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Scars (R) Print

Written by Liz

08 October 2005 | 9762 words

Type: FPS
Pairing: Aragorn/Faramir/Imrahil
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Tolkien's world, I just play in it
Timeline: after ring war
Warnings: super angst
Beta: Skonichek is a good and decent woman
Summary: scars from war are long to linger


Part one: Scars

"He will not let me touch him."

The statement hung between the two men; a dead thing in the air that refused to be ignored. Aragorn closed his eyes, and turned away from the other man. There was truly nothing he could do then. "I am so sorry Imrahil. I wish I could help him…" He trailed off as the words trailed off. Wishes were useless.

"It hurts; to see it in his eyes, the same hatred of himself that Denethor bore him. It's as if even though he has died, the man has won from beyond the grave." Imrahil hung his head and breathed deeply. "There are times, my lord, when even I feel that the cost of this war was too high to pay."

An arm found its way across Imrahil's shoulder and the prince turned and leaned his forehead against his king's chest. "Is there nothing you can do, my lord?"

"He refuses to discuss it with me, and I fear that my presence in this matter will only make it worse." Imrahil, Aragorn thought silently. What would you have me do? Even the Elessar cannot force someone to change their minds. Sighing, the king told his friend that he would try once more.

It was the second week of the fourth age, and already there were problems that the ruler of Gondor felt unable to deal with. His steward's intense and unforgiving hatred was one. If Faramir had hated anyone else, Aragorn could deal with it. If it were for Aragorn himself he would try to appease his steward. But there was nothing he could do, for the one Faramir hated could not be separated from the prince of Ithilien.

Faramir hated himself.

Or rather, the scars that his insane father had inflicted upon his body. The flames had enveloped part of his chest, and grew quickly on the oil soaked flesh. His back, his left arm, and down his left leg to the beginning of his knee.

Aragorn had seen them; had treated them when begged by Pippin to come to Minas Tirith and tend to Boromir's dying brother. The stench of cooking human flesh still made his gorge rise on days when he dwelt on it overly much.

He had watched Faramir's eyes, the way they had lit up when he had opened them to behold his new king. The way they shattered and held shards of broken things when he saw himself in the mirror that first time; and the way they dulled completely when a healer foolishly told him that yes, the scarring was permanent.

Both Imrahil and Aragorn had watched in horror as he had slowly got up, and walked off. Perhaps that was the worst of it; the silent defeat in the man's eyes. The burning hatred of the scarring forming almost as quickly as the flames had.

The first to change was his clothing. Long sleeves, high collars, and dark clothing. The next, was the removal of all the mirrors in Faramir's house; though it had taken time for Imrahil to realise it for he had not visited his nephew in some time.

The eyes never changed, though the disgust in them deepened with each day that Faramir carried the marks of his father's insanity. The next was the aversion to being touched; his scars were never discussed and any topic that included them was swiftly silenced.

It had gotten to the point where Faramir refused to have anyone touch him, and Imrahil who was tactile with his own children mourned the loss keenly. So he had gone to Aragorn; and the one they called the `Renewer' did nothing. So they mourned Faramir together; mourned the man he could have been, if his hatred had not consumed him.

The king paused at the doorway, putting his hand on the wooden frame. "Faramir? Are you in here?" A pause, then:

"Yes. I am here."

Aragorn entered and closed the door behind him. "You should light some lamps in here, you can barely see in the darkness."

"That was the general idea," a dry voice answered him. Then a sigh. "I am sorry. You should not…suffer because of me. Here."

A light sputtered into existence and Aragorn walked over and stood next to the man near the window. "You need to stop this," he murmured softly. "It isn't healthy, and it's making you ill."

"I cannot. Do not even try to understand it, for it has nothing to do with vanity." Faramir replied calmly.

"I believe it does, for what else can it be? Though, it you were never vain to begin with and I do not think that you are now."

"I could not be even if I wished to; not now anyway. You Majesty…"

"Aragorn," the man reminded him quickly.

"Aragorn. You should stop wasting your time with this. It is not, I am not…worth this amount of time and attention. It is my…problem." Faramir, who was usually the more eloquent of the two seemed to be at a loss for words at the moment. "It is my situation, and I shall deal with it as I can. Do not feel obligated to help me with this, my lord."

"I do not feel obligated, Faramir. I feel like I am losing one of my friends to a darkness that is entirely of his own making."

Faramir suddenly stood up. "Do you think these are from my own making? That I am responsible for them? That it was my-'' He didn't even get that far before the king interrupted him.

"No! Of course what your father did was not your fault! Faramir, the man was insane, he had no idea what he was…"

"Yes he did!" Faramir shouted. "He knew, that is why he did it. For even now after everything, after war, and illness and death and…." Faramir slumped and sat back on the bed putting his head in his hands. "After all is said and done, he has still won; and I am alone, and always will be."

"You have me." Aragorn said simply, knowing that it would not be enough. Never be enough for the young man who had so much more of life to live.

"That was not what I meant, I meant that I would always live alone. Éowyn, she could not touch me; and I do not blame her. I cannot even look at them without feeling the need to be sick. No woman should have to marry such a hideous…" Faramir trailed off, shaking his head.

"You are not hideous, you are not in any way disgusting. She…Éowyn was a fool." Silently he called her more than that; called her words that he would never repeat out loud, not even when he railed against Éowyn of Rohan to Imrahil. Her love was nothing anyway, for had she not sworn to love him until her dying day while they were leaving for the battle of Pellonor Fields? Did he not hear her tell her uncle that she would stay behind with the women and children for love of her king? Yes, better that she leave and go back to her brother than remain here. Faramir was far too good for her.

"Not too foolish to wish to leave me. All those who care about me seem to do so." Faramir said softly and stood once more so that he had room to pace quietly.

"Boromir would not have wanted you to be like this. He would have wanted you to carry on, and live with the dignity and happiness that he knew you for." Aragorn replied, ignoring the increased speed in pacing.

"It is easy to say what Boromir would have wanted when his is not here to deny it, isn't it? You don't understand, you haven't seen."

Aragorn stared at Faramir; was the man's memory leaving him or did he truly not recall his own king's presence when the healer had taken off the bandages. "I have seen them; the scars. All of them, I mean. There is nothing you could show me now that would horrify or disgust me."

Silence; and then: "They disgust me. I cannot look at them, cannot touch them. The feel of them against my clothing makes me ill until the smell of food is sickening. What shall I do, for they shall never leave me. How do I cope with this last…gift…of my father's which is like a taint? Tell me Aragorn, what would you do if so cursed?"

Aragorn dared greatly in standing and walking over to his very disturbed young friend. He dared even greater to place a hand on the man's left shoulder where the scars first began. "I would ask that my lover kiss them. To love them as I do for they are a part of me that I cannot leave, not deny. They are just like my temper, my stubbornness and my great capacity for love. They make me who I am; and if they are too much of a coward to touch them, me, then I do not want their love." With that he kissed Faramir softly on the neck, where the smallest mark of a burning that ember stood out from the pale skin.

Part Two: Burning Touch

Nausea. Faramir closed his eyes against the hot bile that threatened to rise in his throat. “Do not,” he got out before jerking away. “Do not touch...them. I am sorry; I did not mean to offend you, Aragorn.” The steward’s stomach clenched at the thought of this noble man, his closest friend touching such a disgusting thing again. “But you must not do that again. I do not want you to dirty yourself with the marks my father left on me.”

“I would not dirty myself by touching you Faramir!” Aragorn said heatedly. Surely things had not gone unchecked for so long that Faramir truly believed his own words. “I...Faramir, I care for you deeply. Imrahil and I both do, and we worry about your state of health. You are obsessing over this, and it is harming you. I would have it that you ignored this and moved on with your life. For yourself, if not for your uncle and myself.”

Faramir looked at his king and raised an eyebrow, wryly. “Even if I so chose to, it would be impossible to ignore what is clearly there. I do not wish to pretend that they are not there. Indeed, it would be nothing but a farce to go on as if nothing has changed.” He looked down at the ground for a moment and swallowed. “Everything has changed, Aragorn. I...never expected that this would happen. For all my preparing for battle and strategies, why had I never thought that this would occur?”

For that, Aragorn had no answer for there was none to give. “I care for you deeply Faramir. I think you are beautiful; you will always be beautiful to me.” He said simply.

Faramir stared at Aragorn and turned away, walking to the other side of the room. “Why are you doing this? Why say such things, surely you know what impact they can have. Éowyn, she was the one who was beautiful; and she was smart enough to leave someone who looks...” Faramir turned around. “Well look at me. No woman would want to touch this.”

It was true, Aragorn reflected sadly. No woman would, for the scars were foreign to a woman’s experience. True, every soldier carried scars from battle and this was of no surprise to a woman. But Faramir...

Aragorn forced his eyes to note the damage the fire had done to his friend. The marks from the pyre were everywhere on his left side. The arm and leg were covered in scar tissue. The fire had travelled on his side and there seared part of Faramir’s chest. Mercifully, if there was any mercy in this, the man’s stomach and lower regions had remained untouched. A small miracle, for Aragorn had no doubt that had the scars moved any further right, that Faramir would have taken his own life.

“Mithrandir told me what happened when I came to the city; about why the fire was started.” The statement hung in the air between the two men, before Faramir replied.

“Everyone knows, it’s no longer a secret. Especially since my father was a ranting lunatic who flaunted his madness in full view of the public.” The bitter resentment was enough to make Aragorn wince.

“Your father loved you. The reason he,” Aragorn paused to search for words that would not be a lie yet still skirt around the truth. “The reason he acted the way he did was because he could not stand the idea of you eaten alive by orcs. He believed the city was lost, as did many people. You were his last son, and I don’t think he wanted to leave you to a fate such as that.” Aragorn paused, letting the words sink into the Steward’s mind. “What he did, however misguided, was out of love.”

The words were trite, and both men looked a little disgusted with them. Why bother skirting around the truth of the matter, when it was right there in front of them. Aragorn suddenly felt like a coward, pretending that things weren’t as bad as they seemed and that the reason behind the act justified it somehow.

“Oh I know my father loved me. I can see it every morning as I dress; hear it when I pass the kitchen fires.” Faramir walked over to Aragorn, pausing a moment before kneeling before him. “I smelled it when the healers took off the bandages and the stench of burnt human flesh filled the room. I had so much of his love I nearly perished.”

Aragorn put his hands on the top of Faramir’s head and pulled gently forward until his Steward’s forehead was resting on Aragorn’s knees. “You have my love as well; and Imrahil’s. We promise you, both he and I that we shall make sure never to hurt you. Never to give you cause to regret surviving the war.” Aragorn stroked Faramir’s hair, and sighed. “You are beautiful; to have survived so much and remain a good and gentle person. Others would have lost themselves long before now.”

Faramir tried to jerk away but the gentle fingers became like a steel band, restricting his movements. “I am not beautiful, I am scarred and ugly. I have driven the woman I loved away, and cause pain to others. I am-”

Aragorn interrupted him. “Beautiful. Even if you do not see it and all others do. I do, and Imrahil does. I do not care about your scars, I do not care about your father. I care only for you. Can you understand this, Faramir?”

Faramir said nothing for several long moments, before sighing and nodding his head tentatively against Aragorn’s knees. Despite the encouragement, he still shied away from the King’s fingers when they brushed against the small scar on his neck. “Every time they are touched, each time I feel them, it is like being burned all over again.”

Part three: Imrahil Intercedes

Aragorn left him then, and the moment was forgotten for several days until Faramir found himself in the library sorting books and browsing passages that he found interesting.

"I thought that I would find you here, you always seemed to end up in the library when you were a child. One of the things that Boromir and I could always count upon." Imrahil's voice was soft and reflective, but it still startled Faramir from his reading.

"I apologise uncle; I did not hear you come in." The steward quickly put the book down and made to stand up before Imrahil waved him to sit.

"I did not come here to have a discussion with the steward of Gondor. I came to visit with my nephew, who has been hiding himself from me for several days." Imrahil raised an eyebrow, daring Faramir to deny the truth.

When no denial seemed forthcoming, he sighed and sat down to join the younger man. "Faramir, you and your brother were close but you are not the only one who mourns him. I too feel his loss and wish he was here with us in these moments of peace."

"He never knew that Minas Tirith would survive," Faramir said softly. "He died alone and in despair, his honour gone and his family away from him."

"No." Imrahil stated firmly before moving his chair to face his nephew. "He died knowing his honour was restored by fighting for the Halflings. He died in the arms of his king, aware that his city was going to be held firm by the heir of Isildur. Faramir, you were always in his heart; he died with you in his thoughts."

"He loved me, uncle. We were always together, to the anger of our father but we did not care. It was more important to be with one another than to have the approval of the Steward." Faramir closed his eyes, Imrahil's fingertips lightly brushing his temple.

"Yes, I know how deeply you and Boromir loved each other." Imrahil's tone, more than his words, made Faramir open his eyes and look at him.

"I am not sure as to your meaning, uncle. Of course we loved one another; we were brothers." Faramir said carefully. He was unsure of the certainty he saw in Imrahil's eyes, but it made him wary nonetheless. Very few were aware of the true reality between the Hurin brothers, and those that knew kept it close to themselves telling no others.

Imrahil smiled gently and put his fingers to rest on top of Faramir's hands. "Your brother came to me once, and asked why there were limits to one's love of certain people. I told him that there should not be, and that in dark times many things happen which would not have occurred in happier circumstances. He grew sad at my answer and told me that he would have loved the same, had peace been present at that moment. It was then that I understood his meaning; he was younger at that time but even then he was in love with you. Faramir, I was not happy but only because I thought that he would spend his life trying to replace you with some unfortunate woman. I am glad that you and he... that you both were happy through the war.”

Faramir's hands shook so badly that it was only when his uncle covered them completely and held them that they stayed still. "Did father..." Faramir could not complete the sentence, the words stuck hard in his throat.

"No; I think that he never found out, nor had the suspicion of it. His grief was born from something else, Faramir. Do not blame it upon your brother or yourself." Imrahil said.

Faramir looked at him, the confusion in his eyes making Imrahil wish he had more skill in bringing his nephew out of his self-imposed darkness. "Why? Do you know? Why was he so unhappy? I always understood that I could never be the son he wished, for he had Boromir and that was all he wanted. Perhaps if mother..." Faramir trailed off, realising too late that Imrahil might not wish to discuss the death of his sister with his nephew.

Imrahil closed his eyes; yes if only Finduilas had lived. He blamed himself for that, a secret that he had kept from even his own sons. "Finduilas died from lack of the sea, Faramir. There was nothing she could do short of return permanently to live in Dol Amroth and she could not do that and remain the Steward's wife. If I had known..." Imrahil swallowed before continuing. "If my family had been aware that her need of the sea was so deep we would have suggested your father look elsewhere for a bride."

"Denethor missed her a great deal, Boromir did as well. When we were children, Boromir used to cry when her birthday came and she was not there. Or at least, I believe it was her birthday when he was crying, my memories of those times are hazy." Faramir admitted. He had no clear recollections of Finduilas at all, and those he had were suspect. Boromir had told him so often of his own memories of her that Faramir no longer was sure of whether they were simply ideas his brother had planted in his memories.

A hand on Faramir’s shoulder caused him to look up and see his uncle gazing at him with regret. "There was never enough time for you and your mother. I would not hold it against you if you do not remember her well, for you were so young when she died. I only wish that you had a memory of your own to recall; I take it Boromir consoled you a great deal with memories of his own?"

Faramir's eyes widened at Imrahil's words. Was it true, that Imrahil could indeed look into the hearts of men just as his father could?

"Aye, he told me of the many times when mother would sit outside her window and stare in the direction of the sea. Nothing would make her happy; not even father."

Imrahil glanced away, trying not to recall the time that Denethor had come to him all but demanding that Imrahil take Finduilas and bring her back to Dol Amroth. The new Steward could not rest knowing his wife was miserable, and with his father now dead Denethor had no one to turn to.

"The king made your mother happy; but he left after Lord Ecthelion passed on. Elessar had gone to Gondor to serve under your grandfather, and after the defeat of the corsairs he departed to return to the wilds. They were close friends once, and I had hoped that he and Denethor would become close as well but that was not to be. Looking back I am not surprised. For Denethor, there could only be one Captain of Gondor and it could not be Thorongil when Denethor was still the Heir of Gondor. Your father was ever insecure about his power, I deem."

Faramir stared at him, letting Imrahil's statement settle in. "I...was not aware that my mother and the king knew each other. In what way did he make her happy? I mean, how did they-" Faramir broke his gaze and stared at the floor, unsure of what he was trying to ask.

"Finduilas and Aragorn had a friendship which formed when he served her father in Dol Amroth. When she came to Gondor he fought under the Steward and became good friends with him as well, and so the friendship between your mother and the king continued; though that was all it was. Unlike the situation now, I would guess."

Faramir looked sharply at his uncle and when he saw the raised eyebrow and knowing expression on the prince's face he quickly looked down again. "I am not sure of your meaning," he said softly.

Imrahil snorted and started laughing. "You know quite well my meaning, nephew. You served in the army so do not pretend you do not know what two men may do in the privacy of the night."

Faramir tried to appear innocent but with the continuation of Imrahil's laughter he flushed and looked down. "The king is a married man, uncle. It would not...be appropriate if he took up a lover or dishonoured his marriage vows."

Imrahil reached out and held Faramir's hands, tightening his grip when the young man tried to remove them until his nephew gave up the fight and let them lie there. "The queen understands that there are many types of love in this world, and that humans may only experience a part of it in their lifetime. We're both aware that his majesty desires you; he has ever since he came to Minas Tirith and brought you back from death." Imrahil cleared his throat before continuing. The memory of his nephew lying close to death before him was too painful to recollect.

"You think he would want me like this?" Faramir asked angrily.

"I think that you should do what feels right for you and your king, nephew. If that is to go beyond this self imposed darkness and be happy, then yes. And Faramir;" Imrahil added, squeezing his hands before letting them go, "He does want you. We both know he does. The question before you now is, do you want him?"

Silence answered him, and Imrahil left Faramir to his thoughts. The seed had been planted. Time was needed now to let it grow.

Part four: Discussion

“I spoke to my nephew.” The statement was a good opener to the needed conversation, and Aragorn reacted by setting down his tea, and looking at the prince of Dol Amroth. Seeing that he now had the king’s attention, Imrahil continued. “He’s improving, but I believe what Faramir requires now is one final push into the light. He lingers too much in his shadow of self-doubt.”

Aragorn raised an eyebrow at his friend’s words. “What exactly do you wish, Imrahil?” When the prince appeared to be reluctant to speak, the king became suspicious. “What are you suggesting, your highness?”

“I think it’s time to force Faramir to acknowledge that things are not as horrible as they may seem, and that he may indeed live a good and happy life.” Imrahil answered, not looking away from his liege. He had thought upon this a great deal and was ready for the hard questions that Elessar would ask of him. It was his great surprise then, when the king answered him.

“Then do so; do whatever you deem necessary.”

Imrahil stared at Aragorn disconcerted by the lack of interest. “My lord?”

Aragorn sighed and stood up. “Imrahil, you know Faramir better than I do. You are his family, the only relative that he has left. You talk with him much easier than I and he...” It was Aragorn now who steeled himself against the bitterness of truth. “He allows you to touch him where he shuns me. If you can help him, then by all means do so. At least one of us should be able to do it.” Despite knowing that it was all in Faramir’s mind, there could be no denying the shame Aragorn felt when he knew that as a healer he could not help his closest friend.

“Aragorn; May I be honest with you for a moment? There is something that I need to confide in you.” Imrahil’s voice was almost inaudible, and there was a faint flush of emotion that had entered his cheeks.

Intrigued, the king nodded encouraging him to continue. There was a pause before Imrahil replied, and Aragorn could tell that the prince’s words were costing him dearly.

“There are incidents in war...though it seems to carry on to places of peace as well, of when people begin to have inappropriate feelings. Sometimes those feelings are returned, and a relationship that would not normally be condoned takes place. Though this is quite rare indeed. Other times,” and at this Imrahil took a deep breath and faced Aragorn. “Other times those emotions are entirely one sided and should not be revealed to the other.”

Aragorn sat very still, attempting to make sense of what Imrahil was trying to tell him. “Imrahil, during war many soldiers are without women. Anything that happens in those hard years-”

“You misunderstand me, my liege. It is true many men find comfort among their brothers in the ranks of Gondor’s armies. I was referring to those who find solace among brothers in their own families.”

Silence.

Aragorn looked at Imrahil, and ran the prince’s words over and over in his mind. “It is true that this happens. Yet I do not understand why you speak to me of this.” Though this was untrue; for in the back of his memory something whispered of a time long ago in Lórien when Boromir spoke of his brother and Aragorn could hear the depth of love in his friend’s voice. Even then, he had been aware, if only peripherally of the bond between the two brothers.

“I think, my lord, you know why I speak of this.” Imrahil had a feeling the king did. The expression on his face surely spoke of an understanding. “I would hope that you would look upon those who have done this with compassion. For it is not their fault that their blood is the same; their heart is given to whom it chooses.”

“I understand what you are saying Imrahil, and yes sometimes exceptions should be made. But why are you telling me this now? Boromir is gone; and Faramir has no more...” Aragorn trailed off, suddenly understanding. It was not true, Faramir did have more family; he had Imrahil. A feeling he had not thought existed within him rose up and swallowed his heart in an impulsive anger. Who did Imrahil think he was to ask him this? Especially when he knew of Aragorn’s own feelings concerning the Steward of Gondor. “I hope you are not asking me to turn a blind eye to a crime, Prince of Dol Amroth.”

“I ask of you to let me show Faramir a better way of life.” Imrahil answered, knowing that he was treading on very thin ice at the moment. Asking Aragorn for permission to bed his Steward was asking a great deal indeed.

“One with you in it, I assume?” Aragorn demanded. Jealousy, it was a bitter taste in his mouth but for some reason he simply could not change his tone. Yes, it would be simply wonderful if Faramir and Imrahil lived together without him, Aragorn thought with irony. He had watched the two interact before, and the sight of Imrahil gently placing a hand on the younger man’s back without being slighted was painful at best. Knowing what they would be doing in the Prince’s chambers while Faramir could not bear even a touch from his king would be intolerable.

“No. Not with me; for he does not want me when he has you. Do not assume that simply because I wish to love him, he will love me in such a way.” Imrahil smiled bitterly. “No, not when he blushes at your name and leaves his sadness behind when I speak of you. He will never blush for me, never have a smile in his eyes for me in the same way he does for you.” Imrahil’s words caught in his throat and he looked away, not able to bear the compassion and pity in his king’s eyes. “He loves you, is in love with you.”

“In a way he shall never be with another,” Aragorn said softly. His jealousy faded in view of Imrahil’s soft grief and compassion welled in his heart. “Imrahil, I am sorry that you hold these feelings. I wish I could help you.”

“You already have.” Imrahil said. “I shall go to my nephew now and speak with him. Perhaps tomorrow shall be a start of something new.”

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.

Part Six: Hope’s Arrival

Aragorn wasn’t sure what Imrahil had said to his steward, but whatever it was, it had worked. Faramir seemed to have shed a great deal of weight from off his shoulders, and had been seen to have smiled once or twice.

The king tried not to think about what else Imrahil had done with Faramir, the feeling in his gut telling him that it was unwise to dwell overmuch on the possibilities. When he asked where he could find the Lord Faramir, he was told by one of the pages in the city that the Steward was once again in the library. Typical, Aragorn thought to himself. If anything was going to stay the exact same in this world it would be his love of books.

“Haven’t you read that one before?” He asked, startling the man out of his literature.

Faramir glared up at him for a moment before giving up and smiling slightly at the intrusion.

“You can never read a good book too many times, has no one told you that before?”

“You sound like my foster father, Lord Elrond. He is a great scholar as well. It seemed he could not pass on that love of parchment to me though.” Aragorn wrinkled his nose and laughed at a particular memory. “Once I dropped an entire bottle of ink onto his lap. He had to go change, but I think the ink had set on his skin as well as his robes. I don’t believe he ever tried to make me hold a quill again.”

“I think if I dropped ink on my father, his robes would be the least of my worries.” Faramir replied dryly.

Silence.

As if he had heard what had just been said for the first time, Faramir paled. “I meant...” he stammered before falling silent.

“I know what you meant.” Aragorn said gently.

“The scars...they aren’t that bad, are they.” A statement, not a question. Aragorn found that Faramir even saying that was a giant leap in the right direction.

“No, they are not. It’s a pity I cannot touch you to show you that.” Aragorn mused out loud, wondering if he was making a gigantic mistake in bringing the pair of them to this crossroads. “Well, I mean,” Aragorn tried to explain before falling quiet at the look of amusement in the younger man’s eyes.

“I know what you mean.” Faramir answered quietly and put his hand on the king’s. The two men looked at their hands and then at each other. “I think...” Faramir began, before swallowing and starting again. “I think that perhaps, I haven’t been as open to new...opportunities as I could have been.”

Aragorn covered Faramir’s hand with his own and then stroked it, trying to memorise the feeling of his steward’s skin into his consciousness. “Do you think that now you are more open? Perhaps to new feelings, like this one?” Daring greatly, the king brushed a finger against Faramir’s small scar on the neck.

Faramir froze, thoughts of Imrahil’s warm and heavy hands wandering over his lower back suddenly vivid in his mind. Aragorn’s hands were different, cooler and rougher after longer years of swordsmanship. “It seems that it’s the season for new feelings.” Faramir replied faintly, trying to repress the contradicting emotions that roiled in his stomach.

There was still the feeling of taintedness and the impulse to step back from Aragorn’s intimacy. But there was yet another, one which Imrahil had awoken in him and which Faramir had all but given up on feeling; desire for another person. A desire which, as Aragorn moved his hand slowly down the scarred side of Faramir’s body, was not decreasing in the slightest.

Aragorn went slowly, despite his body’s protestations. He had been delighted when Faramir had become less reclusive, but apparently Imrahil’s headway only went so far. But that was fine, since he decided that the hands of the king could do the rest. “Would you give me your hands?” He asked.

Faramir looked up from where he had been watching Aragorn trace his fingers and blinked at the other man. “My hands?” A nod was his answer, and with a shrug the steward placed his hands in those of his king.

Aragorn held them for a moment, squeezing them affectionately and placing them on his chest. He watched Faramir’s frozen expression as he carefully moved them down his chest to his abdomen before raising them again to his shoulders. “You know that I wish for your touch. Will you give it to me?”

A hesitant nod was his answer.

The touches on both sides were soft, tentative and careful. Faramir took the initiative, and kissed him hard, slipping his tongue into Aragorn’s mouth. Did this tongue touch another man’s? Aragorn couldn’t help but wonder, as he cupped his new lover’s face. Did Faramir sleep with him, or was it merely a discussion that he and Imrahil shared?

The king was jerked from his jealously when Faramir pulled back, standing up and collecting his papers. “Where are you going?” He asked desperately.

“It may have been a long time, but I still know when someone’s mind is on something else when they are with me. If something is distracting you, perhaps you should go deal with it. I have work to do.” Faramir said calmly, his trembling hands betraying his hurt feelings.

“No!” Aragorn shouted, the anger in his voice startling both of them. “I just...don’t leave. I don’t want you to leave. I was thinking of you; and Imrahil. Of the two of you together, and I just...” Aragorn looked down on the floor marvelling how he could have ruined this moment so badly.

It was one of those awkward moments that simply could not dissipate. Neither had anything to say on the matter, and Aragorn could not bring himself to ask what had occurred between the two.

“You are in love with my uncle?” Faramir whispered, stunned beyond all belief.

“Of course not, Faramir. I admire him, respect him, but he is just a friend. He isn’t you. But if you want him, I know that he and you are...” Aragorn paused to search for a word; “that your relationship is very close.”

“I did not realise that when I was with you, we would be talking the entire time about Imrahil. Is there something in particular you want to ask about him?” Faramir said tartly.

“We don’t need to talk, we could do something else.” Anything. Aragorn thought, in a last ditch effort. Anything except Imrahil, Imrahil with his tenderness and intimacy that Aragorn didn’t have with his steward; yet.

“Can we? Or is Imrahil going to be getting in the way again?” Faramir asked tiredly. His next question was cut off when Aragorn walked quickly over to him, cupped the back of his head and began kissing him in earnest.

It was apparently warm in the library since both men decided to rid themselves of boots, tunics and shirts before Faramir gasped out that the door was still unlocked.

“You want to stop?” Aragorn asked incredulously.

“Do you want a page boy to walk in on us?” Faramir retorted, trying to get his senses around the burning feeling left by the king’s hands on his scars. The burning wasn’t painful now, simply hot; hotter than he had thought his skin could ever be.

He watched Aragorn jog over to the door, place a chair under the doorknob and then come back to him. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve done this with a man; done everything.” Faramir added, to make sure his lover knew what he wanted. Imrahil had opened the door, but Aragorn was the one to see him through it, of this Faramir was very certain.

Aragorn caught his gaze, and then nodded. Gentleness, it was not even a question now. He rained soft kisses on Faramir’s neck and shoulders, before backing the steward against a desk. “Well that is good, for I’ve been wanting to do this for a very long time. You know what to do?” Aragorn asked needlessly.

A smile was his only answer as Faramir reached for the ties of his breeches.




They lay together afterwards on the floor, breathing in the smell of sex and sweat in the air. Their joining hadn’t been very romantic, nor was it smooth as either had wished. Faramir had frozen or become anxious as the scars became an issue for him each time Aragorn had touched him. Aragorn had become nervous he wasn’t helping, or was even hurting Faramir whenever he had tried to help.

But still; it was done and both men were happy it had happened. Faramir turned his head and grinned at Aragorn, something he would never have done two weeks ago.

“I’m going to say this once, and then I won’t bring it up again.” Aragorn said, staring at the ceiling.

Faramir propped himself on his elbow and stared at his king. “Let me guess; Imrahil.”

Aragorn nodded. “Imrahil. Faramir, I know you and he are close and that you don’t want to give him up. I can’t blame you for that, and he was the one that brought you out of the darkness.” And all I did was love you, Aragorn thought bitterly. I wonder which one of us loved you first, Faramir. Though in my defence I spoke of it to you long before he did.

“If I must give up his love for you,” Faramir began only to be interrupted by his king.

“You don’t; have to give him up I mean. I won’t force you to choose.” Aragorn stated. I don’t want to know which of us you would pick. “I...you know of my feelings. You know what I want of you. If you would be with me, I will be willing to share.”

Faramir stared at Aragorn, before nodding once. Then he rose, kissed the older man on the mouth and gathered his clothes before leaving.

Part Seven: Agreements

Imrahil watched Aragorn walk towards him, making no move to get up or avoid his King. He had let Faramir go to his lover, and now the lover was coming to break it off between Imrahil and his nephew. He had known this would happen, but it did not make it any less pleasant.

The two men stared at each other before Imrahil stood and took a step towards the doorway to the garden. “I do not believe this is the place to have this particular conversation. The garden perhaps?”

Aragorn nodded, and the two left the foyer where servants continued on with their chores.

“You want me to leave him; I accept that. I only hope that you do not hold against me what I have done, Aragorn. It truly was for the best, I believe.” Imrahil said the words softly, wondering at the pain in his heart. Despite knowing the actions eventual conclusion he found he still wasn’t prepared to give up his nephew.

“Faramir...Imrahil, Faramir has endured enough in his life. I will not make him choose and force him through more grief. He wants you to stay.”

Imrahil nodded. “But do you? If you resent my presence he will percieve it.” He smiled for a moment. “It runs in the family, I fear.”

“When I first considered taking Faramir as my lover, I must admit having you in bed with us was not something that came to mind. But now...if it is what Faramir needs, then I will put aside my own needs for his.”

“No.” Imrahil said, halting his walk on the grass. “That is not good enough. I will not stay in a relationship that belongs to other people. Faramir may want it, but I have too much respect for myself to do that.”

Aragorn bristled at the idea of Imrahil leaving Faramir in such a vulnerable state. “I had not realised that you cared more for yourself than for your nephew.”

“I don’t.” Imrahil growled. “But neither will I pretend to be his mistress and hide in the closet while you and he make love.”

Aragorn turned away, before sighing and facing Imrahil again. “This gets us no closer to a solution then before we came here. I cannot have a relationship with him when his thoughts might drift to you.”

“And I will not be his dirty secret to come to when you are unavailable. I will not be his ‘second choice’.”

The two men stared at each other before Imrahil quirked a smile.

“What amuses you, Imrahil?” Aragorn asked.

“We are bickering over a man who three weeks ago could not bear the touch of another. And now we fight over who may possess him in bed. If only we could both...” Imrahil trailed off, a thoughtful look on his face. “Humour me a moment.”

Tentatively, Imrahil moved towards his King and cupped the man’s face in his hand. “Perhaps,” he said softly, “we could love Faramir together?”

Aragorn stared at the Prince of Dol Amroth, the action astounding him more than the underlying proposal. Together, could they do such a thing? But what was stopping them anyway, it was hardly as if there were rules of love written down somewhere. The King nodded uncertainly, then with greater emphasis the longer he thought about such an idea.

“I would be honoured to have you as a lover, Imrahil. Would you accept me as such?” Aragorn asked, needing to have the words spoken out loud. Misunderstandings could not take place with such tenuous circumstances existing.

Imrahil smiled before throwing his head back and laughing. “I would hardly call bedding you a hardship Aragorn; and I am sure Faramir would agree with me. Something tells me we will have a very good future together. The three of us.”

Aragorn smiled, and pressed their foreheads together. “Yes, the three of us. I like the sound of that.”




Faramir gaped at Aragorn and sat down heavily on the bed. “You want to what?” He asked incredulously looking first at his King and then at his uncle who sat beside him. “Both of you have agreed to this? Are you certain?”

Imrahil smiled at Faramir, resting his hand upon his nephew’s shoulder, carefully squeezing before tugging him into a one armed hug. “Yes, Aragorn and I have discussed this between us. The question is, Faramir, would you agree to this as well? It requires, well, a certain amount of compromise.”

“I did not expect...this.” Faramir said, staring at Aragorn while holding tightly to his uncle’s hand. “I am not sure what I was expecting at all, to be quite honest. I want to be with Aragorn, Imrahil. And...” Faramir leaned over kissed Imrahil behind the ear. “I suppose I am being greedy, refusing to give you up? I never meant to force you into this scenario.”

Aragorn smiled and sat on the other side of his steward. “You did not force him, either of us. We are both adults Faramir, and we have made our choices. We have chosen you. The question is do you accept those choices?”

Faramir smiled and kissed Aragorn soundly on the mouth before turning to Imrahil and pushing his Uncle back on the bed. “Shall I show you my answer?”

Part Eight: Living

Imrahil was joined by his liege lord on the balcony, as both men watched the Prince of Ithilien ride in with his bodyguards. The silence between the two was companiable, though there was a certain tension between them as if they were both daring the other to break the quiet.

“He is definitely happier,” Imrahil murmured, watching Beregond reach out and clap Faramir on the shoulder. The Prince stiffened for a moment, before smiling and returning the gesture. “He has a way to go still though.”

Aragorn only nodded.

“There was a letter from Éowyn,” Aragorn said. Imrahil turned away from watching his nephew, and looked hard at the king.

“And?” Imrahil asked.

“He tore it up; He didn’t read it, when I saw it in the fireplace the seal was still melting.”

Imrahil and Aragorn both smiled.

“Faramir will be in his rooms by now, the ostler stables his horse for him.” Imrahil noted.

“Indeed.” Aragorn said, nodding innocently. “I suppose it would only be polite if we went and said hello to him.”

“Very polite,” Imrahil agreed.

They left together, and after a moment of hesitation Imrahil put his hand on the king’s lower back.

The scars would be with Faramir for a long time, but they would fade. Imrahil and Aragorn had already decided they themselves would be the permanent ones in their lover’s life.

End.

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