Faramir Fiction Archive

The Coldest Winter (R)

Written by Geale

09 January 2009 | 77501 words

You remember where we left off? Good. We’ll pick up immediately after that!

Chapter 20 — Hurting

Explain.

He felt an overwhelming need to explain. The desperate need to shed light on this awful issue was the strongest urge he had ever had – not even during his father’s days had Faramir felt such great a desire to make clear his actions. And Aragorn was still watching him.

Yet, Faramir spoke no words. A heavy, suffocating silence hung in the air and a general state of shock seemed to have caught everyone present in its grip. Despite these slow-passing precious moments, and knowing full well he was dooming himself to a dreadful future, Faramir said nothing. For he would not speak of this in front of Deren and the Council. If Aragorn had any sympathy for him left, he would say nothing either, but would wait until they were alone.

This did not mean he did not feel. He now knew that it was possible for a heart to be ripped out of the chest which guarded it a hundred times over and yet it never became less painful. Even when it was your own fault. He knew too, that his eyes were pleading; the burning anxiety scorched his eyes just as it did his lungs.

When Aragorn turned his gaze away, it worked as a signal for the entire Council.

“We shall have naught of this!” the appointed Elder cried out, his voice slightly wavering but firm enough.

As soon as the words rang out, Faramir lost his focus on the outside world and instead worked frantically to stop the tidal wave of fear that threatened to swallow him from within. From far away came the distinctive sounds of an argument, but he could discern no words.

Then, as sudden as everything else had happened this evening, something in his mind surfaced.

That night.

Something had been wrong that night.

Something.

His memories were foggy, the images blurred, but there was that something nagging in the back of his mind. Diving deep into the misty sea of remembrance, Faramir fought the small voice that told him everything was already lost and there was no need to explore this maze of damnation further.

He had been so lonely that night… Aragorn had not come to dinner. So utterly lonely… Faramir had thought that since the King was not present – the King did not want him and the consequences had been that he had probably drunk more wine that night than ever before… But Aragorn had chosen not to join him.

Or so it had seemed.

It was ironic really, that when Faramir, Steward of Gondor, chose to speak for the first time that night before the High Council, his words were not meant for Aragorn, but for Deren.

“You were in his chambers.”

His voice was immediately drowned in the clamour still surrounding him, so he raised it.

“You were in his chambers!”

They all stilled. Deren raised his eyes to meet him and a smug smile played upon his lips.

“Faramir.” He bowed his head slightly. “I was beginning to believe that you had lost your tongue.”

Fear was replaced by anger, an emotion Faramir seldom encountered in his own body. Striding towards the blond man, he repeated the words once more. “You were in his chambers. It was you who was in the King’s rooms that night!” He stopped short, hindered by the Council members’ chairs.

“Oh, that night,” Deren drawled. “Yes, I was, but not doing what you usually do when you are there, I suspect. Or used to do, I should say,” he added with a glance at Aragorn.

Too angry to pay any attention to the insult, Faramir cursed the chairs which separated him from Deren’s slim throat.

“I see it now,” he cried out, but only causing the smug smile to widen. “You had already attacked the King when you had dinner. And before that you had crept into the King’s chambers and pretended to be him, in order to prevent anyone from looking for him.”

It was a confused explanation to the incidents some nights before, he heard it, but he was discovering what he now firmly considered as the truth as he went along, as he worded his suspicions.

“You called through the door, saying that you – the King – wanted no dinner. That woman…” Faramir thought back desperately to what the servant had told him.

“That woman was easy enough to fool,” Deren stated with a dismissive wave of his hand. “We all know that the King is weak, so feigning his sleepy voice was the simplest of matters. I daresay any child could do it.” Despite his choice of words, there was an icy pride in his voice.

“That is madness!” Faramir shouted with blood ringing in his ears, prepared to shove anyone who hindered him out of the way. “You have gravely endangered the King’s life! He could have died!”

“Yes,” Deren slowly acknowledged. “That was the idea.” His smile gave way to a mask of false sweetness. “But unfortunately you had to interfere, did you not? Not that you will gain anything by it, I think, considering your betrayal of your beloved King’s trust. No, I guess you have seen th einsides of the King’s chambers for the last time. Funny I should be the last one of us, is it not?”

Had Faramir had his sword by his side, he would not have been able to answer for his actions if. The members of the Council must have seen his fury for the Elder hastily interrupted them.

“Enough of this! Lead him away.”

Someone laid a hand on his shoulder and assured Faramir they would look into this latest discovery, but that the Council for now was adjourned. With his breathing gradually returning to a normal pace, he watched the members exit the room one by one, taking with them the piles of documents and parchment.

As his rage dissipated, the unwelcome sense of fear crept closer and slid its long, slippery fingers along his skin. Unable to move, Faramir understood that he soon, very soon, would be left alone with… Aragorn.

“Leave us.”

The words were soft and tinted with weariness. Before Faramir could even begin to hope they were directed at him, there was a reluctant rustle behind him. The healer passed by him with jaws clenched and a hard gleam in his eyes. Faramir watched as he too, crossed the room, opened the door, stepped through, and was gone.

The door slid closed without a sound, except for the final click that preceded the ultimate silence.

Long moments passed. Dreadful moments during which Faramir stood nailed to the floor. He swallowed. He hardly dared to breathe. For all of his thoughts and plans and explanations, Faramir could not even open his mouth. Not even the flames in the fire-place had the courage to chatter. The floor shifted ominously beneath his feet.

“Have you so little faith in me?”

Faramir slowly turned around. There was pain everywhere: in his chest, in his stomach, in the air, in Aragorn’s voice.

In the voice of the man he loved above all others – the man who should never have to live through pain at all. But so it was now, and it was he, Faramir, who was the cause of this pain.

Aragorn was leaning against the pillows, but Faramir doubted that he was resting. Despite his closed eyes, his whole body looked tense.

“Meleth nin²?”

The words drifted off the King’s lips in a drained whisper. Gradually they blended with the silence until their breathless hiss was nothing more than a faint echo in Faramir’s mind. They released him from his frozen posture though, and he cautiously slid across the floor to Aragorn’s bed.

He had hoped to never see the King like this again. His skin was pale, even with the red marks the snow and the cold winds had bestowed upon him, and his breathing shallow. Unmoving he lay, but the creases on his forehead could tell anyone he was far from sleep.

“Have you so little faith in me…”

The question that had become a statement became the blade that was twisted around in Faramir’s already worn heart.

When the tears came, at least they brought words.

“No,” he protested, as his vision blurred and his voice broke.

When Aragorn did not answer, Faramir forced his thoughts back to that dreadful night. Replaying the scenes again he remembered, and he knew he was wrong.

“Yes,” he finally whispered.

Aragorn let his head fall to the side and sighed. To see him thus scared Faramir extensively.

“I lost all faith,” he admitted quietly as his King would not speak. “But it has little to do with you. It has everything to do with me.” He rubbed the back of his hand harshly against his eyes. “For many long years I did not believe I was worthy of anything… Love being the very last gift I expected to be granted.”

He hated himself for slipping into bitterness while he spoke, but old habits die hard as he knew well by now.

“Then suddenly, there you were – the man who was to become our King and you were… beyond every dream I had ever dared to dream. And you were a man and that frightened me… It frightened me to the very depths of my being, for even if I never held my father’s attention for many a minute, he had somehow managed to announce to me that he expected me to raise a family of my own. Should Boromir somehow fail… which he did, in a way… in the end.”

He trailed off, lost his words to the evening. There was a deep furrow on Aragorn’s brow, but he lay still without appearing like he wished to speak.

“I fell in love with you,” Faramir whispered, feeling new tears well up in his eyes. “But I never thought that you would… that you might… I was nothing.”

“Goheno nin…³“

Again, the elvish words floated around Faramir like an autumn mist, and equally impossible for him to grasp. He had only picked up on a few phrases when communicating with the elven realms, always thinking he should learn more, but unprepared, the words escaped him, indistinguishable. When Aragorn fell silent once more, Faramir resumed his tale.

“I have been living in a dream these past months. I always knew I was reaching for something I was not made to have… It was finally settled tonight. I could never give you the heirs you need… A King needs more than simply a Steward and I thought that night…”

He swallowed. Now the time had come, but he was in no way prepared for it. “I thought you had finally made the decision to end things, and that was why you did not come to dinner. I was…”

He had meant to say ‘devastated’ but that made it sound like it was Aragorn’s fault and since it was not so, he chose another angle. “I was there, I had dinner and I drank too much wine.” Even though he knew he was not famous for drinking, it still caused hotness to race to his face. Or maybe that was exactly why.

“I inquired after you but was told you did not wish to be disturbed. I really did ask… I missed you,” he said, his voice failing. “I longed for you, all night.”

Aragorn made a small movement, but did not interrupt.

Faramir took a deep breath. “Deren said he would walk me back, and in that moment I trusted him. I trusted him – the man who had attacked you and spent the whole evening waiting for you to… die. I will never forgive myself.”

He was so utterly tired. The day had been one of the longest he had ever known. Not even in comparison to battle could he say that he had often been more drained. Raking a hand through his hair, he exhaled. His eyes stung with the saltiness of his tears, and his head felt as heavy as one of the beacons in the tower.

Gathering the last amounts of energy he harboured, he finished his story. “Deren guided me to his room. I was not aware of it then. Not completely anyway,” he added when he recalled how he had woken up and not been surprised about his strange whereabouts. “But I only slept there. Fully clothed, I slept on his bed, not in it, if you see my point… And I woke up a few hours later and went back to my own room, only to find no peace there either. I left for the corridors and so it was that I found you.”

It was a short tale, in some sense, but it was all of him. The only thing left he had to offer.

Silence enfolded them once more as Faramir sunk down in one of the chairs that were adorning this room to an extreme extent.

“A long time ago, it seems now…” Aragorn’s voice was merely a sigh when he spoke. “A long time ago it seems since I told you I saw some confidence growing within you.”

Faramir bowed his head in a twinge of shame.

“Do you remember that I said I liked it?”

All words stuck in his throat, Faramir could do nothing but nod and not daring to move, he could only hope that Aragorn was looking.

“I have not changed my mind, Faramir. To see you open up has been a wonderful gift to me. Come here.”

Uncertain of what was happening, Faramir pulled his chair closer to the bed. Aragorn’s eyes were still closed, but his hands searched for something. With an urgent prayer to whatever gods that might still be listening to him, he nervously offered his own hand for Aragorn to hold on to. Relief washed over him as the King’s fingers curled around his.

“There is so much to say,” Aragorn sighed. “You think you are worth less than the sands on the plains of Mordor, and yet I believe that a part of you knows it is not so. What can I do to make you understand?”

Faramir felt like he was breaking for the thousandth time that day. “I do not know,” he honestly admitted. “No one has ever asked me before… I and have not asked myself either.”

The ghostly hint of a smile briefly passed over Aragorn’s lips. “I would not think so,” he said, but in no evil way.

“I understand your frustration,” Faramir said quietly. “I am sorry.”

“I will not have you beg for forgiveness. Promise me instead that you try to see your unnecessary insecurities for what they really are: unnecessary.”

As much as he doubted his capacity to do this, Faramir had no intention to let Aragorn know that. “I will try,” he said instead, inwardly wondering how on earth such a thing was possible.

“Can I trust that?”

Twisting in his seat, Faramir bit his lip. “Maybe.”

“That will do, for now,” Aragorn said, another faint smile crossing his features.

The King’s body had visibly relaxed during their conversation. Now he looked like he was drifting off to sleep.

Faramir had to do it. If he did not, he would never know.

“Aragorn?”

“Mmm?”

“Forgive me for joining Deren in his room. Forgive me for causing you all this pain.”

The older man stirred as if he was trying to stay awake. “Faramir…”

The Steward held his breath, hoping against the darkness that had claimed him, that there might be a light somewhere in his misery.

Aragorn let out a long, fragile breath. His grip on Faramir’s hand strengthened temporarily and then lessened.

“There is much to say, so much… You could never hurt me… never hurt me, meleth.”

Faramir let his head fall forward to rest on the bed. He was not sure what he had been gifted, but it healed his torn soul a little.

“Lie down by me?”

The words were so faint his first reaction was to ignore them, but a slight tug on his hand emphasised their essence. Warily, Faramir stood and kicked off his boots. He gave Aragorn several minutes to change his mind but when nothing happened he sat down on the edge of the bed and carefully slid down into a lying position.

As Aragorn’s breathing eased and deepened, Faramir covered his hand with his own yet again. The smallest of true smiles captured the King’s lips and that gladdened Faramir so, that he dared to snuggle closer and even pull a part of the blanket over himself.

To breathe in Aragorn’s scent, to be near him like this after the day they had just experienced was more than he could ever have asked for. Outside, the first stars were beginning to pierce the evening sky, but no matter the time of day, Faramir would be ever grateful for this moment. His eyes finally drifted shut and he had almost lost himself to dreams, when a drowsy voice spoke in low tones.

“’… if you see my point?’ You sound like a hobbit.”

And that made Faramir smile.

Too fluffy for ya? :D

² Meleth (meleth nin) is Sindarin for ‘love’ (‘my love’) as I presume a lot of you already know.

³ Goheno nin means ‘forgive me’.

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

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