Faramir Fiction Archive

The Time to Rejoice (NC-17)

Written by Kissa

22 December 2006 | 11846 words

Chapter 3

The day of the celebration drew near and Faramir felt like the world was crumbling down on him… He had the feeling that there were so many things to do over so little time, but somehow everything seemed to arrange itself at the last moment. He was sure it had everything to do with the King’s magic touch. Aragorn had written the invitations himself and had sent them out to his friends. Elrond and his sons had already confirmed their attendance.

The evenings had been the same in the last weeks, with the King and the Steward talking in front of the fire in the King’s bedroom, having some wine. In time, Faramir had grown more confident around Aragorn and now he let the King see him dressed less formally. At times, he caught himself looking forward to the end of the day, when he would have the King’s company exclusively. Aragorn was simply flawless in his eyes. The best King Gondor could have, the most accomplished warrior and the most handsome man. He would then wonder why the Queen had changed her mind… forever must have sounded too long for an ancient being as she was, who really knew what eventually would happen with her husband.

Aragorn had found himself missing the young Steward during the day, when Faramir was away carrying out his commands. But Faramir always worked himself too hard, and recently the King had found out why. Not from Faramir himself, because the young man was not one to complain, but from the chronicles in the library which spoke of the times when Denethor ruled over Gondor. He had known Denethor for a short while, when both of them were still young, and he had seen the abusive and impulsive nature of the Steward back then…The chronicles mentioned bits and pieces of facts which troubled Aragorn a lot: one account mentioned the people leaving their work to watch as the Steward’s son received thirty whip lashes in the main courtyard, the next contained a recipe given by one of the healers who had tended to the boy’s injured back and legs, another one mentioned the castle staying awake with screams coming from Denethor’s wing…

This was the evening when he would talk to Faramir openly. He could not stand to watch as the young one died inside little by little, since it had become clear that Faramir, after losing his beloved brother and after assuming the stewardship, had had to give up all he held dear. Aragorn could understand why Faramir missed the wilderness and his Rangers… he had once been one as well, and he sometimes wished he still had the freedom to only be where he wanted to be.

Watching the Steward closely had made Aragorn’s feelings shift from caution to trust, friendship and… even more. Aragorn cared for the young man more than he did for any of his other friends. He knew Faramir was a skilled warrior and could defend himself in case of an attack, but when it came to feelings and dealing with the loneliness… sometimes Aragorn could feel his pointless struggle, the knowledge he had to perform excellently every time although there had been no one to teach him and his only allies had been books and – on some rare, happy occasions – Gandalf.

He had put on a long, silk undergarment and a richly embroidered robe for when Faramir arrived. Nervously, he measured the room with his legendary strides over and over and finally went to the window, looking outside to the starlit sky. It was a small ritual for him, to watch the stars every night before he went to bed, and to ask himself how the sky would have looked if no man had been spared by Sauron’s wrath and destruction.

A knock at the door ended his musings.

“Come!” he said and turned around only halfway, trying to look composed in front of Faramir, even if he was nervous, worrying about too many things to name.

He just prayed Faramir would not shut himself away again if he tackled those topics now.

As Faramir stepped closer and into a moonlit patch, Aragorn’s breath caught and he forgot what he had meant to say. The Steward looked more beautiful than any elf Aragorn had ever laid eyes on. Faramir’s blue eyes stood out in contrast to his pale complexion, his lips were parted and red because he was biting them in sign of nervousness and the simple, light outfit he wore made him look almost ethereal. Aragorn wanted to touch him, to feel him close and to never let him go… He growled possessively, thinking that now he had discovered the treasure which lay beneath the uptight façade, he would not give it up without a serious fight.

Shaking his head to snap out of his daze, Aragorn invited Faramir to sit on the soft rug in front of the fire and brought two steaming mugs full of spiced wine. Sitting down, he could not cross his legs because of the robe, so he chose to recline and thus allow himself to lazily catalogue every little detail about Faramir, finding him absolutely exquisite.

“Aragorn? Is everything alright? Am I improperly dressed?” Faramir asked as he noticed the King eyeing his entire outfit closely.

“Nay… you are dressed just fine! I was merely trying to figure out whether you wear these big fluttering shirts to conceal the fact you’ve been missing out on your meals again…”

“I promise, Aragorn, I did eat! I just cannot get used to easting so much all of the sudden!” Faramir said in a small voice which sent chills down Aragorn’s spine. Where had the warrior gone? The one who was now speaking to him was a scared, submissive creature who waited for his verdict.

Aragorn sat up and came closer to Faramir, placing a hand on his shoulder, kneading it almost imperceptibly. Faramir’s first reaction was to twitch and pull away, but then he immediately went pliant and let Aragorn do as he wished.

The older man’s kneading became a caress before it shifted to a mere touch.

“Faramir… It will all be fine, you are safe here. Who hurt you so? Will you please tell me, dear one?” Aragorn spoke softly, trying to conceal his nervousness. Would Faramir open up or shy away?

Faramir’s lips trembled and his eyes became blurry, which told Aragorn he was reliving scenes of the past. Taking in a deep breath, Aragorn went for broke and hugged Faramir, sighing in great relief when he felt the other man mould himself onto his front.

It felt like they had been hugging for a long time when they broke apart, and Aragorn looked at the man he was holding. Faramir’s eyes were now huge, utter amazement written clearly readable in them.

“Do not fear me, Faramir. I was first your friend and healer, and only then your King. Never forget that. I give you my word that I would never do anything to harm you in any way. You are very precious to me.” He said softly.

Standing up, he held out his hand for the young man to take.

“Let’s go sit on the couch and talk.” Aragorn said.

Faramir followed him like a well trained pup, but then, seeing the King gracefully sit down, careful not to wrinkle his robes and patting the seat next to him invitingly, he asked:

“Why?”

“Because I have read the chronicles of your father’s rule and I am worried by what I have read. And I want you to face that and vanquish it before the celebration… it will be one of my gifts to you.”

Faramir crossed his arms over his chest, defensively.

“I do not want your pity, Sire!”

Aragorn looked at him, eyes wide from shock.

“But … it is not pity! Faramir, you are my friend and it hurts to see you get skinnier with each passing day!”

A long silence followed, but then Faramir seemed to make a decision and came to sit beside Aragorn, looking at him calmly.

“You read about the beatings and the humiliation… and you are wondering whether my father laid his hands on me in other ways as well.” He said. He knew it. Even Gandalf had questioned him once, assuming the same thing.

Aragorn’s heart cried for the man he was now facing. He should not have been left all alone to deal with all this! he thought, even so, he is doing a magnificent job at standing tall and proud!

“My father did not touch me in any improper way. He only tried to correct my many weaknesses.” Faramir spoke again.

“But you see, Faramir,” the King burst out, “you do not have ‘many weaknesses’. You are the strongest of the brothers. You grew up into this valiant, capable man who is wise beyond his years, with all the odds against you. Boromir had it all since his birth, as first son to the Steward! So do not suspect me of pitying you… I merely wish to chase away the sadness in your eyes, it breaks my heart to see you punish yourself like this!”

“You still don’t see it, Aragorn…” Faramir almost whispered. “I am not like this because Father beat me… I am sad and lonely because I am malformed, I am a monster! Otherwise, why do the people look at me and shake their heads oddly, why do maidens treat me the way they do?”

This proved a bit too much for Aragorn.

“A monster? Malformed? And how do the maidens treat you? All I saw were girls giggling in your presence and flirting with you!” He blurted out.

“No one wants me! And I cannot approach any of the maidens because they are all wild and they scare me! In the first month after the war ended, I thought one of them liked me. I agreed to meet her in the garden and what did she do? As soon as I got there, she pushed me against a tree, pinched me here-“ Faramir pointed to his left buttock “and she put her tongue in my mouth while I was gasping!”

Aragorn did not know whether to laugh or to cry. What he had heard was not what he had expected, and he was not easily surprised.

“You did not enjoy anything she did?” He carefully asked, and was perplexed to see Faramir vigorously shake his head.

“Is there no one in this kingdom or in another to have caught your heart?” Aragorn wanted to know.

Faramir nodded slowly and looked away.

“There is… but it is improper.” He mumbled.

Aragorn reached over to him and tilted his chin up, making him look into his eyes.

“Are you talking about a man, Faramir? Is that what eats at you? That I would punish this love?”

Faramir was blushing a deep crimson, still trying to escape Aragorn’s questions.

“Is it Gandalf?” Aragorn tried.

Faramir tilted his head and made a very eloquent grimace that obviously meant “gods, no!”

“I know: it must be Beregond! And I can see why… he doesn’t exactly resemble an Uruk Hai.”

A snort and an annoyed grunt.

“Oh come on,” Aragorn laughed “do confess: ’tis me!” He said, hoping that would tick Faramir off into telling him everything.

What he got was the most terrified look he had ever seen on a human face. After a few seconds in which they stared at each other silently, Faramir lowered his gaze and Aragorn could see tears fall onto the young man’s lap.

Taking Faramir’s closer hand into his and squeezing lightly, Aragorn spoke, pouring all the sweetness he could muster into his next words:

“Does this mean you want me, Faramir?”

He knew it was a risky question to ask, but he was now relieved that he had been given a chance to say how he felt.

To Mordor with my imprudence! I knew he was magical, but I refused to heed it… Poor, silly Faramir, what have you done? You have betrayed your King’s trust in you and made yourself into a fool! Faramir reprimanded himself mentally.

“Faramir?” Aragorn asked, when the young man did not speak for minutes, sheer horror etched on his face. “You still have not answered my question. Is it me you want?”

Faramir would have said he did not just “want” Aragorn, if he had been able to speak. He revered him and he hoped that one day someone like the King would come along and maybe, just maybe choose and like him. What he felt for Aragorn was well beyond “wanting” him.

“My King… please do not ask a question I cannot answer.” Faramir said, shaking visibly.

Oh to the fires with it! Give the boy the chance to relax a bit! Aragorn’s mind screamed at him and it almost sounded as if Gandalf had taken residence in his head.

“We have a problem then, my Steward.” Aragorn said, thus securing Faramir’s undivided attention. He tilted his head and smiled at the Steward, trying to reassure him. “There is this wonderful young man I see every day. He is the most effective Steward that Gondor ever had and the fairest creature I have seen in the realms of men. I find myself missing him when he’s away and wishing I could make him loosen up and come closer to me when we meet for our quiet evening chats. Do you think there is any chance I might get to him and tell him that my life without him has lost all its meaning and glow?”

Feeling as if he’d just delivered a speech based on quotes from the romance novels court ladies read, Aragorn caught his breath and became silent for a while, awaiting Faramir’s reaction.

The young Gondorian blushed to the tips of his ears and looked away from him, out the window, when he said: “But you are the King, Aragorn…”

“I was born a man, not a king. I wish you would see past the crown. Will you at least try to look at me and tell me if there can be love beyond the allegiance? I know you are scared of what this could mean – as it is not the usual way among men – but that makes two of us.”

Faramir could only stare agape at his King. Aragorn had obviously wanted to say this for a while and he looked like he meant every word.

His hand reached forth of its own will and the pads of two fingers gently touched Aragorn’s lower lip.

“You… you will admit to being scared in front of me?”

Aragorn took Faramir’s hand in his and gently turned it over, kissing each knuckle softly.

“I will admit to much more in front of you, dear Faramir.” He spoke carefully, then opened his arms in invitation.

Faramir pondered for a while whether he should take the king’s offer or not, whether it was moral or not, but he found that the need for some significant closeness was stronger than all other considerations. Inching closer, his eyes never leaving Aragorn’s smiling face, he let himself be enfolded in a big, warm and healing hug.

Aragorn nestled Faramir’s head under his chin and stroked his hair slowly, like in a dream.

“Rest for this night, love is here. Right here under my wings…” Aragorn said sofly, humming the lines of a lullaby he had once sung to a baby Faramir.

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