25 April 2007 | 1037 words
Pairing: Aragorn, Beregond, Faramir
Summary: Beregond believes he has lost Faramir’s affection to another.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they belong to Tolkien, I merely like to borrow them for my own pleasure
He was at a complete loss of what to do, over the past few weeks he had watched Faramir been stolen from him right before his very eyes, yet he could not say a word. He could not challenge for his Lord’s affection, but he could not bear to lose him either.
It was he who had comforted Faramir whenever his father had made him feel a fool; it was he who had held him as he sobbed in his arms, after delivering the news of his brother’s death.
And it was he who had saved Faramir from his fiery death upon the pyre, and watched over him in the Houses of Healing.
But now it was another who Faramir turned to, another who held him and told him everything would be alright.
And how can one compete with a king?
It had happened so slowly that he did not even notice at first. Aragorn would stop by, to check on Faramir’s progress, and treat his wounds like any healer would.
But then the visits became more frequent, and his Lord’s eyes sparkled, the moment the king walked into the room. But it was not until the first time Faramir had dismissed him from their company that he knew for sure.
The man who had pardoned his crimes, and allowed him to live, had stolen the one thing he wished to live for.
From the moment he saw him, he knew that he was special. He was so weak, but he held on, despite the fact that most with such injuries would already have succumbed to them.
He did all he could for Faramir, and was relieved when his fever started to break.
What were simply visits from a healer quickly became something more as he became captivated by his steward’s enthusiastic talk of how to rebuild Gondor, to move it forward.
He was increasingly grateful to Beregond for what he had done. It could not have been an easy thing to do and so he knew that the soldier’s feelings for the young steward must run deep.
He felt a stab of jealousy at the thought. He wanted to be the one to comfort Faramir and to give him the happiness he deserved.
It was pleasant surprise therefore, when Faramir asked Beregond to leave them, dismissing the soldier’s look of sadness as that of an over-protective friend.
Aragorn could not help but wonder how one could be so oblivious to the effect he had on people.
They never once spoke of a relationship, but they talked of all the things they would do together. The mutual interest was evident, not he had to wait.
To wait for Faramir to understand that someone wanted him. He had to wait for the younger man to come to him.
It had been weeks since Aragorn had expressed an interest I him, and he was still having trouble believing it was true. He simply could not understand why someone who could have anyone he wanted, would choose him.
He admired Aragorn, he was handsome and smart, a scholar like himself, but also a soldier, the very proof of the argument that one could be both.
And he needed him now, as a friend above all else. He had lost many loved ones during the war, and now his last friend and confidant was leaving as well.
Not being allowed to stay within the walls of the White City, Beregond had been offered a choice of a life in Rohan, or one in Ithilien as Captain of his personal guard.
It had hurt when he had chosen Rohan, giving an excuse which could not possibly be true. They had argued, perhaps for the first time, and Beregond had told him not to bother coming to say goodbye if he was not going to wish him well.
And so here he was instead, in Aragorn’s quarters, trying to control his nerves; her had never been with a man before.
He leant forward to kiss the older man, relaxing when Aragorn wrapped his arms around him, deepening the kiss.
But then he realised he had been wrong, that he was a fool. He should not be there.
He pushed Aragorn away in despair, shaking his head and saying he was sorry over and over.
But the king had just looked at him and said “Go to him.”
And so he ran.
Faramir ran towards the stables, tears streaming down his face. He could not believe how blind he had been, not only to Beregond’s feelings, but to his own. He valued Beregond as his closest friend; he had never really considered that there could be more between them.
Now he prayed that he was not too late, that Beregond had not yet left for Rohan.
Beregond had just mounted his horse and was preparing to ride through the gates of Minas Tirith for the last time, not quite believing it had come to this.
When he saw Faramir running towards him part of him wanted to flee, not wanting to say goodbye to the man he loved. But the moment he saw the state the younger man was in he was down from his horse and wrapping his arms tightly around his beloved.
If someone had upset him, he would kill them. Far too long he had stood by and watched as Denethor broke him down little by little, he was not going to let it happen again.
“I am sorry,” Faramir sobbed, burying his head against Beregond’s neck. “I can not let you go.”
Beregond closed his eyes in despair. “Little one, I can not stay here and watch you with another, do not ask that of me.”
It was then that Faramir kissed him. It seemed so natural, and so right, as if they had always done so.
“I do not want another,” replied Faramir softly. “Forgive me for being a fool. I love you.”
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The following people read the story, enjoyed it, and would like to thank the author: ophelia , gisela , gisela , , Mel