Faramir Fiction Archive

Mist (R)

Written by Geale

30 September 2010 | 88324 words

Chapter Twenty-Seven – Foundation

Tuilë 46

His tea had grown as cold as the day some hours ago but Faramir found no inspiration to send someone to reheat it or even to fetch him a new cup. He was… hiding in his study, if he were to be honest with himself.

Living in his house meant bending to few rules. You broke your fast depending on when you awoke, needing no one else’s permission to eat. He had been alone at the table that morning but a servant had informed him that the Lady of Rivendell had risen at dawn and was now exploring the woods near the house. Faramir had nodded.

He supposed dinner would have to be a different matter but so far he had not gathered the strength to speak with anyone about that. It would seem strange if the King of Gondor, his son and her mother were left to their own devices at every hour of the day. As Steward, he guessed it was his duty to care for such important guests… and he wondered where the sudden pangs of childish jealousy that occasionally broke through the numbness came from. He fought them as best he could, but they were insistent and he was not set free.

He had finished a business letter to Imrahil and was reading through it when there was a faint knock on the door. At first he thought he may have imagined it but after a little while the sound was repeated with a bit more firmness.

“Enter.” Shying away from the world, he told himself sternly, was not the proper behaviour of a Steward of Gondor though now he would have preferred it. He steeled himself and crushed a flash of apprehension.

The door opened a fraction and then a little more. Dark curls framing a pale face appeared and wide grey eyes met his. For a second, the likeness was so striking that Faramir was completely thrown off balance but then he came to his senses.

“Prince Eldarion.” He inclined his head. “Please, come in.”

The boy, shorter and still more willowy than his father, bit his lip and scrambled inside. He hesitated by the door, seemingly unsure whether to close it properly behind him. In the end he shut it and it clicked dutifully.

Faramir watched him, thinking he ought to say something for Eldarion was clearly more nervous than he, but any possibly appropriate words stuck in his throat.

“Lord Faramir,” Eldarion began, “I hope I am not disturbing you?” Despite the anxiousness in his voice, it was pleasant and had the potential of becoming a perfect blend of Aragorn’s quiet one and Arwen’s melodious.

“Not at all,” Faramir shook his head. “What can I do for you?” He had no idea how to behave: he was far older than Eldarion who outranked him and was only a child.

The boy dropped his gaze to the floor and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Well, father told me you have a library?”

Father…

Faramir slammed the door shut in the face of that thought. “Indeed, I do.”

Eldarion lifted his eyes again and swallowed audibly. “So… I was wondering if maybe I could see it? Or… use it?”

It was impossible to remain untouched by the obvious fear of demanding too much in Eldarion’s face. Once again, Faramir found that a smile came to him quite naturally.

“Of course.” He pushed back his chair. “Would you like me to show you to it? The house is not very big but I would be happy to help you.”

“I am not disturbing you, truly?”

“Truly.”

He laid aside the letter and rose to his feet. Eldarion opened the door again and they left together. Faramir searched among any topics of conversation he could think of to find something to say and finally settled on what he thought was most obvious.

“Do you read much…” My lord? My Prince? He hesitated for too long and could only hope his words had sounded like a question anyway.

Eldarion glanced up at him. “Yes, sir, I like reading.” He fell silent for a moment or two but then continued. “My tutor has asked me to write an account of the Great Battle at the end of the First Age… When Morgoth was overthrown…”

Faramir raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise. “That is one enormous topic.”

The quickest of smiles dashed across Eldarion’s face. “I thought so too…” he all but mumbled, but he kept his eyes lowered.

“It has been a while, I admit, since I read about it,” said Faramir, beginning to feel more at ease now, “but at least I can find you some books that might help.”

Eldarion looked torn between the prospect of assistance and guilt for being in the way. He glanced up quickly. “Sir, if you do not have the time… You need not…”

Again Faramir saw in him what he had last seen three years ago in Minas Tirith: the confusion the boy’s heritage inevitably offered him, the complicated, bordering on non-existent, bond with his father, and the apparent problem of not fitting in. In a fit of urgency, Faramir stopped walking and placed a hand on Eldarion’s shoulder.

“Please, I would like to help you if I can.” He gestured towards a window with his other hand, “We are expecting more rain this evening so there is not much else I can do anyway.” He tried a smile. “Life here is not very hectic.”

Eldarion did not shake off his hand and nor did he object at the lack of appropriate address in Faramir’s speech. He only stared up at the older man before giving a small, unsteady smile of his own. “I like it here,” he said quietly and his cheeks gained a little colour. “It is nice and… thank you.”

Faramir said no more but he was still smiling when he let the boy go and they resumed their walking. He felt a bit warmer and his heart slightly lighter in his breast.

His library was nothing in size compared to the great one in Minas Tirith – not the most slippery, ingratiating of tongues could credibly argue that – but it was welcoming and neatly ordered. Eldarion wandered over to a random shelf while Faramir began searching for any volumes that might help his young guest. He picked out a few, found some maps and laid it all out on a desk by the window.

“I think these will do for starters,” he said. “Parchments and quills are stored in that chest over there,” he nodded towards a corner. “There should be ink to.”

Eldarion drew nearer to the desk and eyed the books. “They are all new.”

“Yea,” Faramir acknowledged. “Your… father… gave me permission to copy some of the books from the library in Minas Tirith.” The word was not as uncomfortable to say as he had thought. “But they are just as good.”

Eldarion nodded. “My grandfather has… had… or has, but he sailed, a huge library too… at home.”

The way he said ‘home’ made Faramir suddenly wish he could take him in his arms and comfort him. There was longing deeply etched into that word, and a hope that one day ‘home’ for Eldarion would indeed mean a place where you belonged, such as others use it time and time again with ease.

“Do you miss Lord Elrond?” He could not stop himself.

Eldarion looked up, surprise catching hold of him. “Yes… I do… I mean, I have my mother and my uncles, but I do miss grandfather.”

“You can miss someone even if you have others to love,” said Faramir and wondered if that applied to his own life too.

When Boromir had been taken from him, who had been around then for him to love? Mablung and Damrod were his trusted friends and he guessed he loved them in a way… Imrahil was his uncle but they saw each other seldom. Denethor… no, not Denethor. Someone entirely different came to mind.

“I miss Mithrandir,” said Faramir softly. “He sailed with your grandfather did he not?”

Eldarion nodded. “He did. And with the Lady Galadriel and the other Ring-bearers.”

“Do you remember them well?” They were still standing by the desk and he should leave Eldarion to study, but the air was softening around them and there was gentleness building in the corners.

“They are spoken about often in Imladris, and songs are sung in their honour,” said Eldarion. “That helps… great-grandfather Celeborn lives with us now, and I remember Mithrandir’s fireworks.” At that last word, he smiled a brighter smile than Faramir had ever seen on his face up until now.

It called forth one of his own. “I too have seen them… He was my tutor when I was younger.”

“He was?” Grey eyes widened in amazement. “I bet that was wonderful. My tutor is a friend of Erestor’s and he is very, very dull… He is very serious about everything. Erestor was my grandfather’s chief counsellor,” he added as clarification.

Faramir grinned. “If it helps, Mithrandir took education very seriously too.”

Eldarion looked not altogether convinced. “Did he show you magic?”

“He did not show me, I would say… Sometimes he made a quill levitate or a book close itself but he did not conjure up a dragon in the middle of the library.”

Eldarion’s face lit up. “Would that not have been splendid?”

At his eagerness, Faramir actually found himself laughing. “Aye, it would. And imagine how frightened everyone else would have been.”

After that, silence fell between them for a little while. Eldarion fingered the corner of a rolled-up map.

“I guess I should leave you to it,” said Faramir finally. “If you need help – with anything – do not hesitate to ask me.”

Eldarion looked up at him and though some of the light had dulled in his eyes the Steward imagined that he looked happier and more at ease than before. “Thank you, sir.”

Faramir smiled and nodded. He left the library, closing the door carefully behind him, with the not wholly unfamiliar sensation of caring for something precious.

The afternoon was fading into early evening when he left his study the second time that day with the intention of washing his face and maybe changing his shirt. Upon returning from the library earlier he had finally ordered a proper dinner and he needed to collect his thoughts before he met with his guests. However, that strategy fell into pieces when he spotted a well-known form outside his door.

Slowing his steps in sudden hesitation, Faramir could not help but notice how the last show of the still bright daylight fingered the dark tresses and ran down the broad back. He swallowed down a rising surge of longing that was so intense he could taste it on his tongue. He wished he could retreat, turn invisible.

But Aragorn had already heard him approach and he turned. There was a shadow playing on his face but his stance was less tense than Faramir had grown accustomed to.

“Faramir?” But he sounded frightfully weary.

He had no choice. Faramir saw the distance between them lessen and then he was standing face to face with his King.

“My lord?” He only managed a whisper that he immediately detested.

There was pain in Aragorn gaze and it blended with the tiredness. “I… sought… I need your company.” He lifted a hand but it fell to his side again. “Please?”

Faramir was not sure what in him made him open his door to let them inside. Something caused his body to function and he locked the door behind them and spread his arms. When Aragorn fell against him, and Faramir fell against the wood, he held on so hard he thought he might be driving all air out of Aragorn’s lungs.

Tears welled up in his eyes without him knowing exactly why. He wanted to slide to the floor, spend an eternity simply holding the man he loved, but time was not on their side. He breathed in the scent of rain-filled skies and glistening leaves that clang to Aragorn’s hair, and he feared that was all he might be offered.

“I missed you,” he confessed, probably speaking out loud but not entirely certain. “I missed you so much.”

Aragorn pressed against him as if he were the only thing to hold onto in a shattering world. Faramir left kisses in his hair, stroked his back and prayed for some kind of reason.

“I love you.”

The air stilled around them and outside the first raindrops lost their course and fell haphazardly onto the ground in a mess.

Faramir was not conscious of anything but Aragorn in his arms and the words he should recognise but could not really understand.

Aragorn untangled himself a little and Faramir saw his tear streaked face and reddened eyes. Still he was the most beautiful man he had ever laid eyes on.

“If you cannot…” Aragorn’s voice broke into a whisper, “then I understand… but do not shun me for loving you… please.”

Finally, Faramir felt the floor dissolve beneath his feet and he had never been happier to fall. “I love you,” he smiled though his own tears, welcoming new ones with a heart that was opening up to accepting the impossible. “I love you so, Aragorn… I love you.”

Aragorn stared at him, eyes now filling with shining liquid pewter. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came.

Faramir leaned in and pressed his lips to the other man’s, tasting the saltiness of tears and the brave spark of hope. He renewed his hold on Aragorn and brought him as close as he might. It was a chaste kiss, more of a confirmation than anything else, and when they parted, astonishment was rising to the surface in Aragorn’s gaze.

“But…” he started, “you..?”

Smiling, Faramir gently walked him backwards to the bed and they sank down beside each other.

“Aye.”

This time when Aragorn meant to touch him, he succeeded. His fingertips traced Faramir’s jawline and with the pad of his thumb he explored Faramir’s lower lip. The younger man opened up slightly and, transfixed, Aragorn watched a tongue tip greet his touch.

Faramir pressed a kiss to the skin and then smiled. “I did not think this possible.”

Letting his hand come to a rest on Faramir’s thigh, Aragorn offered his first smile. “But it is?”

“That is all I wish.”

But at his words, Aragorn’s face fell and he sighed. “I would wish for more still,” he admitted. “I would wish that I could leave my crown in the hands of another… anyone… I wish that,” his cheeks gained some colour, “with your permission, I could make this my home too. I wish I knew how to speak with my son and tell him that I love him also…” He fell silent.

Faramir sought out the hand that rested on his thigh with one of his own. “You are King, Aragorn, and that we cannot change. But stay with me in Emyn Arnen as often as possible for I would quickly grow unhappy on my own now…” He laced their fingers together. “Tell Eldarion what is in your heart. He longs to hear it.”

Aragorn looked up. “You have spoken to him?”

Faramir smiled. “I helped him find some books in the library and we talked a little. Not of such matters but of others… He is easy to love.” Perhaps he should not have phrased it so but now it was too late.

Aragorn was regarding him thoughtfully but before he could say anything, Faramir continued quickly, “He is a sweet boy and your son, and you I love. He will always be welcome here.”

“Thank you.”

They sat for a while in silence as the rain filled the outside world.

“So where do we go from here?” Aragorn ran his thumb over Faramir’s.

The younger man produced a small smile. “To dinner?”

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