Faramir Fiction Archive

Tales from Gondor (R)

Written by Minx

23 September 2012 | 36179 words

25 Fluffy Fics

Aragorn and Faramir after the war – a series of ficlets, mostly written for prompts on the 25fluffyfics LJ community.
The ficlets are now re-compiled into some sort of vague order :). Expect fluff, hurt/comfort mostly hurt/ill!Faramir

Many thanks to Iris for reading through and encouragement all through!

Title: Prelude
Written for the 25fluffyfics prompt Hurt
Rating: G
A/N: Thanks to iris for reading through!
Summary: Aragorn looks after Faramir when he hurts himself in a fall

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Prelude

“You look tired,” Gandalf said critically as Faramir hastily slipped into the chair next to him. He was late for the meal.

“I’m fine,” Faramir said immediately, wishing yet again that Mithrandir wouldn’t choose a dinner table full of hobbits, elves, dwarf and king to air his views. True he’d had a small fall the day before, but it was nothing really.

It was just his bad luck Mithrandir had been with him when he’d over a loose stone on his way down to the gardens, and slipped down the last few steps to land on his backside. And the king had been there too. He’d never been more embarrassed in his life! His back and shoulders still hurt but that was to be expected for a day or two. It was hardly worth making a fuss over. Not when there was so much else to do!

The wizard shrugged, “If you say so,” he said and turned back to his plate.

Faramir gave an inward sigh of relief and turned his attention to his meal too. Not for long though. He noticed Mithrandir shift out of the corner of his eye but didn’t realise it until a sharp burst of pain shot through his neck, shoulders and back all at once. He cried out and bolted up in his chair, gasping. Everyone was looking at him now. Tears pricked his eyes and he blushed as they trickled onto his cheeks, powerless to stop them, as the searing pain dulled down to a painful throb. He felt himself slump back in the chair, aching all over.

“Gandalf!” Elessar was shouting, he realised. Beside him the wizard sat back in his chair looking smug.

“Now, do you still insist you are all right?”

He opened his mouth to reply, trying to work up some suitably angry retort for surely this was uncalled for but all that came out was a sob. He covered his mouth, horrified and stared at the others in the room as they stared back at him.

“Whatever did you do to him?” Elessar was shouting again he realised dimly and had risen now.

“You, child, were supposed to meet the healers yesterday after your fall. If you had then a tiny pinch there would not have caused such a reaction. Now will you see the healers?”

He nodded numbly through his tears. It hurt and he felt like glaring at Mithrandir but he couldn’t.

“That really wasn’t necessary,” Elessar was saying and then he laid a hand on Faramir’s shoulder.

It was the gentlest of touches but it caused Faramir to jerk up anyway, and another twinge of pain assailed him.

“Poor lad,” Elessar was saying softly, when he recovered after a few seconds, “And he hasn’t even finished eating! Really Gandalf! Sometimes …”

“He would not have admitted to the pain otherwise,” the wizard said firmly.

Faramir knew that was true. But he did abhor the houses of healing. He hated going there.

“It’s not much,” he protested. And it wasn’t. He’d been hurt worse in the past and his father wouldn’t have let that stand as an excuse to keep away from work. When he’d returned from Ithilien once with an arrow wound in his leg, he’d spent a week in Minas Tirith unable to walk but still kept busy with reports from the fiefdoms.

“And really my boy, I know you dislike the houses of healing, but you must have this seen to,” Gandalf continued.

“If he is wary of going there perhaps Elrohir or Elladan or I could take a look at his back,” Elessar said and Faramir jerked up again and winced in pain again.

“I-“ he started off alarmed, and feeling much like kicking himself for having forgotten that all three were trained as healers by Lord Elrond himself.

“Excellent idea!” Gandalf interjected, “You should do it now before it worsens.”

“They’re eating!” Faramir protested unhappily, his voice coming out tearful and blubbery. He thought he must sound like a small child and gulped again.

“We’ve eaten,” the king said.

“You were late for the meal you recollect?” Gandalf said.

He was accompanied to his bedchamber to await the healers by not just Mithrandir, but also Elessar and the twin elves he called his foster brothers. To his utmost surprise everyone seemed to want to come along, even Legolas and Gimli, who waited in the outside chamber.

“I’ll be fine sire,” he told Elessar when the tears finally stopped trickling down his cheeks, “You really don’t have to…”

“Don’t worry, Faramir. It’ll all be alright, you’ll see,” Elessar said, his voice as gracious and noble as ever, “We’ll just take a look at your back and everything will be fine again.”

They all stood awkwardly cramped for a few seconds in his small bedchamber, even as he wondered what they were to do next.

“Faramir,” Gandalf said patiently, “You’ll need to remove your tunic, young one.”

“Oh,” Faramir said. And then blushed. He fumbled self-consciously with the bindings and wondered why this was flustering him so. He’d been a ranger and although as captain he’d had some privacy, he had sometimes needed to give that up in the cramped confines of Henneth Annûn. It was not as if he hadn’t undressed in front of others earlier but somehow just removing his tunic in front of his king made him feel strange inside. He finally got the bindings undone and slipped it off.

He turned to show them his back and heard a slight gasp from Elessar.

“That’s quite some bruising,” one of the twins said, and then told him to lie down on his bed and he complied, turning over onto his stomach as Mithrandir’s gruff voice bade him to. He felt the now familiar gentle fingers brush over his back and scrunched up his eyes. As they roved over his back causing twinges of pain to flare up, he realised the extent of the bruising.

Elessar’s hand came to rest on his lower back above his pants.

“Faramir,” he said softly, “We’ll need to push down your pants a little.”

He nodded wordlessly and lifted his hips a little, his face flaming now. Even his neck and back felt warm as Elessar’s fingers slipped under his pants, and made contact with his hips. The pants came to a rest just above his buttocks and he was grateful. But he knew the bruises continued further down.

“Further down, Estel,” he heard one of the elves say and gasped silently as Elessar’s hands brushed his buttocks. The pants were lowered to his thighs and then they began their examination. The twins had light hands too and they were as soothing as Elessar’s but when Elessar’s hands were on him, Faramir felt oddly comforted.

“It’s just bruised badly,” Elessar announced after a while, his fingers resting lightly on Faramir’s bare arm. Faramir turned to gaze at him.

“We’ll apply something on that,” Elessar told him, “It’ll reduce the pain, and you must rest a few days of course. We can’t let you strain your back now.”

Elessar’s hands were just as soothing as he applied the salve on Faramir’s back… they left him feeling all nice and tingly inside. The younger man closed his eyes tiredly as he felt the warmth seep through his skin, across his back.

“That’s right, just rest,” Elessar said, his voice soft and gentle, and brushed his fingers over Faramir’s cheek. Someone was removing his pants, and he felt a warm blanket being pulled over him.

When Faramir woke, it was to the soft light of dawn filtering in through the thin drapes. He shifted under the blankets, intending to rise for the day and then blinked as he realised that Elessar sat curled up in a chair by his bed.

“Good morning,” the king said smiling, as he stretched himself and yawned. Faramir thought he looked as attractive as ever, nothing like a man who had spent the night on a hard, uncomfortable chair.

But why had he done that? Faramir suddenly felt very confused. “Sire… why – why are you sleeping on that chair?” he blurted out.

Elessar glanced doubtfully around the small room furnished with the bed, chair and a small table, “There was nowhere else,” he explained, “How do you feel now?” he asked gently, and rising, came and stood by Faramir’s bed.

“Nowhere else?” Faramir echoed in confusion, “But… you spent the night here? Why?” He raised himself up and bit off a loud yelp as pain flared through his back.

“That’s why,” the king said calmly, “Gandalf thought you might try to move around especially after we told you to rest a few days.”

Faramir looked up indignantly at that and made to interrupt but the king continued.

“So he asked me to have you moved to the houses of healing or call a healer here in the morning. But I’ve seen you don’t always listen to the healers so after he left I thought I’d stay with you. I’ve seen you listen to me,” he said rather smugly.

Faramir frowned, “You didn’t have to, Sire. I shan’t be trying to move for a while now.”

“I can see that,” Elessar said gently, “You’ll sleep and rest for the next few days.”

“I’ll have someone send me the papers on my table,” Faramir continued, “ And –“

“You’ll rest and sleep for the next few days,” Elessar said frowning.

“Yes, of course,” Faramir said readily.

“So you can forget about the papers on your desk,” Elessar supplied after a pause.

Faramir frowned slightly, “But I won’t have anything else to do. I can’t ride and Mithrandir won’t let me go out… I can’t just lie here doing nothing!” He knew he was getting a panicky edge to his voice but he couldn’t prevent it.

“Why ever not?” Elessar asked mildly, “You’re unwell!”

Faramir stared at him blankly.

“Yes, but surely I can’t just lie here …” he repeated, feeling a little dumb.

“Doing nothing,” Elessar said, almost wearily, “Yes, I see that. Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to.”

“But-“

“Are you arguing with me?”

“No, Sire,” Faramir said alarmed, “I- I’m supposed to help you!” he said, his voice sounding quite high pitched even to his own ears, “And – and not just lie around uselessly!”

“You wouldn’t be lying around uselessly,” the king said, rather testily, “You’d be recovering your strength.”

“But it’s only my back that needs recovering!” Faramir protested promptly, “Not my mind.”

“That’s what you think!” the king retorted, “I think your head needs seeing to! You are in pain and fatigued… how do you expect to do your paperwork with a clear head?”

“It’s just a little bruise,” Faramir began, “I’ve had worse injuries.”

“And worked through them no doubt,” the king said.

“Yes,” Faramir said, as though it was the most obvious thing ever, “Father always had me help him with his paperwork whenever I was home with an injury. It made no sense for me to sit back idling, and while it wouldn’t have made up for my absence in Ithilien, at least it helped him a little.”

The king raised an eyebrow, and then spoke after a pause, “Well,” he said slowly, and then paused again, before continuing, “Well… they were different times. The war’s over now. Things are quieter. It’s not all as urgent.”

Faramir opened his mot to protest again but the king simply placed a finger across his mouth and Faramir suddenly felt like licking that finger but Elessar thankfully removed it right then.

“It’s not all as urgent,” Aragorn repeated, “If there is any matter that truly cannot wait, I shall have it brought to you, but until then… you can rest. And you don’t have to be idling. You can think of what you’d like to do in Ithilien, if you like,” he said smiling.

Faramir sighed. The king was rather stubborn, he thought grumpily. But he’d probably be better in a day or two, so perhaps it would be all right. He was staring to feel a little tired again.

And he did need to get started on Ithilien. He’d thought a lot about it. He wanted to discuss some of those plans with Gimli who was to help in the work there. There was quite a lot to do!

His thoughts were interrupted by Elessar’s amused voice, “I can see that meets with your satisfaction,” he said laughing, “All right. Let me rub some more of the salve on your back. And then you can go back to sleep a while. It is still early.”

“If you go back to sleep,” Faramir said promptly, “You look quite tired Sire, and I know that chair is not comfortable!”

“I’d rather be with you until Elrohir comes by,” the king said calmly, “It is what we have decided. He and Elladan will take turns being by you today.”

“You are surely not going to try and sleep in that chair again?” Faramir asked surprised.

“It’s too cold on the floor,” Elessar said almost apologetically, “And I grow older.”

Faramir flushed, “I didn’t mean that,” he said, horrified, “I would never… you can’t… it’s not… I meant…”

“Oh hush, child…don’t get upset so. I know you didn’t,” Elessar and smiled, and kneeling by Faramir’s bed, placed a gentle soothing hand on his shoulder, “I was merely joking. It is a very bad habit I sometimes have.”

“Oh,” Faramir flushed even deeper now. He felt like an idiot. The king was trying to be nice to him, and he was being idiotic in return, “Forgive me,” he said helplessly, and then noticed the king was kneeling by his bed.

“I – but you mustn’t kneel on the floor like that, Sire,” he said, feeling a little distressed, “There’s place enough here,” he added and sat up swiftly to make place.

He shouldn’t have moved so suddenly, he realised, as the pain fogged his mind for a few seconds. But the king had risen immediately and had come to sit by him, and was running his hands comfortingly over Faramir’s aching upper body.

The king’s voice was kind and warm and comforting and Faramir was confused and in pain. He moved seeking more warmth and comfort, and let himself be drawn into a gentle embrace. So warm and such a nice smell… like heather, and such gentle hands, he thought and closed his eyes tiredly.

He felt the sheets being slipped off and the salve being massaged into his back. He felt the soft, gentle touches on his back and let out a relieved sigh. There was that nice, tingly feeling inside him.

“I’ll sit here if that is what you wish,” Elessar was saying reassuringly, “I’ll sit by you. Don’t worry.”

Faramir nodded gratefully, and winced as it increased the aching, “Chair is uncomfortable,” he slurred, “Much better here. And your hands are so nice…”

“Yes,” the king said smiling, “Much better.”

“You need rest too, Sire. You can stay with me,” Faramir continued.

“Thank you. I think I will awhile. I do wish you’d call me Aragorn.” It was a request he’d made earlier and Faramir would sometimes but then revert back to his title.

“Stay longer, Aragorn,” Faramir murmured, “Nothing urgent. Said so yourself.”

“I did, didn’t I?”

“I like it when I’m with you,” Faramir added drowsily.

“I like to be with you too,” the king said softly, “I wish we had more time to sit together and talk, perhaps share some wine, just the two of us. Get to know each other some more.”

Faramir sighed and leaned his head against Aragorn’s chest and drifted off to sleep.

When Faramir woke again later in the morning, the king was still there, and he was still holding Faramir in his arms. Faramir thought about rising but then snuggled up against him instead. The king’s hands tightened around him.

“How are you feeling now?”

“Better,” he replied, “Doesn’t hurt as much.”

“Good.”

“I like it when you hold me,” Faramir said softly.

“And I like holding you,” came the quite reply.

“Good,” Faramir murmured, “I’m too tired to move. We could sit here and talk, and get to know each other some more.”

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