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The Ritual (NC-17) Print

Written by Valkyrie

22 April 2004 | 36281 words

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Title: Apologies and Confessions (Part 6/9)
Series: THE RITUAL
Author: Valkyrie (email)
Pairings: Aragorn/Faramir, Aragorn/Arwen (implied)
Rating: NC17
Archive: yes, but let know where
Warnings: male/male relationship
Summary: After a storm, calm.
Authors’ note: this is AU. Some things are loyal to Tolkien’s story; I have changed some events and invented all the rest. If you like to read things canon, this is not a story for you.
Feedback: kind words will be welcome and constructive criticism as well.
Disclaimer: The characters are property of J.R.R. Tolkien. I have not and will not receive any money for this story. It is free for all to read.

Beta Reader original version: Minx
Beta Reader revised version: Chris
What would I have done without you guys? All remaining mistakes are mine.


PART SIX – Apologies and Confessions

On the way to his office, he thought about how he would apologize to the young man and if Faramir would accept his apologies in return. When he arrived at the office, a guard opened the door for him announcing that Faramir was already waiting for him. Aragorn took a deep breath and entered the room only to be left rooted to the spot.

There he was, beside his desk, the Steward of Gondor, as he had never seen him before. The young man he knew until now was nowhere to be seen. In his stead, was this man with a hard stare, covered all over in Orc blood. His sweet Faramir was gone and he realized he wanted this Faramir as much as the other one. A sudden rush of blood went to inconvenient parts of his body; lust clouded his senses but he restrained himself out of sheer willpower. Certainly, this was not the moment to be aroused no matter how much his body thought otherwise.

“Does the King want me to give him a report?” asked Faramir, bowing his head stiffly.

Aragorn had been willing to apologize, to plead with the young man if it was necessary but Faramir’s words, spoken in such a way, inflamed an anger he did not know he possessed. “You disobeyed my orders,” he said, with a restrained voice.

“If the King remembers, he did not talk to me at all. He gave the order to a third party,” answered the Steward with controlled rage.

“If you are not aware of that already, let me remind you that you are still recovering from your injury. You put your life in unnecessary danger today… and stop addressing me in third person. You know well I asked of you to call me by name,” said Aragorn, his voice changing in volume with each statement.

Faramir on the other hand kept his voice quiet, colder than ice and more impressive than any shout would be. “I can take care of myself very well, Sire, I have been doing so all my life,” he said, ignoring Aragorn’s petition to call him by name, keeping the impersonal stance.

“But it seems that you are still learning to do what is expected of you,” said Aragorn and regretted his words the moment they came out of his mouth. He felt as though he was a spectator of his own actions. He wanted to stop this argument, he was cornering Faramir. He knew he was being unfair, that it was his fear of losing him which spoke through him. Nonetheless, he could not stop himself. This was the last straw for Faramir. He felt something give deep inside, the dull pain in his shoulder increased to higher levels.

Orders.

That was all that was expected of him. To follow orders without question. To comply with everyone’s whims. He could not keep going on like this. He would not. Just for an instant he wondered how one could pass from total happiness to total despair.

“I am a loyal servant of Gondor, you did not give me that order but went behind my back and put me to shame in front of my men. You treated me as one would treat an infant who is fixed in a caprice and had to be sidestepped in order not to hurt his feelings,” shouted Faramir, taking two steps forward, enraged beyond any capability of returning to his senses. Titles forgotten, all forgotten; all that mattered was that he would not endure being ignored anymore.

Aragorn was speechless. Faramir was unrecognizable. He could see he had pushed the young man too far. He had let his feelings rule him.

“I will not be an ornamental Steward. I will not be a thing to move this way and that for I prefer to die to living that way, to be dishonoured.”

Aragorn grew alarmed at the mention of death and he knew then that if he wanted to straighten out this situation, it would not be easy. It seemed he would be reduced to pleading after all, and right now, he really did not care. All his anger was gone, and he realized it had been unfounded. Faramir was right about everything. “Faramir—,” Aragorn started to say but the Steward did not let him continue.

“Or maybe you thought I would be your whore, to do with me as you please, to order me around as you want,” Faramir lowered the volume of his voice and advanced two more steps.

“NO! Faramir, listen to me—” tried Aragorn once more without success.

“I know very well I have to submit to you in the Ritual Ceremony. I know you will… use me, but that does not mean you could do it again after all is over or that I would allow you to push me around.” Faramir made a pause.

Aragorn could see there was a crack in the hard facade and he took the opportunity without delay. He cut the distance between them and took the young man in his arms, hugging him tight. “Forgive me, forgive me, please, I was blinded by my worry for you and then by my anger and fear of losing you to my own stupidity. Can you find it in yourself to forgive me? I will do anything you ask of me,” pleaded Aragorn, hugging the young man tighter for Faramir was trying to break from the embrace.

>From the start, Faramir’s anger had fuelled his fighting stance. He had kept himself away from Aragorn for he knew any contact with the King would appease him. He did not want to listen to for he knew the words would weaken him and he did not want to yield in this matter. Now, all was lost in an instant, with a touch, with a gesture and a few words all his anger was gone. He knew, nonetheless, he had been right to get angry because the treatment he had been subjected to had been unfair. Now, hearing Aragorn’s reasons, he faltered, though he did not fall altogether.

“My father insulted me, he mocked me and demeaned me, every chance he got,” Faramir whispered, stopping fighting off Aragorn’s embrace but still not returning it. “I grew up accustomed to his apathy. I expected it from him,” he continued, “but I did not expect anything of the like from you.” He felt his reserve had reached its limit. The wound on his shoulder seemed to come to life. He felt exhausted beyond endurance now that his anger was gone, along with his energy.

Aragorn let go of Faramir and gripped him by his arms. “Please, do not compare me with your father, ever. I acted out of fear and eagerness to protect you. I realize now, I acted wrong, and though my intention meant no harm, I did hurt you. I only hope you can forgive me for my foolishness and be patient with me in the future for I tend to be a little overprotective of the ones I love.” Aragorn waited for Faramir’s response, be it forgiveness or scorn.

The ones I love, this was the only thing that remained in Faramir’s mind after all that Aragorn had said. Little by little, warmth was returning to his body. This, he could understand, for every time Boromir went into battle, he had feared for his brother. And when fighting together, they assured themselves to take care of each other’s back. Yes, Faramir thought, this he could understand. And forgive. He looked at Aragorn and saw sincerity in his face.

Faramir tried to say something but found out he could not. He felt suddenly very weak and he would have collapsed if Aragorn were not holding him. He tried to raise his arms to hold onto Aragorn’s but it seemed his body could not respond to his commands. He saw Aragorn’s mouth moving as though saying something to him but he did not hear him, he tried to listen but he could not.

Aragorn’s fear of Faramir’s rejection turned into deep concern when the young man’s body faltered in his hands. He tried to gain Faramir’s attention but the Steward only looked at him, a dazed expression on his face. And suddenly, the young man went limp, his body collapsing against his chest.

“FARAMIR!” Aragorn did not lose any time and lifted Faramir in his arms, calling to the guard outside to open the door for him. This time he was grateful for the constant and annoying guard posted everywhere he went.

“Is healer Varan at the houses of healing?” asked Aragorn.

“No, Sire, healer Ranya is the one attending the wounded,” answered the guard.

“Find Varan, tell him to go to Faramir’s rooms at once!” After giving the guard the order, he headed toward the young man’s chambers.

Aragorn entered Faramir’s rooms with the young man in his arms for the second time in less than a week. He placed the Steward of Gondor on his bed, his blood covered form in stark contrast to the white linen sheets. Faramir still wore his armour, his entire form covered in Orc blood and what might be his men’s. Aragorn started to take off the bloodied items to be able to assess Faramir’s condition. Beregond had said that Faramir was unharmed. Why this breakdown then? After taking off the last of Faramir’s clothes, he looked for something he could use to clean the vile mess off the young man’s body but in the end he decided to use Faramir’s shirt. He ripped the fabric, wetting it in the water from a basin he found ready in the young man’s rooms. He sat on the edge of the bed beside Faramir’s unconscious form for his task.

Aragorn’s thoughts filled with guilt for he, surely, had great responsibility in what had happened. Faramir could have died in the field. He could have died thinking he, Aragorn, did not care about him, that all he had said was a lie.

He finished cleaning Faramir’s body as best he could and found no physical reason for the young man’s collapse. He was miraculously without a scratch, and it seemed the reason for his breakdown was mere exhaustion. He placed his hand on the young man’s forehead and focussed his mind on Faramir. He recognized the young man was sleeping. He wanted Varan to check on him anyway, because certainly the wound Faramir had received at the hands of the Nazgûl played a part in this as well… Convinced now that the young man was not in imminent danger, he let his thoughts go astray.

Aragorn watched Faramir’s body and found the young man had a beautiful figure. He did not have a heavy complexion, his figure was rather slim, every muscle marked just the perfect amount. His skin was very fair, it was perfect except for a few scars marring the beauty of it. This was a testament to Faramir’s abilities as a warrior. Being in battles nearly all his life his body was almost unmarked. He put his hand on Faramir’s chest. He could feel the even rise and fall of Faramir’s breathing all the way through his arm. He slid his hand downward and finally halted on Faramir’s hip. Aragorn closed his eyes and slowly withdrew his hand, restraining himself with the power of his will. He was certainly lost. He wrapped the sheets around the young man’s body before testing his own limits further. A knock on the door startled him and he went to open it.

“Varan, you took your time,” said Aragorn, making room for the healer to enter.

“Sire,” said Varan, bowing his head. “I detoured to the houses of healing to bring what I thought I would need,” he continued, his tone of voice revealing his discontent at finding Faramir in such a state. “What happened Sire?”

“He went with the patrol this morning… No, yesterday morning,” corrected Aragorn realizing it was already past midnight,” he arrived an hour or so ago. We were at my office and… we had an argument. He was well and suddenly he just collapsed.”

Varan went to the bed and took some minutes to assess Faramir’s state. He then turn around and asked the King. “Why did you not take him to the houses of healing?”

“There are wounded soldiers from yesterday’s patrol. The patrol encountered Orcs on the way, and one of the men died in the fight. I did not want him to be there taking into account his emotional state,” answered Aragorn.

“Emotional state?” asked Varan. “What emotional state is that?” The healer had a very good idea of what had happened but he could not help but take the opportunity to bother the King. Faramir did not need someone else taking the role of the young man’s dead father. He had suffered enough.

“As I said, we had an argument,” answered Aragorn defensively. “Have you finished?” he added, eager to get rid of the impertinent healer.

“Yes, Sire, just let him have his rest. No more arguments,” said the healer, bowed and left the room.

Aragorn approached the bed once more and found deep grey eyes staring right at him. He drew near and very slowly sat on the bed. “How are you feeling?” he asked softly.

“Tired,” came the quiet reply. “I am sorry,” said Faramir after some moments.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Faramir. The blame falls all on me,” said Aragorn, reaching out to take Faramir’s right hand between both of his; he then lifted it to his lips and kissed it tenderly before placing it against his own heart.

Faramir closed his eyes; he was beginning to feel the full force of what he had dared to do. “I said awful things, unforgivable things—”

“You were right to voice them, I was not thinking straight. I should have spoken with you instead I went behind your back and almost lost you because of it. Nevertheless, you have to admit it was wrong to leave like you did; you are not recovered yet.”

Faramir opened his eyes and averting his gaze, hastily retrieved his hand. “I am not a child in need of protection. I am a warrior and I have gone to battle in worst conditions that I am now. Or was it all a lie? And you think me weak; incapable of handling a few orcs?” Fixing defiant eyes on Aragorn, he waited for a reply that would alleviate the growing turmoil he felt inside.

“Ah, but you are a stubborn!” said Aragorn jumping to his feet and trying desperately to reign in his temper. He walked to the window to give himself to school his features in a semblance of calm he was not feeling at the moment. He considered Faramir’s words and had to admit to himself the blame fell on his own shoulders. He could not go about praising Faramir’s braveness and wordiness and then step on his own words with rushed actions; even if those actions were borne out of love. It was going to require some getting used to but he had to come to terms with the fact Faramir was a warrior and as such he would be in danger’s path often. He was not a good follower of rules and caution himself. Like him, Faramir too was a ranger, used to the hardiness of the wild. He could not expect the young man to keep a quiet and out of danger life because it would ease be easier to think him safe.

“I see you have to think hard to give me an answer,” said Faramir, his rage rising once more. He had believed everything Aragorn has said about him being worthy. He had dared to believe that at last life could be different. But every passing moment he doubted this could be. His heart was still clinging to hope but feeling number with every minute Aragorn delayed his answer. This time, though, he will be no one’s puppet. Exile would be preferable.

Aragorn turned around to face the rebellious stare. The sight of Faramir in armour and covered in blood came to his mind, heating his body in inconvenient places once more. “I will never lie to you, Faramir. I admit my folly in trying to protect you. I can only say in my favour that I have never been in this position before; I have never been this close to a fellow warrior or at least, not close enough to care for him and go to such length to protect him.”

Faramir’s expression changed so quick from mutinous to surprise that it was almost funny. He was not used to these declarations of affection either and this particular one certainly deflated his anger effectively. He felt tongue-tied.

As a good hunter, Aragorn saw his chance and pursued it. “You can be sure I would never hurt lie to you or try to manipulate your feelings. It is not my nature to deceive. All that I have said to you I believe without doubt. I think you a very capable warrior and as such I would trust you with my life. Do not have to second guess yourself ever again.” He approached the bed and sat on it again, confident he was not going to be rejected, if the warm expression in Faramir’s face was some indication.

“You certainly have the power to leave me witless, that I give you,” said Faramir, letting his hand be captured in Aragorn’s once more.

“You are certainly beautiful in your rage. When I saw you standing there in the middle of my office, your stare hard and fierce, and your figure all covered in blood, I desired you,” said Aragorn, squeezing Faramir’s hand tight against his chest.

Faramir looked at Aragorn wide-eyed and speechless. He felt grateful for being already in bed for he was sure his knees would not hold him straight if he were on his feet. Suddenly he noticed his naked state under the sheets and blushed deep red in embarrassment for he saw, too, that he was cleaner. “Who… Who,” he started to ask feeling very uncomfortable.

Aragorn knew immediately what the young man was trying to ask and could not help but tease him a little. “I carried you here and cleaned you myself, though you still need a bath. I would help you with that but I am afraid temptation would be too great. Your body is a feast to my eyes, my dear Steward,” finished Aragorn, taking delight in Faramir’s increasing embarrassment.

“Please, Aragorn, you do not have to say such things,” said Faramir, trying to overcome his shamefulness.

“Oh, but you deserve the praises.” Aragorn kept teasing, “I will leave you to your rest now. Sleep, we will talk later.” He placed a kiss on the young man’s forehead and left the room.

Faramir thought he would be unable to find sleep, but his body had other ideas and he soon drifted off into his much-needed rest.


Faramir woke well past midday. He felt rested but his stomach protested at being neglected. The Steward rose and took a bath. After having a good meal he went to the houses of healing to inquire about the state of health of the wounded in yesterday’s patrol.

He entered the houses of healing and saw Aragorn talking to Varan. He unconsciously slowed his pace. “My King,” he bowed respectfully.

“Faramir,” nodded Aragorn in return.

Varan stared suspiciously at both of them.

“Thanks, Varan,” said Aragorn dismissing the healer, “Faramir, after you finish here, please join me in my office.” He then exited the houses of healing leaving a worried Steward behind.

Faramir put Aragorn out of his mind and focussed on the task at hand. He talked with Varan about the situation of the wounded and thankfully all were out of danger. He then spoke with each one of his men tarrying more than it was necessary. Finally, there was nothing left to do and Faramir’s thoughts went back to Aragorn. Every word he had said last night came all too clear back to his mind. His pulse started racing and it felt as though his heart would come out of his chest

“He was beyond himself with worry, I’ll have you know,” said Varan to Faramir, startling him. “Do not worry so, anything you would have said, he deserved it,” and with that, Varan left him.

Faramir went straight to the King’s office. On his arrival the guard opened the door for him without announcing him. Aragorn sat behind the desk, checking some papers. He saw that the Ritual Book was on the desk and tried to remember if it had been there when they were talking last night.

“Take a seat, Faramir, I will be with you in a moment,” said Aragorn, signalling to one of the two chairs in front of his desk.

Faramir fidgeted in his chair, waiting for Aragorn to finish writing some notes on a paper. He certainly felt he had been within his rights to do what he did and despite the nervousness he felt now; he would not go back on his words.

“Well, I am finished here.” Aragorn put the papers aside and came around the desk to sit in the chair beside Faramir, moving it so that he was facing the young man. “Sorry to make you wait, someone will come for that letter later.”

Faramir nodded, unconsciously straightening himself within the chair. “Sire?” he asked finally, opting to wait and see what Aragorn had to say and then rolling his eyes at his mistake. “Sorry, sometimes I forget…” He started to explain his lapse in not addressing Aragorn by his name once more but stopped at seeing his king’s mirth.

“You are hopeless, my dear steward, but I forgive you this time,” said Aragorn and then school his features. “Now, I called you here because I wanted to tell you something and I do not want you to interrupt me until I am finished,” Aragorn waited for Faramir’s consent.

Faramir nodded, looking at Aragorn’s beautiful grey eyes. He would concentrate on the soothing colour, for whatever Aragorn had in store for him.

“I am aware that it must be very difficult for you to submit to me in the way the Ritual requires. I would spare you that if I could, but as you well know, both of us are bound to do this. You, because it would be your death and I, because certainly, I do not want to lose you,” said Aragorn.

Faramir’s heart was pounding so hard he was afraid Aragorn might hear it.

“I want to make something clear,” continued Aragorn, “You, under any case are obliged to do something you do not want to do. I will never force you to do anything you do not want. If, after the Ritual, you do not want to lie with me again, then you will not have to,” Aragorn did not miss Faramir’s pleading gaze. He knew the young man wanted to say something but he wanted to finish his speech first.

“You have the right to protest when you deem it necessary. You are not my slave to comply with every order without complaint. You are entitled to give me your opinion, to disagree. What happened last night I deserved it and when I am done with what I am saying, I do not want to hear a sole apology, or regret. We are only discussing here the future, what would happen after the Ritual.

“I want you to consider what I am going to tell you. I do not want you to feel obliged by it. If you do not feel the same or something of the like, you can say no. Do you understand this, Faramir?” asked Aragorn. He bent forward and pried Faramir’s hands from their grip around the chair’s arms, holding them between his hands. He waited for the young man’s reply.

Faramir nodded once more.

“Yesterday’s events dissipated all doubts I had about my feelings toward you. I wanted to ride after the patrol. I guess I would have done that if Arwen had not convinced me of the contrary. She certainly pulled my ear yesterday,” said Aragorn chuckling. He saw that he now had Faramir’s undivided attention. It seemed the young man expected something different and of more sinister nature.

“I was worried beyond endurance, the possibility of losing you crushing my heart. I do not know when it happened but I love you, Faramir, and I want to pursue more than friendship with you. I want more of you after the Ritual, if you agree; and know that, if you want to pursue another interest I will not be in your way. You have the right to build a family on your own as well. I only ask that you gift me with some of your love. Will you?” finished Aragorn, looking at Faramir’s hands.

Faramir was speechless. Of all the things, he had not expected this. He loved the King. He loved him from the moment Aragorn saved him. It was not out of gratitude. He did not know how to explain it but something had connected between the two of them. It was as though it were meant to be.

He retrieved one of his hands and ran it through a strand of Aragorn’s black silky hair, marvelling at how soft it was. His hand soon found Aragorn’s face, and the King leaned into the touch. “I have loved you from the beginning. I felt your soul and it was as if it caressed mine. I lost myself to you without having even seen you. I agree to this proposal for I would be lost without you,” answered Faramir.

Aragorn raised them both from the chairs and embraced Faramir tenderly. He smelled the fresh fragrance on Faramir’s hair, remembering that few hours ago the beautiful strands were matted with the enemy’s blood, and he took a deep breath to dispel the memory of it. He brushed the strands out of Faramir’s neck and placed a gentle kiss there. Then he took Faramir’s head between his hands and kissed him deeply until they were both breathless. Finally, they remained forehead against forehead, savouring each other’s closeness.

They spent the rest of the day together and in the evening, they had another wonderful dinner. The next day though they barely saw each other because more guests for Aragorn’s crowning ceremony arrived. Faramir spent almost all day between Galen, seeing to the ultimate details, and the guard, taking care of security. He wanted to be sure every detail was covered for the next day he would be cloistered until the Ritual Ceremony.

When Faramir got to his rooms late in the evening, he was exhausted. But despite his exhaustion, he could not sleep. He kept thinking about the event that would take place the next day. He thought that by this same hour the Ritual would have taken place. He chastised himself for being such a fool. He did not fear death. It was not the reason for his worries. He did not fear pain for he was accustomed to it, he had learned to ride it, to endure it. So far, he had admitted to Aragorn that he feared the act itself.

Yes, though he loved Aragorn and trusted him with his life, he felt uncomfortable thinking about the intimacy of the act; nobody had touched him the way Aragorn would be touching him, nobody had seen him as vulnerable as Aragorn would see him. He had lain with women and of course, he had been the one in control. He knew of the basic procedure for two men to have sexual intercourse and though he felt attracted to Aragorn beyond any doubt, he still could not reconcile these feelings with the thought of him being the one in submission.

Faramir felt his heart pounding anew. He had accomplished very well scaring himself senseless now. A soft knock on the door startled him; he got out of bed and opened the door. And there it was the object of all his happiness and fears for the moment.

“Can I enter?” asked Aragorn.

Faramir nodded and Aragorn walked into the room. Faramir closed the door and before he had time to turn around, he felt Aragorn embracing him from behind.

“I love you, never doubt that, never,” said Aragorn, his tone desperate.

“Has something happened?” Faramir asked worried, placing his hands over Aragorn’s forearms and leaning into the embrace.

“No, I just wanted to see how you were,” answered Aragorn, “I gather you have sleeping problems tonight?”

“You know me too well, my King,” answered Faramir.

He had noticed over the last two days that Faramir almost always called him by name. But when they were alone as now, sharing their intimacy, Faramir reverted to the King word. He uttered the title in such a way it seemed to be an invitation to forbidden and wicked things. For that reason, he stopped asking Faramir to call him by his name. He could see Faramir having his way with him solely mentioning those words in the way Faramir had unconsciously perfected in so little time. He guided the young man to his bed, tucked him in and then sat on the border of the bed.

“I am no child, you know?” stated Faramir.

Oh Valar, Aragorn thought, is that a pout? Does he even realize what he is doing and the power he holds doing it? He was utterly lost.

“I know you are not,” answered Aragorn with a wicked smile, “I have seen you naked, remember?” He just could not help it.

Faramir blushed in an instant… still pouting.

“Stop doing that,” said Aragorn.

“Doing what?” asked Faramir, his expression changing to one of surprise.

“Stop pouting or I will have my way with you now,” answered Aragorn.

“I am not pouting!” said Faramir, indignation in his voice.

“You are, my dear Faramir, and you look most edible.”

“No, I am not!” He repeated, red to the tips of his ears. It seemed nowadays the only thing he did was blush all the time. It was most embarrassing.

“Yes, you are! Or do you dare to contradict your King?”

Silence for a moment.

And then laughter.

Faramir was laughing. Aragorn sighed at the sight of it.

“You did it again… lighten the mood as you always do,” said Faramir turning on his side, to get more comfortable on the bed, “Thanks, I was all in knots.”

“You are welcome, I will leave you to your rest,” said Aragorn caressing the young man’s head. He started to rise from his position on the bed.

Faramir grabbed Aragorn by the arm, making him sit again and with a quiet voice he asked, “Please stay? A little while?” He lowered his gaze for he did not dare to face Aragorn. He was ashamed with himself for being so childish.

Aragorn caressed the young man’s head again, brushing strands of hair out of his face. “You do not have to be ashamed of asking my company, Faramir,” said Aragorn taking in the blushed expression. “Make room for me there,” he added, starting to take off his boots.

Faramir’s expression was very comic.

“I am tired as well, I will not be uncomfortable,” stated Aragorn.

A wide-eyed Faramir pulled himself to the opposite side of the bed. Aragorn climbed in and gathered the still nonplussed Steward in his arms.

Though still bewildered, Faramir melted in the embrace at once. He hugged Aragorn back and buried his face in his King’s chest. With a deep sigh, he started to drift off with the feel of soft caresses on his hair.

“And I was not pouting,” sounded a mumbled voice in the silence of the room.

Aragorn kept up his sweet caress and soon the young man was asleep in his arms. He extricated himself from the embrace and very carefully arranged Faramir comfortably on the bed. He got out of the bed, took his boots and walked barefooted toward the door. With his hand on the doorknob, he hesitated and turned to look at the man sleeping peacefully on the bed.

“Ah love, but you were,” he whispered before opening the door and exiting the room.

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7 Comment(s)

I have really enjoyed this story – di you evwer write the sequel mentioned? If so I should truly enjoy reading it.

— Mauz    Thursday 8 June 2006, 9:21    #

a sequel, please!

[This comment was originally entered in the 'Thank the Author' box and moved here by the administrators. Elena, please contact us if you have trouble with commenting.]

— elena    Saturday 20 October 2007, 17:10    #

Sequel is coming in about 2 days. Thanks for you comment!

— Valkyrie    Saturday 20 October 2007, 19:48    #

I can’t wait for the sequel! I read this story some time ago and always felt the ending was incomplete—too many questions still left unanswered. I like this story because the plot was original enough and seemed plausible. Also, any novel length Faramir/Aragorn fic with any kind of character development is a pure joy to read.

— Chantal    Tuesday 23 October 2007, 6:39    #

I read your story yesterday and I want to thank you. I enjoyed it very much and I’m looking forward to the sequel. Actually I hate to read tbc’s because I’m so impatient, but too late now!
I just wanted to say some more things:
1. I loved the way you described Arwen and her reaction towards Faramir when she heard about his death sentence. It’s so Faramir that he doesn’t say anything. And I like how she racted when Aragorn told her about his love for Faramir. It’s a pretty thought that elves admit all kinds of love, no matter if they’re involved or not.
2. I don’t want to be mean but Faramir was a little too whiny for me. I know that he’s in fandom either the stereotype of a wuss or a warrior and you managed quite well to show both sides of his character but for my taste he had too many emotional breakdowns, although it’s understandable because of his inner turmoil. I don’t know. I like him a little bit more manly but still with a soft core.
3. Because of that I loved the whole part where he got angry. Faramir, standing angry in front of Aragorn, dripping of Orc blood is a powerful picture!
4. I already said that I like that you try to don’t stereotype the protagonists (too much). Because of that it was a good decision to show Aragorns thoughts, that he hate to violate Faramir but that still the picture of this young, naked man, bound to a stone or dripping of Orc blood, arouses him. It’s a totally human reaction and makes Aragorn sympathetic.
I’m sure I forgot to mention some more of my thoughts but this comment is already too long. Sorry for that but I had to comment on 9 parts, so… now I’m going to read the sequel and hope that the next parts will come soon. Damn, I hate reading tbc’s!:)

dunderklumpen    Tuesday 23 October 2007, 23:42    #

Absolutely amazing story! So amazing as is its sequel “The Road Ahead”. Very interesting idea and wonderful writing! Thank you very much, Valkyrie, and write more!

— Anastasiya    Wednesday 17 March 2010, 12:02    #

I just read this story and I wish I had come in time to support it so it would get bumped. Very interesting idea of how to have the Steward’s loyalty tested, a wonderful Arwen, a great angry Faramir, and the way the story is told is quite efficient. Thanks!

— Nerey Camille    Saturday 7 April 2012, 14:56    #

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