Title:  Remembrance 
Author:  Sandcat, sandcat12@aol.com
Pairing:  Faramir/Pippin
Rating:  R
Summary:  Pippin and Faramir find a common bond.  (Pippin POV)
Disclaimer:  I do not own these characters, nor do I receive any compensation 
for their use.  I write these stories for my own enjoyment and for anyone 
else who wishes to read them.  
Warning:   Interspecies sex, flashbacks, no graphic sex, just a silly little 
story.
Author’s Note:  This story is book verse, with movie influence.  (Obviously, 
since Pippin first meets Faramir during the siege of Gondor in The Return of 
the King.)  Pippin named his son and heir Faramir, after Boromir’s brother.  
Maybe this is why...
  
Remembrance

I remember that night as clearly as if it were yesterday.

I had retired to my chamber, but was unable to sleep despite being exhausted. 
 I knew not the hour, for the unnatural darkness hanging over Minas Tirith 
had unnerved me to the point of distraction.  My stomach rumbled in hunger, 
and not for the first did I find myself sorely missing the comforts of home. 
The Shire seemed barely more than a half-remembered dream as I mused fondly 
upon that distant country.  As it was, I was simply glad to shed the 
beautiful but oppressive black and silver armor of the Tower, and be free 
from Denethor’s grim and unrelenting presence, if only for a while.  

A soft knock at the door roused me from my stupor.  With a sigh I rose, 
wondering as I shuffled to the door where Gandalf might have gone.  I was 
surprised to see that my visitor was none other than the Lord Faramir, his 
eyes shadowed with fatigue.

“Master Peregrine,” he said, very softly.  “The hour is late, but I was 
hoping to speak with you, if it be not too great an inconvenience.”

“Not at all,” I said, trying not to sound as flustered as I felt.  “Come 
inside, Lord Faramir, come inside.  I should like to speak to you, as well.”

****

When I first saw him standing beneath the lantern of the Tower Gate, his hair 
shining red-gold in the soft light, I thought for a brief moment that Boromir 
had somehow come back to life.  But it was Faramir, his younger brother, 
speaking with one of the guards.  He and his men had only just returned from 
some mission across the Pelennor Fields, with the horrible winged Shadows 
hard on their heels.  How brave he was, risking his own life to save the 
lives of those thrown from their terrified horses in the desperate flight to 
safety.  Besides being courageous, it was said that Faramir had a special 
bond with beasts as well as men, yet I doubt even he might have made it to 
safety if Gandalf had not used his power to drive the evil things back into 
the darkness.

An ache seized my heart at the sight of him.  How closely he resembled 
Boromir.  The same air of nobility, the same strong, kindly face.  Yet 
different, too.  Faramir’s manner was less reserved, less haughty.  There was 
pride in him, to be sure, but it was of a quieter, softer nature, not given 
to airs of superiority.  I felt as though I could approach him without 
hesitation and speak to him about anything, and he would not rebuff me.  I 
could see at once why Beregond spoke of his captain with such admiration, 
even love.  I think that I, too, fell in love with Faramir in that moment.

I had loved Boromir, more deeply than I think he ever suspected, and I missed 
him terribly.  Indeed, how could I not but love him, when he perished 
defending my kinsman Meriadoc and me from the foul soldiers of the Dark Lord? 
 For that alone he would have earned my undying love and respect.

Faramir’s face was deathly pale in the harsh shadows of the lamplight, though 
still eerily beautiful.  His sorrow was plain for all to see.  I knew that he 
bore the burden of his brother’s death and the resentment of his father, who 
Gandalf told me loved Boromir best.  My heart went out to him.  And then 
Faramir’s keen grey eyes found mine, and he smiled with genuine affection.  I 
couldn’t help but feel inexplicably blessed by this man, as though the first 
rays of the sun were touching my face after a long dark night.  The heaviness 
of heart I’d felt since arriving in Minas Tirith abated for the first time, 
and I foolishly wished the moment to last forever.

As we drew near the gate his smile deepened and he addressed me directly.

“Whence have you come?” he asked, intrigued despite his sorrows.  “And in 
the livery of the Tower?”

I blinked.  So dazzled by him was I that I had forgotten I wore the colors of 
the White Tower, which Denethor had provided when I entered his service.  

“He has traveled here with me,” Gandalf said, probably worried that I might 
rattle on and embarrass myself.  “And sworn service to your father.”

“Ah,” Faramir nodded.  “I see.”

“But let us not tarry here,” the wizard said, glancing up at the pall that 
hung over the city.  “For we have much to discuss, and you are weary.”  And 
so we retreated to the private chambers of the Lord of the City, Gandalf 
having invited me along...

****

“Master Peregrine?”

“Huh?”  I uttered stupidly, snapping out of my reverie.

“Are you all right?  Perhaps I should let you be.”

“No, no,” I insisted, motioning him inside.  I shut the door and turned to 
him, embarrassed.  “You must forgive me, Lord Faramir.  All this is so very 
different from anything in my humble experience.  It is most overwhelming.”

“How strange we must appear to you,” Faramir said.  “How different our
city 
must be from your own lands, and in times like these even stranger.  Well can 
I understand how disconcerting it all must be.”

Had anyone else spoken those words, I would have dismissed them as mere 
platitudes.  But such was his sincerity that had he told me that a pair of 
giant bat wings had just sprouted from my shoulders, I would have rushed to 
the nearest mirror to see them.  He did understand.  He could, as Gandalf 
said, see into one’s very soul.

We sat before the hearth-fire, as much at ease as though we were old friends 
meeting after a long separation.  At least Faramir seemed at ease.  My heart 
was racing wildly, just as it had when I’d first seen him.

“Of what would you speak to me, Lord Faramir?”  I asked, curious.  I could 
not imagine that a Lord of the City would consult a hobbit about anything of 
importance, and I was very nearly twitching with anxiety.

“You stood behind my father earlier,” he said, his gaze fixing intently on 
mine.  “You know that I cannot speak of certain things to him.  Indeed, there 
is very little I may say to him that does not stir the bitterness in his 
heart.”   

“Especially now that Boromir is gone,” I blurted, immediately horrified at 
my own words.  Gandalf was right.  I was a fool, at times.  I searched 
Faramir’s face for the smallest sign of displeasure.  There was none.  I 
breathed a slow sigh of relief. 

I recalled the Steward’s earlier words, when he said that he wished it had 
been Faramir who had died in Boromir’s place.  

“Yes,” he said, smiling sadly.  “It is of my brother that I wish to speak, 
and there is no other in Gondor I would share such thoughts with than one who 
also loved him, and was close to him near the end.  For you did love him, did 
you not, Master Peregrine?”

“More than anyone in our Company, I dare say,” I said, unable to keep a note 
of pride from my voice.  “Though he was sometimes arrogant, his higher 
qualities overshadowed his faults,  more often than not.”

Faramir nodded, his manner grave.  He bade me speak of Boromir’s death then, 
and so I did, telling of his bravery in the face of the enemy, who greatly 
outnumbered us.  There was nothing I would not tell this man, if he asked.  I 
spoke of how Boromir carried us through the snows of Caradhras, and of his 
courage in the Mines of Moria.  I spoke of the many arrows which had pierced 
him, and of how he struggled to live, to protect us with his last breath.  
Whatever else he may have done, I said, this was the true Boromir, a man of 
valor and honor.  A man who, as Gandalf said, had died well and was now at 
peace.  

Faramir listened in silence, glancing away now and then, staring into the 
fire, or into the shadows laying thick in the corners of the chamber.  I 
spoke of these things gladly, and much more besides, until my throat dried up 
and my eyes ran with tears and no more words would come.

Alarmed, Faramir fell to his knees before me, taking my hands in his.  
Kneeling, our eyes were level.  There was great compassion in them, and 
gentleness.  But there was strength, too, a deeper strength than Denethor 
credited him with, mistaking gentleness for weakness.  

“Forgive me,” he said, very softly.  “I have no right to make you relive
the 
tragedy.  Forgive me.”

I shook my head.  When at last I was able to speak, my voice was small and 
strained.  “There is nothing to forgive.  I wished to speak of it, just as 
you wished to hear it.  Perhaps, despite the pain, it will do us both some 
good.”

And then, unable to stop myself, I did another foolish thing.  Leaning 
forward, I kissed Lord Faramir on the mouth.  A light brush of the lips, 
nothing more, but the trembling sensation that touch began in me continues to 
this day, whenever I think of it.  

Now, I thought, he must be angry with me.  I had crossed a line, surely.  A 
flash of surprise lit his grey eyes, but nothing more, and he twined his 
hands in my hair and pulled me close to him, cradling me gently against his 
chest.  

“Master Peregrine,” he began, uncertain.

“My friends call me Pippin,” I said.  

“Pippin, then.  I know what it is you want of me, and I would gladly give it, 
and yet...”

I pulled back, frowning.  “What is wrong, Faramir?”

“You are not a man.  In truth, you resemble a child of perhaps nine or ten 
years of age.  It does not seem right, to me, to take such advantage of you 
in this way.”  

“Advantage?  Was it not I who made the first move?” I took his beautiful 
pale face in my hands and kissed him again, this time on his cheek.  “Dear 
Faramir, it is true that I am young, but among hobbits I am reckoned a grown 
man.  Or very nearly.  I’m twenty-eight, if you would know, certainly old 
enough to make certain decisions on my own.  This is one of them.”

He smiled at that, a truly magnificent moment.

“Very well.  We shall take solace in each other tonight, and do what we can 
to ease the sorrow.”

I stood and led him to the bed.  I was taking an awful risk.  I knew not 
where Gandalf might be, or when he would return.  If he thought me a fool in 
the Mines of Moria, or for rashly binding myself in service to Denethor, what 
would he think if he found me here with Faramir?  I was startled to realize 
that I didn’t care.  At that moment nothing mattered but this handsome man 
who held me tenderly in his arms, caressing me until all worries fled from my 
mind like mist in the morning sun.  I think Faramir, too, found some measure 
of comfort that night.  

He was a gentle lover, but forceful enough when need be.  I wanted him to be 
inside me, but he refused, saying that it would cause me too much pain.  
Finally seeing him unclothed, I found I had to agree.  Instead, he drew me 
into his mouth and drove me to the heights of ecstasy, and I’m ashamed to say 
that for my part it was over all too quickly.  His endurance, it turned out, 
was much greater than mine, and I was able to give him pleasure for quite 
some time.

We spoke rarely after that, for the time of war was nearly upon us, and he 
was gone again, sent on another mission by the Steward of Gondor.  As for the 
events following that night, I am inclined to say naught, as they are 
chronicled elsewhere by other and better writers.  

Suffice it to say that I never spoke to anyone of my night with Lord Faramir, 
though I sometimes think Gandalf suspected.  I returned to the Shire, as I 
knew I one day would, and married, and had children.  Faramir also married, 
taking for a wife the valiant Lady Eowyn of Rohan, and it was by all accounts 
a happy union.

Now I am near the end of my days, and foolish still. Often I sit in the 
slanting rays of the setting sun and think on that time so long ago, when the 
young Lord Faramir and I found a brief refuge from the long, dark, and lonely 
night.

The End