Chapter Text
Chapter One
The white city of Minas Tirith stood proud and mighty, protecting its people with its majesty and solid walls. As always the reigning line of the royalty held fast as the keeper of mankind’s strength and willpower to outlast and out-best evil. In the mid-morning of a cool February that a young healer hurried through the castle corridors and burst through the doors into the drawing room of the King’s hall, bowing deeply to the King in question and the following words burst forth as though she could not hold them in any longer.
“My King!” she cried breathlessly. “My King, the Lord Faramir he is . . . his condition is not good my liege, my mistress fears that it will not be long now, a few days at the most”
King Elessar, dark haired and regal in his height, turned from his desk and letting the documents fall from his slackened grip as he stared down the young woman. “So” he said sadly. “Has it really come to this?” he asked.
“Yes, I am afraid so my King”
Together they hurried towards the healing wards and just before they were about to burst into the healing chambers the young nurse reached out and grasped the upper arm of her king, jerking him to an abrupt halt. Elessar stared at her, brows furrowed deeply and confusion written plainly across his face.
“What is it?” he begged. “Healer, speak. What is it that plagues your mind?”
The young woman looked down at her feet and shuffled about restlessly, seemingly unable to speak the words that were on her mind. Elessar drew himself to his full height, fixing the young healer with an understanding gaze. For someone so young he knew how difficulty this would be to watch someone as kind hearted as the Lord Faramir die slowly and painfully as he had been doing for the last three months.
It had been a confronting combination of grief, illness and old age, Elessar reflected.
“There is something on his mind my King” the healer whispered, looking up at him with wet eyes.
Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her body, fingers twisted deeply into the fabric of her apron and a single strand of dark brown hair had escaped her healer’s cap and was dangling in front of her eyes. Elessar sighed. Faramir had charmed another, yet again, without even realising it.
“He speaks of his brother often” the woman continued softly. “He dwells constantly on the fate of his beloved sibling and whether. . .”
Elessar reached out and gripped her shoulder in comfort. It was easier for her to end that statement in silence then to continue on. The healer took a great shuddering breath and stammered her exit before hurrying away to cry in peace and quiet in a secluded closet or abandoned room nearby. Elessar drew in a sad gust of air and reached up to massage the bridge of his nose.
This was certainly not the first person he had farewelled in recent times. Éomer had passed in battle years ago, slain by a gang of orcs who had been too cowardly to face him one on one. Soon after his sister, the always kind hearted Éowyn also passed on – much to the despair of her late husband.
Elessar knew that due to his lineage he was doomed to watch those around him pass on before his time. It certainly did not make enduring it any easier. Gandalf and Frodo had departed Middle Earth decades ago now. Certainly now, besides Legolas and Gimli, he was the last remaining relic of the broken Fellowship.
He bit down on his tongue harshly, wishing now more than ever that Arwen was with him in this moment. His beautiful wife always had a way of comforting him at times of deep sorrow. But since she and their son, Eldarion, had travelled to Ithilien to meet with Elboron regarding matters of the city. He entered the healing chambers, hands tucked tightly behind his back to hide the shaking of said limbs.
There was a single bed by the window, bathed in golden light of the rising sun and covered by a single white sheet, lay Faramir, second son of Denethor. His blonde curled hair was now streaked with the grey of age and the lines that marred his face were both due to age and the cruelty of battle. At the sound of Elessar’s approaching footsteps he looked over and dried to pry himself upwards into a sitting position.
“My King” Faramir groaned. “My apologies for my somewhat dishevelled appearance, I find myself slightly lacking in energy at this point in time”
Elessar chuckled, drawing a chair and settling himself at his old friend’s bedside. “My old friend since when have you ever had to call me king?” he asked dryly, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. “You have been unwell for a long time, friend, I hardly expected a banquet in my welcome”
“Still . . .” Faramir sighed, leaning back into the pillows with a long suffering gust of breath. “I am tired Aragorn, so very tired”
The King of Gondor chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip, drawing blood easily from the cracked skin. The burning in his inner pocket returned with such intensity that he could not ignore it. For the last few decades he had successfully ignored it, filing it away with all other general knowledge but for the last few weeks it had been a source of guilt and pain. Elessar reached up and scrubbed his hand over his chin, a weeks’ worth of stubble itching his fingertips.
“The healers tell me you have been speaking of Boromir” Elessar said carefully. “It has been a few years since you have mentioned his name my friend”
Faramir inhaled deeply, the action itself seemed painful and drawn out to Elessar who itched to reach out and comfort his old advisor. He did not, however, he knew Faramir too well by now to know when and when not to comfort the old warrior. Faramir did not ever, nor would he ever, appreciate pity.
“He has been on my mind of late it is true” Faramir admitted. His lined hands gripped at the white sheet, drawing it into tight bunches within his fist. “I often wonder about him, how things would have been if he had . . . if he had made it. Would he have liked Eowyn? Would he have stayed around to teach my son swordsmanship? Questions without answers my King, are the worst kind”
“It does not do to dwell in the past Faramir” Elessar reminded him.
“Of course not, I am well aware of this fact”
Silence loomed between them momentarily and Faramir turned his head on the pillow to stare down Elessar, his blue eyes wide with a realisation that something was clearly not right. It was as though Faramir was staring into the depths of Elessar’s soul, seeing the truth that he had been hiding even though Elessar knew that the retired Steward of Gondor had no clue of the secret he held deep within his soul.
“Something is troubling you my king” Faramir stated bluntly, despite the strain in his voice.
“As always old friend you have a perception skill that is beyond your years” Elessar chuckled warmly, reaching out to grip Faramir’s hand in his own. “I have something to tell you my friend”
“The healers say I have only a few days – it would be wise to make it quick my liege”
Elessar nodded sharply and reached inside his tunic, feeling around in the inner pocket and removing his hand to reveal a faded leather journal. Despite the yellowed edges that showed the age of this book Elessar could not help but notice that it looked exactly the same as it had all those years ago during the War.
It seemed he was not the only one who was drawn to it for Faramir had raised himself from the bed once more, this time with the ease of a younger man in his prime rather than a dying man on his last breath. His blue eyes were wide and staring, transfixed, at the journal. Elessar sighed once more.
“It belonged to your brother” he admitted quietly, not quite willing to admit that his voice wanted to shake with the loss of a man he called friend. “Boromir kept this journal from the moment we departed Rivendell up until he died. I took it from his body so that his tale would not be forgotten to me”
Faramir mouthed silently before he managed to croak out the words he longed to say. “My brother. . .” he breathed. “He . . . this was his?”
“It still is” Elessar corrected. “And now I pass it to you Faramir, as I should have done upon our first meeting”
The golden haired man reached out a shaking hand and accepted the journal, clasping it close to his chest as though it was the only thing keeping his emotions in check. Perhaps that was true for both of them, Elessar realised as he felt his own throat tighten as he released the only remaining memory of Boromir. He missed his friend more than he ever thought possible.
He could only watch as Faramir flipped open the journal, hands shiny with sweat, and raised the handwritten scrawl of his brother’s hand to his eye level.
“My dear brother” Faramir read aloud, his voice wavering as he did so. “There are times in our lives that we all must undertake tasks we do not want. This is one of those times. Despite what Father believes I have found myself wondering whether bringing to Ring of Power to Gondor will really solve our problems. Yet . . . I am drawn to it”
“Faramir . . .”
“I knew it” the man breathed contently. “I knew that my brother could not have always acted on insanity that would later plague him and ultimately end his life. He saw the sense where our Father could not”
“Your father was doing the best he could I am sure” Elessar lied, raising placating hands to console his friend. “Living in a time of war such as he did was not easy”
Not that I agree with how poorly he treated the boys that were his sons, he thought bitingly.
“Do not attempt to lie to yourself my King” Faramir choked out. “It does not suit you. My father was sick and buried under layers of despair but there is no doubt he favoured Boromir. For good reason perhaps. My brother died a noblemen’s death. And here I lie, having outlived my wife and one of my greatest friends, dying as an old man”
Elessar reached out and gripped Faramir’s upper arm in a tight grip. “My friend, do not downgrade yourself. Do not let yourself be blinded at the end of your life by your father’s madness” he implored.
Faramir smiled weakly, letting the journal fall shut and reached up to grip his King’s hand. “As always my friend you have a way of bringing positivity to all those that are lucky enough to be in your company” he said warmly, reaching up with his free hand to wipe the sweat from his brow.
“Are you feeling ill again?” Elessar asked urgently.
“There is rarely been a day that has passed in the last year when I have not felt ill” Faramir admitted. He yawned widely, leaning back into the pillows with a hacking cough. The handkerchief he’d been using to mop his brow he used to now to dry his mouth, a bright red stain across its surface when Elessar could see it next. “My apologies you had to see that Aragorn” he said next. “Éowyn would have said that showing weakness is a great strength in the world of men”
“She had a way with words your beloved” Elessar chuckled.
Faramir smiled widely, lost away in his memories of the woman he had loved and lost. Elessar watched as his friend drifted into sleep. He would always maintain that in the end Éowyn was perfect for Faramir and he was perfect for her, to the very end.
A soft knock at the door interrupted his train of thought and Elessar got up quickly, exiting the healing chambers and coming face to face with his son. They embraced warmly for a moment before Arwen arrived, placing a comforting hand at his elbow.
“How is he?” Arwen asked.
“He is weary and quite ill” Elessar informed them. “Where is Elboron? He should be here with him”
“Entertaining your guest” Eldarion announced, tucking his hands into the belt loops of his tunic and laying his hand across the hilt of his blade. When his father gave him a questioning glance he shrugged. “He sent me to retrieve you so that you may entertain so that he can sit with Lord Faramir”
“Very well then” Elessar said, inclining his head.
“He also asked that you were there too Mother” Eldarion continued, nodding at Arwen.
“We’ll go now, can you watch over Faramir until Elboron arrives?” Arwen asked sweetly. When he nodded she cupped his face. “I know it is difficult but now, more than ever, Elboron needs your strength so that he can weather the loss of his father”
“He was almost broken when Éowyn died” Elessar agreed.
Eldarion raised his eyebrows at them. “He is my best friend; I promised long ago that I would watch over him and ensure he was safe”
Never mind the fact that he is now the Steward of Gondor, Elessar thought with a small smile. “I am proud of you son” he said gruffly, clapping him on the shoulder. “Please excuse us”
He tried to ignore the exasperated look that Arwen was pinning him with. Elessar was sure that come tonight, in their chambers, he would be in for it for not informing his beautiful wife that Faramir had taken a turn for worse. From the moment that Arwen had been appointed Queen of Gondor she had taken upon herself to include Faramir and Éowyn in their odd little family.
She had been ever more determined when Elessar had caved and told her what he knew of Faramir’s life and Éowyn’s struggles with Grima. Elessar could only shudder in the memory of the rant she had unleashed as she paced in their bedroom that night.
They reached the double doors that led to the throne room and Arwen reached out, staying her hand with his own. She looked at him seriously.
“Whoever is behind these doors you have to know nothing will stop Faramir’s death. Not even that secret you’ve carried around with you for the last few decades” Arwen told him. “Please my love; we want him to pass on peacefully not burdened by memories of the brother he lost long before he was wed”
“What are you talking about my star?” Elessar asked. “I only gave him the journal that I should have given him when I was first crowned, it is his right”
“I am not talking about the journal. In fact I’m relieved that you finally got rid of it” Arwen said sharply. “Just . . . just wait and see” she continued, leaning forward and pushing the door open.
Elessar strode into the room and then his eyes widened as he took in the broad back and long blonde hair that was braided intricately with a length of silver twine. Built like a willow and floating on air Legolas Greenleaf turned to face Elessar and smiled brightly at him.
. . .
Though he could feel fatigue looming over him once more Faramir slowly opened his eyes and looked down the bed to where he still clasped his late brother’s journal in one hand. There was a curiosity burning within his body, he yearned to read beyond the first page of the journal. This was all that was left of Boromir – everything else was just memories. So why could he not bring himself to open it and peruse the pages as he so desired?
It’s because you know there will be an end, a nasty voice reminded him internally.
Faramir groaned and rubbed at his eyes, staving off the exhaustion that was determined to pull him into slumber once more. Faking sleep to Elessar had been easy, part of him wondered whether the King had actually cottoned on to the fact that he wished to be alone with his brother’s words. He was strikingly intelligent when it suited him as Éowyn would like to say.
His hands shaking and with sweat beaded across his forehead Faramir drew the journal up once more and opened it, flicking to the first page and began to read.
My dear brother;
There are times in our lives that we all must undertake tasks we do not want. This is one of those times. Despite what Father believes I have found myself wondering whether bringing to Ring of Power to Gondor will really solve our problems. Yet . . . I am drawn to it.
Boromir’s handwriting had always been atrocious, Faramir reminded himself with a dry chuckle. He delved further.
The road to Rivendell is long and difficult, yet my dear brother I cannot help but feel a little excited. It has been years since I have seen elves and I hope to perhaps have a conversation with one. If I do I shall document it to show you upon my return. The travellers I have met on the path say Lord Elrond is one of the wisest and greatest elves of the age. You would know his name better oh little brother, you always were the scholar.
Faramir settled himself back into the pillows and turned the page as delicately as he could, not wishing to even mark a page of this journal. The next entry was written marginally neater and he supposed that it was because Boromir had arrived in Rivendell and now had a desk upon which to pen his entry.
The Shards of Narsil. Oh brother they are as glorious as the stories foretold they were. The blade is as sharp as the day it was forged. I met a strange man there, he was no elf and he had the look of a Ranger about him. It is odd to see a Ranger in these parts, elves do not welcome guests so readily as you have told me time and again.
. . .
The Ring of Power – the stories were true. Father was right. The Ring of Power has been found by none other than a creature they call a ‘hobbit’. They are tiny Faramir, with large hairy feet and more curls than three Gondorian maidens. I could feel the Ring’s power. It truly is the One Ring. All I can hear are Father’s words, begging me to bring him this gift. The boon of the Ring would save Gondor he says. To be honest my dear Faramir I am starting to wonder the same thing.
Faramir shook his head emphatically. The madness was slowly beginning to creep into his brother’s words; the penmanship growing more hurried as though Boromir was writing in a great frenzy so that he could get all the words out. He had known what Boromir had done; both Elessar and Frodo had given their account of the story, the latter in more detail.
Seeing his brother’s madness upon this page was harder than Faramir would have ever dreamed.
I ran into that elf. The one at the council. Legolas, I believe he was named. He acts as though he is the greatest boon that has been delivered from the heavens. Faramir, how this elf frustrates me! He sought me out and demanded that while on the journey I must respect this ranger, Aragorn. It seems he is Isildur’s heir. I did not dream it to be so brother; I had hoped that the last of that weakened line had died out.
Legolas had the gall to threaten me! A petite elf threatening the next Steward of Gondor! How dare he! I shall show him! Brother you needn’t roll your eyes at me; it is unbefitting of someone of our status. I am aware you think my actions childish but I cannot help it. He works his way under my skin with that smirk of his and his perfection. There is nothing wrong with perfection, unless the person knows it.
Faramir drew his brows inwards. He had no idea that Boromir and Legolas hadn’t gotten along. All of Elessar’s stories about his brother, aside from the madness of the Ring, none had spoken ill of his brother. Had they not wished to tarnish his memory? But as he read more and more he could not believe the sheer animosity that had existed between his brother and the elf that Faramir himself called friend.
Things got steadily more complicated as he reached the end of the journal.
It seems it was inevitable. All the arguing, the glares and smirks had to lead to one road or the other. Though I do not find myself complaining about this. Perhaps it is something in the water here in the woods. I can feel the stars staring down at me, whispering to me. He came to me Faramir. Legolas. He bade me to come with him and led me to a soft pool of water.
There he bathed the cuts I had received when we had fought our way out of Moria and neither of us could speak. I know not if it was the grief of losing Gandalf or something much deeper but the next thing I knew he had kissed me. Valar help me Faramir I kissed him back. The animosity within me against this elf has gone now. Perhaps this kiss helped me. I am filled only with tenderness and concern for this elf, this being that has tested me so often.
Afterwards, I do not know how long we were together for, he held me tightly and begged me to be careful. He also warned me to not lose sight. Whatever that might mean. Despite his warm body beside mine as I fall asleep here I cannot help but think of the Ring. We need it.
That was the last entry. Faramir flipped many of the pages after it but only found a dark stain marring the pages beyond. Boromir’s blood. He had died before he could explain himself further Faramir realised, horrified and shocked to his very core. Boromir had not had many romantic relationships before his death. All of his encounters had been brief dalliances to warm his bed, this Faramir knew well.
Boromir had not been one to believe in love. Oh he knew it existed for he had known how much Denethor loved their mother, the late Finduilas. But it had been Faramir who claimed the romantic side of the family. Boromir had not been one to believe in such tales. Could he have loved Legolas?
Faramir descended into sleep with these questions bouncing around his mind, concerned very much for the first time in a decade that perhaps he had not really known Boromir at all.
. . .
An odd fatigue had settled over Faramir when next he woke. It was growing steadily more difficult to wake up and face the morning, or afternoon as it now was. The sun was beginning to kiss the horizon and he yawned, his joints aching and complaining as he shifted restlessly. So many questions and no answers. It disturbed his peace. He had no slept well at all for he felt even more tired than he had when he drifted off.
A cool cloth settled on his brow and Faramir turned his head. His eyes widened when he came nearly nose to nose with none other than Legolas, elf of Mirkwood. The blonde tipped his head, concern flashing over his delicate features and his movements halting.
“Is everything alright Faramir?” Legolas asked softly. “You look as though you have aged a decade before my gaze”
“You . . . you’re here?” Faramir managed.
“Of course. My trip came to its inevitable end and when I received word of your illness I could not stand by and let you leave this world without farewell” Legolas said simply. “I made a promise to a dying man to keep you safe. Thus far I have succeeded. It seems that this is out of my hands”
“Few things can cure a disease of the blood”
“Indeed”
A silence fell between them, Faramir struggling within himself to find the words he so desperately wanted to put before the elf. Legolas seemed unaware of his turmoil, content to mop his brow with the cloth and hum a strange music beneath his breath.
“Elessar told me that you have read Boromir’s writing” Legolas said suddenly. “Did you learn something in the pages that unsettles you my friend?”
“You kissed him” Faramir spluttered. “It was quite clear by the end of my readings that you loved him! You said naught of this to me, his brother! I ought to have been told, why could you not have shared this with me yourself?”
“Of course I loved him. He was easy to love Faramir. It was difficult, I think, to understand him”
“Are they not the same thing?”
Legolas chuckled softly. “Of course not. Boromir and I are of two different races. Our circumstances were vastly different to Elessar and Arwen’s, you must understand this. Elessar lived the majority of his life amongst my kin, he knew our ways. Boromir did not”
“But still . . .”
“Yes. Even despite his infuriating ego I loved him” Legolas admitted. He suddenly seemed to be the weary one, as though time had aged him beneath the surface. Emotional pain was perhaps taking its toll on the elf. “I am only lucky that I was given the strength to continue on without him” Legolas added. “I refused to give in just because I had lost him”
“You still should have spoken to me” Faramir insisted.
“What good would that have accomplished? Only more pain and suffering. Talking about him then was difficult for me. I was young and foolish back then, I thought I could carry on as though I had not suffered. Not a soul was aware of Boromir and I. Not even Elessar”
“And now?” Faramir asked.
Legolas’ eyebrows rose and he sat back in his chair, fixing a considering gaze on Faramir. “I suppose now I have accepted his death it is now easier. I still mourn his absence. However one could say that I am ‘adjusted’ as you men say”
“There is so much I feel like I have missed out on” Faramir admitted. “I don’t think I ever truly knew my brother. Reading that . . . that book only proved as much”
The elf was silent for a moment before he reached over to the side table and placed the cloth down. Then he was leaning back into Faramir’s space, a serious look etched deep onto the permanent youthful features he possessed. Faramir bit his tongue in discomfort. What was the elf doing?
“If I could show you what I remember of our brief time together would this appease you?” Legolas asked seriously.
“I . . .”
“Would you be willing to start letting go if I showed you the truth?” the elf continued harshly. His eyes had turned as cold as hard gemstones and despite their beauty Faramir found himself feeling slightly wary of this odd change in behaviour.
“Yes” he said finally. “I would”
“Steady yourself” Legolas said. “We are about to learn some truths”
And then he reached out and with long spidery fingers, pressed his palm against Faramir’s brow. The world exploded into colour and flashing lights, Faramir calling out his brother’s name as he fell.