Faramir Fiction Archive

The King and The Ranger (R)

Written by Minx

30 March 2004 | 60419 words

Chapter 10

Aragorn continued to stare at the wooden door that had now swung shut. He suddenly felt his legs wobble and stumbled over to his bed, his mind thrown into utter confusion. Arwen! Arwen was coming. Why did he keep forgetting that? He stared at his bed forlornly, and realised suddenly that the sheets were damp. Faramir! He stared at the soiled sheets and then sank his head into his hands, his mind in complete turmoil.

---

Faramir threw himself onto his bed breathing heavily. He had had to maintain a stoic appearance all through the distance between his room and Aragorn’ s especially when he came across the guard in the king’s hallway. Thankfully the light had been too dim for the soldier to notice anything untoward in Faramir’s appearance. They had simply nodded at each other and gone their way.

He still could not believe it. How could he have forgotten the king was betrothed? Why had he entertained such a hope? Had he but thought with greater clarity, he would have realised that to fall in love with Aragorn was the stupidest thing he could do. He loved another. He had probably just realised how Faramir felt about him after the way he had wantonly thrown himself onto him so many times. Aragorn was just being his usual generous self and giving him what he desired. How could he been so foolish as to think they could take it any further? The king loved Arwen. Everyone knew their tale. It had endeared the future queen greatly to the female populace because they considered it very romantic.

What had he done? He had almost tried to destroy a marriage. He sat up and hugged his knees to his chest resting his head on them wearily. Part of his mind kept screaming at him for his stupidity in falling in love with one who was unobtainable while the other part simply replayed the sensation of being with Aragorn, the feel of his lips on his, of his hands touching him, of giving him pleasure, of almost being made love to by such a wonderful person. He loved Aragorn, there was no doubt of that in his mind. His heart kept screaming it out every second.

But Aragorn loved Arwen.

He suddenly realised he wearing one of Aragorn’ s robes. Standing up trembling all the while, he pulled it off and held it in his hands, staring at it, his eyes filling up. He brought the robes close to his face. It smelt of the man he loved. He would know that smell anywhere. It reminded him of the warmth he could find in the king’s arms, of the affection that radiated from the grey eyes when he looked at them, of the feel of strong arms wrapped protectively around him.

He would never feel all of those again. He could not! He threw the robe angrily into a corner of the room, cleaned himself up and pulling on a nightshirt decided to try and sleep.

---

Faramir’s clothes lay on the floor – a dark olive green tunic and black leggings. He picked up the tunic, fingering the almost invisible embroidery on the collar. He hadn’t noticed it earlier because Faramir’s shoulder-length hair had fallen over the collar. He closed his eyes wearily still holding the tunic, feeling the fine, soft material under his fingers.

These last few days, he had held Faramir close to him so often and he had enjoyed it. Enjoyed it so much that Arwen had slipped from his mind. It needed just one look at the younger man to set his heart racing and make him want to wrap his arms around him. Faramir had originally intrigued him. The assassination attempt and its aftermath had simply confirmed everything he’d seen and guessed about him. And the closer they got to each other, he found his feelings caught up in a maelstrom. Now, he wanted nothing more than to hold him in his arms forever and kiss him and make love to him. And he knew Faramir liked it too. He could not forget how Faramir had literally screamed in desire. He remembered the raw want in the eyes, the hoarse voice that had demanded him.

Faramir had trusted him enough to let him go so far. He had seen it in the other man’s eyes. And now how betrayed he must be feeling. Aragorn knew he should do something, he just didn’t know what. Arwen was giving up her immortality for him. They had dreamt of this day, of making a life together in happier times. And now when that day was drawing near he found his heart drawn towards another, but at the same time he still seemed to love Arwen.

Aragorn was terribly, terribly confused.

---

Faramir found he couldn’t sleep. He just kept remembering Aragorn’ s arms around him, warm and comforting. He had always been used to hiding his feelings and retreating into a shell when hurt. But the last few days with Aragorn had spoilt him and he craved the comfort of having someone near him.

Knowing he would never get any sleep this way, and knowing there would be work to attend to attend to once Boromir returned on the morrow, he rose and rummaged in the store of herbs he had in his room. He found what he wanted easily, although he usually preferred not to use it.

---

Aragorn finally arose tiredly from where he sat. He would have to return the clothes to Faramir’s room. He left his room silently, noticing with no little annoyance that he was still being heavily guarded.

He knocked softly on Faramir’s door but there was no response from inside. Finding the door unlocked, he pushed it slightly and poked his head in. Faramir lay curled up on the bed, his eyes closed and his breathing relaxed. Finding him asleep gave Aragorn greater courage to enter. He draped the tunic and leggings over a chair and walked up to the bed, and knelt down by it. His eyes took in the herbs lying by the bedside and he deduced that Faramir had taken recourse to a sleeping draught. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully, his dark lashes standing out against his skin, and the traces of what looked like a stray tear lining his cheek. Aragorn lifted a hand to brush his cheek but hovered indecisively not wanting to awaken him.  Finally he sighed softly and sat back on his heels awhile just watching the rise and fall of his chest.

The blankets had slipped to his waist, and Aragorn realised that there was a draught in the room. He pulled the thick blanket over the sleeping man, careful not to wake him. Faramir murmured something unintelligible, but didn’t wake up. Aragorn stood indecisively for a minute. He really wanted to hold Faramir again and kiss him. He wanted to run his hand through his soft hair and let him rest his head against his chest as he had done earlier. He wanted to slip off that nightshirt and run his hands up and down the bare body, shower kisses upon it and complete what had been interrupted.

Then the reason for the interruption came back to him. He sighed softly again and let his eyes rove the room, until they fell upon the robe thrown carelessly in the corner. He felt his breath catch.

“You must have been angry at me,” he said a little sadly, to the sleeping figure, “And well you should be. Sleep well, dear one.”

Picking up the robe, he walked quietly out of the room.

---

Boromir and Legolas returned the next day in time for the noon meal. Faramir had spent the morning talking to Tarlong who seemed to be getting increasingly frustrated at the fact that the assassin still remained free. He had however managed to make a list of all who had been in the citadel the day the attack had taken place and tried to draw some sort of a pattern of who had been where.

He was looking at it while waiting for the others to join him at the table, and groaning loudly when Boromir and Legolas returned, followed by Gimli who had met them outside.

“What is it?” Boromir asked a little amused, for Faramir had thrown the parchment onto the table and sat frowning angrily now.

Legolas picked up the long parchment filled out in Tarlong’s neat and tiny handwriting.

“A list of all within the citadel on the day of the attack?” Gimli asked as he read over his friend’s shoulder.

“Yes!” Faramir ran a hand through his hair.

“This is practically everyone in the council! And almost all of the servants. And many names I cannot recognise. So many people?”

“It is a large building,” Gimli said in a wise tone.

Faramir scowled at him before replying, “And most of them have none to vouch for where they were during the attack.”

“But should it not be possible to find out who was near the rooms during the attack. Most of these people it appears were at the other side of the citadel, in the courts outside or in the meeting rooms downstairs. The archer fired from one of the upper floors in the living quarters, did he not?”

“It will be difficult. We are the only people inhabiting those rooms currently. That is five of us,” Boromir said, “they are deserted otherwise, and there would have been no one on the look-out.”

“Eredil and Saracel are both mentioned, I see,” Legolas said thoughtfully.

“And Eredil claims to have been in one of the studies looking at land reports while Saracel claims he was in the library annex. And there was no one with them who would know.”

“Your men are keeping an eye on them?” Legolas asked Boromir.

“Yes, I should be hearing from them by this evening.”

“The sooner we find him the better,” Gimli muttered.

“We will,” Boromir assured him, “But until then, we should look out for Aragorn.”

“He will certainly like that!” Gimli quipped sarcastically.

Legolas shook his head resignedly and turned to Faramir, “do you remember who the first people were to reach Aragorn’ s side after the attack.”

Faramir knitted his brow in confusion. He remembered there had been someone trying to pull him away from Aragorn, no to help him up. There had been voices around him but he had been in pain and he had been so worried for Aragorn that he had not really noticed. And the next few days had been so confusing, he had never really found out who else had been on the balcony with them.

“Tarlong, I think,” he said remembering the man’s voice, and Legolas nodded, for Tarlong had been the one to inform them that day, “and –“

“Boromir, Legolas, you are back from Cair Andros!”

They turned as Aragorn entered the room and greeted him. Faramir looked away feeling his heart catch at the sight. He had not seen the king in the morning as they had eaten separately and he had been partly glad. But he also knew he could not entirely avoid Aragorn all the time and the sooner he faced him the better. But he still wasn’t prepared for the way he felt when his eyes fell on his king. He could never forget how beautiful Aragorn had looked last night.

“I hear the escort has set out from Rohan?” Gimli asked with a wicked smile. Faramir felt his heart lurch. He knew which escort Gimli referred to, and hearing about did not help him.

“I suppose all the city of it knows by now?” Aragorn asked seemingly carelessly, “Yes they have left. And will arrive here in a week’s time. They travel at a very fast speed it seems to me.”

“Arwen apparently cannot wait to see you,” Legolas teased him as the food began to be served.

“And Aragorn pretends to be unmoved but we know he cannot wait either,” Boromir added cunningly.

Faramir placed his hands on his lap as the soup was served.

“And Boromir when will you get married?” Gimli asked his voice booming across at the steward.

“Soon, I hope. I look forward to having some fun at his expense,” Aragorn muttered.

“Marriage? Nay, my friend, I am a warrior, us warriors are married to our weapons,” he said to a chorus of groans from Legolas and Gimli, “Ask the elf to get married. He is far too old.”

Legolas raised a carefully crafted eyebrow, “I am still considered young among our kind. Now the dwarf-“

“Then that leaves Faramir,” Gimli interposed hastily.

“Ah yes, Faramir. He will surely make some girl very happy,” Boromir said affectionately as his brother glanced up confused at suddenly becoming the topic of conversation.

Faramir’s gaze fell upon Aragorn who looked completely inscrutable. He turned his head away unhappily and tried to head off a conversation that was making him increasingly uncomfortable. He had found the one he wanted to spend his life with, but how could he reveal that it was a man and not just any man, but the king himself.

“Is not Éomer’s sister a good friend of his?” Legolas was asking Boromir with mock innocence. Faramir nearly spilt the soup on himself.

“Aye I heard they spent much time together in the gardens of healing,” that was Gimli again.

“There was nothing else we could do,” Faramir found himself protesting, “The warden would not let us leave the premises.”

All he got in reply was a chorus of coughs and sniggers.

---

Aragorn watched Faramir being teased. He looked exceedingly uncomfortable and had almost splashed his soup onto his clothes at least twice. The more he saw his discomfort, the more he wanted to talk to him. Having slept over the events of the last night, he had come to the conclusion that Faramir trusted him greatly and felt for him. And he knew he himself felt something for the younger man. He was till confused. And Faramir was refusing to meet his gaze. They needed to talk. It was important that he explain things to Faramir, but explain exactly what he did not know. And how he could explain what was happening, he definitely did not know. But he had to talk to Faramir. He had acted on impulse without thinking rationally and Faramir was hurt because of that. If he didn’t sort out the matter he would end up hurting everyone involved.

The teasing around him continued mercilessly, only to stop near the end of the meal when a messenger entered. Aragorn sighed as he took the missive, remembering how another missive last night had created such turmoil. He read it swiftly and turned to his expectant friends.

“The emissary from Harad will be arriving with his party in a week’s time,” he said flatly.

“The same time as -?” Gimli started off.

“Yes,” Aragorn nodded, “We cannot put them off. We’ll just have to fix the discussions after the wedding.”

“But Aragorn, his arrival will only goad anyone against the treaty to act,” Boromir said.

“We will have to be prepared for all eventualities then,” Aragorn said with finality. It seemed to him that his friends were exchanging looks and deciding on something, but he was in no mood to bother.

Pushing away his plate he stood, “Boromir, Legolas if you could let me know of the news from Cair Andros? Shall we meet in half an hour in my study?”

They left the room and discarding the normal practice of leading them out of the room, Aragorn tarried a little. He slipped into a quiet hallway nearby and waited. As he had expected, Faramir had been the last to leave. He grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him into an empty room. Kicking the door shut behind him, he turned towards Faramir.

“Faramir, I –“ grey eyes stared apprehensively back at him and he realised he was still gripping the younger man’s arm tight. He maintained the hold and stared back into Faramir’s eyes. The younger man held the gaze for a fraction of a second and then dropped his face forward.

“Oh Faramir,” he said softly, cupping the chin in his other hand and lifting it. Faramir tried to turn his face away but he wouldn’t let him, “Look at me.” He carefully avoided adding any endearments much as he would have liked to.

Aragorn thought he could see wetness glistening in the corners of his eyes. The lower lip seemed to tremble a little. He let go of the elbow and slinked his arm around Faramir’s waist instead, still holding his chin up.  They were standing within a hair’s breadth of each other, so close that he could feel the warmth of Faramir’s breath on his face. Any closer and their lips would be touching. Faramir’s eyes gazed back at him warily; they had the same apprehensive look as that of a tiny animal cornered in a trap.

Gently, he kissed the creased forehead, “I am sorry, Faramir. I -“ he rubbed one hand across Faramir’s lower back soothingly, and stroked his hair with the other as he spoke softly.

“No,” said Faramir very quietly, pushing away his hand, “We should not have.”

Aragorn took in the reddening face and slightly hitched breathing and silently cursed their ill-fated predicament. He was not sure what he was going to say so he had decided to speak whatever came to mind. But Faramir, it seemed, was not going to give him that chance.

“Lady Arwen arrives in a week,” Faramir continued, his tone completely flat.

“Yes,” Aragorn said dully, in agreement.

“May I leave now, Sire? My services will be required. There is still much work to be done,” it was his earlier polite and formal tone.

“Yes, you may,” Aragorn said quietly.

When he left the room a few seconds after Faramir, he came across a very annoyed trio of elf, dwarf and steward.

“Where did you vanish?” Boromir demanded, “We thought you might be with Faramir but he was alone.”

He suddenly guessed he was probably going to have someone around him at all times and groaned inwardly at the prospect.

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