Faramir Fiction Archive

Walk No More In The Shadows (NC-17)

Written by Minx and Iris

12 January 2007 | 50694 words | Work in Progress

Chapter 14

Faramir’s face was flushed, and his eyes were shining and displaying a sense of wonderment when Aragorn gazed back into them. Sensing the other man’s awkwardness, Aragorn smiled and placed a hand on Faramir’s cheek.

“We must rise now,” he said not without reluctance, “I shall see you at breakfast.”

Faramir nodded before slowly moving forward and pressing his lips against Aragorn’s, a little hastily, “Th — thank you,” he murmured, reddening even more.

Over the next few days, there was much else that Faramir found himself wondering at. To be cared for and pleasured by another was new to him. He had not thought a mere kiss could leave him feeling as Aragorn’s did. With Éowyn his fumbling kisses had resulted in her turning impatient and pushing him away. Aragorn simply held him close and lavished him with such care and tenderness that Faramir felt he would happily melt.

He was also back to working almost as much as he had before his illness, much to Gandalf’s annoyance. The wizard still insisted to Faramir’s exasperation that the younger was not yet fully recovered. While he often did feel a little tired at the end of the day, Aragorn’s attentions were enough to divert him from the weariness.

Aragorn too found himself yearning to show Faramir how much they could pleasure each other without any hurt involved. Faramir was still shy in much that they did and there was so much, Aragorn often realised with a dismay, that he had not experienced. Nor did Faramir ever take the lead. While he often initiated their lovemaking, he always seemed to let Aragorn take over almost immediately. It wasn’t difficult for Aragorn to realise that that came of the Steward’s own limited experience.

For Faramir, it was indeed a whole new experience. He was happy to let Aragorn take the lead and show him what was to be done as he was accustomed to, for the king was ever tender and gentle with him. But Aragorn instead was ever opening up newer wonders for him.

When they had kissed the next night, Aragorn’s tongue had wondered onto Faramir’s jaw, and dipped into his ear, causing such a sensation inside him that he had bucked in the king’s arms. Aragorn had then undone the bindings, and slipped his hand under the tunic to caress Faramir’s chest slowly. Faramir had moaned softly at the touch but when the long fingers had started circling his nipple swiftly and intensely he had nearly screamed at the strangely welcoming sensation.

Aragorn had over these few days explored every inch of Faramir’s body; he suckled his nipples, explored his navel, sucked at his toes, and with each act the Steward had been shocked at the intensity of the feeling that arose in him from so small an act.

He would hesitantly repeat the same act on Aragorn next day, his heart gladdening at the approving murmurs it released from the king. And yet he yearned to do so much more. To provide to the king the same pleasurable feelings that arose in him, covering him from head to toe as he squirmed under Aragorn’s ministrations. His own inexperience was not new knowledge to him. But it did dismay him a little. He wished he could find some way to learn of new ways to cater to Aragorn’s needs.

And he had found it now, while looking in the libraries for a book on cropping patterns in Rhun. The Steward’s private archives, earlier accessible only to Denethor, were now open to him, and while searching there, he had, much to his surprise, come across a shelf full of literature on lovemaking, many of the volumes even richly illustrated. Face aflame, he had hurriedly pulled out one that looked the most appropriate and taken it away with him to read later.

Aragorn found him in his study later that day, absorbed in what seemed to be an alarmingly thick report. Faramir looked up when he entered and smiled softly at him, before pushing away a thick leather bound book.

“Still at work?” Aragorn asked gently, “It’s quite late, you know.”

“I hadn’t realised,” Faramir murmured, “It should not take long.”

“That must be a very interesting report, if you did not realise the time,” Aragorn said teasingly, as he came to the table.

“It is for your council tomorrow,” he replied straightening up and stretching himself a little. Aragorn placed his hands on the younger man’s shoulders, intending to knead them lightly, and frowned.

“You’re very tense — and cold! I’m having a bath prepared in my chambers, would you like to join me?”

Faramir glanced at him uncertainly. He did feel tense and cold, and a hot bath sounded very appealing, and the thought of sharing it with Aragorn even more so, but try as he might he could not prevent his mind straying towards the last memory he had of sharing a bath with someone.

But this was Aragorn, and he was safe here, and he was not required to take a bath just so he could be clean to be used again.

“Well?” Aragorn urged, “The water’s getting cold as we speak.”

He nodded, and let himself be led down to Aragorn’s chambers. He kept his eyes on the floor, even as he was taken to the small antechamber where the tub had been kept out. Aragorn slipped off his robe swiftly and entered the bath. Faramir removed his robes more slowly.

He climbed in gingerly after Aragorn had entered, but winced as he dipped his foot in and found the water scolding hot, remembering the last time he hadn’t bathed alone. He quickly calmed himself. It is fine, ‘tis just my feet that are cold, he thought as he sunk further into the tub, and he found that the rest of his body perceived the temperature of the water to be most pleasant. Only his feet still tingled uncomfortably. They must have been lumps of ice, and I hadn’t even noticed; maybe Aragorn is right, I am too absorbed in my work, Faramir admitted to himself.

It was a large tub and quite capable of accommodating both of them comfortably but it seemed so much more comfortable to lean against Aragorn’s chest as he suggested. The last time he had been alone in the water, and Denethor had stayed outside.

Filthy slut, he had called him.

He shuddered at the thought, thankful that Aragorn was here, and it was his strong arms that were wrapped around his bare chest, rubbing him down gently.

“Faramir?” Aragorn’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“Yes?” he murmured, as the long, slender fingers began massaging his back.

“You don’t mind taking a bath with me do you?”

“I like it very much,” Faramir replied closing his eyes and leaning into the touch of the fingers.

“I just wondered… you were so upset the last time, you even preferred to let Gandalf rub you down.”

Gandalf’s suggestion had reminded him of Denethor by his bath, soaping him, his groping hands adding to the incessant throbbing between his legs after nearly three days of being used by assorted friends as they wished.

Aragorn’s fingers were working magic over his strained muscles as the heat of the water seeped into his body, and with every breath his lungs filled with the smell the aromatic herbs that scented the water — he could identify the overpowering juniper, but there were many others completing a delicate bouquet— all helping him to relax and drive away unwanted thoughts. It all felt so good.

“Was something wrong then?” Aragorn persuaded softly.

“Father made me bathe once,” Faramir said sleepily, as the fingers settled on a knot at the base of his spine, “I was very filthy.”

Aragorn almost paused at that but then continued, unwilling to stop doing something that was obviously helping Faramir a great deal. He did wonder however what exactly the young Steward meant. He obviously wasn’t referring to falling into a puddle of mud. He thought he felt the muscles on the slender shoulders tense immediately and promptly changed the subject.

“There now, just relax,” he whispered whispering softly in his ear, his hands kneading Faramir’s tense shoulder muscles.

Faramir could do little other than murmur his pleasure as the aches relieved. He leant further back against Aragorn, letting his eyes droop, feeling the older man’s hand work on his chest and stomach. As long as he could feel Aragorn near him, he had no fear of imagining Denethor’s impassive face leaning over him, as his hands reached between Faramir’s legs to clean off the signs left from his ordeal.

He never realised when the water seemed to have turned lukewarm, until Aragorn nudged him forward slightly, “We must rise now. The water’s getting cold and you’ve only just recovered.”

He sighed, and tried to rise, his movements sluggish, with Aragorn helping him.

Aragorn smiled slightly as he realised Faramir was struggling to keep his eyes open. He managed to get him out of the water without accident but almost as soon as the young man was on his feet, his legs threatened to buckle. Aragorn quickly wrapped a large towel around him, picked him up and carried him over to his bed, placing him gently on the sheets. He patted him dry the best he could and pulled the thick covers over the naked form. I’m not going to wake him now, but I can’t very well carry him back to his rooms in nothing but a towel, Aragorn doubted, knowing Faramir was uncomfortable in these chambers. Come what may, he’ll just have to spend the night here, he finally decided.

He smiled as he did so. Faramir was fast asleep now; a small, slender figure in the huge bed, his usually wan face looking somewhat relaxed, reminding Aragorn that the young man was less than half his age. He gently bent down and kissed him on his forehead.

“Good night,” he whispered, “May all your dreams be pleasant ones.”

Faramir came awake slowly, yawning as he stretched himself to rise. A soft murmur reached his ear and he smiled as he realised Aragorn’s arm was wrapped around his waist. Sunlight streamed in through the windows. It was morning he realised with a start, and not very early either. He must have been sleeping heavily. It must have been the bath.

“Good morning,” Aragorn interrupted his thoughts.

“Good morning,” he responded automatically as he recalled the prior night — he’d been bathing with Aragorn and then he’d just fallen asleep, just like that.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“What?”

“I’m sorry I just fell asleep like that,” he muttered quietly.

“What? Why? You think you have to please me every night, is that it?” Aragorn said with a slight teasing note in his voice, but he quickly softened his tone as he realized he’d probably guessed right. “I was very pleased to see you sleep peacefully. It’s a pleasure just to hold you in my arms,” he said lightly, pulling Faramir closer.

Faramir gazed at him uncertainly, but Aragorn’s eyes were sincere, so he leaned into his arms. He pushed the covers down a little and then stopped as he realised he was no longer in his bed. He was in the king’s room. He had spent the night here. He stared around at the huge bed and the high ceiling he’d often dreamt of. But he hadn’t dreamt anything last night. He’d slept in Aragorn’s arms surrounded by his scent on the pillows and covers.

The whole room looked different now. It was no longer the luxurious yet impersonal room waiting for a king. This room screamed of Aragorn’s presence in everything from the clothes that lay over a chair to the open windows to the man himself now lazily licking Faramir’s neck.

He wriggled a little at the wetness of Aragorn’s tongue and smiled.

“I can make up for it now,” he said huskily.

Aragorn raised a brow in amusement.

But Faramir proceeded to do just that. Gently but swiftly laying Aragorn back against his pillows the younger man pushed up his night robe and lowered his mouth onto Aragorn’s hardening erection and in a few short moments, skilfully had Aragorn gasping and moaning. Aragorn gasped loudly in pleasure at the wonderful sensation of being taken in so completely in Faramir’s mouth. Fingers fisting into his soft sheets, he watched through hazy eyes the sight of Faramir’s lips surrounding him.

By the time they were done, Aragorn was in a state of bliss he had rarely felt before. His throat felt slightly hoarse from the screams of pleasure that he had vented and he was quite sure he had never been so vocal before.

“That was wonderful,” he whispered hoarsely.

Faramir smiled at him, and lazily sunk back into the luxurious assortment of soft pillows. As Aragorn watched him, he suddenly remembered something.

“So… how do you feel about sleeping in my bed now?” He rolled onto his side, right up next to his still smiling lover, and nipped at his ear while he let his hands wander. “Are you comfortable here already, or do we need to create some more happy memories first?”

It was well into the morning and Aragorn had had nothing done. He had decided to have his noon meal alone settling for some light fruit as he battled his way through some new proposals from his councillors. Normally, it should have taken him barely half the morning but only if he’d been able to concentrate. He’d kept the windows open. It was a fine day outside, the sun just right, the air fragrant with all the right smells.

He absentmindedly sucked on a piece of melon and lapped up the juice that ran down his wrist.

Most of all, his thoughts constantly returned to Faramir. The Steward was away from the Citadel having decided to inspect the work Gimli’s kin were taking care of in one section of the city. All Aragorn could think of was how Faramir’s mouth felt on him, how those beautiful eyes gazed at him even as he was engulfed in the waves of pleasure that only Faramir seemed able to generate. He longed to return that feeling to Faramir, make him realise how wonderful lovemaking could be, beginning with this particular aspect.

“My lord?” the subject of his thoughts stood at his half-open door even as he picked up a banana for the next part of his lunch.

“Faramir!” he exclaimed happily, immediately returning the banana to the fruit bowl. The younger man looked slightly red from the wind outside, and his hair looked wild. Aragorn thought he looked wonderful.

“I’m here to help you with the military reports,” Faramir said smiling in response.

“Oh dear! I forgot we had those to take care of too,” Aragorn said bemusedly, “I’m still seeing to these.”

“Are there a lot to do in them?” Faramir asked anxiously and neared his table.

“No, but I haven’t felt like reading them,” Aragorn complained, “I’ve been feeling very distracted.”

“Oh,” Faramir looked puzzled, slightly worried and a little awkward too. He had never forsaken his duties for anything but the gravest circumstances, and was not used to his superiors doing anything less.

“I was thinking—,” Aragorn said slowly and then shifting back in his chair gently tugged Faramir close and pulled him swiftly onto his lap, ignoring the muted protest.

“I was thinking I miss you a lot,” he said wrapping one arm around the slender waist and placing the other behind Faramir’s head.

He kissed him gently, letting his tongue lavish Faramir lightly and thoroughly before letting up.

“I can’t keep my thoughts off you,” he said honestly, and began playing with the ties of Faramir’s shirt, loosening them to expose the thin shoulder.

Faramir blushed, “But I—,”

“I cannot forget how you made me feel this morning…how you make me feel so often. You give me such pleasure, darling….” He ran his fingers lightly over Faramir’s shoulder and the exposed part of his torso.

“I’m—”

“I would like very much to return to you such pleasure,” he continued and gently kissed Faramir’s shoulder before continuing, “You deserve it so much more… will you teach me how to do that?”

He had bent down to kiss Faramir’s shoulder again so the younger man’s sudden movement surprised him. He stared in alarm as Faramir jerked away from him. The younger man’s face was a little pale.

“What is it, darling? You will show me won’t you? I wish to pleasure you just as you do me…”

“No!” Faramir cried out, “I shall never let you do that! I couldn’t!”

“But why not?”

“Because it’s awful! And you are the king. You must not!”

“Faramir!” Aragorn pulled the younger man’s face close to him, and looked at him gently, “You are my Steward, yes and I am King, but when I lie with you, it not as King with Steward. You are no more my servant in my bed than I am yours. If anything is so awful, you shall not have to do it for me either. And yet, you do.”

Faramir opened his mouth to reply but Aragorn placed a finger on his lips.

“Look, let’s try it just this once, and then if it is as awful, neither you nor I shall ever do it again.”

Faramir looked unconvinced, but Aragorn was never one to lose an argument and it was a very subdued Faramir whom he manoeuvred to lean back against his desk.

“Now let’s create some nice memories for you in here,” Aragorn whispered as he sunk to his knees, “just lean back and enjoy…”

Aragorn had never quite done this before, as a ranger’s time was short and what little trysts were to be had with men were short and hurried. In Imladris, the elves preferred lovemaking methods that were much slower and Aragorn had despaired of some of their techniques.

It was not easy, and no matter what Faramir suggested, his voice soft and full of worry, Aragorn found himself struggling to take Faramir’s length in his mouth. He could keep Faramir on edge with licks and kisses easily enough, and sucking on the tip was simple also, yet gave spectacular results. But every time he tried to push himself a little further and take more of Faramir’s penis into his mouth, he ended up coughing, gagging and with tears in his eyes. With Faramir’s reluctant instructions he could manage a few seconds or so before he had to draw back, but still not the entire length. Finally he decided to be brave and quickly lunge forward all the way, but he ended up pulling away just as quickly and turning to the side, retching violently.

When he moved back to Faramir to try again, all signs of arousal had disappeared. The younger man had tears streaming down his eyes and while Aragorn quickly made to stand up and comfort his lover, Faramir moved the other way and was now sitting curled up on the floor under the desk, his head resting on folded knees.

“I’m sorry,” Aragorn gasped, crouching besides him, his own eyes tearing, “I’m sorry. I’m just not used to it. Faramir! Please, please don’t cry,” he whispered, “Did I hurt you?”

“I said it was awful!” Faramir sobbed out. Aragorn folded his arms around him and embraced him tightly.

“It wasn’t. Not for me. I’m just not used to it, that is all. It was already working much better, but I wanted too much too quickly. I simply want to make you feel good so much.” Aragorn pleaded, unable or unwilling to understand why Faramir would not let himself take pleasure in this way.

“You already make me feel wonderful every day. You do not need to do this,” Faramir gulped out through his tears.

Aragorn sighed. He had rushed forward again, ignoring the need to go slow with Faramir and pay attention to any signs that he was overstepping Faramir’s limits.

“You are right. Of course you are right,” he said, stroking Faramir’s hair soothingly, “Not about anything being unseemly for a king — I meant what I said about us being equals in the bedroom. But you do not have to do anything you do not want to do. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have insisted —”

Faramir said nothing but his silent tears continued to dampen Aragorn’s tunic.

“I’m sorry,” Aragorn repeated softly.

Faramir was rather subdued after the incident and Aragorn couldn’t help but berate himself at the hint of worry that marked the younger man’s eyes the next night. The steward however, continued to lay with him each night, and seemed to welcome Aragorn’s gentle touches and lovemaking. Over the next few days, Aragorn kept a close eye on him and watched with relief as Faramir returned slowly back to his quietly smiling ways.

And yet within barely a week, Faramir seemed to sink into a quiet despair yet again. Aragorn wondered why he seemed so morose. When he appeared particularly distracted one day, often staring out of the window dully, Aragorn tactfully halted all work and called for an early dinner with their friends. Dinner was served with ale that night and it didn’t skip Aragorn’s attention that Faramir drank more than his customary fill of the potent brew.

Aragorn had to visit Frodo that evening before they retired. He kissed the younger man softly on his forehead and stroking his cheek lightly said, “You look a little tired. Why don’t you go lie down a while? I’ll join you soon. Perhaps we should sleep tonight?”

Faramir glanced at him solemnly and shook his head, “I’ll wait for you,” he said quietly, and left.

When Aragorn returned, Faramir was waiting for him. The younger man had changed into a nightshirt and was sitting near the window and looking out.

“You are still awake,” Aragorn said smiling at him, as he removed his outer robe and boots and walked into his bathing chamber.

“Yes,” Faramir said softly, as Aragorn washed himself quickly, “I was waiting for you.”

“I am glad,” Aragorn said smiling a little. Faramir looked a little tired and his speech seemed slightly slurred, and Aragorn had an idea he’d had more ale than he was normally used to, “Are you sure you would not prefer to sleep?” he asked again, as he began to undo his shirt.

“Let me,’ Faramir said, and helped him change into a night robe and made him lie down and settle down against the pillows.

“I’m not sleepy,” he said suddenly, “Will you take me tonight?”.

“Is that what you want?” Aragorn asked. Faramir looked tired…

Faramir nodded grimly and the suddenly and swiftly pushed up Aragorn’s night robe and took his limp member in his fingers and began kneading it skilfully.

“Well, if you ask me like that…” Aragorn groaned aloud, and lost himself in the heat that was pooling up in his lower body.

Faramir’s movements were swifter than usual but he didn’t notice that until the younger man stroked him to arousal and then let him go and straddled him, positioning his entrance directly over the tip of Aragorn’s erection in the manner of one who might have done this before.

“What are you —?” he started but Faramir spoke.

“Please, let me,” he said softly and Aragorn was puzzled to realise he had tears in his eyes.

“Faramir, dearest —”

Faramir lifted himself and stretching his legs pushed into Aragorn, with the softest of grunts. Aragorn found himself bucking up to meet the tightness that encircled him. He clasped his hands around Faramir’s waist hard.

“Gods, you’re tight today,” he gasped aloud as he pushed up to meet Faramir’s almost frantic movements.

He thrust upwards, breeching the tiny ring of muscle and pushed, causing Faramir to moan slightly. The dryness of the tight passage encircled him so snugly, he felt almost heady. It was so dry, and then he realised with dismay; too dry. He glanced up sharply at Faramir’s face, the finely chiselled features covered with beads of sweat as they contorted in a painful grimace.

“You are — the oil —?” He gasped out.

Faramir shook his head mutely and pressed further down onto him, clenching his muscles. To his annoyance, Aragorn found himself responding, pushing his achingly hard shaft frantically up with each downward thrust, unable to stop himself as Faramir’s grunts became louder.

He spent himself inside Faramir, inducing a short pained moan from him. The sticky juices of his release that trickled down Faramir’s thighs, were the only thing easing his way out. Once he’d pulled out, Faramir heaved himself off and stumbled onto his side, curling up in a ball, sobbing harshly.

Aragorn bit his lip, partly in anger at himself. Faramir had hurt himself, that was clear, as was the fact that he had done so deliberately. Had it been anyone else, Aragorn would have pulled him up and shaken him, but this was Faramir, and all Aragorn could do was to inch closer to him and very gently gather him in his arms and hold him close.

Aragorn lay still for a while as Faramir wept into his chest. He wanted nothing more than to rise and take a look at Faramir. He must have hurt, he thought with a shudder. But he was loath to move while Faramir sobbed. Instead he stroked his back for a while, hoping the gentle movements would soothe him. When the sobs finally died away to tiny sniffs, Aragorn moved.

Very carefully and gently, holding Faramir in his arms, he turned and placed him on his side. The younger man hissed at the movement. Aragorn raised a hand and brushed a sweat soaked strand of hair off the pale forehead.

“Ssh,” he murmured, “Lie still. I’ll take care of you.”

Faramir refused to meet his gaze, staring away at the distance somewhere. Aragorn sighed, rose and collected a bowl of water, some herbs and some cloth, and sat by Faramir’s back. He gently nudged Faramir onto his stomach, and then quietly proceeded to clean him up and examine him. He was thankful to note Faramir wasn’t bleeding, but the skin around his entrance was red and inflamed. He certainly was going to be extremely sore.

“You’ll stay in bed tomorrow,” he said firmly, feeling a little angry at the sight.

Faramir didn’t respond, not even when Aragorn swabbed at the reddened skin and caused him to flinch slightly.

When he’d finished Aragorn washed his hands and then came and sat by Faramir. He pulled his unresisting body into his arms and covered him in a soft blanket.

“What happened?” he asked quietly.

Faramir didn’t reply.

“You have been listless all week, and you were distinctly unhappy today. I thought perhaps it was the weather or that you were just tired, but I seem to have been wrong. You have drunk too much and deliberately hurt yourself tonight! And you made me hurt you!”

He paused and crooking a finger under Faramir’s chin forced him to look up. Faramir looked exhausted, and there were dark circles under his eyes, reddened and puffy from the drink and tears, but the eyes themselves looked so unhappy and listless, Aragorn didn’t have the heart to even think of scolding him.

“What is it?” he pleaded softly, “What has hurt you so? Will you not tell me? I thought you trusted me?”

There was only one word uttered.

“Boromir,” Faramir said in an anguished tone.

Aragorn pulled him closer, and waited.

“Today — today… would have been Boromir’s birthday…. I — he would have been forty one … and, and we would have spent the day together… but…”

“I’m sorry,” Aragorn, said quietly, unable to think of anything else to say.

“I m—miss him,” Faramir gulped unhappily, “I— I didn’t mean to drink so much, but it was Boromir’s favourite ale and I — I… m—miss him,” he repeated brokenly.

“I can understand that darling,” Aragorn said gently, “But you had no cause to hurt yourself like that tonight!”

“I — I d—did… it’s my fault,” Faramir said softly, and the tears that were swimming in his eyes fell.

“What’s your fault?” Aragorn asked surprised.

“H—he’s dead, and it’s m—my fault,” Faramir cried, and for a second Aragorn wondered if it was the ale that caused him to speak so.

“Of course not! Whoever told you that?” Aragorn demanded angrily.

“F—father.”

“What?”

“He said it was my fault,” Faramir said, “Wh—when I saw Boromir’s boat I told him… I —I hoped it was a dream, but Father got angry… and he said Boromir was dead and it was all b—because of me, and — and…”

“And?”

“And that he’d punish me for it… and that I deserved to hurt for it, so he’d hurt me…”

“And then?” Aragorn asked dismayed.

“H—he hit me,” Faramir’s voice was flat and exhausted and a little slurred, no doubt because of the ale, Aragorn thought. But the same drink seemed to have loosened his tongue.

“I fell… and then he hit me with his belt, and then he dragged me up and — and — the table… he pulled off my pants… and — I wasn’t ready… normally I’d be ready but I had hurried back that time… and he said I had to hurt or I wouldn’t learn a lesson.”

Aragorn listened in sickened dismay.

“He was so a—angry… and he had been drinking I think, and he’d been sitting with the palantír… I — he wouldn’t stop no matter how much I begged, and then h—he threw me out of his room and told me to return to Ithilien. S—so I left that night. It hurt so much, but — he said — I had to hurt…”

“It — it was my fault… Boromir left — it should have been me —”

“No!” Aragorn whispered, dismayed, “It was not your fault, and you do not have to hurt, not any more, dearest. He’s not here to fill up your mind with such things any more. It was never your fault!”

“It matters not,” Faramir insisted, “He is dead. And all I could do was to stand there and watch. I would have gone with him… when I saw him, for a moment I wanted nothing more than join him, lie next to him and let the river carry us away from it all… but then he would have called me a coward… so I stayed thinking that such a fate would soon be mine too…”

“No!” Aragorn cried out and held him closer, hugging him tight, wondering at what all Faramir could have endured to have felt such despair and unhappiness in those days.

Faramir finally cried himself to sleep, still in Aragorn’s arms for the king had no intention of letting go of him.

To be continued…

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