Faramir Fiction Archive

The Road Ahead (NC-17)

Written by Valkyrie

18 December 2007 | 23561 words

Series: The Road Ahead
Sequel to: The Ritual
Author: Valkyrie (email)
Pairings: Aragorn/Faramir, Aragorn/Arwen (implied), Faramir/Éowyn (implied)
Rating: NC-17
Archive: yes, but let me know where
Warnings: m/m relationship
Summary: Faramir is slowly fading away dragging Aragorn with him.
Author’s note: this is totally AU. If you like to read things canon, this is not a story for you.
Feedback: kind words will be welcome as well as constructive criticism.
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.

Very especial thanks to my beta reader Chris. All remaining mistakes are mine.

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Part One – The Sleeping Steward

Faramir was at peace. He was at his favourite place, dwelling by his beloved waterfalls. Every day he spend his time here, watching Anor rise and fall, watching Ithil bathe the night, hypnotized by the stars which gave him a comfort he somehow knew they had not offered before. They gave him a respite. From what, he did not know.

He lounged on the green grass, unaware of time. No past or future, only now. He did not realise whether he slept or not, whether he ate or not. He only knew that here, he was safe. Here, no hurt would come to pass. He was content, watching his paradise and basking in its radiance.

Thus, he did not like the few times an unknown presence had tried to invade his haven. He had felt unease. His heart had faltered and begun a mad rhythm. The first time it happened, it was during daylight. He felt an immense sadness wash over him and dark clouds covered the sky; a cold breeze hit his face like a slap. He was walking but stopped altogether, sitting down in the grass, taking deep breaths and closing his eyes until the dire feeling passed.

From that day on, he felt it three more times at closer and closer intervals, the insistence of it leaving him with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He felt endangered, but of what he did not know, and that fact unnerved him above all.

Today, though, was one of the most beautiful days he had witnessed. Anor was radiant and the sky had the dark blue of a clear fall day without clouds obscuring his view. His green haven offered a wonderful contrast to it and the sound of the falling waters invited him to sleep. He lay down on the plush grass and closed his eyes, the waters singing him their soft lullaby. It was in that moment of complete solace that he felt it. A presence approached him, soft footsteps making their way on the grass. This time though, he felt no unease.

“What are you doing, little brother?”

Faramir was up in an instant. He opened his eyes and sat looking mesmerized at the man beside him, not giving credence to what he was seeing. He looked at the familiar face and saw the ever-present smirk directed at him once more, the eyes shining mischievously. Faramir realised his visitor was wearing the clothes he always favoured when he was at home: comfortable trousers, a simple shirt and his favourite boots. He reached out his hand to lay a finger on the side of one boot, to assure himself this was no vision, that this was his beloved brother in front of him. As soon as he touched the boot’s leather he retrieved his hand as if it burned and watched his brother sitting down beside him.

“What are you doing, little brother?” his brother asked again, this time accompanying his question with a simple gesture, brushing Faramir’s unruly tresses with a light touch of his hand.

“Boromir?” said Faramir, finding his voice at last. “Are you really here?” he continued, his voice breaking with emotion. “Are you real or have I gone mad?”

“I am as real as the place you are in, little brother,” answered Boromir, lowering his hand to accommodate himself more comfortably on the grass.

“But…you were dead,” Faramir said, his heart beating madly in his chest. The dark clouds were approaching again to mar his limpid sky. Something was not right.

Faramir had no recollection of his brother until now that he presented himself. Suddenly, he remembered saying goodbye to his brother, who was on a horse. He shook his head and placed his hands at each side of his head, as though denying what he just remembered.

“What are you doing, little brother?” repeated Boromir for the third time. “You must awake and face your destiny. You must awake and face love,” he continued, lifting himself from the grass, seeing Faramir’s incredulous look.

Faramir was sure now that this was not his brother. His brother would not torment him. He would not bring the dark clouds. He looked fearfully at the man standing at his side. Faramir thought this man looked so much like his brother, but it could not be. He whimpered as a great pain pierced his heart at the same time that a thunder cracked in the distance. In a detached manner, he thought that he had not heard a thunder in his little piece of heaven before. He clutched his chest as the pain increased, leaving him breathless, his gaze pleading with his apparent brother, pleading for the pain to stop.

“No, little brother, this is not your place, you have to move on. Go to your loved ones.”

Faramir squeezed his eyes shut and fell to one side, curling in on himself and gasping. Between half lidded eyes he saw how Boromir’s presence shimmered and disappeared. He heard the echo of his brother’s voice, saying, “Aragorn awaits you.” Then he knew no more.

The next time Faramir woke, he did not know why he had fallen asleep and neither did he remember when he had done so. This fact, though, did not bother him much, for he could see the day was perfect, and he was at his favourite place, dwelling beside his beloved waterfalls.

Arwen paused at the bedchamber entrance for a moment to watch her husband, a sad look painted on her face. Aragorn was sitting at Faramir’s side as he had been doing since they transferred the young man from his rooms to the Houses of Healing. Two weeks had passed since the crowning and Faramir had not awakened still. The Steward of Gondor seemed to fade with every passing hour, and no one, not even the King himself, had been able to do anything about it.

The Queen’s heart was tearing apart, though she hid it well. She witnessed how Aragorn lost hope with every passing day and attempt to get Faramir back. He had tried to awake the young man three times with no results; and every time he made a new attempt, he came from it weakened, a new shred torn from the fragile veil of hope. Soon none would be left. And she did not want to think about what would happen if the worst came to pass.

As she did every single day since that fatal one, she stared at her husband’s back waiting to be acknowledged, but to no avail. Aragorn’s keen senses were focused on the still form on the bed. He sat at Faramir’s side, day after day, night after night, only resting when his body could not stand it anymore and only eating when his wife dragged him away to do so.

Faramir was fading and Aragorn with him. The once healthy and happy ranger reduced to a man consumed by guilt, a wan face and dull eyes speaking of unbearable suffering. And Arwen thought, from her vigil at the doorstep, that fate was being cruel with them all.

“Come,” she said, her tone showing that she would not take no for an answer. “Or do you prefer that I make arrangements to drag you out of here?” she continued, a single eyebrow as high as it could go, a gesture inherited from her father, no doubt.

“I am not hungry, Arwen. Please, you go. I will eat something later,” said a dejected king, pleading, as a child would do but still not turning around to face his wife. His voice sounded weak and if one looked carefully one could see an imperceptible shaking all over his body.

“You made another attempt.” It was a statement, not a question. Arwen could see the signs all over him. She guessed that if he were to attempt to rise from his sitting position now, he would fall to the floor. “You cannot go on like this, Aragorn. You will come with me; you will have a nice bath, a good meal and a good night’s sleep in your own bed. Even if I have to drag you out of here myself!” said an exasperated queen and then continued in a more soothing tone: “I understand, my love, for surely I would do the same were I in your place, but you have to comply with me in this. I am sure you would do this for me if our roles were reversed.”

Arwen slowly approached Aragorn, who was still focused on his charge. She leaned in and embraced Aragorn from behind, gathering his arms, placing them against his chest, encased by her own. She held him tight and gave him a tiny kiss on the side of his face; the slightest rocking motion and four words.

“Let the pain go.”

Aragorn tensed in the embrace. He felt so tired. He would not survive this. He did not want to either and was glad that if Faramir faded he would soon follow. His beautiful Arwen always tried to comfort him but to no avail and he felt for her and despaired at the thought of leaving her alone so soon. Now, her simple gesture and plea touched him so. Now he felt so unbalanced, so vulnerable when before he had felt strong and unyielding, his vigil unwavering. Deep inside, he knew the answer as to why.

Now hope was lost.

He started to cry. His head down, gripping Arwen’s arms with maddening force and feeling her hold tighten around him even more. He sobbed bitterly, releasing all the tears he had held inside for so long.

“Come, my love, rest if only for a little while. What good would it do to you and to him if you exhaust yourself? Recover your strength and be well for he will need your support. He will need you strong,” finished Arwen, feeling confident that Aragorn would yield. Every time she had found something to say to convince Aragorn to eat or rest a little. Every time her task was proving more and more difficult.

Aragorn took Arwen’s hands and gave them a little kiss. He let go of her embrace, stood up and leaned over the man on the bed, giving him a tiny kiss on the forehead.

“I will come back soon, my love,” he said softly. Then, Aragorn took Arwen’s hand and exited the room, leaving the sleeping form of the Steward of Gondor behind.

Two silent figures sat in the dining hall. One was watching closely to ensure that the other ate his dinner.

“You have not eaten anything, my love,” said Arwen in a sad tone.

Aragorn looked at her and gave her a tiny smile. Then, he forced himself to pick up some more bites of food to comply with his wife. He felt guilty that this was taking its toll on her, too. He was dragging Arwen down with him and that was not fair. She had not given up immortality for this, she deserved better.

“You are brooding again,” she said, reaching out to smooth the frown that had formed on Aragorn’s forehead.

Aragorn chuckled under his breath. “You know me too well, my love, more than I know myself.”

“You do not have to feel guilt. None of this was your fault. You did not ask for the Ritual, nor set its rules,” she tried to convince him.

“But I feel responsible for the path our relationship took. I was first to kiss him. He got under my skin and I did not even realise when that happened. I should have restrained myself but I was weak and gave in to my feelings for him, and now I must face the consequences of my foolishness. If we were not in love, this would not have happened. He…he would not have felt the pain run so deep, and he would be well right now,” he said, his tone betraying all the anguish he felt inside.

“Aragorn, if you were not in such distress I would beat sense into you! Nobody holds the reins of their own heart. You are not more responsible for Faramir falling in love with you than he is for making you fall in love with him. Love is a capricious thing and you might be King but in that, you have no more say than the next,” she finished with a smile.

“You are right as always,” he said, “but…I cannot help but feel guilty for what happened. Are you aware that people are saying that he did not pass the test? That the Ritual is slowly killing him?” he finished, a pleading look on his face.

“You must not feel guilt for something out of your hands. You have to be strong for when he wakens,” said Arwen, placing a comforting hand on Aragorn’s besides the half empty plate. “And as for what people say, pay no attention.”

“If he wakes someday, two weeks have passed,” he said quietly, “two weeks and he still keeps fading away. Every day that passes, he goes more and more out of reach. I have not been able to get to him. The few times I have tried, I have not even been able to sense him. I could feel him so easily when I first healed him. Now, bond and all, I cannot sense him. I am afraid that he is all but gone. Only his body remains in Arda to waste itself slowly, to punish me for what I did to him,” he said, his voice breaking in the end.

Arwen stood up from her chair and embraced Aragorn. He could not do more than sit there, basking in the comfort she offered.

“Do not lose hope, my love. Do not lose it yet,” was all that Arwen said.

Éowyn walked through the corridors of Minas Tirith, her thoughts wandering restlessly. She thought about Faramir, about the little time they had shared, about how soothing had been his presence to her. She thought about how much she wanted Faramir to get well to talk with him once more.

She thought of Aragorn as well. It was sad to see him so desperate about the fate of his Steward. It seemed to her that the King was wasting away along with Faramir that they were connected, but she did not know all the things that had transpired on the crowning day. She knew Gondor’s famous tradition of testing the Stewards had to do something with Faramir’s state. But other than that, she knew nothing more.

She arrived at the Houses of Healing without realising it, her steps guiding her as if on their own accord.

“My lady, how are you today?” asked Varan, who was on his way out of the Houses of Healing.

“I am well, Varan. Is there any change?”

“No, my lady, Lord Faramir has not awakened yet. The King has left to rest a little.”

“I will stay with him for a little while.”

Though she knew the state Faramir was in, she was never prepared to see him more and more deteriorated every time she came to visit. He was getting thinner with the passing days and the semblance of death already settling on his pale face. She could not help the tears that fell down her face or the strangled sob that caught in her throat.

“Oh, Faramir, when are you going to wake?” she said approaching the ever still form on the bed, reaching out with a trembling hand to run her fingers through strands of Faramir’s hair, longer now and having lost its previous luster. The colour, though, was the same mixture she remembered so well.

Bitter tears spilled Éowyn of Rohan at Faramir’s bedside. In that instant she knew she had lost her heart some time ago without even noticing it. Fate was cruel to give her what she had not had a chance to know or taste, only to pull it back mercilessly.

“Faramir,” she repeated over and over again, her left hand caressing his head and her right gripping his now fragile right hand. “Why did you cease fighting? We must never give up life! Never! As long as we live there is hope,” she said earnestly.

Faramir did not answer her; he did not even move a muscle. In the end, it was too much and she left the Houses of Healing heartbroken.

Arwen sat on the bed, her back against the headboard with Aragorn’s head in her lap, guarding his rest. She had slipped a mild sleeping draught into her husband’s drink. She thanked the Valar that at least he drank it even if he could not eat all the food on his plate. When they came back to their chambers after dinner, she had helped him to get comfortable and as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was sound asleep. He had not stirred once and that was good, for that meant that he would get some real sleep. She had wanted to do that for long and now, she thought, she should have done so sooner.

She caressed Aragorn’s forehead, regretting the shadows under the closed lids. Her Aragorn was wasting away like Faramir, the bond they shared, dragging him along, too. She could do nothing for all was in Faramir’s hands. All depended on Faramir’s will to live and it was painfully clear, he did not want to.

A knock on the door interrupted her reverie.

“Enter,” she said, annoyed for she had made it clear to the guards that nobody was to disturb the King’s rest.

A guard entered and closing the door behind him, nervously said, “My Queen—”

“I told you the King would not be disturbed,” she interrupted him, her displeasure very clear.

“Yes, but it is the Lady Éowyn and she wants to speak with you, my Queen. She is very insistent about it.” “Is she out there?” asked Arwen, her tone much calmer now.

“Yes, my Queen.”

“Tell her to enter and… Forgive me for my earlier rudeness, I did not mean to snap at you,” said Arwen. The guard was bewildered and thought Elves were very strange indeed, for when had royalty apologized to a mere guard before? “There is no need to apologize, my Queen,” he said, bowing his head and exiting the room.

Moments later a very distressed Éowyn entered the chambers and Arwen bade her to sit in the chair beside the bed.

Éowyn sat, brushing away stray tears. She looked at Arwen and said, “Forgive me, my Lady—”

“Arwen, please,” interrupted said Queen.

“Arwen,” continued Éowyn, “forgive if I am being inopportune. I am obviously disturbing you at a bad moment,” she spared a glance at Aragorn, who lay on the bed oblivious to anything, “but I…”

“Éowyn, you do not need to apologize,” said Arwen, never ceasing her caress of Aragorn’s forehead. “I can see you love him, too,” she said, a smile on her face.

Éowyn’s eyes widened in surprise for a moment. “The fame of the Elves in reading people’s emotions is not unfounded,” she offered. Arwen chuckled and said, “Oh, not all of us are thus. I, for my part, inherited my father’s sight. He can give people quite the fright sometimes, his sight is uncanny,” she said, her face full of remembrance, “Have you seen him?” she asked in a more serious tone.

Éowyn knew of whom she was talking. “Yes,” she answered and then very quietly added, “I did not imagine he could be that bad.”

“And you realised you love him?” Arwen continued her prodding.

“Yes,” answered Éowyn. “What did you mean by ‘you can see I love him, too’?” she asked, the phrase falling into place at that moment for it meant someone else regarded Faramir so.

Arwen gave her a tiny nod. “What I will tell you must not leave these chambers for only the two implicated can make the decision of uncovering their situation. Nevertheless, I will tell you for I see, from now on, you will be as much implicated as I,” stated Arwen.

“I swear upon my honour I will tell nothing, my Queen,” answered Éowyn.

“Arwen. Please,” the Queen insisted once more.

“Yes, forgive me,” said Éowyn, offering a smile, sad as it was.

“Aragorn and Faramir are bonded. Their lives depend on one another. Meaning that, if one dies the other would follow,” said Arwen waiting for the information to sink in. She saw how Éowyn looked at the sleeping form of the King and how, suddenly, everything fell into place for her. She continued when Éowyn looked at her again, her eyes silently questioning.

“Gondor had this tradition called the Ritual which Aragorn wanted to abolish for it involved an awful act. Unfortunately, said Ritual was an act of magic. The Valar’s magic, to be exact, twisted by a Númenórean King. This magic could not be undone without provoking Faramir’s death. Thus, the Ritual was performed. The act itself involved the submission of the Steward to his King and the submission was of a sexual nature. Aragorn and Faramir were forced to follow this tradition where the final goal was to test the Steward’s loyalty and create a mild bond for military purposes. Sadly, the magic of the act forced the King to virtually… rape the Steward.

Éowyn gasped. She lifted a hand to her mouth and looked at Aragorn’s sleeping form. She wanted to say something but her brain had gone numb. With a heavy heart she listened to the rest of Arwen’s dire tale.

“The magic of the Ritual tested the Steward in this humiliating and debasing manner, giving him no other choice than to yield or die.”

Arwen paused for a moment to look at the sleeping form of her husband, regretting the fact that not even in sleep her beloved encountered a semblance of peace for Aragorn’s face was troubled even now. She continued her tale; her eyes on his beloved face, not wanting to let thoughts of despair enter her mind. For if Faramir died, Aragorn would follow and she would be left alone.

“They were in love and had declared their feelings for one another. Aragorn had sworn to Faramir that he would be safe at his side, that the future would look brighter for him from there on,” continued Arwen, “Aragorn was beyond himself when he learned about what he would have to do. In the end, they fulfilled their duty and Faramir was proven loyal. But their love, a new factor that had never presented itself, annulled the magic of the Ritual and released the gifts from the Valar. Now, their bond runs deeper than that of a military purpose. Their bond is a soul bond. Aragorn can depart Arda when he sees fit and Faramir was given the long life of the King’s Line. His body was healed, left unmarked, showing no hints of what was done to him. Nevertheless, something happened shortly afterwards for he seemed to reject the bond, sinking into the state you see now.” Arwen finished, facing Éowyn once more.

Éowyn was shocked. She understood all that Arwen had told her but she could not believe such a thing could happen. She could see Aragorn was in pain for his sleep was restless. Her heart ached for the four of them, for the cruelty of fate. Yes, she thought, cruel in making her fall in love with one who could not reciprocate her feelings. Cruel for demanding of a gentle soul as Faramir’s such a dire duty. Cruel for subjecting Aragorn, who was fiercely protective of the ones he loved, to inflict such pain to one he cherished so. Cruel because if Faramir died, Aragorn would follow, and then, what would become of Arwen? Yes, fate was cruel, indeed, to the ones who had given so much of themselves to save their world.

Arwen watched a range of emotions cross the Rohirrim woman’s face as she unfolded her tale, but love was the strongest among them. Éowyn loved Faramir and she thought her love was forfeit.

“Do not give up hope, too, Éowyn. There is still a chance as long as we live,” said Arwen gently.

For Éowyn, there could not be words more fitting for that moment, more liberating and encouraging. These were the same words she had said to Faramir. She smiled and felt hope rise in her heart.

“Thank you, Arwen, you are wise and compassionate. You will be a great Queen,” said Éowyn, standing up from her chair. “I will bother you no more.” “I bid you to stay,” said Arwen.

“I will.” And Éowyn understood it was not an invitation to stay in the room but in Gondor.

“You are too weak to try this again, Sire. Please, listen to reason,” pleaded Varan, standing at Faramir’s bedside, trying vainly to prevent the King to approach Faramir.

“I am losing reason with every day that passes. Every day I am forced to see him like this, slowly wasting away, only but a shadow of himself,” said Aragorn in a tone that accepted no argument.

“But…” started Varan to say.

“Leave or stay, I do not care, but do not get in my way,” said Aragorn, firmly.

“Fine, Sire, but I will stay,” said Varan, his tone, too, giving no room for protest. He walked to one side, not very far, in case his King would need him.

Aragorn covered the short distance to the bed slowly, his face full of misery. “I am back, my love, forgive me if I left you alone for so long. I was delayed.” He reached out to caress the young man’s forehead with tenderness and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

Aragorn remembered how he had tried to be angry with Arwen when he realised he had slept through the night. As a healer he was sure Arwen must have given him something. In the end, he could not blame her, for this was draining her as well. He could not help feeling as he did now, for the bond was strong, even if Faramir did not feel it.

And the bond was dragging him along.

“How are you today?” he continued, talking to the unresponsive form of his beloved, as he had done for the past months. “Would you not gift me with one of your smiles or with a look from your beautiful eyes? Please, beloved let me hear the sound of your voice again. Even if it is in anger, I do not care. Please, Faramir.” Aragorn’s voice broke on his last words, a silver tear falling onto Faramir’s face.

Aragorn straightened back and took Faramir’s hand, which now rested over his chest. He gripped the fragile hand firmly with his right one, while with the left he never ceased the soothing gesture on the young man’s forehead. After a while, Aragorn inclined his head, closed his eyes, and stopped the soothing motion to place the entire palm on Faramir’s forehead, squeezing even more the hand in his right one.

Varan watched helplessly as his King tried once more to reach Faramir, knowing all too well, he would be exhausted when he finished. Long moments passed and the King started to falter in his stance. Varan took a step closer. He was not prepared though, when suddenly both of them opened their eyes. The King’s knees buckled under him as he lost consciousness and Varan barely had time to gather him before he reached the hard floor.

Faramir screamed, an anguish filled cry that betrayed despair beyond endurance.

Title: The Steward Awakens
Series: THE ROAD AHEAD (Part 2/8)
Sequel to: THE RITUAL
Author: Valkyrie (email)
Pairings: Aragorn/Faramir, Aragorn/Arwen (implied), Faramir/Éowyn (implied)
Rating: NC-17
Archive: yes, but let me know where
Warnings: m/m relationship in further chapters
Summary: At last Faramir is awake but things are not easy.
Authors’ note: this is totally AU. If you like to read things canon, this is not a story for you.
Feedback: kind words will be welcome as well as constructive criticism.
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.

Very especial thanks to my beta reader Chris. All remaining mistakes are mine.

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Part Two – The Steward Awakens

Faramir was lounging on the green grass, the ever-present sound of the water lulling him. It seemed all was perfect in his haven. Nevertheless, he felt restless, a feeling that was strange to him in this place. Except… he paused in his reverie. He doubted for a second, but the elusive thought deserted him before it formed itself.

Faramir closed his eyes only to open them again when a shadow obscured the light. There, before him, was his brother! Now he remembered. Boromir had been here before but…

“Awake, little brother. It is time,” Boromir said.

“What? Boromir?” Faramir got up to stand before his brother. He reached out to touch Boromir’s face.

But Boromir met Faramir’s hand before it reached him, holding it and making the young man step closer.

Yet again Faramir tried to discern if this man in front of him was his brother or an apparition. He wanted to believe this was real. He closed his eyes and lifted his head to the heavens, feeling the warmth of Anor on his face. Suddenly, a single raindrop fell on his face leaving a burning trail upon his skin. Faramir opened his eyes and realised that dark clouds replaced Anor’s rays. He fixed his gaze on the man in front of him, feeling his brother’s hand squeezing tighter and biding him to get closer still.

“Awake, Faramir. It is time. You cannot linger here for soon it will be too late for you to return,” said his brother.

The young man shook his head, denying the words, feeling deep inside that soon something dire would be revealed to him. Something would happen and his haven would be stripped from him. He tried to extricate himself from his brother’s grasp but to no avail. His brother’s hold was steady and now was biding him to get even closer. Soon they were forehead to forehead, his hand trapped in his brother’s between their bodies.

Faramir whimpered, feeling something like a shock run through his body. The sound of the waters were not soothing him anymore but roaring in his ears. He felt his body getting weaker, as though he would fall at any minute, his legs supporting him no more. His entire universe was concentrated in that gripping hand and the touch of their foreheads. He squeezed his eyes shut as his legs gave up on him at last. He felt how his brother supported his weight, lowering him down on the grass, still gripping his hand in a painful way and now, resting his other hand on his forehead, the contact of it burning him. He opened his eyes and trembled in dread.

Aragorn.

Everything came back to him in a rush, everything crumbled before his eyes, his world reduced to the warm gaze directed at him and the awful memory of his ordeal. The memories were as fire in his mind. Consuming all the barriers he had built, leaving him naked and shivering under the onslaught of their force.

Faramir screamed.

The King of Gondor was lying on a bed in the Houses of Healing, resting from the ordeal that was awakening Faramir. His Queen was at his side but he was oblivious to it, still unconscious from the great effort he had made. His face was turned away from where Arwen stood beside the bed; his hair, unruly, and his skin, pale.

Varan knew he could do nothing, for this was a wound of the soul, far beyond his reach. The only good thing of all that had happened was that Faramir had regained consciousness, his breathing deeper and steadier at last. Calming him, though, had been quite the struggle.

Faramir had screamed until his voice was rough and nothing the healers did could put him at ease; they did not dare to give him something to sleep or calm him down for they feared he would fall on a catatonic state once more. In the end, the young man fell unconscious and to Varan’s relief this was not the deep sleep of before. Faramir slept restlessly, though, and the healer was now sure these two men would be the death of him. After all the chaos, he had asked for the Queen to present herself in the Houses of Healing.

“What happened?” asked Arwen at last, worried at seeing her husband looking so fragile and quiet.

“The King attempted to reach Faramir, once more. This time… he succeeded,” said Varan

“What? Are you saying that Faramir is awake?” asked Arwen, her voice raising a notch with expectation and happiness.

“Yes, my Queen, but he was most distressed. He is dozing right now, though he is completely out of the catatonic state he was in. His breathing is normal as well as his reflexes. We hope when he awakes again he will be calmer,” explained Varan.

“He overtaxed himself,” stated Arwen, caressing Aragorn’s forehead and holding his left hand in hers.

“Yes,” commented Varan, “I tried to stop him, but he would have tossed me aside if I would have insisted. Something is bothering me, though,” Varan paused for a moment.

“What?” asked Arwen, lifting her gaze from her beloved.

“The King screamed as though in pain, my Queen. They both opened their eyes at the same time, Faramir from his state and the King from the healer’s trance and then, they screamed, at the same time too. The King, though, collapsed at once. Faramir on the other hand… was almost hysterical. We were surprised he had such strength left in him,” finished Varan.

“Maybe,” started Arwen, “Faramir did not want to come back. Maybe this time Aragorn was stronger than his will to die and his reluctance hurt them both,” she finished, concentrating all of her attention on Aragorn again.

Varan left the Queen alone with her husband and went to assess Faramir’s condition once more.

Aragorn stirred. He opened his eyes, his gaze trained away from Arwen. He could feel, though, that she was holding his hand and this comforted him somewhat from the great sadness he felt inside. Faramir’s sadness. Aragorn could feel the young man was unconscious but nevertheless, Faramir’s restlessness travelled through their bond. He started to wonder if Faramir would feel their connection when he awoke or if he would continue to block him from his mind. It was clear that Faramir’s barriers were weak while he was asleep for Aragorn could feel the young man’s unrest but would he feel the same when Faramir was awake?

Aragorn lost himself in his wandering thoughts. He did not realise the silent tears that gathered in his eyes and spilled their way to the pillow. He knew Arwen was at his side but he could not reach for her, or acknowledge her. He did not want to be comforted for he felt he did not deserve it. He felt he had ruined Faramir’s life.

“Do not torment yourself, beloved. Be glad for he has done the first step toward his recovery,” said Arwen, giving his hand a little squeeze.

Aragorn turned to see his beloved wife, who had been his strength these past weeks. “Forgive me for dragging you into this. You do not deserve to put up with so much suffering,” said Aragorn, his voice sad and tired.

“Come, let’s go to our chambers. You need to rest,” said Arwen, helping him to get out of the bed, “Faramir will sleep through the night and Varan will let us know if he wakes,” she stated.

Aragorn had no other choice than to obey and silently accepted her help. He was much too weak to even attempt to protest. Together they reached the royal chambers, each one immersed in their own thoughts, each one wondering what the future would bring.

“Faramir, you cannot go on like this,” pleaded Varan.

Two hours had passed since Faramir awoke and Varan had tried to make him drink some juice, or at least, to utter a word but to no avail. Weak as he was, the young man could be very stubborn. Varan was very surprised for he had not expected Faramir to awake until the next day. But here the young man was awake and so quiet when before he had been in an uproar.

Stubborn. The word gave Varan a grand idea, or so he thought. He left Faramir’s side.

“Can you bring the Lady Éowyn here, please?” he asked of the first healer assistant he saw. He thought things would get very interesting.

Aragorn woke up with a start. He sat on the edge of the bed and realised it was already dark outside and Arwen was nowhere to be seen. He took off his clothes and headed for the bathroom to take a quick bath before going back to the Houses of Healing. He would see if Faramir had awakened.

He tried not to think about how Faramir would receive him. He tried to keep his mind blank, to stay clear for otherwise he would give into despair. He did not want to risk his own doubts filter through the bond and burden Faramir. It did not matter he did not know if Faramir was able to feel him or not. He would not risk hurting Faramir again, not even with his thoughts.

“Enter please,” answered Éowyn at the knock on the room assigned to her. She was surprised when she saw Arwen enter the chambers.

“I am sorry, Arwen, I did not mean any disrespect but I cannot eat anything right now,” said Éowyn returning to her contemplation of the skies. She was sitting by the window, watching the rising stars. “I would wish down here it could be as serene as up there,” she spoke again.

“I am not here to scowl at you for not going to the dining hall, Éowyn,” said Arwen, her voice compassionate. “Faramir is awake,” she finished.

Éowyn was down from her perch by the window in no time. “Is he well?” she asked eagerly, standing now in front of Arwen.

“No, I must admit that he is not well. It seems that Aragorn forced his awakening and he was not… very pleased about it to put it mildly,” answered Arwen.

“He is in denial, still,” said Éowyn and it was an affirmation.

“Yes,” agreed Arwen, “I am here to ask you to go and visit him for I am sure you would do this gladly. Maybe your presence would do him good. Aragorn is sleeping right now for he was very tired afterwards. I am sure things will not be easy for them. There is a long road ahead of us and we have to ease it anyway we can,” she finished.

A knock at the door startled them both from their conversation.

“Enter please,” called Éowyn.

A guard entered the chambers and bowing his head, he said, “Healer Varan has requested your presence in the Houses of Healing, Lady Éowyn.”

“Thanks, I will go at once,” said Éowyn, excusing herself.

Arwen smiled a little and thought that Varan was devilish indeed.

“Lady Éowyn, thanks for coming so soon,” said Varan getting up from his chair. He was in his office reviewing some books.

“I do it gladly, Varan, for I hold Faramir in great esteem,” answered the Lady of Rohan.

“Would you like for me to come with you? I have to warn you, my Lady, he is most uncooperative. I have high hopes that maybe you can knock some sense into him. I saw how you got along so well. I think he might need someone… outside the conflict, for saying it in some manner,” explained Varan.

“There is no need for such warning, Varan. Do you not know that Éomer, King of Rohan, is my brother?” asked Éowyn, a mischievous smile on her face.

“I am well informed of that, my Lady. I had the ‘pleasure’ of treating King Éomer for a mild injury,” said Varan.

“Then you are familiar with what I had have to put up my whole life, dear Varan,” continued Éowyn in jest. “Faramir would be an easy task in comparison.”

“Very well, my Lady, I believe you,” said Varan. He thought that things, indeed, would get more interesting when he saw a determined Lady of Rohan make her way towards Faramir’s room in the Houses of Healing.

Éowyn for her part arrived soon at Faramir’s quarters. She cautiously entered the room, trying not to disturb the man lying on the bed. Faramir, she realised, was propped against his pillows, sleeping in an almost sitting position. She was astonished by the change in just a few hours for the man in front of her had some semblance of colour in his face. He was not deathly pale anymore and if what she heard was true, he was not as weak as it seemed. Maybe the gifts of the Valar, Arwen had talked about, had much responsibility in the matter, she thought.

She approached the bed slowly and sat on the chair beside it, preparing herself to wait for Faramir to awake, which she did not have to wait for long.

Faramir came to awareness very slowly. He had his head turned towards the room’s window and saw that it was dark. He turned his head slowly and realised Éowyn was at his side. A look at her face was enough to know that she knew.

She knew about his ordeal.

She had that look of ‘give comfort out of pity’.

“Get out of my room,” he said with a force that surprised even him.

“No, I will not,” answered Éowyn leaving her seat, determination showing in her gaze. “I will not have you drowning in self-pity and hiding from reality again,” she said, looking intently at Faramir.

“But you can pity me nonetheless when I am not allowed to do it myself,” answered Faramir, with a slight scorn in his voice.

“I do not pity you, Faramir, what led you to think I do so?” asked Éowyn in a most gentle tone of voice.

“It is painted all over your face, Lady,” said Faramir, still not giving in an inch.

“Well, you certainly have no interpretation skills, ‘Steward’,” answered Éowyn, emphasizing his title, because she certainly didn’t like the tone Faramir called her ‘Lady’. “For my face showed only concern for you. I looked forward to know you better, to talk with a gentle soul, a rare gift these days, and what have I encountered instead? Someone who has given up his life,” she said with sparks lightening anew in her eyes.

“What you can possibly know about what I have been through? What can you possibly know about how I feel? YOU KNOW NOTHING!” shouted Faramir slamming a fist down on the bed sheets.

“I know there are people around you who love you. There are people who would give their lives to save you. There are people that would die in your stead gladly. But this Faramir I see before me is not the one I knew for he would never have spoken to me thusly. This Faramir I have before me is bitter and acts like a petulant child,” she said, not stopping to breathe. She suddenly turned around, her emotions barely in check.

“I can foresee it,” she continued. “You will let no one comfort you. You will turn from anyone who loves you. The ordeal you went through… you are right, I cannot know. I cannot even imagine it. But I do know one thing and that is that you are not alone in your suffering. Imagine yourself being forced to hurt someone you love, imagine yourself doing this and being totally conscious about it, not being able to do anything to stop it,” she paused and turned to look into Faramir’s face once more. “Aragorn is destroyed for what he was forced to do to you and if you have some sense still in that thick head of yours, Faramir of Gondor, you would realise that, in a sense, he was violated, too, forced to go against his will.”

And with that last statement Éowyn left in a swirl of skirts leaving a stunned Steward behind.

Title: Going Separate Ways
Series: THE ROAD AHEAD (Part 3/8)
Sequel to: THE RITUAL
Author: Valkyrie (email)
Pairings: Aragorn/Faramir, Aragorn/Arwen (implied), Faramir/Éowyn (implied)
Rating: NC-17
Archive: yes, but let me know where
Warnings: m/m relationship
Summary: At last Faramir was awake but he continued being oblivious to the bond…
Authors’ note: This is totally AU. If you like to read things canon, this is not a story for you.
Feedback: Kind words will be welcome as well as constructive criticism.
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.

Very especial thanks to my beta reader Chris. All remaining mistakes are mine.

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Part Three – Going Separate Ways

Arwen watched Éowyn pace from one end of the dining room to the other. She had wanted to talk to Éowyn about how things went with Faramir earlier but Éowyn was nowhere to be seen. Now, the Lady of Rohan had stormed into the dining room noticeable upset. After a few moments Arwen decided that Éowyn needed a little nudge.

“I gather that not all went well?” asked Arwen, trying to hide her worry.

“He is much more stubborn than my brother!” said Éowyn, throwing up her hands in despair.

Éowyn stopped her pacing and looked at the Queen for a moment. Then, suddenly, she grabbed the nearest chair and dropped in it in a way improper for a Lady. “Everything went wrong!” said Éowyn, burying her face in her hands. “I could not control myself. He was most rude. He bid me to get out of his room and I had not even uttered one word yet! He even yelled at me,” she said, lifting her gaze to meet Arwen’s. “I think I said things, I would prefer I never had said. Maybe I was a little too harsh,” she finished, her gaze contrite.

Arwen started to laugh and Éowyn looked at her as if horns were poking out of her head.

“What is so funny?” asked Éowyn, surprised at the outburst.

“Well, I just talked to Varan after you left and he told me Faramir is apathetic to everything but he only needs to mention your name to set Faramir’s temper afire. He said that an angry Faramir is not at all manageable, but he prefers it to the apathetic Faramir. He even told me that Faramir agreed to drink some soup whereas before he was reluctant to take anything at all. He certainly is far from slipping away from us but I am afraid his anger would be directed more merciless toward someone else. Aragorn could not bear that,” she finished, concern in her voice.

“And how is Aragorn? Forgive me, I have been remiss in asking about his health,” said Éowyn.

“He is fine. He is asleep right now and hopefully he will be so until tomorrow. He was very weak after he brought Faramir back and even in the state he was in, he wanted to go and see Faramir. Aragorn needs his rest. I was adamant about it. He has to get well first. What good would it do him getting sick, too? Besides, I think it would be too soon for Faramir to confront this situation. Men. They can be so stubborn sometimes,” finished Arwen with a sigh.

“Yes, stubborn indeed,” Éowyn agreed and decided that she would talk to Faramir once more. She did not want to end the day on such bad terms with him.

That Arwen would be ‘very’ mad at him was the least of Aragorn’s worries right now. He knew his wife only wanted the best for him and Faramir, and maybe she was right. Maybe it was too soon to face Faramir but he could not help it. He could not stand waiting anymore without talking to Faramir, without at least trying to explain what had happened. He knew, though, there was no explanation. In fact, he did not know what he would say to Faramir. The only thing he was sure of was that he would ask for forgiveness on his knees if necessary and even so, maybe that would not be enough. Maybe nothing would be enough to expiate what he had done.

Aragorn walked through the corridors, dark thoughts accompanying him all the way and when he was at the door of Faramir’s room, he could not bring himself to enter the chamber yet. From the doorstep he saw Faramir resting with his back to the door so he could not see the young man’s face. He suddenly realised he might never watch his beloved while sleeping again for if Faramir did not forgive him… No, he would not go there yet.

But, if Faramir would not forgive him, it would be a dire destiny for he could still feel him through the bond no matter that the young man could not. The only reason he could think of for this situation was a traumatic effect. The bond had been established; for a few moments they had shared it, but then everything came crashing down onto the young man. Aragorn was sure this blocking of the bond was Faramir’s way to protect himself from going mad. He could feel it at the edge of his mind.

Since Faramir awakened he felt that a part of Faramir was locked, and it was as the murmur one could hear behind the door of a crowded room. He could feel Faramir’s fear of what was behind that door even if Faramir himself did not acknowledge this fear. This was the young man’s way to reject what had happened to him. He felt Faramir only needed a little push and he would be lost forever, so, he had to tread carefully.

Aragorn ached for the young man. He wanted to take him in his arms. He wanted to comfort him and be comforted. Faramir always had a calming effect on him. The young man’s presence was a soothing balm to his soul. Faramir inspired in him calm and protectiveness. Even more than Arwen, ironic as it was, for his wife was no seasoned warrior as Faramir is. But Arwen was so strong and witty and wild. She was the stormy sea while Faramir was the peaceful lake. Both were the balance he needed. He could not imagine himself without either of them. And now he might have to learn how to live without Faramir for deep inside he felt the young man would not forgive him.

Aragorn watched Faramir’s figure for some more moments knowing Faramir was pretending to be asleep. He could feel Faramir’s unrest and fear. The young man did not want to face him. He could feel it clearly. Aragorn felt like crying.

Faramir had been aware of Aragorn’s presence all the time. He felt the approaching footsteps and knew with certainty whom they belonged to. He still could not feel the bond, but the feeling he got when he heard those footsteps was quite strong. His heart started to pound madly within his chest, and he wondered if he put enough effort to it, maybe he would be able to feel the bond again. But then he thought better of it. He did not want to face Aragorn just yet. How would he be able to endure Aragorn knowing his innermost feelings?

He wanted to run and hide, and it was not like him to run from conflicts. He knew he would have to face Aragorn someday, but he did not want it to be this day. Right now he felt as though he would fall apart in front of his King. Yes, for Aragorn could only be his King now. Nothing more.

A king who would need a new steward because he did not feel up to take that role, to talk about things of state, to attend the council, to face them all as though nothing had happened. He felt ashamed that something like this had happened to him, and so it came to pass that for the first time in his life he would run. He would run and take cover or he might as well go mad. Mad with shame and grief. So he would run like the coward his father always thought he was. Maybe his father was not wrong after all. He gathered all the courage he had left to announce his decision, hoping that Aragorn would let him be for the time being.

“I will leave the city tomorrow,” said Faramir, startling Aragorn out of his reverie.

Aragorn felt as though someone had seized his throat in a powerful grip. He was now near the edge of the abyss, Faramir’s words pushing him further towards the border. Aragorn composed himself as best he could and walked into the room.

“I thought you asleep. I did not want to wake you,” he said, walking around the bed in order to see Faramir’s face. The young man had his eyes fixed on one of the windows, avoiding eye contact.

“You do not need to lie. I know you can tell if I am awake or not. I know you can feel the bond.” Faramir paused for a moment and then continued, all the time his eyes fixed on the window. “I could feel it was you walking down the corridor. And before you say anything, no, I cannot feel the bond. Not thoroughly at least. But I can feel your presence at the edges of my mind. I can feel you better the closer you are,” finished the young man closing his eyes as though in pain.

Aragorn quickly approached the prone figure, reaching out to place a hand on Faramir’s shoulder.

“Do you feel unwell?” asked Aragorn. His hand froze in mid air when Faramir opened his eyes and flinched from his touch with something akin to panic.

“No,” said the young man with a tortured voice that broke Aragorn’s heart and made him retreat his hand as though something had burned it.

“Faramir—”

“I cannot stay here. Everything would remind me… Everything. Every corner would shout at me about what I could have. I could not… face you without… I cannot stay here and I cannot… I cannot be the steward either,” finished Faramir, his eyes avoiding Aragorn’s.

In that moment Aragorn realised Faramir was really lost to him. He could see the futility of trying to mend something that was broken beyond repair. Faramir could not even look at him. His beloved Faramir could not even stand the presence of him. But one thing was sure; he would not lose his steward.

“I can perfectly understand what you wish for. I, myself, find it a difficult task to stand in front of you. I am ashamed of what I have done and I have no right to ask for your forgiveness as you have the right to give none. This might not be the moment to tell you but I have pronounced you Prince of Ithilien and as your king I am asking you…no, I am ordering you to fulfil your duty. You do not leave tomorrow; you are not well enough to travel yet. You can leave for Ithilien when the healers see fit you can do so. I will leave you now and do not worry; in the future, you will not have to endure my presence more than necessary.”

The king left the room without a backward glance. He did not want Faramir to see the tears running down his face.

You can leave for Ithilien when the healers see fit

Faramir could only stare into space, all thought gone from his mind. Why, if he had made the decision to leave, did he feel now discarded? That made no sense. He had stated his reluctance to stay, and he even had refused his position as a steward. The news that the King had made him Prince of Ithilien had left him somewhat dazed. Did the king want him to leave or not? Was he fooling himself? Maybe, deep inside, he wanted Aragorn to force him to stay. Well, in a way, he had, but the coldness in Aragorn’s voice cut him deep. He felt confused. Why did he feel this way? Ashamed of what had been done to him and at the same time drawn to the man that caused it all.

For he loved Aragorn, of that, there was no doubt. Why was destiny so cruel? Where before were feelings of love and admiration whenever he thought about Aragorn, now there was only shame and regret. He felt dirty and used. He felt worthless, now more than ever. So many times his father had told him that he was worthless and never had he felt so utterly close to that. Worthless. Worthless and weak.

Yes, weak. That was the word that certainly defined him right now. All the stewards that had passed the test had lived up to their king’s expectations. Every one of them. And here he was, his king had to ‘order’ him to fulfil his duty for he was incapable to do it on his own accord.

And Aragorn was ashamed of what he did to him. And for that he was to blame, too. Because if he was not so weak as to almost die and on top of it, deny the bond, Aragorn would not feel that way. His own weakness was to blame for his king’s discomfort. Maybe all this was his own fault. If he had not fallen in love with Aragorn, maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe he would feel less ashamed or not at all. But then, those were too many maybes.

“Brooding still, I gather?”

Éowyn’s voice brought Faramir back from his reverie. He did not want company just yet. He was tired of falling apart in front of people.

“And I am sure you want to be left alone to drown in self-pity and misery as you see fit. Am I right?” Faramir’s startled face was priceless. It read, ‘how do you do that, woman?’ She had an uncanny ability to read peoples faces like an open book and that became handy when she wanted to pull his strings in the right direction which was anger, in this case, to Éowyn’s amusement. She liked a furious Faramir. She thought it was the most endearing thing to see; though Varan thought otherwise.

“I do not have time for your nonsense, woman. Leave me alone or I will call for Varan to get you out of here.” Faramir knew he was falling into her trap. He knew he was being taunted. His anger started to rise, obliterating everything else. He made an effort to calm down; this time he would not dance to the pace of her tune. “Please, Éowyn, I beg of you.” He changed his tone and looked at her with a mix of anger and desperation in his eyes.

In the end desperation won over anger and self-pity, and to his utter consternation he felt unwanted tears start to run down his face. He turned his face for he did not want to be seen this way, hoping that Éowyn would take pity on him and leave him alone to save some of his pride. No such luck. This was another humiliation to add to his list, a grown man crying over what could have been and was not in front of a lady. He felt Éowyn’s embrace and he was so weak he did not have the courage to decline this small comfort. So he clung to Éowyn’s arms and when he thought his heart could take no more he buried his head in her shoulder.

Éowyn tightened her embrace, one hand smoothing Faramir’s hair with a tender caress. She felt like crying herself but put all her efforts in keeping her tears at bay. She needed to be strong for Faramir now.

Faramir cried even harder. He cried until he thought he would not cry ever again and then out of nowhere came the tears again. All the time Éowyn held him saying nothing. And when at last he was finished crying he heard Éowyn say ‘I will stay with you’.

No need to ask anything. He knew as she knew. She would be there for him wherever he went. And for the first time since they started the farce of constant bickering, he did not disagree. Yes, she would come with him. Faramir tightened his hold but this time no tears came.

Title: He Gave Up Too Soon
Series: THE ROAD AHEAD (Part 4/8)
Sequel to: THE RITUAL
Author: Valkyrie (email)
Pairings: Aragorn/Faramir, Aragorn/Arwen (implied), Faramir/Éowyn (implied)
Rating: NC-17
Archive: Yes, but let me know where
Warnings: m/m relationship
Summary: A decision, regret and two stubborn men.
Authors’ note: This is totally AU. If you like to read things canon, this is not a story for you.
Feedback: Kind words will be welcome as well as constructive criticism.
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.

Very especial thanks to my beta reader Chris. All remaining mistakes are mine.

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Part Four – He Gave Up Too Soon

When Arwen entered the royal chamber and Aragorn was nowhere to be seen, she was not surprised. She wished that Aragorn had waited, though, for in her opinion it was too soon for Faramir to face him. Nevertheless, she could understand Aragorn’s reasons for being hasty. She knew Aragorn all too well, and she was certain that his feelings of guilt over this matter would not be appeased for a very long time, if ever.

The whole affair had been very unfortunate for both men. Most of his life Aragorn had felt unworthy of occupying his rightful position as King of Men, considering his bloodline to be the vessel of inherited weakness. She was certain that, right now, Aragorn considered himself the guilty one in all that had happened, paying no regard to the fact that he was only one more victim in a chain of events unleashed centuries ago.

And Faramir. Poor gentle soul. His entire life being criticized by a father that never saw the treasure he had at hand. All his life trying to live up to his father’s expectations but it was never enough. So, even though he was a fine and seasoned warrior, deep inside he was vulnerable to anything that could make him appear as weak or unworthy. And what had happened to him was certainly something that could break Faramir forever. She only hoped the young man would be himself again in time, she only hoped Faramir would allow Aragorn to help him, so they could both be healed.

In that moment Aragorn entered the room interrupting her reverie. She looked at his forlorn face and knew that everything had gone wrong.

“You talked to him.” It was more a statement than a question. “I gather that not all went well.”

Aragorn looked at her for a moment and walked to the balcony where she was standing. He surveyed the landscape and seemed to fix his gaze on Ithil high in the sky. He did not say a word but his hands tightened around the rail until his knuckles were white.

Arwen could see that he was trying so hard to get a hold on his emotions that his entire figure began to tremble with the effort.

“Everything will be fine, Aragorn. You have to have faith that everything will be fine. Faramir is hurting right now. He needs time to heal and think things over.” Arwen put her arms around his waist and rested her face against his back, feeling the little tremors that were running through him.

“He wanted to leave the city in the state he is in,” Aragorn started to say. “He renounced his duty as steward and that says a lot to how he feels about this situation. I did not let him. I ordered him to fulfil his duty; once more. I did not allow him to leave either. I told him he could leave the city when the healer considers it safe for his health.”

Aragorn paused in his explanation, and for a moment Arwen thought he was done speaking, but then she felt him sag against her, his legs failing him as he slowly slid down to the floor. Arwen tightened her hold around his waist and followed him down, making soothing noises all the time.

They stayed like that for a long time. Aragorn with his hands grasping Arwen’s arms so tight it hurt and Arwen, resting her head against his back, all the time words of reassurance on her lips. She could not see his face but she did not need to. She could feel the despair, guilt and desolation radiating from his soul and silent sobs racking his body.

Morning came wrapped in a gloomy sky that seemed to be in tune with Gondor rulers’ emotions for the King and the Steward lay in bed, each one in their own world of pain.

Faramir had slept through the night, pent up emotions catching up with him at last and Éowyn had remained at his side the entire time. She was used to this kind of vigil from the time her uncle was sick. Now, she would do it again out of the love she felt for Faramir. She did not know where this love would lead her for she knew Faramir loved only Aragorn. But that did not matter, she had always followed her heart and until now, her heart had never betrayed her.

A sudden movement from the figure on the bed brought her out of her reverie. She watched as Faramir opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling for a few moments as though not knowing where he was, but then, the gaze filled with awareness and once more pain came to reside in the grey orbs.

“How are you feeling?”

Faramir was startled for a moment, turning his face toward the sound of the voice. A sad smile grazed his lips when he saw Éowyn and then he reached out to her.

Éowyn approached the bed, taking the offered hand in both of hers.

“I am feeling better; your presence helped me. It is strange but… when Aragorn…”

Faramir faltered for a moment and Éowyn thought he was going to break down again. She readied herself to give whatever comfort he needed. But then Faramir sighed and fixed her with his gaze.

“…when the king left,” he continued, “I felt I was alone, I felt I have no family, no one to look up to. No one for my own. But now I have you and I will hold onto that and I will do my best to make you happy, my Lady Éowyn.”

Éowyn’s sparkling smile was a gift for Faramir’s eyes and he knew in that moment that he would come to love her.

It did not escape Éowyn, though, that Faramir had started to call Aragorn, king.

Aragorn did not know how he had been able to attend the council meeting all morning without falling apart in front of his subjects. Faramir was constantly in his thoughts, and at least two times he had been caught unawares, Galen jumping in to help him with the issue at hand. Blessed him. It seemed the advisor had been watching him with a hawk’s eye during the meeting, ready to step in when necessary. The good advisor knew very well what Aragorn was going through in those moments.

With the meeting over at last, Aragorn sought the quiet of his chambers. He was tempted to take a detour for the healing rooms to ask Varan about Faramir, but he thought it was better not to. The young man wanted nothing to do with him, and he would honour that request at least.

He thought about the council meeting and how difficult it had been for him today without having Faramir present. He did not want to think how it would be when Faramir recovered. He did not want to think about how it would be to have Faramir in the same room and talk with him about state matters as though nothing had happened. The only thing he knew for sure was that it was going to be a torture having Faramir so close without being able to speak of his love for him, without being able to embrace him, to kiss him, to…

It was going to be an excruciating torture.

He entered his rooms to find Arwen already there; a table set up on the balcony with what appeared to be lunch.

“I figured you have not eaten your lunch yet?” she half asked, half stated. “So I ordered lunch to be brought to our rooms, I guess you are not in the mood to join everybody else in the dining room?”

Aragorn thought that, as always, Arwen was being more perceptive and this was as well her own way to ensure he ‘ate’ something. He could not help but smile.

“You know me too well, my love,” he said, chuckling to Arwen’s delight, “You saw through my intentions. I must confess, I was going to skip lunch, but now that you went to these lengths to have me fed, I cannot refuse such an offer.”

Arwen was happy that he was showing some of the old Aragorn, the happy one, the teasing one. But she was not fooled; she knew he had an awful time at the council meeting. It was to be expected. As it was too soon for Faramir to face Aragorn, maybe it was too soon for Aragorn to attend to the duties of a king. But, no one could keep Aragorn from his duty.

Varan was having a bad day. He thought that if the situation continued, the healer was going to need a healer himself.

“My lord Faramir, for your own good I would prefer it if you stay in the healing rooms at least two more days-”

“To what purpose? I do not intend to go into a deep sleep any time soon. As I see it, I only need to eat well and recover my strength. I feel much stronger already! I do not see why I cannot go and recover in my own room,” said Faramir, objecting once more.

“But my lord-”

“This discussion is going nowhere, Varan, I do not need your permission to go to my chambers and if you are so worried that I would strain myself, then you better help me.”

Éowyn, who was watching the whole argument with great amusement, decided that it was time to intervene.

“Varan, it is alright. I can make sure that our Lord Steward does not overexert himself. My rooms are close to his so-”

“No, they are not,” interrupted Faramir, “I know your rooms are in the royal wing and mine are closer to-”

“Faramir, allow me to inform you that the steward of the realm cannot keep on living in such a distant wing and taking that into account, you are now to live in the royal wing as well. Besides-”

“What!” Faramir tone was not of amusement. It was closer to shock, mingled with a great deal of rebellion and a little bit of despair.

And now it was Varan’s turn to be amused as Éowyn prepared herself to give another good reason for Faramir’s new rooms. Nevertheless, he thought that enough was enough.

“My lord, I am afraid that as a healer I am the one that has the last word as far as your health is concerned and I can declare that your new rooms are by far more beneficial due to their great windows. Having that in mind, I will let you move to your new rooms,” said Varan, his eyes fixed on Faramir letting him know that a healer’s command will not be deterred. “Would that be alright with you?”

Faramir found himself cornered. He thought it was totally unfair, for it was two against one.

And then, another thought slipped into his mind, sending his heart into a mad rhythm for a moment. It was going to be impossible to avoid Aragorn during his staying in Gondor.

And that thought let to a realisation. Something that his, until now, muddled mind had not taken into account. As a steward it would be impossible not to see Aragorn. They both would have to attend the council meetings, public acts, and public celebrations.

“My lord?” asked Varan again, a hint of worry in his voice.

Faramir realized Varan and Éowyn where expecting an answer and watching his every move with concern. He had lost all his will to fight; he suddenly felt exhausted.

“Yes, Varan. I accept your conditions.”

It was no use after all the fuss he had caused to say that he had changed his mind, and he now wanted to stay in the healing rooms— as much as he wanted to do so.

The days passed by and to Faramir’s relief, he had not seen Aragorn. The fact that Faramir did not leave his rooms for anything helped a great deal.

He was going crazy with the confinement though. His recovery had been fast, and now he wanted to go out there and ride his horse again and travel to his favourite spot.

‘Even if it brings you memories you do not want?’ A little voice inside his head reminded him.

He shook his head to get rid of the traitorous little voice that was his companion these days. He did not want to start thinking about Aragorn again. He did not want to dwell on the fact that Aragorn had given up on them so easily.

‘But did you not make it clear, you do not want him? You even renounced your duty.’

“I know! But I would have wanted for him to-”

A knock distracted him from his fruitless discussion with himself and he went to open the door.

“Éowyn! My saviour as always.”

“And from what am I saving you this time?” she asked with amusement in her voice as she entered the chambers.

“From myself I guess,” he answered and shrugged his shoulders indicating that it was of no importance. He knew she could not be fooled, and he was thankful when she did not press the issue.

“Dinner is on the way. I decided to keep you company this night, for you must be bored to death in these rooms.”

He knew this was Éowyn’s way to tell him to go out. But he did not acknowledge the hint. They walked to the balcony and sat in uncomfortable silence.

Éowyn did not know how to approach the issue. Faramir was recovered but nevertheless chose to hide in his rooms. She knew very well the reason for it. He did not want to face Aragorn. She decided that today was as good as any other day to press the issue once more.

“You will have to face him sooner or later,” she said, startling Faramir from the depths of his own thoughts.

Faramir did not look at her but seemed to sink even deeper into himself.

For Éowyn it seemed an age before Faramir answered her comment.

“I know. I know I am behaving like a child. I do not know what to think anymore. I do not know what I feel. Or what I want.”

“You love him. That is what you feel. No need to think about what you want. You love him and that should guide your judgment,” said Éowyn, her voice soft and comforting.

“Yes. I cannot deny it. But, does he? Does he feel the same I feel for him?” He glanced at Éowyn, a pleading look in his eyes.

“He loves you, Faramir, you can be sure of that.”

“How can this be when…”

Faramir paused for a moment. He felt ashamed to think this way. He felt like a spoilt child whose plans did not go as wanted. He knew that at first he had tried to go as far away as possible from Gondor. He felt hurt and ashamed and dirty. But then Aragorn did not let him. So he was forced to stay and face his situation and, of course, to think about how his future would be, a future that included Aragorn. He could not escape that. Sooner or later he would have to face Aragorn; he would have to be near him and talk to him.

And now he could not help but feel miserable and lost and rejected, for Aragorn denied him every means of escape, and he did not have any hope of rebuilding what they had.

Éowyn waited patiently for Faramir to put his thoughts in order knowing how difficult it was for him to express his feelings or acknowledge vulnerability.

“No, Éowyn, everything is lost between us. He will always be at odds with what he did as he clearly stated. I will always be a reminder of that shameful act… even if it was nobody’s fault; he would always feel responsible.”

“You are wrong, Faramir,” said Éowyn, this time exasperation clear in her voice. “He loves you dearly and if only you would approach him, he will not doubt for a moment-”

“He told me I would not have to endure his presence more than necessary. He clearly does not want to-”

“He said that because he thought that was your wish. You told him you wanted to leave, did you not?”

Faramir did not answer.

And Éowyn lost her patience.

“Both of you are blind!” she said, rising from her chair. “You do not want to see how much he loves you; you feel you are unworthy of love, your fear does not let you take the necessary steps to recover what you had. And as for him, he gave up too soon, guided by a sense of honour that has no business in this matter, too blind to see your deepest desires.”

And with that final statement Éowyn left the room. The prospect of dinner was not appealing anymore.

Title: A Light on the Horizon
Series: THE ROAD AHEAD (Part 5/8)
Sequel to: THE RITUAL
Author: Valkyrie (email)
Pairings: Aragorn/Faramir, Aragorn/Arwen (implied), Faramir/Éowyn (implied)
Rating: NC-17
Archive: yes, but let me know where
Warnings: m/m relationship
Summary: Aragorn decides to take matters into his own hands
Authors’ note: this is totally AU. If you like to read things canon, this is not a story for you.
Feedback: kind words will be welcome as well as constructive criticism.
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.

Very especial thanks to my beta reader Chris. All remaining mistakes are mine.

---

Part Five – A Light on the Horizon

Aragorn was walking towards the royal chambers, his thoughts moody and stormy as was usual these days. Faramir was a few paces within his reach and not a day passed that he did not think about knocking at Faramir’s door and see how the young man was fairing.

He was being a fool; he knew it very well. But he could not help it. Faramir was his strength and his weakness at the same time. With him his life was complete and without him he felt lost and empty inside. Corny as it might sound.

He knew, as well, this was not fair to Arwen. So far she had been very understanding of his situation, but he wondered for how long this would be the case. To be honest with himself, he was not good company these days. He felt sad and nostalgic most of the time, and it was a torture to attend the council meetings, a fact that left him somewhat cranky at the end of each one of them.

And then, he had to add the every day torture of having to walk past Faramir’s room. He was sure the young man knew it was him, walking very slowly, always hesitating in deciding if to knock at the door or not. Yes, Aragorn was sure he knew. One day he even had seen the shadow of Faramir’s feet below the door as the young man approached the threshold. He had sensed Faramir’s hesitation; he had felt his doubt and expectation.

Expectation about what, he did not know. He had bolted before allowing himself to pursue this little piece of information. He had quickly walked to the safety of his own rooms, his heart about to burst out of his chest and a sense of guilt taking over his thoughts, berating himself about his behaviour, behaviour not proper for the King of Gondor.

Yes, after that episode he sat a long time in his rooms thinking about the foolishness of it all. They were grown men acting like children. They would have to meet sometime soon for their stations required it. Then, what was the problem? Why could he not just knock at that door and ask his steward how he was fairing? Why was it so difficult to do such a simple thing?

Because he was being a weak fool and was letting misplaced guilt get in the way of things. He knew that none of them were to blame for what had happened. He knew the logic of it all. But the fact was that when he thought about Faramir, or he was in front of Faramir, all logic and sense disappeared and only misplaced guilt remained.

Aragorn’s steps came to a halt in front of Faramir’s rooms once more. It was as though his body had acted on its own, leading him to the source of his wandering thoughts. He looked at the door as though he would find the ultimate wisdom and counsel written on that piece of wood. And then, he decided to stop his childish behaviour and act as the king he was. He would talk to Faramir; he would try to have him back. The fact that he had promised the young man he would not bother him again, forgotten in an instant. He looked at the door and suddenly felt he could make it work, if not completely, at least to a certain point. He wanted his Faramir back; he needed at least the young man’s friendship.

In that moment Faramir opened the door, scattering away Aragorn’s purpose and thoughts when the young man faced him, a surprised look on his features.

Faramir had felt miserable as soon as Éowyn stormed out of his rooms. He had pushed her away with his doubts and dark musings. He certainly was a grown man, too old to be mooning around like a child. Although what had happened to him was not easy, he certainly was a warrior of Gondor and as it was, he had not behaved as one all these days. He should be stronger than this.

Éowyn was right about certain things, and he had to meditate about her rightness in certain others. Anyway, one thing was sure. He could not keep hiding in his rooms forever.

Faramir’s musings were interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the corridor, and he felt such chagrin for upsetting Éowyn that he did not think twice, he just assumed it was Éowyn, and all he could think about was apologise. So, he ran to the door and opened it to find Aragorn in front of him.

It was so unexpected that he could not hide his surprise nor school his face. He froze.

On the other hand, the King of Gondor was not far behind his steward in his lack of proper manners, for he just stood there looking at his subject as though all the answers of the universe lay on the young man’s face. Nevertheless and much to his credit, he was the first to come out of their stupor to politely ask forgiveness for bothering Faramir at this hour and if he could walk in for just a moment.

“Of course, forgive me for my lack of manners, my king,” answered Faramir in haste, stepping aside to let Aragorn pass.

Aragorn walked past Faramir, feeling knots in his stomach when he heard him falling to the ‘king’ title once more. Now that he was in Faramir’s presence, he could not find the words to plead his case. He could feel the young man’s gaze on his back, but still he could not bring himself to gather his thoughts. In the end he opted for the lame and obvious.

“How are you fairing?” Aragorn asked facing Faramir at last. The young man’s eyes almost took his breath away, and for a moment Aragorn thought he would not respond, but then Faramir seemed to find the words.

“I… I am well, my king. I am fully recovered and ready for whatever task you ask of me,” he answered with a little bow.

Aragorn stood mute for a moment that seemed hours for both of them. He could not miss the all too formal tone and demeanour that cut like a hot knife through his heart.

“Faramir, please, do not be so formal. Cannot you call me by my name? I would prefer it.” Aragorn could not fail to notice Faramir was still rooted to the same spot near the door. The young man had closed it but seemed reluctant to step closer to Aragorn or to move at all.

“I would not feel comfortable doing so, my king.”

Faramir looked Aragorn straight into the eyes, and it seemed to Aragorn he saw a hint of defiance in the grey depths. He started to feel impatience. Why was Faramir so stubborn? It was one thing that he wanted to leave Gondor and did not want to pursue a relationship with him, but another very different matter was that they were starting to behave like strangers. That was out of the question.

“And why is that?” Aragorn asked in return, his tone denoting that he was not feeling very happy at the moment.

Faramir seemed to bristle. His eyes were like a stormy sea. He seemed to battle with himself for a moment. “I am only the steward, it would not be proper to put protocol aside-”

“Protocol?” Aragorn interrupted, his voice rising a notch. “What are you talking about? How can you stand there and say such nonsense to me after all that we have been through? How-”

“Nonsense?” Faramir interrupted, throwing just mentioned protocol to the winds, for it was obvious that was the last reason for his wooden demeanour and with a low implacable voice that stopped Aragorn right in his tracks he continued, “So now it is nonsense to follow royal rules? If that is nonsense, then is it nonsense, too, to follow one’s duty as well? Is it nonsense to obey the king’s orders?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I am only reminding my king that I am a humble servant and as it is, I will follow your commands.”

Aragorn was on the brink of losing his patience. He wanted to reach for Faramir and shake him until sense returned to the young man. Faramir’s mounting rage was palpable. Aragorn could feel it washing in waves over him. He thought his beloved looked beautiful, his eyes filled with fire. He could kiss the young man right there and then. Do not go there, he chastised himself. Nevertheless, he kept the distance. He did not want to startle Faramir in any way, though he really wanted to understand what Faramir meant.

“I do not need marionettes and stiff servants at my side, Faramir. I need-”

“Of course, my king; that is why I think you did the right thing by sending me to Ithilien. I would not like to bother you with my stiff presence.”

Silence filled the room. So deafening that if the guards in the hall sighed, they would be able to hear them.

Faramir realised too late that he had let anger and resentment guide his words. He had given himself away. His words conveying very clearly he resented to be sent away and consequently, implying he wanted to stay close to Aragorn. He could not help but look away, feeling exposed and inadequate.

Aragorn on the other hand tried by all means to squash the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Faramir’s words washed over him like fresh spring rain. The meaning was all too clear, and he could kick himself for being such a fool. Faramir did not want to go to Ithilien or at least he did not want to leave just yet.

“But, Faramir, if I am not mistaken, you were the one who wanted to leave in the first place. I was just following your desires,” said Aragorn, breaking the pregnant silence and congratulating himself, for his voice sounded quite neutral. He knew he was not being fair, throwing that moment of weakness in the young man’s face like that, but he decided that whatever this conversation was leading to, the conclusion was not going to be him losing Faramir.

“I… I was out of line, forgive my impertinence,” said Faramir, facing Aragorn, schooling his face to a resemblance of calm though his heart wanted to escape his chest.

Aragorn wanted to reach out for Faramir, who was still staying as close to the door as possible, as though at any moment he would take flight. He could see Faramir’s efforts to display a calm façade and the embarrassment and misery showing in the grey depths. Suddenly, the situation was not amusing anymore. He could feel the young man’s mounting despair, rising to fuel his own. When he saw Faramir could no longer look into his eyes, he decided to throw caution to the winds.

“Faramir, what can I do to make you trust me again?” asked Aragorn taking one step toward the young man. “I do not want to lose you. I love you. What else is there to say?”

Aragorn had reached Faramir’s side and miraculously the young man had not bolted. Still, Faramir had his gaze fixed on the floor and Aragorn could see a fine tremor running through his body. Finally, he reached out and placed a tentative hand on Faramir’s arm, expecting to be rejected. He released a breath he did not realise he was holding when Faramir accepted the light touch.

Faramir felt paralysed. He wanted this more than ever, but something deep inside him did not let him reach out for Aragorn. He felt so inadequate and weak and worthless. He could not conceive Aragorn’s love for him. He had felt secure in it once, and it seemed that had happened ages ago. He could not see why Aragorn wanted him now after… He could not even look his king in the eyes without picturing himself in that room, feeling the pain and hopelessness and betrayal.

‘Betrayal’

Faramir stepped on that thought. Aragorn had not betrayed him. The king did not have a choice. Aragorn was forced by the circumstances, as was he.

“…right? Faramir?”

Faramir heard the voice as though from very far. He came to himself from his reverie to see the king’s worried expression. He let himself be guided to the nearest chair. His body felt light, his legs weak.

“Why?”

The question took Aragorn by surprise. He helped Faramir sit and then crouched in front of him, taking the young man’s hands between his. Faramir returned his gaze as in a trance.

“What do you mean? What do you want to know?” asked Aragorn, his voice a mere whisper, as though afraid to break some spell.

“Why do you love me? Why can you when I cannot stand myself?”

Faramir’s voice broke, and Aragorn thought his heart would break from the sound of it. He could think of a thousand reasons. How do you explain the magnitude of your love to someone who lost faith in it? How can you explain to someone how precious he is when he does not value himself?

“I can tell you many reasons for my love for you. I can tell you, it was preordained, that I was fated to fall for you the minute I saw you. That is reason enough for me. I can tell you that your kindness called to me, your soul that you wear in your eyes and your heart, which you always carry in your sleeve. You were transparent to me, your spirit as beautiful as Anor herself, and your light as warm and as needed. This adverse wind we will face together. This storm blows to remind us both of the love we share.” Aragorn could see silent tears running down Faramir’s face but this time happiness was their reason to be.

In the end, the young man reached out and embraced Aragorn. He kneeled on the floor with his king and felt for the first time that maybe not all was lost.

Title: On the Road
Series: THE ROAD AHEAD (Part 6/8)
Sequel to: THE RITUAL
Author: Valkyrie (email)
Pairings: Aragorn/Faramir, Aragorn/Arwen (implied), Faramir/Éowyn (implied)
Rating: NC-17
Archive: yes, but let me know where
Warnings: m/m relationship
Summary: Aragorn and Faramir do more talking
Authors’ note: this is totally AU. If you like to read things canon, this is not a story for you.
Feedback: kind words will be welcome as well as constructive criticism.
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.

Very especial thanks to my beta reader Chris. All remaining mistakes are mine.

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Part Six – On the Road

Arwen found Éowyn in the gardens, sitting under a tree. She did not need her elven senses to see that the lady of Rohan was in a very dark mood. The queen could not help the chuckle that escaped her lips and made Éowyn snap out of her reverie.

“Fighting with Faramir again?” teased Arwen as she made herself comfortable under the shade. “I thought you two were past that.”

“He can be so dense. Sometimes I swear I could kill him! I wish I knew how to beat some sense into that thick head of his. He thinks himself unworthy of love. I do not know how he accepted me at his side. I do not know if he really loves me.”

“Do not doubt that my friend. He loves you dearly. You ground him and make him feel he is needed and cherished.”

“I am not so sure of that. I get onto his nerves when what he really needs is peace. I want him to be happy, and I do not know if he is going to find that with me.”

“You make him feel strong, Éowyn. You bring out the fire within him. In few words you complete him in a way Aragorn will never do.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“Call it elven intuition. Do not worry about Faramir’s love for you. It is sincere and strong,” said Arwen, her voice reassuring.

“I… I offered him my love with no restrictions or conditions. In my mind I know that the love he feels for me is different from the love he feels for Aragorn but… I cannot help but feel…”

All the time Éowyn stared up to the tree branches finding soothing the way they danced with the breeze. She did not want to see a look of reproach in Arwen’s eyes. She thought she was being selfish feeling that way. But she could not help the pang in her heart when thinking she might not be enough. Truth was, Faramir needed Aragorn whether he acknowledged it or not.

“You ask yourself why you are not enough. Why Faramir cannot be content to have only you in his life.”

Éowyn’s surprise was evident when she met the queen’s gaze. She thought she would never get used to the unparalleled foresight of her elven friend.

“Sometimes I think you can read my mind,” said Éowyn.

“I am only good at reading hearts, well, at least ‘some’ hearts,” Arwen answered, a bright smile on her face. “And I can tell you that the hearts of elven and human kind alike have a big capacity for love. Sometimes we find only one love in our lives and that is enough. Sometimes we find more than one soul that is tuned to our own, and we should embrace them, for true love is rarer than you imagine. It is not common to find one being that completes you in every way. To find love that consumes you and to feel really as one is a real treasure. Elven kind has the luxury of years uncountable to search for this, but the irony lies in that as many years as we have, we seldom find true and pure love. So, we do not begrudge the ones who find love in more than one but celebrate the happiness of such event, for there are those that walk this earth and the lands beyond without ever having encountered it.”

“I can understand what you say. Our lives seem as the blink of an eye compared to the lives of elven kind, and so we do not have the luxury of waiting for that perfect soul to appear. It is as you said. More often than not we live and die, and we do not know true love.” Éowyn seemed to ponder something for a while and then she continued, “You made my heart light, my friend, and for that I thank you.”

Arwen placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and with a reassuring smile she got up to find her wayward husband.

Aragorn felt as light as a feather, a heavy weight lifted from his shoulders. He could be like this forever, holding Faramir in his arms.

The young Steward was exhausted after their exchange. He had asked Aragorn to hold him tight to which Aragorn gladly complied. There was no need for words. Everything would be fine. Nothing would keep them apart now. Faramir would emotionally heal and they would overcome all that had happened.

Aragorn did not know for how long they remained like that and when Faramir felt pliant and quiet in his arms, he realised the young man had fallen asleep. Aragorn lifted him in his arms and put him on the bed, climbing beside his beloved in order to guard his sleep. He knew it was not going to be easy to regain what they had, but he would do everything in his power to make it up to Faramir. A light knock on the door interrupted Aragorn’s reverie.

“Enter,” he said, hoping his charge would not wake up and continued brushing the steward’s silky strands with his fingertips.

Arwen hesitated for a moment at the scene that welcomed her as she entered the room, and then her lips curved in the sweetest smile. “Oh my love,” she whispered, “you have reached him at last.”

“Not quite,” answered Aragorn in a hushed tone and looking at her with a strange mixture of happiness and sadness, “the path before us is long and hard, but I have faith we will prevail.”

“What will you do now? You know he is going to Ithilien sooner or later. What then?”

“I was thinking about that. I would prefer for him not to take that responsibility yet. He has endured much.”

“Do you think it wise? Remember, Faramir is a gentle soul but he is not weak. Would he welcome the idea?”

“I do not know. The only thing I know is that I do not want to be parted from him now that I have him back. He has not physically fully recovered and the emotional strain is great as well. I wish for him to stay in Gondor for a while.”

“I will leave you to him and tell Éowyn the good news. We were just talking about you two stubborn men.” And she left, chuckling to herself.

Faramir woke up to the quiet murmur of voices. At first he did not remember where he was and then everything came to him in a rush, and he was suddenly aware that his head was resting in the king’s lap, the royal hand gently caressing his hair. He struggled not to reveal he was awake and concentrated on the conversation.

“…Physically fully recovered and the emotional strain is great as well. I wish for him to stay in Gondor for a while.”

Stay in Gondor, Faramir thought, but what of his duties in Ithilien? It was not that he did not want to stay, but he did not like that Aragorn thought him weak. And then again, was not his blundering about ‘him being sent to Ithilien’ what had caused this particular situation in the first place? He was being completely irrational. First, he stated he wanted to leave and then felt rejected when he was granted his wish of being sent to Ithilien. And now when the prospect of staying presented itself, he was bothered by the fact that Aragorn was thinking him weak—

Faramir was startled by the light pressure on his brow and he opened his eyes, all pretence of being asleep forgotten. He stared up to find an amused Aragorn staring back at him.

“You were brooding.”

“I was not,” answered Faramir, wishing he did not sound as childish as he thought he sounded.

“Yes, you were, or is it a new fashion to sleep with your eyebrows that close together?”

Faramir averted his gaze and was suddenly all too aware of the position he was in. Aragorn was resting against the bed frame and was holding him in his arms, so the young man was lying with half his body on top of the king. Faramir tried to get up, but Aragorn was having none of it.

“I like to hold you in my arms, please, do not deny me this little comfort.”

It was said with such a longing and sadness that Faramir could not help, but rest his head on Aragorn’s chest again, his speeding heart starting to calm under the peaceful pace of the king’s. Faramir thought he could get used to this.

“What is in your mind?” asked Aragorn.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” said Aragorn with a great deal of scepticism in his voice.

“…Everything… My emotions are at odds. I like being here with you like this. But I do not want you to think about me as being weak.”

“I do not think you are weak, on the contrary, you are the bravest man I have known.”

“But you do not act like it.”

“Care to explain it to me?” Faramir had become tense in Aragorn’s arms, either for being upset or in fear, Aragorn could not tell.

“You… are always protective of me. I feel like I am always giving you reason to worry. I do not want to find myself thinking all the time if what I am doing will cause you worry. I do not want to find myself in such a position again.”

“What do you mean ‘again’?”

Faramir did not answer right away, and Aragorn thought he might not answer his question at all.

“It is complicated,” said Faramir, giving no indication of wanting to elaborate.

“I want to know. I want to understand. I love you Faramir. There is no denying that. We share a bond, no matter our current situation. We share a bond blessed by the Valar themselves. So please, do not shut me out.”

Aragorn started to tentatively run his fingers through Faramir’s hair. He did not know if the soothing gesture would be welcome, but he wanted to comfort the young man.

“All my life my actions have been guided by duty and by what others might think of me. I love Gondor, and it is no sacrifice for me to fight or give my life for this city. But I had to demonstrate my love for this land under my father’s standards. I found myself always careful of word and action, always careful of not to raise anger, disappointment, or shame.

“It was never enough. My father always found a fault. He always found me lacking. My actions were never brave enough, my words were never clever enough, my love for this land was never loyal enough. In the end only my death was enough for him. Only in death he found his love for a son that—”

Faramir did not continue, only put his arms around Aragorn’s waist and burrowed his head deeper in the king’s chest.

Aragorn thought that Faramir was going to break down in front of him. He hated to see him like this. Though it was necessary for the young man to let out all the repressed emotions, he knew well that Faramir would later hate himself for showing what he thought a weakness.

But instead of falling apart, Faramir tightened his hold with a force that took him by surprise.

“I love you. I love you so very much. I do not want my love for you transformed in fear of what you might think of me. I do not want to find myself once again fighting for someone to see me as I am, hoping he would accept me as I am. I want to be free. I felt chained. Heavy chains of hope and duty held me to my father. And you freed me from those chains with your friendship and love. Do not put them on me again, for I feel I might die if this happens to me once more, and your hands were the cause of it.” The words rushed out of Faramir. He trusted Aragorn. He trusted him even after all that had happened and he knew that only with Aragorn at his side would he have a chance of living fully.

Title: Jealousy
Series: THE ROAD AHEAD (Part 7/8)
Sequel to: THE RITUAL
Author: Valkyrie (email)
Pairings: Aragorn/Faramir, Aragorn/Arwen (implied), Faramir/Éowyn (implied)
Rating: NC-17
Archive: Yes, but let me know where
Warnings: m/m relationship
Summary: a bothersome guest from another realm wants to get more than friends with King Aragorn
Authors’ note: This is totally AU. If you like to read things canon, this is not a story for you.
Feedback: Kind words will be welcome as well as constructive criticism.
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.

Very especial thanks to my beta reader Chris. All remaining mistakes are mine.

---

Part Seven – Jealousy

Although things definitely got better, Aragorn and Faramir found themselves with a long road ahead. Faramir agreed to stay in Gondor, not because of his health, but because he knew his future with Aragorn depended on it. It would not do to be apart during this critical period in their lives.

Faramir took on his duty as a steward, though Aragorn would have preferred he waited a while longer. Faramir would have none of it. Aragorn, of course, let it go for his own sake. An angry Faramir was something he would avoid to confront again, if he could help it.

A jealous Faramir though… was totally unpredictable.

One week ago…

“I think we should leave this for tomorrow; we are all tired. Let’s refresh before dinner is served,” said Aragorn. “And after dinner you can enjoy the happy songs of our good Theren. He has been busy of late composing fair ballads about these certainly more happy times.”

A delegation from one of the many villages that had suffered devastation at the hands of the dark forces was visiting Gondor to discuss means to rebuild. It was going to be hard work to restore what once was. But Aragorn was confident.

“It is a welcome idea. We are so caught up in duty these days that we tend to forget the beauty around us and enjoy that which we are fighting for,” said Bal, the leader of the delegation.

“Maybe the king can recommend us a good hunting spot. I heard game is good in these lands,” interjected Delan, the leader’s older son who was accompanying him on this travel; preparing himself for his future duty, no doubt.

“Certainly, Delan, I must admit I have been remiss with my guests. I will assign the best of my captains to take you and those who want on a good hunting trip.”

“Oh, but certainly the king will come with us? It would be most welcome, for your reputation precedes you, my lord.”

Faramir for his part was watching the whole thing in fuming and silent anger. This man had no shame! They had been here a week during which this Delan fellow had not missed a chance to try and engage Aragorn in an activity that would give him the opportunity to have the king for himself.

A walk. A word. ‘Private’ issues to discuss. Can you show me this or that? And now, ‘a good hunting spot’. Of course! No doubt he would do anything in his power to find himself alone in the woods with Aragorn as a companion.

But not if Faramir could help it.

“With the king leave, I can be of assistance. I know sometimes pressing duties do not let my king entertain his honourable guests as they deserve,” said Faramir with his most charming smile.

Aragorn was not deceived, though. This week had been nothing but a nightmare. On one hand, he had Delan and his uncanny gift to find excuses to get him alone. On the other hand, he had Faramir. What else was there to say?

“My dear steward is always putting my needs above anything else. This time, though, I will set all matters aside and tomorrow, I propose we have a good hunting party. It has been long since I had such entertainment.”

“As my king commands. I have much to prepare for tomorrow.” Faramir got up from his seat and bowed in courtesy, not giving the king time to react.

When finally everybody left the room he pondered about the absurd situation he was in. Up until now they had enjoyed months of bliss. Days were spent in the many duties required of their stations, and they always tried to find time to spend with each other.

They had somehow fallen again to the easy rhythm they had before the ritual. But even though they kissed and shared caresses, he did not dare to pursue a more intimate contact with Faramir, though the young man had certainly initiated some on his own. On those few occasions he had declined for he was certain Faramir was not ready for that step yet. He suspected the young man was acting on impulse, letting himself be carried away for the moment or even in fear Aragorn would tire of waiting for him to be ready. Furthermore, he was most certain that for as long as Faramir kept blocking the bond that would mean he was still not ready to share his body. He had to admit that there was a possibility of them not sharing the bond again. If that proved to be the case, he would make sure that Faramir was ready to take the final step and was not acting on the spurt of a moment.

Nevertheless, they felt comfortable with each other, and he was hopeful it was only a matter of time for them to cross that particular bridge. For Aragorn the physical act in itself was not important. It was the meaning of it that was everything for both of them.

For Aragorn it would mean that Faramir had healed completely, and he would feel confident of the young man’s trust in him again. For Faramir would mean he had finally got rid of his fears. He was sure now that the young man’s sense of inadequacy and low self-esteem was the main reason for the block. Yes, they were reaching little by little that certain threshold.

Until Delan appeared. Aragorn, of course, could not deny him hospitality and because of that he was bound to acquiesce to certain requests, like that of the hunting party.

But Faramir was seething with jealousy. He could see that. He could certainly ‘feel’ it as well. Yes, no more cuddling in the gardens, no more escapades to watch the sunset. No more kisses or stolen caresses. He was being punished for a crime he did not commit.

That was the reason why when Aragorn saw that charming smile –-which had not being directed at him in a week— he knew that trouble was coming his way. Yes, trouble with a devastating smile and stormy eyes. Aragorn thought that Faramir looked most disarming when enraged; he would wish everyone to vanish from the council room and have Faramir for his own to kiss those luscious lips.

The king squashed that thought. This was certainly not the moment to have such thoughts and risk embarrassing consequences. He decided that enough was enough and tomorrow would be the day to put an end to this nonsense.

“You’re moody tonight,” said Éowyn. “Well, to say truth, you have been grumpy of late. Is there something I should know about?”

“You well know what is wrong,” said Faramir, his appetite gone.

They had agreed to have dinner in private. It was Éowyn’s idea, for she knew how tired and edgy Faramir was after the meetings with the latest delegation.

“It is not like you, my dear. You should know better.”

“What do you mean?”

“It is not like you to be jealous over a stranger. You know Aragorn will never do anything improper, much less betray your trust and that of the queen for that matter. So, why get all grumpy about some villager’s flirting?”

“But… I am not… I mean…” Faramir was at a loss. Deep down he knew he was being irrational. But he could not help it. He wanted to run this Delan through with his sword. That would not do much for diplomatic relations though.

“Do you think that you will lose Aragorn because your relationship has not gotten physical?” Éowyn had a good insight of Faramir’s fears. She could see them every time they were walking in the gardens, and Faramir got that far away worried look when he saw a couple expressing their affections.

“I… I feel I am not adequate for Aragorn. He has a beautiful queen who loves him with all her heart and who someday will give him an heir for Gondor. And I… I cannot even provide him the comfort of a physical union. I do not even know if he wants that anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… I wanted to go further once and he did not. He told me I was not ready, that we should wait…”

“Were you? Ready, I mean.”

“At that moment I thought so. I do not know anymore.”

“So then, you fear he will look somewhere else for what you are not giving him? Is that it?” Éowyn could be ruthless in her pursuit when she wanted to be.

Faramir’s silence was all the response she needed.

“Aragorn is an honourable man. Have you realised the implications of this fear and behaviour of yours? You think him capable of this deed; you think he would act on Delan’s flirtation. He does not love you for your body, Faramir. He loves you; he loves who you are. And I will tell you something, my dear. You have not been yourself lately.”

Faramir was more than mortified. He was ashamed of himself. He felt as though he had betrayed Aragorn. He had been brooding for a week, watching how this fellow all but physically hurled himself at his king. Faramir had kept Aragorn at a distance as though his king had committed a transgression when all the time the one at fault had been him. What a total mess.

Later that night Faramir decided to take a walk in the gardens. He needed to clear his mind. He needed to think how to apologise for such an unbecoming behaviour. His face felt hot and his heart was filled with mortification every time he remembered his conduct this past week.

There he was, hiding in the garden. Aragorn wondered what was it that Faramir was worried about besides the obvious. He always came to this particular spot when unease filled his heart, but right now Faramir radiated more than worry about the petty romantic advances from some foreigner. He noticed Faramir was not aware of his presence and this, Aragorn thought, did not bode well either, for Faramir never lowered his guard, not even within the White City. The king took advantage of this unusual occurrence to study his beloved.

>From his position Aragorn could only see Faramir’s back and a little of his profile, thick eyelashes caressing a fine cheekbone, Faramir’s gaze intent on the floor but attention directed inwards. Aragorn could tell Faramir was more than worried. The young man was distressed.

Faramir was startled from his reverie by footsteps behind him. A tiny smile graced his lips at the fact that Aragorn knew him so well to track him down to this place this late in the night. He took a moment to gather his wits before facing his beloved.

“What is the king of Gondor doing, roaming the gardens at such an hour?” said Faramir, his tone light-hearted.

“Looking for his wayward steward,” answered Aragorn playing along. It was the first good sign from Faramir since all this annoying business with Delan. “What are you doing here? It is very late and we have a council meeting not five hours from now. You should be resting.” Aragorn sat beside Faramir gathering one of the young man’s hands and placing a tiny kiss on them. He felt elated that Faramir was allowing this small comfort without rebuke. Oh, how he missed his sweet and pliant Faramir.

“I could say the same about you, you know?” said the young man, idly caressing Aragorn’s hand in return.

Aragorn waited for Faramir to offer some other comment, but he seemed content keeping the lazy contact. Aragorn looked intently to his beloved and reached for his mind with all the might of his heart and help of the ill-fated bond. He had a glimpse of melancholy and longing and …shame? The contact was gone along with the hand in his.

“I do not like it when you do that,” said Faramir in a quiet voice.

“How…? How can you tell when I do that?” asked Aragorn, his gaze wide with surprise. “I thought you had lost all sense of the bond. This means the bond can be renewed.”

“Would you like that? For the bond to be remade? Would it bother you if you never get it back?” Faramir’s voice betrayed his worry.

Aragorn was starting to understand the possible reason for the bond being suppressed on Faramir’s part. Maybe Faramir did not want the bond. He had heard from Faramir’s own lips how it had been with his father, how difficult it was to keep up with the old man’s expectations, how he always had to be careful of word and action. That must have been extremely tiring, to be always in fear of failure, always hiding the disappointment he felt towards an uncaring father. And the bond would leave him exposed. There was no room for pretence or hidden feelings.

“Hear me well, my love. Everything would be the same were you deaf and blind. If you could not hear my words of love or could not see how much I cherish you. I do not care if you never feel the bond again. I care only if you care. I worry if you worry . I care about you looking forlorn and distant and not knowing the cause of it. Do not think more about the bond. Do not worry yourself about what could have been. Let’s just enjoy our time as it is.” Aragorn hoped to take Faramir’s worries away; he hoped this was the root of his recent behaviour.

“I am sorry. I am so sorry,” said Faramir, surprising Aragorn with a sudden embrace. “So, so sorry,” he repeated over and over again.

Aragorn held him tight and tried to reassure him. “Everything is fine. You have nothing to be sorry for, my love.”

“Yes, I have! I have betrayed you. I have been a fool believing for a moment that Delan could get to you. My behaviour was unforgivable. I do nothing but cause you worries.”

“Well, I must admit that sometimes I have wanted to throw you over my knee and give you what you deserve for being such a thick head,” said Aragorn, mischief in his tone.

Faramir chuckled with delight, his arms still around Aragorn. “You are such a sprite, saying a thing like that at a moment like this. But you know how to take my worries away,” said Faramir, sealing the peace with a tender kiss.

They held each other in a lose embrace for a while, just sharing their closeness and feeling each other’s warm, before heading for their rooms.

“But if he as does as much as glance at you again, I will run him with my sword,” said Faramir.

“Oh, Valar!”

Title: Under the Light of the Stars
Series: THE ROAD AHEAD (Part 8/8)
Sequel to: THE RITUAL
Author: Valkyrie (email)
Pairings: Aragorn/Faramir, Aragorn/Arwen (implied), Faramir/Éowyn (implied)
Rating: NC-17
Archive: Yes, but let me know where
Warnings: m/m relationship
Summary: Aragorn receives an invitation he cannot refuse.
Authors’ note: This is totally AU. If you like to read things canon, this is not a story for you.
Feedback: Kind words will be welcome as well as constructive criticism.
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.

Very especial thanks to my beta reader Chris. All remaining mistakes are mine.

---

Part Eight: Under the Light of the Stars

‘Come to the Altars of Stone at midnight. Faramir.’

This was very odd, Aragorn thought. Faramir did not take dinner at the halls. Today was the first day they were going to have a peaceful evening after the last delegation left the city. And then he had received Faramir’s note. Aragorn’s first thought was that his steward wanted a quiet evening for the two alone, but at midnight?

Aragorn pondered about this while riding to the place. The Altars of Stone were outside the White City and not at walking distance. What had led Faramir to meet at such an odd hour so far away from the city?

After almost half a candle mark Aragorn could see the stones gleaming under Ithil’s pale light. They were a sight to behold. Massive and sparklingly white reaching towards the starry sky; a circle of five, surrounding two flat altars of stone, remnants of an old age, the meaning of it long lost.

Aragorn thought his heart had stopped and the reason was not the eerie beauty of the glade, but the sight waiting for him in the middle of the two altars.

Faramir.

Faramir, looking like a pagan god amidst the stones, his pale skin kissed by the nightlight and shining as though he was radiating with an inner light, his hair playing under the breeze.

Faramir, barefooted, wearing nothing but a long white loincloth and wristbands made of mithril matching a mithril belt.

The shock was great, the sight too familiar, and the memories came rushing through his mind like water through a broken dam.

Faramir waited. His face betraying nothing but calm.

“What is the meaning of this?” asked Aragorn in a hushed voice, dismounting from his horse and feeling weakness seeping into his legs. He walked toward Faramir as one who is in front of an apparition and is morbidly afraid it would disappear at any moment but at the same time willing for it to do so.

“I need to prove myself worthy and without fear. You need to get rid of the guilt that burdens your heart. I trust you, my love. I know you will never hurt me. You think I am not ready and delay the moment for which I have been ready for a long time.

“You have rejected each of my attempts in fear that you might hurt me once again. But you hurt me nonetheless. Do you not see I have waited for you to give me back your trust? Trust me that I do not fear you or hold you responsible for anything. I love you with all that I am and what better way to prove it than putting myself in your hands like on that first time. Now, you have to make your choice,” Faramir finished and waited for Aragorn to make up his mind. He had gathered all his courage for this moment. Everything was at stake, for if Aragorn turned around now, it would mean he did not trust in Faramir’s strength, and Faramir would not stand it. He would break apart in so many pieces that there would not be a way to put him back together again, his strength wasted away in this single moment.

“But why in this way? Why in that…” Aragorn could not finish, he could only stare, mesmerised, at the sight in front of him, both frightening and oh so tempting, the same outfit of that dreadful day; the same beguiling body enticingly exposed. He took one step closer, the words dying on his lips.

“I want to remake a memory. What better way to do so than recreating it to make something beautiful out of it? I know that we could make this at another place and under other circumstances, but I feel that that memory will be between us always.”

“But, love, this is so close, so like…this could backfire on us. We could make it worse,” Aragorn said with an unsteady voice.

Faramir looked at Aragorn with such a trusting face so different from that day when the young man entered that chamber with unfaltering steps and a quivering heart. Step by excruciatingly slow step Aragorn approached Faramir until he was almost nose-to-nose.

“Must I remind you that in spite of everything that has happened I am a warrior? I have endured far worse physical damage than on that day. I know this is what weighs on your mind, that you hurt me and, hence, betrayed me. But you can be sure that you did nothing wrong. It was I. My fears and feelings of unworthiness put me in the state I was in. And you, my love, freed me of all that. It took a while, but I finally understand. I have nothing to prove to anyone but myself. So, here I am. I trust you and I trust our love,” said Faramir, his voice deep and alluring. “Will you not give the same trust in return?”

Faramir’s eyes seemed dark pools, full of promise and desire and Aragorn fell into their abyss. He reached out and pulled the young man into a smoldering kiss.

Faramir returned the kiss with unsuppressed passion, clinging to Aragorn with both his hands, feeling the heat emanating from Aragorn’s body, whimpering in ecstasy of what would come. Kissing had never felt this good. Aragorn was not holding back. Aragorn was his, he would not be denied and his spirit soared. He stepped back dragging Aragorn with him, his legs touching one of the altars.

“Love me, here, under Ithil and the stars. Love me without holding back, for I am not weak. I am strong for you and because of you. Together we will overcome everything.” Faramir was beyond himself. Never had he felt this fire spreading over his body so fast that he was light-headed. He sat on the stone and placed himself in the centre of it, signalling for Aragorn to climb up as well.

Aragorn was as one who had been bewitched. “You must tell me if—”

“No words. Let’s not use our lips but to give each other pleasure. Let this be a union of our souls as it should have been.”

Aragorn shed his clothes under Faramir’s avid gaze. His beloved looked as some mystical creature from the books, wild and exotic. Lying there, reclining on his elbows, waiting for him, the pale light seemed to kiss his skin, and the loincloth between slightly spread legs shamelessly insinuated Faramir’s need. He climbed the stone as his beloved lay all the way down and stretched his arms above his head. A flashback of Faramir in a similar position filtered into his mind, but he ruthlessly cast it aside. He would not let Faramir down. His gaze caught sight of a small vial placed near Faramir’s hands. This time there would be no pain.

Aragorn did not remove Faramir’s loincloth right away. He covered the young man with his nude body, lying with his elbows on each side of Faramir’s arms, feeling his thundering heart against his own. He caught a strand of Faramir’s hair between his fingers, admiring how the lighter tones stood out against Ithil’s light as silvery threads. He, then, locked his gaze with Faramir’s.

Faramir answered back with eyes full of love and trust and …desire, and it seemed to Aragorn that he could see the light of the stars above reflected in them. He kissed Faramir once more, feeling the young man’s breathing speeding up a notch. He broke the kiss and opened his mouth to voice his concern, but then Faramir arched his body against him, forcing Aragorn to feel the hardness of his flesh. Whatever it was that the king was going to say died on his lips at the feel of that lush body against his own. Faramir was anything but scared. Faramir was his.

Aragorn’s need increased tenfold.

He placed kisses on Faramir’s now exposed neck and trailed down to Faramir’s navel, caressing his belly and feeling how the muscles trembled there. He found the mithril belt and removed it along with the loincloth, leaving Faramir exposed to be revered. He licked teasingly the hard flesh and then withdrew his attention, chuckling at Faramir’s frustrated whimper. He caressed Faramir’s inner thighs instead. This time he would explore Faramir’s body to his leisure and would ensure that the young man received all the pleasure he deserved.

Faramir, or better, Faramir’s body, had other ideas though. After what seemed to him interminable moments, he decided to take matters into his own hands and raising himself on his elbows, glared at Aragorn. “I will not last…longer…you better hurry up…with whatev—”

Aragorn’s kiss did not let him finish. “Only for pleasure, remember?” Aragorn said against his lips, throwing Faramir’s own words back at him.

Faramir whimpered in earnest.

Aragorn decided to comply. He reached out for the vial, placing most of his body on top of Faramir’s to do so and brushing his own hardness against Faramir’s belly, which elicited a moan of satisfaction. He slid his left arm under Faramir’s back, manoeuvred them both on their sides and helped the young man to raise his leg a little so it was resting against his own. He wanted Faramir to feel safe and comforted. He was afraid of Faramir’s reaction at his first touch to that part of his body.

He then coated his fingers liberally, and kept his gaze on Faramir’s all the time, looking for signs of distress or discomfort. But Faramir just locked one of his arms around Aragorn’s neck and asked for a kiss, which Aragorn gladly gave.

Aragorn recognised the gesture for what it was. Faramir was sure in his mind he would not be hurt, but Faramir’s body had a memory of its own, and this was what Aragorn was afraid of.

The first contact was cautious and delicate in its advance. Faramir’s body tensed, but ignoring it the young man clung to Aragorn in earnest.

Faramir was trying with all his might not to give in to his body’s instincts, which were to avoid being touched again in such a manner. Faramir knew he would confront this particular obstacle the first time after his ordeal. He only had to prove to his body this one time what he himself had no doubts about. Aragorn would never hurt him. Little by little his body started to relax under Aragorn’s gentle ministrations.

When Aragorn felt Faramir’s body tense in his arms, his first reaction was to give the young man words of comfort, tell him to relax, that everything would be fine. But he refrained for Faramir’s sake. He knew Faramir did not want to be comforted but to face his demons on his own. So when Faramir clung to him and hid his face against his neck, Aragorn all but bit his tongue to keep quiet; he engaged Faramir in a passionate kiss and proceeded to prepare the young man for what will come; gently massaging and using his fingers with utmost care.

It was a relief when he sensed that Faramir started to relax and so, he became bold and gave Faramir his first pleasurable surprise. The young man gasped and tensed against his body but this time for a different reason. Faramir raised his head from the crook of Aragorn’s neck and looking into Aragorn’s eyes told him to ‘do that again’ in a breathy voice. Aragorn complied, kissing Faramir passionately while taking lengthy time to prepare him.

Once he deemed Faramir was ready, he made him rest on his back again; placing a gentle kiss on the young man’s parted lips. Aragorn entered him slowly, taking all the time for Faramir to adjust. Aragorn took deep breaths and put all his control and determination not to spill himself right then, the pleasure was too great, and the feeling of Faramir willingly welcoming him, maddeningly intoxicating.

He felt Faramir trying to arch his body and understood the meaning of the message. The young man was ready for more. Aragorn paused for a moment and took Faramir’s hands to position them over the young man’s head, keeping them there with his own. In return the young man locked his legs around Aragorn’s hips.

Each of Aragorn’s trusts brought Faramir pleasure he thought he would never taste. He felt his senses overloading. The hard stone against his back, his hardness trapped between their bodies, the feel of Aragorn’s flesh brushing that something deep inside him that made him feel a blazing fire all over his skin, Aragorn’s hands clutching his and their mingled sounds of passion travelling through the night. Their eyes locked; they needed no words. The world seemed to fade and there was only them.

Passion started to near the peak and they both knew they were at the brink of release and something else. Aragorn let go of Faramir’s hands in order to embrace the young man in his arms and Faramir returned the gesture with a tight hold of his own. They came to release at the same time, their bodies locked in an unyielding embrace, their minds melding together in a blazing light.

Aragorn felt Faramir trembling in his arms, the young man’s body going limp under his, and he could not help the feeling of panic invading him, for he knew the bond had been re-established, and could not help remember Faramir had nearly died the last time that had happened.

This time, though, Faramir reached out to reassure him that history was not going to repeat itself.

‘I love you; it is hard to breathe when I think when I think how much I do.’

He heard it clearly in his mind and felt it to the core of his heart. Faramir was reaching out for him, and he could feel the young man’s feelings starting to wash over his soul like a tidal wave.

‘I love you, my brave Faramir,’ Aragorn answered.

He took Faramir’s head between his hands and gave the young man a kiss full of tenderness. He brushed back sweaty strands of hair and contemplated Faramir’s flushed face.

Faramir looked at him with eyes full of tears, but Aragorn knew this were tears of happiness. He could feel it, and tears of his own found their way through as well.

He thought Faramir could not appear more beautiful than now, his body vibrating with spent desire, warm and pliant in his arms, his soul linked to Aragorn’s own and his love pouring over Aragorn’s heart. Faramir’s eyes, glittering with tears, seemed to reflect Elbereth’s domain.

“From now on I would not need to turn my gaze to the night sky for you seem to have the stars in your eyes, my love” said Aragorn breaking the spell.

“Such things you say, king.”

“So now, I am merely a king and not your king anymore? How disrespectful. I shall punish you.”

Faramir chuckled. “I shall call you that when you are acting daft.”

“Daft, eh? And what shall you call me when I am not?”

“King of my heart, my love, my soul.”

“That is more likely. But still I will have to punish you.”

“And what punishment would ‘my’ king bestow upon me?”

“Back to ‘my’ but too late. I decree you shall be ravished all night long without a rest.”

“And as the steward of the realm, I approve this decree, but first the king must let his subject recover some of his strength in order to receive this well earned punishment.” At this point Faramir’s eyes were heavy with sleep though he was making a great effort to stay awake. Faramir was healed in all regards, but he had spent a great deal of energy doing so and not only physical.

“Get some sleep, my love; we have all the time in the world.” Aragorn caressed the silky hair, and the young steward was losing his battle against sleep, falling under the gentle ministrations.

“There are blankets…in … horse…” whispered Faramir, his voice trailing away.

“Yes, my love,” answered Aragorn, not moving anywhere. He kept watching Faramir, how the young man’s face slowly relaxed in sated sleep, and long lashes rested on flushed cheeks. Aragorn refrained from kissing the tempting lips, red from the ministrations bestowed upon them. He got up and looked for the blankets instead; else he would risk taking Faramir in his sleep.

It was going to be a long night. His already waking arousal told him so. He climbed on the altar again and wrapped them both in the blankets. Faramir was so out of it that he did not even stir when Aragorn handled him this way and that to make them both more comfortable. He stared at the stars thinking about all that had happened and how good it felt to finally grasp happiness in his hands. Two falling stars crossed the firmament, and it seemed as though the sky were blinking at him, reassuring him that this time his happiness would last for the rest of their days.

The End.

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