Faramir Fiction Archive

The Coldest Winter (R)

Written by Geale

09 January 2009 | 77501 words

We are now back inside Aragorn’s head. I bid you welcome.

Chapter 5 – Arriving

The first light of dawn broke through the thick clouds in the east. It yawned and stretched, sending its rays forward. At first it tread carefully, waking the snow on the ground, passing on tiptoe between the sleeping branches of the trees, and lovingly skated across the ice on the lakes. It passed over Erech, and a little later it flowed over Lebennin, where it rested a while to admire itself in the waters of the River Sirith. The light had noticed snow in the clouds when it awoke, and so, if you wanted to mirror yourself, you had to seize the opportunity when it was offered.

At long last, the light of dawn left Sirith’s waters behind and continued its journey over Gondor. When it passed over the Crossings of Erul it saw a small company of Men riding towards the White City. This was such a rare sight this winter, that the light hovered for a moment around the men, making them wonder aloud about the strangeness of the weather, and if time was affected by it. The light of dawn laughed to itself as it sped onward to Minas Tirith to see if the King was awake or if it was its task to perform.

The Citadel had been altered since King Elessar came to the throne. It now more resembled a palace, which the light much appreciated. (The light of dawn had always had a soft spot for splendour.) However, lately the light had been worrying. The King did not seem as happy as he had once been. The light had known him for ages, had in fact fallen in love with him when he was a child in Rivendell, a Human son of the Lord Elrond. The light of dawn smiled at the thought of the Elves whom it loved dearly. But the King, was its favourite.

The light climbed upwards and wound its way to the King’s window. The curtains were drawn but there was a small crack between them through which it could slip. The light softened and squeezed inside, not minding the window glass with which it was good friends. It trailed over the floor as usual, but halted abruptly when it tripped over a pair of boots that it recognised but did not count upon finding here! Not now, anyway. Of course, the light had always suspected, but had never truly known. It had tried to coax the midday light to tell it, but it had not worked. (They had even gotten in to an argument about it and had not spoken for several days.)

But now, the light of dawn, running faster, discovered a pair of black leggings beside the bed. This was certainly something new! Holding its breath, the light rose above the bed and, wide-eyed, took in the sight presented to it.

There was the King, lying on his back as always, with his dark hair tousled and his eyes closed. He was breathing evenly, his chest rising and falling continuously. And there, beside him – very close beside him –lay the Steward, he too peacefully sleeping. The light knew the Steward almost as well as it knew the King, but since he was the younger it was natural that it had spent more mornings with the King.

The light of dawn would have jumped up and down at the sight, finally knowing what the midday light had suggested (not mentioning what the evening light had insinuated!), but it did not. Instead, it softened even more, and sat down on the bed beside the two men. It was not necessary to wake them just yet, it decided.

The King’s arm had apparently been wrapped around the Steward, but now it rested on the covers. Perhaps they had been kissing, the light thought, trying to imagine it. It would make a sweet picture indeed! And maybe it would make the King happy again?

The light had always considered the Steward a handsome man, and had always wanted to help him. The light of dawn had never liked Denethor, that was for sure! But how was the light, albeit being the light of dawn, to help a Human? It had tried to be extra careful when waking him, but that was all it could do. The Steward had seemed almost as unhappy as the King, at times.

Now, however, things might have changed. Oh, the light would have loved to stay and watch them! It still had work to do though. It rose from the bed and brightened reluctantly. No one would ever know if it did not enter with full force here. Just for today.

With that, it took one more look at the couple in bed, left some glow of dawn behind, and slid out of the bedchamber, humming merrily to itself.

It was a couple of hours later that Aragorn began to slip out of his dreams and come back to his body. He had had a restful sleep, and felt strangely light. Somewhere within himself something had changed but he could not explain what or why. He lay with eyes closed searching for the answer. There was some pain in his thighs but that was not unusual. Yesterday he had been standing a lot… yesterday…

Yesterday.

With a start he opened his eyes and saw the man next to him. Faramir had rolled away and was now lying on his stomach with his face turned towards Aragorn.

His beautiful Steward. Who could not love him?

Aragorn reached out and lifted a strand of hair from his face, drawing a sigh from the sleeping man. Recalling the previous night, the King smiled for several reasons, but he also felt a bit embarrassed. He had been tired, but he had not even touched his lover. He definitely had to make up for that.

Faramir stirred beside him and opened his eyes very slowly. For a second, he looked confused, then he spotted Aragorn and realisation dawned upon him. Colour rose in his cheeks as he too undoubtedly recalled the night before.

“Aragorn…” he whispered, staring.

“Good morning,” the King said, stroking his cheek. “Have you slept well?”

“I… have… Oh, gods…” He buried his face in the pillow.

Aragorn frowned. “Faramir, is something wrong?” he asked, not really wanting to know the answer. If the other man regretted spending the night with him, he would be utterly crushed.

“Listen, Faramir, I know I was not very attentive to you… please, speak to me. Do you regret what happened?” Holding his breath, he waited for a reply.

Faramir raised his head. His cheeks were still flushed but he met the King’s gaze without flinching. He even looked a bit surprised.

“I would never regret that, Aragorn,” he said, “I just thought that perhaps you… were not… happy about it.”

Aragorn exhaled with relief. “Valar, Faramir, I was stroking your cheek when you awoke! If I had not wanted you here I would not have done that.”

“Well, it might have been your way of making it easier to say that you had changed your mind,” he grumbled.

“That makes no sense at all,” Aragorn stated. “This is crazy, come here instead”, he beckoned Faramir to him. “Help me sit up, will you?”

With Faramir’s assistance he soon found himself in a sitting position, with the soft pillows supporting him. The Steward settled with his back against Aragorn’s chest and left arm, resting his head on the King’s shoulder. He stretched out his legs and gave a content sigh.

“The light seems softer today,” he noted. “I wonder what that means.”

“Probably more snow,” Aragorn groaned. “If this winter never ends, I will go mad.”

“If this winter never ends,” Faramir said, “we will settle in this room with tons of food and spend every day in bed.”

At this, Aragorn burst out laughing. “Aye, we shall! Those are brave words coming from the man who only moments ago believed I did not want him in my sight!”

“Better safe than sorry, you know,” Faramir replied and smiled up at Aragorn.

“Mhm,” the King answered him and captured his lips with his own.

He kissed the Steward eagerly, tasting him over and over again. I will never grow tired of this, he thought. When Faramir’s tongue swept into his mouth, he felt even lighter than before, letting his own tongue caress the other. He trailed a hand over the other man’s chest, tracing the muscles he knew existed underneath the shirt he wore.

Excitement washed over him as Faramir raised a hand and pulled his head closer, claiming more of him.

Perhaps I will be ready soon. Ready to offer everything.

Aragorn was about to let his hand travel lower, to send it further down Faramir’s lean body, when a sharp knock on the door interrupted him.

“My lord?” called a voice from the corridor.

Their kiss ended abruptly and Aragorn threw his head back in frustration. Faramir grunted, discontent.

“Yes?” Aragorn answered in a raised voice. “What is it?” He was not feeling very polite at all, all of a sudden, and would have much preferred it if no one interrupted him ever again.

“My lord, a delegation from Erelas will be arriving in an hour. They sent a messenger in advance and have requested to see you, sire,” the servant informed him.

Surprised, Aragorn looked down at Faramir who appeared equally shocked.

“A delegation? In this weather?” Faramir said in wonder.

“Thank you!” Aragorn called. “I will see them when they arrive.”

They listened in silence to the footfall of the servant as he left. Faramir sighed and his head fell back against the King’s shoulder.

“We ought to rise then,” he mumbled.

Aragorn stroked the hair beneath his chin that he could reach and kissed it tenderly.

“Yes, I suppose so,” he said. “We need to wash, find some decent clothes and eat. It feels like years ago that I saw a delegation of any kind.”

The King watched Faramir rise from the bed and slip back into the leggings he had worn the day before. He pulled on his boots, but did not mind with his belt. The white tunic fell loosely around him, providing Aragorn with ideas on how easy it would be to remove it.

Not now, he chided himself and tied his own leggings instead. He lifted his legs, one by one, and swung them carefully over the edge of the bed.

Faramir came over to his side and held out his hands to him.

“Here, I will help you,” he smiled.

Aragorn took his hands and rose slowly to his feet. Staggering a little after lying down all night, he was grateful for Faramir’s strong arms that wrapped around him.

“Thank you,” Aragorn said, resting against his strong frame. “You must think me pathetic…”

“Never,” Faramir assured him. “Never will I think you the least bit pathetic!” He paused. “That is, until I see you with those leaves on your legs.”

“Oh, leave it be will you!” Aragorn muttered.

His Steward laughed softly. “We will see,” he said, which did not sound too promising at all.

Aragorn freed himself from the embrace. “We shall have to get ready,” he said, scanning Faramir’s face. “I will see you in a little while.”

Faramir nodded and drew back. “Yes, I will meet you in the dining hall.”

Aragorn followed him with his gaze as he moved towards the door. Before he exited, Faramir turned and looked back at the King.

“You do no regret what happened?”

“No, Faramir, I could never regret that,” he told the Steward.

Faramir nodded again, and with a smile tugging at his lips, he left the royal bedchamber.

Aragorn waited until warm water was taken to him. He washed and dressed and finally cast a look at himself in the looking-glass. “You will deal with this delegation, hold council and get it over with as quickly as you can,” he told his reflection. “And then, if we are lucky, more snow will indeed come and you will have a reason for not leaving this bedchamber for days!”

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