Part 1: Scars
"He will not let me touch him."
The statement hung between the two men; a dead thing in the air that
refused to be ignored. Aragorn closed his eyes, and turned away from
the other man. There was truly nothing he could do then. "I am
so sorry Imrahil. I wish I could help him…" He trailed off
as the words trailed off. Wishes were useless.
"It hurts; to see it in his eyes, the same hatred of himself that
Denethor bore him. It's as if even though he has died, the man has won
from beyond the grave." Imrahil hung his head and breathed deeply.
"There are times, my lord, when even I feel that the cost of this
war was too high to pay."
An arm found its way across Imrahil's shoulder and the prince turned
and leaned his forehead against his king's chest. "Is there nothing
you can do, my lord?"
"He refuses to discuss it with me, and I fear that my presence
in this matter will only make it worse." *Imrahil*, Aragorn thought
silently. *What would you have me do? Even the Elessar cannot force
someone to change their minds.* Sighing, the king told his friend that
he would try once more.
It was the second week of the fourth age, and already there were problems
that the ruler of Gondor felt unable to deal with. His steward's intense
and unforgiving hatred was one. If Faramir had hated anyone else, Aragorn
could deal with it. If it were for Aragorn himself he would try to appease
his steward. But there was nothing he could do, for the one Faramir
hated could not be separated from the prince of Ithilien.
Faramir hated himself.
Or rather, the scars that his insane father had inflicted upon his
body. The flames had enveloped part of his chest, and grew quickly on
the oil soaked flesh. His back, his left arm, and down his left leg
to the beginning of his knee.
Aragorn had seen them; had treated them when begged by Pippin to come
to Minas Tirith and tend to Boromir's dying brother. The stench of cooking
human flesh still made his gorge rise on days when he dwelt on it overly
much.
He had watched Faramir's eyes, the way they had lit up when he had
opened them to behold his new king. The way they shattered and held
shards of broken things when he saw himself in the mirror that first
time; and the way they dulled completely when a healer foolishly told
him that yes, the scarring was permanent.
Both Imrahil and Aragorn had watched in horror as he had slowly got
up, and walked off. Perhaps that was the worst of it; the silent defeat
in the man's eyes. The burning hatred of the scarring forming almost
as quickly as the flames had.
The first to change was his clothing. Long sleeves, high collars, and
dark clothing. The next, was the removal of all the mirrors in Faramir's
house; though it had taken time for Imrahil to realise it for he had
not visited his nephew in some time.
The eyes never changed, though the disgust in them deepened with each
day that Faramir carried the marks of his father's insanity. The next
was the aversion to being touched; his scars were never discussed and
any topic that included them was swiftly silenced.
It had gotten to the point where Faramir refused to have anyone touch
him, and Imrahil who was tactile with his own children mourned the loss
keenly. So he had gone to Aragorn; and the one they called the `Renewer'
did nothing. So they mourned Faramir together; mourned the man he could
have been, if his hatred had not consumed him.
The king paused at the doorway, putting his hand on the wooden frame.
"Faramir? Are you in here?" A pause, then:
"Yes. I am here."
Aragorn entered and closed the door behind him. "You should light
some lamps in here, you can barely see in the darkness."
"That was the general idea," a dry voice answered him. Then
a sigh. "I am sorry. You should not…suffer because of me.
Here."
A light sputtered into existence and Aragorn walked over and stood
next to the man near the window. "You need to stop this,"
he murmured softly. "It isn't healthy, and it's making you ill."
"I cannot. Do not even try to understand it, for it has nothing
to do with vanity." Faramir replied calmly.
"I believe it does, for what else can it be? Though, it you were
never vain to begin with and I do not think that you are now."
"I could not be even if I wished to; not now anyway. You Majesty…"
"Aragorn," the man reminded him quickly.
"Aragorn. You should stop wasting your time with this. It is not,
I am not…worth this amount of time and attention. It is my…problem."
Faramir, who was usually the more eloquent of the two seemed to be at
a loss for words at the moment. "It is my situation, and I shall
deal with it as I can. Do not feel obligated to help me with this, my
lord."
"I do not feel obligated, Faramir. I feel like I am losing one
of my friends to a darkness that is entirely of his own making."
Faramir suddenly stood up. "Do you think these are from my own
making? That I am responsible for them? That it was my-'' He didn't
even get that far before the king interrupted him.
"No! Of course what your father did was not your fault! Faramir,
the man was insane, he had no idea what he was…"
"Yes he did!" Faramir shouted. "He knew, that is why
he did it. For even now after everything, after war, and illness and
death and…." Faramir slumped and sat back on the bed putting
his head in his hands. "After all is said and done, he has still
won; and I am alone, and always will be."
"You have me." Aragorn said simply, knowing that it would
not be enough. Never be enough for the young man who had so much more
of life to live.
"That was not what I meant, I meant that I would always live alone.
Eowyn, she could not touch me; and I do not blame her. I cannot even
look at them without feeling the need to be sick. No woman should have
to marry such a hideous…" Faramir trailed off, shaking his
head.
"You are not hideous, you are not in any way disgusting. She…Eowyn
was a fool." Silently he called her more than that; called her
words that he would never repeat out loud, not even when he railed against
Eowyn of Rohan to Imrahil. Her love was nothing anyway, for had she
not sworn to love him until her dying day while they were leaving for
the battle of Pellonor Fields? Did he not hear her tell her uncle that
she would stay behind with the women and children for love of her king?
Yes, better that she leave and go back to her brother than remain here.
Faramir was far too good for her.
"Not too foolish to wish to leave me. All those who care about
me seem to do so." Faramir said softly and stood once more so that
he had room to pace quietly.
"Boromir would not have wanted you to be like this. He would have
wanted you to carry on, and live with the dignity and happiness that
he knew you for." Aragorn replied, ignoring the increased speed
in pacing.
"It is easy to say what Boromir would have wanted when his is
not here to deny it, isn't it? You don't understand, you haven't seen."
Aragorn stared at Faramir; was the man's memory leaving him or did
he truly not recall his own king's presence when the healer had taken
off the bandages. "I have seen them; the scars. All of them, I
mean. There is nothing you could show me now that would horrify or disgust
me."
Silence; and then: "They disgust *me*. I cannot look at them,
cannot touch them. The feel of them against my clothing makes me ill
until the smell of food is sickening. What shall I do, for they shall
never leave me. How do I cope with this last…gift…of my
father's which is like a taint? Tell me Aragorn, what would you do if
so cursed?"
Aragorn dared greatly in standing and walking over to his very disturbed
young friend. He dared even greater to place a hand on the man's left
shoulder where the scars first began. "I would ask that my lover
kiss them. To love them as I do for they are a part of me that I cannot
leave, not deny. They are just like my temper, my stubbornness and my
great capacity for love. They make me who I am; and if they are too
much of a coward to touch them, me, then I do not want their love."
With that he kissed Faramir softly on the neck, where the smallest mark
of a burning that ember stood out from the pale skin.
second part of Scars. read previous posting for info on story. oh
crap! btw:
Disclaimer: the previous posting and this one are not tolkien's work,
and no money was made off of this. the characters are all tolkien's
though. only the plot is mine.
Part Two – Burning Touch
Nausea. Faramir closed his eyes against the hot bile that threatened
to rise in his throat. "Do not," he got out before jerking
away. "Do not touch...them. I am sorry; I did not mean to offend
you, Aragorn." The steward's stomach clenched at the thought of
this noble man, his closest friend touching such a disgusting thing
again. "But you must not do that again. I do not want you to dirty
yourself with the marks my father left on me."
"I would not dirty myself by touching you Faramir!" Aragorn
said heatedly. Surely things had not gone unchecked for so long that
Faramir truly believed his own words. "I...Faramir, I care for
you deeply. Imrahil and I both do, and we worry about your state of
health. You are obsessing over this, and it is harming you. I would
have it that you ignored this and moved on with your life. For yourself,
if not for your uncle and myself."
Faramir looked at his king and raised an eyebrow, wryly. "Even
if I so chose to, it would be impossible to ignore what is clearly there.
I do not wish to pretend that they are not there. Indeed, it would be
nothing but a farce to go on as if nothing has changed." He looked
down at the ground for a moment and swallowed. "Everything has
changed, Aragorn. I...never expected that this would happen. For all
my preparing for battle and strategies, why had I never thought that
this would occur?"
For that, Aragorn had no answer for there was none to give. "I
care for you deeply Faramir. I think you are beautiful; you will always
be beautiful to me." He said simply.
Faramir stared at Aragorn and turned away, walking to the other side
of the room. "Why are you doing this? Why say such things, surely
you know what impact they can have. Eowyn, she was the one who was beautiful;
and she was smart enough to leave someone who looks..." Faramir
turned around. "Well look at me. No woman would want to touch this."
It was true, Aragorn reflected sadly. No woman would, for the scars
were foreign to a woman's experience. True, every soldier carried scars
from battle and this was of no surprise to a woman. But Faramir...
Aragorn forced his eyes to note the damage the fire had done to his
friend. The marks from the pyre were everywhere on his left side. The
arm and leg were covered in hard scar tissue. The fire had travelled
on his side and there seared part of Faramir's chest. Mercifully, if
there was any mercy in this, the man's stomach and lower regions had
remained untouched. A small miracle, for Aragorn had no doubt that had
the scars moved any further right, that Faramir would have taken his
own life.
"Mithrandir told me what happened when I came to the city; about
why the fire was started." The statement hung in the air between
the two men, before Faramir replied.
"Everyone knows, it's no longer a secret. Especially since my
father was a ranting lunatic who flaunted his madness in full view of
the public." The bitter resentment was enough to make Aragorn wince.
"Your father loved you. The reason he," Aragorn paused to
search for words that would not be a lie yet still skirt around the
truth. "The reason he acted the way he did was because he could
not stand the idea of you eaten alive by orcs. He believed the city
was lost, as did many people. You were his last son, and I don't think
he wanted to leave you to a fate such as that." Aragorn paused,
letting the words sink into the Steward's mind. "What he did, however
misguided, was out of love."
The words were trite, and both men looked a little disgusted with them.
Why bother skirting around the truth of the matter, when it was right
there in front of them. Aragorn suddenly felt like a coward, pretending
that things weren't as bad as they seemed and that the reason behind
the act justified it somehow.
"Oh I know my father loved me. I can see it every morning as I
dress; hear it when I pass the kitchen fires." Faramir walked over
to Aragorn, pausing a moment before kneeling before him. "I smelled
it when the healers took off the bandages and the stench of burnt human
flesh filled the room. I had so much of his love I nearly perished."
Aragorn put his hands on the top of Faramir's head and pulled gently
forward until his Steward's forehead was resting on Aragorn's knees.
"You have my love as well; and Imrahil's. We promise you, both
he and I that we shall make sure never to hurt you. Never to give you
cause to regret surviving the war." Aragorn stroked Faramir's hair,
and sighed. "You *are* beautiful; to have survived so much and
remain a good and gentle person. Others would have lost themselves long
before now."
Faramir tried to jerk away but the gentle fingers became like an iron
band, restricting his movements. "I am not beautiful, I am scarred
and ugly. I have driven the woman I loved away, and cause pain to others.
I am-"
Aragorn interrupted him. "Beautiful. Even if you do not see it
and all others do. I do, and Imrahil does. I do not care about your
scars, I do not care about your father. I care only for you. Can you
understand this, Faramir?"
Faramir said nothing for several long moments, before sighing and nodding
his head tentatively against Aragorn's knees. Despite the encouragement,
he still shied away from the King's fingers when they brushed against
the small scar on his neck. "Every time they are touched, each
time I feel them, it is like being burned all over again."
Part three –
Imrahil Intercedes
Aragorn left him then, and the moment was forgotten for several days
until Faramir found himself in the library sorting books and browsing
passages that he found interesting.
"I thought that I would find you here, you always seemed to end
up in the library when you were a child. One of the things that Boromir
and I could always count upon." Imrahil's voice was soft and reflective,
but it still startled Faramir from his reading.
"I apologise uncle; I did not hear you come in." The steward
quickly put the book down and made to stand up before Imrahil waved
him to sit.
"I did not come here to have a discussion with the steward of
Gondor. I came to visit with my nephew, who has been hiding himself
from me for several days." Imrahil raised an eyebrow, daring Faramir
to deny the truth.
When no denial seemed forthcoming, he sighed and sat down to join the
younger man. "Faramir, you and your brother were close but you
are not the only one who mourns him. I too feel his loss and wish he
was here with us in these moments of peace."
"He never knew that Minas Tirith would survive," Faramir
said softly. "He died alone and in despair, his honour gone and
his family away from him."
"No." Imrahil stated firmly before moving his chair to face
his nephew. "He died knowing his honour was restored by fighting
for the Halfings. He died in the arms of his king, knowing that his
city was going to be held firm by the heir of Isildur. Faramir, you
were always in his heart; he died with you in his thoughts."
"He loved me, uncle. We were always together, to the anger of
our father but we did not care. It was more important to be with one
another than to have the approval of the Steward." Faramir closed
his eyes, Imrahil's fingertips lightly brushing his temple.
"Yes, I know how deeply you and Boromir loved each other."
Imrahil's tone, more than his words, made Faramir open his eyes and
look at him.
"I am not sure as to your meaning, uncle. Of course we loved one
another; we were brothers." Faramir said carefully. He was unsure
of the certainty he saw in Imrahil's eyes, but it made him wary nonetheless.
Very few were aware of the true reality between the Hurin brothers,
and those that knew kept it close to themselves telling no others.
Imrahil smiled gently and put his fingers to rest on top of Faramir's
hands. "Your brother came to me once, and asked why there were
limits to one's love of certain people. I told him that there should
not be, and that in dark times many things happen which would not have
in happier circumstances. He grew sad at my answer and told me that
he would have loved the same, had peace been present at that moment.
It was then that I understood his meaning; he was younger at the time
but even at that time he was in love with you. Faramir, I was not happy
but only because I thought that he would spend his life trying to replace
you with some unfortunate woman. I am glad that you and he... that you
both were happy in those times."
Faramir's hands shook so badly that it was only when his uncle covered
them completely and held them that they stayed still. "Did father..."
Faramir could not complete the sentence, the words stuck hard in his
throat.
"No; I think that he never found out, nor had the suspicion of
it. His grief was born from something else, Faramir. Do not blame it
upon your brother or yourself." Imrahil said.
Faramir looked at him, the confusion in his eyes making Imrahil wish
he had more skill in bringing his nephew out of his self imposed darkness.
"Why, do you know? Why was he always so unhappy? I always understood
that I could never be the son he wished, for he had Boromir and that
was all that he had wanted. Perhaps if mother..." Faramir trailed
off, realising too late that Imrahil may not wish to discuss the death
of his sister with his nephew.
Imrahil closed his eyes; yes if only Finduilas had lived. He blamed
himself for that, a secret that he had kept from even his own sons.
"Finduilas died from lack of the sea, Faramir. There was nothing
she could do short of return permanently to live in Dol Amroth and she
could not do that and remain the Steward's wife. If I had known..."
Imrahil swallowed before continuing. "If my family had been aware
that her need the sea was so deep we would have suggested your father
look elsewhere for a bride."
"Denethor missed her a great deal, Boromir did as well. When we
were children, Boromir used to cry when her birthday came and she was
not there. Or at least, I believe it was her birthday when he was crying,
my memories of that times are hazy." Faramir admitted. He had no
clear recollections of Finduilas at all, and those he had were suspect.
Boromir had told him so many times of his own memories of her that Faramir
no longer was sure of whether they were simply ideas his brother had
planted in his mind.
A hand on his shoulder caused him to look up and see his uncle gazing
at him with regret. "There was never enough time for you and your
mother. I would not hold it against you if you do not remember her well,
for you were so young when she died. I only wish that you had a memory
of your own to recall; I take it Boromir consoled you a great deal with
memories of his own?" Faramir's eyes widened at Imrahil's words.
Was it true, that Imrahil could indeed look into the hearts of men just
as his father could?
"Aye, he told me of many times when mother would sit outside her
window and stare in the direction of the sea. Nothing would make her
happy; not even father."
Imrahil glanced away, trying not to recall the time that Denethor had
come to him all but demanding that Imrahil take Finduilas and bring
her back to Dol Amroth. The new Steward could not rest knowing his wife
was miserable, and with his father now dead Denethor had no one to turn
to.
"The king made your mother happy; but he left after Lord Ecthelion
passed on. Elessar had gone to Gondor to serve under your grandfather,
and after the defeat of the corsairs he departed to return to the wilds.
They were close friends once, and I had hoped that he and Denethor would
become close as well but that was not to be. Looking back I am not surprised.
For Denethor, there could only be one Captain of Gondor and it could
not be Thorongil when he was still the Heir. Your father was ever insecure
about his power, I deem."
Faramir stared at him, letting Imrahil's statement settle in. "I...was
not aware that my mother and the king knew each other. In what way did
he make her happy? I mean, how did they-" Faramir broke his gaze
and stared at the floor, unsure of what he was trying to ask.
"Finduilas and Aragorn had a friendship which formed when he served
her father in Dol Amroth. When she came to Gondor he served under the
Steward and became good friends with him as well, and so the friendship
between your mother and the king continued; though that was all it was.
Unlike now, I would guess."
Faramir looked sharply at his uncle and when he saw the raised eyebrow
and knowing expression on the prince's face he quickly looked down again.
"I am not sure of your meaning," he said softly.
Imrahil snorted and started laughing. "You know quite well my
meaning, nephew. You served in the army so do not pretend you do not
know what two men may do in the privacy of the night."
Faramir tried to appear innocent but with the continuation of Imrahil's
laughter he flushed and looked down. "The king is a married man,
uncle. It would not...be appropriate if he took up a lover or dishonoured
his marriage vows."
Imrahil reached out and held Faramir's hands, tightening his grip when
the young man tried to remove them until his nephew gave up the fight
and let them lie there. "The queen knows that there are many types
of love in this world, and that humans may only experience a part of
it in their lifetime. We're both aware that his majesty desires you;
he has ever since he came to Minas Tirith and brought you back from
death." Imrahil cleared his throat before continuing. The memory
of his nephew lying close to death before him was too painful to recollect.
"You think he would want me like this?" Faramir asked angrily.
"I think that you should do what feels right for you and your
king, nephew. If that is to go beyond this self imposed darkness and
be happy, then yes. And Faramir;" Imrahil added, squeezing his
hands before letting them go, "He does want you. We both know he
does. The question before you now is do you want him?"
Silence answered him, and Imrahil left Faramir to his thoughts. The
seed had been planted. Time was needed now to let it grow.
TBC
