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 9

Aragorn rose from Faramir’s room only after seeing the young man sleep off in Gandalf’s arms after a light dinner. Faramir had looked so small and so scared, and the unhappiness that still remained in his eyes would not leave Aragorn’s mind. He was afraid too that the younger man might have exhausted himself further with all the emotional turmoil he’d undergone and made a mental note to check on him,

“How is Pippin?” he had asked Gandalf wearily.

“Oh, he’ll do fine.”

“How did he know, Gandalf?”

Gandalf sighed, “He found Faramir retching after he had been with Denethor. I came across them shortly after and that was how I learnt of it.”

“When?”

“Before he left for the final charge on Osgiliath.”

“He raped him before sending him out to what was nearly his death?” Aragorn said aghast, and then promptly turned around and excused himself as he felt tears welling up. He went into his room and just stood there for a moment, leaning back against the closed door, taking a couple of deep breaths as he struggled to compose himself. Yet soon he had to admit defeat, and had to rush to his antechamber to disgorge much of what he’d eaten that evening.

Faramir spent much of his waking hours the next morning trying not to think of all that had happened, even though what had happened had been something he had dreaded ever so much. He had laboured for years to let none know what he was enduring and now in these few months, it seemed the secret was his no longer. He was no longer sure of what to feel of that, and especially of the fact that now the king too knew the truth about him now.

He had not reacted as Faramir had thought he would. He had not pushed him away in disgust. He had not called him all those names that his father’s voice threw back at him in his dreams. He acted instead much like Mithrandir did, offering comfort and kind words. Faramir was fast beginning to see why the wizard had insisted so that he confide in Elessar.

And Elessar thought of him as a dear friend… he had said so… despite all he knew of Faramir. It left a very pleasant and warm feeling inside Faramir, and his lips curled unconsciously in a shy smile, as he remembered how Aragorn had held his hands the evening prior. The strong fingers had clutched his trembling hands, and wiped the stray tears off his cheek with an affection Faramir had known from none but his brother.

But what if he had changed his mind overnight? What if he had slept on it and now realised how unworthy Faramir was of being a friend of one as noble as he?

Faramir sighed, and tried to think of something else, anything else, as he rose and readied himself.

Gandalf and Aragorn came by soon. He found himself nervously glancing at the king’s face for any sign of displeasure, instead all he saw was a little weariness. Well, he would be weary he thought glumly.

“Good morning,” the king said softly, and smiled at him. Faramir smiled back a little warily, and returned the greeting softly, as his breakfast was brought in by one of the servants.

The huge pile of food on the plate reminded him of Pippin.

“Mithrandir,” he said anxiously causing the wizard to give him a sharp but concerned glance, “How is Pippin?”

“He’s fine,” the wizard said gently, “Would you like to meet him after you’ve eaten?”

Faramir nodded, “Yes, please.”

He picked his way through the breakfast, not feeling very hungry, and was promptly scolded gently by Mithrandir.

“You’re too skinny,” the wizard said, “And you’ve been skipping meals in your illness. And don’t say you’re not. That tunic hangs on you!” Faramir had the grace to blush a little at that, “Aragorn wants to take a look at you, by the way. We’re afraid you might fall ill again.”

“But, Mithrandir —”

“Hush, now! Let Aragorn look at you. And look at his shoulder will you, it’s hurting him again, isn’t it?”

Aragorn came and sat by the half-protesting young man and checked his temperature and pulse, well aware that some degree of wariness had returned to Faramir’s demeanour, “You’re looking a lot better,” he said, as he slowly slipped the tunic off the injured shoulder, and examined it, probing and squeezing gently, “It’s still a little stiff isn’t it?”

Faramir almost tensed at first when the tunic was slipped off and then felt absurd. Aragorn’s fingers had the most comforting touch he realised suddenly.

“Just a little,” he said softly.

Aragorn nodded, “Elrohir has some salves that could be useful. I’ll ask him for them.” He slipped the tunic back on and then sat back and looked at Faramir intently.

Faramir thought he looked a little tired.

“So I can return to work soon?” he asked softly.

“Soon,” Aragorn smiled gently, before realising he’d been staring at Faramir, “Not immediately. If you like, work from here a few days.”

That brought some brightness to Faramir’s face. Aragorn shook his head in wonder.

Aragorn watched from a balcony as Faramir sat on a garden bench with Pippin. Snatches of conversation drifted up to him, Pippin’s voice at first subdued, and then progressively animated as Faramir deliberately made his own voice cheerful. By the time the two had risen from the bench the young hobbit was laughing aloud and back to his cheerful self.

They followed that routine the next couple of days, allowing Faramir to work from his room. It gave him the distraction from his thoughts that he craved. He walked in the gardens often too, alone at times and at other times, in Pippin or Merry’s company. He was as yet too shy to seek out the others.

Aragorn was trying desperately to ensure he didn’t let his unhappiness show through to Faramir. The younger man had enough burdens as it was. But he couldn’t keep it away from the others, and especially not from Gandalf. The wizard finally cornered him on one of the balconies as he sat watching Faramir talking to the young hobbits in the garden below. The hobbits were munching their way through a small picnic basket Faramir had thoughtfully had the kitchen prepare for them.

“You’re unhappy for him,” Gandalf spoke without preamble.

“Yes,” Aragorn said heavily, “He didn’t deserve it… not he… look at him, Gandalf! He is kind, generous, warm-hearted and selfless. He deserved none of what he went through! How could anyone hurt someone like him?”

“Well, we’ll just have ensure he’s never hurt again…” Gandalf said heavily, “You will do that for me won’t you Aragorn?”

Aragorn looked back at him puzzled.

The wizard gazed back calmly, “I know I cannot stay here forever and reassure myself on that count but I know I can trust you to ensure he’s never hurt again.”

Aragorn nodded quietly.

“You are fond of him, aren’t you, Gandalf?” he said after a while.

“Yes, I am. He was always a sweet little thing. He used to tag around behind me all the time whenever I visited and never stopped asking questions when he was young, and when he was older, he would just listen.”

“Why didn’t you take him away, Gandalf!” Aragorn burst out suddenly, “You knew he was unhappy!”

“If I had but an inkling of the true cause of his unhappiness…” Gandalf responded heavily, “But I never did… he hid it well. He was always outwardly happy and cheerful, interested and clever and witty… it wasn’t often I met one like that and so young. He impressed me immensely. And with him around my work in Minas Tirith was so much easier, he was always so eager to help me. If I had but known, I would have brought him away as soon as I could… taken him to Lothlórien perhaps…. Left him under Celeborn’s care… or Rivendell.”

“I wish you had,” Aragorn said quietly, “I would have loved to have known him earlier on.”

Gandalf frowned suddenly, causing Aragorn to glance up at him surprised, “Do you remember… you came with me once while we were searching for Gollum…you would not enter the city but you asked about the young man who rode out with me…”

Aragorn remembered the glimpse he’d had from a distance, of a young man in a ranger outfit, raven-haired and grey eyed, hanging on to every word the old wizard said… Aragorn had thought then there was something about the boy, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Gandalf had dismissed him as merely a young acquaintance, a curious child naturally interested in what a wizard could tell about the world outside the White City. Aragorn hadn’t pressed the issue. He gasped now. That was Faramir. The thin, quiet, unhappy looking boy.

It did not take long after that for the guilt to set in.

“I didn’t think it wise for you two to meet, not at that time,” Gandalf spoke softly as he saw the expression on Aragorn’s face change. “Sometimes I think I could have discovered his secret, had I really wanted to. Maybe it is not so much that he hid it too deep, but rather that I did not want to see.”

The wizard rubbed his brow and sighed dejectedly before he continued, “Oh I knew his father was harsh and thought he hit him occasionally, but Faramir never spoke of it and I didn’t ask. You sensed there was something about him too, and I kept you apart, but I think not just because of the implications on your future as a king. I wonder if perhaps somewhere in my mind, I was too afraid of the implications of our knowing entirely what was wrong. Had I known, I would have been obliged to take action. It’s easy enough to say I would have taken him away, though what would Denethor have done then? Perhaps, somehow, I felt it was better not to find out.”

Aragorn frowned, he had never seen Gandalf like this. “My dear friend, I know you worry about Faramir a great deal, but I think that line of thought is neither constructive, nor healthy. Have you been getting enough sleep lately?”

Gandalf responded with a morose silence.

Faramir paced his room distractedly. He’d slept badly the previous night and so had spent the whole day trying to distract himself from the thought of those nightmares, first immersing himself in some paperwork and then seeking out Pippin who was back to his usual cheerful self now. But Pippin had had to leave and now he truly needed another distraction. It was a little difficult though, for Mithrandir had taken all his paperwork, telling him he looked tired.

“And how do you feel?” Aragorn’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Terrible,” Faramir muttered.

“What happened?”

“Mithrandir took away my papers,” Faramir said almost petulantly.

“Did he? Hmm… I wonder why!”

Faramir missed the gentle sarcasm entirely, “That’s just what I asked him!”

“Perhaps because someone needs rest? You don’t look like you have been sleeping well,” Aragorn suggested quietly.

“I was not sleepy,” Faramir mumbled.

“You are still not sleeping well, are you?” Aragorn said worriedly.

Faramir sighed. There were times when Elessar was more like Mithrandir than he’d ever know. Neither stopped fussing. And like the wizard, he thought he detected a note of guilt.

“I have ever been a light sleeper,” he said flatly.

“Oh,” Aragorn said a little dismayed. He could well guess why Faramir might sleep lightly.

“It’s a good trait for a ranger,” Faramir said suddenly.

“Yes,” Aragorn agreed quietly.

“Is aught the matter, sire?” Faramir asked sharply, not missing Aragorn’s listless tones, “You seem worried.”

“Nay!” Aragorn replied too hurriedly, “‘tis nothing.”

Faramir looked quite unconvinced, so he continued, “I just – I just wish…” he rubbed the bridge of his nose absently. He’d been thinking of this awhile.

“I do wish – I could have helped you earlier, Faramir. I wish I had done something!”

Faramir looked at him puzzled, “But what could you have done? You were not even here. You couldn’t have known. You couldn’t even have known I existed.”

“Perhaps I should have not waited so many years. If I had not waited so long, if I had come to Gondor earlier…”

“But there was reason behind your waiting,” Faramir replied quietly, “I know Lord Elrond and Mithrandir advised you to wait. They would surely have said so with reason. They would not have advised you so if they did not feel it was better for all concerned that you bide your time, and…” he broke off here, unwilling to go on.

“There is nothing you could have done, then,” he said firmly after a while.

Aragorn found he had no reply, and was extremely grateful when the gong for the evening meal sounded. As Aragorn got up to leave, he looked around the room, and at Faramir’s almost unhappy face and spoke promptly, “Why don’t you join me for supper, Faramir?”

The Steward looked up flustered, “Join you for supper?”

“Yes,” Aragorn said amused.

“But-”

“I would like it if you did.”

“But you eat with your friends, and —”

“And you are one of my friends. The others ask about you. Come, Faramir. You used to join us earlier, remember?”

He had, and had at first been almost shocked at the change from the formality in the days of his father. These meals had been like the meals Boromir had had in his camp – noisy and full of people yelling at each other and laughing irreverently. He had felt out of place and to his sleep-deprived, tired and distraught mind in those days, the boisterousness of the elves and the hobbits whenever they joined them had been almost painful, so he had stopped eating with them, asking the servants to give his apologies to the king, and later not even doing that.

He bit his lip uncertainly. He did need a distraction…

“Very well, sire, I shall join you,” he said softly, but still uncertainly.

The twins, Legolas and Gimli were already there when they reached, talking surprisingly quietly.

“Estel!” one of the twins yelled out when he came, “You’re late. We’re hungry!”

“Quiet down, Elladan,” Aragorn said almost imperiously, as he ushered Faramir in, “You’ll give Faramir a fright.”

“Faramir! How nice to see you here,” Elladan said delightedly, and smiled so widely at him, that the steward took a step back and stared at his king in surprise. Aragorn simply shook his head and nudged him towards the chair next to his at the table.

‘Sit,” he said smiling.

“How are you now?” Elrohir asked him quietly from across the table, his grey eyes gazing so intently at the young man that he almost blushed.

“I’m well, thank you, my lord,” he answered softly.

“We hoped we’d see more of you, but Gandalf said we’d be bothering you,” Elladan pouted playfully.

“Yes,” Elrohir added indignantly, “As if we’d do any such thing!”

Faramir was beginning to look overwhelmed by now so Aragorn gave the twins a stern look to quieten them, which they surprisingly caught on to, and even more surprisingly obeyed.

But it was Faramir who spoke up, “but you did come to see me,” he said reddening slightly, “And I was very grateful. It was remiss of me not to thank you earlier for coming to see me. I – I’m afraid I was not very welcoming…”

“We had not meant to waken you that day,” Legolas said apologetically from next to him.

Faramir reddened even more at that, “And I – forgive me Prince Legolas for what I said of you.”

The elf’s brow wrinkled in confusion, “what you said of me?” he asked haplessly, “I do not understand Faramir. You said nothing.”

The twins hooted, “He called you Éowyn!”

Legolas reddened at that, “I’d already forgotten about it,” he hurried to assure Faramir who was beginning to look a little distressed.

Aragorn stepped in promptly, “Faramir! You’re not eating. Gandalf will have my hide if he hears you have not eaten.”

Gimli helped by turning the conversation back to food and things remained quiet for the rest of the meal, the voices soft but full of humour, and often Aragorn caught Faramir’s lips curving in a small smile at some remark or the other.

“He looks much better,” Elrohir whispered to him from his other side, “You’ve looked after him well!”

“Not well enough,” Aragorn whispered back sadly, “He’s still not fully recovered.”

“It’s nice to see him smiling.”

“He’s going to do that a lot more often,” Aragorn replied resolutely. Elrohir gave him a strange look and then smiled widely.

“That will be good,” he said still grinning. Aragorn wondered what caused Elrohir’s strange behaviour but at the serving maid had brought on the second course and he thought it more important to ensure Faramir got a large helping of that.

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