Faramir Fiction Archive

Walk No More In The Shadows (NC-17)

Written by Minx and Iris

12 January 2007 | 50694 words | Work in Progress

Chapter 8

“No, he didn’t,” Gandalf said quietly as he took in the situation around him, “Pippin, I think you should leave now.”

“But —,” the young hobbit started, unhappily, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he noticed the little scene playing out in front of him, “I didn’t –” he broke off with a low sob.

“I know,” Gandalf said in a kind but low voice, “Why don’t you leave that tea here, Pippin, and get some for yourself in the kitchens. I“ll join you soon. Save some cake for me.”

Shuttling Pippin out of the room, Gandalf turned back to his young friends. Aragorn was still staring at a mortified Faramir.

“He… raped you? And for years, like Pippin said? Why? How? I mean– why haven’t you told me before?”

Faramir didn’t reply. He had transferred his gaze to his hands, as they played with the hem of his blanket. Gandalf sighed heavily, and went to sit by Faramir and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close, while ensuring that he could face Aragorn.

“You have to talk about it some time,” he tried softly but got no response. He looked up at Aragorn who still stood there, incredulous.

“Yes, he raped him,” he said finally, squeezing Faramir’s shoulder gently. The young man slumped back against him, defeated.

“You knew?” Aragorn turned to him promptly, surprised and hurt, “and Pippin too! How many know of this?”

“Only we know, and only recently,” Gandalf replied, “It had been happening for years.”

Faramir emitted a low gulping sound at that and tried to cover his face with his hands but Gandalf gently stopped him.

“I wish I had found out earlier, though,” the wizard said, “All these years. You hid it very well,” he addressed Faramir here, “I could not even guess on my visits to Minas Tirith – when you said you were merely tired or fatigued every time I inquired about your stiff gestures… I suppose if I had paid a little more heed -”

Aragorn stared at Faramir in shock, still trying to process what he had just heard. Taking in the sight of the forlorn face, the wet eyelashes, and the tiny little sniffs, he instinctively sat on Faramir’s other side, and wrapped an arm around him, feeling almost stupidly glad that he wasn’t pushed away as expected.

Faramir blinked and let the tears fall.

Aragorn inched a little closer, his face still mirroring the shock he felt.

“And if Pippin hadn’t found out, you’d never have let anyone know”, Gandalf continued quietly, “You’d simply have suffered in silence and I would have let you do so unknowing. You hid it from everyone so well! Even Boromir. And now Aragorn. He thinks you worry over your father’s words and beatings.”

“For years?” Aragorn mouthed.

“Since he was thirteen,” Gandalf told the horrified king, and then continued speaking to Faramir, “But now that I do know about it, it is the least I can do to ensure that I help you recover. Do you not always say that you count me a friend? And don’t tell me you don’t still suffer from what he did to you. You have nightmares each night! Isn’t that why you had been working all night instead of sleeping?”

Aragorn gave a guilty start at that. He wanted desperately to hug the softly sobbing young man and assure him everything was going to be all right, but he knew very well that that gesture would only cause Faramir more distress. Gandalf seemed to know what he was doing.

“I let you go the last time,” the wizard was saying, “I felt there was no course but for you to do your utmost to defend Gondor. But that’s not the case now, so rest assured, whether you desire it or not, I will see you recover.”

The sobs intensified, and Aragorn felt his own eyes tearing up, as he instinctively hugged Faramir.

“I’ll get you some of that tea,” Gandalf murmured, and rose. Aragorn’s arms tightened and he pulled Faramir close carefully, letting his head rest on his shoulder, the silent tears staining the fine cloth of his tunic.

Gandalf watched Aragorn and Faramir thoughtfully as he poured the tea into a cup. The king was running his hands up and down Faramir’s arm soothingly, and the Steward seemed to unconsciously inch closer to the source of comfort. Faramir was in perfectly good hands Gandalf decided silently. He was obviously in no state to speak though… best to leave him to sleep… Aragorn could see to that; he was so eager to help, and it would give him time to collect his thoughts. Gandalf put aside the teapot, as he recollected Pippin’s distress.

“Here,” he said as he handed the cup to Aragorn, “Make him drink that. I need to go and see how Pippin is doing. Poor fellow seemed very upset.”

Bending down, he dropped a kiss on Faramir’s lowered head, “Rest now, child. All will be well.”

Aragorn nodded distractedly at Gandalf, his attention firmly affixed on Faramir. He held the cup to Faramir’s mouth forcing him to lift his tear-streaked face.

“Drink,” he said gently, but firmly, and handed the cup to the distraught man.

Faramir’s fingers were shaking as he took the cup, but he held it.

Aragorn continued to hold him in his arms, trying to think of anything to say, but sensing that nothing he might say at this moment would be of much help.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, “But I“m glad I now know. There was no need for you to hide this from me. I yearned greatly to help you, my friend, and now I know what troubles you so, I will do just that.”

Faramir stayed silent, sipping at the tea, tears continuing to run down his face. Aragorn continued to have his arms wrapped loosely around him.

Once Faramir had finished the tea, he took the cup from the numb fingers, and kissed him softly on his head, sighing silently as he hoped he could live up to his promise.

“Would you like to rest now?” he suggested quietly, knowing the tea would induce sleep, he’d smelt the relaxing herbs in it.

Faramir didn’t try to move out of his embrace. He seemed too spent to think of it.

Aragorn started to rub soft circles on his back, hoping it would relax the tense young man.

“I’m here now,” he whispered softly, “I’ll look after you.”

Faramir dropped off into a restless sleep shortly, but Aragorn continued to hold him.

Gandalf found a rather distraught hobbit waiting anxiously for him in the kitchen.

“Gandalf, I“m so sorry! I didn’t realize Strider didn’t know. He spends so much time caring for Faramir and he seems so worried about him. I really thought Strider knew about this,” Pippin said in a frantic rush. He dropped his eyes unhappily, “I messed up again, didn’t I?”

“It’s not that bad, my dear Pippin. If anything, your characteristic rash action actually made me feel relieved this time. I wasn’t pleased at all with the way Faramir was hiding Denethor’s abuse from Aragorn. I can understand he felt embarrassed and didn’t want to talk about it, but it wasn’t helping his recovery at all. He has had to live with it for over twenty years; it’s an inevitable part of who he is now. Hiding from it won’t make it go away. He has to face his demons before he can overcome them, and Aragorn can be a great help in that. And you“re right, he indeed cares deeply for him.”

Gandalf paused to reach for some cake as Pippin nodded seriously. The young hobbit had been extremely unhappy to see Faramir ailing while the others were so cheerful and he’d truly been glad when he’d thought that Strider was helping his friend be happy once again.

“Truth be told,” Gandalf continued at a distinctly brighter tone, “Aragorn isn’t blind and asked me, on more than one occasion, if I knew what was troubling Faramir. Yet Faramir had me promise not to tell anyone, least of all Aragorn. Obviously I couldn’t betray his trust, even if it went against my own inclination. It was most awkward.”

With a wink the old wizard pushed the last of the cake in Pippin’s direction, “You actually saved me from a very precarious situation!”

Pippin stared at him doubtfully, but helped himself to the cake nevertheless, sighing silently and hoping Faramir would indeed get better earlier now.

Faramir was still in Aragorn’s arms when Gandalf returned to his room. Aragorn sat running his fingers mechanically through the younger man’s hair; his troubled eyes were gazing out of the window. His thoughts seemed to be elsewhere.

“Is he asleep?” Gandalf asked, causing the king to glance up at him.

Aragorn nodded and then very gently laid Faramir back on the bed, tucking the covers neatly around him and very gently wiping away the tears on his pale cheeks. Gandalf watched quietly, wondering when the barrage of questions would start. Aragorn however turned quietly to him, “He has not eaten. He must wake by evening and eat a little. He cannot afford to miss more meals. I know you would like to stay with him,” he said, “I shall have your noon meal sent to you here.”

“Aragorn,” Gandalf’s voice halted him, “How was he faring?”

He turned around, his troubled eyes meeting the wizard’s gaze unhappily, “I could not tell. He cried and then he slept off.”

Gandalf nodded grimly.

He left quietly, and returned to his study where he leafed through his papers unseeingly. He could still remember Denethor from his days as Thorongil, the stern faced son of the then Steward Ecthelion. He had been cold natured, inured already to the harshness the Stewardship seemed to demand, seeing control and dominance as the means to rule a land labouring under the shadow’s threat.

Yet at the same time he remembered the glimpses he had seen of Denethor’s private life: despite the cold demeanour he greeted all others with, he had never seen him as anything but an affectionate and devoted husband to his new bride and later a proud and loving father to his infant first-born son. He could not fathom why Denethor would have wanted to treat his own son as he did. And yet, Aragorn could believe that he would.

From all Boromir had said Denethor had showered all his love and affection upon his heir, and kept none for his younger son.

He could not get Faramir’s stricken expression out of his mind. That Faramir had borne the brunt of Denethor’s scorn Aragorn had guessed from all he had heard. To realize that the scorn had translated into physical abuse had been bad enough, but to find out now that Denethor had done far worse to Faramir… it explained much of Faramir’s mood these days, Aragorn thought heavily.

Poor Faramir… All these years, and no one ever got to know… not even Boromir… how could he withstand it…

Aragorn was back in his Steward’s room that evening. Gandalf had sent him a message telling him Faramir was awake. He found the younger man lying on his side, his back to the door, and the tray of food only half-eaten.

“Faramir?” he said softly.

There was no response from the figure on the bed, save for a very slight stiffening of the back, which Aragorn almost missed. When he rounded the bed, he found the younger man had his eyes closed.

“Faramir?” he repeated, his voice still soft.

There was no response. He seemed fast asleep, and yet Aragorn knew he was not. He sighed and made to leave the room. Faramir was probably quite exhausted given what he had gone through earlier. He could understand if he didn’t feel like talking to anyone.

A soft cough sounded from the door. He glanced up to see Gandalf there.

“He’s sleeping,” he said shortly, “I do not wish to disturb him. He needs rest still.”

Gandalf sighed silently, “I had hoped he would eat some more before sleeping again.”

Aragorn nodded and then walked over to the window, standing with his back to the other occupants of the room.

“Gandalf, if I know him well enough, he may well turn away from me now, will he not?”

“He will not be happy with himself for having cried in front of you, yes,” Gandalf replied, seating himself on a chair by Faramir’s bedside and helping himself to an apple from his plate, “He is not even happy that he has fallen ill in your presence… He fears to be seen as weak and… now I think he will fear that you will look down upon him.”

“I do not see him as weak,” Aragorn said firmly, “Anything but that. After what I have learnt today, even less so. And I would not want him to turn away from me from fear that I may look down upon him for what is not his fault.”

“Indeed,” Gandalf murmured.

He turned around, his eyes hard, “I do mean that Gandalf! He is a fine young man and one that I have grown to wish as a good friend, and if a friend of mine were to hurt as this young one surely is, then I would do all I can to help them. I hope you will let me, will you Faramir?” his tone suddenly went softer.

Gandalf watched the bed interestedly, where a rather surprised Faramir was sitting up and staring numbly at his king.

The eyes fell at the mention of his name.

“Look at me, Faramir,” Aragorn entreated gently, “I know you feel I have intruded upon something you were not ready to share with me, but please, I think of you as a very dear friend now. Will you not think thus of me as well?”

“He’s right, lad,” Gandalf said quietly, “What happened to you is now no longer a secret between just you and Denethor. Then you had no one to turn to for no one knew what was happening but now we do, so let us help you.”

Faramir eyes were bright with tears when he looked up, “I don’t deserve it,” he said softly, “All these efforts you waste upon me, I am not worth all this.”

“Ssh,” Aragorn said, seating himself on the bed by Faramir, “You are worth all that and much more.”

He shook his head unhappily, “I am not even worth being the Steward.”

“We have discussed that before. Let us not speak of it again. You are my Steward by virtue of your birth and you will remain my Steward by virtue of your ability. I do not think any other man in this kingdom could help me sort out that mess that is lying on my table!”

Faramir looked unconvinced still, and when Gandalf urged him once again to let them help, Aragorn thought he looked positively scared, and yet, he hadn’t pushed him away.

Thankfully!

Well, even if he tried, he was going to find his king was not at all easy to push away. He gently grasped Faramir’s hand and squeezed it lightly, and smiled in an attempt to reassure his surprised Steward.

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