Faramir Fiction Archive

Refuge (R)

08 March 2014 | 2456 words | Work in Progress

Title: Refuge
Author: Iris
Rating: R
Pairing(s): Faramir
Warnings: dubious content
This story is made up of a series of short fragments,which I'll post one at a time <del>in a shameless ploy to buy myself a little more time</del> for dramatic effect;).

Originally posted to celebrate the birthday of fabulously fantastic Minx, founder of this archive. Happy birthday darling!
Added: Part 7

VI

‘Romance…’

Faramir let the echo of the word roll around in his head for a moment. He’d never thought of what the King and he did — what the King did to him — as anything even remotely related to romance, the thought had never occurred to him, and trying to marry the term with the acts in his head procured nothing but a mental blockage. The word rolled around but Faramir’s brain decided it was foreign to him. Inconceivable.

And yet… the King had hinted on more than one occasion that he’d been begging for it, as the King put it, the way Faramir had mooned over him. And there had been some truth to that. He’d been infatuated at first, those first weeks after the King had returned. He’d dreamed of the moment for so long, and now it had come to pass! Seeing his dreams come true had helped dampen the blow of losing his brother, and had helped keep his pressing loneliness at bay for some time.

He hadn’t been the only one who’d been infatuated: all of Gondor still was. He’d seen the looks the people gave him — the looks of admiration and adoration that used to be the preserve of Boromir. Though that was different: everyone knew that after the battle was done, you’d more likely find the Captain-General in one of the local taverns raising a beer with his men than in the council chamber. With Boromir, everyone knew you could go up to him and shake his hand or pat his shoulder, even steal a kiss if you were pretty (or bold) enough. Not so with the King. He didn’t socialize with the people, only with those within his trusted inner circle. A circle Faramir was resolutely not part of.

So at first, when the King had sought him out, he’d been thrilled. Elated and enthralled, and more than a little starstruck. Filled with hope that some day soon he too would be invited to sit down at the King’s dinner table and be privy to the private jokes that were always buzzing around the citadel.

But that hope has soon vanished. The King had been rough that first time. Violent even, as to assert his power and show Faramir who was boss. Not that there was any need to remind Faramir to their relative positions. He was well aware he had no alternative to obey his King. On subsequent occasions, Faramir simply did as he was told, or assumed the requisite position and let the King do as he pleased. The King still had a mean streak at times, especially when he’d been drinking or stressed — or both – but he’d never been as violent as the first time. They’d worked out a unspoken understanding. Though romantic… no, the thought had never entered Faramir’s mind to call it that.

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