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Minas Tirith - Legacy of the Ring Bearer
folder
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
20
Views:
4,487
Reviews:
38
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
20
Views:
4,487
Reviews:
38
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Touched by Spirits
Fic Name: Minas Tirith - Legacy of the Ring Bearer.
Chapter Name: Touched by Spirits.
Pairing: Faramir/Boromir, Faramir/Frodo, Faramir/Aragorn, Aragorn/Frodo, Legolas/Boromir.
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 ROTK spoilers for those of you who haven’t seen it yet.
Chapter Five: Touched by Spirits
Night came quietly, another tray of food was left at Faramir’s bedside, but it remained untouched. Eowyn frowned at the tray, sitting cold and ignored. Then her eyes widened when they drifted to the bed, Faramir was not there. Surely he hadn’t…he was far too weak. She asked one of the healers where Faramir had gone but they had no idea.
So, he had run away, like he had threatened. He would not get far, he would hardly even make it outside the city, she was sure. She lifted up her skirt and began to run, intent on finding the best tracker in the city, who happened to be the Aragorn.
***
Truly, he was amazed that he had made it this far. Faramir’s bare feet made no sound as he slipped through the city. There was a place he wanted to be, a place he -needed- to be. And there were a few things he required from his own chambers. He pulled the cloak low over his head so that he wouot bot be recognized. Once, a soldier had stopped to steady him for he had stumbled upon the flagstones, but he had brushim him away.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, he approached the great palace at the top of the city. He had made his way there all the way from the Healing House, miraculously. He wiped the sweat from his brow and silently made his way to a secret passage, one he’d often used in the past to hide from his father. He never imagined that he’d be using it as an adult to hide from the world.
He found his way inside, unnoticed, padding along the corridor up and up to the royal chambers where his, Boromir and Denethor’s rooms were. At the very end, was his, far away from his father’s suite. When he passed his father’s room, his gaze was drawn to it and his heart began to beat heavily in his chest. Do not be a fool. Denethor is dead, he cannot hurt you anymore.
He would never forget his father’s smile when something was happening that made him squirm. Denethor had always seemed to love to torment Faramir. His eyes were drawn to his father’s portrait, wishing that someone would take it down. It was not the first time he cursed his ability to see spirits and visions. For there, his father loomed, smiling in that most irritating way.
Faramir’s hand went to his mouth to silence a scream that was about to erupt. Gods, pe noe not now. He just could not deal with it. Denethor drifted closer, settling behind his son and he felt a sharp push forward sending him closer to the elder man’s chambers. The pale-faced spirit grinned, seeing his son’s face alight with dread and indicated the room with his eyes. Voices came from within, Faramir felt his father’s hand in his hair, twisting it in his fingers, pulling…painfully. It was a dream, it wasn’t real. He was thus forced to hear what was coming from his father’s old rooms.
It was Frodo’s voice, and the sound of water, he was very obviously being bathed. “No, that’s alright. Its not too warm, really.” the hobbit said softly as he lowered his bruised body within. “OH! Goodness, that felt heavenly. Thank-you.”
“Let me rub some of this around your neck, its soft soap with a touch of lavender. Elrond says it has healing powers.” Aragorn offered.
“It does hurt, but I cannot quite identify the exact pain, Strider.” Frodo murmured. “mmm…yes, that feels nice.”
Faramir could not stop himself from peeking in, nudged forward by the spirit of his father his eyes widened at the site before him. Frodo was curled up in a large tub, against the King to be, who was also within the warm water as comfortably as you please.
“Shelob gave you a nasty bite, Frodo.” Aragorn said softly, “it’s a wonder you survived.”
“Only because of Sam.” Frodo answered, twitching slightly as the’s f’s fingers rubbed against the back of his neck.
As for Faramir, it was all he could do not to make any noise. His hand trembled against his mouth and fear rippled through him as his father continued to caress his hair, a memory and shadow of the past lurking near with each horrid touch. He would have run there, pulled away and run, if it were not for Aragorn’s next words.
“He is awake.” The Ranger said softly. “I meant to tell you earlier, but you were in a lot of pain, and I wanted to get you cleaned up a bit first.”
Frodo started in the water, “Faramir is awake?” his eyes lit up, “Can I go see him? Will you take me there?”
“Of course, Frodo. But I have to warn you, Pippin tells me that he is not himself. He has suffered a great deal.”
“I know.” Frodo sighed. “Pippin changed the subject really quickly when I asked about him. Aragorn, is there something I should know? Has Faramir been hurt very badly?” Worry edged in the hobbits weary eyes.
“He was wounded badly, yes, but not disfigured. Faramir will heal normally.” Aragorn reassured his charge gently, running warm water through Frodo’s curls.
Frodo breathed a sign of relief. “I have so much to tell him.” Then there was a sharp giggle, “Strider, your beard is tickling, stop that.”
“Its good to hear your laugh.” The ranger chuckled softly.
Frodo tsked, “I suppose. You know, you just changed the subject too.” The hobbit sounded quite annoyed by that.
Faramir pulled finally away from his father’s hold, backing into the darkness of the hallway, The spirit’s laughter rang in his ears and he closed his eyes willing it out of his mind as he sank to his knees and trembled in fear and loathing, afraid to speak, afraid to scream.
The sound of footsteps coming down the corridor alerted him back to reality and forced his father’s spirit away. Faramir shakily rose to his feet and stumbled against the wall. He glanced wildly around for a place to hide. Boromir’s room! Quickly, he made a dash for it, opening the door easily and breathing a sigh of relief as he entered the dark room. Denethor could not follow here.
“What was that?” Aragorn hushed the hobbit, his keen senses having picked up Faramir’s quick movements. But the sound only yielded one of the many palace helpers, bearing a fresh set of towels and a tray of food. Demurely he cast his down his eyes, as though it wasn’t out of the ordinary to find a man bathing with a hobbit in his lap.
When it seemed clear that he had not been seen, the young man stepped back from the door and removed his cloak with a sigh. He could not stop his hands from shaking. Was this his father’s revenge? Haunting him forever? His eyes drifted around his brother’s room, memories assaulting him mercilessly. A sob caught in his throat. He should not be in here, it was too close to Boromir. Too close. His eyes drifted to the bed, concealed by heavy green curtains. Wistfully, he remembered sharing their first kiss there.
He yawned suddenly, his eyes drooping as he padded softly towards the bed and climbed into it, drinking in the lingering scent of his beloved brother. If Boromir were alive…he’d be able to help steady him, help calm the storm of emotions that would not abate.
He lay down, cuddling into the covers, and then he froze. An old fear tingling in his body. He was not alone in the bed and the person there had woken, reaching out to grab his wrist. Trained well, Faramir did not scream at the contact, but he did close his eyes. “Please don’t hurt me,” he whispered. If Denethor’s spirit had managed to find its way here, he was done for. The grip relaxed, but remained.
“Who are you?” a strange musical voice demanded. It was clearly not Denethor’s, and very masculine. Faramir’s eyes flew open and then widened. The elf in Boromir’s bed had lit the bedside candle and was staring at him openly.
“I am Faramir, Son of Denethor.” he held the elf’s eyes…feeling as though he could drown in such eyes, captivated by their intensity. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my brother’s bed?”
“You are Faramir.” the elf’s mouth opened slightly, and then creased in a smile. “I have heard much about you. I am Legolas, son of Thranduil. I…” he shifted his gaze downward. “I am here for the same reason you are. To be close to Boromir.”
***TBC***
Chapter Name: Touched by Spirits.
Pairing: Faramir/Boromir, Faramir/Frodo, Faramir/Aragorn, Aragorn/Frodo, Legolas/Boromir.
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 ROTK spoilers for those of you who haven’t seen it yet.
Chapter Five: Touched by Spirits
Night came quietly, another tray of food was left at Faramir’s bedside, but it remained untouched. Eowyn frowned at the tray, sitting cold and ignored. Then her eyes widened when they drifted to the bed, Faramir was not there. Surely he hadn’t…he was far too weak. She asked one of the healers where Faramir had gone but they had no idea.
So, he had run away, like he had threatened. He would not get far, he would hardly even make it outside the city, she was sure. She lifted up her skirt and began to run, intent on finding the best tracker in the city, who happened to be the Aragorn.
***
Truly, he was amazed that he had made it this far. Faramir’s bare feet made no sound as he slipped through the city. There was a place he wanted to be, a place he -needed- to be. And there were a few things he required from his own chambers. He pulled the cloak low over his head so that he wouot bot be recognized. Once, a soldier had stopped to steady him for he had stumbled upon the flagstones, but he had brushim him away.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, he approached the great palace at the top of the city. He had made his way there all the way from the Healing House, miraculously. He wiped the sweat from his brow and silently made his way to a secret passage, one he’d often used in the past to hide from his father. He never imagined that he’d be using it as an adult to hide from the world.
He found his way inside, unnoticed, padding along the corridor up and up to the royal chambers where his, Boromir and Denethor’s rooms were. At the very end, was his, far away from his father’s suite. When he passed his father’s room, his gaze was drawn to it and his heart began to beat heavily in his chest. Do not be a fool. Denethor is dead, he cannot hurt you anymore.
He would never forget his father’s smile when something was happening that made him squirm. Denethor had always seemed to love to torment Faramir. His eyes were drawn to his father’s portrait, wishing that someone would take it down. It was not the first time he cursed his ability to see spirits and visions. For there, his father loomed, smiling in that most irritating way.
Faramir’s hand went to his mouth to silence a scream that was about to erupt. Gods, pe noe not now. He just could not deal with it. Denethor drifted closer, settling behind his son and he felt a sharp push forward sending him closer to the elder man’s chambers. The pale-faced spirit grinned, seeing his son’s face alight with dread and indicated the room with his eyes. Voices came from within, Faramir felt his father’s hand in his hair, twisting it in his fingers, pulling…painfully. It was a dream, it wasn’t real. He was thus forced to hear what was coming from his father’s old rooms.
It was Frodo’s voice, and the sound of water, he was very obviously being bathed. “No, that’s alright. Its not too warm, really.” the hobbit said softly as he lowered his bruised body within. “OH! Goodness, that felt heavenly. Thank-you.”
“Let me rub some of this around your neck, its soft soap with a touch of lavender. Elrond says it has healing powers.” Aragorn offered.
“It does hurt, but I cannot quite identify the exact pain, Strider.” Frodo murmured. “mmm…yes, that feels nice.”
Faramir could not stop himself from peeking in, nudged forward by the spirit of his father his eyes widened at the site before him. Frodo was curled up in a large tub, against the King to be, who was also within the warm water as comfortably as you please.
“Shelob gave you a nasty bite, Frodo.” Aragorn said softly, “it’s a wonder you survived.”
“Only because of Sam.” Frodo answered, twitching slightly as the’s f’s fingers rubbed against the back of his neck.
As for Faramir, it was all he could do not to make any noise. His hand trembled against his mouth and fear rippled through him as his father continued to caress his hair, a memory and shadow of the past lurking near with each horrid touch. He would have run there, pulled away and run, if it were not for Aragorn’s next words.
“He is awake.” The Ranger said softly. “I meant to tell you earlier, but you were in a lot of pain, and I wanted to get you cleaned up a bit first.”
Frodo started in the water, “Faramir is awake?” his eyes lit up, “Can I go see him? Will you take me there?”
“Of course, Frodo. But I have to warn you, Pippin tells me that he is not himself. He has suffered a great deal.”
“I know.” Frodo sighed. “Pippin changed the subject really quickly when I asked about him. Aragorn, is there something I should know? Has Faramir been hurt very badly?” Worry edged in the hobbits weary eyes.
“He was wounded badly, yes, but not disfigured. Faramir will heal normally.” Aragorn reassured his charge gently, running warm water through Frodo’s curls.
Frodo breathed a sign of relief. “I have so much to tell him.” Then there was a sharp giggle, “Strider, your beard is tickling, stop that.”
“Its good to hear your laugh.” The ranger chuckled softly.
Frodo tsked, “I suppose. You know, you just changed the subject too.” The hobbit sounded quite annoyed by that.
Faramir pulled finally away from his father’s hold, backing into the darkness of the hallway, The spirit’s laughter rang in his ears and he closed his eyes willing it out of his mind as he sank to his knees and trembled in fear and loathing, afraid to speak, afraid to scream.
The sound of footsteps coming down the corridor alerted him back to reality and forced his father’s spirit away. Faramir shakily rose to his feet and stumbled against the wall. He glanced wildly around for a place to hide. Boromir’s room! Quickly, he made a dash for it, opening the door easily and breathing a sigh of relief as he entered the dark room. Denethor could not follow here.
“What was that?” Aragorn hushed the hobbit, his keen senses having picked up Faramir’s quick movements. But the sound only yielded one of the many palace helpers, bearing a fresh set of towels and a tray of food. Demurely he cast his down his eyes, as though it wasn’t out of the ordinary to find a man bathing with a hobbit in his lap.
When it seemed clear that he had not been seen, the young man stepped back from the door and removed his cloak with a sigh. He could not stop his hands from shaking. Was this his father’s revenge? Haunting him forever? His eyes drifted around his brother’s room, memories assaulting him mercilessly. A sob caught in his throat. He should not be in here, it was too close to Boromir. Too close. His eyes drifted to the bed, concealed by heavy green curtains. Wistfully, he remembered sharing their first kiss there.
He yawned suddenly, his eyes drooping as he padded softly towards the bed and climbed into it, drinking in the lingering scent of his beloved brother. If Boromir were alive…he’d be able to help steady him, help calm the storm of emotions that would not abate.
He lay down, cuddling into the covers, and then he froze. An old fear tingling in his body. He was not alone in the bed and the person there had woken, reaching out to grab his wrist. Trained well, Faramir did not scream at the contact, but he did close his eyes. “Please don’t hurt me,” he whispered. If Denethor’s spirit had managed to find its way here, he was done for. The grip relaxed, but remained.
“Who are you?” a strange musical voice demanded. It was clearly not Denethor’s, and very masculine. Faramir’s eyes flew open and then widened. The elf in Boromir’s bed had lit the bedside candle and was staring at him openly.
“I am Faramir, Son of Denethor.” he held the elf’s eyes…feeling as though he could drown in such eyes, captivated by their intensity. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my brother’s bed?”
“You are Faramir.” the elf’s mouth opened slightly, and then creased in a smile. “I have heard much about you. I am Legolas, son of Thranduil. I…” he shifted his gaze downward. “I am here for the same reason you are. To be close to Boromir.”
***TBC***