Faramir Fiction Archive

Mist (R)

Written by Geale

30 September 2010 | 88324 words

Chapter Twenty-Eight – Death

Aragorn walked so close to him and yet they could not touch. Faramir felt alternately too cold or too warm. He was happy beyond understanding, and he was desperate to show it. He was nervous like never before when he greeted Arwen and Eldarion in the dining hall. Aragorn shot him a glance that well mirrored this inner turmoil.

“My Lady,” Faramir bowed to Arwen and hoped his smile was steady enough.

“Faramir,” she smiled in return.

He doubted he should address her simply by her name but minded not at all that she ignored his title. He smiled at Eldarion too and was pleased to note that the boy did not retreat to his initial, frightened state where Faramir was concerned.

“How did work go in the library?” he asked while Arwen and Aragorn exchanged some words.

“I only read,” said Eldarion. “I am grateful for your help, sir, but there was so much I never had time to start writing. It is interesting but…” He shrugged, as if wanting to seem careless and untroubled, but it was not convincing, and Faramir sensed the apology behind it all – for not performing better.

“I always liked writing,” confessed Faramir. “But it is different when an interest becomes a task.”

Aragorn moved beside him and he tried to refrain from immediately looking up at him, something he must do, though, and for which he was immensely happy, when he was spoken to. He met shining grey eyes and Faramir felt a thrill of sheer joy speed through him.

“You were always good with words, Faramir,” said Aragorn softly. “Much better than I will ever be.”

Aragorn gave him a small smile and Faramir returned it, fervently longing for to touch the other man, to feel his solid form pressed against his own. After a few stumbling breaths, Aragorn dragged his eyes away and turned to his son.

“I am sure your account will be excellent.”

Eldarion nodded but said nothing.

There were many more words crowding around them, waiting to be uttered but Aragorn seemed uncertain how to proceed so he fell silent. Faramir found himself looking at Arwen. She was watching the interaction with worry in her eyes and there was tension in her shoulders. As if she could feel his gaze upon her, she looked up and gave a weak smile that held much sadness and regret.

Faramir thought then that he understood her a bit more clearly. He had little experience with mothers that were not his own and Finduilas had died too early on for him to remember much about her now. He glanced again at Eldarion’s downcast eyes and decided to give the world a little push.

“Shall we?” He motioned towards the table and was relieved when the air reawakened and took a spin around the room before flowing more freely again.

Arwen and Eldarion came to sit facing him and Aragorn sat by his side. He tried to focus, tried to store his feelings for Aragorn away for later examination, but the older man’s energy wove around him and claimed his heart so completely that Faramir might have thought them alone in the room had he not simultaneously been looking at his other guests.

Wine was served and Faramir almost missed the moment when Eldarion blushing and mumbling asked for plain water instead. A carafe was quickly produced and the water was poured and it was silvery transparent, like rain or tears, or a light in Aragorn’s eyes…

This last thought was enough to throw Faramir back into the present. He was not sentimental and he was not one for flowery poetry. Though he lived in a strange world, he preferred balanced judgements and grounded assessments. He would have rolled his eyes at himself had he been alone. He hoped.

“…from the Valley.”

Faramir caught only the last part of Arwen’s statement. Beside him, Aragorn nodded.

“Thank you. I will see to it immediately upon my return.” He actually smiled. “I will even plant them myself.”

Arwen turned to Eldarion. “You may help your father. I think it will look very pretty.” She raised her eyes to Aragorn. “The City needs it, I dare say…”

“It does…” Aragorn picked up his wine glass and still the smile did not leave his features but deepened into one of fond remembrance. “One piece of the ancient world meets another.”

“You must travel there to see it.”

Faramir, who had watched this new type of smile grace Aragorn’s face and brighten it, did not immediately understand that he was being spoken to. Chiding himself, he quickly turned to the Lady. “I am sorry?”

“You must travel to Minas Tirith to see it, Faramir,” she said once more. “Aragorn tells me you go there seldom.”

“To the City?” He frowned. “No, I… do not see it often these days.”

“When the saplings are planted you have reason to journey thither,” she smiled, “and you will see a part of Rivendell there.”

“You are bringing trees to Minas Tirith?” He knew he should have already grasped as much but in order to fully understand his part in the conversation he had to ask, embarrassing though it be.

“Yes,” nodded Arwen, not betraying what she thought of him. “Of the kind that does not naturally grow in Gondor.”

Aragorn turned in his seat and his gaze fell upon Faramir, solely. For once it was not tinted with fear and it was beautiful. “There is not much greenery in the City,” he said slowly, “so I asked Arwen to bring me some. I am born and raised in the arms of nature, and stone…”

“Stone is too cold and hard, and impersonal,” Faramir quietly finished for him. “I know what you mean, Ara… my lord.” Behind his teeth, he bit his tongue and hoped his slip had gone unnoticed.

Aragorn smiled at him, gently, lovingly. “You must see it.”

Faramir found himself melting into submission and it partially frightened him for no one had had such power over him since Denethor’s days. “I would love to.”

They ate but Faramir paid little attention to what was served. The conversation flowed easier this night and thankfully his role was a smaller one. Occasionally he would catch Aragorn looking at him but he was too afraid to acknowledge it and he did not dare to smile too much. It was odd how he had become restricted in his own home but he prayed that it was because only a couple of hours had passed since Aragorn’s declaration, and that some solution may be found.

Eldarion was no more talkative now than the night before but he ate with good appetite and Faramir found the sight strangely heartening. When they were nearing the end of the meal, the desire to be alone with Aragorn was so consuming that Faramir felt almost dizzy. He made effort after effort to keep track of the time and be polite but he feared he was doomed to defeat.

Finally, Arwen ran a hand over Eladrion’s dark curls. “Time for bed, tithen pen?”

He looked up at her and for a second his face held all of that adolescent rebellion Faramir remembered from his own youth, or perhaps Boromir’s. Eldarion seemed more than ready to protest but something in the way his mother had addressed him, made him swallow his words and nod. Faramir would not intrude upon him and touch his energy to please his own curiosity. He stayed out of the matter and let the boy belong all to himself, and it proved to be an easy decision.

But when they all rose from the table and Faramir fully realised he would soon be alone with Aragorn, everything else melted away and he barely heard himself wishing the Lady and Eldarion a good night, and then the door closed behind them and they were gone.

Silence dragged itself heavily through the room and for the first time that night, Faramir noticed how low the candles were burning and how thick the clouds were that filled the sky; few stars were able to peek through.

He lifted his eyes to Aragorn’s face and felt an icy rush of anxiety. The other man stood by his chair, looking torn between so many emotions that Faramir could not even begin to name them.

He took a step closer and Aragorn did not flee. He gradually closed the distance between them until they stood face to face and Faramir could brush his hand tentatively against Aragorn’s.

“I know you have trees here too,” said the King.

“What?” The moment was lost to Faramir and he stared confused at Aragorn.

“I asked Arwen to bring me saplings from Rivendell before I came here and…” his voice faltered and faded away.

Faramir blinked and tried to make sense of this unexpected twist. “Aragorn… What are you talking about?”

But the King shook his head in defeat and wearily leaned in closer. He rested his head on Faramir’s shoulder and exhaled slowly. The younger man, thankful at least for the closeness, brought his arms around him and held on.

Then suddenly a hint of mirth wound itself into Aragorn’s voice when he spoke. It was oddly paired with remorse. “When we spoke of it earlier it struck me as strange that I should not have asked you to contribute to the gardens I am planning… And you…” he shifted, buried his face in the crook of Faramir’s neck, and mumbled, “you I love…”

Faramir stole a moment to stare incredulously at the dark tresses that hid Aragorn’s face from view. Then he could not help the smile that curved his lips and he ran his hands down Aragorn’s back and chuckled. “But you love your childhood home, Aragorn… And I have no elven herbs or flowers or trees here. I would gladly give you something from my grounds should you wish it.”

Aragorn nodded against his shoulder. “Do you think me crazy?”

“Crazy?” Faramir dropped a kiss into his hair. “Only a little.” He listened to Aragorn’s breathing for a few heartbeats. “I want to be alone with you,” he murmured. “And not here.”

He gently untangled them and smoothed out his shirt. Aragorn was looking determined but it was too easy to spot the trepidation behind the façade. Faramir took a deep breath.

“I know it may be unseemly with… Arwen and your son in the house but,” he hesitated, “would you spend the night with me?”

“I…” Aragorn dropped his gaze briefly to the floor but then he nodded. “Yes.”

Faramir had not bothered to bring the fire back to life. Instead he had lit a handful of candles and produced an extra blanket should the waxing night turn chillier. Aragorn’s clothes hung neatly over the back of a chair and Faramir found it hard not to stare a the sight in wonder. It looked so… normal. They were not garments hastily left in a heap on the floor in a moment’s passion, more like a suggestion of a recurrence most welcome. Something natural.

This, of course, was not much compared to the sight of Aragorn actually in his bed but still he glanced over at the chair and felt his heart swell with joy.

Aragorn lay on his belly, arms folded under a pillow, his head to the side and with his eyes closed. Faramir let his fingertips travel over the broad back, painting invisible patterns on the pale skin. He journeyed over shoulder blades and muscles, and followed the spine all the way down to its base. Aragorn shivered and smiled.

“Will you really come to the City?” His words were a quiet whisper in the peace that enveloped them.

Faramir sighed inwardly. He traced the curve of a rib bone too easily discovered. “For a little while…” Not for long.

Aragorn shifted and opened his eyes. They held all the questions he wanted to ask but needed courage to voice. Faramir’s hand came to a rest near his neck.

“Do I ask too much of you?” Aragorn asked and there was true concern in his voice.

Faramir moved closer, almost curled around him. “No…” He pushed away his guilt for finding something other than his home to love.

He kissed Aragorn’s shoulder and his hand drifted down the older man’s back. Skin warmed at the caresses, both his own and Aragorn’s. His kisses travelled upward and he brushed against soft lips. Instinctively, seeking something that might affirm his hope that it might be possible to keep his heart open to both Emyn Arnen and his King, he quickly deepened the kiss and rejoiced in the wave of heat that swept over him when the kiss was returned. Faramir relaxed into the sensation of not being alone and he kept exploring Aragorn’s body with his fingertips.

It took some adjustment but then Aragorn lay on his side too and one of his hands found Faramir’s waist. They traded kisses, and lips grew reddened and swollen. Faramir encouraged the lazy rise of desire that made his stomach twist in a display of expectation, and his heart to flutter.

Aragorn’s hand drifted down to explore his buttocks and Faramir gave a low, appreciative moan. Too ready to give himself over to lust, he for once did not check his own reaction for fear that it would scare Aragorn off. He smiled into a new kiss when he was not punished and Aragorn instead repeated his action.

Gently, gently Faramir urged the older man onto his back and pressed against his side. His own swelling manhood, he found, matched Aragorn’s and, dazed, he decided to not think twice before he cupped his King’s length and let the heat speed through him. Aragorn drew a sharp breath which in the end transformed into a soundless exhale. Faramir added just a little pressure before he withdrew and pushed himself up to look down at his lover.

Aragorn met his gaze and in the faint golden light of the candle flames he had never looked more frightened. Still, there was more in his eyes that bore other names and would not so easily be quenched. Faramir allowed for the throbbing in his own body, the pounding of his own heart, to flow into Aragorn, and hoped it tipped the scales in a favourable way. Aragorn drew another long breath and lifted one of his hands to Faramir’s face and traced the curve of his lips.

“If I would…” Faramir began, the hoarse sound of his voice close to drowning in the thickening air.

No more than a whisper, “I would not stop you.”

Faramir held the other man’s gaze as kissed Aragorn’s fingertips. Then he reached out and found the oil, and finally resumed his previous position. He bent down and joined their mouths together in a tentative kiss. He knew the want and he knew the hesitation, and sought to fuel the former and vanquish the latter. Aragorn relaxed a little and Faramir flicked his tongue tip over Aragorn’s upper lip and drew a smile from them both.

When they parted, Aragorn caught his hand, the one with the oil. “Please… I wish to see you…” He swallowed. “That other time… he took me from behind and… I was so scared.”

A pause filled with boundless compassion, then, “Okay.” Even if promises and words might do much, they were insufficient now. Faramir brushed a stray strand of dark hair from Aragorn’s forehead and bent to kiss the newly revealed skin. “Part your legs,” he murmured and hummed in approval when his suggestion was heeded.

His hand was still caught in a fierce hold when he shifted to kneel between Aragorn’s legs. The older man’s arousal lay hard and heavy upon his belly but the tremors that ran through him sought victory. Faramir met them with caresses and kisses. Leaving a trail of kisses upon Aragorn’s chest, he once more felt desire mount and his own length ached in negligence.

“I need to…” Faramir raised his head and glanced at their joined hands.

Aragorn reluctantly loosened his grip and nodded. “I trust you.”

Faramir smiled. “I love you.”

He sat back again and poured some oil onto his palm. He should have shivered in the cool night but as it was, he had the temperature no thought to spare. The oil gleamed upon his skin and he focused all of his attention on his task.

Aragorn’s length twitched at the initial touch and he tried to be gentle at first. His strokes were long and non-demanding, letting his lover know that this was no attack. Gradually, pleasure overcame fear and Aragorn began responding. His eyes fell shut and his lips parted. With his other hand, Faramir cupped the sacs between his length but quite quickly moved on to circle his entrance with a forefinger. Aragorn jerked at the touch but did not pull away.

“There… there…” Faramir mumbled, to his own ears sounding as if were soothing a babe back into sleep, but the murmurings seemed to help Aragorn relax and so he continued. He conceived a silent prayer and then slid the first finger inside. Aragorn froze and his eyes flew open in silent shock.

Faramir leaned down and kissed the spot just above his heart and he heard Aragorn draw a long breath. Reassured, Faramir continued the stretching and soon he had to stop himself from groaning in desperation. There was something so intimate in preparing a lover, and the knowledge of the pleasure to come was so tangible it felt like a warm tongue dragging down his spine.

With an effort he straightened and pulled out his fingers. “Wrap your legs around my waist,”
he suggested as gently as he could.

Aragorn was trembling as he moved. A sheen of sweat coated his forehead and his body seemed unsure how to respond. He crossed his ankles behind Faramir’s back and the younger man had to inhale slowly too to steady himself. “I love you,” he said and watched how the words challenged the brewing terror in Aragorn’s eyes. “I really do.”

He slid past the guardian muscle and the heat crashed over him and he went down without a fight. Aragorn bit back a cry and Faramir felt the world stumble and spin into chaos. He sheathed himself fully inside Aragorn’s body and must gasp for air. He knew not what his hands were doing but Aragorn wrapped his fingers around his wrists and clang to him feverishly.

Reality was reduced to their bodies, joined and bound, and Faramir knew then that his heart was utterly lost to him. He pulled out, pushed inside, rolled his hips and gave himself up completely. Aragorn was breathing, he was so alive beneath him, so close to finding freedom that it brought tears to Faramir’s eyes. He wished he could see clearer but the tightness and the building heat left him blind to the details.

Yours… yoursyoursyoursyours…

Succumbing to pleasure, coming closer… yours… He felt skin meet his own… only Aragorn’s… ever Aragorn’s…

…white glow, flowing forth… coming closer… and closer, until:

there is only moonlight.

Faramir fell from the heavens and landed in nothingness. The power of his release coursed through him long after his climax and he hoped he was breathing.

When he opened his eyes he saw a flash of white and then the clouds floated across the moon again and the darkness was restored. The scent of sweat upon cooling skin and sticky sweet release was all around him and for a moment he contemplated never bathing again. Then Aragorn’s chest rose in a hesitant inhale, and he turned to look at his lover.

The King’s eyes were misty and all his attention was turned inward. Faramir watched the emotions chase each other across his face, all of them in a mess and transforming. Some of them dying.

He watched the death of fear of the past, and the death of fear of the past ever repeating itself in its old form. He watched the death of a decision to confine oneself to loneliness, no matter the cost. Faramir lay in silence and let it at all die.

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