Another’s Guilt

Another’s Guilt, by Númenora

Rating NC-17, PG this chapter

Disclaimers and Summary: See chapter one.

Warnings: Remember, this is slash; AU (many things will be different), Mpreg, OOC (Aragorn mostly). Un-betaed, all mistakes are mine.

A/N: Please re-read notes in chapter one concerning character’s ages and relationships since this is AU and they are different from Book or Movie-verse. My apologies to you all for the large author’s notes and for the long narratives on background information that will come in this chapter, but they are important for this and upcoming chapters. I will be mentioning Théodred in this chapter; his age will be set at 23 years, between Boromir, Éomer and Aragorn’s ages and Éowyn will be 18 years, though less than a year younger than Faramir.

The older nobles/royals will be mentioned as well. King Arathorn is the youngest child of Arador—very young by Númenórean age at 60 years in this fic (like elves, parents can appear as young as children); his sister Finduilas (Boromir and Faramir’s mother) was the oldest child—30 years older than he. For this fic, Denethor will be much older than Finduilas who was his second wife (the first wife died in a riding accident when he was still a young man); his age will be 200 (equal to 40 normal years). The reasons why Denethor treats Faramir so shabbily will be revealed (all AU) as well as insight into Boromir’s relationship to his little brother and his over-protectiveness concerning him.

Getting back to Númenórean age: I will equate it with what Tolkien once wrote about Elves—saying that Elves and Men develop physically at the same rate until maturity, but then Elven bodies slow down and stop aging physically, while human bodies don't (which contradicted what he had previously written in *Laws and Customs*). That being said, Dúnedain mortals age normally until they reach their Majority which will be 21 years and then their aging slows down. I did a little research and based on some LotR characters who died of natural causes (like Éomer who lived to be 93), I will set a normal lifespan, barring illness or injury, to be 100 years; which would make a child of Númenórean descent’s normal lifespan around 500 years as Elros’ was. So, for every 100 years, a Dúnadan would age 20 years.

Thoughts and stressed words are denoted by **


Chapter Five

“Hidden Truths”


Boromir watched as Lord Marach left Faramir’s side to go in search of Prince Aragorn. The Steward’s eldest was very relieved, for the healer had announced that his brother’s fever had lessened though was still weak. As the older man disappeared through the trees, Boromir looked over towards the elf, pondering on the scene that he’d witnessed of the exchange between the healer and the Elda.

When the elf was conversing with Lord Marach, Boromir thought back to what Éomer had said that first day concerning the immortal—he did seem young and fragile and not capable of attacking Faramir so viciously. He looked carefree for a short time in Lord Marach’s presence, smiling at something the man had said. The more he thought on it, the more he felt that something was not right in the entire situation.

As Faramir continued to improve the last day or so, Boromir allowed himself time to think on the situation; like, why his brother was traveling alone and what happened to his horse and weapons. They weren’t found with the elf, so perhaps something had happened to him before he met up with the blond that made him vulnerable, giving the immortal the upper hand. These things he had no way of knowing—not until his brother awakened long enough to tell them.

“Please wake, Little One; the Princes Band needs its mascot.” Boromir smiled at that; it was the name that King Théoden had given them—though sometimes he changed it to the King’s Bane!

This ‘band’ consisted of Aragorn, Théodred, Boromir, Faramir and Éomer. Though he, Faramir and Éomer weren’t called singly by that title (being called Steward Prince, Lord or their military rank; or in Éomer’s and Théodred’s cases, Marshal), they all were Princes; Éomer’s mother, Théodwyn was King Théoden’s sister and Boromir and Faramir’s mother, Finduilas was King Arathorn’s sister.

King Théoden (and the people of Edoras after him) dubbed them the Princes Band because whenever the five of them were together in Rohan, they were inseparable, laughing and talking at the top of their voices and acting like little boys (or ‘troublesome orcs’ according to Éowyn). Whenever they became too ‘troublesome,’ the King would threaten to banish them to the Glittering Caves of Helm’s Deep, but usually ended up expelling them from the Golden Hall to the Family Wing—namely, the old nursery (where ‘little boys’ belonged), now converted to a gathering room for the adult children and their friends after Éowyn came of age.

The King would scowl and sputter at them, but Boromir and the others would see him smile fondly at their antics when he thought no one was looking. Neither Boromir nor the other Princes knew that Théoden and his friends behaved pretty much the same (or worse) when he was young and he didn’t begrudge them their time of revelry, for he knew these times wouldn’t last forever—especially for Théodred and Éomer who weren’t of Númenórean descent. Their duties even now kept the friends apart at longer stretches of time every year and much too soon, they would all be mired by Affairs of State.

When Boromir recalled the time that they named Faramir as their mascot, he laughed silently. The young man had just turned 16 and was now allowed to drink ale (in public at least, having had his first taste when he was in training with the Rangers at the age of 14) and began to participate in their various games like the Rohirrim drinking competition and their adapted version of the card game ‘Diamonds and Hearts.’ In this, they would follow each highest and lowest hand by drinking a full tankard of ale and removing one article of clothing—the object of the game was to remain sober and clothed by achieving a level of mediocrity.

During the drinking game, Faramir was able to out drink Aragorn and though he lost overall, he gained the respect of the others and was inducted officially into their group, receiving the title of mascot—succeeding Aragorn, who previously held it as the youngest member. After speeches were made (slurred and nonsensical), the whole group fell upon Faramir, hugging and kissing him and then stripping him bare (they often ended up unclothed whenever drinking was involved) and parading him around the Golden Hall.

Those times spent in Rohan with their little group were special for them all, but Boromir was especially grateful because during those times, Faramir was always smiling and happy and he felt so much love—love not tainted by their father’s disapproval and harsh words.

Boromir always tried to lavish his younger brother with his love even from a very young age. Faramir was little more than a baby when their mother Finduilas died. She had been ill from the time of her second pregnancy; a pregnancy where she miscarried during her sixth month. She had been out in the Houses of Healing helping to tend some injured citizens who were badly burned in a fire. One of the men had become delirious and his wife was having trouble calming him due to his high fever.

Prince Arathorn and King Arador were in another room where the couple’s two children were. One (the only son who was 12) was resting comfortably, having received the least severe burns; but the smallest was a 6-year-old girl who had gone back inside the house when she discovered that her pet was still missing and was caught in the worst of the fire. Her father managed to rescue her, but they were both badly burned and the Prince and King were desperately trying to save her. Arador had worked on the father and he seemed to be responding well to treatment so he left to aid his son with the child, leaving Finduilas to monitor him (she had refused to leave even though she had been there the entire time).

When the man became feverous, she used all her healing skills to try and bring down his temperature, but she was not able to, so she tried to go fetch her father, but the man latched onto her in his delirium, screaming for his daughter—saying that she was still inside of the burning house. When she attempted to assure him that the child was safely in the other room, he accused her of lying—saying that he had to save her then he shoved Finduilas roughly away, causing the Princess to fall hard onto the stone floor face down.

One of the other healers had been across the room tending to another patient who been injured in an unrelated incident when the man first started yelling, but he was unable to reach them before she fell. When he got there, Ioreth was helping her up; Finduilas assured him that she was fine. He was dubious, but the sick man was still trying to get away from the several pair of hands that was now holding him down. It took a while to sedate him—a father’s worry was stronger than drugs—but he was finally calmed.

That night turned out to be one of great tragedies. The first came when the little girl Elen, whose name means ‘Star’, succumbed to her injuries and died in Prince Arathorn’s arms. Her mother was inconsolable and fainted when she received the news (the father was kept sedated and didn’t learn of it for nearly a fortnight). The second tragedy came a few hours later when Finduilas collapsed in pain; she was still in the Houses looking after the distraught mother.

Her father and brother came to her aid and they gave her herbs that were used to stop premature labor; it worked for a time, but she started to have contractions again. When her pains first started, Lord Denethor was summoned and he was by her side as they began again and just before dawn, she delivered; but the child (a girl) was born dead and Finduilas was never the same emotionally and physically, having to remain in bed for several weeks and missing the baby’s funeral.

Lord Marach had returned to Minas Tirith a few days after it first happened and he, along with King Arador, told her that she should not attempt to have any more children; to do so would seriously endanger her life. She was saddened by the news which only added to her grief over losing her daughter. Denethor told her that they would be content with having one child, but less than five years later, she became pregnant with Faramir after becoming enamored of the adorable infant Aragorn.

Arador was livid and he blamed his Steward and son-in-law for letting it happen. Denethor was much older than the Princess and the King had been reluctant to approve of a marriage between them; but Finduilas loved him despite the age gap and he adored her. She told her father that it was her doing—that she had wanted another child.

As she got further along in her pregnancy, the men in her life became more worried by the day. Lord Marach was asked to stay in the White City to look after her. When she began having problems, Finduilas was put on total bed-rest. The Steward could see that his wife was weakened by her condition and his guilt for his part grew as well as a great resentment for the innocent child she carried—a resentment that made it impossible to rejoice at the birth of this healthy, beautiful boy that Finduilas adored.

Though he was only six, Boromir remembered the first time he saw Faramir; he was small and pink with tiny wisps of red curls and beautiful eyes of violet; later when he began to grow, Boromir, began thinking of him as *his* baby. Even at his young age, Boromir knew that Denethor didn’t want Faramir and the man only held him at Finduilas’ insistence.

She passed from Arda during the harsh winter when Faramir was 4-years-old; it was during the night and her family had no warning as she appeared stronger than ever and had been joyous that evening at dinner. Later that night in the nursery, Boromir was awakened to distraught cries from Faramir. The little boy kept crying for his mother saying that she was gone away, over and over again.

He was desperately trying to calm him, saying that all was fine; but the child would not be consoled. So, the blond boy led the other to their parents’ room, but was barred from entering. Finally, Lady Gilraen came out to speak to him and Faramir, attempting to usher them back to bed, but the 4-year-old would not budge. Then King Arador came out to them looking as sad and lost as Faramir did.

When the little child started repeating his earlier exclamations about his mother, their grandfather said, ‘Yes, Little One, she has gone to be with the Angels.’ Boromir cried for his mother and he cried for himself, but mostly he cried for Faramir; for he only had one parent—one who cared nothing for him.

Boromir blinked away tears as he caressed his brother’s cheek, the memories still too painful. “You will always have me, Faramir; for as long as I draw breath!” Boromir spoke quietly, but with feeling.

As he continued to touch his brother, the young man stirred, moving his cheek into Boromir’s hand. Soon, the older brother was staring into beautiful violet eyes that were no longer as pain-filled as the last time he’d seen them.

“Little One? Oh, may the Valar be praised!” Boromir was beside himself with relief.

A very weakened, but amused voice said, “I have not been little for a long time, *Big* Brother. I...I had hoped...that all...that all had been...a very...” He closed his eyes for moment as it was difficult to speak.

“Don’t speak, my Love—I know what you would say. I am so relieved; I thought...” Now it was Boromir’s time to pause, a cry caught in his throat. “I feared that I would lose you.”

“Never! It would take more than...than ruthless...thieves to...stop me...” Faramir said humorously, eyes beginning to close again, but his brother spoke.

“Thieves, Faramir? How many were there? Try and stay with me, Little Brother.”

The red-haired man murmured, “Two...Were two...them.” Then he drifted off.

Boromir frowned as he pondered Faramir’s words. *Thieves? I wonder...* His thoughts were cut off as the young man spoke again.

“Did...did you see...see him...Bor’mir?”

“Who, Dear One? Of whom do you speak?” The green-eyed Gondoran asked.

“He...was...was so beau...beautiful...”
“Whom do you mean, Faramir?” Boromir tried once more.

“An elf...blond with...did you...see hi...him?”

“Yes—he is here.” But Faramir seemed to be sleeping.

“Faramir? Faramir—was it the elf who did this to you? Please stay awake for a little more.” Boromir reached over to retrieve a damp cloth from a bowl of water Lord Marach used to mop the patient’s forehead.

As he gently swabbed his brother’s brow, he asked him again. “Faramir, was it the elf who did this to you? Tell me about the attack.”

“Two...there were...two...Did...did you...catch...catch them?”

“Only one; the other must have fled,” Came his regretful reply.

Faramir nodded, but he was already sleeping again. Boromir looked up as Éomer came towards them. When the Rohirric Marshal saw his frown, he became concerned.

“Boromir, what is the matter? Faramir?” As Éomer said the young man’s name, he kneeled down next to him, quickly checking for fever.

“It is about Faramir, but he is better—fear not.”

“Then what...?” Éomer started.

“He spoke of thieves and the elf; but when I asked him if the elf had attacked him, he said that there were two.” He said incredulously. “I would never have believed that elves would play at robbing lone travelers!”

“We know so little of elves these days. I remember when I was small and Gandalf would tell me stories about a group of elves he called the Wandering Companies; they had no permanent home and no ties to any Elven Realm. Mayhap our friend over there is one of these and they have become brigands.”

Éomer paused, watching the Gondoran as a myriad of emotions flitted across his face. “What are you thinking, Boromir?”

“I had thought that perhaps someone else had stabbed Faramir as nothing made sense since he had no weapons and his horse was missing. I mean, the elf had none of his things, so I began to wonder if he was just a victim of circumstance—but now...”

He exhaled heavily through his nostrils before standing. “I had best go inform Aragorn of this. Stay with Faramir?”

“You need not ask; I will not leave his side,” The blond Marshal stated.

Boromir smiled for he knew that the man would do just that; he’d figured out long ago how Éomer felt about Faramir. Perhaps one day, the other man would tell him.

He patted the other’s shoulder fondly, then went in search of Aragorn.

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The dark-haired Prince remained silent as Lord Marach talked.

“I am deeply worried about you, Highness. You have not been yourself.” He paused, looking at the younger man. “Aragorn?”

“What would you have me say? That I am sorry for not behaving as you would have me?” He looked at his mentor with anguished eyes. “I know that you are disappointed in me—that you expect better from me. But I do not know what to do or how I should feel!”

Lord Marach watched him as he wiped angry, frustrated tears away. He laid a hand on Aragorn’s shoulder then clasped him on the nape of his neck.

“I saw you with him—with the elf. You should not have been so familiar with him for he is a murderer.” The Prince said the words, but even to his ears, they sounded wrong.

“Nay, Aragorn; he is no murderer. He is an innocent—a child.” He looked into the Prince’s disbelieving eyes.

“How can you say this? You weren’t there—I was!”

“You saw Legolas attack Faramir?” The healer inquired.

“Is that his name?” The nobleman’s nod, he continued. “To answer your question; no, I—we—did not see the attack, but he was standing over my cousin with a bloody knife, covered in Faramir’s blood. That is all I needed to know—he *is* guilty.”

“Your father would not agree, my Prince; and had this involved any other race, I believe that you would not have been so quick to judge him thus.” The healer felt Aragorn tense before shrugging his teacher’s hand away.

“I weary of this discussion, Lord Marach. I want to be alone.”

“Not just yet, Highness. I would ask that you hear me out about Legolas.” When Aragorn looked at him, he spoke again. “Legolas told me that he had tried to help Faramir, but he arrived too late; I believe him, Prince. There was no deceit in his eyes and his words rang true to me.”

“Or perhaps you are just being swayed by a fair and comely face? You would not be the first.” The last was said bitterly as he thought of another close to him.

“I think that you know better than that. And, I also think that you are ignoring your better judgment, blaming this poor elf for the guilt of others. He is not responsible for what happened to Lord Faramir, nor is he responsible for your personal pain.” The older man watched as Aragorn pursed his lips in anger, tears beginning to well in his eyes.

“You and he are not so different, Aragorn. You both are quite young; the only difference is, as a full-blood elf, it has taken him longer to mature—though he is still little more than an elfling. But a peredhel child matures at a faster rate until majority is reached—another year in your case.” These last words were spoken lowly, for the Prince’s ears only, though the guard was well out of ear-shot.

“You have suffered with this much too long, having no closure—. He was cut off.

“I don’t want to talk about this, my Lord! I don’t...” The pain welled up inside as the tears finally fell. “Why didn’t she want me? Why would she send me away?” Then he laughed mirthlessly. “Do you realize that I don’t even know her name or what she looks like? My father won’t even talk about her; I would know nothing if my mother—if Queen Gilraen—hadn’t told me that...that I was not her blood child. She said that my mother was my father’s ‘Imladrian whore’ and that she didn’t want me because I looked too human.”

Lord Marach’s blood ran cold as Aragorn spoke. He knew that the Queen had always been distant where the young Prince was concerned, but he never realized just how cruel she had been when she informed Aragorn of the circumstances of his birth.

His heart went out to all concerned; to Arathorn for losing the one that he loved and having to marry the Lady Gilraen when his heart lay elsewhere. He felt for Gilraen as well for she had been in love with Arathorn from the first moment she laid eyes upon him; she had been delighted that he had proposed and then married her. She had no way of knowing that King Arador had insisted that the then Prince take a wife as his own health was failing and he wanted an heir for Arathorn.

It was only more bittersweet then that Gilraen failed to become pregnant and one year after the marriage, Gandalf brought Aragorn to the White City and the family learned of his affair with an elf from Rivendell. Arathorn never told Gilraen who gave birth to the child, but he did confide in his sister and the King. And of course, Lord Marach knew, as he accompanied the Prince to the Last Homely House to study Elven healing arts. Arathorn found and lost the love of his young life in the span of less than a full year. It had been an impossible circumstance that caused a great rift in that Noldorin family; and then he was asked to leave and they returned to Gondor and Arathorn married Gilraen; and later, as she was expected to play mother to someone else’s offspring, the sweet young woman that she was turned into the bitter second choice and Aragorn paid the price.

And now here he sat, crying like the lost little boy he still was. “You mustn’t think that your parent didn’t want you; one day you will learn the full truth.”

“Why don’t you tell me the ‘full truth?’” They’d had this conversation before.

“You know that it is not mine to tell.” He said sympathetically.

“I know. I...I will try and do better where the elf...where Legolas is concerned, for you are correct—he is not responsible for my past and I am so tired of being angry. As for the other, that will be left up to my father.” He squared his shoulders and wiped his eyes before standing, giving his mentor a watery smile.

As they stood, Boromir came through the trees towards them. Aragorn’s smile faltered at the serious look on his face.

“What is it, Cousin? Is Faramir alright—does he need us?” Aragorn said worriedly.

“Nay, Cousin; he is fine...more than fine. He spoke to me at length—I was so relieved.” Boromir smiled. “I did not mean to worry you; it’s just that...” Looking serious again.

“Tell me.”

“He spoke of his attack and he wasn’t delirious this time, just tired. He said that there had been two thieves that beset him. Then he asked about the elf; when I asked him if the elf had been the one that hurt him, he said again that there had been two. I suppose that that explains what happened to his horse and belongings.”

Aragorn was staring at the ground, but then he looked at the healer in askance. “Do you still think that he is innocent?” He was no longer as upset as he had been earlier when speaking of the Legolas.

Instead of answering the Prince, he asked Boromir, “Did he say specifically that Legolas attacked him?” At the blond’s confused stare, he clarified, “That is the elf’s name. What exactly did Faramir say?”

“We talked about how happy I was that he seemed better and he quipped that it would take more than thieves to stop him. Then he asked me if I had seen the elf and how beautiful he was.”

“Then why would you think that it had been he who did this?” Marach asked.

“Because I asked him to tell me of the attack and if it had been him. He repeated that there had been two and inquired if we had caught them.”

“Forgive me, Captain; but I would like to speak with Faramir, myself. It seems that he may have been disoriented and I’d like to have a chance to sort this through with him.”

“Do you doubt me, sir?” Boromir sounded hurt.

“Peace, my Lord—I meant no insult. It is just that I have had more experience with getting information from the ill.” He patted the Steward’s eldest in a similar manner as he’d done with Aragorn. “I will go check him; will you be coming, Your Highness?”

“I will go speak with the el...Legolas. There are some things I wish to say to him.” Aragorn made to leave and then turned back to his mentor. “My Lord Marach, I wish to beg your forgiveness for my rudeness towards you; you held a mirror up to me and I did not like what I saw.” Then he bowed respectfully to Lord Marach before returning to camp.

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Legolas had just finished eating some dried fruit and meat and drinking a cup of warm herb tea and he was now running his bound pale hands along the soft grass near the tree where he sat. He heard the tentative murmuring of a small animal just under a small bush. He began to hum lowly; just enough for the small life to hear him.

Before long, the little brown creature crept over to him and crawled into the blond’s cupped hands. As the vole made itself comfortable on the Prince’s palms, Legolas followed suit, crossing and tucking his legs under each knee.

“Hello, Mellon-neth (little friend). Are you furrowing for food or are you lost, as I am?” He put the furry creature close to his ear to hear what it had to say, then smiled stunningly at something it told him. As he continued to converse with the plump little rodent, he didn’t see the Gondoran Prince approach.

Aragorn walked slowly towards Legolas, pensive and preoccupied due to his discussion with Lord Marach. As he got closer, he wondered if the elf was alright for his head was down and his shoulders were quaking. *Perhaps he is crying,* he thought with a pang of remorse for his ill treatment of the Elda, but he was brought up short a few feet away when Legolas lifted his head, tossing his hair across one shoulder to reveal a strikingly, lovely smile on his equally lovely face.

Grinning brightly, the blond turned towards a noise to his right. As his eyes met those of the man Aragorn, his smile wavered, mistaking the odd look the man wore for disapproval.

They both kept staring. But the vole sensed the blond’s unease and scurried out of Legolas’ loose grip, thereby breaking the spell, the elf’s and man’s eyes following the animal’s retreat.

When immortal turned back, he looked so sad, dropping his gaze towards the ground. Aragorn heart tripped in his chest and he found himself desperately wanting to put that beatific smile back on the young elf’s face. When Legolas finally looked up at him, it was Aragorn’s turn to feel the sting of accusation leveled at him.

The dúnadan thought frantically for something to say that would make the immortal happy again, but he could think of no way that that would be achieved as long as the specter of suspicion hung over the Elven captive.

It was strange how someone who’s guilt Aragorn so was sure of a few hours ago could inspire a moment’s tenderness in him now. “I am sorry,” He said, wanting to add more for causing the animal to leave and for everything else, but didn’t.

The Elven Prince frowned, not expecting his counterpart to say that. But he didn’t respond for he’d learned these past few days to be on his guard among this company of Men.

Aragorn paused but then decided that he had better inform the elf about what Faramir said concerning his attack. “Lord Marach tells me that you have denied harming my cousin Lord Faramir.” When Legolas remained silent, he added, “He says that he believes you; I think that it is only fair that I inform you that Faramir was awake long enough to tell us that you, along with an accomplice, did this to him.”

The elf’s eyes grew wide as he heard this, clearly both incredulous and distraught. “He would not...could not say such a thing!” Legolas said forcefully, coming to his feet, drawing the nearby guards’ and rangers’ attention. It was the first time since meeting the Gondoran Prince that he proactively said anything to him or any of these mortals save for the kind healer.

Aragorn was taken aback slightly and found himself slipping back into his mode of hostility at the elf’s declaration. “Do you accuse me of lying, elf?”

“It would not be the first time that Men have behaved so dishonorably.”

“Remember to whom you speak! You are alone here—accused and at my mercy.” He said with feeling, this elf stirring strong emotions in him—some he recognized and others that still eluded his conscious mind. “Men are not the only ones who ‘*behave dishonorably!*’ This I know from personal experience.”

“What of my personal experience; I stand accused of the misdeeds of your own kind. If you and your cousin would rather punish me instead of the true criminals, then I say that you have no honor. Of course, I should not be surprised at this; my adar told me long ago of the treachery of the Edain and how not to trust them.

“I thought that he was being influenced by past anger and loss, but now I see the truth of it; you think nothing of blaming the innocent for crimes not their own and taking credit for the brave deeds of others.” Legolas was angry—angry at these mortals, but more so at himself, for in his fright at being alone for the first time in his life, he had forgotten whose child and grandchild he was. But no more; he was a Prince of Greenwood the Great and the ion of its brave and fearsome Monarch and it was time he started acting like it.

“Of what ‘brave deeds’ do you refer?” Aragorn was still angry, but he was now intrigued to see this side of the elf—full of righteous indignation and fire.

“I speak of your ancestor; you are of the line of Isildur, are you not?”

“Yes, but what of it?”

“It was not he who destroyed the One Ring, but Círdan the Ship-wright and Prince Elrond; he wanted to keep it for his own.” The blond said with feeling.

“Now you lie, elf. All the World knows that Isildur cast the Ring into the fire of Mordor.” Aragorn said as indignant as Legolas.

“My adar was there as were the elves I mentioned; and they still live to tell the tale amongst our people. They let your ancestor take the credit as to keep and preserve the newly won peace—content to celebrate the end to a great Evil. But Men forget and choose to break the old alliances so as to not have to share in past victories.”

Legolas calmed somewhat. “I see that you do not believe me, but care not; no longer will I cower before you. I know that you will take my life for this; I only ask that you do not spill my blood for it would surely call out to my brothers who are looking for me—causing a great war to break out between our people.”

“You will not die. Even if Faramir had not recovered, no one here would kill you; no one here would dare harm you now—for *I* will not allow it.” Now that he’d spoken with the Senior Healer, he could see what the man had; and he suddenly felt a fierce protectiveness towards Legolas— now believing him to be innocent.

He continued speaking in order to assure the young Elda. “You will be first taken to Outpost 40 and then from there to Rohan; then on to Minas Tirith in Gondor and there you will be brought to trial. My father the King will decide your guilt or innocence. If you are found to be guilty, imprisonment, not death, will be your sentence.” Aragorn watched the play of emotions on the elf’s exquisite face as he seemed to come to a decision.

“Then it is still the same, for a stone prison will surely kill me.” With quiet dignity, he spoke again. “Long ago, my father and the great Elendil were as brothers, so strong were their respect for one another. Adar once told me that they had pledged to always be so as long as one drew breath. In honor of that brotherhood, I will request that I be treated with special consideration; as a once friend of Númenor, I declare myself to be a political prisoner.”

“Political prisoner—on what grounds?” The Crowned Prince asked.

“On the grounds that I am Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Greenwood the Great. It is in Gondor’s interest—well as the interest of Middle-earth—to keep the once allies of Elves and Men from going to war!”

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During nearly the entire exchange between Aragorn and the Elven prisoner, Boromir had been dividing his attention between them and Lord Marach and Faramir. His brother had not regained consciousness since he spoke with the Captain-general. Lord Marach had begun checking him for evidence of a fever spike as well as inspecting his dressings immediately upon arriving at the patient’s side. Now, he was swabbing his forehead with cool, clean water.

When Legolas’ voice carried during his heated exchange with Aragorn, all eyes, including Boromir’s, Éomer’s and Marach’s, turned in their direction. Boromir’s knowledge of Sindarin was shaky at best, preferring to study sword-play and military stratagem instead; so, he could only make out bits and pieces. But the look on Lord Marach’s face showed concern—but for whom, Boromir could not decide.

As they continued to observe, neither noticed the younger Steward-Prince eyes open, Boromir turning back only when Faramir touched his hand. “Why so concerned, Big Brother—I did not die, did I?” Faramir had a wicked since of humor and a love of the absurd.

“Welcome back, Love. How fare you?” Touching his face as he asked.

“I am hungry, but not for that vile tea and herb-infested broth Aragorn insists on pouring into me!” He laughed at that (he had been mostly unconscious during those times, but apparently remembered those remedies), but smiled broader when he noticed the Senior Healer next to him. “Lord Marach; thank the Valar that you have come to save me from my over-protective brother and cousin.”

Marach chuckled, saying, “And who will save you from me, hum?”

Éomer rejoined, “I guess that would be me.”

Faramir followed his voice, gracing the Marshal with a fond smile. Before he could speak to Éomer, he heard murmuring coming from the guards and rangers throughout the camp. “What is happening, Boromir?”

“Aragorn is...*speaking*...with the elf, Legolas,” He said with a touch of irony when hearing the raised voice of his cousin.

“Then, I did not dream him...wait—we spoke of this earlier; I remember now.” He looked at his brother with a happy grin on his gorgeous face. “He came to my rescue when those vile thieves struck. He was like...a fearsome angel! I would like to speak with him—to thank him. Please fetch him, Boromir.”

“Of course, Little One.” Boromir looked at the Gondoran healer, “You were correct, sir—I am glad.” He then stood to do as his brother asked.

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Aragorn asked Legolas, “You are King Thranduil’s son? Why have you not spoken of this before now?”

“When was I supposed to say these things? The first time I attempted to speak to you, you threatened my life with my own blade. None of you wanted to hear me profess my innocence, for you branded me guilty; why would I think you would believe that I was a lost Prince of Greenwood?” The Sindar was very tired suddenly (of talking and explaining) so he turned and sat down where he had been when Aragorn first approached—cradling his head on top of his drawn-up knees. When the man Boromir came over, he braced himself for more strife.

“Aragorn; Faramir is awake and he is asking to speak to the elf.” He whispered to the Gondoran Prince.

Aragorn was pleased that Faramir was awake again, but wondered what his young cousin would have to say to Legolas, not wanting him to become upset at facing his believed attacker, but also concerned for the Elven Prince. “Speak to him—did he say why?”

“Yes. He wants to thank him.”

TBC

Please review.

A/N: Yay! The truth is out and Faramir has saved the day! I know that I put a LOT of background and side-story and notes in this chapter, but this will be needed for future chapters. Much has been revealed, but there is still a lot of angst ahead. I will update as soon as I can (you know I love this, so don’t despair), but it may be a bit longer as I’m getting ready for classes to start in a couple weeks and there are a couple other duties that I will need to complete—the Mistletoe in May Fic swap and I am helping to moderate a new community at livejournal called. It is very unusual so check it out—I’ll tell you more if you are interested; just email me.