Faramir Fiction Archive

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

Written by Raihon

19 March 2006 | 32932 words

Chapter 7 – A Lamp is Lit

As Faramir poured out his tale beginning from the kiss before their wedding, he found that every detail of the strange game he and the King had played both agitated and aroused his young wife, so that he had to bring her to pleasure in the telling. When he was finally allowed to rest, he slept for a few hours but he had to rise before long to attend the Council meeting. When he arrived, Damrod had just begun briefing the Council on the latest round of borderland skirmishes with Sauron’s stragglers. Faramir took his place at Aragorn’s side, nodding in greeting to his uncle, Prince Imrahil, on Aragorn’s opposite side, and whispering to the King, “apologies, Lord.” Aragorn’s eyes twinkled every so slightly and he nodded in response.

When Aragorn arose to lay out the plans for the new defenses, Faramir was careful not to let the warmth of his newly acknowledged feelings for the King cloud his judgment and he managed to find some faults with what Aragorn proposed, for though Aragorn was in full command of the knowledge of Gondor’s forces, Faramir still had the advantage of his recent decades of service giving him superior knowledge of tactics.

The next topic raised by the King, however, chilled Faramir’s lingering warmth utterly.

“We have just passed a year when every heart in the land has mourned the loss of a loved one,” the King said gravely, “and though our grief still weighs on us heavily, we must turn our attention to the future of this land and her people. So many men did we loose, yet feeding the mouths that remained this winter has exhausted our stores. Has anyone thoughts on the matter of how we will find the hands to turn the soil for the spring planting? Another season of fallow fields will finish us.”

Faramir presented a proposal for the reallocation of labor that he had developed based on his studies of agriculture and demography following the devastation of the Great Plague, but some of the other lords suggested that he should develop this plan further before they approved it. Still, he could tell that the King was pleased with his work and would support his recommendations.

When the council broke at midday, Faramir went to the room off the main kitchen where informal meals were taken by the men of the citadel. When he was nearly finished, Aragorn arrived to take some soup and bread. Faramir, though delighted at the sight of the King, concealed it from the eyes of the other men at the table.

“Faramir, are you well?” the King asked.

“I am. And you?” Faramir replied, buttering a slice of bread.

“Quite well, thank you.” Aragorn placed a pinch of salt in his bowl and sat to dine. “And how is your wife?”

Faramir smiled, but just a little. “In an interesting humor, my Lord. And how is the Queen?”

Aragorn nodded. “Constant as the sun.”

Both men then smiled into their bowls of soup.

Faramir rose to leave. “I have to speak to some merchants about reestablishing a market town in Ithilien, but when I am done I would advise you of some news.”

“You will find me in my study,” Aragorn replied.

“Until then, my Lord.” Faramir gave a slight bow and departed. When he returned to the Citadel, the sun was casting long shadows on its courtyard. He sought out the King.

Aragorn was seated in a large leather chair by a west-facing window in the study, a ledger book open on the table in front of him. His head, however, rested against the window casement and he appeared to be asleep. The setting sun placed copper glints in his hair and his rough face had grown peaceful. Faramir’s love for Aragorn coursed through him like a draught of strong spirits, making his head turn and his legs weaken. He leaned against the doorway for support, gazing at Aragorn’s noble beauty and wondering if he had not just imagined the King’s words of the night before.

“I am being watched,” Aragorn said groggily, without moving. “During my long years as a ranger, I learned to sleep with my eyes open,” he explained.

“Your eyes are closed, my Lord,” Faramir pointed out.

“That’s precisely what I wanted you to think!” Aragorn stirred at last, blinking his eyes and rubbing his temple where it had rested against the wood. “Whence this fatigue, as if I had not slept for a day?” He flashed Faramir a sly grin. “Enter. Sit,” the King said, gesturing to the chair on the opposite side of the ledger table.

Faramir entered the study and sat, and the warm sun shining through the window filled him with some of the languor that had overtaken his Lord earlier. “Ooh, I am weary! I also feel as if I slept not, yet I took a good two, perhaps three hours rest after the sun was already in the sky.”

“And why did you not take your rest beginning from dawn?” Aragorn asked quietly.

“My wife awoke and I had some business to trouble her with,” Faramir paused and looked to Aragorn, who was seeming to attend to the ledger book. “And indeed she was troubled, but in the end, she found strange comfort in this same trouble and we came to a solution for the problem. But in repayment for her trouble, I was bade to stay awake yet another hour, making reparations.”

The King burst out laughing, and Faramir smiled wryly. “Your wife is a spirited warrior of Rohan. She will no doubt take it out of your hide should you trouble her so again,” Aragorn said in a light tone.

“Nay, Lord,” Faramir said, and at last the King’s eyes were upon him, searching his face, and he felt aglow with the light of their full attention. Despite the pretense of indifference Aragorn was playing out, Faramir could see that the anticipation of his next words was arousing a keen agitation in the King. “My lady is wise beyond her years and strong in her faith. This trouble she will bear, and with little strife.”

The King audibly let out a long breath. “Oh, I am glad to hear of it,” he said softly. Then he returned his attention to the ledger. “Our wives are a part of us and any burden on them weighs just as heavily on us.”

Faramir regarded his King’s demeanor and thought on the meaning of his words. What was the Queen’s part in this? he wondered, and what of Éowyn’s question?

“Their burdens are ours,” Faramir said, barely above a whisper. “and likewise, our joy is also theirs. Éowyn said it herself.”

“Did she?” Aragorn said, glancing up and looking pleased. “She never fails to surprise me.”

While the King scanned columns of numbers, Faramir gazed out at the clouds alit by the setting sun, lavender and pink and orange across the southwestern sky.

“And tonight?” Aragorn asked softly, still facing the ledger.

“I should get a good night’s sleep in my own bed, but in the evening, I will come to you, if you wish,” Faramir said quietly.

“I do wish it,” Aragorn looked up at him with longing in his eyes. He looked back down. “What will Éowyn do this evening?”

“She is paying a visit to some horse traders from Rohan to make arrangements to supply our stables. One of them is a distant cousin and he has invited her to dine with them at the inn.”

“No doubt to indulge in the cheer of Rohan with its most famous Lady!” Aragorn smiled fondly.

“No doubt. She misses her home, her old home, and she tires of dining with members of the court. She says their manners fatigue her.” Faramir grinned wryly, knowing Aragorn was sympathetic. “And you? Will your wife similarly give you your freedom again tonight?”

“She will.” Aragorn at last shut the ledger book, leaned back in his chair and took a pipe and some leaf from a wooden box on the table. He lit the pipe and puffed thoughtfully for a moment.

Faramir found himself wondering how Aragorn’s mouth tasted after smoking and he felt his face flush. Oh, to be that pipe! he thought hazily, or no, the lips! Yes, to be the lips…

“Elves see things differently than men,” the King explained, “and for them the span of time expands so that almost nothing in the lives of men is of much importance. Only the largest of issues in a man’s life make an impression on an Elf: war, illness, birth…and death. Death they are fair interested in.”

Faramir noticed that the sun had set; the room was getting dim. He leaned forward onto the table. “And love?” he asked, struggling to push away his lustful thoughts about Aragorn’s lips.

Aragorn let out a long stream of smoke. “Love, well, love for them either is or it is not. Now that Legolas is working with you in Ithilien, you may have observed that, though he be older than the trees he tends, he claims he has never found anyone he wished to marry.”

Faramir smiled sadly. “Boromir was of like mind, though he was still young and might have…”

“He would have. It was his duty.”

Faramir nodded.

Aragorn looked at him with sympathy, and then smiled wryly. “Once an Elf has bonded with another, it is forever. So you can see why the Elves seem so tranquil. All events are on a different scale with them. If it is love, then what difference is a night or a fortnight apart? I myself had a nearly 40 year betrothal!”

Faramir laughed now, shaking his head. “Yes, but the Queen…” he hesitated, concerned that his inquiry was too personal. “Perhaps her attitude will change now.”

Aragorn shrugged, “it might eventually, but this Elvish lack of concern with all that does not merit concern – this is a deep-rooted habit and it would be difficult, and probably unhealthful, to change it.”

Faramir thought back to the overheard conversation that had so troubled him several weeks before. “The Queen’s attitude will not change, will it?” he asked Aragorn, recalling her outright encouragement. “For this is somehow part of her design.”

Aragorn raised his eyebrows and nodded, searching Faramir’s face in the last light of the evening sky. “She sees much and tells me that only good can come of expanding my heart by loving another. I have learned her wisdom in this and cherish love wherever it may be found. But you are more right than you know, for she indeed sees in this something that is part of a larger pattern, though she would not claim the design as her own.”

Faramir fixed Aragorn with his gaze, feeling a slow building heat in his groin as the King’s eyes locked on to his. “I think I begin to see the shape of this constellation, where the stars lie and how they burn,” Faramir said, his voice low and smooth.

Aragorn’s look was frank and admiring. “Good. Tell me what you see.”

Faramir sat back in his chair. “By your leave, I will tell it in a song. It is a song the like of which are sung at the end of the night in taverns, but you will tell me if it does not fit the likes of Kings, as well.”

And Faramir sang, very softly:

If in a true heart your love does lie
But that heart is bade to roam
Feed not your fear that love might die
But make your own heart love’s home.
For even if your wanderer’s fate
A lover’s path does cross
He knows at home his love awaits
And nothing will be lost.
Love does not love diminish
When faith and hearts are true
And all will in the finish
Love best when much love they knew.

Faramir could barely see Aragorn’s face in the darkness, but it looked like he was smiling. A voice from the doorway called out, “m’lord, shall I light a lamp?”

“Yes, please, Clarkill,” Aragorn said, stretching his limbs. “Lord Faramir is entertaining me and I lost track of time.”

The old woman lit two lamps, placing one on the table and one on the fireplace mantle.

“Shall I sing you another one, my Lord?” Faramir asked politely.

Clarkill clucked her tongue. “Perhaps you should sing him the one about supper being ready and everyone waiting in the dining room for the King to join them.”

Aragorn smiled. “Very well, Clarkill. After supper, then?” Aragorn asked, and Faramir nodded with a shy smile on his face.

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