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Family Games (NC-17)
Written by December19 December 2010 | 65301 words
Chapter 11. Sugared Petals
It turned out Faramir could not have picked a better day.
Calendar-wise the leaf-falling season had already arrived, but it showed neither in the mellow warmth of the hazy air, nor in the intensity of the many fragrances of summer lingering in it. The sky was bright and clear, but not with the cold distant sharpness of September, as rather with the hospitable untroubled transparency more fit for July.
The trees stood green for the most part, if only just tanned yellow or saffron at the very edges of their heavy opulent heads. The malachite-coloured grasses at their feet were long and over-grown, and bowed under their own weight, and here and there amid the thick glossy stalks there could be seen the white and pale lilac flowers of the naked lady.
Not a breath of wind stirred the somnolence of the woods, and only the sleepy buzzing of the few remaining insects and an occasional warble of an unseen bird accompanied the two riders’ journey.
They spoke little, Orophin too engrossed avidly drinking in the sights and the smells that surrounded them, and Faramir indulging himself watching his friend’s apparent delight. In fact, their little trip was already bringing the Elf so much gratification that the young man could not help but feel a pang of guilt for not having thought of this simple and effective diversion before.
Orophin startled him with a sudden laugh of great merriment.
“Ah, I can hear it already!” he exclaimed with a toss of his head, and threw Faramir a playful glance. “Can you?”
And soon enough the slow murmurous hum of the Great River reached the Man’s ears too. He smiled, although the sound brought him far less exuberance than it did Orophin. Faramir did love Anduin, loved it the way he loved everything in his motherland, with his very bones – yet this particular love was to be forever tinged with unquenchable rueful longing.
In his mind the image of the river was inseparable from the image of his brother, thanks to the countless hours the two had spent there in the years before their parting. Boromir had always been a marvellous swimmer, in addition to his general strength and endurance demonstrating some impressive grace and legerity when in the water. He claimed there was little better exercise than doing a good couple hours of front crawl against the current – and whenever he had the time would take his little brother down to the beach for that exact purpose, regardless of the weather and time of year. If it was cold and blowy Boromir would let him get out immediately afterwards, and laugh as he rubbed the boy down with a coarse towel until Faramir’s cool skin blushed pink and he stopped shivering. And if the day was more like the present delectable jewel of early autumn, the brothers would tarry for a long while after the training session was over and horse around in the water, throwing silt and aquatic plants at one another, and tussling, and pretending to try and drown each other. They would swan-dive into the deeper parts from a high bank, and practice catching fish with their bare hands, and eventually come out to sprawl on a blanket and bask in the sun as it dried them up…
Those days had been carefree, and sweet, and full of unreflective, unquestioning bliss – yet the reminiscence was rendered sour for the knowledge that that time was irretrievably gone, and nothing the likes of it would ever be again. And all the more sour it was to think of this when here was the river – same as before, same as it ever would be, following its ancient course with steady indifference, paying no mind whether a boy came to bathe in it or a man, and whether his heart was light or heavy.
But that day Faramir did not wish it to be heavy, for he had come here to enjoy himself and share the enjoyment with another. So he chose not to dwell overlong on what had been, and instead set his shoulders back and took a full breath of the moist penetrating scent of the nearby waters.
And in another minute he could see through the trees a glimmer of Anduin’s sparkling brilliance as the high sun bespangled its swaying surface with silver and diamonds. Orophin saw it too, and laughed again, and urged his horse forth to cover the last furlough at a gallop.
Faramir followed suit, and rode out onto the beach just as the Elf charged all the way into the shallow waters of the small bight in an iridescent fountain of spray. As his horse snorted and stomped, sending splashes everywhere, Orophin threw his arms out and lifted his face to the sky.
“Ah, this is going to be wonderful!” he cried.
And so it was.
Three or four hours later – Faramir could not count – they lay supine on the thick woollen quilt he had spread under a tall willow, the tree’s long pendulant branches casting a lacy veil of shadows over their naked bodies. They had bathed, then rested, then bathed again, and rested some more, and now after the third round were getting listless and drowsy. And so they dozed for a time, and as the day had grown ripe and hot, were perfectly comfortable without their clothes.
When Faramir slowly drifted back to wakefulness, he did not hurry to get up, but instead turned on his side and watched his friend. And the Man’s heart lifted and felt to him light enough to soar in the air, and it seemed to Faramir there was more space for optimism in his life than he had previously allowed: evidently Father was wrong about him.
Here he was, alone with this wonderfully made, loveable young male, conveniently hidden from all the eyes of the world, completely divested and so very close. It did not escape Faramir how kissable were Orophin’s lips, nor how touchable his smooth fair skin, and the Man could well imagine how gently his clever elegant hands could caress and how tightly his strong arms could embrace.
And yet here they lay in absolute, unblemished innocence, their friendship pure and unspoilt. Orophin was so fine it would have been quite understandable – almost justified, in fact – to want him; but Faramir did not. It felt good to look, and he did not wish to stop – he would even go as far as to admit that the sight disturbed him: just as all instances of sublime beauty ever disturbed him, sharpening his senses and giving him a higher awareness both of the energy imbuing the world around and of the life force flowing in his own blood. And no inner conflict was bred in him, no ruinous images, no dark shameful urges came to Faramir’s mind as his gaze slowly moved about the Elf’s figure and face – only wonder and gladness at seeing such grace, harmony and vitality in another living being.
This depraved streak Father suspected in him – it was not there, for surely if it were it would have professed itself now. No, there clearly was no need for him to mistrust his own body, to fear it would play a trick on him, bewray some hideous truth about him and disgrace him.
So Faramir smiled broadly and rolled to once more lie on his back with closed eyes and feel the rays of Anor play on his face with featherlike lightness. He had long since not known a state of such contented untroubled languor, and his thoughts were idle and sweet.
Slowly invigoration and freshness came to replace his lull, and eventually his appetite awoke too, so Faramir unpacked his saddle-bags, and took out bread, and cheese, and several clusters of dark violet grapes coated with a bluish patina of wax, and a flask of wine, and some other things.
Orophin sat up too, his cheeks blushed after the nap, eyes dark and as though a little misty. His gaze fell on the little repast his companion was setting out, and the Elf stretched and smiled lazily.
“Mm, this looks good,” he murmured in anticipation, and Faramir grinned up at him.
They ate without hurry, looking over the river and at the high cloudless heavens above. No sign of civilisation could be seen from their spot, not a single dwelling, no bridge, no road, no boat. For all the uninterrupted peace of the grove suggested, there could be nothing but woods and hills for hundreds of miles about, and not a single person to intrude on their rest.
Inhaling deeply, Orophin leant back to settle into a half-lying position. “Could anything make a day like this any more perfect…?” he mused in a tone of great satisfaction.
“Mm… who’s to tell?” Faramir murmured enigmatically, and reached for his bag, whence he proceeded to produce a small finely-decorated metal box the likes of those for storing sweetmeats.
“Look what I have for you,” he said with a spark in his eyes as he offered the container to his friend.Orophin took off the lid and gasped in delight. The box was full of candied rose-petals, tenderly pink and exquisitely, luxuriously aromatic.
“I thought you said this dessert was not known to your people,” he observed with curiosity, tilting his face to the side and giving Faramir a long look.
“It wasn’t,” the young man agreed with unconcealed pleasure. “But once I repeated your description to our confectioners, it became a matter of professional pride and honour for them to replicate it. And well, I reckon they’ve prepared this just in time, seeing as indeed today seems a perfect occasion.”
“This is so thoughtful of you,” Orophin said quietly, and heaved a sigh, then took out one delicate leaf and transported it to his mouth. He hummed to himself and added, “And please pass my kind regards to your confectioners, and tell them they have succeeded magnificently. I have never tasted better.”
Faramir smiled broadly. “I am so happy you are pleased. By the way, they said they can try the violets next, and some of the other varieties you spoke of.”
Orophin nodded thoughtfully, as though making some note to himself, then looked at the Man with a curve of the brow. “Do you like how it came out?”
Faramir shrugged. “Oh, I haven’t tried yet. I… I don’t know,” he laughed, as if just realising an instance of silliness on his behalf. “Somehow I’d assumed that since this was an elven dish, it was only for an Elf to eat.”
Orophin frowned at him in playful displeasure. “I’ve told you before: stop making these distinctions – for an Elf, for a Man… ‘Tis good – do you want one or not?” he raised his brows enthusiastically and offered Faramir one of the petals.
The Elf brought his hand so close to the Man’s face that Faramir took the treat from him right with his lips, and as he did so his mouth briefly touched against the Elf’s fingertips. Orophin’s gaze lingered on his face, and Faramir gave him a warm friendly smile, but the Elf suddenly grew sad, and dropped his hand.
He shifted away a little and averted his gaze to the moving water. “You know… I wanted to apologise to you for something.”
Faramir coughed in surprise “Apologise? To me? Whatever for?”
“I understand I upset you greatly – yesterday, when you came to see me. I know you’re worrying about me, I mean, all this,” with a wide gesture Orophin indicated the scene around them, including Anduin, and the grove, their blanket with the remaining fruit and wine, and Faramir’s little gift. “You’re troubling yourself so much to cheer me up, whereas… really…”
Faramir snorted softly. “I don’t want any apologies – in point of fact, I don’t think I’ve deserved as much as a thank you. You think too well of me – Orophin, I’m not doing you any charity, I spend time with you for the sake of my own enjoyment, which you give me plenty of with your sheer presence. I feel more at ease around you than I’ve felt with anyone for I don’t know how long – can’t you be at ease with me also?”
“Well…” Orophin lowered his face, as though discomfited by Faramir’s words. “In any case, I only wanted to say you need worry no more. For when you bring me to a place like this, where there are trees, and birds, and streams, I can see that it is only the nature’s mood affecting me, naught more. That is one of the reasons I so much look forward to the day when the Lord deems it fit for me to go to Ithilien with your troops, like he said I would… The summertide is waning, and that has made it seem to me like my heart would wane with it too – but here I can look around and see that nothing dies, that the sorrow of winter is but a stage, only a brief period of silence, after which all things shall rise from their sleep and bloom anew.”
“And yet you do not sound comforted as you say this…” Faramir observed softly.
The Elf shrugged but made no reply, and the Man added reassuringly, “Winter is not so bad in Gondor either. Do you know, some three months from now, I shall have two full weeks for a break from my duty, and I could show you many a wonderful thing. We watched the sunset yesterday – well, we could go high up in the White Mountains, and meet the sunrise. Just imagine the glory, Orophin! And there’s no better time for this than the coldest days of the year, when there is naught but ice and snow in sight and it feels like the first sunrise of the world – and any song you would sing could sound like the music of the Ainur themselves…” He fell silent, lost in the dream his own words had created; then sighed and went on thoughtfully, “Although, to tell the truth, for my part I also prefer summer to winter – but most of all I’ve always loved that time in early spring when you can feel the awakening of all things the most, and the Great River runs high and cold with the molten snow it brings from its source in the far North.”
“And it also brings the fallen mallorn leaves,” Orophin whispered under his breath.
“You said something?” Faramir looked at him keenly.
Orophin pulled himself up and gave the Man a bright smile. “I said, for now ‘tis warm – and let’s make use of that. Besides,” he nodded at the sky, “it shall soon be evening; let us make the most of a day like this.” With that the Elf swiftly rose to his feet and headed for the water, and in a few moments Faramir followed.
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Wow, December, I did hope that my request would go to you, I know you write so well… but I never expected to get an eighteen-chapter story! And how will I find the time to read it all, now?
Well, thank you so much, I’m sure I’ll love it, and I’ll start reading at once; but you might have to wait a bit for a full commentary…
— Nerey Camille Sunday 19 December 2010, 13:50 #