Faramir Fiction Archive

Second Prize (R)

Written by Liz

04 April 2004 | 7656 words | Work in Progress

Part 3

"Are you certain that your uncle wants this of you, Faramir? You could be reading too much into this." Arwen stroked her friend's hair as he wet the shoulder of her dress with quiet tears. Revealing such a thing to her had been emotionally draining and he was glad that she was there to comfort him.

"Aye," he said softly; "There is no doubt in my mind Arwen. I believe it to be the only reason he is here in Minas Tirith. I pity him for I know how lonely it is to be without a wife." Éowyn and he had been quite the couple for the first few months after the battle at the black gates yet she had left with her brother when Éomer had returned to Edoras. As wonderful a companion as Faramir was, he was no competition to a welcoming home and family that Éowyn had waiting for her. The steward had not been as lucky, and it was because of his loneliness that Arwen had opened her heart to him and become such close friends.

The queen sighed and rubbed the back of Faramir's neck as he closed his eyes. She had never heard of such a thing outside of whispered stories in her father's halls. In Imladris where people were more free with their love it did not matter whether a couple had two lovers or three, nor what gender the lovers were. Here in Gondor it seemed for every new facet to society that she discovered there was a rule that restricted her freedom. Arwen hoped that this would change in her husband's rule but she held out no real expectations of it coming to pass. Her friend seemed to be sleeping now, and she felt a wave of strong affection for Faramir which caused her to draw him tightly into her arms. How long had it been since Estel had last fallen asleep with her under a tree where she had held him dreaming in her arms? Far too long, decades at the very least when he had been younger and full of life. Like Faramir was. Sighing once again, Arwen petted the dark soft hair and began to sing the Lay of Luthien; despite everything that had happened she was still glad to be mortal. It was the one decision she had not regretted. A wet drop; it was what first registered on Faramir's mind when he awoke. Water hitting his cheek, and a cool wind that pushed his hair into his face and tickled his nose. Murmuring softly he opened his eyes to find another pair staring back at him. So he was still in the garden with Arwen then; by the look of the dark clouds above them it was about to rain. Pulling the queen to her feet, he held her hand before they began running together along the grass towards the citadel.

---

Imrahil bit down softly on his king's neck, enjoying the warm taste of Aragorn's skin against his tongue. He grinned at the small whimper he had provoked and kissed the other man softly. "There now, this isn't so bad, is it?" Shifting his hips, he thrust deeply into the other man before gently nuzzling the soft neck of his lord.

"I swear it Imrahil, you will regret this one day." Aragorn winced at the deep throated chuckle and continued. "Even if you have my body, you will never have anything else; ever." He paused at that and gasped suddenly as a pair of hot and callused hands wrapped themselves around his hips and the prince of Dol Amroth drove himself even further into Aragorn. "Imrahil," the kings whispered softly, "you are hurting me. You are causing me pain; stop, please. Please stop."

Imrahil looked sharply at the other man, but seeing the sincerity and anguish in the king's eyes, relented. "You always were soft, even when you were on the battlefield. You would not come to Minas Tirith and take your rightful place as king. You stayed outside and pretended you were a simple ranger. I suppose I am not surprised that you sacrifice yourself now to me in order to save others pain. No, I am not surprised at all."

Aragorn sighed, and leaned his head against the man's shoulder. "Let me go, Imrahil. You have had what could be taken, and there is no point in continuing this. Faramir will never have you, you must know this deep within your heart."

Imrahil looked coldly at the king below him. "No, I will not. If I cannot have Faramir, I shall have you in his place." Smirking, Imrahil raised an eyebrow and kissed Aragorn affectionately on the nose. "I shall have you, Aragorn. In every way I can imagine as well. Unless of course, you would convince my misguided nephew where his true place is."

"His true place is here, in Minas Tirith where he belongs." With added spite, Aragorn added "Here, with me."

---

"Faramir, have you seen my husband?" Arwen inquired to the dripping wet Steward. Despite both their best efforts, Faramir and his queen had gotten completely drenched in the rain.

"No lady, I have not seen him since the council. He seemed upset, so I thought it best if I left him to his thoughts." He answered, as he turned from the fire, and passed the cup of tea to Arwen.

Both had found their way to the kitchens, after sending servants for blankets. It was impossible for them to go to their quarters, considering how inappropriate the sight of a dripping queen and steward of Gondor would be for the court to witness.

"I think," Faramir began hesitantly, "that he may have gone to confront my uncle about his... behaviour towards me."

The steward glanced at Arwen for a moment before flushing and looking away. "Perhaps it is all in my mind," He mumbled. "No man in his right mind would want... such a thing with me."

Arwen reached out and clasped both his hands in hers. "Do not think of it like that, Faramir. You do yourself a disservice. Many people see you as handsome," Arwen paused and smiled to herself. "And I have seen some of the nobles follow you with their eyes. They were not observing to see what you were doing, they were watching you. The way you move, with that Gondorian grace of yours."

Faramir looked away again and blushed.

The queen smiled and squeezed his hands once more. It was no lie, what she was telling him. Looking critically, she could see why a man would be attracted to her steward. The long clean limbs and soft features made him seem young and inviting. Indeed, two types of men seemed to be caught by the young one's beauty.

Some, like Aragorn, who sought to coddle and dote upon him as if he were some fragile doll. Though in her husband's case, the death of Boromir played in heavily. Then there were those like Imrahil, she thought to herself. Those that sought to dominate that beauty, to possess it as their own like a fine hunting hound or a handsome stallion. Imrahil no doubt cared for Faramir, but he was not in love with him that much was certain from his actions.

"Arwen?"

Arwen glanced over to Faramir and sighed. "Come, our clothes must be dry enough by now to risk coming back. We shall go to my anteroom and dry off, there's a warm fire there, I am certain of it."

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