Faramir Fiction Archive

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

Written by Raihon

19 March 2006 | 32932 words

Chapter 5 – Ardent Hearts

A night and a day had passed since King Elessar and his troops had returned from Pelargir where the King had negotiated a shaky peace with Umbar. Faramir noted that the day was ripe for a celebration for other reasons, as well. Most of the city’s families had already marked the year of mourning for loved ones that they lost in the War, and the cityfolk congratulated each other on surviving the hard winter, for it was also the first day of spring. On Faramir’s advice, the King ordered that rationing be lifted for the holiday and for the first time in months, bellies were full and ale could be found for all who wanted it.

The King’s companions stayed late in the Hall of Feasts, spending their well-earned rest on drink and song. Faramir found that the King often met his glances with an odd, wry smile. His eyes have been upon me all night, Faramir thought. I feel them burning into me even when my back is turned. Either his eyes cast a spell or there is in me a long hidden rogue spirit that torments me with a passion entirely out of place. Alas, that I suspect what is on his mind! The uncertainty, both of his own feelings and of the King’s intentions, was maddening.

Outwardly, he enjoyed himself and entertained the others with an uncharacteristically bawdy wit spurred on by the restlessness that the King had the power to produce in him. Inwardly, Faramir anticipated with anxiety the words behind the King’s looks, words that Aragorn had not yet willingly allowed Faramir to hear. He both dreaded and longed for the opportunity to see how this would be resolved, for when he had spared a moment to be troubled by these matters, his thoughts had only run him ‘round in circles.

The hour was late when all had left save Faramir, who waited to see the King safely to bed, hoping that this time, Aragorn might seize the opportunity to make his feelings known. In the weeks since his shameful eavesdropping, Faramir had been busy in Ithilien, only coming to Minas Tirith to serve in Aragorn’s stead, or to attend Council meetings, on which occasions he returned home by evening. Nothing more informative or affectionate than looks and smiles and courteous words had passed between them. If anything were to be learned ere another month or two passed, the time was nigh.

Still, the King gave no sign and they walked through the halls in silence. At the King’s chamber door, Faramir hesitated for just a moment, questioning Aragorn with his eyes, before he bowed slightly to signal his departure and turned to leave, but Aragorn stayed him with a hand on his shoulder. “Faramir, wait. I would speak to you alone,” he said softly.

Faramir’s heartbeat quickened painfully, but his resolution did not waver. He followed Aragorn into the King’s bedchamber. The room was dimly lit with but a single lantern that flickered at intervals, casting dancing shadows about the room. Faramir shut the heavy wooden door behind him and said, “yes, my Lord?”

“Whether it be the wine or another form of spirit, I know not, but something makes me loath to leave your company tonight.” Aragorn smiled and Faramir, guardedly, smiled back. “I have just arrived back to my home and therefore you are soon to depart for yours. What false wisdom guided me when I made these arrangements? Too little time am I in your company, and when you are absent, your wit and wisdom are missed.”

Faramir smiled and gathered his courage to draw out the confrontation. “I, too, have been eager to regain your company in an atmosphere more permitting of intimacy than Council meetings.”

Aragorn looked at him probingly, then laughed, a little nervously, draping an arm around Faramir’s shoulders. “Are you willing to stay a while?” Aragorn gave him an uncertain smile and squeezed his shoulder.

The closeness of the King made Faramir’s throat go dry and he feared to speak, lest his voice tremble. What was this fearsome longing arising inside him? What was this thing pulling him again, drawing him to the King?

“I am always willing to serve my King,” said Faramir, whose formality of speech disguised a revealation. For in that moment, he finally knew his heart on the matter of the King: he was indeed willing, more than willing – he was eager to serve his King.

“On all other occasions, your service has been most welcome,” Aragorn said, striding to look out over the balcony, then turning back to face Faramir. “But tonight it is not your willingness to serve I would know.”

“What would you know, my Lord? Ask and I will answer.” Faramir felt his pride drained away by his aching need to feel the King’s lips on his again, but he pushed the thought away, for he had no regrets about his pledge of love and loyalty to Éowyn. He knew he could not grant what he longed for the King to ask of him.

“I will speak plainly then,” Aragorn said, slowly crossing the room towards Faramir. “I would know your heart, my dear Faramir. You serve me well, but how do you love me?”

The word “love” caught on his heart and momentarily stopped its rhythm. “I…I love you well, my Lord. Your well-being is never far from my mind.”

Aragorn paused a few steps before Faramir, his hands clasped behind him, a small smile on his face. “Indeed, your indefatigable mind is a part of you I cherish, but do you love me only with your mind? I would have your heart as well, my friend.”

“My heart loves you well, Lord, though there are many that could say the same.” Faramir smiled.

Aragorn smiled back, then grew serious. “Well, for my part, the love of Faramir is worth that of a thousand ardent hearts,” he said with passion.

Faramir felt his knees grow weak as he contemplated the visage of his King; this thing between them was taking shape at last. His first thought was to deny himself the pleasure he took from the knowledge that the King loved him. “I am cheating fate to be allowed this affection, my Lord,” he said slowly, “and my longing for such a privilege is both arrogant and an affront to the conventions of men.”

Now Aragorn was silent for a moment, his gaze fiery upon Faramir’s face. Faramir blanched, wondering if he had read his master wrong. Then Aragorn took a quick step forward and pulled the younger man to him. “You are wrong to think that you cheat fate. My affection for you is well earned. But I must know more: you say this longing an affront to convention. Is that because you love me not just as your King, but also…?” Aragorn hesitated, then ran his hand along Faramir’s shoulder to his neck, and caressed his jaw with his thumb.

Faramir’s heart was in his throat, but he quickly said, “it is not just the conventions of men that I balk at trespassing. It is the vows of matrimony I fear to trammel in my haste to know what you would ask of me, were I free to serve you in that way.”

Aragorn gently thrust his fingers into Faramir’s hair, cupping the back of his head, and leaned into him, forehead to forehead. “Oh, Faramir,” he whispered hoarsely, “either you do not take the meaning of my words or you still do not know your worth to me.”

Faramir pulled back, mortified, unable to look the King in the eye. “I’m sorry, my Lord, if I have overstepped…”

Aragorn’s hand tilted Faramir’s chin so he could see the tenderness in his eyes. “On the contrary, my dear friend, you have not gone far enough if you think that all I seek from you is the willing service of your flesh. Did I not say that I want not your service but your love?” Aragorn pulled him close again, placing his lips gently on Faramir’s forehead, temples, and eyes.

Faramir struggled to regain his wits; his thoughts were like a tempest and Aragorn’s gentle kisses did nothing to calm the storm. “My love?” he said at last, breathing as if winded from a great climb to a dizzying height. “Indeed, Lord Aragorn, I do not take your meaning. What more of my love is there to be said? I would not have you draw me out any further into an open field without any cover or refuge, for I doubt my senses and I know not what awaits me there.”

“Dear Faramir, fear not an attack or trickery, and look not for refuge outside of your loyal friend Aragorn,” the King said, tightly embracing Faramir and whispering in his ear. “I would never have you disarmed, yet you have no need of defense against me. By speaking of love I mean to exchange with you tokens of equal value, not to pay for my pleasure with the currency of loyalty or duty.” The King took Faramir’s face in his hands and spoke in a low and quavering voice, his eyelids heavy with desire, “so if I ask for your sweet mouth, it is so that I may bestow upon it my kiss, a token of love for its master which I hope to then receive from him in kind.”

Faramir was surprised and moved by the King’s words, for such poetic sentiments were not what he had been expecting. He felt the novel pleasure of being pursued, the lure of playing the part of the seduced, and it swayed him. He then parted his lips and tenderly tasted Aragorn’s mouth. When he did so, he felt Aragorn’s hands tremble against his face. The other man’s lips were rough but yielding, and his breath was sweet to Faramir’s tongue. A soft but audible sigh escaped Faramir’s chest and, as if in reply, Aragorn’s low moan returned to his ears. The King kissed him in a slow and lingering way, pulling gently, stroking softly, lips on lips, tongue to tongue.

Then Faramir broke away from the kiss and wrenched himself from Aragorn’s arms. “I cannot, my Lord. You know I cannot,” he said firmly, but he felt miserably torn.

Aragorn sighed deeply, regaining his composure, and nodded. “You should seek your wife’s council on the matter between us. Tonight my judgment was overrun by desire and wine. I would not detain you again without her assent.”

Faramir felt a little flushed at the thought that the King might wish to ‘detain’ him again, but he felt there was little promise of that coming about. “I do not hope for such cooperation from her. I doubt we will come to any happy resolution of the problem we have laid before ourselves tonight.” And the pleasure of that kiss will be nothing but a memory to me! he thought, the agony of thwarted longing coursing through him like bitter medicine.

“But you will discuss it with her?” Aragorn pressed him.

Faramir took hold of his feelings and calmed himself. “I must. I cannot keep her unaware of what has passed between us, especially given her past feelings for you. To deceive her would injure her more deeply than the betrayal of that kiss.”

Aragorn looked at Faramir solemnly. “So she has spoken to you of her feelings for me?”

Faramir nodded. “She did, before we were betrothed. Knowing what had happened between you showed me the means to win her over, for her love for you held her to the darkness, and it was for me to show her the way to the light.”

Aragorn look worried and shook his head. “And you fear not this old business between us?”

“I do,” Faramir said, taking Aragorn’s hand, “but no more than I fear a nightmare in the light of day. The fear may rise, but it also quickly passes away.”

“May the Lady Éowyn’s attitude resemble yours in this matter,” Aragorn said, squeezing Faramir’s hand, “for my feelings for you will not so quickly pass away.”

Faramir’s heart leapt at this, but he calmly said, “I will speak to her and advise you of her will before we return to Ithilien four days hence.”

“Make it soon, if you can. I will spare my time for you whenever you ask it.”

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