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23 September 2012 | 36179 words
Title: Feather and Fur
Pairing: Aragorn / Faramir
Warnings: Slash, fluff
Disclaimer: All characters and places are Tolkien’s.
Author’s Notes: Written for the ‘Birthday’ prompt for the 25fluffyfics community.
Many thanks toiris for her help!
Summary: Faramir’s birthday…
Aragorn pursed his lips worriedly. He’d looked all over the citadel for Faramir and had been unable to find him. The younger man had not joined in at lunch. It was nearing evening now. He stopped at the entrance to a small sunken, overgrown garden
Faramir sat on a broken down stone wall, staring ahead dully. He walked quietly up to him. The younger man glanced sideways at him and bit his lip.
“We missed you at lunch,” Aragorn said quietly and sat on the wall next to him.
“Forgive me,” Faramir murmured, “I forgot to send a message.”
“Will you tell me what ails you?” Aragorn asked him quietly.
Faramir started at that and began to shake his head.
The younger man sighed and showed the king the item he held in his hands. It was wrapped in thick cloth. He opened it to display an extremely beautiful set of quills.
“These look quite perfect,” he said.
“They are. They’re made by a family in a small village in Lebennin. It takes them months to prepare these quills. They have a special recipe for curing them, that makes them last longer. I received them today.”
“They were ordered months ago,” Faramir sighed, “By father. For me.”
Aragorn placed a hand on his shoulder gently.
Faramir continued tiredly, “He wasn’t one for gifts or celebrations but we tried… Boromir and I, and he would join sometimes…” he broke off uncertainly, and looked away.
“He knew I liked these,” he said softly, his voice strained.
Aragorn moved closer to him.
“He was a good man,” Faramir mumbled.
“Aye. He was most keen witted, and decisive.”
“Perhaps not the best of fathers. But… that is not an uncommon failing in difficult times, is it?”
“No, perhaps not,” Aragorn said heavily, thinking back to the many Northern rangers who spent their lives wandering through the land, leaving their sons to be risen by the womenfolk.
He sat on the wall next to Faramir.
“I miss them,” the words came out very quietly.
Aragorn held him close.
“Whatever is Faramir doing?” Gandalf grumbled, as Aragorn joined him in the terrace overlooking the citadel gardens, “Why did you have to give him a puppy? Couldn’t you just give him a new horse or a new bow or quills or something useful? Books, perhaps!”
“He’s teaching his dog to fetch. And I did give him books as well. Éomer sent him a new horse last winter, Elrohir gave him a new bow he made himself, and he has a new set of quills.” Aragorn said calmly, watching the usually composed Faramir run into a bush in the gardens below, followed by Pippin and then Merry. The leader of their antics, a small white and brown puppy, dashed around the bush, wagging its tail furiously, letting out a series of very loud yaps.
“Most people would have bought a good, well-behaved, well-trained hunting hound!” Gandalf said again, as the hobbits added to the clamour.
“He liked this one,” Aragorn said, shrugging, “His name is Huan.”
“The dog’s I meant,” he added in helpfully.
Gandalf snorted, “I can’t imagine what you were thinking!” he said grumpily as a chorus of squeals and laughter drifted up. “That infernal animal makes Faramir act half his age! Or maybe even half Pippin’s age!”
A series of muffled squeals sounded out from below. And then a small red ball flew all the way up from the gardens, past Gandalf and Aragorn, hitting one of the pillars in the terrace. A rush of giggles sounded out below.
Gandalf scowled as he picked up the pipe he had dropped. And then he rose, “I’m going to have a word with Faramir. That’s enough fooling around from him.”
“I thought,” Aragorn said very slowly, picking up the ball, “Faramir would have received enough bows and swords and horses each year. I thought on this birthday, he needed something that did not demand he live up to another’s ideal of how he should be. And I thought he of all people need not be asked to act his age.”
Gandalf tapped at his pipe slowly, sighed and sat down. Aragorn tossed the ball down towards the bush Merry had disappeared into.
“Oh, and that I like it greatly when he smiles.”
Gandalf snorted again, but he was smiling as he took a puff at his pipe. A fresh set of happy yells sounded out below.
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The following people read the story, enjoyed it, and would like to thank the author: Mel