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This story is rated «R», and carries the warnings «Angst, angst, and a little more angst to boot. Serious emotional issues, self-mutilation. Graphic violent imagery, not for the sensitive. But lots of Hurt/Comfort, and some fluff. Yes, fluff. No sex. Deal with it.».
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Chronicle of Scars: Cuts (R) Print

Written by Dernhelm

29 March 2004 | 29961 words

[ all pages ]

Chapter 4: Honesty

“Arwen?” Aragorn called quietly into their darkened bedroom, shutting the door gently behind him. The thick curtains were drawn against the bright afternoon sun, and he could just make out his wife’s lithe form lying upon the large bed. It troubled him to see the normally active Queen still asleep at such a late hour of the day, and she had never been one much for naps. “Are you awake?”

“Yes, Estel,” her voice was soft, but not weak, as she sat up slowly to greet her husband as she yawned, “did you enjoy your trip with Faramir?”

Aragorn was suddenly glad for the dim light, as it hid the flush that crept up his bearded cheeks as he as joined Arwen on the bed. “I did,” he replied simply, trying to keep his voice casual. He kissed her sleepy lips gently, and was caught off guard as his chin met smooth skin, not neatly-trimmed little hairs that rasped against his own.

‘One kiss, and I’m already as familiar with his lips as I am with my wife’s,’ Aragorn thought, and immediately felt wretched as Arwen’s little hand reached up to lovingly cup his face.

“Aragorn?” Arwen asked as her husband pulled away more abruptly than he meant to, “is something the matter?”

“Why are you still abed at this hour? Are you ill?” Aragorn dodged the question, placing a hand to Arwen’s pale forehead. He was relieved to find it cool, but it gave him no further clues as to her state.

“No, I’ve just felt a bit fatigued for the past few days,” Arwen wasn’t as concerned as Aragorn, and she stretched and wrapped her arms around him, nuzzling his neck with her lips, “but now that you’re home I’m not so tired any more.”

She began nipping at the skin playfully, the salt of his sweat rousing her hands to more insistent caresses. She began to unlace his shirt, her fingers slipping under the fabric, toying with the hair-dappled skin of his chest.

Aragorn groaned and closed his eyes as her deft fingers came in contact with his flesh. He kissed her again, more urgently, sliding his hand up the length of her slender arm…and felt his heart wrench unexpectedly as he did not feel the bulge of compact muscle underneath the thin fabric.

He tried to push the thought aside, enjoy the soft lushness of Arwen’s womanly body. But as more of his clothes were removed, and more maddening kisses rained upon the exposed skin, the harder it was to block out the image of Faramir. He could taste the smoky fullness of his kiss each time Arwen’s lips touched his, the calloused touch of his gentle archer’s hands with each caress, the hardness of his body as it pressed against his own…

“Estel?” Arwen stopped suddenly, sitting up to look at Aragorn. His eyes were screwed tightly shut, his breathing was ragged, and the look on his face was not one of rapture, but of anguish. “Tell me what is troubling you.” She was insistent, but calm, her desires put aside in light of her beloved’s need.

Aragorn opened his eyes, and as they were met by her own dark pools he was overwhelmed by the pure, open love that radiated from them. He could tell her concern for him overrode any disappointment she may have felt at her failed attempt at seduction, as she stroked his face softly, waiting for him to speak.

He loved this woman, he had since he was a brash youth living under her father’s roof. For decades, nay, scores of years, he had been his beacon of light in the lonely darkness, the slim thread of hope he held onto when all had seemed lost. Now, after an eternity of separation they could freely share their joy, and their sorrow, and yes, finally their secrets…

Aragorn sat up as well, reclining against the carved wooden headboard of the bed. He looked at his hands, clasped tightly together in his lap, and took a deep breath as he searched for his courage. Of all the harrowing tasks he had undertaken in his long life, this would be one of the most difficult he had ever faced. The trial of complete honesty.

“My love, there are things about me I have yet to tell you,” Aragorn began, meeting her eyes again to gauge her reaction. When she only nodded encouragingly, he pressed on, “there is a secret that I had hidden even from myself, something I tried to make myself forget, for I believed it too shameful to even whisper into the light of day.

“Last night, with Faramir, that secret made itself known to me again, and I was not frightened. Which now, in the aftermath, frightens me even more.” Aragorn’s hands trembled as he spoke, and Arwen gently pried them apart to clasp them in her own.

“Do you wish to share this secret with me, Estel?” Arwen asked, lending him strength through her grace and love, as she always had.

The King nodded, not trusting his voice suddenly, his lips opening and closing as the words struggled to leave his throat. Another gentle squeeze from his wife’s hands freed them, and with a final deep breath he told her the truth of his desires.


It was near midnight when Faramir finally looked up from his writing, his eyes bleary as he took a bite of the cold bread the servants had left for him hours before. He had made it back to the White City just in time to change and meet with the cartographers as he had planned, and had set straight to work again in the library, burying his roiling emotions behind the familiar wall of duty.

It had been almost impossible to concentrate, and he had crumpled and restarted the same page over and over again before setting into a flow. Each time his hands had touched the rough paper, he had been reminded of the texture of Aragorn’s skin under his fingers, and fresh memories would slam against the old barriers in time to his pounding heart…

He was a fool. A Steward should not assume such familiarity with the King. He should not have shared such intimate secrets.

‘Each time you open yourself, Faramir, nothing but harm and shame comes from it,’ the dark voice within sounded almost pitying, as if it reminded Faramir of his past failings for his own good. ‘Why do you keep reaching out? Why do you keep hoping for someone to see past your walls, break the armor we have worked so hard to build together? You would be left with nothing. All I want is to protect you.’

Faramir sighed shakily and rubbed his tired eyes, too weary to truly fight against this internal assault. He felt bruised, raw almost, as if he had been ripped open and sewn back shut again.

He should not let his wayward feelings affect him so! Faramir stood furiously, a sudden rush of determination propelling him into a vigorous pace he told himself was just to stretch his cramping legs. It was a mistake, a moment, nothing more. There was nothing to fear, nothing to dwell on, for it had meant nothing.

To work again! Yes, there was always work to draw the mind away from frivolities and petty troubles. Work was important! Faramir strode between the high shelves of books, scanning the titles, ignoring the subtle blur of his vision as his aching eyes tried to adjust to the dim light.

He had just plucked the tome he needed from one of the racks in the back of the library, when he heard a soft knock at the door. Probably the servant again, hoping to clear the plates of old food Faramir kept insisting she leave behind long after the mealtime had ended. Finally ready to let her win this battle, for the plates were mostly clear and cluttering up his writing space, he paid it no heed as the door slowly opened, flipping through the large volume in his arms.

“Faramir?”

He almost dropped the book when Aragorn’s voice reached his ears, filled with hesitant concern. Faramir’s already heavy pulse quickened, and he slowly peered his head from behind the shelves. He did not know if he was capable of facing Aragorn again without humiliating himself further.

Of course the King would want to know his Steward had returned safely from their trip. There was nothing strange about that. But to pay a visit at so late an hour was odd indeed. Shouldn’t he be abed with his Queen by now?

The prince observed with his breath held as the King approached the worktable, his bearded face almost unreadable, as Aragorn surveyed the piles of crumpled papers that lay scattered about the floor, the dirty dishes, and the reams of neatly hand-written pages. He ran a single finger over the page Faramir had last been working on, slowly tracing the words, seemingly lost in thought.

The King’s back straightened suddenly, and he looked about sharply, his eyes darting even more carefully among the dark spots between the shelves.

‘He knows someone is watching him!’ Faramir was frozen in place, paralyzed suddenly by the overwhelming need not to be seen, not to be recognized, to be another dark form lost in the shadows…

Aragorn stood for a good minute, probing the darkness with his keen eyes, until he was satisfied that no threat awaited him in the corners of the library. Still guarded, he made his way to the door, and Faramir did not miss the look of disappointment that crossed the King’s handsome face…

It was that moment of weakness that was his downfall, and Faramir carelessly leaned just a little too far as he watched Aragorn leave. Before he knew it, the shelf he stood behind began to pitch forward, and with a yelp Faramir dropped the book he was holding to grab at the falling stacks.

Aragorn was at his side in a flash, and within moments the two men had wrestled the shelving rack back into its place without a single book dropping out of place. Catastrophe averted, Faramir mumbled a thanks as he picked up the tome he’d dropped, wishing to sink through the floor under the King’s puzzled gaze.

“Are you alright?” Aragorn asked as studied his Steward closely, taking in his drawn appearance and red-rimmed eyes, “Are you still working at this late hour?”

Faramir nodded. “I was trying to reach a book on the high shelf and slipped,” he explained, the excuse sounding lame even to his ears, and he winced as the King arched an eyebrow at him.

“Did you not hear me call for you a moment ago?” Aragorn was becoming more concerned. It was distinctly out of character for Faramir to lie so blatantly.

The Steward shook his head, not daring meet Elessar in the eye. He clutched his book tighter to his chest, as if it were a shield, and Aragorn could not bear the aura of sadness that radiated from his friend.

“Faramir, why are you hiding from me?” Aragorn sighed, and taking a gamble, raised his hand to gently brush away a stray strand of hair that had fallen in Faramir’s face during their battle with the bookshelf.

The younger man winced before the King’s hand had even brushed his skin, and Aragorn’s face burned as he hurriedly put his hand down again. There he went assuming things again.

It was too much for Faramir to see such embarrassment on his King’s face, to know he was the cause, and the fresh ice coating his heart began to crack under his own desire to take the kindness being offered him…

“I am sorry if I acted out of turn last night, Faramir,” Aragorn said slowly, licking his lips nervously. The little gesture surprised Faramir, who was not used to seeing his King so discomposed.

“I did not wish to bring you distress, nor did I want to drive you further from me.” Aragorn said softly, the low volume doing little to hide the tremble in his voice, “You are my friend, Faramir, and I do not want anything to change that.”

Faramir’s cold face seemed to almost melt, as if Aragorn’s words were the keys to the locks the Steward hid himself behind. He could not bear to see Aragorn so heartbroken, and the storm of emotions finally rushed past the last shreds of Faramir’s defenses.

“No, my liege, it is I who am sorry,” Faramir’s words came fast, his eyes dark and turbulent, “it is I who assumed too much from you, who took advantage of your generosity, who burdened you with the troubles of—”

“Faramir! Stop it!” Aragorn’s voice was commanding, but gentle. This was more like the prince he had seen last night, and he appeared suddenly so honest and open, a stark contrast to the stoic façade he always displayed.

“You are never a burden to me, my prince,” Aragorn continued, and his eyes reflected the same protective affection they had the night before, “I am glad you were able to share your thoughts with me so freely.”

Faramir looked away again, biting his lower lip. Aragorn’s heart leapt at the precious sight, and he recalled how sweet that lip had tasted trapped between his own…

“I do not regret what passed between us, Faramir,” Aragorn said softly, hoping he did not sound as nervous as he felt. He let another moment of silence pass, his heart beating anxiously, before asking the question that had burned in his mind since dawn had broken, “Do you?”

Aragorn had not thought it possible for Faramir to shrink into himself anymore, but he indeed drew himself tighter, as if he could physically shield himself from the conflict within him. For a terrible moment, Aragorn was not sure the Steward would answer him, until Faramir’s low voice came from the curtain of hair he had hidden his red face behind.

“I only regret what sorrow I have brought to you.” he whispered.

“Sorrow?” Aragorn’s face was a mix of confusion and pity. “Faramir, you have brought me no pain.”

Faramir drew a shaking breath as he finally raised his head, but his eyes locked upon the ceiling, pointedly avoiding the King’s eyes.

“This is wrong.” He said carefully, each word deliberate, “I have tempted you with the hope of something that can never be.”

“Faramir,” Aragorn’s voice was low and tender, and it wrapped itself around the prince’s mind like a warm blanket about his chilled thoughts, “what if I told you it could be?”

The Steward shook his head again, this time more vigorously, and his eyes closed tight against the light in his King’s eyes.

“I would not believe you.”

“Would you believe this?” Aragorn cupped Faramir’s jaw, and gently steered the Steward’s face within range of his lips. There was only a little flinch from Faramir, an involuntary reflex, before Aragorn pressed his parted lips hungrily against his prince’s. A little moan of protest died within Faramir’s captive mouth, to be replaced by Aragorn’s questing tongue, and the King pushed his Steward against the stone wall behind them, the book falling to the ground again, unnoticed.

Not in all his fantasies had Faramir ever thought anyone would ever kiss him this richly, this fully, and he whimpered again when he felt himself trapped between his King and the wall. Faramir could not help but wrap his arms around Aragorn’s shoulders, drawing him closer, letting his hands play with the cascades of hair that rained down the King’s back. This was too good, too real: the heat of the King’s breath as it danced across his cheeks, the softness of his lips against his as they murmured wordless promises, the firmness of Aragorn’s body pressed against him…

“No!” Faramir yanked his lips from Aragorn’s and twisted out of the embrace, spinning so hard he fell to the ground in a crouch, “I cannot do this!”

“Faramir…” Aragorn was shocked by the violence of the outburst, the raw pain painted on his prince’s face in reaction to what moments before had been sheer bliss to them both. Faramir was so tightly wound, a spring ready to break free, and the intensity in him was almost frightening to the King.

“If you are not strong enough to resist, than I will have to be,” Faramir choked, grasping his chest over his heart, and his blazing eyes finally locked with Aragorn’s, “For I will not commit treason against my Queen! I will not shame her as I was, for that is too great a bitterness for one so good as her to bear!”

Aragorn understood suddenly why Faramir was filled with such disbelief. Living for years with a wife whose secret desires had driven them apart, he feared destroying the relationship that Aragorn shared with Arwen, breaking the royal bond so freshly forged. But, if truly all Faramir feared was dishonoring the Queen…

“It is not a secret from her, my friend.” the King said, his tone cautious for Faramir’s benefit, “and she has given us her blessing.”

The color drained from the prince’s face like water down a drain, and he had to grasp the bookshelf beside him to keep from falling completely to the floor.

“By the Valar, why did you tell her!” Faramir gasped, livid with shame, knowing he was contradicting himself and not caring any more. This was all too much for him to bear at once!

“Because I want there to be no secrets between the ones I love.” There was no hesitation in the King’s voice as he spoke the final word, and it drove itself into Faramir’s heart like an arrow. He looked up to Aragorn in shock, not daring believe what he had just heard.

“The ones you love?” Faramir repeated, his brows knitting in disbelief, “You, you love me?” It sounded foreign on his tongue, an old prayer long forgotten, and his vision distorted again as the word echoed through his mind.

Aragorn’s heart twisted as he saw the tiny spark of hope rekindle in Faramir’s eyes.

“I do.” Aragorn said simply, but his tone revealed the true power behind his words. He offered his hand to Faramir, helping the reeling man to his feet, so they could meet eye to eye.

Faramir brought his hands up to his face, covering his mouth with both hands, scarcely breathing. He closed his eyes, and twin droplets trickled from between the cage of his pale eyelashes. Aragorn gently wiped one of the tears from Faramir’s cheek, amazed at what effect that single word had over his prince, and the King drank in the luminous beauty that shone so brightly from Faramir…

The moment the King’s fingertip traced the damp trail on his cheek, Faramir’s eyelids flew open, and the steely coldness that met him made Aragorn take a step back. He was staring at a stranger, one who bore him nothing but calculated regard. What had happened to his prince?

“You should not have told me.” Faramir said calmly, and the lack of emotion in his voice horrified Aragorn. The Steward pulled away from Elessar, avoiding his gaze again, and with a long-practiced motion viciously swiped away the tears with the heels of his palms.

“You do not reciprocate my feelings then.” Aragorn said, trying to keep his voice from quavering, trying to hide his growing remorse. He was such a fool.

Faramir sighed. “I do, my King,” he said matter-of-factly, as he picked up his dropped book and replaced it in it’s spot on the shelf, so distant he could have been an acquaintance discussing the weather, making his confession of love sound like nothing more than a bit of idle conversation.

“Then pray tell me, why do you recoil from me?” Aragorn said with mounting frustration, for he did not know which way the winds of Faramir’s moods would blow anymore. This was too strange, all these sudden shifts, as if there were two Faramirs who stood before him.

“Because, Elessar, the more love there is, the more sorrow will come of it.” Faramir sounded as if he was giving a lecture, “and as I told you when we began this debate, I will not doom you to a bitter life of regret.”

With a curt, but polite nod, Faramir turned his back on Aragorn once again, his shoulders straight. It was the King’s turn to remain frozen among the shadows, feeling helpless to stop the Steward from walking away from him again.

Maybe it was best just to let this go.

“I do this because I love you, my Liege,” Faramir’s stony voice drifted from the open door, and when he looked at Aragorn, it was as if his face had been carved in white marble, “Never doubt that.”

And with that he was gone again, leaving nothing behind but the taste of ash on Aragorn’s lips.

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

Enjoyed this story? Then be sure to let the author know by posting a comment at https://www.faramirfiction.com/fiction/chronicle-of-scars-cuts. Positive feedback is what keeps authors writing more stories!


9 Comment(s)

This is one of the most emotionally powerful stories I’ve ever read. I don’t think anyone could read it without being touched, even overwhelmed, by the poignant depths of emotion you explore here. Beautiful, painful, powerful. Perfect.

— Tal    Friday 20 March 2009, 20:16    #

Thank you, Tal, so much for your kind words. This is still one of my favorite stories that I’ve written, and to know folks are still enjoying it more than 4 years after it was written means a lot to me.

— Derhelm    Saturday 21 March 2009, 19:59    #

Wow. That is one of the most amazing things I have ever read, be it fanfiction or novel. I just sat down and read it from start to finish, because I couldn’t look away! The characterisation was perfect, in all cases (and you’ve written an Arwen that I love, and she’s often hard to write, especially in an Aragorn/Faramir story), and as Tal said, the emotional depth is just phenomenal. Thank you so much for writing something that was such a pleasure to read.

Amanda    Tuesday 24 March 2009, 4:48    #

I’ve never told you how much I love this story. I do love it. I have re-read it many times. The mindscape scene is both astonishing and believable, and I admire the hell out of you for coming up with it. Very well done. Thank you.

— Vanwa Hravani    Tuesday 24 March 2009, 14:47    #

This is one story I keep coming back to again and again. I think you handled the dark themes with superb sensitivity, and I too particularly like your portrayal of Arwen. Thank you for writing this!

— ophelia    Sunday 12 April 2009, 18:14    #

I’m back to this story yet again. Dernhelm, you’re quite hard to reach. If you’re still getting notes from this site, could you please contact me at the attached email?

Tal    Thursday 4 February 2010, 17:35    #

A great work, Dernhelm!
I do not remember when I was touched so deeply at the last time as I am touched with your story now.
Faramir’s inner world is so fascinated in your discription that I have no words.
I do not understand how Eowyn could treat so cruel with Faramir, but it’s interesting, had she found her love?!
Please, write more stories, you are an excellent author!
Thank you very much!

— Anastasiya    Tuesday 9 February 2010, 9:16    #

Truly wonderful. I think this is the third time I’ve read this fic now. I also like your Arwen in this story and usually I don’t. Faramir and Aragorn are great in this story. I would love to see more of this story. I think I wouldn’t even mind seeing all three (Aragorn/Arwen/Faramir) togeather.

— waterwolf    Wednesday 24 March 2010, 3:43    #

This is one of the best Faramir/Aragorn fics I think I’ve ever read. Your storycrafting is superb and this tale will remain in my mind and memory long after I’ve forgotten others.

— Dancingkatz    Wednesday 11 July 2012, 4:23    #

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