Faramir Fiction Archive

Family Honor (NC-17)

Written by Mcguffan

14 July 2006 | 162886 words

Chapter 12

Faramir listened in exhausted contentment as the sound of Aragorn’s heavy breathing began to slow and quiet. The older man lay beside him where he had collapsed after spilling himself inside Faramir’s body. The lamp in the tent had been turned down low and in the dim illumination Faramir studied the features of his beloved. As always the Captain saw beauty in the austere features but now there was something more. It was something Faramir only saw in his lord on rare occasions and it defied the younger man’s ability to define. The chiseled face remained stern but Aragorn looked younger, less guarded. While in such a mood Aragorn laughed more easily and he spoke more readily of his feelings. The night before when Aragorn had been in such a mood, the ranger had started to sing softly as he cradled the younger man against him. It was with tremendous satisfaction that Faramir realized that he was- at least in part- the cause of such lightness of spirit in Aragorn, that he, Faramir, that could lessen for even a moment the constant vigilance of mind and heart that weighed upon Gondor’s future king. He was able to offer his beloved a measure of gladness and it was his body, his heart that offered shelter and respite. Smiling in his happiness Faramir moved his hand until his fingers brushed Aragorn’s. At the brief touch Aragorn intertwined their fingers and smiled though his eyes were closed. Letting out a deep breath, Faramir let his own eyes drift shut. The day had gone by in a blur and only now, still in a blissful haze, did Faramir have time for reflection. As usual, Aragorn had left early for the tournament. Faramir had informed his men that in order to prevent any attempts at intimidation or even sabotage he wanted Gorm and Strider to be accompanied by at least two others whenever they left camp. The Gondorhim accepted Faramir’s concern at face value. The men had observed the ever-increasing crowds that surrounded all those who remained in the tournament and with such celebrity status at stake it was no effort for them to believe one or another of the seemingly numberless Khandrhim factions might want to handicap the competition. For his part, Faramir was gratified to contribute in even a small way to Aragorn’s security.

The next task the Captain had set himself had been to tour the market with his quartermaster and a discreet escort to make sure the reception was adequately provisioned. Though the quartermaster had already made several purchases before this Faramir had expected that his language fluency would be called upon to facilitate bargaining. He was surprised, then, to find that once he had chosen what he wished his presence became superfluous. The merchants and the quartermaster seemed to understand each other very well as they shouted and gesticulated in their separate languages.

While his quartermaster was busy haggling with the wine merchant, Faramir wandered a little ways a way eyeing the goods available for trade. Pausing at one booth, he made an inquiry. After a quick negotiation, Faramir offered his dagger, which was eagerly accepted and he instructed the merchant that the rest of his purchase would be collected later. In the meantime the Captain pocketed the bottle of aloe, myrrh and a half dozen other herbal emoluments he had not been able to translate. He and Aragorn had already used all of the salve Aragorn had had in his pack and Faramir had been delighted with the opportunity to find something special. It had been a good choice, Faramir decided, as he languidly nuzzled Aragorn’s neck. He could still detect the faint scent of the myrrh in the air.

After he made all his selections Faramir left the bartering to the quartermaster. Finding he had more time than he had expected before the tribal conferences began in earnest, the Captain could not resist the lure of the tournament. He was perhaps the only one of the contingent from Gondor who had not yet been witness to a contest of swords. Sending one from his escort ahead to find if and where Gorm was competing Faramir turned his steps toward the tournament yard. The Captain would have preferred to watch Aragorn; yet he did not want to appear to the Khandrhim to be too interested in the ranger’s progress. More than that though Faramir felt he owed a show of support to his own man.

The yard rang with the clash of metal. Clouds of dust kicked up by the quick movements of the competitors filled the air. As Faramir neared the site where Gorm confronted a short but very well muscled tribesman, the crowd parted to let him approach without any encouragement from his escort. Apparently, the onlookers were sufficiently impressed by the novelty of the foreign captain that they did not mind sacrificing a close view of the combat to study him. Now quite close to the fight Faramir watched both men. The combat had clearly been in progress for some time as most of the competitors were much more evenly matched than in the beginning. This also meant that the combats were more likely to end in serious injury since all the easy victories had already been won.

Gorm was coated in sweat, so much so that it threatened his grip on his weapon. Faramir felt sincere pity for the man and was glad that his own most vigorous exertions had all taken place in the cool of the night. The memory of his own sweat-slick body locked with Aragorn’s brought a smile to his lips and the Captain quickly raised a hand to shield his countenance. In the end, Gorm emerged victorious. Faramir was effusive in his praise though this was only the first of two contests Gorm would have to win that day. There were others who offered words of congratulations to Gorm and even Gorm’s opponent was not without his admirers. Poor Isu’s loss had made him the subject of derision but that had been several days ago. Everyone who made it this far had was entitled to at least a small share of honor. Conscious of the passage of time Faramir had clasped Gorm’s shoulder once more in congratulation, then left hastily to meet with the tribal representatives.

Though the reception was meant mostly for the tribes who had formed and were most like to form alliances with Gondor, Faramir made it clear that he did not mean to exclude any of the lords who were curious. He stressed the informality of the planned gathering and begged the leaders’ indulgence should his ignorance of the customs of Khand result in any breech of etiquette. Most of the tribes took the opportunity Faramir offered to demonstrate their own graciousness, assuring the Captain that they would be pleased by whatever he managed to show them. Even the men who- in the beginning- had been inclined to be cold to the young man had warmed to him considerably. It was impossible to believe Faramir capable of intentionally giving offense and many of the tribal representatives had decided to forgive the extreme bad manners of allowing men who had already given their allegiance to Gondor to enter the fencing tournament. In all, Faramir had managed to fit in. His presence was no longer regarded as a foreign intrusion and he found that he was regarded as something of an equal. Faramir, who had always felt awkward and ill at ease in his father’s council meeting now found himself accepted among the Khandrhim. The irony of such a situation was not lost on Faramir even as he was thankful to have been allowed a true place at the Great Gathering.

That day, however, Faramir excused himself earlier than usual from the meetings in order to return to his camp and ensure that all the preparations for the next day were proceeding. He found the men hard at work practicing drills, mending tunics and clearing detritus from the campsite. Some of the men were even trimming beards and hair. Gildel and Warin were busy shouting orders and encouragement. Aragorn and Halbarad were also very much in evidence lending a hand wherever needed. The two worked together easily. Without needing to exchange a word Aragorn and Halbarad seemed to know what the other was thinking. Each man had his own strong and independent character yet the understanding between them was nearly perfect. Watching them recalled to Faramir the famous friendships of history and legend.

It also reminded him that he missed his brother.

There was so much he had to tell Boromir, so much that he ached to share. And even though, there were some things he would not be able to reveal, Faramir still felt confident that he could convey to his brother that he had found hope- all unlooked for- not only for himself but also for Gondor. Boromir possessed a brilliance and charisma that Denethor- able commander though he was- lacked. Thus, the father placed great hopes in his first-born. Boromir was to lead Gondor through the crisis of the rising darkness to the East. Boromir was to turn back the ever-increasing tide of orcs that spilled through the countryside, burning and looting. Boromir was to restore the ancient might of Gondor and return her to her former glory. Such things, however, were beyond Boromir, however. As strong as he was, and no one had greater faith in Boromir’s strength than Faramir, he could not do the impossible. There was only one in all Middle-Earth who could fulfill the Steward’s dream. Boromir would not have to carry the weight of all their futures alone and Faramir’s heart pounded with eagerness to bring this news to him. Even so Faramir deemed it best to put aside his thoughts of Boromir. He wanted to project confidence and strength to his men rather than wistfulness for his absent brother.

That evening Faramir ate with his men so that he could continue to monitor not only their preparedness for the morrow but also their mood. It was with satisfaction that the Captain saw that the Gondorhim were, for the most part, optimistic and cheerful. The only distraction from the talk on the next day’s plans had been the news that Gorm had lost the second of his two tournament matches that day. Though, Faramir condoled with the man, he was not truly disappointed. Gorm was skilled but there were several other contestants who were clearly superior. Faramir had very much wanted to avoid a match between Aragorn and Gorm. There was something intrinsically wrong with one of Faramir’s own men fighting the future king- even in a mock combat. Gorm, himself, had not been overly disappointed for the frequent battles in the heat had been difficult and the tournament rounds cut into his free time.

Faramir’s recollection was stopped abruptly as Aragorn gently slid his arm free of his lover and stretched his long limbs. After a moment, the ranger relaxed and his arm reached out once more to encircle Faramir. Losing interest in his former train of thought, Faramir pushed himself nearer Aragorn and slowly began drawing little circles on the older man’s chest with a finger.

“Did I wake you, love?” Aragorn asked turning onto his side to lie face to face with Faramir.

“I was not sleeping- only thinking.” Aragorn smiled at that and Faramir continued to stroke his chest.

“That feels nice.”

“Good.” Faramir murmured, pressing a little more firmly. Aragorn’s eyes had drifted closed but at that moment Faramir could not bear the idea of being without Aragorn, even if Aragorn only left him to wander in dreams. He needed the older man to be completely present with him.

“I heard something interesting today.” Faramir announced, sounding a bit desperate, though he could not have explained why.

“Mmh?” Aragorn’s sound of vague inquiry was not in itself reassuring but to Faramir’s relief and gratification the blue-grey eyes opened to display both interest and affection.

“I was speaking with one of the lords about the fighting finals tomorrow and I asked what the Variags would do with their new prize- for the top contenders have left little doubt with whom they mean to serve should they win the tournament.”

“Are you still worried over the fate of Figno’s harp?” Aragorn asked with a smile.

Faramir replied with his own smile and a self-deprecating shrug.

“Go on, I did not mean to interrupt.” Aragorn apologized, turning onto his back and pulling Faramir against him so he could comfortably let his fingers card through his lover’s dark hair.

“Rather than answer my question the lord asked if I knew the story of the harp. I said that I had heard something of it but I was always interested in lore and the older tales. I had intended to sound modest and understated but the fellow took me at my word and launched into an account of Figno and Mirwith.” Faramir had not been able to resist punctuating the occasional sentence with gentle nips or embellishing the odd phrase with kisses and Aragorn rubbed appreciative circles along the younger man’s spine.

“The story I was told, however, was not on all fours with what I had heard. Apparently in Khand, the harp was the pride of Mirwith’s family. After Mirwith’s father denied Figno’s request to court his daughter Figno stole the harp and would not return it until he was allowed to woo Mirwith.” At this point Faramir became aware that a slight tremble had started in Aragorn’s chest. Raising his head, Faramir regarded Aragorn with curiosity. The inquisitive look turned the tremor into a rumble and Faramir realized that Aragorn was laughing.

“Well, extortion is a bit less romantic than winning a bride through the power of music.” Aragorn chuckled, shifting Faramir off him as he turned on his side to better accommodate his mirth.

“It is not the version of the tale that is heard in Gondor.” Faramir murmured. His own first reaction had not been amusement.

“Not in Rivendell either, for Figno is revered as a hero who signifies the transcendent nature of the musical arts. “ Aragorn was still laughing.

“I know Mirwith was an Eastern princess and Figno haled from the West. Do you think that accounts for the different versions of the story?” Though Faramir was more than aware that men- and perhaps even elves- tended to distort, even unintentionally, their recollections of events so that they appeared more favorable, he had somehow believed in the sanctity of the archives. He had wanted to believe in the unimpeachable integrity of recorded history as an anchor.

“It may be.” Aragorn had finally controlled himself but a smile still pulled at his lips as he collected Faramir once more into his arms. “There is little to appeal to the Khandrhim in the story as it is set forth in the West. Still, the two versions are not necessarily irreconcilable. Perhaps bits and pieces have been remembered in both cultures and to get at the truth the fragments must be united.”

“It all hangs upon what Mirwith felt.” Faramir had perked up visibly when Aragorn suggested combining elements of both stories to create a more detailed realistic account. “If she loved Figno then it can still be a romance despite the political maneuvering and secondary motivations. If she did not then it becomes a sordid cynical tale of the exploitation and manipulation of people as well as of art.”

“None of the stories I have heard have dwelt long upon what Mirwith felt and thought.” Aragorn responded and though lingering amusement still crinkled at the corners of his eyes his thoughts were drifting to another beautiful princess out of legend and the difference between romance and exploitation.

“She loved him, utterly and completely.” Faramir’s bold assertion cut into Aragorn’s reverie and he was startled to hear words that seemed to answer his own silent doubts.

“Did she? Can you cite a source for that, Faramir?”

“I cannot, save that I know it is true.” Faramir’s light blue eyes peered earnestly into Aragorn’s grey. Some wordless communication took place between the two men. With a sudden laugh Aragorn broke the moment. Still holding Faramir the older man turned placing Faramir firmly beneath him.

“Well, if you know it is true then I cannot argue.” This reply was muffled slightly because Aragorn had bent his head to Faramir’s throat and was in the in the process of placing light kisses against the vulnerable flesh. Even so, Faramir knew that there was no mockery or teasing in Aragorn’s remark.

Stretching his arms high over his head for a moment, Faramir next brought them down around Aragorn’s neck, murmuring: “I love you, utterly and completely.”

“I love you, too.” Aragorn whispered before sealing his mouth over his lover’s. Their tongues slid hungrily together. Faramir moved his body beneath Aragorn’s with increasing urgency. The young captain had not managed yet in his time with Aragorn to overcome his surprise at the easy intimacy between them. Conversation turned to kisses and kissed shifted easily into gentle words or sometimes even grateful tears as the marvel of it struck Faramir anew. That one man could fulfill all the clamoring desires of his heart, mind and body awed Faramir and that that man should choose to reciprocate his desperate love was too wonderful to contemplate for long.

Moaning softly into their kiss, Faramir rubbed the inside of his legs along Aragorn’s long thighs before finally wrapping his legs around the older man’s waist. Dark hair cascaded over Aragorn’s fingers as he held Faramir’s head to deepen their kiss. Aragorn felt Faramir, who was now fully aroused, squirm helplessly as his penis pulsed against Aragorn’s belly.

“Faramir?” Aragorn grated the half question, freeing his mouth from Faramir’s only long enough to form the word.

Unwilling to spare the breath for a spoken reply, Faramir forced his legs up higher around Aragorn’s waist. No elaborate preparations would be necessary so soon after their last coupling. Faramir enjoyed Aragorn’s tender ministrations but he loved their second or third lovemaking in a night when precautions could be abandoned, when the recalcitrance of his own anatomy no longer delayed his desires or- more important to Faramir- his ability to accommodate his king’s desire. Now, Faramir’s muscles were yielding and receptive and he could take Aragorn inside him as easily and naturally as he took in a deep breath. As Aragorn guided himself gently into his lover’s willing body, Faramir watched. Buried to the root Aragorn braced above him his face contorted with love and passion and Faramir knew happiness.

The crowd gathered around the Gondorhim camp was visible to Halbarad even before he and Aragorn had truly left the open space of the Gathering proper and the ranger groaned inwardly. Aragorn had had two combats that day and Halbarad did not relish the prospect of more people milling about, pushing, shoving, pressing in from all directions. It was unavoidable, though. Aragorn had been greatly tempted to forget all the eyes upon him and race straight back to Faramir after his first combat round and spend as long as possible with the younger man before racing back to meet his next opponent. Such an exercise would, however, in Halbarad’s unsolicited opinion serve only to distract Faramir- already wringing his hands with worry over the evening’s reception, and tire Aragorn. Good sense had prevailed over ardor in the end and Aragorn had spent the scant time between bouts sipping water while his body recovered from the fatigue of his first battle.

Aragorn quickened his step as the two men neared the camp; eager to assist in the success of Faramir’s reception and to lend whatever support he could to the Captain. Halbarad followed with less enthusiasm if no less speed. Beside the lords, nobles and well-dressed merchants who passed inside the camp with ostentatious authority, there was a multitude of common tribesmen pressed along the perimeter of camp gazing in curiously. It had been decided the night previously that though the camp was barely large enough to accommodate all the nobles and tribal representatives who might choose to attend no one should be completely turned away. Thus the camp perimeter had been cordoned off and several exhibitions had been scheduled to occur within a good view of anyone looking on from outside.

As Aragorn and Halbarad approached they were able to hear Isu’s voice describing to the onlookers what was different about the armor and weapons of those Gondorhim going through their training regimen. The lad seemed to be enjoying his task immensely and if one of those in the crowd happened to shout a question then Isu answered with proud authority feeling himself an expert in a community he had so recently joined. Isu’s discourse was interrupted, though, as one of the tall willowy women Faramir had managed to hire from one of the dancing masters for the evening appeared carrying a tray piled high with oatcakes. As these exotic foodstuffs were being distributed among men who had expected only to catch a quick glimpse of the foreigners’ party before being chased away at spear point, Aragorn grinned at Halbarad.

Watching Isu smile encouragingly as the men regarded the oatcakes skeptically before taking small bites, Halbarad felt himself relent a little. It was not that he was insensible to the diplomatic achievements being made it was more that all his concentration and worry was bent upon the mysterious, possibly magical, definitely dangerous gauntlet and what they would do in two short days when the tournament was over and Aragorn would need to claim his prize. Struggling valiantly to rein in his anxiety, Halbarad managed a small smile. Seeing the reluctant upturn of lips, Aragorn laughed and with great affection he reached out to clasp his friend’s shoulder.

As so often happened between the two men, no discussion was needed to steer a course through the sea of Gondorhim soldiers and Khandrhim nobility. Halbarad understood that Aragorn would wish to be close to Faramir without appearing to hover or interfere while Aragorn knew Halbarad would want to avoid the larger groups of Khandrhim and remain very near Aragorn at all times. Each man respected the other’s preferences and Halbarad found himself able to relax enough to admire all the diligent preparation that had gone into the event.

Upon his first inspection of those present, Halbarad noticed Flyn- glass of wine in hand- listening to one of the wealthier Khandrhim merchants with what appeared to be rapt attention. Remembering the spirit of the evening Halbarad refrained from sneering but it took effort to keep his disdain hidden. The former lieutenant had been in a moody sulk since his demotion and before then he had been a nuisance and a bother. It annoyed Halbarad to watch the man now behave as though he were the most amiable and agreeable of people. He supposed Flyn might have some talent in ingratiating himself with important people at such events and if that were so then that talent might be of service to Gondor, even if Flyn’s main objective was self-promotion.

Though eager to remain relatively inconspicuous, Aragorn and Halbarad did sometimes approach small groups of Khandrhim who had a poor understanding of the Common tongue and Gondorhim who had no command if Khandiric at all to provide translations. Halbarad had never cared for translating texts but he did enjoy translating conversations. In speech complete accuracy was not desirable but speed was important. The mental gymnastics required to shape the flow and direction of a conversation while maintaining at least a small degree of accuracy was an interesting challenge. Occasionally he would turn a statement into a question, add a flattering remark, or omit an insensitive remark. Thus, Halbarad felt he was doing his part in fostering good relations. Aragorn left the translations to Halbarad and spoke to those of the Khandrhim who wished to congratulate him on his success in the tournament. Both men, however, took care to emphasize that they were not Gondorhim- that though they traveled together for convenience what the rangers might do had naught to do with Faramir and his men.

Taking another survey of the crowd, Halbarad suddenly froze. Not a dozen yards away stood the Variag officer speaking languidly with one of nobles of a small tribe. The man was no longer wearing armor and a helmet but a formal robe. The lack of anything to conceal his face made the telltale signs of a mixed heritage clear. The twisted features rising up from a silk collar gave Halbarad the impression of a wild boar in a tiara and he grimaced. In response to the image something animal-like arose in Halbarad and he altered his stance, lowered his head and bunched the muscles in his shoulders. The hairs on his neck stood up as though in an effort to make the ranger appear bigger and more threatening.

Aware of the sudden tension in his friend Aragorn followed Halbarad’s gaze. Seeing the officer Aragorn studied him a moment. The reception was intended for any who wished to come whether in friendship or curiosity. Still it was a little surprising that so obviously an opponent would wish to participate. The Variag, though he was very likely aware of their presence, ignored them and after a moment Aragorn shrugged and, setting Halbarad the example, turned his attention elsewhere. It was not so easy, however, for Halbarad to dismiss the presence of one he regarded as a dangerous enemy and it was some time before he was able to keep from glaring balefully at the officer at every opportunity that presented itself.

As the evening proceeded Halbarad was gradually able to let the unwelcome presence of the Variag officer slip to the back of his mind. Faramir, though the young Captain’s presence was much in demand, managed to pass by the rangers several times to offer shy smiles and a few quiet words. Isu also appeared after those gathered outside the camp dispersed the sky having grown too dark to see anything within. The lad listened to Halbarad’s almost simultaneous translations from Khandoric to Common and from Common to Khandoric with awe. The first time Isu realized the Halbarad had modified something one of the lesser nobles had said, he gaped at the ranger. When the two interlocutors had transferred their attention from the ranger Halbarad gave Isu a wink and the lad had to throw his hand over his mouth to conceal his grin.

It was in the midst of another conversation in which Halbarad served as translator that the ranger’s gaze lit upon a sight that caused his mouth to go dry and for him to break off mid-sentence. Flyn, obviously drunk was standing beside the Variag officer talking conspiratorially. Halbarad was desperate to break up the little colloquy, preferably by delivering a heavy handed slap to Flyn but the two men he had been translating for had begun agitating for him to continue. Trying to dislodge the two Halbarad spoke tersely, making it clear he wished to be elsewhere by his tone and stance. By this time Aragorn had also noticed the officer and Flyn together and had begun to move forward only to be halted after a few steps by a man wishing him luck in the tournament. Aragorn was polite but spared the man only a few moments before continuing on. Halbarad abandoned politeness and caught up to Aragorn just as he came upon Flyn and the officer.

Their approach had been noticed by the Variag, if not by Flyn, and the officer addressed the former lieutenant with words obviously meant for the rangers. “It is a pleasure to have talked with you, sir. Though, skeptical at first I have been given new hope that there may be amity between our peoples. I lament that more of the Gondorhim are not as interested in true cooperation as you are, my friend.”

Flyn blinked blearily at this oration and smiled inanely. Apparently the man was too drunk to sense the nastiness behind the words. Smirking at Aragorn and Halbarad the Variag moved away. Halbarad watched him retreat before sidling up beside Flyn taking the man’s arm in a fierce grip and hissing low and dangerous: “Now just what sort of nonsense have you been prattling?”

“I’ve been making friends.” Flyn slurred, struggling ineffectually to free himself from Halbarad’s bruising hold. “Isn’t that what all this rigmarole is for? To make friends with the savages?”

“We need to get him away from here.” Aragorn told Halbarad frowning at Flyn’s comment as he came up on the man’s other side.

“Is something wrong?” Aragorn turned unhappily to see that Isu had followed them and was now regarding the three men with an anxious expression.

“Nay, lad.” Aragorn answered attempting to sound reassuring. “Flyn has had a bit too much of the wine. Halbarad and I will see him safely to his tent. Go to Lieutenant Warin and see if he is in need of any assistance.” Still looking apprehensive, Isu turned to obey and together Aragorn and Halbarad half dragged, half carried Flyn to his quarters.

Crossing the threshold of Flyn’s tent, Halbarad released the man with a shove and Aragorn turned up the lamp. Crouching down next to Flyn, Halbarad pulled the man by the collar until their faces were nearly touching. “I’d like to know what a little slug like you could possibly have had to say keep a Vairag so very interested.” The question was spoken mildly almost kindly and Flyn shuffled helplessly in Halbarad grip trying to move crablike along the ground to escape the ranger’s politely inquisitive gaze.

“I don’t know why you care what I do or say.” Flyn answered defiance melting into self-pity. “I’m surprised you can even spare the time to notice who I talk to. I would think you two mongrels would be too busy fighting over the bitch in heat to concern yourself with what men do.”

Had Flyn been less intent upon unburdening himself of the sentiments that had been long building in him, he might have paid better heed to the rage simmering in Halbarad’s eyes. “The world has gone mad and the Steward’s son behaves like a camp-follower and a couple of low-born wild men are treated as though they were the kings of old.”

With these final words, Halbarad’s anger boiled over. Flyn’s eyes widened and he tried to fall backwards too late to prevent Halbarad’s fist from connecting with his face. Clearly unconscious Flyn lay still but Halbarad’s rage was far from spent. With a feral growl the ranger leapt upon the unresisting man and lifted Flyn’s head by the hair preparing to slam it into the hard packed earth.

“Halbarad!” Aragorn had been wrestling to control his own growing anger at Flyn, Thus, the sudden fury of Halbarad’s attack had caught him off-guard. He had recovered quickly, however, and his arms now circled Halbarad’s waist in an effort to restrain the other man. Though, Halbarad had gone still in Aragorn’s grip his muscles thrummed and ached with potential violence.

“Halbarad let him go.” For the space of several heartbeats, Halbarad tried unsuccessfully to obey the softly spoken command. Finally, though he was able to force his fingers to loose their grip on Flyn’s hair. Aragorn kept his arms about Halbarad as he rose to his feet breathing heavily and shaking with the slow release of tension. Aragorn intended his embrace to be a reassurance rather than a restraint this time for Halbarad did not often lose control and Aragorn suspected that there must have been more provocation than he knew. Halbarad was virtually immune to personal insult, all his pride was invested in his people and in his chieftain. He could not endure to hear Aragorn disparaged or the heritage of the Dunedain mocked.

Aragorn chided himself for being so caught up with his anger that he neglected to observe Halbarad’s reactions. Aragorn’s own fury had been born of a nearly irresistible need to defend Faramir. He had been torn between anger and sadness that anyone who knew Faramir- even as superficially as Flyn did- could say such stupid, malicious, spiteful things. It was a deep grief to Aragorn that a man who had so clearly benefited from Faramir’s generosity, nobility and compassion could speak so viciously about him. Finally, the fact that Faramir should be criticized for loving Aragorn had made it difficult for Aragorn to keep from doing as Halbarad had done.

“It is all right.” Aragorn tried to soothe but his words did not calm Halbarad.

“It is not all right. It is not all right that such as he should say such things unrebuked. It is not all right when you deny yourself what is rightfully yours so that he may live in conceited ignorance and comparative prosperity. It is not all right that our people should sacrifice to keep him safe in his narrow-minded viciousness.”

“Do you think he should thank us, Halbarad?”

“It is not just him.” Halbarad almost spat the words. “It is well to protect free people from the Enemy. It is well that the Dunedain wait to reclaim their past until it may be done without danger to innocents. It is well that those best able to bear the burdens of exile and anonymity take on these hardships rather than inflict them on others but, Aragorn, what if those for whom we sacrifice are incapable of respect or courtesy, what if it is not innocence we protect but narrow-minded parochialism, what then?”

`How long has this been coming’ Aragorn asked himself as he searched for something to say that might help assuage the helpless anger that had taken hold of his friend. “Such men as Flyn are the exception rather than the rule, Halbarad. He is no great specimen of what a man may be, `tis true, but neither is he the worst thing in this world. Do not think upon him and his ilk, Barad nin.” Aragorn did not know if his words were having an effect or if Halbarad was merely recovering his self-possession naturally as time passed but he felt Halbarad begin to sag gently against him as his anger drained.

“We are old campaigners, you and I. We have seen storms and tempests, battled in the fiercest cold and the most oppressive heat. We have seen the worst of what several hard decades could produce and our spirit has not diminished. Flyn is an inconvenience, a cold drizzle or a swarm of gnats. We both know how such little things can steal the heart of a man faster than an enemy host but it is not so with us, Halbarad. It is not so with us.”

“No, it is not so with us.” Halbarad answered his voice unusually hoarse as he pulled away from Aragorn. The ranger felt acutely embarrassed and he wished desperately that he had not displayed so much weakness in front of his chieftain. Halbarad never wanted Aragorn to have to worry about him, or his emotional state. He would make it up to Aragorn. He would not lose control again.

While Halbarad collected himself, Aragorn dutifully inspected Flyn. The man had managed to move backward even as Halbarad struck him and because of that the damage was not as bad as it could have been. Even so, the man would not feel like talking for a while and that Aragorn reasoned was just as well. As Aragorn finished turning Flyn on his side and stood up dusting his hands Halbarad was able to address him in something approaching his usual tone and manner: “I am afraid I have cost us whatever chance we had of learning what questions the Variag was asking. I’m sorry about that.”

Aragorn shrugged. “I don’t think he was in much of a state to speak very lucidly on such details in any case.”

“Still, I think we must assume that all the details of the camp are now known to the enemy. And I’m sure he spoke at length of the bond between you and Faramir.” Halbarad felt his ire heat once more and he deliberately took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself.

“Flyn knew nothing of the bond between me and Faramir. He will have had much to say about us, I do not doubt, but what he will have described will be a sordid little dalliance appealing only to a prurient interest.” Aragorn’s voice was hard as he said this but as he continued his demeanor softened somewhat. “Besides I don’t think he will have told all he knows about the Gondorhim camp. He is a fool and he talks too much but I do not believe him capable of selling his entire allegiance for a sympathetic ear. No, the Variags have learned little more than rumor and gossip from Flyn.”

Halbarad’s head ached and he suddenly felt dreadfully tired but he needed to know why the Variags would even be interested in Flyn’s complaints. Halbarad knew they were interested in Aragorn, more interested than they should be and Halbarad wished desperately to understand. “There is something here, Aragorn, that we don’t understand, something that if we could only figure it out then everything would become clear. What do Gandalf, Denethor and the Variags know of this Gauntlet that we do not? What is it we do not see?”

In his agitation Halbarad had begun rubbing at his eyes as though in an attempt to clear them and Aragorn feeling that his friend was clearly overwrought put an arm around the other man. “It is not a mystery we are likely to solve tonight. Let it be for a while.”

“Come, we will need to tell Faramir of this incident.” Aragorn paused a moment, hoping there might be a way to tell Faramir all he had a right to know without going into excessive detail about all Flyn had said in his drunkenness. “While we wait for him I don’t think he will begrudge us the use of the camp’s herbs. Perhaps there is something I can prepare that might soothe you a little, Halbarad.”

“I don’t want anything that might lessen my vigilance.”

“No. You will take what I prepare, though, because I tell you to do so.” Aragorn actually sounded amused as he squeezed his friend’s shoulder.

Halbarad could only grunt in affirmation of this simple truth. With a final look of contempt for Flyn, Halbarad followed Aragorn from the tent.

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