Title: Some Other End
Author: Lexin 
Type: FPS
Pairing: Frodo/Faramir
Rating: PG/soft R.
Beta: Gloria Lancaster, Axylides, Zander Nyrond, Unearthly Calm, Regina 
Berndt. Any remaining mistakes I probably put there after they'd made their 
comments.
Warning: Interspecies.  Bail out if that bothers you. AU. Likewise.
Feedback: All comments accepted, email to lexin @ tiscali.co.uk  
Summary: In an alternate universe, Boromir survived Amon Hen, Denethor was 
not driven insane by the palantír and Frodo is offered an unexpected reward.



"Some Other End"

by Lexin


Part I

"Advice to persons about to marry. -- Don't."
Punch, vol. viii p1 1845. 

"What did my father want?" From what Faramir knew of hobbits, which was 
still too little, Frodo appeared amused.  In which case, he could not imagine 
what his father could have said.

Frodo joined him on the bench overlooking the city and the rebuilding of Minas 
Tirith's largest tower.  "Were we at home in the Shire, I would believe that I had 
been asked my intentions towards you. As we are not, I have no idea what to 
make of it."

"Your intentions?"  Faramir stared in increased puzzlement. "What kind of 
intentions?"

"I believe he was asking me when I am going to wed you."

Faramir could not stop himself. He laughed.  "He was joking," he said, when 
finally able to control himself. "He must have been."

Frodo laughed along with him, but with less force.  He said, "If it were anyone 
but your father, I would agree, but from what little I know of him I would not 
consider Denethor a man who indulges in practical jokes. Or jokes of any kind."

"Perhaps Queen Arwen..."

"The Queen has been known to tease me...and you. And Aragorn for that matter.  
But I doubt even she has caught Denethor in one of her jests."

They sat for a while in silence, watching the sunset.  

At last Faramir said, "What do you really believe my father wanted?"

Frodo shrugged, eloquently.

"Do not protect me, Frodo. He wants me gone from here. I...my presence is a 
humiliation to him." They looked at each other and Frodo opened his mouth. 
Faramir spoke first, "I know this to be true." Somehow saying it himself was 
less painful.

"Your father is fond of you," said Frodo. 

Faramir heard the unsaid. "But he loves Boromir."

"Yes." 

"Everybody loves Boromir." 

"Not everyone, Faramir," said Frodo.  "Come, we will be late for dinner."  He 
stood, and Faramir followed him. 

**

Most nights at Minas Tirith, dinner was the main entertainment, and, most 
nights, Faramir sat beside the lady Éowyn of Rohan, with Boromir on her other 
side.  He could see Frodo and Samwise, as usual placed next to the King, but 
was too far away to speak to them.  His father was placed next to the Queen.

"Little brother!" Boromir's usual greeting. It had lost any sting it might have 
once possessed the first time Faramir had bested his brother at practise; that 
didn't happen often, but that it happened at all was a comfort.  Unfortunately, 
their father had never witnessed the phenomenon. 

"Some wine, Lord Faramir?" Lady Éowyn, beautiful and kindly.  Faramir held 
out his goblet.  When she'd helped him to wine, he immediately added an equal 
amount of water.

"Still over-careful, little brother?" Boromir smiled.

Faramir smiled back.  "As you say," he said.  Then, to turn the conversation 
away from him, "I saw you ride out together; what did you do with your day?"

He knew it had been the wrong thing to ask when Éowyn turned to Boromir and 
blushed.  But surely his brother would not have... No.  Definitely not.  Boromir 
said, "We saw the remains of Osgiliath; the engineers are beginning to work on 
the reconstruction."

"The sewers are most interesting," Éowyn's voice was laced with a laugh.

"The sewers?" said Faramir.  "Surely, my brother, you did not take the lady to 
visit the sewers."

"Nothing else would please her," replied Boromir.

Faramir realised there was some joke here, something from which he was 
excluded, but he smiled dutifully.

"And you? What did you with your day?" Éowyn's gentle tone robbed the 
question of anything other than polite enquiry.

"I showed Frodo the library; he is learned among his kind and has long wanted 
to see it."  

"You managed to separate him from Samwise?  An achievement indeed!"  

There seemed to Faramir an odd expression in the Éowyn's eyes, and he looked 
down at the white of the table cover.  "Indeed, my Lady."

"And then? For it cannot take all day to look at a library - can it, Boromir?"

Faramir hoped his surprise did not show.  He knew well that indeed it could 
take all day to look at a library, and after today he knew also that Frodo agreed 
with him.  Éowyn was still looking at him, her beautiful brow slightly creased.

Boromir's turn to laugh, "I would say not, my lady, but my brother can spend a 
week in a library and the Ringbearer would appear to be another of the same 
kind."

Faramir felt his face grow hot. Once again he was compared with Boromir and 
found wanting. He looked up at Frodo, who caught his eye. He'd enjoyed the 
day spent with Frodo and Mithrandir, the slightly musty smell of the books and 
scrolls which so slowly revealed their treasures to the curious mind. He could 
not regret it.

He turned around as Éowyn patted his arm reassuringly, and wondered what he 
should say, but before he could speak, her attention was on Boromir again.  
With no one to talk to, Faramir looked up to the King's table and to his father, 
now engaging the attention of Queen Arwen.  From the Queen's expression he'd 
been talking for some time.

**

"You are difficult to find, Lord Faramir, and no mistake." Samwise fell into 
such step beside him as was possible.

"Ah, Samwise," said Faramir, slowing slightly. " I was at practise."  Like all 
Gondorians, he struggled with the nicknames the hobbits used. It felt wrong to 
him to shorten someone's name, as if he were giving short measure.

"So I was told.  I want a word with you, private-like.  Is there somewhere 
nearby we can go?"

"I was going to my rooms in the White Tower, you can accompany me there if 
you like."

"No, that wouldn't be wise.  Are there Inns in this city?"

Faramir stopped and thought.  "Indeed, there is -- there was -- a clean wine shop 
near here."  For a wonder there still was, and Samwise chose a seat, as much at 
home as if he were in his own rooms. Rather less comfortable in these 
surroundings, Faramir chose a low seat so that he and Samwise were eye to eye.

"Good ale here," Samwise lifted his mug and drank appreciatively.

"Yes."

"Almost as good as at home."

"You, and Frodo too, will return there soon?  Is that what you sought me out to 
tell me?"

Samwise seemed to come to himself somewhat. "No. No, that wasn't it. I have a 
message from Queen Arwen."

The silence stretched and Faramir said, "Go on. It cannot be urgent if it can be 
delivered in a wine shop, but I would hear it."

"The Queen wants you to know...  Would like to warn you..."

Again a wait. Faramir said, "What is your warning?"

"Tonight, at dinner, your father is to announce his betrothal to the Lady 
Prestoliel."

"The niece of the Prince of Dol Amroth?"

"Yes."

"Why did Boromir not warn me?" Faramir's hands grew cold.

"He hasn't mentioned it because he doesn't know himself.  The Queen sent 
Pippin to warn him." Samwise paused and took another pull on his ale.  "Your 
father also plans to announce your brother's handfasting to Éowyn of Rohan - a 
surprise to both of them. The Queen knows from Éowyn that they have 
discussed a match, but she isn't sure of her feelings for your brother."

Faramir coughed, he was lucky he hadn't been taking a sip of his wine.  "Surely 
my father cannot announce this without the agreement of her brother."

"He's got it.  It's not crossed Éomer's mind that your father wouldn't have asked 
Boromir first.  I mean, it's not something that Éomer would do to Éowyn is it? 
He wouldn't dare."

Faramir considered this, "No, he would not."

"But from what I know of your customs, it's not necessary for a father to ask his 
child before announcing their marriage, whether girls or boys."

"That is so," said Faramir.  Indeed, a concern he had not shared even with 
Boromir was that their father would trothplight him to some chit he had never 
met while he was out in the field.  That would have been further than custom 
would strictly allow, but that his father was capable of it Faramir did not doubt.  
He swallowed, "And what does he have planned for me?"

"He'd like to announce your marriage, but he's having difficulty gaining the 
agreement of the other party."

"Who is?"

"My master, Frodo."  This time Faramir did choke on his wine, and it was some 
time before he could speak again. 

"Better now?" asked Samwise.

"Yes," said Faramir, eyes streaming and aware that his throat would hurt for 
some time. "Thank you."  He swallowed some more of his wine.  "And will 
Frodo accept me?"

Samwise considered.  "Hobbits are oft accused of bluntness, Captain Faramir.  
The question is, do you want him to?"

"There are risks..."

"Frodo knows that. Your father will talk of the handfasting as a thank-offering 
to the Ringbearer and the Shire. If Frodo says no, he's ungrateful in the eyes of 
all of Gondor. Daft, but that's what folks'd say."

"I could refuse," Faramir began, and then stopped. His father would merely 
imply refusal shamed them all, that he did not appreciate the Ringbearer's 
sacrifice. A thought struck him, "But my handfasting now requires King 
Elessar's permission."

"I thought of that," said Samwise.  "It's come up in the negotiations.  It strikes 
me, though, that if Strider..." Faramir smiled at the use of the King's nickname 
and Samwise corrected himself hastily, "...King Elessar refuses for you, you 
father could make it look as if he doesn't appreciate what Frodo went through to 
get him his throne." Samwise took a swallow of his ale.  "I don't think that'd go 
down too well."

"And despite everything, there are a few malcontents who are not pleased to 
have the king restored," said Faramir.

"Your city is more like Hobbiton than I expected."

"In what way?"

"However much a change is an improvement, there's always someone who 
preferred it the way it was," Samwise smiled.

Faramir put is goblet down, "Ah. I see what you mean."

There was a silence, and then Samwise said, "There's something else."

"What?" Faramir had been deep in thought, and it took a moment for him to pull 
himself out of it.

"Frodo's been through more than enough. I know you men of Gondor think a lot 
of your honour, but if you accept and make him miserable you'll catch it hot 
from me. Just so's you understand that." Faramir stared, slightly stunned at his 
force, and Samwise took another pull on his ale. "I'm dealing with your father 
over this - and a tricky one he is and no mistake.  Let me know what you decide 
by dinner time tomorrow." Samwise put his mug down and stood to leave, 
"Thank you for the ale."

Faramir sat alone in the wineshop over the lees of his wine for a very long time. 
His face must have been grim, for none dared approach him.

He hoped the lack of attention he paid to his food that night would be put down 
to a day spent drinking; he knew his father would have no difficulties in 
ascribing it to that cause.  He saw Denethor's eyes on him, and tried to regret 
appearing every bit as worthless as his father thought him.  He did not miss the 
glances between Éowyn and Boromir, and Boromir, who would normally have 
made some jest about his brother spending the day in a wine shop, held his 
tongue.

"Did Sam warn you?" Boromir asked, as the servants brought in the sweetmeats 
and fruit.

Faramir nodded, minutely.

"And what of you?" asked Éowyn.

"That is a tale for another day," said Faramir.

"So there is..." Éowyn was unable to finish; the Steward had called for silence.

**

The hobbits and Mithrandir had been placed in the lodgings the city reserved for 
the most honoured guests.  Faramir knew this at least partly because of the 
afternoon he had spent at practise in the company of one of the Prince of Dol 
Amroth's captains.  The man had felt, though he was careful not to say so in so 
many words, that his master was slighted because of it.

Faramir himself had never previously visited this house.  Though such honoured 
guests had given dinners to which the Steward had been invited, if any showing-
off of sons had been expedient the chosen one would be Boromir.  In Boromir's 
absence on campaign or during his journey to Imladris, Denethor had elected to 
show no son. 

The house was impressive, far more so than the rooms in the Tower that 
Faramir himself occupied, though that did not surprise him.  What did was that 
he could wait so long for a servant to answer the door.  Finally, the door was 
opened by a young man still wiping his mouth free of soup.  "I wish to speak 
with Master Samwise," said Faramir.

The young steward pulled a long face, "I think he's out, my Lord."

"Please find out for me."

"At once, my Lord."

"Tathar tells me that you wanted a word with Sam," said Frodo, when he 
appeared a few moments later.

"Yes," Faramir could not help but be surprised by the sudden appearance of one 
who had been filling his thoughts but whom he had not seen or spoken to for a 
couple of days.

"I don't think he'll be long. Come in."

"I..." Faramir began.

"We will not be alone," said Frodo, impishly.  "Pippin is here.  I trust that will 
be sufficient of a chaperon for you?"  Faramir thought that obviously Frodo had 
been receiving instruction on Gondorian marriage customs, and equally 
obviously he thought them absurd.  

"I can leave," said Peregrin, as they entered a large and airy room.

"No, you don't," said Frodo.  "Just go and sit over there and...read a book or 
something."

Faramir was hard put to keep from laughing; it was clear that while Frodo had 
confided all to Samwise, Peregrin remained in ignorance.

"What's going on?"

"Never you mind," said Frodo, then added, "at least for the moment."

"What did you mean by 'chaperon'," said Peregrin.

"Pippin! Go and sit over there and be quiet!  I'll tell you when the time is right." 
Frodo turned back to his visitor, "Please sit down, Faramir."  He paused to allow 
Faramir to do so.  "I can think of only one reason, one real reason, why you 
would come to see Sam."

"To give him my answer."

"And?"

"Tell him I.... That he is to... That I..." Faramir seemed to be having trouble 
speaking, which hadn't happened to him for a long time. He started again, "Tell 
him that I agree to handfast with you. And also that I understand his terms and I 
agree to those also."

Frodo surveyed him seriously, "Am I to know what those are?"

"It is a matter entirely between Samwise and me."

Frodo looked at him for a moment longer, and nodded.  "I will convey your 
words to him." He smiled, "So Denethor gets what he wants. I hope he's happy 
with it."

"What is going on?" asked Peregrin, who had clearly not gone far. "Are you 
really going to marry Faramir?"

"That is his father's earnest wish," said Frodo. He was so solemn that Faramir 
suspected a joke of some kind.

"But he's... He's a Man."

"And none the worse for that," said Frodo. "At any rate, it's not something he 
can help or change."

"Is it wise?" asked Peregrin.

"Pippin!" Frodo took Peregrin gently by the shoulders. "Since when has 
marriage anything to do with wisdom?" He let go.

"What did you mean, that Denethor would get his wish?"

Frodo sighed, "I will speak plainly and hope that Faramir forgives me." Faramir 
inclined his head. He guessed what was coming. Frodo continued, "You have 
noticed that Aragorn does not care for Denethor?"

"Yes," allowed Peregrin, unwillingly.  Faramir remembered that Peregrin rather 
admired his father.

"He would replace Denethor with Boromir in an instant and with Faramir in 
somewhat less. Denethor has also noticed this.  Denethor has therefore arranged 
Boromir's marriage to Éowyn and his naming of Prince of Ithilien.  It is a 
promotion for him, and an honour to the House of the Stewards, but as Prince, 
Boromir will have to live in Ithilien, which is some distance from Minas Tirith 
and the seat of power.

"Denethor has arranged his own marriage to the Lady Prestoliel, a lady of high 
and noble birth. On her he will father new heirs.

"That leaves Faramir. He is being offered a choice, if it is a choice, between 
marriage to me involving a life far away in a place about which Denethor knows 
nothing, and remaining here, a threat to his father's power."

"I don't see it," said Peregrin. Faramir knew the hobbit reputation for 
stubbornness was well-deserved.  "Lord Denethor would never..."

"Am I not right, Faramir?"

"You are," admitted Faramir.  Though he had realised during Frodo's recitation 
that if Frodo were right about the King's preference for him over Denethor and 
even Boromir for the position of Steward it was not just political turmoil he 
risked by remaining, but death. Not by his father's hand, Faramir could not 
believe his father would harm him knowingly, but even in Gondor there were 
those slightly too desperate to do the bidding of the powerful.

Peregrin appeared convinced at last.  "What sort of a dowry will you get?" he 
asked, smiling as if at a huge joke.  "Don't accept any bent spoons like old Otho 
ended up with for Lobelia."

Frodo didn't smile back. "It's adequate," he said.

**

The giving of a dowry was not a Gondorian tradition; when one negotiated for a 
spouse, one was supposed to have a home and sufficient to support them 
without needing payment from their family.  Faramir wondered what his father 
had made of the idea; he himself didn't know whether to be offended or not.  He 
thought of asking Frodo how much, but on mature consideration he decided 
against it.  That Denethor went along with hobbit custom at all argued that he 
was desperate to get rid of him.  It was probably better that Faramir did not 
know just how desperate.

No mention of the matter of the dowry was made when Denethor announced 
Faramir's trothplighting to the assembled Court a few days later. So foreign was 
it to Gondorian custom that Faramir knew he could have avoided the whole 
situation by privily letting the information be known among the people, but to 
do that would have told against his father's honour. Surprisingly, Faramir found 
that mattered to him even now. And what kind of man would it make him, to 
avoid an honourable handfasting by dishonourable means?

So, when the announcement was made, he took Frodo's offered hand and did his 
best to look pleased, flattered and, most importantly, willing.



Part II

'Who's 'im, Bill?'
'A stranger!'
''Eave 'arf a brick at 'im.'
Punch, vol xxvi, p.82. 1854.


Faramir was careful never to complain in Samwise's hearing about anything for 
which the blame could possibly, by the remotest stretch of the imagination of 
men, elves, hobbits or dwarves be laid at Frodo's feet.  A dragon could not 
guard its hoard with greater effort or cunning than Samwise did Frodo's 
happiness.  As a result, Faramir was faced with a very pretty question of ethics, 
and one which, in his boyhood, his tutors had often set as an essay question to 
keep him out of trouble while they went about their own affairs: was it more 
dishonourable to pretend a happiness one did not feel in order to protect others, 
or to cause their misery by showing one's real emotions. He hoped and trusted 
that those tutors had never been faced with the daily reality which now 
confronted him.

The weather as they approached Bree was poor enough to explain any grimness 
in his expression - rain from the west blowing in their faces and louring grey 
clouds promising more to come.  He rode on in silence, feeling Samwise 
looking at him once again.

Behind he could hear Frodo urging his pony, which appeared to dislike the 
weather as much as Faramir did, alongside Samwise. Snatches of their 
conversation came to him on the wind, "Leave him, Sam.  Not his fault..."

"No reason to be..."

"Since when has anyone needed reason? Forbid you to...."

"Very well, if you wish it. But he'd better..."

Faramir urged his own horse ahead and away from them.

**

Before he and Frodo had become handfasted he'd had little trouble holding a 
conversation with any of the hobbits; now he found himself often unable to find 
the words.  So it was this evening, "I..." he said, then stopped and swallowed.  
Frodo turned to him, and waited.  "I'm not surprised your cousins were so 
anxious to reach this inn and get out of the weather."

Frodo relaxed minutely, and smiled, "They have fond memories of the ale here, 
and the victuals."

"Well deserved, Butterbur keeps a good table."

The silence lengthened for a moment. Faramir asked, "Would you...care to lie 
with me tonight?"

Another of those odd silences which punctuated their life together, then Frodo 
crossed the room to lay a hand on his face.  "You do not have to do this if it 
displeases you. You know that."

Faramir looked down at Frodo's mouth, close to his own. "I know.  It would..." 
Faramir struggled again to find the right word, "comfort me."

Frodo searched his face for moment more, "Then...yes. It would comfort me, 
also. I think we are both entitled at least to that."

**

"Why was your door locked this morning?" demanded Samwise as they broke 
their fast with the other hobbits and Mithrandir in a private parlour.

Faramir felt his face grow hot. Frodo answered, "My apologies, Sam. We forgot 
to unlock it."

Samwise was looking at Frodo, Meriadoc and Peregrin stared from Faramir to 
Frodo and back again.  Faramir was aware of a fervent hope that the floor 
swallow him and spit him out somewhere far from here.  Far Harad or Rhûn for 
choice.

There was a small part of Faramir, though, that wanted to corner Samwise in 
some secluded spot and tell him in the crudest terms exactly what he and Frodo 
did together, and observe his surprise.  Then to add that it was the one thing, the 
one happiness, that he could offer Frodo that Samwise would not.  He 
recognised full well that this desire to come between them was wholly unworthy 
and locked it away in his heart.

The stalemate between Samwise and Frodo was broken by the arrival of 
Butterbur with more bacon, kidneys and mushrooms.  Not much caring for 
mushrooms, Faramir earned the love if not the respect of Meriadoc and Peregrin 
by leaving the more for them.

"Do you have time to sit with us a while this morning, Barliman?" Mithrandir 
spoke at last. He appeared not to have noticed the tension between the hobbits.

"Not this morning, sirs.  But we were wondering, as you're spending the day 
here, if you could...that is if you'd be willing to spend part of the morning in the 
Common Room?  You see, there's been some talk and gossip - some around 
what Master Gandalf and Mr Brandybuck and Mr Took told me last night." He 
paused a moment, then rushed on, "And the Bree-folk, well, we've questions to 
put to you all."

"Of course, Barliman," Mithrandir said.  Indeed, put that way, they could hardly 
refuse.

**

The Common Room was larger than Faramir had expected, but full of the men 
and hobbits of Bree - though Faramir noticed very few women or hobbit-lasses 
in evidence - it was crowded. He was mostly aware of the eyes upon them; it 
felt almost like insect eyes.  He was accustomed to addressing soldiers, to 
giving orders, but this felt different, as if they were on trial for some unknown 
crime.  

He was not alone, among all six of them only Mithrandir looked at ease - he 
produced a pipe, filled it with pipeweed and looked as much at home as in the 
parlour above.

As he had answered for all of them, Faramir had expected that Mithrandir 
would take the lead, but Mithrandir looked at Frodo who grimaced and stood to 
speak.  "I am Frodo Baggins. And if some of you recall that on my last visit to 
Bree I used another name I hope you will forgive me. I did so only out of great 
need."  In as few words as were possible, not that they were few, Frodo told of 
the journey he and Samwise had made, the destruction of the Ring and the 
return of the King to Gondor and Arnor.

Not everyone there knew, and some did not believe even when they were told, 
that the place where they lived was in a country called Arnor. Faramir kept his 
amusement strictly to himself; he recalled the many fruitless hours spent on the 
training fields with the most difficult and surly of his father's soldiers attempting 
to instil some kind of intelligence or at the least, self-protection.  Until Boromir 
left for Imladris, good men had usually been assigned to him, and they had been 
assigned to him again after his return.  He recalled his few successes, the 
sweeter for being hard won.

The last of the doubters convinced, or at the very least silenced for the nonce, a 
hobbit who introduced himself as Hugo Greenleaf asked, "Gandalf we know, 
but who is this Man who sits so silent upon your left?"

Afterwards, Faramir wondered if Frodo had spent the stilly hours of the night 
during the journey from Gondor planning what he would say when asked this 
question for he spoke without pause for thought, "He is Faramir, son of the Lord 
Steward of Gondor and my husband."

Faramir knew at once that Greenleaf's look of astonishment would live on in 
legend and song in Bree.

"Little cannot wed big," said Greenleaf, when at last he was able to make his 
mouth work.

"I am afraid you are too late, Mr Greenleaf," said Frodo, possibly too politely.  
"You should have mentioned that to Faramir's father and King Aragorn before 
they attended our handfasting."

"And before Denethor gave you half of Eriador for agreeing to it," muttered 
Samwise under his breath. 

Had a silence not fallen at that moment, Faramir would never have caught the 
remark, and he schooled his face into stillness.  Half of Eriador? Truly a dowry 
fit for a prince. He wondered when - and if - Frodo or Samwise ever planned to 
him to find out, and indeed, what Frodo's plans for the future were. If he had 
any.

"Can he speak for himself?" asked a man who had not spoken before, and who 
did not introduce himself.

"I can," said Faramir. "What would you know of me?"

"Sit down, Gamil Twotrees," interrupted Butterbur.

"No, Barliman..." protested Twotrees.

"I know only too well what kind of question you would ask," said Barliman, 
sturdily.  "And I want none of it in my inn."

"Barliman..."

"Silence!" For a hobbit, Frodo could be loud when he chose to be.  "Twotrees 
may ask Faramir one question."  Twotrees looked vindicated, but Frodo went 
on, "If I approve it as being a question a man may ask of another's handfasted, 
Faramir may answer. Is that acceptable to you, Barliman?"  Faramir wondered 
what Frodo had seen in Barliman's face that he had missed.

"Very well," said Barliman, but he was still looking at Twotrees with the utmost 
loathing.

Frodo turned, "Faramir?"

Faramir nodded, once. Whatever local history there was here, he would 
probably do better to keep his and Frodo's necks out of the noose.

"Mr Twotrees, ask your question."  Frodo sat down again.

Twotrees was silent for a time; Faramir supposed he was searching for a 
question which Frodo would permit.  Finally he settled on, "Is it by your wish or 
that of Mr Baggins that you are married?"

Faramir flicked his gaze to Frodo who nodded. Faramir said, "Mr Baggins 
approached me through my father, with Mr Gamgee here as intermediary."  
Twotrees looked at him for a moment, and then sat down.  Curiously, there was 
an almost palpable air of satisfaction among the Breelanders at Faramir's words.  
Faramir felt Frodo touch the back of his hand and turned his hand over so that 
their hands were clasped palm to palm, like lovers.

The questions moved on to Meriadoc and Peregrin, and Frodo whispered, "Well 
done," in a voice too quiet for anyone else to hear.  "Enough of the truth, but not 
too much."

Faramir looked at Frodo. He was being praised for lying by omission?  But 
honour did not demand that any man sow unneeded discord among strangers by 
too close adherence to the exact truth.  Small comfort, far greater was the 
comfort of Frodo's hand in his.

The meeting wound down around lunchtime. Faramir surmised that it was a 
strange Breelander, hobbit or man, who would rather talk than eat - and also that 
it had been a thin year for Barliman Butterbur, who intended to make the most 
of the custom which was now offered him.  However, even while he was 
rushing from room to room filling orders for ale and food, Barliman signalled to 
Faramir for a private word.

It did not pass unnoticed. As soon as they were alone Frodo asked, "What did 
old Barliman want?"

"To warn me."

"Against what?"  Frodo clearly thought that Faramir could guard himself against 
most mischances.

Faramir smiled, "I am warned most carefully against ever allowing myself to be 
alone with Gamil Twotrees."

"Whom you could break across your knee with one hand tied behind you."

Faramir had to admit that was true. In which case, "I do not think it was 
physical assault I was being warned against."

"I see. I think." Frodo placed his hands on Faramir's shoulders, kneeling behind 
him on the bed.  "Are you still in need of comfort?"

For a moment Faramir wondered what Frodo would think of him, then said, 
"Yes."

"Then lock the door."


Part III

"There was one poor tiger that hadn't got a Christian."
Punch, vol lxvii, p.143. 1875

Nothing had been said that morning. Probably Meriadoc or Peregrin, Faramir 
considered Meriadoc to be the most likely, had explained to Samwise exactly 
what that locked door signified.  Samwise was very obviously not happy but 
was saying nothing. At least, nothing to Faramir; there was a distinct coolness 
between Frodo and Samwise.  Faramir wondered what he should do, and fell 
back on pretending he had noticed nothing untoward.

As he had said he would, Mithrandir left them before they reached the Buckland 
Gate. The mood of the hobbits was quiet, almost melancholy; Faramir 
understood from their conversation that when they had left the Shire there had 
been no gate, just an open road.

Faramir remained beside Frodo; he could see, through the mess and grime left 
by the strangers, the outline of a fair and prosperous land, something he had 
occasionally glimpsed also behind the bones of Ithilien, Ithilien that Boromir 
now held as Prince, as his sons would after him.  Faramir caught his moment of 
envy and killed it.  His brother was not to blame for what had come to pass, and 
Faramir had a life to lead, wherever it might take him.

The new houses the hobbits pointed out half in horror and half in amusement, 
were small and mean, but the beds had been built for men not for hobbits, and it 
was no surprise to him when they began to encounter men who appeared to 
have orcish blood.  

Faramir's heart smote him.  He did not mention to Frodo his thoughts that such 
half orcs as these were not bred in pits; their mere presence told a tale of 
unimaginable horror on the part of nameless women of Gondor and Dunland.

"What's wrong?" Frodo must have caught sight of his face.

"I am saddened by the damage done to your land," said Faramir.  Rather over-
formal, but he supposed Frodo was accustomed to that kind of thing from him 
by now.

"Thank you." Frodo seemed touched, and Faramir looked away, a little self-
conscious.

To Faramir, Samwise had always seemed to be a hobbit who knew his own 
mind and spoke it without fear or favour. Indeed, he had once overheard him 
accuse King Aragorn of 'foolishness' and for a wonder the King had not rebuked 
him as Denethor would have done, but asked him for an explanation and, 
satisfied with Samwise's view, changed his opinion.

It was therefore with some surprise that Faramir noted the flush which coloured 
Sam's cheek when he spoke to Rose Cotton.  Frodo saw him looking and 
signalled him closer. "Sweethearts," he said, too quietly for Samwise to hear. 
"Always have been."

"I see," said Faramir.

"Are you quite sure you won't take some more potato, Mr Faramir?" asked Mrs 
Cotton.

"Thank you, no."

"Don't press my husband, Mrs Cotton," said Frodo.  "Men eat less for their size 
than we do."

Once, when they were boys, Boromir had bought some kind of black and gold 
striped cat the size of a mastiff from a trader who said he'd had it from a corsair.  
The stares the cat received while it lived, and that was not long, were akin to the 
stares Faramir was now receiving from the Cotton family.

"Well, if you're sure?" said Mrs Cotton, and the dish was withdrawn.

**

Faramir took little part in the Battle of Bywater; he understood now what 
Mithrandir had said before he left: the matter was one the hobbits must settle for 
themselves.  He therefore contented himself with following Frodo's orders.

**

That left Bag End about which Faramir had heard so much, and Sharkey.  He 
looked at Bag End as they approached, and remembered with a pang that 
surprised him that Bilbo had been utterly unsurprised by his cousin's 
handfasting to a man.  He could see at a glance what the despoiling of Bag End 
meant to Frodo, even without the tales Bilbo had told him of the old place.  As 
they drew closer the feel of it set his soldiers' instincts to alertness and he 
nocked an arrow to his bow.

"It's so much harder when it's somewhere you knew and loved," said Frodo.

"I should have shoved my pouch of pipeweed down dear old Saruman's throat," 
said Meriadoc from behind him.

"And so you should," came a new voice.  Faramir had never met Saruman, but 
knew him instantly from the descriptions he'd heard and read.  "Here I am to 
welcome you back," continued Saruman.  "And your peculiar fancy, the son of 
Denethor.  You see, I keep up with all the news."

"Do not speak of the Lord Faramir," said Meriadoc, somewhat to Faramir's 
surprise.

"And why not?" said Saruman.  "The last shame of a fallen house, dancing to 
the whim of a halfling..."

"You may leave if silent," said Frodo.  "But if you continue I will give the order 
to have you cut down where you stand. Do you understand me?"

"See the halfling, so very lordly, and as he will let me leave, so very kind.  He 
robs even my revenge of honey.  Come, Worm!"

"Gríma son of Gálmód?" said Faramir, seeing the man come out from behind 
the broken door.  Though he had heard Mithrandir speak of Gríma's fall, he had 
not imagined that he would still be with Saruman.

"Yes, indeed," said Saruman. "Are you surprised, son of Denethor?"

Faramir ignored him.  "Gríma. I remember when you visited the Court when I 
was a boy. You came with Théoden on an honourable embassy.  You were kind 
to me."  That it was because Théoden himself, despite seeing how Denethor 
despised him, was first kind went unsaid.

"I remember you," Gríma spoke in a hoarse growl, different from the man 
Faramir remembered. "Beautiful you were. And braver than your brother, the 
one whom all loved."

"You do not have to go with him, Gríma," said Frodo. "You can remain here 
and receive succour until you are ready to go your own way.  Back to Rohan if 
you desire it."

"No!" Saruman's voice was loud in the unbelieving silence.  "Worm comes with 
me."

Frodo spoke again to Gríma, "I know of no wrong you have done me or mine."

"No wrong? His was the hand which cut down Lotho. Poor old Lotho!" 
Saruman laughed.  "Buried him I hope, though his hungers are not those of 
other men.  Best let him come with me."

Gríma shuffled forward as if in pain. "You told me to," he said, like a sulky 
child who has misunderstood an instruction from a hated tutor and been beaten 
for it.  As he passed Frodo, Gríma's hand reached inside his cloak. Before he 
could pull the weapon Faramir stepped between them.

The hatred in Gríma's eyes was not for Frodo, or so Faramir judged, nor for 
himself.  He realised too late that Gríma's weapon, swift to his hand, was for 
Saruman. It went home cleanly; like all men of Rohan and Gondor, Gríma had 
been trained to arms.

Faramir lowered his bow on Frodo's order, but three of the hobbits did not and 
Gríma lay dead.

"Look to Saruman," came the voice of Meriadoc.  Faramir marvelled as the 
wizard's power left the body and dissipated into the air around Bag End leaving 
the shell behind. Out of respect, Frodo covered the face with the end of his 
cloak.


Part IV

Bishop:
Who is it that sees and hears all that we do, and before whom even I am but as a 
crushed worm?
Page:
The missus, My Lord.
Punch, vol lxxix. p63. 1880

The end of Saruman was not an end but a beginning.  Faramir wrote to the King 
in Gondor and Frodo sent his note and a letter of his own with some travellers 
heading south down the Greenway intending to go through the Gap of Rohan. 
How Farmer Cotton had known of them was a mystery to Faramir, but known 
he had.

The hobbits then turned their attention to the rebuilding of the Shire and Rose 
Cotton to the cleaning and setting to rights of Bag End.  As Rose said, "For you 
and Mr Frodo can't stay with us for too long else that bruise on your head will 
be permanent!"

He was, he knew, a curiosity in Hobbiton.  In many ways it was easier to be 
indoors helping Rose and Mrs Cotton, an invisible curiosity, than outside and a 
visible curiosity that hobbits would travel miles out their way to see and marvel 
at.  He scrubbed floors, and ceilings, taking instruction where necessary without 
complaint.  The coolness between Frodo and Samwise appeared on the face of it 
to have been patched up, or so Faramir thought.

He and Rose were working in the kitchen at Bag End when he discovered his 
mistake.  After several days' trial and error, Faramir had managed to mend the 
stove and they were able to brew tea, "The way old master Bilbo did," as Rose 
put it.

"Do you remember Bilbo?" Faramir asked, curious.

"Yes, Mr Faramir, sir.  A wonderful kind and learned gentlehobbit was Mr 
Bilbo. Good to Sam and to me, all will tell you so."

"Almost all." Faramir had met Ted Sandyman on a visit he and Frodo made to 
the Ivy Bush Inn. It had been obvious that Sandyman loathed Frodo and had 
always disliked Bilbo.  Faramir had not told Frodo what he'd overheard 
Sandyman say about them; on the point of his handfasting it was Frodo who 
was over-touchy rather than himself.

Rose, who'd witnessed the incident and was also keeping quiet, looked 
sympathetic. "Pay no heed to anything Ted Sandyman says. He's a fool and 
always has been."

"May I tell Samwise you said that?" asked Faramir.

"Better you stay out of it, Mr Faramir, like you do between Frodo and my Sam."

Faramir stared at her.

"Bless you, sir. I've known both of 'em all my life. They've had words about 
something, probably something one of them doesn't care to explain or can't. 
From the way Sam speaks of you, or doesn't, probably something to do with 
you. You're staying out of it, and that's only good hobbit sense.  Now, I'll get 
that cake I brought from the farm to have with our tea."

**

Hobbits had an extraordinary capacity for hard work and it was a startlingly few 
days before Bag End was ready for Frodo and Faramir to move in.  Meriadoc 
had even brought Frodo's furniture from Crickhollow. "And I said I wouldn't do 
this!" Faramir overheard him say.

Then Frodo's laugh, "Things have changed since then."

Meriadoc caught sight of Faramir listening and smiled at him, "Very much so."

Bag End was more comfortable than the Cottons' farm house; Rose had told him 
that it was considered by far and away the best hobbit hole for many miles 
around, and it was certainly the one best able to provide a home for a Man.

It seemed that the only one less than pleased to see them make their home there 
was Samwise. Whatever the problem was, neither of them were a step closer to 
discussing it, and Faramir saw the long-suffering expression on Rose's face 
increasingly often.

Then, one night as winter turned to spring, Samwise came to the door of Bag 
End.  Faramir answered, and Samwise said, "I need to speak to Frodo."

"Of course." Faramir stepped back to allow Samwise indoors out of the night.

"Privately."

That was not like Samwise. Whatever disagreement he and Frodo were having, 
he was usually polite to Faramir.  "Of course," Faramir said again. He led 
Samwise through to the living room where Frodo was sipping an evening ale.  
"Samwise is here and wishes to speak to you.  Good evening, Master Samwise."

Faramir went to the study, well out the way.  There was no lack of reading 
matter at Bag End as long as the reader was content with matters of interest to 
Bilbo and Frodo Baggins: Bilbo had taken very few books when he left for 
Imladris, and nearly all of those left at Bag End had been removed to 
Crickhollow and then returned by Meriadoc.  Books on elven lore rubbed 
shoulders with books on plants, trees and animal husbandry, and those with the 
history of hobbits and their lands round about.  Some Bilbo had clearly 
translated himself, and these were hard going indeed as Bilbo's handwriting 
warred with sometimes obscure subject matter.

Faramir had only just made a choice when Frodo came in.  "Has Samwise 
gone?" was all Faramir could think of to say.

"No, I left him making tea. The matter he wishes to discuss concerns you also. I 
wanted to explain..."

"Do you want me there?" Faramir did not usually interrupt, but did so now.

"No!  The matter I need to explain I could hardly speak of with you there. It will 
be difficult enough without."

"Go on."

"You know when we...lie together?"

"Yes." Faramir was puzzled. They did so fairly infrequently and never talked of 
it either before or after. Until now.

"He believes you may harm me."

"Harm you? But I don't..." Faramir trailed off. "Oh.  I understand. Then you will 
have to tell him the truth of the matter."

"You have no objection to him knowing?"

"Had I understood the nature of the disagreement between you, I would have 
told you to tell him before we left Bree.  I know Samwise too well to believe 
that he would tell anyone else." Faramir considered the matter for a moment, 
"But why now?"

Frodo smiled, "Rosie won't accept him until he makes it up with me."

"Poor Sam. You will have to tell him, then."  Faramir turned back to his 
abandoned book.

**

Faramir had gone to bed when he heard the round front door of Bag End close.  
A moment or two later and the door to his bedroom opened.  "Are you asleep?" 
asked Frodo.

"Not yet."

"May I come in?"

He could see Frodo's outline in the orange light from the fire in his room, but 
not his expression.  Faramir sat up.  "Was he satisfied with what you told him?"

Frodo padded over to the bed, and sat down on the side. "I hope so. It occurred 
to me that it must have been something of a lonely evening for you."

"I read," said Faramir, knowing Frodo would understand. Both of them 
considered books to be friends.

"And I wondered if you might care for some company."

Faramir hoped the sudden flush of heat to his face was hidden by the firelight, 
"Company would be welcome, yes."

Frodo leaned upwards to kiss him then stopped.  "You would say if you found 
what we do unpleasant?"

Their lips met, and then parted again. "I would find some way of drawing the 
matter to your attention." Faramir opened his mouth to the kiss and tasted the 
tea Frodo had been drinking...tea and seed cake?  Yes, seed cake.

After a time of this, Frodo said, "Sam seemed to think that no Man could find a 
hobbit satisfying."

"As he is not you and is most definitely not me, I would say he is not qualified 
to judge the matter."  Faramir lay back, allowing Frodo to unlace his nightshirt.  
He saw the look of doubt still on Frodo's face and added, "If it would please 
you, I can assure Master Samwise of my absolute and complete satisfaction at 
your hands."

Frodo removed the offending garment, then said, "I think not.  It would shock 
him out of ten years growth. As they say, 'Separate not a hobbit from his 
unreasoned beliefs'."

"Who says that?" said Faramir as he began to unbutton Frodo's shirt.

"I have no idea. But if it is not a saying, it ought to be."


Part V

I am not hungry; but thank goodness I am greedy.
Punch vol lxxv. p290 1878

Had Faramir ever considered the matter he would not have expected a hobbit 
wedding to be enjoyable. His own handfasting, under the eye of his father and 
the king, had been a rather solemn affair, he could now see why Peregrin and 
Meriadoc had felt something lacking.  If by 'lacking' they meant that nobody 
danced on tables or round maypoles (though it was not May), nobody fed beer 
to their pig, and there were no children throwing cake, it certainly had been.  On 
the other hand, and here Faramir averted his eyes, nobody had been sick over a 
fence.

He tried to imagine his father at a hobbit wedding - the wine seemed to be going 
to his head - and failed. He had no trouble with Arwen or with Aragorn, though 
he did have to think of them that way rather than as king and queen, and could 
even see Elrond in this setting.  Boromir would have a fine time, and Éowyn 
was never standoffish with anyone.  But not Denethor.  He could suck the joy 
out of a May morning.

"Hugo!" Frodo addressed the hobbit who had been lecturing Faramir for some 
time. "May I interrupt?  Faramir, I need you to help me with something."

"Certainly, certainly," Hugo waved a hand a little vaguely.  "I like your young 
Man, Frodo.  Very sound on pigs."

"Oh, good," said Frodo.  

"What did you want me for?" asked Faramir as they crossed the field.

"Nothing. I thought Hugo must have got onto pigs again.  You have to stop him 
before he starts or he can go on for hours."

"He had. But I was thinking about something else, so it didn't matter."

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Listen and look interested and think about something else at the same time."

"Practise," said Faramir, thinking of Minas Tirith.  "If you'd grown up as I did 
you could probably do it, too."

They chose a bench near Farmer and Mrs Cotton; Rose's parents were turned 
out in their very best clothes, and Faramir was rather impressed with how fine 
those were.

Mrs Cotton looked across at them as they sat, "Oh, Mr Frodo, I've a letter for 
you. Came up from Sarn Ford last night it did, and I put it in my bag to bring." 
She searched in the basket for a few moments and then passed it over.  She 
looked a little disappointed when Frodo tucked the package inside his waistcoat 
and took no more notice of it.

**

Next morning, Faramir had something of a headache.  Frodo was rarely troubled 
with hangovers but the hearty red wine of the hobbits always affected Faramir. 
He was therefore somewhat less than his usual gracious self on entering the 
kitchen.  "What is it?" he asked on seeing Frodo.

"I've had a letter from the King," said Frodo.

"From Aragorn? What does it say?"

"Here." Frodo threw it across the table.  "He's making me Prince of Eriador."  
Frodo waited until Faramir had read the letter and said, "What shall I do?"

"Rule," said Faramir.  "You can hardly refuse."

"But I don't know what a prince does.  It would be much better had he made 
you..."

"He can't. It would offend my father to have both his sons made princes and not 
extend the same title to him.  Better to give the job to the Ringbearer whom all 
admire than to the man Denethor has told them all his life is worth very little."

Frodo looked horrified, "Did your father say that to you?"

"He told Boromir once that he knew me and that I had few uses, yes.  But he did 
not know that I was within hearing." Faramir sighed.  "I think he would have 
much preferred it had I been a maid-child.  There were a great many princes in 
the south, and not many princesses.  I would have had a great deal more value to 
him."

"There's a couple of letters for you, too," Frodo pushed them across the table.

"This one's addressed to you," Faramir picked up one in Aragorn's hand.

"I know.  But it's actually for you; I just reached the part where Aragorn says 
that Denethor has told him that it is not permitted for a man to write to another's 
spouse to whom he's not related by blood. Then I stopped.  I'm not reading your 
letters, whatever 'Gondorian custom' your father has invented on the spot to 
humiliate you."

"Thank you," Faramir was rather surprised at how angry Frodo sounded.  "It is a 
real custom," he said. "Though a very old fashioned one, and even then mostly 
applied to women."  From Frodo's snort as he stood to make breakfast, Faramir 
gathered he wasn't impressed.

By the time breakfast had been cooked and served, Faramir had read all the 
letters.  Frodo looked politely interested, but asked no questions.  Faramir let 
him wait for a few minutes while he finished his tea, and then said, "You can 
read them if you like.  Father still despises me; Aragorn says I am to help you 
with your new duties.  My brother's wife has had a baby, it's a boy. My father's 
wife has had a girl.  Boromir is thrilled of course, and father is furious, but not 
admitting it." He shifted the cup in its saucer, then added, "Do not tell my father 
I said so, but it is a relief to live here and not at Court.  There is something I 
would ask, though?"

"Go on," said Frodo.

"What does Aragorn mean when he comments that you own half of Eriador?"

Frodo coloured in a way rather unlike him.  "Your dowry...your father had little 
gold, war is an expensive business even when you win."  Frodo took a deep 
breath, "Sam negotiated a series of land transactions between your father, 
Aragorn, Queen Arwen and me. The end result is that I own a substantial 
portion of land between the Brandywine River and the Mitheithel, the river we 
call the Hoarwell. And Bag End, of course, which Lobelia returned to me."

Faramir considered this. "That makes you probably the wealthiest person alive 
who is not actually the King," he said.

"In land, perhaps. And only through you."

"Is the size of my dowry a measure of my father's desperation to be rid of me?" 
Somehow, that idea still hurt.

"Don't blame Sam," said Frodo. "He was trying to make the dowry so large that 
your father would drop the idea. As you can tell, he didn't succeed."

In other words, yes, or so Faramir thought.  He picked up and re-read Aragorn's 
letter.  "He says he will be in Bree on mid-year's day for your investiture."

"My...?"

"The ceremony in which you are made a prince."

Frodo went still for a moment, and then he said, "Let us hope he does not bring 
your father."

**

Bree appeared to be ready for a fine old time. All the flags were out, obviously 
made for the occasion, some of them out of someone's old frocks.  There were 
flowers in profusion everywhere, in window boxes but also on street corners 
where the unwary, and the drunk, would trip over them.

Fully half of the Shire had made the journey to Bree with Faramir and Frodo. 
Frodo had been all for keeping this a secret, and that had worked well until Jolly 
Cotton had taken a bushel of Longbottom Leaf to Bree in early April. They had 
been preparing for the King's visit even then and on the tip of Jolly's wagging 
tongue, the story of Frodo's imminent elevation went around Hobbiton, 
Bywater, and even Michel Delving in somewhat less than a trice.

Of course the likes of Ted Sandyman thought it a huge joke and took to calling 
him 'Prince Frodo' immediately. Samwise, on the other hand, appeared 
genuinely delighted. It had been clear to Faramir that he had long felt Frodo 
received insufficient admiration from his fellow hobbits, admiration they gave 
Meriadoc, Peregrin and even Samwise himself as of course.  That he'd brought a 
Man from foreign parts and lived with him as a husband added to Frodo's 
notoriety and to the legend of 'Mad Baggins', but gained him no admiration.

"I'm glad to see you both here at last!" said Barliman Butterbur as they 
dismounted from the horse and pony in his stable yard.  "Bob! Bob, take their 
horses, I know you've been keeping a place for 'em.  And I've your rooms all 
ready, Mr Baggins, sir. Or should I say Prince Frodo?"

"Not for a few days yet," said Frodo. "Let me keep my plain hobbit name while 
I can."

Butterbur led the way into the inn, which seemed to be heaving with people. 
"Business is good, then, Barliman?" asked Faramir.

"That it is, Mr Faramir, sir. We're that busy I don't know if I'm on my head or 
my heels, if you see what I mean?"

"Only too well."

"To think of it, a King staying at the Pony!  I never thought I'd live to see it! 
And he's brought his good lady. I should say, Queen Arwen. And a mort of 
other lords and princes.  There's one of 'em who says he's your brother, though I 
wasn't sure whether to believe him. He sort of looks like you right enough..."

"Boromir's here?"

"Yes, that's his name. Boromir.  Nice enough young fellow..."

Frodo broke in, "When we've had a chance to wash and have something to eat, 
could you send Boromir to us?" He looked up at Faramir, "You'll want to see 
him privately?"

"Yes."

"I'll do my best for you, Mr Baggins," said Barliman.

"Thank you, Mr Butterbur."

**

Faramir jumped every time someone knocked on their parlour door, first at Bob 
with hot water, then at Butterbur himself with Nob at his heels bringing food.

"Calmly!" said Frodo, laughing.  "You'll upset something, probably the milk." 
Then, "You've really missed your brother, haven't you?"

Faramir looked up, seeing only sympathy on Frodo's face, "Yes.  More than I 
can say. More than I was aware of."

A further knock on the door, and Faramir was met with a hug from Boromir. 
Caught up in this he did not realise for a moment that his brother was not alone, 
and then it took him a moment to compose himself.  "Father." He held a hand 
out to Denethor who took it disdainfully and let go as quickly as he could.

"How are you, my brother?" Boromir was the first to break the silence.

"Well. Thank you." Faramir cursed himself silently that he was always so stilted 
before his father. "How is Éowyn?  Did she travel with you?"

"Alas no, she..."

"The lady is again with child," said Denethor.  It was not possible to tell if he 
approved or did not, but Faramir saw his brother's frozen expression and 
gathered that he did not.

"Perhaps you would care to join me in the remains of a meal, Lord Denethor?" 
said Frodo. "It would permit my husband and his brother to re-acquaint 
themselves."  In politeness, Denethor could hardly refuse this invitation and 
thus Faramir was freed to sit with Boromir next to the window at the other end 
of the room.

"How are matters with you?" Boromir asked, his voice quiet.  "When you left 
Minas Tirith I wondered..."

"Well," said Faramir. "Truly. I am not unhappy. And you? How is life as a 
father?"

Boromir smiled, joy in every line of his face, "He is already a prodigy - I can 
tell he's going to be an outstanding warrior."

"Will there be ought left to fight?  You shock me, my brother, I had imagined 
peace in the southlands..."

"Have you taken to smoking that infernal pipe-weed?"

"Not yet."  Faramir felt his face heat slightly.  He had tried it one night when 
Frodo had been away, but had been thoroughly sick and resolved never to repeat 
the experiment. "And father?" He lowered his voice, "How does he do?"

Boromir's expression spoke volumes to one who knew him well, but he said, 
"Well enough."

"Good. And the Lady Prestoliel?" 

"She is well."

There was clearly more behind that than Boromir could say, Faramir would 
have to wait for a more auspicious moment to hear it.

**

Dinner that night was a semi-public event with the King and Queen presiding 
and Frodo and Faramir with them. The room was the largest hall Bree had to 
offer, and it was not over-large. It was also rather cold, despite it wanting only a 
few days to midsummer.

From the expression on his father's face, Faramir thought he knew Denethor's 
opinion on the accommodations and the food.  He therefore ensured Denethor 
heard him congratulate Barliman Butterbur and the folk of Bree on their efforts. 
He would not, could not, allow their people to be sneered at because their 
service did not match a King's house and servants who had trained over 
generations.  Denethor's sneer narrowed to him alone.

**

Night came on and Faramir and Frodo returned to their rooms at the Inn.  Frodo 
said, "I heard what you said to Boromir."

Curse those sharp hobbit ears, they missed nothing.  Faramir, already in bed, 
looked up at him.  Frodo's face was unreadable.  Faramir said, "Did you?"

"About not being unhappy. Did you mean it?"

"Yes."

"Does that mean you expected to be so and married me anyway?"

"I had no clear expectation." He held his hand out, "Frodo, come to bed. Please? 
There is something I would ask of you."

Frodo climbed in beside him but remained sitting, "What is this thing?  I warn 
you, if a great deal of effort is required you are likely to be unlucky."

"I think this should not prove beyond your strength." He leaned towards Frodo 
and spoke, very quietly, into one of the hobbit's slightly pointed ears.

"Are you sure?" asked Frodo.  "The plaster has not stopped falling from when 
we did that in Bag End." 

"I want it."

"Here and now?"

"Yes."

"Very well." Frodo's tone was that of a hobbit who clearly believed this to be a 
bad idea.  "You are sure?"

"Very much so." He leaned up and their mouths met.

**

"Faramir, my dear husband." When Frodo used that phrase, Faramir paid 
attention. "A word, please."  They moved away from the others; practising for 
the ceremony was taking all morning. Faramir believed the King had not 
rehearsed this much for his own coronation.  "You have been looking like the 
cat shut in the dairy all morning," said Frodo.  "Had you any idea last night who 
had the rooms next to ours?"

"I did not know for certain."

"It is not like you to prevaricate."

"But I had guessed that ours and the rooms either side were the best in the inn."

"And were you louder than you need have been?"

That at least Faramir could be completely honest about, "No. When you do that 
I..."

"I recall, I was there.  Your father has spent all morning looking as if he has 
eaten dirt." Frodo looked him up and down, "There are hidden depths to you, 
my husband.  See that they do not get out of hand." He walked away a few 
steps, then turned back, "I'm not saying that I didn't enjoy it, mind."

**

Of course, that was not the end of the matter.  Queen Arwen had little enough to 
do but sit and be beautiful, something she did consummately well with little 
need to practise; Faramir found himself next to her as they waited while Frodo 
and King Aragorn went through the moves they must make.  "I have never 
stayed at an Inn before," she confided, "but I am finding it most illuminating."

"My Queen?"

She smiled, "The most extraordinary things one hears. I had a most entertaining 
time getting Aragorn to explain them to me." Her look grew almost impish, 
"And a much better time once I persuaded him to demonstrate." Faramir could 
think of nothing to say in reply to that, and dared not smile. Arwen's face looked 
deceptively guileless and Faramir stiffened; he'd been caught out by that look 
before.  She said, "I have to give serious consideration to what gift I should find 
for your husband.  What do you think he might appreciate?"

The trouble with having one's leg gently pulled by a Queen was that hysteria 
would be looked upon askance.  The effort at keeping his face straight nearly 
killing him, Faramir said, "I am sure whatever my Queen decides on will be 
entirely appropriate."

"Ah," she slid her eyes at him, "in that case I shall present the whip to Frodo 
privately."

**

"I am to blame; I was too accommodating." Denethor took a turn around his 
private room.  "When you were a boy, I made too many allowances for your 
weakness.  Now what has become of you?  A harlot! A whore for the depraved 
desires of a halfling!"

Since this was precisely what Faramir had expected Denethor to think, though 
not to say to his face, he remained silent.

"What?  No protestations of innocence?"

"No, father," said Faramir.

"You have nothing to say for yourself at all?"

"No, father."

Denethor sat down, "What did he do it for? To rub my face in it?"

That could not be allowed to pass.  "He...  I asked him to take me knowing that 
you would hear.  He had no idea you were in the next room."

"And if he had known?"

"He would have refused."

Denethor's eyes searched his face, and Faramir fought not to look down. "Why 
did you do this?" he asked.

"I wanted you to know, to understand, that my marriage to Frodo is not just land 
and paper."

"You humiliated me."

"No, father. I lay with my husband full willing. I do not feel that humiliates 
either me or him."

"You disgust me."

Faramir swallowed.  "At last you are honest with me, father. May I go now?"

**

And finally, Boromir, his expression somehow nervous.  

As he did not seem inclined to speak, Faramir said, "I have not seen you all 
day."

"I went for a walk."

"Queen Arwen was concerned you would miss the rehearsals."

"Why did you...?"

Faramir sighed, "I have just had all this out with father."

"Am I worth less?"

"No! Never that.  Frodo is a hobbit worthy of love and respect, and I do love 
and respect him.  Hobbits have strong appetites for food and drink," Faramir 
paused, "and also for other pleasures. In that regard I sometimes fall short."

"But not last night."

"As you say." Faramir smiled to himself.  "And I wished to annoy father. Which 
I did."

"I never thought I would say this, my brother, but Frodo should take a whip to 
your hide."

"I believe you are the second person to suggest that to me today."

**

The ceremony itself was long and rather dull. Even Faramir thought so, and he 
was accustomed to long dull ceremonies. It was of course impossible to suggest 
that Queen Arwen had slept through it but Faramir very much envied her the 
elvish capacity to rest with their eyes open.

There was not enough room at the Prancing Pony, or the other inns in Bree, to 
accommodate all those who wished to celebrate their new princes. That didn't 
stop the celebration, indeed as the cavalcade made its way through the streets to 
the Town Hall, Faramir caught sight of several men and hobbits with ale mugs 
in their hands and visibly the worse for drink.  He sincerely hoped they stayed 
on the cheerful side of drunk but had no such expectation: he had lived at Court, 
and lately in a village, and well knew the squabbles, grudges, unexpected 
alliances and bitter feuds which governed such places.  Bree was like to be no 
different from Hobbiton or the Court at Minas Tirith, and they would be lucky 
to reach morning without a few broken heads. He hoped none of it would end 
up as Frodo's problem.

The feast was better than the one that had welcomed them; Faramir ate 
sparingly as he always did, a source of surprise to most hobbits, though Frodo 
no longer remarked on it.  Peregrin, seated in a place of honour, was suggesting 
foods that Denethor might like to try, "There is this green salad, though Faramir 
is forbidden it."

"And is my son always so obedient?" asked Denethor.

Faramir had winced at Peregrin's choice of words and did so again. It was one 
of those questions which Denethor delighted in and to which both 'no' and 'yes' 
were the wrong answer.

Peregrin glanced at Faramir, who tried very hard to look as if he were not 
listening.  He said, "I have never known Faramir cross Frodo's will, though that 
is not the reason he does not eat this."

"What is?"

"It contains the herb sandrinard. It makes Faramir ill; not enough to die, though 
it might look as if he has, but very sick and dizzy."

"Does it affect all Men this way?"  Denethor looked up the table to Aragorn, 
who was helping himself to a large portion.

"No," said Peregrin. "Nor all hobbits. I've a cousin, Dahlia Took, who's the 
same way with it. But I love it, and so does Frodo. Though it doesn't look as if 
he's going to get very much." This as Aragorn put the bowl down, mostly 
empty.

"Nevertheless, I will take none of it. What is this white fruit?"

"Vegetable, Lord Denethor. Potato."

Faramir turned back to Frodo, who said, "You see, your father is not all bad."  
He sounded almost as if he were apologising for it.

"No," said Faramir.  Peregrin had one skill that he lacked and probably always 
would: that of being able to charm his father.

Suddenly, Faramir was tired and cold. He wanted to be alone with Frodo in their 
home at Bag End, and probably never would be again.  He felt Frodo's hand 
take his and squeeze slightly, then let go.  He looked up, somewhat comforted 
by the gesture to see his father's eyes upon them. He sighed; it was proving to 
be a long evening.

**

"You should go," said Frodo.  "A day's hunting will cheer you."

"You won't come with us?"

Frodo laughed, "Have you ever known me to choose to hunt?  No, you go with 
Boromir."

He had honestly expected to be far more unpractised than his brother, but then 
not all the meat at Bag End came from the butcher in Michel Delving.

"You were always a better shot than I," admitted Boromir, watching a coney 
make its escape.  Faramir proved it by hitting his next target, and Boromir 
frowned at him looking disturbingly like their father.  Faramir tried not to laugh, 
but felt his mouth twitch in any case.  "It's not even as if you can eat a crow," 
said Boromir.

Faramir took aim again, "Butterbur tells me there are a great many crows in the 
woods around here. Too many, he says."

"He's a good man, that innkeeper. And a good friend to you."

"For Frodo's sake..."

Boromir turned to face him, "No, little brother.  Not just for that. It was 
something of a surprise to our father, expecting to find you reviled and despised, 
to discover you a general favourite among the people here.  But it was no 
surprise to me."  Faramir was moved; he did not have the words to answer that, 
and therefore said nothing.  Boromir changed the subject, "Did Frodo like the 
gift I left for him?"

"He..." Words defeated Faramir once again, but Boromir waited until he said, 
"I'm sure he's very grateful."

Boromir's laugh set the birds in the nearby trees to flight.  "As I haven't heard 
you protesting, I suppose he hasn't used it."

"He imagines it has been given him to use when atop his pony."

"I shall have to tell him the truth of it, then!"

"Boromir! Do not, please."

"Are hobbits such prudes? I never found that."

"Among themselves they are earthy, I agree. But they do not expect it of Men." 
He paused, "It would amuse you to know that I am treated most of the time as a 
maiden, innocent and pure."

"You were pure.  Before your handfasting to Frodo, at least.  Don't look at me 
like that, you had read the scrolls the archivist kept hidden, that I know, but you 
had never...you need not have been so inexperienced, any of the servants of the 
White Tower would have shared your bed had you but asked."

"I know that. I chose not to."

"But why?"

"It seemed unfair," Faramir chose his words carefully, "to use them in that way. 
As if it were part of their duty."

From Boromir's expression he clearly thought it was exactly that, and Faramir 
tried to explain. "One morning, I saw a serving woman come out of father's 
room..."

"You would not surely expect our father to abstain entirely after our mother's 
death?"

"No. But it was how she looked."

"He had not hurt her?"

"No!  Our father is not a brute.  No...she looked as if she had performed some 
mildly unpleasant task, like emptying his chamber pot." Faramir stared out over 
the sunlit land.  "I did not want any servant, or anyone, to stand outside my door 
like that."

"They would not have. Many looked at you with longing."

"Even the experience you had would have stood me in no stead given who I 
handfasted to."

"Frodo taught you?"

"Everything about pleasing a hobbit, yes. Who else?"

They walked on a little further through the bright morning, seeing nothing worth 
a shot.

"And you, my brother?" Faramir said.  "How do you do in such matters?" For 
he had a feeling Boromir had not brought him out or raised this by chance.

"I am not worthy of her," said Boromir

"In what way?"

"In all ways. She is beautiful and brave beyond reckoning."

"I agree," said Faramir, as gently as he could, for his brother seemed to have 
fallen silent again.

"And I am not."  Boromir walked on for a few more steps, then threw himself 
down to sit on a fallen log.

Boromir in this mood was entirely new.  Himself, yes, he was only too aware 
that he fell short of the ideal in many ways, great and small, but that his brother 
should also believe that of himself was beyond Faramir's experience or 
comprehension.  "I have ever heard it said that you are the best of men," said 
Faramir.

"They lie.  Well, father does, for no doubt it is he who has told you so."

"In what way?"

Boromir looked up from the mossy floor of the forest.  "I cannot believe Frodo 
has not mentioned this.  He at least can have no great love for me."

"He has never said anything about you in my hearing that I recall. Oh. Except 
once in Minas Tirith before we were handfasted, I said that all loved you and he 
said 'not all'. Perhaps not those exact words, but something with that meaning."

"Dearest of brothers, has anyone ever mentioned that, though you do not talk 
often, when you do, if one were to write down what you say there would not be 
paper in the world?"

"Indeed so. Rose, the wife of Samwise, tells me that with me you get nothing at 
all or every thought that passes through my head."

"Then let it be nothing, at least until I tell you what I must. And then you will 
not wish to speak with me again."

Faramir sat down beside his brother, "I doubt that."

"Then for pity's sake, let me speak!"

Consumed with dread and curiosity, Faramir waited in silence; he saw 
Boromir's mouth work and wondered if he were about to weep. It would be 
unlike Boromir, but the day was becoming altogether strange.

"Have you ever noticed," said Boromir, "that there is a part missing from the 
tale of the Ring?"

"Truly, no."

"There is." Boromir paused again, as if collecting his thoughts. "Aragorn led us 
through the Golden Wood and we followed the River Anduin to the falls about 
Rauros.

"There we discussed what we should do, to go to Mordor or to Minas Tirith. 
Frodo asked for time alone to consider and left the group still debating.  I 
followed him to the seat of Amon Hen above Sarn Gebir, and there spoke with 
him, trying to persuade him to bring the Ring back to Minas Tirith, to our 
father.  He struck me, and called me a fool, told me that none could wield the 
ring save Sauron and that it would eat out my heart were I to try.  Your husband 
may lack inches but he does not lack courage."

"I know," said Faramir.

"He put on the Ring and disappeared.  I do not know where he went but I 
suppose he ran off down the hill. I tried to follow where I believed he had gone 
but saw an orc party.

"By this time at least an hour had passed since Frodo left the group and they had 
decided to search for him. The orcs found Merry and Pippin. I killed some, from 
behind, but when they came back searching for me," Boromir took a deep 
breath, "I fled.

"I learned later that Aragorn and the others believed me slain, and none of them, 
on his honour, has ever asked me what happened.  Frodo has never mentioned it 
or asked for an explanation.  I returned to Minas Tirith to face our father's wrath 
for not having brought him Isildur's Bane, and to learn that you were fighting in 
Ithilien." 

"Have you told Denethor?"

Boromir nodded, once.  "He ordered me to say nothing of it. Until now, I have 
obeyed."

Faramir was silent for a moment and the birds sang on around them. Then he 
said, "This is why father insisted to the King that you should be Prince of 
Ithilien and wed Éowyn."

"Yes.  He arranged my handfasting - indeed gave little choice to either of us.  
But now he is angry that she has had a boy and seems like to bear another but 
his Lady Prestoliel has borne only a girl and a sickly one at that."

"I see."

"Not all, perhaps. Through this knowledge, he has influence over me that he 
does not have over you.  And I am thus dishonoured twice over, once because I 
fled and once because he uses my dishonour to ensure my support for his 
schemes. The knowledge of what I have done unmans me.  I am unworthy of 
Éowyn and the title I hold - she calls me spineless and she is correct."

Faramir had no reply to this for it was nothing more than the truth.  The 
enormity of the burden Boromir carried was almost more than he could 
comprehend. "Éowyn does not know, then?"

"No!" Boromir's shudder was visible.

"Then you must tell her and trust to her heart."

"I cannot."

Faramir sighed. Boromir the stone wall he remembered of old.  "You must.  If I 
have learned nothing from my handfasting it is that you must trust.  A secret 
like that will destroy you both."

"Do you have no secrets from Frodo at all?"

"Nothing serious." Faramir thought of them: that he was a closer friend to Rose 
than to Samwise; the time he made himself sick attempting to smoke pipe weed; 
that he sometimes put his hand on himself rather than ask Frodo to share his 
bed. He said, "Small things, that we might argue over if he were to discover 
them, but nothing which could do him real harm."

"You have given him your heart."

"I did not hope for it or expect it, but yes. I have."  A sudden thought struck him 
and Faramir swallowed, "You know that I must tell him what you have said. 
This is too big a matter for me to keep secret."

Boromir searched his face for a moment then said, "Very well." Then, "What 
will he tell you to do?"

Frodo was unsurprised by Faramir's news; "I guessed something like that had 
probably happened. I would imagine that Aragorn has, too.  What concerns me 
is what may happen when and if Aragorn finally secures his position in Minas 
Tirith. On that day, my husband, we are not providing a permanent bolt-hole for 
your father."


Part VI

Go directly -- find out what she's doing and tell her she mustn't.
Punch, vol lxiii p.202 1862

During the celebrations, Faramir had been peripherally aware of new buildings 
going up around Bree.  He had given this little thought, his awareness only of a 
mild pleasure that business in Bree was thriving.  As the crowds left, these signs 
became more obvious until one morning Frodo received an invitation from 
Bree's mayor, a hobbit called Gil Sandytoes.

It appeared that some time in the past - Sandytoes was not very specific about 
when - Aragorn had instructed the folk of Bree to prepare them a gift, "His 
instructions were rather vague," said Sandytoes, "but we've done our best. What 
do you think?"

On the journey north, just a few years before, Faramir had seen the ruins of the 
watchtower of Amon Sûl.  He had specifically asked to be taken there, 
remembering not only Frodo's journey, but also that Elendil had there awaited 
Gil-Galad.  The structure Sandytoes showed them reminded him, in part of the 
ruin in that it was a keep atop a hill.

"The hill was already there," said Sandytoes.

"Oh," said Frodo.

"That was... helpful," said Faramir, seeing they were going to get nothing more 
from Frodo.

Faramir thought he could guess Frodo's difficulty: hobbits were not greatly 
enamoured of stone buildings.  Once inside, however, they found that it was 
more home-like than either had expected. The builders had chosen to interpret 
Aragorn's instruction for a castle rather freely, and there was more of the hobbit-
hole than the palace about it. It was also, not surprisingly after so short a time, 
still unfinished.

Frodo returned to the inn looking, to one who knew him well, rather downcast.  
"I suppose," he said, "it would hurt their feelings if we disappeared in the night 
and went back to Bag End?"

Faramir held back his laugh, "I'm afraid it would."

"Furniture will improve it though."

"We can but hope."

They exchanged a glance of resignation, then Frodo said, "Bed, Prince Faramir, 
I have plans for you that I hope may cheer us both."

**

At least Butterbur was sorry to see them move into their new home - almost as 
sorry as Meriadoc was that their furniture needed to moved again.  Frodo gave 
Bag End to Rose and Sam, and Rose's ecstatic delight almost made it 
worthwhile.

Still, as they had predicted, with furniture in the newly-finished living quarters 
the new castle looked somewhat improved. It would not be perfect, Faramir 
thought, not even as perfect as it was capable of being, until they stopped 
tripping over builders on the way to the privy.

"I never thought of anything like this," said Frodo.

"No," agreed Faramir, absently. He was looking out of the window, a hobbit 
was attempting to pick up a plank larger than he was and being berated for it by 
a serving maid.

"I hate having servants," Frodo went on. "I hated it when we were in Minas 
Tirith and it hasn't improved."

Faramir turned away from the unfolding scene below, "I'm afraid we cannot 
avoid it. I have employed as few as I thought could manage the work."

"That was a surprise. How did you know what to do?"

Faramir came over to sit beside him on the most comfortable seat in the room. 
"There is no riddle there."

"Tell me, then, O wise one."

"It is true that my father ruled and that the origin of the Steward was as a 
counsellor to the King, but my father and his fathers before him took the title of 
steward seriously. A steward manages a household, and father insisted that as 
well as learning our letters and how to wield sword and bow we learned the 
work of the servants from the lowest kitchen page to his own household 
steward. Not in great detail, but sufficient."

"I thought that when you came to Bag End you showed a remarkable ability at 
scrubbing floors."

"They were indeed not my first," Faramir smiled, "or the first time I had turned 
a spit or stirred a soup.  Though I am no cook and Mistress Anareth of the 
kitchen was ever angry with me." He fell silent.

Frodo said, "There is nothing you can do for Boromir."

"How did you know?"

"Talking of Minas Tirith always brings him to your mind.  I should have known 
better than to allow you to raise it."

Faramir laughed, "A pretty pair we should make, never able to discuss my 
homeland, my family or your past experiences. We should have to confine 
ourselves to the weather and the scenery."

"We should perhaps try it out for a day."

"Then our new servants would think us both addled.  Not that they don't already. 
Come, Frodo, time for the evening meal which they will have burned or failed 
to cook sufficiently. Do you think we can persuade Butterbur to part with his 
cook?"

"Now you are addled," said Frodo.

"Do you think Samwise and Rose would come to live with us?" Faramir thought 
of Rose's cooking with something akin to homesickness.

"I suppose they would if we asked. But could we deny Sam the chance of being 
Mayor of Hobbiton?"

"And, more importantly, Rose of being his lady? No, we could not. And unless 
we can stand to dismiss our current servants and employ more, or train these to 
our needs, and I doubt we can, we must learn to endure being uncomfortable 
and having nasty things to eat."

"Let's hope they improve before anyone important arrives. I can just imagine 
Lord Elrond's face if they presented him with what they gave us last night."

**

"The 'King of Angmar' announces that he intends to visit," said Frodo. He held 
out a letter for Faramir to take.  "I would imagine that this is the result of your 
recent battle on the edge of the Ettenmoors."

"It was not a battle. A minor clash of arms, merely." Faramir winced as he 
reached to take it.

"Which could have cost you your hand, so forgive me if I disagree."

"Our people must be protected; that village had asked for our help."

"I know that, and the men you trained acquitted themselves extremely well, 
considering that a year ago Bree didn't have a soldier within a days' ride.  I hope 
only that we will not have to fight such battles often. Which returns us to the 
'King of Angmar'."

Faramir reached for the letter.  "His scribe is hardly worthy of the title.  Still, I 
would imagine that he was lucky to find anyone who could write in Angmar, 
even more that they could write in the common tongue."

Silence for a moment, then Frodo said, "I do not remember being told there 
were men in Angmar. I wish Gandalf were here to advise us."

**

As it turned out, there were men in Angmar.  Of a kind.  The deputation which 
rode up was made up of Men who looked more than half orc, and orcs who had 
some blood of Men.  But as they had sent ahead to parley and harmed none on 
their journey, Frodo had no reason to refuse to see them.

Uncomfortable days followed; the 'King of Angmar' claimed several villages 
and a small town to the south of the Ettens. Frodo, armed with the papers he had 
from King Aragorn, papers relating to the lengthy transactions of Faramir's 
dowry, rejected this claim.

While they debated, the King and his followers had to be accommodated either 
in the Palace, which both Faramir and Frodo disliked, or in Bree itself, which 
the townspeople, Big and Little, heartily disliked.  Still, it was an unusual orc 
who even attempted diplomacy over force of arms.

King Uglûk had learned good manners, though where and when Faramir did not 
ask, but those of his men slipped too often to be comfortable.  Insults to 
themselves they could tolerate, abuse of their servants was another matter 
entirely so when the discourtesy reached the levels of their guests spitting on the 
floor and pinching the maids, Frodo insisted that the orcs eat separately and be 
waited on by their own servants. "And we shall have to scrub the rooms out 
with vinegar after they've gone," he told Faramir, when they were alone.

Faramir did not like it, but there was nothing they could do short of murdering 
them all and that, even if it were honourable which of course it was not, would 
likely set the whole of the northern part of Arnor alight and embroil them in war 
for years to come.  

"I think," said Faramir, when they were at last alone together on the fifth day of 
the torturous visit, "he intends to wear us down into making concessions by 
pushing us to the limit of endurance."

Frodo yawned, "You're probably right. Stay with me?"

"Very well, if you wish it."  Faramir removed his smallclothes and slid into bed, 
feeling Frodo's warmth.  "Is it just my company you want," he asked. He slid his 
hand across Frodo's side. "Or perhaps..."

"Have I told you recently," Frodo turned onto his back, "that you are the best of 
husbands?"

"No, for I am not. However, I believe I have my compensations." He moved to 
kiss Frodo.

"Indeed you do, Prince Faramir. Indeed you do."

**

As usual when they were intimately joined Faramir lay on his back, body 
supported by a bolster - it was a cause of some puzzlement to their servants why 
they needed so many, but neither of them were about to confess the reason.

Frodo withdrew from him, slowly, mindful that he was sometimes sensitive, and 
ran a hand up the outside of Faramir's thigh. "You are..." was as far as he got.

The door to Frodo's bedroom opened suddenly. Faramir caught no more than a 
glimpse of an orc - his knife flashed in the candlelight.  Faramir rolled over and 
pushed Frodo from the bed. Hoping Frodo was unhurt, Faramir reached for the 
sword he'd set aside earlier. He took a swing at the orc, but missed.  Faramire 
cursed his reflexes, or lack of them, and made a second lunge avoiding the orc 
blade by a fraction of an inch.

This time Faramir was successful. He spared a glance for Frodo, who looked 
furious rather than frightened. "Stay there!" said Faramir.

The orc, desperate by now, came at Faramir again.  Faramir recognised him, 
without surprise, as one of the entourage of the King of Angmar.  "Hold!" he 
said.

The orc laughed, "Die, my pretty prince, and your master with you!" He slashed 
at Faramir's face, unsuccessfully.  Faramir did not bother to reply, he had no 
time for it. They turned and Faramir realised a moment too late that this brought 
the orc closer to Frodo.  Suddenly, the orc screamed. Had the orc been able to, 
he'd have got another slash in against Faramir, but his attention was elsewhere: 
Frodo was under the bed, attacking with something Faramir did not have time to 
look at closely.  The orc's distraction was his undoing; Faramir saw his chance 
and took it. In seconds the orc's black blood stained the rug by Frodo's bed.  He 
stopped moving.

At that moment - too late - the guard arrived.  Frodo came out from under the 
bed as naked as Faramir, holding a pearl-handled whip and looked at the guard 
as if they were weevils he'd found in the flour.  "I think," he said, "that my 
husband and I will pass the rest of the night in his room. Remove this," he toed 
the body of the orc, "and see to it that we are not further disturbed.  Come, 
Faramir."

"As you command, my Prince," said Faramir and bowed.

**

No such event could be without its repercussions, and next day they had to face 
the King of Angmar over the negotiating table.

"I am sorry from the bottom of my heart for the..." a pause while the King 
searched his mind for the right word, "inconvenience you suffered last night.  
Had the matter not been already well taken care of by Prince Faramir, the guilty 
one would have met his death at my hand."

Frodo's smile was somewhat tight, "Thank you for your assurance, King Uglûk. 
The inconvenience was slight. Yet let anyone who attempts such a thing be 
warned that I am not as ill-defended as I appear, and certainly not when my dear 
husband is beside me."

I hope that is blunt enough, thought Faramir, though he doubted it would be.  
Someone's need to have Frodo dead must be great indeed to attack him in his 
own stronghold.  Yet, the apology had seemed perfectly genuine, insofar as 
Faramir could tell.  And the King could not be quite certain that the outcome of 
Frodo's death would be war in the north - Aragorn and the large and well-
trained armies of Gondor and Rohan were leagues to the south. Here in the 
north were only the Dúnedain, the northern Rangers, and such men as Faramir 
himself had trained.

Faramir cursed himself for a fool. There was no way they could permit these 
spies to return north, and yet by coming under a flag of truce they had virtually 
guaranteed their safe return. No wonder Uglûk had appeared genuinely angry. 
He was. He could not afford to give them an excuse to retaliate, not if he wanted 
his mission to succeed. Frodo would have to write urgently to Aragorn Elessar, 
but knew they could expect no help.  He wondered just how big Uglûk's army 
was.  Faramir's respect increased; this was no normal Uruk.

**

"Prince Faramir, sir, visitors..." their steward, Tod Cheesman, had a face like a 
beaten mastiff, and he looked even more worried than usual.

"What have they done now?"

"Not those visitors, sir. We've been keeping an eye on 'em, as you asked, and 
other than drinking a lot of Frodo...Prince Frodo's ale and smashing a few 
goblets they've been right as rain. All of 'em still here, sir. I've been counting 
'em just like you told me. No, sir, these are new visitors, the Lady Prestoliel and 
her escort from...some place in the south I have forgotten."

"Minas Tirith," supplied Faramir.  "You'd better send her to me. Have word sent 
to Frodo and prepare rooms for them."

"Where?"

"You're the steward, just do your best."

**

"Faramir! My dear...stepson?"

Faramir had met Prestoliel very briefly in Minas Tirith; he had to admit that he 
had forgotten quite how pretty she was.  Beauty enough to please even his 
father. "Stepmother?" he tried.

She laughed, a tinkle like silver bells. "It feels wrong when you are the elder, 
does it not? Use my plain name and I will use yours."

"As you wish," he bowed.  "I regret my husband is not here to greet you, he is 
dealing with the emissaries from the northlands."

"No matter," she dismissed Frodo and the emissaries with a wave of her pale 
hand and sat.  "No doubt you are wondering why I am here."

Faramir suppressed the temptation to point out that the thousand or so miles 
which lay between Minas Tirith and Bree made it unlikely that she had come to 
borrow a jar of honey. He contented himself with an enquiring look.

"I wanted again to meet my dear stepson!" the laugh tinkled out again.

"And?" said Faramir, as it appeared that she'd stopped.

"Nothing else."

"Does my father know you are here?"  After he had said it, Faramir realised that 
he had possibly been a trifle too blunt. Living among free-spoken hobbits and 
the equally free-spoken folk of Bree was clearly affecting him more than he had 
imagined.

"Of course!"

Faramir was quite certain that this was untrue, but was saved from thinking of a 
further reply by Frodo's arrival.

**

"The new lady visitor, sir," said Cheesman.

"What about her?" Faramir sighed.

Cheesman grinned, obviously in some reminiscence.  "She doesn't like her 
room."

"Tell her it's the best we can do."

"I did that. I don't think she believed me. In fact, I know she didn't."

"Faramir!" Lady Prestoliel obviously hadn't waited for the steward to return.  "I 
cannot remain in such accommodations."

"Which rooms do you have?"  Faramir concentrated on keeping the impatience 
he felt out of his voice.

"Poky little ones at the back, with funny little round windows and doors."

"The little folk rooms," put in Cheesman.  "The ones we keep for when the 
Mayor and his lady come from Hobbiton.  They're the best we have other than 
what that King of Angmar's staying in."

"You see!" said Prestoliel. "You do have better rooms. I'm sure this King of... 
King will give them up when I ask him."

"Don't think so," said Cheesman, "see, lady..."

"And Faramir, your servants are insupportably rude!"

"My apologies," said Faramir, at last getting a word in edgeways. "Cheesman, 
please try to remember what I told you."

"Sir," Cheesman bowed, somewhat chastened.

"Now, Prestoliel. I cannot ask the King of Angmar to give up the rooms he is 
occupying and you wouldn't want them if he did agree. Please accept that the 
rooms you have are the best we can offer at present." When the door closed and 
he was finally alone, Faramir sank into a chair and groaned.  After all that he 
still had to face dinner with the King of Angmar and Prestoliel, eating without 
obvious disgust whatever their cooks had managed to produce. He also ought to 
write to his father. Truly, he thought, this cup is too full for me to drink.

**

Lady Prestoliel said, "The north is not at all as I had imagined."

Faramir asked, "How so?" He was doing his best with her and hoped somebody 
appreciated it.

"I...had expected a city. Something like Minas Tirith."

"Did my father give you that impression?" he couldn't imagine from where else 
she could have gained any idea of the north.

"No. He never talks to me of important things, only of Aragorn. It's all Aragorn 
this, Aragorn that. Tales of his arrogance and pride."

"Aragorn? King Elessar?" Faramir was honestly puzzled.  His acquaintance 
with the King was comparatively slight, but he had seemed the least prideful of 
men.

"Then, of course, there's Queen Arwen, the jewels she wears and the cost of her 
dresses."

"My father talks about the cost of dresses?" This was becoming more 
astounding by the minute.

"Of course not. But she's full of herself. If she got any fuller, she'd burst."

This didn't sound at all like the Arwen that Faramir knew.  He kept quiet.

"But you're not at all like your father said, and now I've become used to your 
lovely little castle. And we're such friends already."

"Are we?" said Faramir.

**

"Why did my father handfast to that woman?" Faramir sat on the edge of 
Frodo's bed, profoundly weary.

"To make sons," said Frodo, and he yawned.  "Are you getting in or not?"

"Yes." He moved the covers aside and lay down. "Please, I just want to talk to 
someone sane."

Frodo leaned over and kissed his shoulder.  "I think, tomorrow, you will 
negotiate with the King and I will deal with the lady."

**

"Faramir!  Your...  Frodo is the most odious creature I ever met!  I wonder that 
you tolerate him."

"Oh. Is he?" Faramir thought he probably looked taken aback at this. He felt it.

"He says I should return to Gondor."

Frodo must have had taken the opportunity to say something.  Faramir said, "If 
you left now and took the journey in easy stages you would be through the Gap 
of Rohan before the first snows fall on the high peaks."

"But Faramir! I thought that you..." she stopped.

"That I?" he was honestly puzzled.

"That you wanted me to stay!  That you loved me."

How to put this gently?  There was no kind way of saying it, other than to say it. 
"Lady. I do not know what I can have said or done if I gave you that impression.  
I assure you I did not intend it."

"You cannot want to be near that creature."

"What creature?"

"That...Frodo."

Faramir could hear his voice turning cold, "Frodo is not a 'creature', he is a 
person. My husband."

"You remain here out of duty," she came to him and reached for him.  "Your 
father told me so."

Faramir backed away hurriedly.  "That is false and my father knows it to be 
false."

"No!" Prestoliel reached for him again.

By now Faramir was almost in the fire and had nowhere further to which to 
retreat. "It is false," he said.  "My love is given to my husband and none other.  
You must understand that. Please." She tried to kiss him and he held her firmly 
by the wrists. "Please don't do this. Whatever feeling you have for me, I cannot 
return it. My heart is given to another."

She broke into a storm of weeping and he released her. If she said anything he 
could not make it out.

He sighed, "You would do much better to return to my father."

"And beg his forgiveness? I would rather die!"

"Then return to your own people. I am sure they would aid you." Faramir felt 
helpless; weeping women were not something of which he had much 
experience. He would far rather face twenty raging orcs armed with scimitars.

"I am sure they would not!" she said. "Oh, you are useless, like all men!" She 
broke into another storm of weeping, and left the room.  The door slammed 
behind her and Faramir stared at it. He was rather glad of the quiet.

**

"My husband, I need to speak with you," said Frodo.  Faramir looked up from 
the papers he was studying.  "At once."

Faramir followed him into their private parlour and closed the door.

"The Lady Prestoliel..." began Frodo and Faramir just managed to stop himself 
from groaning out loud. Frodo continued, "She has made an accusation against 
you."

"Go on."

"She says that you attempted to force yourself on her.  Did you?"

"No."

"Thank you. That's all I wanted to know."

"You believe me?"

Frodo looked up at him. "Yes."

"What will you tell her?"

"That I have investigated the matter and I do not believe her."

"Oh. I doubt she will be satisfied with that."

It was Frodo's turn to sigh. "Then she can return to your father."

"She will not do that. I have already suggested it.  Nor will she return to her 
own people in Dol Amroth, I've suggested that, also."

"And she came here from Boromir. " Frodo must have seen the surprised 
expression on Faramir's face, "Yes, she came from Ithilien, not from Minas 
Tirith.  Come, let us sit."  Frodo chose the settle by the fire, and Faramir sat 
beside him. Frodo said, "I received a letter from Éowyn. For some reason the 
messenger delivered it first to Merry - it only arrived this morning."

"And?"

"It seems that the balance of the lady's mind is somewhat disturbed."

"We could have told them that; did Éowyn say why?"

"Have you noticed that Prestoliel has never mentioned her child? Not once in all 
the time she's been here?"

"Actually...yes.  I assumed the silence was because the child died. It's not 
uncommon, even among the nobility of Gondor and I didn't want to raise the 
matter until she did."

"I would think that knowing that and having it happen to you are two different 
things. I cannot help but feel relief that it can never happen to us," said Frodo. 
"According to Éowyn, Prestoliel became somewhat strange after the death of 
the child; she and your father had an argument - which says something about 
how much backbone she has since I would not care to argue with your father.  
Without his leave, she called her ladies to her and travelled to Dol Amroth.  
From there, and Éowyn does not mention why or what her family said, she 
came to Ithilien.  Éowyn tried to do her best for her, but was rebuffed.  Her 
attempts at help angered Prestoliel so much she claimed she was being 
persecuted. She left, and came here."

"I do not believe we can help her. Besides which, we have problems of our 
own."

"That's the other matter I wanted to discuss with you. King Uglûk leaves at the 
end of the week. I think we'll follow him north and do some spying for 
ourselves. We will have to leave the lady to herself for a few weeks and hope 
she comes to her senses."

Faramir sighed, "How I long for the simple life in kindly Minas Tirith.  A little 
court intrigue would be as bucolic monotony."


Part VII

It appears the Americans have taken umbrage.
They deuce they have! Whereabouts is that?
Punch, vol lxiii. p.189. 1872


The moment they left Bree it started to rain.  And it rained. And it rained. And it 
rained some more, just for variation.

"I thought it was meant to be May," growled Frodo, as his pony tripped and 
stumbled.

"It is," replied Faramir. He shook his wet hair out of his eyes and looked round.  
Behind he could see the rise of the Weather Hills, but ahead all was flat and 
slightly gloomy.  "Gimli told me, more than once, about their chase across 
Rohan following an orc trail.  In this weather, any other trail would have 
disappeared."

"I hope they are all feeling as cold and out of sorts as we are."

Faramir suppressed a laugh, "I would imagine not, if I know orcs."

"And these achieved their aim." Frodo sighed, "They left us a mess, too.  I do 
hope Sam and Rosie clear up the castle before we return."

**

The land was strange; it was largely uninhabited and there was no real road, but 
here and there they found small villages, the people clinging to life by the skin 
of their teeth.  Usually, these tiny places didn't even have an inn.  

During his previous journey across the Ettenmoors, Faramir had steered his 
troops clear of these villages; this time it seemed politic to introduce 
themselves, and thus create distance between them and the grim orcs whose 
passage the people watched so warily.  Their own company, Dúnedain for the 
most part, were greeted only slightly less distrustfully.

Faramir felt for these people; they were simple folk and such people always had 
the most to lose when there was a falling out of princes, battle could despoil 
their crops and leave them hungry for the winter. He knew Frodo would do his 
best for them, but Arnor was still poor compared with the south, and even they 
were recovering only slowly from the wars which had ravaged their lands.

"How goes it, Alagosín?" Faramir decided that to worry his mind with these 
matters was profitless. It may yet come to nothing.

"Well enough, Faramir.  There's nowhere for us to stay unless you're prepared to 
brave the lice in the headman's hut, so we've set up camp in the field to the 
side."

Faramir did not expect the Rangers to call him by any title, and they did not. 
That they accepted him as an equal was sufficient honour, for some of these 
men had taught Aragorn Elessar.  "And Frodo?" he asked.

"He's cold," said Alagosín, "Does cold always affect hobbits so? I thought for a 
moment that he'd bite me."  Faramir smiled, considered answering, and decided 
that the hand of discretion should stay over his mouth.

"You need not have come," said Faramir to Frodo, when he arrived in their 
small tent.

"And stay behind with your father's mad wife? I'd rather freeze to death out 
here. And ride a pony."

"So would I," Faramir sat on his unrolled bedding and contemplated the roof of 
the tent, already damp.

"How far ahead are the orcs?"

"From the tracks, I'd say about a day but Alagosín thinks they're not quite that 
far.  He's more likely to be right than I, he knows these northlands better.  We 
need to make better speed, but in these lands I don't care to travel at night. 
Luckily the orcs agree."

"But we have the advantage of horses."

Faramir looked up, then remembered just how far Frodo had travelled.  "Orcs 
do travel at speed, but we are catching them up.  We should overtake them 
tomorrow, I would estimate at sundown - if the sun ever shines in this place."

***

Few things ever go quite as planned; they must have pulled ahead of the orcs 
party some time during the day, but what had held them up Faramir had no idea. 
They had left the trail early, not wanting to run into the back of them 
unexpectedly.  At sundown they found themselves on a rise of land, too low to 
be called a hill, but with no sign of the orcs.

Alagosín and Faramir stood apart from Frodo and the others, looking out over 
the land behind them.  "No fire," said Faramir. "They'd see it for miles."

"Cold night," said Alagosín, but not as if he disagreed.

"Yes. If we're really lucky, they'll have a fire."

"They might if they think themselves safe."

Faramir came off watch to find Frodo still awake. "Cold?" he said.

"Yes. See anything?"  Frodo came over to Faramir's bedroll and slipped in.

"Nothing. Oh, perfect. You don't feel cold, more like having a hot brick in the 
bed," Faramir lay on his side and curled round Frodo.

"Let's hope nobody attacks.  Our men are already full of tales about us." Frodo 
moved closer. "You don't mind?"

Faramir shrugged, he wasn't sure he cared any longer what was said about him. 
"What do they say?"

Frodo sounded amused, "That you are wonderfully obedient and that it is 
because I often beat you."

Faramir opened his eyes, "Is there no end to people's foolishness?"

"None, apparently."

**

As far as Faramir could tell, nobody had slept well. If anything he and Frodo 
had done so rather better than some of the others because they had been warmer.  
He sometimes had his suspicions of Alagosín and another ranger, Faerlach, but 
kept them to himself; in Faramir's experience expressing curiosity about 
someone else's private arrangements invited questions upon one's own, and 
people were curious enough about him and Frodo.

Quite what Frodo told the hobbits other than Samwise, whom Faramir accepted 
as a special case, Faramir had no idea.  He suspected that he was a 
closemouthed as Faramir was himself.  

He tried to keep his groan to himself as he sat on the damp ground chewing 
bread that was even more stale than his allowance yesterday.  He was turning 
soft; the feather beds of the castle, even one such as Chetwood, were too much 
the norm rather than the luxury they had been during his time in Ithilien.

"What's wrong with you this morning," said Frodo.

"Feeling my age," admitted Faramir.

"You're what, forty five?"

"Forty two!" said Faramir, stung.

"I'm fifty six," said Frodo, perfectly calm. Faramir turned and stared, "But you 
look...to my eyes anyway, about twenty-five. The same age or somewhat 
younger than Samwise."

"Sam is of like age to you. The eyes of Men are deceived, it seems."

"Not that much."

Frodo turned back to his breakfast, such as it was.  "It was one of the effects of 
the Ring.  To preserve the appearance of youth and to prolong life, but not to 
give more."

"You feel it still."

"Yes."

Faramir leaned across the tent and touched Frodo's arm. "I..." he started, then 
was not sure how to continue.  "If it were possible, I would take all of it to 
myself rather than have you suffer."

Frodo turned to him, "I know." He reached up as he often did, and touched 
Faramir's face. "I am the luckiest hobbit alive."

"I hardly think that."

"Nevertheless it is true. I do not know what would have become of me without 
you."

"Samwise..." began Faramir, being realistic.

"No," Frodo stroked Faramir's face. "Even had Sam ever been mine, I would 
have had to give him back to Rosie and to the Shire.  The life he has is the one 
he was born for.  You are the gift unlooked for." He leaned forward and they 
kissed, softly.  "I can only hope that the life I give you is as fulfilling as 
whatever I stole you from." He smiled, "Come, my husband. I suspect our escort 
is impatient for us to join them."

There was still no sign of the orcs. "I wonder," said Alagosín, "that they have 
given us the slip, somehow."

"We shall have to return along our trail until we find where they slipped off," 
said Faramir.

"Yes," said Alagosín.  He was clearly annoyed with himself, "That's what 
comes of trying to be too clever."

***

Faramir felt as though they were not moving, as if the grey landscape he 
glimpsed through the rain was shifting slowly past as they remained caught like 
flies in dirty amber. How much longer could this go on?   But the orc trail was 
again becoming newer, they were catching up, and this time there was no 
mistake. They slowed as they grew closer, keeping the orcs always a half day 
ahead.

At last, even through the driving rain, Faramir could see the rise of the 
mountains ahead, the northernmost border of Arnor, the mountains of Angmar 
with Carn Dûm at their northernmost tip, and closer than that the mountains 
which formed the backdrop to the Ettenmoors.

The orcs had turned northwest to skirt the Ettens and Faramir wondered why.  
He had heard that the Ettens contained trolls and sincerely hoped that to be mere 
rumour. Trolls in the southern lands had all come under the control of the Red 
Eye, there had been none wandering freely and the idea of the damage they 
could do uncontrolled froze the heart.

Still, if they were there that was a problem for another day, a day on which he 
would persuade Frodo to remain at Chetwood.  No, he told himself; Frodo was 
no child, he was a prince and none could doubt his courage. If he wanted to 
travel, none should stop him.  It was for Faramir to see that he came to no harm 
or King Elessar would have his throat, and deservedly so.  Or perhaps Elessar 
would understand; after all, he had been unable to prevent Frodo from crossing 
the Anduin and travelling to Mordor with only Samwise.

That night they again camped without fires, with the orcs just within sight. With 
no fire and no tents it was a cold night.  Frodo spoke to Alagosín, "The orcs 
which captured my Uncle Bilbo lived in the mountains. Do these?"

"It's possible," said Alagosín. "Mount Gundarbad, their ancient home, is the 
other side of the Ettens.  And if they do go in under there we could have had a 
wasted journey. None I know of have gone inside Gundarbad and come out 
again alive."

Faramir looked for a long time at the light of the orc encampment.

**

Gundarbad looked as fearsome as its reputation, a great black hulk even among 
the other mountains that almost seemed to shrink back from it. The orcs ahead 
of them did not hesitate; they headed straight up a defile and could be seen 
slogging their way up a path from there. None of them looked back, or not that 
Faramir could tell.

Alagosín stopped in a stand of trees before they even reached the defile, "We 
can go no further," he said.

"We have come this far," said Frodo, and probably only Faramir could hear his 
irritation.  "We must go on or risk an attack in force on the northlands of 
Eriador."

"They have never attacked before," Faerlach said.

"Not since the Battle of Dale, fought while we struggled to rid the world of the 
Ring.  They discovered then that the dwarves are well defended, but we are not.  
Mordor is a ruin, of no use to anyone, and they need land because even orcs do 
not eat rock. We have land, thanks to Sauron's defeat; that means we are 
vulnerable." 

"What do you suggest," said Alagosín.

"I watched the orcs climb. It seemed to me that they reached a particular place 
and then vanished. There must be an entrance."

"You have sharp eyes, Prince Frodo," allowed Alagosín. "Very well. We could 
climb ourselves, but the place is bound to be guarded."

"That is no matter," said Frodo.  "I shall go up and get them to announce me." 
All stared at him, Faramir in horror. "They called upon me. I shall call upon 
them."

"You are insane!" said Alagosín. Faramir was thankful someone else had said it. 
"They will strike you down."

"Then we will know where we stand. But I think not; their so-called King 
understands the rules of civilised diplomacy."

"But will he follow them?"

Faramir found his voice, "Either way, you shall not go alone."

"I imagined not. I would also doubt there is anything I could say which would 
dissuade you?"

"Nothing."

"Very well, then."

**

The climb to the orc stronghold was not as difficult as Faramir had imagined it 
might be. On the other hand, perhaps that should not have come as a surprise; 
orcs were known to be lazy, their preference always to take the easy way where 
possible and where the way was difficult to make it easier.

Frodo did not seem inclined to talk; Faramir would have like to know if there 
was a plan, but Frodo's silence suggested not.  He could see Frodo's point; any 
plan was premature. As they approached what they suspected to be the door, 
Frodo turned to Faramir, "We're like to be captured. It would be best if we 
attempted to not be separated."  Faramir could only agree. He half thought that 
Frodo was inviting death, but the expression on his face was not that of one who 
despaired. In which case, Faramir could only wait and protect him as best he 
could.  Frodo led the way into a low-ceilinged cave and Faramir bowed his head 
to avoid the roof and followed him; the door - if such it was - proved to be 
unguarded.

If there had been no path leading up, Faramir would have said that this was an 
entirely natural, shallow cave. There was no sign that it was the abode of orcs, 
goblins or any other fell thing. They stood and waited, feeling and probably 
Faramir thought looking, rather foolish.

It seemed to him that a dark area at the back of the cave was looking somewhat 
darker, and then a shape detached itself from the surrounding blackness and 
stepped forward, followed by other shapes.  It appeared that Frodo could see 
better in the dark than he could, for he addressed the shape, "We are here to see 
your leader, the one who styles himself King Uglûk."

A hideous laugh, "Then you shall!"

Faramir stayed close to Frodo during the ensuing journey through the horrible 
close darkness. He hoped that Frodo's eyes were up to determining where they 
were and in which direction they travelled for he was utterly confused, southern 
ranger or no.

Then, ahead of them, Faramir could see a light. At first it was green, then a 
green/gold and then, without warning, they were half-led, half-pushed into a 
vast wide open space, the ceiling disappearing up into the mountain and rooms 
opening around them, a space larger by far than the great halls of Faramir's 
youth.

The stink Faramir had expected from an orc stronghold, that he had experienced 
the time he had visited Orthanc with Frodo following Saruman's fall, was 
largely absent.  There was a smell, perhaps of a midden far below and the 
distinct tang of worked metal tickled the nose, but distantly as if the smith 
worked somewhere else, far but not too far.  They were pushed forward again 
by a press of orcs, and ahead Faramir could see a stone throne on a raised dais 
set at one end of a square of stone benches.

The orcs argued among themselves, their foul tongue loud and raucous, but then 
one gave an order and three set off apparently to obey it.  They returned shortly.  
"The king isn't ready to see you. You must wait," one addressed himself to 
Frodo.

Another spoke to the messenger, and a further argument broke out; Faramir and 
Frodo looked at each other and then at the furious orcs.  Another spoke, "The 
words he used were not exact."

"I see," said Frodo.  "Then what was the true message?"

"The king is recovering from his journey. He asks that you wait, and join him at 
meat."

"Thank you," said Frodo. "We would be honoured."

Which wouldn't be quite how Faramir would have put it had he been forced to 
tell the truth.  As they waited, increasing numbers of orcs came out from 
openings all the way round the space to stare at them curiously.  Frodo flicked a 
glance at Faramir; this was indeed the information for which they were risking 
their lives: some idea of the number of armed orcs Uglûk commanded. More 
than Faramir was happy with, but fewer than he had feared.

Now their only problem was getting out of Mount Gundarbad alive with the 
information. And there, Faramir could only trust to Frodo's luck, for he had no 
clue. He wondered how long Alagosín and the other Dúnedain would wait for 
them - for some time, but not forever.

Faramir had never seen an unarmed orc before, but deduced that this was some 
kind of steward or house-servant. It - he - signalled to them to follow and at that 
the jeering crowd opened up to let them pass.  "You need not be concerned," 
said the steward. "They speak of your beauty, both of you, but the King has 
given orders that you are to be left unharmed and he has ways of making sure 
his orders are followed."

"Our beauty?" said Frodo.

"They do not put it into those terms, but that is their general meaning," said the 
steward.  Somehow, Faramir was convinced that what they were saying was far 
cruder, and was grateful for his lack of understanding. He was sure that he did 
not want to discover what a crowd of orcs wanted to do with him.

They were led along a lit passage and then through a doorway finely carved, but 
with terrifying images of leering faces and long tongues.  "Your Majesty, the 
visitors from the flatlands," said the steward.

Uglûk turned away from an open fire to face them. "My friends. I had hoped to 
have more warning to enable me to greet you in a style more suited to your 
station.  But no matter." He turned to the steward, "Azogil, see that suitable 
accommodations are prepared for our guests."

Faramir didn't much care for the stress Uglûk placed on the word 
'accommodations', but he followed Frodo into the room and looked round.  The 
self-styled King of Angmar did not stint himself. The room was extraordinarily 
carved, the rock decorated in an ornate style where images of faces forever 
seemed to be peering or peeping at the watcher, they almost moved in the 
periphery of vision only to be stationary when looked at fully.  The floors were 
covered in thick rugs that Faramir knew must have come from the far south, and 
the walls were hung with subtle tapestries woven with images that, after one 
glance, he tried not to look at too closely: nobody should have scenes of married 
intimacy on the walls of their living space.  It was both splendid and horrifying 
at the same time.

Uglûk said, "You must be hungry after your journey, and the long wait."

"Somewhat," agreed Frodo.

"Then we shall wait no longer." At a signal from Uglûk, three orcs, also 
unarmed, brought in food and drink for the three of them and laid it out on a 
solid table.  Faramir realised, embarrassed, that the meal was far better than any 
they had offered Uglûk, and unbidden the thought came to him that they should 
persuade his cook to come south.

"You must not imagine," said Uglûk, "that because nine hundred, nine and 
ninety of us are ill-educated vermin, the thousandth must necessarily also be 
so."

"So I see," Frodo helped himself to bread and salad, tasting the salad. "Not that 
one, Faramir," he said.  "It has sandrinard."

Faramir nodded, and took something of the other foods, avoiding any meat he 
could not immediately identify, noting that Frodo did the same.

"That is coney, Prince Faramir," said Uglûk, pointing out one he had missed, 
"and that one bear."  They ate for a while in silence, then Uglûk said, "I do not 
imagine that either of you have had second thoughts about our negotiations.  I 
do not know, therefore, what brings you here."

"Curiosity," said Frodo.  "You spoke so often of your home in the north that we 
could not contain our impatience."

Uglûk laughed, and suddenly sounded more like the orcs outside, "I will not call 
you a liar, Prince Frodo. At least not in front of your face, or that of the 
formidable Prince Faramir. I inclined to think that you visit me for the same 
reason that I visited you. Which makes us even, with one notable exception: you 
are honourable, and I am not."

**

"At least it can be said," commented Faramir, "that he is not a liar."

"Nor did he insist we hurry dinner before throwing us into his cells," said Frodo.

Faramir laughed, despite himself, "Hobbits think of their stomachs first."

"And very sensible."

"Oh, very. For we are locked up, but we are not starving. At least, not yet."

Confinement was unbelievably dull, even more so than Faramir would have 
imagined. His experiences before this were of being sent to his room by his 
tutors when he was a boy, and though he had never been the favoured son, his 
room had still contained books and games.  The only gain was that he and Frodo 
were imprisoned together, it seemed that King Uglûk did not fear them 
conspiring.

They knew also that for an orc cell it could have been a very great deal worse - 
there was but one bed, but it had a blanket which was not absolutely filthy and 
contained no bedbugs - at least, none with a taste for Men or hobbits.  As 
Faramir said on their second day, "I suppose we should be grateful we're 
princes.  If we were but ordinary travellers, we'd be somewhere in the 
dungeons."

"I shall contain my gratitude for when we leave," said Frodo.  From which 
Faramir gathered that Frodo did not have a plan to get them out.

A noise at the door, and Faramir stood.  He was expecting their evening meal, 
but instead the orc called Azogil indicated him. "You. The tall one.  My master 
wishes to speak with you." Faramir looked at Frodo.  "Move," said Azogil.

As Azogil was accompanied by several armed orcs, Frodo stepped back, "Be 
careful," he said.

"I will," Faramir moved, and was immediately surrounded by the guard, talking 
loudly among themselves in the foul orc speech.  Faramir did his best to keep 
track of the twists and turns which led to King Uglûk's rooms; none of the orcs 
attempted to prevent this, indeed they seemed too intent on their conversation - 
if it was conversation - to notice.

King Uglûk was awaiting him, a fine meal laid out.  Faramir stopped in the 
doorway, more than a little surprised.  "Come in, Prince Faramir," said Uglûk. 
"Please join me."

Faramir stepped forward into the room, and looked round, realising that Azogil 
and the escort had not followed and that he and Uglûk were alone.  He would 
have liked to refuse, but realised that the escort could not be far distant and that 
it would probably be suicide.  He sat.

"I brought you here to have dinner with me. Eat."

"Not while Frodo is not present," said Faramir.  "I cannot eat while he is 
denied." Faramir thought Uglûk looked annoyed.  It was difficult to tell with an 
orc.

"Very well.  Serve a plate for him, and I will have it taken to him." There was a 
pause and Uglûk added, "You have my word on it."

Faramir nodded, it was the best he was going to get. He chose foods he thought 
might please Frodo, and Uglûk called Azogil, who took the plate away.  Faramir 
served himself rather less.

Uglûk said, "Are all halflings as stiff-necked as Frodo?"

"In my experience? Yes. Many of them are worse."

"And you endure it?"

"Of course. Frodo and I are handfasted." Belatedly, Faramir wondered exactly 
how much an orc would understand of hobbit or Gondorian marriage customs.

"I am told that you were handfasted by your father's wish."

"That is so."

"Not by yours?"

"I had no objection to the match," said Faramir, possibly a trifle too quickly.

"Or at least you raised none, which is not quite the same thing."

"I had none," Faramir, suddenly not really hungry, pushed his food around his 
plate.

Uglûk ate in silence for a few minutes, and then tried another tack. "Has your 
handfasting to Prince Frodo achieved your father's aim for it?"

Curse Uglûk, thought Faramir.  Where does he get his information?  "I have no 
idea," he said. "You will have to ask him."

"It keeps you well away from the White Tower, would you not agree?"

"Yes." This was so obvious as to hardly need saying. There were hundreds of 
leagues between Bree and Minas Tirith.

"And while you are here, you are even further away."

"I don't understand," said Faramir. Nothing more than the truth.

"Perhaps we can sit somewhere more comfortable?" suggested Uglûk.  Faramir 
didn't particularly wish to move, but Uglûk led them over to a low seat, so 
Faramir had to follow him.

"I would speak plainly, Prince Faramir," said Uglûk, once they were both 
seated.

"Please do." This cat-stepping was getting them nowhere, and Faramir was 
anxious to have it over.

"Frodo uses you shamefully, yet you remain with him. Your loyalty is 
misplaced and I offer you release."

Faramir only just in time prevented himself from laughing in Uglûk's face, 
though later he wondered if he it might have been wiser to do so.  As it was he 
smiled, and he felt his mouth twitch. "I fear you have been misinformed, King 
Uglûk. Frodo has never done anything to me that I did not earnestly desire. I 
have no need of rescue."

**

"Then he...  Frodo! Stop laughing! He tried to kiss me. He said he could satisfy 
my need for discipline as no other could."

"Your need for..."

"He said I need a firm master who will control me and that you let me run wild. 
I have no idea what he meant by that."

Frodo laughed even louder, "Someone must have told him about the whip that 
Queen Arwen gave me."

"Oh." Faramir shuddered, "I thought he was going to...but he didn't. He was 
disturbed, called away."

"That must have been a relief."

"It was."

Frodo still looked amused, but he said, "You must not go to him alone again. I 
don't think for a moment he's given up the idea of enticing you into his bed."

"What?"

"Faramir! Sometimes you are entirely too honourable for your own good. He 
tried to seduce you..." Faramir choked, but Frodo went on, "and if he does not 
succeed it is likely he will turn to force. And I believe he is serious about 
discipline."

"Why me?"

"Faramir!"  Frodo leaned forward and stroked his face, "You are beautiful."

"You think that only..."

"Not just because we are wedded. Many think so." Frodo sat down beside him 
and leaned his head on Faramir's arm.  "No doubt you see yourself...were you a 
skinny child?"

"No! If anything, I was rather too plump. Boromir says I was too much alone, 
and ate for that reason.  It all wore away when he taught me to handle a sword 
properly. I was eleven, he was sixteen and seemed already to be a man."

"You still see yourself as that podgy child who displeased his father."

"That was another reason I ate too much."

"Everyone else sees a very attractive man.  I see you like that even though I am 
your husband,. How could I not? I like it when everyone looks at me with 
envy."

"Envy?" said Faramir.

"You have not seen it?"

"Not until now."

**

Faramir listened intently.  The noise came again and proved to be a scratching 
somewhere in the corridor.  He wondered if it could be a rat, until now there had 
been little sign of them, but it was more than possible in an orc den.  He 
uncurled himself from around Frodo and stood, feeling his way in the darkness 
to the door.

There was a noise at the door and the hatch through which their guards could 
look opened.  Faramir recognised Azogil.  "What do you want?" he asked.  He 
had a suspicion that an order to go to Uglûk in the middle of the night could 
mean nothing good. On the other hand, Azogil had never come to the cell 
without a guard before. The door opened.

"You want to get out of here?" said Azogil.  He stepped back.

"Of course."

"Then go. Quickly."

Faramir woke Frodo and they left the cell, Frodo still stumbling from sleep.  
"What's happening?" Faramir asked. From far away he could hear shouting, fell 
orc voices that he remembered from Osgiliath and the siege of Minas Tirith.

"Nothing to do with you," replied Azogil. He pointed to a passage which led 
away from the King's chambers.  "Go that way."

"Why?"

"Because it's safer than the other.  Are all Men as stupid as you, or are you 
specially bred?"

"Let's do as he says," said Frodo.

Azogil ran off, and Faramir followed Frodo up an incline in the pitch darkness. 
"Can you see where we're going?"

"Just," said Frodo. Faramir felt Frodo's hand take his. He felt comforted, though 
would have felt more so had they had weapons, or anything with which to 
defend themselves.  Frodo said, "I wish you were safe. I should never have 
brought you here."

Faramir almost laughed, "I feel the same about you. I should have prevented 
you from coming, but whatever we face I had rather you did it in my company 
than that of any other."

"So King Elessar would lose both of us and not just one." 

"I confess I wasn't really thinking of him.  If it cost me my life, I would rather 
know that I had done all I could for you, rather than wonder to the end of my 
days if I could have done more."

"This is a merry conversation to be having in the pitch darkness, Faramir. We're 
neither of us dead yet."

"I begin to see how you made it across Mordor."

"And this is a little too reminiscent of that journey if you ask me. In future, 
remind me to leave all orcs and their doings to the Dúnedain. Likewise trolls 
and all other foul... Ouch!" Frodo tripped, and Faramir felt around.  A fallen orc, 
sticky with blood, but Faramir put his hand on a sword.  Orc weapons were 
notoriously poor, but it was better than nothing.

They walked on in the pitch dark, a little more cautiously.  "What do you think 
is going on?" said Frodo.

"I've no idea; we may never find out."

"And why release us?"

Faramir thought about it and said, "King Uglûk's dying wish? A sudden 
outbreak of kindness? Enchantment?"

"In other words, could be anything." They fell silent; there was a noise up 
ahead, and a flickering light.  "This way," said Frodo. "Quickly!" He led the 
way into a chamber, and only just in time.  Three orcs were coming towards 
them; one held a box, another held a torch aloft. The third appeared empty 
handed.

Faramir let go of Frodo's hand, and as the last of the orcs passed he jumped out. 
He had no time to warn Frodo to stay put and hoped he'd show some hobbit 
sense and do so without being told.  The nearest orc was dispatched at speed - 
taken by surprise, it had no chance against Faramir even armed as he was.  The 
second two proved something more of a challenge, but the corridor was too 
narrow for them to attack him at the same time.

"What's in the box?" Frodo asked when they were all dead.

Faramir opened it, "I'm not sure what it is. Well, I've seen a necklace before - 
opals, I think these are, but I'm not sure what this is." He held up a block of 
polished stone about four inches square.

"Bring it with us."

"And if it turns out to be cursed?"

"It'll be too late, we've both already handled it." Frodo took it and put it back 
into the box.

They continued along the corridor, avoiding the small bands of orcs as best they 
could and eventually reached a junction.  "Where now?" asked Faramir.

"I think we should continue to go upwards; these stairs are a nuisance but they 
have to lead somewhere."

Faramir forbore to point out that this was not necessarily so, not least because 
he didn't have an alternative plan.  The stairs were very steep, and harder on 
Frodo than on him, but Frodo made no complaint.  Faramir's opinion of Frodo, 
always high, rose further.

"I can see light ahead," said Frodo.

Faramir squinted, "I think you're right." The light was slightly bluish at this 
distance, and not flickering, daylight not torches.  "And I think we'd better be 
quick, I can hear voices."

The opening was unguarded, but higher up than Faramir would have ideally 
liked and there was no time to examine it closely.  He lifted Frodo - who was 
heavier than he would have expected - and he looked out. "We'll manage," he 
said, "come on" and he scrambled out.

The voices were closer, Faramir scrambled up to the opening, ripping his shirt 
as he did so, and then out, head first. He slid down the side of the mountain onto 
the path, and arrived at Frodo's feet in a heap.  "I'm probably going to get the 
blame for that black eye you're going to have," said Frodo, as he helped Faramir 
up. "Still, as you wouldn't have been there without me, I suppose I am to 
blame."

**

Alagosín and the Dúnedain were still waiting when Faramir and Frodo rejoined 
them. They had lost all track of time in the endless dark of Mount Gundarbad, 
and it was late afternoon.  Both Frodo and Faramir would have sworn it was 
later in the evening had they been asked when inside, so they were surprised to 
find the sun high in the sky.  The more so as it meant that it was not raining.

"We have seen little enough of the orcs and goblins of the mountain," said 
Alagosín, "a scouting party left two days ago, and two of my men followed 
them. They went north east and have not yet returned."

"I do not know what is beyond the Forodwaith," said Frodo, "we shall have to 
trust it is nothing to do with us."

**

"You're planning something," said Frodo, as they rode back.

"Nothing interesting, I assure you. Troop dispositions," said Faramir. "The 
placement of the rangers I need to discuss with Alagosín; we will need to have 
protection in place for our villages now that Uglûk knows how ill-defended we 
are."

"And we have some idea of the forces he can call upon," said Frodo. 
"Sometimes I hate being a prince. I feel the people blame me even for the 
weather."

"Blame the king