Faramir Fiction Archive

Walk No More In The Shadows (NC-17)

Written by Minx and Iris

12 January 2007 | 50694 words | Work in Progress

Chapter 10

Aragorn thought the meal was quite a success. He wanted to invite Faramir to stay back and have some wine with him, but the younger man was beginning to look tired now, and he noticed him struggling to stifle a yawn as they began to rise.

“We shall see you at breakfast tomorrow,” Elladan was telling Faramir who blushed a little at the attention and nodded shyly.

It was difficult to refuse either of the twins when they set their minds to something, Aragorn thought grinning. Faramir caught his grin and returned a small smile of his own.

Faramir’s thoughts turned to Boromir as he walked down the long hallways, and of the numerous times they had spent together over the evening meals like this, laughing and talking quietly. For those few hours Faramir would forget all his troubles and simply revel in his brother’s company.

If only Boromir were here… but if Boromir had learnt of the truth… he shuddered slightly, the relaxed feeling the dinner had left him, being replaced by a weary and troubled feeling.

Gandalf watched Faramir’s sleeping form quietly. The younger man had oft told him he needn’t stay by him each night but the wizard felt troubled leaving Faramir alone for he still slept badly. Faramir mumbled something and rolled over to one side, causing Gandalf to start. The younger man whimpered and curled up into himself.

“Will you for once stop acting like a delicate little girl and stand up straight!” he heard called after him as he made for the door out of his father’s study, indeed, hunched over and feeling miserable.

Faramir turned to see his father slumped in his chair, lacing up his leggings. If anything, that sight made him want to curl up even more. Denethor smirked at him, shaking his head, “You bring it on yourself, you know that, with all your squirming. If only you would stay still; even a girl could do that!”

Faramir cringed. He recognized this mood in his father, and it bode no good. The sooner he got out of here the better. He took a deep, steadying breath and straightened his back, but right away sparks of pain shot through his lower body and up his spine, causing him to whimper and double over once more.

Denethor laughed at him again, “What is Boromir going to think when he sees you walking the halls like that? What is going to happen to all that fraternal love when he recognizes you for the filthy little whore you are?”

The mocking look turned menacing, “He would probably never wish to speak to you again. Or wait… I’ll tell you what else I think might happen— I think he would like a sample.”

The air hitched in his lungs and he felt like the room had just got colder. Still all Faramir could do was listen to his father as he continued, “He’ll only need one look at you like that to work it out. I might as well call him over now and see if he’d like to take a turn like my friends did. How would you like that, hmm? Would you also wince and cry when your beloved brother takes you, or urge him on like the proper slut you are?”

“Wake up!”

Faramir’s eyes flew open as he sat up gasping and crying, forcing Gandalf to move forward quickly.

“Oh Faramir!” Mithrandir’s voice was full of tenderness and Faramir fell broken into his outstretched arms, “Child, don’t cry!”

He sobbed. He couldn’t help it. The wizard’s hands around him were so comforting and his voice was so soothing.

“Was it another dream?” Gandalf asked softly when he had calmed down a little.

He couldn’t trust himself to speak so he just gave a small nod. His head nestled against the wizard’s chest.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head mutely.

Gandalf sighed and pulled the young steward closer in his arms, “Alright then. I won’t press you.”

They sat that way awhile, Faramir ensconced in the worried wizard’s arms.

Then Faramir spoke, “How long?” he said in a voice full of soft anguish.

“What, young one?” Gandalf asked compassionately.

“How long will I be haunted by my memories, Mithrandir?” he spoke bitterly, the tears starting up again.

“I do not know, child, but you know, if you were to open up a little more about this, it might not trouble you as much in your sleep,” he suggested. In the last few days as Faramir had gradually opened up a little more to the others, Aragorn and he had tried a few times to get him to speak of what he had gone through. The younger man had tried refusing but then given in and tried to speak. However, he would still get overwhelmed sooner or later and refuse to say more. All they knew was that it was a frequent occurrence any time Faramir visited Minas Tirith, more so if Boromir was not also there as was usually the case. It had pained Gandalf to think of the young man coming home on his few short trips to that reception. More so when Faramir had just the day before inadvertently muttered, “I used to ache to return to Ithilien even thought it hurt so much to ride at times.”

“I don’t wish to talk about it,” he said now, repeating a line Gandalf had heard many times.

After a brief while, he shifted and Gandalf loosened his embrace. The young man stayed in his arms but turned to look towards him.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“For what?”

“For being with me each night. I know you lose sleep over it, and I wish you wouldn’t but I am thankful nevertheless.”

“It is but little I do for you,” Gandalf said tiredly; touching Faramir’s cheek lightly, “I wish I could do so much more for you.”

“Y—you don’t have to…”

“I do. You have ever called me your friend and I have ever seen you as one and a dear one at that, but I have done little to show for it. If I had paid more attention to you, if I had had but one inkling these years of what you were truly going through…”

“Please, Mithrandir,” Faramir pleaded, “Do not say that. There is nothing you could have done save fret and worry as you do now. You have done so much for all of us… you have helped free us from the darkness… and you help me so much now! How can you say such things?”

Gandalf tightened his arms around the younger man, “I help you but little. You still suffer I can see it,’ he said, “But I will see you recover, as will Aragorn!”

Faramir didn’t reply but stayed in Gandalf’s arms letting the wizard’s voice act as a soothing balm to his distraught mind, wondering if he were not letting himself get too used to this comfort.

Gandalf sighed when Faramir finally fell back into an exhausted sleep. He’d known the younger man hadn’t recovered fully despite his insistence to return to his duties. His illness coming on top of the not too distant injuries in war and the shock of losing both his brother and his father had ensured Faramir had much to recover from.

Faramir watched bemused as Elladan, Elrohir, Legolas and Gimli all spoke at once to Aragorn in his study.

“We found the finest ever wine in the second circle. You must come with us next time.”

“And the tavern was so unique!” Gimli was saying, “Such fine walls, very old stonework.”

“And the young er—ladies,” Elladan smirked.

Aragorn raised an eyebrow at that, “In the second circle? Fine wine?”

“Oh, very well!” Elrohir huffed, “so it is not just a tavern and they do indulge in ‘other’ activities but the wine is indeed fine.”

Faramir almost smiled. The taverns in the second circle were less taverns and more brothels. Boromir had taken him there once. His smile faltered as he remembered his father’s reaction to his rather woeful first attempt with a woman. He didn’t realise he was being spoken to until he heard his name called out a little loudly.

“Y—yes?” he stuttered looking dully at Legolas who was asking him something.

“I said which is the best of these ‘taverns’?” Legolas asked calmly.

“I — I don’t know,” he said feeling rather inadequate when five pairs of eyes broed into him.

“But—” Elrohir started.

“Surely —”

Aragorn cut in swiftly, “I should have thought you wouldn’t. Gondor borrowed from Khand the fine practise of having courtesans for the sons of nobility. It caused less scandal and gossip.”

“Yes,” Faramir said quietly, though he didn’t tell Aragorn that in his father’s eyes he had never qualified as worthy enough for the attentions of one. The few other experiences he had had with women had been in other brothels — in Pelargir, once and in Dol Amroth another time, and while not as disastrous as his first attempt, he’d known in his oft tense state he wasn’t a flying success either.

“And are all sons of nobility as shy as you around women?” Elrohir asked smiling gently.

Faramir reddened at that, “I’m not,” he began protesting.

Elladan joined in, “Yes, we heard Éowyn remonstrating you at your refusal to erm — display affection publicly.”

“I—” Faramir blushed even deeper, as he remembered that day the twins were talking about. He had felt Éowyn’s lips on his and had kissed her back dutifully though his mind had been on the pile of paperwork on his table, but when she’d loosened her collar and then slipped her hands under his shirt and tried to work them past the waistband of his trousers, he had panicked. He had not wanted to be found like that, what would Éomer have said? Or Elessar? And what if Éowyn realised he was so inexperienced in pleasing women… she would leave him.

Aragorn frowned at this line of conversation. He remembered Elrohir’s casual remark many weeks ago that the young Steward seemed to tie himself in knots when in close contact with women, and that Éowyn seemed to be losing patience with his restraint.

He couldn’t have had much time for chasing skirts… not with Denethor the way he was… not with him spending most of his time at home being hurt in such a fashion…

“You can’t expect him to have kissed Éowyn with the two of you goggling at them,” Legolas said smartly, and got an apple thrown on his head by Elrohir.

A fruit fight ensued and so Aragorn shooed them all away, and then settled thankfully back to work in peace.

The light drizzle of that morning had given way to glorious sunshine when Aragorn glanced up some hours later. Faramir had wandered over to the window. He looked tired and tensed.

How did he ever survive it? I’m glad he did, but dear Eru, how did he?

He was still lost in thought when Faramir turned from the window and looked to him. The young steward didn’t miss the pensiveness in his face.

“What is the matter?” he asked anxiously.

Aragorn put down the papers he’d been pretending to read, wondering what to say. There were so many things…

“He hurt you oft times, didn’t he?” he said quietly.

Faramir didn’t miss the note of unhappiness in his voice. He sighed silently and looked out of the window again. He wanted nothing more than to forget, to blight out the past and what he’d had to go through. He wished he didn’t have to talk about it. Why did Aragorn and Mithrandir always try to remind him? They kept pushing him to speak of all that had happened but truth be told, he didn’t even want to remember it. And it only worried Aragorn further.

He hurried to allay Aragorn’s worry, “It wasn’t that bad, really; I learned to live with it.”

It had the opposite effect. Aragorn rose and coming towards him, turned him around so they were facing each other.

“Not that bad! But he hurt you! You told us you couldn’t even ride at times!” The distress in Aragorn’s voice was clear, and his eyes seemed to be filling up, worrying Faramir.

“Oh, but that was my own fault,” he said hurriedly, again, “If only I had cooperated more, controlled myself better and hadn’t winced as much, there wouldn’t have been that much pain or injury.”

Aragorn’s grip on his shoulders tightened and Faramir nearly winced.

“Is that what he told you?” The king had to struggle to keep from raising his voice, “That the pain was your own fault? Oh Faramir, surely you can’t believe that still?” he felt his voice breaking there.

Faramir turned his head away distressed. It had been his fault hadn’t it? Denethor had said so each time, Faramir had been forced to cry out. His father had hated to hear his cries, and berated him often, and simply hurt him even more and deliberately so, so that Faramir had learnt with time to bear it in stoic silence.

Aragorn hooked a finger under the unhappy man’s chin and forced him to look up. To Faramir’s shock, the king’s face was streaked with tears.

“It was not your fault,” the king said quietly, “Never think so. It pained you because a grievous hurt was inflicted on you.”

He didn’t want to think about it. About any of it. Of the constant fear he’d lived in, of the pain he’d felt so often, of the worry that anyone would find out. His eyes welled up.

“Please don’t cry, Faramir. It’s all over now. I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again,” Aragorn whispered softly and pulled him close.

Faramir melted against his king’s chest. A small voice at the back of his head reminded him he shouldn’t act so craven in front of Aragorn; what would he think of him, how long could he abuse the king’s kindness, how long until he would be pushed away in disgust?

But Aragorn’s embrace was so warm, so comforting, Faramir couldn’t bring himself to pull away. With his head resting on Aragorn’s shoulder, his ear against Aragorn’s chest, he could hear his heart beat, feel as much as hear his voice whenever Aragorn spoke, smell that lovely musky, herby smell that was so typically Aragorn continuously rather than catch the occasional lucky whiff.

All these wonderful, intimate experiences on their own would do to silence any voice for a time at least, Faramir reasoned with himself, well aware he was clinging to his king like a forlorn child, but together they were all consuming, making him want to hang on just that little bit longer.

What had got into him? Why now? Why Aragorn? He had never been this clinging, not with Gandalf during the past weeks, or even with Boromir when they were children. What must Elessar think of him?

Taking his cue from Faramir’s tensing shoulders, Aragorn shifted his gaze to the window and sighed, “Again, it is far too nice a day to spend indoors. Would you care to join me for lunch in the gardens?”

They had a quiet lunch under the shade of a large tree. Faramir had gaped at the assortment of foods that had been packed for just the two of them. There was fruit for dessert, large, luscious apples from Lossarnach. Aragorn took out his knife and began cutting one, taking out a large piece and handing it to Faramir smiling.

“Eat,” he said around his own mouth full of apple when Faramir refused the slice. “Go on,” he insisted, holding the piece up to Faramir’s lips now. Faramir started at the gesture and hastily grabbed the piece to cover up his surprise.

“This is a beautiful garden,” Aragorn said calmly, digging out another apple.

Faramir nodded quietly, anxious to start a new topic of conversation, “Yes, I have come here often. It is what I remember of my mother. She used to walk with me and Boromir here and sing to us.”

It was the only memory he had of his mother. Boromir had said she was beautiful and that their father had loved her very much and that was why he had fallen into a gloom after she had passed on.

“Really?” Aragorn was saying, smiling, “That must have been sweet indeed!”

“Yes it was,” Faramir said quietly.

“Indeed. You must have looked a beautiful family surrounded here by these flowers and trees…”

“Sire,” Faramir broached immediately, “About that —”

“What?”

“Your… family… I mean, about your marriage… We have to make plans… you’ll have a family soon, and—”

“A family,” Aragorn said softly, his eye shining a little.

“As will you,” he said smiling at Faramir whose face suddenly became inscrutable as he thought of Éowyn’s anger when he had refused to bed over before their marriage.

“Faramir,” Aragorn’s voice was soft and gentle, “what is it my friend? You seem worried.”

“I—I’m fine,” he said dully.

Aragorn watched him for a few moments and then decided to plunge right in.

“Faramir?”

“Yes, sire?”

“You have — have you lain with others, Faramir?” he asked.

The younger man stared up at him his face looking hard, “If you mean have I lain with a woman, yes I have. I’m not so — so —”

He faltered miserably.

“I didn’t mean that,” Aragorn was saying alarmed, “I just—”

“How could I do more than kiss her before we are wed?” Faramir said, “She is sister to a king!”

Faramir watched as Aragorn played a game of chess with Elladan, his eyes taking in every single little detail about the king as he sat hunched over the table, the way his brow furrowed while thinking, the way the long fingers curled around a pipe, the way he’d lean back once his turn was over. The evening light played on the king’s hair and somehow added to the entire dignity of his person.

They were sitting in one of the high rooms of the citadel relaxing after an early supper, a habit that the elves had brought with them, for Faramir was more used to a late, light supper and then bed. The elves preferred to spend some time after their meals talking and he’d been told, in Rivendell, there would be music and poetry and much merriment. Here they simply sat in this large room, with a nice view and either sang or read or played an instrument as Elrohir was doing quietly, humming to himself or like Legolas and Gimli bickered over something or the other. Aragorn had tugged Faramir along this evening. The younger man had been reluctant at first to intrude among friends, but Aragorn had insisted and as was becoming increasingly usual, Faramir found it difficult to refuse this man he had come to like so much.

Aragorn felt the eyes linger on him and looked up towards the other end of the large sofa he occupied. Catching his Steward’s contemplative gaze he smiled in return inducing a shy smile from Faramir who then proceeded to turn his attention back to the papers he’d been reading… upside down… Aragorn noted in amusement. He was glad Faramir had joined them here. It had struck him greatly when Faramir on being invited had simply said diffidently that he wouldn’t want to disturb his evening with his friends.

“You won’t” Aragorn had assured him, “And anyway you are a dear friend to all of us now!”

It was Gandalf’s urging and the promise that he could work there that had induced Faramir finally to come up to this large airy room and join them. The others had been surprised but delighted to see him there, and he’d blushed a little at their attention. Aragorn had helped him onto a large comfortable sofa and joined Elladan at the game they had left off the previous day.

Faramir’s gaze made Aragorn feel strange inside, it gave him a nice, warm feeling. The grey eyes had been frank and appraising and undoubtedly admiring.

Faramir’s gaze was back to the papers now, which he’d hurriedly straightened, a faint tinge of red marking the still wan cheeks. Aragorn smiled and returned his attention to the game. After a while, Faramir moved a little closer, seemingly watching the game. Aragorn found his attention on the game waning as he kept contemplating whether or not to look up and catch Faramir’s eye. Legolas and Gimli continued arguing while Elrohir continued playing his lute.

“Estel, I think your new chick is tired,” Elrohir said after a while.

Aragorn stared up from the game, confused, and realised the young steward lay slouched into the sofa his eyes closed. The next move had been his but it was left completely forgotten as he darted towards the sleeping man in concern. Whatever had happened to him? He hoped he hadn’t fallen ill again. He should have let him rest, not dragged him here where he’d have to endure this ever noisy bunch of elves and dwarf.

“Faramir,” he whispered gently. The younger man mumbled something and slouched forward, leaning closer towards Aragorn, so that the king suddenly found himself pulling him into his arms. He smiled indulgently when he realised Faramir was just sleeping. It seemed a shame to wake him, he decided.

“He’s just sleeping,” he said with a sigh of relief to no one in particular and stroked Faramir’s cheek gently, “Poor thing, he must have been quite tired.”

“To bed with you, young one,” he said softly and collecting Faramir into his arms, rose from the seat, grunting a little as he did so. Faramir mumbled something incoherent again and snuggled into his hold.

The twins watched with increasing interest as their foster brother carefully adjusted his hold as though holding something extremely precious. They nudged each other and grinned but Aragorn didn’t notice their little interplay at all or the equally interested looks Legolas and Gimli gave him, having stopped arguing briefly.

“Oh dear, you’re still so thin, I can easily carry you…” he murmured softly as he carried Faramir out of the room, towards his chambers, his friends watching on.

“Well!” Elladan said grinning, “Poor Faramir. Aragorn’s decided to look after him!”

“I think,” Elrohir said calmly, “He could do with it. And I’m sure he won’t mind. I don’t think Aragorn will return to that game, Elladan. Should we all go out to the city do you think?”

Aragorn deposited the younger man on his bed as gently as he could but the movement was still enough to awaken Faramir a little.

“Sire,” he whispered softly.

“Yes, … now rest.”

“I — wasn’t I in the hall with….”

“Yes, but you fell asleep.”

“Oh!” Faramir’s eyes widened, and his face coloured, “I apologise I… your friends must think me so rude!”

“Hush! Why do you apologise? Anyone would fall asleep if that elf and dwarf quarrelled again. I think you’re very brave to actually do so,” he joked as he pulled the blankets up around the slender figure.

Faramir opened his mouth to respond but Aragorn forestalled him, “Hush, anyway it is more my error. I should be the one to apologise. I should have realised you would be tired and it’s enough for even a healthy man to withstand the strain of the twins as well as those two!”

“No, no,” Faramir murmured half-sleepily, “I’m glad you insisted I come. It was very enjoyable. I’m just a little tired that’s all. You mustn’t ever say such things about yourself,” he continued mumbling, “You’re always so nice and considerate, and you’re always good to me… I don’t even thank you for that… I’m so glad you’re the king. Gondor couldn’t ask for a better king. You’re so kind and wonderful.”

Aragorn bit his lip at the speech and suddenly on impulse bent and kissed Faramir on the forehead.

“Good night my friend.”

Faramir smiled in his half-asleep state as the kiss permeated through his brain.

He was still smiling softly when Gandalf came by to watch over him.

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