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.”

Title: Cake and Conversation
Author: Minx
Pairing: Aragorn / Faramir
Rating: PG
Warnings: Slash, fluff
Disclaimer: All characters and places are Tolkien’s.
Author’s Notes: Written for the ‘Jealousy’ prompt for the 25fluffyfics community. Many thanks to iris for her help!
Summary: Faramir’s been busy…

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Gandalf sat next to Aragorn at the luncheon table and reached for an apple.

“Wonderful day isn’t it?” he said in a booming, cheerful voice that had Aragorn glaring at him balefully.

Aragorn had spent the morning dealing with two fractious guildmasters, who had insisted on having him mediate their dispute on pricing of supplies to each other. Next to him, Legolas and Gimli were having a loud and extremely boring argument about the merits and demerits of various road laying surfaces in varying climatic conditions. Next to them Merry and Pippin were squabbling over the location of a tavern.

A giggling sound from the far end of the table had him looking up in surprise. Faramir sat there with the twins; the three had their heads together, and were whispering furiously and giggling every now and then.

“What are those two up to now?” Aragorn sighed.

“I shudder to think,” Gandalf said, “Is that seed cake?”

Aragorn ignored the query and continued studying the three raven heads. The twins and Faramir had of late become quite friendly! It was partly due to his own instigation; he’d noticed Faramir’s shyness around them, and had encouraged his quiet young Steward to talk freely to his brothers. Faramir’s interest in lore and his general curiosity and thirst for knowledge would have been well appreciated in any elven realm. He liked Faramir a great deal, and he wished they could be more than just good friends. He’d thought that the Steward too would like that.

“The twins certainly seem to be spending a lot of time with Faramir,” Gandalf remarked suddenly, “They went to the taverns two nights ago; had quite a night of it too from what I hear. Did you know Elladan can balance a cup on his head even after he’s had seven mugs of ale?”

Aragorn nodded distractedly.

“A little too much time,” Gandalf said darkly, “He’s a very nice lad, Aragorn!”

“It’s nice to see him so cheerful,” Aragorn said quietly.

They sat in silence for a while, Gandalf sipping his tea, while Aragorn picked at a loose thread in his robes, and tried not to glance towards the other.

“You are right,” Gandalf said suddenly, “It is good to see him smile like this.”

Aragorn suddenly wished he could make Faramir smile like that too, that beautiful, lovely smile that seemed to light up his face.

That evening when Aragorn sought Faramir out in the hope of sharing a quiet tea with him in his study, he was told the Steward had gone riding with the twins. He had his tea alone in the terrace outside his chambers. He tried leafing through the books he’d received from Elrond; but felt disinterested soon. His gaze kept wandering to the view outside. He could see the city gates and the Pelennor clearly. Every now and then he’d see a group of riders coming towards the city, and would sit up. And then sigh when he’d realise they were just soldiers or merchants. He wondered how Faramir might be doing. Sometimes his brothers could be very overwhelming. But they were also very friendly and kind, and had warmed to the quiet, gentle young man very soon. He remembered how as a young lad, they’d taught him to ride and hunt and handle weapons in the manner of the elves; their graceful movements had awed him.

He could well imagine Faramir’s eagerness to learn from them. The thought left him strangely wistful. He sighed and closed his book.

At the council meeting, the next morning, while discussing the fortifications being reconstructed along the Pelennor, Faramir made a few references to his ride the previous day. He had inputs to give too on some of the plans. Lord Elladan had suggested a different material on one of the marshier banks. And Lord Elrohir had recommended trees that could hold in the water during the rains.

Aragorn listened patiently, all the while deciding that he would ask Faramir to join him on a ride later that evening.

As the day progressed however, the clear skies of the day before gave way to wispy grey clouds, and then darker ones, so that finally by tea time, it was raining hard enough to prevent anyone from going outside.

The hobbits suggested an indoor game of Catch the Dragon that Aragorn was familiar with and disliked greatly, so he invented a meeting and made for the library, quite sure that Faramir too would come there in a while. Faramir however was dragged away by his brothers to join in the hobbits’ game instead.

And Aragorn spent another evening all by himself until Gandalf came by, complaining about the amount of noise the players were making.

“They’ve even got Faramir shouting!” he complained, “I think Elrohir was tickling him, so I wouldn’t blame him, but really…”

Later the next day, Aragorn finally managed to snag some time alone with Faramir in his study.

“Did you have a nice time yesterday?” he asked quietly, observing the young Steward’s face, cheerful and relaxed.

“Oh yes!” Faramir said excitedly, “We played this really nice game the hobbits taught us… ,” and then he hesitated, “Of course, it is a little childish…”

“But fun,” Aragorn said, smiling.

“Aye,” Faramir said, smiling, “And after that we went to the indoor archery courts. Your brothers had been promising me they’d show me some of the elven archery techniques.”

“Oh!” Aragorn said.

“Elrohir let me use his bow… it’s so light! You were right,” he continued, “They are really very kind and nice. I can’t imagine why I used to feel so awkward around them. They must have thought me a fool.”

“No one would ever think you a fool!” Aragorn interposed immediately.

“They are really nice,” Faramir said, agreeably.

Aragorn returned to brooding over a trade treaty.

The next few days flew by rather quickly; Aragorn spent a lot of time with a Rhunic ambassador, and so Faramir spent a lot more of his time with the twins. Since the twins spent a great deal of their time in Minas Tirith outside the city, Faramir too was away a lot. Aragorn hated their evening sorties the most; it meant Faramir returned late. And while he always accepted Aragorn’s invitation for a cup of wine in his study, the king himself hated keeping Faramir awake too late into the night; the younger man still didn’t look completely recovered from his injuries and illnesses from the war.

Besides, talk always turned to his latest exploits with the twins and Aragorn was beginning to get heartily sick of hearing what his brothers had said or done.

Some days later, Aragorn was invited by the twins to join them on a ride north of the city. It had been a while since he’d had a nice, long ride they told him.

Aragorn declined politely; he had too much work.

“There’s work on the fortifications happening along that stretch of the river as well,” Elrohir said encouragingly.

“You could ask Faramir along,” Aragorn suggested, “You may all find it far more enjoyable.”

“Oh dear, no!” Elrhoir said dramatically, “Not Faramir!”

Aragorn looked at him puzzled.

“Oh, he’s very nice,” Elrohir said, “But it gets a little tedious with him.”

Aragorn frowned at that. Faramir was one of the nicest, most accommodating people he knew. He couldn’t ever imagine anyone finding him tedious. He opened his mouth to argue but Elladan forestalled him.

“Yes, all he ever wants to speak of is you!”

“We spoke to him of riding through the woods, and he immediately starts telling us what a wonderful rider you are. We know you are a fair enough rider but certainly not as exalted as he says.”

“I told him about the inn we used to specially visit in Hobbiton to eat seedcakes and all he wanted to know was whether you liked them and would caraway seeds be better than sunflower seeds!”

“I didn’t even know those cakes had sunflower seeds,” Elrohir complained, “Ugh.”

“I don’t remember eating seedcakes with you in Hobbiton,” Aragorn said suddenly.

“Oh, perhaps that was Arathorn we used to go with, then,” Elladan said, shrugging, “Be that as it may, much as we like you, Estel, my dear, we cannot spend another afternoon talking about you. I think too, that we have provided him enough information on you. There are some things that are better left to be found out on one’s own.”

Aragorn stared at his brothers who were smirking at him rather awfully.

“I thought I’d tell him you dislike turnips,” Elrohir said suddenly, “Because I don’t, you see,’ he explained to his brothers who clearly didn’t see.

“He’d tell the kitchens to never again prepare turnips, if he finds out you don’t like them.”

Aragorn simply snorted. But he found he couldn’t stop smiling.

That afternoon, he located Faramir in the library, and invited him for tea in his study.

The kitchens sent over a large tray full of seedcakes, among other things.

“Elrohir said you used to love these as a child,” Faramir said, as Aragorn stared at the tray with interest, “So I asked the kitchens to make more than usual. They’re sunflower seeds of course, but Mithrandir says they do not taste very different here.”

“Ah,” Aragorn said as he ate one thoughtfully.

They ate in a comfortable silence, talking of very general things – a council meeting, a new treaty, the hobbits… until finally the food was over, and the light outside had started to dim.

“I’ll leave you to your work now. I know you have a meeting with the carpenter’s guild later in the evening,” Faramir said, although he made no move to rise.

“I’ve asked them to meet me tomorrow instead,” Aragorn told him.

“Oh,” Faramir said. Aragorn thought he looked cheered by the news.

“I hoped you’d stay longer today,” Aragorn said softly, “I thought perhaps we could get to know each other better.”

Faramir smiled suddenly, a sweet, shy smile, “I would like that,” he replied softly.

The next evening, dinner consisted of turnip stew. Faramir had second and third helpings, even as Aragorn watched on indulgently.

“Faramir likes turnips a lot,” he told a very glum Elrohir, “Gandalf told me.”

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.

Title: Legacies
Pairing: Aragorn / Faramir
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: LOTR and its characters are Tolkien’s.
Summary: For the ‘Gifts’ prompt on 25fluffyfics
A/N: Many thanks to Iris for her help:)

---

Aragorn walked down the familiar hallways of the old Stewards’ wing, in search of his own Steward. Sunlight streamed into the wide hallways through open windows and balconies that looked out over the bustling city.

Aragorn found Faramir in Boromir’s rooms as he’d been informed. The Steward had long earlier indicated that he would prefer not to move into either his father or brother’s larger apartments, giving them over instead to the use of the citadel, especially as they were constantly entertaining visitors in these days.

He stood at the open doorway and watched quietly for a few seconds. Boromir’s old apartments were large, spacious and comfortable, full of sunshine streaming in from open windows and balconies looking out onto the vast gardens of the city, quite in contrast to Faramir’s smaller rooms, with their bleak, grey walls. The furniture inside was functional yet tastefully selected; a large comfortable bed, a well-equipped writing desk, a huge hearth, comfortable well-worn chairs and rugs. It was a room that a soldier would come and relax in. The only occupant right now though did not look very relaxed. Faramir was sitting on one of the chairs; his posture slightly slumped, as he leafed through a bundle of papers.

He looked up as he heard Aragorn enter and made to rise. The king did not miss the slight hint of worry that flickered across the quiet grey eyes, before the younger man smiled at him in greeting. He sat on a chair opposite Faramir’s.

“The servants told me I would find you here,” he said quietly. He knew Faramir well enough now to realise that behind the quiet yet efficient exterior of Steward was a still rather young man, who was as yet learning to cope with his grief, even as he tried to learn his way around tasks he was unused to and expected little appreciation for. There were still times when his younger lover worried far too much over fulfilling his duties.

“I thought I would sort out Boromir’s things, so that these rooms can be set up again. It took longer than I thought it would. Is there anything needed?” Faramir asked, and Aragorn could see from the tiny frown on his forehead that the younger man was probably thinking back to his duties and tasks and trying to see if he had forgotten something. Aragorn wished he could reassure him more thoroughly. Faramir was extremely efficient and rarely left work undone, and even so, it was no matter of worry.

He shook his head now, “There was a small matter I wished to discuss with you, but it is not of much importance. You may finish your work here, and we will speak of it in the evening.”

“Truly,” he said as he noticed the almost fretful expression on the Steward’s face, “It is naught to do with work, merely a matter between us. You must not worry,” he said teasingly.

“I had almost finished here,” Faramir said, “I was merely reading through some old correspondence. It is nothing I cannot leave for later.”

“Oh no,” Aragorn began.

“I would leave it for later, Aragorn,” Faramir said his lips curving into a smile, though the grey eyes reflected a deep sadness that Aragorn found himself wishing he could drive away. And he certainly hoped to do so or at least to lessen some of the loneliness he often noticed in Faramir.

“Very well,” he said agreeably.

“I have sorted through nearly everything,” Faramir nodded towards some items stacked by the desk, “I merely need to carry what I desire to keep to my chambers.”

Faramir’s rooms were situated in a distant wing of the Citadel that Aragorn still had difficulty locating.

“Allow me to help you carry these to your chambers,” the king offered, taking in the clothes, books, armour pieces, and even a large earthen tub containing a witling lily plant.

“All I need are some books,” Faramir said.

“What of the rest?” Aragorn asked, surprised, for there were quite a lot of items left.

“The rest I thought we could give away. There are many in the city who can use warm clothing or armour,” Faramir said indicating Boromir’s old garments and various pieces of armour.

“Do you not wish to keep any of it?” Aragorn could not help but ask. He had inferred that the brothers were very close.

“Nay,” Faramir said softly. However, he clutched the bundle of papers he had been reading close to his chest, and moved close to a small pile of odds and ends on the desk. Aragorn noticed books, a hunting knife, gloves and the lily plant.

“That is quite generous of you,” Aragorn said quietly.

“It would go unused here,” Faramir pointed out, as he began gathering all the items together into piles, “Especially if these are to be the new guest rooms.”

Aragorn turned his attention to the books. He leafed through a few, smiling wistfully as he read the notations inside; some were gifts from Faramir, some from Denethor. Faramir brought some more books over to the desk. Aragorn helped him sort through them swiftly, smiling again as he noted how rapt Faramir could be around books.

He found himself looking forward to the talk they would have soon. There was something most appealing in Faramir’s expression as he handled each book carefully.

They moved to Aragorn’s study once they were done, and the king watched as Faramir sat expectantly.

He picked up a box, and placed it on the table. Opening it, he pulled out some books and placed them on the table in front of Faramir, “These came from Rivendell,” he said smiling.

“From Rivendell,” Faramir echoed, his voice containing a hint of the awe that always struck his face whenever anything related to the elven lands was spoken of.

“Yes, these are some books from Elrond’s personal archives, and I thought you might like to see them,” Aragorn said smiling, as Faramir promptly began to look through them.

“Oh!” Faramir said, his weary face seeming to lighten immediately, “Is this on the history of the southern lands? I have read about this in the archives! And oh –” he latched on to another slim volume, “I know of this too… it is a compilation of the harvest songs of Rohan, one of the few written texts about their culture!”

Aragorn watched with amusement as the younger man exclaimed over the books that had been sent from Imladris.

“We do not have any of these here,” Faramir exclaimed.

“I know,” Aragorn said softly, “That is why I thought perhaps you would like to have these,” he said smiling gently.

Faramir stared at him.

“These are for you,” Aragorn said.

“For me?” Faramir said, his voice betraying his surprise and puzzlement.

There was a hint of wonderment in the younger man’s voice and expression that almost made Aragorn ache.

“Yes. Elrond shall be leaving for the havens in some months and I know he will be glad if these are given to one who would appreciate them. I could think of none better than you.”

“Oh!” Faramir said, his face still so full of excitement and happiness.

He came round the table and hugged Aragorn suddenly, “Thank you… you always care for me so much…I could never thank you enough!”

“It is Ada you should thank; he asked if he could send them here. But I’m sure we could find a way for you to express your happiness towards me,” Aragorn said laughing, not without a slight hint of smugness. He leaned down and cupping Faramir’s chin in his hands, gently brushed a kiss on his forehead.

“I could never thank you enough for all you do for me, always,” Faramir insisted, his voice slightly choked as he hugged Aragorn closer.

Aragorn shook his head but pulled Faramir into his arms anyway.

Later as they sat with the books to look through them more carefully, Faramir suddenly went quiet, as he fingered the spine of a large book thoughtfully.

“What is it?” Aragorn asked.

“I – I think,” Faramir spoke a little hesitantly, “Some of these books, we do not have them in the archives, or any like them…”

“And you think they may be of more use there?” Aragorn said gently.

Faramir stared at him a little worriedly, “I do truly appreciate your thinking of me when these books arrived, and I would understand if my request angers you but… there are many scholars here who would not have access to Rohirric written volumes or even to ancient Haradric texts, at least not until we have some measure of political stability in our relations with them, I suppose, and this way they would be available to any who would want to read them and learn from them.”

“I am not angered, love,” Aragorn said, smiling, “I would rather be gladdened that you care as much for others. And you can after all still keep the ones that the archives already have.”

Faramir smiled gratefully, “I knew you would understand.” And then he frowned again, “but what of Lord Elrond? I know these are books that were dear to him, and he is after all your foster father, so…”

“I think Lord Elrond would be the gladdest to hear that my Steward and dearest friend is perhaps the most generous man in all of Arda,” Aragorn said softly.

“I’m not, I-”

“Ssh…” Aragorn said, pulling Faramir into his arms gently, “It is all right. But you give so much to all of us, Faramir, and seek so little for yourself.”

“I-”

Aragorn ran a finger down Faramir’s cheek gently, “I can however think of one thing you can have all for yourself…”

Faramir smiled, as Aragorn’s lips brushed over his, and the king’s hands moved down to his robes, as he nudged Faramir onto the pile of furs in front of the hearth.

Title: The Treasure Hunt
Pairing: Aragorn / Faramir
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: LOTR and its characters are Tolkien’s.
Summary: The hobbits organise a treasure hunt in Minas Tirith
A/N: For the ‘Sport’ prompt on 25fluffyfics. Many thanks to Iris for her help!

---

“A treasure hunt,” Pippin announced suddenly at breakfast one morning, loud enough to cause a startled Faramir to nearly jump. Their other companions were used to such interruptions but Faramir was still unused to so much noise at the table. Meals in his father’s time, at the Citadel as well as at Ithilien had always been quiet, sober affairs to be finished with quickly.

There would rarely be such lively talk or teasing, and certainly no throwing of food at each other’s plates.

“Yes, Pippin?” Mithrandir asked with a weary sigh.

For the last two days the younger Halflings had moped around the Citadel declaring their intention to do some thing fun.

“We should have a treasure hunt,” Pippin repeated, through a mouthful of strawberry preserves.

“Dear Eru!” Gandalf said with some feeling, “Isn’t that all we need?”

“It sounds like an excellent idea,” Aragorn said indulgently, as he bit into a generous helping of honeyed bread, “This is very nice,” he continued abstractly and pushed the plateful of bread towards Faramir, “You should have some. You’re far too thin.”

Faramir flushed at that. He was still uncomfortable over how everyone seemed to think it was all right to speak of him within his hearing.

“Yes, even Legolas eats more than you do,” Pippin pointed out, as he reached for a plate heaped with mashed potatoes. Legolas made an indistinct sound as he bit into an apple.

“What’s a good idea?” Faramir asked hurriedly, “Would you like to go on a hunt? That may not be possible. We have restricted hunting this year. There was a lot of –,”

‘It’s not the same thing,” Gandalf interrupted.

Faramir looked sufficiently confused, as did Legolas and Gimli so Pippin and Merry took it upon themselves to explain, interspersed with a few explanations from Frodo and Sam and Aragorn as well.

“Well, that is interesting,” Faramir said, “Do they use this in the Shire to teach the young lads battle strategy and endurance?”

Merry stared at Faramir in surprise.

“Oh no,” Pippin replied disarmingly, “It is merely a sport.”

“Oh!” Faramir said wonderingly, “It sounds a little childish though,” he said hesitantly.

“It is,” Gandalf said. He sounded rather annoyed, “They will turn the Citadel upside down and force you to help them if you let them do it, Aragorn.”

“I think I will let them do it, Gandalf,” Aragorn said rather pleasantly, “And we’ll all play. You too Faramir!” he said rather sternly to the young Steward who seemed about to speak, “Yes, the councillors may think it childish but that is no matter. You lads can do it on your own, can you? Or would you need us to help?”

Pippin and Merry were too busy cheering to listen.

They spent all of the next day organising the game. Faramir was extremely curious about it, and went in search of them after luncheon. The young hobbits had not been there and it was most unlike them to miss a meal! He found them in the terrace outside Aragorn’s study, poring over a map of the Citadel gardens. They hastily put it away as he neared, and looked at him accusingly.

“You’re not supposed to be here!” Pippin declared, “We can’t have you discovering the hiding places by accident!”

“I thought I’d see if you need any help!” Faramir said indignantly.

“Aragorn said we shouldn’t take your help,” Pippin blurted out.

Faramir blinked at that.

“I merely pointed out that you had enough of your own duties to occupy your time, to get drawn into their whirlwind of activity,” Aragorn said, as he suddenly came up behind Faramir, “Besides,” he said very softly, “If you have some time free, I would rather occupy that, if you would like it.”

Faramir smiled in acquiescence, and let himself be led back into the Citadel through the study to Aragorn’s bedchambers where they spent a very fruitful afternoon in each other’s arms.

The treasure hunt turned out to be a complicated affair to Faramir’s mind. Gandalf resolutely refused to participate, but Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn were only too happy to do so. They gathered in the king’s gardens, a large spread of wooded land just off the Citadel. The hobbits gave everyone sheets of parchment written in different coloured ink, and told them those would provide the clues to other clues, all in the same coloured ink that would lead them to their treasures. Everyone had a different set of treasures, and which each one they’d find a whistle Once they found their treasure, they should let out the whistle.

“And no helping each other!” Merry said sternly, glaring at Legolas who was showing his parchment to Gimli.

Faramir had been given a long poem, written very neatly in red ink. Frodo must have done the writing, he decided, as he set off towards a small bower to figure out his clue. The others had already set off too, and there was no sight of them.

He read through the poem once and then again, and then sat back thoughtfully, trying to understand the link between a children’s tale of a clever crow and Ioreth’s sister’s remedy for failed love.

“Hmm… failed love… healers… healers… who could be…. Oh! Ioreth… what did she say now that day at the gardens… oh!” he blushed as he remembered Ioreth cackling about a herbal infusion that was believed to improve potency. She had spoken of mint and… and … rose thorns…

“The wild roses by the statue of the lady with the…falcon…,” he said aloud, smiling with delight. He nearly ran there in his haste to see if he was correct and was glad to find a rolled up scroll of paper at the base of the statue, and a tiny carving of a bird, along with a whistle. He blew into it and laughed as it let out the perfect trill of a woodland bird.

The next clue, he managed to solve quickly, a badly rhyming riddle that he realised soon, required him to walk along the garden walls searching for his next clue in a nook. He found it after a while along with an orange and another whistle. The clue took him to a huge oak tree at the other end of the gardens. He stood at the base and stared keenly at the branches. He could see the parchment in a hole at one of the higher forks. Placing the carving, orange, whistles and other two clues on the ground, he set to climb the tree. He had just reached for the nearest handhold when he was interrupted.

“And what do you think you are doing?” Aragorn didn’t sound very pleased.

Faramir turned, a little worried by the stern tone.

“What ever are you doing, love?” Aragorn asked again, a lot more calmly this time.

“My clue,” Faramir pointed out.

“The healers told you not to exert your shoulder yet,” Aragorn said quietly.

“But the clue,” Faramir said, pouting, “I’ve already found two,” he said excitedly, “And that bird and this orange.”

Aragorn smiled at the enthusiasm in the young steward’s voice. He stared at him carefully. Faramir’s face was reddened from running around the gardens, and his usually neatly arrayed hair and clothes were rumpled and mud-streaked. A twig was stuck in his hair.

“Well,” Aragorn said, still smiling, “Then I suppose you’d better get it soon, hadn’t you?”

Faramir grinned back, the smile transforming his face, making him look far younger, and much closer to his age.

Aragorn stayed there, watching the younger man climb. He was down again soon; climbing is swift, lithe, graceful movements, clutching the piece of parchment, another whistle, a pine cone and a small wooden box.

“I found my treasure,” he said excitedly, and then hurried blew into his whistle, a songbird soud this time. He got an answering whistle in return.

“That was very well done!” Aragorn said, approvingly.

“I should get back to Pippin now, shouldn’t I?” Faramir asked anxiously.

“Yes, let’s go,” Aragorn said, wondering if he might kiss Faramir.

“What about your treasure?” Faramir demanded, “Did you find it?”

Aragorn nodded but said nothing. He set off towards the Citadel.

“What was in it? Do I open this now?” Faramir asked, as he hurried behind Aragorn, his hands full now.

They heard another songbird whistle just then.

“Looks like someone else found a treasure too,” Aragorn said.

“Oh! I wonder whose that was,” Faramir said interestedly, “The clues were quite good weren’t they? What were your clues like? I thought my third one was a little easy though. There was this line about seeing all, and another about feeding birds, so I realised it must be the tallest tree in the gardens.”

That was by far the longest sentence Aragorn had heard from Faramir in a long time. Another whistle blew just then. And then a series of short bursts on Pippin’s whistle.

“Are we late then?” Faramir, asked a little disappointed.

“Not if we run,” Aragorn said, grinning, and grabbing Faramir’s hand, dragged him through the trees, past the wall, and over a row of daisies to the steps were the hobbits were waiting. Faramir laughed delightedly as he followed him.

“We’re here,” Faramir yelled when they reached their friends, huffing a little as he regained his breath.

“And you have all your treasures, I see,” Merry said smiling, “Gimli found his too, but Legolas -,” he turned to glare at the grinning elf, managed to miss out one in between.”

“How did he do that?’ Faramir asked, surprised, “Don’t you need –“

“Well,” Legolas drawled, “I thought I was to go the unused fountain but apparently I was to go to the old pond first and then -,” He glanced at Pippin’s upset face, and quickly amended, “But it’s my fault really, I should have thought more carefully. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, well, it happens,” pippin said philosophically, “Strider, did you get yours?”

“I got these, Pippin,” Aragorn said, holding up a pot of jam and a quill that Faramir vaguely recognised as one of the king’s, “But I couldn’t understand the next clue. Forgive me. It was very tough.”

Faramir gave him a surprised look, but Aragorn’s expression remained bland.

“Oh!” Pippin said, “Well, yes, we didn’t want to make it too easy, did we. Let me see… oh! You see this line about the smells and the seasons… it means the herb garden. You’d have found your treasure there.”

“Oh, yes, I see that now.”

“What now?” Gimli asked suddenly, trying to balance a carving of a mermaid, a book on trees and a bunch of grapes and three pieces of parchment.

“Well,” Merry said, “We usually have a party after this, so I suppose we should get to dinner!”

“I think I can take care of that,” Aragorn said smiling, “I thought I’d give you two a little treasure of your own, to make up for all the time you spent waiting here while we enjoyed ourselves.”

He led them into a small bower a little way away and smiled as the hobbits whooped with joy at the sight of the table, piled with food.

It was dark outside when they were done with the huge meal. The plates had been cleared away but they felt too lazy to move and so stayed on there, sprawling on the cushions that had been used for seating, talking idly of trivial matters or just staring at the skies. The hobbits yawned at regular intervals clearly tiring after the day’s exertions but also made no move to rise. Faramir was lying back, leaning against a column, idly munching away at some grapes. It had been a long day and they were clearly tiring. Aragorn sipped at a cup of mead and watched his Steward.

Faramir glanced up at him and smiled, and then yawned too. Aragorn grinned.

“You told me you found your treasure,” Faramir said, seeking to divert his attention.

Aragorn inched closer, and wrapped an arm around the younger man’s shoulders. He pulled the twig out of his hair, and then wound a long lock around one finger. Leaning closer to Faramir he whispered in his ear.

“I did. I found you.”

Faramir stared at him in confusion.

“I can think of no greater treasure I’d want.” Aragorn whispered again, and gently placed a kiss on the Steward’s lips.

“You flatter me,” Faramir mumbled, but deepened the kiss anyway. Aragorn pulled him down leaning back against the cushions. Faramir followed him, only to sit up at the sound of the others’ groans and whoops, red-faced.

“Right, lads, in we go,” Gimli said, rising, grinning all the while.

“Yes,” Legolas smirked, “He didn’t quite blow a whistle for that did he?”

“We’ll leave you to your next sport then,” Pippin shouted out in between giggles, as he scrambled off behind Merry.

“Get back inside before it gets too cold,” Legolas shouted out, as he herded the hobbits inside.

“There’s a blanket under the table,” Aragorn muttered, and pulled Faramir down again, “And my treasure’s quite good at warming me up too!”

Faramir giggled at that and let himself be kissed again.

Title: Evening
Author: Minx
Characters: Aragorn / Faramir
Rating: PG
Warnings: None, but expect much fluff
Disclaimer: All characters and places are Tolkien’s.
Author’s Notes: Written for the ‘Massage’ prompt on the 25fluffyfics LJ community.

Many thanks to Iris for reading through!

---

“Ow,” Faramir said, in an aggrieved tone, as he attempted to stretch for the highest shelf in order to pull out the book he wanted, just as Gandalf walked into the room

“And well you might howl in pain, young Faramir!” the wizard admonished as he noticed Faramir rubbing his back awkwardly, “Whatever have you been doing to yourself?”

“It’s just a little stiffness. I pulled something yesterday I think,” Faramir mumbled, flushing slightly, “Must have been at – at the – the practice… yes that could be it. I didn’t realise it earlier. It’s nothing much really, just a slight strain. It should be fine in a day or two.”

“Perhaps, you should-,” Gandalf started only to be interrupted by Faramir.

“Show it to the healers? It’s not that bad really,” he said rapidly, his face flushing a little.

“I was about to say that perhaps you could ask Aragorn to do something about it,” Gandalf said.

“The king?” Faramir stuttered, surprised, his face blanching now, “Wh – what would he have to do with it?”

“He is a healer, you know,” Gandalf said, frowning at the younger man, “And he did take a look at you the last time you fell. Are you all right, child?”

“He must think all I do is hurt myself,” Faramir mumbled.

“You weren’t supposed to return to such strenuous arms practise until your back had healed,” Gandalf retorted.

“It wasn’t really strenuous,” Faramir said, blushing a little deeper, not quite willing to let Mithrandir in on exactly what sort of practice had caused the pull.

He did not speak of it to Aragorn though. It was hardly something to trouble the king with, especially considering how he had come by the ache. He found himself flushing uncomfortably at the thought, and hurriedly went back to looking into the preparations for the emissary from Rhun due that week. He also managed to evade Gandalf through the day. After all, it was nothing more than a mild twinge and would be gone soon, surely.

By evening though, the mild ache had not subsided, and Faramir found himself gritting his teeth every now and then as every sudden motion caused a stab of pain. He’d be glad to lie down for a while, he thought to himself as he sat down to dinner, nodding absently at the smiling hobbits.

He ate quietly as usual, not speaking unless asked, and even then reluctantly, trying to forget the constant dull ache, as he listened to the hobbits prattle on about their plans that night. Summer was upon them and the young hobbits sometimes organised an evening’s entertainment after dinner, music and dancing or other activities, all noisy but pleasant. It was an activity the king encouraged and on Gandalf and Faramir’s advice often invited their dinner guests to attend.

Aragorn was at the other end of the long table, talking a visiting envoy, when he glanced towards the Steward, who was sitting up straight in his chair, as he spoke to the head of the merchants’ guild seated next to him. He frowned slightly at the sight of the younger man. Faramir looked a little pale and his face was coated with a fine sheen of sweat.

As soon as dinner was over, Aragorn quietly moved away from the table and walked up to Faramir who stood leaning heavily against a large column, watching the harpers play.

Faramir glanced up at the king, trying not to move too suddenly. The king inched close enough for Faramir to feel the warmth of his breath on his neck, a sensation that had the younger man almost shuddering in a very pleasant sort of way.

“It’s your back isn’t it?” Aragorn whispered in his ear, his lips almost touching Faramir’s reddening ear.

“I’m all right, Sire,” he murmured, inching closer to the king, seeking comfort from the older man’s nearness.

“You’re also a terrible liar,” the king said calmly, “Gandalf said you were in pain. Come with me.”

“But the evening entertainment,” he muttered urgently, “The halflings –”

“The revelry has begun. Our absence will barely be noticed,” the king said and grabbing Faramir’s hand tugged him along into his study. Pulling Faramir in, he closed the door.

“Take off your shirt,” he said.

Faramir stared at him surprised.

“I can help you with that pain but you’ll need to take your shirt off. Then it’s easier for me to see what I’m doing,” the king said in a very patient tone, “I don’t recollect you being so shy earlier,” he added teasingly, although he did feel Faramir was still quite shy, even after the intimacy they had begun to share recently.

Faramir ducked his head at that and began to remove his surcoat, his fingers fumbling a little with the ties as they had done the night before.

“And your tunic,” Aragorn sighed, as he noticed the layers the Steward wore.

Faramir removed his tunic and then his vest, finally standing bare-chested in front of the king, looking a little uncomfortable, much as he had done the previous night.

“And you look so much better without your clothes on,” the king murmured and grasping his arms, pulled him close and kissed him lightly on the lips. Faramir reddened, but smiled.

Aragorn continued holding him as he made him lie down on the rug on the floor on his stomach, and knelt by him, “Does it hurt a lot?”

“It is just a little stiffness,” Faramir said, his face still flaming a little, “I think I- I spent too much time, in – in one place, perhaps…”

“Where does it hurt now?” Aragorn asked gently, allowing his fingers to ghost lightly over the younger man’s bony spine.

“Lower,” Faramir murmured, and then as Aragorn’s fingers found their mark, hissed out, “Th – there… But – but – the d-dancing?’

“For one who usually hides away during the dancing, you are certainly worried!” Aragorn murmured amused, “It will continue just as well without us. This should not take too long.”

“I am ruining your evening,” Faramir said softly. The sounds of the music and laughter, although muted were still discernible, even in Aragorn’s study.

“Nay, I am ever gladder in your company,” Aragorn said reassuringly, “Hush now and let me take care of this.”

He pressed his knuckles gently against the small of Faramir’s back before moving his hands slowly upwards, tenderly kneading the skin. He ran his hands over the tight knots, loosening each muscle gently and carefully. He felt the younger man begin to relax, and continued the movements, inching downwards now.

As he continued, Faramir made a soft, purring sound, “Th – that feels nice,” he mumbled.

Aragorn smiled.

He stilled his hands after a while, once he was sure the tenseness had dissipated sufficiently, and helped the younger man sit up.

“There… do you feel better now?” he asked softly.

Faramir grunted softly as he rose, “Yes, much better.”

“Would you like to stay with me this night as well?”

“Yes,” Faramir said without hesitation, and slipped into the king’s embrace.

“I would never count an evening spent with you as ruined,” Argaorn said pulling him closer, “and considering the alternative was to listen to our noisy Halfling friends…”

“I like our evenings together too,” Faramir replied, opening up to the lips that covered his mouth.

“Tonight we had better stay on the bed,” Aragorn murmured when they pulled apart, panting a little, “I should not wish to explain to Gandalf that you strained your back again because we found a new use for the table.”

Title: The Council
Author: Minx
Characters: Aragorn/Faramir
Rating: PG
Disclaimer All of them belong to Tolkien. Nothing’s mine:(
Author’s Notes: This was written for the 25fluffyfics prompt – holiday.
Much thanks to Iris for her suggestions

---

“Faramir… Faramir…!” Aragorn called out exasperatedly to his distracted Steward.

Faramir looked up, blinking in confusion, “Y-yes?”

“That must be an extraordinarily interesting pattern on your reins, love,” Aragorn teased him gently, smiling.

Faramir looked at him blankly.

“You’ve been so lost in thought, gazing at your reins,” Aragorn explained, feeling a little worried now.

“Oh!” Faramir flushed a little, “I was thinking…”

Faramir was a good rider and excellent with his horse, and Aragorn felt that was all that had kept him astride in the last hour or so that they had been riding this morning in Ithilien. He’d watch the younger man and noted his distraction and sudden tension, and wondered about it. It was a beautiful morning, and the weather was fine and warm as it was wont to be in Ithilien at this time of the year but Faramir did not appear to have noticed that.

“What is it?” he asked gently now, “You’ve seemed worried about something all day.” And tired too, he thought but that was nothing new. Faramir always seemed tired nowadays.

“I’m not worried,” Faramir said a little hastily, “Well not very! I know he’s your friend, but –“

Aragorn glanced at him in confusion, “Who?”

“Legolas,” Faramir explained hurriedly, as they neared the elven settlement in Ithilien. A part of their escort had already ridden ahead, so the gates were open.

“I don’t understand,” Aragorn said, completely confused now, “I can’t imagine what Legolas have could have to do with your distraction…well, I can imagine something but I should hope surely not that!” he smiled as he said that. Faramir tended to be too overawed by the elves, to ever feel for them in the passionate way he did for Aragorn.

Faramir looked even more confused now, so he continued hurriedly, “What is it about Legolas that worried you?” he asked gently, raising a hand in greeting to the elves who were on guard.

“This council he has called us for,” Faramir said hurriedly, “It’s so sudden! It cannot be to do with any matter relating to our neighbouring realms, else we would have heard of it. All has been cordial on the borders these days. And he has called me as well, so it has to do with Ithilien! I can’t imagine what it must be. Perhaps, they want-“

Faramir didn’t complete, letting his words trail off, suddenly feeling scared about giving voice to his fears. What if Legolas and the other elves weren’t happy with what they had got in Ithilien? What if they felt they had got less of Ithilien? Faramir hoped that wasn’t so. So many of the old settlers were returning to Ithilien.

Or what if they wanted to settle elsewhere? What if they wanted to move? Aragorn would be disappointed, no he’d feel much worse. Legolas was Aragorn’s dear friend, and it truly meant much to the king that he dwelt so near him. And the elven settlement, Faramir knew, brought back memories of a childhood in Imladris.

What could Legolas want that he called them so suddenly, sending forth a letter summoning them so formally, yet cordially to meet with him in his home for a most important council? It had arrived the previous day, while they had been at Emyn Arnen. Faramir had been trying to juggle the builders’ problems in Emyn Arnen, and the woes of the craftsmen’s’ guild in Minas Tirith, and the military requisitions for all of Gondor, and the interest aroused among the settlers by Aragorn’s visit.

“Is that what you’ve been worrying about all this while? Legolas’ message?” Aragorn demanded in a tone filled with exasperation and something else that seemed almost like unhappiness to Faramir. He hoped he hadn’t insulted Legolas somehow.

“I didn’t mean to –,” he started nervously, but broke off when he noticed Legolas riding up towards them. The elven prince wore a hunting outfit, and was smiling broadly from across the clearing they were riding through.

Aragorn suddenly leaned towards Faramir and squeezed his arm gently, “It’s all right. Don’t worry. I promise you.”

He reined in his horse, dismounted and walked briskly over to the elven prince who had also dismounted. Faramir dismounted too, and waited. Their escort rode ahead with their horses so that soon only the three of them were left in the small glen.

He watched apprehensively as Legolas greeted his king, and was glad to note that all seemed perfectly well between them. They hugged, laughed and talked as they always did. And then Aragorn seemed to ask Legolas something in an elven tongue that Faramir hadn’t mastered yet. Legolas glanced towards him, almost appraisingly, and Faramir felt the worry creep back inside him. Whatever did Legolas need a council for? Weren’t they all friends? Legoals smiled brightly at him as he caught this eye, and Faramir smiled back, a little queasily.

“Come,” Aragorn called out.

He walked up to them, greeting Legolas politely.

“Come with me. We must hurry,” Legolas said, “We can walk. I was hoping you would reach earlier. Nearly all this day is gone.”

Faramir bit his lip worriedly, ready to apologise but Aragorn forestalled him, “There are still a few hours left, Legolas, do not worry.”

Legolas probably wanted to start the council now itself, Faramir realised, and then suddenly he also realised how exhausted he felt. All he truly wanted was to perhaps have a warm bath, and then slip into bed, with Aragorn for a while and then sleep. But he mustn’t think of that now.

They were walking up a path through the woods towards the river, Aragorn and Legolas still talking and laughing happily. They came to a stop in a small clearing by the river bank. A small building stood by the woods, on a low slope, overgrown with white and yellow wildflowers. The river lapped by at the foot of the slope, rustling through reeds and rushes.

Faramir looked around wonderingly. Legolas bounded up the slope, and the two men followed slowly, Aragorn’s expression inscrutable, and Faramir’s beginning to look miserable.

The building was a small wood cottage. Legolas pushed the door open, and the two men followed him inside.

Warm sunlight filtered in through the open windows, imparting a pale golden haze to the insides of the hut. It looked cosy and inviting. There were two rooms he could see; the room they stood in with a large hearth, and a huge rug in front of it, a bedroom with a large bed, laid out neatly. From the door, they could see the river shimmering below the slope and the browns and greens of the land across it.

“Where do we have the council?” Faramir blurted out. He could see no tables.

“In the bedchamber,” Legolas told him.

Faramir stared back at him, suddenly feeling very tired. He must surely be hearing things! “In the bedchamber?” he repeated.

Legolas sighed, “Don’t you see, you little goose?”

“N-no,” Faramir replied wretchedly.

Aragorn sighed and hugged him gently, and then steered him into a chair by the hearth and sat next to him. Faramir sank into it, relieved. It was cushioned and comfortable!

“There is no council, my lost little love,” Aragorn said gently, “This is going to be a little holiday for you instead! I’ve brought you here so you can rest a few days. We are here to spend some time together, you and I, in that beautiful bedchamber there, or perhaps at this hearth, that rug looks very soft and inviting! Or perhaps in the grasses outside by the river…would you like that?”

Faramir gazed at him in wonder and nodded dazedly at the end.

Legolas coughed softly, and grinned widely, “After I leave!”

“But the letter?’ Faramir asked. He felt a little dull at not having realised earlier.

“A ruse,” Aragorn said patiently, “To pull your nose out of all your papers. Do you realise, love that you’ve been working so hard these last few months, that everyone has noticed you are looking tired?”

Faramir started at that, “No – I”

“When you’re in Minas Tirith, you have more than enough work to keep you busy through the day, and I keep you awake most nights,” Aragorn flushed guiltily as he said that. He’d known many times that Faramir was tired and ought to sleep but hadn’t been able to keep away, and he’d known that Faramir felt similarly.

“No!” Faramir said hurriedly in confirmation, “I would not have it any other way… I look forward so much to our nights together,” he blushed as he realised Legolas still stood there.

“As do I,” Aragorn admitted, “But you do have so much to do when you come to Ithilien. You have work to do on Ithilien as well as on all that is sent to you every day in the despatches from Minas Tirith.” There were so many matters that needed Faramir’s advise or at least his sensible way of looking at things, and Aragorn had come to rely greatly on him. It wasn’t long before he’d noticed his exhaustion slowly creeping in, and had resolved to bring Faramir on this little holiday.

“You work so much too,” Faramir mumbled. Aragorn sighed but didn’t argue.

“This is going to be our little holiday,” he said instead, wrapping his arms around his steward’s slender body, and working his fingers in through his tunic to touch his chest and stomach, “You will do nothing but eat, sleep, rest and let me love you. I have a lot of plans for you. Would you like to hear them?”

“Plans?” Faramir asked hesitantly.

“Well, we’ll start with a nice warm bath, that was a long ride we had and I’ll wager a good soaking will do us both much good. And then we’ll sup by the hearth, and if there is light, perhaps read awhile. And then we’ll go to bed. And on the morrow, there are some beautiful places here, quiet and undisturbed. All those tall soft grasses by the river, where those yellow flowers grow… I thought you’d look beautiful there. And I brought along that useful little book we found in the library. It has much we can do outside. Especially with those reeds. ”

“Oh,” Faramir said, blushing a little. “B-but what of all the work?” he asked warily.

“Well, the land disputes Húrin can handle, and the rest, Prince Imrahil is visiting and has promised to help,” Aragorn said and began undoing the bindings on Faramir’s tunic, “The scribes can tell him all he needs to know. And Ithilien, well, everyone knows you are here, and if anything comes up that needs your attention, well Legolas will take care of it. You, my dearest love, are going to rest and let me love you.”

“I’ll leave then,” Legolas said smiling gently at them, “We are just beyond the woods behind this cottage, if you need anything!” Aragorn gave him a grateful look.

“Thank you,” Faramir said simply, “This is a beautiful place.”

“You had plans, sire?” he turned expectantly to the king when Legolas had left.

“I do! You my love need a holiday,” Aragorn said firmly, slipping the tunic off Faramir, and pulling him against him, “You must not worry about all this. All I want you to worry about is our dinner tonight. We’ll need to catch some!” He said and then pulled Faramir closer and kissed him gently and lingeringly on the lips.

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.

Written for the 25fluffyfics prompt 16. Puppy / kitten
Rating: G
Summary: Aragorn would like to buy a hunting dog

A/N: Thanks to iris for reading through!

---

“Here we are,” Aragorn said smiling.

Faramir returned a puzzled smile, and looked up at the building they had dismounted in front of. They stood in front of an old tavern in the fourth circle, much frequented by the well-heeled in Minas Tirith. Somehow he had not thought that could cause Aragorn to look so excited.

“This way,” the king said enthusiastically and darted into a narrow cobbled lane to the side of the building. Faramir exchanged a surprised glance with the two young guards who had escorted them, before following Aragorn swiftly. The small lane was lined with tall buildings fronted by small but well-kept, beautiful gardens; houses of some of the more prosperous merchants. Aragorn stood at an open doorway talking to someone.

“Come along now,” he said, still smiling, and then waved a hand towards the huge young man he stood talking to, “This is Halor.”

Faramir greeted the other man politely. He recognised him as one of the northern rangers who had stayed back in Minas Tirith. Well, that did explain his lack of ceremony with the king of Gondor. Halor had married the daughter of the old man who had owned the tavern, he recollected now.

He followed Aragorn through the gate into an open grassy space, and stopped short as he noticed the number of puppies racing around chasing each other. The faint sounds of laughter and conversation from the tavern were constantly punctuated by yelps. They were all hunting hounds, Faramir realised, old enough to be weaned away from their mothers but still young enough to be trained.

They were joined shortly by Elga, Halor’s wife, older and plumper now than Faramir had remembered her but still as full of smiles and attractive. She and her husband had started the kennels after their marriage, he recollected now, the best in the city.

“Those three,” Halor told Aragorn, pointing towards three extremely energetic dogs in the middle of the grass, “Those are the pick of the lot; excellent lines and they’re already being eyed by many. But since you said you were looking for one yourself, I’ve not let anyone have them yet.”

Faramir listened absently as Aragorn and Halor launched into a long conversation. He glanced around the large sunlit courtyard. It was a fine place, and the dogs were clearly happy. All but one.

A small, thin dog was inching its way around the edge of the courtyard, sniffing along a path only it could decipher. It was much smaller than the others, and far skinnier, and most unlike a hunting hound. It sniffed its way over towards him, inching along the edge of the courtyard well away from the other larger dogs.

Faramir smiled and bent towards it, intending to stroke it. The dog glanced up at him and cocked its head sideways and stepped back. Faramir held a hand out slowly and kneeled down. This could take a while, he decided. The dog glanced at him and then inched closer to him, sniffed his hand cautiously and then let him stroke its head.

“Aren’t you a beautiful one now?’ Faramir said gently, almost crooning. The dog looked up at him, and then experimentally, gave his hand a small lick and rubbed its ear against his wrist

Faramir laughed softly but delightedly, and gently scratched its ear.

Aragorn turned towards Faramir when he heard the soft but unmistakably happy laughter. The steward was playing with a rather forlorn looking, scrawny and small pup.

Faramir turned towards him and catching his eye, smiled happily. It was one of those sweet, unfettered smiles that tugged at Aragorn and made him want to hold Faramir close and kiss him and just love him.

He walked over to Faramir, “I see you’ve found a new friend,” he said, smiling.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” Faramir asked.

Aragorn looked at the thin dog, its indeterminate parentage showing up clearly and then he looked at the tiny tail that wagged furiously and the little pink tongue that was licking Faramir’s palm and nodded, “He is indeed.”

“That one escaped the right lines,” Halor remarked, “He won’t sell of course!”

“No one’s bought him yet?” Faramir asked a little incredulously. How could anyone not want such an adorable pup.

“Naturally, no one wants him…”

“Why would no one want him?” Faramir asked indignantly.

“Well he’s too small, isn’t he?” Halor said, “He wouldn’t make a good hunter with a frame like that! I expect we’ll just give him away to Elga’s nephews.”

Faramir frowned slightly at that but continued running his hand over the puppy.

“Have you selected the dog Sire?” Elga asked.

“Well, what do you think Faramir?” Aragorn asked grinning, “The brown fellow over there or that black and white one?”

Faramir stared up at the two dogs the king was pointing to and shrugged, “They look the same,” he said doubtfully.

“I could get both,” Aragorn mused.

“Well if you need two, I suppose you could,” Faramir began absently, returning to his newfound friend.

“I don’t need any,” Aragorn said and grinned, “It’s for you, for your birthday, which is only a week away!”

“My –“ Faramir sat up, and stared at Aragorn, “For me?” The dog looked up at him, puzzled when he moved back from it. He tried to give it a reassuring smile and then rose slowly.

“For you,” Aragorn repeated, “From me.” And then he continued after a pause, ‘Oh you’ll get books too, don’t you worry but I wanted to give you a nice hunting dog too.”

“Oh!” Faramir said, and then reddened slightly, “Thank you… it’s just that… I haven’t really received gifts for my birthday since I was a child, well except from Boromir.”

He looked towards the pups Aragorn had pointed to and then looked back at the small dog that had backed away a little from him and was staring up at him. Then it moved back some more and began nosing the ground in front of it. Faramir looked at Aragorn, and bit his lip.

“You want this one,” Aragorn said, smiling gently.

“If – if it is all right with you,” Faramir said hurriedly, well aware that the tiny runt looked nothing like a hunting dog.

“If it is what you wish, it is certainly all right with me,” Aragorn said gently, “You know that don’t you?”

Faramir nodded quietly and moved forward slowly, towards the dog.

Argaorn turned to Halor and Elga and nodded towards the pup.

“That one?” Elga said doubtfully, and then shrugged.

“Not much of a hunter,” Halor said.

“That one,” Aragon said, watching the dog sit back, almost warily waiting to see what Faramir would do. The steward knelt down and held his hands out.

“We’re going home now, little one. Come,” he said gently.

The dog climbed onto him and licked him on his cheek.

Title: Feather and Fur
Author: Minx
Pairing: Aragorn / Faramir
Rating: PG
Warnings: Slash, fluff
Disclaimer: All characters and places are Tolkien’s.
Author’s Notes: Written for the ‘Birthday’ prompt for the 25fluffyfics community.
Many thanks toiris for her help!
Summary: Faramir’s birthday…

---

Aragorn pursed his lips worriedly. He’d looked all over the citadel for Faramir and had been unable to find him. The younger man had not joined in at lunch. It was nearing evening now. He stopped at the entrance to a small sunken, overgrown garden

Faramir sat on a broken down stone wall, staring ahead dully. He walked quietly up to him. The younger man glanced sideways at him and bit his lip.

“We missed you at lunch,” Aragorn said quietly and sat on the wall next to him.

“Forgive me,” Faramir murmured, “I forgot to send a message.”

“Will you tell me what ails you?” Aragorn asked him quietly.

Faramir started at that and began to shake his head.

“Faramir…”

The younger man sighed and showed the king the item he held in his hands. It was wrapped in thick cloth. He opened it to display an extremely beautiful set of quills.

“These look quite perfect,” he said.

“They are. They’re made by a family in a small village in Lebennin. It takes them months to prepare these quills. They have a special recipe for curing them, that makes them last longer. I received them today.”

Aragorn waited.

“They were ordered months ago,” Faramir sighed, “By father. For me.”

Aragorn placed a hand on his shoulder gently.

Faramir continued tiredly, “He wasn’t one for gifts or celebrations but we tried… Boromir and I, and he would join sometimes…” he broke off uncertainly, and looked away.

“He knew I liked these,” he said softly, his voice strained.

Aragorn moved closer to him.

“He was a good man,” Faramir mumbled.

“Aye. He was most keen witted, and decisive.”

“Perhaps not the best of fathers. But… that is not an uncommon failing in difficult times, is it?”

“No, perhaps not,” Aragorn said heavily, thinking back to the many Northern rangers who spent their lives wandering through the land, leaving their sons to be risen by the womenfolk.

He sat on the wall next to Faramir.

“I miss them,” the words came out very quietly.

Aragorn held him close.

“Whatever is Faramir doing?” Gandalf grumbled, as Aragorn joined him in the terrace overlooking the citadel gardens, “Why did you have to give him a puppy? Couldn’t you just give him a new horse or a new bow or quills or something useful? Books, perhaps!”

“He’s teaching his dog to fetch. And I did give him books as well. Éomer sent him a new horse last winter, Elrohir gave him a new bow he made himself, and he has a new set of quills.” Aragorn said calmly, watching the usually composed Faramir run into a bush in the gardens below, followed by Pippin and then Merry. The leader of their antics, a small white and brown puppy, dashed around the bush, wagging its tail furiously, letting out a series of very loud yaps.

“Most people would have bought a good, well-behaved, well-trained hunting hound!” Gandalf said again, as the hobbits added to the clamour.

“He liked this one,” Aragorn said, shrugging, “His name is Huan.”

“The dog’s I meant,” he added in helpfully.

Gandalf snorted, “I can’t imagine what you were thinking!” he said grumpily as a chorus of squeals and laughter drifted up. “That infernal animal makes Faramir act half his age! Or maybe even half Pippin’s age!”

A series of muffled squeals sounded out from below. And then a small red ball flew all the way up from the gardens, past Gandalf and Aragorn, hitting one of the pillars in the terrace. A rush of giggles sounded out below.

Gandalf scowled as he picked up the pipe he had dropped. And then he rose, “I’m going to have a word with Faramir. That’s enough fooling around from him.”

“I thought,” Aragorn said very slowly, picking up the ball, “Faramir would have received enough bows and swords and horses each year. I thought on this birthday, he needed something that did not demand he live up to another’s ideal of how he should be. And I thought he of all people need not be asked to act his age.”

Gandalf tapped at his pipe slowly, sighed and sat down. Aragorn tossed the ball down towards the bush Merry had disappeared into.

“Oh, and that I like it greatly when he smiles.”

Gandalf snorted again, but he was smiling as he took a puff at his pipe. A fresh set of happy yells sounded out below.

Pairing: Aragorn/Faramir
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: LOTR and all its characters belong to Tolkien
Archiving: Drop me a line before you do
Warnings: Slash
Summary: Aragorn and Faramir celebrate Faramir’s birthday

A/N – This little thing cropped up quite some time back while discussing an idea Iris had for another fic on Faramir’s birthday, which is not yet written. I think this could be a sequel to that ;)

Aragorn was not so much annoyed as puzzled.

They’d discussed it hadn’t they? Aragorn knew Faramir had been reluctant about celebrating his birthday but he thought he’d managed to talk him into it finally.

The Steward had not even intended for anyone to know the occasion. From what Aragorn knew, it had never been much of an affair in Denethor’s household. To be told someone else was organising a gathering to celebrate and then to be told he was to attend it was overwhelming. But hobbits were an enterprising lot and when Pippin had inadvertently learnt of Faramir impeding birthday, that had sealed it.

Even then, he had baulked at the suggestion. It had taken much coaxing and cajoling from Aragorn, but Faramir had finally acquiesced even if rather reluctantly, to be present at the small party that Merry and Pippin had wished to organise for his birthday.

Well yes, he’d lived up to his promise and been present, but he’d left so soon! True it was no longer a small party, but they couldn’t leave out any of those invited. And yes, they hadn’t really discussed how long he needed to be there but really, it was after all, Faramir’s birthday not his. And Faramir had agreed.

And there weren’t even going to be any speeches or anything. Well, yes there had been his toast to Faramir, but he was the king! He had to toast his steward on his birthday, especially when said Steward was also his lover!

The least the Steward could do was to sit through the thing! And that when Merry and Pippin were visiting too! Although, Aragorn thought distractedly now, that would be reason enough to flee. The two hobbits, and Legolas and Gimli, and the twins all under one roof. It was a wonder the citadel was still intact. The last he had seen them they had all started off on a drinking game interspersed with many renditions of the bawdiest songs he had ever heard.

He heard the soft sound, and was alarmed for only the briefest of seconds, and a gleeful smile soon graced his features.

“Well, little one,” he said softly, “I knew you were the perfect one. Come to me sweetheart,” he crooned softly and pushed himself through the gap in the bushes that led to the tiny garden his Steward favoured as a quiet retreat.

“Whuff,” came the agreeable reply.

Aragorn bent down and gently patted the pup on his head. The dog nuzzled his palm, making soft sounds.

“And where is he?” Aragorn asked softly.

“I wondered why you might give me a hunting dog,” Faramir’s voice was wry and amused.

“I didn’t give him to you,” Aragorn said calmly, “I wished you to help me select a hunting hound of the finest pedigree from the best breeders in the city. You were the one who fell for the little fellow here who was nosing about in the kennels, remember. And I think he chose you too.”

It hadn’t missed Aragorn that the tiny pup had been left alone in a corner, unwanted by most buyers due to his sickly and thin frame. Or that his young Steward had immediately been drawn to it. The owner had been more than happy to sell the runt of his litter to the king, no less. He looked anything like that now, though. In the one week Faramir had had him, the runt of the litter had blossomed into a beautiful, even if somewhat scrawny, dog.

“I think,” Faramir said walking forward and picking up the dog, “That he’s better than any hunting dog.”

“I agree,” Aragorn said eyes twinkling, “He helped me hunt you down.”

“No,” Faramir said patiently, “He led you to me.”

Aragorn’s eyebrows went up a fraction of a millimetre.

Faramir placed the dog down on a basket nearby, “Off you go to sleep now, little one,” he said patting it’s head, and then rose and turned to Aragorn.

“The halflings have some interesting ideas about birthdays,” he said softly, and undid the collar of his cloak, “They give presents to other people on their birthdays.” He removed the cloak, which Aragorn realised was all he wore.

“I hope you will like my present,” Faramir said softly.

The little dog cocked an ear as he heard a soft sound almost like a moan followed by a growl from near the apple tree.

“I liked it very much indeed,” Aragorn said when they lay resting under the tree, Faramir leaning back against his chest, the cloak drawn up over them to ward off the slight chill.

“Mmm…” the Steward mumbled, “Do you suppose they give presents even if it’s not a birthday?”

Title: The Special Shire Meal
Author: Minx
Pairing: Aragorn / Faramir
Rating: PG
Warnings: Slash, fluff
Disclaimer: All characters and places are Tolkien’s.
Author’s Notes: Written for the ‘Dinner’ prompt for the 25fluffyfics LJ community. Many thanks to Iris for her help!
Summary: The hobbits hold a dinner party

---

The hobbits had invited their dear friends for a specially cooked Shire meal. Merry and Pippin had cooked the meal, following the instructions and advice given by Frodo and Sam.

“I’m so glad you could all join us for dinner,” Pippin said beaming, “Merry and I have worked really hard to prepare all our favourite dishes. There’s ‘taters baked in butter, fruits with cream, turnip soup, fresh bread right out of the bakery – “

“It sounds excellent, Pippin,” Gandalf interrupted, “But can we start eating now?”

“We are all very glad to be here, Pippin, Merry,” Aragorn said, Gandalf a pointed look.

“Oh, and we’re really happy you returned early enough to join us for this meal, Faramir!” Merry piped up, “It was most kind of you to come over straight from the stables!”

“Thank you, Merry,” Faramir said softly, “It was very nice of you to leave a message for me at the stables.”

“You’re not back early,” Gandalf grunted, as the two hobbits rushed off to bring the food out, “Dinner is late!”

“Oh come, Gandalf, leave them be,” Legolas said smiling, “They’re young still. It stands to reason they may have underestimated the effort required!”

Gandalf simply snorted.

“And it is certainly nice to have Faramir back,” Gimli said, “How was your journey to Ithilien, lad? We missed you this last week.”

“Aragorn particularly missed you,” Elladan said rather sweetly.

Aragorn raised an eyebrow and turned towards the rather embarrassed Steward sitting next to him.

“I certainly did,” he said simply, and wrapped an arm around the younger man’s shoulder to draw him close, and drop a kiss on his head.

“How did you lads manage to stay without dinner till now?” Gimli asked as Merry and Pippin bustled into the room with the soup and potatoes.

“Oh, we ate already,” Pippin said cheerfully, “We had a huge tea at Beregond’s house and an early dinner, since we knew we’d spend the evening preparing for this party. The citadel kitchens made stew today. It was lovely too. We’ll just join you for some bread and cheese, later.”

“The stew usually is,” Elrohir muttered, as he stared down at the potatoes placed in front of him. He poked a spoon into a blackened bit and added, “I wonder if there’s any of it left?”

Dinner started off quietly, as the soup turned out to be unseasoned and the potatoes burnt. Merry and Pippin continued to run between the table and the kitchen, bringing out extra plates and spoons. The guests sighed and continued sipping and chewing their way through the first course, until Faramir gasped suddenly, softly, and Gimli promptly let out an undignified sound.

“Hush… it’s not that bad,” Elladan said morosely.

“Somebody kicked me under the table,” Gimli said indignantly, glaring around the table.

Faramir who was seated across him in the corner, flushed suddenly, frowned at Aragorn and then replied hesitantly, “Forgive me… I didn’t… Aragorn… I mean, I was just stretching my legs, and –”

“Ah… that’s alright, lad,” Gimli said good naturedly, “You must be tired after riding so long.”

“You really should sit comfortably, Faramir,” Elrohir said, “Aragorn, you should move up a little and give him some space…”

Pippin walked in just then with the next course.

Dinner finished at a reasonable hour. The unseasoned soup and burnt potatoes were followed by underdone fish, and then for dessert, fruits and cream that had soured. The guests had stoically eaten what they could, and subsisted on bread, cheese, fruit and a large amount of berry wine, and some extremely pleasant and cheerful conversation.

They walked back to the citadel together, Gandalf leading the way, grumbling quietly. The others followed him at what they judged would be a safe distance.

Faramir yawned twice in succession and sighed.

“Tired?” Aragorn said gently, and slung an arm around his shoulders

“A little,” Faramir answered, “But not too much,” he smiled up at Aragorn.

“Really?” Elladan remarked with a pointed look at the Steward’s reddened lips and the marks on his neck, “But you two were so busy at dinner!”

Faramir reddened at that, while Aragorn simply snorted.

“Perhaps Elrohir, you had the right idea,” he said instead, “Perhaps we should see if the kitchens have any stew left. They really do make it well. And I’m hungry!”

“Yes,” Legolas said silkily, “You did seem a little preoccupied, squashing poor dear Faramir against the wall like that.”

“Yes,” Elrohir added, “And so busy under that table… kicking poor Gimli…

“As I was saying,” Aragorn interrupted loudly, firmly pulling a much mortified Faramir closer, “I would greatly like some stew instead. Oh dear, those potatoes… we must never let them plan another party!” he shuddered.

“Oh come now, it wasn’t that bad a party,” Faramir said.

“You liked the party?” Gimli asked incredulously.

“I liked the party,” Faramir said shrugging.

“Faramir, the food was terrible!” Elladan said bluntly.

“Oh, I didn’t really notice the food,” Faramir said, stifling a yawn as he spoke, “I don’t suppose I ate all that much. Weren’t the potatoes burnt?”

“But you said you liked the food!”

“No, I said I liked the dinner party. The company was excellent,” he smiled up at Aragorn again.

The king smiled back and dropped a kiss on his forehead.

Title: Winter
Author: Minx
Pairing: Aragorn / Faramir
Rating: PG
Warnings: Slash, fluff
Disclaimer: All characters and places are Tolkien’s.
Author’s Notes: Written for the ‘Protection’ prompt for the 25fluffyfics community.
Many thanks to Iris for her help!
Summary: Winter accidents and fluff:)

---

Faramir pulled the cloak tighter around him. The evening sky was grey now and tiny snowflakes swirled in the slow cold breeze whistling through the bare trees. The cloak was damp and uncomfortable and coarse against his bare skin, but that and a pair of thin underpants was all he had on for now, and it still counted for something in the cold. His sodden tunic and leggings hung over the fire, the flames barely adequate to dry them; for the ground and firewood were still damp. Aragorn had ordered him to remove his wet clothing and stay by the fire, while they tended to poor Pippin. And while he chaffed at the order to do nothing else, he had to admit he was too exhausted to move.

“Faramir, come. We must return to the citadel now.”

“Aragorn,” Faramir mumbled as the king helped him rise off the log he’d been sitting on.

“How do you feel?” Aragorn pulled his damp and cold Steward into his arms.

“How’s Pippin?” Faramir asked tiredly.

“He’s quite well. Gandalf is taking him back to the citadel, and giving him quite a talking to, as well! He’d warmed up a bit, but he’s still cold, and he did take a small knock to his head. But he did manage to tell Merry not to finish the pie at dinner, so I suppose he’ll be in fine fettle soon. You got him just in time, even if you had to go and fall in after him!”

“Poor lad. All he was trying to do was to show us how they dance on the ice in the shire,” Faramir sighed.

“Well, he selected the wrong part of the pond,” Aragorn said unfeelingly, even as he gently ran his hands over Faramir’s shivering body, “He should have known the ice is not thick enough yet. He’s very lucky you were around. And you, young one, are very lucky Elrohir had the sense to use that branch to pull you two out.”

Faramir winced as Aragorn’s fingers, gentle as they were, skated over all the bruises he seemed to have suddenly picked up. The water had been cold, and littered with sharp shards of ice and broken twigs from the trees on its banks.

“Come now, it is cold here,” Aragorn said.

Faramir, crunched through the snow, stumbling along towards the horses that stood by stamping impatiently. He shivered involuntarily as an icy draught of air hit him. The king’s grip around his shoulders tightened. Light flakes of snow continued to fall around them.

“M-my cloak is damp,” he murmured trying to draw away from the older man.

“Really?” Aragorn said, drily, “I hadn’t noticed.” Faramir felt his aching head slip against the king’s shoulder.

“I’m getting you wet,” he tried again.

“No more Pippin did,” Aragorn retorted, and then continued in a gentler tone,”Let me help you, love.” He led him along slowly over to the horses, and said firmly, “You’re riding with me.”

Faramir, quite tired now from the cold and the aching bruises, merely sighed in response. He clambered onto the horse in front of Aragorn. The king undid the damp cloak and wrapped his own large cloak around Faramir.

The younger man protested, “You’ll get cold!”

“Not as much as you,” Aragorn said, “The northern winters are harsher than this.”

Faramir complied reluctantly. The cloak was dry and heavy and warm and Faramir immediately felt himself huddling against Aragorn.

He recollected little of the ride back other than that Aragorn was there with him. He smelt as nice as ever – of fresh heather and a hint of cinnamon, a welcoming fragrance in the cold, his strong, firm chest formed a most welcoming pillow, his lips as they brushed Faramir’s head many times were soft, his arm wrapped around Faramir holding him in place, warm, gloved fingers gently stroking his bare stomach and side comfortingly.

When they reached the citadel, he was almost asleep, and could not even muster the energy to protest when Aragorn carried him in, effortlessly gathering him into his arms. He just huddled closer into the loving hold.

He was helped into a soft and comfortable bed, in a wonderfully warm room. Someone brought in a bowl of hot soup, and that coupled with Aragorn’s gentle touches and soft, coaxing voice soothed Faramir back to sleep.

Faramir woke the next day to the fragrance of a pine wood fire, numerous aches, a ticklish throat, a heavy chest, a mild headache, the warmth of his dog, Huan, at his side, a foul stench and the wizened faces of the chief healer and Mithrandir looming over his. They greeted him cheerfully, called out for breakfast for him, and went back to applying a cold, vile smelling paste on his bare chest. He was in the houses of healing, Faramir realised.

Faramir sighed, stuck out his tongue as asked, held up his wrist, endured the prodding fingers that poked at a particularly tender set of bruises above his hip, coughed when asked to and said he felt perfectly fine when asked if he felt feverish or ached anywhere.

“You have some rather nasty bruises here and the signs of a cold,” the chief healer told him, his loud, booming voice doing nothing to ease Faramir’s headache, “But you should be fine in a few days. This herbal mix will help.”

Breakfast came then, a thin gruel and a greenish brown herbal potion. He groaned. He’d always hated the houses of healing. Huan edged closer to him and licked his face comfortingly.

Pippin, he was told, was very well; already at his second breakfast and demanding ‘taters for lunch. And all set to leave the houses the next morning.

Faramir finished eating his first and he hoped, only breakfast for the day, for Gandalf stood over him till he was done. He even drank the herbal mix; it tasted as terrible as it looked but Gandalf htreatned to hold his nose until he’d swallow it.

“Don’t even think of feeding that to Huan the next time,” the wizard added, cheerfully, “It’ll give the poor fellow an upset stomach.”

“When can I leave?” Faramir asked once he’d finished sputtering, the awful taste still lingering his mouth.

Aragorn entered just then, his warm grey eyes lighting up with pleasure as Faramir looked up at him.

“I’m off to see Pippin now,” Gandalf said, and left.

“You look so much better now,” Aragorn said, gently brushing his hands over Faramir’s face. Faramir smiled up at him; his headache did seem to have diminished after breakfast.

“Can I leave this place before luncheon?” he asked, “I heard the chief healer ask for cabbage stew for lunch! That’ll also give me time to go through my notes for the meeting on the turnip harvest with councillor Tarlan.”

“Tarlan has graciously agreed to meet another day. You’ll be here for a few days yet,” the king said.

“On no, that can’t be,” Faramir told him, “Pippin gets to leave today.”

“Pippin is not developing a fever. You are,” Aragorn said and sat by Faramir’s bedside, readying himself to argue with and coax Faramir into doing as the healers said.

A half hour later, Faramir’s voice was hoarse, but he made no effort to wipe the miserable look off his face, even when Aragorn had inched closer to him, and gently pulled him into his arms, stroking his bare back gently.

“Pouting like that will not help,” Aragorn told him, and scratched Huan gently under his ear. The dog let out a snuffling noise and licked his wrist happily, “You’ll worry Huan. The little fellow’s really quite happy he’s being allowed to sit in your bed. I don’t think he likes his basket.”

“Whatever would I do here?” Faramir grumbled again.

“Rest,” Aragorn said, stroking Faramir’s hand lightly, “Sleep. Eat. Read… not for too long though. Sleeping would be ideal. You don’t get enough sleep, you know. And you don’t eat enough… it wasn’t very different carrying Pippin and carrying you.”

Faramir let out an indignant squawk at that.

“You know I’m right,” Aragorn retorted, “You asked for luncheon in your study most of this last month, because the trade treaties needed work, but then you’d forget to eat the meals and they’d go cold, and then you’d feed them to Huan!”

Faramir had the grace to blush, but he tried again, “I don’t think even Huan would want that awful gruel,” he muttered.

“Tomorrow, if your chest clears up, I’ll ask them to send you turnip stew instead,” Aragorn said gently, “Done just the way you like it. And some honeycakes tonight, perhaps?”

Faramir sighed. Aragorn’s tone and touch made him want to huddle up into the older man’s embrace and stay there all day.

“I wish I could stay here with you,” Aragorn continued, stroking Faramir’s hair.

“You have to meet the trade council today,” Faramir mumbled, “And the sailmakers’ guild. And the river trade council. I will be fine here.”

Aragorn dropped a soft kiss on his forehead, “I’ll join you for supper. Stay here and rest, love. You know you need to sleep more.”

“Well, that’s really your fault,” Faramir declared, “When you’re around, I can’t imagine why I’d want to sleep when there is so much else we can do.”

Aragorn snorted in response.

Faramir found, much to his annoyance, that he fell asleep after Aragorn left, Huan cuddled by his side.

His bruised body felt sore when he woke in time for lunch – stew again, and an herbal tea infused with a bitter root extract. The apprentice healer who had brought lunch had clearly been instructed very strictly by Gandalf, for he waited while Faramir ate, fussing around the room, adjusting the drapes, stoking the fire in the grate, filling a bowl with water for Huan.

Faramir ate reluctantly, well aware that a fit of sulks wouldn’t work as effectively on the lad as it would on Aragorn. And then sulked as he realised it wouldn’t have worked on Aragorn either. Aragorn wasn’t going to help him leave, he realised, and certainly not Gandalf, or anyone else. The last time he’d been here, he’d tried appealing to Legolas, the twins, Gimli, even Pippin and they’d all refused to help. Elrohir had even gone so far as to tuck him back into bed.

The drapes had been drawn far back to let in the pale sunlight and reveal a fine afternoon sky – a clear wintry azure. This wasn’t fair. He felt quite well, and should be outside enjoying the weather. And then he thought he felt well enough to not need any help to leave. He was quite glad there was no one else here but Huan. He smiled at his dog as it lapped up the water and then jumped back onto the bed to lie by his side.

It would be just him and his dog.

He thanked the lad when he was done, in a soft tone, let out a deliberate yawn and slipped under his bedclothes. He kept his eyes closed, listening to the sounds of the young healer moving around the chamber. Finally, after the boy was done, and had left, his footsteps fading along the hallways outside, he moved. Huan sat up and let out a little bark.

“Hush,” Faramir told him, and held out a mollifying hand, “We’ll go get you a new toy mouse to play with, so the stablehands won’t get bothered when you go mousing in the stables. And a nice, juicy bone.”

He sat up, moving slowly. Pushing away his blankets he made to rise from the bed, only to realise that he was completely naked under the bedclothes. He groaned as he recollected the wet clothes being stripped off him by Aragorn last night before he was bundled into bed.

The clothes lay on a chair near the fireplace. He rose, wrapping a blanket loosely around himself.

Huan jumped off the bed, tugged at the clothes and tore out off the room, Faramir’s garments trailing behind him.

“Huan!” he shouted and made to set off after the dog. The room spun dizzyingly and he clutched at the wall. The blanket slipped, and he grabbed at it with his free hand, groaning miserably, as he stumbled along outside. The hallway was draughty and the stone floor was icy under his bare feet, but he continued on, one hand on the wall, the other clutching the blanket as it kept slipping off his shoulders, trailing from his hip.

“Huan,” he croaked out, unhappily.

The dog was nowhere to be seen!

“What are you doing?” Aragorn’s voice sounded twice as loud in the echoing emptiness of the passage. He held Faramir’s clothes.

Faramir sighed and leaned back against a wall.

“Looking for my dog,” he retorted, a little sulkily.

“He’s in my study, chewing up a new toy mouse I got him.”

Faramir snorted.

“All right then, I think I’ll just stay here and wait for him to finish playing,” Faramir said, and sat down, on the cold stone floor, arranging his blanket around him modestly.

“You could wait more comfortably in bed,” Aragorn suggested.

“In my bed yes,” Faramir retorted.

“Faramir,” Aragorn said, in that soft, loving tone that Faramir thought he used only in the bedchamber. He almost capitulated then, but managed just in time to remind himself of what Aragorn had done.

Aragorn sat down next to him.

“You turned my dog against me,” Faramir mumbled.

“You know I did rightly,” Aragorn said.

Faramir snorted again, but when Aragorn helped him up, he took his arm with a sigh, and allowed him to lead him back into bed.

“I’ll speak to Gandalf again,” Aragorn said gently, as he pulled the blankets up, “Perhaps we could have you rest in our chambers instead.”

“Oh yes,” Faramir said eagerly, “That would be nicer than being here.”

Aragorn smiled.

“And I would be more tempted to stay in, in our bed,” Faramir smirked.

“And rest?” Aragorn asked, smiling, even more.

“Well you may have to do some more work,” Faramir conceded, “If I must stay resting.”

Title: Plans
Author: Minx
Pairing: Aragorn / Faramir
Rating: PG
Warnings: Slash, fluff
Disclaimer: All characters and places are Tolkien’s.
Feedback: Welcomed with open arms:)
Author’s Notes: Written for the ‘Breakfast’ prompt for the 25fluffyfics LJ community. Many thanks to Iris for her help!
Summary: Aragorn has to change supper plans

---

Aragorn returned to his chambers late in the evening, and was pleased to note that a huge supper had already been laid out in his private dining room. Faramir had returned from Ithilien the previous evening and they had planned to sup early and then retreat to Aragorn’s bedchamber so that, in Faramir words, they could continue from where they’d left off the previous night. Aragorn smiled at he thought of the previous night while he changed out of his formal tunic and leggings into a more comfortable robe. Much as he had thought they should have slept, for Faramir had looked just a bit weary after from his ride, his lover had had other ideas, ones that Aragorn found quite irresistible. They had made love twice and then again early that morning on waking up. Faramir had been away at Ithilien for nearly a fortnight and had been most anxious to make up for it. Aragorn had in turn promised to distract the younger man from thoughts of the councils that were to follow over the next few days.

He moved towards his study to let Faramir know he had returned, but then stopped. He decided to take the supper over to his study instead of calling Faramir to have it here. His study was a room that Faramir loved, for a vast window offered a view of the city and the plains beyond and even the hazy contours of Ithilien across the thin sliver of river. They had often supped there, seated in comfortable, old chairs or lain down with glasses of wine on a pile of rugs in front of the hearth.

He piled the plates with food. His younger lover was looking a little thinned, and from what Aragorn knew of him, meals were low on his priority once he was immersed in work, as was bound to happen in Ithilien where he had few distractions. Faramir’s years as a ranger in Ithilien, at the front line with erratic supply lines had inured him to erratic meals and his father’s strict and at times, even harsh upbringing had left him with a tendency to work overly hard. In the last few months, the younger man had certainly been working very hard, spending a few days in Ithilien each fortnight to oversee the rebuilding works there, and at the same time keeping up with his duties back here in the city.

Aragorn stopped as he entered the study and sighed. Faramir had fallen asleep on the rugs by the hearth, curled up close to the fire. Aragorn put the food aside and sat by him, gently pushing a long strand of wayward hair out of the younger man’s eyes. He still looked tired, even in his sleep, Aragorn thought. He had certainly looked exhausted when he had arrived from Ithilien last night. Not for the first time, he cursed himself softly for allowing the younger man to exert himself so much, at work and in their intimacy too.

He should really ensure Faramir got more rest, he thought worriedly, at least while he stayed over at Minas Tirith, but their days apart only increased their longing for each other. They were both tactile lovers and craved physical proximity, Faramir even more so, and the younger man’s eagerness never failed to move Aragorn. Faramir had in fact been making eager plans for this night, having amused himself in Ithilien by going through some rather unexpected illustrated Khandrim texts that he had discovered in a far corner of the archives in Minas Tirith.

Aragorn gently ran a finger down the younger man’s cheek and jaw, and inched down to the sharp outlines of the collarbone that jutted out above the robe he wore.

Faramir stirred and Aragorn stilled the movements immediately, unwilling to awaken him. He gently picked the younger man’s smaller frame in his arms, careful not to jolt him in his sleep and carried him into the bedchamber.

The huge feather bed near the window was covered with neatly spread quilts and blankets. Aragorn placed him on the bed and spread a blanket over him.

The younger man stayed sleeping all through, even as the king closed the curtains across the window, and spread a second quilt over him. It would get chilly soon.

Sighing again, Aragorn retrieved the papers Faramir had been working on, and was unsurprised to see that he had completed all the work required. He supped alone, eating slowly and thoughtfully. He mentally ran through their schedules for the next day. They were to break their fast with Legolas and Gimli, and then later in the afternoon, go their individual ways for councils and arbitration proceedings. They had quite a few long, work-filled days ahead, he realised.

Faramir woke to soft sunlight streaming through the thin, silken drapes. He stared at the chequered pattern formed on his quilt, momentarily confused by his surroundings. He’d been in Emyn Arnen, and then he remembered he’d ridden back to Aragorn, and they were to have…

He rose slowly, pushing away the bedclothes, and yawned involuntarily as he stretched himself.

“Oh good, you’re awake. I’ve brought you breakfast,” Aragorn said as he placed a large tray piled with food on a table by the bed.

Faramir stared at the food in confusion. There were breads, cakes, cheese, fruits, honey, preserves, smoked meats, eggs, and a huge jug of milk. And then he remembered.

“Oh!” he nearly yelped, “Forgive me! I forgot Legolas and Gimli will be joining us for breakfast. I’ll –”

“Those two are still sleeping after a night out in the taverns with the twins,” Aragorn told him, amused, “I doubt either is in the mood for company right now. I’m told they sampled Haradric wines of varying types, and followed it up with Dorwinion. This breakfast is for you.”

“For me? But there’s enough here to feed three halflings for both their breakfasts,” he protested.

Aragorn glanced thoughtfully at the food, “Perhaps one halfling for two of his breakfasts,” he accepted, “But you need it. You had no dinner last night.”

Faramir’s expression immediately turned even more contrite. “Forgive me,” he said softly, “I did not mean to fall asleep.”

Aragorn sat by him and gently pulled him into his arms, “You needed the rest,” he said, “You still do, and I intend to ensure that.”

“But we had other plans for last night,” Faramir mumbled, his cheeks pinking slightly, as he leaned into the embrace.

“And we have enough time for those,” Aragorn assured him gently, and inched the plate closer, “Our breakfast guests have let us down as I said, and there are no councils this morning. Eat now.”

After Faramir had eaten a few mouthful he added, “If you’re nice and eat up most of it, I might even let you tell me, or nay, try out what you were reading about the use of fruit and honey in the art of Khandrim lovemaking.”

Faramir paused in the act of dipping some bread into the pot of honey, and grinned. “Butter too,” he mumbled, through a mouthful of bread and cheese.

Title: Leaving
Characters: Aragorn/Faramir
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: None of them are mine:(
Warnings: None
Author’s Notes: Much thanks to Iris for reading through and handholding.

Summary: Aragorn is leaving for a battle, while Faramir has to stay behind.
This was written for the ‘Parting’ prompt of the 25fluffyfics LJ community

---

“Take me with you,” Faramir begged.

“I cannot,” Aragorn said gently but firmly.

“As Steward it is my duty to protect you. How can I do that if I stay behind here while you are in the south fighting our enemies,” Faramir said, in a tired, wavering voice. His gaze fell upon the western sky outside, oranges and reds mingling as the sun set behind the mountains, and he found himself shivering slightly.

He felt Aragorn’s arms warp around him, and leaned back involuntarily. Aragorn turned him around gently so that they faced each other. He sighed as the hold tightened imperceptibly, pulling him that much closer. He let his head fall against Aragorn’s shoulder, resting his hands loosely around Aragorn’s chest and stood still, listening to Aragorn’s steady heartbeat. He felt the cool touch of the familiar fingers on his face, brushing the contours gently, pushing away wayward hair, tracing slowly down his throat, before rising back to cup the back of his head.

“I would take me with you if I could,” Aragorn whispered, rubbing his other hand gently over Faramir’s back, “I would have you by my side always but I cannot this time. I need you to stay here and look after our people. As Steward you must rule in my stead until I return. You know that, do you not?”

“I do,” Faramir replied softly, “But I’ll miss you.”

“As will I,” Aragorn replied.

They stood together wrapped in each other’s arms.

“This shall be our last night together for some weeks,” Aragorn said quietly after a while.

Faramir touched Aragorn’s throat, running his fingers over it gently, “Yes.”

He slipped his fingers into Aragorn’s robes, until he could feel the cool, firm flesh underneath, and the steady beating in his ears speeded up just a little as he ran his hand over the outlines of the ribs, down the planes of Aragorn’s stomach.

“I shall miss you,” he repeated, trying not to let the immense sadness he felt come up in his voice. His eyes fell upon the vast bed, and he gulped softly at the thought of countless nights ahead, lying there alone, wondering how Aragorn fared in the battle. He couldn’t keep from emitting a soft shuddering gasp and barely managed to keep the tears from coming. He mustn’t cry, not when Aragorn was to leave the next day. Aragorn gave him a worried look.

He could not have Aragorn leave upset and worried.

He kissed him on his lips, and moaned in silent approval as Aragorn soon took over, gently at first and then with a fierceness he welcomed eagerly. He felt the warmth course through him, as and the hardness nudging against his hips, his own body hardening in response, his trousers suddenly feeling very tight. He wished he’d changed into more comfortable robes as Aragorn had and then forgot all about clothes as Aragorn released his bruised lips and moved down his throat, kissing and licking him rapidly, and rapidly undoing his tunic, over his chest and abdomen, until Aragorn was kneeling, his arms wrapped around Faramir’s hips.

He whimpered softly as his trousers were pushed down his hips and a wet tongue snaked into his navel. Aragorn glanced up at him briefly, lovingly.

He nodded and Aragorn rose and half-lifted half nudged him onto the bed, and then slipped off his robes. Faramir moaned softly as he took in Aragorn’s arousal his own hardness feeling all the more constricting. Aragorn then helped Faramir undo his pants and slip them off rapidly along with his tunic. Faramir gasped in relief and pulled Aragorn closer, not wanting to use up any more of the precious few hours they had left together. All he wanted was for Aragorn to touch him, be near him and make love to him in all the few hours they had left.

Faramir watched the pale markings of dawn litter the sky outside the eastern window and finally stirred reluctantly out of Aragorn’s embrace. Aragorn had made love to him intensely yet gently, and then had gathered him in his arms and held him in his arms all night, letting Faramir snuggle up against his chest.

They had not slept, yet neither felt very tired as they rose and readied themselves, and then hugged each other tightly before leaving the room.

“You mustn’t worry. I love you greatly,” Aragorn said kissing Faramir on his forehead, “And I desire much to return to you as soon as I may. It is merely months. They will fly, you’ll see and I’ll return to you.”

“I know,” Faramir whispered softly.

Title: Night
Author: Minx
Characters: Aragorn/Faramir
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Everything is Tolkien’s
Author’s Notes: Written for the 25fluffyfics community’s ‘Blankets’
prompt. Much thanks to Iris for reading through!
Summary: Faramir is unable to sleep alone in Minas Tirith

---

Faramir sighed unhappily and turned over in his bed. He gazed through the open window. It was dark outside, barring the faint moonlight. There were still a few hours to go till dawn, and though he had tried hard to fall asleep he had been unable to. It had been so for the last few nights ever since Aragorn had ridden out.

They had been accustomed all these weeks to spending their nights in Minas Tirith together in the king’s bedchamber, in Aragorn’s vast bed. Since Aragorn had ridden out, Faramir had moved back into his own chambers, to the rooms and bed he had always used all these years, until now.

He shifted uncomfortably again, feeling strange and miserable and not knowing why. This was after all the bed he had used ever since he had been a child, and he was accustomed to it. As a young ranger returning from Henneth Annûn, he had welcomed this space, the softness of the down-filled mattress and pillows and the thick blanket to keep off the chill that seeped in through the stone walls in the late autumn nights.

He kicked his blanket away irritably now, and then found himself pulling it back as he felt the nip in the air on his bare skin. The pillows felt too soft against his aching head. And the down-filled mattress didn’t feel soft enough; he had become too used to lying in Aragorn’s arms. He rolled onto his side tiredly. Aragorn’s bed was a huge one, lined with soft silken sheets and soft, warm blankets. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine himself asleep in Aragorn’s arms, his head resting against the king’s chest, ears strumming with his heartbeat, the king’s hands on his bare back and stomach. He hugged himself tight and curled up, and then let out a strangled sob.

It was not as if he was unaccustomed to spending his nights alone, for he had to do so whenever he visited Ithilien for a few days. And yet, being alone in Minas Tirith suddenly seemed difficult.

He turned over again, trying to lie on his stomach, and then on his back. Finally he rose, and walked over to his window, looking out at the night sky. Morning was hours away as yet. He should sleep he knew. He’d assured Aragorn he would take care of his health, and eat his meals and sleep regularly. Well, he thought, sighing, he’d tried to sleep but couldn’t, so he might as well make the best use of his time. He glanced towards his desk, and walking over, picked up some papers though he knew he’d finished everything here before going to bed. Perhaps he could read a book, he decided and walked over to the small shelf near the hearth, only to realise that all his books lay in Aragorn’s chambers.

He pursed his lips and made up his mind swiftly. Pulling on a robe, he headed for Aragorn’s chambers. Once there he picked up some of his books off the table. There would be a few under the pillows too, he thought, and walked over to the bed.

It was a huge bed, larger than even the two of them would need, but Faramir had liked that. The king’s bed was harder, at his own insistence, used as he was to spending most of his nights outdoors. Faramir sat at the edge and laid his palm on the smooth, soft sheets. The vast bed looked strangely empty and much as he found his own bed uncomfortable, Faramir could not imagine sleeping here alone either.

They had spent each night he’d been in Minas Tirith, here on this bed. They would make love over these sheets, sometimes more than once in a night, gently and slowly, lingering over their nearness, especially after he’d return from a few days in Ithilien. And just sometimes, Faramir would get his way and they would make love with a near ferocity, that left him aching mildly yet pleasurably. After they’d made love, he would curl himself into Aragorn’s arms, and the king would hold him long into the night. There were times when he thought Aragorn was too protective of him, but at night he revelled in that feeling, as the king held him gently, the strong arms keeping him close. He hugged his arms around himself and sighed. He ran his hands over the soft bedcover and found himself pouting unhappily.

He’d known he would miss Aragorn this much. He always did in Ithilien, but in Minas Tirith, it seemed everywhere he went, he would be reminded of Aragorn. He had never thought that he would come to grow so fond of the city. He sighed, picked up the books under the pillows, and made to rise. He sat back down as he noticed the blanket folded and piled away at the foot of the bed.

It was Aragorn’s old blanket, a relic of his ranger days, the brown and green pattern now old and faded, the edges frayed. It was large and soft. He picked it up and buried his face in it, stifling the sobs that arose in his throat, as he breathed in a concoction of now familiar smells; a damp mustiness that spoke of years of outdoor use, the faint odour of horses, wet grass and mud, and lingering faintly in it all, heather and lavender, like the soap that Aragorn used.

He carried it into his chambers. He removed the robe and wrapped the blanket around himself, unmindful of the coarse roughness against his bare skin, curling into himself on the bed. It bought back memories of their days and nights together – of golden sunny afternoons spent outside – by the river fishing or just sitting together on the same blanket, of riding through the plains with the wind blowing through their hair, of walking through the woods with their hobbit friends, Aragorn’s fingers wrapped around his own, searching for berries that later left stains on the blanket when they made love on it forgetting the berries that they’d gathered, of nights spent on rugs in front of the hearth, this blanket wrapped around them as they took turns to read out of books they liked, of Aragorn laying him down on this same blanket on the bed the first time they made love, soothing away his sudden nervousness with gentle kisses and soft touches and loving words.

He sighed and stretched out more comfortably, letting the blanket spread over his body and picking up one of the books he’d brought along, opened it to the page he’d marked many days ago, having had little time to read in bed till now. He didn’t think he could sleep yet, but he did have better things to think of now while he read. Perhaps he could think of how he could convince Aragorn to let him go along the next time.

And he’d carry this blanket too.

Title: The View
Author: Minx
Rating: G
Pairing: Aragorn/Faramir
Summary: Faramir would like to watch the sunset

Notes: For the ‘sunset’ prompt on 25fluffyfics.

---

It was quite chilly when Aragorn stepped out on to the terrace outside the citadel buildings and walked down the long flight of steps that led to the gardens. The Steward sat hunched into himself on a stone bench near the walls, looking out at the view of the Anduin and the forests beyond.

“Faramir,” Aragorn said, his quiet voice breaking into the silence of the gardens.

Faramir started, turned and rose slowly as he saw the king, a slightly guilty expression on his pale face.

“You are supposed to be at tea with the Rhunic prince,” he said. He would have been there too, had he not been ill the last few days.

“I was. But then I decided I’d rather be with you, so I left.”

Faramir frowned, “The prince may not like that.”

“He entered into a very long and tedious discussion with Legolas about the ideal manure for climbing roses. He begged my leave to see our roses while there is still light. So I thought I’d come spend the evening with you instead.”

“It was getting stuffy inside,” Faramir mumbled, and leaned against a tree, folding his hands across his chest, “And the sunset looks beautiful today.”

It certainly did, Aragorn thought quietly. The Anduin glimmered in the evening light, a beautiful shade of golden; the sky above a mix of pale blue and yellow. A flock of river terns swept across the water in a perfect formation, towards the trees on the far side.

“It does indeed,” he said. “It’s cold here,” he added. Faramir wore no cloak.

The younger man made a non-committal sound, and dropped his hands.

Aragorn placed a hand on his forehead. Faramir frowned.

“You are still running a fever,” the king said.

Faramir turned away, his usually sweet and gentle countenance, now sulky. Aragorn stifled a laugh as he observed the pout. Faramir continued to lean against the tree.

“Tired?” the king asked conversationally. From where they stood, the climb to their chambers seemed long and steep.

“No,” Faramir replied rather shortly and leaned a little closer to the tree.

Aragorn sighed and placed his cloak around Faramir’s shoulders.

“Aragorn!”

“It’s cold,” the king repeated calmly, hands still on the younger man’s shoulders, as he turned him to face him, holding the cloak in place, “And you’re unwell.”

“I can look after myself,” Faramir muttered sulkily, “I’ve been a ranger just as you have!”

“Yes, you can. But I’m also going to look after you, whether you like it or not,” Aragorn informed him, “It’s what one does to people one cares greatly about.”

Faramir’s cheeks reddened slightly.

“Would you like to return to the citadel now?” Aragorn suggested gently, “Our chambers have a fine view of the river too. And the dispatches from Rivendell came in today. Elrond has sent us some new books.”

“All right,” Faramir said in a small voice and heaved himself off the tree.

Aragorn pulled him gently into his arms.

“And I’ve asked the kitchens to send some food and warmed honeycakes and that hot spiced berry and milk drink from Harad that you liked so much.”

Faramir sighed and shrugged, moving into the loving embrace, and the soft lips that brushed his briefly. “We should leave soon then,” he murmured, pulling away reluctantly, “Honeycakes don’t taste as nice when they’re cold.”

Aragorn smiled.

Faramir pulled the cloak tight around himself as they ascended the steps, feeling suddenly weary. The stairs hadn’t seemed so many or so steep and uneven on the way down, he thought, feeling suddenly weary. He felt himself stumble over the next step and reached towards the stone handrail for support.

“Aragorn,” he sighed as the king scooped him up gently into his warmth instead.

“It’s a long climb,” Aragorn murmured.

Faramir took a sip of the spiced brew and sighed in pleasure as the warm liquid soothed his sore throat. The terrace outside Aragorn’s bedchamber was small but cosy, suffused with the comfortable golden glow from the lanterns above. Aragorn and he had settled down on a pile of rugs and cushions, with the honeycakes, brew and books. The sun was dipping behind the forests across the river now, and the violet sky looked even more beautiful than earlier. He huddled further into Aragorn’s embrace, pulling the soft quilt to his chin. The king paused his reading of a fine rousing adventure to drop a kiss on Faramir’s head.

The younger man smiled up at him gently. Truth be told, he didn’t quite mind being looked after liked this, sometimes.

“I love you too, Aragorn,” he murmured.

Title: Sleep
Author: Minx
Characters: Aragorn/Faramir
Rating: PG
Warnings: None, really
Feedback: Would be loved:)
Summary: Written for the ‘Nightmare’ prompt on the 25fluffyfics LJ community
A/N: Many thanks to Iris for reading through and for the title:)

---

Aragorn shook his head in exasperation when he entered Faramir’s study after he’d kept his dinner appointment with his chief councillor. The younger man was at his desk. His paperwork was spread out on the table in front of him, a half-eaten plate of dinner had been pushed to one side, and he lay fast asleep in his chair. The king stood quietly for a few moments at the doorway watching him. The fading light played on the steward’s lean face, accentuating the shadows that still lingered over it after a recent illness. His head had slipped to an uncomfortable angle, and Aragorn realised he ought to rectify that or Faramir would be left with a severe pain in his neck and shoulders. He would have to speak to him about his meals too. A half-eaten apple and a few bites of bread and cheese were hardly a meal.

He walked in and paused to observe the relaxed features again, a little thankfully. Faramir’s sleeping habits had changed so much in these months he’d known him. In their earlier days together, Aragorn had fast realised that his young lover slept for a mere few hours, and would often wake in the middle of the night, sleep disturbed by nightmares that left him shaken and on some occasions even tearful. On each occasion, Aragorn had woken too at the sound of the soft sobs that the younger man subconsciously seemed to stifle, and then held and soothed the younger man lovingly, reassuring him that all was fine.

Faramir would always feel guilty each time his restless movements and pain-filled cries woke Aragorn. It had taken Aragorn many weeks and a few nightmares of his own to convince Faramir that there was no ill in having bad dreams. As the long winter nights after they had first come together had progressed, the two men had comforted each other, each helping the other come to terms with their grief, past and present, as they had gradually grown deeper in love.

Faramir did still have nightmares though, especially as he’d been ill just recently, the changing seasons having brought on a severe bout of fever that had left Aragorn extremely worried about him.

Even now though, it took barely a touch to the shoulder to rouse the young Steward who sat up suddenly, stared at the papers on the table and then glanced around frantically. Upon seeing Aragorn his face broke into a weary smile. The king smiled back as he noticed the ink smudge left on the younger man’s nose.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep,” Faramir murmured, “But I’ve finished here I think and –”

Aragorn sighed and leaning forward gently wiped at Faramir’s nose with his sleeve, “You have ink on your nose,” he announced.

Faramir wrinkled his face, and smiled.

“You would be more comfortable in bed,” Aragorn suggested, gently brushing a lock of hair off his forehead, at the same time checking the creased forehead for any sign of warmth. He wiped away the smudge of ink with his sleeve.

“As long as I’m in your arms,” Faramir murmured still sounding half-asleep, making Aragorn chuckle, and wrap his arms around him.

Faramir yawned.

“To bed, young one,” Aragorn declared teasingly, “Should I carry you there, and tuck you in?”

That made Faramir come awake. He gave Aragorn a slightly exasperated look and rose, “I’ve finished going through these petitions, and I’ve jotted down the relevant points here,” he said, showing Aragorn the notes he’d made at the margins in his neat script.

“I’ll look into them tonight,” Aragorn promised, taking them from him, “But it is time you got some sleep. You look tired,” he added reprovingly, “And you haven’t finished your dinner.”

“I’ve been inside all day,” Faramir almost pouted, “And the kitchens kept sending me something or the other to eat.”

He continued speaking about the petitions as they walked to the king’s rooms, Aragorn going deliberately slowly for he could see Faramir was weary.

When they reached his rooms, Aragorn helped him change out of his clothes, batting away his protests with a stern, “You’re asleep on you feet! And you are still not fully recovered; remember?”

Faramir shook his head, smiling, but let Aragorn help him into bed nevertheless. When the older man had settled by his side, he turned to him, and reached for the bindings of his tunic.

Aragorn stopped him gently. “Sleep now,” he urged instead.

Faramir sighed, leaned forward and pressed his lips against Aragorn’s before murmuring, “Very well, but only if you do too. You look tired too. You spent so much time out in the city today.”

“I will,” Aragorn said smiling. He had every intention of doing so, and ensuring that he kept Faramir’s dreams at bay. The younger man was still recovering from his latest illness and the healers had warned that he was still weak and susceptible to falling ill again. He needed all the sleep and rest he could get.

He nudged Faramir back against the pillows, and kissed him on his lips before pulling him into his arms, holding him against his chest as he fell asleep. He looked through the papers while stroking the sweat-damped locks of hair gently, and smiled as Faramir murmured approvingly at his touch. It didn’t take him long to go through them, and soon he too was ready to get some rest. Carefully, so as to not awake the sleeping man, he put out the lamp by his bedside. Faramir snuggled closer. Aragorn sighed in contentment and let his eyes close.

Perhaps on the morrow, he could ask the kitchens for a huge breakfast, and they could eat out in the gardens.

Bright morning sunlight filtered through the golden leaves of the trees, imparting its pleasant, warm hue across the woods as the two men walked across a clearing, talking quietly and cheerfully to each other. As they neared the edge of the woods, one of the men broke away laughing and dashed towards the woods, “Come on,” he called out laughing.

The other man found himself laughing in joy as well as he ran after his friend, through the clearing, feet crunching softly on the fallen leaves.

“Come back,” he called out laughing, as he entered the woods.

He came to a stop after he crossed the first line of trees. The woods were suddenly darkening, the golden light changing to a grey mist and the carpet of leaves giving way to hard, dark riverbank. Inky water glistened beyond.

His friend had stopped and now stood there staring at the water. He was no longer laughing with him he realised, dully. His friend stepped into the water.

“Don’t leave me,” he cried out, and stepped forward to follow, only to find he could not move further.

“Please,” he called out frantically, as the water began to swirl around his friend’s ankles, “Please don’t leave me!”

The weary looking figure turned, and the man on the riverbank let out a strangled groan, before sinking to the hard ground, tears coursing down his cheek.

“Aragorn,” his friend spoke sadly, almost desperately.

“Aragorn!” Faramir’s voice was louder now and more insistent, and suddenly his hands were clasping Aragorn’s shoulders, even as his voice grew increasingly frantic.

The king opened his eyes and stared into his Steward’s worried face.

“Faramir,” he breathed heavily, trying to sit up, “You –”

Faramir grabbed him and pulled him into his arms. Aragorn let his aching head fall against the younger man’s chest, as he tried to reign in his breath.

“It’s all right,” Faramir murmured gently, running his hands through the king’s hair soothingly in a motion that he knew would help the older man.

“I’m fine,” Aragorn murmured tiredly, “It was just a bad dream.”

“I know,” Faramir soothed him gently.

Aragorn glanced around. It was just about nearing daybreak outside, and their room was still dim.

“Forgive me for waking you,” he said softly.

“There is nothing for me to forgive,” Faramir said gently, “I have given you some tiring nights these last few days. The healers said you looked tired too. Should I get you something? Your herbs?”

“Nay, I’m fine,” Aragorn sighed, and wrapped his arms around Faramir, keeping him close. He was not unused to bad dreams coloured with memories of losses now past. But Faramir’s recent illness had left him more worried than he had thought, and he’d realised then that he needed Faramir as much as the younger man needed him.

“Don’t leave me,” he said softly, resting his head against Faramir’s.

Characters: Aragorn/Faramir
Warnings: Mild slash
Disclaimer: All characters and places are tolkien’s.
Author’s Notes: Written for 25fluffyfics for the ‘Writer’s Choice’
prompt, which I took as Snow.
Much thanks to Iris for her help!

---

It was still dark outside when Faramir woke. He opened his eyes and blinked into the darkness of the small room in the old ranger shelter they had camped in. He sat up sleepily, pushing down the thick blankets that had been draped over him. There was enough light filtering in from outside through the covered windows, for him to look around him.

Aragorn lay beside him, on the pile of furs, still asleep. He’d kicked his blankets away and lay in his nightshirt, seemingly oblivious to the chilly morning air.

Faramir grinned and moved over to kneel by Aragorn. He ran a finger over the king’s lips, and grinned again as they curved into a small smile as Aragorn murmured something softly. Faramir shifted and pressed his lips against Aragorn’s. The king’s eyes flew open and he gave his steward an amused look as they kissed softly. Faramir let himself be pulled down onto the furs and cuddled against Aragorn, smiling. He was unused to the biting cold they were experiencing in their northward journey. Aragorn though was well used to it after his days with the northern rangers.

“I’ll rekindle the fire,” Aragorn said smiling, and rose, ensuring that he pulled the blankets over Faramir as he did so.

Faramir thought he could get warm enough just huddling against Aragorn but decided a little extra warmth wouldn’t hurt.

Aragorn moved towards the grate quietly, not wishing to awaken their companions occupying the other rooms in the shelter. On his way, he shifted the curtain a little to glance outside the window, and then smiled.

“Faramir,” he said softly.

“Mm,” the younger man replied from under the blankets.

“It snowed last night,” Aragorn said.

Faramir sat up on hearing that. “Will that delay us reaching Imladris?” he asked quietly, knowing how much Aragorn was looking forward to seeing his Ada and the twins again.

“No, it should not delay us much,” Aragorn said, “We are nearly there… we may need to go slower though. But that is not why I speak of the snow.”

Faramir gave him a puzzled look.

“You have never seen the snows of the North,” Aragorn said smiling.

Faramir had certainly never seen a sight such as this. The sun was yet to rise, and it was still grey outside but there was enough light to observe the snow. The entire area around the shelter was cloaked in white. The ground was ankle deep in snow and deeper still in some places and his heavy boots sank in with each step. The bare trees around them were powdered with white and here and there, clumps of snow had gathered on their boughs.

He was still staring around him in awe, when he felt the coldness bite into his neck and then slide down his back. He yelped in shock and turned around only to be greeted by more snow flung on his face this time. He ducked just in time but the sudden movement had him sinking to his knees through the soft whiteness.

“Aragorn!” he yelled, as a fresh lump of snow hit his face, right on target this time, forcing him to fall back so that finally he found himself sprawled in the snow, the cold rapidly seeping into his backside and legs through the pants he’d hurriedly pulled on. He groaned, “That was not very nice!”

“You weren’t supposed to turn around!” Aragorn retorted, as he put a hand out to help Faramir up.

“Oh!” Faramir murmured, and grasping Aragorn’s hand, promptly pulled him down, causing the king to yelp in surprise as he landed atop him in an ungainly heap.

“Now who’s being not nice?” Aragorn huffed.

Faramir smirked as Aragorn grumbled again, and shifted over him. Aragorn looked so happy, he realised, to be out in the wilds again. He smiled up at him.

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly, as Aragorn raised himself off Faramir so that he was half straddling his lower body.

Aragorn stared back at him, and smiled. “Flatterer,” he said, good-humouredly, and bending a little, kissed Faramir lightly on his forehead.

Faramir made the soft, approving little sound that never failed to send a thrill through Aragorn, and shifting his face up slightly, brushed his lips against Aragorn’s cheek, darting his tongue out to swipe at his lips.

“You’re beautiful,” he repeated, softly, as he raised a hand and ran it gently over Aragorn’s chest, and shifted his lower body a little.

Aragorn moaned a little at the movement. Faramir’s fingers moved slowly, exploring Aragorn’s chest, running over the thick cloth of his tunic. Aragorn kissed him lightly on his lips, welcoming the touch, and slipped his own hands under the Steward’s tunic, running them lightly over the flat stomach. He ran his tongue down Faramir’s jaw, to the tiny dip at the base of his throat.

He heard Faramir gasp softly, as he lapped at his throat, and felt him buck slightly against him. The younger man’s hip brushed against his hardening shaft, and he heard himself moan in response, his hands clutching the younger man’s waist, as he shifted to straddle Faramir properly.

He felt his knees come into contact with the ground, and sink through the cold wet snow, the sensation causing him to sit up suddenly. He glanced down at the snow-covered ground, and stilled his movements.

Faramir stared at him in surprise.

“Aragorn?” he said confused, gripping Aragorn’s wrist lightly, “What happened?”

Aragorn stared at the younger man, lying half sunken on the cold, wet snow-covered ground, his face flushed, whether from the cold or recent sudden exertion, he couldn’t tell. He rose swiftly, and gently pulled Faramir up, noting how wet his clothes had become. He should have realised that, he thought… he should have noticed…

“It’s cold here and wet! You must be freezing! I shouldn’t have-“

“I’m fine, Aragorn,” Faramir said, reassuringly, as Aragorn stared at him fretfully.

“No you’re not. You’re cold, and wet and unused to this weather. Forgive me. I shouldn’t have thrown snow at you like that, or – or-“

“Or tried to make love to me in the snow?” Faramir sighed, “But I’d have liked that.”

“Absolutely not! You could fall ill,” Aragorn said as he gently tugged Faramir towards the shelter. The younger man was starting to shiver by the time Aragorn had led him back to their room and helped him onto the pile of furs by the grate.

“Let’s get these clothes off you,” he suggested.

“Yes, let’s,” Faramir said grinning tiredly, even as he continued shivering.

Aragorn gave him a mock glare and helped him pull off the sodden clothes and rub down his body and hair with a dry towel, before wrapping a large blanket around him.

He rekindled the fire in the grate swiftly, and joined Faramir, pulling him into his arms. The younger man leaned against him, resting his still damp head against his chest, stifling a huge yawn.

The small room was soon filled with warmth, but Faramir still felt a little cold and found himself snuggling closer to Aragorn.

“How do you feel now?” Aragorn asked gently.

“Good,” Faramir pronounced, his head still burrowed against Aragorn’s chest. He stifled another yawn before continuing, “Warm. It’s not cold. Or wet. I love you.”

“And I love you,” Aragorn said, kissing him lightly on his forehead, “Rest now. We still have time before the others rise and are ready to leave.”

“Aragorn,” Faramir said after a while.

“Yes, love?”

“The snow might be beautiful, but I think you are far more so,” came the sleepy reply.

Title: Dancing Lessons
Characters: Aragorn/Faramir
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Everything is Tolkien’s
Summary: Aragorn needs to learn a dance
Author’s Notes: Written for 25fluffyfics for the “Dancing” prompt.
Much thanks to Iris for her help!

---

“A dance?” Aragorn murmured in surprise.

“It’s customary in the spring festival,” Faramir said shrugging, “We have not celebrated the spring festival these last few years, so they are eager to abide by all the usual traditions this year.”

“And I would have to dance?” Aragorn asked.

Faramir glanced up at him, “You would have to dance with the first set, yes. It is performed by a set of dancers in a circle, you see. I shall be with you, and Legolas could join our set, and perhaps, cousin Elphir and his lady, and Lothiriel. The rest will follow in other sets. It’s not very long, there are only five movements.”

“Well, if I must, then I must,” Aragorn murmured, “But you will have to teach me how to perform this dance.”

“Of course.”

They had the first lesson in the large terrace overlooking the private gardens, early the next morning. Aragorn had been firm that no one must know of these lessons, especially as he anticipated it would take him a while to learn it.

Both men wore just loose tunics and leggings. It was barely dawn, and just a little chilly. Winter still lingered, a long dreary one, and the spring was certainly much awaited.

“Are you certain, you would prefer we do this here?” Faramir asked again, a little doubtfully, “If someone should see…”

“There is no one this early,” Aragorn said, and Faramir was inclined to agree. Even the birds were yet to awake.

“Should we start?” Faramir asked.

Aragorn nodded, “I think it would help if you would do the steps first, and I watch, so I know what it is I will be learning,” he said calmly.

Faramir was, not surprisingly, startled by the suggestion. Aragorn made every effort to not smile as the Steward’s cheeks turned slightly pink. It was clearly not because of the cold.

“You want me to dance first?” Faramir mumbled, incredulously.

“Yes, it will help.”

“Alone?” Faramir asked again, awkwardly, his voice betraying his uncertainty.

Faramir might have been the captain of the Ithilien Rangers and Aragorn’s capable and very intelligent Steward, but those roles allowed him to stay in the background, as he liked to. Aragorn understood that he was uncomfortable being the centre of attention, and a part of him felt almost guilty at asking him to do something that would so obviously make Faramir feel he was being pulled into the forefront.

But then, he reasoned with himself, it was only he here, so Faramir had little reason to be uncomfortable.

“Yes, love, please,” he said coaxingly, “Unless I can see what it is I am to do, I shall feel I’m doing it wrong.”

“I don’t,” Faramir started uncomfortably, and bit his lip, “Th-there’s no music either.”

It took a little more of his gently persuasive words, a few more worries aired very subtly on what the citizenry might think of their king losing a step in the dance, and then Faramir agreed. And Aragorn offered to sing as he danced. He found he knew the songs that were used.

“We start in a circle, holding hands,” Faramir spoke nervously, “And then let go and alternately move forward like this.”

And so Faramir began dancing, awkwardly at first, aware that he had an audience, and that the man watching had seen him naked, and made love to him barely hours prior. Those thoughts only served to distract him more. He stumbled his way through the first movement, simple though it was, a mere movement of feet, Aragorn’s softly voiced words mingling with the self-consciousness he felt.

The second movement was just as awkward, as he found himself listening to Aragorn’s voice, husky and soft and wonderful. By the third movement he had managed only slightly better, as he forced himself to follow the rhythm of the song Aragorn sang, and to think of watching Aragorn’s fluid well-toned body matching his movements. He broke off his own commentary, half-closed his eyes, and relaxed as he envisioned Aragorn moving as he did, the king’s well-sculpted body, twirling as he did.

By the fourth, he had relaxed enough to remember how it had felt dancing in his younger days, laughing in the company of his younger cousins, as they had made up the second set. He found himself remembering the fragrances of the early spring flowers, strung in garlands and posies over bowers, columns and arches in the gardens, the happy laughter of young voices, the lilting music of harps and viols, under a fresh bright sky.

Aragorn watched with sharp eyes as he sang, only barely listening to Faramir’s instructions. He watched the stilted, awkward movements give way to more fluid, graceful moves. Faramir had the smaller, more agile build and the graceful movements of a man who had spent many years moving silently yet swiftly through the woods, up trees, down hillsides. He also, at times, had the awkwardness of one who had learnt at a young age to tread cautiously and quietly.

As the movements improved, legs twisting just so, back arching a little, arms rising and falling, he found himself glad he had insisted they practise here, alone, where he alone could watch his younger lover go from shy and introverted to capable ranger. It occurred to him suddenly that Faramir was extremely fluid and agile, and his body had a certain flexibility and grace. Oh he knew it, from the way Faramir stretched catlike over him, the way those long legs would wrap around his waist, but now it seemed reinforced. And Aragorn found his voice going hoarser as he forced himself to concentrate on the song.

“And then,” Faramir was saying hurriedly, now, “We move back, and pair up with the person next to us, hold hands and step away. That’s all.” His face was tinged red from the exertion, his neatly tied hair had strands hanging loose, but he looked happy. And relieved at having concluded.

He glanced curiously at Aragorn’s wistful features, “Would you like to try it now?”

Aragorn took a step forward as suggested, smiling as he did so, strangely pleased by just having Faramir near him. He bent forward in greeting, and Faramir’s hand rested lightly on his hip to tell him just how much to bend, just enough to be courteous to one’s fellow dancers, no too much, for he was after all, king.

The second movement was simple, there were claps involved. Faramir’s hand continued to rest comfortably on his hip. Here after all, there was no one to see such a gesture, and remark upon it.

The third had a half twirl that meant Faramir had to stop him from doing a full circle, by placing a hand on Aragorn’s shoulder and resting the other palm on his chest. Faramir’s hands moved then, one hand down to his waist, the other back at his hip gently nudging him to turn his upper body.

“And then you raise your hands and clap them lightly over your head, and turn a little to your right… move your left leg forward, not your right!”

The hand slipped off his waist and he frowned to himself. The fingers on his hip moved slightly lower, and Faramir was kneeling by him now.

“And you bend it slightly at the knee, like so,” he said, resting a hand under Aragorn’s right knee to show him, his fingers firm but familiar through the soft cloth of the leggings.

“Mm – hm.”

The fourth movement involved getting back in position, and Faramir’s hands returned to his waist, and then one hand slid slowly and lovingly down his thigh to his knee.

When Aragorn returned to the original position, Faramir’s hand rested on Aragorn’s upper thigh, lightly stroking the soft fabric, feeling the firm muscle underneath. Aragorn watched the fingers splayed on the gray cloth of his leggings, the same fingers that often worked something akin to magic each night by moving just a little upward. He couldn’t stop himself from letting out a small sighing sound. The younger man looked up at that, his wistful grey eyes meeting Aragorn’s tender gaze. He smiled softly as he rose, and took Aragorn’s hand in his.

“And then you pair with the person next to you, and step away,” he said. Aragorn smiled at him and grasping his wrist took a few steps back.

“I think I can manage that,” he murmured.

“It is simple, they say,” Faramir said, “But it is a good thing Legolas will be in our set, and my cousins, they dance well.”

“As do you,” Aragorn said smiling, his hands still holding Faramir’s.

“I-” Faramir’s cheeks reddened again. Aragorn pulled him into his arms, snaking his hands around him

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

Faramir smiled at that, the small delighted smile he gave whenever Aragorn made proclamations like this, “You dance beautifully too.”

“Yes, I noticed you couldn’t keep your hands off me.”

He didn’t think he would tell Faramir any time soon that he had already learnt this dance in his earlier days in Gondor.

Title: Gifts
Author: Minx
Characters: Aragorn/Faramir
Rating: PG-15
Warnings: Slash
Disclaimer: All characters and places are Tolkien’s.
Summary: Aragorn receives gifts from the Khandrim
A/N – Written for the 25fluffyfics “Candles” prompt. Many thanks to Iris for her help.

---

The entourage from Khand presented the gifts to their hosts on the day of their departure, at the docks at Harlond, before they boarded their boats. Unlike the treaties and delicious foodstuffs, and magnificent saddles that they had presented upon their arrival, these were described as more personal gifts, from the envoys to their hosts. They were small items, placed in small reed baskets decorated with flowers. They were gifted to Gimli and Faramir by the tall, handsome man, who served on the Khandrim ruler’s council, and to Aragorn and Legolas by the equally tall, and extremely beautiful lady who had accompanied him,the Khandrim king’s cousin and also one of his councillors.

Faramir watched closely as she gifted a small basket to Legolas, smiling pleasantly at him as she did so, and then with a smile that to him looked more than pleasantly friendly, she handed a slightly larger basket to Aragorn. As he watched she leaned forward, placing a slim, bejewelled hand on Aragorn’s shoulder, and whispered something in his ear. Her words were too soft for anyone else to have heard but Faramir could clearly see that they’d caused Aragorn’s ears to go just a little pink.

Faramir quelled the mix of anger and jealousy he felt, and concentrated on responding appropriately to her smiling fellow envoy. He could still watch the exchange between the other two through the corner of his eye though. The lady was laughing softly now, in response to something Aragorn had whispered back to her, her fingers continuing to rest on Aragorn’s arm. Faramir felt his own smile falter a little, as the fingers clenched his king’s arm lightly for a little too long, and then suddenly slipped off. The lady moved a step backward. And then the two envoys gathered together, as their horses were brought up to them. The lady, Faramir noticed was smiling, and her eyes were full of mirth. She inclined her head graciously towards him, but said nothing.

Faramir ignored another slight stab of jealousy, as Aragorn was graced with another broad smile, and a few softly spoken words in Khandrim that Faramir did not understand. He wouldn’t say anything about it though, he resolved. He’d assured Aragorn that he trusted him. And he did. In his heart he knew those smiles and words meant little more than courtesies to Aragorn, but he still felt a bit of irritation. He had a relationship with Aragorn beyond that of king and steward that not all would smile upon. A mere few words from the Khandrim lady had however resulted in many nudges, winks and broad hints that lasted the entire week the entourage had been present.

Faramir, for one, was extremely glad to see them leave. And he said as much, as subtly as he could on returning to Aragorn’s study with him, Legolas and Gimli.

“Well, that’s taken care of,” he said heavily, “I thought we’d never finalise the trade duties. And even after all this the merchants will still quibble,” he groused, as he slumped against a mound of blankets and furs placed in front of the grate. He’d been up most of the nights this last week finalising just those duties with Aragorn’s councillor and the master of the merchants’ guild. Aragorn had made up for it though, but he still felt a little tired.

Aragorn smiled at him in amusement, “Merchants always quibble.”

Legolas meanwhile was digging into his basket, “Oh!” he said happily, pulling out a glass figurine, “This is why she told me to handle the baskets carefully, it’s beautiful!”

It was, Faramir thought. There were more figurines inside, tiny, delicately wrought figurines – a bird in flight, a leaping fox and a half-opened flower.

Gimli had received a set of larger, metal figurines. He and the envoy had had a long, mostly unintelligible discussion on metal carving some days ago, and he grunted interestedly now as he examined them.

Faramir noted sourly that he as the Arandur, had received the smallest basket. But he was a little moved to find inside a few rolls of thin, crisp parchment, thinner than one could get in Minas Tirith, yet sturdier. He had admired the scrolls the Khandrim had carried the other day, silently running his fingers down the paper, and marvelling at its softness. He didn’t think he’d been noticed then. And there were quills too, he realised happily, made from feathers that one could never get in Gondor. The point was scored to the perfect thinness, and he knew just by gripping it that these were unlikely to break as much as his did. He ran his fingers over them, smiling, and then raised his eyes to notice Aragorn looking at him. The king’s mouth was quirked in a loving smile. Faramir smiled back at him, all previous annoyances forgotten and forgiven.

“What did they give you?” Legolas asked Aragorn curiously.

Aragorn shrugged and reaching into the basket pulled out a small object. He held it up for the others to see. It had a strange shape and was bright yellow in colour with flashes of red.

“What is it?” Faramir asked curiously, taking it from him.

“A candle,” Aragorn replied calmly.

Faramir looked at the object and then realised suddenly that it was shaped like a flower, an open rose, with the wick standing out of its centre.

“They gave you candles?” Gimli asked in surprise.

“What are they for?” Faramir asked curiously. It felt soft in his hands, and the smell… it smelt like a rose, he realised.

“To light,” Aragorn said as he rummaged through the dried flowers and leaves that filled the spaces in the basket, and pulled out more of the oddly shaped, brightly coloured objects.

“They are shaped liked flowers,” Gimli remarked.

“And they smell like them too,” Legolas remarked, “I have heard of these… fragrant candles…”

“Fragrant candles?” Faramir asked, and was suddenly reminded of the extremely non-fragrant smell of the tallow they used to use in Henneth Annûn for light, “How do they do that?”

“They mix essences into them when they pour them into the moulds,” Aragorn explained, “Usually floral extracts, or fruit extracts some times, to make them fragrant.”

“Oh,” Faramir muttered, “That does sound nice.”

“But not very useful,” Gimli said shrugging, and began examining the metal figurine he had been given instead.

Aragorn found Faramir holding the rose shaped candle in his hand when he joined him in his bedchamber. The younger man had removed his clothes and pulled on one of Aragorn’s robes.

“Gimli’s right, I suppose,” Faramir murmured, “Not much use adding a fragrance to a candle, is there?”

“Oh it has its uses,” Aragorn said smiling, as he sat on the large bed next to Faramir, and laying a hand on Faramir’s shoulder.

“Such as?” Faramir asked.

“Well, some of these fragrances soothe one; if you use them at the table, they help you eat in a more relaxed fashion. Or if in the bedchambers, to sleep better at night, or -”

‘Oh!” Faramir said thoughtfully.

“Roses, for example,” Aragorn continued, as he slipped the edge of the oversized robe off Faramir’s shoulder, “They would soothe you, and aid you in sleeping well.” He licked at the sharp plane of Faramir’s shoulder bone.

“Just as the fragrance of roses actually would. But… I wouldn’t want to sleep at night,” Faramir said, smiling and cocking his head slightly to nuzzle against Aragorn’s as the king traced his collarbone with his tongue, “I wonder though, perhaps…”

He plucked out a light violet coloured candle shaped like a large lily, “I wonder what this might do?”

Aragorn raised his head and stared interestedly at the candle.

“You have obviously been reading that book on Khandrim herbology in the archives,” he said smiling.

“No, is there one?” Faramir asked interestedly, “I did however read the chapter on fragrances in that book on Gondorian lovemaking traditions. There are pictures, other than the ones we found useful. There are pictures of plants, of some flowers, like this one here.”

“And?” Aragorn asked, reaching out to undo the bindings of the robe, causing it to slip lower, exposing most of the right side of Faramir’s upper body.

“They said it was a useful flower,” Faramir said, leaning into Aragorn’s arms as the king pulled him closer, and lowered him onto the sheets.

“It has a heady fragrance they said,” he continued.

“Oh,” Aragorn said, and ran his fingers over Faramir’s exposed nipple, “And what does it do?”

“It – well,” Faramir found himself stammering a little. Talking of lovemaking was not something he found easy, ever. He’d always known Aragorn was the more experienced lover, “It affects some other parts of your body,” he mumbled, arching into Aragorn’s hand as the fingers swiftly but gently played with his nipple, “And – can aid in making experiences in the bedchamber satisfactory,” he quoted from memory, blushing slightly.

“Oh,” Aragorn murmured disinterestedly, and slipped the rest of the robe off him, looking lovingly at the Steward’s nude, aroused figure, “Let’s talk of candles later, shall we?” he suggested, and leaning forward, captured his other nipple lightly between his teeth.

The tightness in his groin intensified and he moaned as he realised Aragorn had moved to cover his lower body. He felt the king’s hardness press against his own arousal and lifted his hips to meet it, aching for Aragorn’s touches, soft and gentle, yet capable of setting off a fire inside him. The strong, callused hands ran down his body, touching him, stroking him, swiftly, as he parted his legs and lifted them, allowing the long fingers to enter him, warm saddle oil easing their way. He moaned asking for more, pulling Aragorn closer, and let out soft incoherent sounds of pleasure into his mouth, as the King entered him soon after. Aragorn’s movements were swift yet gentle, his breath coming in soft, rapid gasps in Faramir’s ear as the Steward fisted his fingers into the soft sheets beneath them. Aching for release, he matched his king’s thrusts as he felt waves of pleasure tingling through his body.

They lay in each other’s arms, when they were done. Faramir started sleepily at the lily shaped candle that he had dropped back onto the bed, and picked it up again, smiling. He didn’t think he’d need the fragrance of those lilies to make experiences in Aragorn’s bedchamber satisfactory. He ran a finger over the delicately moulded petals.

“In case you’re wondering,” Aragorn said suddenly, pulling Faramir closer, and running his hands over his bare stomach, “She gave me the candles suggesting I use them in my bedchamber prior to coupling with my lover. She said they have a heady fragrance and are a common gift among the men in Khand. And well know for providing satisfaction even for the most recalcitrant of lovers.”

Faramir stilled his finger and dropped the candle back on the bed. He turned towards Aragorn, and glanced up at the king.

Aragorn cupped Faramir’s cheek gently, “I told her I had little need of such in my bedchamber. I told her one sight of my lover was enough for me. And that my lover is the most beautiful, most generous, most loving person in all of Arda.”

He kissed Faramir, slowly and gently, his hands continuing to explore the Steward’s body all over again. They made love again, and as Faramir lay in Aragorn’s embrace after that, he sleepily wondered how it might be if they did light a candle or two.

Perhaps he’d bring it up with Aragorn some time.

Pairing: Aragorn/Faramir
Summary: Aragorn gets busy early in the morning

For the ‘Hobbies’ prompt on 25fluffyfics

Much thanks to iris for her help!

---

Aragorn sat at the table by the window and observed Faramir carefully. The younger man was sleeping on their bed and Aragorn found himself entranced by the way the early rays of the sun played over the steward’s countenance. Faramir looked so calm and unworried as he slept during these early hours.

If he could only remain so free of worry and care at all times, Aragorn thought sighing silently. But for Faramir to not be worrying over something when awake, no matter how little, was unheard of.

He continued staring at Faramir for a while before picking up his scroll.

The Steward lay on his on his side, dark blue bedclothes strewn carelessly over his bare body. His chest rose and fell with the steady rhythm of his breathing, the previous nights pleasures still evident in the reddened nipples and the faint marks strewn across the chest and stomach. One arm lay outstretched over Aragorn’s side of the bed. His other hand lay over the sheets that barely covered his lower belly. The soft blue fabric had ridden down to reveal the curve of his pale firm buttocks, and the faint marks around his hips. One leg had moved up folded across Aragorn’s part of the bed revealing inner thighs marked similarly.

He slept with his face turned towards Aragorn’s pillow, dark strands of hair strewn over his cheeks and neck. His mouth was slightly open, the lower lip hanging a little, the relaxed features completely at odds with the usually harried and tense look the Steward normally wore.

Although, Aragorn thought he had discovered lately that he could easily get rid of the worried countenance for a brief moment by kissing Faramir. He merely had to pull the Steward close and cover those soft lips with his.

Aragorn groaned silently as he felt himself begin to harden. He mustn’t be distracted, he reminded himself. He picked up his quill, dipped it in a pot of ink and set to work.

He worked undisturbed for a while, until the Steward stirred.

Faramir shifted restlessly and realising Aragorn was not in the bed with him turned towards the small desk by the window, where Aragorn often sat in the early mornings. Sunlight streamed in through the open windows, playing on Aragorn’s dark hair as he sat by the window, curled into an old armchair, a large scroll in his hands. He thought the king looked even more beautiful than ever in that golden light. He also looked aroused, he thought.

“What are you doing?” Faramir asked his sleepy voice tinged with curiosity. He rose, pushing away the soft sheets they had spent the night under.

Aragorn smiled at him, “I’ll show you,” he said softly, “You look lovely as you are right now.”

Faramir stared at him in confusion for a brief moment until he realised he was naked under the sheets which really weren’t covering him any longer. He grinned a little, his face reddening slightly. He swung his long legs gracefully off the bed, and swiftly wrapping one of the sheets around his waist rose and walked towards Aragorn.

Aragorn smiled and showed him the scroll.

Sharp, beautiful, black lines outlined a sketch of Faramir sleeping in their bed. He was nude, although the sheets did cover certain parts

“Oh!” Faramir said, and pulled the sheets closer around his body as he leaned forward to look at it more closely.

The sketch was extremely detailed, from the carvings on their bed to the tiny design on the bedcovers to … the marks on him, Faramir realised, blushing.

“Oh you do draw so beautifully! It’s…”

“Not half as beautiful as you,” Aragorn said, smiling as he placed the scroll carefully on the table beside him and rose. There were a couple of things about Faramir’s body that he had just rediscovered and wanted to explore.

“You draw very well,” Faramir said later, feeling slightly exhausted but incredibly happy, as he lay back with Aragorn still atop him. The king was idly making patterns on his chest with his long fingers.

“I used to do so often in Imladris. I am glad it pleased you,” Aragorn said, “I’d like to draw many more of you. You wear far too much in that one to my mind,” he declared as his fingers traced their way up to Faramir’s lips.

“I wish you’d drawn yourself too in that picture,” Faramir murmured.

“Now that I might not be able to manage,” Aragorn murmured, glancing up at him, “But you know, Legolas has a much finer hand than I do… perhaps we could umm…sit for him one of these days?”

Faramir paused in the act of licking Aragorn’s fingers one by one, raising his eyebrows. Aragorn smirked smugly at him.

Faramir thought of the elven prince and the sketch that could result and grinned, “I’d like that,” he murmured.

Title: A Rainy Night
Author: Minx
Pairing: Aragorn / Faramir
Rating: PG
Warnings: Slash, fluff
Disclaimer: All characters and places are Tolkien’s.
Feedback: Welcomed with open arms:)
Author’s Notes: Written for the ‘Bath’ prompt for the 25fluffyfics LJ community. Many thanks to Iris for her help!
Summary: Faramir returns to Minas Tirith wet and cold

---

Aragorn walked swiftly down to his apartments, as soon as he received the message that the Steward had returned from Osgiliath, after a week away from the city. He reached in time to watch Faramir shuffle up the hallway leading in to the building from the stables. The younger man looked wet and cold and completely miserable. His clothes clung to his body, streaked with mud, and droplets of water dripped from his hair and cloak. A leafy twig hung down his hair. His boots squelched on the floor as he moved.

“Aragorn!” he said as he noticed the king, a sweet and loving but very tired smile breaking out on his face.

Aragorn smiled back and pulled Faramir into his arms and kissed him gently on his forehead. “I’m glad you’re back!” the king said, “I wondered if you might have decided to stop for shelter somewhere on the way and returned in the morning instead.”

Faramir sighed and rested his head against the king’s chest, wrapping his own arms around the broader frame. “I didn’t really think of that,” he admitted, “None of the men did either. I suppose we were all anxious to return home,” he said.

“You must be very tired,” the king murmured gently, “That was quite a downpour; you must have been caught right in the middle of it.”

Faramir sighed and pulled away a little, “It was a little wet,” he admitted, and then staring at the king, gasped. “Oh!” he said softly “I’ve got your clothes wet. And muddied. Oh!”

“Well, then I suppose I’d better get out of them, hadn’t I?”

Faramir grinned tiredly, “That does sound nice,” he admitted, but made no effort to move out of the king’s arms, “We could both get out of our clothes… that will be very nice,” he slurred sleepily.

“I’ve had a bath drawn for you,” Aragorn said gently.

“So tired,” Faramir murmured. And then pouted up at Aragorn, “Don’t want to move.”

“It’ll make you feel far, far better,” Aragorn said, as he rubbed Faramir’s back gently, “And I could help you.”

Faramir blinked at that.

“Oh” he said.

“Come,” Aragorn said, and led him through to the bathing chamber.

The king’s bathing chamber was constructed in the style of the baths in Imladris – a large, fire-lit, warm wood-floored room, with a rectangular, stone lined, sunken pool in the middle of it, so unlike the tiny chambers with the old creaking wooden bath tubs that Faramir was more used to. A pile of soft towels were placed by one end, as were small earthen pots filled with cleaning herbs. One side of the room opened out to a small uncovered terrace, allowing a glimpse of the cloudy skies outside. The storm had abated and a few stars could be seen.

Steam rose from the pool. The aroma of lavender and other herbs and oils wafted through the room and Faramir found himself relaxing a little just from the fragrance.

“Let’s get you out of those clothes, shall we?” Aragorn suggested gently.

Faramir nodded tiredly.

Aragorn helped him remove the sodden tunic and pants. Faramir’s body was streaked with dirt and small scratches. The king pursed his lips at the sight. The younger man yawned and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He moved slowly as Aragorn gently tugged him towards the tub.

“The water should be just warm enough,” he said.

Faramir stepped in. The water was indeed just right. He sank into it and sighed, allowing the water to flow over his naked skin.

“This is nice,” he murmured, smiling tiredly at Aragorn.

“Good,” Aragorn said, and shrugging off his own robe, settled into the water beside him.

He slowly nudged Faramir so that the younger man was soon settled between his legs. He gently removed the twigs and leaves tangled in the wet hair, gathering water in his cupped palms and running it through the raven locks.
Picking up a soft towel, he wet it, and slowly cleansed Faramir’s face, wiping away the smudges of mud carefully. Then he gently nudged Faramir forward, and ran it over his back. He wiped away the streaks of dirt that covered the lean body, and dabbed at the numerous scratches, cleaning them gently, running the cloth slowly from the shoulders down to his buttocks.
The younger man bit back a hiss more than once as the cleansing herbs in the water stung the broken skin. Each time, the king stilled his movements to murmur soft, comforting words in his ear.

Once Faramir’s back was done, Aragorn tugged him back, so that his head rested against his shoulder, picked a fresh towel and saw to his arms and chest and stomach. Encouraging the younger man to shift sideways, so that he was now seated partly on Aragorn’s thighs, he moved onto the long legs, down the thighs and calves all the way down to his toes, pursing his lips a bit as he came across a purpling bruise on the right knee, before moving back up to the lower abdomen.

Faramir moaned softly as the cloth ran over his groin area, and reached between his legs to swipe his inner thighs.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured, as he spread his legs a little, flushing slightly as his now warmed body began responding.

“I’m glad,” Aragorn whispered in his ear, continuing to work the towel over Faramir’s lower body, “I’ve missed you greatly too.”

Faramir sighed and leaned into his shoulder, resting his fingers across Aragorn’s damp chest.

“We should rise now,” Aragorn said gently, lowering him down reluctantly, “The water has begun to cool, and I would not have you catch a chill.”

Faramir watched through half-lidded eyes as the king rose from the water, his long sinewy limbs moving gracefully, drops of water glistening on the tanned skin in the firelight. He let himself be helped out of the pool, and gratefully accepted the king’s help in towelling himself dry.

“There now, let’s get you into bed,” Aragorn said softly.

“Oh good!” Faramir said, and shifting, angled his face up to kiss the king.

“I thought you were tired,” Aragorn murmured as their lips met.

Faramir snorted in response and deepened the kiss.

Faramir woke the next morning in Aragorn’s arms, feeling warm and dry and far, far better indeed. They shared a few gentle kisses and broke away reluctantly, only since they were to breakfast with Aragorn’s foster brothers and Legolas.

“I must admit,” Elladan mused aloud once they had sat down, “I always thought Estel had seemed rather allergic to baths. But strangely he looks a lot cleaner nowadays.”

Aragorn stared up in surprise.

“Perhaps,” Elrohir said grinning at a sheepish Faramir, “He found himself a cure?”

Title: Events and Happenings
Author: Minx
Pairing: Aragorn / Faramir
Rating: PG
Warnings: Slash, fluff
Disclaimer: All characters and places are Tolkien’s.
Author’s Notes: Written for the ‘Reunion’ prompt for the 25fluffyfics community.
Many thanks to iris for her help!
Summary: Faramir’s returned from two whole months away…

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Faramir sighed contentedly as Aragorn pulled him into his arms. He rested his head against the older man’s shoulder, breathing in the heady mix of pipeweed and heather. He’d missed this so much!

He had returned early that morning from his journeys in Anorien with Legolas, after nearly two months. The whole day had been spent busy at work and exchanging greetings with the visiting twins. It was only now, in the evening after an early dinner that he had finally had time alone with Aragorn. These two months were the longest they had been apart since they had come together as more than mere friends.

Aragorn cupped the younger man’s face, his fingers running over the smooth planes of his jaw.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he declared, and kissed him gently.

“Aragorn,” Faramir murmured pleasurably as he returned the kiss, letting his hands run over the familiar contours of the king’s body. “I wished every day I were by your side,” he said, moving closer into the comforting embrace, the nearness enough to dispel the memories of long, lonely nights camped in forests and villages.

Still holding Faramir close, Aragorn moved them towards the warm hearth, settling down against the rugs piled there.

“Two months is far too long to be away from you, love,” he murmured, as he felt Faramir’s lithe frame settling comfortably against him. He tugged gently at the bindings on the Steward’s formal tunic.

“And from you too,” Faramir whispered softly, eagerly aiding Aragorn’s fingers, as they worked on loosening the ties.

They helped each other out of the constricting clothes, the silken fabrics slipping easily off their unresisting, aroused bodies. Faramir lay back against the rugs, pulling Aragorn in towards him, his grey eyes darkening with desire.

They lay in bed later, after they’d made intense, then lingering love, a little tired, but pleasurably so, still in each other’s arms, kissing and touching and talking, letting their hands run over each other’s nude frames, revelling in the touches they had missed all these nights.

Faramir told Aragorn of the sights they’d seen, dense forests, waterfalls, and beautiful sunsets. And Aragorn talked of the fine autumn they’d had and the new items brought in by the traders from Rhun.

“You’ve cut your hair,” Faramir said, running a finger down a strand of Aragorn’s tousled hair.

“It had grown long. Elladan said it looked – well, girlish. But a little untidy too.”

“I wish I had seen that,” Faramir chuckled, “What else did I miss?”

“Let’s see. The kitchen cat had kittens – in Legolas’ cupboard. I don’t suppose he knows yet.”

“There are five of them,” he continued once they’d stopped laughing.

“And the orchids that the ambassador from Khand gifted bloomed early! They are nearly withered now.”

“Oh!” Faramir said a little disappointed, “I had hoped to see them. He had said they are a unique colour, one that he could not even describe – pink, purple and brown all together.”

“I think I could describe it,” Aragorn said, “Perhaps even replicate it.”

“With the new pigments imported from Rhun?” Faramir asked excitedly.

The new trade opportunities opened with their neighbours constantly introduced them to so many new and delightful items!

“Hmmm…” Aragorn said, “Perhaps….”

He lowered Faramir gently on his back, and leaned over him, placing his legs on either side of Faramir’s body. He bent and swiped the younger man’s jaw lightly with his tongue. Faramir hummed pleasurably, welcoming the touch and then whimpered slightly as the slick tongue continued down his throat, dipping into the depression at the base, and moved along his collarbone, before coming to rest over his right nipple. Faramir shivered slightly as the tongue flicked against the sensitive skin.

Then the full lips closed over the brown nub, slathering it, the wet, pink tongue flicking at it, circling it until it hardened. Fingers moved up his chest to rub his left nipple, awkwardly, unsynchronised, as the tongue and lips focussed on the hardened right nub. Faramir felt his fingers and toes curling into soft sheets, thoughts of orchids and kittens flying out of his mind. Aragorn brushed against his semi-aroused member, and he heard himself moan.

Then Aragorn suddenly released him. He moaned in protest. The king glanced down at his chest briefly, and gently fingered the wet, hard nub.

“I think it’s very close,” he murmured and lowered his head as suddenly as he raised it.

Teeth scraped the hardness, and then he gently toyed with the tiny circle of skin, alternating using tongue, teeth and lips, nipping and sucking away. Faramir felt a pleasurable tingle run through his frame. He moaned in response.

Aragorn moved away again, and Faramir cried out this time.

“I should think this is a very good approximation of the shade,” he declared staring down at Faramir’s swollen nipple.

“Wh-what?” the dazed steward mumbled.

“Every time I saw that flower, the cream outer petals and that strange purple and brown shade inside, all I could think of was you, as you lay in my bed the night before you left, after letting me ravish you like this.”

“Oh,” Faramir said, staring down at his chest, and blushing. Their last night together before he’d left had been a long one, involving Aragorn’s study chair, the table, the bath, this bed, the hearth rug – it had been frantic and erotic and sensuous all together.

“It looks – well – odd –“

“It looks beautiful,” Aragorn said, “Far more so than the orchids.”

“Oh,” Faramir said, smiling.

Title: The Garden
Pairing: Aragorn/Faramir
Summary: Aragorn and Faramir and quiet morning together

A/N: For the ‘flowers’ prompt on the 25fluffyfics community

Much thanks to Iris for her help!

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Aragorn looked beautiful in the mornings, Faramir thought. Well, he always looked beautiful but in the mornings fresh from a night’s rest, his face free of the cares and worries of the day, in the brightening sunlight, he looked calm… and happy. And on mornings such as this one, when Aragorn would decide to abandon their plans to go through paperwork in his private gardens in favour of making love to Faramir in his private gardens, he looked even lovelier. Although he decided that could be because of Aragorn’s happiness at having managed to get out of doing the paperwork. It was a good thing it was not needed for today’s council meeting, Faramir thought as he smiled at Aragorn who continued to rest half on top of him.

A small violet flower floated down from the tree above and landed on his bare stomach. Faramir smiled. And found himself dwelling on how they’d ended up here.

He’d been entranced by the sight of the flowering tree that Legolas had planted there. The profusion of violet flowers on pale branches had caught his attention, as had the carpet of fallen flowers around it. It was planted at a corner of the garden by the walls of the garden.

“It’s beautiful,” he’d exclaimed.

“It grew in Rivendell too,” Aragorn had said, “They use it to make a blue coloured dye.”

He had put down the papers and walked up to the tree, and looked up at the blossoms.

“Even their fragrance is nice,” he exclaimed. It was light but striking, and he realised suddenly that it was a fragrance he’d sensed often in some of Aragorn’s clothes…his blue tunic for one. The thought of that caused a slight stirring in his groin and he felt himself redden slightly.

A slight breeze had caused the slender branches to wave, and let loose a more flowers onto the Steward’s upturned face. He’d laughed happily as the soft petals had brushed his face and neck, one even nestling at the base of his throat caught under his tunic.

He felt Aragorn’s fingers thread through his gently and looked up at him smiling, as the king expertly extricated the small blossoms stuck in his hair, and then brushed over his face and picked out the one stuck under his tunic. He’ d had to undo the bindings at the top of Faramir’s tunic to do that, and as the fingers brushed over his throat and grazed down the top of his chest, and Aragorn’s lips bent towards his, Faramir sighed happily. It was still morning and they had a whole day of councils before them where they would sit mere inches away from each other and be content merely with a few touches. He felt much the same way almost each morning.

He let himself be nudged down onto the violet carpet. They undid their tunics rapidly, not bothering to remove them completely. He nudged his hips up to help Aragorn pull his trousers down to his thighs and helped Aragorn do the same. He almost purred as Aragorn moved on top of him and kissed him. He felt the king’s hardness rub against his and moaned.

Around them the flowers had continued to swirl downwards sporadically.

They had not lasted very long. When they were done they’d used Aragorn’s sash to clean themselves and then lain there a while enjoying the quiet.

Aragorn’s loving voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “What are you thinking of?” the king asked, smiling at him.

Faramir felt himself reddening, “I love you,” he said softly.

Aragorn kissed him lightly, and then said, “I love you too. We must do all our paperwork in the mornings. I suddenly feel energetic!”

“The council!” Faramir groaned. He’d nearly forgotten about it, “We must leave now. We are probably already late!”

“Must we?” Aragorn asked dramatically, “Must we really go and listen to the Lords of Lebennin and Lossarnach argue about river rights again?” But he rose all the same, reluctantly, and helped Faramir up too, and redid the bindings of his tunic.

“Perhaps if we rush straight from here to the council. It’s a good thing we’re both ready. And if we were to run instead of walk…” Faramir murmured suddenly but the rest of his words were drowned out by Aragorn’s lips.

“I’m not sure you can do that,” Aragorn said when they came apart, “Run straight from here,” he explained as he saw the confused look on Faramir’s face.

“You will need to change your clothes,” he added helpfully, and slipped the younger man’s tunic off, before he could respond.

Faramir stared in surprise at the garment that had once been white. It was streaked with blue blotches now, some of the crushed violet petals still stuck to it.

“It’s a very strong dye,” Aragorn murmured.

Faramir simply groaned again.

Title: A Day in Ithilien
Characters: Aragorn / Faramir
Rating: G
Author’s Notes: For the ‘home’ prompt on 25fluffyfics. Many thanks to Iris for reading through this!

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Faramir pulled his cloak close with one hand as he stepped in through the arched doorway, the tallow lamp held up in his other hand. Aragorn followed him quietly, stooping slightly and putting out a hand for support as he stepped into the dark enclosure. Faramir was using the lamp to light torches placed in brackets on the wall.

As the torches lit up, the enclosure came into view, a large rock chamber.

“Welcome to Henneth Annûn,” Faramir said quietly. Aragorn had to strain his ears to hear him above the roar of the water that curtained the entrance to the cave.

Aragorn looked around the high-walled cavern in wonder. He had heard much about this refuge, secluded as it was, accessible only by a passage that he was one among those privileged enough to see. It was no longer inhabited by rangers as it had been earlier, but still served as a refuge and storehouse of emergency supplies, as did all the old ranger shelters. There were a few barrels and casks placed in one corner, containing salted meats and ale, a pouch full of healing herbs and a few pelts and furs.

They were visiting Ithilien for a few days, Argaorn having decided to accompany his Steward on one of his regular trips to oversee the resettlement and restoration works. When Faramir had asked him if he’d like to accompany him on his visit to Henneth Annûn to check on the supplies, Aragorn had agreed.

“This is where we would gather each evening to report the day’s sightings, and to sup,” Faramir said, leading him further into the cave.

Some of the trestles and tables they had used still lay stacked in one corner. Faramir showed him the area where the rangers had slept, large, and dry, but cold from the proximity to the waterfalls. And he showed him into a small enclosure, at the end of the cavern.

“This was my chamber,” Faramir said, as he placed the lantern on a ledge along the wall.

Aragorn looked around the enclosure. A few tiny pinpricks of light filtered in through fissures in the rock, and along with the tallow lantern afforded some light to the dank chamber. This far inside the cavern, the roar of the cascading water outside seemed a little muted.

The enclosure was small, smaller even than the tiny terrace outside Faramir’s chambers in Minas Tirith. A natural ledge ran along one wall, forming a natural shelf. All that lay there now was a wooden mug. Bits of straw indicated where a pallet must have been placed, next to the ledge. In the corner opposite a large flat slab of polished rock had been placed on top of smaller rocks, to form a table. Aragorn walked towards it, and smiled slightly as he noticed the faint dark smudges left by ink stains on the surface. He could well imagine Faramir sitting there each evening methodically writing out his reports in the dim candlelight. He often found the younger man working through the evenings in Minas Tirith, oblivious to the dimming light outside.

Faramir led him out through a narrower passage, showing him the small, dark and cold healing rooms on the way. The narrow passageway led a way out to rocky outcrop that Aragorn could see served as a good vantage point.

The bright sunlight outside almost hurt after the darkness of the caves, but the view the outcrop avoided was breathtaking. The falls fell below them, and the Anduin snaked faraway into emerald green lands. Far to the west, under a cloudy haze they could see the browns of buildings. And out to the east, mountains that were now clearly visible.

“Those were always under smoke then,” Faramir said softly, before turning to gaze towards the west.

Aragorn nodded.

“You can see the moon set from here at night,” Faramir said, “Over the Mindolluin.”

“It must be a beautiful sight,” Aragorn said, quietly.

“It is,” Faramir agreed, “It is quiet all round, and all is dark save the silver of the moon over the snows.”

Aragorn glanced towards him. It seemed to him, Faramir had said more in the last half hour than he normally spoke in an entire day.

“I did many a watch duty here after joining the rangers,’ Faramir said smiling, and led him back into the cavern, to the alcove that had been his chamber. They unpacked the bread, cheese and wine they had brought along and ate at the table, discussing the other duties they had to complete before they returned to MinasTirith

After they ate, Faramir checked the supplies, replenishing the stores as required. It felt colder inside, after the warmth of the sun outside. There was no scope to light a fire. Unlike in the northern wilds where Aragorn had spent his days as a ranger, the Ithilien rangers spent much of their time in hiding and took every effort to ensure they could not be tracked. Henneth Annûn was the most strategic of their strongholds, and every effort had been made to keep the location secret.

He listened as Faramir spoke of the caves, and how they had been formed by changing the course of the river, and of the rangers converting it to their refuge. The younger man sounded different, more assured, more animated, his voice betraying his excitement as he described the way the rangers could be summoned from across the forests and hillsides by a series of birdcalls, of their gathering here together, of yule celebrations with no more than old breads and dried fruits, of the excitement the packet from Cair Andros brought with it, for along with food and supplies came letters and tidings from their homes.

“You liked it here,” Aragorn commented softly, as they were riding back to Emyn Arnen.

“In Henneth Annûn?” Faramir asked, “I suppose I did. It was dry and comfortable, and served as an excellent base for us.”

“In Ithilien,” Aragorn said, aware that outside of the refuges, a ranger’s life in Ithilien was often tiring, damp and marked by shortages of supplies, “You like the forests, and the fresh river-scented air, away from the stone of the city. I can see now why you oft spoke of Ithilien with such longing when you took on the mantle of the Stewardship.”

“Did I?” Faramir asked, “I – I suppose I did. I was unused to being in the city for as long as that, although I spent my childhood there.”

But it was, Aragorn knew, a childhood that was marked by loneliness and a constant need to live up to expectations.

“Ithilien – it always felt more of a home to me than Minas Tirith,” Faramir said heavily, “I learnt much here – tracking hunting, honing my archery, and – and the men… they spoke to me as one of them. They advised me, helped me, and when I spoke, they listened.”

It was late in the evening when they returned to the house in Emyn Arnen. Aragorn spent much of the ride thinking of Faramir’s words. It was at his request that Faramir had not moved to this house permanently. Faramir had once expressed a longing to live in Emyn Arnen and visit Minas Tirith regularly to attend councils.

That had been before they had discovered the intimacy they now shared. Now, Aragorn had insisted, and Faramir had agreed that the young steward would stay by his side in Minas Tirith, and visit Ithilien regularly to oversee the resettlement. And yet as he rode on, and watched Faramir’s animated face and gestures, Aragorn wondered if he had done wrong.

He broached the matter after they had supped. They sat with spiced wine on the open terrace in the house at Emyn Arnen. Aragorn stood by the wall, watching the valley below, while Faramir curled up on one the chairs.

“Ithilien was always as home to you was it not…and more to your liking than Minas Tirith?” he asked

“I suppose you could say that,’ Faramir replied, a little startled by the sudden question.

“And you stay in Minas Tirith only because I ask you to,” Aragorn said softly, “Away from a place you love, in a place that you found stifling and full of memories you seek to lose.”

Faramir bit his lip thoughtfully, “I did stay on in Minas Tirith then because you asked me to. And it is true that as a ranger I had thought of home as Ithilien, where I could be as I sought to be. Now though…” he paused and rising, walked up to Aragorn.

“And now?” Aragorn asked curiously. He found he was very anxious to know the answer.

“Now,” Faramir replied softly, lips curling into a small smile, “I think of home as where you are.”

Aragorn smiled back at him and pulled him closer.

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