Waiting on the Moon
Title: Waiting on the Moon
Author: Getty
Summary: As Faramir struggles against a dark destiny, he finds love with a special Lothlórien guard. But will love be enough?
Rating: PG13
Chapter 1
Boromir worries when arguments erupt between his father and brother. But he worries even more when the angry words become silence and he can no longer hear the incensed recriminations between Denethor, Steward of Gondor and his younger brother Faramir, who at one time had been second in line to the throne of Gondor behind Boromir himself.
But the title of Steward is a title only, Gondor has had a King for many years now. Aragorn, as Boromir knows him in private, is a good friend. Elessar Telcontar as the people of Gondor know him, is a fair and righteous King. He is beloved by all his people and Boromir serves him gladly.
But there is one for whom the name of the king holds no pleasure. Denethor, Gondor's last steward and the man who had to relinquish the crown when Aragorn staked, and then proved his claim to the throne of Gondor. Boromir is relieved that the walls cannot talk, for Estel would have had Denethor executed out of hand if some of Denethor’s mutterings were ever heard. But the few servants who have such knowledge, other than Boromir and Faramir, show a stony discretion, a fact for which Boromir is grateful.
When Boromir was younger his father had waged a never ending war of hissing imprecations trying and failing to turn Boromir against his King. Now Boromir fears that the war his father once waged with him he has passed on to Faramir.
The door to his father’s private chambers slams open and Faramir comes striding out. Boromir pretends that he has just come in from the other direction.
“Ah brother, there you are.”
Faramir ticks a glance at Boromir but does not break his stride, “What is it you need, brother?”
Boromir turns and matches Faramir’s steps as they head out of Denethor’s private area and into the area reserved for both Faramir and himself.
“King Eomer has sent us some new horses and Estel has said that we may take our pick.” It was the first thing that came to mind but Faramir appeared deep in thought and he said nothing in reply.
Boromir risked a glance at Faramir. Tired. There was no other word for it. Faramir looked worn out, but it was a fatigue that only touched his body. On rare unguarded moments Boromir would catch a wild fierceness in his brother’s eyes, and it was obvious that whatever had affected his brother’s body had not touched his mind.
They entered their quarters and Faramir slammed the door behind them with an oath. “Old Bastard.”
There is only one ‘old bastard’ and here in the safety of their rooms it is the only name by which Denethor is ever mentioned. Boromir reaches out but Faramir quick-steps away.
“Don’t touch me.”
Three simple words and Boromir feels his heart shatter. He goes over and pours himself a drink, anything to keep his hands to himself and away from Faramir.
“He cannot let it go.” Faramir yanks his over-tunic off and flings it against the far wall.
“On and on he goes, nagging like an old woman.”
He whips around and Boromir takes a step back, that undeniable ferocity is in Faramir’s eyes again and in that unguarded moment Boromir sees a man inside his brother that he does not recognize. It saddens him greatly that Denethor’s machinations have unleashed such a monster in his younger son.
Faramir sits down, first one boot then the other hit the far wall, landing atop the tunic that Faramir has already thrown there.
Boromir says nothing as it is in these first moments after Denethor and Faramir have had a row that Faramir is most volatile and Boromir is a handy target. Faramir seeing him as an extension of Denethor, a place to safely vent his anger.
Once and only once has Faramir ever swung on him after having a confrontation with Denethor. The first blow landed (Boromir considered himself lucky that he only lost one tooth) but Boromir was prepared for the second one and he caught Faramir in his arms, holding him close, letting Faramir wear himself out. The struggles and cursing eventually gave way to tears and they stayed that way for a time as Faramir cried his anger into Boromir’s tunic.
Of what Denethor and Faramir had been fighting that day Boromir would only learn bits and pieces for Faramir has learned the art of secrecy at their father’s knees and he manages to speak obliquely when questioned by Boromir. Since that time he has also refused any attempts on Boromir’s part to offer comfort either by a brotherly hug or a clasp of understanding on the shoulder. Boromir is a good son, he is also a good brother and not for the first time he has wondered if it would be better to slip a knife quickly between his father’s ribs stilling that black heart and freeing his brother from Denethor’s torment than watch Faramir’s slow calculated destruction at their father’s hands.
Faramir’s breathing has evened out some and Boromir knows it is safe to talk to him once again. He pours a flagon of watered down wine and sets it down in front of Faramir before taking a seat himself.
Faramir drinks several long draughts before turning and giving Boromir a sad smile. “Some men we are, eh brother?”
Boromir tears himself a chunk of bread from the ever present platter of provisions in their common room before sliding the rest of it over to Faramir.
“What was it about this time?” Boromir is careful not to appear too interested for Faramir will stalk away from the table if he thinks Boromir is being too nosy.
“The king, the king, and then more about the damned king.” Faramir takes a piece of bread and stuffs it in his mouth. Thoughtfully he chews for a moment. “Do you remember what it was like before Aragorn took the throne?”
Boromir pulls the bread back towards him and pulls off another hunk. There is a sad wistfulness to Faramir’s question. He takes another sip of wine and tries to recall that fabled Gondor of long ago when Denethor was all but King, before their mother died, before their father changed.
Finally he shook his head. “We were so young when Elessar took the throne and I have no specific memories. Sometimes the smell of lilacs makes me think of her. But all else from those days comes from the memories of others.” He chances a glance at Faramir. No longer does his brother seem remote, dangerous. Now he just sees Faramir and he knows that he can risk a few more questions.
“Why do you ask?”
“That old bastard!” Faramir flares. “It’s all he can talk about.” Faramir’s eyes take on the unfocused stare of one who is searching within himself. He gives a harsh bark of laughter. “The fair city of Gondor, where Denethor ruled wisely. Loved by all,” Faramir spits the words out. “We were the son’s of Gondor and this kingdom should have been ours.”
Boromir stills, he knows now where this conversation is going for years ago he too had the same argument with Denethor, he closes his eyes afraid of what he might see on his brothers face when next Faramir speaks.
Draining the last of his wine, Faramir slams the flagon down on the table and then stands, from on high his voice floats down to Boromir.
“He says it would be better if the king were dead.”
~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 2
Faramir feels Boromir’s eyes on him constantly during the many days it takes them to reach Lothlorien from Gondor. This is a trip the King and Queen take yearly. It’s a chance for her to reconnect with her family and Aragorn to reinforce the ties between Gondor and Lothlórien. Ties that continue to keep both of their borders safe.
In the beginning Denethor was required to ride along, but over time he claimed that the long trips left him sore and weary. Faramir knows this to be a lie, Lothlórien has always been the one place where the King feels safe enough to walk around with only has sword for protection and Denethor has mapped out all the places where Faramir might strike from anonymity.
His father circled around him, like a hawk eying a tasty mouse from on high. “You are a good son.” Denethor's touch is ice cold, no matter the time of year Faramir found himself frozen to the spot as his father trailed one finger across his shoulders.
Denethor leaned in, his breath warmly obscene against Faramir’s ear. “Don’t you love me?”
In the beginning Faramir did love Denethor and wanted desperately to please him. But there is always a price for his father’s affection and as he had gotten older he has come to despise the man he has become under his fathers tutelage.
“Kill the king and I will put you on the throne.”
The first time Denethor had purred such words in his ears Faramir had yanked away, intending to leave the family’s private quarters and inform the king immediately. But there was a deceptive strength in Denethor and he pinned Faramir against the wall.
“Come boy, you know you want the throne.”
Denethor moved even closer and ran one hand through Faramir's hair. “I couldn’t ask for a better son.” His father has always been a master at manipulation and Faramir felt trapped like a fly in amber.
By now Faramir was panting, his breath harsh, and far below his father gives off a heat that has nothing to do with the weather.
“With you on the throne and me as your advisor we can guide Gondor once again into her full regal majesty and none shall dare threaten us again.” Denethor had all but purred those words, a cat facing a saucer full of cream.
It took two false starts but Faramir finally found his voice. “What of Boromir?”
Denethor brushed a hand across the front of Faramir’s tunic; his voice deceptively mild as he replied, “Your brother is a sword to be wielded until he is blunt. He is the instrument by which I will place you upon Gondor's throne.”
Horrified, Faramir pushed his father away. That family could be used so callously left both his mind and stomach churning. He only just made it to the private chambers he shared with Boromir before falling to his knees and vomiting upon the cold flagstone floor.
That was nigh on 3 years ago and since then the fights between Faramir and Denethor have become far more subtle, dangerous. Time and time again Faramir finds himself on the edge of blurting out the truth to Boromir. One time he'd taken a swing at Boromir hoping his brother would retaliate in kind, perhaps beat him into oblivion and forgetfulness. But Boromir had gotten both arms around him, held him close, shielding him as best he could from fears that even after all this time Faramir cannot give voice to.
But now Denethor and his machinations are three days behind him. With each clop of a horse hoof Faramir finds his heart growing lighter. Five years ago he made his first trip to the elven wood and it was there that he met the one person he has always considered to be a true friend. Haldir, Captain of the Guard to the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn.
Faramir looks towards the front where his brother rides. Boromir is always on the lookout for danger but Faramir can tell from the set of Boromir's shoulders and the way that one hand rests casually upon the pommel of his sword that his brother senses no threat to their safety here. He also looks to the Queen, her keen elven senses have saved them a time or two as well, but her light laughter flows back to him reaffirming what Boromir has already shown through his actions, for the time being on this stretch of road, they are safe.
Faramir allows himself a moment to relax and he thinks of how nice it will be to be back among those who have always been genuinely kind and gracious towards him. All of Lord Celeborn's and Lady Galadriel’s retinue had been there to receive the King and Queen of Gondor on the first day of their arrival. Faramir had been quite taken aback by the beauty of the elven beings he had seen before him. Perhaps because he was used to Queen Arwen he had never felt inferior. But beside these tall, willowy men and women all proudly arrayed in the colors of forest green, russet brown, fiery red, their hair, that glorious shade of autumn gold Faramir had felt rather drab indeed. Quietly he had tried to step behind Boromir and smooth his unruly locks down, but Boromir had surreptitiously jabbed him with his scabbard causing Faramir to stop at once.
Faramir had just stepped back to Boromir's side only to catch the eye of one of the elves who had been standing beside the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien. He had favored Faramir with a quick smile that had not been condescending, a knot loosed itself in Faramir's chest and something told him that he would be safe having this elf as his friend.
They had met quite by accident, literally, two days later. Faramir was descending the last stair from the flet where he and Boromir had been stationed during their stay at Lothlorien, he had rounded the tree trunk and smacked into that same elf who was rounding the tree from the opposite direction.
“I’m… s-sorry.” Faramir had managed to stammer out.
“It’s not often a human sneaks up on an elf,” came the amused reply.
“I wasn’t sneaking, my brother, he… we’re… I…” Faramir subsided into silence.
Faramir had glanced up at that moment and was startled by the kindness he saw in the blue eyes of this elf. There was a deeper look that Faramir also recognized from his brother Boromir as one who has seen both battle and death.
Tentatively, he smiled. “I’m Faramir, son of the Steward of Gondor.”
“I am Haldir, Captain of the Guard.”
With those simple words of introduction a most unlikely friendship was forged.
Time flows differently inside the borders of Lothlórien, and later Faramir could never really be sure how much time he spent there in the Golden Wood. It seemed to flow fast enough when he had time to spend with Haldir. Sometimes Boromir also came along, but mostly it was just Haldir and himself. They roamed about from tree lined glade to mossy river bank, Haldir sharing the lore of his people, listening intently when Faramir recounted Gondor’s most glorious days of yore. For the first time he could ever recall Faramir experienced something he had never felt before, he was being accepted for who he really was and his heart beat faster whenever he spent time with Haldir.
On their last night in Lothlórien there was a grand banquet given in honor of Gondor’s King and Queen. Nothing had been spared. There were tables piled high with honeyed sweets, cheeses, venison and the special golden wine that only came from the vines in Lothlórien. There was song and laughter, stories were passed about and ties were once again reaffirmed between Gondor and Lothlórien.
The evening grew late and Faramir had yet to see any sign of Haldir. Worried that he might leave without being able to tell his friend goodbye, Faramir slipped from the great hall. Ghost-like he slipped from glade to fen, blending with the night, but every place he checked, no Haldir.
The moon was reaching its apex as he topped the hill. Full and round, it bathed the world below it in a silvery glow and there, sitting before him, was his friend.
Haldir turned at his approach, “Ah, Faramir. You found me.”
There was a wistfulness in his voice that Faramir had never heard before and he halted a few steps away.
“You weren’t at the banquet, I had hoped to see you one last… time.” Faramir’s voice grew soft and he had to swallow before he could continue. “Did you not wish to be found?”
Haldir looked back at Faramir for a moment before returning his attention to the moon.
“Every full moon I come here.” He indicated with one hand for Faramir to come sit beside him.
“Why?”
“I’m waiting.”
“For what?”
Softly Haldir began to chant, “Love is revealed, when the moon glows, time cannot dim it, like the death of the rose, the moon is the key, the moon always knows.”
Faramir shot a startled look at Haldir, but all words were lost when Haldir took him in his arms, laid him back upon the soft grass and kissed him.
Boromir used to say that some things you had to experience to learn and here in the arms of this golden elf Faramir understood that meaning for the first time.
Haldir had been gentle, disrobing both Faramir and himself till they were both naked, the moon's glow bathing their skin. Faramir was not new to lovemaking, but Denethor had always found great fault with anyone Faramir had found himself falling for so in the end Faramir had nothing but first time fumblings to fall back on here. Rather ashamedly he had even said so to Haldir. but Haldir had soothed him, running his hands over Faramir, calming him like one might a skittish colt. When Faramir's breathing had evened out then and only then had he shown Faramir the love that was achieved when two souls merged into one.
The moon had finished its zenith across the night sky when Faramir began gathering his clothes up. Quickly he dressed against the morning chill. He felt no guilt, no shame, but in a few hours he would have to return back to Gondor. A thought that gave him great sorrow. He had cast about, trying to come up with anything that would prolong his time here with Haldir even if it was for a few minutes, “you never did tell me what you were waiting for.”
“Legend states that one who seeks their true love place a petition to the Goddess of the Moon.” Haldir stood and took Faramir into his arms, “I petitioned the Goddess and you arrived.” He placed a chaste kiss upon Faramir’s lips, “you are the one I have been waiting for.”
Startled Faramir replied, “I can’t… it’s..it’s not that simple.”
Haldir smiled, “it’s never simple. But we are destined to be together.”
Faramir pulled away, “you don’t understand and I can’t explain, but there are far greater stakes here than your feelings for me.”
Haldir’s face turned serious but before he could say anything Faramir had stepped out of reach, “or my feelings for you. I’m sorry.”
Faramir turned and walked away. He didn’t know how to tell Haldir the truth. Faramir’s destiny was to kill the King and help Boromir ascend the throne and in doing so to bring about his own demise. Death from the hangman’s noose was the only possible outcome for the path that Faramir had put himself on.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 3
On their first night back from Lothlórien Faramir and Denethor had rowed so badly that the servants had taken it upon themselves to come fetch Boromir. Both his brother and father had said nothing as Boromir entered the room, grabbing Faramir by one arm and yanking him away before the angry recriminations turned into bloodshed.
Only when they were safely in their private chambers and away from ears that might report anything unseemly to the King did Boromir speak.
“Be very sure of any road you take brother, for many of them dead end before you know it.”
Boromir had then shoved Faramir away from him before turning and entering into his sleeping chambers, leaving Faramir to face the long night staring into the fire.
But that was then. Now only one night away from Lothlórien and Faramir’s thoughts ever turn inwards toward Haldir. Faramir is glad for the dark as he stands guard so that none may see the blush upon his face when he thinks of his lover. Haldir has courted him, there are no other words for it.
Though duty often takes him far across the lands of Middle Earth, he has always taken the time to send something, even if it's a brief note, reminding Faramir that there is one to whom he is very special. One time the parcel had been bulky, though light, and Faramir had opened it to find feathers.
Laughing quietly Faramir remembered the lighthearted argument that had broken out between Haldir and himself over which feathers were best for fletching an arrow. Haldir's wild turkey feathers versus Faramir's home raised geese feathers. There had even been an impromptu archery contest that had wound up being a draw when Faramir felled a buck for dinner. Over a cooking haunch of venison Haldir had insisted that he would have won since he had a few hundred more years practice on these matters than Faramir.
However, Faramir had learned how to quiet Haldir and he did so. Pulling Haldir close, showing him with actions what he didn't know how to put into words.
Denethor is aware of the letters, almost from the beginning, and Faramir has been forced to burn these missives after reading them. He is afraid that were Denethor to find out the truth, he would find a way to use Haldir against him.
The arguments between Denethor and himself are always most fierce after a letter has arrived.
“Come boy, there should be no secrets between father and son.”
Haldir’s words have opened a secret resource of strength and Faramir shoved his father away.
“'Tis none of your business, old man.”
Shrewdly Denethor eyed him for a moment. “None can do for you what I can.”
“Letters from a friend. Nothing more.”
“Royalty has no friends,” Denethor scoffed.
But there is a dark gleam in Denethor’s eyes that Faramir does not trust, and since that time he has made alternate arrangements with the courier so that his father will be unable to pry further. But he still feeds each letter to the fire after reading it just to be on the safe side.
Faramir finishes his watch without incident. Even as he settles down to sleep all he can think of is the last time he will see Haldir and the tears he has kept close, never shedding once through all these years of difficulties at his father’s hands, flow freely and silently into his bedroll.
The next week is one of the best Faramir has ever experienced and he seeks Haldir out often. From tree-lined glade to mossy river bank he gives all of himself to Haldir. His lover tries to question where this change has come from but Faramir kisses the questions away. Whispering his love over and over into a delicate ear or showing his love through selfless acts of pleasure. When they are finished and Haldir lays beside him, worn out from exertion, Faramir will allow himself to be pulled close. He cannot speak, for he does not know what to say. But Haldir knows that something is amiss for never has Faramir ever hinted of such longings before.
Gently Haldir smooths the hair away from Faramir’s face. “Tell me what it is that the moon knows that I do not.”
Faramir takes Haldir’s hand in his own and begins kissing the palm. “There is nothing to tell.”
Enough of the week has gone by that Haldir knows the bloom of first coupling should have passed. But each time Faramir finds him there is a desperate urgency to his lovemaking and Haldir is worried. His lover harbors secrets, he can feel the dark tales of despair that ride upon Faramir’s touch. But each time he proposes to ask, Faramir steals the words away with a whisper soft stroke of his hand, with the gentle suckling of his mouth. He parts his legs and invites Haldir into the one place where none have gone before. There is exquisite heat, velvet softness, and when Haldir hits the spot deep within Faramir all rational thought flees from Haldir’s mind save that of bringing pleasure to the man beneath him.
Panting as though he has run a great distance, Haldir falls back onto the bed. Faramir has done things to him this evening that Haldir has only heard whispers of and then a few more things that he has never encountered before.
Faramir flops down on the bed, worn to the bone. This is his last night to be alive and he wants to be sure that Haldir never forgets him. He doesn’t know why this is so important to him, being remembered for being in love is better than the memories of his actions that history will impose on him after this night he supposes.
Haldir reaches out and pulls Faramir close. Beneath his hand he can feel the tremors. He goes to speak but before he can say anything Faramir raises up on one arm and looks back over his shoulder.
“Promise that you will never forget me.”
This is no idle lover’s game and Haldir can see that Faramir is deadly serious.
He turns Faramir away so that he may spoon his body close. He feels Faramir shaking and grabs a blanket pulling it up so that they are both covered. Faramir presses back into him but this isn’t about heat, it’s about comfort.
Haldir runs his hand over Faramir, trying to find a place to best offer solace through touch.
“What is wrong my love?”
Faramir gives one quick last look before laying his head back down. “I… nothing, it’s… I have never been in love before.” The words come out sounding trite but there is truth to them and Faramir prays that Haldir will not look deeper for any meaning to his actions.
Haldir presses a kiss onto Faramir’s shoulder. “We have a very long time, there is no need for worry.”
Anything he says in reply will be a lie so Faramir holds his tongue. But he lies there in the safe haven of Haldir’s arms, knowing this is the last time he will ever be loved again and wanting so badly for it to never end. But each moment he waits he knows the parting will be even more difficult.
He listens as Haldir’s breathing changes to the slow easy cadence of elven reverie. Carefully he slips out of bed, dressing quickly in the half light of the moon. He pauses once at the door; looking back he sees nothing but peace and contentment in the face of his one true love.
Haldir does not hear the soft footsteps across his floor or the creak of a door opening. He hears nothing until sometime later when someone runs past his window screaming.
“The king has been murdered.”
~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 4
Haldir awakens instantly. Grabbing the nearest clothing he can find he dresses quickly. Barefoot, he grabs his weapons and runs out the door. Ahead of him there is a blaze of light and he heads that way. He’s passed by a few soldiers but they are headed the other way and he does not try to stop them for information. He thinks about who was on duty during this time and why they were not able to stop the assassination. But the names that come to mind, Echarad, Thenithim, Magorlas, and Rodongol have served under him for years. Briefly he wonders where Faramir is, but his lover is a man by many years and Haldir is positive that wherever he is, he is safe.
He is, therefore, completely caught off guard by the scene he encounters when he enters the great hall. It is as though night has become day, for every available light has been brought into this one room and there can be no hiding the terrible scene that Haldir sees in front of him. Faramir is kneeling upon the floor, Queen Arwen stands above him, she has a sword in her hand and the tip of it rests against the back of Faramir’s neck. There is an angry glint in her eye.
Boromir surges forward but he is grabbed and held in place by both guards of Gondor and Lothlórien.
“Please my Queen, I beg of you to spare him.”
The sword in her hand never wavers. “Though he deserves it not, by my hand he will not suffer.”
Haldir speaks, “Is justice so swiftly served without a trial?”
Arwen ticks her gaze to him. “You are his lover, I could hold you complicit as well.”
Haldir goes cold, but before he can reply a male voice rings out.
“You would be both judge and jury, my Queen?”
The throng parts as Aragorn comes walking forward. Haldir can see the ripped shirt and the bloody bandage, so an attempt was made but the King still lives. He is grateful for that. But he is still confused, for Faramir has never hinted of such thoughts and Haldir has ever known him to be a seeker of peace.
“He tried to kill you, my King. For many years I watched you suffer greatly to prove your worth before you took the throne.” Her hand never wavers and the point remains sharp upon Faramir’s neck. “I know that one day natural death will take you but until then I will kill anyone who tries to take you away from me.”
Aragorn removes the sword from Arwen's hand. “Justice is Gondor. We will deal with life before we consider death.”
“NO!” Both Haldir and Boromir surge forward, but it is Boromir who reaches Faramir first. “Please my King, though this attempted deed was done by my brother’s hand, it was not his idea.”
Haldir only catches Boromir’s words in passing as he kneels beside Faramir. Carefully he reaches out with one hand and places it on Faramir’s shoulder. Beneath his hand he feels nothing; Faramir’s psyche has made its final retreat.
He gives a thoughtful look to Galadriel, but he does not remove his hand. Instead he focuses on what Boromir is now saying.
“For years after you took the throne father waged a never ending war with me. Kill the King and the house of Denethor will once again ascend the throne.”
Throughout the great hall mutters are heard but still at a look from Lord Celeborn.
Boromir continues, “He was like a sickness, his whisperings were insidious, ubiquitous. When I refused to do his bidding it is my belief that he turned his attention to Faramir.”
“You could have come to me at any time.”
Boromir turns sad eyes from his brother back to Aragorn. “I had naught but my word as proof. Would that truly have been enough? Until you were of age you were raised in the household of Lord Elrond under another identity in order to keep you safe. So you know what plotting always follows those of either royal lineage or of great power. So for all you could have known I was lying in order to discredit my father and become closer to you.”
“Boromir you are one of my most trusted guardsmen, I would have known the truth or falseness of your words at once.”
Boromir shrugs once before he kneels beside Faramir, gently he runs a hand over his brother’s head. “If you take his life, then you must also take mine, for even by proxy I am complicit in these events.”
He lays his head down upon the floor by Faramir’s.
Aragorn has the gift of his forefathers and he can feel the great affection that Boromir has for Faramir along with the great sense of accompanying loss that somehow Boromir has let his brother down. But Arwen is right and Aragorn shifts his gaze to Galadriel and Celeborn.
“I will not stain your land with blood, we will end this matter outside of your borders.”
Haldir gains his feet and looks directly at Galadriel.
“I invoke the right of Illuvenolodo.”
Every elf in the room goes still. Boromir raises his head questioningly. The air is heavy, like right before a lightning storm, and he can feel the silent struggle of wills between Haldir and Galadriel. He hadn’t realized the depth of the attraction between Haldir and his brother. By the Valar, he hadn’t even been aware they were lovers. His heart clenches in pain. What other things does he not know about Faramir? But of one thing he is very sure, Haldir is the only one who can save Faramir now.”
Aragorn turns to Galadriel. “He is mortal. Can it be done?”
“It is difficult, but not impossible,” she replies.
Boromir looks to Galadriel and she answers the question she sees in his eyes. “Illuvenolodo is an ancient rite, where the memories of the accused can be transferred into another.”
“NO!” Faramir jerks away from Haldir and tries to stand, but Boromir falls on him, pinning him to the ground.
Faramir slams his head backwards into Boromir’s face. His brother rolls away, groaning, one hand clamped over his nose as blood begins to seep between his fingers. He tries to stand but both the guards of Gondor and Lothlórien are on him instantly and he is roughly jerked back to the ground.
Wild eyed, he looks from Aragorn to Galadriel. “No, it was me, only me. It was all my idea,” he pleads. “I’ll swear it on anything you want me to. Please,” his voice barely above a whisper now, “Please, just kill me now.”
Aragorn feels the falseness of Faramir's words. But proof is still needed, for now more than one life is on the line.
Aragorn turns to Galadriel. “If you accept Haldir’s petition of Illuvenolodo, then I do as well.”
Faramir erupts, “I WILL NOT ALLOW IT!” He fights fiercely, almost winning through, but at the last moment both Boromir and Haldir get hold of him and Faramir goes down with an audible ‘oof’ as their combined weight pins him to the floor.
“Please brother, none will judge you harshly.”
Faramir lunges forward, aiming for Boromir’s nose again. “You have no idea brother, and I will not have my memories judged by another.”
Boromir dodges Faramir’s blow, pulls back and slaps Faramir hard across the face.
Faramir’s head jerks back against Haldir’s chest. The struggling stops but his eyes narrow dangerously.
Keeping his arms wrapped securely around Faramir (and feeling the frantic beating of Faramir’s heart beneath his arm) Haldir leans forward carefully, mindful of the fact that Faramir might just as easily turn on him at this moment.
“Your King has spoken and you must do as he commands.”
Faramir looks at him out of the corner of his eye but says nothing.
“This is an elven ritual and I will be the one to whom your memories will be given.”
“I will not have you responsible for the things in my head.” Faramir twists out of Haldir’s arms, aided no doubt by the sweat that covers his body. He makes a desperate lunge for Aragorn but Arwen intercepts him and Faramir finds himself lying flat on his face with one arm wrenched painfully behind his back.
“Listen well Faramir, the king has made a decision and you WILL abide by it. If you cannot stand for your brother or lover to know what has come before, then I can stand in their stead.” Her voice is low, steady, but very commanding.
Faramir tries once more to struggle, but Arwen twists his captured arm tighter and he immediately subsides.
“I also give you my word I will not reveal what I have seen, I will only confirm or deny Boromir’s story.”
Many long moments pass but then Faramir finally takes one deep breath. “Do you swear this, my Queen?”
Arwen releases his arm and steps away. “To the day of my death I swear.”
Faramir rolls over and for a moment he eyes her. “I accept your offer.”
Both Haldir and Boromir go to him. They each take a hand and pull him up. He embraces both of them, but buries his head in Haldir’s chest.
“Please, don’t be angry.”
Haldir presses a quick kiss onto the top of his head. “I would never think less of you, no matter what the truth is. Faramir, brother of Boromir, you are a good man; the Moon would have brought none but the best.”
Boromir drops his head onto Faramir’s shoulder. “Brother, the fault is mine. I knew what father was trying to do, but you always seemed so strong.” His voice trails off for a moment. “Whatever the truth is, I wish you would let me share it with you.”
“I cannot bear the things I might see when I look in your eyes, should you know all that happened. Please brother, this is for the best.”
They stay that way, unmoving, as Galadriel orders out all but the players in this terrible game out the door. Illuvenolodo is a private ritual and too many about will muddle the waters of memory.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 5
As the last elf files out of the great hall the room becomes silent.
Galadriel steps forth. “Faramir, you must now separate yourself from those you love. Illuvenolodo is a trial of the heart and it must always be faced alone.”
Faramir embraces Haldir and Boromir. He gives them both a brief smile then steps away. He feels terribly scared but oddly free at the same time.
“Faramir, son of Denethor, of the house of Stewards, do you accept this ritual?”
“I do.”
“Kneel.”
Galadriel now motions for Arwen to come stand beside Faramir.
“Queen Arwen of Gondor, daughter of Elrond, do you accept these memories, to judge them truth or not?”
“I do.”
“Kneel.”
Galadriel places one hand upon Faramir's head the other atop of Arwen's. She then takes a deep breath. Immediately Boromir jumps as if goosed. The air all but crackles with energy and beside him he can tell that Haldir is rattled as well.
He can't imagine the things that his brother is carrying about in his head. Things so bad he would rather die than speak openly of them. He decides he is glad that Arwen is the memory keeper, for otherwise it is nigh on likely that Galadriel would sense that, when he got back home, Boromir was going to kill his father.
Off to one side, Aragorn watches pensively. There is too much going on here and he has been privy to none of it. But regardless of the outcome, death is really the only viable option for Faramir. The cub has bit him once and there are no guarantees that somewhere down the road Faramir might not feel compelled to follow through with these same actions again. Arwen’s information will be useful only in judging whether Faramir will go down in history as an assassin or a pawn. As King Aragorn knows that sometimes examples must be made.
Galadriel takes another deep breath and once again the air takes on that heavy feel of an unseen storm approaching from over the horizon.
Once again Boromir feels the surge of power that swirls around the room. This is an old magic. No wonder the elves were leaving these lands. Power like this could be dangerous in the wrong hands.
Haldir looks from Faramir to Arwen and then back again. Faramir’s breath has become short and a rare frown has creased Arwen’s face. Most oddly she begins to clench and unclench her fist.
Dawn is just approaching through the tree tops when Galadriel steps away. Immediately attendants are there, helping her to a nearby chair, offering her drink.
At once Aragorn is beside Arwen, he tries to help her stand but she shakes her head. Instead she moves closer to Faramir, hovering over but not touching him. She is outraged that such barbarous actions could be visited upon one who is so intrinsically good. Privately she vows to herself that Denethor is going to lose his life very soon.
Both Haldir and Boromir surge towards Faramir but Arwen waves them away with one hand. “Not yet, he is still within his moment of truth.”
Faramir drops his head back to the floor and begins to sob. Each intake of breath is punctuated by a high pitched whistle, giving his tears a sad, childlike quality.
Several more moments pass as Arwen gives careful consideration to what she has just witnessed and how much of that can be attributed to Faramir alone. Finally she motions Haldir and Boromir forward. Her heart is gladdened by the tender way in which Haldir holds Faramir close before his brother Boromir embraces them both in his arms. Family comes in many forms but love never changes.
Arwen stands. “Faramir speaks the truth. He was goaded beyond reason.”
Aragorn inclines his head. “I accept your wisdom in this matter, but I still cannot allow Faramir to live. There must be retribution for his actions.”
Arwen places a hand on Aragorn’s arm and he looks at her. “Hold one moment, my husband.”
She turns a tired smile upon Haldir. “Tell me guardsman, can you provide a safe place for Faramir to reside and seek healing as he is able?”
Haldir nods once. “No one will ever harm him again, nor will he ever seek to harm another.”
With that he scoops Faramir up into his arms and exits the great hall.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Epilogue: Faramir lived long, and within time he found the peace and healing that had been denied him within the land of Gondor. Queen Arwen kept her word and never again did she ever speak of what she had seen that day. A few weeks after the return of the royal couple to Gondor, Denethor died in his sleep. His funeral was a small, private affair and Boromir only stayed long enough to say a few words before setting fire to the funeral pyre. He left before the first flames had touched Denethor's body and not once did he look back.
Many years later the king took his final rest and Arwen left the land of Gondor never to return. For one season she wandered the land of Lothlórien, broken by the loss of one she had loved so deeply. But she was not alone, during that time there were two guardsmen who never left her side: Haldir, who would not sail to the land of his people while his beloved still lived and Faramir who owed his existence to her; for she had seen his tragic abuse at the hands of another and never once judged him for it.
Author: Getty
Summary: As Faramir struggles against a dark destiny, he finds love with a special Lothlórien guard. But will love be enough?
Rating: PG13
Chapter 1
Boromir worries when arguments erupt between his father and brother. But he worries even more when the angry words become silence and he can no longer hear the incensed recriminations between Denethor, Steward of Gondor and his younger brother Faramir, who at one time had been second in line to the throne of Gondor behind Boromir himself.
But the title of Steward is a title only, Gondor has had a King for many years now. Aragorn, as Boromir knows him in private, is a good friend. Elessar Telcontar as the people of Gondor know him, is a fair and righteous King. He is beloved by all his people and Boromir serves him gladly.
But there is one for whom the name of the king holds no pleasure. Denethor, Gondor's last steward and the man who had to relinquish the crown when Aragorn staked, and then proved his claim to the throne of Gondor. Boromir is relieved that the walls cannot talk, for Estel would have had Denethor executed out of hand if some of Denethor’s mutterings were ever heard. But the few servants who have such knowledge, other than Boromir and Faramir, show a stony discretion, a fact for which Boromir is grateful.
When Boromir was younger his father had waged a never ending war of hissing imprecations trying and failing to turn Boromir against his King. Now Boromir fears that the war his father once waged with him he has passed on to Faramir.
The door to his father’s private chambers slams open and Faramir comes striding out. Boromir pretends that he has just come in from the other direction.
“Ah brother, there you are.”
Faramir ticks a glance at Boromir but does not break his stride, “What is it you need, brother?”
Boromir turns and matches Faramir’s steps as they head out of Denethor’s private area and into the area reserved for both Faramir and himself.
“King Eomer has sent us some new horses and Estel has said that we may take our pick.” It was the first thing that came to mind but Faramir appeared deep in thought and he said nothing in reply.
Boromir risked a glance at Faramir. Tired. There was no other word for it. Faramir looked worn out, but it was a fatigue that only touched his body. On rare unguarded moments Boromir would catch a wild fierceness in his brother’s eyes, and it was obvious that whatever had affected his brother’s body had not touched his mind.
They entered their quarters and Faramir slammed the door behind them with an oath. “Old Bastard.”
There is only one ‘old bastard’ and here in the safety of their rooms it is the only name by which Denethor is ever mentioned. Boromir reaches out but Faramir quick-steps away.
“Don’t touch me.”
Three simple words and Boromir feels his heart shatter. He goes over and pours himself a drink, anything to keep his hands to himself and away from Faramir.
“He cannot let it go.” Faramir yanks his over-tunic off and flings it against the far wall.
“On and on he goes, nagging like an old woman.”
He whips around and Boromir takes a step back, that undeniable ferocity is in Faramir’s eyes again and in that unguarded moment Boromir sees a man inside his brother that he does not recognize. It saddens him greatly that Denethor’s machinations have unleashed such a monster in his younger son.
Faramir sits down, first one boot then the other hit the far wall, landing atop the tunic that Faramir has already thrown there.
Boromir says nothing as it is in these first moments after Denethor and Faramir have had a row that Faramir is most volatile and Boromir is a handy target. Faramir seeing him as an extension of Denethor, a place to safely vent his anger.
Once and only once has Faramir ever swung on him after having a confrontation with Denethor. The first blow landed (Boromir considered himself lucky that he only lost one tooth) but Boromir was prepared for the second one and he caught Faramir in his arms, holding him close, letting Faramir wear himself out. The struggles and cursing eventually gave way to tears and they stayed that way for a time as Faramir cried his anger into Boromir’s tunic.
Of what Denethor and Faramir had been fighting that day Boromir would only learn bits and pieces for Faramir has learned the art of secrecy at their father’s knees and he manages to speak obliquely when questioned by Boromir. Since that time he has also refused any attempts on Boromir’s part to offer comfort either by a brotherly hug or a clasp of understanding on the shoulder. Boromir is a good son, he is also a good brother and not for the first time he has wondered if it would be better to slip a knife quickly between his father’s ribs stilling that black heart and freeing his brother from Denethor’s torment than watch Faramir’s slow calculated destruction at their father’s hands.
Faramir’s breathing has evened out some and Boromir knows it is safe to talk to him once again. He pours a flagon of watered down wine and sets it down in front of Faramir before taking a seat himself.
Faramir drinks several long draughts before turning and giving Boromir a sad smile. “Some men we are, eh brother?”
Boromir tears himself a chunk of bread from the ever present platter of provisions in their common room before sliding the rest of it over to Faramir.
“What was it about this time?” Boromir is careful not to appear too interested for Faramir will stalk away from the table if he thinks Boromir is being too nosy.
“The king, the king, and then more about the damned king.” Faramir takes a piece of bread and stuffs it in his mouth. Thoughtfully he chews for a moment. “Do you remember what it was like before Aragorn took the throne?”
Boromir pulls the bread back towards him and pulls off another hunk. There is a sad wistfulness to Faramir’s question. He takes another sip of wine and tries to recall that fabled Gondor of long ago when Denethor was all but King, before their mother died, before their father changed.
Finally he shook his head. “We were so young when Elessar took the throne and I have no specific memories. Sometimes the smell of lilacs makes me think of her. But all else from those days comes from the memories of others.” He chances a glance at Faramir. No longer does his brother seem remote, dangerous. Now he just sees Faramir and he knows that he can risk a few more questions.
“Why do you ask?”
“That old bastard!” Faramir flares. “It’s all he can talk about.” Faramir’s eyes take on the unfocused stare of one who is searching within himself. He gives a harsh bark of laughter. “The fair city of Gondor, where Denethor ruled wisely. Loved by all,” Faramir spits the words out. “We were the son’s of Gondor and this kingdom should have been ours.”
Boromir stills, he knows now where this conversation is going for years ago he too had the same argument with Denethor, he closes his eyes afraid of what he might see on his brothers face when next Faramir speaks.
Draining the last of his wine, Faramir slams the flagon down on the table and then stands, from on high his voice floats down to Boromir.
“He says it would be better if the king were dead.”
~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 2
Faramir feels Boromir’s eyes on him constantly during the many days it takes them to reach Lothlorien from Gondor. This is a trip the King and Queen take yearly. It’s a chance for her to reconnect with her family and Aragorn to reinforce the ties between Gondor and Lothlórien. Ties that continue to keep both of their borders safe.
In the beginning Denethor was required to ride along, but over time he claimed that the long trips left him sore and weary. Faramir knows this to be a lie, Lothlórien has always been the one place where the King feels safe enough to walk around with only has sword for protection and Denethor has mapped out all the places where Faramir might strike from anonymity.
His father circled around him, like a hawk eying a tasty mouse from on high. “You are a good son.” Denethor's touch is ice cold, no matter the time of year Faramir found himself frozen to the spot as his father trailed one finger across his shoulders.
Denethor leaned in, his breath warmly obscene against Faramir’s ear. “Don’t you love me?”
In the beginning Faramir did love Denethor and wanted desperately to please him. But there is always a price for his father’s affection and as he had gotten older he has come to despise the man he has become under his fathers tutelage.
“Kill the king and I will put you on the throne.”
The first time Denethor had purred such words in his ears Faramir had yanked away, intending to leave the family’s private quarters and inform the king immediately. But there was a deceptive strength in Denethor and he pinned Faramir against the wall.
“Come boy, you know you want the throne.”
Denethor moved even closer and ran one hand through Faramir's hair. “I couldn’t ask for a better son.” His father has always been a master at manipulation and Faramir felt trapped like a fly in amber.
By now Faramir was panting, his breath harsh, and far below his father gives off a heat that has nothing to do with the weather.
“With you on the throne and me as your advisor we can guide Gondor once again into her full regal majesty and none shall dare threaten us again.” Denethor had all but purred those words, a cat facing a saucer full of cream.
It took two false starts but Faramir finally found his voice. “What of Boromir?”
Denethor brushed a hand across the front of Faramir’s tunic; his voice deceptively mild as he replied, “Your brother is a sword to be wielded until he is blunt. He is the instrument by which I will place you upon Gondor's throne.”
Horrified, Faramir pushed his father away. That family could be used so callously left both his mind and stomach churning. He only just made it to the private chambers he shared with Boromir before falling to his knees and vomiting upon the cold flagstone floor.
That was nigh on 3 years ago and since then the fights between Faramir and Denethor have become far more subtle, dangerous. Time and time again Faramir finds himself on the edge of blurting out the truth to Boromir. One time he'd taken a swing at Boromir hoping his brother would retaliate in kind, perhaps beat him into oblivion and forgetfulness. But Boromir had gotten both arms around him, held him close, shielding him as best he could from fears that even after all this time Faramir cannot give voice to.
But now Denethor and his machinations are three days behind him. With each clop of a horse hoof Faramir finds his heart growing lighter. Five years ago he made his first trip to the elven wood and it was there that he met the one person he has always considered to be a true friend. Haldir, Captain of the Guard to the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn.
Faramir looks towards the front where his brother rides. Boromir is always on the lookout for danger but Faramir can tell from the set of Boromir's shoulders and the way that one hand rests casually upon the pommel of his sword that his brother senses no threat to their safety here. He also looks to the Queen, her keen elven senses have saved them a time or two as well, but her light laughter flows back to him reaffirming what Boromir has already shown through his actions, for the time being on this stretch of road, they are safe.
Faramir allows himself a moment to relax and he thinks of how nice it will be to be back among those who have always been genuinely kind and gracious towards him. All of Lord Celeborn's and Lady Galadriel’s retinue had been there to receive the King and Queen of Gondor on the first day of their arrival. Faramir had been quite taken aback by the beauty of the elven beings he had seen before him. Perhaps because he was used to Queen Arwen he had never felt inferior. But beside these tall, willowy men and women all proudly arrayed in the colors of forest green, russet brown, fiery red, their hair, that glorious shade of autumn gold Faramir had felt rather drab indeed. Quietly he had tried to step behind Boromir and smooth his unruly locks down, but Boromir had surreptitiously jabbed him with his scabbard causing Faramir to stop at once.
Faramir had just stepped back to Boromir's side only to catch the eye of one of the elves who had been standing beside the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien. He had favored Faramir with a quick smile that had not been condescending, a knot loosed itself in Faramir's chest and something told him that he would be safe having this elf as his friend.
They had met quite by accident, literally, two days later. Faramir was descending the last stair from the flet where he and Boromir had been stationed during their stay at Lothlorien, he had rounded the tree trunk and smacked into that same elf who was rounding the tree from the opposite direction.
“I’m… s-sorry.” Faramir had managed to stammer out.
“It’s not often a human sneaks up on an elf,” came the amused reply.
“I wasn’t sneaking, my brother, he… we’re… I…” Faramir subsided into silence.
Faramir had glanced up at that moment and was startled by the kindness he saw in the blue eyes of this elf. There was a deeper look that Faramir also recognized from his brother Boromir as one who has seen both battle and death.
Tentatively, he smiled. “I’m Faramir, son of the Steward of Gondor.”
“I am Haldir, Captain of the Guard.”
With those simple words of introduction a most unlikely friendship was forged.
Time flows differently inside the borders of Lothlórien, and later Faramir could never really be sure how much time he spent there in the Golden Wood. It seemed to flow fast enough when he had time to spend with Haldir. Sometimes Boromir also came along, but mostly it was just Haldir and himself. They roamed about from tree lined glade to mossy river bank, Haldir sharing the lore of his people, listening intently when Faramir recounted Gondor’s most glorious days of yore. For the first time he could ever recall Faramir experienced something he had never felt before, he was being accepted for who he really was and his heart beat faster whenever he spent time with Haldir.
On their last night in Lothlórien there was a grand banquet given in honor of Gondor’s King and Queen. Nothing had been spared. There were tables piled high with honeyed sweets, cheeses, venison and the special golden wine that only came from the vines in Lothlórien. There was song and laughter, stories were passed about and ties were once again reaffirmed between Gondor and Lothlórien.
The evening grew late and Faramir had yet to see any sign of Haldir. Worried that he might leave without being able to tell his friend goodbye, Faramir slipped from the great hall. Ghost-like he slipped from glade to fen, blending with the night, but every place he checked, no Haldir.
The moon was reaching its apex as he topped the hill. Full and round, it bathed the world below it in a silvery glow and there, sitting before him, was his friend.
Haldir turned at his approach, “Ah, Faramir. You found me.”
There was a wistfulness in his voice that Faramir had never heard before and he halted a few steps away.
“You weren’t at the banquet, I had hoped to see you one last… time.” Faramir’s voice grew soft and he had to swallow before he could continue. “Did you not wish to be found?”
Haldir looked back at Faramir for a moment before returning his attention to the moon.
“Every full moon I come here.” He indicated with one hand for Faramir to come sit beside him.
“Why?”
“I’m waiting.”
“For what?”
Softly Haldir began to chant, “Love is revealed, when the moon glows, time cannot dim it, like the death of the rose, the moon is the key, the moon always knows.”
Faramir shot a startled look at Haldir, but all words were lost when Haldir took him in his arms, laid him back upon the soft grass and kissed him.
Boromir used to say that some things you had to experience to learn and here in the arms of this golden elf Faramir understood that meaning for the first time.
Haldir had been gentle, disrobing both Faramir and himself till they were both naked, the moon's glow bathing their skin. Faramir was not new to lovemaking, but Denethor had always found great fault with anyone Faramir had found himself falling for so in the end Faramir had nothing but first time fumblings to fall back on here. Rather ashamedly he had even said so to Haldir. but Haldir had soothed him, running his hands over Faramir, calming him like one might a skittish colt. When Faramir's breathing had evened out then and only then had he shown Faramir the love that was achieved when two souls merged into one.
The moon had finished its zenith across the night sky when Faramir began gathering his clothes up. Quickly he dressed against the morning chill. He felt no guilt, no shame, but in a few hours he would have to return back to Gondor. A thought that gave him great sorrow. He had cast about, trying to come up with anything that would prolong his time here with Haldir even if it was for a few minutes, “you never did tell me what you were waiting for.”
“Legend states that one who seeks their true love place a petition to the Goddess of the Moon.” Haldir stood and took Faramir into his arms, “I petitioned the Goddess and you arrived.” He placed a chaste kiss upon Faramir’s lips, “you are the one I have been waiting for.”
Startled Faramir replied, “I can’t… it’s..it’s not that simple.”
Haldir smiled, “it’s never simple. But we are destined to be together.”
Faramir pulled away, “you don’t understand and I can’t explain, but there are far greater stakes here than your feelings for me.”
Haldir’s face turned serious but before he could say anything Faramir had stepped out of reach, “or my feelings for you. I’m sorry.”
Faramir turned and walked away. He didn’t know how to tell Haldir the truth. Faramir’s destiny was to kill the King and help Boromir ascend the throne and in doing so to bring about his own demise. Death from the hangman’s noose was the only possible outcome for the path that Faramir had put himself on.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 3
On their first night back from Lothlórien Faramir and Denethor had rowed so badly that the servants had taken it upon themselves to come fetch Boromir. Both his brother and father had said nothing as Boromir entered the room, grabbing Faramir by one arm and yanking him away before the angry recriminations turned into bloodshed.
Only when they were safely in their private chambers and away from ears that might report anything unseemly to the King did Boromir speak.
“Be very sure of any road you take brother, for many of them dead end before you know it.”
Boromir had then shoved Faramir away from him before turning and entering into his sleeping chambers, leaving Faramir to face the long night staring into the fire.
But that was then. Now only one night away from Lothlórien and Faramir’s thoughts ever turn inwards toward Haldir. Faramir is glad for the dark as he stands guard so that none may see the blush upon his face when he thinks of his lover. Haldir has courted him, there are no other words for it.
Though duty often takes him far across the lands of Middle Earth, he has always taken the time to send something, even if it's a brief note, reminding Faramir that there is one to whom he is very special. One time the parcel had been bulky, though light, and Faramir had opened it to find feathers.
Laughing quietly Faramir remembered the lighthearted argument that had broken out between Haldir and himself over which feathers were best for fletching an arrow. Haldir's wild turkey feathers versus Faramir's home raised geese feathers. There had even been an impromptu archery contest that had wound up being a draw when Faramir felled a buck for dinner. Over a cooking haunch of venison Haldir had insisted that he would have won since he had a few hundred more years practice on these matters than Faramir.
However, Faramir had learned how to quiet Haldir and he did so. Pulling Haldir close, showing him with actions what he didn't know how to put into words.
Denethor is aware of the letters, almost from the beginning, and Faramir has been forced to burn these missives after reading them. He is afraid that were Denethor to find out the truth, he would find a way to use Haldir against him.
The arguments between Denethor and himself are always most fierce after a letter has arrived.
“Come boy, there should be no secrets between father and son.”
Haldir’s words have opened a secret resource of strength and Faramir shoved his father away.
“'Tis none of your business, old man.”
Shrewdly Denethor eyed him for a moment. “None can do for you what I can.”
“Letters from a friend. Nothing more.”
“Royalty has no friends,” Denethor scoffed.
But there is a dark gleam in Denethor’s eyes that Faramir does not trust, and since that time he has made alternate arrangements with the courier so that his father will be unable to pry further. But he still feeds each letter to the fire after reading it just to be on the safe side.
Faramir finishes his watch without incident. Even as he settles down to sleep all he can think of is the last time he will see Haldir and the tears he has kept close, never shedding once through all these years of difficulties at his father’s hands, flow freely and silently into his bedroll.
The next week is one of the best Faramir has ever experienced and he seeks Haldir out often. From tree-lined glade to mossy river bank he gives all of himself to Haldir. His lover tries to question where this change has come from but Faramir kisses the questions away. Whispering his love over and over into a delicate ear or showing his love through selfless acts of pleasure. When they are finished and Haldir lays beside him, worn out from exertion, Faramir will allow himself to be pulled close. He cannot speak, for he does not know what to say. But Haldir knows that something is amiss for never has Faramir ever hinted of such longings before.
Gently Haldir smooths the hair away from Faramir’s face. “Tell me what it is that the moon knows that I do not.”
Faramir takes Haldir’s hand in his own and begins kissing the palm. “There is nothing to tell.”
Enough of the week has gone by that Haldir knows the bloom of first coupling should have passed. But each time Faramir finds him there is a desperate urgency to his lovemaking and Haldir is worried. His lover harbors secrets, he can feel the dark tales of despair that ride upon Faramir’s touch. But each time he proposes to ask, Faramir steals the words away with a whisper soft stroke of his hand, with the gentle suckling of his mouth. He parts his legs and invites Haldir into the one place where none have gone before. There is exquisite heat, velvet softness, and when Haldir hits the spot deep within Faramir all rational thought flees from Haldir’s mind save that of bringing pleasure to the man beneath him.
Panting as though he has run a great distance, Haldir falls back onto the bed. Faramir has done things to him this evening that Haldir has only heard whispers of and then a few more things that he has never encountered before.
Faramir flops down on the bed, worn to the bone. This is his last night to be alive and he wants to be sure that Haldir never forgets him. He doesn’t know why this is so important to him, being remembered for being in love is better than the memories of his actions that history will impose on him after this night he supposes.
Haldir reaches out and pulls Faramir close. Beneath his hand he can feel the tremors. He goes to speak but before he can say anything Faramir raises up on one arm and looks back over his shoulder.
“Promise that you will never forget me.”
This is no idle lover’s game and Haldir can see that Faramir is deadly serious.
He turns Faramir away so that he may spoon his body close. He feels Faramir shaking and grabs a blanket pulling it up so that they are both covered. Faramir presses back into him but this isn’t about heat, it’s about comfort.
Haldir runs his hand over Faramir, trying to find a place to best offer solace through touch.
“What is wrong my love?”
Faramir gives one quick last look before laying his head back down. “I… nothing, it’s… I have never been in love before.” The words come out sounding trite but there is truth to them and Faramir prays that Haldir will not look deeper for any meaning to his actions.
Haldir presses a kiss onto Faramir’s shoulder. “We have a very long time, there is no need for worry.”
Anything he says in reply will be a lie so Faramir holds his tongue. But he lies there in the safe haven of Haldir’s arms, knowing this is the last time he will ever be loved again and wanting so badly for it to never end. But each moment he waits he knows the parting will be even more difficult.
He listens as Haldir’s breathing changes to the slow easy cadence of elven reverie. Carefully he slips out of bed, dressing quickly in the half light of the moon. He pauses once at the door; looking back he sees nothing but peace and contentment in the face of his one true love.
Haldir does not hear the soft footsteps across his floor or the creak of a door opening. He hears nothing until sometime later when someone runs past his window screaming.
“The king has been murdered.”
~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 4
Haldir awakens instantly. Grabbing the nearest clothing he can find he dresses quickly. Barefoot, he grabs his weapons and runs out the door. Ahead of him there is a blaze of light and he heads that way. He’s passed by a few soldiers but they are headed the other way and he does not try to stop them for information. He thinks about who was on duty during this time and why they were not able to stop the assassination. But the names that come to mind, Echarad, Thenithim, Magorlas, and Rodongol have served under him for years. Briefly he wonders where Faramir is, but his lover is a man by many years and Haldir is positive that wherever he is, he is safe.
He is, therefore, completely caught off guard by the scene he encounters when he enters the great hall. It is as though night has become day, for every available light has been brought into this one room and there can be no hiding the terrible scene that Haldir sees in front of him. Faramir is kneeling upon the floor, Queen Arwen stands above him, she has a sword in her hand and the tip of it rests against the back of Faramir’s neck. There is an angry glint in her eye.
Boromir surges forward but he is grabbed and held in place by both guards of Gondor and Lothlórien.
“Please my Queen, I beg of you to spare him.”
The sword in her hand never wavers. “Though he deserves it not, by my hand he will not suffer.”
Haldir speaks, “Is justice so swiftly served without a trial?”
Arwen ticks her gaze to him. “You are his lover, I could hold you complicit as well.”
Haldir goes cold, but before he can reply a male voice rings out.
“You would be both judge and jury, my Queen?”
The throng parts as Aragorn comes walking forward. Haldir can see the ripped shirt and the bloody bandage, so an attempt was made but the King still lives. He is grateful for that. But he is still confused, for Faramir has never hinted of such thoughts and Haldir has ever known him to be a seeker of peace.
“He tried to kill you, my King. For many years I watched you suffer greatly to prove your worth before you took the throne.” Her hand never wavers and the point remains sharp upon Faramir’s neck. “I know that one day natural death will take you but until then I will kill anyone who tries to take you away from me.”
Aragorn removes the sword from Arwen's hand. “Justice is Gondor. We will deal with life before we consider death.”
“NO!” Both Haldir and Boromir surge forward, but it is Boromir who reaches Faramir first. “Please my King, though this attempted deed was done by my brother’s hand, it was not his idea.”
Haldir only catches Boromir’s words in passing as he kneels beside Faramir. Carefully he reaches out with one hand and places it on Faramir’s shoulder. Beneath his hand he feels nothing; Faramir’s psyche has made its final retreat.
He gives a thoughtful look to Galadriel, but he does not remove his hand. Instead he focuses on what Boromir is now saying.
“For years after you took the throne father waged a never ending war with me. Kill the King and the house of Denethor will once again ascend the throne.”
Throughout the great hall mutters are heard but still at a look from Lord Celeborn.
Boromir continues, “He was like a sickness, his whisperings were insidious, ubiquitous. When I refused to do his bidding it is my belief that he turned his attention to Faramir.”
“You could have come to me at any time.”
Boromir turns sad eyes from his brother back to Aragorn. “I had naught but my word as proof. Would that truly have been enough? Until you were of age you were raised in the household of Lord Elrond under another identity in order to keep you safe. So you know what plotting always follows those of either royal lineage or of great power. So for all you could have known I was lying in order to discredit my father and become closer to you.”
“Boromir you are one of my most trusted guardsmen, I would have known the truth or falseness of your words at once.”
Boromir shrugs once before he kneels beside Faramir, gently he runs a hand over his brother’s head. “If you take his life, then you must also take mine, for even by proxy I am complicit in these events.”
He lays his head down upon the floor by Faramir’s.
Aragorn has the gift of his forefathers and he can feel the great affection that Boromir has for Faramir along with the great sense of accompanying loss that somehow Boromir has let his brother down. But Arwen is right and Aragorn shifts his gaze to Galadriel and Celeborn.
“I will not stain your land with blood, we will end this matter outside of your borders.”
Haldir gains his feet and looks directly at Galadriel.
“I invoke the right of Illuvenolodo.”
Every elf in the room goes still. Boromir raises his head questioningly. The air is heavy, like right before a lightning storm, and he can feel the silent struggle of wills between Haldir and Galadriel. He hadn’t realized the depth of the attraction between Haldir and his brother. By the Valar, he hadn’t even been aware they were lovers. His heart clenches in pain. What other things does he not know about Faramir? But of one thing he is very sure, Haldir is the only one who can save Faramir now.”
Aragorn turns to Galadriel. “He is mortal. Can it be done?”
“It is difficult, but not impossible,” she replies.
Boromir looks to Galadriel and she answers the question she sees in his eyes. “Illuvenolodo is an ancient rite, where the memories of the accused can be transferred into another.”
“NO!” Faramir jerks away from Haldir and tries to stand, but Boromir falls on him, pinning him to the ground.
Faramir slams his head backwards into Boromir’s face. His brother rolls away, groaning, one hand clamped over his nose as blood begins to seep between his fingers. He tries to stand but both the guards of Gondor and Lothlórien are on him instantly and he is roughly jerked back to the ground.
Wild eyed, he looks from Aragorn to Galadriel. “No, it was me, only me. It was all my idea,” he pleads. “I’ll swear it on anything you want me to. Please,” his voice barely above a whisper now, “Please, just kill me now.”
Aragorn feels the falseness of Faramir's words. But proof is still needed, for now more than one life is on the line.
Aragorn turns to Galadriel. “If you accept Haldir’s petition of Illuvenolodo, then I do as well.”
Faramir erupts, “I WILL NOT ALLOW IT!” He fights fiercely, almost winning through, but at the last moment both Boromir and Haldir get hold of him and Faramir goes down with an audible ‘oof’ as their combined weight pins him to the floor.
“Please brother, none will judge you harshly.”
Faramir lunges forward, aiming for Boromir’s nose again. “You have no idea brother, and I will not have my memories judged by another.”
Boromir dodges Faramir’s blow, pulls back and slaps Faramir hard across the face.
Faramir’s head jerks back against Haldir’s chest. The struggling stops but his eyes narrow dangerously.
Keeping his arms wrapped securely around Faramir (and feeling the frantic beating of Faramir’s heart beneath his arm) Haldir leans forward carefully, mindful of the fact that Faramir might just as easily turn on him at this moment.
“Your King has spoken and you must do as he commands.”
Faramir looks at him out of the corner of his eye but says nothing.
“This is an elven ritual and I will be the one to whom your memories will be given.”
“I will not have you responsible for the things in my head.” Faramir twists out of Haldir’s arms, aided no doubt by the sweat that covers his body. He makes a desperate lunge for Aragorn but Arwen intercepts him and Faramir finds himself lying flat on his face with one arm wrenched painfully behind his back.
“Listen well Faramir, the king has made a decision and you WILL abide by it. If you cannot stand for your brother or lover to know what has come before, then I can stand in their stead.” Her voice is low, steady, but very commanding.
Faramir tries once more to struggle, but Arwen twists his captured arm tighter and he immediately subsides.
“I also give you my word I will not reveal what I have seen, I will only confirm or deny Boromir’s story.”
Many long moments pass but then Faramir finally takes one deep breath. “Do you swear this, my Queen?”
Arwen releases his arm and steps away. “To the day of my death I swear.”
Faramir rolls over and for a moment he eyes her. “I accept your offer.”
Both Haldir and Boromir go to him. They each take a hand and pull him up. He embraces both of them, but buries his head in Haldir’s chest.
“Please, don’t be angry.”
Haldir presses a quick kiss onto the top of his head. “I would never think less of you, no matter what the truth is. Faramir, brother of Boromir, you are a good man; the Moon would have brought none but the best.”
Boromir drops his head onto Faramir’s shoulder. “Brother, the fault is mine. I knew what father was trying to do, but you always seemed so strong.” His voice trails off for a moment. “Whatever the truth is, I wish you would let me share it with you.”
“I cannot bear the things I might see when I look in your eyes, should you know all that happened. Please brother, this is for the best.”
They stay that way, unmoving, as Galadriel orders out all but the players in this terrible game out the door. Illuvenolodo is a private ritual and too many about will muddle the waters of memory.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 5
As the last elf files out of the great hall the room becomes silent.
Galadriel steps forth. “Faramir, you must now separate yourself from those you love. Illuvenolodo is a trial of the heart and it must always be faced alone.”
Faramir embraces Haldir and Boromir. He gives them both a brief smile then steps away. He feels terribly scared but oddly free at the same time.
“Faramir, son of Denethor, of the house of Stewards, do you accept this ritual?”
“I do.”
“Kneel.”
Galadriel now motions for Arwen to come stand beside Faramir.
“Queen Arwen of Gondor, daughter of Elrond, do you accept these memories, to judge them truth or not?”
“I do.”
“Kneel.”
Galadriel places one hand upon Faramir's head the other atop of Arwen's. She then takes a deep breath. Immediately Boromir jumps as if goosed. The air all but crackles with energy and beside him he can tell that Haldir is rattled as well.
He can't imagine the things that his brother is carrying about in his head. Things so bad he would rather die than speak openly of them. He decides he is glad that Arwen is the memory keeper, for otherwise it is nigh on likely that Galadriel would sense that, when he got back home, Boromir was going to kill his father.
Off to one side, Aragorn watches pensively. There is too much going on here and he has been privy to none of it. But regardless of the outcome, death is really the only viable option for Faramir. The cub has bit him once and there are no guarantees that somewhere down the road Faramir might not feel compelled to follow through with these same actions again. Arwen’s information will be useful only in judging whether Faramir will go down in history as an assassin or a pawn. As King Aragorn knows that sometimes examples must be made.
Galadriel takes another deep breath and once again the air takes on that heavy feel of an unseen storm approaching from over the horizon.
Once again Boromir feels the surge of power that swirls around the room. This is an old magic. No wonder the elves were leaving these lands. Power like this could be dangerous in the wrong hands.
Haldir looks from Faramir to Arwen and then back again. Faramir’s breath has become short and a rare frown has creased Arwen’s face. Most oddly she begins to clench and unclench her fist.
Dawn is just approaching through the tree tops when Galadriel steps away. Immediately attendants are there, helping her to a nearby chair, offering her drink.
At once Aragorn is beside Arwen, he tries to help her stand but she shakes her head. Instead she moves closer to Faramir, hovering over but not touching him. She is outraged that such barbarous actions could be visited upon one who is so intrinsically good. Privately she vows to herself that Denethor is going to lose his life very soon.
Both Haldir and Boromir surge towards Faramir but Arwen waves them away with one hand. “Not yet, he is still within his moment of truth.”
Faramir drops his head back to the floor and begins to sob. Each intake of breath is punctuated by a high pitched whistle, giving his tears a sad, childlike quality.
Several more moments pass as Arwen gives careful consideration to what she has just witnessed and how much of that can be attributed to Faramir alone. Finally she motions Haldir and Boromir forward. Her heart is gladdened by the tender way in which Haldir holds Faramir close before his brother Boromir embraces them both in his arms. Family comes in many forms but love never changes.
Arwen stands. “Faramir speaks the truth. He was goaded beyond reason.”
Aragorn inclines his head. “I accept your wisdom in this matter, but I still cannot allow Faramir to live. There must be retribution for his actions.”
Arwen places a hand on Aragorn’s arm and he looks at her. “Hold one moment, my husband.”
She turns a tired smile upon Haldir. “Tell me guardsman, can you provide a safe place for Faramir to reside and seek healing as he is able?”
Haldir nods once. “No one will ever harm him again, nor will he ever seek to harm another.”
With that he scoops Faramir up into his arms and exits the great hall.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Epilogue: Faramir lived long, and within time he found the peace and healing that had been denied him within the land of Gondor. Queen Arwen kept her word and never again did she ever speak of what she had seen that day. A few weeks after the return of the royal couple to Gondor, Denethor died in his sleep. His funeral was a small, private affair and Boromir only stayed long enough to say a few words before setting fire to the funeral pyre. He left before the first flames had touched Denethor's body and not once did he look back.
Many years later the king took his final rest and Arwen left the land of Gondor never to return. For one season she wandered the land of Lothlórien, broken by the loss of one she had loved so deeply. But she was not alone, during that time there were two guardsmen who never left her side: Haldir, who would not sail to the land of his people while his beloved still lived and Faramir who owed his existence to her; for she had seen his tragic abuse at the hands of another and never once judged him for it.