Faramir Fiction Archive

Family Honor (NC-17)

Written by Mcguffan

14 July 2006 | 162886 words

Chapter 22 – Epilogue

Slowly, haltingly the man placed one tired foot in front of the other. He had walked so long that he could not remember anything before these terrible steps in this hellish place. His skin burned, the heat cloyed and burned down his throat with each breath. Yet, he was cold. His heart felt frozen and his bones ached. But it had always been like this, hadn’t it? There had always been this terrible pain shrouding everything as powerfully as the white mist that constantly swirled around him, blinding him with harsh light reflecting at him from every angle. The man’s ears were assaulted by the shrill screams of small animals in pain and the urge to fall to the ground crushing his hands to his ears was always with him. No sense escaped the torment of this place for the odor of decaying meat was everywhere and the taste of blood and ashes was in his mouth. Still the man walked on. Somehow he knew that if he could only stop, if he could only be still for a moment he would gain a small measure of relief but he did not stop. The horrors of this place had stripped him bare of everything- even memory. He knew not who he was or why he was here. He had even forgotten why it was that he walked on when the burden of walking was almost more than he could bear. One foot in front of the other and again and then again. He stumbled. His blind eyes leaked tears that scaled his already cindered flesh but he climbed to his feet. He had to go on, though he did not know why. When he fell a second time, he could not rise. His legs cramped and his stomach roiled keeping him off-balance. So now he crawled. He had no destination and no hope, but he would not stop.

Then above the helpless shrieks the man heard a different sound. It was a soft sound but it broke through the torture of the man’s surroundings. The voice carried with it the promise that there existed something beside the harshness of this place. Fear returned along side hope and the man gasped, taking in lungfuls of the sulfurous and putrid air. The voice came again and the man recognized that it called a name—his name.

“Faramir!”

Struggling forward, ignoring the stabbing shards of pain in his legs, Faramir gathered his feet under him. Again, he heard his name and now he knew the voice- memory sharper than the pain of this place pierced him and he tried to answer but no sound escaped his lips. Terror threatened him for he had to find the voice but there was no direction to follow: his King called him from all directions and from none. “Ar- Aragorn.” It was no more than a whisper, more thought than word, but there was a change in the quality of light straight ahead of him. This light hurt him less. It warmed him without burning him. Desperately, he staggered towards it.

“Faramir.”

Now he could see the outline of a figure and summoning the last of the strength within him Faramir flung himself forward the last few steps. Reaching out, his hands clasped solid flesh. The white fog lifted and Faramir opened his eyes.

Everything was different. The room was quiet, lit with the soft glow of candles. The air was fresh and invigorating. Faramir felt almost drunk with the sudden freedom from so much of the pain he had so recently known, but Faramir’s attention was completely captured by the man leaning over him, holding his hand in a firm yet gentle grip.

“You called me and I have come, as I am sworn to do.” Faramir’s voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper but the love and devotion were clear. “Command me, my King.”

Aragorn’s eyes closed against the tide of relief that threatened to overwhelm him. Hearing the voice of his beloved after so much time and so much danger suddenly made him feel every moment of their long separation with fresh agony. “Faramir.” He murmured holding the younger man’s hand tighter even as he gently stroked damp tendrils of Faramir’s hair from his brow. His hands trembled with the desire to explore Faramir’s body. He longed to find all the injuries hidden under the layers of bandages and somehow make them disappear. He needed to reacquaint himself with every inch of his beloved. He had to know him as he had known him before; make him his again.

“You must rest and recover your strength.” Aragorn commanded swallowing against the emotion swelling in him. The memory of where Faramir had been trapped filled Aragorn with a sick terror. Aragorn knew that place for he had visited it during a waking nightmare on the Paths of the Dead. The thought of Faramir abandoned there for days with no help and no rescue pushed Aragorn near to madness with greif and guilt.

“I will, my lord—Aragorn, we have been too long apart.” Faramir’s throat closed around the last sentence and a tremor passed through his thin body. Every day for ten years, Faramir had longed for this moment. Now, he was not certain his sick and wasted body could contain his joy.

“Too long.” Aragorn agreed, soothing the other man and himself as best he could. If only he could be with Faramir now, only sit with him, hold his hand… But he couldn’t, not now. `It is never now’. A bitter and seldom-heeded voice needled Aragorn’s resolve but it was suppressed with almost casual ruthlessness. Leaning over, Aragorn could not restrain himself from pressing dry lips to Faramir’s forehead. “Love.” The whispered word had come entirely unbidden and Aragorn bit back hard as he felt all his carefully hoarded calm threaten to dissolve. Standing quickly, Aragorn extended his free hand back toward the entrance to the room, beckoning someone to him.

“I will return, Faramir, but in the meantime I leave you in capable hands.” It was only then that Faramir became aware of the presence of others. Several people stood clustered near. They had all held quiet and still afraid to disturb whatever strange process it was that had seemed to draw Faramir back from the brink of death. At Aragorn’s gesture, however, Faramir took in glad faces drawing near. There was Bergil, Imrahil, Gandalf and…

“Boromir.”

“By Earth and Sky, Faramir if you ever frighten me like that again I’ll strangle you.” The warrior half sobbed, half laughed, as he threw himself onto his knees beside his brother’s bed and clasped his hand in both his own with a tenderness that belied the violence of his words.

“Boromir.” Faramir repeated, smiling helplessly.

Feeling a sudden surge of love for Boromir, Aragorn smiled a little. Boromir would indeed take care of Faramir. Aragorn might easily have lingered for love shone between the brothers and the beauty of it soothed him. Catching sight of Éomer’s still anxious face, though, Aragorn remembered all that was still left to do. Éowyn and Merry still lay beneath the shadows and there was Halbarad… Attempting to step back, Aragorn found that Faramir clutched his hand with strength born of desperate need. Boromir, too, had caught at his other hand. Looking down, Aragorn regarded the two faces gazing up at him. “I will come back.” He promised again, giving each hand a final squeeze.

After Faramir took a little food, Gandalf took upon himself the unpleasant task of informing Faramir, as gently as possible, of Denethor’s death. The young man took the news without apparent surprise and he seemed content to wait until something more of his strength returned to hear the details. Imrahil had observed Faramir through the wizard’s telling and was relieved that the young man, though saddened remained calm. In fact, both his nephews were bearing their father’s passing with a weary acceptance that convinced Imrahil that the news had been anticipated. Imrahil had always found Denethor awkward company but now the Prince chided himself for keeping to his refuge in Dol Amroth. But he had left the entire burden to Faramir. The gods willing he would have time to make amends to his nephew.

For the present there was little enough the Prince could do except to keep from interfering in Faramir’s recovery: He saw that the first exhilaration of Faramir’s healing was beginning to fade replaced by fatigue and the pain of his injuries and that the presence of so many visitors was growing burdensome. Thus, clasping first Faramir and then Boromir by the hand, Imrahil excused himself to see to the disposition of his knights. At Boromir’s request, the Prince also agreed to begin gathering reports about the damage done to the City and the losses sustained for the new Steward. Mithrandir left soon after Imrahil. As he left the brothers alone together, the wizard promised to return to look in on Faramir as often as possible.

As the door closed gently behind the older men, Faramir turned to Boromir. “I am sorry I didn’t tell you. I wanted to so much, but the knowledge would have put you in an impossible position and it was not my secret to reveal. Forgive me?” His voice was rough and weak from smoke and fatigue but the familiar earnestness was unmistakable.

For a moment Boromir did not understand and he experienced a sudden fear that Faramir was still caught in some fevered dream. When he realized, however, what his brother meant, Boromir flushed. It was strange but Faramir’s silence about Strider’s identity had completely ceased to trouble him. He had been so angry when he first realized that Strider was Aragorn and that Aragorn was heir to Isuldur. Faramir had allowed his brother to set off for Rivendell without a word of what secrets awaited him. He had gone ten years without even hinting that the mysterious ranger he had met in Khand was the legendary lost king of Gondor. Boromir had felt excluded, betrayed, the victim of a cruel conspiracy.

Of course, Faramir had confided much to Boromir about Strider’s character and the profound love he felt for the man. He could not conceal from his brother all that had happened in Khand and the changes in Faramir were obvious to all who loved him. Faramir did not speak often of Strider but when he did, his eyes lit and Boromir saw that he was happy. He spoke so glowingly about the mysterious ranger that once Boromir had commented that Faramir must have dreamed Strider for no flesh and blood man could be so perfect. At first, Faramir had laughed but then his mood had grown pensive and he had answered: `It seems so, yet I sometimes dream true.’ The sadness in his eyes at that moment had made Boromir wish he had kept his mouth shut.

“You told me what I needed to know. If you had tried to tell me more I would not have heard you.” This admission came hard for Boromir but he felt he owed it to his brother, for Faramir had indeed told him a great deal that he did not come to understand until after meeting Aragorn. Faramir had forced him to look beyond Gondor in the struggle against Mordor, showed him that other peoples fought in their own way for the same goal. He had fed him bits of history and lore almost casually and Faramir had engaged Boromir in questions of the nature of leadership and governance that would not otherwise have crossed his older brother’s mind. All this served to gently dismantle all the barriers of pride, arrogance and facile rationalization the Captain-General would otherwise have thrown between himself and Strider when his heart recognized his king.

Boromir had still resisted Aragorn’s claim, though, out of sheer stubbornness and out of anger. He had demanded a true story of the adventure in Khand and when Aragorn told him he wanted desperately to find a lie. He had accused Aragorn of abandoning Faramir just as Aragorn’s forefathers had abandoned Gondor. This clearly wounded the ranger deeply and Boromir felt guilt mix with his anger. In the end, though he could not resist the testimony of his brother and the witness of his own eyes. By the time the fellowship reached Moria, Boromir’s stubbornness had surrendered to the evidence all about him. Even the story of the Gauntlet, though it had begun by increasing his outrage had eventually reinforced Boromir’s distrust of the Ring. Even for a man of Boromir’s literal temperament the similarities between the One and the Killing Fist were glaringly obvious. The Ring fed off Boromir, needing him to be weak so that it could appear strong. He could not help but hear in the Ring’s seductive song the hollow notes of his own vainglorious ambitions. With that understanding Boromir’s desire soured.

“I only regret how hard it must have been for you, unable to truly confide in anyone.” Boromir continued, sitting on the side of Faramir’s bed and tucking the covers around his brother. Faramir watched quizzically as Boromir proceeded to adjust his pillows and smooth the blanket over him.

Becoming aware of the other’s gaze, Boromir smiled self-consciously. “The care of hobbits has taught me something of gentleness.”

“Pippin adores you and I hear that his cousin does as well. Your touch is soothing. I am grateful for it.” Faramir replied. He was, in truth, surprised at the tenderness of his brother’s touches. He was more accustomed to seeing his affection manifest itself in bluster, fond insults and- if he deemed Faramir healthy enough- a hearty thump on the back or shoulder. Faramir found himself swallowing in a dry and aching throat to finally see his beloved brother able to lower- if only a little- the shield of gruffness he had always carried. Boromir had no response except to squeeze Faramir’s hand.

“I have missed you so much, Boromir. You must tell me of your journey. I long to know every detail.”

“That is a tall order. Sleep, Faramir. We can talk later.”

“I will rest better if I can hear your voice. Tell me… Tell me of how the lords of Gondor returned to change the tide of battle upon the Pelennor.”

There was much in his long travels about which Boromir was not yet prepared to speak, though he longed to confide in Faramir. His brother was not yet ready to bear the burden of his confessions. Nothing of Boromir’s life before Rivendell could compare with the whole trial of the Ring, the terror of Moria, his encounter with the dread queen of the elves, the grim and grueling struggle for Helm’s Deep and then the journey through the kingdom of the dead. When the time was right Faramir could judge of all that had happened and help Boromir to come to a better understanding of it all. In the meantime, however, Boromir had also experienced times of joy and fellowship; he had done deeds of some honor and been granted more than one soul transforming epiphany.

The story of the Pelennor, despite the costs of battle held no small measure grandeur and nobility, so Boromir allowed himself to be convinced by Faramir’s pleading expression to tell what he had seen in the battle: “The Witch King fell soon after Théoden King. It seemed almost as though one had been sacrificed for the other- a gambit in the Gods’ bloody game of chess but I knew nothing of this as yet.”

“We came down the Anduin and were within sight of the White City just at the sun’s rising. There was a great cry of victory from the Enemy on the field but then a breeze caught Aragorn’s banner and from one moment to the next the fate of the battle changed. Upon landing the army of the Dead, swept through the attackers like a scythe. They moved so fast that not even the elves in our company seemed able to keep pace, but always Aragorn was at their head. He led them against the Uruks and the Orcs, avoiding the Haradrhim and Khandrim who had answered Sauron’s call. I suppose he did not wish to loose the ghoulish army upon men. It was a mercy, for the Dead were… terrible.”

“For my part, I fought as best I could, trying to cut through to the Defenders. It was only me, the elf and dwarf of our Fellowship, Elrond’s twin sons and some thirty Dunedain who had met with us in Rohan. The foremost of these rangers, Halbarad- you met him in Khand?”

“Yes.”

“He mentioned that he knew you. He was given the honor of holding Aragorn’s banner. I suppose all these Northern rangers are a bit strange, but this Halbarad was stranger than most. He was all soft-spoken humility, except for a very few occasions when he would say the most profoundly impertinent things. Aragorn was always there to rein him in but I know that, at least once, Théoden King felt very insulted.”

Faramir restrained the urge to smile. Théoden had died on the field after coming to Gondor’s aid. Amusement was out of place. “You were telling me that he carried Aragorn’s standard. A great honor indeed- but one well earned, I think.” At the last word Faramir tried to stifle a cough. His throat felt very raw, but the joy of communicating far outweighed the discomfort.

“It may be, but I cannot think that this Halbarad was altogether sane.” Boromir responded, supporting Faramir’s head as he held a cup of water for him. “He moved through the ranks of the Southrons without any thought to danger. I don’t know but that he expected that they would part before him like water before the prow of a ship. For a time, sheer audacity seemed to shield him and he moved somewhat ahead of the rest of us. Then, though, he was attacked in earnest. Rather than wait for another of us to come up to guard his left side or to take the standard from him, he ducked and dodged as best he could seemingly oblivious to those swords strokes that found his flesh. A lucky stroke cost him his grip on his sword, but it did not even slow him. One of his brethren fought his way to Halbarad’s side, meaning to take the standard and guard his retreat to our line. This act of comradeship was resisted as forcefully as if this fellow Dunadan was another of the Southern enemy.”

“As I found myself nearing Halbarad I resolved to be less gentle in my efforts to bring the man to his senses. He carried our banner and he was being slowly cut to pieces. He must either allow the rest of us to act as shield or surrender his charge. Seizing the oak staff, I had some thought of bringing the hilt of my sword against the man’s temple but as our eyes met something stayed my hand. I have never seen such a look, Faramir. I cannot describe it to you, except to say that there was something both more and less than human in it. Then the ranger simply released the banner to me.”

“It was a heady thing, brother, to charge our enemies with the King’s standard heavy against my breast. Perhaps with the banner, Halbarad gave me something of his madness for I felt neither pain nor fear until we broke through to Imrahil’s lines. Uncle saw to it that we were all mounted and we went forth again this times to the very gates of the City. Mithrandir was there already and Aragorn and Éomer arrived soon after. Almost immediately, Aragorn ordered the banner furled and taken to the camp that his Dunedain were making. I would have argued for the exhilaration of battle was still upon me but Mithrandir interrupted with the tale of recent happenings within the City and we all came as quickly as we could.”

Faramir’s eyes shone as he watched his brother. “I wish I had been there. I wish I could have seen.” Yearning mixed with joy in Faramir’s strained voice and Boromir felt a sudden shiver of dread.

“I have done much for which I am deeply ashamed.” Boromir stumbled over the words. He had not wanted to say them so soon but the weight of his conscience was suddenly too much to carry alone.

Sitting up straighter against the pillows supporting him, Faramir did his best to lean forward. Reaching out, he touched Boromir’s face. “I know something of what you would tell me. You cannot change what has been done but you can learn from it. Believe me, I love you and I am very proud of you.”

“I have been so blind, so stupidly blind.” The words broke into a sob that Boromir quickly strangled. Aragorn had already said something similar to him but he had needed his brother’s judgment before he could trust any words of solace.

“No, you see very clearly. Only, perhaps, not so far ahead.”

Laughing hoarsely, Boromir reached out to deliver a gentle shove. He checked the motion, however, at Faramir’s anticipatory wince and changed the motion into a soft caress. “Well, I love you, too. And I think it is time for you to rest. Let me just fetch a blanket.”

“No need, I am fine.” Faramir replied, hoping that his words would help Boromir make some peace with himself.

“Not for you, Mutton-head. For me.” And despite Faramir’s protest that Boromir would be more comfortable elsewhere, he was determined to stay through the rest of the night. Faramir had been alone too long.

Fatigue had reduced Aragorn’s thought processes to the most basic levels. The simplest task required the utmost concentration. Even wrapping a bandage seemed nearly beyond him but he smiled at the old woman, face lined with worry, as his numb fingers made a final knot in the worn cloth. Taking the smile to mean that now everything was well, the woman clasped Aragorn’s hand and pressed it to her forehead before returning her attention to the child who until recently had had an abscess the size of a man’s fist in the pit of her arm.

Rising Aragorn looked about him, waiting for another mother, sister, or daughter to lead him to the next forgotten victim. His vision swam but when it cleared the only ones before him were a very grim elf and dwarf.

“It is time and passed that you return to your own camp, Aragorn. We have been seeking you since you did not return from the Houses of Healing, as have your brothers and the Dunedain. It is dangerous for you to wander off.”

“I went where I was needed.” Aragorn replied, a bit wounded by the rebuke in the elf’s soft voice. As ever in time of war the healers first concerned themselves with the men wounded in battle, but common sickness and accidental injuries did not simply disappear until a more convenient time. Aragorn had been powerless against the entreaties of those who gathered around the healers begging help. Besides, he had hardly wandered off. Halbarad would not let him get lost. Even as he thought this, Aragorn sought to suppress a sudden nausea. Unbidden the image of his kinsman lying pale and shaking with the cold that there was not enough blood left in his veins to hold back rose before Aragorn’s tired eyes. But, no! Halbarad was not fatally hurt. Aragorn would know if it were otherwise. Shaking off the sudden sickness, Aragorn docilely consented to return to his camp. Legolas and Gimli promised to follow him as soon as they had called off the search.

Despite his promise, Aragorn could not return to camp without first going to the houses of healing. It was quieter than it had been but there were still many people working busily. Pulling his hood over his head, Aragorn made his way through the corridors to a quieter room where Faramir had been placed. He needed to look in just to see, just to make sure everything was all right. Leaning against the doorframe, Aragorn allowed his eyes to adjust to the dim light of the small fire burning low in the grate. The first thing Aragorn made out was Boromir sprawled across the coverlet snoring loudly. For a moment he did not see any evidence of Faramir and a pit of dread opened in Aragorn’s belly but then he saw the smaller figured obscured by his brother’s bulk curled tightly into a ball on the extreme edge of the bed. Smiling to himself, Aragorn considered waking Boromir so that he could go find a bed he would not need to share. Even as he thought this, though, he saw Faramir begin to shiver. He gripped the bedclothes and began making small noises of distress. Aragorn’s muscles were only just firing into motion when- mid snore Boromir turned on his side and threw a heavy arm across his brother’s chest and Faramir quieted.

Aragorn might have fallen asleep for a few moments in that doorway listening to the soft sounds of Faramir’s sleep beneath the louder sounds of Boromir. He roused though, at the sound of footsteps. Guiltily he retreated from his beloved’s room. Forcing himself into a stumbling run he hoped to reach his own camp before Legolas and Gimli arrived to find him missing once again.

It was less than ten hours later when Aragorn found himself once more approaching Faramir’s room. This time he was with Boromir and Imrahil and his mind while no longer quite so befuddled with fatigue was nonetheless full with the events of the morning. Aragorn had convened a meeting to discuss the next step the powers of the West would take. He had been certain of his own course. He would do whatever was in his power to gain Frodo even a slight advantage. He had been prepared to use whatever persuasive power was at his disposal to gain the army necessary for his task. All that had been needed, however, was for him to state his intent. Imrahil and Éomer had both offered him support in such terms that he had only been able to blink at them in grateful surprise. But it had been Boromir had given him the greater astonishment.

The beginning of Aragorn’s relationship with Boromir had been tense but as they had slowly grown better acquainted with one another, Aragorn grew to admire, respect and finally love the stubborn warrior. Aragorn even flattered himself that Boromir had likewise warmed to him and a spirit of trust and brotherhood had grown between them. Aragorn understood full well that all the hard won trust would be put to the test upon their return to Minas Tirith and for that reason he had dreaded facing Boromir at the meeting. Boromir had accepted him as a companion in arms and he had even bowed to his leadership after Moria but a Captain was not King. If Boromir still doubted him, Aragorn was not certain he had the will to force the issue.

The Steward stood silent throughout the debate and though Strider dearly wished to defer any confrontation Elessar could not allow any potential discord to be left to fester. On the point of asking Boromir directly whether he was content that Aragorn should lead the expedition, Aragorn was saved by Imrahil’s interjection. “My lord Steward, do these plans meet with your approval?” Though the Prince spoke quietly no one missed the importance of the moment. If Boromir wished to dispute Aragorn’s present or future position now was the time for him to declare himself.

“We have made the best choice we could from a range of dismal options.” Boromir responded with a shrug.

His muscles tightening Aragorn wondered if this was enough. Being the lesser of evils was hardly a glowing endorsement but before Aragorn could decide if he wished to press the matter, Boromir continued: “Even were it otherwise, I would always take the path chosen by Aragorn. I follow him.”

The tension in the room eased noticeably. Gandalf, seeing that he had achieved what he wished, brought the meeting to a close. As the Captains broke into small informal groups Gandalf came to Aragorn’s side. “You appear flummoxed, my lord. If it were not patently silly I would think by your reaction that you expected Boromir to have reprised his performance at Elrond’s Council.”

Blinking Aragorn turned to his friend. “I did not know what to expect. I feared to let myself hope.”

“When the Ring’s influence passed form him, he turned to you. Did you not see?”

“We never spoke of it but it was to Gondor that he turned.”

“Exactly.” Gandalf rejoined, giving the ranger a smug smile.

Upon entering Faramir’s sick room, all thought of the morning’s council fled Aragorn’s mind and he was drawn irresistibly to where Faramir was propped up into a sitting position on his bed. “How are you feeling?” He asked quietly, pressing the back of his hand against the younger man’s forehead and smiling to find it reassuringly cool.

“Quite well, thank you.” Faramir murmured, blushing a little as Aragorn clicked his tongue against his teeth and Boromir snorted. Even Imrahil directed an incredulous look at his nephew. More of the Captain’s skin was covered in bandages than not and when his visitors had entered his room Faramir had leaned forward stretching his arms toward them in greeting but then he had dropped his arms and fallen back against the cushions as the sudden movement sent pain surging through his body.

Both to distract attention from his own health and because he had been concerned, Faramir asked after Halbarad. Aragorn, who had not yet stopped letting his fingers move gently over Faramir’s forehead, laughed with the gladness born of relief that was still strong in him. “He is still a little weak but his prospects are no worse than those of the rest of us. `Tis well, for I do not know that I could have forgiven him had died for a symbol. I must be very grateful to Boromir for having better sense.”

“For Halbarad, it was a matter of honor.” Faramir was exercising all his self-control to keep from leaning against Aragorn. He told himself that it would be inappropriate to demonstrate too much of his need for Aragorn’s touch in front of his family but in truth if Aragorn would but embrace him first or make some undeniable sign that Faramir’s affection was welcome then no consideration of propriety could have held him back. Deliberately, Aragorn took several steps from Faramir’s bedside and began to examine the jars of medicine that had been left out for Faramir’s treatment. He had to remove himself from the temptation of his beloved’s nearness.

Having some notion of how much his brother and Aragorn had missed one another Boromir had wanted to give them as much of a private moment as possible. When Aragorn moved away, though, Boromir dragged a stool to Faramir’s bedside and clasped both his hands. With the air of a man imparting painful news he recounted what had been decided at the morning’s meeting. Aragorn and Faramir exchanged frequent glances as Boromir talked. Faramir was clearly a little unnerved by the manner in which Boromir spoke and Aragorn offered small smiles by way of reassurance.

“Faramir, you know you are very unwell.” Boromir pressed his brother’s hands even tighter. “We must ride forth, for we have no other choice, but… but you know that you are in no condition to accompany us. Besides, there is much to do here. You must govern the City and protect it. This task is as crucial as any other.”

Boromir was clearly doing his best to offer comfort but Aragorn wondered if the Steward was completely convinced himself. Faramir smiled a little and Aragorn realized that Faramir knew how terrible Boromir believed it was to be left behind. Aragorn could not help but be reminded of Éowyn. That passionate and headstrong young woman believed that the only task in war worthy of honor was fighting and that belief had caused her to abandon the people charged to her care and disobey the orders of her King. Were Boromir the one commanded to remain in Minas Tirith Aragorn was not certain the new Steward would be able to obey any more than Éowyn had. Certainly, he would think the order showed a lack of trust. In this matter, as perhaps in others, Aragorn suspected that Faramir was both the wiser and the stronger.

“This is no reflection upon you, Brother. No one can doubt your courage.” Boromir was beginning to babble in his need to keep Faramir from feeling any sense of injury or insult.

“Boromir.” Aragorn interrupted the other man just as he was drawing breath to continue. “Faramir understands the necessity of the duty that has fallen to him. It is enough.”

Patting his brother’s hand to prove he did indeed understand, Faramir thought of the dream that had set Boromir on the path to Rivendell. Faramir had known that path would lead to Aragorn and he had desperately wanted the mission for himself. Denethor’s behavior, though, had been growing increasingly erratic and Faramir felt that he had to stay and moderate his father’s judgments as much as possible. On top of that, Aragorn and Boromir needed time to get to know one another before coming to Minas Tirith. Now, too, Faramir desperately wanted to do his duty in this war. He wanted to be by Aragorn’s side and share the danger of combat. Yet, he had always known that Boromir was the greater warrior and that his own talents were best employed in other ways. It was not the easiest of truths but neither was it the most difficult.

Imrahil was next to speak. It was still possible to lose much in this war and not lose everything and it had seemed the responsible thing to discuss contingencies if the army sent to the Black Gate met with disaster. It did not take the four men long to realize that there was little profit in this sort of speculation, though. There were too many unknowns and no plan could possibly cover the wide number of possibilities. Falling silent the men saw in each other’s faces the seriousness of the situation that confronted them.

Aragorn had accepted Boromir and Imrahil’s offer to meet with some of the Gondor’s Captains after their meeting with Faramir. He had already met many of them that morning but it had been generous of the Uncle and Nephew to think to introduce the important military leaders in a less formal atmosphere where their new commander would gain a broader impression of the men. Aragorn wondered, though, if he might ask to spend a few minutes talking with Faramir privately before this. Boromir seemed able to interpret the pining looks passing between his brother and his king and he had taken his uncle by the arm to whisper in his ear when one of the healers knocked on the door and then entered with two assistants trailing him.

“I do apologize.” The healer stammered surprised to see his patient with so many important visitors. “I did not mean to interrupt, my lords, but it is time to change the Captain’s bandages. Also he is not able to eat much at a time so we must give him small meals often and we should also see about…”

“You need not apologize.” Aragorn assured the healer resignedly. Faramir shrank back into the bed, embarrassed to hear his condition discussed. “We have finished here. You must give the Captain as much care as you can for we have great need of him.”

Ordinarily, Faramir enjoyed Isu’s company. He took a friendly almost avuncular interest in the lad’s career and being with him always filled the Captain with nostalgic warmth. At the moment however, Faramir found annoyance warring with exhaustion as the Khandorric lad offered his deep sympathies for the injuries that precluded his Captain from joining the army’s march. While grateful for the concern, Faramir wished that people were not so keen to find his situation tragic. Unlike Boromir, Faramir never yearned for battle; he endured it only because there was no choice. His only regret about remaining in Minas Tirith was that it kept him from Aragorn, Boromir and others of his dearest friends and family. He was more than willing to lay down his life to protect his King, his Steward or his people but he was under no illusion that their fates rested upon the strength of his sword. He was content to take up a task that he felt he had some aptitude for and which no one else wanted.

Isu, in his enthusiasm, had moved from condoling with Faramir to discussing how eager he was to renew his acquaintance with Halbarad and how Aragorn had suggested they find an opportunity to discuss the implications of Khand’s response to Sauron’s call to war. Faramir had to muffle a sigh at this. Aragorn had come across Isu in this very House, as each had had the intention of visiting Faramir. The two stopped to greet one another and exchange a few words. Isu had not been the least surprised to learn of Aragorn’s identity. Indeed, Faramir suspected he would have been more surprised if Strider had not returned in some heroic capacity before too much longer. In the end, however, Aragorn did not visit Faramir on that afternoon as he was caught by Mithrandir and whisked away to other duties. Faramir tried his best to keep his disappointment in check but he grew listless and he found it difficult to concentrate on Isu’s cheerful chatter. After an enervating hour, Isu ended his visit and Faramir was left to his own thoughts.

Faramir told himself that it was selfish to expect that Aragorn would have time to visit him often. He should be grateful for as much time as he was given. This was the time of his nation’s greatest peril and the King should rightly dedicate his every moment to averting the threat. Faramir had waited ten years. He could wait a little longer. Indeed, had he not seen Aragorn, touched him, heard him call his name. How many times over the past ten years had Faramir sworn that if only he could be granted that then he would be content. If there was anything to lament it was only that Faramir was not well enough to help Aragorn with all the thousand duties that now claimed him. Faramir should concentrate all his attention on regaining his strength as quickly as possible so that he could take up his own responsibilities in the care and protection of Gondor. Despite his determination to avoid anything resembling self-pity while the future of the West was so perilous Faramir found himself tossing restlessly in his bed, the night before the army departed for the Black Gates. Sleep would not come and his thoughts would not settle. The aches of his injuries nagged at him and he could find no peace for his mind or body.

Suddenly, all of his disquiet collapsed to a single point and Faramir pushed himself up in his bed, ignoring the sudden flaring pain in his arm.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” The words were soft coming from the shadows of the doorway.

“No. I have been waiting for you.”

Lighting a candle, Aragorn made his way slowly into the room. Faramir’s face was drawn and pale in the flickering light but his eyes shone vividly. Aragorn felt a certain trepidation in being so near his dearly loved one. He ached to reach out to the younger man but he was afraid to open himself to the emotional tide that would sweep through him if he lessened his guard for even a moment. He was nearly at the end of a path that stretched out behind him for many generations. If he let himself rest now where would he find the strength to start again? Even as he felt danger prickle his skin and fatigue sap his will Aragorn could not keep himself from moving to Faramir’s bedside. With trembling fingers Aragorn reached out and caressed the side of Faramir’s face. After a moment, a deep breath shuddered from Aragorn’s chest and he laid his head gently against Faramir’s uninjured shoulder.

“I have been so afraid, Faramir. You were so lost. I was so lost; I couldn’t find you. Do not go so far from me again.” Aragorn’s shoulders trembled and Faramir tried to press their bodies together but he could not seem to bring Aragorn any closer. “I- I could not endure it if you passed beyond my reach. I need you with me …” Aragorn’s voice ground to a halt as he struggled to take in air.

“No, no, my lord.” Faramir’s voice dripped tears as he pressed Aragorn’s head into his shoulder and tried again to force the older man to relax into his embrace. “I am here, Aragorn. We are together. I will always come to you, always. We are bound together, you and I. There is no shadow dark enough, no place far enough that I will not hear you call to me and return to you.”

With another gasping breath, Aragorn lifted his head. His eyes were red and the muscles in his face contorted with strain. The evidence of worry and exhaustion marking his beloved’s strong face twisted Faramir’s heart and he leaned forward to press soft kisses to Aragorn’s wet cheeks. For a moment Aragorn was still, but then he took Faramir’s chin in his hand and guided their lips together. Faramir relaxed as Aragorn’s arms wound around him and deepened their kiss. Tasting the salt of their mingled tears, Faramir pushed himself closer to Aragorn and this time succeeded in pressing his chest to the older man’s. The cloth of Aragorn’s shirt chafed Faramir’s skin but he only pressed the harder.

Still holding Faramir in his arms, Aragorn broke their kiss and gazed at the younger man. Raising his hand to brush back Faramir’s hair, Aragorn chuckled softly. “I came here to see how you were faring, love. I thought to speak words of encouragement yet it is you who has had to comfort me.”

“I love you, Aragorn. I have missed you so badly.” Faramir was struggling to hold Aragorn but his injuries made him awkward as he tried to maneuver himself out from the bedclothes.

“I love you, too. Be careful, Faramir.” Aragorn remonstrated as an unguarded movement sent a shiver of pain through Faramir’s injured shoulder. “Here, let me.” With infinite care, Aragorn freed his beloved from the tangled bedclothes. Arranging the other man as comfortably as possible, Aragorn let his hand hover over Faramir’s bandaged shoulder. He felt the burning heat of it but that was preferable to the deathly cold that had seeped from the wound earlier.

“Will you not stay beside me?” The question was almost a whisper but Aragorn sighed in something like relief. He had not realized just how much he had needed to be asked. Pushing off his boots, Aragorn curled around Faramir laying a hand on his chest.

“How are you doing, my heart, truly?”

“I tire quickly but I am doing all that the healers advise me. I have been told that I shall be allowed to sit outside for a while tomorrow as a reward for good behavior.”

Aragorn chuckled but then spoke more soberly. “And how are you otherwise?”

Just in time, Faramir caught himself before trying to shrug. “I hardly know. Everything is happening so fast now. I can see nothing beyond how happy I am that you are here.” Not caring as newly healing skin pulled dangerously taut and burned flesh chafed, Faramir turned into Aragorn’s chest and forced both arms around his neck. He clung desperately to the other man, anchoring himself to the certainty of his lord’s strength. Aragorn returned the embrace with equal need. He had held Faramir’s memory as one of his dearest treasures but the memory could not compare to having Faramir in his arms.

Overcome with the need to give and receive physical reassurance Aragorn sought Faramir’s mouth with his own. They kissed hungrily, Faramir searching through the loose folds of Aragorn’s shirt to touch flesh. It felt to Faramir as though he had been walking a lonely path through a long night. It was only now, though, at the first pale light of dawn that he could look about him and see the sheer cliff’s edge that he had been traversing. He could see now with perfect clarity, Denethor’s growing madness, the flagging hopes of his people, the drained will of his allies and the moments of his own near despair. Even through his worst moments though his oath to Aragorn had kept his steps strong and his footing sure. He had been wounded but he would heal. Faramir had been spared the madness that had overtaken his father and the agony of doubt, despair and guilt that had threatened to leave him crippled. Losing himself further into Aragorn’s kiss, Faramir let go of the horror that had promised to haunt his dreams.

Something of Faramir’s feelings communicated themselves through the tremors that shook his body and Aragorn pressed him tighter. “I missed you so much.” Murmuring into Faramir’s unshaven neck Aragorn ran his hands- stiff with controlled need- lightly down Faramir’s back. “I must have written to you a hundred times only to burn the letters. Always I listened for news of you, anything, a rumor the merest mention of you was a feast to a starving man.”

“Every day I thought of you. As I went to sleep, I imagined your arms around me, like this.” Faramir replied still fighting with Aragorn’s shirt for contact with his skin. “I drove Mithrandir to distraction whenever he visited for I could only speak of you. I had to make sure you were well, happy, that you still thought of me, that you still wanted… still loved me.” Faramir’s voice caught on the last sentence and he closed his eyes against his tears.

“Oh gods, Faramir I have wanted you, needed you, loved you every moment from the time we traveled east together. Uncertainty sometimes plagues me but never uncertainty about that.”

“Love me now.” It was part question, part plea and part demand.

“Ah, you are so beautiful to me right now, my Faramir.” Long dark lashes swept downward and a small self-conscous smile tugged at Faramir’s lips. Aragorn gently caressed the side of Faramir’s face, feeling the truth of his words. Nor did the yellowing bruises and red swathes of healing burns diminish Faramir’s loveliness. Even a less introspective man than Aragorn could not have helped but notice that the vulnerability of another especially one who was particularly innocent, conscientious or diligent never failed to tug at his heartstrings. There was certainly vulnerability in Faramir but what truly drew Aragorn’s soul was the other man’s resilience, the hidden force. There was no question that Faramir loved and needed Aragorn but Faramir was also a never-ending source of support and strength for Aragorn. The paradox of the fragile and the indomitable was also within Frodo and that was somehow a hopeful thought.

“What will my lord do with his beautiful Faramir?” The question was a hushed whisper. It might have been coquettish except there was too much earnest passion behind it. A surge of affection gripped Aragorn’s heart and he dropped his head to nuzzle Faramir’s neck.

There was a tension within Aragorn far too reminiscent of that that over took his muscles before battle. “Ah Faramir, I love you so. I could not endure it if I hurt you. You must tell me if ever you… you… Don’t let me, just… don’t let me.”

Stroking Aragorn’s back, Faramir smiled. Aragorn was so very wise and yet this simple thing he could not understand. “I love you, Aragorn. I trust you. I want everything of you. If you have pain to give me, I want that. I ache for it.”

Breathing heavily into Faramir’s uninjured shoulder, Aragorn tried to rein in his swirling feelings. “No pain, love. Only happiness, only joy.”

“Yes.” Faramir agreed, relaxing back into the mattress. Moving his thighs apart, he invited Aragorn to settle into the cradle of his hips. He started to sway upward gently. Desire tightened through his belly even as bliss softened the edges of his thoughts.

With a groan, Aragorn let himself sink onto Faramir. He would be careful, but there was no resisting the younger man. Grief for the lost years passed over him but it was gone the moment Faramir began to rock beneath him. The smooth chest- profaned though it had been by fire- was pushed urgently against Aragorn’s own. Even through the barrier of his shirt the sensation sent shivers running through Aragorn but he cried aloud when Faramir pressed their groins together.

Hands shaking with controlled urgency, Aragorn untied the laces of the Faramir’s loose breeches. Rising to his knees, he pushed the fabric down over slim hips and firm thighs. Faramir did his best to speed this process, but Aragorn was transfixed by the pale flesh covered by a dusting of dark hair and would not hurry. Stroking the sharp bones of Faramir’s hips, Aragorn watched the play of muscle in Faramir’s legs as the younger man shifted in hopes of relieving some of the insistent urgency of his erection. Murmuring in appreciation, Aragorn’s caressing hands moved closer and closer to his lover’s sex.

Uncertain if he most wanted to turn into Aragorn’s nearing grip or lift his knees to his chest and pull Aragorn against him Faramir writhed on the bed. “Please.”

The sound broke Aragorn from his near trance and he leaned down to kiss Faramir at the same time closing his fist over his lover’s arousal. Panting, Faramir wrapped his arms around Aragorn and did his best to enclose the older man within the circle of his legs. His tongue delving deeply into his lover’s mouth Aragorn released Faramir’s penis to scrabble at the lacing of his own trousers while he used his other hand to keep his weight from crushing his lover. Faramir did his best to help push Aragorn’s trousers down his hips. He clutched at the newly exposed skin and used all the leverage he could to press them together. When his erection finally sprang free of its confinement, Aragorn slid it along side of Faramir, both men groaning with the contact.

To Faramir, it was both too much and not enough. In times passed, just the thought of what was happening now could bring him to shuddering orgasm. Now, his senses were so far overwhelmed that he could only clamor for more without any idea of an endpoint. Panting, the lovers writhed together. Aragorn was settling more of his weight on top of Faramir avoiding- as much as his desperate need to get as close as possible would allow- putting any pressure on Faramir’s shoulder or the worst of the burns on his chest. Faramir groaned at the reassuring heaviness and shifted his hips up, trying to tempt Aragorn between his thighs.

This was no temptation that Aragorn could resist but the fabric of his trousers still clung around his hips and hampered his movements. Drawing Faramir’s bottom lip into his mouth, he sucked firmly on the plump flesh for a moment before moving back. Following his beloved’s motion, Faramir sat up lavishing wet kisses upon Aragorn’s bearded cheek as the other man maneuvered himself out of his clothing. This moment’s respite was enough, however, for both men to pull back from the cliff’s edge they had been so heedlessly hurtling toward.

Sitting on his knees, Aragorn and Faramir exchanged kisses that remained passionate but were less frantic than they had just been. Aragorn considered that the wisest course was to continue as they had been, to bring each other to release with their hands. Faramir was injured after all and the ranger himself was so overwrought with so many emotions and so much long suppressed desire that he felt hardly able to recognize himself. Even as this occurred to him, though, Aragorn realized that his need for Faramir was simply too powerful within him to follow the wisest course. In the healing room there were many emoluments close to hand and Aragorn reached for the nearest container. This motion was not lost on Faramir who surprised both himself and his lover by laughing gleefully.

“Tell me you love me. Tell me you want this as much as I do.” Aragorn’s husky whisper sent shivers of joyous anticipation trilling down Faramir’s spine.

“Yes. I love you. I want this, want you.”

Reaching into the jar, Faramir coated his fingers in the herbal grease that had previously been so conscientiously applied to his burns. Aragorn watched in still fascination as Faramir rose on his knees and simultaneously grasped Aragorn’s arousal with one hand and reached behind himself with the other. As soon as the slick fingers closed around him, Aragorn’s eyes squeezed shut and he dropped the burn ointment as he grabbed his lover’s hips. For a moment, Aragorn could do no more than press his forehead against Faramir’s shoulder and fight back the impending orgasm, and then with a desperate look he touched his lover’s wrist. He could maintain no control if Faramir continued stroking him so. With a smile that managed to convey reluctance Faramir complied with the unspoken request.

“I love you.” Aragorn breathed the words into Faramir’s ear before quickly collecting the pillows that had been scattered during their earlier thrashing. Piling them together, he guided his lover against them.

As Faramir lay back he reached for the oil, once again coating his fingers. Bending his knees, he canted his hips upward and moved his hand to probe behind his straining erection and tightened balls. He moved as quickly as he could. He wanted Aragorn so badly but he knew his lover, he would insist upon some level of preparation. Though one of the many things Faramir had missed in his beloved’s too long absence was the gentle and tender way he opened Faramir’s body, the Captain felt that that if they did not join soon he would simply go careening off into madness. Dimly he was aware that his shoulder throbbed and that the reserves of energy he had struggled to build in the passed three days were rapidly depleting but such thoughts wandered on the far periphery of the things that were important.

Quickly greasing his own hands Aragorn kissed his way down Faramir’s sternum, murmuring endearments as he went. His fingers left glossy trails along his lover’s ribs as he moved downward. He paused at Faramir’s naval thrusting his tongue inside and watching the muscles spasm in reaction. He nuzzled the wiry hair at Faramir’s groin, holding the younger man as he trembled at the sensation. Then he swished his tongue across the tip of his penis. Faramir’s hips jerked upward and a strangled cry broke from his throat. Smiling, Aragorn bent his head to continue but Faramir stopped him.

“Please, I can’t… I can’t… Aragorn, not yet, not before… please.”

“All right.” Aragorn soothed, caressing Faramir’s thigh. “But here let me do this.” Cupping Faramir’s balls for a moment Aragorn then moved to stroke the delicate strip of flesh between Faramir’s testicles and the place where the younger man was using two fingers to stab almost brutally into himself. Aragorn could not have denied that- drowning in arousal as he already was- the sight of Faramir preparing his wonderfully beautiful body, eagerly- almost frantically- making himself ready for Aragorn sent yet another wave desire through him. Aragorn, though –as always seemed to happen whenever he so much as thought of his younger lover- felt a strong desire to claim, to possess. Faramir belonged to him and it was for him to ensure that his beloved was well cared for. And if there were ever the need for roughness then that too was Aragorn’s prerogative. That last thought passed too quickly through the uncrowned King’s consciousness for Aragorn to catch it. Thus, lost in clouds of lust he sank sharp teeth into the skin of Faramir’s hip before he was aware of his intention.

“Oh, oh gods!” Faramir keened helplessly. His body had gone suddenly very tense and then limp. “Again! Oh, do that. My lord.”

Twin arrows, one of desire and one of guilt struck Aragorn the moment his teeth closed over Faramir’s soft skin. He fought down both and sent his tongue out to soothe any hurt. At the same time he reached beneath Faramir to clasp the very firm and yet very pliable buttocks. Letting out another soft groan Faramir raised his legs pulling them into his chest. After a few firm squeezes, Aragorn released Faramir’s buttocks and ran a finger up and down the valley between them. Pressing inside gently, Aragorn tested his lover’s readiness. Though his finger slid in without resistance the heat and pressure of Faramir was beyond description. Quickly adding a second finger Aragorn twisted them slowly.

“Tell me again, my Faramir. Tell me you love me?”

“I do. I love you. I want you inside me now, always. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” Aragorn answered, withdrawing his fingers as he spoke and beginning to glide his penis up and down between Faramir’s buttocks. The motion felt so good and Aragorn let himself enjoy the slip and slide of oiled flesh. He made sure as well that as he moved back and forth against Faramir, he could also press his belly to Faramir’s catching his lover’s erection between them and rubbing it between their bodies. Faramir had both arms around Aragorn’s neck and he was tightening the muscles in his buttocks so that he was squeezing Aragorn’s length. At the same time he could not resist shifting beneath Aragorn’s weight. He wanted to feel the blunt head of Aragorn’s sex pressing against him and then finally inside him.

Faramir’s invitations could not be misunderstood and it was not long before Aragorn was drawn inexorably inside the younger man. He kept his eyes focused on his lover’s face, taking in the subtle flush to the face and neck, the sheen of sweat upon his brow, swollen lips parted slightly in an expression of indescribable emotion and finally the pale eyes that reminded Aragorn of the sun shining through a rain storm. Faramir met Aragorn’s gaze with equal intensity. Moving slowly but continuously the two men pressed together. When they were fully joined they paused. Beyond words they gazed at one another before setting a slow rhythm.

Release came upon them suddenly. They had been so close to the brink for so long that between one breath and the next each teetered and fell. It would have been impossible to say who came first for the moment one of the lovers started to slip the other tumbled with him. It went on and on. Aragorn pumped furiously into Faramir, emptying himself deep inside him. He wanted to mark the very core of his beloved. He had to show the younger man how much he needed him, how truly they belonged to one another. Faramir was his.

Clutching Aragorn’s back and shoulders, Faramir clung to the older man as he shook with the seemingly endless orgasm. Faramir struggled to pull Aragorn closer as he spilled himself across their bellies. A strange expression had come over the younger man’s features as he felt the searing heat of Aragorn spread through him and the warmth of his own release smearing between their bodies.

They remained together as long as possible but too soon Faramir felt his beloved slip away from him. Both men, blissfully exhausted, touched and kissed lazily. Faramir became aware once more of his shoulder. It ached and he suspected it would hurt very much in the morning but now even the ache was somehow good.

Easing his weight to the side, Aragorn trailed his fingers down Faramir’s stomach. Collecting droplets of seed, he brought his hand to his lips, tasting Faramir, smiling to once again have reacquainted all of his senses with his beloved. The frantic urgency driving their bodies together had abated and without the clamor of unsatisfied physical yearning the two could simply be together, loving and experiencing each other with quiet words and soft touches.

“You were wonderful, my love.” Aragorn’s warm breath drifted against Faramir’s ear as he whispered. Everything was wonderful, Aragorn thought. In a few moments, when he regained a little energy, he would rise and wet a cloth in the bowl of herb-scented water that was kept at the ready to cool a patient’s fever. He looked forward to gently cleansing their bodies of sweat and seed, feeling the cool liquid against his skin, watching the water sparkled on Faramir’s. He would check over Faramir’s bandages, perhaps he should even brew some willow bark for his lover. It pleased him to fuss over his Faramir and was he not justified in taking special care of his dear one. Yes, even this room was wonderful, conspiring to possess everything convenient for them.

Faramir, pushed beyond the limits of his fragile strength, could not hold back the flood of murmured words that for so long he had been forced to keep imprisoned in Aragorn’s absence. Fears that seemed foolish now but that had held the young man in mortal terror through many long days spilled from him in a whisper that began to slur as the release of so much dread made Faramir the more vulnerable to sleep. He spoke too of hopes, desires and desperate yearnings. One moment Faramir’s sentences ran over one another as emotion gripped him but not long after they would trail into silence as Faramir’s eyes drooped shut. He seemed asleep, finally overcome by all that had come before, but then Faramir would fight to open his heavy eyelids and continue on. Throughout it all `I love you,’ could be heard most frequently. To Faramir that was all he truly needed to say, the entire flood of helpless words meant `I love you.’

Cradling the younger man against him, Aragorn listened, until he could no longer endure seeing Faramir battle to remain awake: “Sleep, my love. We have much to say to one another and I mean to hear every word. Now, though you should rest, recover your strength.”

“Don’t want to sleep.” Faramir objected between delivering drowsy kisses to Aragorn’s neck. “I don’t want to be away from you even in sleep. Let me stay with you now, while I may.”

“Don’t fret, love.” Aragorn soothed, pulling the younger man firmly into his chest. “We can afford sleep. Very soon, very soon now we will be together with no fear of parting.”

Aragorn was hardly certain of this. Ordinarily, he would not have felt entirely justified making such a promise but with Faramir nestled so securely in his arms, he allowed his need to believe speak over a coldly rational assessment of their situation.

With a soft breathy laugh, Faramir tightened his grip around Aragorn’s waist. “I know it. I love you, my lord and I know that you will come back to us. But even so, let me have these moments.”

Even through his nearly stuporous fatigue Faramir heard something in Aragorn’s silence that alerted him to his lord’s doubt. “You will return! We will be together again.” This was said with great conviction but then Faramir continued. The words were a plea that seemed to hover on the threshold of impossible anguish. “If you but will it so, I shall never leave your side. I have seen it.”

After kissing Faramir with an almost violent intensity, Aragorn sought then held his lover’s gaze, “What have you seen, my love, that you should be satisfied as to the future of this great war yet remain uncertain that I mean to love you all my days?”

Conscious of the rebuke in Aragorn’s words, color crept up Faramir’s cheeks and he lowered submissive eyes. Aragorn waited, patient and inexorable as the sea and eventually Faramir lifted his gaze. In a hushed almost apologetic tone, Faramir explained his long ago vision of Aragorn’s coronation. He now recognized the figures he had thought were children as hobbits and in particular Frodo with his faithful companion, Samwise. The identity of other figures had become evident as well. Now it seemed that with each new person Faramir encountered yet another part of his vision became reality.

“It was so long ago and you say the images were always changing…” Aragorn did not doubt the pure vein of prophecy in Faramir but there seemed little certainty in what Faramir had described.

“Not this time, though! This time, this time was different.”

“You had the vision again?”

“Yes.” Faramir answered quickly and then frowned as though confused that Aragorn should ask. “Did I not say? Just now, only moments ago… just when we were together. Everything will be all right, my Aragorn- my lord. I know it.”

“All right.” Aragorn repeated, uncertain what to feel except gratitude for Faramir’s smiles. “Very well, my Faramir everything will be all right and it is safe to sleep now.”

Faramir began a protest that morphed into a soft sigh of acquiescence. He was so very tired and it was easy to obey Aragorn. His eyes closed and by the time Aragorn had lightly kissed the lids, Faramir was asleep. It was a sweet thing to Aragorn to gaze at his beloved’s face in repose but his own fatigue dulled his vision. Within moments, Aragorn slumped forward against the pillows, seeking his beloved through happy dreams.

End

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