Faramir Fiction Archive

Mist (R)

Written by Geale

30 September 2010 | 88324 words

Chapter Eighteen – Interruption

Tuilë 39

Rain was once more assaulting Emyn Arnen when Faramir awoke. He washed and dressed, paying little attention to his actions while he tried to sort out the events of last night. He told himself that if he could still feel Aragorn’s lips upon his own it was no illusion. But then again, how many times after a vision had he not had some kind of physical reaction? When the dream-vision showing him Boromir’s fall at the cruel hands of the Uruk-hai, he had been bathing in sweat and shivered in terror. Damrod and Mablung had stubbornly stayed with him long afterwards, guarding the stone chambers of Henneth Annûn and soothing him even though the Rangers knew naught of what Faramir had seen.

While anxious to speak with the King, Faramir was also afraid to learn the truth. The urgency twining around his body worried him and lent him a healthy dose of reality. It was probably deeply unwise to long so for such a man and yet there was very little he could do about it. Even though he knew it was highly unlikely that Aragorn would ever see him as anything more than a faithful Steward, or maybe as an instrument to relieve some kind of sexual tension, Faramir had to admit to himself that in his dreams, his lover’s eyes were grey, and dark, tousled locks framed a well-known face.

Upon entering the dining hall his eyes immediately landed on the King who was seated at the table, going through a small stack of letters. There was a steaming pot of tea in front of him and some bread and cheese, all of it untouched. For a second or two, during which fear suddenly bubbled up within, Faramir considered turning back before he was spotted but it was already too late. Aragorn looked up from his reading and a small smile shyly caught his lips, making him seem years younger.

“Faramir.”

“Good morning, my lord.” Faramir gave a nod that he hoped could be interpreted as a type of bow of respect should some servant happen to appear.

Aragorn’s smile deepened somewhat. “Did you sleep well?”

Swallowing, Faramir crossed the floor. “I did,” he said with caution, not able to stop himself from reaching out to touch Aragorn’s energy. He detected a shimmer of anticipation and maybe a hint of nervousness. Taking a deep breath, he pulled out the chair next to the older man. However, he waited to speak until he sat down. Aragorn’s eyes followed his movements, his letters seemingly long forgotten.

“I must ask you,” Faramir began uncertainly in a low voice. “If we, last night… If you let me kiss you… in the hallway?” Colour rose in his cheeks even before he managed to finish the sentence: he must sound like a madman, at the very least.

Surprise briefly crossed Aragorn’s features but it was soon replaced by some other type of emotion that was harder to name.

“I beg your pardon, Faramir, if I…upset you. I did not mean to.” The smile had faltered.

“No, no!” said Faramir with more urgency than planned. Self-consciously he shook his head. “You did not. You have not. It was just that I…” He sighed. “I am having some difficulties telling dreams and reality apart as of late.”

“You dream of me?” Aragorn tilted his head to the side, his grey eyes scanning Faramir’s face.

“Aye, I do,” admitted Faramir quietly, the admission slipping out of him easier than he would have thought. “But it was my hope that yesterday’s events were not mere visions.”

“You left me at my door,” said Aragorn, nodding softly. “After I had claimed I wished to spend the night alone…”

Faramir searched the King’s face. “Nothing more?”

“Nothing more,” confirmed Aragorn.

Faramir nodded, unable to find anything additional to say. It was something, just not nearly enough.

“But,” the King said after a pause, “I think I was wrong…” His voice trailed off but silence would not settle completely.

“Wrong, sire?”

“To say I wished to sleep alone.”

Faramir raised his eyes to Aragorn’s face. There was so much worry there and so much fear, and only the smallest amount of happiness.

“Truly?” It was the only word that would come across his lips.

The older man gave a quick small smile but it was bleak. “Aye.”

Maybe he would have dropped his gaze if Faramir had not stared so intently at him. “You said, that night, that you had dreamt of me – like I dream of you…” he said slowly, thinking more aloud than actually addressing Aragorn. “Is this not strange?”

His ponderings drew an unforeseen laugh from the King and the tension dissolved. “I know not… I have seen much strangeness in my days. But Faramir,” his voice took on a more serious note, “I am telling you the truth. I should not have rejected you last night.” His eyes added something else – something more, but this plea remained unspoken.

Faramir’s heart felt oddly large in his breast and he did not breathe as he listened.

“I confess I would not have known what to do, and I am no less certain this morning,” continued Aragorn and even his cheeks gained some more colour. “And it scares me, but I do desire you.”

The confession hung between them for many long moments during which Faramir debated with himself. Finally, he leaned in a little, half expecting Aragorn to turn away. When he did not, he pressed a gentle kiss to the lips before him. “I will remember that,” he mumbled.

When he once more laid eyes on the King, he did not come to treasure the kiss, but the evident lack of dread and unease that before had held him in such a fierce grip. Smiling just a little, Faramir dared to bring one of his hands to rest upon one of Aragorn’s knees while the other reached for a teacup and the pot.

“Tea?”

Aragorn nodded. “Thank you.”

They broke their fast together and without speaking, but Faramir could put no price on the way Aragorn caught his hand and brought it back to his lap when he had finished cutting the cheese. They were sharing the same energy and to him they sat too close to each other to not notice this.

Sometime later the servants – upon noticing that breakfast would be a prolonged affair this morning – had brought a new pot of tea, and Faramir accepted the steaming cup and rose from his seat to wander over to the window. The rain was still falling heavily and hundreds of rivulets created a complex pattern on the glass. He did not have much of a choice today – as he could do no good in the woods he would have to be content in his study.

Tentatively, arms encircled his waist and he checked his reaction just in time; without moving he accepted the embrace, more happily than the other man could ever have known. Aragorn stepped up close to him and carefully rested his cheek against Faramir’s shoulder. In silence they stood as Faramir sipped his tea and Aragorn’s breaths slipped through the strands of hair and sent pleasant shivers across his skin.

“What will you do today?” Aragorn asked in a low voice, which Faramir, with a light heart, noticed was not such due to insecurity but to intimacy.

“Answer some letters…” Faramir answered him. “And complete a list of goods that need to be shipped off… and decide what Emyn Arnen should import. Every change of season brings requests from outer regions, as well as from my own people.”

“Need you anything from the City?”

Except for her King?

Faramir produced a smile not nearly bright enough to chase the bitter tang it left upon his lips away. “No, we will manage on our own, I think.”

They had always done so before, and though his heart may hold a differing opinion, the facts were against him.

Aragorn nodded against his shoulder and said no more.

Faramir fed on his presence like a starving man. He did not want to take too much for himself, but he allowed Aragorn’s energy to melt into his own body, warm him, hold him. He smiled when his thoughts completed their circle:

“But we did share one kiss, yesterday.”

He could not see Aragorn’s face but was sure he detected at least a shred of affection in his voice:

“We did.”

The rain was continuously falling and the sky was a compact grey. They had been watching it for a little while, each in deep thought, when a loud call from the doorway made them both start.

“Some of that lovely apple pie, darling!”

Because of the teacup and the comfortable position, Aragorn could not quickly draw back and this was reason enough for Damrod’s eyebrows to shoot towards the ceiling, and for his dazzling grin to somewhat subside.

Wide-eyed he quickly took a step inside and slammed the door shut behind him.

“By the Gods, Faramir!” he exclaimed, still staring. “You should be lucky ‘twas only me!”

Plain surprise at seeing his friend and relief that it had, indeed, been only him and no one else mingled with an overwhelming sense of loss as Aragorn stepped away from him. Faramir felt the beautiful energy withdraw and a chill seemed to filter through the window-glass and settle in his bones.

“What brings you here?” he queried unsteadily, noticing that Damrod was not half as wet as he should have been. “Is that my tunic?”

With a well-known, brilliant grin in place, his old friend winked at him. “Found it in the closet by the door. You wouldn’t believe the state I was in when I got here.” His gaze travelled from Faramir to Aragorn and to the window. “Or maybe you would.” He spread his hands. “Sorry to interrupt anything – I just wanted to see you were doing well, you know.”

Faramir swallowed down more disappointment as Aragorn took a few more steps back.

“All is well,” he said, wondering if he were good enough to convince himself. “I take it you are joining us for breakfast?”

He had no wish of chasing his friend away but all he wanted was for Aragorn told him again, and that thought scared him more than anything: it felt like years ago that he had been dependent on someone else to provide him with security.

Damrod was looking less than certain. “‘Tis a good long while ago I saw you eating this late in the morning.” Too late did he hear the underlying implication and he had the sense to blush. “Not saying, of course…” He nodded towards the King. “Beg your pardon, my lord.”

In the corner of his eye Faramir saw how Aragorn raised a hand as if he were sweeping the issue aside. “I will leave you to talk,” he said.

Damrod’s gaze flickered from one man to the other and Faramir easily felt his curiosity that was barely held at bay. This was probably the reason for why he did not object when Aragorn announced his intentions.

There was a sharp knock on the door and then it opened.

“Ah!” exclaimed Damrod as he spotted the lid-covered pot the girl was carrying. “Brilliant!”

While his friend busied himself with examining the arrival of what Faramir supposed was apple pie, he chanced a glance at Aragorn. Grey eyes settled on his face and a small smile full of regret was offered him. Faramir must fight the instinct to reach out and touch.

“I have some letters to write myself,” said Aragorn quietly. “But I would like to see you later, if you could spare…”

“I want to see you.” The words tumbled out of Faramir before the older man had finished his sentence. “I want to see you very much,” he added, choosing in that moment to ignore what was happening around him, but he spoke in a low voice, too.

He drew a deep breath and forced his shoulders back. Some clean cutlery was being brought to them and Damrod had charmed the servants into bringing him a teacup and a plate as well.

Aragorn’s smile was answer enough. When he left the dining hall, his hand brushed against Faramir’s and the heart of the Steward of Gondor took a leap for the heavens.

But the door swung close with an eerie finality and a harsher and brighter light swept him up.

“So,” said Damrod when they were alone. “Care to tell me what that was all about?”

Faramir sighed at this new reality and sank down in his chair. “I hardly know myself.”

With eyes narrowing, Damrod claimed the chair opposite his and leaned across the polished surface. “You telling me that you’re doing something with him? Faramir?”

“I’m not… doing anything,” he said as he raked a hand helplessly through his hair. At least it was almost true. “I know not what is happening. He is…”

“He is the King, I’ll tell you!” Damrod kept his voice down but his hiss was perfectly audible. “Is he forcing you?”

“No!” The impact of his hand slamming the table took them both by surprise. Faramir felt reason slipping away. “You cannot tell a soul. Not the lady you are courting – not even Mablung. No one should have seen that.”

Damrod shook his head but his keen eyes were fixed on Faramir. “You know I’ll keep quiet, but tell me this: do you know what you’re doing? Maelir’s spreading the word you know… Says he shared your bed two nights ago.”

Faramir dropped his head into his arms, leaning forward on the table. “He did.”

“Gods…” He heard the frustration in Damrod’s voice. “These waters are too deep for either of us, that’s what they are. Don’t get involved with the King. There must be other men. Faramir?”

But there were no other men…

“Yea?”

“Don’t go there.”

But he would.

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/mist. Positive feedback is what keeps authors writing more stories!