05 August 2006 | 568 words
Author’s Notes: Faramir cannot sleep.
Moonlight spilled through the open window in Faramir’s bedroom, but he couldn’t sleep.
Aragorn was in Ithilien, leaving Faramir in charge of daily affairs in his stead, as well as leaving their bed terribly empty.
Faramir rolled on his side, trying to find a comfortable position. It was difficult when he was used to being held in Aragorn’s arms.
Sighing, he pressed his face into Aragorn’s pillow and inhaled.
His scent flooded through him; the rich aromas of pine, athelas and parchment, overlaid with some deep, comforting tang that was undeniably Aragorn.
Surrounded by Aragorn’s presence, Faramir slipped into dreams.
Author’s Notes: Faramir and Aragorn talk about Denethor.
“Faramir, what happened between you and your father?”
“Nothing. Well, he was my father. Nothing at all. Why do you ask?”
“In the night, sometimes when you have evil dreams, you scream for him to stop.”
“Yes. You do.”
“We didn’t get on. I’m too much like my mother. He screamed at me often. It’s in the past though.”
“What did he say to you?”
“That I was weak. I was worthless. I was a shame to my ancestors. I can remember the anger in his voice. So furious and hating. I never knew why he hated me.”
Author’s Notes: Aragorn is a man of few words, but Faramir has learned to speak his language.
Faramir knew from the beginning that Aragorn was not a man of many words. He was a man who felt deeply; but he did not easily show those emotions.
What Faramir came to realize was that what Aragorn could not find the words to say, he found other ways to show.
Especially in his love.
Words that were rarely spoken were show every day.
A brief kiss in the early morning.
His hand caressing when they passed.
The feel of his smile on bare skin in the nights.
For Faramir, it was what Aragorn didn’t say that strengthened his love.
Author’s Notes: Faramir learns something from a kiss.
Faramir woke leisurely, slowly swimming up from dreams with warm morning sunlight dappled across his face.
He gradually realized that a warm, calloused hand was tracing slow circles around his navel.
“That tickles.” Faramir murmured.
Aragorn half smiled at him, then leaned over and kissed him, slow and sweet. It was warm and sweet, more than perfect.
“Cinnamon.” Aragorn said contemplatively, leaning on his elbow.
“What?” Faramir said, cocking his head.
“You taste like cinnamon.” Aragorn answered, gently trailing his thumb along the smooth skin of Faramir’s mouth. “Cinnamon and something else.”
Faramir chuckled and Aragorn kissed him sweetly again.
Author’s Notes: Faramir cannot see with his eyes, but he is not blind.
It was such a little thing, a skirmish, no more.
Faramir was a capable warrior. He could handle himself. But an axe blow to the back of the head was enough to fell any man.
He recovered. His sight did not.
He and Aragorn sat in silence after the Healer told him.
“I will never see you again.”
Aragorn took his hands and gently lain them on his face.
Tentatively Faramir pressed his fingers along the familiar contours of Aragorn’s face.
The ridges of his cheeks. The knife edge of his nose. The softness of his skin.
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