Faramir Fiction Archive

Mist (R)

Written by Geale

30 September 2010 | 88324 words

Chapter Twenty-Three – Differences

They walked side by side, avoiding pools and puddles and twigs which happily caught in their cloaks. They did not speak very much, but neither of them was spending the day alone and for that Faramir was deeply thankful. But occasionally, Aragorn’s hand brushed against his and there was both joy and agony in the brief touches: even if Faramir thought he could guess what Aragorn wanted, it was not entirely appropriate behaviour to hold hands where they could be spotted. So Faramir was left with a small portion of guilt to deal with also since he was too afraid to word his desire – even if it was akin to Aragorn’s.

Eventually, Aragorn’s voice brought him out of his musings, “Have we been here before?”

“Yea,” Faramir nodded. “But last time we came from the south… Now we are on the westbound road. Just around the bend is the tavern…” He gathered some courage. “I thought we might have lunch?”

But Aragorn seemed not to have heard his last words for he frowned and glanced up at the sky although the compact veil of clouds made it hard to tell exactly where the sun was hiding. “West?” He squinted at the trees. “So the River would be…”

Faramir shook his head. “We are nowhere near the Anduin, but it would be in that direction.” He pointed to his left though, in truth, the Anduin flowed along parts of Emyn Arnen’s northern border as well.

“Hmm,” said Aragorn, not looking wholly convinced.

“Did you not use to be a Ranger?” Faramir smiled and hoped some mild teasing might be acceptable.

Turning to him, and cocking an eyebrow, Aragorn stopped in the middle of the road. “Are you questioning my orientation skills?”

Faramir shook his head but his smile only deepened at the mock indignation in the other man’s voice. “I would not dare to, sire.”

Aragorn’s mask stayed in place for a moment longer but then he, too, smiled. “Did you mention lunch?”

“Well, yes, if it suits you…” Now was daylight; last time darkness had enveloped the woods and there was little risk of anyone recognising the King. He understood very well if Aragorn wished to return to the house for a meal.

“Perfect, said Aragorn. “Follow the road?”

“Yes.” Faramir confirmed and his heart immediately grew lighter, and they resumed their walking.

He wished he could reach out, to take Aragorn’s hand and by such a gesture tell him what he really wanted to say.

It was not far: around the bend and across the yard. Unbidden, Faramir’s eyes strayed to spot where his world had been turned upside down – before he realised that it had not. And yet, ever since that night in the tavern, when Aragorn had smiled and they had debated on how to divide their food between them, nothing had been the same, had it?

“Shall we?”

Caught somewhere between memory and present time, Faramir met Aragorn grey gaze without having registered precisely what he had said. There was but one word in his heart, in his mind, on his tongue:

Yes. Yes, yes, yes…

“I am sorry?” He managed at last.

“Shall we enter?” Aragorn smiled. “You almost slowed to a halt.”

Pushing aside the mess of memories, Faramir was at least allowed to say what he wanted. “Yes.”

Every chair and stool stood unoccupied. Every tabled was cleared and neatly scrubbed. Daylight filtered through the rough glass and drifted hazily over the wood. Faramir pulled the door behind them closed, slightly harder than necessary, but the noise served to announce their arrival. A rather short and pleasant looking woman of thirty perhaps stuck her head out through an almost hidden doorway in the back and she smiled.

“Lord Faramir!” She hurried over to them, pulling her brown hair back from her face and into a loose knot. She smoothed out the creases in her apron. “What a surprise!” Her bright gaze darted between them expectantly. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

“Thellie,” smiled Faramir, “this is a… friend of mine.” He nodded to Aragorn who inclined his head but said nothing. “We have come in search of food, if it is not too much trouble for you.”

“No, no, no! Pleased to meet you, sir.” She was clever enough not to inquire after a name when none was freely given and Faramir appreciated that. “All the men are out, they ate early today. But there is some stew left, if you do not mind me reheating it? Rabbit?”

Faramir shot Aragorn a glance but the other man was already smiling. “It will be like the good old days, then,” said Aragorn.

A brief look of confusion passed over Thellie’s face but it was soon replaced by a content smile. “Very good then.” She gestured towards the tables. “May I offer you any seat in the house? Please be seated and I’ll bring you ale, yes?”

“Thank you.” Faramir watched her dash off and then he turned to Aragorn. “Sire?”

He felt a sudden rush of anxiety when Aragorn leaned in very close. So close, in fact, that his warm breath tickled Faramir’s cheeks and the younger man must fight to remind himself to draw breath. All traces of the smile Aragorn had worn only moments ago were erased from his features.

“Do not call me that. Please?”

Faramir locked eyes with him. There was such urgency in Aragorn’s gaze but the air around him tingled with determination. For a second or two, it overwhelmed him and Faramir’s defences weakened and shattered obligingly, and he let go of his hold on the world almost automatically, without a fight.

You want him… The teasing slid forth from the corners and tangled in his mind.

You desire him…

Have him… Taste him…

The web of hints and hisses caught any disapproving, stable thought. He could pretend all he liked that he lived in a world where there were no voices among the trees and whispers in his dreams, but that would be tantamount to living a lie. The contentedness which filled the tavern wove around his throat and squeezed and the floor shifted beneath his feet. Tiny silver stars flickered at the edges of his vision and balance became a mere idea. He slid deeper down… further away…

“Faramir!” Aragorn was shaking him, one hand on each shoulder, gripping him hard. “Faramir!”

His head cleared enough to alert him of the fear in Aragorn’s eyes. It drove straight through him, like the stab of a sharp blade. The first breath he drew slit his throat in two but the air was blissfully cool. With a huge effort, Faramir slammed his walls into place.

‘Do not do that! Ever again!’

There was faint giggling around him.

“Faramir?!”

“Yes,” he rasped as strength went out of him and his legs gave in. But before he hit the floor, Aragorn’s arms came around his shoulders and steadied him.

Faramir found himself crushed against the other man’s broad chest and without much hesitation he let Aragorn’s energy wash through him. He closed his eyes and breathed. And he breathed in the scent of his King, mixed with rain and green leaves.

“What happened?” Aragorn’s murmur was not entirely free of worry but it was heaven to Faramir.

“Nothing…”

The embrace tightened. “Do not lie to me.”

“I am not…”

Maelir toyed with a corner of a blanket.

“Did you sleep well?”

All the images weighed him down, all the twisted dream-visions that had come to him that night – of birds in wolf-shapes, and yet they were birds still. Of black arrows singing in the air, of deep pools in which bodies floated round and round… and round and round…

“Yea…”

“No dreams?” Maelir looked pleased at the prospect.

“No, nothing…”

Guilt… and secrecy… Long lost, never-to-be-found, apologies… forgiveness…

“Good!” He cast off the blanket. “Make love to me then!”

Knuckles were gently sweeping down his stubbly cheek. “Tell me the truth,” a quiet voice prompted.

His head felt so heavy. Faramir opened his eyes to the day. Aragorn’s arms created a cocoon of safety for him and he knew there was only one way of repaying.

He nodded, and immediately regretted it.

Aragorn must have seen the furrow on his brow and maybe he could sense the pounding in Faramir’s head for he steered them to a table and it was with gratitude that Faramir sank down into a chair.

“When..? Is… Are we?” He rubbed his forehead with a palm, trying to sort out the details.

“Where? How?” There was a hint of a smile in Aragorn’s voice. “We are alone, you were only gone for a moment…” He chose the chair next to Faramir’s. “But you had me worried…” There was very much in his form that suggested he was still far from calm.

Faramir raised his eyes to the older man’s face. “I am sorry.”

Aragorn frowned. “Why?” His hands, Faramir’s anchor, came up to caress the younger man’s cheeks once more. He was sitting so very close.

There was nothing but silence around them when Aragorn pressed a tentative kiss to his lips. “Tell me.”

He owed it to Aragorn who had opened up and laid out so much on display. Still he wished the kiss would last forever. When Aragorn pulled away, his hands fell to Faramir’s knees.

“Here we are!”

They both jerked at Thellie’s call. She bustled over with a tray which she sat down on the table without an unnecessary show of elegance. Grace was not what the tavern guests asked for. She unloaded two jugs of ale and a plate with some bread and butter.

“I will be right out with the stew,” she said. “Can I get you anything else? It is a dreadfully chilly day. You just let me know if you want more wood for the fire.”

Aragorn’s hands were burning embers on Faramir’s knees. There was no darkness to hide in now: if Thellie did not see them resting there she was blind.

“Thank you,” Faramir croaked, his heart like a heavy lump of lead in his breast.

This was not supposed to be – Aragorn was his secret… Unable to move, Faramir watched in dread as she straightened and briefly stilled, a soft smile suddenly brushing her lips. She tipped her head to the side but when she spoke she sounded just as effective and pragmatic as always:

“There’s only the two of you here, gentlemen, but myself,” she said. “The children went with their father and will be coming back for dinner at the earliest.” She shook her head. “In the way, I fear they’ll be.” But she smiled. Then she turned and left them alone.

Nothing moved for a moment or two, then words tumbled out of Faramir before he could check them.

“I dream… and I see things… Most people who know of it think I am crazy.”

Aragorn blinked. “What?”

“I have always seen things… I perceive presences where others see nothing but air. Sometimes I dream of the future.”

“What did you see now?”

Whatever he had expected Aragorn to say, it was not this. People did not ask what he saw – at best, they pretended it never happened.

“Now it was only a memory,” he said cautiously.

Aragorn raised an eyebrow.

“That is the truth, I promise.”

Slowly, slowly the world settled down around them again. Faramir concentrated on his breathing but Aragorn’s hands that still rested on his knees were hard to ignore. The daylight was sharp and impersonal.

When Thellie appeared again with the tray it was laden with two steaming bowls, two spoons and a small pot of cream.

“There… Anything else for you gentlemen?”

Faramir shook his head but Aragorn smiled up at her. “You would not have a blanket to spare?” He turned his gaze to the younger man. “I think you need one.”

“A blanket?” Thellie cast a glance of concern at Faramir. “Of course! Be right back.” She waved away Aragorn’s thanks and disappeared briefly before returning with a large woollen blanket.

“I will let you sort this out,” said told Aragorn as she handed it to him. “Now eat your stew or I shall have warmed it in vain.” She winked and was gone.

“I do not need…” tried Faramir as Aragorn rose with the blanket in his arms. Nevertheless he obediently leaned forward and allowed it to be draped across his shoulders. And in the end, it was with gratitude that he snuggled into it.

He watched as Aragorn dropped back into his chair and picked up a spoon. After a little while he did the same, a bit surprised at discovering that food was actually a good thing. They ate in a silence which Faramir found surprisingly comfortable. It was odd that Aragorn should want to discuss his vision but if he were honest with himself, it was a relief to not have to hide it. But then, maybe the novelty would wear off and the King would find the matter just as bothersome as Maelir had done?

However, despite this gloomy prospect, the warm food helped to re-stabilise the world and Faramir found his spirits rising once more. Aragorn was still by his side and showed no signs of leaving. At last, they both pushed aside their bowls and came to look at each other.

“How are you feeling?”

As always, Aragorn spoke quietly. In fact, Faramir reflected, it was years ago he had last heard the other man raise his voice. Not that they had spent much time together of late, but even so.

He nodded. “Better, thank you.”

A gentle smile drew across Aragorn’s face but any reply he might have meant to give was lost when Thellie reappeared, a towel slung over a shoulder and a heavy, steaming earthenware cup in each hand.

“Lord Faramir?” There was a hint of an apology in her tone but she made her way over to them with a straight back.

Faramir produced a smile for her. “This was perfect, thank you.”

“Glad to hear it.” She set down the cups. “Sir, I have a bit of news for you… Iein came running… He has been in the woods with his father all day, as I told you, but now it seems all men are summoned to the road for there has been some flooding, from what I hear.”

“Flooding?” Faramir frowned. “The road is flooded?”

She shrugged. “I am not sure, sir… Iein said word came from further up north.”

“Which road, did he say?” he inquired. “The Great West or the South?”

“I don’t know, sir, I am sorry. But he is still in the kitchen and he can show you to his father, if you like.”

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes, I should go…”

Had he been so consumed by his own needs and desires that he had completely missed what was going on around him? Ithilien was a part of him, Ithilien ran through his veins, blended with his blood – was his blood… why had he not heard it calling to him?

Aragorn made a small, almost invisible, move to his right but it stabbed Faramir hard and almost drove the air out of his lungs in realisation.

Aragorn was a part of him now…

Aragorn was the heat that filled the shell that was his body.

Whether Aragorn liked it or not.

If he even knew it.

Faramir had lost, was utterly lost himself. Therefore, turning to Aragorn and addressing him was most natural, and it was not even a decision anymore.

“I must go.”

Aragorn nodded; the grey shimmer in his eyes was held captive behind a thin veil of something Faramir did not like.

“I thought as much,” said Thellie. “That is why I brought you tea; the day is not getting any warmer.”

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