Faramir Fiction Archive

Mist (R)

Written by Geale

30 September 2010 | 88324 words

Chapter Thirty-Four – Perspicuity

As the day waxed towards noon, it grew a little warmer. Faramir spread his cloak on a patch of ground that was no dryer than the rest but Arwen, when she sat down, assured him her gown would not be soaked. They chatted with growing ease as Faramir worked and she watched. He had, in turn, declined her offer of help, mostly because it seemed odd to him to have the Lady of Rivendell working in his woods and the mere idea did make him feel rather uncomfortable. But he was happy for the company. She told him of her home, of her brothers and of her planned journey to Legolas’ realm and his kin. He had dumped a new load of branches on his pile when Eldarion suddenly appeared among the trees.

“Nana?” His eyes widened a little when he spotted her where she sat. “Faramir.” It looked like he stopped himself from bowing at the very last moment.

“Dari,” she smiled. “Have you finished? Where is your father?”

That was what Faramir wanted to ask himself but also found somewhat inappropriate.

“He was writing letters when I left the library,” said Eldarion with a slight shrug. “But he said he would soon be done and join us.”

A thrill passed through Faramir at the news and he could not help the smile he felt curving his lips. He bent forward under the pretence to stretch his back and hid his reaction as best he could. By the Valar, he was a grown man and no lovesick youngling. But when he straightened, still he had to fight not to smile too broadly.

“And what of you, sweet?” Arwen held out her hand to Eldarion. “Come.”

But the boy did not let himself be dragged down to sit by his mother upon the cloak. Instead, he cast a glance towards Faramir and asked almost shyly, “Can I help you, sir? I would gladly do something else than write for a while…”

Faramir hesitated for a moment, thinking that perhaps it was a good thing to involve Eldarion in his work if the two of them were to spend time here in the future. In the end, however, he shook his head and hoped he did not come off as patronising. “Thank you. But you are not dressed for it and we shall soon return to the house for the noon meal. Another time, though, I would appreciate two extra arms.”

Eldarion nodded and it was hard to read his emotions. The last thing Faramir wanted was to make him feel rejected but he had spoken truthfully and hopefully Eldarion saw that too. Attempting to avoid some awkwardness, he addressed the boy again, “How does your essay, then?”

With a sigh, Eldarion prodded at a clump of grass with booted toes. “Everybody bears the same name in the First Age. There is Fingolfin and Finarfin, and Fingon and Finrod…” He grimaced. “‘Tis hard to tell one from the other.”

Faramir bit his lip to stifle a chuckle. ““Do you have a family tree to refer to?”

“Yea, father helped me draw one…”

Arwen looked pleased but she too was clearly trying hard not to smile. “There is power in a name,” she said and she sounded grave enough, “and some words carry more power than others, and so it is natural that we should form names out of those.”

Eldarion huffed something in response that Faramir could not make out. He went to fetch the last of the branches he had dragged into the clearing and dumped these too onto his large pile. Then he brushed off the dirt on his hands on his already soiled breeches and met Arwen’s bright gaze. “Shall we?”

She smoothly rose to her feet and handed him his cloak. They began picking their way back to the house but had only walked for a few minutes when a call rippled through the trees and caught Faramir unawares.

He turned and saw Damrod emerging from a thick cluster of hazels, his leather boots soaked and his cloak and hair full of twigs and leaves.

“Faramir!”

Arwen and Eldarion had stooped too, but he gestured at them to continue. “I will not be long,” he said, fighting to keep his tone light. “Please, proceed to the house and I will see you there.” He thought he caught a glimmer of worry in her eyes before he turned to face Damrod and his heart sank as the former Ranger stomped closer. He had had little time to analyse their quarrel and he was not yet ready for a new round.

“I’m sure they’ve all ganged up on me, your trees!” Damrod nearly snarled when he was only a feet away. Irritably he drove a hand through his dark hair, sending a few small leaves flying.

Faramir said nothing. Indeed, his friend had always been courteously treated by the woods in the years he had dwelt here, but now Damrod looked like he had been assaulted by both bough and bush.

“Listen,” said Damrod curtly, but beneath his scowl there was something entirely different, “I came to speak with you.”

“Then speak,” said Faramir simply. “I will hear you.” He wondered if he truly had meant to sound so indifferent and a part of him revolted at the sound of his own voice.

And Damrod would not be tricked. He snorted. “Yea you will, for I came to apologise, first of all.” He was no coward, had never been, and so he met Faramir’s gaze straight on. “I apologise. I spoke out of turn. But,“ he pushed back his shoulders a little, “I don’t think I gave a fool’s counsel either.”

It was as honest an apology Faramir could ever have hoped for. He inclined his head, unused to such situations as he was.

Damrod took one step closer and his voice dropped lower and he spoke with more kindness. “See, Faramir, you’re all lost in this…”

A very rare anger flared in Faramir then. He, in turn, took a step back, his boots sinking down in the undergrowth, rooting him to the ground. “What do you know of that?” he demanded. “How can you presume to know what has happened here since the King arrived?”

There was a glint of something equally unusual in Damrod too. “I don’t care what you do while he is under your roof,” he growled, “but I care what happens to you when he leaves. I know you, Faramir, searching ever for love and sweetness in the world but what have you gained so far?” His jaw tightened. “That’s a hopeless mission in these times and you’d be better off without it!”

It was many long years since Faramir had felt such a wave of rebellion flooding him. Drawing strength from this, his own land, his own world, he lifted his chin. “I have found that love of which you speak,” he hissed, “you do not know since you do not ask!”

“I don’t need to ask,” retorted Damrod at once, “because I see you melting before it – I’d wager you melt at the King’s feet too, uncaring of his intentions. Do not sacrifice yourself for him, Faramir!”

“I have made no such sacrifice,” cried Faramir. “I love him – and he has given his love to me in return.”

“Ha!” Damrod shook himself like a wildcat. “He loves you like a loyal subject, I’m sure! Or will he have his way with you for a few nights and then leave you to cruel slander?” He closed the distance between them again. “You might live in this protected little world of yours, Faramir, but the rest of us live in Gondor where your father’s influence still poisons minds against people like you!”

“People like me!?” Faramir staggered backwards but the woods closed in on them and he could not flee. He stared at Damrod whose brows were drawn together over the boiling ire in his eyes. “Think you so of me? That I am no better than the rutting rabbits in the fields? For that is how they see people like me, is it not?” Shaking with mounting anger, he only partly knew his own words. “Or would you have me thrown into the dungeons, never to see nor Sun nor Moon again?”

“Nothing’s changed!” cried Damrod, ignoring his questions. “Can’t you see? You will be lost when the King leaves your side and returns to his golden throne.” He raised a hand in warning. “No, hear me out! Even if, even if, he has come to care for you, what will he do? Marry you? Give you a coronet and call you his Prince before all the nobles of Minas Tirith? Confine you to his apartments and never let you return here?” When the first tide of anger had ebbed out he seemed to calm down somewhat. “Faramir… as your friend I beg you to please forget him. I don’t know what your deal with these trees is but I gather you have an understanding of some sorts.” He shook his head in disbelief at his own words, “Stay here. Find someone else.”

Through the pounding of his heart, Faramir barely heard him. He watched some frustration leap to the surface in Damrod’s form but he dismissed it. “I will not give him up,” he said, hearing his own voice ragged and rough. “I love him.”

Damrod drew a long breath and visibly fought to control himself. He briefly closed his eyes. “Listen to me,” he said slowly and in a much lower voice, “I love you – I have been ready to die for you time and time again – and I know you. You will give your heart to a man who cannot live in your house forever, who is King of Gondor, where, again, people do not take kindly to males who bind with other males. And you dread the doom of Minas Tirith – say not otherwise for I know it to be true.”

Forcing himself to breathe evenly, Faramir inclined his head. “You are right.” He felt his lips twist into a grim smile. “No doubt you are right, but two things you shall know and know as truths: there is love between the King and myself, and I have already given him my heart.”

Silence followed this statement and the very air seemed to stand still between them. There was no sound. At last, Damrod’s shoulders sagged and he sighed. “Then I will say no more.”

“You could wish me well,” said Faramir stiffly, the energy seeping out of him as quickly as it was born.

Damrod lifted his gaze to his face. “Do you think I do not?” He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I wish you all the love in Arda, Faramir… But…”

“But only of the kind you think simple and easy?” Faramir shook his head. “There is no such love anymore… There never was, for me.”

“I care about you,” said Damrod, and he sounded weary. “I would not have you spat upon and dishonoured before the entire City and the lands beyond.”

“I know.” And as he said it, he knew it was true, and it really was no news to him. “You have done well protecting me in the past, my friend. Now you must let me try my luck.” He took a few steps closer to the dark-haired man, feeling the rush of life around him as the woods exhaled too. “Aragorn will not abandon me… and he knows the people’s opinion on the subject.”

A ghost of a wry grin passed across Damrod’s lips. “‘Aragorn’ is it now? Well, well…”

Faramir smiled. “Aye… it is. He has fought his own demons to be with me.”

Damrod regarded him for a long while; his grey eyes searched Faramir’s face in silence. “Is he worthy of you?” he asked at last, and finally that which had lived underneath the anger revealed itself to be worry.

Self-consciously, Faramir shrugged. “I am human, Damrod, no gilded trinket he has won at the Midsummer games…”

“You’re one of the best men,” said Damrod gruffly. “I shall serve you beyond death.”

Knowing no words that would do, Faramir caught him in a long embrace. No warriors’ greeting or the like, but in a proper hug. “For that I am grateful.”

There were a few patches of sunlight upon the ground when Faramir finally stepped over his threshold, scandalously late for the noon meal but severely lacking in guilt. He hurried, however, to find some water for washing and he scrubbed his face and hands free from all the dirt. His clothes he left untouched since most of the stains were now dried and he would be returning to work when he had eaten. He found the dining hall empty save for one person.

Aragorn stood by a window and it looked to Faramir as if his thoughts were far away. He entered the room on silent feet but Aragorn, once a tracker and a Ranger himself, heard him approaching and turned, the lines of worry disappearing from his face.

“There you are.” Most of all, he sounded relieved.

Faramir walked up to him, opening up, letting the wave of concern flood him. “Yea…” he said. “I had to sort something out.”

Aragorn lifted a hand to his face and slowly ran his knuckles down his stubbly cheek. “Are you alright?”

“I am…” Faramir took one step closer, not willing to soil Aragorn’s clothes by coming too close but it was hard to resist.

“Tell me?” Aragorn cupped his cheek, brushed his thumb over his cheekbone.

Leaning into the touch, Faramir gave a half-smile. “Yesterday I quarrelled with Damrod. Today he came to apologise. Then we quarrelled some more, but now all is well.”

Aragorn’s fingers wove themselves into his hair and the older man drew him close. “Come here.”

Well, Aragorn was King and had more clothes. Faramir rested his head on his shoulder and wrapped his arms around the other man’s waist. The King was wearing simple leggings and a well-worn shirt of undyed linen that was soft to the touch.

“He worries that I shall be heartbroken when you leave,” Faramir ventured. “And if we let this continue and make it public, the people of Gondor will turn on both of us and despise us.” He shivered as Aragorn’s fingertips brushed over his neck and dipped beneath the collar of his shirt.

“When I leave,” Aragorn began in a low voice, “I will trust you to keep my heart for me for it shall stay behind.” He left a kiss near Faramir’s temple. “You must tell me how those with your preferences were treated in the City so that I can begin making changes.”

Faramir pulled back a little. “You are sure you would not rather keep this a secret?”

A curious light woke in Aragorn’s eyes. “I am weary to the bone of hiding, keeping secrets.” He pressed a kiss to Faramir’s brow. “I love you. And I will tell Gondor as much.”

The world gained some balance again and Faramir smiled. He covered Aragorn’s mouth with his own and they kissed long and leisurely. Hands began to wander and when Faramir experimentally fingered the waistband of Aragorn’s leggings he got an appreciative hum in response. Aragorn nuzzled his neck and Faramir felt the first rush of heat claim him.

“Hmm…”

Faramir stretched the waistband a bit further and discovered warm skin. “Hmm?”

Aragorn decorated the skin just behind his ear with a cluster of kisses. “Mud.”

“Especially for you…” Smiling, Faramir coaxed Aragorn to widen his stance by urging his legs apart with a knee. He only smiled broader when he heard the older man’s deep intake of breath.

“Generous…”

Aragorn traced Faramir’s lower lip with his tongue tip and his whisper tickled Faramir’s sensitive skin. Hands were gently tugging at his shirt and he knew that if they kept this up, it would soon be very obvious just how much he needed this man in his life. He pressed his aching groin against Aragorn’s thigh and the older man pushed his tongue deep inside Faramir’s mouth.

“Oh!”

A shrill clatter by the door reached Faramir through the sweet haze of desire. He released Aragorn just as Aragorn let go of him and looked up.

“Dari?”

Cursing the fact the his shirt was not long enough to cover the bulge in his breeches, Faramir tried to twist around without showing it. Eldarion was standing in the doorway, cheeks burning, and a few silver cups lay scattered on the floor at his feet.

“I… I am sorry, father…” the boy stammered, “Faramir.” He blinked several times. “I only wanted to… was…” he gestured awkwardly at the cups, seemed to realise he had really dropped them, and quickly bent to pick them up.

Faramir knew his own lips were reddened and swollen, and so were Aragorn’s. They were both flushed and he could feel the desire coursing through Aragorn in rich waves, and he himself was in no better state. Aragorn’s hands were still on his waist, ready to pull him even closer, but now neither of them moved. It was only when Eldarion had gathered up all his cups and clutched them to his chest and looked up that they parted a little.

“What will you use them for?” Faramir asked, surprising himself as he did so.

“Um,” Eldarion seemed to have some difficulties tearing his eyes from his father’s hands on his Steward’s waist. “I was reading about… some herbs and…” the colour would not leave his cheeks, “and Nena told me… told me about some flowers in the gardens and we… decided we would gather some…”

In the corner of his eye, Faramir saw Aragorn grin. “You like her?”

“No!” protested Eldarion, lost somewhere between confusion and embarrassment. “Well, yes, but…” he squirmed uneasily.

Aragorn’s grin widened. “I think you had better go, son. Never keep a lady waiting.”

“Father…” However, he shot another glance at Aragorn’s hands on Faramir and seemed to come to the same conclusion and hurried off.

Aragorn chuckled as soon as his son was without earshot. He kissed the bridge of Faramir’s nose. “I am starting to understand your scheme, my love.”

Faramir selfishly took a second to let the endearment sink into him, letting it wash away his own embarrassment at being caught flustered and entwined with Aragorn in the dining hall. “She is near to his age, maybe a couple of years younger. Eldarion needs a friend here, I think.”

“Mhm…” Aragorn pulled him close once more. “And perhaps he needed to see this too?” he suggested quietly.

“Yea… maybe…” said Faramir and felt himself relax into Aragorn’s arms. “Do you think he is okay?”

“Yes,” Aragorn left a string of kisses at his temple, “I actually think he is.”

With eyes drifting shut, Faramir drew a long breath. All would work out perfectly.

He would accept nothing less.

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