Faramir Fiction Archive

Tales from Gondor (R)

Written by Minx

23 September 2012 | 36179 words

Title: Summer
Author: Minx
Characters: Aragorn/Faramir
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Everything is Tolkien’s
Author’s Notes: Written for the 25fluffyfics community’s ‘Picnic’
prompt. Much thanks to Iris for reading through!
Summary: Aragorn and Faramir on a fine summer day

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Aragorn sighed impatiently as he stared at the broken quill. That was the third one he’d broken in as many days. He reached for another one, his gaze moving towards the open window as he did so, and he found himself sighing in frustration again, at the sight of the clear blue skies outside. He placed the broken quill on the table and walked over to the window.

Summer had reached Minas Tirith. The winter had been unusually cold and long, and spring had been wet, but the summer months were making up for all of that, it appeared. The days were long, warm but never too hot, and the light breezes that darted through the city brought in the fragrance of summer flowers and harvest. Aragorn looked out onto his city; the pale golden light of the afternoon city bathing the white walls, streets, courtyards and gardens below.

Were he in Rivendell or even in Arnor, on a day like this, he would have been out, riding through the fields in the distance. They would have stopped by the river to eat, fish caught fresh from the river, fruits plucked from the orchards, some of that soft, white bread from the kitchens.

But he was in Minas Tirith instead, with a table full of work, with councils to attend in what increasingly seemed like a dreary council chamber. He turned around to glance at his desk. The parchment he had been writing on lay on it, a streak of black ink reproachfully marking where the quill had broken. He sighed unhappily, and then glanced out of the window again.

Why did there have to be so much work in the summer months? These last few months were when all the trade agreements, all the land disputes, all the troop requirements had come in. These were also the months when he truly missed his days in the north. Then as now they had longed for the summer months, and the short duration of sunny skies, and dry weather had been well appreciated. On days like this, he had found himself filled with reminiscences of his life away from Minas Tirith and of the days before the responsibilities of kingship. It was on such days that he allowed the deeply buried pangs of regret at having to move to Minas Tirith surface. He was well aware he had a duty to do here and much to fulfil but there were still these few times when he felt an acute longing for the life he’d led in the past.

He tried to stop himself thinking back to the short but fine northern summers. The days were spent riding long and hard, hunting, fighting, and then stopping off to wash down in the fresh, cold, waters of wild streams. The nights were spent sleeping out on the heather with the other rangers or if in Rivendell, listening to the songs of Elrond’s minstrels under the star-laden skies.

Here, he thought wryly, all he had to listen to were the voices of his councillors raised in argument.

“Aragorn.”

The soft voice caused him to take back that thought. He turned around to greet Faramir, smiling as he did so.

“If you’ve come for the trade agreement, I haven’t done that yet,” he said tiredly, “I’ve finished with the troop allotments though. You can have those.”

His steward smiled back at him.

“I didn’t come for that,” he said, his soft, gentle tones reminding Aragorn of elven songs in Elrond’s halls.

“The servants said you had asked for your luncheon here so I thought I’d come over and see if perhaps you’d join me instead?”

“I’d love to Faramir but -,” he glanced guiltily at the papers, torn between completing all his work and spending more time in the company of this beautiful young man he was learning to love so much.

“It won’t be for very long,” Faramir said quickly, “And a small meal might help you work faster. You’re always telling me not to work through my meals and to be sure I eat properly,” he said the last with a small, shy smile.

Aragorn smiled at that. That was true enough. It was usually Faramir who would work through meals, and forget to eat at times. And he knew well enough that once he was done with going through all the papers, it was Faramir who would be sitting with them for long hours, taking care of those revisions and making further notes to discuss with the councillors. They had some long days ahead; he thought morosely and then glanced back at Faramir’s patient but expectant expression. As much as he had work to do, so did Faramir.

“Perhaps a short meal then,” he said smiling and his steward smiled back happily in response.

“This way then,” Faramir said and led him out.

“Where are we going?” Aragorn inquired as he followed the younger man through a long winding corridor into one of the citadel buildings and then out of that past the Steward’s quarters, through another long corridor, until they finally stopped at a large door.

This was one of the newer buildings in the citadel, and Aragorn had not been here before. He blinked as he stepped out of the closed passageway into a small, sunlit terrace. He stood there a few seconds, with Faramir at his side, taking in the suddenly splendid sight. The terrace was built into a slope a little way off the main citadel buildings. Above and below them the cliff sloped gently away. Somewhere far below them lay the winding layers of the city.

The surface of the terrace was covered with large flagstones with tufts of bright green grass sprung between them. A few stone benches and a round stone table had been placed in the centre. Large stone pots containing flowering pots dotted the edges of the terrace and a wild rose creeper ran along one side of low stone railing surrounding it. He noticed the opening that led to a set of small stones, and the trees beyond.

Aragorn stared wonderingly up at the clear blue sky above, and then made his way towards the steps. They led to a small garden under the overhang. He walked down the stone steps into a sloping garden, bordered with apple trees. A walk through the trees led into a sloping expanse of verdant grass, ending at a thin rainwater stream. Beyond that was a line of scraggly trees, and then the slope dropped off to one of the steep cliffs dotting the city.

The grassy stretch lay invitingly in front of him, tiny spikes of white and yellow flowers dotted all across it. He suddenly slipped off his boots and stepped onto it, feeling the soft sun-warmed grass under his bare feet. It sent a thrill coursing through his body and he took a deep breath. He walked down to the stream, a mere trickle of water, probably caused by the rain, no more, but a fine sight nevertheless. He pulled off his tunic and kneeling by the water took some in his hands and splashed it over his face, neck, arms and chest. A movement to his side caused him to look up and smile at Faramir.

The younger man had followed him into the garden. He carried a satchel that Aragorn had not noticed earlier.

“Your meal,” Faramir said smiling, “Would you like it here or on the terrace?”

“Here,” Aragorn said softly. He did feel a little hungry now. He lay down on the grass and watched as the steward spread out a large cloth on the grass under the shade of the apple trees near the stream. The grass was soft against his bare skin, and he sighed at the sensation.

Faramir soon spread out an extremely large quantity of food – fresh bread, chunks of mildly flavoured yellow cheese, two large pieces of meat pie, cherries, strawberries and sweet wine and water fresh from the stream.

Aragorn suddenly felt extremely hungry. He sat up, and pulled on his tunic again, leaving the top part of it undone.

They ate the meal in silence, the only sounds around them coming from the faint trickle of the stream, and the birds trilling in the apple trees. The bustle of the city seemed miles and miles away.

“This place was not here earlier,” Aragorn commented, as they munched on the strawberries, washing them down with a goblet of wine.

“It was,” Faramir said, “Well, at least the terrace was there, and the apple trees, although they were in need of trimming. The grass had grown wild, and the stream was choked with dried leaves. I found it when we decided to clean the waterways for the sowing season earlier. And well… I thought the grass was already there and the stream and those trees… I supposed it had been a citadel garden some time in the past, so I had Samwise help me clean it up a bit. We finished working on it last week. It was his idea to put those flowering plants on the terrace. And he said it reminded him of home in a way, seeing that grassy slope and the trees and the water.”

Aragorn watched as he stopped to lick away the juice from the strawberry that trickled down his jaw.

“It does,” he said softly.

Faramir nodded, his expression a little wistful, “I thought it reminded me of Ithilien, the trees and the grass, and I thought of how I used to miss Ithilien so much whenever I returned here earlier. I liked the city but sometimes the stones seemed cold and hard and I used to wish for fresh air and open skies and green leaves,” he said softly.

“Mithrandir said there would be times when you’d miss the North, and that it might make you unhappy and that I should help you,” he continued.

Aragorn looked up at that. Gandalf, he thought sourly, knew a little too much.

“I don’t miss Ithilien as much nowadays. I mean, well I like it here more than I ever used to, -,” Faramir stopped suddenly flushing a little as he spoke.

“And -,” Aragorn prompted, but Faramir continued along a different vein.

“You seemed unhappy the last few days, and I could tell – you wished to be out… so I – thought perhaps I could bring you here… maybe you would feel better. I know – it is not the same but –”

“It’s beautiful,” Aragorn said softly. He moved closer to Faramir, and wrapping his arm around his shoulders, gently licked away the strawberry juice from his jaw and neck.

“I do miss the North,” he said, as he held Faramir closer. He felt the young man’s shoulders droop just a little bit.

“But I think there is much here that will help me get over that,” he continued gently, and lifting Faramir’s face up to his, kissed him on his lips.

In those beautiful summer days in the North, he had often felt there was something, perhaps just one thing missing. He knew now what it had been, as Faramir responded to his kiss.

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