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A Place at His Side: Reunited (NC-17) Print

Written by SallySimpson

31 January 2005 | 2161 words

Title: A Place at His Side: Reunited
Author: SallySimpson (mary_mistress@yahoo.com)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing:Aragorn/Faramir
Disclaimer: Not my characters. Made it all up. No offense intended to anyone.
Summary: After years of turmoil, Faramir and Aragorn are reunited.
Warning: Unapologetic romance.
Timeline: Takes place immediately after the Battle of Pelennor Fields.
Notes: Written for those asked for a sequel to “A Place at His Side,” and especially for Sarah Eleven, because she is so wonderful!
Some plot and dialogue blatantly paraphrased from Tolkien, for obvious reasons. I don’t think Tolkien included the slashy bits, though.


Éomer rushed to the Houses of Healing with Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth, at his side. They greeted Gandalf by the doors, and immediately asked him what had become of Éowyn and the Steward of Gondor. The man at Gandalf’s side, identity hidden by his grey cloak, listened intently as Gandalf confirmed for Éomer that his beloved sister yet lived. He could not help but stiffen, however, as the wizard revealed that Faramir had been wounded by an evil poisoned dart. Since Denethor’s fall into madness, Faramir was now Steward of Gondor; yet he lay in stillness, near death.

Aragorn pushed the cloak from his face and revealed himself. “Time is running out,” he told his astonished friends. “For Éowyn, for Merry… and most critically for Faramir.” So saying he turned and headed into the Houses of Healing, the three men following him.


Kneeling at Faramir’s bedside, Aragorn laid a hand across the younger man’s brow and paused for a moment in deep thought. He had always secretly hoped his path would one day again cross with Faramir’s, yet he had never expected a reunion such as this. Faramir lay before him, cold and grey, his spirit waning in despair even though his wound was healing.

Pippin had told them of Denethor’s attempt to burn alive his only living son, and Faramir had long ago in brief glimpses revealed to Aragorn that his father the Steward held little love for him. Aragorn had seen the intense pain in his lover’s blue eyes, and known that he was cut deep by his father’s actions, though he tried to speak of them casually. The healer had done what he could while they were together to soothe and comfort Faramir, bringing them both joy and the blush of love in the process. But worry had niggled at Aragorn in the years since; he had feared that, despite his love for the younger man, their parting had only served to wound Faramir further.

Now he looked down on the cold still features of his one-time lover – his love – and yearned with all his being to defeat whatever beast of despair was eating away at Faramir’s soul.

“Faramir,” he called softly. “Faramir.” *Come back to me,* he thought urgently, willing the man to hear him through his unnatural sleep. *Now that I have found you again, you must not leave me, my love. I cannot lose you to this…* He laid his head on the younger man’s chest, craving each shallow breath, each leaden heartbeat, as proof that there was yet hope.

Aragorn’s face showed the strain of his will, as with each desperate whisper of his love’s name, he tried to make contact with Faramir’s waning spirit. *So many times I have thought of you, so many nights I have dreamed of you. My love. I did not forget. Do not go before I can look into your lovely eyes again, and tell you these things that are closest to my heart. Do not leave now that our time to be together has truly come.*

Aragorn raised his head and took a deep breath to steady himself. Laying two leaves of athelas across his palm, he breathed his deepest hopes into the frail dried herbs as he ground them finely between his hands and cast them into a steaming bowl of freshly-drawn water. The fragrance rising from the herbs lifted his spirits, and he brought the bowl closer to Faramir, hoping it would revive him as well.

All who stood attendance at the sickbed were hopeful, yet nonetheless amazed as they watched color begin to return to Faramir’s face, easing away the grey tones of near-death. Aragorn’s gaze did not stray from Faramir’s face as he continued his silent beseeching of his friend, hoping his powers, his love, would be enough to return the man to him.


The man on the bed stirred, and gasps of wonder greeted him as his eyes fluttered hesitantly open. His head had been filled with such nightmarish visions as he slept; things he knew to be unreal and yet which seemed too horrifyingly real. Now, as his gaze focused on the face nearest his, he thought he was certainly still trapped in that terrifying state of sleep without rest, for the vision before him could not be true. A pair of kind blue eyes watched him adoringly from a much-beloved face; ah yes, he knew that face. It was a face that had pervaded his dreams for years, granting him his dearest wishes of love and tenderness, then vanishing with the dawn and taking warm comfort with it. Why did fate continue to mock him, torment him so– ever reminding him of all he had lost? His lover, his love…

The vision smiled, raising a hand to gently stroke Faramir’s cheek as he watched him return to consciousness. The touch was so real, so warm… Faramir wanted more than anything to believe, to cling to this moment of joy and security and leave the nightmares behind him forever. “My lord,” he breathed, willing the words to be true. “My lord, I heard you calling me… I am here. I am with you.”

Aragorn’s breath caught at the love washing over him. “I am with you, Faramir,” he replied. “Do not walk in the shadows any longer, but stay here with me in the light.”

Faramir’s eyes welled helplessly with grateful tears. “You command me,” he told Aragorn joyfully. “I will stay.”


Aragorn was anxious, restless. He would be leaving with the others at dawn, heading for Mordor to challenge Sauron at his own Gate. He did not know what would become of their mission, but he knew it would undoubtedly become a suicide mission if Frodo were to fail in his destruction of the One Ring. This could be his last night ever in Minas Tirith, his last chance to be with the man he knew had ever been intended as partner to his soul.

“Faramir!” he cried out in soft greeting as he approached his friend’s sickbed. The joyous gleam lighting Faramir’s eyes in response would keep Aragorn warm through the long march to come, he felt. Aragorn took a seat by Faramir’s bedside and clasped the man’s hands in his own.

“My king,” Faramir replied with a knowing grin. And what a shock it had been to learn that!

Aragorn waved this away. “Do not settle that burden on me just yet, my friend! Besides, you know I come to visit you in no political capacity.”

Blue eyes twinkled at this. “Ah, then this is not an official visit? I hope then that your behavior will be quite unfettered by propriety and convention!” Faramir teased.

The healer could not hold back a laugh, and took a quick look around to make sure he hadn’t disturbed any of the other patients. Fortunately, due to his rank, Faramir had been moved to a bed in a semi-private alcove, and their conversation was now screened by heavy curtains. “After my coronation, my Steward and I must be sure to draw up some new ‘conventions’ for the kingdom,” he replied, teasing in kind. He kicked himself immediately, however, as darkness shrouded Faramir’s eyes at the mention of what had formerly been Denethor’s position. Aragorn took a firmer grip on Faramir’s hands and decided to have out with his bad news, hoping the moment could get no bleaker.

“We leave at dawn. We journey to Mordor.”

Faramir settled back once more against his pillow, resignation etched deeply across his face. “I know,” he said simply, and without trace of accusation. “I knew it must be so.”

“It must,” Aragorn agreed, hoping desperately that Faramir truly understood.

The young man nodded. “Yes. And I am yet unable to travel with you, though I would have my share of the fight if I could.”

Aragorn leaned in closer, pinning Faramir’s blue gaze with his own. “My love, your bravery is already legend among your people. You have grown to be the leader I knew you were destined to be, and there is yet more for you to do.” Abruptly, he remembered himself. “More for *us* to do,” he said quietly. “When I return…” he began, then trailed off, willing his eyes to speak for him.

“If,” Faramir replied morosely, his eyes downcast.

The response was immediate, and fierce. “When,” the healer insisted, grasping his friend by his shoulders. “When.” The word settled alone on the air, stern and definite.

Faramir thought for a moment, and sighed deeply. Finally he raised his eyes to Aragorn’s once more. “Love me,” he said simply. “I would know your touch again before you go.”

The older man ached at these words, desiring nothing more than to fulfill his friend’s every dream, renew every promise that had lain so empty in the years since their first meeting. “My love, you are not yet well,” he murmured regretfully. “I would-“

His words were cut off abruptly as a finger was laid across his lips. Faramir turned the full force of his devastatingly blue gaze on him, quelling all remaining protests. “Love me,” the young man repeated.

Aragorn knew he could deny his love nothing, and surrendered, taking the younger man’s lips in a gentle but passionate kiss. Faramir’s hands threaded through his dark hair, pulling him in closer as he deepened the kiss. The healer moaned softly at the feel of the young man’s tongue questing with his own, and he traced the other man’s face with gentle fingertips, willing the moment to be branded on his memory for eternity.

Faramir shifted on the bed, attempting to pull the older man down on top of him, but Aragorn would not risk harming him in any way. To distract his lover, the healer instead sent his hands on a slow exploration of the young man’s body, stroking and caressing as the men continued to kiss. Upon reaching the growing bulge in the young man’s breeches, Aragorn began to rub along Faramir’s length with knowing fingers. Faramir moaned into his mouth, and the older man broke off the kiss to trace his lips over his lover’s neck and chest, loosening Faramir’s shirt laces as he continued to lick and suckle on his path downwards.

Freeing the young man’s straining erection, Aragorn smiled in appreciation at the lovely sight before dipping down to lovingly lick at the head. Faramir gasped and breathed out on another moan, only to have Aragorn coax his own hand to cover his mouth.

“Hush, my love,” the older man looked up at him with a wicked grin. “Remember propriety and convention!” With that, Aragorn dropped his head once more and continued to explore Faramir’s cock with his tongue.

As suggested, Faramir clamped his hand tightly over his mouth. Even that barrier was soon not sufficient to wholly contain his whimpers of pleasure as Aragorn worshiped his cock, alternately licking along the length with long swipes, sucking gently on just the head, teasing the base with the tip of his tongue, taking the entirety into his mouth. Faramir’s eyes rolled back in ecstasy at the loving treatment, and he dropped his free hand to thread his fingers through his lover’s dark hair.

Aragorn blew gently across the head of the young man’s erection. “Come for me, my love,” he whispered passionately before swallowing Faramir’s cock once more.

Had Faramir once said that Aragorn commanded him? The thought careened crazily through his head as he immediately gave into his lover’s demand, emptying his seed into Aragorn’s mouth and throat. He bit down hard on his own hand, attempting to muffle the sounds of pleasure he could not hold back as the older man swallowed and licked him clean.


Aragorn knelt next to his beautiful young lover, enjoying the hazy expression in Faramir’s eyes as he slowly came back down. When the other man’s gaze finally tracked lazily to his, Aragorn smiled. “Remember me, my love. Remember this,” he whispered, softly kissing his lover’s full lips. “I will return to you. We will be together as destiny has decreed.” So saying, he kissed Faramir one last time, then retreated quietly into the shadows.

This time, despair did not cloud their parting. After years of turmoil and battle, they had been rejoined… and the two men knew in their souls that this parting would not endure.

END.

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The following people read the story, enjoyed it, and would like to thank the author: Mira Took

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