05 April 2004 | 741 words
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Warnings: Slash (implied mostly)
Summary: Ficlet - Aragorn searches for Faramir in the shadows
This is a day late but yesterday, March 15th, coincided with the HoH scene which IMO is the most slashable scene ever. And so, to Aragorn and Faramir.
Iris, my beta, co-writer, and patient listener to the worst (and I mean really bad) of my ideas is out of town. A little something for your inbox when you return, dear!
And to A. for being such a sweetheart and because I know she likes the HoH scene too.
Aragorn knew he had little time left.
“Faramir?” he called out as he moved through the thick mist swirling around him. He ignored the dampness permeating through his clothing and tried instead to adjust his eyes to the gathering darkness.
“Faramir?” he called out again, his unease increasing by the minute as the response he desired showed no sign of coming.
The fog intensified and for a moment Aragorn wondered where he was wandering. He thought it might be through Minas Tirith. He’d thought he knew the city as well as he knew Imladris, but now it seemed a confusing maze to him. He thought he saw the outline of a building. *Somewhere near the courtyard, perhaps, outside of the citadel. Or was it the Silent Street?*
There was still no response.
He realised for the first time, how silent his surroundings were. There was not a sound to be heard, nothing to indicate where the young Steward might be. He wondered where to go, which direction to move in for he could see nothing now.
He hoped he was not too late. Perhaps he should have arrived earlier, he thought desperately, as he recalled Faramir’s pale and weary visage and the stillness of his fever-wracked body. There was much he had read in that glimpse of the Steward, much that he found he cared for. He had felt the heat radiate off him as his hands had come in touch with the sweat-soaked skin. Faramir had been ailing so for far too long as none had known a remedy. He called out yet again, urgently.
A blurry shape came into view some distance away. Aragorn had not to look any closer to know he had found him. He let out a relieved sigh. There was still time. It was not too late. He could see Faramir clearly now, the fine features distorted in pain and despair. He beckoned him closer hoping he could offer him at least some measure of comfort.
But Faramir stayed where he was. Something akin to an unhappy smile flitted across his tired countenance. Aragorn felt the cold return and fresh tendrils of fog floated between them.
“Come, Faramir,” he called out, stepping forward, “You have fought so far, I would not lose you now.”
The younger man shook his head slowly. And Aragorn watched in horror through the thinning fog around them as Faramir’s silhouette became a blur yet again before vanishing completely.
Aragorn stood where he was ignoring the intense cold, unwilling to move.
“I would not lose you,” he said again, softly and desperately, despite knowing there was no one to hear him.
He stood there till the mist cleared completely.
“Faramir!” he called out again, but this time he knew it was to no avail. The Steward was nowhere to be seen.
He had been too late.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. *Imrahil,* he thought dully, *or perhaps Mithrandir.*
The king opened his eyes slowly to the sight of his steward leaning over him, his grey eyes tinged with just a hint of concern, his hands on Aragorn’s shoulders. Behind him, the early sun streamed in through the open windows of his bedchamber.
“You were dreaming,” Faramir said quietly, moving back a little as Aragorn sat up.
The king nodded silently. Faramir rose off the bed and stood by, his features radiating open concern now. Aragorn said nothing as he pushed the bedcovers away and swinging his feet off the bed, rose.
“You called -,” Faramir started slowly but stopped as Aragorn cupped his chin and capturing his lips in a deep kiss, pulled him into a close embrace.
*I would not lose you.*
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Thank the author
The following people read the story, enjoyed it, and would like to thank the author: Mel