Faramir Fiction Archive

Mist (R)

Written by Geale

30 September 2010 | 88324 words

Chapter Seventeen – Longing

“Will you dine with me?”

They had stored away cloaks and boots, and Faramir found he was loath to let go now – whether it was of any company generally, or of Aragorn specifically, he told himself he could not say for sure, but he did not wish to be alone.

Aragorn looked up at him and the hint of a smile ghosted across his features. “I thought you never ate, Faramir.”

“As often as you, my lord.” It was as courageous as it was inappropriate. Then again, they had probably crossed that line once or twice before and there was no denying that the King was thinner now than upon his arrival.

Aragorn looked perplexed for a moment but then he inclined his head. “Something simple, please.”

In the face of such open self-negligence and lack of spirit Faramir grew bolder, wondering if this was how Damrod had always felt around him. He went to order dinner and discreetly suggested that no one would complain if there was some extra cream added to the soup. He sent for wine too, nothing too heavy and rich, but something that would ease conversation just a little, hopefully. In the end, they were served not only soup and wine, but bread and meat too, some fruit and nuts, and finally a steaming pot of tea. Aragorn raised an eyebrow, but he ate.

“I had news from Éomer,” said Faramir when silence threatened to settle between them once and for all. “Lothiriel is with child.” Only when his lips closed around the words did he realise that the subject might be sensitive.

But Aragorn nodded. “Yes, so I heard.” He suddenly smiled. “The King of Rohan shall be proud like never before.”

Grateful for the tea, Faramir wrapped his fingers around the warm cup and leaned back in his chair. “He will be quite impossible to deal with.”

“Quite.” Aragorn agreed. “I presume he has already invited you to the feast?”

“In the most official unofficial way,” said Faramir while trying to ignore the lingering dread that invitation had brought.

“We could travel thither together?”

Before Faramir had a chance to reply, Aragorn continued with a small sigh. “The Council is proving adept at running Gondor… In all honesty, sometimes I wonder what my role truly is.”

Faramir frowned. He had not expected this turn in their conversation. “But you are King…”

Aragorn leaned forward. “Tell me, Faramir, what does a King do? What can I do that the Steward’s initiated advisors are not capable of?”

“You are the symbol of the Reunited Lands,” Faramir said helplessly, hearing himself that he sounded far from convincing. “You are the manifestation of the hope that we harboured for so long.”

“And what does a symbol do?” Aragorn shook his head. “I would roam the lands again… Live like you do, Faramir, be in touch with nature once more.”

“My office is merely of a ceremonial nature,” said Faramir as his cheeks gained a little heat. “Even with my duties I could be any man…”

Aragorn gave a weak smile and there was a distant longing in his grey eyes. “That is my point,” he said softly. “I too would choose to be ‘any man’, were I given the option.”

Faramir’s gaze dropped to the smooth wood of the table as a couple of servants entered to light some more candles and stir the fire. It was odd to hear the man he had loved as King from the moment he saw him in the Houses of Healing speak of his destiny with such dislike. When the reign of the Stewards finally had come to an end, and his father’s life was taken by the savage flames that Faramir could not wholly condemn, he had trusted the King to be strong, determined and, well, if not happy then at least content. Never had it occurred to him that the man who claimed the crown, would have qualms and doubts of his own.

The wood was gleaming in the flickering candlelight and it was hard not to be drawn back in time, to that dark night when he had lain down before Aragorn and watched fear dig its claws into him. Despite the anguish that tinted the memories, he knew that under different circumstances he would have found the idea – and would still find it – incredibly arousing. As his thoughts strayed, his eyes drifted to Aragorn’s hand holding a cup, and the silver of his ring seemed to lazily stretch and blend with the candlelight.

“Faramir?” Aragorn’s voice was even softer than before.

I would be any man…

“Have I upset you?”

Would you have me?

The King reached out for him, palm sliding across the table.

“Faramir?”

Lovingly whispered.

“Faramir?”

A name murmured in wonder…

“Faramir?”

…cried out in passion.

Jerking back, Faramir blinked. Aragorn was pouring tea into his own cup, his two hands busy.

“Would you like some more?”

The night skies had clouded over and so there was no moonlight sliding through the hallways. They left the dining room slowly, almost reluctantly – or so it felt to Faramir. He chanced a glance at Aragorn who walked silently by his side and even stronger became the urge to say something.

“Whither did today disappear?” he asked finally and the night air eagerly fingered his words. There was curiosity swarming around them, and Faramir repressed an urge to shoo it away, back into the corners where he would prefer it stayed. Somehow, he wanted to be completely alone with Aragorn.

The King gave a soft chuckle, a sound which was almost new to Faramir and which he suddenly treasured very deeply.

“I could not say. You have too few hours in Ithilien.” Aragorn smiled.

Faramir smiled in return and his gaze lingered on the tiny glow of amusement in Aragorn’s eyes.

“Perhaps the King could issue a decree and provide us with some more?”

“Perhaps…” Aragorn nodded and he was still smiling. “I will consult him when I have returned to the City.”

With the mentioning of Minas Tirith an unwanted shadow drew upon them and a small sigh escaped Aragorn. His shoulders seemed to slump and his head bowed; his eyes traced the floorboards. Faramir must keep himself in check lest he should do something inappropriate; a longing steadily grew in his heart and he wished he could drape an arm around those shoulders and pull Aragorn closer for comfort.

The door leading to the King’s room loomed ahead of them and time ran out entirely. Their pace slowed even further and Faramir dared not lift his gaze to his companion’s face. When they came to a final stop, he could not form any words at all.

They stood face to face and Aragorn had his back to the door.

“Faramir?” He spoke so very softly.

Gentle fingers lifted his chin and with difficulty Faramir kept his eyes trained on the floor. Then he must focus on Aragorn’s shirt, and he thought he might do this, but in the end he was forced to look straight into Aragorn’s face. The hold on his composure became more difficult to maintain as a thumb brushed the skin just below his lower lip.

In Aragorn’s grey eyes the humble glow from before still lingered. He appeared to be concentrating hard and there was little else than this to be read in his features. A mixture of fear and exhilaration rose within Faramir as he noted the absence of alarm in the grey; it would not take much for him to abandon his position and give in.

“Yes?” he breathed in response.

For a moment, Aragorn looked confused but then his mouth curved in a small smile. His thumb stroked Faramir’s lower lip once, and then once more. Faramir stood as if frozen before him, only barely conscious of the wood beneath his feet and the breath that the hallway was holding. Aragorn drew a little closer still and then, before Faramir could chastise himself, their lips were touching.

He melted into Aragorn’s loose embrace that was tentative and hesitant. Arms uncertainly wound themselves around his waist and he reciprocated carefully, lifting his own arms to Aragorn’s shoulders, holding him close. A small gasp maybe, left the older man’s lips and it made Faramir open up just a little, though he dazedly knew that he might be pushing it too far. But Aragorn did not pull away and Faramir grew bolder. With the tip of his tongue he tasted the soft flesh meeting his and when he was not hindered, he pushed on, delving deeper inside. A tug on his waist encouraged him further and blood began pounding in his ears as he kissed Aragorn deeply, not minding at all that the other man stayed almost immobile and let him explore freely. He brushed against Aragorn’s own tongue and a shred of a prayer left him: if one day Aragorn would kiss him back in a similar fashion, he would be forever happy.

He forced himself to end the kiss before he honestly wanted to. The threat of arousal was hinting at him, and he needed to breathe to calm down or he would indeed scare Aragorn away. Leaving a final soft kiss upon Aragorn’s lips he pulled back and drew a deep breath.

He knew not what to expect but it was not warm hands stroking his back, urging him to fall against a strong chest. With desire still hovering at the very edges of his awareness, Faramir rested his head against Aragorn’s shoulder, nose almost touching his neck, while the King threaded his fingers through his copper locks and then gently let them travel down his spine and up again. His own arms had fallen to encircle Aragorn’s waist, mirroring the way he had himself been held. A hot craving coiled deep down in his body but he stayed still, letting the other man set the pace, afraid to do anything else.

Then Aragorn kissed his temple and cheek bone, and one of his hands came up to cradle his head. More kisses melted into his skin and his hair and Faramir shivered.

Aragorn’s voice was no more than a thread in the air that shimmered around them. “I know you would want more…” Though there was no distance between them, he hugged Faramir even closer. “I am sorry, maybe tonight I should sleep alone.”

The disappointment washed through Faramir ruthlessly but he tried not to show it. Instead he nodded numbly, and began to extricate himself from the embrace. Aragorn’s hands stopped him as they caught him by his shoulders.

“I care no more for any reasons,” Aragorn whispered but there was urgency in his voice. “You are so beautiful…” His fingers brushed Faramir’s cheeks, his forehead, mapped the curve of his lips and the arcs of his eyebrows. They left a trail of fire in the younger man. “I would let you show me…” Aragorn dropped his gaze to the floor and exhaled slowly. His hands skimmed down Faramir’s chest. “But tonight, I am not sure I could…”

Faramir nodded, silently telling himself that there was reason in this. “I understand,” he said quietly, not sure he agreed with his own words. He took a step back and tried to smile. “It is wise… to wait, maybe.”

Aragorn raised his eyes to his face, and he shook his head. There was a peculiar light in the grey even though he appeared both defeated and afraid. “Do not make up lies to please me, Faramir,” he said and in a flash he was a ruler once more. Then the moment was gone.

Faramir did not know what caused it but courage caught hold of him. “I would have you, my lord. I cannot deny that.”

The light in Aragorn’s eyes grew stronger but he moved not. Faramir bowed his head and then retreated, finally turning away from the King, making for his own chambers. An insistent tingling teased his lips and his heart was screaming at him to turn back, but he would not force himself on someone who was not yet ready.

A crack in the clouds allowed for a ray of moonlight to spill across the wooden floor and panels, and at once the eager whispering around him increased. Faramir had no time to react before hands spun him around and warm lips were pressed against his own. Breathlessly he returned the feverish kiss while his hands found their way underneath Aragorn’s shirt. When he found warm skin, he involuntarily gave a small moan which caused a tremble to rush through the man pressed against him. With his head spinning, Faramir sucked on Aragorn’s tongue and he absolutely refused to let go. Tiny silver stars pierced the darkness and there was little air left in his lungs. Aragorn’s hips gave a small thrust and Faramir’s balance was completely shattered when he discovered the hardness brushing his thigh. He swallowed Aragorn’s moan and before he knew it, he pulled away to breathe.

A chill immediately enveloped him and, panting heavily, he threw his eyes open. The corridor lay dark and quiet; he was all alone.

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

Enjoyed this story? Then be sure to let the author know by posting a comment at https://www.faramirfiction.com/fiction/mist. Positive feedback is what keeps authors writing more stories!