Rating: R
Pairings: Frodo/Faramir; Boromir/Eowyn, Aragorn/Arwen (secondary).
Summary: Busy bees set a plot in motion.
A/N: AU, Movieverse
Disclaimer: Frodo and all recognisable characters are the property of the Estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. No offence is intended, nor profit made.

ACT I

Sam knocked hesitantly on the heavy door. In the pause between the knock and the door swinging open, he bit his lip, shifting from foot to foot. He wasn't sure if he was doing the right thing, but Frodo was suffering so.

Neither the Healers nor Gandalf had been of any help. In fairness Sam had to admit Frodo hadn't been honest with them. Frodo couldn't talk about what was troubling him, so all assumed that he was simply dealing with the aftereffects of the Ring and the hard journey into Mordor. Sam knew better.

Only Sam had noticed how quiet Frodo had become since the wedding of Strider, Lord Aragorn, and the Lady Arwen. Frodo had begun to withdraw even from his fellow hobbits, walking by himself at all hours in the gardens. It just wasn't right.

"Sam! Come in!"

Boromir beamed at Sam, swinging the door open and gesturing for him to enter.

Sam looked both ways, seeing no one in the passage, but still ducked his head as he hurried through the door. He was nervous about being seen, nervous around Boromir he admitted to himself. He still wasn't quite able to forget Boromir's attempt to take the Ring, no matter how often Strider had assured the Fellowship that Boromir was healed.

The Lady Éowyn smiled at him from across the room lit by the rosy flames of fire and candles. She sat near the fire in a low chair, gold hair unbound and tumbling around her shoulders. Tapestries, some showing the White Tree, others the White Horse, hung on the walls. Outside tall windows, the deeping blue of the night sky showed one star.

Boromir insisted on pouring wine for Sam and upon giving him the chair Boromir had been sitting in, then dropped down onto the floor the to sit beside Éowyn, holding her hand. The three sat enjoying the warm fire, sipping their wine and talking about the changes in the city since the defeat of the Enemy and the coronation and wedding. The new spring was richer and more beautiful than any in their memory. Elves and Dwarves were already arriving, starting to work side by side with Men, to bring the City back to its lost beauty.

Sam finished his wine and sat looking down into his goblet, worrying about how to say what he needed to say. He finally swallowed and looked up. "There's a reason why I came here tonight. I need to ask a favour."

Boromir nodded, setting his goblet aside. "Of course. Whatever you need."

"Well, it's not me, exactly. It's for Frodo."

Éowyn smiled at him. "We would do aught in our power for the Ringbearer, Sam, you know that."

Sam found a gleam of hope in her words although he did not believe either could imagine what he was going to ask.

"It's--he's--I--," Sam gulped, took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "I don't know, but I think he's suffering because of something that happened, erm, with Faramir."

Boromir's jaw dropped. He stuttered. "What--how--when?"

Eowyn nodded. "I understand."

Boromir turned to her, releasing her hand. "What?

She smiled and set a hand on his shoulder. "Lady Arwen said something to me the other day when we were walking in the gardens. She has seen how Faramir goes out of his way to avoid Frodo, neither speaking to him nor looking at him, and how sad and pale Frodo looks, how he watches Faramir when he thinks none are watching him.. She worries about both of them, but neither will speak to her."

Sam nodded, impressed that the Queen had noticed and more that she had cared enough to speak about it.

"We thought to speak to Gandalf," Éowyn said, "but he said that there was nothing wrong with Frodo that he had been able to find. He said something about a tonic and promised he'd talk to Faramir."

Sam shuddered at the thought of what Gandalf might say to Faramir, but there was nothing he could do about that now. "Something happened when we were in Ithilien," he said. "I don't know what. Before Faramir decided to release us, something between them. And, well, Frodo won't talk about it to me now although he spoke often of Faramir before. And if Frodo tries to talk to Faramir, he won't respond. He just keeps.." Sam stumbled to a stop. He wanted to say running away, but he could not say those words to Faramir's brother.

"Keeps running away?" Lady Eowyn supplied softly, smiling at Boromi's indigant huff.

"My brother is no coward!"

She slid her hand around his neck, pulling him closer, shaking her head. "Neither Sam nor I think that. But why does he avoid speaking to Frodo? I've seen him leave the Hall."

Settling back, his hand over his wife's, Boromir shook his head. "I have seen none of this," he confessed. "Although it has seemed to me that Faramir has grown quiet in recent days. I had thought him still grieving over our father's death."

Remembering the tales Pippin had told about the Lord Steward and his treatment of his younger son, Sam nearly snorted but managed to restrain himself in time. From all he'd heard, Sam figured that the Steward was better off dead.

"What would you like us to do?"

Sam nerved himself to take a breath. "Perhaps, well, if you could talk to Faramir," he suggested.

His voice trailed off as Boromir shook his head.

"I do not believe that would work," he said quietly. "I could not question him on such a matter." He kissed Éowyn's hand as she opened her mouth. "Neither could you. If this malady has its roots in what happened in Ithilien, then I fear Faramir suffers guilt. He spoke to me once, about the Ring's power, and what it nearly caused him to do. He did not speak easily, and has said nothing since."

"What then?" Sam wriggled in the soft cushions, frustrated. If Faramir had spoken to his brother, then surely he was the one to act.

"Could Frodo not--" Boromir began.

Sam shook his head. "He won't talk, not even to me. I've tried to get him to, but he shakes his head, smiles, and then leaves me. To walk in the gardens. And I've seen what happens when Faramir turns away from Frodo. He cannot force himself upon your brother." Sam finished with the strongest argument he had. "He stops eating!"

Éowyn stood, releasing Boromir's hand, and began to pace. They watched her, the silence broken only by the rustle of fabric as she took long strides, moving back and forth across the room. Finally, she turned and spoke, sweeping her hair back and away from her face.

"I may have thought of a way that may help us solve this riddle," she said. "You say you cannot talk to Faramir, directly."

Boromir nodded.

"And that Frodo will not talk to you, but you are sure his sadness is tied to Faramir. The problem is Faramir's rejection of Frodo?"

Sam nodded.

"What if we were to keep careful watch on Faramir and at some point when he walks alone in the gardens, we follow him there, you and I. We will make pretense of believing we are alone and will speak of Frodo."

"What?" Sam was confused.

Boromir was nodding, a wide smile spreading over his face. "You mean to set a snare," he said. "We will speak words that will tempt Faramir to speak to Frodo?"

Éowyn nodded. "What think you?"

"A sweet strategy, and it could work."

Sam also thought it would work.

When he left the room later, after they had worked out their plan, he felt much better.

ACT II

Faramir was walking alone in the gardens as had become his habit in recent days. He felt ill at ease with others.

He had rejoiced when the evil of Sauron had passed away, when Frodo had returned beyond all hope from the Mountain of Fire. Waking in the Houses of Healing, seeing his King returned, he had dared to hope that all could be healed. All seemed bright until he heard the stories of his father's betrayal of Gondor.

Then, rising from his bed, walking in the daylight, he had seen Frodo, brought to the Houses for healing by Gandalf. The bitter memory of Faramir's own betrayal, worse than any his father had done, shamed Faramir beyond words. He had nearly brought darkness to all of Middle-earth, had been saved only by the gentleness and love Frodo had shown him, then had repaid that great gift by sending the Ringbearer off to face poison and torment. Faramir should have accompanied Frodo and Sam rather than allow the miserable Gollum to lead them into a trap.

Faramir saw Boromir and Éowyn at a distance, walking hand in hand, heads close together and realized he could not stand to speak to them, see them pulled out of their focus on each other. They were so perfectly in love and he was alone. But he could not leave the gardens without passing them on the single path that led to back to the Citadel, so he withdrew behind a high hedge, burying his memory of the treasure he had found in a thicket in Ithilen.

He held his breath as the couple approached. They slowed, standing not far from his hiding place, Éowyn leaning against Boromir, his arm around her waist.

Éowyn spoke, her voice carrying clearly in the quiet of dusk. "Have you seen Frodo today?"

"No. Why?"

"I spoke to him briefly. He seemed so pale, so tired. He had not eaten his meal. I do not know Frodo as well as Merry, but seeing a hobbit refuse food is shocking."

"Do you think something is wrong with him?" Boromir asked.

"Yes. When I asked him, he spoke little, but he did mention your brother."

"My brother?" Boromir sounded shocked.

"Yes."

"Why would Frodo speak of my brother?"

Faramir grimaced at the shock in his brother's voice. Why indeed, he thought. After what he had done to the gentle hobbit, Frodo should hate his name.

Éowyn laughed. "Why do you think?"

Unable to help himself, Faramir shifted closer, freezing as a twig broke under his foot, cursing himself. The sound was loud in his ears, but apparently did not carry to the two speakers.

"I cannot unravel this riddle."

"Let me see if I can help you, love. After we first met, I often spoke to your brother. About you. Does that help you solve the riddle>"

Boromir laughed low in his throat, pulling Éowyn closer.

Faramir turned away, closing his eyes, unwilling to spy upon people he loved at such a moment. As often happened, he could not keep from remembering that night, the darkness of the caves nothing to the darkness that filled him as he saw the gold shining against Frodo's white skin.

"I must take the Ring to Mordor," Frodo said, voice low, swaying. His eyes large and dark, he stared at the torch as if at death. "I must cast it into the Mountain of Fire. Gandalf said so. I do not think I will ever get there."

He began to fall. Faramir slid out of the chair to his knees, catching Frodo before he fell to the rocky floor of the cave.

The memory of the warm weight in his arms, the spicy scent of the curly hair, the soft moan Frodo had given as Faramir carried him, haunted Faramir's dreams. He had meant only to lay Frodo on the bed, to let him rest. He had not been able to resist the temptation to kiss him, drawn by the sweetness in his face. He had not thought the kiss would lead as far as it had.

In recent days, the memory had come to haunt his waking hours as well. Whenever he saw Frodo, he would remember, and, shamed by the warmth that flamed through his body, retreat. Frodo had trusted him. And Faramir had betrayed that trust.

A chance for Faramir, Captain of Gondor, to show his quality!

The spiteful words, tossed off at Osgiliath, were but the final stone piled upon all the words spoken before. The words had burned in his mind, growing louder in the echoes of the Ring. The Ring had shown him a vision of his brother's death, building on a fear that took root the day Faramir had found the cloven horn caught in a reedbed along the Anduin.

That fear had caused Faramir to consider the unthinkable. Believing his brother was dead, desperate to prove something, he knew not what, to the father who had mocked him all his life, he had tried to take the Ring from Frodo.

Faramir shook himself, realizing that, as he wandered in dark memories, Boromir and Éowyn had left. The path was clear. He could retreat to his room, where he could drink until he could sleep.

Or he could think on the words he had heard from the Lady, spoken unknowing of his presence. Faramir had been sure Frodo must look on him with loathing, must want to accuse him, and had fled any chance meeting. But perhaps Faramir's fear was wrong. Perhaps he needed to search for the courage that would allow him to speak to Frodo, to beg his forgiveness for the wrong Faramir had done.

ACT III

Sam purposely sat by by Merry and Pippin at the next daymeal, across the table and down from Frodo. Boromir had told him the snare had been set. Perhaps they would see the results tonight.

The laughter and talk rolled through the Hall as Faramir entered. Frodo was sitting, staring at his plate. The seat next to him was empty.

Sam held his breath, then smiled as he saw Faramir move to Frodo's side, and speak to him. The noise in the hall precluded any chance of hearing what either said, but the colour that rose in Frodo's face and the way he rose quickly to follow Faramir from the Hall gave Sam hope.

But a few moments later the food turned to ashes in his mouth when he saw Frodo return. The way he walked made Sam remember Mordor, and he jumped to his feet, ignoring Pippin's annoyance as Sam jostled his elbow, spilling wine into his lap, and hurried across to Frodo.

Catching Frodo, Sam caught his arm.

"What's wrong?"

Frodo looked at Sam a moment, then spoke. "I don't think I can talk about it."

"It's about Faramir, isn't it?"

"How did--"

"Come on," said Sam, tugging Frodo after him. They left the noise of the Hall for the quiet courtyard outside. Ignoring the guards, Sam led Frodo over beside the quiet pool. The White Tree shone in the blue of dusk, small but perfect. The air smelled sweet.

The grass was cool under them when Sam sat, an arm around Frodo. "Tell me," he said, voice firm.

Frodo sighed, sat in silence a moment more, then spoke. He did not look at Sam.

"It started in Ithilien. You know Faramir tried to take the Ring."

Sam nodded.

"What you don't know happened before that. We were alone. I was so weary, I don't know what happened, I fell. He caught me. I woke in his arms. And--"

Frodo's voice trailed off. Sam forced himself to wait, knowing that speaking now would be fatal.

Finally, Frodo continued, voice so soft Sam had to lean even closer to hear.

"I love him, Sam. And I thought, hoped that he--"

"Did he say something to you? Just now?" Sam could not contain himself any longer. He had been so sure their plan would work, and somehow it seemed to be going all wrong.

"That he was sorry for what he'd done."

"For trying to take the Ring?"

"No!" Frodo's voice rose. "For kissing me!"

Sam's jaw dropped. What had Faramir done? "I'm sure he didn't mean--"

Frodo pulled away from Sam, jumping to his feet. "I'm sorry, Sam, I shouldn't have said anything. I was wrong, wrong about everything. I--well, we'll be leaving soon for home. That's what's important."

He left, leaving Sam sitting alone in the dark, scratching his head. Finally, he realized he needed to go talk to his fellow conspirators. Perhaps they could help him find a way out of this pickle they were in.

ACT IV

Frodo heard the silver bell sounding for daymeal, but he did not move. He was lying on soft green grass under a flowering tree, head pillowed on his arms. The westering sun flooded the gardens.

He had spent most of the day in the gardens. After what had happened last night, he could not bear going to the Hall. He was sure that none but Sam knew his trouble, but he could not find the energy to eat and drink and smile for hours on end. Add to that problem the fact that Gandalf had taken recently to appearing with a tonic for him to drink, one that tasted like spoiled cabbage. Frodo shuddered at the memory of gagging down a dose yesterday when Gandalf had trapped him before breakfast.

The quiet of the gardens soothed him. The grounds were nearly empty during meals. For a short time, he could lose himself in the green shade and remember Ithilien. While Lothlórien was beautiful in a timeless way, holding the beauty the Elves had brought to Middle-earth, Frodo loved the memory of the time he had spent in Ithilien more. They had come to Ithilien after so much pain and the flowering glades had touched his heart more closely.

He tried not to hear the voice in the back of his mind that reminded him Ithilen had also brought Faramir to him. And taken him away.

Voices floated on the still air. Frodo sat, shocked. A man and a woman's, he thought. Jumping to his feet, he turned to hasten away along the narrow gravel paths. He did not want to see anyone. But there seemed to be some mischief in the air, for no matter what way he took, he heard the voices behind him.

Panting, unable to stop and laugh at his own fears, stumbling, he came to the center of the gardens to see the large hedge maze. Ornate and old, the walls of the maze loomed over him, taller than even Aragorn. Pippin and Merry had told him of spending several hours enjoyably lost in the shaded green pathways, but he had not wished to try to solve the riddle, had avoided it until this hour.

He held his breath, listening. The voices grew louder, and he ducked through the entrance, passing the two stones, carven trees, that marked the start of the maze. Inside, the paths were close-cut turf. He would be able to move soft and quiet as a shadow, with no stones underfoot to roll and betray him. The area between the high hedges was shadowed and dim, the air warm and sweet. He turned right, twice, and stopped, thinking that he could easily find his way back to the entrance.

Éowyn spoke, her voice carrying clearly. "Have you seen Faramir today?"

Caught by the name that haunted him, sleeping and waking, Frodo stopped to listen. They did not seem to be coming inside.

"No. Why?"

"I spoke to him briefly. He seemed so sad. He could not eat."

"Do you think something is wrong with him?"

"Yes. When I asked him, he spoke little, but he did mention Frodo."

"Frodo?" Boromir sounded shocked.

"Yes."

"Why would my brother speak of Frodo?"

Éowyn laughed. "Why do you think?"

"I cannot unravel this riddle."

"Let me see if I can help you, love. After we first met, I often spoke to your brother. About you. Does that help you solve the riddle>"

Frodo stood, mouth open, the pounding of blood in his ears drowning out all other sounds. He could not believe what he had heard. They must be wrong. Or could it be, could he have somehow misunderstood what Faramir was trying to say to him? He waited as long as he could stand.

He had to speak to Faramir.

Caught in a net of tough branches, Frodo wiggled, frantic. Strong hands grasped him, and, panicked, he fought harder.

"Frodo? Is that you?"

Recognizing Faramir's voice, Frodo allowed himself to be tugged free, pulled into Faramir's arms.

"Are you all right?" Faramir was kneeling beside the hedge. He looked concerned, the same look Frodo remembered from Osgiliath, when Faramir had shown them the way through the sewers. The sweetness of the expression made Frodo's heart ache. He wanted more than tenderness from this man.

Twisting in the firm grip, Frodo wrapped his arms around Faramir's neck, pulled him close, and kissed the open mouth, hungrily seeking reassurance, drowning all his fears in this one moment of utter rightness. No matter what happened after, he would have this memory.

"Mmmpf!"

Faramir's grip loosened, and Frodo slid down to stand in front of Faramir, still kissing him, exulting in the sweetness of Faramir's mouth. Freeing his own a moment, Frodo hissed, "Don't say anything," and then smothered any possible reply with another kiss.

Faramir's arms slid around Frodo, pulling him closer.

Frantic, Frodo pushed against Faramir, hips grinding against the firm body. Since Frodo had hs feet planted firmly on the ground, and Faramir was on his knees, he fell back, pulling Frodo down with him, their mouths never parting.

Sliding over Faramir's body, Frodo straddled his chest, sitting back, panting. Faramir wiped a trembling hand over his mouth. He blinked, opened his mouth, and blinked again.

Frodo placed his hand over Faramir's mouth, feeling the prickle of the short beard against his palm, the rise and fall of the broad chest under him. Tightening his legs, Frodo leaned forward, winding his hands in Faramir's hair.

"Don't say anything," Frodo said again, and took the willing mouth that opened to his tongue, losing himself in the heat, realizing that he would have more than a single kiss this time. Whether this was dream or reality, in this space, protected by green branches, Frodo realized that Faramir was willing, sliding hands up Frodo's legs, gripping his thighs.

Panting, Frodo pulled back enough to start unlacing the tunic, pulling hard enough to break the ties. After a moment, Faramir caught Frodo's hands, trapping them in his own, then kissing them. He shook his head, slid his hands up Frodo's side to lift him off and set him down on the velvety turf.

Frodo clenched his fists, then relaxed as Faramir arched up to begin tugging at his own leggings. Frodo pulled his trousers off and had time to pull the shirt over his head, tossing the clothes aside, then turn back only to be caught in Faramir's arms, pushed down against the soft turf. The cool warmth of the turf soft under him, Frodo breathed deep of the green scent, opening to Faramir.

The large hands were warm against his skin, striking fire from every spot they touched. They lingered over the scar from the Morgul-blade on his shoulder, then stroked down chest and belly, one sliding down to wrap around his straining member, rubbing. Gasping, Frodo arched against Faramir's body, pleasure shooting through him, hot and intense, a net of gold closing around him. Shuddering, Frodo felt himself spill and fell into soft darkness.

Frodo stirred, blinking, feeling the warmth pressed against him, slid his hands down to grip the hard length pressed against his legs. Faramir lay back, and Faramir bent over him, stroking, then licking, exulting in the soft sounds coming from deep in the broad chest. To feel the strength and power trapped under him, responsive to the least movement he made, thrilled him.

Too soon, to Frodo's regret, Faramir arched under him, crying out.

Curling up in Faramir's arm, Frodo could not help asking, "Are you sorry now?"

"No. Oh, no."

ACT V

The dusk deepened around them while a single night bird fluted its song. One star gleamed bright high in the western sky.

Frodo stirred, raising his head from Faramir's shoulder. "Why did you say you were sorry you kissed me?"

Faramir ran his hand through Frodo's hair. "I didn't mean it. I was afraid I'd forced you, that you might think it was the Ring. But you left before I could explain."

"Oh." Frodo relaxed against Faramir again, rubbing his hand across the soft cloth of his tunic, pushing through the open, feeling the strong beat under his head, enjoying Faramir's hand stroking along his back.

Finally, Faramir spoke, his voice slow and deep. "Frodo, did you hear what my brother and Éowyn were saying? Just before you ran into me?"

"Ummm?" Frodo blinked, half asleep. He did remember something. "They said you were talking about me?"

"Yes."

Frodo yawned. "I remember. Why?"

"Because I heard them saying nearly the same thing about you. That you were talking about me. Did you talk to Éowyn about me?"

"No." Frodo drew a deep breath, then confessed. "I did talk to Sam last night. After we talked."

Faramir laughed. "I think we've been tricked by our friends. Who have very little imagination when it comes to making up stories."

Blinking, become more alert, Frodo asked, "Imagination?"

"This conversation was nearly the same as the one I heard. I think they meant you to overhear, but not me."

"But, then, what, why?" Frodo wondered if he should be angry, but in truth, he felt too good, body loose and warm, already imagining Faramir lying in bed under him.

"Because they realized something neither of us did?"

"Oh." Frodo blushed, was glad for the night which folded around them.

"Although I see no need to tell them we have seen through their strategem," Faramir said, wrapping an arm around Frodo. "In fact, it might be amusing to see what they come up with next, to try to bring us together."