It had all probably been sparked off by a stray remark earlier
in the day. The king had been crowned barely a month earlier and things
such as court routines were still in a state of flux, since there was
so much to be done. There was a great deal of re-building and rehabilitation
to see to and emissaries to be met and treaties signed. In general the
scene in the king’s palace every morning was one of organized
chaos.
It had been no different that morning but for the subject
under discussion. It centred on a memorial service scheduled for the
morrow. For Boromir, the deceased elder brother of the current steward,
and one of the nine walkers whose efforts had so recently helped rid
Middle-earth of a great evil. It was while they were all talking about
it that one of the lords sighed and said heavily, “We will miss
him greatly.”
Faramir the steward glanced up at that and nodded sadly.
He still felt bad every time he heard about his brother and sitting
through the talk of a memorial service was proving to be difficult.
His brother would probably have laughed at the idea of having people
make commemorative speeches for him. He moved away from the table he
had been standing by and drifted towards the window, staring out at
the city. He could hear King Elessar speak behind him.
“Yes, he will be greatly missed. He would have made
an excellent steward,” he said softly. It seemed to Faramir that
there was more than just a little sadness over a friend’s death
in that sentence. There seemed to be something deeper.
“Well, it is a good thing then that you have Faramir
yet,” that was the voice of one of the oldest councillors, Merdil,
a man whom Boromir and Faramir had both been very fond of, and one who
knew the king well from his earlier days in Gondor as Thorongil, “Whatever
you may have been told by others, they are not very different. Even
Boromir would have told you that his brother is as good as he.”
“Nay, my lord,” Faramir turned and tried to silence
the councillor, “There could never have been one like he.”
Boromir had been Gondor’s best captain general ever. Only perhaps
the king could better him in Faramir’s heart, “There will
never be one like him,” he said sadly. His eyes fell upon Elessar’s
face and he realised that the king had a very strange expression on
his face. One that almost seemed like annoyance.
The councillor opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted
by the king who called the short one on one meetings that seemed to
be taking place all over the room to order.
“Let us finish the work ahead of us first,” he
said shortly.
Aragorn was preparing for bed, trying to block out old memories,
when he heard the knock on his door. He bade the visitor enter and was
surprised to see it was Faramir.
“If you are preparing to sleep, sire, I can come later,”
his steward offered.
“No,” Aragorn replied shortly, “what is
it you want?”
“I was speaking to Legolas, Sire and he said you and
Gimli and he –“
“You wish to speak of Boromir?” Aragorn interrupted
trying to sound impatient. He had known this would come of course but
he was still not happy about it.
“Yes,” Faramir nodded, relieved, “”that
is, if – “
“What exactly do you want to know?” Aragorn asked
sitting down in a chair. Faramir remained standing.
“Everything,” the steward blurted out.
Aragorn gritted his teeth in anger. Why couldn’t everyone
see he hated speaking of Boromir. It hurt too much to remember. But
of course, no one could see. What he and Boromir had shared was not
something that would be approved of. And Arwen must definitely not know
of it! But Faramir? He stared at the younger man and remembered the
conversation from the morning. It had angered him greatly. How could
anyone consider that Boromir could be replaced by anyone at all? He
decided he had to make that point clear. If he heard such stupid words
again, he wouldn’t hesitate to clap his own steward in chains
on the charge of treason perhaps. And perhaps once Faramir knew the
truth he’d stop pestering him like this.
“I loved your brother,” he said without preamble
and rose and walked to the window.
Faramir smiled at that, “I would be surprised indeed
if you didn’t. He was not very good at dealing with strangers
so he would often appear a little hasty in the beginning but once you
got to know him, you would surely love him.”
“You do not have to sound so patronizing about Boromir,
my lord steward,” Aragorn turned on his heel and gave Faramir
an icy glare that completely shocked the younger man.
Aragorn took a deep breath and then still holding Faramir’s
gaze, repeated forcefully, “I loved your brother and
he loved me. Do you understand now? Do you realise now why I do not
wish to talk of him and why it is that I wish you would not force me
to speak of him? Now will you leave?”
Faramir’s mouth hung open at that. Elessar and Boromir!
“When -? How -?” he asked. It hardly made a difference,
but he could not think of anything else to say.
“You will not leave me alone will you?” Aragorn
snarled suddenly.
“I – I just wished to know - ,” Faramir
stumbled miserably as he realised the reason for Aragorn’s annoyance
all these days. He finally picked up the courage to ask the one thing
he really wanted to know, “Was he – was he happy? Was he
at peace when he p-passed out of this realm?”
Aragorn glared with even greater ferocity at those words,
“He was very happy with me, if that is what you ask. And yes,
he died in peace because he died for his land.”
“Very well, I shall ask you no more,” Faramir
said quietly and turned to leave but was prevented from doing so when
Aragorn shot out his arm and grabbed him by his shoulder. He stared
at the angry eyes in surprise.
“What would you like to hear of your brother?”
Aragorn growled tightening his grip.
“It will help you as much as it will help me if you
speak of him,” Faramir said calmly, even though his heart was
racing wildly. Aragorn looked extremely furious and he had no idea how
to deal with him.
“It will help me if I talk to you?” Aragorn asked
grimly, “Whatever makes you think that?”
“Boromir can never be brought back,” Faramir
began soothingly only to be interrupted harshly.
“And you think you can replace him as Merdil said?”
“No!” Faramir winced as he felt the anger radiating
from Aragorn’s voice.
Aragorn suddenly pushed him roughly against the bed. The
younger man fell heavily, and for a moment simply lay there recovering
his breath.
The king continued speaking harshly, “Would you like
to hear what he felt like to touch, how it felt to hold him, to kiss
him, or how it felt when we made love under the leaves in Lothlórien?”
Faramir pushed himself up halfway before Aragorn shoved him
back, and held him in place with a hand on his chest, “Would you
like to hear how he sang and spoke with us, how the hobbits loved him,
how bravely he fought? Would you like to hear what a man he was? And
would you like to hear how I was incapable of bringing Minas Tirith’s
loved son back to her alive? There will never be another like him to
walk these realms. And I could not bring him back.”
Suddenly he rose, and pulled the slender man off the bed.
Grabbing him brutally by his arms, he dragged him over to the window,
pointing out to the city below them, “Do you see that? He should
be here now, seeing this, seeing his city in peace and prosperity. And
he is not. We may have won the war but at what price? I have let him
down greatly! I did not support him enough when he was weakening or
he would never have never felt so bad about trying to take the ring
from Frodo that he went off after the orcs with no care for his own
life.”
Faramir finally opened his mouth, ignoring the ache that
was travelling from his arms up his neck and down his back, “Nay,
Sire, you must not speak so. He would be glad to see that peace his
returned, even if he may not be here to witness it.”
It appeared nothing he said that day could please the king.
No sooner had the words left his mouth, than Aragorn pulled him around
and shook him hard, “What do you know? You think you know your
brother? How could you? You are nothing like him.”
Faramir bit his lip as Aragorn’s fingers pressed into
the wound on his shoulder, a relic of a southron dart, “I am nothing
like him in looks ‘tis true, but we were not all that unalike,
my lord, and –“
He was suddenly shoved hard before he could complete his
sentence.
“You have heard of his last moments. Let me tell you
of his other moments; of his happy moments. Of how he felt a joy he
had never felt before, not even in your company. You were merely his
brother. What satisfaction could you afford him?” Aragorn asked
his voice reduced to a dangerous whisper.
“I am – I am glad you were happy together, Sire
–“ he started only to be interrupted.
“And then you dare to walk in and think you can replace
him?” Aragorn raved.
It took Faramir a while to react as the shock of the accusation
assailed him. Aragorn loomed over him all the while, fuming.
“I would never-“ the younger man began.
A hand reached out for his tunic and pulled him up, “Let
me show you why you can never replace him,” Aragorn hissed, and
tore at the tunic, managing to rip it open completely, in his rage.
Faramir stood completely bewildered, shivering as a cool draught hit
his bare upper body listening to the words cutting deep into him.
“His mouth tasted as sweet as honey, and when he spoke
of his home, it was in a voice full of love. When he spoke to me, it
was in a voice full of love such as I have never heard.”
He grabbed Faramir’s chin and brutally raised his head.
Bending his head down, he assaulted Faramir’s mouth with his own,
pushing his hand around his neck, and grabbing at the shoulder length
hair as his tongue explored Faramir’s mouth, the younger man responded
instinctively to the kiss, and Aragorn pushed further. He could feel
Faramir’s body tensing under him, as they remained interlocked.
The other hand he slinked around the younger man’s waist, and
slipped into his breeches causing an expression of alarm to light up
in his eyes. Faramir tried to pull away placing his arms against Aragorn’s
chest. The king reacted instantly.
He assaulted the tender lips violently now, attacking with
his teeth, feeling Faramir trying to draw back. He dug his nails deep
into the other man’s soft buttocks, causing him to struggle further.
Without preamble, he let his fingers slide into the crack, and pushed
one up the unprepared entrance, ramming it into the tight channel. He
felt Faramir begin to flail his arms, and tightened his grip around
his neck, his mouth still working on the other. The steward tried to
pull away as his lungs started screaming for air, but Aragorn had much
greater stamina.
Finally he pulled out and let him go. Faramir buckled, gasping
for air, and ended up on the floor on his knees, taking in large gasps
of air, tears filling up involuntarily in his eyes.
“Boromir used to love it when I kissed him,”
Aragorn said. Faramir stared up at him still breathing heavily, an almost
frightened look in his eyes, wincing as he felt the pain shoot up his
lower back from Aragorn’s rough handling. It had been a long while
since he had been touched like that, and never had he faced such brutal
treatment. Aragorn hissed in annoyance and pulled him up, holding onto
him by one arm, the same arm that hurt him if he exerted it too much.
He ran a derisive glance up and down the half-naked figure.
“He was strong and sturdy. Broad of chest with large
arms and strong legs,” he said running his hands over the slim
chest, feeling ribs instead of muscle, finding bony joints in the thinned
arms instead of well-developed muscle. His lips curled in annoyance,
and he looked down at the lanky long legs.
Aragorn continued to speak softly as though in a dream, “When
I touched him he smiled, and wept with desire. When I kissed him, he
asked for more. He had a beautiful mouth, such luscious lips,”
he said softly, wonderingly as he traced his fingers along his steward’s
now bruised lips.
Faramir tried to take the hand in his as Aragorn was beginning
to scare him truly now. It seemed the king was not himself but Aragorn
grabbed his wrists twisting them away, causing the younger man to grimace.
“No! You will not touch me!” Aragorn said coldly,
and brutally shoved his steward onto the bed. Faramir felt himself fall
on the huge wooden bed once again but this time he lost his balance
and his head connected with the heavy bedpost causing a sickening crack
to sound out. He lay sprawled across the white sheets his head ringing
with pain and everything around him lost in a grey haze.
He did not even realise that Aragorn had pulled off his breeches
in one swift motion leaving him completely unclothed. Then he realised
Aragorn was grabbing his thighs hard enough to leave bruise marks on
the skin, and pushing his legs apart. But Faramir was still in too much
of a daze, and hardly able to believe what was happening, to prevent
him. He tried to get up slowly but found himself being pushed down again.
Aragorn’s face glared close to his.
“I do not want to see your face!” he
spat out suddenly and grabbing him roughly by the waist flipped him
onto his stomach. Faramir lay face down in a tangled heap of arms and
legs, his breathing still very jagged and his head continuing to ache
with a dull throb. Aragorn hissed in annoyance and pulling at his aching
limbs violently, made him lie straight. His legs were thrust apart once
again, this time with greater force, as the hands clenched his skin
tighter. An arm snaked around his stomach lifting his hips off the bed.
Simultaneously, Aragorn’s other hand strayed to his rump. The
steward tried frantically to move away and then gasped audibly as Aragorn
suddenly pulled at his hair.
“He always smiled when I touched him.”
Faramir retreated into silence after that, his only reaction
being to clench the sheets of the bed tight, as Aragorn’s nails
dug into his flesh. He could feel the entire weight of the other man
on his body and he felt suffocated. An arm was wound around his chest
and his nipples were pinched with brutal ferocity. The back of his shoulders
stung as Aragorn bent his head down and bit him every now and then.
He found himself biting into the pillow under him to stifle his cries.
His eyes were smarting with unshed tears as Aragorn continue to touch
him everywhere.
He felt the hand return to his rear and stiffened as a finger
entered him yet again, stretching mercilessly this time. Another followed,
ramming in without remorse and he found himself biting his lower lip
till it drew blood. He knew what would happen next but he also knew
he was not ready for it at all. Any second now, he expected Aragorn
to enter him.
Instead Aragorn pulled out his fingers as roughly as he had
pushed them in, “I would take you now but you are not he. You
live while he is dead. Dead, defending a righteous cause. The hardiest
man in Gondor is that not what the lords called him? And yet he is the
one who does not survive, while you do,” he whispered bitterly
while under him Faramir felt as though someone had placed a cold hand
on his heart as he heard those dreaded words. Words he had heard before
though spoken differently, words he often said to himself in bleak moments
of despondency. He felt something wet fall on his lower back. A teardrop,
he realised in dismay.
“May you enjoy this life you have, my lord steward!”
Aragorn moved away and raising himself, shoved Faramir violently off
the bed and lay down.
Faramir flew right off the bed and crashed nosily against
the wall his time hitting his back and shoulders. He could not stifle
the cry of pain eliciting a derisive snort from Aragorn who had turned
his back to him. Straightening himself painfully, Faramir stared at
the prone figure of his king.
He moved towards him cautiously and leaned over, intending
to talk to his king. He was confused.
Tears ran freely down his king’s face through closed
eyes. Faramir bent over unsteadily, and gently wiped them. Aragorn would
not open his eyes. He simply swatted Faramir’s hand away and lay
there not speaking, not opening his eyes, just crying silently.
“I owe you this life that I have,” he
said softly, “You healed me.”
Aragorn turned around and Faramir nearly flinched as grey
eyes glared at him. Aragorn opened his mouth as if to say something,
then clamped his lips together and turned away closing his eyes again.
“Leave,” he said finally.
Faramir stared at the lying figure wordlessly. The king opened
his eyes.
“Leave, I said! Now!” Aragorn’s grey orbs
glared at him, his voice icy.
Feeling as though a cold hand had clutched at his heart,
the steward of the realm slowly and stiffly arose and swung his long
legs off the bed. His entire back hurt tremendously as did his head.
He stood up and not without difficulty, still feeling a little wobbly,
and flinched as his tunic and leggings were thrown at his face.
“Go!”
Pulling on his clothes as quickly as he could, trying not
to look at the ugly bruises that were forming all over his bare body
and ignoring the aches and pains, he began to hobble his way out of
the king’s chambers, even as Aragorn turned his face into his
pillow and began to sob heavily, crying out for Boromir again and again.
He stopped and turned around, heading back for the bed.
“Sire,” he said gently, placing a hand on Aragorn’s
bare shoulder.
It was shoved away immediately as Aragorn turned and sat
up, his eyes raging.
“Do not touch me again, son of Denethor!” he
said through gritted teeth, “ No one touches me in that way, except
one who will not return. You will never take his place, do you hear
me! Steward you may be now, but you will never be your brother. Now,
leave before I call in the guards and have you thrown out of my chambers!”
Faramir backed away his gentle face creasing in an expression
of alarm and sadness. Backing into the door, he stared at Aragorn one
last time before turning around and walking out, leaving a sobbing king
to himself.
He returned to his room and pulled out a letter from a wooden
box. Boromir had written it in Lothlórien and left it with one of the
elves to deliver to Minas Tirith. He seemed to have been unsure of his
fate for he had written to Aragorn as well. The letters had come two
weeks ago with a messenger. Aragorn’s mood had turned from restrained
unhappiness to completely foul unless with one of the halflings.
Faramir read the letter again, specifically the last part
where Boromir praised Aragorn as a true king and leader of men. The
steward could finally catch the undercurrent of love in the words.
And one last line:
Should I not return, look after him, my brother, protect
him and guard him and be a steward to him as our ancestors were to their
kings. Minas Tirith will need him.
He returned to the king’s room to find the older man
hunched over a similar parchment and sobbing. Aragorn glanced up when
he entered, the eyes red and puffy and cheeks stained with tears. He
stood by quietly waiting for Aragorn to react, wondering if he should
leave when Aragorn shouted at him again or stay, as his brother would
have liked him to. But Aragorn said nothing, so he stayed.
Seating himself on the bed, he gathered his king in his arms
and held him. Aragorn did not push him away this time. And he knew it
must be from what Boromir would have written to Elessar for his king
sobbed quietly on his shoulder till his tears dried out. They sat like
that for hours not talking, nor meeting each other’s eyes until
finally Aragorn drifted off to sleep.
His only words in that entire phase of time had been repeated
mumbles that Faramir had made out to be, “You are not he.”
He had continued to hold onto the older man.
Then, Faramir left for his room. The entire city slept in
peace that night, save for these two, who wept through the night, mourning
the same man in their own ways.
The next day, Aragorn glanced blankly up at the younger man
when he came across him, desiring to pre-empt any talk of the previous
night and found himself glancing into expressionless grey eyes. The
steward’s voice was as steady as ever, although a very discerning
ear might have detected a hint of tonelessness in it. Aragorn’s
voice held the same timbre in it that he held when speaking to any other
than his kindred or his fellow walkers. The steward fitted into neither.
That particular morning everything had been organized neatly
and perfectly for the memorial service. The entire city had turned out
for the memorial, as Boromir had been much loved, and so too had the
remaining members of the fellowship. He was mourned by all, and especially
by his brother, Faramir and also, as many people noticed and appreciated,
by King Elessar.
It seemed to the courtiers that the king seemed more at peace
with himself, while their grave young steward seemed to have added on
to his shadows.
The End
