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A Hard Choice (NC-17) 
Written by Nerey Camille17 December 2011 | 13421 words
Previously in ‘A Hard Choice’
Legolas has arrived. Aragorn, who is still devastated and angry, tells his friend the whole story, including the fact that the Queen and the Steward are being confined to their rooms. He doesn’t know what to do with them. Legolas suggests that there is a way out of the situation and whispers his idea in the King’s ear.
Chapter 9. Where things finally start to look up
“Let her make you happy. Let him make her happy. Try to make him happy.”
These had been the words. And though he had at first been scandalised by the idea, it kept coming back, no matter how hard he tried to forget it.
He turned in his bed – the single bed he had had brought to his reading-room – for what felt like the umpteenth time. He was tired of not sleeping. The idea looked so perfect in theory, but it could never work.
He turned again. How could something so wicked be even conceived? How could he think that it would be desirable for all of them to content themselves with a surrogate for love? It had been enough for Arwen and for Faramir. Could it be so for him?
He turned again. What in Mordor’s name was the matter with him? To give himself to another man… To speak ever again, let alone sleep with, a traitorous wife… The mere idea was sickening. And if the world was filled with debauchery, did he have to be a part of it?
He turned again. But what other solutions were there? If he punished them, he would lose them – and he didn’t want to. It might be weak, cowardly, despicable – but it was the truth, and he was still honest enough to admit it. What then? Could he forgive them?
It was one way or the other. Either they had betrayed him, and he should punish them – or they had not, and he should welcome Arwen back and thank Faramir for taking care of her. With all that that implied, like allowing his wife to keep her lover, however ludicrous or absurd the whole concept might seem to him.
His heart was torn in two, one half crying for vengeance, the other reluctant to find fault with his love. What Arwen had done just blew all expectations, all reasonable scales. How could he react to it? Faramir was another matter; Faramir he could forgive, in time. But Arwen…
He turned again, eager to avoid the pain that thoughts about her caused. Time was running out. Rumours would soon start, if they hadn’t already, as to why the Queen and the Steward should be keeping to their rooms, and why the King looked so miserable. He had to make a decision. This idea of Legolas… no, he could never do it. Valar, to have intercourse with Faramir… Awkward. Could it be easier than he expected?
He turned again. Whatever his heart demanded, be it revenge or reconciliation, he mustn’t act on his own feelings. He was no Ranger any more, he was King of Gondor, and it was still his burden to think of its people. He could not burn the Queen and the Steward to ashes without explaining why, and what then would be left of the glory of Númenor, after the throne of Gondor and the race of Elendil had been dragged through the mud by a scandal of adultery and treason? How would the people look to him for guidance, after his image had been tarnished by this spectacular failure – for that is how his marriage to an Elven princess would be seen?
He turned again. Everything he had dreamed of, everything he had so long laboured for, had crumbled like a house of cards. What was the use of anything? What remained for him to hold on to? The rule of Gondor? He snorted bitterly. That had ever been but a millstone around his neck, however exalted and privileged the position might appear to others. It was tolerable, while he had Arwen and Faramir with him; he knew it would become a crushing weight without them, unless he could draw strength from somewhere else.
No, nothing remained, no hope to rely upon, for he did not believe that Legolas’ solution could really work. But there still was duty. To others, and to himself.
He turned again. Dawn was spreading its wings outside. As resolve hardened in him, Aragorn felt a strange, deep gratitude welling up suddenly in his heart. Fate was cruel: thank the Valar, and all his years of toil, for having given him the strength to endure also this stroke.
Aragorn was sitting by his window, his cheek resting on his hand, but he raised his eyes to gaze steadily at Legolas when the prince of Mirkwood came back from the Queen’s rooms.
“Have you given her my message?”
“Every word of it.”
“And…?”
“She wants to see you.”
“I can’t.”
“It will do you good, my friend. Besides, I do not think she will believe me till she has heard it from your lips.”
Isn’t it enough that I forgive her? Isn’t it enough to allow her to depart, if she so wishes, or to stay here as my wife, if she would have it so? Can’t she be content with my apology for failing to make her happy, and my permission for her to find fulfilment elsewhere? Do I still have to face her?
Beyond his strength as the task seemed, Aragorn knew the answer to his questions. He had long learned that the more one did, the more he was expected to perform.
“She is waiting outside,” added Legolas persuasively.
It had done him good, after all. She had flung herself into his arms, crying, and he had felt the solid ice in his chest melting into a flood of warm waters, that came flowing out of his eyes. He felt shaken but distinctly more cheerful as he walked the corridors that led to Faramir’s quarters. Legolas had pressed him to go and see the Steward straight away and Aragorn tried to convince himself it was a good idea. But he had to fight to retain his courage, which seemed to be scattering in all directions now that he needed it more than he ever had.
Sooner than he had expected (or wished) he had arrived before the great doors, and Húrin was bowing to him. Aragorn straightened up and made a sign; the Warden of the Keys opened the doors, closed them behind him, and Aragorn was alone with Faramir.
The young man had been sitting near the fire, gazing abstractedly into the flames, but he looked up and rose as soon as he recognized the King. Aragorn hesitated for a moment.
“I am here to tell you that I forgive you,” he said bluntly. “I do not hold you blameworthy for keeping the Queen happy; I am grateful that you tried to save my marriage. I have just seen the Queen and we have reconciled ourselves; I cannot guarantee that I will find in my heart the untarnished love I gave her before, but we are going to try.”
Faramir managed to nod without showing his astonishment.
“I am glad to hear that,” he said gravely.
“That is not all,” continued Aragorn softly. “I do not want to deprive her of any company that makes her happy, in whatever way. I have allowed her total freedom in that respect, and I would be grateful if you continued fulfilling the role you have assumed, for as long as she wishes. It is not an order – it is a request, provided you still want to do it now that no pressure forces you either way.”
This time, Faramir’s eyes showed such incredulity that Aragorn found himself unexpectedly repressing a laugh.
“I have all my sense. I have seen it does her good, and it does you good. I want both of you happy,” he clarified.
“But what about you, my lord?” asked Faramir, frowning with concern.
“Happiness is beyond my reach anyway, or so I fear; therefore do not trouble for me.”
He looked at Faramir’s face; pity and sadness were written plainly on it.
“Aye, you love me truly, I can tell that. You wish you could be a solace to me instead of to Arwen, do you not?”
To his surprise, his frankness did not appear to embarrass Faramir, who just looked away and bit his lip.
“I wish I could,” he said.
Aragorn stood looking at him, feeling himself starting to tremble, and in that second the final decision was made. He extended a hand.
“Come, my son,” he said. “I wish to be comforted, you wish to comfort me, nothing should be easier.”
Faramir looked at him and after a second nodded. He advanced, stood hesitating for a moment, then the two men embraced. Aragorn hugged the younger man and, for the second time that day, felt a wall of ice crumbling and melting within himself. His voice was slightly wet when he spoke.
“I’d much rather see you than Arwen at this time. You are completely free, my friend; but if you feel like it, I would be glad to have your company for dinner. My rooms.”
Once again, Faramir had needed all his reason to face what was coming: hope and fear were equally strong in him. Had he understood aright the meaning of Aragorn’s words and gestures? He told himself for the tenth time that it couldn’t be; but against all reason, his heart kept hoping, and by the time he reached the door to the King’s apartments, it was thumping so badly Faramir thought there surely was no need to knock.
And now, they were both sitting next to the fire, glasses of wine in their hands, silent. Dinner had been shy; there was no other word for it as they both ate the excellent food and tried to find again the easy camaraderie that had been theirs before all this had happened. Shy, but not uncomfortable; and that, in this most entangled situation, should be counted as a great achievement. As was this companionable silence in front of the flame, yet Faramir knew that it could not last for very long. The air was slowly filling with expectancy and even tension. Faramir was not sure yet that he was not entirely imagining the whole thing, but he was ready to trust his feelings. And those told him that Aragorn had taken the first steps and was not willing or able to go any further without some help.
As in a dream, Faramir rose, put his glass casually down upon the mantelpiece and came to stand behind Aragorn, who did not move. He barely trembled when the Steward’s hands came to rest lightly upon his shoulders; then he relaxed as long, deft fingers ran soothingly through his hair. Faramir closed his eyes in blissful gratitude and his hands, almost without his knowing, proceeded to massage the royal neck and temples until he heard Aragorn sigh. Then, still without believing this was happening or that the voice that came out of his lips was actually his, he spoke aloud:
“You feel tense. I could do something to ease the stiffness in your muscles. But you would have to lie down and remove your clothes.”
Aragorn obeyed like a child, and Faramir was only faintly amazed; after all, what was this in view of all that had happened in the course of this bizarre day? He focused on the thought that his King needed care and comfort; otherwise, it might have been difficult to keep his hands from wandering more than was needed over the splendid body that was now confidently stretched beneath them. A gift too precious, this fragile, heartbreaking trust, to be gambled for any pleasure, even the most innocent one of feeling too offhandedly the touch of this sacred skin. And so Faramir concentrated on relieving every bit of tension from the taut muscles, until he felt the King falling asleep and himself starting to yield to weariness.
One more effort of will, he thought, to let go and not try to extend this most exceptional moment. Softly he woke Aragorn up.
“My lord,” he said, and for the first time ever, he allowed into his voice the caress that was in his mind, “you should sleep in a proper bed.”
He felt Aragorn agreeing sleepily, then going suddenly tense again as the meaning of the words penetrated his tired brain. Faramir guessed what was causing the King’s distress and blamed himself for his lack of tact.
“Shall I have another bed brought here for you, my lord?” he asked apologetically.
“Nonsense,” said Aragorn with an effort, “it is only a bed.” He rose, took gratefully the dressing gown Faramir was offering him and wrapped it around himself, then sat again on the couch and looked at Faramir.
“Thank you.”
Faramir shook his head.
“If there is anything more I can do…”
Aragorn gazed towards the next room, where the bed that held the memories of all his nights with Arwen was waiting for him as a sombre threat, as a trap. He looked at Faramir again.
“Stay.”
He didn’t say “please”, but he meant it, and Faramir knew it. He slowly took Aragorn’s hand into his own and brought it to his lips.
“I will.”
Long ago did these events take place, and much happened afterwards. For six-score years, Aragorn and Arwen dwelt together, as King and Queen of Gondor, in great glory and bliss; but none knew, though the Steward was the most honoured subject in the land, how important a part he played in that happiness.
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You know, when I first saw you taking up this request and setting such pairings for it, it immediately made me think back on our story: the parallel need not be pointed out, I guess :) And now I read indeed it is so.
Well, in so far I of course cannot see many parts that correlate to our plot – that must be still to come. And I have to wonder as to the reason why Arwen is about to do what she’s said to be about to do by the request. Unless some other Elf suddenly comes up, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. What, is Faramir, along with his habitual role of facing tough decisions, going to have to deal with another habitual task of having to tend to women whom Aragorn’s can’t make happy? Because if that is not the reason and Arwen is fully happy with Aragorn, then why would she…?
And what is the reason of Aragorn’s behaviour? To bring another man, even if a friend, to your new wife’s personal chamber and leave them alone ‘to talk’ seems strange, to say the least. Naturally, he trusts them both endlessly, but still, it’s kind of awkward and, I mean, why? Does he feel like his presence would encumber their conversation? But as ‘freinds’ certainly they wouldn’t be talking of anything that is not for his ears? And why in such private settings, why couldn’t they have talked in a garden or on some terrace? It’s almost as though he’d brought Faramir there for Arwen to tell him something the two of them had decided on ahead of time…
Anyway, all that I’ll have to wait for you to tell us. Now, I especially loved this: It took him some time to realize that his happiness was of a sort that could lead him to trouble. And in line with it I really liked the scene with the bath, the juxtaposition of Aragorn’s unsupecting happiness, so simple and self-focused as such happiness tends to be, and the complexity of Faramir’s emotion. Of course there’s a special note of bitter irony to Faramir, just when he imagines himself in that bath with Aragorn, being presented with the mental image of the King ‘swimming’ there with some lady – to coming to learn of the marriage in such intimate settings, where the intimacy itself seems to exclude the possibility of actual sensual intimacy, seeing as Aragorn is so comfortable and unwary it seems he doesn’t consider Faramir in the sexual sense. And Faramir is such a good man, feeling as little jealousy as possible in such situation, whereas a more ‘human’ kind of man, even like his own brother, I am sure would have been beside himself with humiliation and the desire to burn the lady-rival to ashes, a good match for Aragorn or not.And now, if this ‘good match’ is going to start doing some inappropriate things that would show her as not such a good match after all, will Faramir feel offended on behalf of his beloved King whom he wishes so much happiness? Or will he rather actually be tempted by her? Hm, the multitude of the possibilities is so sweet – not to mention it can all go in a totally unexpected direction, too :)
And, as for the “nothing really AU” – where’s Eowyn? ;) She makes no appearance this far – I understand by the plot she ought to still be in Rohan at this point, but still, if she were his much beloved bride, probably she’d come up in Faramir’s thoughts at least once… Or is he smitten so badly by Aragorn that he just forgot about her? xD
— December Thursday 23 June 2011, 11:25 #