May it Be-Second Born Part 3

Title: May it Be (Second Born Series, Part 3)

Series: Second Born

Author: Khylea

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Celeborn/Faramir

Warning: Angst, character death

Timeline: Year 82 of the Fourth Age. Still AU, Faramir is still with Celeborn instead of Éowyn.

Archive: Feel free, just drop me a URL where I can visit it please sl_chester@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I STILL don’t own these characters. JRR Tolkien does. Don’t own the song either, Enya does. *looks around* I do own half the LOTR library.....*sigh*

Feedback: Sure....never tried a character death fic before. How did I do? Do I need the large economy size box of Kleenex, or just the small one?

Beta: Manon

Summary: Celeborn is in Eryn Lasgalen (formerly known as Mirkwood) when his beloved Faramir takes ill. Will he return in time to see his love once more?

Author's Notes: *sighs* Little did I know, back when I first thought about doing a Faramir hurt/comfort story, nearly a year ago, that it would grow into not just one, but two sequels. After I finished the first one, I told myself it was fun, but it was such an unusual pairing, that I had no intention of continuing with the story arc. But as I wrote other things in the intervening months, there was always a nagging thought in the back of my mind that the story was not yet fully told. Even part two, as happy as I was with it, still left me feeling as if the story was unfinished. Celeborn had been there for the one he loved for one difficult time in his life, why not two? Why not be there to comfort him when his beloved Faramir thinks all those who once loved him are now gone. Which led to the thoughts of later....to make his last gift to the man he has fallen so deeply in love with, the gift of his presence, as Faramir passes from this world to the next. To take away the fear and uncertainty we all feel when we think about death.

When I first started writing fanfiction, the one genre I seldom read, and swore I would never write, was character death stories. So much for that. I want to thank all my readers who have stuck with this story arc for the last year and I dearly hope this is a fitting end to what has been quite a ride.

Note #2: Since email typically doesn’t translate Italics correctly, words enclosed in double asterisks (like this: **) are meant to be italicized. It will look correct on the pretty HTML version I post, but not on the email I send.


****************************************************


**May it be an evening star
Shines down upon you
May it be when darkness falls
Your heart will be true**


The man’s breath sounded dreadfully loud in the hushed room, the raspy, strained gurgling of lungs trying to pull in just one more breath, then another; trying to force the darkness away for one more minute, hour, day. All went silent as he hesitated, the healer by his bedside looking up in alarm, his eyes widening in concern until the man forced his protesting body to draw another painful breath.

“Has....he....arrived?” he croaked out to the healer, his faint voice barely audible above the soft sounds of the breeze pushing through the partially opened windows.

The healer shook his head. “No, my Lord Faramir. He has not arrived yet.”

“Word....was sent?” he gasped.

“Aye, it was, the moment you first took ill. But it is many days’ ride from Eryn Lasgalen.”

Faramir nodded, taking a deep breath which set off another coughing fit. Once he could breathe again, he reached for the healer’s hand, giving it a weak squeeze. “Of course....forgive me Felaron....you would not....neglect that.”

Felaron returned the gentle squeeze. “There is nothing to forgive my lord....my friend....” he added softly. “It has been my honor to serve you all these years.”

Faramir nodded, closing his eyes and attempting to take another deep breath. This time, he was successful, and some of the pain in his chest lightened. “I am pleased that a healer who trained under Lord Elrond himself was willing to accompany me here,” he said softly, once again opening his eyes. “It is good to know so much of his knowledge has been passed on to my kin.”

The elven healer nodded slightly. “Aye, it would make him happy to know his knowledge lives on, both here in Ithilien and in Gondor with King Elessar.”

Nothing was said for several moments, the harsh breathing of the Prince of Ithilien the only sound in the hushed room. Finally he spoke again. “Felaron?”

“Yes?”

“After I pass, will you sail west?”

“My lord, you are not going to....”

“Felaron,” Faramir interrupted softly. “My time has come, I can feel it.” He gently squeezed the hand he still held. “You are the most skilled healer left on Arda; surely you can see the signs.”

Felaron stared at him for a long moment before sighing, his shoulders dropping. “Aye....I only wished....” He sighed again. “Elrond would be most displeased with me. He always said it was important for a healer to keep a distance from those he cared for, to enable him to dispassionately decide the best course of treatment.”

Faramir smiled gently. “Perhaps....but it is also important for a healer to care, Felaron. And you have done that. You have been a good friend.”

“As have you, mellon.” Faramir nodded and closed his eyes. Before long, he slept. The healer gently set his hand back on his chest and looked north, toward Eryn Lasgalen. “Please hurry, my Lord Celeborn. He does not have much longer.”

********************************************************

**You walk a lonely road
Oh! How far you are from home.....**


Thranduil sighed, running a hand through his long golden hair, staring intently at the map. “But if I give them access to all my lands....”

“Mellon....” Celeborn said gently. “It is time for the dominion of men. Our people have all but left these shores. Do you not feel the urge to sail? To be reunited with your dear wife? To await your son in Aman?”

Thranduil’s shoulders slumped, the proud king for once looking sad and defeated. “Aye, I do miss her.” He looked up at his old friend. “You cannot tell me you are not eager to be reunited with your people as well, Celeborn. Why have you not sailed?”

“You know why, Thranduil,” he said softly. “You know what ties me here.”

Thranduil nodded thoughtfully. “Aye....I suppose I do. How is your mate?”

“He grows old. I see his body weaken more every year.”

“Aye, Legolas says the same thing about Elessar, though the king is loathe to admit it. Such is the price we pay for caring for mortals.” He hesitated. “It pains you to see the one you love weaken.” Celeborn nodded. “Would it have been better had you never met him at all?”

Celeborn considered the question for a moment before answering. “No, I would not have wished that either. I count myself fortunate to have known him, regardless of how short our time together has been.”

“You realize that to him, seventy years is a very long time.”

“I know....more than half his life....but such a small portion of mine. But better a small portion than none at all. I will ever treasure the memory of the love I shared with him.” Thranduil nodded and the two fell silent, each lost to thoughts of those they cared about, those they had lost, and perhaps would some day see again.

They were jolted from their reverie by an urgent knock on the door to Thranduil’s office. The king strode quickly to the door, pulling it open. The messenger bowed low before his king. “Forgive me for disturbing you, your highness, but the messenger from Ithilien said this dispatch must be delivered to Lord Celeborn with the utmost speed.”

Celeborn joined the king at the doorway. “There is a message for me?”

The messenger bowed to him as well. “Yes, my lord.” He handed the message to Celeborn, and with a quick bow, hurried off down the hallway. Thranduil closed the door behind him, and turned toward his friend. The other had not opened the scroll, staring intently at the wax seal holding the parchment closed.

“What is it, mellon?” he asked softly.

“This is the seal of the master healer in Ithilien....news from him can only be bad,” he said softly, dropping into a chair and running his fingers over the golden rope tied around the rolled message. With trembling fingers, he untied it, then unrolled the scroll and began to read:


**My Lord Celeborn,

Forgive me for disturbing your important business with his majesty, King Thranduil, but a situation has come up that you must be made aware of immediately. My Lord Faramir has taken dreadfully ill. He has developed a build up of fluid in his lungs which is unfortunately not uncommon among humans of advanced age. The standard treatments have not given him any relief and I am at a loss as to what to do.

He fights desperately against the illness, but his body grows weaker every day. The only request he has made of me is to see you again. Though he understands the importance of your mission to Eryn Lasgalen, he misses you terribly and longs to see you once again.

I will not lie to you, my lord. I believe he has come to the end of his time on Arda. Please hurry home, my lord. Hurry home to your mate.

In Your Service,

Felaron**

Celeborn’s face paled more the further he read, causing Thranduil to move closer and place a supportive hand on the elf lord’s shoulder. “What is it, mellon?” Celeborn finished reading and handed the scroll to Thranduil, staring blankly at the far wall.

Thranduil quickly read the message, frowning deeply. “Go to him, my friend....our business here is concluded.”

Celeborn shook his head as if shaking himself from a dream. “Yes....” He quickly stood, and briefly clasped Thranduil’s hand in his before releasing it and rushing out the door.

******************************************
**Mornië utúlië (Quenya: Darkness has come)
Believe and you will find your way
Mornië alantië (Quenya: Darkness has fallen)
A promise lives within you now**


The darkened room smelled fresh and soothing, numerous pots of Athelas bubbling on burners set throughout the room. Felaron moved around quickly, adding water and fresh leaves to the pots, dipping a soft cloth in the bubbling liquid, then returning to the bed, carefully bathing the flushed face of the Prince of Ithilien.

The infection grew worse by the day, the fever unwilling to break, and his patient spent many hours each day muttering to himself, his fevered mind causing him to grow more and more delirious as time passed. Felaron wondered if the man even recognized him any longer. The wide eyes seldom focused on him and, when they did, he stared as if he had never seen the elven healer before.

He carefully brushed the soaked hair off the man’s forehead and wiped the perspiration away with a clean cloth. Taking Faramir’s hand in his own, he squeezed gently. “He is coming, my lord. Please....try to hold on.”

A shallow, rattling breath was his only response.

*************************************************

**May it be the shadow's call
Will fly away
May it be your journey on
To light the day
When the night is overcome
You may rise to find the sun**


Celeborn bent low over the neck of his mare, softly whispering into her ear. “Faster, please, Minuial....we must hurry.” The silver mare sensed her rider’s distress and attempted to push a little more speed from her tiring body. But there were limits to the strength of even elvish horses.

They had been racing home at a breakneck pace for over a week, the valiant mare giving her beloved rider all the strength she possessed in her noble body. They had rested for only a few hours each night, stopping near rivers and streams, or in green meadows where the mare could take her fill of soft green grass.

It pained Celeborn to push his cherished mare so hard, but with the connection elves had with each other, and with the creatures of the world, he knew the mare sensed his urgency, and shared it. Likely she did not understand why returning home was so important to him, but knew it was. So she did what she could, pushing her body beyond what she would normally be able to endure.

Celeborn leaned his cheek against the soft neck of his mount, closing his eyes and silently urging his horse to move faster. Every day, the connection he always felt to his mate grew weaker and weaker, and he knew Felaron had spoken true. Faramir was dying.

*Just a little longer, Minuial,* he thought. *We are almost there, my friend.*

The mare snorted and leaped over a fallen tree, her mane and tail streaming behind her in the wind created from her breakneck speed.

******************************************

**Mornië utúlië (Quenya: Darkness has come)
Believe and you will find your way**


The moon rose high in the sky, casting her soft light across the healing chamber. The shutters over the windows had been opened, letting in the sweet perfumed essence of a warm summer night.

Felaron sat beside the bed, carefully watching his patient as Faramir slept, his labored breathing the only noise in the room. All avenues of treatment had been exhausted, and as much as the healer hated to admit defeat, he could no longer deny it even to himself. He had failed the man, and the knowledge that eventually Faramir would have passed from the world, with or without his care, did little to assuage his guilt.

His treatment had not been with the idea of saving the man’s life; he had seen other men over the years that had the malady the Prince of Ithilien suffered from, and as yet he had not been able to devise a treatment. He knew when Faramir first fell ill from this that it would eventually claim his life. His thoughts had been only to help the man hold on long enough to see his mate one last time. But it seemed even that would be denied him. Even if every condition was optimal, it would take over three weeks for a message to be delivered to Eryn Lasgalen, and for Celeborn to return home. The message had been sent just over two weeks before and, looking at his patient with the dispassionate eye of a healer, Felaron could easily see he did not have another week. He closed his eyes and sent a silent prayer to the Valar to speed the feet of Celeborn’s mare.

************************************

**Mornië alantië (Quenya: Darkness has fallen)
A promise lives within you now**


Great sheets of water flew into the air as the mare leaped into the river, surging through the deep water and soaking her rider, but Celeborn barely noticed and cared less. The connection to his mate had been severed the day before and he rode in desperation now, not even stopping the night before to rest him or his mount. The mare, for her part, sensed his fear and did not protest when he again urged further speed from her exhausted body.

She lunged up the far bank of the river and, for the first time, slowed, picking her way carefully up the loose shale of the steep hillside. Once she reached the top, she stopped for a moment, collecting her breath, and Celeborn allowed her rest, feeling his heart lighten at seeing the rolling hills of Emyn Arnen in the distance, the glittering spires of the capitol city rising like a spear into the clouds.

“We are almost there, Minuial,” he said softly. “Just a few more hours, and then I shall allow you to rest as long as you like.” The mare snorted softly and bent her neck toward him, rubbing her nose on the leg of her rider. Celeborn felt powerful muscles gather under him as the mare launched herself down the slope, speeding quickly toward the distant city.

They made the distance in far less time that he had ever thought possible, and the gates were flung open at his approach as the guards recognized the returning elf lord. Quickly he worked his way through the cobblestone streets, allowing the mare to pick her pace so as not to injure herself on the hard pavement. Celeborn directed her through the maze of streets, pulling her to a stop once they reached the healing house, sliding off her back before she had come to a full stop. Gently pressing his forehead against the broad face of his faithful mare, he laid his hand on her sweaty neck. “Thank you, mellon....now go....go to the stables, they will care for you there.” The mare bumped his hand with her nose and slowly trudged down the street to the stables.

Celeborn pushed his wind-blown hair back off his face and, taking a deep breath, swung the door open. The room appeared empty and his heart dropped. Was he too late? Had his mate passed from the world? Would he not have a last chance to see his beloved Faramir? No....he could not believe that. Ilúvatar would not be so cruel to him.

He searched the room desperately, finally seeing in the back near the fireplace a single chair, occupied by two figures. Felaron sat on the chair, his patient in his lap, several blankets wrapped around them both. The healer’s face was drenched with sweat, but the man he held shivered violently with cold, his gasping for breath sounding dreadfully loud to Celeborn’s sensitive ears.

For several seconds, Celeborn did not move, unsure what he was seeing. Suddenly aware he was not alone, Felaron turned to face him, his worry suddenly turning to relief. “My lord....you arrived in time. Thank the Valar!”

Celeborn moved closer, confused at the scene before his eyes. “Felaron, what....what is going on? Should he not be in bed?”

“He could not get warm, my lord....I attempted to warm him the best I could.” He reached a hand toward Celeborn. “Quickly, my friend....he asks for you.” He rose from the chair, lifting a limp Faramir off his shoulder.

With a nod, Celeborn quickly shed his traveling clothes and dropped into the chair, taking the precious bundle the healer held, and wrapping the blankets around them both when Felaron offered them. Faramir and the healer were both naked as well, the elf having attempted to give the man as much of his body heat as he could.

With a respectful bow, Felaron quickly pulled on his clothes and moved to the other side of the room to give the pair some privacy, yet staying nearby in case he was needed. Celeborn stroked the soft silver hair off the forehead of his mate, remembering a time so many years before in Rohan when he held a frightened young man in his arms. His hair was auburn then, his body stronger, his face unlined. But Celeborn had spoken true that night when he told the man he did not love him for his outward appearance, but rather for his soul, his kindness and compassion and courage. And those had not faded over the years. If anything, the more he grew to know his mate, the more he grew to love him.

Faramir stirred gently in his arms, aware he was being held by someone else. He opened his eyes and slowly turned his head, looking blankly at his mate for several seconds before his sight cleared. “Meleth....” he breathed, melting into the embrace of his beloved. “You came....”

“Did I not tell you we would never be parted, my love?” Celeborn replied in a soft whisper, carefully tightening his grip on the frail body in his arms.

“Aye you did....you did....” Faramir closed his eyes once more, gathering his strength. Even the hacking cough was beyond his strength now, all his waning energy going toward drawing in just one more painful breath.

Tears pressed at Celeborn’s eyes as he held his beloved. Though he knew men often faded quickly once they took ill, a part of him had hoped against hope that he would have many more years with his mate. But it appeared it was not to be. Even this close, he could barely sense Faramir’s spirit and knew the man’s death was close at hand. He sent a silent prayer of gratitude to Ilúvatar that he had returned in time to see him one last time.

“Celeborn?” Faramir whispered.

“Yes, meleth?”

“I love you so....” He took a deep breath, gasping softly at the pressing pain on his chest. “You have made me so happy these last years.”

“No more happy than you have made me, my dear Faramir. I never thought the span of such a small number of years could mean so much to me.”

Faramir nodded and took another deep breath. “Promise me something?”

Celeborn gently stroked the almost translucent skin of the man’s chest. “Anything.”

“Promise me you will sail....” He felt Celeborn’s hesitation and pressed on. “Please, meleth....do not stay here and fade under the dying trees. Go to Valinor; be with your people, with your friends and comrades.”

“My love, I....”

“Please....I could not bear to think of you staying here, one of the last of your kind on Arda. Promise me!” His voice was surprisingly strong for one so near to death, his eyes intense and hard.

After a moment, Celeborn nodded. “If it will give you peace to know I am among my kind, I will do as you ask.” Faramir nodded, relaxing into the strong body of the elf. For a long time, nothing was said, until finally Celeborn spoke again. “Is there anything I can do? Anything that will ease your pain?”

“Make love to me,” Faramir replied without hesitation. “One last time....let me take the memory of your touch with me to the next world.”

“Faramir....your body is too weak, it could not withstand that.”

Faramir looked over his shoulder at the elf. “Celeborn....my time is soon up....I lack the strength to fight any longer....I do not wish to die, but if I must, let me die from the touch of your beloved hands. Please....”

Celeborn no longer tried to stop the tears that coursed down his cheeks. Leaning forward to plant a soft kiss on Faramir’s shoulder, he nodded. “If it will give you peace, I will do as you ask, my beloved mate.”

Faramir nodded and closed his eyes, sighing lightly at the soft touches. Even as an old man, his body had eagerly responded to the attentions of his mate, and they had continued lovemaking into his latest years. Repositioning the man in his arms, Celeborn allowed his hands to run up and down the thin chest, finding his flaccid shaft under the covers and slowly stroking it.

Faramir gasped again and pressed into the touches, his member already beginning to awaken. Their lovemaking had grown more tender and more gentle over the years, the elf respecting the weakness and fragility of the man’s body. It had been many years since he had taken his mate, instead encouraging Faramir to take him instead, not wanting to risk injuring him.

Faramir’s sighs changed to groans as his mate stroked him to full hardness. “Meleth?” he gasped, laying his head back on Celeborn’s shoulder, feeling a soft kiss pressed against his cheek.

“Yes, my love?”

“Take me, please....it has been so long since I have felt you inside me.”

Celeborn opened his mouth, prepared to refuse, but quickly shut it again, the tears leaving long trails of wetness down his dusty face. “As you wish, my love.” He reached for his discarded tunic, finding the small bottle of massage oil in an inside pocket. Coating the fingers of one hand with it, he reached between their bodies, gently pressing inside his mate. To his surprise, the muscle gave easily under his touch. He did not understand why for a moment, but then remembered. Faramir’s other muscles had grown weak and flaccid as he aged, why should that one be any different?

To his delight, he was able to quickly add a second finger, then a third. Faramir made no sound, either of pleasure or of pain, and Celeborn could feel the darkness pulling on his mate’s soul with increasing strength. Quickly slicking his erection with oil, he lifted the man up and lowered him onto his shaft. He reached around Faramir’s waist and took his erection into one hand, quickly stroking it as he thrust up into the body above him.

For several long minutes, the only sounds were flesh slapping against flesh and Faramir’s harsh, labored breathing as he approached closer and closer to his climax. Celeborn could feel his own release quickly building and nibbled on the man’s ear, whispering, “Come for me, love....come for me now.”

A few more thrusts and he felt the man clamp around his shaft, his release covering Celeborn’s hand. A moment later, he too reached his climax, groaning loudly as his seed filled his mate. Faramir collapsed back against his chest and Celeborn held him close, breathing in the scent of his hair as he regained his breath.

Finally he was able to move and gently kissed the shoulder of his mate. “Thank you, my love....that was wonderful.” There was no response. “Faramir? Meleth?” He quickly felt for a pulse in the man’s throat, but could not find one, and the chest no longer moved. “No, please....” he begged, “not yet....no, I just need a little more time with him. Ilúvatar, please! Do not take him from me yet!” He held the man close, slowly rocking him, trying to give him his strength, but it did not take long to realize it was too late. He was gone.

For a long time, he held his mate’s body tightly against him, sobbing into Faramir’s shoulder, cursing the Creator for taking his love from him. He was dimly aware of the soft sounds of the door opening and then closing as Felaron quietly left the room, giving him time to grieve. Eventually the tears had run their course and he simply held him, unwilling to let go. Remembering what Faramir had asked him to do, so many years ago, he carefully lifted the man’s body off his lap and carried him to his bed. Finding the ranger’s clothes buried far in the back of the closet, put there years ago when he had a vision that this is where his mate would pass, he quickly dressed Faramir in them, then wrapped him in a blanket. He still could not look at his beloved’s face, unwilling to see the soft blue eyes he had loved so much open and unseeing in death. Re-dressing in his dirty traveling clothes, he lifted the body into his arms and left the house, quickly descending the hill behind the village.

Knowing that his mate would have wanted to be laid to rest here, where they had shared so many days of pleasure, of love, he set Faramir down on the ground and began laying rocks over him for a cairn. Finally when the last rock was ready to be laid, over the beloved face that he had been privileged to share his life with for so many years, he kissed the pale forehead, and one last time studied the face that had chased away his melancholy on many a lonely night. What he saw there made his heart soar with joy.

Faramir was smiling....

**A promise lives within you now.**

END

**May it Be

May it be an evening star
Shines down upon you
May it be when darkness falls
Your heart will be true
You walk a lonely road
Oh! How far you are from home

Mornië utúlië (Quenya: Darkness has come)
Believe and you will find your way
Mornië alantië (Quenya: Darkness has fallen)
A promise lives within you now

May it be the shadow's call
Will fly away
May it be your journey on
To light the day
When the night is overcome
You may rise to find the sun

Mornië utúlië (Quenya: Darkness has come)
Believe and you will find your way

Mornië alantië (Quenya: Darkness has fallen)
A promise lives within you now

A promise lives within you now**

-Enya