This isn’t the first halfling to have crossed your path?
Title: Tell Me Everything
Author: Lilith
Email: cyd200@hotmail.com
Pairings: Faramir/Sam, implied Faramir/Boromir and Sam/Boromir
Rating: NC17
Warning: Slash, interspecies sex
Summary: Faramir comforts Sam, and changes his ideas about the ring of
power.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to the Tolkien estate; all smutty ideas
herein are my own.
Author’s Note: This is just a fluffy little story 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 scene #41 (“Sons of the Steward”) on the Extended Edition
of Two Towers, as Faramir sits remembering his brother.
Archive: Library of Moria and where posted; others please ask first.
Feedback: I adore it!
“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 on the road from
Rivendell. But I could only stand silently, gazing up at him and hoping he
could read the thoughts 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
Lothlуrien, 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 neck. 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 cock 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 a 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 cock and
settling him across my legs so I could hold him. “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 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.
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