Faramir Fiction Archive

Family Honor (NC-17)

Written by Mcguffan

14 July 2006 | 162886 words

Chapter 6

Aragorn lay awake a few moments with his eyes closed. He had sensed that he was being watched but this did not trigger the response such a feeling usually aroused. The watcher was a benign presence and the ranger’s hyper-vigilance relaxed. It took only a moment for Aragorn to realize all that had happened the night before and to recognize who the warm body next to him and the gentle gaze running over him had to belong to. “Good morning, Faramir.” Smiling, Aragorn opened his eyes.

“Good morning.” Faramir responded. The ranger caught the end of an uncertain expression in the young man’s eyes but it was quickly replaced by a look of happiness and tranquility as he saw Aragorn’s smile and heard the ranger speak his name.

“I hope you slept well. There is much to do today. Does your head ache? Are you sore?” The ranger stroked Faramir’s dark hair from his face. Faramir nuzzled against Aragorn’s neck and, for a moment, he seemed to be purring with the soothing touch.

“I feel marvelous.” Faramir detected no after-effect of the liquor he had drunk and though he did feel sore he felt marvelous also. He liked the small ache in his body and he would let nothing pass his lips that could be interpreted as indicating complaint or dissatisfaction. Indeed, the mild discomfort reassured him that all that had happened before was no dream but wonderful reality. The young man had not the least concern for his own well-being but Aragorn- at once, so strange and so familiar- could he be feeling any misgivings for sharing so much.

“Are… are you well? I know you did not deem it advisable to spend the night-” Aragorn stopped Faramir with a gentle kiss. It was clear to the ranger that what the younger man was truly asking was: `Do you regret it? Would you rather you were not here, with me?’

“Dear one, I feel wonderful. I am glad for last night. I am glad you know the truth. It might be slightly more decorous if I slept elsewhere but those who take an interest in such comings and going are no doubt already aware of the time I spend here. Besides I have found that the misery of being apart from you is too great a price to pay for the appearance of propriety.”

“Me too, my lord.” Faramir answered with some relief as he snuggled even closer. The two lay together contentedly for another few minutes but neither one had the luxury of remaining in bed all day.

“I would like to show you more of the gathering this afternoon if you have time.” Aragorn announced sitting up after kissing Faramir’s temple. “I think you have seen little of the markets and the dancers, jugglers and acrobats. It would be a shame for you to miss all the entertainment.”

“I would like that very much, thank you.” Faramir had risen when he saw Aragorn’s intention to get up. There would be a meeting today of the lesser tribes. Aragorn had told Faramir to expect more talk and less alcohol and the young captain, though still nervous, felt an inner core of peace, of tranquility that he had rarely experienced before.

Aragorn nodded at the acceptance of his offer. Spending time with Faramir would be something for the ranger to look forward to. He hoped it would be an enjoyable experience for Faramir also. Though, it was difficult to doubt the younger man’s feelings when his every word and gesture, his every expression and movement was saturated in love and reverence.

Pulling on his trousers, the ranger began a methodical stretch of his muscles. Faramir watched intently as Aragorn’s body moved, the muscles tightening under the skin. He knew that while he was socializing with the diplomats and other dignitaries his lord would be fighting. It had been this thought that had given him such a pensive expression while he watched Aragorn sleep.

“Are you truly certain you wish to do this yourself, my lord?” Faramir asked, finally summoning the courage. He had been considering what might be done to keep Aragorn from having to participate in the tournament and he hurriedly explained his suggestion. “I know you said yesterday that I should not seem to care much for the gauntlet but there are a few competent swordsmen here. Gorm and Hilo are already paired together and they are quite good. Both of them could be entered in the tournament. Either one could win and… and if that didn’t work out then, well then I am sure I could think of some other way.”

“That is a very kind thought.” Aragorn said, putting an arm around Faramir. “This is my task, though. It is my responsibility.”

“It grieves me to think of you doing work from which I could easily spare you.”

“Don’t fret, Faramir. A tournament is no great hardship.” Aragorn answered. Faramir smiled. Though he was sensible that he ought to be able to do more to protect and serve his king, he did not want to try Aragorn’s patience by pressing him on a subject he obviously regarded as closed.

Anger boiled through Flyn as he stomped out of camp towards the tournament fields. He had managed to enter Gorm and Hilo into the second round but it had cost two bolts of fine cloth and a dozen steel pins. The lieutenant knew the grubby little native had been taking advantage of him but there had been nothing he could do. He had argued, done his best to haggle but the man wouldn’t budge. After that he had to scamper around trying to find someone to tell him something about the great tribes for the captain. Flyn believed he had done a fairly creditable job, given how little time he had left over to deal with Faramir’s questions. But, rather than get gratitude all he had received were suspicious looks from the damn ranger who had apparently regaled the captain with a veritable who’s who of Khandrim nobility. If Faramir was going to have Strider find his information for him why had he wasted Flyn’s time.

Further fraying, Flyn’s already frayed temper had been the disgusting smiles and loving expressions that he had been forced to witness before Strider ran off to the tournament. The lieutenant had been pleased to see a rift developing between the two yesterday but the men had clearly made up. Though Flyn sincerely disliked Strider, he couldn’t blame the ranger for pursuing Faramir’s favor. If Flyn had possessed Strider’s aura of dominance and danger then he might have taken up a career seducing men like Faramir too. Flyn’s tastes did not really run to men but there was a powerful attraction to the idea of fucking one’s supposed superiors. Flyn did not possess much in the way of sexual magnetism, however, and so he needed to be subtler to get his way. He believed he could succeed very well with his malleable captain but the ranger was increasingly becoming an obstacle.

The final straw, though, had been when Faramir announced after breakfast that Flyn would have to attend one of the tedious sessions of diplomatic niggling. Apparently there were a great many small quarrels between the tribes. People lodging complaints about small raids, the loss of a few goats, the use of the few sources of water further east, the return of dowries for repudiated wives and the like. These matters were too small to concern the tribal leaders but they had to be dealt with. Gondor had nothing to do with any of these quarrels but Faramir had ordered him to attend that evening, saying that it was important for Gondor to participate in all the meetings and to show an interest in all the affairs of the Khandrim. Flyn knew the truth, though. Faramir was punishing him for trying to keep Strider and the captain away from each other. It would not even have surprised Flyn if the ranger had put Faramir up to it. He had been so incensed at the situation that he had left Gildel to handle things at camp and come to watch the fights, ostensibly to scout for Gorm and Hilo but mostly because he just felt bloody-minded.

Flyn watched the various contests, staying a few minutes whenever he saw a man who appeared to be particularly skilled. Eventually he caught sight of the object of his earlier irritation. Curious, the lieutenant elbowed his way through several onlookers until he had an unobstructed view of Strider facing a lad of about sixteen. A good crowd had gathered which indicated that the match was particularly interesting to the gawkers. The lieutenant wondered if it was just the excitement of watching an obvious foreigner match up against a local. Flyn surmised that the ranger had apparently already drawn blood on his young opponent since there was a small cut on the youth’s forearm from which a tiny bead of blood had oozed. Therefore Flyn was witnessing the second of the three potential bouts

Even Flyn who was no friend to Strider had to admire the ranger’s swordsmanship. The larger crowd became more understandable as Flyn watched the ranger move. His footwork was good but there was something more than technical accuracy in the advances and pivots. Strider moved with slow deliberation wasting no motion until suddenly he struck so quickly he was a blur. The downy cheeked adolescent hadn’t a chance, though Flyn did notice that the lad was not completely without talent. The lieutenant wondered why the bout was lasting quite this long but in the next instant Strider’s long sword darted up and cut his opponent neatly along the forearm.

There was a murmur of appreciation from the throng and a man holding a parchment- almost certainly the assigned judge announced something in his own language. It was a good win and the spatter of applause from the experienced among the onlookers gave the proof. It took more skill not to hurt someone one must cut in a fight than it did to tear one’s opponent open. That fact explained the itinerant doctors swarming over the field looking for patients. Flyn reminded himself that he needed to make sure there was someone trustworthy on hand for Hilo and Gorm. The lieutenant did not expect his men to get injured but if something should happen he didn’t want his countrymen in the hands of the local healers.

The youth- who Strider had defeated with such careful precision, first looked surprised then dismayed. Flyn watched fascinated as it seemed for a moment the young man was going to cry. He pulled himself together, though and accepted the hand Strider graciously offered. It seemed the ranger had more to the say to the lad and he spoke earnestly for a while, in a voice too soft for Flyn to hear even if he could have understood. The lieutenant had no idea what Strider could be saying but he found that his curiosity was overcoming everything else. There was something odd about the ranger and he was determined to find out exactly what it was.

“Well fought, well fought the both of you.” Flyn announced with a large grin as he slapped both Strider and then the youth on the shoulder. The youth who had been completely absorbed in whatever the ranger was saying took one look at Flyn and murmured something to Strider before bolting away. The ranger looked profoundly irritated and called to the boy but he was leaving at a near run. Flyn felt a moment of satisfaction at disrupting the tete a tete. He disliked it on principal whenever a conversation took place that he was excluded from.

“That’s one round for you, then, master Strider. How many more before you reach your prize?” Flyn asked, sounding offensively jovial.

“It will depend upon how many new combatants enter the second round and upon how many participants are wounded too badly to continue.” Strider answered after a pause that had stretched longer than Flyn regarded as entirely polite.

“Well, I suspect you’ll want a drink. Come on, there must be decent ale somewhere amid so many people.” Flyn made as if to take Strider’s elbow but the ranger adroitly dodged.

“I think I would prefer to wash. The dust is thick on the field.” Strider would truly have preferred to begin making discreet inquiries after Gollum but he seemed to have acquired a companion. Perhaps it was all to the good, the ranger consoled himself, Faramir should still be closeted with the tribes for an hour or so more but Strider did wish to be present at the camp when he returned.

“Don’t trust the local stuff? Can’t say as I blame you. Besides the young captain might be back soon and I daresay he’ll be pleased at this victory.” Flyn said this last with a bit of a leer and again Strider wished he had the luxury of being able to knock the man’s teeth down his throat without making trouble. Restraining himself the ranger’s only response was grim silence.

“I shouldn’t wonder if our Faramir might be prevailed upon to find you employment somewhere or other after this mission. The two of you get on well and your fighting prowess is undeniable. The young captain can no doubt be very obliging.” Flyn enjoyed provoking Strider. He knew the ranger’s game, snuggling up to Faramir in hopes of his own advantage. There was no shame in such a scheme but the ranger was acting as though the suggestion offended him and that made teasing irresistible.

“The captain is not as suggestible as your remarks imply. I would think that if anyone were to take advantage of the captain’s good nature there would be very dire consequences.” Strider allowed the full force of his threat to register upon the lieutenant before continuing. “Moreover, I do not seek advantage either from Captain Faramir or from anyone else.”

The warning in Strider’s tone was not lost on Flyn and he was intimidated. Eventually though he rallied and took back the conversation. “If so then you are the only one in the tournament of whom that might be said. It makes me wonder why you bother with all this rigmarole.”

“I have said. Gandalf is interested in studying the gauntlet and I agreed to make a try for it.” Strider’s indignation had caused him to speak with more bluntness than he had intended. He castigated himself silently: he should know better than to let the lieutenant taunt him but allowing others to ascribe bad motives to him had always been difficult for the ranger who, despite the many indignities he was accustomed to suffer, still had his pride.

“I hope the wizard means to pay you for your efforts. Doing favors for friends is all well and good but a man must eat.” Flyn was surprised by the vehemence of the ranger’s denials. He seemed sincere, but if he were not here in hopes of gaining something from Faramir then why was here. Flyn had watched Strider. He had listened to Faramir even when the captain was at his most boring. He had been kind and solicitous. No hint of disgust or complacency was discernable in the ranger as Faramir threw himself at the older man. All this could not have been accomplished without effort. Yet if Strider weren’t hunting for some favor from the Steward’s younger son why did he bother? Why did he become so… territorial when Faramir was mentioned?

“I do well enough without… selling my favors.”

Flyn laughed. “A fine sentiment indeed but necessity will lead us all to compromise. A man cannot remain young forever. I’m sure you do well enough now, hunting for your food, taking on the occasional commission as guide but in another ten years or so, what then? You will not move so fast with growing stiffness in your joints and bones grown brittle with the cold. Perhaps you have some family to take you in. Perhaps you have a brother or a sister who will give you a place by the fire and add another cup of water to the soup. It will be charity, though and you may wish you had been less fastidious in times past.”

“You paint a grim picture.” Strider was rather more depressed by the other’s words than he might have wished. He did sometimes wonder what would become of him if destiny saw fit to wait another generation. He supposed he would do his duty and marry a woman of the Dunedain, father a child so the cycle could continue then hope an orc arrow found him before old age made him useless to everyone. He did not wish to abandon all hope of marrying Arwen, of winning back his kingdom and repaying all the old debts but if the chance to strike the decisive blow against the dark lord did not come soon then he would have to resign himself to certain sacrifices.

“Oh it is a grim thing to rely on others for your fate. Even the most well-meaning of people grow tired of supporting a proud old man. Take my advice, my friend, make provision for yourself now. The wizard and others of your friends are doubtless grateful, now, for all you do on their behalf but they will not remember you when you have your own needs. If the chance comes to enrich yourself and it does no harm to others then have pity on your future and take it.” Flyn finished smugly. Strider could win this tournament. Given what he had seen already it was certainly possible. If the ranger did win Denethor’s prize then Flyn would like to buy it. The Steward could make Strider a wealthy man and it was good to let the ranger consider the advantages of a secure future. If Strider balked, however, then Flyn would, of course, have to gain the gauntlet through other- less amicable- methods.

Strider had no answer to the lieutenant’s bleak description. Flyn was a schemer, certainly. Whether he had some stratagem in mind at the moment or if he was merely on the lookout for anything he could turn to his advantage, though, Aragorn was not prepared to say. In truth, the ranger was a little disgusted with himself for allowing Flyn’s words to darken his spirits as much as they had. The wretched man was only testing to what extent Strider was amenable to bribery that was all, yet Aragorn’s gloom persisted.

The two men walked on in silence then, until they reached the Gondorhim camp. Flyn decided it would be prudent to take his leave before Strider could reassert himself in the conversation. “Well, I have my duties. I hope you will be able to occupy yourself until the captain’s return. Good day, Strider.”

Aragorn, glad to see the back of the lieutenant, gave only the merest acknowledgment of his departure. He did feel a bit better when Flyn was gone, but he had the sudden desperate need to be useful to someone else immediately or else lose himself to melancholy. The painfully slow and unrewarding task of asking questions in hopes of overhearing something of Gollum would be unendurable in the ranger’s present state of mind. He had to do something else. For a moment, Aragorn thought of Faramir and smiled. The younger man’s presence was always such a comfort and reassurance. The joy Faramir felt in his presence was undeniable and to be needed and desired so completely, soothed something raw and aching in the wandering king. Faramir, with his bright eyes and beautiful mind was a source of never ending delight and for a moment Strider allowed himself to imagine he had the younger man in his arms that very moment.

Faramir was not resting happily in his embrace, though. Strider chided himself a moment for so selfishly wishing to have exclusive dominion over the Steward’s son’s company. Then suppressing a sigh, he looked about for something he might do. Observing that several animated discussions were taking place, Strider made his way over to where a large group of Gondorhim soldiers were gathered. Several of the men had already had a few hours liberty and many more were looking forward to their own leave. Relief flooding him, the ranger was soon bombarded with questions about the best things to be experienced at the gathering and demands that he explain certain situations that the soldiers had witnessed and found incomprehensible. By the time Faramir returned to his camp, several hours later, Strider was contentedly holding court among a throng of deferentially attentive soldiers.

Coming into camp, mind awhirl with recent discussion, Faramir was suddenly arrested by a strange sight: Aragorn stood amid the Gondorhim. He was speaking in a low voice, his grey eyes seeming to draw the gaze of every man present. He was completely lost in the moment and the light Faramir had first perceived in his dream surrounded him. The expression of the men, though, and the subtle but unmistakable connection between Aragorn and the soldiers was what truly stopped Faramir’s breath and caused his heart to flutter. Something was happening beneath and above the words Aragorn was speaking. The light was coming from Aragorn but it was taken up and magnified somehow by the men surrounding him, the ranger and the soldiers seemed to be participating in a communion of radiance.

Faramir was not able to judge how long he remained a silent witness but eventually Aragorn looked up and caught his eye. The ranger seemed suddenly to become aware of himself and as he did the light about him diminished. He smiled self-consciously, raising his hands in a gesture Faramir could not help but see as a benediction. After a few moments more, the crowd around the ranger began to disperse. Faramir paid close attention to the men as they left. He noticed that while some men seemed unaware that anything of significance had taken place others seemed quiet and thoughtful. The remainder of the soldiers, though smiled as a faint glow still surrounded them as they went on their way, leaving Aragorn and Faramir facing one another across the camp.

The salutation with which the young captain greeted the ranger resembled a bow much more than the casual nod he had striven to achieve. Faramir could not help himself. It caused him an almost physical pain to hide the love and respect that overflowed his heart. Faramir wanted to go to Aragorn drop to his knees and kiss his hand and it was only with great difficulty that he restrained himself. He knew the necessity of secrecy but such was Faramir’s elation that he wanted the whole world to know the truth and rejoice as he did. Forcing himself to turn away from Strider for a moment, Faramir sought out his two lieutenants and summoned them to hear their reports of what had been happening in camp during his absence.

It was nearly an hour before Faramir was finally shed of his subordinates. Gildel had delivered a succinct summary of events but Flyn had been unresponsive and sullen. The man was still sulking about being sent to attend the meetings set up to adjudicate minor disputes between tribes. Faramir had explained that morning why it was prudent for Gondor to be as involved as possible in all the proceedings but Flyn had spent the day coming up with a new list objections. Finally, Faramir was left with no alternative but to reiterate his first order and dismiss both lieutenants. Unlike Boromir whose leadership style was much more assertive, Faramir liked to explain his decisions whenever possible but Flyn’s caviling had long ceased to be productive.

Faramir realized as he sent Flyn on his way that he was not particularly worried that the lieutenant was unhappy. Faramir had considered giving the assignment to Gildel but, though the other man would have complained less he lacked something of Flyn’s polish. Gildel would have approached the meeting as something to be stoically endured, standing quietly at attention for hours until all the business had been concluded. Flyn was much more accomplished at ingratiating himself to others. In addition, Gildel had the better relationship with the Gondorhim soldiers and thus he was a better choice to leave in charge of the camp. The captain was always most comfortable when his orders gained a consensus but in this instance he felt fully justified in his decision.

Besides, now that he had disposed of Flyn he could dedicate himself to attending upon Aragorn. Faramir had a great deal to tell his lord and he had analyzed his every interaction with Khandrim in the light of discussing it all with Aragorn later. Trying to appear nonchalant Faramir set out in search of the ranger. He found him quickly but he was with a few of the men who had been with him earlier. They were not talking but the men with him had an air of soldiers doing their duty as they formed a rough circle around the ranger. They are protecting him, Faramir realized as he was first scrutinized, then saluted before the men parted allowing him to go near the ranger. Perhaps they are not quite aware that that is what they are doing but in their own way they recognize him, too. This thought inspired Faramir with a sudden thrill of patriotic pride and he stood taller as he approached Gondor’s uncrowned king.

“Master Strider, I hope you were successful in your first contest.” Faramir was certain that Aragorn had won but he did want to hear details and it was as good an excuse as any to address the older man.

“Yes, I was fortunate. My opponent was inexperienced. I trust your own business proceeded satisfactorily.”

“For the most part, yes. I did have a few questions though, regarding the relative position of several of the smaller tribes. If I might beg a few moments of your time then I would like to consult the maps.” Faramir answered, very eager to have the ranger to himself.

“I am at your service.” Aragorn replied with a smile. There was then a slight delay as Faramir waited to follow his lord before realizing that he was supposed to lead. Feeling both awkward and embarrassed about walking before his king Faramir quickly made his way toward his tent. Aragorn followed, still smiling.

Throughout the day, thoughts of Aragorn had pervaded Faramir’s thoughts. Rather than distracting him, however, the captain found that a subtle confidence and intensity of focus had been with him. Faramir was accustomed to approaching new situations with a sense of terrible vulnerability and self-consciousness. Sometimes he wondered if he retained flesh and bone, so exposed and unprotected did the raw meat of his nerves and the delicate flutter of his heart seem to him. Aragorn’s affection provided the beginnings of a defense, however. Faramir would have had difficulty explaining exactly how it was that the fact of Aragorn’s being made the world a much safer place. Finally freed from the desperate and nearly impossible task of safeguarding his fragile sense of self, Faramir’s agile mind devoted itself to keeping pace with the politics of the lesser tribes.

Now, still reeling with the sensations of being in love and of finding his king, Faramir wanted both to embrace Aragorn and to hear the older man’s commentary on the day’s events. Despite his desires, however, Faramir was somewhat reluctant to throw himself on Aragorn’s neck and begin a breathless account of all he had done and found interesting since they had parted that morning. He was partly ashamed of his diffidence for he yearned to feel the older man’s arms about him and hear his opinions delivered in that wonderful rich voice. Faramir could not initiate contact, though. The fear of displeasing and then of being rejected had been with him too long to be gotten over in a few days. Thus, Faramir stood within his own tent a few from his beloved, his arms held reluctantly at his sides.

Fortunately, for Faramir’s happiness, he did not have long too wait for Aragorn to invite him to show the affection he felt. As soon as the tent flap was securely closed, Aragorn turned toward Faramir and after regarding the younger man for a moment and taking in his half timid, half expectant smile the ranger opened his arms. With a soft sigh, Faramir fell against the ranger. He kissed his shoulder first for that was where his lips happened to be, but then he tipped his head up and met Aragorn’s lips with his own.

“I suspect you know the maps better than I do by this time, sweetheart.” Aragorn commented when the kiss finally ended.

“I confess that was a pretext.” Faramir admitted nuzzling the ranger’s neck. “I would, though, like to hear your opinion on a few matters if that is all right.”

“I am at your service.” The ranger repeated running his fingers through Faramir’s silky black hair admiring how the unkempt ebony locks framed Faramir’s face.

Smiling gratefully, Faramir disengaged himself from Aragorn’s arms and busied himself seeing to their comfort. First, he gestured for the ranger to be seated, then he bustled about finding wine and building up the fire. Faramir felt the irony of playing the host to Aragorn when everything Faramir possessed belonged by rights to the older man. It made him even more determined to see that his lord received every show of honor and deference Faramir could give. For his part, Aragorn was deeply moved by Faramir’s solicitude. He did not, however, wish to stand on ceremony with the younger man. Aragorn had never needed the trappings of leadership to bolster his authority. Aragorn in his fiercer aspect could make a crown and scepter utterly superfluous. At the moment, though, Strider would rather have intimacy and closeness than formality.

“Come Faramir, sit beside and I shall be completely at my ease.” Faramir who had been on the point of inquiring if Aragorn’s wine was suitably spiced put down the small jar of nutmeg and settled himself beside his lord. “Now, my love tell me about your day.” Aragorn continued, placing an arm around Faramir and drawing him close.

“The meeting today was much more congenial than yesterday.” Faramir began, quickly relaxing as he recounted the details of the day. “Much more of substance was discussed. Everyone with territory west of the variags seemed willing enough to sign a peace accord. I suppose this was heartening but I did not get the impression a treaty has much lasting import in itself.”

“True enough.” The ranger agreed. “Alliances shift like sand in the desert if there is nothing but words holding them in place.” Faramir nodded unsurprised. It was as he had suspected. Faramir was too much the student of history to believe otherwise. He could not help but think though that when Gondor made promises she did not retract them the moment they became inconvenient. The few counterexamples proved the general rule. Even so, those counter examples were damning. Faramir felt his face color as he recalled that Aragorn’s ancestors had made attempts to return to their kingdom and been rebuffed by Faramir’s forefathers. To reinstate the honor of his own house Faramir knew that the broken oaths had to be mended, the land returned to its proper ruler.

“I spent the majority of my time trying to find some means of truly binding Khand and Gondor in alliance. I actually received two offers of marriage this afternoon and half a dozen inquiries concerning Boromir’s eligibility. The Steward, however, would never countenance a union between my brother and a maiden of Khand. In any case, I cannot think an alliance based on marriage much less fragile than an alliance based on general good intentions.”

While he spoke, Faramir darted quick furtive glances at Aragorn. He was deliberating going through his whole thought process in hope that when Aragorn inevitably found the flaws in his reasoning he would know exactly where he went wrong. The younger man knew his presumption and he was in fear of boring the ranger but Aragorn remained attentive.

“That leaves trade. The difficulty there, though, is that Khand really doesn’t have anything Gondor needs. I made many inquiries and the Khandrim cannot produce staples anywhere near as cheaply as Rohan or even Gondor herself. There are of course luxury goods, spices, mosaics, a wealth of interesting historical artifacts etc. Unfortunately, the market for such goods is not particularly strong and I doubt very much it will improve.”

“Gondor could buy from Khand at a loss. It would be an act of humanity and would certainly serve to make Khand look to Gondor rather than Mordor. Again, however, the lord Denethor would be absolutely unpersuadable.” Faramir said decisively then suddenly realized that he had been more critical of his father than he truly thought prudent, he added. “And he is right to consider economy. Gondor is vastly wealthy compared to Khand but there is not such a surplus that we can pay twice what we do now for bread.” Aragorn mulled the difficulty for a while. Reaching into his pack he retrieved his pipe. Lifting an eyebrow in inquiry Faramir quickly insisted that he smoke as much as he liked. The ranger thanked him and continued to ponder.

“I had considered,” Faramir blurted after only a brief silence “that there are several improvements that might be made in the treasury’s accounting. I fear that the system of book-keeping is somewhat out of date. More money could be found if the treasury’s whole process of operation were modernized. This might help off-set the loss of trading with Khand but not enough.” Faramir had not been entirely certain he wanted to share this information for it put him in rather a bad light. He found, however, that he could not conceal it. The pleasure of having, at long last, a confidant temporarily overrode his desire to conceal his flaws.

“Why have these improvements not already been made on general principal.” Aragorn asked, taking his pipe from his mouth as he was broken from his reverie.

“Ah well,” Faramir had known the question must come but he still flushed. “My lord Denethor has not had time to review my- the proposal.” Aragorn, pipe in hand waited for Faramir to continue. The younger man wilted under the look of gentle inquiry and admitted: “I- I am afraid I lack the initiative to begin the project on my own authority.” It sounded pathetic even to Faramir and the young man cringed to think that Aragorn must now see him as a coward. Aragorn only nodded, though, inviting Faramir by a gentle pressure on the young man’s shoulder to move still closer.

“Do you know why goods are so expensive to produce in Khand?” Aragorn’s question startled Faramir a little for he had been silently pledging that he would take the next opportunity to institute reforms in the treasury and brave Denethor’s anger.

“The land is arid and inhospitable.” The first answer came quickly to Faramir but he added after a moment’s thought. “Raiders, either orcs or men from other tribes, make farming much less profitable.”

“Yes, but what you said of the accounting practices in the treasury brought to my mind that I never saw, in my time in Khand, an efficient method of irrigation. I know very little of agronomy but I know that the Rohirim use techniques of crop rotation and tilling that I never saw practiced in Khand.” As Aragorn spoke his fingers idly caressed Faramir’s shoulder causing the younger man to wonder at how easily the ranger could stimulate both his mind and body.

“The trick would be to convince the Khandrim to accept help. Men can be unreasonably attached to tradition, though such an attachment may do more harm than good.” So saying Aragorn looked into Faramir’s adoring eyes and had to smile. What mystery of the human imagination made this beautiful, intelligent man think he, a ranger out of the wilderness, would be a good king?

“It is wisdom to cleave to the tradition that inspires nations and gives identity to a people. Some traditions might have nothing to recommend them but the comfort of familiarity but I would give my life to keep Gondor true to the glory and promise of the past.” Faramir had clearly understood the thought behind Aragorn’s smile and the energy and vigor with which the younger man reaffirmed his allegiance took the ranger by surprise.

“Khand is rich in tradition.” Faramir resumed thoughtfully, after a moment. “The region is filled with history. Often my tutors have lamented that so much of that history could not be closely studied because the shadow in the east kept all but the very bravest away. If Gondor sent a few research expeditions to Khand, paying of course for the privilege, then the visiting scholars could set up outposts near the poorer tribes and model all the technical advances in farming. In time the outposts could become centers of trade.” Faramir had spoken as the thoughts occurred and he looked to Aragorn with a mix of hope and anxiety. He was used to thinking everything through carefully before saying it aloud and he was a bit worried about having omitted to thoroughly edit his ideas.

“What is more,” Aragorn took up where Faramir had left off, finding the younger man’s ideas fraught with possibilities. “Your scholars will need at least a small contingent of armed men to protect them. The presence of Gondorhim soldiers will add stability to the surrounding communities and discourage raiders.”

“Yes, yes and my lord Denethor could be convinced to take on the expense on the grounds that having even a small military presence so far east would be a great advantage. Also while his lordship is not particularly fond of history in itself he has a passion for objects of power. He loves all the relics of magic in the city and is always on the watch for any item that can claim a legendary reputation. I will tell him that the `killing fist’ was given as a prize in a tournament and I feel sure he will be desperate to send a score of treasure hunters east.”

Faramir was too caught up in his enthusiasm to catch the momentary shadow of suspicion that fell across Aragorn’s features. The alarming idea, however, died nearly as quickly as it was born. If the ranger’s sudden intuition had been correct Faramir would certainly have known of it and Aragorn trusted Faramir. “I think, my dear, that you now have a plan of action.”

“Yes, my lord, thank you. It is a most excellent plan. I would have been at a complete loss without you. If I can convince a few of the tribes to host an historical expedition, I believe much good may be done.”

“It is your idea more than mine, sweetheart.” Aragorn averred before quickly changing the subject. He was afraid Faramir might insist upon arguing the respective contribution of each of them and Aragorn had no interest in such a discussion. “This morning I suggested you might wish to see more of the gathering. You have been kept from any entertainment in your meetings.”

“Yes, I have been looking forward all day to seeing the dancing that has been praised so highly.” Faramir was very pleased Aragorn still intended to take him exploring. He had feared that the idea had slipped the ranger’s mind and though Faramir would not have reminded Aragorn he would have been disappointed to miss the chance to see the Gathering through Aragorn’s eyes.

“We had best hurry then, as the evening proceeds the dancing becomes increasingly… unrestrained.”

The two men who left the Gondorhim camp a few minutes later walked close together, their cloaks pulled tight about them and the their hoods casting their faces in shadow. They might have been taken for ordinary soldiers ready to enjoy a bit of leave in a strange land. Faramir enjoyed the anonymity for himself but it was still difficult for him to see Aragorn overlooked and not take offense. Even so, nothing could overwhelm Faramir’s jubilation. It was like a holiday. Browsing passed the market stalls, being jostled by the crowds, smelling the air, thick with the scent of spices was a treat. Faramir felt sometimes that he lived in too rarefied a world, estranged from the vitality of the human spirit. Now though he felt the pulse of life and community all around him.

Not long after they had entered the bustle of the marketplace Aragorn had taken Faramir’s arm. A frisson of delight mixed with apprehension shook the younger man and he looked around quickly to observe the reactions of the crowd to such a show of affection. What he saw was that no one was paying them any mind. Indeed, there was nothing at all conspicuous in Aragorn’s gesture. Everyone seemed to be touching everyone. Men walked arm-in-arm. Women had their arms about one another. Children held hands. Shopkeepers touched hands with customers who did not even look likely to buy. It was as though all of Khand had taken up Flyn’s obnoxious habit of familiarity, only among the Khandrim there was nothing obnoxious in it.

It was well into evening before Aragorn and Faramir found themselves a comfortable place to view the dancers. Faramir had spent longer than he had anticipated at the shops. He had made a long list of diverse goods that he wanted his quartermaster to barter for the next day. He had also seen a beautiful white pelt that he had asked the merchant to put aside for him. The moment Faramir had seen the pristine white fur and touched luxuriant softness he knew it would make a perfect lining to a cloak for Boromir. Aragorn, though, there was little novelty for him in a Kandrhim marketplace was nonetheless pleased and entertained to watch Faramir enjoy himself so thoroughly.

The dancers, when the two men finally arrived at the pavilion where they were performing, certainly provided a riveting display. Faramir had never known the human body could move like that. The movements were suggestive but also graceful and elegant. The tall dark-haired women draped in bangles and long diaphanous robes provided a stark contrast to the rigidly formal, almost stilted dancing that one saw in Minas Tirith.

When a woman took the stage carrying a wicked looking scimitar and began undulating around the blade, Faramir suddenly recalled that he had not yet heard the details of Aragorn’s first round victory. Without completely taking his eyes from the swaying woman Faramir moved a little closer to the ranger, whispering: “You told me little of your combat this morning, my lord. If you will I would like to hear everything about how you vanquished your opponent.”

“Say `Strider’ Faramir. There is little of merit I could tell you. The lady is a better subject of your attention.” For a time, Faramir contented himself with this answer and lost himself in the impossible seeming motions of the dancers.

As the evening progressed, however, each dance became less suggestive and more demonstrative. The men around Aragorn and Faramir stamped their feet or stared with glazed eyes as the women’s performances moved from the subtle to the overt. The audience was becoming boisterous. there was loud overeager laughter and shouted comments the precise meanings of which Faramir’s tutors had neglected to teach him. Not even in the bawdy houses of Minas Tirith could one see such a brazen public performance. For a time, Faramir watched with curiosity but it was not long before his curiosity was satisfied. The vulgarity of the show no longer held his interest and he looked to Aragorn. When he saw that the ranger had also lost interest in the dancers, Faramir suggested timidly that it was time to move on. As soon as Aragorn and Faramir began making their way through the crowd their places were instantly claimed by another couple of men.

Now free of the spell of the dancers Faramir once again felt a great interest in his lord’s first combat of the tournament. He knew Aragorn was modest but Faramir found thoughts of his lord defeating foe after foe with indefatigable strength and grace not only fascinating but even arousing. “When will your next bout take place?” Faramir asked, hoping that he would soon have the chance to witness Aragorn in a mock battle.

“Midmorning tomorrow.” Aragorn answered. The air had grown chill since the sun had gone down but the heat of the day rose up from the earth keeping the temperature moderate. The ranger knew, though, that it would soon become cold and he thought how good it would be to share warmth with Faramir. He liked the image his mind conjured of Faramir’s slim body pressed along his. The two of them sheltering one another from the cold of the world beyond themselves. With these thoughts running through his mind the ranger stepped nearer Faramir and increased the strength of his hold upon the younger man’s arm. “Less and less time will separate each round as more and more contestants are eliminated. It is not unusual for the final three rounds to be held on the same day.”

“Will you not tell me a little of the combat this morning?” Faramir asked hoping that he was not annoying Aragorn by returning to the topic.

“I have little joy in the story, Faramir.” Aragorn sighed. He felt a guilt bordering on shame for what he had done that morning and his sense of self-disgust made him drop Faramir’s arm. The younger man, however, interpreted this slight physical distancing as a grave reproof.

“I should not have pressed the question, forgive me.”

“Nay, it is reasonable for you to be curious. I am displeased with myself and it makes me disagreeable.”

“But, surely you can have no cause to be displeased with your own conduct.” Faramir suggested timidly, certain in his own mind that his king was incapable of wrongdoing.

“Well, you shall judge.” Aragorn finally answered taking a deep breath to speak of what had been troubling him. “I arrived before the appointed time of combat but my opponent had arrived first. I had the impression that he had been waiting quite a long time. The lad could have been little more than sixteen and he was plainly nervous. We introduced ourselves. Isu, the lad, was reserved at first. I did my best to put him at his ease, given that we soon must draw sword upon one another. His nervousness was palpably distressing. He could not long maintain his reserve and soon he was telling me everything about himself in an unstoppable rush of words.”

“Isu was the youngest of twelve children and clearly superfluous to his parents’ business interests and their affections. His hope was to secure a commission, see something of the world although providing for himself. He did ask if I harbored similar ambitions but he was too agitated to find fault with my very vague reply. Eventually a judge found us. The last contest he had witnessed had taken longer than expected and he apologized for being late. There was an end to conversation and Isu and I fought.”

“I took about ten minutes to gauge Isu’s speed and manner of movement without seriously engaging him. I believe he was attempting to assess me in like fashion but no one had ever told him to watch the shoulders and forget the nonsense about a man revealing his intentions in his eyes. Whatever the case, Isu’s stare never wavered from my face. The lad was not without innate talent. He was agile and there was strength in his movements but, gods, Faramir he was so young and most likely had never faced anything more menacing than a straw target.”

“He had no hope.” Faramir said gently. The younger man could hardly bring himself to regret that his lord had been in no danger but he did understand now some of Aragorn’s frustration. It had been hard luck for the lad.

“Not the least in the world.” Aragorn confirmed miserably.

“I cut him easily and the first bout ended. The second bout did not more than a couple of minute. I do not know if I did right to end it so quickly. Isu had enough inchoate talent to get a sense of it if I had played with him and there were among the observers enough veterans to know if I held back. I do not think there was anything I could have said or done to ease Isu’s sense of defeat but lieutenant Flyn happened to be by at the time and my attention was diverted.”

“It is a hard thing for Isu, certainly. But, had you not been there perhaps he would have faced another opponent far superior to him in skill, an opponent who would not have been as careful of him before or during the combat.”

“There is some comfort in that. Yet, it was I who defeated him. Such an early elimination from the tournament will surely reduce his prospects. I do not think he will be offered anything but a place in the common infantry where the men are neither well-trained nor given much opportunity for advancement.”

Now Faramir’s sense of justice was offended. The captain saw nothing to criticize in his lord, rather he was greatly impressed by Aragorn’s compassion toward one who would have been beneath the notice of many men much less exulted than Aragorn. Still Faramir was indignant that so much of a man’s future should be decided on so arbitrary a test of merit. “It would be more fair if an effort were made to match the skill level of the first round competitors. Or, better still, a man should not be eliminated until he had accumulated three losses at the hands of different opponents.”

Aragorn chuckled a little and to Faramir great happiness once more took the young man’s arm. “A worthy thought, my dear, but the tournament already taxes the organizational and administrative capacity of the sponsors nearly beyond endurance. It pleases me though to see your mind always bent on reform.”

Faramir could not help but feel immense pleasure at these words. The young man was by no means unsympathetic to the plight of Isu but it nonetheless thrilled him to have received Aragorn’s confidence. More than that Aragorn’s mood seemed to have lightened somewhat and while Faramir would never have claimed responsibility for the change he did feel as though he might have been at least a little help.

The two men had been strolling with no specific goal in mind for a while. Torches lined the more popular paths and there were still many people about. Faramir thought for a moment of returning to camp but he knew Flyn was still out and that the first thing the lieutenant would do upon returning was report. Thus, if he and Aragorn returned now Faramir suspected he would be in no state to receive any report by the time Flyn made his officious intrusion. More than that, though, Faramir was quite happy to have such public proof of Aragorn’s affection. It was wonderful that he and Aragorn were together where the world could see. It was true that they were in a foreign nation and Aragorn had disguised his identity but Faramir did not allow this to dampen his spirits. This would be a memory he would cherish forever, this easy, comfortable, companionable time spent with his beloved beneath the starlight.

Of a sudden, an idea occurred to Faramir and he unconsciously tightened his grip upon Aragorn’s arm as the thought seized him. The ranger looked inquisitively at the younger man and smiled as he saw what he had already come to recognize as the creative spark light Faramir’s face. Content to let whatever idea had taken hold of his beloved have its will, Aragorn continued to move along supporting Faramir who had stopped paying attention to his surroundings. Quickly though, Faramir seemed to come to a stumbling block in his mental meanderings and he paused.

“What are you contemplating with so much fascination, dear-heart?” Aragorn inquired with amusement. His amusement quickly dissolved, however, as he saw that Faramir had become quite upset.

“My lord-”

“Strider.” Aragorn corrected automatically. There were none too overhear them but the ranger did not wish to encourage Faramir in that particular habit of address.

“Strider, may I ask something… a favor?”

“By all means.” Aragorn did not at all like the fearful look he saw in the younger man’s eye and he led him a little way from the path for the sake of greater privacy.

“If- when- if I do something wrong or if I displease you don’t, please don’t, punish me with coldness and silence and… and contempt. Do whatever else with me you will, I do not doubt I shall deserve severity but don’t cast me from your affection completely.” Faramir was visibly shaking and Aragorn drew him against his chest. He had no idea what had brought this on, but the torment and misery that such a request revealed twisted his heart.

“Faramir, darling, not for the wide world would I hurt you. Why would you think me capable of such a thing? You are far too good a man to inspire anything but love and admiration in any with either heart or mind.” Aragorn patted Faramir’s back as the younger man shivered against him. Again Aragorn felt the nearly irresistible compulsion to seek out the source of this terrible fear in Faramir and destroy it root and branch. With sudden sickening intuition Aragorn knew that Faramir had indeed been subjected to harsh discipline and worse yet the young man had preferred even this rough treatment being completely ignored. Aragorn seethed but he controlled it as best he could. Faramir no longer shook in his arms and when the young man looked up the ranger wanted nothing but love to show in his face.

“Thank you. You are good to me.” Faramir felt overwhelmed by the kindness in Aragorn’s expression when he managed to raise his head. He was unworthy of so much. For a moment he simply gazed into Aragorn’s eyes but then something changed in the ranger’s face. Faramir was confused a moment and then he, too, became aware of what had distracted the older man. He felt more than saw or heard a presence quite close by. Someone was watching them.

Carefully Aragorn began moving his hand to the hilt of his dagger. Faramir likewise was now on guard, slowly reaching for his own weapon. A shadow moved and as one Aragorn and Faramir leapt at the movement. Aragorn brought the hilt of his knife down hard into the intruder’s trapezeous muscle sending a shock wave of pain down his arm. Taking the opportunity this presented, Faramir took hold of the stranger’s temporarily stunned arm and twisted it up behind his back looping his own arm around the other man’s throat and squeezing enough to let the stranger know he had been thoroughly caught.

“Who are you?” Aragorn demanded menacingly.

“Peace Dunadan, I am a friend.”

Faramir’s alarm was increased rather than assuaged by the stranger’s use of the elvish word and he tightened his grip around his throat. Aragorn, though, seemed deeply surprised either at the man’s voice or words and he reached up to touch the stranger’s face. “Halbarad?” Halbarad meant to affirm his identity but the grip on his throat had grown ever tighter and he could not even nod.

“Faramir, this man is my kinsman and dear friend.” At these words Faramir released Halbarad’s wrist and throat. As soon as he was free, the man bowed to Aragorn pressing his hand to lips and forehead in the ranger’s own characteristic gesture. The next Faramir knew the two men had embraced. Aragorn laughed softly and clapped Halbarad on the back enthusiastically while Halbarad laughed and could not seem to decide whether he wanted to press Aragorn to him or hold the man at arm’s length and gaze at him in the weak light of the torches.

After the first joyful greeting Aragorn introduced Faramir. At his name and title Halbarad seemed too tense. He bowed low before Faramir and called him lord but the newcomer’s attempt to interpose himself between Aragorn and Faramir did not go unnoticed. “Halbarad, I trust Faramir. He knows of my family’s history and I know he will not betray me.”

Halbarad digested this information with more calm than Aragorn had expected. His eyes widened and for a moment his hand strayed to his weapon suspecting some incomprehensible danger at work but he overcame it quickly. He bowed again to Faramir, not so low this time but with greater sincerity. “Great faith has been shown in you, sir.”

“I will do whatever I must to be worthy of that trust.” Faramir replied, meeting Halbarad’s searching gaze steadily. After a few moments of intense scrutiny, Halbarad stepped back so that he was no longer blocking Faramir from Aragorn. Inclining his head, the captain of Gondor gratefully acknowledged the small gesture of acceptance.

Watching the scene intently, Aragorn was surprised that Halbarad had given in so easily. His friend could be obsessive about his chieftain’s personal safety and he was never happy unless Aragorn was thoroughly surrounded by dozens of the northern Dunedain. `Perhaps he senses something of Faramir’s goodness,’ Aragorn mused. Often people took Halbarad’s single-minded devotion to Aragorn amiss since Halbarad made little effort to be diplomatic when he was pursuing something in his lord’s cause but Faramir was nothing if not generous of spirit. Gazing fondly at the two men so close to his heart Aragorn allowed himself to hope that the two might, in time, become friends.

Before the silence could become awkward, Aragorn took Halbarad’s arm and reached for Faramir with his other hand as he guided both men. “I have had no word from you, Halbarad, and I assumed you had started moving west several weeks ago.”

“That was my intention but I was distracted. There is much I need to tell you but first you must tell me why you are here. I saw you this morning at the tournament. I could hardly believe my eyes. There were too many people about for me to approach you but I have been searching for you since then.”

“There is much I have to tell you too, but the short answer is that Gandalf has taken an interest in the `Killing Fist’ and I have come to claim it on his behalf.” They had reached the main path but Aragorn had, unaccountably, paused again.

“He asks too much of you. Let him fetch his own damn relic.” Halbarad groused, unconsciously pulling Aragorn a little closer. Responding to his friend’s solicitude with gentle affection Aragorn allowed Halbarad to hover protectively as he squeezed his arm.

Faramir was taken aback by the candor of the newcomer’s reply yet somehow it endeared Halbarad to him Halbarad’s manner was not at all like Faramir’s own and yet the captain sensed that at the core of his surliness was a deep and unalterable concern and reverence for Aragorn.

As these thoughts and others spun through his head Faramir realized that Aragorn had not yet resumed walking. A sudden idea occurred to the young captain and he began quickly: “May I suggest, gentlemen, that we retire to camp where you may discuss everything you wish at your leisure.”

“Thank you, Faramir, that sounds like an excellent idea.” Aragorn smiled. It grieved Faramir that Aragorn should believe that either he or his friend would need an invitation to anything the young captain possessed. Faramir would just have to try harder to show Aragorn that Faramir was completely loyal.

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