Faramir Fiction Archive

Winter's Rest (R)

Written by Monica

09 March 2005 | 25774 words

Chapter Seven

Faramir did not believe that wizards could turn invisible, despite his knowledge of Gandalf's considerable powers, but he concluded that Mithrandir had done a commendable job of vanishing. No one claimed to have seen Gandalf since the afternoon before, and Faramir had a distinct impression that the wizard was hiding from him. Elrond had looked a bit guilty when he asked at breakfast where Mithrandir was, and Faramir decided that he needed to track him down. He was a Ranger, Captain of the Ithilien guard, and he would find where that wizard had bolted.

Gandalf had not appeared at dinner the night before, something that Elrond had hinted would be likely. The Istari felt it only fair to give Faramir some time and space after his revelation, and Faramir had appreciated the time to think. But he was done with brooding, and now he wanted talk.

After one false start, Faramir tracked Gandalf down to an isolated corner study in the guest quarters. Once he had found his quarry, Faramir realized that he didn't know what to say. The wizard was staring at a fire in a small hearth, puffing on his pipe, swirls of smoke floating in the air. The faint smell of the pipeweed brought back memories of visits in Minas Tirith, and almost without realizing it, Faramir spoke softly.

"You always brought me a birthday present each year," he said, one of his fondest memories surfacing. "You brought one for Boromir as well, and I thought that you had always delivered gifts. But then my nurse told me that you only started bringing presents after I was born."

Gandalf nodded; he had sensed Faramir's presence and was glad he was starting with such an easy subject. "It was the least I could do for you."

"It made me feel very special at a time when I needed that."

The wizard turned and met the pale eyes of the Steward of Gondor. They regarded each other for a long moment and the tension suddenly eased in the air. Faramir made his way over to a chair beside the Istari and settled back, feeling warm and comfortable. He had always felt relaxed in Mithrandir's presence and knew now that there was a reason for that.

"Do you know what my favorite present was?" he asked.

Gandalf tried to look uninterested, but failed miserably. "No. What?"

"A stuffed dragon, bigger than I was." He smiled in memory. "How did you ever get it into that old wagon you traveled in?" Gandalf snorted.

"That was nothing compared to defending myself when I was packing that blasted thing in the wagon. Some men in a nearby tavern though it amusing to see an old man carrying a child's toy. They regretted it when they realized that the old man was an old wizard, and already feeling quite self-conscious about parading about town with that animal."

Faramir's grin widened as he pictured Gandalf wielding the stuffed dragon. "What did you do to them?"

"Let's just say that they had reason to believe that perhaps the dragon was alive when it suddenly breathed fire at them."

Faramir burst into laughter, and after a moment, Gandalf's lips twitched and he joined in the chuckling. Faramir had to stop laughing when he began to cough and he regained his control reluctantly. "For all I know that beast is likely still somewhere in the citadel, packed into a chest. When it finally stopped sharing the bed with me at night I still kept it around for some years. It was always a fond reminder of you and your visits."

"I hoped it would be." Gandalf smiled at him, the wizard's eyes soft with memory. "I so wanted to do more, but I lacked the courage."

"I understand," Faramir said truthfully, hoping Gandalf would believe him. "There was nothing more you could do, and I agree with your reasons for staying silent." He looked at the window, seeing the snow fall silently. "It would have caused my mother grief to know that I was not…Denethor's…son." He was still uncertain now how to refer to the former Steward.

"You are his son in many ways, Faramir," Gandalf said quietly. "You have his intelligence and Denethor was very proud of you. You reminded him of your mother, and at some point he decided it was easier to deal with her loss if you were kept at an arm's distance, but he did love you." The wizard dared to reach out and lightly touch Faramir's hand, so that the prince looked at him. "I know not exactly what happened to Denethor later, but knowing of the planatir's powers, I can guess. It twisted his senses and his mind from the moment he first used the stone."

"When was that?" Faramir had never dared to speak even to Boromir about the time their father spent in the tower.

"I cannot be certain, but I believe it was shortly after Boromir was born."

"That long ago?" Faramir was shocked.

"Aye," Gandalf said, his tone heavy. "But I did not know it for decades afterwards. He was not always as stern as you remember, Faramir. Your lady mother would never have married him if he had been." He squeezed Faramir's hand a little. "Denethor was a proud man, but I never saw him more proud than when Boromir and you were born. When I realized that you were my son, I realized at the exact same moment that Denethor loved you."

Faramir considered his words for a moment, and then nodded. "Thank you," he whispered. Gandalf nodded and released his hand, taking a moment to refill his pipe.

"You would have brought me to Rivendell?" Faramir asked when the wizard was settled back in his chair.

"I considered it, aye," Gandalf nodded. "Many times. I very nearly did so once, shortly after your mother died, and I realized that Denethor had used the planatir." The wizard looked down at his pipe, not meeting Faramir's eyes. "I was furious with him for doing that, and furious that he was ignoring a child."

Faramir closed his eyes briefly, memories overtaking him. "I have always felt… guilty…that I could not please him. I know that my mother never fully recovered from my birth. He never directly said so, but I knew he blamed me in a way for her death."

The wizard puffed his pipe angrily, not wanting to acknowledge Faramir's statement, but both knew that it was true. "If I had possessed any courage I would have taken you away then, but Elrond was right; it would have separated you from Boromir and after the loss of your mother, I could not bear to think of you having to deal with the loss of your brother as well."

The young steward looked down. "I am a grown man and it is hard to accept Boromir being gone," he admitted.

"And it would have been devastating for you as a child," Gandalf sighed. "No, for my own selfish purposes I would have taken you, but that was not the way it was supposed to be. I am sorry, Faramir."

Faramir managed a small smile, hearing the wizard's sadness. "There is no need to regret what could not be prevented, Mithrandir. Denethor was the only father I knew, and Boromir was my life after mother died. I would not have wanted to leave Minas Tirith." He touched the wizard's hand, hoping he believed his words. "I understand why you did what you did. It is not best to take advantage of the time we have now?"

Gandalf still not meet the young prince's eyes, but he muttered something, and Faramir felt more of the tension in the air ease. He decided it was time to change the subject a little. "Did the Lady Galadriel really see me in her mirror?"

"Of course she did. You are half-Istari, and visible to one with her powers, although she does not know who you are." The old wizard smiled. "She would dearly love to hear this piece of gossip."

Faramir regarded him warily. Hearing someone call him half-Istari made him wonder. "I'm not going to…developed any strange powers, am I?"

Gandalf chuckled. "No, my boy. Only perhaps strengthen the abilities you already have." He saw the blank look on Faramir's face and his chuckles increased. "You do not admit it, but you can read people, Faramir. You can see into their hearts and minds far better than any mortal. That is my legacy to you, and if you wish, we could work to strengthen it, and control it. I know at times you see flashes of foresight that disturb you."

"Sometimes I hear what people are thinking," Faramir said softly. "I used to be able to hear only Boromir's thoughts, but later I could usually sense what my men were thinking."

"Elrond has had a similar gift his entire life. He could help you learn control," Gandalf suggested. He saw a look flash across Faramir's face at the mention of Elrond's name, and smiled to himself. He was about to say something when Faramir coughed again, and the wizard put his pipe aside.

"Come, I think it is time for lunch, and your medicine. Elrond will have my hide if you do not rest and continue to take his prescriptions."

"I hate being sick," Faramir muttered. He looked irritably at the wizard as they stood and started down the hall. "Do you every get sick?"

Gandalf smiled. "That is a long story," he said.

---

Over the next days, Faramir and Gandalf spent most of their time quietly visiting. There had always been a bond between them, and for the first time Faramir understood the reason for the closeness they felt. He had always been comfortable around the wizard, curious and never afraid even as a child, when most children believed scary stories. They spent hours talking, sitting in front of warm fires and sharing stories.

Elrond watched his patient carefully, pleased at Faramir's acceptance of this news. There was still much to be discussed, but the Steward was not angry, and Mithrandir was finally letting go of some of his guilt. The Elf Lord was glad that they had accepted one another so willingly, and he knew this long winter would be an important time for the newly reunited father and son.

But he was not pleased at the persistent cough that continued to nag Faramir, and the wound in his shoulder remained painful. One afternoon Faramir participated in another snowball fight, and he was wincing when he joined Elrond and Gandalf at dinner. He tried to hide the discomfort, but both noticed his stiff movements and pain.

"What is wrong?" Gandalf demanded.

"Nothing," Faramir tried answering, then wilted under the stern looks he received. "I think I hurt my shoulder earlier. It has been hurting a bit more since its gotten colder," he reluctantly admitted.

Elrond reached out to feel his forehead and his eyebrows drew together at feeling a warm flush on the steward's skin. "You are also running a low fever," he said, not at all pleased. "How long have you been feeling thus?"

Faramir tried to look innocent, but failed. "Since yesterday," he grumbled. Gandalf peered at him intently.

"And you look as though you have not slept," he added darkly. Elrond felt a twinge of guilt; he had stopped giving Faramir a light sedative each night, thinking that the steward would tell him if he did not rest well. Faramir looked irritably between the Elf and the wizard.

"I am alright," he protested. It was rather unusual to have people fussing over him, and he wasn't quite sure how to respond. "I hate being sick," he added, contradicting his own words and sounding like a cross child. "It's been months; why haven't I recovered?"

"I think it is the nature of the Southron poison," Elrond said, silently thinking of how close Faramir had come to death. "The poison is very deadly to men and elves alike; I suspect its effects will continue to linger for a time."

Faramir looked at Gandalf, and the wizard could hear the unspoken question in the steward's mind. "Even I could possibly die from that poison if the dose was high enough," he said quietly. "My blood may have saved your life, but you still have much recovery ahead." Faramir nodded and looked down at his plate, his appetite gone.

"Come," Elrond said, standing from his chair. "That fever must be broken and then you need to rest." He was irritated at himself for not realizing earlier that Faramir was experiencing discomfort and was determined to make amends for his lapse. He stopped briefly to speak to a servant, and then went upstairs, with Faramir reluctantly following him.

Faramir found himself escorted to his bedroom and ordered to lie down while Elrond gathered some herbs from his study. A few minutes later Elrond returned, accompanied by several servants carrying huge buckets of steaming hot water. Faramir looked at them suspiciously as Elrond directed them to pour the water into the tub in the bathing chamber.

"A hot bath will ease some of the muscle pain and warm you," Elrond explained. He readied his medicines and thanked the Elves as they left. Then he approached Faramir, who was sitting on the edge of his bed. "I need to see your shoulder," he said, reaching out to help the prince remove his formal outer tunic.

Faramir sighed, but relented, accepting help in shedding his tunic and soft undershirt. Elrond frowned at seeing the angry red marks around the wound and he gently rested his hand above it for a moment, letting some of his healing energy flow into Faramir, then he gestured to the chamber. "Into the bath with you," he directed.

The Steward toed off his boots and retreated to the bathing area as ordered. He was about to remove his trousers when he realized that Elrond had followed him in, and was standing right behind him.

"Wh—" Faramir snapped his mouth shut, hearing himself nearly squeak in surprise. Elrond walked past him to a small table and began preparing something in a bowl.

"Get in the bath before you become chilled," the Elf said mildly.

His back was now to Faramir and the Steward debated worriedly for a moment. Why was he nervous? As a warrior he had certainly been undressed around men countless times, he even vaguely recalled Arargorn helping bathe him on one occasion when he was ill. So why was this different? 'It's Elrond,' he told himself. He hastily undressed and sunk down into the warm water, feeling better when he was covered.

Elrond made certain to not turn around until he knew from the sounds that Faramir had found refuge in the tub. He scolded himself for just walking in like that, but as a healer he assisted his patients in baths often for various injuries, and he had not thought this through. 'It's Faramir,' he told himself. The one he had admitted that he loved, but the Elf still had to keep his thoughts to himself. Faramir needed a healer now, not someone gawking at him. He composed himself and turned back to his patient.

Faramir watched a bit warily as Elrond crushed some leaves into another bowl and sat it by the small brazier so it steamed. He recognized the scent of athelas and smiled a little. "What is that?" he asked, gesturing at the other bowl that the Elf carried over to him.

"Some ointment for your shoulder, and it should ease your cough as well," Elrond explained. He gracefully sat down beside the tub, tucking his long formal robes under his legs, and began to rub the softly scented cream into the area around Faramir' wound. The Steward winced a little at first, but sighed as his muscles began to relax.

Elrond carefully applied some of the ointment to Faramir's chest and back. He felt the prince tense, but then relax again and smiled to himself. Faramir was not accustomed to being sick, or having someone take care of him, and Elrond was more than pleased to take the time to fuss over the steward. The ointment was impervious to water, and once he had rubbed enough into Faramir's skin he gently pushed on his shoulders, guiding Faramir to sink down further into the warm water.

Faramir closed his eyes and sighed, already feeling the pain and coldness in his shoulder ease. He coughed once, then breathed in deeply, the athelas scent soothing and calming. He drifted happily for a time, hearing the soft sounds of Elrond rising and adding a few sticks to the brazier to keep the room warm. Sometime later he felt a light touch on his shoulder and opened his eyes to see Elrond standing beside the tub, holding a large towel.

A bit self-conscious, Faramir stood and let himself be wrapped into the warm towel as he exited the bath. He was then guided to a chair and sat quietly while more ointment was applied to his shoulder. He was feeling quite relaxed and drowsy now, and managed to control most of his blush as Elrond helped him pull on a long bed robe. The Elf simply smiled at him and then guided Faramir to the bedroom and into bed. He handed the steward a cup of tea that had been delivered by one of the servants, and waited until Faramir had drank its contents then he pulled the covers up around his charge. Faramir was asleep within minutes, a small smile on his face.

---

Faramir health improved over the next days, mostly due to Elrond's hovering. The Elf lord finally realized that he needed to keep his distance for a time, wondering how to keep his feelings for the Steward secret. Erestor had spied his thoughts, and he worried that others would as well.

Elrond shook his head a little as he sat down at the desk in his study, thinking of Faramir, as he often did these days. He had retreated to his study to attack some of the work that he had put off, but he was not in any mood to deal with the papers.

A knock on the door made him end his brooding. "Come," he called. To his great surprise, Faramir entered.

"Am I disturbing you?" Faramir asked, his voice a little hesitant.

"No, of course not." Elrond stood, forcing his usual impassive tone to keep his voice steady. He regarded his patient with a practiced eye. "Is everything alright?" He had not conducted a healing session for several days, thinking that Faramir should spend the time with Mithrandir.

"Yes," Faramir answered quickly. "I…well, you weren't in the Hall of Fire last night, or at breakfast this morning, and I wondered if something is wrong." He blushed a little as he spoke, thinking he sounded impossibly silly.

Elrond smiled at the concern evident in the steward's words. "No, I was simply attending to very dull household matters." He gestured at the papers on his desk. "Erestor sometimes delights in coming up with paperwork for me to do."

"Ah, I believe the king no doubt thinks the same of me," Faramir confessed. "He did express concern that the councilors would bury him with papers while I was gone."

"Estel is a grown man; he must learn to deal with it himself," Elrond said, amusement in his voice. The prince smiled, but then when he started to excuse himself, Elrond waved to a pair of nearby chairs. "Please stay. I would welcome any excuse to leave the papers sit." Faramir looked pleased and accepted the invitation. "Where is Mithrandir this afternoon?" Elrond asked after they settled by the fire.

"He said something about being old, and entitled to take an afternoon nap," Faramir said. "Actually, I think he ate too much pie at lunch, and needs to lie down and digest."

Elrond laughed aloud, something he rarely did, and saw the shy smile Faramir gave him. "And Mithrandir suggested that I talk to you," the steward continued. "He thinks that my…ability to sense thoughts will increase." Faramir did not look very happy with that revelation.

"Strong emotions can make the ability clearer," Elrond agreed quietly. "You have been under much strain and it is normal to think that you may begin perceiving more. The visions and thoughts will often come when you least expect it."

Pale eyes looked at the Elf. "I don't know what to expect anymore," Faramir said, his voice worried.

"Then let me help you," Elrond answered. Faramir took a deep breath and nodded.

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