Faramir Fiction Archive

Mist (R)

Written by Geale

30 September 2010 | 88324 words

Chapter Twenty-Four – Homecoming

Tuilë 44

A bleak sun had risen above the treetops and now, two hours later, when Faramir laid eyes on his house for the first time in three days, a wave of gratitude and relief swept over him. Though his shoulders ached and he was sore and stiff he would have stayed in the camp, but there were rumours of new rain clouds speeding east on a quick wind and therefore it had been decided that the work on the road would have to cease for now.

He dragged his feet up the stairs and nearly choked on a breath as the front door was swung open and a servant revealed.

“Lord Faramir!”

He allowed himself to be ushered inside and warm bath water was sent for without him even voicing the request. As he sank into it sometime later and watched the steam rise towards the ceiling, his gratitude for a moment knew no boundaries.

But when he closed his eyes he saw boots sinking deep into unrelenting mud, greyish-brown wide pools stretching out on the ground… parts of the road that had completely eroded or sunk into the water. Anyone who wished to reach the City by taking the Great West Road would not get very far as soon as they had passed Amon Dîn and the Grey Wood.

His sigh sifted out into the bathing chamber. Four nights he had spent in a small tent, alone, not intruded upon. Utterly and absolutely alone.

He forced himself out of the water before its warmth lulled him to sleep. Normally, working in the woods in the company of good men and women, and with his own land, nourished him. It energised him and gave him strength. This time he was bone-deep weary.

He padded into his bedchamber and pulled on a nightshirt. Though the sun was steadily climbing the sky he drew the curtains across his windows and lit no candles; the wood in the hearth remained untouched by any flames.

But instead of lying down he remained seated on the bed, his fingertips tracing the pattern on his bedspread. In the dim light something whispered to him, hinted at deeds yet undone and promises yet to be made. Beyond his sanctuary the world was restless and frustrated, and the daylight toyed with his curtains, as if to decide whether or not it should let him stay hidden. Faramir drew soft breaths and tried to not make a single sound as something made up its mind.

All remained silent.

Faramir drew another breath but this one stung his chest. He had hoped…

Well, he had hoped that… maybe… his return would not go unnoticed and that…

No. He shook his head. It was silly to think now that he was the centre of attention when he never before had longed for that; the yearning for his father’s approval, he decided, was different. He tried to close his mind to those memories for they would hardly be of any use now, but they slipped through and he fell…

There was a knock on the door.

Boromir dropped the washcloth beside the bowl of steaming water and eagerly raced across the floor. He threw open the door, excitement already pushing his shoulders back and lifting his chin.

“Father!”

It was indeed Denethor standing there; his dark blue cloak lined with fur and elegantly draped about him, a smile on his lips and in his eyes.

“I welcome you back to the City, my son.” He swept inside but his smiling eyes did not stray from their treasure. “So, will you tell me of your hunt?”

“It was most successful, father.” Boromir grinned up at him. As his excitement grew, the energy around him turned a beautiful, shimmering gold. “I shot three rabbits and Faramir one. You may have them for supper, should you wish.” His cheeks were flushed with pride and the words tumbled out of him.

Denethor placed a large hand on his shoulder. “Then we shall feast on your rabbits tonight!” With that, he made for the door, ready to leave now that he had greeted his son. “You may tell your brother that his rabbit can feed the kitchen staff.” Then he was gone.

Faramir, standing not five feet from his brother, said nothing.

There was a knock on the door…

A knock…

…on the door…

Faramir’s eyes flew open where he lay on the bed in an awkward position: feet still brushing the floor, one arm twisted underneath him.

There was a knock on the door.

With bits and pieces of his sleep-steeped memories still clutching at him and weighing down his heart, he dragged himself up and tested his balance. The sunlight seemed to have faded and it was hard to tell the time. Lifeless shadows stretched across the room and there was a slight chill seeping forth from the corners. Swallowing down the old sorrow the dream evoked, he opened the door.

This time it was not Denethor waiting in the hallway and this guest was not swathed in an expensive cloak. Momentarily confused, Faramir simply stared at Aragorn’s face, lost himself in the searching grey gaze.

The soft voice wrapped around in a gentle embrace.

“Faramir… I heard that you were returned…”

Faramir nodded slowly. “Yea…”

“Are you unwell?” A frown grew in Aragorn’s features and perhaps he leaned in a little closer.

Suddenly something inside Faramir screamed. It sliced through his heart and the pain was so sharp that it brought tears to his eyes, and finally he spoke the words that Denethor should have heard and were indeed partly meant for him.

“No… but I am lonely.”

He stepped aside, just like Boromir had done all those years ago, and let his visitor inside. He closed the door but looked only at Aragorn.

The King glanced towards the drawn curtains. “You were sleeping?”

“No, not really…” Faramir barely heard his own voice. “I meant to, but…”

He could sense Aragorn’s hesitancy but underneath it lay something else.

“You look exhausted,” said Aragorn softly. He briefly dropped his gaze to the floor but that something which Faramir had identified made him look up again. “Will you allow me to keep you company while you sleep?”

“You would?”

“I would like to…”

Faramir left the door and moved towards the bed. The closer he came to Aragorn, the stronger the desperation grew; his skin, barely covered by his shirt screamed to be touched, his heart longed to be nourished.

Aragorn toed off his boots but did not loosen his belt or pull off his leggings. With layer after layer shattering, Faramir came to stand in front of him, scant inches away but still they were too far apart.

“Please.” A broken whisper.

Aragorn’s fingertips traced his cheekbones. They followed the gentle curve of his jawline and chin, and brushed against his lips. Then other lips replaced fingertips and Faramir melted into the kiss and the tears that had threatened to fall receded.

Aragorn’s energy surrounded him as they lay down. Though he was fully dressed, Aragorn pulled the covers over them both before he spooned up against Faramir and draped an arm around him. For the first time in over three days, Faramir felt peace slide through him and stay there.

He missed what Aragorn mumbled for his last shreds of awareness registered only the feel of the other man’s lips upon his skin. Then he knew no more for a while.

“Hey there… wild one…”

Faramir stretched, limbs pushing against a solid form. His sleep-induced sigh sped out into the room and something brushed hair away from his forehead.

It was with some reluctance that he opened his eyes but there was nothing unwelcome in the sight that met him. Aragorn’s dark tresses were tousled and the skin around his eyes slightly puffy. It looked to Faramir as if he had fallen asleep as well.

“‘Wild one’?” he croaked. “That is hardly true…”

“Why yes it is…” A smile Faramir had never seen before drew across Aragorn’s face: a sweet smile, further sweetened by a hint of confidence. “You are a forest soul… I think… A part of this land.”

“But not very wild…” As he shifted where he lay, wanting to fully face the other man, Faramir realised his shirt had ridden up to his hips while he slept. A rush of panic made him grow very still in Aragorn’s arms.

“What is the matter?” Aragorn pulled away a little. “I did not mean to… If I have said something wrong…”

“No!”

He could not bear to see the light in the other man’s eyes waver or fade. Underneath the covers, Faramir tried to tug down his shirt. It was impossible to pretend he was doing anything else, however, and soon another type of light rose in Aragorn’s eyes.

“Oh,” he said. He swallowed. “Oh.”

Colour crept over Faramir’s cheeks. “No… It is not that… I am not wearing much and I should… I am not…”

He froze completely when he felt Aragorn’s palm slide down his side. The hand came to a rest upon his hip bone. Faramir opened his mouth to speak but no words came to him. Aragorn’s fingers stumbled over the creases in the shirt and finally brushed against his naked skin.

“You are not… aroused?”

Faramir shook his head against the pillow.

Aragorn’s voice was low but steady. “Would you like to be?”

“I…” He knew what he ought to say, what really was the proper response but the light in the grey gaze was so overpowering that it remained ignored.

The question became an urgent whisper. “Would you like to be?”

“Yes.”

The fingertips skidded lower at first, as if they wanted to avoid their task, but soon a first shiver raced across Faramir’s skin as they drew closer to his groin. He stared at Aragorn as his shirt was pushed aside completely. Even as a lust stirred within, the mixture of astonishment and nervousness balanced it so perfectly that for a moment Faramir thought he might actually find it hard to respond to the touches.

But as the first finger slid down his length, and then repeated the action, the feather light touches awoke tiny tingles in his stomach. Aragorn kept the caresses light for a little while, making Faramir’s skin prickle. He explored the younger man’s member with such gentleness, and it was such an unhurried discovery, that it came almost as a surprise to them both when Faramir swelled in his hand.

“Some oil?” Aragorn’s voice was raspy.

“Bedside table….”

The glorious caresses stopped for a moment while Aragorn retrieved the small bottle; he relaxed when they were resumed. This time, though, Aragorn stroked him harder and the heat started to build around his spine. He instinctively moved closer to Aragorn, wanting to blend with him, to move with him…

But Aragorn was still dressed and still too insecure; it was impossible to make peace with history so quickly.

A twist of the other man’s fingers made Faramir groan. He inhaled Aragorn’s scent, reached out with any power he had, and was shocked to find the desire that shimmered underneath the surface. The realisation worked as fuel to the flames and he shuddered against the other man.

Then his world swam for Aragorn’s fingers extended their quest and slid even lower, for the very first time finding their way to the entrance to Faramir’s body. When the tip of a finger pushed inside, Faramir exploded and lost himself to the light.

Aragorn was kissing him when he sank back into his body. The older man lay pressed against him and his body was so warm. Acting on instinct, Faramir ran his hands over a thigh and hip. The heated skin burned his palm through the fabric and Aragorn let out a tiny moan. Faramir made quick work of the lacings and dove inside. Aragorn’s length was hard and fitted in his hand perfectly. But Faramir wanted more and he could only pray that what he was about to do would not destroy the trust that was building between them.

Letting go of Aragorn briefly he pushed aside the covers. The other man’s arms fell away as if he already knew what Faramir was going to do, and his silence was permission given.

Faramir slid down the bed until he could place a kiss at the base of Aragorn’s member. He kissed his way down the length and when he was rewarded with a long, shuddering sigh, he took Aragorn in his mouth and tasted him. He proceeded slowly, wanting to simultaneously erase the dark memories of the last time it had happened and replace them with new, brighter ones. The salty tang was a blessing on his tongue and the tremors, this time unaccompanied by tears, that ran through Aragorn’s body made his heart swell in his breast. He smiled as he pleasured Aragorn as best he could, and he smiled as he coaxed his release from him.

He was still smiling as he hugged Aragorn close and swirled through the aftermath with him.

I love you.

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