Faramir Fiction Archive

The Coldest Winter (R)

Written by Geale

09 January 2009 | 77501 words

Here is my Christmas present for you: the tying up of some loose ends. And the dealing with other important matters.

Chapter 23 – Finalising

The pale blue of the morning sky had deepened into a brilliant cerulean shade. There were no clouds hindering the sun from sending her light forth and a stray ray or two even wound their way into the healing chamber to gently caress the bed in which Aragorn had recently awakened. As he was rather high up in the former citadel, the snow covering the ground could be sighted if he gazed far enough. It glittered and sparkled enthusiastically in the sunlight, making no effort to hide its vanity. It all looked to him very innocent and in this moment it was hard to believe that the same snow to some had proved a deathly threat. Yet, Aragorn did not avert his eyes, for the sight was beautiful.

It was in that second it happened. He was so unprepared for it that for many minutes afterwards he could do naught but stare. The sun shone just as before and the sky was equally blue, but Aragorn knew that something had shifted. He could feel it in his heart and in his soul – even his weary bones felt lighter.

From the layer of ice that fiercely gripped the arched window-frame, a single, glistening drop of water fell.

And that was all.

Aragorn stared nonetheless.

Then his eyes were averted because the door opened and revealed a Steward almost unrecognisable beneath layer upon layer of thick clothing. Greatly amused – and very pleased – Aragorn watched as Faramir stamped his boots against the floor, creating small mounds of soggy snow upon it. He watched as the heavy coat was removed and shaken, sending small showers of icy cold water flying about the room. The woollen tunic that clung to Faramir’s body in a very attractive way was left in peace but the tousled copper locks received not this gentle treatment. Thick gloves were shed and a bare hand raked through the tresses over and over again, managing only to mess them up further. Finally, the Steward dumped his heap of clothes in a chair and ran a hand over his jaw as if he had forgotten to shave and now remembered it.

“Well,” said Aragorn, “good day to you too.”

Faramir’s eyes gained some focus and he smiled. “Aragorn!”

“Yes?”

“How are you?”

“Good?” Aragorn eyed him suspiciously. “You seem to be in a bright mood.”

Faramir squared his shoulders which gave the impression that he was about to deliver some most important news. “I am indeed!” He took one last look at his dripping garments and then made his way over to where Aragorn was lying. “The snow – is melting!”

Aragorn countered his smile with one of his own. “I know.”

“You know?” Faramir looked slightly disappointed. “Here I thought I would be the first one to deliver the news to you.”

“You were,” Aragorn assured him. “But I do have eyes of my own, and I did happen to see the ice on the window-frames beginning to melt.”

Sending a glare towards the windows, Faramir sighed. “Oh, well. I have no influence over your eyes.”

“Perhaps not,” agreed Aragorn and snaked an arm around the younger man’s lower back. “But over many other things, I assure you.” Urging him to bend down with some circling motions of his palm he had understood that Faramir liked, he smiled devilishly. As his lover’s face came closer, he lowered his voice. “We can start this over if you want? And I will pretend that I never saw that drop of water…”

Faramir placed his hands on the bed to support his weight. “It looks to me as if right now you have other plans.” His lips danced just out of reach for Aragorn’s mouth if he did not move.

“Only if you agree.”

“I would never disagree with you.”

“Excellent,” murmured Aragorn before he felt Faramir’s mouth descending upon his own and they shared a kiss that seemed long overdue.

When he pulled back and straightened, there was a content and lazy smile in Faramir’s features. “So, he said as Aragorn made room for him on the bed and he settled down. “When will you be released from this room permanently?”

Aragorn arched an eyebrow. “Plans, meleth?”

“Oh, never!” Faramir attempted once more to get his hair under control. “I simply mean that Gondor has not seen its King for too long.”

“Yes, it is so…” He traced the outer seam of Faramir’s breeches with the tip of his forefinger. “There is one issue that has to be handled before this winter ends, though.”

Faramir nodded slowly and his eyes lost some of their initial joy. “Deren.”

“I know not what to do with him,” Aragorn said honestly, secretly wishing that it was someone else’s choice to make.

“I care not.” Faramir rose from the bed and wandered over to the window. His back was turned to the bed but no position could hide the sternness in his voice. “If you had not been found, you would be dead by now, Aragorn.”

“If you had not found me,” he said gently.

“It does not matter, really.”

Aragorn offered Faramir’s back a weak smile. “It matters to me.”

The wood-fire gave a crackling noise of triumph as it succeeded in breaking a piece of wood in two. Another ray of sunlight conquered the window-glass and set the reddish tinge of Faramir’s hair aflame.

A vision came suddenly to Aragorn, and as impossible and unattainable as he knew it to be, it still gave him some measure of comfort. He saw blooming fruit trees and green grass, and could nearly smell the scent of early summer upon the breeze. And then, beyond some patches of small, white flowers he saw children running, their hair, tinted with copper, flowing freely in the wind and laughter filling the air.

As the vision faded, he sighed. “Come here, love?” He held out a hand for Faramir to take.

Slowly, the Steward turned towards him. There was a crease on his forehead and that still easily-awakened pain shone in his eyes. He grasped Aragorn’s hand hesitantly and allowed himself to be pulled closer.

“You do believe, do you not Aragorn – when I tell you that nothing, nothing, ever happened between Deren and me?”

“I believe you.”

“No,” Faramir shook his head vigorously. “I mean, truly believe. For it is the truth, I swear to you!”

For some incomprehensible reason, Aragorn felt laughter welling up inside and he fought hard to repress it, seeing as Faramir was not at all sharing his mood. “I do believe you, my love, truly I do.”

“I need you to know for certain!” Faramir refused to let the subject go. “I could never live with myself if I suspected you to be unsure. I would never betray you, Aragorn.”

“I know that, please do not torment yourself so…” He took a firmer grip on Faramir’s hand and brought it up to press against his chest. “This heart is yours to keep.”

“But how could I lay claim on your heart if I did not know for sure –”

“Faramir!” Aragorn cut him off rather harshly.

The Steward clamped his mouth shut and blanched visibly.

“Faramir,” repeated Aragorn in a softer voice. Then he could no longer hide his smile. “Will you marry me?”

The younger man’s eyes widened and then they blinked repeatedly, giving him the appearance of a child that saw the wonders of the world for the first time. His chest stilled as if he temporarily gave up breathing to focus as much of his energy as possible on the question that hung in the air before them. His lips were pale when he parted them to let out a last breath.

“Aragorn, I love you so very much.”

His voice was no more than a whisper when it joined the air in the room.

“And I love you, dearest one.” The King smiled up at him still, putting all his feelings of affection into that smile.

“No, I mean I love you so very, very much,” breathed Faramir with eyes still wide and only letting a small amount of air pass through his lungs.

“Yes, I have understood that you wish to make yourself crystal clear today.” Aragorn drew circles with his thumb upon the soft skin on Faramir’s hand. “Now, will you keep me in this state of insecurity for much longer, or will you give me an answer?”

A faint, shy smile crossed Faramir’s lips and a warm colour replaced the whiteness that previously had tinted his cheeks. “Yes.”

“Yes? Yes, you will give me an answer or yes, you will marry me?”

Blushing furiously by now but matching it with a growing grin, Faramir nodded. “Yes, and yes.”

Loosing all interest in keeping up a mature and respectable façade, Aragorn reached up for his lover and pulled him down. Faramir willingly complied and his feet left their position by the bed to ensure that he was able to stretch out fully beside Aragorn.

Hugging him close, the King felt his heart burst into a thousand pieces, only to be immediately healed and crafted into a shining orb of the heavens.

“Truly yes?” he whispered into the mess of hair that shielded Faramir’s face from view.

A strong arm encircled his waist and a muffled voice sent buzzing vibrations along his cloth-covered skin. “Truly yes.”

Faramir lifted his head and Aragorn helped to brush away the snow-dampened hair. “I will marry you,” he whispered as he watched the older man reverently.

Aragorn grinned wildly, knowing he must look insane. “You make me so happy, meleth nin. May I kiss you now?”

A playful frown seized Faramir’s brow. “When may you not?”

“It will be our first kiss as betrothed,” Aragorn said, cupping his cheek with one hand.

“You had better make it good, then,” smiled his love.

When the inner door to the healing chamber opened an hour later, Aragorn was running his hands along Faramir’s back and humming low. The Steward was resting his head on Aragorn’s shoulder and still had his arm clasped around his waist. He breathed softly, his warm breath wafting over the older man’s chest.

“And why am I not surprised?”

The healer was carrying a package wrapped in linen cloth in one hand and a piece of rolled up parchment in the other. Aragorn felt the grin from earlier present itself on his face again. Faramir stirred reluctantly where he lay but did not pull away, maybe partially because Aragorn made sure his hand kept up its movements.

“Is all well?” inquired Aragorn, not knowing exactly what he meant but needing to find something to say.

His reply consisted of two raised eyebrows and a shake of a blond head. “Whatever you mean by it, my lord, I assure you that all is under control.”

“Good,” grinned Aragorn as he wondered if his treacherous sanity was silently leaving his mind.

“Indeed. And I trust all is well in here?” The healer sent Faramir’s slim form a glance and the corners of his lips turned upwards in a wry smile.

“It could not be better!” the King assured him. “It could not be better.”

“Will you tell me what it is that makes me suspect I have given you too high a dose of the healing herbs?”

Aragorn turned his head and pressed a kiss into Faramir’s hair. “Love? Are you awake?”

A soft sigh escaped the Steward and he turned his face upwards without opening his eyes. “Mhm?”

As the healer dropped his burden on a tabletop and then went to stir the fire, Aragorn watched Faramir rouse himself. Moving like a cat, his lover stretched his limbs one by one and then lifted his head to shake it slightly. He remained pressed against Aragorn’s body as he let his eyes slowly adjust to the light in the room. The fluid motions combined with the attractive sleep-tousled features sent an inspiring spark through the King’s stomach. Knowing full well this was not the optimal opportunity to act upon his newborn ideas, Aragorn chastened himself and tried to push all such thoughts to the back of his head.

“Aragorn?”

Faramir watched him uncertainly. “I did not dream, did I? That you asked..?” He lost his words to the surrounding world.

“I know not what you dreamt,” said Aragorn quietly, trailing a finger along his jaw line. “But I did ask you to marry me… and I believe you agreed to it.”

Looking relieved, Faramir twisted his head and quickly planted a kiss on Aragorn’s finger. “All is well then.”

Laughing low, the King nodded towards the healer. “Shall we tell him?”

Faramir drew a long breath and adjusted his position on the bed to not weigh down so heavily on Aragorn. “Well, I suppose that everyone will know soon anyway.” A small smile found its way to his lips. “It begins now, does it not?”

Aragorn smiled. “It truly does.”

A clatter of iron against stone ended their conversation efficiently. “I am so sorry,” offered the healer as he replaced the spike he used to stir the wood with against the wall. “I hope I did not interrupt anything important. But then, I suspect it is not matters of state you are discussing so intimately.”

Faramir pulled himself upright and adjusted the tunic he wore. Aragorn let his hand fall to rest on the warm covers his lover had left behind.

“As a matter of fact, it is.”

“Oh, really?” said the healer as he returned to the table and began unwrapping the package he had brought with him.

“Indeed,” smiled Aragorn. “I have asked Faramir to join with me in marriage and he has accepted.”

He heard Faramir work hard on keeping his breath even as the healer turned towards them, obviously startled. His initial look of surprise, however, was soon replaced by an expression of respect.

“Well, my lord, I am impressed. For many long – and I daresay tedious – moments, I believed that you would never work up the courage to do it, but I am glad to see that I was wrong. Congratulations to you both.” Then suddenly he laughed. “You shall have to delve deep into the records to find a male ruler of Gondor who married another man. I am afraid that you shall have to devote some time to redesigning the ceremony.”

Aragorn waved a hand in a careless gesture. “I shall devote as much time as is necessary.”

Faramir leaned closer to him and sent him a nervous glance. “I need no extravagant ceremony, Aragorn. Honestly, you need not do that for me.”

“Oh, no,” said the healer brightly as he approached the bed, making no attempt to pretend he had not overheard the Steward. “I think you should have an extravagant ceremony. It would do Gondor good.”

Aragorn smiled what he hoped was a reassuring and calming smile. “Maybe we could have a simpler ceremony but an extraordinary celebration? And you can choose to attend that one for as long as you please.”

His young lover nodded and looked somewhat comforted. He even caught Aragorn’s hand and grasped it firmly.

“Now then,” said the healer and claimed their attention, “I will offer you your first wedding gift! Unfortunately I am afraid at least one of you might not welcome it, but I beg you to regard it with as kind eyes as possible.”

Faramir let go of his hand and changed his position so that he faced the healer fully. Narrowing his eyes, Aragorn watched his movements guardedly. From the linen package, the healer extracted a bunch of something the King had hoped to never lay eyes upon again.

With another bright smile the healer held out his hand and presented a pile of all too well-known, dark and crumpled leaves.

Aragorn’s heartfelt groan mingled with Faramir’s laughter.

“Ah, the dear leaves!” Faramir exclaimed when he had stopped laughing. “I never though I would see them again.”

“It is not you who must endure them,” muttered Aragorn as he pointedly refused to touch the pile and hiding his hands beneath the covers even though he knew it was childish.

“I take it you will have separate bedrooms then,” the healer winked and returned the leaves to their linen wrapping. “Actually, I would like it if someone kept an eye on the King and made sure he uses them as intended. And, my lord, I trust you prefer the Steward here, rather then myself sharing your bed?”

Faramir shifted on the covers and Aragorn grumbled.

“Only until I receive a delivery from Rivendell,” continued the healer. “Maybe longer if you do not behave.”

Then finally understanding caught up with him and Aragorn shook off the displeasure at being reacquainted with the leaves.

“Does this mean that you are releasing me?”

“Now he sees my meaning!” There was an amused twinkle in the healer’s eyes. “Yes, my lord,” I do not think that keeping you in here does you more good than what your own chambers could do. I think it is time that we see if you can make it by yourself. Not that I will not check on you,” he added with a hint of a warning to his voice.

Faramir spun around and a beautiful smile that went straight to Aragorn’s heart was given unto him. “That is brilliant news!” So caught up in the joy that within Aragorn grew tenfold at simply watching his lover so happy, Faramir placed a sweet kiss on his lips.

“The operative word in my lecture being ‘behave’…”

Aragorn cared not at all. He cared not that they were being watched and that he was King of the Reunited Lands, he cared only for the man who was his betrothed and who was now kissing him. He parted his lips and with his tongue did the same to Faramir’s. His hands went up and tangled in the copper tresses, bringing him as close as he might. Faramir beat him to the goal by thrusting his tongue into Aragorn’s mouth, sending swirls of rushing heat playing in the older man’s breast and stomach.

He was being caressed, by eager hands that had held back for far too long. Determined fingers pushed away the covers and blindly swept over his chest. Never before had a simple shirt created such a barrier.

Aragorn grazed his teeth against Faramir’s lower lip and elicited a moan from him. His tongue was captured by equally determined lips and sucked on. As dizziness born out of pleasure hovered at the edge of his mind, Aragorn felt the heat travel lower in his body and his hips bucked on their own. He felt Faramir smile into the kiss and his hand purposefully brushed over a cloth-covered nipple.

The world swam around him when Aragorn regretfully pulled away to breathe. Faramir’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes bright with lust.

They were alone.

If that was not a kiss full of promise, then Aragorn was gravely mistaken.

Evening had fallen over the City and with it had come the usual calmness that was, this winter, customary even during daytime. The sky had turned black a long time ago and the stars did their best to brighten the sight.

Twisting and turning the parchment over and over in his hands, Aragorn watched from his window in the royal bedchamber as the lights of Minas Tirith went out one by one as the residents went to bed. He had been sitting here for almost an hour, pondering and debating with himself. Now, it was time to make up his mind.

“Does he have any family?”

The voice from the doorway answered with trained efficiency. “Yes, my lord, a mother and a younger sister.”

The candle on the desk flickered and went out, leaving it up to the embers in the fire-place and the two oil lamps to light up the room as best they could on their own.

“Make sure they are taken care of.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You will notify those who guard our borders of his crimes, and they shall all be given his full name and a detailed description of his appearance.”

“Yes.”

“The King of Rohan shall also know of this, but I leave it up to him to decide whether or not to allow him passage through his lands.”

More and more lamps were extinguished in the City below. Aragorn once more glanced at the parchment he was holding.

“You will yourself make sure that he travels with only provisions enough to last him a day’s ride from the border. And if his cloak is too thick, you shall have it replaced by a thinner one.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“His future children, should he sire any, shall not inherit his doom. If they prove not to have been affected by their father’s ill-will, then they shall be welcome to come and go as they please in Gondor and Arnor.”

Aragorn reached for the quill that lay waiting for him on the desk. Shedding the last remains of doubt, he signed his name on the parchment.

“Deren son of Vorgen is hereby, upon his sortie, for the rest of his days forbidden to enter The White City, and he is expatriated from Gondor for as many days. The same applies to the re-established realm of Arnor. I will never see him again, and so, should he be caught trying to cross the borders to either of these lands, the guards may do to him what they see fit, providing they can answer for their deeds and give a just explanation during the inevitable interrogation that will follow.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“He shall depart at first light, with an escort of your choosing, to make sure that he reaches Gondor’s borders as is demanded of him.”

Wearied, Aragorn let the parchment lie on the desk with the quill not covering it at all as much as he would have liked.

“Is there anything else, my lord?”

“No, thank you. You may go.”

His eyes strayed back to the window as the parchment was picked up from the desk and carried away. Mumbles came from the doorway and there was some shuffling.

“Thank you, Eachann,” said a voice and the door closed and it was over.

A pair of feet, careful not to disturb the calmness that sought to replace the previous tension, padded across the floor and two arms encircled him from behind, minding not at all that they also embraced the back of the chair. A soft kiss landed upon his hair.

“You made the right decision, Aragorn.”

“How can you be certain?”

A hand stroked the silky texture of his robe and he received a second kiss.

“Because as much as I would have liked to see him suffer as he made you suffer, my heart tells me too, that we solve nothing by being monstrous.”

“I am that wise?”

Faramir’s low laughter was deeply comforting. “If you forget it, I am here to remind you.”

What the King and the Steward knew not, and what they would probably never learn, was that, two days later, in the second hour of dawn, a firm promise that had been made many days earlier was brought to completion.

Eachann had with one last survey of Deren sent him on his way from the borders of Gondor. The ranger had been at the receiving end of several curses aimed at him and had even been spat at by the blond, and was rather glad to see himself released from custody. Deren held his chin high as they rode, deigning no one with even a glance. But now, when Eachann watched him ride away into an icy cold sea of white, the young man turned in his saddle and offered them one final sight of his face. He said nothing, though, and soon disappeared into the trees.

“We will keep watch here for some time,” Eachann told his company. “More guards are watching the borders nearby, in case he should come back.”

With that, he set to work building a fire, more pleased to be back in the woods again than he wanted to admit.

It was not much further away that Deren came upon a pond, its frozen waters partially hidden by the snow. He slipped off his horse and inspected the ground. He may, or he may not, have made it without incident but as quick as a moonbeam the light of dawn seized its opportunity. It brightened its light to such an extent that the white snow became a field of shining, sparkling mithril, blinding him. Closing his eyes to the intensity of the glow, Deren set his foot down and felt the ice crack beneath him.

He came back up again – the light of dawn made sure of that, for it was not cruel – but he was shaking and trembling in his soaked clothes, and it took him quite a while to build a fire. And even longer, indeed far longer, it took him to summon even a part of his former self-assurance.

And that is the fate of Deren.

Now my friends, the next chapter will be the last, and then there’s only the epilogue left. This is your last chance to tell me if there’s anything you feel I’ve missed. See you in about a week! Merry Christmas!

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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