Minas Tirith - Legacy of the Ring Bearer

Fic Name : Minas Tirith - Legacy of the Ring Bearer.
Chapter Name : To Prove His Quality.
Pairing : Faramir/Boromir, Faramir/Frodo, Faramir/Aragorn, Aragorn/Frodo,
Rating : NC17
Beta : The wonderful and stouthearted HEL!
Timeline : During the War of the Ring, in the final days and the year afterwards.
Synopsis : Faramir learns from Gandalf that he is pregnant with Frodo's child though love does not exist between them, or so the Prince of Gondor believes.
Disclaimer : I don't claim to own anything or make any money. Suing me will not do any good, you'd get a quarter at the most. Tolkien owns all the pretty men and hobbits. And FYI, this scene contains some RTOK spoilers for those of you who haven’t seen it yet.

AUTHOR’S NOTE : This is modified from what happened in RTOK, naturally. I’d like to thank all of you who did review. Sorry I didn’t get back to everyone, but I really do appreciate the comments.

Chapter Three: To Prove His Quality

He did not know how long he lay staring at the ceiling. Of course, Gandalf knew what he was talking about, what reason was there to lie. Hobbits, Gandalf had explained had a tendency to be exely ely fertile. It had been a one in a million chance. Had Faramir not slept with Frodo, he probably never even would have discovered that he possessed a womb. For all his life, he would never have realized it. Many mortal men, Gandalf explained, never knew for unlike females, it did nothing to them unless on the off chance they encounter someone with extremely potent sperm. It was a more likely a case for the species of man and elf when it came to male pregnancy, and not to be ashamed of. It was the Valar’s blessing, so the wizard claimed.

A blessing, Faramir shuddered. Did Gandalf know? Was he aware of the young man’s main problems and of how difficult this would be? Was this some kind of trick to control his father?

*Boromir…I need you.* The ache in his heart was growing each day. He missed his brother more than he ever thought possible. Boromir had always made everything right. Boromir had always been there. And now, his feelings were jumbled, emotion upon emotion clouding his normally sound judgment. He missed Frodo too, but he had known that there would not be a future between them when they parted.

-FLASHBACK

“I will see you again, won’t I?” Frodo had looked up at him with his deep blue eyes and Faramir had knelt so that they could look directly at each other.

The young captain had threaded his fingers in the Ringbearer’s curls and smiled earnestly at the hobbit. “I hope so, Frodo.” he had let his hand move down to trace the hobbit’s lips carefully.

“Faramir…” he had thrown his arms around the man and boldly kissed him. It had never ceased to amaze Faramir how strong willed Frodo was when it came to getting what he wanted. The kiss had lasted a l a long time, both attempting to dominate the other, winding up in a heap on the ground with hob hobbit on top. As usual.

“I think you like losing too much.” Frodo had dimpled, eyes brightly shining as he flicked a leaf from the man’s hair.

“Years of experience.” he had smirked back. It was not an untrue statement, but at the time he had not thought about the past. The times when he and Boromir had played simigamegames. Frodo’s hands ran up and down the man’s chest.

“I’ll be back to Gondor, back for you.” he had promised softly, leaning down to kiss the man once again. But, Faramir had only chuckled and said nothing in return. He knew what his fate would be when he returned home, what his father would do when he learnt that the one ring had passed through Gondor and not been claimed.

“Ah…Faramir…” the hobbit had murmured when his hands had begun to massage the small buttocks and run up and down his lover’s thighs.

“Please beefuleful Frodo.” he had whispered as they had shared that one last moment in Ithilien, arms wrapped around each other, Frodo’s curls nestled into his shoulder, small fingers clutching his back.

--END FLASHBACK

Faramir sighed, blinking away the memory and checked his arm. The wizard at least had helped with that. The usual remedy often left him feeling drained and weak. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stretched. Without his armor on, he felt almost naked aas gas glad that no one else was in the small room in the Healing House. Closing his eyes, he rested his head in his hand, and attempted to calm his thoughts.

*Everything will be alright, Love.* A sweet kiss to the back of his neck, a tender squeeze on his shoulder, and a familiar, welcome smell caused the young man to sigh wistfully. He wished it were real, but dreams were only that.

“I cannot do this.” He whispered to the air.

*You do not have a choice.* Was the stern response as gentle arms wrapped around him.

“Do not leave again.” He begged, leaning into the arms that gave him strength. It was always better when he could share these moments of solitude. Moments when he could open himself up to all that was around him instead of shutting it away as he had to do before. They were the times that he could take from the unnatural world what the natural one would not give him. A gift from his mother, but more often thought of as a curse. He welcomed it now, for it gave him strength to go on.

“Captain Faramir.” A sharp voice interrupted his thoughts. He wondered at the man’s expression, slightly harsh, and a little perplexed. Faramir wondered how long he had been in the doorway. The soldier was not one of his company.

Light fingers at his back urged him to his feet, despite how truly ill he felt. He was Faramir, captain of Gondor, and he would not let sickness overcome him. “Yes?” He lifted his head proudly, blue eyes meeting the soldier’s.

“Your father will see you now.” Was the abrupt reply. He waited only for a moment before turning on his heel and leaving the young man alone again.

Faramir grimaced, wondering how much Denethor knew. Gaining strength as he moved he found his leather jerkin and painfully pulled it on, pausing afterwards to run a comb through his hair and wash his face with cool water in a vain attempt to lower his temperature. He strapped on his sword and picked up his bow and quiver, glancing at himself in the mirror. A pale shadow of a man, haunted by demons and now an even worse problem.

A hand rested on his shou, re, reaching up to caress his cheek. Arms wrapped around him, and a hand drifted down to lay across his stomach, an encouraging whisper in his ear.

Where would he go? What would he do? Especially when it became obvious.

“I am afraid.” he said, closing his eyes, not wanting to see what was truly in the mirror.

*I know you are. I know you can do it.*

With those words he was prompted on his way, wishing for more solitude, knowing that he’d never get it.

***

*He doesn’t love me.* Faramir watched his father. He never has. Denethor barely looked at his younger son. Pippin looked as if he wanted to say something, but the young hobbit was wisely silent. Gandalf stood nearby, watching. *He hates me, he wishes he had sent me and not Boromir.* Faramir thought to himself, fighting back tears.

“You wish that I had died and he had lived.” Faramir stated quietly, gazing at his father, hoping against hope that perhaps he was mistaken, perhaps he was wrong. “Even though you know. You still wish me dead.”

“You are disgrace to the line of Ecthelion.” Denethor snapped harshly. “You are not even a man.”

Faramir cringed, as though his face had just been slapped and he clenched his fist. It was not the first time that his father had uttered so defamatory a curse at him. Many times had he endured Denethor’s cold heart, but this time it was more than just cruel, it was painful.

It was here that Gandalf interjected, “Your son is very much a man, Steward.” he was fast losing patience with Denethor. “Faramir should rightfully take the place Boromir left empty at your side. Your city needs defending. War is upon you. Leave off this family bickering and light the beacons. Theoden will come.”

“You dare to tell me how to do what I have done since I came of age?” Denethor fixed his beady eyes upon the wizard. “You go to far, Gandalf. First you take my son from me, my pride and joy. And then…” he glared at Faramir. “Then you force me to accept that his brother is going to have…” Denethor’s face was red with anger, his cheeks puffing out and his eyes narrowing to slits. Faramir caught his breath, knowing well that look, knowing well what it meant.

They were alone in the throne room, the four of them, having been left to a private matter. Pippin’s eyes were round as he stared at Faramir. Frodo’s child? Worse yet! He had been worn to secrecy. He could not even tell Merry…how was he ever going to keep his mouth shut?

Denethor finally caught his breath after his temper ceased to overwhelm him. “..That he is going to have a child. -A CHILD-. Telling me that I cannot punish my own son for his -disloyalty-.” He stared hard at Faramir, a scathing tone in his voice, “His treason.”

“He did what was right.” Gandalf stated briefly.

Denethor sat back down heavily and finally answered his son’s question. “Yes, yes, I wish you had died and not your brother. Damn you.” With these strong words the steward fixed his cold eyes upon his son and something in Faramir’s heart died that moment “So you wish to take Boromir’s place. To defend my city. Then you shall. Retake Osgiliath, and perhaps your quality might be restored, what little there is left of it.”

Faramir paled, and Gandalf’s mouth opened. Denethor might just have signed his son’s death warrant anyway. Osgiliath was overrun, more orcs were pouring in by the hour. The Nazgul waited for the last he ahe armies to get to Minas Tirith. It was an impossible task, especially with so few men in Gondor, their armies trapped in the south.

“That is madness.” Gandalf said clearly. “Denethor, listen to-”

“Is there a Captain here who will still take my orders?” Denethor’s voice was cold and hollow, his eyes now turned from his son to his dinner.

Pippin’s face had drained of all color itself and he wished he had not been so rash now to swear himself to the obviously mad ruler of Minas Tirith.

Faramir swallowed, and the pain left him. “Since you were robbed of Boromir. I shall take his place and Osgiliath will be reclaimed as you command.” His words seemed like that of a stranger’s and they only earned a shrug and a nod from his father.

“Faramir. Do not be foolish.” Gandalf attempted to reason with the defeated young man. “Minas Tirith needs you here. Think of the baby, you cannot do this.”

Faramir looked away and did not respond. He walked slowly out of the throne room, head lowered. He was thinking of the baby, and the fact that even if he lived through this madness, it was doubtful he would live anyway after birthing the child. What kind of a life would it have? Half man/Half hobbit? And after all, it had not been born from love, only lust. Frodo loved another. The one called Strider. Boromir was dead, and perhaps now he could finally join his brother in the peace that had escaped his life since his mother died.

He only hoped the end would be quick, but at least it was not the death of a traitor.

**TO BE CONTINUED**