Faramir Fiction Archive

The King and The Ranger (R)

Written by Minx

30 March 2004 | 60419 words

Chapter 8

The entire day went into preparing for the ride. Aragorn had to inform some of his closest councillors and none of them were happy. Faramir, in turn stayed away from everyone, poring over some maps. He could use his injured hand fairly well now, if he ignored the twitches of pain. Boromir was unhappy, but he had pointed out he was capable of riding, that it was just for a day, and Aragorn would be there too. And as Boromir made no mention of the injury to his side he too did not speak of it. It would hurt while he rode but he was sure it would be tolerable.

The warden of the houses of healing however had plenty to say on the issue. But Faramir had had plenty of experience dealing with him in recent months and managed to prevent him from going to either Boromir or Aragorn and telling them to stop him from riding.

The preparations tired him out so that he retired early, and for once, slept easily. They set off the next afternoon with minimal fuss, using two ordinary horses borrowed from the stables. Aragorn was dressed in a faded green ranger outfit, and his usual grey travelling cloak, while Faramir wore the green and brown garb of the Ithilien Company. They would have no problem blending into the background if the need arose.

---

They rode in silence for a while, lost in their own thoughts. The events two nights ago had left both of them extremely uncomfortable in each other’s presence but they could not have refused to travel together. Both wanted to make the journey anyway. Aragorn kept thinking back to the way he had thrown himself on the younger man. He could distinctly remember the other’s lips roving over his body and how it had aroused him. Never before had anyone else evoked such passion through his body that he had forgotten everything. He felt odd now. In the light of the day, he felt very odd. He should not have done that. They had almost crossed a point in his bedchamber that night, and he was unsure how such a thing had happened. Not that he was a stranger to bedding a man, but that had merely been to satisfy stray urges of a younger man, when there was no other choice.

But now the choice was there, and he was older, but he still found himself irresistibly drawn to a man less than half his age, and that man seemed drawn to him too. What had they done? He should forget about it, and not mention it at all. He was to get married soon, after all.

---

Faramir’s thoughts rested more on enjoying the land he was re-visiting after a few months now. He had spent enough time thinking about the events of the night, and like Aragorn he had reached no clear conclusion, other than that perhaps, it would be better to try and forget what had happened, because Aragorn certainly seemed to prefer not to remember it.

They were barely halfway to Ithilien and the sun was fairly low in the sky, when the saddle strap on Aragorn’ s horse broke. It was only his excellent riding skills that prevented him from falling headfirst. A cursory examination revealed that the straps had been frayed.

“Almost as though someone had run a knife at them for a while,” Faramir said quietly, “For I am sure, the stable does would not utilize such old equipment that it starts tearing and fraying. Someone has done this, sire.”

“And we have no way of finding out whom until we get back.”

“Then do we turn back?” Faramir asked.

“No, we can ride your horse together,” Aragorn decided, “I see anyway, that you have trouble riding.”

“No! I mean, yes, of course we can ride together, but I do not have trouble on horseback,” Faramir stammered out worriedly.

“You are a terrible liar, young one,” Aragorn said, as he mounted Faramir’s horse, and then motioned for the younger man to join him.

“No, I-“ Faramir protested as he moved to mount the horse too. Aragorn reached down and grasping him by his shoulders and waist yanked him up, not roughly, but not delicately either. And Faramir feeling his injured shoulder and side wrench by the movement had to bite at his slip to stifle the cry of pain.

“I suppose that did not hurt at all?” Aragorn asked smiling wickedly.

Faramir had no reply.

---

They rode on quietly, and Aragorn gently wrapped an arm around the younger man’s waist as he controlled the horse. The other horse followed them saddle less, they had decided they could get equipment for it from the rangers, who kept some horses with them, although they did most of their scouting on foot. Aragorn smiled to himself as he noted how comfortable Faramir seemed to be in his arms. The ranger was leaning back against him, his head resting against Aragorn’ s broad chest and shoulder, as they rode on in companionable silence, each contemplating the nearness of the other.

Somehow when Faramir was this near to him, all Aragorn’ s doubts vanished. He loved holding the younger man near him. He loved the touch of his skin, the soft scent of his hair, and he loved the feel of the supple, slender body in his arms. And all doubts about enjoying the very feel of Faramir vanished from his mind. His decision to forget all that had passed between them vanished the moment he felt Faramir’s closeness to him.

And from the way the other leaned back against his chest peacefully, he knew his feelings did not go unreciprocated. He found he regretted breaking away from Faramir just then. He knew the younger man had withdrawn slightly. It must have been from inexperience he decided. He was scared! Of course he would be. Aragorn, you are a fool. He is still young. You should not have hurried him like that!

When they returned to Minas Tirith, perhaps if he went a little slowly, perhaps then they could . . . Faramir wanted it. There was no doubt about that. He lightly stroked his hand across the man’s stomach and smiled to himself as he heard a contented sigh from the half -sleeping figure in front of him. Just a little lower maybe, he decided.

---

Faramir absorbed the warmth of Aragorn’ s proximity, and revelled in it. He had certainly found the long ride getting uncomfortable and his healing muscles had begun to protest at the exercise, but now he could just sit back restfully. Even though twitches of pain did exist, Aragorn’ s arms around him seemed to push them away. He leaned back against the chest he had let his lips rove over two nights ago, and found to his surprise that he felt no sense of wrong over it. He craved the experience and knew Aragorn felt the same way.

If only Aragorn had not grabbed his aching shoulder so hard, they might have gone further. He did not how much further, but he found he did not mind however far it went. Somehow the cover of the night had given him a boldness he had never before possessed in such matters, and he found he still retained it. His mind refused to let go of the picture of Aragorn’ s bare chest.

Then he felt the hand across his waist move, slowly, circularly over his taut stomach. Then the reins of the horse were handed to him, and another hand joined the one on his now tense midriff. The rough cloth of his tunic scraped against his increasingly sensitive skin, and a fire sparked up in his groin.

---

He stroked the lower belly now, and slowly drew his hands lower. Faramir was wide-awake now. He could feel him tensing up. But, he was making no move to stop him. And Aragorn realised he had no desire at all to stop doing what he was doing.

He moved his hands along slowly, then slipped one under the short tunic, and ran it lightly over the soft material of the green leggings, smiling as his roving hand encountered a bulge. Smiling wider now, he ran his hand over the bulge once and pressed it lightly, and Faramir stiffened slightly. Then he removed his hand promptly and his smile widened as a sharp hiss came out of the younger man’s mouth. He moved his hands upwards, onto the smooth flesh of the stomach, up along the chest, underneath the tunic. His fingers roved easily, pinching lightly all along. Faramir was breathing in small gasps now. He felt his own arousal grow, and the movement of the horse they sat upon only aided him on as he lightly pinched one of Faramir’s aroused nipples.

Slowly he reached his hands down lower and lower to the bindings of Faramir’s leggings and tugged at the string, loosening it, all the while blowing soft breaths onto the back of Faramir’s neck. He pushed his roving hands in through the loosened string, feeling the warmth radiating off the soft skin of the lower belly. Faramir shivered in anticipation, his eyes closed now.

Bending his head a little he lightly kissed Faramir on his neck. His hands groped the flesh of the young man’s groin, till finally the fingers closed around what they sought, hot and damp now. And that was when the other gasped loudly and let go of the reins, sending their horse into near-panic state.

Aragorn reacted with near elven speed and yanking his hands free grabbed the reins and took control. The rearing steed was calmed down. He climbed slowly down, and then reaching for the softly panting younger man still atop the steed, knotted up his leggings for him.

“Not on a horse ever again, I think,” he chuckled suddenly.

Faramir was blushing furiously now.

He too slid off the horse, and they were soon standing face-to-face, lips almost touching, still a little breathless after their experience. Faramir looked particularly dishevelled, his face red, hair wild and clothes unkempt. Aragorn too looked a little excited but his clothes and hair were as normal. He sighed softly at the sight.

“We had better tidy up, I suppose,” and guided his companion towards the tiny stream nearby where the horses had wandered off to drink water.

---

Faramir found he was still breathing very raggedly and spent a while at the water’s edge trying to regain his senses. It was very difficult. He could still feel the touch of Aragorn’ s hands across his body, and the wetness where the lips had touched his neck. Distracted by his thoughts he did not hear Aragorn’ s shouts until too late.

They were being ambushed by a party of Orcs. Aragorn’ s horse had run away chased off by their arrows, as had his own, and they stood now on foot to defend themselves against the foul creatures. There were five of them and the two men soon found themselves set upon, with barely enough time to unsheathe their weapons.

The Orcs attacking Faramir had soon realised he was not at his best. They attacked him with greater ferocity, knocking his sword from his hands. They soon had him almost down on the ground in a daze, near the water’s edge as they attacked him with ferocity.

“This is a good piece of man flesh. He will be fun,” the first Orc’s mouth dripped as he spoke. Before Faramir could realise it, he was down on the ground with the stink of the Orcs looming over him. He kicked out, catching the kneeling Orc on his chest. There was a loud yell, and then the other one pounced upon him.

He tried to roll away, getting himself covered in mud and grass. A fist landed on his injured shoulder and he screamed out in pain. His shirt was almost ripped off him. He gave one painful thrust and rolled a little distance away towards the water, finally getting a look at his surroundings. He could hear shouts and noises further up the bank, and looking up he realised Aragorn was still standing up to the three Orcs single-handedly, but would need help soon.

He struggled to get up to his feet, only to be thrown to the ground by the foul creature. He clawed desperately at the ground trying to throw the beast off, when his fingers closed around a stone. He had no other weapon, so he used it effectively knocking out his attacker. Picking up his sword he disposed off his two fallen opponents and then launched himself at the remaining, helping Aragorn breathe a little easier. They were at the water’s edge now, and the ground was slippery. Trying to maintain a foothold in the wet mud, he didn’t notice the second Orc fighting Aragorn suddenly throw himself in his direction. Three flailing figures fell into the water with a tremendous splash. In the ensuing confusion Aragorn managed to dispose off his opponent, before running to help Faramir who was now struggling with one of the foul creatures in the water. Andúril glinted in the light of the setting sun, as Aragorn promptly came to his friend’s rescue.

Their five opponents lay dead around them on land and in water when Aragorn dragged the dripping figure up the bank.

---

Aragorn yanked the shivering, dripping figure out of the stream, none too gently. Faramir winced at the jerky movements.

“The horses,” he said slowly.

“We’ve lost them,” Aragorn muttered angrily.

“We will have to walk,” Faramir stated tiredly.

“Not any longer today. We will set off again in the morning after getting some rest,” Aragorn said, raising a hand to cut off Faramir’s protest, “We should find a place to spend the night.”

“I know of one not far from here,” Faramir said slowly, “The old refuges built in these lands still stand. We use them often, and one is not far from here. It is a small rock formation. We can spend the night there.”

The days were getting shorter, so the sun was slowly sinking and the cold had started to set in, causing him to shiver as he spoke. He clamped his teeth down as he spoke trying to prevent the sporadic tremors that ran through his aching body.

“You are cold,” Aragorn said, distressed, “take my cloak.”

“No, it will get wet just like mine has,” Faramir said unhappily, “I will have to put up with the wet clothes till we reach the caves. It will be a little warmer inside them,” he added reassuringly.

The two of them set off together with Faramir leading the way.

---

The little rock formation was a system of tunnels and caves that Faramir led them into slowly. Aragorn could make out that he was quite exhausted and cold. The sun had long gone below the horizon and it was quite dark now, with just a few stars shimmering in the sky.

“The tunnels are built so we can hear the approach of anyone at the entrance even this far back,” Faramir had explained tiredly before sinking to the ground in a dazed stupor. Aragorn let him sit there while he explored the place thoroughly. A small opening in the roof let light through, as did another small opening, some distance away which seemed to lead to a dank little pool surrounded by mossy rock.

He returned to his exhausted companion to find him leaning against a rock with his eyes closed, the water dripping down from his clothes and forming a puddle around him. Shaking his head slightly, he tried to rouse him. Faramir stirred a little, but the eyes remained half-closed.

“Sleepy . . .,” he muttered tiredly, as his head dipped against Aragorn’ s arm.

Aragorn put a hand to his head, and finding it a little clammy, promptly set about redressing it. He decided he’d have to get Faramir out of his wet clothes, and wrap him up in something warm for the rest of the night.

He pulled the damp clothes off with no little difficulty. It was increasingly cold, and the tiny tremors that ran through the slim figure were of no help either. He pulled him up to get the hands out of the sleeves of the wet tunic, and winced at the resulting whimper of pain. The bandage covering the shoulder was no longer white but covered in grime. Seeing no other option, he untied it exposing the healing stitches. He also noticed the bruises around the now healed cut in the side, and shook his head resignedly. Faramir was covered in dirt and scratches just as he himself was.

He took off his tunic and undershirt. Pulling the tunic back on he tore the soft material of the undershirt, and dipping the strips in the water of the pool, he cleaned himself up cursorily, and then went over to the other man, and pulled off his wet leggings tugging at the cloth as it clung to the other’s skin, and using the wet strips of cloth cleaned him up a little. He spread the wet clothes out to dry near the opening.

The only light to be had was that of the early stars pouring in through the opening in the roof, and when Aragorn lay the younger man’s naked body gently upon the ground, the starlight played upon the bare, pale skin, marred by bluing bruises, and red scratches, making it look seemingly enchanted. The tiny droplets of water that clung to the still wet frame glistened like hundreds of precious stones. Aragorn sat by quietly for a moment entranced by the sight. He let his eyes rove over the entire frame, the lanky body with a slender chest, slim hips, and long legs, and the curly mass of hair between them, where his hands had gone exploring earlier, before he picked up what remained of the undershirt and rubbed him dry, ignoring his pained murmuring. He ran the cloth over each and every part of the younger man, revelling in the feel of him. Gathering him up in his arms ensuring he avoided his healing shoulder, he sighed and placed a chaste kiss on his forehead, before, bringing him closer, and wrapping his heavy warm cloak around them. Faramir’s body was cold to touch, which was no surprise after the drenching he had received.

“Poor dear,” he murmured softly to the unconscious young man, “Why does so much have to happen to you? And all on my account.”

Faramir was still shivering intermittently. He hugged him closer and felt idiotically pleased when the younger man snuggled against him and buried his face in his chest. They sat wrapped in each other with the cloak wound around them waiting for the night to completes its passage. He gently ran a finger down one arm under the thick cloth, and watched as the younger man awoke slowly and lifted his head, and turned glazed grey eyes upon him. The only light available was that of the stars above, faint but enough to make out Faramir’s face staring up at him. He eased himself up a little, and the cloak fell away a bit, revealing the naked shoulder his arm was wrapped around.

Smooth and pale, it stood out over the dark cloak covering the rest of the body, and just the sight of it was enough for the king of Gondor. He craved to take that mouth in his again. How beautifully Faramir submitted to him always, even if on horseback. He could clearly remember how it felt to have Faramir under him.

He gently ran a finger over the exposed collarbone, lightly, bringing it to rest at the little dip under the throat. Faramir’s eyes were closed and he was gasping hoarsely now, the warmth of each breath hitting Aragorn’ s neck at regular intervals. He pushed the cloak further down, and took the finger exploring over the gleaming white of the naked chest that could just about be seen. He drew circles, lines, triangles, all manner of shapes, sometimes with his fingertip, sometimes lightly with his nail. He dragged the single finger slowly down over the taut stomach, all the while working it over the skin. And the effect it had on the younger ranger in his arms was surprising. Faramir was crooning in delight at the touch, his neck thrown back, head resting in the crook of Aragorn’ s other arm.

Aragorn continued exploring the supple body in his arms with his finger, while simultaneously plunging his mouth into the exposed shoulder and neck. He kissed, nipped and licked the soft skin, tugging at it gently with his teeth at times, and felt himself grow hard just listening to the soft, delighted squeals coming from the younger man’s mouth. Faramir’s hands were now wrapped around his back, his legs wound around Aragorn’ s legs, and his head was thrown back, eyes closed in the ecstasy of Aragorn’ s mere touch. Aragorn smiled at the delighted figure in his arms, and brought his hands up to stroke his face. His finger brushed the scar underneath the left eye briefly.

Faramir’s eyes shot open suddenly, briefly filled with a plethora of emotions ranging from fear to pain, and he tried to pull away. The cloak fell off, and he scrambled away on the rocky floor trying to back off, but instead ended up slipping on the water that had pooled from his own clothes and falling painfully on his rump, his eyes glazed and his hand on his cheek. The fall however seemed to wake him up, and he stared at the floor.

“I am sorry, you startled me,” he said quietly, shivering a little as cold air hit his bare skin, “Wh – where are my clothes.”

“They are wet. Come back under the cloak, I cannot have you falling ill again.”

Silently the dejected young man slipped underneath the thick old cloak, and let Aragorn hold him.

“How did it happen?”

The question went ignored.

“Someone hit you, didn’t they? Who was it?” Aragorn asked quietly. He held Faramir tight against his chest to ensure he wouldn’t escape his grasp again and examined the scar with his fingers in the dim light, “It looks like a scar caused by something small and sharp, not a knife or an arrow, but too deep to be just a fist. It looks like – a –ring.”

Faramir turned his head away and tried to wriggle out of Aragorn’ s grasp. Aragorn ruthlessly held him in place, ignoring the grunt of pain as the pressure fell on the healing cut on the waist.

“A sharp ring,” Aragorn continued, his eyes narrowing, and he sucked his breath in sharply as he realised that only one person could have done it.

“Dene –“ he started off and stopped as Faramir raised a pair of alarmed eyes to his face, enough to tell him he had deduced correctly,  “Why did he hit you? And that too so hard that it cut deep enough to leave a scar.”

The distraught face turned away again, seeking the comfort of his body.

“He thought Boromir had died,” came the muffled reply.

“He was angry with you because of that?” Aragorn knew Denethor could be unreasonable but this seemed going too far.

The quiet voice came filled with sorrow, “No, he was angry with himself for sending Boromir. He wished he had sent me, but he hadn’t you see, so he thought if Boromir had not gone, he would be alive. He was – he was - grieving deeply.”

So much to wish you were dead instead! Aragorn thought to himself angrily. Faramir had not said it, but the words he had not said were only too clear to Aragorn, who had come to understand each expression and gesture that the man in his arms delivered.

“And then what did he do?” he asked gently, hoping Denethor had had the sense to realise his error.

“He sent me away.”

“He sent you away?” Aragorn demanded, “Did he say nothing else?”

Faramir’s face remained buried in his chest, “I fell against the mantelpiece, and my mother’s vase fell off it. He was so - angry. He told me – to –to leave and not return until he called.”

His tunic felt wet and he realised it was the wetness of tears. He had no words to say. Denethor had died soon after by his own hand, and almost taken Faramir along, an experience that had left the younger son both comforted and bitter. Comforted that his father’s love had finally shone through, and bitter at the method it had taken to show through. They had told him of it after the war. Mithrandir, the grey pilgrim had told him softly of everything, while his uncle and Boromir had sat by. But, any reaction Faramir had shown had been in private, to himself.

Aragorn had heard of the tense relationships in the steward’s family, and of how Denethor and Faramir had rarely got along well, and he had been very glad to see the closeness between the two brothers. Aragorn had been very young when his own father had died but Elrond the lord of Imaldris had taken him under his wing and brought him up as a son and never let him feel the loss. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how it might feel to have a father who preferred to ignore the existence of his own son.

Faramir was still sobbing silently into his tunic.

“I let Boromir get hurt. If it were not for me, father would still be alive. I should have gone in Boromir’s stead. It is my fault. I should not have listened.”

“Ssh,” Aragorn said helplessly. His simple question had taken an unexpected turn, one he had no idea how to handle.

They finally fell asleep in each other’s arms under the light of the few stars that lingered in the sky.

---

Faramir woke first. The sun had yet to rise, but the sky was lightening above them. He gently pushed away Aragorn’ s arms and stood up, realising suddenly that he had somehow been divested of his clothes. The previous night’s memories returned to him, and he groaned as he remembered what had happened. He was still confused, half ecstatic from the memory of Aragorn’ s kisses and touches, and very annoyed with himself for weeping like a babe in his arms.

He rose wincing as his sore muscles protested, and picked up his damp clothes from near the opening. They were damp but still drier than the night before. The chill in the air made him shiver so he wanted to cover up as soon as possible. He heard a soft footfall behind him as he knelt down to pick up his clothes. Before he could turn around however, the softness of an old cloak fell across his shoulders and back, and he looked up into Aragorn’ s gently smiling face.

“How do you feel now?”

He nodded quietly. Aragorn’ s arms still lay over his shoulder. And their faces were at brushing distance. Two hungry mouths met and they fell against the moss-lined floor near the pool. The cloak fell to the ground and Aragorn was on top of him, ruthlessly kissing him. He felt the soft, damp moss against his back but ignored it. Aragorn’ s kiss spread warmth through him such as he had never experienced before. The other man’s rough clothes rubbed against his skin, adding to his excitement. The surface under him was sticky and wet, but he ignored it even as it clung to his skin.

“Aragorn,” he murmured reverentially, as they rolled over on the floor, his legs wrapping themselves around the other man.

Aragorn groaned suddenly, “What is this thing?” he asked staring at the green residue sticking to his fingers.

“Moss.”

Aragorn sighed and pulled himself loose. Then he leant over him and kissed him lightly all over his face. Above them through the opening, the first light of day began to shine through, falling on his upturned face. Aragorn brought his hand to the youthful face, and lightly stroked the soft cheek. Faramir rose to a sitting position with a sigh, making a face as he realised his bare body was now covered in the slimy green mix. Aragorn stood up, and searched for the strips of cloth he had used the night before. Wetting them, he helped Faramir move onto a dry rock and clean up, checking the healing injuries from the arrows thoroughly to see that they had not been affected by the moss before he sent his strong hands lingering over each spot on the younger man’s lower back and thighs that the green residue clung to.

They had just finished getting Faramir into his damp clothing when the faint sounds filtered in through the tunnel. Someone was approaching the rock formation.

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