A Birthday Story for Lora
Disclaimer: All characters owned by the estate of Prof. JRR Tolkien and New Line Cinema. No gain is intended.
Frodo/Faramir/Sam
Rating: PG15
Summary: This is very much an AU story. It's angsty. Set loosely in "The Two
Towers", it deviates quite markedly from the original story.
AN: A birthday story for Baranduin.
Feedback: Yes please - perhobfan@yahoo.co.uk - always appreciated
"So, halfling. Tell me of this Shire," Faramir's voice was as gentle as Boromir's had been hard. Sam wondered anew that they were, indeed, brothers. But there was a cast to Faramir's face which even by candlelight was very familiar.
"What would you have me tell?" Frodo asked.
Sam could see the dilemma in those brilliant eyes. How far could Mr. Frodo trust this man? What could he safely reveal of the Shire? That it was verdant and safe and teeming with life? That its people were great storytellers who enjoyed the pleasures of the table to the full? That the sun rose on Hobbiton and bathed it in a golden light which was worth more than mithril or any precious metal wrought by Dwarves?
"Tell me what it is about the Shire that makes it worth dying for, Frodo," said Faramir, evenly. Sam thought that was a harsh thing to say and he noted that for a time Frodo refused to meet the eyes of the Captain, seeking instead his own hairy feet.
"It is my home." His words, simple and quietly spoken, hung in the air between them.
"As Gondor is mine," said Faramir at last. He drained his cup and refilled it, gesturing to Frodo's untouched vessel. The hobbit shook his head almost imperceptibly; Sam could read his mind - it would not do to be addled tonight, to let slip something which he might regret. Mr. Frodo should not have to bear this, it was altogether too much!
Faramir sighed and stretched out his long legs. Frodo turned away, Sam seeing the confusion on his master's pale face which the man seemed to miss.
"Are you married, Frodo? Do you have a sweetheart at home in this place you call the Shire?" Faramir asked. Now Frodo did look at him, into those warm and inquisitive eyes and now Sam knew he saw Boromir there - Boromir as he should have been. The man's hands played with the buckle on his belt. Frodo was staring intently at that buckle, those large and callused fingers which traced the engraving on the metal, caressing...
"No, I have no wife, no sweetheart," he replied, as if willing himself back to the moment.
Sam thought that by candlelight, Frodo was the most beautiful creature in the world. So soft and shimmering. But then again, in truth Sam thought that of Frodo in the harshest of sunlight, in the pouring rain, in the snow...
The hobbit seemed as if he might continue, elaborate, but they were interrupted as a soldier entered the room. Casting a suspicious glance at Frodo, he whispered something to his Captain. Faramir listened gravely and then gave a quiet order. Gollum, perhaps, thought Sam, pursing his lips in distaste. He knew the stinker could not be far away, more was the pity!
Turning away from thoughts of Gollum, Sam watched as Frodo allowed his gaze to linger longingly on the man when he felt himself unobserved. Sam's heart sank a little, but he felt also a sense of relief. Mr. Frodo seemed a little more alive than he had for days. It was a good sign.
"I find it hard to believe you have evaded capture, Frodo," said Faramir, smiling. He sipped from his cup and once again offered Frodo more wine. This time, Sam saw, Frodo did not refuse.
"By orcs and goblins?" asked Frodo, tasting his wine carefully.
Faramir laughed. "No! By the womenfolk of the Shire. For you are a comely lad, for sure," he said. Frodo hesitated and then laughed a little. Now he drank back his wine quickly, greedily.
Sam, in the act of spooling the rope around his arm, felt a small tingle of dismay. If Mr. Frodo should forget himself, give in to the wine... this Faramir seemed a good man, but was he? He was of the same blood as Boromir, after all. If only Sam could be sure, just a little more satisfied that this was right...
"You flatter me, Captain," said Frodo, and he giggled. He giggled. Sam placed the rope back into the pack and sat up straight. Oh Frodo! Have a care...
"I mean no flattery, only honest appraisal, Frodo." Faramir took a breath and then leaned over until his face was inches from that of the hobbit.
Frodo seemed to stop breathing. Sam did too.
"Forgive my rudeness, Frodo. We have so little time. We must leave this place before too long. And from the little you have told me, you have far to go. Though, in truth, I would have you stay here. With me..." as he spoke, the man laid his lips on Frodo's.
In the shadows, Sam felt his world turn over. Was that it all it had taken? He watched as Frodo leaned fully into the kiss, at first hesitant and shy and then insistent and bold. All the wasted years came crashing in on Sam. The days and nights of frustration and longing at Bag End, the nights on the road these last few months...
Faramir carefully lifted Frodo onto his lap, so that the hobbit's legs were straddling the man's thighs. Big hands ranged up and down Frodo's back, over and then under the woollen jacket, the weskit, the shirt. Sam could hear Frodo moan, could see his master's small hands exploring with equal enthusiasm.
"From the very first instant, I felt as if we were meant to be..." Faramir broke their kiss, cupping Frodo's face in his big hand. "As if I knew you already, dear Frodo. Does that seem strange to you?"
Frodo sighed, turning his face to capture the hand in his mouth. "No, it does not. I have been so afraid, Faramir. So very afraid. Yet when I saw you, my fears began to fall away."
They sat, kissing and nuzzling for a few moments more. Their whispered endearments carried to Sam where he sat in the shadows, every single word.
"Is this love? Can it happen as fast as this?" Frodo sounded as if he feared to voice his feelings, lest he curse them.
"Yes, yes! I believe it... and I want to help you in any way I can..." To Faramir's evident dismay, Frodo pulled away, shuffling backwards to dismount from the comforting cradle of the Captain's lap. He clambered back up onto his chair, his hand delving into his jacket, to the chain around his neck. Sam knew what this meant.
"Oh Frodo, you must not listen to the Ring. You must not." Sam thought. He now knew without a shadow of a doubt that the Captain was Frodo's hope for the future. But did Frodo know it?
"Frodo. Listen to the Captain. Let him help you." Sam spoke quietly, softly. Leaving his shadowy corner, he crossed to Frodo and leaned as close to his master as Faramir had done minutes before, only this time there would be no kiss.
There could be no kiss.
"Listen to him, Frodo. Listen to Faramir," he whispered. He was close enough to see the delicate tendrils of dark hair that curled around Frodo's ears, the fine sheen of sweat that moistened his brow. More than ever he longed to touch...
Frodo looked around him, confused and afraid. Faramir, too, looked concerned and a little baffled. He laid a hand on Frodo's arm, squeezing very gently.
"What is it, Frodo? You look so lost, my love."
Frodo smiled sadly.
"I forgot for a moment... I heard his voice. I heard Sam."
Sam reached out to touch that dear face but his hand dropped back to his side. Already he felt different. Changed.
Faramir frowned. Something had been puzzling him for a while. When he first met the halfling, Frodo was half starved and disorientated, eating little but wild berries and something he called lembas. It was clear he was in a bad way, as if he could not fend for himself for very much longer.
When pressed, a wild eyed Frodo had told Faramir and the company that he had travelled much of the way from the Shire with a companion. His servant, Sam, of whom he would speak no further. Faramir had decided not to press the halfling, concerned as he was by his weakened condition.
"Frodo, tell me of him. Tell me about Sam," he made the words as gentle as he could, careful to keep his distance. For a moment it looked as if Frodo would shut himself up again, retreat, but with a terrible sigh, he began.
Hesitantly at first, as if the telling would break him in two, Frodo told of his quest. Some of it, the Captain already knew. Sam had listened with a heavy heart as Faramir had revealed that his brother, Boromir, was presumed dead. The man had been haughty but brave.
Sam felt that his master had kept something back from the Captain, something about his brother. Well, Mr. Frodo must have his secrets, he supposed. But when he came to the part of his story where he had decided to leave his companions at Parth Galen and strike out for Mordor alone, Sam felt himself go cold, as if suddenly he had been tossed into a great snowstorm.
With difficulty, Sam returned to Frodo's story. His master was deathly white and Sam could see at a glance that he man longed to take him in his arms, to comfort him.
"…I paddled as best I could... I could see him struggling to stay afloat - he could not swim, the fool! - but his jacket and cloak were dragging him under, dragging him away... for one last moment I saw his hand, Faramir, his hand breaking the surface of the water... then he was gone."
"No! That's not how it was, Mr. Frodo..." Sam was aghast. Suddenly, the water was closing over his head again, pushing him down again, taking him away again... No! He had struggled against it, willed himself back to the surface, to reach the boat. He had reached the boat! Hadn't he? He had pulled himself into the boat, hadn't he? Assured Mr. Frodo all was well... hadn't he?
Sam recalled every step of the journey from the eastern shore. If Frodo had been quiet and sad, he put it down to the arduous journey, the short rations, the slinking shadow of the creature, Gollum... and if Mr. Frodo had seemed to not wish to talk to him, well, Mr. Frodo could be withdrawn at times, carrying that wretched Ring...
Sam watched as, with a surprising turn of speed, the Captain caught the hobbit as he fell. Frodo's knees had buckled beneath him. He carried the hobbit tenderly to his own bed, laying him with care upon the furs. He stood over him, anxiously wondering whether to call for one of his men versed in healing. As he turned, however, he felt the clutch of a small hand on his sleeve, pulling him down.
"Don't go," Frodo pleaded.
"He meant a great deal to you, your servant?" Faramir asked, kneeling before the hobbit.
"Everything. He never knew, but yes, he meant everything to me."
Sam watched as the tears slid down Frodo's fair face. He cried, too at the words he had longed to hear. He saw the man hold his Mr. Frodo, hold him tight and allow the tears to come. He felt more than ever that this Captain was a good man. He would help Mr. Frodo. He would watch over him now.
"Hush, Frodo. I will protect you," said Faramir, though the words seemed something of a surprise even to himself. "Yes, I will look after you now... whatever task is appointed to you, whatever needs to be done, Frodo..."
Sam sighed. "I would have gone with you, Frodo, my love," he said, though his words were lost in the shadows.
He began to pack his bag one final time. The candlelight was fading somewhat but he found it mattered little, that he needed no light to see his way. One last look at Frodo, one last time to watch him, and it was time to be off. He could go now.
There, had he got everything? The rope would be very handy, he felt sure. Oh yes, he must not forget the rope...
The End