Title & Chapter Number: Found 10/?
Author(s): - Author's Index
Website: Elven Tales
Fandom: LOTR
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters; they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate. I am not making money off this story; it was written for the pure pleasure of it.
Warnings: Violence, graphic het sex, mild profanity, semi-graphic slash bits here and there (with warnings beforehand).
Betas: Larien Elengasse
Cast: OFC, Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, Gandalf, Haldir, Rumil, Orophin, Celeborn, Galadriel, Éomer, Eowyn, Elladan, Elrohir, heck, just about everyone eventually!
Timeline: AU
Spoilers: Return of the King
Summary: Sequel to Lost. Erin Smith has made her choice; can she live with it?
Notes: I decided to see if I could write a "modern woman lands in middle earth" story without making it a total Mary Sue. Yeah, okay, so there's romance (or at least some gratuitous sex) but I tried, I really did. Hopefully I managed to succeed in some parts.
One more important thing: if it sounds just like Tolkien, it most likely is. I used the books frequently to work some of the scenes, and I also borrowed from the movies. However, I took liberties here and there with several of the chain of events and dialog, just to keep things running smoothly. This most definitely isn't canon, because Rúmil and Orophin both speak Westron!
It was strange, how time could seem to both pass quickly and yet drag by slowly. It was, of course, impossible – time passed as time had a way of doing – at its own particular pace. Erin felt that the days had gone by swiftly, but not swiftly enough.
Spending time with Éowyn, Melaphríl, and Faramir, of course, helped.
The elf had regained his strength and accompanied her on her visits with Éowyn eagerly, grateful to at last be able to do so. He honestly seemed to enjoy meeting her, and Erin spent several amused moments considering that if Elrohir and Melaphríl were to make their relationship `official', however elves did that, then Éowyn would with all likelihood end up as Melaphríl's sister-in-law.
Melaphríl had been glaringly obvious in the fact that he was Elrohir's lover, and Erin was both bemused and mortified at Faramir's reaction to this bit of news. She had been busy shuffling the cards when she felt his gaze on her. She looked up, and he gave her a very thoughtful smile. Her traitorously fair skin immediately flushed and she nearly dropped the cards.
Éowyn, thankfully, refrained from teasing Erin when Faramir was present, but did not hold back whenever the man was gone. Melaphríl added his gentle teasing to Éowyn's, and Faramir often returned to find Erin scarlet with embarrassment. She was beginning to believe he probably thought that was her natural coloring.
With the slow return of Faramir's health, he was absent from the room for longer periods of time, and Erin wondered where he went and what he thought about while he was gone. She had enjoyed discovering his dry wit and sharp mind, and learning that his friendly and genuine laughter could warm her to her toes.
He was ever polite and courteous to both herself and Éowyn, and nothing in his behavior gave her any idea what he might think about her. He had not mentioned her strange story again, but she caught him looking at her from time to time with a thoughtful expression, as if he were carefully figuring out a difficult puzzle. His smiles were always kind, and the only thing Erin knew for certain was that he smiled at her far more often than he did at Éowyn; and that alone gave her some hope.
Melaphríl sat in a chair next to Éowyn's bed and showed her a variation of an Elvish card game, one the wardens frequently played when not on duty. Erin was trying to follow the game, but kept getting confused by all the different twists to the rules. To her consternation, Éowyn seemed to have no difficulty, and was thoroughly beating the socks off both her and Melaphríl.
Sighing, Erin placed her losing hand on the bed and stood up. "I think I'd like to get some air," she said. "Anyone else want to come?" she asked hopefully. Éowyn had been delighted at finally being able to leave the bed, but she tired easily. Still, it didn't hurt to ask.
Éowyn shook her head, sweeping the cards into the pile and glancing up at Melaphríl. "No, I want to play another round. Melaphríl has promised me that if I win the next hand, he will teach me some useful Elvish words."
Erin chuckled and shook her head at her friends. "And if you win?" she asked the elf.
Melaphríl shrugged. "Then the lady will owe me a boon." He smiled mysteriously.
"A boon?" Erin repeated, snickering softly. "Sounds ominous." She retrieved her cloak and pulled it over her shoulders. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes," she said.
"Faramir is probably in the gardens again, overlooking the city." Éowyn did not look up from her cards, but the corners of her mouth twitched into a smile.
Erin ignored her teasing and left, passing through the hall and greeting the familiar faces of the healers as she passed them. There were much fewer patients now in the healing house, and it showed on the faces of those that worked there. Their relief was apparent by the quick smiles they gave her, the lack of weariness and grief in their eyes.
Slowly, the city was recovering from the attack, and Erin was more than glad to see it. She felt guilty that she had not done more to help with the cleanup, but her hands had been rather busy at the time dealing with Melaphríl. Now that both her friends were well on their way to full recovery, she supposed she could seek out Eldenthor again and ask if there was anything else she could do to help.
Sighing, she pushed open the door that led to the gardens and took a deep breath, unable to keep from smiling as the warm sun hit her face. It was one of the few places that had not been touched in any way by the war. It was one of the last places in the city that was green and growing. Melaphríl had commented on the lack of growing things in the city, and Erin had not thought on it until he had mentioned it. She realized he was right – Minas Tirith was in some ways, a lot like cities of her own world – all stone and buildings, with little or no greenery in sight. Perhaps, once the war was over and Aragorn became King, he would do something about that lack. He had been raised by the elves of Rivendell, she remembered, and seemed to have a deep respect for nature the same way the elves did.
She followed the small path that wound through the lilac trees and low growing bushes, simply enjoying the breeze on her skin and the warmth of the sun. Someone had planted a climbing rose, probably years ago, and its vines had conformed to the shape of the trellis beneath it, forming a graceful arch across the path. She wished the roses were in bloom, but realized it was probably too early in the season for them, although she had no idea what season it was, actually. She still hadn't quite figured out the weather here.
"They are called Steward's Bloom," a soft voice came from beside her, causing her to jump. She had stopped beneath the trellis and had been staring at the vines, and had not heard anyone approach. "Supposedly they were once called King's Bloom. They only flower when the King or Steward are in residence."
Erin glanced at Faramir, but his dark eyes were on the vines.
"Is that true?" she asked.
He smiled faintly. "No," he replied. "They bloom in the spring, as do all green things, regardless of the presence of Steward or King." He reached out, tracing the jagged edge of one dark green leaf. "Though this one never has."
"Maybe it will," Erin said, watching his fingers drift over the leaves. "It could happen."
"Yes," Faramir agreed, finally looking at her.
Erin was not prepared for the pain and grief she read in his eyes and it nearly made her take a step back. Their eyes locked for a brief moment, before he looked away.
"Forgive me, lady, I do not believe I am fit company at the moment," he said quietly. "I did not mean to disturb your peace. If you will excuse me." He turned to leave.
Without thinking, Erin reached out, grasping his arm lightly. "Don't go, Faramir," she said quietly. "Please. Let me help."
He froze, looking down at her small hand where it gripped his arm. "I do not ask for your help, lady," he replied. "There is nothing you can do."
"I could listen," she answered simply. She was shaking slightly, shocked at her boldness, but she couldn't stand to let him walk away hurting like he was. "Please. I want to help."
Faramir still had not moved. Several long moments passed before he finally spoke, his voice so soft she nearly missed it. "Why?"
Erin bit her lip. "Because I do," she answered, not knowing what else to say.
He finally turned his head and looked at her. His gaze was unreadable. "You do not know me, lady. I am not much more than an acquaintance to you, brought forth only by the coincidence that I share the room with your friend. So I ask you again. Why?"
"Gandalf asked me to look after you while he was away," Erin said. She could feel him pulling away and knew that wasn't the answer he wanted to hear. "But I would have anyway, even if he hadn't asked."
He lifted his eyebrows. "I do not believe I require looking after, lady," he said sternly. "I am a grown man, after all."
Erin blushed, and grew flustered under his steady gaze. "I know that," she answered, flailing vainly for something to say. "I just want to help you. I just do. Can't you accept that for what it is?"
His soft chuckle surprised her and she felt his hand cover hers where it gripped his arm. "I could, provided I knew what `it' was, lady."
"Friendship," she retorted, struggling not to show him how much his simple touch affected her. "I want to be your friend, Faramir."
"Ah," he replied softly and she looked away.
"Friends help each other," she continued stubbornly, still avoiding his gaze. "You're unhappy. A blind person could see that. Let me be your friend, let me help."
Faramir's fingers gently removed her hand from his arm, but did not release their hold. "Tell me, lady," he said quietly. "Why I should believe this offer of friendship from you? Why should I trust that it is sincere, considering the outlandish story you told me of your origins?"
Erin finally looked at him, trying to pull her hand away from his grip and failing. "You still don't believe me?"
He shook his head, smiling faintly. "No," he replied. "Despite Mithrandir's words, I am still uncertain what to make of you. You are not like any woman I have ever met."
"Of course I'm not," she said indignantly. "I'm not like the women of this world because I wasn't born and raised here."
"So you say," he countered. "I will agree that there is something about you…" he trailed off, as if uncertain what he was going to say. He shook his head, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "I want to know more about where you come from."
Erin nodded slowly. "I will tell you, if you will talk to me about what is bothering you." She felt her lips curve into a heartfelt smile. "It's what friends do," she added gently.
She saw the gradual acceptance in his brown eyes and it warmed her.
"Very well, lady," he agreed, smiling faintly. "Shall we walk?"
He took her hand and placed it on his arm, and she couldn't help but smile at the gesture.
< > < > < >
The days passed more quickly than before. Each day, Erin would visit Éowyn with Melaphríl in tow, leave the two with their heads together as Éowyn struggled to learn the words and phrases the elf patiently taught her in his native tongue, and talk with Faramir in the gardens.
At first, she did all the talking, and Faramir simply listened. She told him about her childhood, how hard it was for her moving every few years, never really having the chance to make lasting friendships with those around her. She also told him how much she missed her parents, how hard it was for her sometimes to accept that they were gone from her for good. She found herself telling him things she hadn't shared with anyone else – things she had kept private even from her closest friends. She even told him about the disastrous end to her relationship with her fiancé. She didn't understand why, but it was easy to talk to him, to spill her heart out to him while surrounded by the green and growing perfume of the garden.
Faramir said very little, at first. Gradually, day-by-day, he gave a little more of himself to her. She bit back words of anger at his calm acceptance of his father's callous treatment of him. It hurt her to see the bleakness in his eyes whenever he spoke of his father. She had never met Denethor, and it was probably a good thing. From the little Faramir had told her, she could have gleefully punched the Steward of Gondor in the privates. It was hard for her to understand how anyone could treat their own flesh and blood that way. Still, she was not here to pass judgment – merely to listen, and so listen she did, biting her tongue so hard at times she was sure she made it bleed.
She learned about his brother, Boromir. Only when he spoke of his brother, did Faramir's eyes warm; did he genuinely smile. Despite the fact that Denethor had favored Boromir over Faramir, the brothers had been very close. Boromir had loved Faramir – that much was obvious. Faramir had loved his brother every bit as fiercely, and had been devastated to learn of his death.
Erin worked hard to make him smile, to hear him laugh at something she said. She found herself waking early, looking forward to visiting him and learning more about him. There were moments where they simply sat together on one of the many stone benches in the garden and looked out across the fields below, or watched the smoke rising from Mount Doom. Every once in a while, Faramir would hold her hand while they sat. Those moments were the best of all.
The days passed this way, and still there was no sign of Sauron's defeat, or the return of the men and elves that had gone to Mordor. The four of them never spoke of it, but as the days passed, the worry grew so tangible it was almost a fifth presence between them.
Erin found Faramir sitting on a stone bench in the garden, staring out at the angry red mountain in the distance. Even from this distance, Erin could swear she could feel the heat from the volcanic activity.
She took a seat beside him and watched the growing cloud of angry looking smoke billow from the top of the mountain.
"My father sent me to die in Osgiliath."
Faramir's normally soft-spoken voice sounded harsh to her ears. Erin said nothing, but reached out without thinking, taking one of his hands between her own and holding it tightly. She kept her gaze fixed on the fiery mountain and simply listened. He had spoken of his relationship with Denethor before, but never of this.
"I asked him if he wished it were me, instead of Boromir, who had died." He made a queer, strangled noise in his throat, as if he were choking. "He said yes." A long, bitter sigh escaped him. "I think at that moment, I would have willingly traded places with my brother. Just to please him."
Erin's vision blurred, and she wiped at the tears that had formed angrily. "Well, I am glad you didn't," she said, unable to keep silent any longer. "Because it would have kept me from loving you." The words left her mouth without her realizing it as she stumbled blindly ahead, her anger finally getting the better of her. "Your father was an utter bastard, Faramir. And blind as well. How could he not see who you are? How could he not see the fine man you became? How could he be so utterly stupid?" Her breath came quick, furious, and she did not realize Faramir had turned to look at her. "Damn it all, Faramir. Don't blame yourself. Place the blame squarely where it belongs. The only thing Denethor ever did that was good that I can tell is that he managed, god only knows how, to father two very strong, intelligent, brave and honorable sons." A sob escaped her and she glared at the mountain, finding that its red angry glare suited her mood perfectly.
"Do you mean that?" Faramir asked so quietly she almost missed it.
She turned to look at him and nodded, wiping at her eyes again. "Yeah, I do. Your father was a jerk in every sense of the word."
His brown eyes widened slightly and he shook his head. "No, lady," he said gently. "What you said before – about loving me?"
Erin felt as if all the blood had left her head. Oops, she thought, wishing the ground would open up and swallow her whole. She hadn't meant for that to slip out. She tore her gaze away from his and found an interesting rock to stare at while she fumbled for a reply. "I-I, that is.."
Gentle fingers lifted her chin and she blinked in surprise when Faramir bent his head, lightly brushing her lips with his own in a chaste kiss. It was over far too quickly for her to fully grasp what had just happened, and she could do nothing but stare speechlessly at him.
A smile curved his generous mouth and crinkled the corners of his eyes, and Erin felt as if her heart was trying to pound its way through her chest. She tried to think of something to say, but her mouth refused to engage with her brain.
Still smiling, Faramir slowly shook his head. "Where did you come from, sweet lady? How is it I have found something so wondrous in such dark times? I never thought…" he trailed off, his fingers lightly tracing over her cheek. He blinked, seeming to come back to himself. "I did not know I could feel so strongly for someone I have known for so short a time."
Erin blinked again, feeling as if the world had stopped. "What do you mean?" she asked faintly, barely daring to hope.
Instead of answering, Faramir leaned forward again, and this time, she lifted her face to meet his.
It was everything a kiss was supposed to be: soft, tender, and hinting at the passion beneath its gentleness. It quite literally took her breath away. His hands crept up to cradle her face as his mouth moved slowly over hers, and she melted into his kiss, her lips parting under the gentle pressure of his. She felt the first warm, velvet soft swipe of his tongue against hers and trembled at the sweetness of his taste. His lips felt so right against her own, as if they had been made to fit her perfectly. Everything about him felt so good, so perfect, she was convinced she was dreaming.
Faramir drew back, his thumbs brushing softly against her cheeks as he smiled down at her.
"Fair maid who has stolen my heart," he whispered softly. "For I love you as well, Erin."
She blushed at his words. "I'm no fair maiden," she answered softly.
He chuckled, smiling down at her. "You are fair to me, my sweet, and have been since I first felt your touch upon my brow weeks ago." His hand reached up to touch her spiky locks and he smiled. "I thought you a dream, at first, for you looked like no maid I had ever seen before with your hair cut short."
She touched her hair self-consciously. "It will grow back."
Faramir shook his head and laughed. "I care not if you wear your hair short or long. Though I long to see it spill over your shoulders, for by its color, I can tell it was lovely."
Erin smiled at his honest laughter, feeling giddy with emotion. "I didn't know you even noticed me that way."
He sobered, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of an eyebrow, sliding over her cheeks and across her mouth. "How could I not? Even dressed in men's clothing, you are lovely, Erin. But I fell not for your lovely face, but for the heart that beats within you. You have given me so much these past weeks, shown me who you are, your strength, your weaknesses, and your passion for life and all it holds. You impressed me with your wit, your intelligence, and gave me your friendship without reservation. How could I not notice you?" He chuckled softly at her blush. "Especially when your cheeks are such a lovely shade of pink?"
She reached up and clasped the hands that cradled her face. "It makes me so happy to see you smile, Faramir," she said honestly. "I love to hear you laugh. Even if you didn't love me, I would be content with that."
He smiled again. "Will you allow me to court you, Erin?" he asked softly.
She laughed joyfully. "Yes, I would." It seemed such a silly, old-fashioned word, but she loved it.
The mountain rumbled ominously in the distance, causing them both to turn.
"Look!" Faramir said, his voice rising in excitement. The ground began to tremble beneath them, shaking and rumbling violently, and they clung to each other, watching as the volcano exploded in rising pillar of flame and smoke.
"What does it mean?" Erin shouted above the rumble. She shivered in delight at the feel of his arms around her and the press of his lips against her ear.
"It means, my sweet, that Sauron has finally fallen."
Things didn't get any better than this, Erin thought happily, hugging his arms around her waist. They just didn't.
< > < > < >
After Faramir's confession about his father's cruel words, it seemed as if the dark cloud of misery had been lifted from him. He smiled more often, and even the healers noticed that he seemed to have finally recovered. They released him from the houses of healing, but he was loath (reluctant?) to return to the great hall where he had once lived with his father. (loathe is a verb)
"Though I am the Steward after my father's death, I do not feel it is my right to take my place there," Faramir told Erin. "Prince Imrahil has ensured that the city runs without its steward, and I will wait until we receive news of Lord Aragorn's return." He left much unsaid, but Erin knew he also didn't want to stay in the hall where so many bad memories lingered.
The following day after the eruption and earthquake, Éowyn, Melaphríl, Erin and Faramir had left the house of healing to walk along the great wall of the city. The sky to the east no longer glowed an angry red, for it seemed that with the eruption of Mount Doom, its fires had finally been quenched.
Melaphríl lifted his head, his green eyes narrowing as he gazed in the distance towards the mountain. A soft gasp escaped him. "Ai! Tiro!" he cried, pointing out across the field. "Look!"
The three of them turned to follow where he pointed, but could not see what had excited the elf.
"What is it?" Erin asked, shading her eyes and squinting.
Melaphríl turned and grinned at them joyfully. "The eagles are coming! Look! Do you see them? The eagles have come!"
< > < > < >
They rode down to the fields below Minas Tirith with an escort of soldiers, carrying the banners bearing the white tree of Gondor before them. Once on the field, Erin could finally see the giant eagles as they flew towards the city, and she could not help but gasp in awe.
They were huge – and utterly breathtaking. She had always had a fondness for eagles, but never had she seen anything like them. Golden brown feathers gleamed in the sunlight as they flew lower, circling for a place to land, and she could see a splash of white among all that gold.
"Mithrandir has returned to us," Faramir said quietly, nudging his horse closer to hers. "I hope he bears good news."
"That is not all who has returned," Melaphríl said, his sharp eyes spotting what Faramir's had missed. "The other eagles bear two hobbits with them. I would make my guess that they carry Frodo and Samwise."
Erin felt a thrill of excitement race through her at the elf's words. If Frodo and Sam were here, it could only mean one thing: the ring had been destroyed.
Small dust clouds rose from the wind created by the eagles' great wings as they landed on the grassy field in front of them. Gandalf slid from the largest of the three, and patted its wickedly sharp looking beak fondly.
"You have my thanks again, Lord Gwaihir, for carrying us so swiftly. All of Middle Earth is indebted to your people," the wizard spoke, smiling up at the proud visage of the eagle.
Gwaihir tilted his head, aiming one bright eye at the wizard and bobbed his head once. "You are most welcome, Mithrandir." The Lord of the Wind preened his feathers briefly and turned his sharp stare to the group of horsemen waiting.
Gandalf nodded and turned, motioning for Faramir to come closer.
"My dear boy," Gandalf said, sizing him up shrewdly. "You are looking well. Glad I am to see you, but I am afraid we must wait for later to talk. These two are in dire need of a healer's skills." As he spoke, he reached up and grasped the small figure that clung to the feathers of one of the eagles and pulled him into his arms.
"Frodo," Faramir gasped, recognizing the hobbit. He leaned forward, taking Frodo's limp body from Gandalf and placed him securely in front of him. Turning his horse, he set his spurs to its flanks and sped off towards the city at a gallop.
The other hobbit that Gandalf lifted from the back of the eagle moaned softly and clung to the wizard, his eyes opening briefly. "Frodo…"
"There now, Samwise," Gandalf said kindly, handing the hobbit up to another rider. "You will see him soon."
Erin watched as the rider turned his horse and followed Faramir, galloping towards the city.
Their precious burdens gone, the eagles flapped their wings once, twice, and were airborne quickly and with more grace than Erin would have ever expected to see on birds so large.
"Farewell, Mithrandir," Gwaihir called down to the wizard, circling above them. "Farwell (?), wherever you fare, till your eyries receive you at the journey's end."
Gandalf chuckled, raising his hand in a wave. "May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks," the wizard cried. "Farewell, old friend. Farewell."
The eagles circled one last time, then flew off to the north, their sharp cries carried away on the wind.
The white wizard leaned on his staff, looking up at Erin, Éowyn, and Melaphríl and gave them a tired, but happy smile.
"It is done."
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