Faramir Fiction Archive

Tale Telling (NC-17)

Written by Geale

02 June 2010 | 5262 words

Title: Tale Telling
Author: Geale
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Faramir & Aragorn
Summary: A one-shot sequel to ‘The Coldest Winter’ that takes place after the ending but before the epilogue. Family fluff and, um, smut? Needest thee more?
Warnings: Slash
A/N: For Kelly and Trixie whose faith in my tale telling abilities is a blessing. Thank you ladies!

The quick Sindarin course:
ada – dad
nana – mother, mummy
ion – son
meleth – love

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Tale Telling

“…and then the northbound wind shifted to the East and brought with it new life in the midst of all sorrow. The darkened clouds were swept away and a light shone forth, and there was yet another light; and this new light shone upon the King’s brow. Before the brilliance of this star, the shadows recoiled and fled…”

“Ada?” Eldarion peered up at him from underneath the thick woollen blanket he had pulled all the way up to his chin. He quenched a yawn.

“Yes?” Faramir temporarily abandoned the tale, and not for the first time since he had begun reading over half an hour ago.

“What is a brow?”

Smiling, Faramir let go of the parchment and gently pressed a fingertip to Eldarion’s forehead and slightly too-warm skin. “Here. This is your brow.”

“Why was it shining on the King?”

“Because…” Faramir leaned back against the minor mound of pillows. “So that all could see that he was indeed the King.”

Eldarion’s face scrunched up. “Did they not know him already?”

“No, not everyone… And the star just showed them one more time, if they were uncertain.”

The rain was gently tapping on the window-glass, kindly darkening the day and thereby somewhat reducing Eldarion’s hopes of being allowed to leave his bed. The usually perfectly healthy son of King Elessar had encountered his first drawn-out and stubborn cold and was thoroughly displeased. In an attempt to brighten his mood, Faramir had fetched a newly composed – and slightly gentler – version of the riddance of Darkness from the library.

Eldarion’s eyes went wide at this. “He had a star there?”

Faramir nodded, and laid aside the parchments. He knew defeat when he saw it – and he knew Eldarion.

“How did it leave the sky?”

“Well… By the will of the Valar,” he tried.

“They just took it down?” The large and slightly glazed dark eyes were filled with wonder. “Maybe the star wanted to stay there.”

“Where, love?”

“In the sky!”

The small outburst brought on a coughing fit and Faramir reached for the cup of steaming, sweetened tea that he was continuously… encouraging his son to drink. “I am sure they returned it safely. Here…” He tipped the cup against Eldarion’s lips as soon as the coughing had ended.

With much displeasure, Eldarion took a mouthful and reluctantly swallowed. “Is no good,” he complained but then he returned to the subject. “Why did not ada keep the star? He could have it always.”

“I thought the star wanted to stay in the sky?” Faramir asked as he replaced the cup on a low table beside him.

“Or stay,” Eldarion shrugged against the pillows. A big yawn, and then the first hint of sleepiness crossed his small face. “Ada?”

“Yes?”

“Why are you not King?”

Faramir ruffled his son’s dark curls. “I am a prince.” It still sounded strange to his ears, and the word fell not entirely comfortably from his lips.

“But I am too!” Eldarion was once more a bundle of wonder. “They say that, when all those people come, and I have to sit down and be quiet, and not run around… and they talk to me and call me prince too!” He would have jumped up and down if Faramir’s hand had not slipped to his shoulder to keep him still.

“Yes, we are both princes,” he smiled.

“But you could be King too, with ada!” He beamed at his new idea, and then he sneezed twice.

Faramir pulled the blanket closer around him. “Blessings.” He smiled. “Gondor can only have one King, and that is your father. I have no wish to be King.”

“Why not? Because you would have to wear a star?”

“Exactly.” He reached for the tea once more and stirred it with a small spoon. “A little more.”

Eldarion gave an unhappy pout but he complied. The wood-fire crackled contently in the fireplace and Faramir was just about to resume his reading when there was a soft knock on the door. It slid open slowly and revealed the very King himself.

“Ada!”

A new set of coughs rang out in the bedchamber, following the greeting. Faramir caught Eldarion in his arms and held him gently until he was done. Meanwhile, Aragorn closed the door behind him and a worried frown moved over his face as he briefly leaned against the wall.

“How is he doing?”

Faramir stroked their son’s back soothingly. “He is okay. Some coughing, an occasional sneeze or two and the fever is abating.” Even now, uninhibited joy surged through him when he laid eyes upon his spouse. “How are you?”

Aragorn smiled a bit self-consciously. “I should have ended it earlier but the merchants wished to discuss the trade route to Edoras too…”

He pushed himself off the wall and wearily crossed the floor at a slow pace. Settling Eldarion back properly against the pillows, Faramir made sure to keep an eye on Aragorn as well. “You know others could handle such business…” he said quietly although he was fairly certain it was a fruitless attempt.

“You know that you worry too much?”

In the soft firelight, Aragorn’s hair was gleaming. He wore a dark blue tunic, sparsely but elegantly embroidered, and black leggings; all visitors that sought an audience with the King expected him to look like one, if only to match their own expectations and Faramir supposed they got as much but no more – if Aragorn were allowed a say in the matter. But clothes could only do so much and there was an obvious shadow of fatigue in his features and though he attempted to carry himself proudly, Faramir could tell he was in pain.

“Come here,” he smiled and patted the place beside him on the bed. “There is room for you too.”

“Ada?” Eldarion’s glassy but curious gaze followed his birth father’s progress across the floor. “Are stars heavy?”

With a sigh of relief, Aragorn sank down beside Faramir who wrapped an arm around his shoulders and brought him close. “Heavy?”

“Yes, are they heavy?”

Faramir nodded at the abandoned parchments in his lap. “I was reading about the coming of the King, and the star upon his brow…”

“That is here!” Eldarion pointed to his own forehead. “Ada showed me. You have one, too – it says so in the story!” He visibly fought another yawn and almost succeeded.

Aragorn smiled at his son. “Indeed I believe I do.” He nodded at the stack of parchments. “You were reading that?”

“Ada was. I was listening.”

“And asking questions,” said Faramir with a slightly wry grin. “We never finished it.”

Aragorn twisted a little in the embrace and pressed a chaste kiss to his temple. “We all know that story is greatly exaggerated,” he murmured.

“Is that so?” Faramir raised an eyebrow. “Well, I was not there to see…”

An even deeper shadow caught hold of Aragorn’s soft gaze and he quickly grew serious. “If I had not been able to save you…” he whispered. “I would never forgive myself.”

“Hush,” Faramir placed a finger on his lips. “All is well.”

Utterly bored by this display of affection between his fathers, and having no idea of what they were referring to, Eldarion squirmed underneath his blanket, his eyelids drooping a little. “Ada…“

Faramir, who was closest, turned back to him and stroked a soft cheek.“Yes?”

“Was it? Was it heavy?”

Aragorn leaned forward, steadying himself against Faramir and copied his husband’s motion but choosing the other cheek. “No Dari, it was light as a feather.”

Stifling yet another yawn, Eldarion nodded. “Did it want to go back to the sky?”

“Yes,” smiled Aragorn, “and it did, too.”

“Oh…” Eldarion snuggled into the blanket and this time he could not fight the next yawn. His eyes drifted shut as he mumbled, “That…s’good… Ada?”

“Yes?” they both responded simultaneously.

With a grimace, but without making any sound of discomfort, Aragorn pulled back and resumed his previous position, leaning against Faramir.

Eldarion rolled onto his side but his dark eyelashes fluttered in his last attempt to remain awake. “Stay until I fall asleep…”

“Of course, love.” Faramir stroked some of the curls from his forehead and bent down to kiss the newly revealed skin. “Nana is next door, too.”

“But she is so big…”

Aragorn’s soft chuckle was almost inaudible. “She will come if you call, ion.“

But Eldarion’s breathing had already evened out and blended with the slowly failing afternoon light and the gentle singing of the rain.

They sat in silence. Faramir let his son and husband simply breathe while he wondered at the relative ease with which he spoke of – and to – Eldarion’s mother. The birth of Aragorn’s second child was drawing close and Nêlant spent more and more hours resting as this pregnancy had been more difficult than the first. Eldarion’s cold had initially been a source of worry due to the risk of infection but had in the end somewhat helped to ease the ever-lingering tension between Steward and chosen mother of the King’s children. Worry for the well-being of both mother and children had not pushed them further apart.

The first night Aragorn had spent in her bed had been nothing less than torture. Then, as time moved on, Faramir had almost managed to forget about it and quench the pain. He saw her, of course, as she was not hidden away as a dirty secret, but he hoped he managed to be civil and thought they dealt fairly well with each other when there was a need. Then the rounded belly could not be ignored and emotions tangled in confusion in Faramir’s heart. And then the birth and the glorious gift of precious life…

Faramir smiled at the sleeping Eldarion, acutely conscious of the fact that without Nêlant there would be no son with a bottomless well of questions for him to answer.

And now they were preparing for the next child… and the pain mingled with unfathomable gratitude.

Aragorn drew a deep breath and sat up a little straighter. “Love?”

Dragging his eyes away from the small miracle curled up underneath the blankets, Faramir met his husband’s soft gaze. “Mmm..?”

Aragorn smiled. “Before I too fall asleep..?”

“Right,” Faramir nodded. “You first.”

With an effort, Aragorn pushed himself to his feet and he swayed notably before he regained his balance. Faramir quickly stepped up behind him and slid his arms around his waist.

“We cannot walk like this.” There was humour in Aragorn’s voice and he leaned back against Faramir’s chest despite his assessment.

“We can try. Let me just blow out the candles.”

Faramir trusted Aragorn to find some strength as he swiftly extinguished the handful of flames that had eagerly tried to mirror the dance of the wood-fire. He pressed a kiss to Eldarion’s cheek and then added a second one from Aragorn.

When he turned back to his King, Aragorn was watching him with eyes that were slightly misty.

“You know I love you beyond comprehension?” murmured Aragorn.

“As I love you.” Faramir slid one arm around his waist this time and slowly began steering them towards the other door, the one that did not lead to the corridor but joined Eldarion’s room with their own bedchamber.

He was pretty sure that without his family he would have very little indeed.

Over the past couple of years, the living arrangements had been altered, and then altered some more. First the Steward had moved into the King’s chambers, then Nêlant had arrived in Minas Tirith and been given rooms in a distant part of the Tower. These she still kept, but when Eldarion was born and, when old enough, had been given a bedroom of his own, adjacent to the King’s rooms, a new room for Nêlant was found nearby so that she could be closer to her son. In addition to this, Faramir had cleared out a tiny storeroom that was located at the end of string of rooms that were the King’s and this he used as a second study so that he could quickly reach Aragorn whose physical strength wavered and who sometimes chose not to walk all the way to the council hall or the library. As a result of this, the grand library of Gondor was somewhat plundered as a large number of books and scrolls now resided in the more private parts of the Tower.

The servants had adjusted, the scribes were still muttering and visitors seeking an audience with the King were as a rule mightily confused. One who thoroughly enjoyed this new order, however, was Lord Elrond of Imladris who visited Minas Tirith regularly now that he had left much of the rule of the Valley to his sons. Perhaps it was because of his apparent approval that Faramir had found the courage to ignore the disgruntlement of the scribes. Aragorn cared little in general, but for Faramir it had been harder. Therefore, when Lord Elrond for the first time had stepped into the tiny study and smiled, it had meant – almost – everything to Faramir.

He let Aragorn into their bedchamber first and then followed swiftly himself, closing the door behind him.

“Do you want to lie down?” The rain that had been falling ever since morning encouraged shadows to stretch across the floor and Faramir glanced towards the silent hearth. “I will wake you up in time for dinner,” he suggested.

Aragorn waited to reply until he was safely seated on the edge of their bed. He toed off his boots and let them lie where they fell. “And what will you be doing until then?”

“If you settled anything with the merchants I should go over those notes and have them properly recorded and added to the official agreement…” Faramir scooped up some wood and arranged it in the sooty cave in the wall. “We should get this cleaned,” he muttered, more to himself than to Aragorn.

“We reached a deal,” said Aragorn, “and they signed a temporary contract so there is no rush.”

“But,” Faramir made sure the first spark and flame lasted long enough to catch a hold on the wood, “I like to finish off deals properly…” He stood and turned, his breath catching as he laid eyes on Aragorn on the bed.

His husband had pushed aside the covers and undone the fastenings of his tunic so that the fabric fell aside to reveal the toned chest, dusted with dark hair and the slim waist that was brutally cut off by the leggings’ hem and waistband. Aragorn had propped himself up against a stack of pillows and he wore a lazy smile.

“I know you do, meleth, I know you do… But I think you should stay here.” Aragorn was barefooted and the white sheets contrasted starkly to his dark-clad form and sun-kissed skin. “In fact, I am quite determined to keep you here until dinner.”

Faramir slowly crossed the floor; his hands instinctively landed on his belt and began to unfasten it. Still, the part of him that responded to duty and order tried its best. “You really should rest, Aragorn… You sat cooped up with those merchants for hours.”

“And I all could think about was how dearly I wished I were somewhere else,” smiled Aragorn. “Dari will sleep for a couple of hours, Nêlant is resting and we have no visitors.” He held out a hand. “Come here.”

“But…”

“You prefer dusty scrolls and ink blots to me?” Aragorn teased him. “Please, Faramir.”

The younger man sank down on the bed beside his spouse and shook his head. “It is a wonder Gondor is still running.”

“We have an excellent staff.”

Faramir leaned in closer and as Aragorn’s hand closed around his, he accepted the first kiss. It was soft and gentle, an easy exploration and reunion of lips that had not met since before lunch. He parted his lips and let Aragorn inside as the dutiful part of his mind retreated and gave way to other, entirely different, thoughts instead.

“What would you like?” he inquired when they parted and Aragorn’s eyes were glittering. “Do I dare to ask, even?”

A victorious grin and and a tug on his hand preceded the answer. “I would like…” Aragorn managed to look like he considered the matter in depth. “I would like to taste you first,” he said in a voice that had dropped to a much lower level. “Then I would like to make love to you until we need to leave for dinner.”

Faramir’s felt his stomach twist in a very pleasant way at the words. “I think I could handle that.”

“Good.” The bright light in Aragorn’s eyes dimmed and the grey darkened slightly. “I think, too, that I would like for you to stay dressed, for now.”

“What?” Faramir who had registered the stirring arousal in Aragorn admitted to sudden confusion.

“Just undo the lacings,” Aragorn clarified with a smirk and then he pulled Faramir down for a second kiss.

Faramir let himself be dragged down and he let Aragorn’s tongue inside his mouth. It was not unusual that he ended up in his spouse’s arms when he was in general expected to be in the library, in the armoury, in the guards’ quarters or overseeing everything or anything everywhere and anywhere, but so far he had failed to invent an objection that the King accepted as valid. Partially because he had not really tried.

“Undo them,” Aragorn reminded him when they were free to speak again.

Faramir pulled off his boots and climbed onto the bed. “Which way is easiest?” He had to ask even though he never seemed to get over the fear that technicalities might spoil the mood. Also, even though Aragorn for the most part had come to terms with the repercussions of his injury, Faramir was loath to bring them up.

“Could you…” Aragorn visibly evaluated the options. “Could you kneel here?” He patted the empty space just beside him. “I would rather not move straight away…”

Quickly, before circumstances acquired a firmer hold on the discussion, Faramir nodded and scrambled closer. He bent down and pressed a kiss to Aragorn’s lips. “I am all yours.”

“I like that.”

Aragorn ran his palm over Faramir’s hips and then down his outer thighs. “Closer,” he whispered.

Faramir complied. He edged closer until his groin was scant inches away from Aragorn’s face. Slowly he began tugging at the lacings, watching as he fingered them how Aragorn licked his lips and then parted them, and how the grey eyes darkened again.

A familiar sting of nervousness flickered through him as he revealed himself to Aragorn. He had not yet completely gotten over the exhilarating fact that this man had wanted him enough to marry him. And Aragorn still wanted him, no matter the mood, the weather, the twists and turns of life around them.

When the fabric fell away, Aragorn smiled but said nothing. He lifted a hand and with his index finger traced a line down Faramir’s still rather flaccid length. The gentle touch awakened a first shiver and it raced easily across Faramir’s skin.

“Beautiful you are,” murmured Aragorn as his fingertip travelled upwards again and delved into the coarse hair at the base of Faramir’s member.

The younger man watched as the finger was joined by another, then another and then another as Aragorn carefully began stroking him. His blood picked up speed in his veins and the first tendrils of heat shot forth from the base of his spine. He swelled a little in Aragorn’s hand and his husband looked pleased.

“Come here,” Aragorn repeated in a mumble and his other hand urged Faramir even closer and then he pressed a kiss to the twitching flesh.

Faramir drew a deep breath as Aragorn’s soft lips continued to brush against his skin and heat it up. A hand followed the trail of kisses and a satisfied sigh slipped from Faramir when the skin was pulled back and the sensitive head was unveiled. A heavy sort of sinking feeling in his stomach made his body relax while his senses sharpened. Aragorn kissed his way down the straining flesh again and then took the tip between his lips and gently sucked. Faramir bucked at the sensation but before he could manage an apology, Aragorn’s low chuckle wrapped itself around him.

The lips parted and Aragorn took more of him into his mouth. The intense warmth mirrored that which was steadily rising to embrace Faramir’s heart and, more acutely perhaps, his groin. A shade of dizziness caught hold of him and he swayed forward as the rain-dampened air around them grew richer and heavier to breathe. The gentle sucking intensified and Aragorn’s free hand swept over Faramir’s still linen-covered thigh and behind, only to come to a temporary rest in the shallow bay where thigh melted into hip.

“A little harder… please,” begged Faramir when movement for a second or two seemed to cease completely. He was buried halfway in Aragorn’s warm, wet mouth and shivering with every reminder of Aragorn’s tongue against his arousal. “Please.”

To his extreme disappointment, Aragorn withdrew and only allowed for a single kiss to melt into his hypersensitive skin. “Do you want to come like this?” His voice was hoarse. “Or later?”

Faramir tried to focus on the eyes he knew were seeking out his. “No, like this.” He thought he saw the grin that was painted across Aragorn’s features but mostly he was happy when reddened lips admitted him inside again.

He gave an appreciative moan when Aragorn sucked him hard and the briefly unmoving hand on his thigh pushed some more fabric away and cupped the sacs underneath his pounding flesh. He tried to steady himself against the headboard but his arms would not obey and he gave himself over to trust in balance fully. Suddenly Aragorn swallowed around him and Faramir’s keening moan echoed in the bedchamber. He tried to not push into Aragorn’s mouth but succeeded only partially before his trembling legs could support him once more.

“Now,” he groaned only seconds before he felt the ultimate explosion of heat inside and he emptied himself in Aragorn’s willing mouth.

The waves of energy that sped through him pushed the air out of his lungs and darkened his blurred vision until he saw nothing at all but only felt his husband’s warmth around him. He swayed where he knelt and found that his legs were giving way. He slid out of Aragorn’s mouth and crumbled beside him on the bed.

Arms wrapped around him and he felt himself pressed to a broad chest.

“Untangle yourself,” suggested Aragorn softly. “Lie down…”

Faramir, though he was not sure he was mastering his own body, did as proposed and stretched out alongside Aragorn. Immediately hands skimmed over his chest and tugged at the shirt that covered it. When he found the energy to open his eyes he saw that Aragorn was smiling down at him and that the King had undone his own lacings. His hardened shaft rested heavily on his belly.

Faramir smiled. “Now..?” he managed, his voice shaky but audible.

Aragorn brushed some stray copper strands from his face. “Turn onto your side, and please find the oil.”

With that settled, Aragorn spooned up behind him and Faramir must quench the immediate desire to ask him if he was alright. He was sobering up enough to remember that lying on his side was not Aragorn’s favoured position but if this was how he wanted things then he must be okay.

Aragorn avoided touching Faramir’s sensitive length and instead left small clusters of kisses on his neck and shoulder while one of his hands skimmed over the skin where Faramir’s shirt had ridden up to reveal his belly.

Aragorn’s lips brushed his ear. “May I have you now, love?” The husky whisper burned away any resistance born out of concern in Faramir and he felt himself melt into the mattress and Aragorn’s embrace.

“You may…”

Aragorn’s fingers were slick as the explored his entrance. They painted a wet circle around the opening and Faramir shuddered. He was tight but nowhere near as tight as he had been the first time his body had been breached. After some three, four years of lovemaking, both he and Aragorn had grown accustomed to the act. However, he still felt the warning sting as one finger pushed past the guardian muscle and slid inside.

Aragorn’s soft moan spread out over his shoulder and sank into him. He fell forward a little, allowing for more workspace and movement. The finger slid in and out of him, soothed the burning, and he could only rejoice when it was accompanied by another.

“I want you so…” mumbled Aragorn into his hair. The fingers scissored and stretched incessantly. “So much…” His fingers slid almost all the way out and he pressed a long kiss to Faramir’s neck before he pushed them inside again, drawing a moan from the younger man. “I need you.”

Faramir groaned in reply as the fingers brushed his sensitive spot and he arched back against his husband. Aragorn withdrew his fingers and hugged Faramir hard to his chest. “Can I… now?”

“Yea…” Faramir nodded frantically. Any other words were brutally shoved aside by the gasp he emitted as Aragorn shifted behind him and finally pushed into him as smoothly as he could.

But no matter if Aragorn wanted to pound into him wildly: the King was still who he was and his body would allow for no such pace. Instead he thrust deeply and slowly, marking Faramir’s insides with every stroke. When Faramir felt his own flesh stir again he momentarily wondered how he would cope but then a perfectly angled stroke set his senses afire and he forgot everything else but the heat and the hardness and the one claiming him.

Experience had taught him, however, that in this position Aragorn needed both his hands to support him and so Faramir cupped his own length and pressed his palm against it. He groaned as Aragorn pushed deeper and he clenched his inner muscles to heighten the sensation. With a strangled groan of his own, Aragorn buried himself to the hilt inside Faramir and stilled, just lying there, filling him.

“Just let me…” Aragorn’s breathing was reduced to short, shallow gasps and the hot air flitted over Faramir’s shoulder and scorched his skin, and he would have it no other way. “Just a… moment…”

Aragorn sank down into the mattress and one of his arms wound itself around Faramir’s waist. As forced gasps gradually extended into longer, proper breaths, the younger man felt some of his sanity returning. His arousal still ached but he abandoned his self-appointed task of pleasuring himself and caught Aragorn’s hand in his instead.

“We’ll take it slower.”

“I do not want to take it slower,” grumbled Aragorn behind him and Faramir must smile.

“Maybe I do?”

He received an indiscernible mutter in response but a kiss melted into his hair. Faramir kept a steady hold on Aragorn’s hand as he tried a small, circling motion with his hips. Aragorn drew a long breath and held it. When Faramir repeated the action, warm air flowed over his shoulder once more and he felt Aragorn’s shudder against his back.

With a dazed smile, he pushed back gently, continuing to create movement and friction when Aragorn had used up all his strength. A string of grateful moans followed the initiative and Faramir did his best to avoid weighing Aragorn down too much.

The world narrowed down to the heat building between them and even the stubborn rain was left ignored as it tapped on the window-glass. Faramir trembled as Aragorn slid their hands down the curve of his hips and brushed against the coarse hair surrounding his risen flesh. Faramir pushed back and Aragorn was buried deep in him when they, together, covered his length with entwined fingers.

It was no proper stroking but it was touch, and the way Aragorn filled him caused the heat to spiral faster and faster around them until they reached the edge and fell into the void; and soared.

As stars exploded into a blissful darkness, Faramir was only aware of Aragorn’s solid form pressed maddeningly close to him.

“I was going to keep you busy until dinner…” Aragorn’s smile was slightly rueful, the glimmer in his eyes somewhat dulled. Sleep was tiptoeing around the bed and Faramir had pulled the covers over them both.

“Catch some sleep now and you can keep me busy after dinner,” he suggested, wishing he could dive even deeper into Aragorn’s embrace though he knew it was impossible.

Faramir had washed quickly and changed his clothes but Aragorn was too tired to do more than roll onto his back and breathe. He had one arm draped around Faramir who lay beside him but did not dare to rest his head on the royal chest.

“One…” Aragorn’s eyes drifted shut. “One hour…”

“Hmm…” Faramir answered vaguely. There was nothing or no one that hindered them from dining somewhat later today. He was not tired himself but he was happy to see sleep softening Aragorn’s features as he drifted off. He pressed a kiss to his husband’s cheek and Aragorn’s lips briefly curved into a lazy smile before it was entirely erased and his breathing evened out perfectly.

Faramir lay completely motionless for a little while, simply watching his husband’s chest rise and fall. He almost missed the soft knock on the door that separated their bedchamber from Eldarion’s. The second knock had him sliding out of bed and padding across the floor.

“Ada?” Eldarion’s curls were tousled and his eyes shiny with lingering remnants of fever. “I am thirsty.”

Faramir bent down and scooped him up. “Did you sleep, love?”

“Yea…” Eldarion snuggled deeper into his arms and rested his cheek against his shoulder. “But then I woke up ‘cause I am thirsty… and nana is sleeping.”

Faramir gently turned and nodded towards the bed. “So is ada.” He dropped a kiss into the mess of curls. “Shall I get you some water and then tuck you into bed?”

“Can you read me a story?”

“I will read you a long one,” smiled Faramir. He stepped over the threshold and carried his son over to his bed.

“A scary one?” There was a hint of excitement in Eldarion’s voice at the prospect. “But with a really happy ending?”

“Of course I can, love.” Faramir sat down on the bed and hugged Eldarion close. “Those are the ones I know best.”

End

Note: I never did invent a name for the children’s mother in ‘The Coldest Winter’ but here I gave her the name ‘Nêlant’ which is a combination of the Sindarin words ‘nêl’, meaning ‘three’, and ‘ant’, meaning ‘gift’. This, of course, since in the end they had three children: Eldarion, Elboron and Mirairael.

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

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