.

“By the look of your vomits, you have not eaten even a quarter of what you should have. Come now son, let me help you. I mean you no harm, you can trust me” Iorlas kneeled in front of him and took his hands.

“Iorlas, come with me now. That is an order!” Cirion placed a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder. Iorlas sighed, he had to obey a direct order but he would rather have helped this undernourished child to bed, make sure that he stayed there and given him some soup.

“Till we meet again, my young Lord, I bid thee farewell.” He saluted smartly and followed Cirion.

Faramir put the cloth, he still held in his hand, over the puddle of bile and continued his painful walk…

He jumped up from his seat so forceful that his seat fell over and slammed against the floor. The authentic world slowly became real to him. Outside the sun had been replaced with the moon and the whole sky was embellished with tiny jewels. He opened the window and let the night’s air cool his burning face. The atmosphere was saturated with smells and sounds. An owl hooted in the forest and was answered by a wolf who howled to the full moon. In one of the trees, in the garden, a nightingale had her nest. She sang her soft lullaby to the sleeping flowers and Faramir wished for her to come and sing for him too at night. Maybe she could help chase the phantoms and demons away?

The rain had increased the plants’ scents and their aroma calmed his heart and pulse down faster than it normally did.

He gathered his things in a hurry and walked towards his chamber to freshen up before dinner.

A bathe would have been most welcomed but he had dismissed his servants for the night so a cold splash would have to serve that purpose.

Not that he minded. It would remind him of the

times he had washed himself in the river Anduin in his ranger days. Even in the late summer, when the sun gazed from a cloudless sky, the Grate River never seemed to get warmer.

Those days seemed so far away and yet it was no more than three months ago.

He smiled to himself when he thought about how proud and blissful Boromir had sounded when he told his seven year old little brother that he had been allowed to train with the captain of the Rangers.

“The Rangers of Ithillien are the best warriors in the whole Middle-Earth.”

“But Boromir, I thought that the Rangers protected the forest and its wild life. Guarded the boarders from enemies yes, but never went to war. At least that is what the old books in the archive tell me.” He had looked puzzled at his big brave older brother. The reason he, himself, had been drawn to the Rangers’ life was the fact that they never went to war. He had been so naïve at that age.

“They used to do that, but for a long time now there has been smoke rising from Mordor and Mount Doom. It would be best if the Rangers were to assist the army. They are too skilled and precious for Gondor to be allowed not to take part in case of a war.”

He had recognised the words spoken from Boromir as their father’s to the last syllable.

“I do not want to fight Boro. I hate war, nothing good ever comes from fighting and violence. Only evil fight, why should we lower ourselves to their level? Should we not set a good example?”

“Oh you are truly still innocent and naïve, ‘Little one’. When you become a Ranger you will see for yourself. But that is not going to happen for a long time.” He had kissed him laughed and then took on a sturdy face and again recited father “If evil raise their weapons against us, we have to protect ourselves. I know that you love to read, write, sing and paint, but that does not help our cause. You can not talk to the enemies, has father not told you that?”

With those words Boromir had left to go to the training yard and left Faramir alone with his thoughts. Father had told him over and over again that he should not waist time with books and music.

“Nothing good has ever come from reading a book,” he used to tell his son as the crop fell over the bare back.

He did not want to think about that now, he pushed the door open to his chamber and stepped inside.

The moonlight infolded his dark chamber in curtains of silver. It made the shadows long and mystifying. In the soft light he began to undress and pored water in the wash basin. It felt refreshing and he felt ready to meet the others. He opened the closet and picked out clean leggings, a fresh shirt and tunic. His hand stopped and looked longing on the ranger outfit deep in the closet’s darkness.

The clothes that he now wore were of a more delicate material and had a more suitable fitting, but still the rough greens and browns were more to his liking. These burgundy and heliotrope looked good on him with his dark hair and grey eyes but he felt uncomfortable, he was now visible and could not hide in the shadows. He was the Steward of Gondor but he was still a Ranger at heart even though he had not been out in the forest for months. With a sigh he pulled a hairbrush through his shoulder long hair and tied a leather band in it.

With a glance in the mirror’s shiny surface he made sure that he looked presentable.

“This is as good as it is going to get. What do you think Silmarwen?” he bent down and scratched the little black kitten on his bed and kissed her wet pink nose. He got a purr and a lick on his cheek as an answer. He smiled at the tiny black fur ball.

“You understand everything I say do you not, my sweet little friend?” Faramir’s pony-tail fell over his shoulder and the kitten immediately lifted her paw and hit it. “I can not believe that Lady Arwen gave you to me. I will soon be back and then I promise that we will play.” He straitened up and went to join the others for dinner.

“And that was the last time I saw them until Boromir came to Imladris and Faramir, when I tried to heal him in the House of Healing.” Aragorn had ended his story and was now waiting for some sort of reaction.

“That was quite the story you told us. There is a special bond between you that will not brake easily. I agree with ‘Ro that you should continue to read. But remember what I said, he might not want to get over it, just forget it.

Now you two, I would advice you to try to put on your normally so cheerful façade. We are late for supper.” ‘Dan got up and walked towards the door.

“How can you be so heartless? Have you not listened to a word Estel told you? You just do not want to strain yourself. Am I not right?” ‘Ro took a firm grip around his brother’s arm

“I am not heartless; I am just trying to be rational. Estel has a past with him and you love him so none of you can be impartial. Neither can I, for I care too much about you two and I fear that you would bend over backwards to help him even at the cost of yourselves.”

“Oh ‘Dan, I know that you are not heartless. I actually think that you are right. You were not Erestor’s and Glorfindel’s favourite student for nothing.” Aragorn walked up to them and loosened Elrohir’s tight grip on Elladan.

“So, what does Lord Genius suggest we should do?” The sarcasm in ‘Ro’s voice could not be missed. But it was not spiteful, just teasing and Elladan knew that.

“This Genius thinks we should talk to Mithrandir and ada. They know more about these things than we do”

“No! We should not involve any further parts in this. If you want to help, then we welcome you, but do not talk to anyone else about this until Estel and I have come up with a solution. Now, let us do what you have suggested before. Put on our happy faces and go and join the rest at the dinner table.”

“You two can go but I am not hungry, I will turn in early tonight. I need my sleep if I have to sit with the counsellors all morning tomorrow. Give my excuse to the others, would you.”

“Why do you not tell us the truth? You are going to continue to read, are you not?” Elladan smiled. Aragorn blushed but nodded.

“I just can not face Faramir until I find the answers to some questions I ask myself over and over again.”

“Very well then, we will leave you to your, I am sorry, to Faramir’s books” With those words the Elrondion twins left Aragorn in his study to accompany Arwen, Elrond, Mithrandir, the hobbits, Gimli and of course Faramir in the dining hall. The King himself opened a new book and flipped to a new page.

July 10 Third Age 3000

Today I have helped Boromir with his protocol for the council meeting tomorrow. He wanted to ride out on his new stallion instead, I did not mind, it was a paper in Sindarin that he had to translate. I love my brother dearly, I look up to him and I want to be just like him, but I do not understand why he does not take his paper works more serious. When he is the new Steward, Gondor’s safety will lie in his hands.

All he cares about is training with the new soldiers. He is the finest captain they can ever ask for, but the world is filled with so much more.

Yesterday I received a letter from Mithrandir. He told me that he had plans to visit Minas Tirith and search our archives for papers about the old alliances between the free folk of Middle- Earth. He asked for my help.

Could anyone imagine me assist the Gray Pilgrim?

I told father about his request. How could I have been so stupid? He already thinks I spend too much time reading.

If I did not help Boromir with his work he would not have time training because he would have too much to do before meetings. I wish that father would know that. Then maybe he would not scold me for my love of lore and music.

No, I should not say these things, not even think them. Pride comes before fall and Boromir would surely be a success in both council and sword fighting even without me.

He does not need me, not as I need him.

I am to be seventeen this fall and I have still not learned that begging only leads to punishments. He asked why he wanted my assistance and not Boromir’s, Gondor’s finest.

I told him that perhaps he knew how much I enjoyed spending time with him.

As always he gave that dreadful look.

“Well little ‘Wizard’s pupil’ I think we should discuss this in my study. I will send a Servant to come and get you as soon as I am ready for you.”

I am now waiting for Rían to come and tell me that father is expecting me. At least I now have the sense to prepare myself. I did not the first two years.

He wants me tight and dry but I rather take the flogging it means than let him tear me more than enough.

I still remember the time, I was about to turn eight, when I overheard father speak to some of the guards that the Grey Pilgrim was approaching. The Maia and Istari they call Mithrandir in Elven way, Tharkun by the Dwarves, Olórin in the West, Incánus in the South and Gandalf in the North. The books say that he never travels in the East. I wonder why?

How I wished that I could meet with him and ask him to teach me everything he knows.

When I asked father for permission he told me to go to his study and wait for him to answer my question.

I was so excited that I did not think closer on the fact that he had asked me to go to his study. Normally when he punished me he would deal with it in my own chamber.

When he stepped inside the study I immediately understood that there was something amiss. He was too calm, too methodical.

“If you wish to meet the Wizard I must first see proof that you can hold your tongue, when urged to speak of things that no one should hear about. Gondor’s safety, and your life, can be at stake if you let your lips move. Role up you sleeve.”

I did how I was told and he grabbed my arm. His bony fingers bruised my wrist and I was scared to death.

Without a word he dragged me over to his desk where a lit candle burned. He held my arm over the blazing flame. The heat radiated and increased, I could feel it eating into my flesh and I could recognize an odour of burning hair. Finally, when the pain became too much for me, I screamed.

Father smirked.

“It was as I thought. You can not stay silent even if your own life depends on it, I thought my disciplinary actions would have taught you what would happen if you screamed, cried or whimpered, but I suppose I was wrong. You disappoint me Faramir.” He had not stopped smirking.

“Lower you leggings.” I thought he was about to spank me, he had never done that before, so as always I did what he told me.

The pain, I will never forget the first time. I thought I was to be ripped in two. A scream, I understood that it came from me, that could make the blood freeze in one veins was heard and father’s hand closed in over my mouth. I think I must have fainted, for I do not remember what happened next, only that I woke up on the floor in his study, alone, leggings still down and my lower body covered with blood and a sticky foul smelling fluid.

After this first time it became more and more regular. But I have never, even after almost ten years, gotten used to it.

Aragorn stared in silence on the words. This could not be for real, it just could not.

He closed the book silently, took a deep breath and rose.

An answer was needed and it could not wait.

IV

The dining room was filled with laughter and music. Merry and Pippin were trying to teach Elladan some songs and dances from the Shire. Arwen sat next to Legolas with a glass of wine in her right hand and the other covered over her mouth to hide a giggle. It was not so ladylike to giggle and now when she was the Queen of Gondor, she had to think of how she presented herself. Legolas, on the other hand, did not seem to care that he was the Prince of Mirkwood. He half laid in Gimli’s lap with tears of amusing streaming down his face.

Gandalf, Elrond and Faramir were discussing something on the other side of the room. Or more correctly, Gandalf and Elrond discussed and Faramir listened.

Elrohir tried to teach Sam and Frodo the rules in chess. He had gotten tired of being forced to play with ‘Dan all the time.

When Aragorn entered the room he was greeted with a kiss from his wife and she slid her arm under his.

“I did not think you would join us, my love.” Aragorn did not pay any attention to her. He was heading towards Faramir.

“Estel, what are you doing?!” ‘Ro was at his side in a blink of an eye and tried to force him to stop.

“Remember our agreement, you were not supposed to speak to him so soon” ‘Dan said low enough for only Aragorn to hear it, but he neglected them.

“Faramir, is this true?” Faramir turned around with a puzzled look on his face. When he saw the book in his Liege hand, his expression went blank.

“My Lord, I do not know what You mean” His voice trembled.

“Do not lie to me, Faramir. Is this diary yours or is it not?” Aragorn was so furious that he had a hard time to find his voice.

“I do not know, Sire. I see that it could be my old diary, but there are many of them so I am not sure. May I see it, Your Majesty?” “Begging again, you idiot.” He berated himself.

“You admit that you have been writing journals, yes? You admit that you have not thrown them away, yes? So tell me then, did you keep your diaries in a wooden chest, in your childhood room, with your name engraved?” He knew that he was harsh towards his young Steward, but there was no other way.

“Yes, Sire. I admit that.” The voice was hoarse and weak.

“Then tell me. Are the things within here true or made-up stories? You are not to be afraid. I will not be angry with you. If what is written in here is just fables then please, Faramir, tell me.” Faramir felt hot and the room started to spin. This could not be happening. He had always been so careful where he had hidden his secrets. Why had he not throw those cursed books away, buried them or better burnt them?

The room was quiet and still. The only sound that could be heard was the heavy breathing coming from Faramir’s chest. He was in the centre of everyone’s eyes; he was in a position so far from his usual habit of trying to blend in with the walls. He was expected to talk. He could not hide in the dark corners in the lingering shadows anymore.

“No, My Lord, they are not stories and every word is true. Would you please be so kind to give it back to me, My Lord? You should not have been reading them, My Lord” Faramir’s eyes were shiny, red and filled to the top with tears. His voice was so fragile that had it not been for the stillness his voice would not have been heard. The silence in the room was devastating, cold and motionless.

“What is all of this, Aragorn?” Gandalf’s stern voice broke the silence.

“Denethor physically abused him, Gandalf!” Before anyone had had the chance to react, Faramir had snitched the book from Aragorn’s hand.

“He did not. He only taught me how to be a son worthy of a Steward, how to behave and what actions are wrong. It was for my own good and I deserved everything.” The tears now overflowed and he sank to his knees. “Why could you not have kept it to yourself? What does any of this matter to you? You do not even know me. Now when everyone knows what a poor excuse for a human I am, I can no longer stay here. I must leave.” Aragorn stared at the young man before him. A memory of a five years old child in his lap, declaring how unworthy, weak and worthless he was, took form in his mind. This could not go on any longer. He was about to grab the man by his shoulders and force him to understand that he was none of those things and had never been. But he was too late. Elladan was already at his side.

“Faramir, listen to me. I forbid you to leave. You can not continue to hide and run away from your past. Your mind tells you that it was your fault so that it will not drive you insane. But your mind can not control your body’s memory. Your body knows that what happened is nothing you can blame yourself for. Nor could you have prevented it, you were a child.

Do you understand what I am saying? Do not dare to blame yourself for what your father did to you.” ‘Ro stared at his brother. He had never heard ‘Dan speak like this before. He turned his eyes over to Faramir who was now, curled up tight in a ball, crying. Not s sound came over his lips. It was only the shivering shoulders that exposed his feelings.

‘Ro could not stand this any more. He fell to his knees and infolded the weeping man in a gentle embrace.

“Peace, mellon-nîn⁹. I am here now. No one will ever hurt you again. Do you hear me? Cuilen an cuileg. Gurthen an cuileg. Cuilen an ngurtheg. Gurthen an ngurtheg¹⁰.”

Faramir stared up at the face of the Elf he loved so much, but could not make himself to admitting it to anyone. He had always hid such emotions, even to himself. He shrank away from the sweet embrace that he had dreamt for so long and crawled backwards. “This can not be happening. Has he just told me that he would die for me?”

“Lord Elrohir, please, I can not handle this. Why are you telling me that you would die for me? You should not be saying those things, I am unclean and you should not, could not say such thing to me. It is not seemly, it is not right.” Elrohir took the cold hands of the quivering young man.

“What is not right, Faramir? Is it not right that I hold you when you are crying? Is it not right that I tell you of my true feelings for you? Is it not right that I love you?” Faramir shook his head violently.

“You can not love me! You should not say such things. What if someone, beside your family, would hear you? You would spend the rest of your life locked away in the Sanatorium. It is not right for a man to love another of the same gender, I do not know about Elves but as long as you are within the boarders of Gondor you have to live by her rules. I do not pretend that I agree with them but as the Steward I have sworn my allegiance to the King and his land.”

The group stared at the scene that was playing in front of them. Frodo, Sam and Merry had taken shelter with Gandalf. They felt safe next to the old wizard, but now Gandalf did not have his usual stern face. He looked as he was about to cry. And he was not the only one. Arwen was hiding her distress in her husband’s broad chest and Aragorn himself was wetting her dark hair with his own salty tears. Legolas stared in confusion and Gimli’s green eyes were dark with suppressed rage. Elladan tried to comfort Pippin. The young hobbit was sitting on a small chair, his eyes were like glass and he was repeating over and over again:

“It can not be true. It can not be true. It can not be true.”

“Who told you that love between two males or two females is not as valuable as the love between a man and a woman? Love is never something you can deem to be right or wrong. Love is always right, if it is mutual.” Lord Elrond knelt down next to his son and Faramir. He placed a soothing hand on the man’s back. The gesture was not responded like the Elven Lord would have hoped. Faramir got up on his feet, with swiftness comparable to an Elf, and pressed his back against the wall. He looked so magnificent and serene in that very moment that no one could ever believe that this was the same man, who moments ago had been curled up, weeping.

“My Lords and My Lady, I thank you for a nice evening. But now I must return to my chamber and finish my work for tomorrow’s meeting. I bid You all a good night.” His gaze turned to Aragorn. “I will see You in the morning, My Liege. Is an hour before the meeting enough for You or do You wish for my service sooner.” He was once again the Steward they all knew, with his blank expression and straightened back. It was as if a drape had covered him, and that his soul had been locked away in the deepest corner of his body. He was like a shell; his skin had become a shield that seemed to be impossible to brake through.

“Faramir, you will not leave this room until we have sort things out. You do not want to argue with me on this, do you?” Gandalf rose, took Faramir’s hand and led him to the sofa.

“Mithrandir, do not trouble yourself. I am perfectly fine, just a bit tired, that is all. There is nothing to worry about. Sleep is all that I need right now.” He tried to smile, but could not. The truth was that he was too exhausted even to make his way to the chamber. And even if he tried, he would not manage it.

“Tired? Do you seriously believe that I am so easy to deceive? No my child, there is more to this than just some lack of sleep. Now sit down and tell us, what has been happening between Lord Denethor and yourself? Trust me, son. You will not begin to heal until you are able to talk about it. Do not try to forget it because you never will. It will always be a part of your life, but it is up to you if you will let the pain eat itself into your heart and soul and harden it”

Faramir stared at the party. How could he talk about what had been happening to him with all of these in the same room? It was one thing to talk to Mithrandir; he had known him for such a long time. He trusted him. But the others, they were strangers, he did not know them. How would they react when they heard how filthy he was, how weak and useless he had been all his life.

“I beg of you Mithrandir. If you have ever liked me or cared for me you will let me go. You will let me have at least some of my dignity to be maintained. I can not talk about this in front of a Lady, especially such as Lady Arwen, or in front of strangers. It is not possible.” Gandalf sighed but nodded.

“Very well then, I will do as you ask. Elrond, would you be so kind to escort your daughter, Frodo, Samwise, Meriadoc, Legolas and Gimli to the garden.” Elrond nodded, placed an arm around his daughter’s shoulders and led her outside with a subdued trail behind him. “Now you are free to tell us everything.”

“No, I can not. King Elessar is still here, so is Master Took and Lord Elladan. Not to mention Lord Elrohir. You can not seriously believe that I am going to sit here and let them all know.” Faramir tried to get up but was forced down by the Istari.

“They are all your friends, Faramir. Peregrin saved your life. Elrohir has loved you since the day he laid eyes on you in the House of Healing, Elladan comes with him given that they are inseparably and Aragorn has been your friend for a very long time, my child.” The Steward stared at him.

“It seems that I have no choice. You have put me in a very awkward situation, Mithrandir. I hope you are aware of that.” Gandalf smiled and ruffled the dark hair. He remembered a little child with hair as dark as Faramir’s and eyes as deep as his. That child had followed him everywhere when the old Wizard had visited Minas Tirith. The child was now a grown man, but still a child in so many ways.

“There is not much to tell. Father punished me when I had done something that was not suitable for a son of a Steward. Maybe he was a bit harsh sometimes, but I was never an easy child. That is it, nothing more to tell.”

“What about the time he burned your arm, what was that for? Why did he make you count the strikes he gave you? What about the time he forced himself on you? Do not coat your story in a soft blanket. I know more than you can imagine, Faramir. Now tell us the truth or I will read aloud from these books.” Aragorn was so angry; his Steward would not be permitted to make this into nothing. Faramir swallowed hard.

“I… I mean… he was…” he closed his eyes. This had always been a secret. Not even Boromir had known. Yet it was Boromir who had always been there for him. It was Boromir who had taught him how to swim; it was Boromir who had taught him how to wield a sword; it was Boromir who had comforted him when his night terrors became too hard to bear or when he had been disciplined. At least until it was time for ‘Gondor’s finest’ to begin training with the Rangers at the age of twelve. When Boromir was not there to protect him, the punishments had augmented. He had been too afraid of what Boromir might think, or what their father would do, if he told anyone about it. So he had stayed silent, or lied, when Boromir asked why he was so stiff or where he had got the black eye from.

If he had not told Boromir, how could he tell these ones?

The memories were almost like nothing but a vague impression. Something he had hidden deep within his heart and soul. Suddenly it became clear to him what Mithrandir had said. If

he kept hiding it, the secret would take over his heart and there would soon be nothing else in it. He wanted to tell them, but he could neither find the courage nor the right words.

“There is no need to be afraid. None of us will think less of you, I promise. Remember, Faramir, nothing that happened was your fault. You were a child. All children believe that their parents know best, that what is done is done for a reason. But you are not a child anymore, you are a grown man. Look deep into your heart and then tell me if you still think that it was your fault.” Elladan took Faramir’s hands in his own, he tried to free them but the Elf kept them in his own.

“Please, Faramir, allow us to help you. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Lord Elladan, I would tell you if I could. But the memories seem to be dreams more than realities. I am not sure what happened and what did not, my mind is a blur. The diaries are all that is left of that time.”

“But the diaries only tell us what happen until the day you left to join the Rangers, does that mean that everything ended then?” Elrohir sat down next to the young man and placed his hand on the thin leg. As expected, Faramir flinched, but ‘Ro let his hand lay.

“I do not know, Lord Elrohir. As I said, it seems I can not sort my memories out from my dreams.” Aragorn was watching the whole scene, playing before him, silently. But after these words he suddenly said:

“Gandalf, is there not a certain magic that could awake forgotten memories? I think that ada used it once on Glorfindel, but I am not sure.” The Wizard turned his head from the younger to the older man.

“If you are thinking about “Apantë onnalda vanwi딹¹ then it can be very dangerous. It almost cost Glorfindel his life and he is one of Middle-Earth’s most powerful Elves. You, my child,” He lifted Faramir’s head and looked into the distressed eyes.” You are only a young man, and what you have gone through was obviously too painful for your heart to live with. Glorfindel had to go through his death once more, which is why he was barely able to come back to the living. You, my child, will once again relive what ever Denethor did to you. If I can have a say in this matter, I would say that you should not do it.” Faramir met the worried eyes.

“If I do not do this I will most likely go mad. I wish to tell you all, but I can not. If I was under a spell that would control it for me, it would be a grate relief. If I would not be in command over myself, I would not feel like a betrayed my father.”

“You must be aware of that it will be most painful and if your heart and head want different things, your heart will most likely shatter and your brain will no longer be able to function? It will be Elrond who proceed further with this.” Faramir closed his eyes again and bit his lower lip. He took a deep breath and ever so slightly he nodded. When Gandalf had left the chamber he lifted his head and looked into the eyes of the Elf at his side.

“Lord Elrohir I can not continue to live with this weight on my heart any longer. I will take whatever retribution that will fall upon me, but I must say this. Lord Elrohir… I love you. My heart is aching with the love I feel for you and therefore I will go through this test. But I am afraid” He said in a voice as soft as a breeze

“Do not be, my love. I will be here to catch you when you awake, I will never leave you. Do you hear me?” ‘Ro placed a gentle kiss on one of the ice cold hands. Faramir looked puzzled.

“Do you love me?”

“I love you more than life itself. I love you as the slave loves the thought of one day have their freedom back. Let the Earth and the Sky be witnesses to what I say is true.” Big tears fell from Faramir’s eyes and he covered his face.

“Do not cry, my love. All will be well, I promise you.” He wrapped his arms around the shivering shoulders and pressed the man close to his chest.

⁹ mellon-nîn – my friend

¹⁰ Cuilen an cuileg. Gurthen an cuileg. Cuilen an ngurtheg. Gurthen an ngurtheg – My life for your life. My death for your life. My life for your death. My death for your death

¹¹ Apantë onnalda vanwië – Reveal your past

TBC

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