Faramir Fiction Archive

The Ritual (NC-17)

Written by Valkyrie

22 April 2004 | 36281 words

Title: A Duty and a Dire Task (Part 8/9)
Series: THE RITUAL
Author: Valkyrie (email)
Pairings: Aragorn/Faramir, Aragorn/Arwen (implied)
Rating: NC17
Archive: yes, but let know where
Warnings: sexual situation between two males. Violence of sexual nature ahead, you have been warned!
Summary: King and Steward do their duty. But what would come of it?
Authors’ note: this is AU. Some things are loyal to Tolkien’s story; I have changed some events and invented all the rest. If you like to read things canon, this is not a story for you.
Feedback: kind words will be welcome and constructive criticism as well.
Disclaimer: The characters are property of J.R.R. Tolkien. I have not and will not receive any money for this story. It is free for all to read.

Beta Reader original version: Minx
Beta Reader revised version: Chris
What would I have done without you guys? All remaining mistakes are mine.

NOTE: Blocked texts mark the words written in the book of the Ritual.

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PART EIGHT – A Duty and a Dire Task

Aragorn was waiting in his rooms. He did not know how he had endured the crowning ceremony, thinking all the time about the dire task he would have to accomplish. He felt his heart pounding hard in his chest for he knew that Faramir had to be on his way to the royal chambers already. The young man would knock at the door at any moment. Despite this knowledge, Aragorn could not help but flinch when the quiet knocks sounded on the door.

“Enter,” he said with a firmness he was not feeling at all.

Faramir heard the permission and taking a deep breath, entered the room. The cold manacles and anklets felt heavier than before. When Galen had secured the items on him he had felt something odd run through his body and all the way to the King’s chambers he could feel how the items were draining the energy out of him, though very slowly. He wondered if he would die this way, the cursed items robbing him of his vital energy, if he did not pass the test.

The Steward must walk towards the King and kneel in front of him saying the words stated in this Book. He must do this keeping his gaze down. He will not raise his gaze to the King until the Ritual is completed.

The young Steward paused on the threshold for the briefest of moments and closed the door behind him, trying, to no avail, to calm his beating heart. He walked towards the regal figure that was sitting on a chair by the grand window decorating the room, Ithil’s light bathing the still form. He took in the surroundings. The chamber was not luxurious but it felt warm and cozy, illuminated by the sole light of a candle for Ithil’s rays were enough at this hour. Faramir gave a nervous glance to the bed and immediately averted his gaze, looking at the fireplace instead.

He was now in the middle of the room and he was sure the King could hear his thundering heart. Faramir did not dare to look the King in the eyes for he feared what he would encounter in the grey gaze. He knew this would be his sole opportunity to do it, for as soon as he would be at his King’s feet, the Ritual forbade him to look at Aragorn until all was completed. Faramir inwardly chastised himself for letting the fear get the better of him. He forced himself to focus on the trust he had for his King, his beloved Aragorn. Still, he could not find it in himself to lift his gaze.

Aragorn saw Faramir entering the room and he thought that the young man could not present a more splendid sight. The blue attire he wore enhanced the fairness of his skin. He knew Faramir had been groomed for him, his skin bathed and his hair brushed until it shone. And on top of everything the young man looked breathtakingly beautiful without his beard, his lovely mouth more noticeable than before. The young man was nervous. He walked slowly, as though trying to delay his ordeal as long as he could, and looked at everything but him. Finally, Faramir was standing in front of him and Aragorn’s breath caught in his throat when Ithil’s bright light bathed the face of the gorgeous man standing before him, his gaze downcast.

“Here I am, my King; for you to make the claim.” Aragorn heard him say in that beautiful and quiet voice. Then the young man knelt, both knees on the floor, hands on his lap, and completed the set of words, grey gaze always trained on the floor. “I vow to serve you until the day I die, protect you with my own life and I offer myself to seal my allegiance.”

Aragorn had never seen a more arousing sight than this—of his Steward submitting to him in this way. Despite this willingness, Aragorn did not want to do what he was appointed to do for he knew he would have to hurt his Faramir. He saw the young man before him and wanted to raise him from where he knelt and hug him tight. But instead, he continued with the Ritual saying what he was supposed to say.

The King will ask the Steward, with the words stated in this Book, whether he agrees to be subjected to the trial. The King from here on will not give the Steward comfort of any kind.

“Do you come of your free will and agree to be subjected to the trial of the Ritual?” Faramir heard the King ask.

The Steward must give his answer. If the Steward does not submit, he will leave the royal chamber with the two guards posted outside of it, to be locked in a cell and await a quick death by mortal hand or endure a slow one by the magic of the Ritual; the decision would be the King’s.

“I come willingly. I was not coerced to fulfil my duty. I submit to this trial,” Faramir answered, feeling as though an axe had fallen on his head.

It is up to the King to accept the Steward’s submission. If the King does not accept it, the Steward still will be condemned. If the King agrees, the final part of the Ritual will begin and from here on the Steward must obey the King’s every command.

“I accept your offer,” Aragorn answered to the kneeling figure before him. He restrained himself with all his might from reaching out and caressing the young man’s head to reassure him. Instead, he continued with the task at hand.

The King will order the Steward to remove his outer garment. The Steward will offer the belt to his liege and walk to the place of the Ritual dressed in the remaining garment.

“Take off your robe and give your belt to me.”

Aragorn saw how Faramir’s trembling hands took off the belt and offered it to him as he was bade. He saw how the naked chest was revealed when the young man let the blue tunic drop over his shoulders to fall down into a bundle around him; the fine and white skin gleamed under the lights, a sweet aroma feeling out his senses. He felt a wave of desire travel through his body; his first impulse was to lick the young man’s fair skin. The tunic was entangled around Faramir’s legs and part of his waist. Nevertheless, Aragorn could glimpse some of the undergarment Faramir wore. The cloth was white and he could not see Faramir’s left hip but the right revealed the garment was opened all the way up, a kind of clasp holding it up. He could see a hint of the bare skin of Faramir’s flank. He restrained himself from reaching out to Faramir yet again.

The King will secure both hands of the Steward with the belt of the Steward’s garments. He will lead the Steward to the place where the Ritual will be performed.

“Give me your hands,” he ordered the young man. Aragorn took the offered hands and secured them together with the clasp of the belt. The belt now transformed into a chain. Aragorn closed his eyes in despair, his cold demeanour faltering once more, when Faramir flinched at the clicking sound of the clasp. However, Faramir saw none of this.

The young Steward could only hear the orders imparted with cold demeanour and tried harder to hide the trembling of his hands. He felt as though he was in front of a stranger, he could not find the kind and caring man he had known the past few days in the sound of that voice and he could not help but flinch at every touch and clicking sound.

Aragorn stood up from the chair taking the young Steward with him. Now that Faramir was on his feet, the blue tunic that had obscured Aragorn’s vision from the rest of Faramir’s body fell all the way down. The white cloth was a loincloth that reached Faramir’s bare feet. The garment was as Aragorn had suspected, open on both sides, all the way along Faramir’s legs, the white cloth a kind of thin silk that showed the young man’s every contour.

The King will voice the words that will open the passage that leads to the place where the Ritual will take place. The words should not be translated but pronounced in their original Quenya.

Aragorn walked to the centre of his room and spoke the words as was expected of him and saw how a part of the wall beside the fireplace disappeared before his eyes. He did not wonder how that came to pass, so many odd things had he witnessed to last him a lifetime. He could feel Faramir’s presence behind him and felt despair at hearing the young man’s unsteady breathing. He wanted to turn back and comfort him, he did not want to offer this cold facade but he was forced to do it. The Ritual stated it so.

As soon as the King let go of his hands and bade him to follow, Faramir saw that the belt he wore a moment ago was turned into a chain attached to his manacles. He was tied as though he was a prisoner! He thought desperately, his breathing increasing dangerously. Nevertheless, he followed the King without complaint, eyes always cast to the floor. Then he heard the King speak words he recognised as Quenya but could not make out their meaning. He followed the King into a passage through an entrance that he was sure had not been in the room when he had entered.

From here on Faramir knew nothing of what would happen, though on second thought, the whole experience had been one surprise after another; and not so pleasant surprises for that matter. He dreaded Aragorn’s cold demeanour and he hoped that the Ritual was responsible for it. He looked at his tied hands and the chain dangling from the manacles, moving in a soft arc with every step he took. He could not help but resent that a warrior of his station was treated in such a way, as though he were a vile criminal who ought to be restrained. Or as though he was a coward who would go back on his word and had to be tied down in order to prevent his escape from his duty. He forced himself, one more time, to stay calm, to control the rate of his breathing.

Aragorn walked through the passage with many things on his mind. He was not surprised to find all along the narrow corridor strange rocks that emitted a soft light. He turned his head back a little from time to time and could see out of the corner of his eye that Faramir was still silently following him, eyes downcast. He wondered if the young man’s thoughts were in the same turmoil as his own.

Soon, Aragorn came to the end of the corridor and stood frozen in place. There, before him, was a very spacious room. The walls were clothed with delicately woven tapestries of a beauty that surpassed any he had seen before. They depicted scenes from a past long gone but not forgotten. The creation of Anadûnê, the Land of Gift, Elves and Men sharing as the allies they once were; what must be the fair land of Valinor, the White Tree and many more drawings. Each tapestry possessed a beauty beyond comparison. Aragorn wondered about the nature of the Ritual. He thought that maybe such a powerful magic might come from the Elves of Valinor, or maybe, from the Valar themselves. Then, he thought, the Valar had no reason to meddle in the affairs of Men and neither Valinor’s Elves. Aragorn saw all this in an instant and then his gaze fixed on a large square stone that occupied the centre of the room. He did not know it would be a stone, though he should have imagined it, he thought bitterly. More remarkable, though, was the Book hovering high above the altar, its eerie presence sending a chill down his spine.

On the threshold of the place appointed for the Ritual the King will blindfold the Steward, who will remain so until the Ritual is cbqompleted. Then, the King will restrain the Steward, by hands and feet, to the altar situated in the centre of the place where the Ritual will be carried out.

Aragorn retrieved the cloth he had attached to his wrist and turning, he placed it around Faramir’s head. He observed how Faramir lost his calm as soon as he placed the blindfold on him, the young man’s breathing catching in his throat. He waited and prayed that the young man would calm down.

Faramir forced himself to take deep breaths for hyperventilating at this point would not do. When the King came to a halt in front of what was the threshold of a room, he wondered about what he would encounter beyond. But then, the King turned around and placed a blindfold on his eyes. Chained and blindfolded. He could not help but feel despair filling his whole being.

Faramir calmed as best he could and let himself be guided by the King until he was left to stand for a little while, he did not know where. After a short time, the King guided him once more, to climb what seemed like steps and he was uncomfortable to no end when the loincloth uncovered his entire flank, which the King would surely see. His liege helped him, then, to lie on a hard surface and to situate him as required and he forced himself, once more, to remain calm. Faramir let go of a breath he did not know he had been holding.

Before helping Faramir to climb on the altar he studied the square stone with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The hard platform had on one side two short chains with clasps on the end, that were set wide apart. On the other side, there was a ring. All of these were made of mithril. He thought about Faramir’s anklets with its rings attached to them and about the chain on Faramir’s manacles with its clasp in the end. The items on the surface were no doubt to secure Faramir’s hands and ankles to the altar. The image this presented in his mind was highly arousing but what he would do in the end was not.

Every step Faramir climbed up let the opening in the loincloth reveal the entire leg and part of the young man’s buttock. Aragorn forced himself not to look at the sight and instead fixed his gaze on Faramir’s face. The young man’s fear was evident; his skin had a thin layer of sweat that released into the air more of the maddening fragrance Faramir was wearing. When they arrived at the last step Aragorn helped Faramir to lay face down on the surface.

“Extend your arms over your head,” ordered Aragorn. Then, he took the chain attached to the manacles and secured it to the ring situated on the side of the stone. He walked to the opposite side and took first one ankle and then the other to secure Faramir’s legs to the chains attached to the surface. It did not pass Aragorn’s attention that the young man flinched each time a clicking sound resonated through the room or that a slight tremor travelled through the young man’s body each time he touched him by chance.

The time was near, thought Faramir. He felt the chain to his manacles being secured to something else. His ankles were secured as well, his legs spread wide apart. The sound of the clasps clicking shut chilling his very heart. Now, he was sure this would not be pleasant for him. He was chained to a stone! Tonight, he would not be offering his innocence to the King for this was no offering, this felt as sacrifice. One thing was sure; this would be no lovemaking. There would not be soft caresses, no words of endearment, no sweet surrender atop soft sheets.

When he had entered the royal chambers he had seen the huge bed with dread, thinking that soon he would lie there, giving himself to his King. Now, he lay chained on top of a hard surface, his emotions on the brink of panic, scared beyond words. No, this would not be as he had expected at all. He had to trust his King though, he had to trust his beloved, and he had to think, once again, that Aragorn’s cold demeanour was to blame on the Ritual. He had to think thus because if not, he would go mad with despair and doubt; doubt of Aragorn’s words.

Doubt of Aragorn’s love for him.

Faramir’s thoughts were stopped by the rustling sound of clothes being shed and he knew, then, that the crucial moment of the Ritual had come. He was suddenly aware of the fact that he would not be able to see his beloved King, nor caress him. Faramir’s body started to tremble in earnest as he sensed the King climb on the stone and arranging himself behind him. He tried to still himself for what would come but failed.

The King will take the last piece of cloth from the Steward’s body and will not give the Steward comfort of any kind, neither physical, nor emotional. The King will proceed to take the Steward and will use nothing to ease his way. The Ritual will test, then, the Steward’s spirit and, if the Steward passes the test, a bond will be established. If the test declares the Steward unfit, the King will guide him back to his chambers where the Steward will be arrested by the King’s guard. This is the end of the Ritual.

Aragorn’s desire increased tenfold as soon as he finished securing Faramir to the stone. He shed his own clothes and climbed on the stone to situate himself behind Faramir, his reasoning and judgement starting to cloud before the image of Faramir displayed in such a manner, a sacrifice, a beautiful offering ready for the taking. He hesitated, though, when he saw the quick rise and fall of Faramir’s back, evidence of the young man’s fear. But then, he saw how the thin fabric of the loincloth Faramir was wearing stuck to the young man’s buttocks. He saw how Faramir’s skin was glistening with sweat and whatever the young man had on him. He smelled the fragrance from Faramir’s skin and it aroused him to the point of madness. Aragorn fought for control but it was a losing battle. He reached out and opened the clasp securing Faramir’s loincloth, putting the cloth aside. He felt as if in a daze, as though something had taken over his body to leave him as a spectator of his own actions.

Everything acted against Aragorn at that moment. Faramir’s trembling body spread before him, giving himself in such a passive manner, agreeing to become a Steward even when he knew what he one day might give up for the sake of the realm. He could feel, somehow, the young man’s fear and it aroused him even more. He did not want to feel like that. He did not want to be aroused by Faramir’s fear and submissiveness. He did not want Faramir’s first time to be like this; he wanted to touch the wonderful backside offered up to him, he wanted to caress Faramir, calm him. All these he thought for the briefest of moments, as he lost the battle he was fighting to restrain the urge to plunge savagely into its virgin depths. Faramir tensed as soon as he felt the King take the loincloth off his body. His trembling stilled as the weight of the King pressed against his backside. Hands pulled his buttocks apart and he could not help but whimper. The King’s arousal pushed at his entrance and he started to panic as he realized that there would be no preparation. Then all thought flew form his mind to be replaced by pain. Blinding pain that robbed him of his breath as the King, relentlessly, penetrated his unprepared body.

Faramir tried to stifle the scream that came out of his mouth, but he could not prevent it for the pain was too much. He felt the King start to ease his way out to come in again with renewed force, and that hurt even more. He screamed again, tears running down his face, wetting the cloth covering his eyes, his breath coming in laboured gasps. He felt some liquid running down his thighs, and he realized that it must be blood, his blood. Faramir screamed again and again with each thrust of the King. He felt the manacles heavy on his wrists, sapping his energy, burying in his skin for he could not help but pull with all his might every time the King tormented his flesh. He wondered when the torture would end. Why? Why was Aragorn doing this to him, betraying his trust in such a way? Aragorn had said he loved him. Why did Aragorn take him this way?

Aragorn saw himself as in a nightmare. He used Faramir without any preparation. He felt possessed. He could not see beyond his need to own the beautiful body laid before him like a feast. As though in a deep fog he realized that he had hurt Faramir badly for he could see the young man was bleeding, he could feel it. He heard Faramir screaming, he saw every muscle on the young man tense under the onslaught, and he saw how the young man scraped raw the skin of his wrists by pulling at the chain every time he thrust into him. Nevertheless, he could not drive himself to a halt. Every time he withdrew from the tight heat he fought to end it, to stop hurting Faramir but each time he plunged in again, more forcefully than before, an unknown madness holding him in its grip. He could not help but wonder, in his mounting despair, what Faramir was thinking right now at this betrayal on his part. His sweet and trusting Faramir who he now believed he had lost forever. His beautiful Faramir who now lay before him, sobbing and whimpering from the pain he, himself, was inflicting.

Aragorn, Faramir thought.

His King.

Aragorn who swore himself to him. Aragorn, not the King, Faramir reflected, trying to find a ray of light among the terrible pain. He had no more strength to scream, he was now reduced to sobbing like a child. He forced himself to think about last night and how tenderly Aragorn had held him until he slept. He forced himself to think about the few kisses they had shared. No, the man on top of him was not his Aragorn; he was not Aragorn as he, himself, was not Faramir. They were now King and Steward and this was a duty that needed fulfilling and no matter what, he would trust his King, he would trust Aragorn.

Through the blinding pain, Faramir could feel something strange building inside him. His senses were heightening so he felt his pain increase, if that were possible. He could hear his own sobs and Aragorn’s gasps as though they were thunder on his ears. He could feel Aragorn’s hands on his sides, squeezing him; the touch burned him with heat while the cold stone under him burned with cold; the manacles and anklets he felt as heavy rocks, draining the life out of him at an increasing pace. He could taste the salty tears, that had found their way from under the blindfold to his mouth and they tasted bitterer than the bitterest thing he had tasted. They tasted of his pain and anguish. However, the oddest thing was that he could see a blinding light; he was blindfolded, his eyes tightly shut in his pain but still he could see a light that was beautiful and splendorous. Suddenly, he felt a drop of moisture fall onto his back.

All the time Aragorn wondered when it would end, how he would know the awful test was finished. Above all, he wondered if Faramir could ever forgive him. Deep within he bitterly wept over his weakness but still he could not stop taking his pleasure and he sank into utter despair. On the outside, a solitary tear fell down his face to rest onto Faramir’s back. And suddenly, his senses heightened all at once. His pleasure peaked and he came deep inside Faramir. However, he felt agony as well, Faramir’s agony. The pain was so unbearable that his breath caught in his throat. He burned from heat and cold. He tasted the sea on his mouth and heard Faramir’s whimpers as the beating of a whip against his soul; he saw a blinding light and then felt his will returned to him. Aragorn pulled out of Faramir with utmost care, and then he took off the blindfold from the young man’s eyes. Faramir’s restraints unclasped themselves, freeing the captive from their draining task and Aragorn drew the shaking form against his chest, tightening his hold around his beloved.

Somehow between the haze of pain Faramir, unexpectedly, felt the bond starting to form and he somehow knew it was no mere bond for he felt all the anguish Aragorn felt as soon as that teardrop touched the skin of his back. He felt the guilt, the struggle, the fear of rejection and the pleasure, the passion, the desire…and the love. All consuming love. For him. He did not notice the restraints vanishing, for finally a blessed darkness took him. He did not realise either how carefully Aragorn gathered him in his arms and wept bitter tears of guilt and regret.

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