Faramir Fiction Archive

The Time to Rejoice (NC-17)

Written by Kissa

22 December 2006 | 11846 words

Chapter 2

(three decades later)

Faramir was a grown man, judging by his years, although he didn’t look his age, but much younger. Maybe because he’s so damn skinny, Aragorn thought, looking at the young man’s slender form.

“Your Majesty… er, Aragorn, is something wrong?” Faramir dared after a while since he had noticed the King’s gaze become unfocused.

Aragorn chased away the memories which gnawed at his mind and smiled warmly to his steward.

“Nay, Faramir, nothing is wrong… It is just memories catching up with me. Memories of the happy moments I spent here in Gondor a long, long time ago.”

Faramir nodded and they returned to the plans of reconstruction they had waiting on the King’s desk.

After some hours of sustained work, Aragorn couldn’t put up with Faramir’s fidgeting. Something was obviously on the young man’s mind.

“Speak up, Faramir! For the last hour you have been acting as if you had ants in your breeches!”

Faramir blushed and opened his mouth to speak, changing his mind at the last moment. Taking a deep breath, he tried again.

“My King, I would ask something in the name of the people of Gondor but… I do not know if it will be possible, now that Queen Arwen’s departure is still of recent date.”

“Speak freely, dear Faramir… Arwen and I have parted with the consent of both of us. I am not affected.” Aragorn said. “What was it you wanted to ask?”

“I was thinking the people need a celebration to forget about the hard times of war and destruction… and to get their minds off the reconstruction efforts.” Faramir began, stopping to see what the King would say to this.

“That is the best idea I have heard in weeks! Faramir, I could just kiss you now! It is indeed time we all got rid of the long faces… Arwen is… “ the King’s voice faded into a whisper. “A closed chapter.” Aragorn said. “Do you have something particular in mind?”

“As a matter of fact, your Highness, I do.” Faramir smiled. “I was thinking we should begin celebrating Yule again, like elves do. We could ask Lord Elrond and his sons to come along, and your friends from the Fellowship…”

Aragorn was so thrilled by the idea that he forgot all about propriety and stood up, circling the desk and coming over to Faramir, enfolding him in a bear hug, kissing him loudly on both cheeks, which left the Steward a bit flustered and blushing.

It was only now that he could feel how thin his Steward was… his ribs could be distinguished clearly, even through the thick velvet of his court garments.

Aragorn noted how well the Steward’s slender body fit in his arms and let his hands trail through the silken auburn curls.

“Dear, dear Faramir… you have grown into a wondrous being! Your mother would be so proud of you!” Aragorn let out, sighing happily and sniffing Faramir’s hair.

“You knew her that well?” Faramir asked as they broke apart.

“Aye, I did. You know I used to live under a different name in Gondor some time ago, when Boromir was five and you were but a baby. Finduilas wanted me to assist with your delivery, as her pregnancy had been a complicated one and she feared court healers would not know what to do to save you, in case…”

“You were there at my birth?” Faramir’s eyes bulged out, an even more powerful blush coloring his cheeks. He had always known Aragorn was older than he looked, but this new account changed the way he saw the King. Aragorn had held him in his arms right after he had been born. Somehow, learning that made him feel intimately connected to the man who stood before him now.

As if reading his mind, Aragon spoke again.

“You were such a cute baby! I never knew my way around little ones, but you were just so sweet and never causing any trouble! With Boromir, it was difficult as we had to watch him all the time, because his curiosity would get the best of him at all times. You two were the sweetest little ones I have ever seen, sweeter even than elflings!”

Faramir coughed a bit, wishing they switched to a more serious topic. He was becoming embarrassed at the thought that Aragorn might have seen him naked, even if it was when he was less than a year old, and for the purpose of changing his dirty diapers. The mere possibility was frightening. He had to ask.

“Did you… um, see me naked?” he asked, wishing he would have shut up the very moment the words left his mouth.

Aragorn laughed.

“Of course! More times than I can count! I even gave you a few baths! Finduilas was amazed at how tame you were when you were bathed… she said most children hate to be bathed. Boromir sure had a most bumpy relationship with soap and water, since his early years.”

“Oh…” Faramir gulped. It was useless to hope he still had the faintest trace of dignity and credibility in his King’s eyes. To the King, he would ever be the babe splashing water out of the tub while this enigmatic man was touching him everywhere, washing him. That gave the young prince an odd feeling, which was only partially unpleasant.

“Too bad we will not have snow for Yule,” he said, in an attempt to change the topic.

“I think Gandalf and Elrond can help with that. “ Aragorn chuckled. “And you shall have your snow, little one!” he added, pinching Faramir’s cheek.

Faramir wondered at the king’s sudden change of mood. His melancholy seemed to have simply evaporated.

“Shall I begin planning the celebrations, my King?” Faramir asked.

Aragorn looked at him as if his Steward had just asked for some exotic sexual favor.

“Er… Now?” He looked puzzled. “I was thinking that now I feel like asking my Steward to join me for a cup of hot wine with cinnamon and honey… but if he is so intent on working all the time…” Aragorn pouted, which yanked a smile from Faramir’s tightly controlled self.

“If the King commands it…” he said, and rang a small bell for a maid, to whom he told what the King’s wishes were.

Aragorn came close to him again and put a parental hand on his shoulder.

“Faramir, am I that hard to cope with? I was merely asking you to join me for a moment of enjoying little pleasant things… as friends, not as King and Steward… I wish you could be more at ease around me, like you were when we first met in the Houses of Healing. It will be your Yule present to me! Nay, I am wrong… your friendship is the most precious gift this year could bring me!”

“But Aragorn…” Faramir began, not really knowing what he wanted to say.

Aragorn raised one long, bony finger and wiggled it slowly from left to right and then back.

“No buts, Faramir. As a healer, I say you should cut yourself some slack, eat a little and rest a little more, to give your body time to assimilate some energy! I am sure your beloved is worried sick over you and how thin you are!”

Faramir blushed violently and looked away.

“Idonothaveanyone.” He mumbled, his eyes fixed on a spot somewhere outside.

Aragorn’s hearing was still as accurate as in his Ranger years. His mind registered Faramir’s words, but he decided not to push further at the time.

The maid came in bringing the carafe of hot, spiced wine and two mugs. Aragorn took the tray from the astounded woman and put it near the fireplace on a low table, inviting Faramir to sit on the thick rug near the fire.

When the maid left, Aragorn filled both their cups and invited Faramir to have a taste.

They spent the whole night talking, Faramir’s reserve being melted away by the wine, helping him gather the nerve to ask Aragorn about his mother, their family and Gondor from the times when he himself had been a newborn. The King was more than happy to revisit those memories and to use the occasion to reassure Faramir of how worthy of admiration and praise he was.

When the light of day interrupted them, a sun beam tickling Faramir’s face, making him react the same way he had when he was a baby – by giggling -, Aragorn reflexively reached out to caress the young one’s face, the moment from the past merging for a second with the present.

“Now, dear one, go to your room and get some sleep, and don’t come out until I tell you to!” the King said seriously. “You need to rest and eat some, or else you will fall ill again, and I will have none of that!”

As Faramir got up, bowed to him and walked away, Aragorn decided he liked his Steward, once he had gotten to know him a bit. As it had turned out, the young one wasn’t glacial; he was merely shy and bore the marks of a life spent in the shadow of his older brother.

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