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Mist (R) 
Written by Geale30 September 2010 | 88324 words
You know, in my vision of Gondor there is always this Council of elders helping the Steward or the King and I often include it in my stories, but I just realised that this probably has no canonical backing. There we go: imagination.
Chapter Thirty-Five – Sacrifice
Dusk was creeping across the grass. Behind the clouds the sunlight had been lost in twilight and now a first chill of evening was blending with the light breeze. Faramir shivered as the mist rose about him and twined around his legs. At his feet, almost lost in the high grass lay the stone upon which he smeared his blood in thanksgiving, twice a year. The recent rains had washed away any traces of his latest offering. He pushed aside the grass and sank down to squat before it. The trees towered silent over him and no birds sang. There were a few whispers in air, and he sent forth his greetings. The damp clung to his skin, and the copper tresses that fell into his face as he bent his head had turned into curls.
Open…
He let the power of the land flow through him, and he shivered as a cool wind drifted across his naked body.
White glow… flowing forth… He was open…
A well-known form crouched behind him and he almost swayed backwards, into arms that would hold him so close…
Coming closer, to gently caress.
Faramir fell forward instead, fell to his knees, knelt before this simple altar. His palms, pressed to the ground on either side of the stone, soaked up the mist. His own pulse was the pulse of this land. His land – this land that owned him. He sighed as a wet finger, drenched in the milky haze around him, circled his entrance.
Open, he welcomed the touch, longing to taste…
His breathing was that of the wind; his lungs filled with vision, filled with what lay beyond; he saw the green woods of Ithilien stretched out under his very fingertips… When the finger slid inside, his soft moan sank into the grass. He craved more, wanted to be filled. He moaned again when the finger was joined by another and somewhere, high above, leaves shuddered, and his passion was the passion of his world.
When the third finger was added, and they slid inside, pulled out, slid inside, pulled out… he felt the mist dragging along his spine like feather-light caresses. He pushed himself off the ground, felt the burn as his body accepted further intrusion and yet there was no burn, no sting.
He groaned into the silvery-white haze and the solid body behind him was the ground, the trees, the stone that had never begged to become an altar. Then the fingers were replaced by something else.
The slick, blunt head of his lover’s length pressed against the guardian muscle and far away in the courtyard the large oak shared in the tremor that passed through Faramir, guardian of this place.
Open…
He spread his legs a little wider, knees digging into the wet grass. Then a sizzling fire was wakened in him when his lover breached his body. Faramir sank down, impaling himself, throbbing as the length that filled him throbbed: with life, with unchecked desire.
He was urged forward again and his hands met with the soaked ground. The mist swirled softly around them as they moved. Faramir felt his lover’s body against his own, covering him, draping over him like a cloak. There were moans tangling in his hair, not his own; the ones he gave drifted out among the trees – his lover gave himself to Faramir, Faramir offered himself to his home. His heartland, and yet in his heart dwelt so much more…
Sweat mingled with the damp that covered his skin. His lover strove for balance in the growing darkness and whether by chance or no, he brushed the sensitive spot deep inside Faramir. The ground fell away for a moment, and the stars must all be burning brightly in the sky for there was light everywhere. Then there was more as his lover did it again, and again… and again.
‘Rise…’
The whisper drifted through him and was not a human one. Faramir, blinded by pleasure, struggled to raise himself up a little. A new thrust into his willing body almost pushed him down again.
‘Soon.’
He leaned forward, hands lost in the grass, knowing that the stone was somewhere beneath him.
Ragged breathing picked up even more and then a white-hot current washed through him and there was moonlight and more as Faramir emptied himself, crying out as he did so, and coating the stone with his essence.
He sagged as the aftermath crashed over him and he shook against the one who claimed him. And Emyn Arnen rejoiced and fed on his release and he gave of himself until he knew no more.
Their woollen cloaks were soggy but Faramir was loath to leave so soon. He leaned back against Aragorn’s solid chest and was content to simply breathe. Aragorn was leaving kisses at his temple, on his cheek, near the corner of his mouth.
“I could feel it…”
Faramir lazily turned in Aragorn’s embrace, his limbs heavy, his whole body sated. Aragorn’s face was not blurred in the misty evening but then it was only an inch away. He joined their mouths in a deep kiss. “What did you feel?” he murmured against the soft skin.
“You… the wind… the mist embraced us like a third lover…”
Faramir smiled. “A third one? Would you have that?”
Aragorn smiled, too, but his eyes were serious. “No. Never. I will have only you, always.”
“Good.” He snuggled back into Aragorn’s arms, his skin prickling as the wind drifted through the grove and stirred the air. “I think you are an accepted addition to the household now.”
“Ah…” Still there was a hint of seriousness in Aragorn. “Is this… Have you done this before,” he all but mumbled.
Faramir pressed a kiss into his skin, near his collarbone. “No.” He breathed in the lingering scent of lovemaking that clung to his lover. “I do not know what compelled me to do this,” he said softly. “You have taken no vow.”
Aragorn’s arms tightened around him. “Whatever the meaning of this,” he said into Faramir’s hair, “I am glad we did it.”
“So am I.”
They sat entwined for a while longer but soon the chill had chased away all remnants of the sun’s warmth. Casting off the cloaks, they staggered to their feet and Faramir felt both cold and stiff. But he grinned at Aragorn. “Put your cloak back on. I would not have anyone but myself see you like this.”
“A greedy one you are,” grinned Aragorn, but it was obvious that he was unused to think of himself as one drawing such attention.
Faramir circled his hipbone with a forefinger. “I did not take the Ring from Frodo… the world owes me.” He erased the distance between them and pressed his body against Aragorn’s. “I think I will take you.” He smiled, interest waking anew. “After we have bathed.”
Aragorn’s fingers under his chin tilted his head backwards. “So be it.”
Tulië 50
He turned a page, another one. He was so engrossed in his reading that he did not at once notice the shuffling of feet by the doorway.
“Sir?”
Looking up from his book, Faramir blinked in the soft candlelight. Eldarion had slipped inside the library and stood now uncertainly just inside the door.
“Please, come in,” he smiled and pushed his book aside. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, sir…” Eldarion trudged across the floor and hesitantly pulled out a chair opposite Faramir. “Nothing really… Nana – mother – and father are making plans for tomorrow and Nena is gone off with her brother. I have not much to do.”
“Speak with me then,” said Faramir and tried to make it sound like he was suggesting it and not only responding to Eldarion’s implied question. “Have you packed?”
“Yea… I did not bring much here.”
He had tried to forget… Tried to ignore that he knew Aragorn would be leaving on the morrow, but he was fooling himself. He had known this day would come and now only one night lay between him and the parting.
He forced his own stirring despair down. “Do you look forward to seeing the City?”
The boy coloured a little. “I think I like it better here.”
Faramir leaned forward. The desk was still between him and so he could not touch Eldarion but he hoped he could still make his point. “Come here whenever you wish. I would be happy to house you.”
Eldarion nodded. Faramir thought that in a way they had come a long way if the boy did not feel the urge to thank him courteously for such an offer. He looked his lover’s son and hoped his next words would sound well-balanced. “I can understand if you find it odd seeing your father with me,” he said slowly. “I do not wish to make you uncomfortable.”
“‘Tis a bit strange,” Eldarion admitted. “But I have seen others kiss… at home.” He shrugged. “I guess it is strange because it is my father.”
“I can see that,” said Faramir. After that he had some trouble with striking a new path in the conversation and so they sat in silence for a little while.
“You know, it is weird also that ‘Nena’ is so very like to ‘nana’,” Eldarion ventured and suddenly he smiled. “This is a strange place then.”
Faramir laughed. “Aye, strange indeed!” Eldarion knew not just how strange it was. “I will not taunt you but I am glad that she might be your friend.”
“Me too,” said Eldarion softly. “She is nice.” Then some urgency caught hold of him. “Please do not tell father I said so?”
Grinning, Faramir shook his head. “You have my word.”
“I will miss this…”
A broad band of moonlight lay across the bed and outside the summer stars were turning in a clear, dark sky.
Aragorn rested his head on Faramir’s chest, his dark hair gleaming.
“So will I.”
They had made love without haste. Here there was no mist blurring their senses and it had taken Aragorn a little while to relax after Faramir had proclaimed his intentions. It would take long, Faramir suspected, for Aragorn to be trusting enough to allow himself to be taken without facing his lover. Not that it disturbed Faramir – there were few other tasks so sweetly perfected as lovemaking. He had spent himself deep in Aragorn’s heat and then lain in his arms without thinking, only feeling the rise and fall of his chest, flowing with him into the moonlight.
“Will you come to the City?” Aragorn turned in his arms and looked at him with hope already present in his eyes.
Faramir nodded. “But I suppose I should wait a while… let the Council members own you for some time.”
Sighing, Aragorn agreed. “You could come at night and leave in the morning?” he suggested.
“And I could come here just as easily.”
Faramir twined his fingers into Aragorn’s tousled hair. “We will be doing a lot of riding.”
“It will be worth it.” His head sank back down as the younger man began massaging his scalp. “I will tell everyone of my love for you… When any of the elders ask my opinion on any matter, be it taxes or horses or curtains, I shall tell them aye or nay and then I shall add that I love you.”
Chuckling, Faramir shook his head incredulously against the pillow. “They shall think you mad.”
“I hope so,” said Aragorn, “and then they may choose a new King and I will come here and never let you out of my sight.”
“Mm… you know in autumn the roads run mud and turn slippery underfoot and when the rains come you shall be constantly wet and shivering?”
“But you love it.”
Faramir closed his eyes, the temper of Emyn Arnen the very song in his blood. “Aye… I do.” He lifted his head and Aragorn shifted and they met in a soft kiss. “I love my land and I love you,” Faramir murmured into the kiss. “I am blessed.”
When they parted, Aragorn resumed his previous position. “I was not jesting, Faramir, when I said I would speak freely of my feelings for you… If it becomes public knowledge that the King has a male lover then perhaps the general view on the matter will change?”
“Think you so highly of yourself?” Faramir joked but the smile fled him when Aragorn said gravely, “I must, if I am to turn the prevailing opinion around, is that not so?”
Somewhat rebuked, Faramir assented to this. “Yes… yes, forgive me. ‘Tis just that to me it sounds like a dream, being accepted even when my secret is known.” He sensed Aragorn’s response and hurried to continue, “No, I am not seeking pity, I am only stating a fact.” He yawned and failed miserably at concealing it.
Aragorn pressed a kiss into his skin. “Dari likes you…”
“I like him.” One of Faramir’s hands drifted down to his lover’s shoulder. “Truly I do.”
He felt the wave of happiness in Aragorn as if it were his own.
“If we were to return for the Midsummer celebrations..?” Aragorn wound his arm tighter around the younger man’s waist.
“I would be very happy,” Faramir smiled. He felt his eyelids growing heavier. “Very happy.”
The moonlight still flooded the bedchamber.
Now, my friends, we’re nearing the end… The next chapter will be the last and then remains only the epilogue. Do you want them posted together or would you prefer one week in between?
Lots of love.
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!
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