Faramir Fiction Archive

Mist (R)

Written by Geale

30 September 2010 | 88324 words

Chapter Twenty-Two – Prerequisites

Faramir sipped his tea but paid little attention to the taste. He was alone at the table. They had risen finally: Aragorn, still overwhelmed and slightly shaken by his own actions, had retreated to his own chambers to wash and dress and Faramir had let him go with a heavy heart. Lost in his own whirlwind of lust he had not reciprocated and guilt soon made itself known; he knew Aragorn too had found release but he knew not how.

He set his cup down and stared at it. The rain had been reduced to a light drizzle and the skies were a bright white that was hard on the eyes. It struck him that he had not much to do. He was a caretaker of Ithilien, so to speak, but even Emyn Arnen which was his personal protectorate, again, so to speak, mostly ran itself.

It was not that he was bored, he tried to convince himself. He was just in between tasks. With the current mood of the weather it was highly unlikely that the remaining piles of bracken would be burned this spring… so they would have to wait until autumn and that was no disaster. He knew of no houses in need of repair – and in any case it was not his task to actually put wood and stone together. Probably some smaller roads would need attention due to all the raining, but that was hardly something that would keep him busy all day long and during weeks ahead.

A soft knock on the open door startled him.

Aragorn was standing in the doorway with a small, uncertain smile tugging at his lips and a nervous light in his eyes. His hair was pushed back from his face and was not entirely dry. Coal black leggings and a wine red shirt contrasted starkly to his pale skin. He wore soft, low boots and Faramir could not tear his eyes away.

“Good morning, Steward Faramir.” Aragorn’s low voice wrapped around him and it took all of the younger man’s strength to not melt into the invisible embrace.

“My lord,” whispered Faramir, unable to find a stable voice. “You are…” He swallowed down the last word that wanted to slip from his lips, too afraid to claim anything.

Aragorn carefully closed the door behind him and crossed the floor slowly. The tension in his shoulders, in the way he carried himself was clearly visible. When he met with no objections he pulled out the chair next to Faramir’s and sank down to face him. He dropped his gaze to his knees and his voice was so low that Faramir must strain to hear it.

“You are beautiful.”

For a long moment nothing moved in the room – not even the air or the white daylight, or any other presence, shifted. But the timid spark of joy in Faramir’s heart was suddenly too much to handle and while the world stilled, this was what needed all of his attention lest he should shatter.

Aragorn’s hands lay folded in his lap and though he looked a little more rested today, he was pale and the shadows under his eyes were still too dark.

Faramir drew a long breath, fuelling the tiny fire in his breast. He gathered all the courage he could summon and covered Aragorn’s hands with one of his own.

“So are you.”

Aragorn glanced up quickly, but not quickly enough for Faramir to miss the glimmer of surprise in his eyes. He leaned in and Faramir did the same – drawn to that glimmer like a moth to a flame. Aragorn’s eyes widened slightly, Faramir turned his head a little and lost some focus when he spotted the weak hope deep, deep down in the grey. So close to drowning in despondency it was that it was almost indiscernible. But as Faramir reached out to it, Aragorn gave into fear and his forehead bumped hard against Faramir’s nose.

“Ow!”

The immobile tension around them exploded into moving reality. Faramir immediately pulled away and rubbed his nose.

“Faramir! Are you alright?”

Aragorn’s terrified expression was so genuine that it drew a smile from him.

“Yea,” he nodded, unable to keep from laughing. “This is madness…”

Aragorn relaxed somewhat but there was a worried frown in his features still. “I am sorry… I did not mean to…”

“Hurt me?” Faramir grinned. “I think I believe you.”

But he was caught unawares, and dragged out of his cheerful state, as his hands were captured by Aragorn. The older man looked at him intently, still serious, still not ready to share in Faramir’s amusement. “I never wished to hurt you,” he said quietly. “And the Valar know that I will try my best to never do so again.”

He brought Faramir’s hands to his mouth and gently kissed his knuckles while the younger man could do nothing but stare. The growing shine of Aragorn’s eyes, Faramir gradually understood, was due to the tears forming in them.

“What can I do for you, Faramir?” whispered the King and a silvery, salty streak was painted across his cheek.

But the heavy silence that imposed itself on Faramir kept him from speaking; his mouth remained closed as his heart began screaming.

“Tell me what I can do for you…” Aragorn kissed his knuckles again, mocking his skin with the brief touch. “Please…”

The wish, the one single wish in his heart, fought its way through the dizziness in his head, but Faramir knew even before he spoke that his hushed words would be the result of fear of rejection triumphing over courage. He was no true warrior.

“Please kiss me…”

He saw the second tear fall before Aragorn brushed his soft lips against his own. So cautious was the reunion that Faramir was sure it would not last long, but when Aragorn’s mouth lingered against his, there was nothing left in him that might chastise him. He fell against the other man, wanting so badly to be held, to be consumed and cherished that it scared him. Yet there was no wisdom offering advice in that moment and Faramir kissed back wildly as if Aragorn was good for him – as if Aragorn was unafraid.

His tongue pushed into the King’s mouth and was granted entrance. Only partially was he aware of the hands that cupped his face, the thumbs that stroked his cheekbones, and then the fingers that tangled in his hair. He kissed Aragorn for all that he was worth, with all he had, and with all his heart.

For a short, short moment in time he had everything. Then he was alone once more.

Their faces were scant inches apart but it was painful to breathe. Aragorn’s hands, empty now, retreated and he kept them in his lap. There was silence again – that accursed silence Faramir had once treasured above nearly everything else.

“I…” Aragorn began, but he lost his words to the blinding daylight that flooded the dining hall.

His lips were reddened.

Faramir wished he could give up thought, turn numb and devoid of all emotion. But the unspoken truth that drifted towards him and slipped through him would not go away.

You love him.

“Faramir?”

There were no more tears in Aragorn’s eyes and the grey was softened.

“May I hold you?”

As Aragorn’s arms came around him, hesitantly at first and a bit awkwardly due to their positions, a part of Faramir simply yielded to the inevitable. A deeper knowledge, one that transcended mortal logic, suggested to him that he was only continuing down the same path he had trod for some days now. Maybe if he had never lain down before Aragorn on the table? Or maybe if he had never tasted him, eased the ache in his body that moonlit night in the guest chamber? Maybe if Aragorn had never come to Emyn Arnen…

Faramir breathed in the scent of the King, filled his lungs with the closeness, with proof of the embrace.

“I missed you… the minute I left your chambers,” murmured Aragorn against his hair and if it all was an illusion, Faramir would rather stay in it than wake up.

“And I you,” he confessed quietly, feeling heat sweep across his face as memories came back to him. “I meant to apologise,” he mumbled, “for not… touching you before. I did not mean to be so selfish.”

Aragorn’s hold on him tightened briefly. “But I wanted to test my courage,” he said in a voice that lacked much confidence but was steady enough to hold. One of his palms shyly ran down Faramir’s back. “How did I do?”

At the unexpected question Faramir had to turn to look at him. Some colour in Aragorn’s cheeks and eyes that refused to meet his caused him to smile. “You did splendidly.”

The older man buried his face in the crook of Faramir’s neck and hugged him closer. “Good,” he rasped and a kiss melted into the Steward’s skin.

Having experienced a chaos of different emotions since the first conscious breath he had drawn that morning, Faramir valued the now tingling joy in his stomach the most.

The sky was still a piercing white but the rain had stopped altogether. The undergrowth was heavy with water as Faramir pushed through it, happy that he had chosen high boots and even happier that he had found a similar pair for Aragorn who had agreed to join him. He neatly dodged a low-hanging branch and avoided stepping on a thick, slippery root that pushed out of the ground and slithered along it like a snake.

“Watch the–”

He hid a small grin as Aragorn cursed under his breath behind him.

“The root there is quite slimy and slippery…” Faramir could not keep from teasing. His spirits had been steadily rising since they left the house. Cautiously he stepped across a puddle.

“Too late…” the King muttered and Faramir turned around just in time to see Aragorn steady himself against the trunk of a young birch.

Dark locks had fallen into Aragorn’s face as he fought his way through the woods. His boots were muddy and his coat partially soaked. He shot Faramir a glare but it was enough to steal his attention from the forest path and he slipped in the mud. Bursting forwards, Faramir caught him before he lost his balance completely. Aragorn fell against him and desperately clang to his upper arms.

“By the Gods, this is impossible,” said Aragorn as he allowed Faramir to take a step back and steer them away from the puddle. He did not let go of the younger man even though they were on slightly dryer ground now.

Faramir’s heartbeat picked up speed as Aragorn’s hands slipped to his waist and came to a rest there. He lifted a hand to brush some hair out of the King’s face and revealed shimmering grey eyes.

“I swear these woods treat you kinder,” mumbled Aragorn, leaning in just slightly.

Faramir’s gaze dropped to the moving lips and he felt a tug of longing in his breast. “It is probably so,” he breathed, little attention focused on his surroundings and much more on the man before him.

“Explain that to me?”

The hands on his waist were a welcome weight. When his own hands dropped to cover them and encountered no resistance, he closed the remaining distance between them by brushing his lips against Aragorn’s. The touch was soft and warm – a welcome distraction from the drenched grass and leaves. He felt a tremble rush through the other man but the kiss was not broken and so he added some pressure. The kiss remained shallow until it was ended but it was not tainted by any darkness or sorrow and for that Faramir treasured it deeply.

“That was not much of an explanation,” said Aragorn as a smile drew across his face, ripping years off his actual age.

Faramir let him go, allowing him some space of his own. “I am guardian of this land… a protector. It is used to me…” He watched Aragorn carefully as he spoke, desperate to sound as if his reality was highly normal, but finding no other words to tell the truth with.

The older man frowned and glanced around. “It is a living place you mean – beyond the standards of mortal men?”

It was easy to figure out what he alluded to. “It is not like Fangorn, of which I have heard strange tales,” said Faramir. “There is power here, and a presence hard to describe.” He smiled weakly. “I have offered it my time and devotion and so it blesses me with its… well, love maybe.”

Aragorn’s eyes held a peculiar glimmer. “What you are truly saying, Faramir, is that you have offered your life to it… To Ithilien?”

Licking his lips, Faramir gave an awkward nod. “Yea, I suppose.”

A chill wind rippled the newborn leaves on the birch.

“Yes,” he amended. “Yes, I have.” When a deep, thoughtful silence threatened to settle around them, he swallowed and gestured at their drenched boots; his own were in much better shape than Aragorn’s. “A royal title is of little importance here.”

Aragorn’s smile did not reach his eyes and suddenly he looked pale and wan. “And so also it is for me.” One of his hands found one of Faramir’s and he timidly twined their fingers together. “Maybe then I should have asked for permission before I entered your home?”

“Before my world was transformed into something unidentifiable?” Faramir suggested as Aragorn’s nervous but cherished energy slipped into him. “Something I have no name for.”

Aragorn did not answer him but embraced him instead, and a hush drifted through the trees as they held each other.

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!