Denethor declares war on Rivendell.
Chapter 13: Along with Him I'll Bide
this page added by Lexin
Warning: interspecies UST
He knew black formless depths and pinnacles of red, spears that pierced him through, earth that smothered. He saw faces, people he should know and a few he did not; they spoke, but he could not understand. The shades of the dead loomed over him; shimmering and pale, they brought torment. He learned to scream.
Time passed, so long that he became almost accustomed to bone-deep fear. Then he heard a voice. These words he could understand. He concentrated and followed the voice through paths and byways to the light: he was afraid, but the voice spoke directly to him. He must find it and obey.
The words were simple: "Faramir, wake up."
He opened his eyes and closed them again against the bright glare. Another voice spoke, he didn't catch what was said, and then he heard the voice of his Lord again, "You must wake up now. It's been long enough."
He would have spoken, but he found he could only cough; there was a foul taste in his mouth, honey and bitterness. Someone held a vessel to his lips, and he drank the clear water. His throat soothed, he said, "What commands does my Lord have for me?" His voice sounded scratchy and unused even to him. He opened his eyes again, and discovered that someone had covered the windows for though it was bright, he could see and his eyes did not water.
"Ah, at last."
He looked round, slowly - everything seemed as if he were caught up in glue - and he saw an old man, very small, sitting by the side of his bed. "Are you my Lord?" he asked.
He didn't think he could be, he was sure he would have known. So it he was not surprised when the man said, "No. I'm Bilbo Baggins."
"He called me. My Lord called me."
Bilbo said, "Frodo?"
Another short man stepped away from the window, "Greetings, Faramir son of Denethor. I am Frodo Baggins of the Shire."
He was aware that he was not offering anything like the respect his Lord deserved - for there was no mistaking what and who he was. He would have sat up, but he found that he could barely move. "I would do you honour," he said. His Lord smiled, to his relief; he would not have his Lord angry with him.
"Whatever that means, there's no need for it." His Lord came closer, and he saw that where the other was indeed very old, this one appeared young. His eyes were bright, as was fitting, his face lovely to behold and his hair dark and curly. He said, "How are you feeling, Faramir?"
"I think I hurt. At least, I have memory of pain. How...?" he stopped and looked down at the white covering on the bed. One who served should not question. He knew that, though not when or where he had learned it.
"What is it?" said his Lord.
It was permitted? How extraordinary. He asked, "How long have I been here?"
The two, his Lord and Bilbo Baggins, exchanged glances. Then his Lord said, "It's been over a year since Gandalf brought you here. Do you remember much about what happened?"
His Lord had asked and he must answer, but it still took him a moment to push back the fear. "Darkness... Pain. Him within me, the hands of the chosen one anointing me, making me ready to serve his need. Then he..." He could feel tears welling up from somewhere and strove to hide his weakness, "I offered him my pain, all I had, but he did not fully claim me. I failed."
"Shush now, Faramir," His Lord's voice was a balm to the raw, empty place within, and he breathed out, allowing his grief to recede. His Lord continued, "I'm sorry. I should not have asked you that. It was foolish of me to imagine you might be able to speak of it so soon."
"You could not be foolish, my Lord."
His Lord smiled, "That would be hard to live up to: I reserve the right to be as foolish as the next hobbit."
A moment of panic, then he realised that his Lord was not laughing at him, more at himself. He said, "I don't understand."
"Bilbo and I are hobbits; we're from a land called the Shire."
"Hobbits," he tried the unfamiliar word. "I thought you were men, but..." he stopped, not sure if his words would be taken as an insult.
"Very small? No, Faramir. We're of a different people to Men."
"Faramir is the name you wish to give to me?"
His Lord sat on the bed, and reached out to him. His Lord's hand felt strange, smaller than his own and warm and it was odd to have someone so close and not fear them. "Faramir is the name you were born with. You are Faramir, son of Denethor. Your father is the Lord Steward of Gondor."
There were places in his mind, empty like the shape left by a boot when it was pulled from a bog; he knew that what his Lord told him was true, but not what it signified. He turned the name over in his mind. "I serve you, my Lord," he said. "If you wish me to have this name, then I will have it." His Lord smiled at him, and Faramir's heart lifted: to serve one so merry would not be so difficult. Not like... He cut the thought before he could give it birth.
"Why do you call me Lord?"
"I came to serve you."
"That's going to complicate things," Bilbo was still sitting in his chair by the bed. His attention entirely on his Lord, Faramir flinched. He had forgotten there was anyone else in the room.
"Uncle Bilbo, could you tell Elrond that his guest has awoken? And find Faramir something to eat?"
Faramir was surprised that Bilbo did not immediately jump to obey, as he would have done. Instead, he frowned and then stood, "Very well, Frodo."
"Thank you." His Lord turned back to Faramir and patted his arm, "It would be better if you called me Frodo, as everyone else does."
"But..." Faramir started. It seemed lacking in respect to call his Lord by name, but he was not quite sure how to frame what he wanted to say without causing offence. He said, "I will do so, if you wish it. But in my heart, you are my Lord and will remain so."
Frodo smiled. "That's very sweet of you. Odd, but sweet."
They looked at each other for a strange dislocated moment, then a door opened and a voice said, "Are you annoying my patient, Frodo?"
Faramir jumped and looked up. One of the shades he remembered from his dream crossed the room towards him and only Frodo's presence prevented him from attempting to bolt. Frodo said, "Don't worry. Elrond won't harm you."
"You are sure?" Faramir knew he must sound weak, pitiable. Frodo could not know how this shade had tortured him, how he had screamed for mercy; he could not face that in the waking world.
"I promise," said Frodo. Faramir closed his hand round Frodo's, seeking reassurance. Frodo patted him with his other hand; "I'll stay with you, if you like."
"Please, my...Frodo."
The shade had looked from one of them to the other; as far as Faramir could judge he despised frailty, but if it grew no worse he would tolerate it without comment or reprisal. Fear threatened to engulf him, but he was aware of Frodo's hand in his and that allowed him to conquer it. He looked up. "What do you wish to know?"
"How are you feeling?"
"I do not know what you mean."
Frodo spoke, "When you woke, you said you hurt. Do you still?"
Faramir needed to lie to the shade, to Elrond, for to confess to pain brought more, but could not do so to Frodo. He hesitated then said, "A little."
Elrond moved closer, and said, "Where is the pain?"
Again, Faramir looked to Frodo, who said, "You must answer Elrond's questions. He's trying to help you."
"It is within me." He shivered; the worst of the torments were within.
"Where?" Elrond stepped back, "I will not touch you if you do not wish it. If you lie down, you can show me on your body where it hurts."
Faramir looked at Frodo for confirmation, then did as he was asked, "It is here, and here," he said, indicating his lower belly and to one side.
"You were very badly injured when you were brought here," said Elrond. "I have done what I can but there is some weakness to the bowel walls. I hope that you will recover fully in time, but until then you must be careful what you eat, allow your bowel to work naturally and not push, and drink plenty of water."
There was a silence, and Frodo looked at him expectantly. The word of a shade was not to be trusted and Faramir was not sure what to say. In the end he said, "I will do as you ask," and he knew it had been the right thing when Frodo squeezed his hand, and smiled at him.
"Is there aught else that you need?"
Frodo was here, how could there be? "No. Thank you."
"Good. Frodo, I would like a word with you. Outside, please."
Faramir could not risk Frodo to the care of a shade such as this Elrond, so though he was already tired he slipped out of the bed and stood. At once he was hit by a wave of dizziness, and had to sit again to keep from falling. He cursed the weakness of mind and body that took him from Frodo's side and exposed him to danger, and forced himself to stand and stay standing. Then he moved across the room, taking it slowly and steadily, using the furniture to support himself. He reached the door at last and leaned against it to rest for a moment as another wave of dizziness swept over him.
He opened it a crack, and looked out. His room was at the end of a corridor, and along it he could see Frodo and Elrond. They were sitting on a bench; they both looked serious, and Frodo concerned. Faramir had taken too long; he'd missed the start of their conversation. He heard Frodo say, "Gandalf was sure you'd know."
"He has great faith in me: too much. I cannot be sure if this terror is a natural result of what happened to him; from what Glorfindel told me he endured it would be entirely justified if it were. But I fear greatly: it may be significant that only the voice of the Ringbearer brought him back from the pit."
"He's such a, well, nice young man."
"Frodo! You have barely known him an hour."
"Gandalf speaks well of him."
"Of how he was in Minas Tirith as a boy. Gandalf has not seen him for at least seven years, and probably longer. Even if the bonding wasn't completed, he has been under Denethor's thumb for a long time. And in this state...no, he cannot travel."
Frodo looked dissatisfied at Elrond's words, and said, "What will happen now he has woken?"
"I will need to discuss that properly with everyone, particularly with you, and with Gandalf. Given what you have seen and what we suspect, I believe we may have to delay the next part of my plan for some time. It is frustrating: it is costing lives, of my people and of his."
"So my journey was for naught?"
"Certainly not. We..."
A movement further up the corridor distracted Faramir; he could see Bilbo coming towards them with two shades behind him carrying trays.
"Erestor, hold," said Elrond. "What are you giving him?" He inspected the contents of the trays, then said, "That should be safe enough, but don't let him eat too much. Don't look at me like that, Bilbo. He's not a hobbit and he's been ill for a long time."
Faramir made it back to his bed just in time; as the door opened he slid under the covers. The two shades stayed well away; instead, Frodo brought a tray and put it on his lap. It seemed very strange to be given a meal by someone who should be accepting his service, but Frodo made no comment on it so he did not.
The food was bland but quite filling, and Faramir quickly had sufficient. Bilbo looked a trifle disappointed at how little he ate, but Frodo accepted that he had had enough and took the tray away. He smiled at Faramir and said, "You look tired; do you want to sleep now?"
"Please, Frodo." Faramir allowed Frodo to take the pillows which had supported him as he ate, and lay back. "I hope the shades are gone from my dreams."
Frodo looked puzzled, "Shades?"
Faramir was embarrassed; he was exhausted and had spoken without thinking, but as Frodo had asked he now had to explain. "Shades of the dead, like Elrond. I don't want to dream of the pain." He smiled up at Frodo in sudden joy, "I want to dream of you."
"Do you have any idea what caused it?" Elrond asked. "He's been awake nine weeks and he's never done that before."
"He's asleep," Frodo said quietly, from his position on the bed beside Faramir. "Don't wake him. We're used to his odd behaviour," he stroked Faramir's hair, calming him, "but sudden sickness for no obvious cause is new."
Elrond smiled, as if he couldn't help it. "Such spectacular sickness, too. All over Haldir. He's probably still scraping it out of his hair."
Frodo at first tried not to laugh, then tried to laugh quietly. He had to change the subject and hit on, "Which of the three was Faramir's brother?"
"The one in the centre, in the armour of the citadel. Why do you ask?"
"Faramir says he's never seen him before. Or either of the others." Frodo sighed, "His memory is so patchy; some things he remembers very clearly, but others seem to have vanished. He described to me the house of his uncle in Dol Amroth the other day, apparently he stayed there for three months when he was nine, but he can't remember his brother. He can recall every word of a treaty his father signed with Rohan, but not the words of the lay of Ilúvatar that every child learns."
"And now?"
Frodo frowned, "We go on with your plan. What else can we do?"
Boromir had shouted for hours, but nobody had taken the slightest notice and he wondered if perhaps they'd decided to punish him once he fell silent. That would be like elves, father had always said they were tricky. Perhaps that was the reason for the comfortable room he'd been given? He did not want to be beholden to such creatures; he would rather share a bare cell with his companions. And how fared Tirion and Mablung? Until they arrived in Rivendell that morning they had not been parted since their capture. He missed them; it was intolerable to think of them being abused, even tortured.
Without warning, the door to the chamber opened and Boromir looked up; instead of the tall elf he'd expected, a barefoot child entered. No...perhaps not. Was this some kind of very short elf? He was young, but the face was that of an adult.
"You are Boromir?"
"Yes."
"I am Frodo Baggins, a hobbit from the Shire...you will never have heard of the Shire."
"No, never."
"And this..." Frodo turned round, and spoke to someone behind him, "Come on, he won't hurt you."
Boromir had expected another of these hobbits, and took a moment to register that it wasn't. "Faramir!" he said. "My brother..." He moved to hug Faramir, as he would have done had he met him in Minas Tirith or Ithilien.
Faramir backed away towards the door. "You said he wouldn't hurt me," he said, not to Boromir, but to Frodo.
"He won't," Frodo stepped between them.
"He's my brother!" Boromir tried again.
"I know," said Frodo to Boromir. "But he doesn't."
"I believe you, Frodo," said Faramir. "I do, honestly!"
Faramir looked near to tears, and Boromir was puzzled, "Why are you so afraid?"
Frodo answered, "Elrond has written to Denethor and explained why. I cannot believe he hasn't told you."
"You mean that ridiculous story about the N..."
"Faramir?" Frodo interrupted, his voice sharp.
"Yes, Frodo?" Faramir said. Boromir was surprised; his brother had been looking at him, his expression worried, but the moment the hobbit spoke his attention was on Frodo alone. It was as if nobody else existed.
"Would you go to Erestor and tell him that I'm likely to be late to bed tonight? And then collect some papers from Gandalf; I think he's in the library, but he may not be."
Faramir left without a backward glance.
Boromir stared, "Why did you do that?"
Frodo sat down, "He'll be gone about forty minutes, I expect. Faramir's intelligent and determined but Gandalf's not in the library and Erestor's notoriously difficult to find. The answer is that I had to, unless you wanted to sit through him screaming for forty minutes or silent and immovable for several hours."
"Won't they be surprised?"
"Not at all. If I need to speak to anyone without Faramir present I send him on an errand. They understand." Frodo sighed, "Boromir, the truth is that your brother's very ill."
"The elves..."
"Have done their best for him; that he lives at all is a testament to Elrond's care and skill...and in return elves from Imladris have been waylaid and murdered. Your father calls this war. He has only failed to besiege Rivendell because he does not know where it lies, but he day he finds out creeps ever closer. Hear me Boromir, and hear me well: had Faramir been sent back to Minas Tirith when Elrond received your father's letter of challenge, your brother would certainly be dead from the wounds the Nazgûl gave him."
Boromir was not inclined to give ground, "He looks healthy enough to me,"
"His body is much recovered, though not yet completely well. His mind, however... The Nazgûl tried to claim Faramir, used a fell enchantment to try to take his mind and body for its own. Elrond could repair his body, but only Faramir himself can reclaim his mind. He tries hard and I believe he is mastering it, but it is slow and painful work."
Boromir considered this, "And if I believe you?"
"Elrond has written to your father; he has invited him to a parley at Tharbad. He estimates that he cannot be here any sooner than a month, and will probably take longer. He offers Denethor the return of both his sons if he will call off this war."
Boromir was not stupid. "What does Elrond want of me?" he asked.
"He asks that you confirm to your father what I have told you about Faramir's condition and treatment here. You will need to talk to Faramir; we do not expect you to say aught that you do not believe to be the truth."
Before Boromir could answer, Faramir returned. His arms were full of papers, "Are these the ones?" he said to Frodo. "Gandalf wasn't sure."
Frodo took one and glanced at it, "Yes. These are the translations Bilbo has been working on. Thank you, Faramir."
Faramir's face lit up; he looked so pleased to have done something right and Boromir's breath caught as he saw again the lights of Minas Tirith on the summer evening when Faramir had first bested him at practise.
Faramir said, "I'm real, aren't I, Frodo?"
Frodo smiled, "Yes, Faramir," and to Boromir he sounded as if he answered this question twenty times a day. He turned back to Boromir, "Will you consider what I said?"
"I will."
"That is all I ask. Come, Faramir; we will go to the Hall of Fire and listen to the singing."
Faramir wondered what he should say; in their many daily meetings, Boromir had expressed little interest in any of the things Faramir wanted to talk about and that left him at a loss to know what to say. That the shades...elves, he corrected himself firmly. That the elves were not interested in discussing one whose beauty eclipsed them all was no real surprise, but as he had been told they were brothers he had hoped that Boromir might understand. Frodo was so keen that he should talk to Boromir and his wants were so few. Faramir could not fail him.
"Why does Frodo want me to call the shades elves," Faramir asked.
"Because that's what they are," said Boromir. He sounded weary, but surely he shouldn't have done. Faramir knew he wasn't supposed to leave this room. "I told you that yesterday."
"Did you? I'm sorry." And he was. Frodo might be annoyed if he thought Faramir was wasting time.
The silence lengthened, then Boromir said, "Do you remember mother's salon?"
Faramir considered. Sometimes he could catch the memories if he sidled up to them and pounced. He said, "I can remember a big white stone thing in a chamber. It was cold and Digaewen wept."
"That was her tomb," said Boromir. "The day they put her in it."
"Is that good?" Faramir was concerned: Boromir didn't look pleased.
"Not really. At least, I suppose it's something: better than yesterday when you weren't even sure of your own name. What about father?"
Faramir frowned, "Nothing." He paused, and suddenly a picture came to him, "At least...there was a dog. It was hers. He was angry because it pulled at his robes and growled, and then bit him. I watched it fall after he threw it off the citadel, and when it hit the road it burst open like an over-ripe apple and the ground was all red."
Boromir stared at him, his disbelief obvious. "What! He didn't! You're making this up."
"I'm not. Frodo told me to talk to you about what I can remember. He didn't say anything about making up new things."
"It's a delusion, from the same place as these shades you keep talking about."
He could see that Boromir was angry, but quite suddenly Faramir didn't care. He said, "It's not! They're quite different."
"How old were you when this happened, anyway?"
"Four. Mother liked that dog; she called her Antval. I liked her, too. Her fur was soft, and she used to run towards me." Wanting the memory gone, Faramir took a deep breath, "Don't you think Frodo is beautiful?"
He still looked irritated, but Boromir sighed, "Not particularly, but I can see that you do."
Faramir sometimes thought his brother wasn't especially intelligent. "He's very kind," he said.
"Even though he tries to make you remember things you don't want to?"
"He's trying to make me better."
"Is he? It seems to me that it's in his interest to keep you ill as long as possible; you're nothing more than a glorified servant."
"It's better than I deserve," said Faramir.
"No! We need you in Minas Tirith! He brought you here..."
Faramir was exasperated. "Frodo didn't bring me here." He struggled against the tide of images that flooded into his mind, "Gandalf did, we flew across the roof of the world on the backs of eagles. I felt his tears on me, stinging like salt. He... The Lord of the Nazgûl... He screamed as we escaped, he wanted me back." Faramir laboured to breathe, "He still wants me, I can feel it, and I..." Blackness engulfed him.
This time, Frodo was beside his bed alone when he woke. "I did something stupid, didn't I?" said Faramir.
"No," said Frodo. "You fainted, but we're used to that."
"I've embarrassed Boromir again; I'm always doing that. He spanked me once, and I'm sure that was why." Faramir pulled himself up into a sitting position.
"You've remembered?"
"Quite a lot more, yes. I've made a complete fool of myself."
"You were ill. Still are, come to that."
"That means I did." He lay back, "Is there a cave near here, one that Elrond will let me live in and never come out?"
"I don't think so. Besides, Elrond needs you to meet your father." Frodo looked sober, "That... You told Boromir a story about your mother's dog. Was that true?"
"I... Yes, I'm afraid it was. I was terrified of father for years; I thought he'd do it to me if I displeased him. Of course he detected my fear and to this day he despises me for it."
"Does he know the cause?"
"I doubt mother ever told him I'd been there that day, and she died not long after."
There was a knock, the door opened and Elrond entered. "I thought I'd check on my perpetual patient," he said.
Faramir looked down, embarrassed, "I owe you an apology, Lord Elrond."
"Do you?" Elrond closed the door and crossed the room. "You're looking better. Perhaps had we given you a blow to the head rather sooner it would have saved you some weeks of grief."
"You're joking."
"Yes," said Elrond, his face perfectly serious. "Two days ago you would not have known that."
"I am sorry I thought you to be a..."
"Nightmare shade from Morgothrond?"
"Yes."
Elrond sat down on the bed. "Apology accepted. May I?" he reached for Faramir's hand. With the merest glance at Frodo, Faramir allowed him to take it. Elrond's hand was large, and not as warm as Frodo's. "The mind tries to make patterns," said Elrond. "If it does not have all the information, or some of it is false, the conclusions it comes to are wrong, sometimes spectacularly so. As you discovered."
"At least you were only a shade. I saw Mithrandir...Gandalf...as a pillar of fire."
"Interesting. I will tell him of it, it may be useful. May I examine you?"
Faramir looked at Frodo, "If Frodo can bear to stay, yes. If not... I'm sorry, the vestiges of my fear remain."
Afterwards, Frodo stroked the hair away from Faramir's face. He smiled and said, "I think you probably owe yet another apology."
"What for?"
"You bored everyone with tales of Frodo's perfection," said Elrond. " Despite his complaints Bilbo is utterly charmed and will adore you forever, but the rest of us..."
"I'm sorry if I was tiresome," said Faramir. He looked up into Frodo's eyes, caught by their beauty once again.
Frodo gave his most impish grin, "It was quite pleasant for there to be someone for whom I had no faults. Everyone else is far too aware of them for my taste."
"I do not admit that you have faults," said Faramir. "I apologise only for praising you to the point where others found me trying."
"You're definitely not completely cured," said Frodo.
The ride to Tharbad took seven days; at first Faramir found riding more of a physical strain than he had expected, every misstep of the horse made his bowel hurt. He did harden to it, but it took him several days.
As Tharbad approached he grew nervous; Elrond had assured him that he did not hold Faramir responsible for the deaths of the elves his father's soldiers had killed, but he could not hope for the same forbearance on the part of his father. Gondor did not have sufficient soldiers to lose any in a pointless war, and Denethor had a habit of placing responsibility in the most curious places and never on his own shoulders. Faramir could only hope that Boromir would stand by his word to explain the circumstances that had kept Faramir at Rivendell and to vouch for Elrond.
There were still empty spaces in Faramir's mind, and one of these had Tirion's shape; he felt sick whenever he saw the man and Faramir not seen Boromir with Tirion, he would have felt entirely secure that he would keep his word. As it was he was not so sanguine.
Tharbad drew close at last and Faramir straightened his shoulders. He could see the pennants on the tall spears of the sparse Gondorian cavalry - but not sign of the Rohirrim. Very strange, it appeared that they decided, or been persuaded, not to join their old alliance with Gondor. Perhaps it was because they balked at fighting elves? He wondered if anyone else had noticed, but supposed that Gandalf and Elrond must have.
They set up camp on the northern edge of the town and Elrond sent a herald ahead to announce his arrival. They did not have to wait long; the herald returned with an unarmed messenger who said, "I am bid to ask you to wait two hours while the Lord Steward prepares for the parley. He will meet you in the open; you can see the awnings prepared. He bids you come unarmed."
The Lord Steward of Gondor - for Faramir struggled to think of this man as his father - seemed almost indifferent. He said, "I had expected Elrond of Imladris, not a rag-tag collection of mountebanks."
"I am he," Elrond stepped forward, "and I return your sons to you."
"So I see."
Faramir fought not to take a step back. Denethor looked unimpressed by them all and his eye had travelled over Frodo as if he hadn't even noticed him. He did not seem pleased even to see Boromir but rather as if someone was attempting to take away his favourite playtoy.
There was a tense silence, then Denethor said, "I have thought long on this."
What happens next?