Faramir Fiction Archive

The Coldest Winter (R)

Written by Geale

09 January 2009 | 77501 words

Chapter 10 — Breathing

It was exhausted, the Temperature decided. For weeks now it had been working hard at keeping the icy chill razor-sharp. It had coaxed the winds and the snows and the waters to remain freezing and frozen. Anyone could see that was not an easy task; especially snowflakes could be extremely undisciplined. The Temperature reminded itself to mention it to the Snow later that day, and if it did not listen, it would take the matter higher up. Perhaps it was time to let Winter itself in on the fact that the snowflakes were more often than not, very ill-behaved.

The Temperature was awfully pompous (even a little haughty, others nodded with a knowing expression). It could, if it liked, simply loosen its grip and let some warmer air flow in over Gondor, but there was some prestige in this. It was generally said that this was the coldest winter ever experienced, and the Temperature was rather proud of its deeds.

No, not yet.

There were no images, only a very pleasant feeling; he was held by it as it cradled him lovingly. He had been in this state for some hours, dreaming of nothing, peacefully resting. All was gentleness and softness around him.

It was only when coolness brushed over his bare legs that Faramir found himself slipping out of his blissful sleep. Most unwilling to wake up, he opposed his senses by refusing to move and open his eyes. The cold was merciless however, and soon he was forced to reach for the covers and bury himself underneath them. He kept his eyes closed, though, as a kind of compromise.

After a little while he drifted off again, only to be startled by a grunt of dissatisfaction from somewhere close by. He tried to ignore this as well, but it became impossible as the groaning continued and even the bedroll on which he lay shifted.

Clearly annoyed by now, Faramir prepared to let the men know that he was not supposed to disturb their Captain’s sleep; no orcs – no reason to wake him up.

One more grunt and he was wide awake with irritation welling up inside. Opening his eyes, he glared angrily in the direction of the noise.

In the dim light of dawn, what he saw was no simple Ranger in a camp, but a most upset King in a royal bed, a King who was desperately trying to move his legs. Faramir blinked and clamped his mouth shut.

Aragorn’s hair was tousled and his handsome face was flushed. His chest was still bare – naturally, since he could not reach any shirts. He was still on his back, supporting himself on one elbow, while fighting his own unyielding lower body.

Faramir cleared his throat. Aragorn’s head spun in his direction and the frown softened even though colour was still high in his cheeks.

“Oh,” he said, looking a little sheepish, “did I wake you up?”

“Well… let us say that you made it impossible for me to continue sleeping.”

“I am sorry.” Aragorn gave up. He lay back and sighed. “This is impossible.” He swept an arm through the air over his own body, indicating his attempts to move.

“Can I help you?”

“Hrm.”

“Yes?” Faramir felt the small twitch of a smile in the corner of his mouth.

Aragorn muttered something inaudible.

“I heard it,” Faramir said. “That was undoubtedly a yes.”

Before the other man could protest, he scrambled to his knees and moved over.

“How do you want this done?”

“Oh I do not know!” Aragorn exclaimed, presenting a sour look.

Faramir fought his smile. “Well, how about this: have you tried lying on your side?”

More grunting.

“Have you?”

“Once, not long after the accident. Not too comfortable.”

Faramir eyed him where he lay. It might be too much pressure on his hips, but then again, maybe it might relieve his lower back.

“Shall we try?”

“Hm.”

Faramir dared to roll his eyes but Aragorn saw nothing as he was stubbornly staring at the ceiling.

“Help me help you roll over.”

He placed his hands on the covers, trying to locate Aragorn’s hips. As his fingers moved over the material, Aragorn stirred and his glare changed into a devilish grin.

“Or I could simply lie still and enjoy this. There might be other body parts that need to be seen to.”

Faramir felt the wave of heat that washed over him and supposed his face was bright red.

“Aragorn, be the good King you are and help me with this,” he muttered.

“Yes, yes… fine.”

With some effort, they finally had Aragorn positioned on his left side. Faramir let his hips fall forward, bending the King’s right leg to such an angle that it helped support him. He pulled the covers up higher over him.

“How does it feel?”

“It is a nice change, thank you,” smiled Aragorn.

Faramir sat back, quite content with the result. Aragorn looked relaxed and the frown was gone from his face.

“Do you know, Faramir,” Aragorn began in a normal conversational tone, “that you are exceptionally unclothed?”

Faramir looked down. “Oh… “

“Not that I mind. It is a nice change.” The grin was back.

Suddenly feeling very self-conscious, Faramir lay down and covered himself up as well.

“Come here,” Aragorn asked, reaching for his lover.

Faramir moved closer under the blankets. Aragorn dragged him nearer and was not content until he had Faramir’s back pressed against his chest, holding him in place with one arm. Faramir had to admit to himself it was much more pleasant this way.

A yawn escaped the King. “I like this,” he mused as he buried his nose in Faramir’s copper locks.

The Steward felt the broad chest rising and falling against his back. It created a profound feeling of peace within and soon he felt drowsiness sneaking up on him. He felt his eyes drift shut.

“What time is it?” he sighed.

“Much too early,” Aragorn whispered sleepily into his hair.

The King’s hand slowly skimmed Faramir’s chest.

“Good morning,” Aragorn mumbled before they drifted off to sleep together.

Judging by the light, it was late morning when they woke for the second time that day. Groggy as he felt, Faramir lifted Aragorn’s arm and managed to turn himself around so that he faced the King.

His grey eyes were closed and his unshaven chin gave him a slightly wilder look, despite his role these days. Lips slightly parted, strands of hair, brushed away from his forehead. Faramir lay watching him and felt a joyous spark being born in his chest. No more ice, he told himself once more. No more longing and no more stagnation.

Alright, a little longing was allowed. They still had duties.

Before him, Aragorn gave a content sigh, a dreamy smile growing on his lips.

“I missed you,” he said tenderly.

“I am right here.”

“I know. Very convenient.”

Aragorn pulled him close and kissed him full on the lips. Faramir closed his eyes and let his instincts guide him. The King’s tongue slipped inside his mouth, gently calling to his own tongue to wake up. Faramir kissed him back, wetting Aragorn’s lips and making him moan softly.

Faramir shifted deeper into the embrace, thanking every deity he had ever heard of. Aragorn’s body carried a musky scent of earth and bark, a scent that seemed to cling to him even though he was no longer the Ranger he had been.

It was when Aragorn tried to pull him even closer, that he broke the kiss with a sudden gasp.

“Valar!“ he choked out, his breath irregular and shallow.

“Aragorn?!” Faramir was staring at him wildly, soft kisses abruptly forgotten. “What is it?”

The King had gone ghostly pale and his eyes conveyed burning pain.

“My legs… “

He was breathing too quickly.

“Aragorn… please… calm down. I will get help.” Faramir sprang from the bed, roamed through the heap of clothes on the floor and found his leggings and shirt. With them barely on, he dashed for the door, only turning back to see his lover’s shoulders heave up and down.

Faramir burst through the door and ran to the Healer’s room. Banging on the door, he was let in and a few moments later they were back in the royal chambers.

Aragorn lay once more on his back, still pale but at least he was breathing easier.

Deep, slow breaths.

Faramir would have told him so, if he had not been shoved aside and backed up against the wall when the Healers took in the sight of their King. They hovered around him now, speaking in low voices among themselves. Faramir could not catch one word.

Finally, things calmed down and most Healers left the bedroom, save for one of them – a blond man who reminded Faramir oddly of Deren. This one had longer hair though, and was much older.

“My Steward?”

The Healer was approaching him. Faramir saw delicate lines in his face, around his eyes, but the man had an almost elvish air about him. He was certainly human, but he carried himself with the same dignity Faramir usually associated with the Elves. This made him uncomfortable, if he were not already so. He always felt very… much like a Man around the Elves. Clumsy.

Meeting Elrond, Aragorn’s foster father had been a trying moment for him – and he and Aragorn had not even been… close then.

“Yes? How is the King?” He swallowed his nervousness.

“He will be fine.” The elderly Healer turned and watched Aragorn who was sleeping now. “However…”

“What?” Faramir blurted out. So much for composure.

The Healer faced him again and there was a strange glint in his eyes. “However,” he repeated slowly, “I urge you to… take some precautions.”

Faramir regarded him confused. “I am sorry, I do not understand…?”

“The King’s legs are weak and so is his lower back. He has worked hard to keep the muscles strong in his upper body, but that is not always enough. He must not put too much pressure on his legs.”

Faramir nodded, he knew this already.

The Healer continued, “I know that it is trying for him… to sit down, to sleep on his back all the time. He is not suited for this, I think.”

His voice was almost thoughtful. Faramir continued to nod, partly because he agreed and partly because he did not want to interrupt.

“Nonetheless, I will ask you – and I would ask the two of you, but the King is sleeping – that you are careful when you are together.”

Faramir stifled a cry of surprise. Embarrassment flooded through him and his cheeks were burning up. He stared at the man in front of him, dreading another word on the matter, and really only wishing he would just sink through the floor, never to be seen again.

The Healer chuckled and placed a hand on his shoulder. “There now, nothing to be ashamed of.” His eyes were definitely twinkling now. “There are some techniques you might find helpful, some positions that might not be so dangerous.”

Faramir licked his lips but somehow found it impossible to breathe. He would die now. Just like that. His body would not be burned as had the bodies of his ancestors. He would be thrown into a ditch somewhere… maybe in Mordor? Probably the King’s male lover’s memory would be spat upon for eternity.

Or, he could simply save them the trouble and jump off the balcony. He had almost decided on that solution, when the Healer’s voice brought back his attention.

“You had better get back to exhaling and inhaling, or I will have another patient to deal with.”

Faramir resumed his breathing. He had no choice really. Aragorn might want to see him before he died…

“I gave the King some leaves…” The Healer was looking around the room, searching for the herbs. “To soak and help with the pain.”

Faramir pointed to the small table across the room where Aragorn had stored away the leaves.

“Ah! Good. I suspect he has not been using them too often.” He smiled almost fatherly in Faramir’s direction. “I will bring some new ones, and check on him later.”

Faramir watched him gather up the leaves Aragorn had left on the table, walk to the door and turn around.

“And I might give the two of you some advice while I am at it,” he said shrewdly.

Inhale. Exhale.

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