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17
Chapter 13
A grand meal rounded off the celebrations. Numerous dignitaries
from various places were in attendance and a huge feast had been prepared.
The married couple sat at the centre of it all, their faces flush with
joy. Faramir watched them dully. Aragorn looked happy, he decided. Every
time the queen spoke to him, he would smile and his eyes would light
up with an expression that Faramir could only assume to be love.
He could feel a headache coming on. He stared at the elaborate
plates and dishes filled with mouth-watering food, and then sought out
Boromir to tell him he was leaving to escort the envoy from Harad back
to the city.
Faramir saddled his horse in silence. He was to be accompanied
by one of Boromir’s lieutenant’s a man he knew from before, and a small
troop of cavalrymen. They were to meet up with the Haradrim envoy at
the quays and escort him into the city where he would be met by the
Steward at the gates. He found his hands working the straps automatically.
He kept trying to focus on the task ahead, and not on anything else.
Walking his horse out of the stables, he glanced up once
again at the citadel. It was easy to see that it was being guarded even
more heavily than earlier. The streets were empty for people will still
celebrating. Sweet, lilting music could be heard, and he knew people
must have started dancing. They rode out of the city and headed for
the quay.
Faramir remembered little of the ride later. His mind was
somewhere else, and worked on instinct without even realising what he
was doing. The envoy’s craft reached the quay, at the same time as they
did. They exchanged polite greetings. Faramir tried his best to maintain
his composure and act as a gracious host. At any other time he would
have been very interested in talking to the envoy and asking him about
Harad but now he found he had nothing to say. His mind was in a complete
daze.
By the time they returned, the celebrations had mostly died
out for the hour was late, and Boromir was waiting for them with another
cavalry troop behind him. Boromir took over after that, leaving Faramir
with nothing to do but return to his room.
He met three snickering elves and a dwarf on his way there;
and also the king and queen of Gondor. Aragorn and Arwen were walking
towards Aragorn’ s room, with Elladan, Elrohir, Legolas and Gimli right
behind them, singing a series of bawdy songs that were more likely to
be heard in a tavern than in the palace.
“I am surprised!” Aragorn was saying, as he faced them, “Why
is my Steward not a party to this?”
“He is receiving the envoy from Harad,” Faramir found himself
saying softly.
Aragorn turned sharply and the younger man felt sharp grey
eyes bore into him. He avoided the gaze, by inclining his head in a
respectful greeting at his new queen instead.
She smiled back at him, before turning to Aragorn, “Will
you not be needed there, Estel?” The grey eyes moved towards her now.
“Oh no, he will not. Boromir left very specific orders that
the envoy would rest tonight. And so shall you,” Legolas declared airily.
He was greeted by a series of whoops and laughs.
“Rest!” screamed Elrohir, before dissolving in a flurry of
giggles.
“I have often doubted whether my brothers have truly attained
their majority or not,” Arwen said with great dignity, “Now, I fear
I entertain such doubts about you too, Legolas!”
With that, she pulled Aragorn into the room, and shut the
door behind her, leaving behind four giggling friends and one young
man trying very hard to dismiss the scene with a casual smile.
Faramir returned to his room and threw himself wearily onto
his bed, and spent the rest of the night trying not to think of Aragorn.
But he could not help but think that his king had looked extremely happy
during the wedding. And Aragorn looked very handsome when he smiled.
The skin under his eyes would crinkle up, and his lips would curve up.
Faramir groaned at the thought, and pounded his pillow in frustration
trying to get rid of the mental picture of Aragorn’s smiling face hovering
over him. The thought of that full pink mouth that smelt of pipewood
coming in contact with his quivering skin sent a fire racing through
his veins. Just the memory of the touch of those lips on his neck and
his back, and the feel of skilful hands roving his body, of slick fingers
entering him had him clutching at his sheets in desperation.
I have to forget, he kept repeating over and over
again.
He rose and walked over to the open window hoping the cold
draught of air would help him. Instead it reminded him of how much warmth
he had found in Aragorn’ s embrace. He finally took a sleeping draught
and let sleep claim him.
Aragorn smiled back at the only woman he had ever loved in
all his life, as the door shut behind him. They had looked forward to
this day for years now. He moved towards the bed where his bride awaited
him, and for the briefest second, he could not help but remember the
last person who had been there. His heart had almost wrenched when he
had seen Faramir outside, but the younger man had refused to meet his
gaze. Part of Aragorn was glad. Faramir meant a lot to him, but so did
Arwen. And his duty as a king demanded that he provide an heir. Faramir
would understand.
He knew that. He knew if anyone would understand it would
be Faramir.
He moved towards Arwen and gathered her in his arms. Night
fell over Minas Tirith as they consummated their marriage.
The negotiations started the next afternoon. Elrond and his
family, as well as the other elves, had left in the morning. The mood
around the council table was sombre and wary. The envoy had congratulated
Aragorn on his wedding and expressed gratitude that he had spared himself
for their meeting in so short a while.
Tarlong was still very much on the edge. And his attitude
had passed onto Boromir too. Faramir found himself equally worried.
If their theories had been correct, then this would be an opportune
moment for the assassin or assassins to strike. However nothing untoward
happened as the talks continued. The older councillors maintained their
disapproving looks all through. Eredil specially, was more than polite
to the envoy - a sign, Faramir knew, of his contempt for the Haradrim.
He was the one person in the room who continued to radiate
open hostility towards the envoy and whenever the council met alone,
continued to express disapproval over signing a peace treaty. The other
councillors were slowly and steadily coming round to the fact that the
times had changed but Eredil maintained with stubborn insistence that
they were rushing things.
The meetings were long and full of verbal parleys that Faramir
would have ordinarily enjoyed. But the sight of Aragorn so near him
all through the day left him feeling distracted, a feeling that he had
hardly ever known till date. Aragorn and he had done their utmost to
act towards each other normally, and he wondered if it was his imagination
that there seemed to be some degree of strain showing through the king’s
voice when he addressed him. He had noticed Aragorn bestowing upon him
more than one unreadable glance during the meetings.
Their eyes had met just once, very briefly. There had been
warmth directed towards him, Faramir was sure. They had had little opportunity
to speak but there was little that could be said. He had formally congratulated
the couple the morning after the wedding as the rest of the court had
done. He had knelt and offered fealty to his queen. And glancing up
at her serene face, he found he was glad at least of the fact that she
did truly love Aragorn, and would keep him happy.
Aragorn deserved that.
He had formally greeted Aragorn too, and received an unreadable
look in return. There had seemed to be some measure of sadness in it.
It hurt him immensely to see even such a faint trace of sadness, and
for a moment his heart almost leapt at the thought that Aragorn too
regretted the state of affairs, but he quelled the thought immediately.
Even if Aragorn regretted their predicament, there was nothing
they could do. He regretted it too. But he knew now that what he desired
was not possible. It never had been.
He slept without a sleeping draught after the first day’s
negotiations had ended, mainly because the talks had gone very late
into the night and he had been exhausted from reading some very long
reports after that.
It was at the end of the second day that Gimli voiced a thought
that had occurred to them more than once, “You should keep a closer
watch on Eredil,” he said as he, Legolas and the two brothers ate a
quiet meal in Boromir’s study.
Boromir looked up from the papers he was studying, “I have,”
he said calmly.
“You think this is his doing, then?” Faramir asked, rubbing
his tired eyes. The effort of trying to concentrate on the negotiations
rather than on the gnawing ache in his heart for the last two days had
left him feeling quite drained.
“He is the only one who is opposing the treaty now. Even
Saracel is beginning to agree that we would be better off signing it,”
Boromir said.
“He is the only one who is opposing it openly,” Faramir said
softly, as he read through the reports Boromir’s spies had brought for
them.
“What do you mean?” Gimli asked curiously.
“Is there any reason why Eredil would not want the peace
treaty signed?” Faramir stared at one of the reports, reading it again.
There was something he thought he had read. He needed to check it again.
“He doesn’t trust Harad,” came Boromir’s matter of fact answer.
“Why not?”
“Faramir! Do I need to remind you how long we have been warring
against them? Longer than you or I have lived. Eredil is of the older
generation!” Boromir said impatiently.
“And you think that is reason enough?” Faramir queried softly.
The entry of Aragorn and Arwen left that question unanswered
and for a while the talk covered more general maters. Faramir inclined
his head in a silent greeting at Aragorn and a shyer one at Arwen, before
returning to the paper that was puzzling him. There was something troubling
his memory. Something he felt he ought to remember.
Boromir and Legolas were meanwhile discussing their latest
theory with a very reluctant Aragorn.
“I know Eredil of old,” Aragorn stated quietly, “He would
hardly –“
“Eredil has the skill too,” Boromir added.
“There are many who have the skill to aim arrows. I do not
have to remind you that each of my councillors is also a military man.
And many of the younger ones still command regiments just as you and
Faramir do.”
“Very well. But there is no harm in watching your back with
extra care for the next few days,” Gimli was saying.
Faramir found himself thinking wryly that he would
like to watch Aragorn’ s back a great deal, before biting his lip
in annoyance.
Aragorn watched the tense shoulders hunched over a sheaf
of papers, and felt his own fists clench unhappily. He had a feeling
Faramir would ask for leave to return to Ithilien soon. And he knew
Boromir would not persuade him to stay back this time. Perhaps it was
for the better. Then they could pretend nothing had happened between
them.
Except that a strange empty feeling that had been experiencing
for some days now would never leave him. Even Arwen could not take it
away from him. He continued to watch the slumped shoulders and head
and felt some of the emptiness lift away, while the others around him
conversed desultorily over wine.
When they all rose, intending to head for bed, Faramir glanced
up a little confused as though unsure of his surroundings. Dark circles
stood out under his eyes.
“A good night to you, Aragorn,” three sniggering friends
said to him. He had been hearing these words each night. Invariably
Faramir would be around, his face completely expressionless. Today,
however, the younger man seemed to be somewhere far away, and as they
neared the doorway, it was apparent that he was not returning to his
chambers as yet.
“Faramir, are you not going to retire for the night?” Boromir
called out exasperatedly.
His brother looked up at him distractedly, “I have some work
in the library.”
“What?” Boromir stopped short.
“I know he is supposed to be a scholar of repute, but surely
to visit the library at such a late hour-?” Gimli expostulated, “Boromir,
your brother needs a wife. ”
“Indeed,” Legolas smirked, “Look at Aragorn, he is in such
a hurry to leave to bed!”
Aragorn glared at his friend but also noticed with curiosity
that Faramir had not really heard Legolas’ words. He was busy putting
away the papers. Then he realised Arwen was glaring at Legolas and telling
him to stop behaving like an immature elfling.
As they all left the room, she suddenly stopped and waited
for Faramir to near her. The others had already left. Aragorn waited
puzzled, as Faramir stopped and looked up at his wife, almost nervously.
“I heard you saved Estel from an assassin’s arrows,” she
said softly and gently, “I cannot thank you enough for that.”
“It was my duty, my lady,” Faramir murmured, his cheeks reddening
a little.
“He is lucky to have friends who go to such lengths for him,”
she said quietly.
“Such lengths that they harm themselves,” Aragorn found himself
saying, “I would not wish a friend to get hurt merely to protect me.”
“Gondor has her king after many years, Sire. You will find
your friends will do much to ensure that it will have you as king for
many years to come,” came the quiet reply.
Aragorn stared back at the clear grey eyes, as Faramir bowed
a little before excusing himself. It was all he could do to not brush
the wan cheek with his fingers and assure the weary figure in front
of him that everything would be all right.
“He seems troubled,” Arwen commented as they watched Faramir
walk away. Aragorn did not notice the sharp gaze that accompanied those
words. He was too busy staring at the retreating figure.
Faramir ignored the tiredness that was weighing him down
and diligently sifted through the old records that were archived in
the libraries. There seemed to be mounds and mounds of them, and it
had not taken him long to realise that this particular section completely
lacked organization, probably because no one used it any more. The sky
outside was lightening when he finally found the records he wanted.
He stared through bleary eyes at the parchment in his hands, wondering
if he could be correct in his surmise. He had a vague memory of an event
and the words in front of him confirmed that. He had a possible motive
now.
But he needed proof, not a motive. Anyone could have a motive;
he tried to reason with himself. On the other hand there were other
factors that he could not entirely overlook. He tried to decide on his
next step. Instead he ended up resting his aching head on the books
and closing his eyes. He awoke a few hours later as the sun rose, still
as tired as before, and his muscles aching from the discomfort they
had been subjected to. However, his head seemed to feel a little clearer.
He went back to his room purposefully, and washed up and changed into
fresh clothes. There was still time before the council today. He could
try and confirm his suspicion somewhat. Perhaps he need not confront
his quarry, he could merely try and talk to him.
The house he wanted to visit was not far from the citadel.
He walked up to the door calmly. Around him the city had come awake.
He could smell the fresh bread from a nearby baker’s shop. Ignoring
the hunger pangs that the aroma induced, he glanced around, taking in
the sight of the broken down house next door. The building had been
a casualty of the war, and the only option left was for it to be torn
down and a new house rebuilt in its place. Gimli’s people had been helping
with that across the city. He could see that the structure was almost
torn down, as he knocked on the door in front of him.
He was shown in by a servant and informed that the morning
meal was underway. He offered calmly to wait and was shown into a spacious
study lined with bookshelves. The walls were adorned with paintings
and weaponry, and he remembered that the family had a long tradition
in the military as well as in scholastic pursuits. He studied the weapons
carefully but gleaned nothing of import and instead moved closer to
the fireplace to examine the portraits that hung over it.
Is that the motive? he wondered silently, as he moved
towards the bookcases.
The wood was carved in an intricate pattern that immediately
caught his eye, and he found himself automatically reaching out a hand
to finger it. He traced a perfectly shaped floral pattern, and almost
gasped as wood creaked, and the section of the bookcase above him shifted
ponderously to reveal a tiny alcove. He almost felt like kicking himself
for getting startled. Everyone had such hidden stores, after all. There
was one in Aragorn’ s study, although it was better concealed than this
one. His eyes fell on the objects lying inside. He did not have to pull
them out to recognise them as arrows. Locally made arrows, easily available
across the city.
And yet, secreted away like this. He did not need very sharp
eyesight to figure out why it was so. The arrows were the local produce
but they had modifications in them. Modifications that he knew of from
close experience. He could see the tips sharpened to a fine point that
was not the practice unless the arrows were made for the army’s archers.
But these were not army provisions. Those were a different colour and
made by specialized craftsmen.
He stared at them closer and noticed the tiny groove at the
tip, just deep enough so that when dipped into a liquid, it would retain
traces of it; a liquid such as poison. He could almost feel the searing
pain in his shoulder again. He knew his surmise had been correct. The
arrows that had hit him were from here.
He heard footsteps near the door but it was too late.
“I thought, my Lord Faramir, that you would be above sneaking
around through another’s rooms like this,” said the entrant from behind
him. Faramir gritted his teeth and berated himself for getting over-engrossed
in his findings. He turned around quietly.
“I hoped I was wrong,” he said, and realised that he was
still hoping that was so. That the king might be attacked by one of
his own objects was suddenly very hard to stomach. It had been easy
to speak of it, but now that it seemed to have actually occurred it
was difficult to take.
But his hopes were dashed. Cold, hard eyes bore down upon
him, “I am sorry to belie your hopes. Have you brought your men with
you? Are they the same fools who have been following me around all these
days?”
Faramir shook his head, weariness and sorrow clouding his
thoughts. He suddenly felt really tired. So much had happened these
last few days, “I wanted to be sure before I told anyone,” he whispered
before he even realised what he was saying.
“Then perhaps my cause is not lost,” came the silky reply.
With a sinking heart Faramir cursed his own stupidity. He
had just let on that he was here alone and without having informed anyone.
It was a gross error on his part. He of all people should have realised
how valuable an alert state of mind would be in such a situation, and
he had slipped up there. He had let lack of sleep and weariness overtake
him.
He reached for his sword as the other advanced towards him.
But the man in front of him did not reach for a weapon. Instead he kept
his hands folded behind his back as he had all through and stopped a
few steps in front of him and then casually said, “I wonder now . .
. could our king perhaps be persuaded not to sign the treaty in return
for your life? After all you are the king’s whore, are you not?”
It was the last line that completely broke Faramir’s concentration.
He gaped back in consternation at the words and never noticed the fist
coming up. Something hard hit him on the side of his face and he gasped
in pain as he sank to his knees. He scrambled up dazedly but could not
avoid the bunched fist coming at him again. This time he could make
out the fact that a heavy iron chain was wrapped around the fingers.
He had forgotten another important lesson. He should have
paid attention to the fact that the other man’s hands were hidden behind
his back, he realised, as he fell again.
A sift sigh sounded through the room, “What kind of a man
are you, Faramir? You fight like a wench and you let a man bed you and
not for soldier’s comfort either!”
Faramir stared back at him in dismay. How had he known?
The other man seemed to have guessed what he was thinking,
“I have been keeping an eye on the king’s movements. It is not difficult.
And it was not difficult to see that he spent a night in your chambers
and you spent one in his.”
Faramir rose unsteadily and tried to reach for his sword
again, but it was of no use. The other man was taller and heavier, and
although Faramir was younger, he was not at his best. His head was already
pounding, when he felt his arm being grabbed and wrenched behind him
in a swift movement.
“Isn’t that where my arrow struck you?” came the grating
words.
Faramir could only cry out from the sudden pain as his much
abused shoulder was subjected to the agony.
It invited another smirk from his attacker, “You cannot even
defend yourself properly and you cry like a girl, Captain.”
Faramir gritted his teeth at the inflexion on the last word.
He reached out his free hand and tried to garb at the man behind him.
He even tried kicking out in an ungainly fashion, but he was completely
overpowered. The man behind him was not just a councillor but also an
experienced warrior with soldiers under his command.
He was shoved roughly forward. To his utter and complete
remorse, he tripped over the edge of a rug, and found himself flying
forward into a square table. The sharp edged corner hit his unprotected
stomach as he slammed into it and he groaned loudly this time. He clutched
his abdomen in pain as he tried to get up using the table for support.
The other man continued to taunt him, “I would have preferred
to give you a fair chance so that we might fight as soldiers must, but
you have proven yourself unworthy of such a title.”
This time the rolled up chain hit the side of his half-turned
head, and he fell heavily into the table once again, the sharp edge
hitting his stomach a second time. He moaned in pain and sank to the
ground.
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Chapter 14
As he fell to the ground, clutching his stomach, Faramir
wondered vaguely through a pain-stricken mind where the servant who
had let him in had disappeared. Surely the noise they were making could
be heard across the house? He let out a harsh sob as a booted foot struck
his curled up body, and sent a sharp stab of pain shooting up from his
ribs. He thought he could hear a door open. His head was pounding now.
The heavy iron chain had struck him just above his ear, and slowly but
steadily he could feel the effects.
He heard voices, one slightly alarmed. The servant, he thought
hopefully. Too late he remembered that the servant had been an old one
who had served the family for years faithfully, and had even fought
with some of them in battle. His worst suspicions were soon confirmed.
“He knows?” that was the servant’s voice.
“He saw the arrows,” came the calm voice, “He is still unable
to fight. It is of no matter. If we lock him away somewhere, I shall
finish off things today. I was loath to delay matters any further, anyway.
This fool’s appearance here necessitates that I hurry it forward.”
Faramir lifted his throbbing head slowly, “Don’t do it,”
he pleaded painfully, “Please! Please . . . forget matters of the past.”
He cringed as long fingers wrapped around his hair and pulled
his head up violently. Steel-like eyes glinted at him, “I will not let
this treaty be signed! Do you understand? We cannot and we must not
trust Harad. They will let us down just as they did the last time. You
do not remember. You do not know what it was like!”
“I –“ Faramir started but got no further as his attacker,
suddenly dashed his head against the ground in a rage. Bright lights
seemed to spark off in front of Faramir’s head and he felt a strange
sensation overcome him, as he tried desperately to not lose consciousness.
Pain reverberated through his head now, and the strong fingers were
still clutching his hair, pulling at it. He began to wonder if the need
for vengeance had not slowly eaten away the other man’s reason for nothing
else could explain this sudden display of anger and violence.
“Should we lock him up in the wine cellar?” the servant asked.
“No, I have a better idea, get me some rope. Oh, and Faramir,
my man here, he can do worse things to you than this, so be careful
you do not irk him while I am away.” A vicious tug at his hair followed
the words and he felt a dense fog overtake him.
He struggled to stay awake for he could feel his arms being
wrenched behind once again. A thick rope was wound around his wrists,
and knotted up tightly, the coarse fibres digging into the raw skin.
Faramir tried his utmost to fight against the combined efforts of the
two men, but he could do nothing, and soon his feet were bound too.
Faramir gritted his teeth as another wave of pain swept through his
head. His stomach was throbbing incessantly and his ribs felt bruised,
and his vision was blurring.
“King’s wench!” his attacker spat out at him, “Eru be thanked
Denethor cannot see what his sons are doing to Gondor. The elder would
let the king sign us all away to Harad, and the younger is nothing more
than a royal bed warmer, now discarded because the queen is here.”
Faramir continued to struggle against his bonds ignoring
his aches and pains; the words were making him angry. He would not let
anyone cast a slur on either Aragorn or Boromir, no matter what was
said about him.
“You are getting late for the council,” the servant’s voice
interrupted the tirade.
“Yes, I am. It is a pity,” the silken voice continued, “I
would certainly like to know what our king saw in this one here.” A
finger traced a line along Faramir’s bruised cheek bringing him back
to reality, but it was not the pain that made him tense up. It was the
voice and the touch. He suddenly felt scared and stared back into the
other man’s face. Reason had obviously deserted him. He had known this
man for many years now and never once seen him behave so. Could anger
and frustration really change a person so much?
“I wonder now, do you throw yourself at every man who shows
the slightest interest in you? Or was it because Elessar is king that
you let him bed you?” Another hand rested on the back of his legs and
the fingers stroked his inner thighs lazily, “And what does he see in
you? What skills do you possess? How far will he go to get you back?”
“You cannot –“ Faramir started, but got no further for he
was suddenly pulled up and given an open-handed slap across his cheek.
He felt himself sag forward. He knew his face was probably swollen by
now. And then much to his shock he was slung over the servant’s shoulders
like a bag of coals, even as his ribs and stomach protested. He gave
into the blackness.
He came awake still in pain and after a very short interval.
He was falling, hitting the ground. His head hit something hard, again
and again and again. Steps, a painful voice spoke in his head.
He was rolling down stone steps, his head impacting against them, and
his ribs and back and legs, and arms. Every part of his body was on
fire now. It seemed the fall would never end.
When it did, the feeling was worse. He landed heavily on
level ground. It was hard and cold, and full of things strewn all over.
Something sharp pressed against his side. He tried rolling over only
to feel something hitting his smaller back.
Stones. There were pieces of stone cast around all
over. He opened his eyes and took in his surroundings through a film
of haze. It was dark and damp. A few odd beams of light filtered in
somewhere, barely enough for him too see two shapes bending over him,
and then he felt something cold and wet on his face. He though it was
water at first and then realised it was wine.
“No one should find you here, but if they do, let them think
you were drunk and that is how you fell in,” came the mocking voice
of the archer, “But I doubt you can come out unless I wish it. Soon
the king and I shall confer in one of the gardens and then I shall return
and decide what to do with you.”
This time the fingers brushed his lips gently making him
shudder almost out of fear, before running lightly over his chest and
his stomach, a gesture that induced a gasp of pain. They finally came
to a stop discomfortingly between his legs where the hand rested gently
even as a soft voice continued to speak, “I suppose I could just attack
the envoy instead.”
Faramir started at that, forgetting his fear of the hands
and gaze that roved his tense body. He had never considered that! If
that happened, Gondor was in danger of facing war . . .
The hand came back to his face and stroked his bruises again,
“But I shall not. I love Gondor. I cannot risk the impact of such an
action. Our king must be persuaded.” Then the man rose, “And scream
all you like. No one shall hear you. There is merely the wall to one
side of you and my house to the other. You are all alone.”
And then as a parting shot, “Do not move around too much.
The structure is very weak. You do not want to be trapped in the wine
cellar of a damaged house, do you? Strange is it not? This building
is as it is now, because of the Haradrim.”
And then something hit the side of his head and he knew no
more.
Aragorn was standing outside the large chamber where the
council was being held, with Boromir next to him. Most of the councillors
were already inside but there was still some time to go before the meeting
would start so the king and his steward stood outside softly discussing
various matters. Voices filtered out from the room, until finally the
hum of conversation was broken by a forceful voice.
“We should not be doing this!” It was Eredil’s voice, “Do
you not remember we once sent envoys into Harad searching for peace?
That accord lasted barely months. And they broke it. You forget
it was our men that they ambushed and killed in such a foul manner.
You must have seen them when they were brought back by the scouts.”
“I do not forget,” Saracel replied heavily, “It was horrific,
but it was the work of a few men, and you cannot blame an entire country
for that. And that was many years ago. It is better to forget and look
for a new start.”
“When was that?” Aragorn asked softly. It must have been
after he had left Gondor, he decided.
Boromir looked at Aragorn with a troubled gaze, “I remember
that I had just joined the army then. My father had spies in Harad and
Khand and Rhun. There was some news from Harad of a new ruler with radical
thoughts, so he thought talk of peace could be attempted. They indicated
their willingness but apparently there were some in their court too
then who found the idea deplorable. A small band of our men were found
tortured badly and killed near Harad Road by a patrol. And then we got
news that the treaty was no longer considered valid for there was a
new ruler in place now. I believe they faced the trouble of kinslaying
too. There was memorial for those men, I remember attending it. Faramir
was there too,” Boromir continued musing, “And most of our councillors.
I remember Eredil storming about in a council meeting the next day.
He was younger and more forceful.”
“But I do not believe that would be reason enough for him
to wish to attack me over it,” Aragorn said, “Is there anyone with a
deeper involvement. I fear there might be an attack on our guest, and
then all will be destroyed. There might be open war then!”
“He is being guarded with extra care and precaution,” Boromir
assured him, but even he could not keep the tense note out of his voice.
They entered the room where the meetings were being held,
the last councillor entering alongside them. Aragorn acknowledged Mardinel’s
greeting as they walked through the doorway.
Eredil was still speaking, “Did it work? Mardinel, you tell
me, did it work? You were affected too, were you not?” he asked the
younger man.
“No,” Mardinel agreed softly, as he seated himself.
“You have not yet told us your opinion, Lord Mardinel,” somebody
else asked, “Do you favour this treaty or do you not?”
“My lords, there is no time to discuss individual opinions,”
Aragorn said calmly, “the envoy will be here shortly, and . . . we seem
to be short by – where is Faramir?”
“I doubt if the envoy will appreciate it if we tarry proceedings
for the sake of Lord Faramir,” Eredil said acidly.
Boromir glanced up sharply at the caustic statement, while
Aragorn frowned.
“I am sure he would not be late without reason,” one of the
other councillors stated calmly, to soothe Eredil’s irascible mood.
Boromir glanced across the table and realised that it was Mardinel.
He gave him a small smile, and got a sympathetic nod in return. Mardinel
was not many years older than him, and they had often fought together.
Mardinel in fact had even been one of his trainers in the army. Boromir
wondered if he should consider discussing Eredil with him. He might
have fresh insights on the issue, having worked with Eredil for some
years now.
Faramir still hadn’t made an appearance when they started.
Both king and steward decided he must have been working late. He was
not crucial to the meeting and secretly, Aragorn had no intention of
depriving the younger man of much needed rest.
The tension in the air refused to disperse all through. They
were closer and closer to formalizing the terms of the treaty, and it
was obvious to everyone that there was a lot of anger and ill feeling
in the air. The closer they came to finalization; the more doubts seemed
to be creeping in. Boromir stared around the table. The councillors
in favour looked relieved but those who had their doubts had expressions
ranging from outright anger to plain resignation. And still others looked
simple stone faced. Eredil in particular looked furious.
During a small lull in proceedings, Boromir turned to Mardinel
sitting next to him, “What do you think? Will Lord Eredil ever reconcile
to this notion?”
The councillor looked across at the older man and then at
his steward, then spoke slowly, “It is always difficult. We have all
lost much over the years. It is not easy to forget. But he channels
his ire in the wrong direction. Sitting here and talking of the past
will not help matters.”
“Do you not think he might have done more than talk?” Boromir
muttered.
Mardinel gave him a sharp glance at that, as if about to
ask him more, but he finally said nothing and Boromir, too, decided
not to pursue the matter further.
Faramir groaned as he came awake in a mire of confusion and
pain. It took him a while to realise where he was and remember what
had occurred. The cold draughts of wind blowing in through the opening
above him helped revive him somewhat. He had already guessed he was
in the broken-down house next door, probably in the cellar. He bit his
lip as a fresh burst of ache assailed his battered body. He was having
great difficulty staying awake and he knew his head had been hit quite
hard and more than once. He had already realised that his sword must
have been removed while he had been unconscious, and he realised with
dismay that the knife he carried tucked in his boot as all rangers did
was missing too. Struggling with the tight bonds was only serving to
hurt him greatly and his wrists were already feeling chaffed. With each
passing second the weight of what he knew pressed down upon him adding
worry to physical pain.
He wondered how long he had been unconscious. It seemed like
a while from the light filtering in from above. He had to get out! Anything
could have happened. Rolling around in frustration, his bound hands
scraped against something sharp. The stones!
He grabbed at it and then spent the next few minutes concentrating
intently on grasping it in such a manner as to work on the coarse, thick
rope with it. It was slow and painful. The stone kept slipping out of
his fingers and more often that not it missed the rope and scraped against
his skin instead. Finally he managed to loosen the ropes a little, and
gasped as the circulation was restored to his now numb fingers. Finally
he was able to loosen the ropes enough to slip his hands out. He hugged
them tight around him trying to overcome the tingling ache. Through
the dim light he could see that his wrists were now red and swollen
angrily. He bent down to untie his ankles and felt a stab of pain through
his back from where it had hit against the stone steps. Gritting his
teeth he worked on the bonds with almost numb fingers and faced the
same problem as with his wrists once he had got them loose.
He stayed down for a few seconds breathing heavily and rapidly.
Even lifting his head hurt tremendously. A nauseous feeling rushed over
him and he found himself heaving but the movement sent pain shooting
through his bruised stomach so he simply lay slumped on his hands and
knees trying desperately not to simply collapse from pain and exhaustion.
But he knew he could not do that. So, ignoring his protesting body,
he tried to stand up. The little cellar seemed to revolve around him
and he swayed awkwardly.
“What are you doing?” Footsteps came thundering down the
stone steps, “How did you free yourself?”
It was the servant.
Faramir fell forward. He could not stop himself. Luckily,
his fall was broken by the other man. They crashed down in a noisy heap,
and the only factor that prevented Faramir from further injuring himself
was that the other man had cushioned his fall while himself taking a
blow to the head. Faramir arose uncertainly, almost staggering to his
feet. He had to get out, and the only way out was up the steps. He almost
groaned aloud at the thought, and then he decided he could not leave
the servant lying in here, whatever the man had done. He should at least
take him outside and leave him there till he could alert the guards.
It took a tremendous effort but he finally managed to get out of the
cellar heaving and panting as he dragged the other man’s deadweight
along.
It was light outside, but the city had quietened as people
had settled into their routines. This particular area was a popular
one among the more well off citizens mainly because of its peace and
quiet. A stiff breeze blew around him, and he shivered as he realised
his cloak was missing, and all he had on was a thin tunic and leggings.
He had not time however, so he dragged the servant away from the walls
and left him lying in a safe corner.
Then he dragged his exhausted, aching body to the path to
the citadel. He decided it would be better for him to be as secretive
as possible until he could get hold of one of his friends and warn them.
Something told him it was not yet too late, but he must hurry. He hurt
all over but he could not let that impede him. His head pounded furiously
and his stomach and back seemed on fire.
The path to the citadel led through a set of gardens but
their beauty eluded the figure that stumbled through the trees as quickly
as he could, clutching his stomach in pain, berating himself all the
while for his slowness. Why had he not thought on the matter earlier?
He of all people should have known how much grief could result from
loss, grief enough to drive one to such calculated measures in such
a cold-blooded yet almost insane manner. The man had obviously been
festering over this ever since Aragorn had sent emissaries to Harad.
Why had they not realised it? And everything fit in perfectly! He had
been there in the citadel the day of the attempt and they had known
it! Faramir just hoped he could reach the citadel in time now.
Aragorn took a few puffs of his pipe as he watched the clouds
gather over the winter sky. Boromir stood next to him. The meeting had
just finished and they were both standing near an open window watching
the view.
“Another few hours and the treaty will be signed,” he said,
“Eredil still looks annoyed.”
“I still feel you are wrong in suspecting him,” Aragorn said
calmly, “He is not the sort. He wishes to speak to me again on the matter”
“I do not like the sound of that,” Boromir exclaimed worriedly,
“Who else could it be Aragorn? Who else could have such strong feelings
about the matter? Are you going to see him now?”
“Eredil shows his feelings. Perhaps others do not,” Aragorn
mused, “Whatever it may be, I will see this treaty signed and that is
all there is to it. But, yes, I am going speak to him about it.”
He paused as a figure moved from the shadows of the columns
near them and Boromir stood tensely by, his hand reaching for his sword.
Both relaxed when they noticed that it was Mardinel, who nodded in greeting.
“Have you seen Eredil? I should like to speak to him,” Aragorn
said pleasantly.
“I saw him in the gardens by the wall,” Mardinel told them.
“I shall come along,” Boromir told Aragorn.
“I see no reason you need to,” the king started off, then
stopped when eh saw Boromir’s expression, “Oh, very well!”
The garden was a small one that few frequented located as
it was in a quiet corner and with no view to speak of. And especially
in winter there was little reason to be there. When they reached it
there was no one to be seen.
“Well, he is not here, is he?” Aragorn exclaimed impatiently
and turned towards Boromir who had been walking some paces behind him,
only to find his steward lying facedown on the ground.
The figure leaning over him sighed softly, “I always knew
he would never make a good ranger. Open soldiering was better for him.
Not like that brother of his. Do you know where Faramir is now, Sire?”
Aragorn stared back in surprise at his councillor before
the last few words registered in his head, “Faramir? Where is he?” he
asked raggedly.
“Later!” said the harsh voice, “First let us settle our business
your majesty! Would you please hand me your sword before I do
something I might regret to your steward. I do like him. He is misguided
as you are, but I am sure both of you can be brought to see the error
of your ways. You have no other choice. You are away from the citadel,
your guards have been informed that you are in your study and no one
will disturb us for a while.”
Aragorn had no choice but to do as requested. He maintained
his calm however and handed over his sword. Boromir groaned suddenly
and came awake.
“My lord steward,” the man mocked at him as he tried to rise.
Boromir gaped at him.
“Why?” Aragorn asked.
“I want your reassurance you will not sign this treaty.”
“The treaty will be signed,” Aragorn said, watching
with concern as Boromir rose to his feet unsteadily.
“Never! I will not allow it!”
“You can do nothing now,” Aragorn said quietly.
“I can and I will. I erred once in acting without thought.
I should not have shot at you so hastily. And Faramir spoilt it anyway.
But I have thought it out now.”
“I doubt that,” Boromir snapped out angrily. He was cursing
himself soundly for falling for his inattentiveness, and the fact that
he had no means to defend himself. Without his sword, he felt incomplete,
“You are insane! I suggest you let us go!”
“You are both fools!” the man hissed angrily, “And you especially
My Lord Steward! Peace with Harad? Never!”
“You are insane!” Boromir repeated, “Let us go now.
This stupidity has been carried too far.”
“No! They destroyed my family! Gondor is all I have left
and I will not let them destroy that too. And I will not let you
destroy Gondor!” the man screamed out, and before either man could stop
him, the glint of steel flashed through air as he swung out his sword
and advanced on Aragorn.
“There is nothing you can do. Kill me now, but the treaty
shall still be signed. I have made enough provisions for that!” Aragorn
stated calmly
Boromir took a deep breath. He finally began to understand
why this man was acting so. It had been years before and he had forgotten
how the man before him had lost his brothers in the attack by the Haradrim
during the so-called truce then. He reined in his temper and forced
himself to think calmly. They might outnumber the councillor two to
one, but he was armed and they were not and He did not want to anger
him into taking a rash step. No matter what Aragorn might say, he was
not going to sit back and let him be harmed. “Stop this madness, Mardinel,”
he said quietly.
His words went ignored as Mardinel addressed Aragorn, “I
do not have to kill you Sire. But, yes, if you want to see your
dear Faramir alive, do not sign the treaty.” The sword hovered at the
shocked king’s chest, almost resting at his heart.
back
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Chapter 15
Faramir wove his way through the trees concentrating on reaching
the citadel and trying to block everything else out of his head. He
kept his eyes on the path and on nothing else, and lent his entire thought
to simply putting one foot in front of the other over and over again.
They had never even considered Mardinel, and he kept cursing himself
for having overlooked him.
Then he heard the voices. Mardinel – he sounded snide. A
fragment of his words to him came floating back to his mind. The gardens
. . . then Aragorn’ s voice cut through, and Boromir’s. He felt his
heart constrain and his already hitched breathing seemed to desert him
completely. Black spots swam in front of his eyes as he lurched to a
stop and almost fell. He grabbed at the nearest tree trunk for support
and gasped for breath, while hiss mind raced.
Aragorn and Boromir and Mardinel! He had to hurry
now. He heaved himself forward and followed the voices till he reached
the trio. Mardinel had his back to him, and the others couldn’t see
him as he stood in the shadow of the trees, frozen for a moment. His
king and his brother were unarmed and possibly hurt from the way Boromir
was leaning against a stone wall. But what really scared him was the
sword hovering at Aragorn’ s chest.
He could not hear what was being spoken. All he could hear
was a ringing in his ears. But he clearly heard the word ‘kill’ and
there was sword over Aragorn’ s heart. Faramir could not see Aragorn’
s reaction, but he thought he heard a gasp, and it sounded like his
brother. His heart seemed to thunder in his ears at the thought that
Aragorn’ s life could be in danger. His head felt dense, the pain had
become a dull, incessant throb and his limbs felt heavy. He stumbled
forward out of the trees towards the three men.
“No!” the word left his mouth without his even realising
it.
Mardinel whirled around in surprise, and the sword in his
hand automatically slashed at Faramir, who had neither the time nor
the strength to duck out its way.
“You!”
To the utter horror of both the king and the steward who
stood frozen behind Mardinel, the sword lashed at Faramir’s chest, and
a thin line of red appeared against a soiled white tunic.
“Leave him be,” Faramir said hoarsely and lunged at the other
man, ignoring his pain as well as the fact that he was unarmed.
The force and unexpectedness of the action drove Mardinel
down as Faramir’s weight bore down on him. The sword clattered out of
his hand and came to land at Aragorn’ s feet, a thin trace of fresh
blood clinging to it. That seemed to bring both him and Boromir to their
senses as they moved towards the two struggling figures rolling around
on the ground near the wall. Faramir was trying desperately to pin down
the councillor but he was obviously too far gone to be able to do that.
The two of them rolled into the wall, and Mardinel took the opportunity
to slam Faramir against it violently. He rolled away only to find his
king standing over him, sword in hand. Boromir stood next to him, a
thunderous expression covering his face.
”Get up,” came the icy voice, “And get away from him. Boromir,
call the guards.”
Boromir looked towards his brother anxiously even as Aragorn
added, “And alert the healers.” He raced off towards the citadel.
Mardinel watched his Aragorn dispassionately and then shrugged.
Aragorn glared at him. The other man simply crossed his arms and then
glanced at Faramir’s curled up figure lying still, eyes closed. Aragorn
followed his gaze and his heart wrenched at the sight. He wanted nothing
more than to tend to the younger man but he could not let Mardinel go
after what he had done. The guards reached them right then and the councillor
was handed over to a shocked Tarlong, leaving Aragorn to tend to Faramir
till Boromir returned.
He grabbed him in his arms, “Faramir!” he cried out urgently
to the white-faced figure in his arms, “Are you alright? What has he
done to you?” He stared in shock at the bruises that covered one side
of the face, and the marks on the wrists, and he knew there were more
injuries. He could see where the sword had cut through the tunic. Blood
dripped onto the floor in a puddle beneath them.
There was a sudden soft moan, “My head – hurts,” Faramir
mumbled incoherently, his eyes fluttering open as the warmth of the
embrace surrounded him.
“Faramir,” he called out again as the eyes focused on him
in confusion and fear. It was happening all over again. His worst fear
was coming true. One he cared tremendously for was lying hurt and it
was because of him.
“Aragorn!” came the almost soundless whisper, as fingers
clutched at his tunic desperately.
It was a tone full of reverence and love that almost hit
the king with a force. He pulled the injured man in closer and hugged
him tight, ignoring the painful grimace that crossed the wan countenance.
“You’re hurt,” he whispered incoherently, “Again . . . Why
do you do this always?”
“Aragorn – love -” it was the softest voice, a mumble, but
to Aragorn the words seemed to have been shouted out loud and clear.
Then it died away and the dazed eyes fluttered shut and the pale face
lolled against his chest, even as Boromir, Legolas and Gimli came running
towards them.
Faramir was taken to a large, comfortable room in the houses
of healing. Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli watched as one of the healers’
assistants laid him down gently on the bed and then departed. Boromir
was with the warden.
Aragorn knelt by the bedside and gently pushing away the
hair strewn over Faramir’s cheek, gave him a small kiss on his brow.
Looking up, he noticed Legolas watching him curiously but ignored it.
He carefully pulled the blankets up over the slight frame. Boromir arrived
with the warden of the houses of healing and, as Aragorn noticed with
amusement, Ioreth, still her usual voluble self.
“Now what has he done to himself?” she exclaimed as she saw
Faramir’s swollen and bruised face.
The warden pursed his lips tightly and then looked to Aragorn
before sending Ioreth off for the herbs. He then tried to pack off everyone
from the room but they refused to budge. Legolas and Gimli left with
great reluctance but Boromir refused to leave, while Aragorn seated
himself on a chair by the bed. Left with no option, the warden set to
undressing his patient so that he could see what other injuries he had.
They turned out to be quite a few.
The cut to the torso that had so worried Aragorn and Boromir
turned out to be merely a mild scratch, and the least of the warden’s
worries. Purpling bruises covered the entire torso and back and half
his abdomen was covered by a particularly ugly looking discoloration.
A few ribs seemed to be bruised too. The arms and chest were a riot
of small cuts and scrapes caused by the sharp stones. The entire left
side of his face was a collage of discoloured yellow, blue and red skin.
At least three large bumps were easily felt on the back of his head,
and the large bruise over the right temple was only too clearly visible.
The wrists and ankles were inflamed and they were easily able to deduce
that it must have been caused by rope burn.
Boromir winced at the sight of the discolorations and bruises
colouring his brother’s pale flesh and looked at the healer in worry,
“Is he going to be alright? Why has he not woken up yet?”
“He has hurt his head in more than one place. It is better
he be allowed to sleep a while. When he wakes up I will know if it is
serious or not. The other injuries look worse than they actually are,”
the warden opined, “He will be in discomfort but if he rests as required
he will be on his feet again soon.”
Aragorn watched on, his eyes hard as steel. He knew Faramir
had been hurt but to see the extent of the injuries angered him greatly.
That anyone could even think of raising a hand on the young man had
him seething with fury. And that all this had occurred because Faramir
had sought to protect him once again made his heart constrict.
When the salves had been applied and bandages tied, they
dressed their patient in a thin robe and covered him up with blankets
to ward off the cold. The healers left while Aragorn and Boromir stayed
behind. Both were suddenly feeling very tired after everything that
had happened. Aragorn moved to the bed and sat by the prone figure.
He picked a lock of dark hair and twirled it around his fingers as he
watched the steady rise and fall of the younger man’s chest under the
thick blanket. Arwen came by soon after, gave Boromir a reassuring look,
and then gently squeezed Aragorn’ s shoulder, as he gave her an unhappy
look.
They had to leave shortly afterwards since the council meetings
would still have to go on, and the treaty would be signed in an hour’s
time. The warden assured them that Faramir would probably sleep peacefully
for some more hours. Leaving strict orders to be informed should he
awaken earlier, the two men left reluctantly to return to their duties.
It was only after everything was finalised with the envoy
in the presence of a rather strained group of advisors that Aragorn
met Mardinel.
“I know why you did what you did,” he said without preamble,
“And I can understand but your methods I do not care for,” he said trying
to keep his temper in check. He would have forgiven this man if it had
not been for what he had done to Faramir.
“I do not regret it,” came the reply.
“I did not think you would,” Aragorn replied coolly.
“They massacred that band of soldiers,” came the reflective
reply, “My brothers were among them. My father died soon after. He never
recovered from the grief. I will never regret what I did. I can only
regret that I failed in it.”
“I am going to exile you from Gondor,” Aragorn said quietly.
“Exile!” Mardinel stared at him disgustedly, “I would rather
face execution!”
“I know. That is why I prefer to exile you from this land
you love so much,” his king said a little harshly.
Mardinel glared at him, “Is that all I get for injuring your
dear lover?”
Aragorn almost spilled the ink at his table at that, but
managed to maintain his composure and stared back at the other man levelly.
The councillor sighed and shook his head, “I did not mean
to,” he said softly.
When Aragorn returned to the houses of healing, he found
Faramir still asleep.
“You look so peaceful when you sleep quietly,” Aragorn murmured
as he bent over the sleeping form and brushed the stray strands of hair
off his face. The gesture woke up the younger man. His eyes flew open
and the face took on a frantic expression.
Aragorn knelt by his side quietly, “’Tis just me,” he said
softly.
“Sire,” came the weak whisper, accompanied by what seemed
like a flinch away from the touch. Aragorn moved his hand away, and
the expression changed to one of disappointment mingled with craving.
“You are alright,” it was not a question, just a statement
said with great relief.
Aragorn nodded reassuringly and walking to the door called
out to a passing attendant, “Send for the Steward.”
He came back and sat by Faramir, “He did this to you,” he
said in a steady voice.
“Is he alright?” came the fearful question.
He nodded, “Everyone is all right, save for you,” he chided
softly.
Faramir stared at his sheets. He suddenly felt like a weakling
over what had happened. He had been so stupid, he thought miserably.
Aragorn was sitting by him now and looking at his face closely. He looked
away unhappily.
“He hit you?” it was a clam but steely voice.
“He knew,” Faramir whispered.
“What -?” Aragorn stared at him confused.
“About us – I mean – that we – that night – your chamber,
he thought I, he –“ Faramir muttered brokenly still staring at his sheets.
“I know,” Aragorn told him quietly, “I spoke to him. He will
not say anything if that is what you fear. He does not want anything
to happen to Gondor.”
“He – he seemed insane. He said - he touched – “
His next words dissolved in the strong hug that enveloped
him as his tired mind finally broke down. He collapsed against his king,
exhaustion finally overwhelming him completely. They were sitting like
that when Boromir, Legolas and Gimli reached the room. Faramir broke
away from the embrace with great reluctance, and once again, Aragorn
had an uncomfortable feeling that Legolas’s keen eyes lingered on them
a fraction longer. As did Boromir’s. But neither said anything, preferring
instead on greeting Faramir with relief. He rose and let Boromir take
his place knowing his steward had spent all day worrying over his brother’s
health, and watched indulgently as Boromir fussed over his brother tenderly.
“What happened?” Gimli asked finally, “How did he get hold
of you.”
“Later,” Aragorn said firmly, noting the dark circles and
sheer lines of exhaustion.
Faramir however shrugged and said, “There isn’t much to tell.”
In his quiet, soft voice, quietly explained what had happened,
omitting just the words Mardinel had said about him and the king as
well as Mardinel’s touches. But even then, what he revealed was enough
to anger the others. Boromir especially was noticeably furious.
“I know that house,” Gimli growled, “It was on the verge
of collapse!”
“What about the servant?” Faramir asked suddenly, “I left
him nearby.”
“He is well,” he was told.
Ioreth came soon after to drive them out so Faramir could
sleep. When they, Aragorn lingered on at the door till he was sure he
slept. The others gave him a curious glance but said nothing.
The warden’s calculations on Faramir’s recovery proved wrong
when he developed a fever the next day. The exposure to the cold had
caused it and it only slowed down the healing process. He spent the
next three days unable to sleep or eat properly. He was unable to eat
solid food and had to be content with broths and healing potions, all
of which left him irritable. His sleep was clouded by the fever and
dreams causing him to thrash out and increased his aches. Movement of
any kind always involved one part or the other of his body protesting
in pain.
Boromir sat by him at night, and every now and then Aragorn
took over for a few hours watching the suffering figure disconsolately
and wishing he could comfort him forever. But each night, he would be
forced by one of his friends to return to Arwen.
When the fever abated, Faramir was able to sit up and move
around with greater ease but still not allowed to leave his bed. He
chaffed greatly at that, but discovered after attempting to leave the
room once that the healers were right. His injuries were very slow to
heal.
The healers had blamed it on his recent run of ill-health
and injury. Or as the warden had said, “If Lord Faramir would obey the
healers and allow himself to recover completely before injuring himself
or falling ill again, he might heal faster each time!”
He had not had the strength to argue.
His friends came to visit him regularly. In fact they were
in his room all his waking hours. He put up with them as good-humouredly
as possible. But there was only one he liked to see. And when that one
came, his eyes would light up, but then he would remember that he must
not react like that and promptly distance himself. Aragorn’ s eyes would
cloud over at that but there was nothing either could do. Aragorn’ s
very presence sent his heart racing and it took all his control to not
fling himself at the older man and ask to be just held in those arms,
to just be close to him and feel his touch. He knew if he so much as
touched Aragorn he would lose control. So they maintained their distance.
After the day he had first woken up, they had not come physically close
to each other again. Aragorn had tried to stroke his face once, but
he had turned away, and to his sorrow, his king had understood and had
withdrawn his hand.
Arwen visited him often too and at such occasions he always
found himself embarrassed. Thankfully, she and the others passed his
reaction off as inherent shyness. She would smile gently at him and
speak softly, something he welcomed because both Gimli and Boromir could
be loud and boisterous and in their company Legolas too could be quite
loud. Aragorn usually stayed silent. Faramir craved to hear his voice
but kept telling himself it was better that way.
He had been cooped inside feeling miserable for more than
a week, still in pain and still wont to feel feverish and ill when Arwen
came by with some books. Aragorn and Boromir came just then to visit
him. Seeing her smile cheerfully at them and noticing the love that
lit up in her eyes when she spotted Aragorn made Faramir hit himself
mentally for even thinking of the king. When Aragorn neared him, he
steeled himself and glanced back at him expressionlessly. Aragorn stopped
in his tracks and after a few cursory words, left with Arwen. Boromir
stayed back and sat watching over him. Faramir wanted to be alone. But
his brother would have none of that. So he gave in and went off to sleep
his mind heavy with sadness.
They had spent a quiet night in each other’s arms. Their
nights were usually like that – quiet. So was their lovemaking. It was
just as quiet, there was no hurry about it. Aragorn knew their nights
together would always be like that. Even if she had given up her immortality,
his wife still was an elf. There was no hurry to jump into bed and make
love each night. Most nights they just lay content in each other’s presence.
She still had that patience that her kind had developed after having
lived for so many years. There was no hurry. That they had each other
meant enough to her.
Most nights he worried about another too.
Aragorn sighed as he leaned against his pillows, taking comfort
from the feel of just holding his wife in his arms. His head was still
a mire of confusion. Dawn had just broken outside.
“You worry for him,” she spoke suddenly.
He nodded quietly, “His recovery is slow. And he would not
be there but for me. I can see he is unwell and it hurts me that he
is so because of me.”
Arwen sighed, “I do not think he would like to hear you speak
like that. He thinks much of you. If he hurts, comfort him,” she said
in a pragmatic tone, “You are a healer.”
Aragorn looked up at her, “I do not think I can offer him
the comfort he needs. He needs more than a healer of wounds.”
“You are right. He needs a healer of hearts,” his wife said
as she rose for the day.
Aragorn stared after her, even more confused now.
Faramir sighed and tried to sit up on his own but his back
hurt him too much. The bruises were healing very slowly. He tried once
again to ease himself up, releasing an involuntarily loud groan.
“What are you trying to do?” he looked up to see Legolas
hurrying in through the doorway.
“I was just trying to get up,” he said lamely as he sank
back against the pillows tiredly.
“You are supposed to stay in bed for another week at the
least!” Legolas chided, “And you are lucky Boromir did not see you like
this. He was about to come here but he had another errand so he asked
me to stop by on my way to the stables.”
“Is something the matter?” he asked, a little worried.
“Yes, Arod has hurt his foreleg.”
Faramir raised a brow in resignation.
“Oh, you meant Boromir? Nay, he is just irked that he could
not come and see you this morning.”
“Oh.”
Legolas watched as the younger man turned his face towards
the window. The look of yearning did not escape the Elf’s keen eyes,
neither did the meaning of the expression. He knew what the look said
and he could understand it. Having grown up in the woods himself, too
much time within stone enclosures bothered him too.
“It looks beautiful outside,” came the wistful words.
“Nay, it is quite cold,” he said calmly.
Faramir raised an eyebrow at that, “I thought elves did not
feel the cold,” he said with a faint hint of a smile.
Legolas smiled back at him and went over to the window. Looking
out at the quiet gardens below, he noticed Aragorn walking there. Then
he glanced back at the forlorn young man who was twisting the hem of
his blanket in his hands and sighed silently.
“It will still be beautiful outside in a few more days when
you feel better,” he tried.
“I need to return to Ithilien,” came the morose reply.
Legolas sighed and placed a hand on his shoulder gently,
“Then rest and get better soon.”
When Legolas had left, Faramir bit his lip, and looked out
of the window. It was probably cold but the thought of stepping outside
overruled that, and he made up his mind quickly. The room was stuffy
and left him feeling stifled. He could not think of a place he now hated
more than the houses of healing. They would not even let him move to
his own chambers, stating that he was too weak to be moved.
He rose with no little difficulty and somehow managed to
drag himself out to the gardens of healing thankful for the fact that
one of the doors outside was right next to his room. It was not a path
much frequented so he had no fear of being spotted by any of the healers.
He was breathing heavily from the effort but the fresh air and the sound
of birds chirping made him feel much better.
It was then that he noticed the tall figure striding towards
the healing houses, stopping short at the sight of him.
“Should you even be outside?” Aragorn chided, as he turned
and walked towards him.
Faramir looked away unhappily, “It is tiring to be inside
all day,” he said softly.
Aragorn sighed at that, “Yes, but –“ He stopped as he noticed
the younger man slump a little and darted forward.
Faramir felt his knees buckle under him. His back was hurting
him once again. Walking out had exerted him too much. Aragorn hastily
draped an arm around him, inadvertently brushing his bruises. He gasped
in pain, for the injuries were raw and even a slight touch made him
wince. Aragorn cursed under his breath, and shifted his arm down to
Faramir’s waist.
That hurt too, but much less. Faramir drank in the familiar
smell of Aragorn’ s nearness almost eagerly. The feel of the hands around
his waist made him tremble slightly. Aragorn noticed the tremble and
mistook the reason thinking the cold was causing it.
“Back inside now, I think. You know the warden told you not
to get up for a week at least!” Aragorn said sternly, as he tightened
his grip around the slim waist.
Faramir nodded weakly. His head was beginning to swim and
he felt extremely nauseous. The healers were right, he should not have
tried standing up and walking about so soon.
“Come,” Aragorn said with great tenderness, “Let me take
you back to the room.”
He took a step forward very slowly. His back was on fire
now and a dull ache had started up in his abdomen. His head began to
hurt.
“Can you walk?” Aragorn inquired worriedly.
He tried to reassure him but all that came out was a pain-filled
whimper, and he felt himself slouch forward. He could see worry light
up his king’s eyes at his reaction.
“You look very tired,” the king murmured softly, as he brushed
his head with his hand.
“It is nothing. Merely a –“
“Oh dear one, this is all because of me!” Aragorn said softly,
still holding onto him.
It was the endearment that brought the wetness to his eyes,
and he found himself gulping softly, as Aragorn continued to gaze tenderly
at him.
“I miss you so much,” he blurted out suddenly.
Aragorn stared back at him for a second, still holding him
around his waist. Their lips brushed. Faramir gave out raspy sigh as
he felt a delicious warmness course through his jaded limbs from just
that slight touch. How he had longed for this through each long, lonely
night! His aches lay forgotten as his head clouded over with desire.
The taut, firm muscular body enveloped his own slender figure as he
stared at Aragorn’ s deep grey eyes. Their lips were almost touching.
He could think of nothing but how those lips would feel over his mouth.
A sharp gust of wind brought them both back to reality. Faramir
turned his head away reflexively from the icy cold breeze, even as Aragorn
loosened the grip around his waist a little. The moved a little apart
even as Aragorn continued to support Faramir’s weight.
Faramir stared at the ground berating himself for what had
almost occurred. The backache returned with a vengeance and he bit his
lip in agony.
A soft cough sounded. He looked up and noticed Arwen standing
at the entrance to the houses.
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Chapter 16
Faramir stared at the queen in alarm, his heart racing furiously.
How long had she been there?
“Arwen!” Aragorn spoke first, and Faramir marvelled at how
steady his voice seemed to be, even as the hand around his waist faltered
a little.
“My queen,” Faramir began, “I – I was –“
She smiled gently at them, “Here you are! They are searching
for you inside, Faramir. Your brother is quite distraught,” she chided
gently.
“You sneaked out!” Aragorn said reprovingly. The hand remained
around his waist.
“I – I just wanted some fresh air,” Faramir murmured unhappily.
“I know,” Aragorn said reassuringly.
He dropped his eyes to the ground. His head began to swim
again. The queen didn’t seem angry. Perhaps she hadn’t seen anything
then. He shivered slightly as another cold draught of wind rustled through
the trees. The only thing that was keeping him standing was Aragorn’
s grip, else he would probably have fallen to the ground. He heard faint
voices around him, and felt Aragorn tighten his grip around him and
lead him back inside. By the time he reached the room, he was exhausted
and seemed to have aggravated every injury he had sustained.
Outside his room, the warden, his brother and Legolas came
forward to meet them. The warden snorted at the sight, while Boromir
groaned.
“Where did you find him?” Boromir asked with a sigh.
The warden stood with his lips pursed in disapproval.
“In the garden,” Aragorn said as he swept past them, into
the room and helped his now half-conscious charge into the bed.
“You had us all worried!” Boromir chided him.
“I told you it was cold outside!” Legolas added from behind
Boromir.
Aragorn gave them a stern look as he sat down by Faramir
on the bed, “I think he should sleep now. He looks weary to me.”
“Well, he wouldn’t be if he listened to the healers, would
he?” Legolas pointed out reasonably.
“That was extremely irresponsible of you,” Boromir scolded,
“You know they do this only so you may get better soon.”
“I’m sorry,” Faramir whispered. He was beginning to regret
having gone outside himself. Then he wouldn’t have met Aragorn and he
would not be feeling as confused and dazed as he did now. Aragorn had
a hand wrapped protectively around his shoulder and try as he might,
Faramir could not draw away.
Having tasted the nearness of the king after so long, he
could not give it up so soon. And yet, he knew he would have to sooner
or later. Aragorn’ s grip around his shoulder tightened and he looked
up into the grey eyes.
“Rest now,” Aragorn said to him softly as he rose. He then
eased Faramir against the pillows and helped him cover up. The warden
shooed them all away after that, except Boromir who insisted on staying
back and sitting with Faramir a while.
As the other three left, they could hear the warden muttering
something about barring the houses of healing to the steward’s family.
“How’s the lad?” Gimli asked Boromir when they met for the
evening meal.
“A little tired, but otherwise, he is as well as can be,”
the steward replied as he filled his plate, “And annoying the healers
excessively.”
“I thought Ioreth enjoyed having him around to mother him?”
Legolas asked grinning.
“Even she is annoyed with his restlessness,” Boromir sighed,
“Perhaps I should be a little strict with him and force him to obey
their orders.”
Aragorn raised an eyebrow at that, “You were stern enough
with him today. Surely that was enough?” he remembered how small Faramir’s
voice had become at his brother’s chiding.
Boromir stared at him in surprise, “He has heard stern words
before this, Aragorn. And he knows well what he did was not right.”
“He would not have heard such words from those he loves,”
Aragorn retorted, “And that when he is so unwell.”
His friends stared at him in surprise. Only Arwen maintained
her composure.
“You are right,” Boromir agreed after a pause, “I did not
mean to scold him so. But it was very childish of him to exert himself
so when he has been told to rest.
“He’s tired of the city,” Legolas mused, “He told me so himself.”
“Tired of the city?” Gimli exclaimed, “but this is such a
lovely city you have my friend and did he not, like you grow up here?”
“He did,” Boromir hesitated slightly, “But – Faramir had
a – he preferred to spend his time away, mostly in Ithilien. Aragorn,
he wishes to rejoin the rangers.”
“He is yet to recover,” Aragorn pointed out, knowing well
that he was one of the reasons the younger man wanted to go away from
the city.
“I think he will recover better should he be in Ithilien.”
Legolas said in a serious tone.
The others turned to him in confusion. He sighed and began
to explain, “He seems to crave fresh air and trees. I can understand.
Living within walls – can be – difficult. Aragorn, you have been a ranger,
you should realise, and Boromir, you have been a soldier too. He is
used to open spaces.”
Aragorn stared at his plate unhappily. He knew what Faramir’s
difficulty was. He had seen it in his eyes, and heard it in his half
murmured words days ago.
The rest of the week went by in a whirl for the peace treaty
with Harad had opened up trade between the two lands and the court found
itself swamped with requests to send and receive trade delegations and
resolve related issues. A new tax was creating problems and at the same
time, Gimli’s people had more or less finished work on some of the new
establishments in Emyn Arnen in Ithilien so that those who wished to
return there would have somewhere to set up in. As of now, it was mostly
being used by the company of rangers and it seemed logical to now allow
their families to move there too.
Faramir obeyed the healers implicitly but still with reluctance
and stayed indoors all the while, eating what he was given, and doing
as told to. It helped him get better physically but did nothing to improve
his mood, until finally, he was allowed to return to his chambers but
still with strict orders to limit his movements for some days.
Aragorn had little time to spend with him, given the amount
of work he now found himself loaded with but whenever he did not miss
the open craving in the grey eyes that beheld him.
A week later, Boromir asked him if Faramir could leave for
Ithilien.
“The work there is as yet entirely administrative. There
is not much physical labour involved and I have spoken to Mablung and
his other men,” Boromir said calmly, “Any sign that he is not recovering
and they will let me know. And the warden agrees with Legolas. He thinks
the air would aid him better there than here.”
“Do you truly think he will be happy there, away from you
and all his friends?” Aragorn asked.
“He can always return whenever he feels like it. It is hardly
that far. But I do know he likes it better there, Aragorn,” came the
steward’s reply.
Aragorn stared down at his papers unseeingly, unsure whether
he liked the idea of not having Faramir within his sight each moment.
And then winced at the thought. There was little he could do even then.
And he was merely hurting him by doing that.
“Aragorn?” Boromir was speaking. He looked up at him.
“Faramir did not have a very happy childhood,” Boromir spoke
hesitantly, “It was not that it was unhappy. But it was not happy either.
My father was a stern man. And sometimes he was sterner with some more
so than with others. But then, you know this. You knew him.”
Aragorn nodded silently, watching Boromir’s face curiously.
“He is my brother. We are different, yes, but he is very
dear to me,” Boromir said softly, “He is hurting now. And it is not
just the memories that do that to him. There is more and he cannot cope
with it. And I cannot see him getting hurt anymore,”
“He will not be. Ever.”
Boromir looked at him closely then turned away with a nod,
“As long as he is happy, it matters not to me what he does.”
“He will be,” Aragorn stated though he knew he was merely
being hopeful.
“I hope so,” Boromir smiled almost wistfully, “I cannot remember
the last time I have seen him smile. And I had not even realised it.”
Aragorn could not either.
It had been almost a month since Faramir had left for Ithilien.
A long month where Aragorn had ended up immersing himself in tedious
reports that he normally passed onto one of his secretaries. The entire
functioning of the king’s household changed. He never spared a moment
for himself. If he wasn’t seeing to his duties or with Arwen, he would
indulge in archery or swordsmanship. He did his best to keep his mind
occupied at all times, and not think of a man who was now in Ithilien.
Every two days, reports came from Emyn Arnen with a courier.
They were blunt and short listing the information required. There would
also be letters for Boromir every now and then. And each time, Aragorn
would wonder if there would be any other missive for him. Each time
he would shake through the reports searching for an extra piece of paper
that might have something else inscribed in it. Anything.
He knew what was written in the letters because invariably
Arwen or Legolas would ask Boromir if Faramir had anything to say.
“He used to write more entertaining letters, “Boromir sighed
one day after reading through the short missive.
Aragorn kissed his wife gently. When they pulled apart, she
ran a hand through his hair and brought it down to his cheek, “I love
you,” she said softly.
“I love you too,” he replied quietly. And he did, he knew
that.
“I know,” she said smiling, as she wrapped her arms around
him. He leant his tired head against her shoulder, and let her play
with his hair.
“It is different,” she said suddenly.
He stared up in surprise. She continued as she saw his puzzlement,
“When one lives so many years, one makes things go slowly. It is different
now,” she said almost sadly.
“I-,” he stared down not knowing what to say.
“It is different but as long as I know you are there, I am
happy,” she said softly.
He leaned into her embrace.
“But I cannot give you all you desire, can I?”
He sat up at that, “I desire you greatly,” he said after
the slightest of pauses.
“You need him. And he needs you,” she said.
“Arwen -,” he gaped at his wife as she looked serenely out
of the window.
“It is different for mortals, Estel. I understand that now.
The years are not many and much has to be done. Do you not love him?”
He stared back at her almost in shock.
“You do, do you not?”
He nodded soundlessly.
“Tell him then. He has hurt enough all these years. Anyone
can see that. Heal him now.”
“I love you too,” Aragorn whispered softly.
“I know.”
“And I love him too –“ he continued dazedly.
“I know, love,” his wife replied softly, “But does he know
that? He needs you Aragorn.”
“I cannot do that to you!” he gasped out shocked.
“Do what to me?” she asked calmly.
“I would be cheating you!”
“No. I cannot give you all you desire. But he can give you
something of what you want. And that will make you happy. Would you
rather be unhappy and have everyone else around you saddened. If he
makes you happy, it should delight me, love. And it is better done this
way, than you keeping it secret from me.”
“I would never hide anything from you.”
“Yes, that is why he pines away for you in Ithilien and you
pine for him here.”
“I do not understand –“ he mumbled.
“You will not,” she said with a sigh, “He is young. Let him
not face such sorrow that he is left grief-stricken and broken-hearted.”
Aragorn continued to stare at her confusedly.
“You give me all I need, Estel,” she said softly, “But you
do not get all you need.”
“I should have told you,” he muttered brokenly.
“It would have achieved nothing,” she said calmly, “And what
would you have told me? That you have two loves in your life?”
“I do love you,” he repeated.
“Oh, Estel, love . . . I know that! But you love another
at the same time, and I have accepted that. I am happy, though, that
it is not another woman!” she said trying to get him to smile.
He smiled a little at that and she was glad. His morose expression
troubled her.
And he stayed just as unhappy the next week, when they journeyed
to South Ithilien where Legolas’ kin had started arriving to build their
settlement. They would stop by Emyn Arnen for a short while on their
way back to change their horses.
Boromir was to stay back in the city, since Aragorn would
be travelling, and when Aragorn arrived at the stables to mount his
horse he found his steward and wife in conversation. Boromir looked
a little doubtful, and the smile he gave him seemed a little strained.
Arwen led her horse off leaving Boromir to speak to Aragorn.
“Would you have any messages for Faramir?” he asked.
“Just my wishes,” came the reply.
The visit to South Ithilien went well and everything seemed
to be progressing finely. But Aragorn could not forget that their return
journey would take them through Emyn Arnen.
When they reached there, they found Faramir waiting for them
on horseback to escort them along. It was a small settlement, still
being built, and his quarters were not very large. But the rooms were
airy and spacious and stood on the topmost spur of the hills, commanding
a view of all the land around.
They waited there while the new horses were readied by the
escort and the old ones taken off to the larger stables at the bottom
of the hill. It had been a long ride and since it had been chilly outside,
the warmth of the indoors was a welcome change. Faramir met Aragorn’
s gaze briefly, a polite inscrutable look, but it was a look that lingered
upon the king, a brief second more than usual. Aragorn watched him quietly,
taking in the lines of strain around the mouth and eyes, not realising
that his face too held similar marks of anguish.
They talked in strained tones without so much as meeting
each other’s eyes, of desultory things such as when the snowfall might
start until they were informed that the horses were ready.
Arwen rose after the messenger had left, and brushing down
her clothes smiled at her husband saying, “I shall see you in Minas
Tirith then, my lord?”
They glanced at her blankly for a while.
“It was felt, Estel,” she said patiently, “That you must
spend a few days in Ithilien, so you can learn more of it. Your secretaries
must have forgotten to tell you. Faramir, you will take care of him
will you not?”
Faramir continued to look blank. Inwardly however his heart
was setting up a furious beat, as she smiled gently at him.
“I know you will,” she said softly, “You cannot see him unhappy
and neither can I.”
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Chapter 17
Faramir looked dazedly at Aragorn who seemed as confused
as he was, and then nodded dazedly. He vaguely heard Arwen say something
cheerfully and then realised she was leaving.
They stood in shocked surprise even after Arwen had left.
Neither moved at first. They could hear the horses of the queen and
her escort thundering away.
It seemed an eternity before Aragorn found himself moving
forward. He was completely befuddled. He knew Arwen had seemed not to
mind his feelings for Faramir, but that she would let him act on them
left him as surprised as the whole sequence of events had left Faramir.
He wondered in distress whether Faramir still felt anything
for him. But he need not have worried. The moment he stepped towards
him, Faramir moved forward too. He could see he was breathing heavily.
Then Faramir launched himself into his arms and Aragorn found himself
holding onto the younger man who seemed to be clutching to him for dear
life.
“I missed you so much,” came the broken voice, “So much.”
He rested his cheek against the dark head resting on his
chest and sighed contentedly. To be able to wrap his arms around Faramir
like this was all he had dreamed of for many days now. He stroked his
back gently, and his hair and simply held him, as he heaved dry sobs
against him.
Then Faramir lifted his head up and looked at him as though
to search his eyes for any sign of disapproval.
“And I missed you,” Aragorn whispered.
The wary expression changed to one of complete relief. Their
lips met, brushing lightly at first, but as each realised how much the
other wanted it, it turned deeper and more passionate as they kissed
each other frantically. They came apart flushed and breathing raggedly.
Faramir found himself shivering in anticipation from just the nearness
of Aragorn’ s body, after so many days of being deprived of even his
presence.
Aragorn stared back at Faramir’s trembling figure, wanting
nothing more than to make love to him all night. But he needed to be
sure that was what the younger man wanted too. Moving closer, he took
his face in his hands and gave him a questioning look.
Faramir leaned into his touch and placed his own hands against
Aragorn’ s chest tentatively, “Aragorn,” he breathed softly and then
lapsed into silence as the king hugged him close.
It was all that the older man needed. Faramir’s tone of voice
left him in no doubt as to what he wanted. And if that wasn’t enough,
the bulge that rubbed against his body spoke volumes.
“I think you wear too many clothes,” he said in an amused
tone.
Faramir lowered his lashes embarrassed at first, and then
glanced up, a slight grin playing on his lips, “Then perhaps I should
get rid of them?”
“An excellent idea!” the king replied beaming, “But perhaps
in your chambers?”
When they reached Faramir’s bedroom, he helped him pull off
his tunic and leggings taking in the sight of the sight of the completely
naked, slight figure before him, noting with relief that all the injuries
seemed to have healed completely. There was nothing more than a few
faint markings left. He grasped him by the waist and pulling him forward,
placed his lips on Faramir’s mouth once again. Faramir reciprocated
and this time they indulged in the passion of a slow and tender kiss,
their tongues exploring each other’s mouths intimately while Aragorn
caressed the familiar body with his hands. They roved the soft flesh
under him hungrily. He had never realised how much he would miss Faramir
and the feeling was obviously reciprocated for his actions were causing
Faramir to react by brushing his naked flesh against the rough cloth
of Aragorn’ s outfit. They pulled apart only when breathless and with
great reluctance. Aragorn found himself looking at the adoring expression
on the face of the younger man.
“Are you ready for this now?” he asked gently, gazing into
the clear grey eyes.
Faramir nodded, “I have never wanted anything more,” he replied
sincerely.
Aragorn smiled and then suddenly swept him into his arms.
“What are you doing?” came the answering gasp.
Aragorn simply smiled as Faramir instinctively leaned into
his hold. He then carried him over to the bed and lowered him against
the pillows tenderly. Looking around the room, he found a box of saddle
oil on the table and picked it up. Pulling off his own clothes swiftly,
he lay down by him.
“This time, my love, nothing will stop us,” he declared passionately.
Faramir blushed a little and smiled almost shyly as Aragorn pulled him
forward and kissed him again on his lips while he awkwardly let his
hands run all over his king’s back pressing his bulging groin against
Aragorn’ s erection. They caressed each other all over revelling in
the nearness and in the touch of skin to skin and lip to lip. Then Aragorn
slowly and steadily began kissing Faramir all over his body, on his
cheeks, on his neck, along his arms, his chest, and his stomach. Faramir
found himself quivering with each kiss. His lips were parted and he
was moaning silently. A wet tongue flicked over his chest, dancing lightly
over the skin, teasing his hardening nipples almost inducing tears from
his eyes. His own hands roved Aragorn’ s muscular back, pressing down
onto the flesh as ripples of want ran through his aching body
Aragorn’ s hands were on his erect member now and he gasped
at the touch as the fingers closed around it. The stroking motion sent
him into raptures as he breathed Aragorn’ s name over and over again.
Aragorn looked into his eyes once again for confirmation and he nodded
breathlessly. As gently as possible Aragorn set about preparing the
inexperienced man, careful to ensure that Faramir would not be hurt
even the slightest bit. After everything that had happened he never
wanted to see pain in Faramir’s eyes ever again.
He reached for the box, and rubbed the oil from it all over
his hands. Faramir meanwhile turned over so as to lie on his stomach.
He suddenly felt Aragorn gently turn him around and stared back at him
out of half-curious, half-apprehensive eyes. What if Aragorn had changed
his mind about them?
“I want to look into your eyes as we make love,” Aragorn
whispered into his ear, “And I want you to be able to look into my eyes.”
Faramir felt a shudder of desire course through his body.
Trembling with excitement and anticipation he nodded eagerly as the
strong hands caressed his face with deliberate slowness.
Aragorn made Faramir lie back comfortably with his legs splayed
apart, placing a pillow under his waist to keep his hips raised. Faramir
moaned passionately as the king’s skilful fingers worked on his arousal
stroking it up and down much to his pleasure, and then found their way
down to his tight entrance.
“Relax,” he said softly, keeping his eyes on his lover’s
face.
Faramir hissed slightly as Aragorn’ s oil-slicked fingers
slowly and lovingly worked their way into him one by one, stretching
lightly.
“What is it, love? Am I hurting you?” he asked worriedly.
“No, go on! Hurry!” came the answering moan, as Faramir eagerly
responded to the touch.
“Ssh, be patient, young one,” Aragorn said soothingly, as
he pulled his fingers out and bending over, brushed Faramir’s lips with
his own. He got a groan in reply causing him to grin wickedly.
Teasingly, he once more poised his fingers against Faramir’s
entrance, but didn’t push them in. Instead he massaged the sensitised
flesh with deliberate movements, watching with unbridled glee as Faramir’s
expression became more and more enraptured. The younger man began to
squirm and his breathing became ragged. He moaned loudly, the lust in
his tone clearly evident.
Aragorn’ s free hand landed across his chest to keep him
in place. Every sinew in Faramir’s lithe figure stood out tensed up,
taut as a bowstring and animalistic groans came out from between his
parted lips. Faramir was now almost breathless with desire. Each touch
sent him into raptures and by now his groin seemed to be on fire. His
erect member was aching for release and all he wanted was for Aragorn
to make love to him.
“Patience,” Aragorn said again.
Faramir seemed on the verge of collapse now. Finally relenting,
Aragorn released him and pulled him up closer. He entered him gently
and lovingly, caressing him all the while, kissing him all over his
chest and stomach to calm him. One hand was circled around Faramir’s
waist while the other toyed with his throbbing erection. Faramir gritted
his teeth silently against the sudden piercing pain that erupted through
his lower body and but managed somehow to keep himself relaxed. He could
feel Aragorn’ s breaths on his sensitive skin and the hot gasps of air
were causing his nipples to react on their own accord. His legs and
arms were wrapped around Aragorn and he took comfort in the warm touch
of the other’s flesh knowing that the twinges of pain he was feeling
would soon vanish to be replaced by something he had desired ever since
he had seen Aragorn. As tenderly as ever, Aragorn continued to thrust
into him, stretching his tight muscles.
And then finally it happened - a feeling such as Faramir
had never known before erupted inside him. He knew they were both nearing
release and the very thought excited him even more. When they climaxed,
Faramir was almost in tears. His knees were digging into Aragorn’ s
waist and the older man’s back and arms were covered with a small pattern
of scratches now where Faramir’s nails had reacted to the ecstasy.
“My love?” Aragorn looked at him anxiously as he gently pulled
himself out. Raising the quivering younger man up, he wrapped his arms
around him.
“You were wonderful,” came the adoring reply even as tears
poured down the radiantly smiling face. Aragorn smiled in return and
held him closer, deciding that the younger man should smile a lot more
in future.
They finally lay back against the pillows, Faramir resting
his head on Aragorn’ s broad chest.
“My dear, sweet one,” Aragorn whispered as he lovingly ran
his hand through the sweat-dampened hair splayed across his torso.
“I love you,” Faramir said softly, glancing up at his king’s
face.
Aragorn could see unshed tears glistening in the grey eyes.
He gently pulled the slender figure up and kissed him lightly, “And
I love you, dearest.”
Faramir stared up at him open-mouthed for a few seconds and
then nestled his head shakily on Aragorn’ s shoulder, “Y-you do?” he
mumbled tremulously.
“Of course I do!” Aragorn said running a hand over Faramir’s
back. He sent a feathery touch up and down the spinal column and grinned
as Faramir gasped slightly.
“I have loved you ever since you called me out of the shadows,”
Faramir said softly as he ran a hand over Aragorn’ s chest, revelling
in the feel of the well-developed muscles.
“You fought them so long and hard, I knew you had to be a
very special person,” Aragorn told him smiling.
“I am not special,” Faramir protested, “It is you. You are
the most wonderful person I have ever known. I still cannot believe
that you might – feel something for me,” he stumbled over the words,
still unable to believe that Aragorn loved him.
“I love you, dearest,” Aragorn said sincerely, “Why would
I not? You are special. You are noble and honourable and brave, yet
so full of gentleness and love. All who know you like you, my love.
And I love you and adore you so much. And I feel honoured that you reciprocate
that feeling.”
Faramir’s head shot up at that. He tried to squirm out of
Aragorn’ s grasp, still a little flushed, “You-you feel honoured? But
you are the king! Nay, it is I who am honoured that you would bother
about my feelings and care for one such as me!”
“Oh Faramir,” Aragorn pulled him close, “One such as you,
darling? You are no less than anyone. I love you, dearest, and I will
never tire of telling you that. Why do you cry, my love?” he asked shocked
to see a tear roll down the soft cheek he now held in his hands.
“You are so good,” Faramir whispered hoarsely.
“I love you,” Aragorn repeated and pulled him into a passionate
embrace, kissing him long and hard.
“How do you feel?” he asked anxiously after they came apart,
“Do you hurt anywhere?” He had taken great care to ensure that there
had been no tearing when he made love to the younger man but he was
sure Faramir would still be feeling very sore.
“How could it hurt at all when you’re there? To think that
all these days –“ Faramir broke off with a despairing gulp.
“What is it, my love?” Aragorn asked worriedly.
“If we’ve loved each other since the day we first met, why
did it take so long?” Faramir asked morosely, “All these days! So many
days . . . we could have had such pleasure days ago. I was so blind
and so stupid!”
Aragorn sighed, “It was not just you, dearest. But, do not
worry we’ll just have to make up for it, won’t we,” he whispered wickedly
and kissed Faramir gently on his forehead.
Then he pulled him closer and held him possessively to his
chest watching over him as he fell into an exhausted sleep.
“We should clean up,” Faramir slurred before his head drooped
against Aragorn’ s chest. The king smiled and continued to hold him,
stroking his back gently. It felt so good to hold Faramir in his arms
like this, to just be able to touch him and caress him. He ran a hand
lightly over the younger man’s arms and legs, sighing contentedly as
Faramir buried his face deeper into his chest and slept on peacefully.
He pulled the blankets up to cover them. Then he closed his eyes and
leaned back revelling on the warm breathing that seemed to caress his
torso.
Aragorn awoke to the feel of someone nuzzling his neck and
shoulder and a hand stroking his chest and stomach. He sighed softly.
“I did not mean to awaken you,” Faramir said apologetically,
his head still resting against Aragorn’ s shoulder, while his hands
worked their way down to Aragorn’ s now aroused shaft.
“I am glad you did,” Aragorn smiled at him, before attacking
the half-parted mouth passionately. Faramir had just about enough time
to manage a squeal of delight before falling back under Aragorn’ s weight.
They rolled over the soft bed in delight, caressing and stroking and
completely abandoning themselves to each other, stopping only when they
got entangled in the sheets. They managed to free themselves somehow,
laughing softly all the while.
“You said we would make up for all the time we have lost,”
Faramir said softly.
“Yes, we will,” Aragorn promised.
“We will?” Faramir’s eyes shined with an almost feral gleam.
“Oh yes!”
“Now?” Faramir was almost purring seductively now and his
fingers were running a little pattern on Aragorn’ s chest.
“Right now? Once again?” Aragorn asked grinning, “but we
just – and your first time too. You are not too weary?”
“I am sorry. I should have realised you were tired,” came
the remorseful reply.
Aragorn hooked a finger under the drooped chin, “I might
be getting old, dearest, but I shall never be too tired to love you.”
He was almost flattered to see the way grey eyes lit up with
a mix of delight and want as he lowered his lover onto the pillows once
again, marvelling at how the energy seemed to have returned to him at
the very thought of making love to Faramir once again.
And it seemed to have returned two-fold for this time he
gave in to Faramir’s urge and their lovemaking was fast and furious
and passionate, ending with both of them almost screaming in delight
as they derived satisfaction from each other.
When it was over, they lay stretched out languorously upon
the bed, wrapped in each other’s arms.
“Well, there is yet time before we rise for the day. I wonder
what we should do now?” Aragorn asked smiling, “Clean up perhaps,” he
said as he remembered what Faramir had muttered just before falling
asleep.
“Why bother?” Faramir replied as he lightly fingered Aragorn’
s lips, “We’re only going to mess it all up again, aren’t we?”
“I suppose we are?” Aragorn said amusedly, glad to see him
lose his shyness, “What do you suggest we do then, darling?”
I’m sure we’ll find a way to pass the time,” Faramir replied
raising himself on one elbow and tracing a pattern with his hand down
Aragorn’ s chest and lower belly.
“I can think of many things I’d like to do. But why don’t
you tell me what you want to do,” Aragorn suggested grinning. Faramir’s
body stretched out in front of him seemed to offer endless possibilities
to pleasure them both. He stretched out his arm to caress the bare skin.
His lover rose with a feline grace and before the king realised
it his arm was being showered with passionate kisses.
“You were gong to tell me what you wanted to do,” he gasped
out teasingly as Faramir suddenly began sucking at his fingers one by
one.
Faramir raised his head and said calmly, “I thought we could
go for a ride.”
Aragorn gaped at him, and then after a pause said in a flat
tone, “A ride?” He had really wished they Faramir would select a more
intimate way to pass time.
“Yes,” Faramir replied as he stood up, “We can take a horse
from the private stables.” He added picking up his clothes.
That left Aragorn even more puzzled, “But there is only one
horse in the stables.” He remembered seeing a rather bored grey horse
chewing hay in Faramir’s stables.
“One horse was all we needed the last time,” Faramir said
calmly as he began putting on his tunic, “This time I promise I will
have greater control over the reins,” he added turning to look at Aragorn
with a grin playing on his lips, “And you can do whatever you like,”
he purred seductively.
Aragorn arose and quirked an eyebrow as he smiled broadly
and flicked the tunic off Faramir’s hands, “I did not see much use for
your clothes either last time,” he said as he enveloped the younger
man in a loving hug and covered his lips in a fervent kiss, even as
they sank to the floor, entwined around each other.
They never made it to the stables.
