14 February 2004 @ 01:53 am
Tell Me Everything (Lord of the Rings)  
Title: Tell Me Everything
Author: Lilith ([info]lilithilien)
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Pairing: Faramir/Sam
Warnings: NC-17, slash
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters, I do not own them, I receive no money for these stories. My only reward is reader feedback.
Notes: This ficlet is based on Peter Jackson’s Faramir, not Tolkien’s. I understand the rationale for the scriptwriters’ changes, but I was never quite convinced that Faramir would have such a complete change of heart. This answers some of my questions. Most of the story is set in Henneth Annûn as Faramir sits remembering his brother. Originally posted at LiveJournal.


Tell Me Everything


“This isn’t the first halfling to have crossed your path? Faramir, tell me everything.”

I spurred my steed down the narrow alley behind Gandalf and his tiny companion. No, this was not the first halfling I had seen. But what could I tell Gandalf of the hobbits I knew? Of their journey, to be sure, where we met and how we parted. Of my knowledge of the ring, yes, he would want to know that, and I would gladly tell.

But the things that touched me most in our encounter I would keep secret. Of how, while interrogating the strangers, I heard echoes of my brother’s voice as the stouter hobbit bravely informed me that he was his companion’s gardener.

But then my thoughts were ever on Boromir. The image of our parting haunted me. He had looked so beautiful upon his mount, the wind caressing his hair. He told me to remember that day, as if I could ever have forgotten it. I longed to press his fingers to my lips, telling him that he meant everything in the world to me, begging him to come back safely to me. Maybe if I had said that, he would not have fallen at Amon Hen. But I could only stand silently, gazing up at him and hoping he could read the love behind my eyes.

I now know that my words could not have saved him. The temptress ring was too powerful. But I knew nothing of the ring then. I only knew what I had seen in my dreams, and the cloven horn I held in my hands.

I remember how my dreams were interrupted by a small hand stroking the horn. Lifting my head, I saw my own grief reflected in the weeping eyes of Sam Gamgee. “I am sorely hurt, Lord Faramir,” I heard him say. “It broke my heart to part with Boromir, and to hear that he is dead … that I will never see him again ….” His words were strangled with a sob as he fell into my arms. I scarcely had time to draw my brother’s horn from my lap as his tiny body pressed into mine.

I made out fragments of his story as he wept in my arms – of Boromir sparring with the hobbits, saving Sam from a cave troll in the mines of Moria, helping his kinsmen cross the bridge of Khazad-dum. In Lothlórien, Sam had come to my brother’s bed, seeking solace in that brief respite from their journey. “He was my protector,” Sam said, and I understood completely. How many times did I seek my brother’s bed late at night, able to forget my father’s cruelty only in his warm embrace? Now he was gone, and this tiny creature in my arms was the last link I had to the one I loved more than any other.

Lost in thoughts of Boromir, it took me a moment to realize that the hobbit was now nuzzling my neck, the wet tears of his face mixing with soft, wet kisses on my throat. It was a disconcerting feeling, at once pleasurable and distracting. “Boromir was my protector,” I heard him say again. “Now I am so alone, so alone….”

My heart broke to hear the pain in his voice. I turned my face to the hobbit and kissed his cheek, whispering, “No, Sam, you are not alone.” The next thing I knew, his lips were pressing against mine. His tongue flicked the edges of my mouth, then pushed their way inside. He tasted of sweetness, of fresh earth and fruits. I wanted to taste more of him, and eagerly returned his kiss.

The next thing I knew, tiny hands were stroking me through my leggings. It was an unbelievable feeling, only surpassed by the touch of those hands after he released my straining erection from the confining cloth. They moved so quickly, teasing me, urging me to higher and higher ecstasy. I would have lost control had he not broken our embrace at that point. At first I feared he had changed his mind, but when I looked in his eyes I saw his resolve.

“Boromir taught me how men make love,” he said. “It was better than anything I’d ever imagined.” He met my questioning eyes and said, “Will you make love to me, Captain Faramir?”

I could only nod, but that was enough for the hobbit. He hastily loosened his leggings and lowered them to the ground. When he stood up, he held a small jar of saddle oil. The tiny creature then climbed into my lap, straddling my waist.

“Won’t this hurt you?” I asked, wanting him terribly yet not wanting to injure him.

“Your brother never hurt me,” he answered, a dreamy look in his eyes. He handed the jug to me; I dipped my fingers first into the oil and then, gently, into his tight entrance. It was larger than I expected, considering his size. I eagerly explored the velvety muscles with my fingers as the hobbit began to slide himself up and down, sighing as he enveloped my fingers in his welcoming passage.

I must have sighed too, for he caught my eye as he reached a hand into the oil and massaged it onto my penis. I ached for him, and almost lost control as he lowered himself onto me. I struggled not to go too fast, for I did not want to hurt him, but the young hobbit took over, dictating the speed and the depth of our exchange. At first he took his time, slowly impaling himself until he had drawn my entire shaft inside. The feeling was intoxicating – such depth, such exquisite pressure all around me. I could feel myself throbbing inside him. Then he drew himself up, almost completely releasing me, sending a shudder of loss through my body. He plunged back down, releasing a loud moan as I entered him again. Slowly he increased his speed, his rhythm just unpredictable enough to leave me aching in anticipation, and then revelling in pleasure. I caressed his own weeping erection, trying to focus my attention on his pleasure if only to distract myself from the release that my body begged for. In my hands he finally found his own release, his hot jism bubbling out onto my tunic. I lost myself then, and climaxed into tumbling ecstasy.

The next thing I felt were soft kisses gently fluttering over my face. I opened my eyes to see the features of my tiny lover. His eyes still glistened with tears, but they held a peace that had been missing before. “My sweet Sam Gamgee,” I said, lifting him off my spent member and settling him across my legs so I could hold him closer. “You are indeed a surprise.”

He laughed softly at that. “Your brother said almost exactly the same thing.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then said softly, “I will miss him all my life, but I think he would be glad to know that we did this. It brings him closer, don’t you think?”

I hugged him tightly at that, and kissed his forehead gently. “Yes, I think it does.” For I did feel Boromir’s presence more strongly than I had for months, except in my dreams. “And I know he would be glad that you’ve come under my protection. He must have hated to see you part from his company.”

The hobbit stiffened at this remark, and I could tell I had said something wrong. “What is it, Sam? Did something happen with Boromir?” Sam said nothing, but looked at me anxiously. Then he scrambled to get out of my lap.

As he drew up his leggings I asked again, “Please, Sam, I beg of you, tell me what happened to my brother.”

“Don’t ask me that, Captain Faramir, sir,” Sam whimpered. “It wasn’t his fault, it was the ring.”

“The ring? What ring is that, Sam?” I asked, more sharply than I intended, as the suspicions that had been forming in my mind since we first encountered the hobbits swirled into place.

“No, Captain Faramir, it’s nothing, I can’t say anything more.” He turned and ran from the room. I quickly tied up my leggings so I could follow him, but before I could rise Mablung brought me news that the hobbit’s strange companion had been spotted in the Forbidden Pool. I raced out to see Gollum, and for a few moments watched that filthy beast despoiling the sacred waters. I almost told my men to kill him then, wanting desperately to release my unspoken frustration on another creature. But something stayed my hand, pity or curiosity or both, and I told Mablung that I would bring the hobbits to the pool.

When I entered the hobbits’ quarters, I saw that Sam was already asleep, fresh tears now drying on his rosy cheeks. I longed to stroke his sleeping back and whisper that I was sorry, but his companion was awake. I bade him come with me. I led Frodo to the Forbidden Pool, where he persuaded the Gollum-creature to come with us, "persuaded" being a very loose interpretation of the word. The horrible creature confirmed my worst suspicions about the hobbits and their quest. As my men interrogated him (again, "interrogation" being very loosely interpreted), he revealed that Frodo did indeed carry the one ring of power, Isuldir’s Bane, the weapon that my father had asked Boromir to bring to Minas Tirith.

Enflamed with a hatred I did not understand, I strode into the hobbits’ room. They were both awake now. Sam shot me a concerned look but I could hardly look at him. My thoughts were on the ring – of using it to save Gondor, of forever dispelling my father’s mocking tone, of succeeding where my brother had failed. My sword was out, though I could not remember drawing it, and with it I lifted the chain around Frodo’s neck. Sam called out to me then. His voice was drowned out by that of the ring, which commanded me to take it in my hands.

I hardly remember what I said to the ringbearer – I have probably blocked it out from the shame I later felt – and I have no idea how far I might have gone had Frodo not shoved my blade away and broken the ring’s spell. Finally I heard Sam’s words begging me to let them go, to stop hurting them. Wounded by my words, and by my own sense of betrayal, I could only stare into his face. The face that I had comforted just hours before was now streaked with more tears and pain, and I was the cause of it.

Just then Mablung announced that Osgiliath was under attack. Perhaps I was still under the ring’s spell, perhaps I just wanted time to apologize to Sam, but for whatever reason I insisted the hobbits come with us. Once there, though, I felt the ring calling to me again, begging me to bring it to my father. With it I could finally make him see that I was as valuable as Boromir, perhaps even more so, for I could deliver this weapon that Boromir had lost. With it I alone could save Gondor.

“Do you really want to know what happened to Boromir?” The words cut me to the quick and ripped me back into consciousness. “You want to know why your brother died? He tried to take the ring from Frodo! After swearing an oath to protect him, he tried to kill him. The ring drove your brother mad!” In Sam’s agonized words, I heard the extent of his loss. Boromir, his protector, had betrayed the hobbits. And I had done no better.


And so I will tell Gandalf how I was almost overcome by the ring, and how I was stopped just in time. And I will tell him how I freed the hobbits, along with their guide, in the sewers of Osgiliath. And I will tell him that that is all I know of hobbits, keeping secret my high regard for a tiny gardener from the Shire.