Faramir Fiction Archive

The Song of the Steward and the King (NC-17)

Written by Raihon

19 March 2006 | 32932 words

Chapter 11 – The Sons of Númenor

Faramir finished up some business elsewhere in the Citadel then returned to his room and busied himself packing his trunk for the return home the following day. He removed his courtly clothes to pack them and noticed a few unpleasant scratch marks on his chest from the night before. He applied some salve that would not sting his cuts and changed into the plain riding clothes he would wear the next day. Then he tended the fire, and pulled up two chairs, one of which he sat in, his feet warming on the hearth. This was how he wanted Aragorn to find him: relaxed and bathed in the light of the fire.

At last, the knock came. “Come in,” said Faramir. Aragorn slipped in quietly and joined him in front of the fireplace. He seemed suddenly shy and stared into the flames, smiling slightly. Faramir just watched him, happy to be free to gaze as long as he liked.

“My Lord,” Faramir said eventually, “thank you for what you are going to do for Éowyn. She has suffered in her idleness at court, and now she may make her contribution to the court as an active participant. It will ease her heart and mind greatly to take on this work.”

Aragorn smiled and nodded. “I had so hoped. When she did not attend dinner last night, I was concerned that all was not well, after all. Was she ill or was she upset?”

Faramir pursed his lips. “She was unwell. Her heart was greatly troubled, in part by her longing to be of use, and in part because she spent the day dwelling in the past.” Aragorn nodded again and Faramir decided the time was right to ask Éowyn’s question. “My Lord, I would know something of your heart on the matter of my wife.”

Aragorn looked at him in surprise. “Yes? What is it?”

“In light of what is between you and me, it seems cruel to her and, as I love her passionately and wonder that all do not feel the same, it is puzzling to me: why did you not return her love for you?”

Aragorn pulled out his pipe and lit it. “If I had returned her love as she was then, it could have been nothing other than a false promise. You are right – she is a woman a man cannot help but love, and I did long to comfort her. But I knew, had I shown her any sign of my feelings, she would have clung to a stillborn hope, for I would never have wed her.” He puffed for a while in silence. “My every breath was dedicated to keeping hope alive among her people and ours, and yet I could give no hope to her. It broke something in me that has yet to fully mend.”

This thought stabbed at Faramir’s heart, that perhaps he, Éowyn, and Aragorn all needed each other to feel themselves whole again. It was a tricky business and one that could go woefully wrong.

Aragorn drew another breath from the pipe. His face was troubled. “She believes I care for her not?”

Faramir sighed. “She finds you cold to her.”

“Such is the bitter part of being King that I am not able to show my friends my affection as I would wish. Injuries go long untended or unnoticed while my mind is occupied with affairs of state.”

Faramir nodded, knowing well the demands made on Gondor’s rulers.

“Power requires the sacrifice of freedom. Freedom to love,” Aragorn said, glancing meaningfully at Faramir. “Freedom to speak plainly.” He paused and looked into his pipe.

A sly smile played upon Faramir’s lips. Aragorn tapped his pipe on the side of the hearth and Faramir said, “Aragorn, I would speak plainly.”

Aragorn smiled slightly. “Please, do.”

“When you take your pipe, it makes me wonder how your breath must taste.”

Aragorn’s smile turned into a lazy grin and he held out his hand. Faramir took it and was drawn to his King, pressing his lips and tasting the sweet smokiness of his mouth.

Faramir straddled Aragorn’s lap and sat facing him, running his hands through his hair and kissing him deeply. Aragorn sat forward so that their chests came together and Faramir felt the King’s hands dive under his shirt and roam up his back.

After a long, slow kiss, Aragorn pulled back, his eyes a little wild and his breath short. “You have overcome your shyness!” He smiled and traced Faramir’s lips with his finger. “I have dreamed of these lips,” he murmured. “never believing I would be allowed…” and then he groaned with pleasure as Faramir took his finger into his mouth and stroked it with his tongue.

Aragorn removed his finger from Faramir’s mouth and Faramir gazed into Aragorn’s eyes, the fire building within him as he fought to prolong the moment before their next kiss. Both of them were labored in their breathing, though all else was still until Aragorn slid his pelvis slightly forward and drew Faramir toward him, grinding into him, and then Faramir broke ranks and seized the King’s mouth with his own. They both moaned and sighed freely as their kisses grew deeper and more intricate, their bodies pressed together below the waist.

Aragorn’s kisses were literary, leaving an intruiging tale lovingly inscribed upon Faramir’s lips. He felt overwhelmed again and moaned, breaking away from Aragorn. “Your kisses, they are…I must catch a breath.”

“Then I will kiss you elsewhere than your mouth,” Aragorn said silkily, and began to kiss Faramir’s throat.

Faramir felt himself fairly bursting from his trousers; the kisses to his neck prickled like nettles though Aragorn’s lips were soft and gentle. Aragorn lifted the shirt off Faramir’s body and kissed his way from neck to collarbone. Then he pulled his head back to better examine Faramir’s skin.

“Faramir?” the King asked, gently tracing around the scratches with his finger.

Faramir considered how to speak of Éowyn’s mood the night before. The King surveyed Faramir’s torso, finding other marks of the lovemaking. He looked up at Faramir in concern.

Faramir gazed off towards the bed where he and Éowyn had struggled with the dark side of their love the night before. “With the madness of spring, we made love as if to wrest the essence life from our very flesh and blood,” he said softly. “But instead of life, we found an emptiness, an ache…” The King caressed his face and Faramir looked again into his eyes. “Aragorn,” he said sadly, “she is not yet healed.”

“What is left undone?” asked Aragorn. “She has found hope in your love and strength in her new life, has she not?”

Faramir sensed that Aragorn was going to avoid the truth that he felt in his bones. “Aragorn,” he said, a little too firmly, so he softened his words by placing a hand gently alongside Aragorn’s face, “Aragorn, she called out your name.”

The King cast his eyes down toward the fading light of the fire and frowned.

Faramir kissed the hair on Aragorn’s head. Hoping the King would see the wisdom in his plan, he said, “will you try to finish your healing? Tomorrow, when you come to ask for her help, will you not also show her your love?”

Aragorn twisted under Faramir’s weight. “Please, Faramir, I would stand now.” Faramir stood up and let the King pace the room.

“If you are asking me to make love to her, I doubt that is the correct course for healing! Will she not find comfort in my respect for her talents and my faith in her abilities?”

“If you had seen her last night, you would know she does not dwell in her mind but in her body. Through her body, you could reach her in a way that your words never could.”

Aragorn rubbed his forehead and his face twisted with pain. “I turned my back on her when she begged not to be parted from me. Though it tore out a piece of my soul, I left that proud maiden on her knees in the dust! She should never forgive me,” he said bitterly. “Time and again, I thwarted her heart’s desire: for glory, for death, and for my love. What makes you think she would welcome me now?”

Faramir smiled, thinking of Éowyn’s eagerness to hear of his lovemaking with the King two nights before when he returned to her bed. “My Lord, to protect her feelings, you have shut yourself off from her and do not know her well. She is no shy maiden nor made of glass or polished stone. Her hurt does not make her fragile; it makes her fierce, as you can see by looking at the marks on my flesh. I know not that she would welcome your embrace, but I feel in my heart that your offering it would do her good.”

“Faramir,” the King said, looking doubtful, “are you not concerned that this would unleash something you would rather not set free?”

Faramir smiled resignedly. “I have my doubts about what I propose, and I share your concern that it would be something we might all come to regret. Yet I can see it so clearly in my mind as bringing her wholeness again that I felt I had to say something.” Faramir drew near to the King and clasped his shoulder. “Do not make a decision now. I will chart a course tomorrow, but you may decide for yourself whether the winds are favorable.”

Aragorn looked at him for quite a while with questioning eyes. “Indeed, I fear we will sail into even rougher waters,” the King sighed, “but I feel in my heart much of what you have said about Éowyn is right.” Aragorn drew Faramir to him again, embracing him and kissing a bruise on his shoulder. “Neither she nor I will be complete in our strength until we have done away with the distance between us. But I know not if this is the way to build a bridge.”

Slowly, Faramir undid the laces of Aragorn’s clothes and soon they both stood naked in front of the burning embers of the fire. Softly they kissed, caressing each other wherever they could reach. Faramir grasped Aragorn in his hand and slowly stroked him, as Aragorn softly moaned into his ear. “My sweet Faramir,” he breathed, “oh, how you move me. I do not think you yet comprehend what you mean to me.”

Aragorn kissed Faramir passionately then, gripping his hair in one hand and his backside in the other. Faramir melted into this possessive embrace and thrust up against Aragorn’s hip. “Aragorn, I want you to make love to me,” he whispered into his master’s ear, his heart pounding with fear and desire. “I want to feel you inside me,” he panted.

Aragorn’s flesh jumped against Faramir’s belly. They moved slightly apart and Aragorn looked deep into Faramir’s eyes. “But you are afraid,” Aragorn said, concerned.

“Of course I am afraid,” Faramir nodded. “but it is what I want, if it be your will.”

Aragorn slowly closed his eyes and opened them again. “Do not be afraid. I long to feel you as close to me as I possibly can, but it is no good without something to ease the passage. Have you anything…”

Faramir gestured to the salve he had earlier applied to his wounds. Aragorn smiled and led Faramir to the bed. Gently he guided Faramir to lie on his stomach, and he let himself down upon Faramir’s back, lips on neck, hands on arms, belly on back, pelvis to buttocks, and legs twined with legs. Faramir felt deliciously smothered and remembered how he had been in Aragorn’s position with Éowyn the night before. He felt a keen connection to her and the pleasure she had felt when he had thrust into her from this angle. He moaned out loud at the thought of Aragorn doing the same to him. He had never felt this longing to be entered before, but it was taking hold of him now with great urgency. “Oh, Aragorn,” he mumbled to the man who was kissing his way down his spine, “I want you so much.” And then he felt it again arising within him, this sensation of power that was not desire but accompanied desire, this force that drove him to Aragorn, not just for pleasure but for some other purpose. He let it flow within him now, not struggling against it as he had done before, hoping to see how it moved in him, and to what end.

Aragorn reached for the salve and rubbed some between his hands. With one hand he reached around to Faramir’s front, and Faramir bucked his hips up slightly to accommodate his caresses. With his other hand, Aragorn began to stroke the crease of Faramir’s backside and to tease his hole with his finger tips. Again, Faramir moaned, delighting in the forbidden sensation. Then he tensed up as a finger tried to enter him.

“Try to relax,” Aragorn encouraged him, “and breathe.”

Faramir relaxed and he felt a delicious burning sensation inside as a finger entered him. In front, Aragorn tickled and teased him. He took deep breaths and the finger went deeper, touching him in a place that sent a bolt of pleasure through him. “Oh!” he gasped as Aragorn continued to play him with both hands. When the finger withdrew, he felt a wave of warmth pass over him, and then another finger begged entrance. After a few minutes of these attentions, Faramir was clutching the bedsheets and begging incoherently, “please, Aragorn, I want…oh, please, you…”

Then Aragorn moved behind him and pulled up on his hips so that Faramir was crouched in front of the other man, his arms stretched out in front, his forehead resting on a pillow. He felt something hard press up against him and he heard Aragorn’s voice saying, as if from far away, “breathe. Relax.” And then the pressing again, and the burning, but he breathed and relaxed, and then Aragorn was inside him. Faramir let out a long, audible sigh. Aragorn stopped and Faramir relaxed and Aragorn pushed in a little more. The burning had turned pleasant to Faramir, and the rhythm of his breathing and of Aragorn’s slow, shallow thrusts was putting him in a meditative state. Then, on a deeper thrust, he felt that bolt of pleasure again, and Faramir cried out in a long moan.

The movement stopped. Aragorn’s voice again, concerned: “was that a moan of pleasure?” and Faramir nodded, but realized that Aragorn could not see that he was nodding, so he had to say weakly, “Yes. More…please…” and he felt a longing to pull Aragorn deeper and deeper inside of him. The feeling was as powerful as a force of nature, like the sound of a great tree falling to the earth or the pull of rapid water on a boat. And he heard his own voice crying out with each thrust, a beautiful whimpering sound that seemed like it was coming from someone else. But this was him, with his beloved Aragorn now deep inside him, filling him with warm pressure, kissing his back, and reaching around…

“Aah!” The sensation of Aragorn’s hand on him seemed to slam him back into his body and he felt the cries coming from his own throat again. His climax was almost a distraction, but a necessary one, as he released onto the bedclothes. Faramir felt grateful that Aragorn was able to control himself, and after slowing a bit, soon he was driving into Faramir all the way, bringing them together, flesh to flesh. Aragorn kept up his pace for a long while, leaving Faramir feeling thoroughly consumed and powerfully loved. Then, after muttering words Faramir could not discern, Aragorn, too, cried out and the beautiful sensation died down. Faramir felt Aragorn’s sweat-soaked skin pressed against his back. The warmth was delightful. “Oh, my love,” he heard Aragorn say in a shuddering breath. Faramir found he could not yet speak so he just gave a contented sigh.

Aragorn reached under Faramir’s shoulders and rose to pull them both into a sitting position, Faramir straddling his thighs. Aragorn tilted his chin up to rest on Faramir’s shoulder. His hands stroked slowly all over the front of Faramir’s body, both searching and soothing. Faramir shut his eyes and relaxed back into the embrace. “I have never felt anything like that, Aragorn,” he said. “Tonight I am yours completely, and it is most wonderful.”

“Oh, Faramir, how I have longed to feel you in my arms! You cannot know what this means to me.” Aragorn pressed his face into Faramir’s back.

Faramir felt deeply touched by these words, and felt the strange force within him take hold more firmly than ever, uncoiling from the center of his chest and twining into every fiber of his body.

“Something in this was meant to be, Aragorn. I have felt your presence within me ever since you entered my mind in the Houses of Healing.” Faramir reached up and behind him to caress Aragorn’s hair. “From that day hence, the gift of hope you gave me has coursed through my veins and bound me to you. It is, I think, the cause of this unknown force within me which at first I feared, but now which brings me a strength of spirit I have never known.”

Aragorn’s hands on his chest stilled. “Faramir,” Aragorn said thoughtfully. “I think that the source of this power was not a gift from me, but was in you all along.” He paused again and when he spoke, his voice trembled. “I was able to bring it out in you because it runs strong in me.”

Faramir puzzled over what could provoke such emotion in Aragorn. “What, then, do you think it is?”

Aragorn whispered, “know you not? Do you not also feel it coursing through your veins?” Aragorn pulled Faramir into an even tighter embrace. “My beloved brother!” he said passionately, kissing the back of his neck, “it is the blood of Númenor, calling its sons into the West.”

Faramir felt stunned, and suddenly chilled, by this truth. His mind instantly seized on the words that must also be recalling themselves to Aragorn, and he heard himself utter in the high Elvish tongue,

In the West, two stars blaze brightly
When love makes them mighty.
No doors shall be closed to the sons of Númenor’s twilight;
Earth and stone bend to their will, and all men share in their delight.

Faramir felt Aragorn’s hands loosen their grasp and his breath grow rapid and shallow. Faramir moved forward and Aragorn pulled away. They lay on their sides, forehead to forehead. Aragorn’s hand moved to Faramir’s and their fingers intertwined. After a long while, Faramir began to smile and looked into Aragorn’s eyes. “No doors shall be closed to us. It is what I already felt after the council meeting today. We will remake our world.”

Aragorn smiled softly. “And the people will share in our joy. You have found the valor in our love, Faramir. Songs will be sung of the Steward and the King.”

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