Tales from Gondor | Faramir Fiction Archive

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Tales from Gondor (R)

Written by Minx

23 September 2012 | 36179 words

[ all pages ]

Title: The Sketch
Author: Minx
Characters: Aragorn/Faramir
Rating: PG
Warnings: None, really
Feedback: Would be loved:)
Disclaimer: Not mine at all
Summary: Written for the ‘Writer’s Choice’ prompt on the 25fluffyfics LJ community. I chose ‘Outdoors’ – Aragorn and Faramir are on a holiday
A/N: Many thanks to Iris for all her help on this one:)

Faramir dropped onto a rock by the riverside and dipped his bare feet into the water, slowly. The water was warm and the rushes growing by lent a fine fragrance to the air. Aragorn had seated himself some way away on the meadow that rose above the riverbank, with his pipe. Faramir sighed and kicked his legs slowly, watching the water fly in a graceful arc. He tried that a few more times, before rising and walking up the bank to sit under a tree, near Aragorn.

The little nook by the river was a beautiful, quiet place. The only sounds around them were the birds in the trees around, the gentle lapping of the river and some way away the soft river breeze rustling through the trees.

He sighed again, after a while.

“What is it, love?” Aragorn asked, putting away the pipe.

“What do we do now?” Faramir asked expectantly.

“Nothing,” Aragorn said, lazily, “We are supposed to be on a holiday.”

“Oh.”

“It’s not very difficult,” Aragorn said kindly, after a while.

“Wh – what?” Faramir asked, looking up. He’d taken a stick and started drawing on a patch of wet mud under the tree.

“To do nothing,” Aragorn said, rising.

“I know that,” Faramir said, sounding a little confused now.

“Are those the new fortifications for the south wall in Emyn Arnen,” Aragorn asked interestedly, pointing at the lines Faramir had sketched into the wet mud, “Or the new harbours at Minas Tirith?”

Faramir reddened, “Forgive me,” he started.

“Oh hush, love,” Aragorn murmured, sitting by the younger man and wrapping an arm around his shoulder, “There’s nothing to forgive. You’ve been working so hard, you seem to have forgotten what it is like to just rest awhile.”

Faramir leant into the other man’s embrace relishing the nearness. Aragorn leaned back against the tree, pulled him closer and ran his fingers through his hair, gently. Faramir found himself murmuring appreciatively and shifted into a more comfortable position. If doing nothing meant being in Aragorn’s arms like this, he thought drowsily, as his hands rested idly on the king’s chest, perhaps it wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Aragorn continued running his fingers through his lover’s hair. The sun was just warm enough and the scent of the grass and wet mud and the feel of Faramir in his arms, resting quietly, left him feeling very pleasantly drowsy. Then his half-lidded eyes fell on the lines Faramir had been scratching on the mud, and he found himself frowning. Seen from this angle… he thought furiously, sleep forgotten, as a thought came to his mind.

“Love,” Aragorn sounded almost plaintive, so Faramir looked up at him inquiringly.

The king was staring at his sketch, lips pursed in concentration, “I was just thinking… if you look at the lines from here,” Aragorn said softly, “It looks just like the picture from that book we found in the library. I brought it along. If… ummm… that long line… it could be a leg, and there… that would be the – the back, and…”

Faramir smiled at him suddenly, and sat up.

“We could try it out,” he murmured softly, “Unless of course you’d rather do nothing.”

“I hadn’t wanted to tire you out,” Aragorn murmured equally softly, as he licked at Faramir’s ear, “But I don’t think I’ll ever look at the south wall in Emyn Arnen the same way again,” he groaned as he nudged Faramir back against the soft grass.

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