Faramir Fiction Archive

Scars (R)

08 October 2005 | 9762 words

Part five: Submission

“Why did you wish to meet me here, Uncle?” Faramir asked, looking hard at the other Prince from across the room. The Steward was only dressed in a light dressing gown and breeches, fresh from his bath.

If it had been anyone else he would have been fully clothed, but Imrahil had seen all the scars before. The healers had asked him to be present when it was time to show Faramir what had happened to his body; and it had been Imrahil who had been forced to hold his nephew down when Faramir had started screaming. After seeing at his worst, Imrahil was hardly going to flinch from a simple bathrobe and breeches.

“I believe it is time for you to stop hiding in the shadows, and to face your life.” Imrahil said softly. It was going to be painful, for the both of them. There was no wish on his side to lose the special attention that Faramir would give to only him. But it was cruel to let Faramir live this way, and if forcing his nephew to face facts would hurt him then so be it.

“What do you mean exactly, your highness?” Faramir asked warily. He wished he had something to cover himself with, to place another barrier between his scars and the knowing look in Imrahil’s eyes.

“Faramir, you know that I love you, and that love is unconditional. Come here a minute, next to me please. I don’t like having to call to you from so far away.” Imrahil beckoned to his kin, and waited until Faramir was close enough to him before taking his nephew’s hands firmly in his own. “I cannot allow you to live in misery any longer, nephew. I will not. Do you understand?”

Faramir glanced at the other man with a wary, almost suspicious look before shaking his head. “The scars are permanent, Imrahil. They aren’t going to go away; no matter how much we may wish it.” Faramir gently pulled his hands, trying to free them before finding that instead of letting them go, Imrahil simply held them tighter and tugged the Steward even closer.

“You are quite right; they aren’t. But they will fade with time, and they should not trouble you now. Come, I shall show you exactly what I mean.” Imrahil replied, transferring one of Faramir’s hands to his left and using his now free right hand to undo his nephew’s belt. He paused, before drawing off the robe from Faramir’s shoulders and letting it hang from around his nephew’s hips.

“What are you doing?” Faramir asked urgently, fervently pulling his hands in a doomed escape bid. Despite being a strong soldier and younger man, Imrahil’s mind was set and his grip was like iron. “Imrahil, you are hurting me. Let go; uncle please!”

“Shhhh,” Imrahil soothed, stroking his nephew’s arm. “I won’t hurt you; if anything I will heal you from this black shadow that covers your mind.” He pulled Faramir towards him, and wrapped an arm around him. Imrahil dared a kiss on the younger man’s temple and then simply sat there, holding Faramir until the Steward stopped moving.

Faramir sighed, and then stood still; refusing to waste anymore strength on struggling free.

“Have you calmed down now?” Imrahil asked, his mouth very close to his nephew’s ear. It was difficult to focus on Faramir’s needs when his own were certainly making themselves known. The warm soft skin of the man cradled in front of him was inviting, and the spicy smell from the recent bath caused the prince of Dol Amroth to hug Faramir even tighter to his chest. Precious, this man was. Precious, and lost in his own mind. Time to bring him home.

“Aye,” Faramir said, giving up when his hesitation made his uncle hold him closer. What was the man after? Another serious talk over Aragorn? He thought they had already discussed this in the library. Why talk it over again, when there was no need.

“Good. Since you don’t feel like speaking, you shall listen. These scars will fade, Faramir. Already they do not look as bad as they did when the bandages first came off. Faramir?” Imrahil waited until Faramir made a soft sound of acknowledgement before continuing. “Faramir watch;” and with that, Imrahil firmly placed his hand on the scars of his nephew’s chest.

They were warm, Imrahil noted, ignoring Faramir’s shouts and angry demands of release. Warm, and surprisingly soft. Nothing like he had imagined, and instead of hard lumps of flesh Imrahil found that the scars moved with his nephew’s body; less supple than the rest of his body yet still flexible enough for easy mobility. A sharp elbow to his ribs made Imrahil gasp and wrap both arms around the fighting Steward.

“Let me go, damn you! I order it Imrahil, and you will obey me or I swear...” Faramir trailed off, unsure of what threat would be enough to force his uncle’s hand.

“The scars are not as bad as you have made them out to be. In fact, they feel rather pleasant under my fingers.” Imrahil rested his chin on the man’s shoulder, waiting for his nephew to get his breath back. He was unprepared for when the steward turned to face him, warm air from Faramir’s mouth brushing against his cheek.

“How can you touch them? I can’t even look at them.” Faramir whispered, eyes pleading for some explanation of Imrahil’s actions.

“I believe that is why you can’t move on, nephew;” Imrahil said, trying to remind himself that his sister would have been appalled at his attraction to her child. “You won’t look at them, you won’t touch them. You treat your own body as if it has betrayed you.” And I have a great deal of knowledge of physical betrayal, the prince thought to himself as he readjusted his breeches.

“I betrayed no one,” Faramir stated hotly as he began to struggle once more. “Father...” The younger man trailed off as he stared silently at the hand Imrahil had placed on his stomach. It was Faramir’s hand, covered with Imrahil’s and his uncle rubbed both of them over the raised tissue before kissing the back of his neck.

“I...” The steward said helplessly. In actuality, Imrahil was right. He hadn’t touched them at all, hadn’t wanted to after Éowyn had seen them and left. He had felt that they were not a part of him, just marks that had clung to his body like some sort of filth. But no; that seemed not to be the case now.

With trembling fingers, Faramir slowly traced his father’s handiwork across his ribs and higher up. They weren’t cold to the touch, and neither were they the unforgiving stiffness that he had imagined them to be.

“See? Not that bad.” Imrahil reassured, stroking the man’s back. He couldn’t restrain the need to touch Faramir’s bare flesh as it was presented to him. He was just not that strong anymore, and thoughts of Aragorn’s love for his steward disappeared when Faramir touched the scars near his nipple. Valar give me the strength to resist temptation and come out of this an honourable man.

“It has been a very long time since anyone touched me this way.” Faramir said softly.

The statement hung between the two, the air in the room suddenly filled with past memories of another nephew.

“Indeed.” Imrahil said; thinking of Boromir, knowing that Faramir was doing the same. “I would have thought that perhaps another...” he trailed off, leaving the question implied.

“No,” Faramir said simply. “No other.”

Silence; again.

Imrahil finally rallied his nerve, and gave up on the Valar’s aid. “And now?” He whispered.

“And now,” Faramir replied, “and now you are here; with me.” It had been so long, and Boromir was gone. The feeling of emptiness passed with Imrahil’s hands, and there was sudden potential where there was none before.

The prince of Dol Amroth hesitated only a moment before turning Faramir around and kissing him very lightly on the mouth. “You are very kind to an old man, but you don’t need to do this nephew.” Another kiss, a bit harder this time. “Though you are lonely, and I am here.” A heated, very long kiss that left both men longing for air. “Are you sure Faramir?”

“I am sure of very little in life right now Imrahil,” Faramir answered. “But I am sure that wish your hand upon me. It is a feeling I have not had for a long time, and one that I desire to have again.”

It was enough; that Faramir was willing, that they were both here and Aragorn was not, it was more than enough. Warm hands, skin and tongue, and Imrahil led the way to the bed.

“Will you have me,” Faramir whispered, nipping at Imrahil’s neck. “Will you take what is offered, uncle?”

Imrahil looked at the younger man, past words with the king echoing in his mind. Will you take my steward, prince of Dol Amroth, and leave me with nothing but a memory of what could have been?

“Nay, for your heart belongs to another. But I will give you what you need.” He forced himself to say, and wrapped his hand around Faramir’s cock. “What it is you truly wish for; my hand upon you.”

No more words were said between the two of them, just sensation and the feel of warm flesh coming into contact with hot need. Afterwards, the men lay on the bed, both lost in their own thoughts until Imrahil leaned over and kissed the small scar on Faramir’s neck. “Do you think,” he asked his nephew slowly, “that you would allow Aragorn to touch you?”

Faramir hesitated, before nodding and then turned on his side. “Did he ask you to do this for him? Tell me if he did, I need to know.”

Imrahil looked at him, marvelling sadly at how thoughts of himself had so quickly left the steward’s mind. “No, he did not. I did this for you; and for myself.” With that, he quickly got up and dressed before leaving for his own room and allowing Faramir to puzzle over his answer.

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