Faramir Fiction Archive

The King and The Ranger (R)

Written by Minx

30 March 2004 | 60419 words

Chapter 7

He had never felt such an intense passion build up in him before, as when Aragorn’ s mouth covered his. The pain from his injuries as he fell back with Aragorn over him, went unheeded as his mouth was subjected to touches as never before. He felt a delicious warmness course through his veins, as he returned the kiss with utter compliance. And then it was over. They came apart, and he lay in a daze wondering if he had dreamed it. Could one truly feel as wonderful as he did in real life? Had Aragorn truly kissed him or was he dreaming? And why was he asking to be forgiven?

He reached out for the pink, exquisitely shaped lips, touching them to confirm they were indeed real. They were real. He could feel his heartbeat quicken at the touch. He could not let Aragorn leave.

He stammered out the words begging him to stay. Aragorn stopped, half-standing by him.

---

Aragorn stood by the seated figure watching the moon continue to play on the pale, drawn face and pleading eyes that glinted with a silver light. Traces of wetness glistened as the lips trembled with each tremulous breath.

“Please stay,” it was almost a whisper, so soft was the voice.

He wanted to hold him in his arms and comfort him, and take away all his worries for it was evident there were many. He wanted to wipe away the tears that streaked the face of one of the bravest young men he knew. He wanted to keep him in his arms and calm him and soothe him, and take away the pain and anguish reflected in the grey depths that looked up to him.

He sat down next to the dejected figure, and reaching for him, pushed a few stray strands of hair off the damp face. Faramir seemed almost to still himself at his touch.

“You will stay?” still soft, as soft as the cold seeping in from outside.

He would. Whether he should or not, he would stay because Faramir needed him. If it took his presence to ensure the peace and quiet of one who had endangered his life for him, then he would provide that.

“I will,” he found himself replying just as softly. The face in front of him lit up with relief and pleasure. A pleasure as understated as every action he had come to expect from the younger man.

“You must not be alone. You are still in danger,” Faramir continued.

“It is cold,” he said quietly, ignoring that statement, “you should sleep now. You have taxed yourself enough today.”

Faramir shook his head unhappily.

“Very well, then I shall take your leave,” he said coldly, and was immediately dismayed to watch how the face fell immediately just by the slight frost in his tone.

“No!” Faramir looked extremely unhappy now. He seemed to have lost his normal eruditeness, and seemed instead to be searching uncomfortably for words. He had turned his head away and Aragorn could no longer see what went through the expressive grey eyes, as the next words tripped out haltingly.

“I had dreams. They wouldn’t stop. I was in a darkness so foul, so deep, it was not until you called me that I saw a light pierce through it. And you were there.  You called to me, and I knew you were safe. I knew I should trust you. Now I see other dreams. And they are not as usual. And I – I am – I worry for – “ he suddenly turned towards Aragorn, his eyes laced with anguish, and reached for his face.

Aragorn felt the warm hand touch his face, and immediately felt his muscles tense up.

Faramir was still speaking, “I was worried, and you were standing there alone, and I knew something was wrong, and then the archer . . . it must not happen again. You must not be hurt.”

He had wondered about that. About how Faramir’s quick reflexes had saved him from a fatal disaster. “I was not hurt,” he breathed out covering the thin hand with his, “you were. And for that I am sorry.”

“Nay, you are my king. And I owe you my life and my brother’s.”

He pressed gently on the hand against his and registered their warmth despite the biting chill. The healer in him came to the fore as he placed a palm against Faramir’s forehead, and then neck.

“Nothing will happen,” he said firmly, “the guard is doubled, and all men are on alert. He would be a fool to try anything now. Sleep now, and I assure you there will be no nightmares this time.” He had driven them away once; he could do so a second time.

“I will be there.” Reaching for the younger man, he pulled him up gently, and guided him towards the bed.

“Where will you sleep?” Faramir asked worriedly.

“I will sit by you for a while and then take the chair,” he said firmly.

He was met by a horrified glance, “No. You must take the bed. I will use the chair.”

“No.”

“You – you can use the bed too,” came the hesitant reply, as they edged closer towards it, and then after a slight pause, “It – it is quite large. You can have one side, and I will take the other.”

“I shall see. But first you must sleep.”

He helped him into the bed silently, pulled the covers up to his chin ensuring that he was comfortable and warm, and then sat by his side, watching him.

---

He saw the dark void that had held him trapped and refused to let him go. And he had not wanted to leave. Fear of what lay outside kept him there. The guilt of his survival preyed on him to convince him that absolution lay in his suffering this unstoppable wandering through an endless void. He felt the heat of a fire licking him while he himself stood and watched with the grim satisfaction of one who welcomes an end to existence. But the end never came. All that came was more darkness, never-ending and terrifying.

Until the light pierced it, and he felt the caress of someone’s hand and awoke to his king’s voice. He dreamt of it often, and each time he awoke breathing hard, his face flushed, to find that none stood over him as had happened that day.

Not this day. The caress was real as were the grey eyes that looked into his face with concern.

Faramir stared back into the grey eyes that he had first beheld when awakening from the darkness that had held him in its sway months ago. The reverence he had felt then upon beholding this noble face had intensified which each future encounter so that now he was no longer aware of what he could attribute the depth and intensity of his feelings to.

But Aragorn was here now, sitting by him, on his bed. He struggled to sit up, gritting against the pain that hit his shoulder as he pressed his hands down in his attempt.

“No, lie back,” Aragorn said worriedly.

He shook his head as he finally managed to sit up, ignoring the little twitches that ran through his aching body. He reached out a hand for the worried face in front of him to reassure himself that this was no dream. Aragorn was staring at him with puzzled eyes. He tentatively put a hand to the cheek, feeling the faint stubble under his fingers.

“Faramir-“ Aragorn seemed to gasp out almost breathlessly. Faramir let his hand remain on the other’s cheek, and leaning forward brushed the full lips with a chaste kiss, before leaning back against his pillows.

“It is you,” he said quietly, his eyes closed now. It was Aragorn here, and no dream. It was Aragorn he had kissed.

“Yes it is. I will stay by you, do not worry.”

---

Aragorn awoke early the next day, uncomfortably perched on what appeared to be a chair. Awakening fully as the sun sent its first ray out into the dawn sky, he realised he lay in a room not his own. He awoke to the sight of a pair of keen grey eyes resting upon him. He sat up in surprise and stared back at Faramir, and then remembered all that had passed the night before. Faramir lay, staring at him quietly.

“I must leave now,” he said distractedly.

Faramir nodded.

He left trying to analyse what he had done. He had kissed his friend, a man many years younger than him. Fallen on him with a passion he hadn’t exhibited for years now. And he found he had liked it. He didn’t know what to think now.

Breakfast was a quiet meal. Legolas was back with his horse, Gimli had not woken up yet and Boromir and Faramir spoke the bare minimum to each other. They had exchanged a few words before eating. Boromir had apologized for his outburst, and Faramir for his. Then they had argued over going to Ithilien again. Both looked angry now.

“It is to the king to decide then,” Boromir said flatly with an air of finality.

Aragorn had tried to get out of it but could not. The Ithilien Company had become strategically very important now that messages had been sent to Harad inviting their envoy into Minas Tirith for discussions. He could not honestly say that all his councillors were behind his decision. Ithilien was situated on the road that wound towards Harad, and that made the rangers’ duty even more important. Increased skirmishes were being reported against stray bands and reports were coming in of orc sightings. There were still many surviving after the war of the ring, in little groups hiding away in dark caves and mountains, more of a nuisance than a major problem. But they could not let the problem escalate at such a critical time. Action was needed there and soon.

Faramir was very vocal in his insistence that he be allowed to re-join his company. It was, as he pointed out, his company, and he was their captain.

But, as Boromir was quick to point out, he was an injured captain, and therefore more likely to be a bother to his men than a help - A fact that did not go down well with the younger brother. The affection resulting from the mutual forgiveness earlier vanished into air. They stared each other down stubbornly, while Aragorn drummed his fingers on the table. All three of them were in his study and the matter had not progressed beyond the stage of argument. Unable to take the sight of the bickering any longer, he finally raised his voice.

“Enough! Have the requisite supplies sent over to the company. I will see the reports on the their deployment and movement and decide by tomorrow what our next step should be. Until then, let them remain under your lieutenant’s command,” this to Faramir.

“Very well,” Boromir replied formally.

Faramir promptly protested, “But sire!”

“That will be all,” Aragorn said coolly, glancing back at the straight-backed reddening figure. None of the vulnerability of the previous night showed here. It was the soldier standing before him now, the fighter, and not a very happy one.

“Boromir, I need to talk to you,” he continued.

Faramir stood his ground resolutely, “Sire, I still think –“

“Tomorrow, Faramir,” he said firmly.

---

At the quartermaster’s to ensure the supplies were going through, as were his messages to his lieutenants, Faramir was feeling furious. He felt like a child. He had spent the last night crying in Aragorn’ s arms like an infant, and then had gone and kissed him. And then childishly insisted that he stay with him the night, when it was obvious Aragorn wanted to leave. Then he had argued with Boromir over breakfast, almost argued with Aragorn, and now been summarily dismissed like a child. And this when he was simply trying to do his duty. He flexed his arm a little. The sling was off now, even though the healer had said he mustn’t exert his arm for a few weeks. His waist injury was merely a niggling feeling now. It twinged every now and then if he bent too far, but it had not required stitches, and seemed to be healing well. If he held his hand at the right angle, his shoulder felt just fine. He was fine now.

But it was obvious Boromir would convince Aragorn to force him to stay here. He could not let that happen.

They needed him in Ithilien. That was his company there. He had learnt to fight with them, grown as a soldier with them, eaten with them, defended Gondor with them, led them with skill and intelligence. It was his duty to be there, and not here in Minas Tirith where he was hardly needed.

Where he could be near Aragorn and dream of his lips on his, as they had been last night. He sat at his table idly fingering his lips, trying to make sense of the night’s happenings. They had kissed and he had liked it. But had Aragorn? Aragorn did not seem angry or disgusted. When he had awoken in the morning, the king had been sleeping in his chair curled up uncomfortably, looking years younger, handsome and intelligent. The light of day had brought a new meaning to the passion that had emerged in the cover of the night. They had given in to sudden stirrings then, but should they have? He could feel a growing attraction for Aragorn, and he had realised with dismay that it was not a platonic attraction, for otherwise the sight of his king would not send a heat coursing through his body. He would not feel his lower body tense up in reaction, and he would not fight to control himself each time. He had not felt such a way for many years now.

And Aragorn had not withdrawn. Could it be that Aragorn felt something too? He would find out.

And . . . he would show him he was no snivelling child who needed to be protected always. Had he not defended the city during its siege? He would show him.

---

In the gathering dusk, Aragorn stood in his room after finishing with his duties for the day, finally letting his mind wander back to the events in Faramir’s bedroom. He had been avoiding thinking about it because it confused him. He was no novice to making love to men, he had been a soldier and ranger, and these things were not uncommon. And he was sure they were not uncommon to Faramir either. In the war-filled days they had lived through, often the only succour to be obtained was in the arms of another man. The womenfolk were often away in refuge.

But this was time of peace, and he was king of Gondor, betrothed to a beautiful maiden who was giving up much for him, and as king he had to provide an heir. But, Faramir . . .

Faramir was different. He felt himself yearn for the strange young man who could be so complex as to be so many things all at one time, soldier, scholar, child, and adult. The same man who had wept like a child could in the space of a few hours become a proud upright soldier. He turned as the rapping sounded through the wooden door.

It was Faramir.

The younger man strode into his room, when he beckoned to him to enter, slowly but not diffidently. He did look a little nervous though.

He raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

“I have come to ask you something,” Faramir began.

He knew what it was about. What else could it be about?

The question never came. Faramir advanced upon him, and caught him by the waist. The pale lips touched his, at first hesitantly, and then with enthusiasm. He felt himself fall back onto his bed, his mind racing, his heart beating furiously as the other’s mouth submitted to him completely. He sent his tongue into the other’s mouth, exploring each spot leisurely, caressingly, lovingly as his mind abandoned logic in favour of the lust his body was filling up with.

Faramir was running his arms up and down his chest now, and pressing down on him. He felt himself begin to harden, as he wrapped his arms around the slender figure atop him, running his hands over the slim back like a feather, down his rump, over his thighs. He slipped his hands under the tunic, and touched the soft skin underneath, and then through the string holding up the leggings. He ran his hands lightly under the cloth, letting his fingers dip down the little crevice. Faramir moaned, and their lips came apart.

They stayed that way entangled in each other, for a few seconds, his shirt half open and Faramir’s hands resting on his chest. His own hands he slipped out from under Faramir’s now loosened leggings, as they stared into each other’s eyes. They were gasping heavily, each feeling the other’s hardness press against his body.

The Faramir bent down and nuzzled his neck. Aragorn gasped as he felt his neck being nibbled gently, then the material of his shirt was pushed away, as wet lips closed over his nipple and toyed gently with it, sucking and teasing. He closed his eyes and breathed raggedly. It had been so long, so long since he had had anyone give him pleasure in such a way. The mouth wandered over his chest, pressing down on his own hair, and scratching him, until it reached the other nipple, and teased him once again.

“Did you like that?” Faramir asked huskily, lifting his head, and staring back into Aragorn. Such a different Faramir from the one in his arms the night before.

He simply gasped in response. The face looming over him was flushed with sweat, surrounded by a messy clump of hair that straggled over it, and the effect was seductively maddening. Those lips could make him beg and plead for more, he felt, as he realised their powerful appeal. He felt the throbbing in his lower body intensify as he reached for the other man’s neck and pulled him down, claiming his alluring lips hungrily. Expertly he rolled over so that the younger man lay underneath him now.

All thoughts of his betrothal and the heir to the throne had flown out long ago. All that lay in his mind was that an exquisite young man lay on his bed.

“I did like that,” he replied throatily, “you are quite talented, young one. I did not realise that.”

“There is much you have to realise, sire,” came the husky reply.

“Call me Aragorn,” he offered. There was a strange expression in Faramir’s eyes, one he could not place.

Faramir’s hands reached for the bindings of his leggings, “Would you like to see what else it is I know?” he asked softly, almost purring into Aragorn’ s ears. The touch of those fingers almost made him cry out.

He grabbed the younger man by his shoulders but Faramir instead of responding, suddenly backed away.

---

Aragorn had grabbed his injured shoulder unknowingly. He could not possibly scream out, but it hurt him. Unbearably. And so he flinched away.

And the spell of madness was over. Aragorn pulled away and sat down on his bed, while he lay there a little dazed and in pain, but saying nothing.

“You came to ask me something,” Aragorn said quietly.

Faramir sat up slowly and shook his head, “This is not the time for it,” he said finally.

“Very well,” Aragorn said as he stood up and straightened his clothes. They were both up now, and very flustered, and unsure of how to proceed.

Sounds of footsteps came from outside.

“The guard is changing,” Faramir said unnecessarily, and Aragorn nodded in reply.

“What have you thought of Ithilien?”

He knew he should have waited. Waited for a better time, but the question preyed on his mind.

“I will let you know tomorrow.”

It was a long night, and a fairly wretched one.

And morning brought more unpleasantness.

“I have decided,” Aragorn announced after the morning meal, this time to an audience that included Faramir, Boromir, Gimli, Legolas and Tarlong.

“I will go to Ithilien,” he said. Five pairs of surprised eyes stared back at him incredulously as he continued, “I want to see how things stand for myself.”

“I shall ride out tomorrow.”

“You cannot leave the city!” Boromir cried out, “How can the king leave the city? Who will govern in your stead?”

“You will. You are the steward.”

“But Sire, there is an assassin on the loose,” Tarlong said.

“Yes, and it will be the last thing he will expect me to do,” Aragorn said smugly.

The chorus of protest was drowned out by a voice like a whiplash, “It is by the order of the king of Gondor and Arnor.”

“Very well, I will inform the escort.” Tarlong replied in a subdued tone.

“No, they will attract too much attention,” Aragorn said firmly.

“But how can you travel escortless?”

“I shall go as a ranger. Let not the news spread abroad that the king is travelling. I shall return in a days’ time after all.”

“We will come with you, of course,” Legolas.

“With respect, that would only attract attention,” Faramir pointed out.

“He’s right,” that was Boromir,” Aragorn, surely you do not intend to –“

“I do.”

“I will accompany you then,” Faramir said calmly.

“No.”

“You wish to travel alone? Boromir cannot come with you. King and Steward cannot leave the city like this at the same time. It is unheard of.”

“It is unheard of that kings rush into suchlike, while the captain general sits back,” Boromir muttered.

“It is unheard of that kings do not know the situation on ground in their realm,” Aragorn snapped back.

“Then Faramir had better go with you. And, he will return with you. Mablung will handle the rangers until he can return to active duty,” Boromir retorted.

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