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A Hard Choice (NC-17) 
Written by Nerey Camille17 December 2011 | 13421 words
Chapter 2. Where the Steward is happy, and then he realizes he is in trouble
Joy had indeed come with the return of the King. Despite his father’s death, for which he grieved, Faramir was happy in the days that followed Sauron’s fall. He worked hard to help rebuild Minas Tirith, city of kings, and to relieve the many hurts of the country. For the first time in his life he felt his work was valued by the man to whom he owed allegiance, and it made a difference so great he could not yet believe it.
It took him some time to realize that his happiness was of a sort that could lead him to trouble. At first he didn’t question his sheer elation whenever Aragorn asked for his presence and they both spent hours side by side, working together in silence. Or the feeling of intense well-being whenever Aragorn’s hand would touch his shoulder or arm in a gesture of approval and affection. Or even the fact that he always called him Aragorn in his mind (although he invariably addressed him as King Elessar aloud), and felt a secret pleasure in doing so.
But one evening, the Steward and the King met on the walls of Minas Tirith. The moon was young and cast but a pale light into the warm late spring night. Faramir had come on the battlements for some fresh air and quiet after a long day’s work, and so had Aragorn, apparently. He came to the young man who stood by the wall and stopped mere feet away from him. They both looked east in silence for a while.
“A moon like this always reminds me of the night on which I learned Boromir’s death,” said Faramir in a low voice.
“I can understand that,” replied Aragorn, equally softly. “The thought is grievous, is it not?”
“It has been for so long, but not tonight,” said Faramir, and he was surprised by his own words, yet knew they were true. Here, in Aragorn’s company, he felt nothing but a great serenity. Even though his dear brother was very present on his mind and the sorrow of his death should have weighed on his heart like a tombstone, it didn’t. And Faramir realized it was because he no longer felt alone.
He remembered, though, that Aragorn had no such reason for contentment, and that he too must have missed Boromir and grieved at his death. More than that: he must certainly have felt the burden of guilt; one that only he, Faramir, might be able to relieve.
“I never thanked you for what you did for my brother,” he said, “sending him over the river after he fell. The thought that I could see him one last time has comforted me many times. It must have helped him, too, knowing he was with friends who would not forsake him.”
Aragorn’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, in a silent gesture of gratitude. Faramir stood there, enjoying the night. A small tremor ran down his spine.
Then there was the time when Aragorn summoned him to his quarters. There had been delved into the ground a fine bath, chest-deep and large enough for a tall man to lie in it without touching its borders. When Faramir arrived that day, he found the King pacing to and fro inside the tub, his chest making little ripples on the water as he moved. Faramir was not prepared to see the King in such a private situation, and stood hesitating on the threshold; but Aragorn beckoned to him, and the young man could do nothing but obey.
So forward he came, acutely aware that Aragorn’s head was at the level of his own ankles, and that it would seem disrespectful, not to mention awkward, to look at him from above. Yet he could not see any way around the problem, unless the King actually expected him to climb into the bath with him. At the thought of being naked in Aragorn’s company, Faramir’s stomach gave a jolt of excitement, and to his utter embarrassment and alarm he felt the beginnings of an erection inside his trousers.
“I wish to have the bath expanded,” said Aragorn. “I’ve called you so we could discuss the new measurements. I would like it to be big enough for two people to swim comfortably in it.”
“Two people, my lord?” asked Faramir feebly, one half of his mind wildly wondering who might Aragorn want to share his bath with, while the other searched desperately for a way to hide the state he was in. Finally he knelt beside the tub, his hands folded on his lap and his eyes firmly fixed on Aragorn’s head.
“Yes. There will soon be someone to share these rooms with me.”
This time, Faramir managed to recover his senses and ask in a hopefully appropriate tone:
“Are you… welcoming a long-term guest, my lord?”
Aragorn laughed.
“Something like that. I am getting married.”
Faramir gaped. All at once his physical troubles disappeared, while at the same time it seemed that his heart skipped a beat and some part of it was torn and started to bleed softly. Yet his mind was instantly and keenly alert, and he had time to register a light of pure happiness in Aragorn’s grey eyes. That sobered him more than anything else, and he mastered himself quickly.
“All my good wishes, my lord. I doubt not the lady in question is truly exceptional.”
“She is indeed,” said Aragorn with a smile, “and she loves water. That is why I have called you.”
Much later, after discussing all the arrangements for the bath and other parts of the royal apartments, Faramir was finally granted permission to leave. He felt dizzy. He walked all the way out of the halls without noticing where his feet led him, and finally found himself in a quiet garden near Rath Dínen. It was a place his mother had loved, one of the few green areas in Minas Tirith, probably the fairest since it was reserved for the Steward’s use and had been personally tended to by Finduilas. Faramir sat on a bench, miserably looking at the blooming flowers. He could pretend no longer. He harboured feelings for his King that were well beyond the admiration and gratitude that might be expected from him as a subject. Earlier, while in Aragorn’s room, he had been unable to avoid seeing Aragorn’s body; he had revelled in the contemplation of his damp hair falling over his back, his broad shoulders that carried the burden of a kingdom, his strong arms and legs, his richly draped manhood gently swaying in the water… He had wondered what kind of lover this magnificent warrior would be, he had imagined what it would be like to bury his hands in that black mane, to be held and caressed by those strong arms, to…
He desired Aragorn, there was no doubt about it. That in itself was no cause for ailment, for Faramir had discovered long ago that he could feel attracted to people of any gender. He knew it to be a part of his nature, as well as that of a number of other people; and for all that desire between two males was considered a crime and a disgrace by most in Gondor (his father among them), he had never felt any shame or guilt because of it. The law did not frighten him; his conscience had ever been his only compass, however high a price that had cost him; and the nights spent with some of his Rangers had taught him that love and lust between two men were no different in nature, not dirtier or worse than between a man and a woman.
Nor was it surprising that he should have fallen for Aragorn, of all people. The man had saved him; he had soon replaced his father and brother as a leader and a friend; he was the greatest warrior and lord of people Faramir had ever met (or would ever meet, for that matter); he was a lover of lore and peace, even as himself; and into the bargain, he was a sensitive, clear-sighted, marvellously fair man who looked far younger than his true age. Why, it was only to be expected that he should fall in love with him; if anything, the reverse would have been queer.
Yes, the fact of loving a man was no news to Faramir; the fact of loving Aragorn might be almost unavoidable; but all that was now of no avail. Aragorn very likely didn’t share his tastes, he might be revolted by the very idea. Even if he didn’t mind it personally, he was the King, and as such he was supposed to set an example and enforce Gondor’s traditions. Finally, most insurmountable of all, he was already in love, a most profound and passionate love. And from what Faramir had seen in the King’s eyes, Aragorn was not the kind of man who would love at once more than one person. Nay, there was no way Aragorn would return Faramir’s feelings. All that remained for the young man to do was to hope that the future Queen would be a fit mate for Aragorn, and that he himself could endure her. He believed so; he trusted his love to be greater than his need, or even his desire of Aragorn; and that would aid him. Yet as he looked over the walls of the garden toward the blue skies and the white pinnacles of the Citadel, he felt tears welling inside his chest.
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You know, when I first saw you taking up this request and setting such pairings for it, it immediately made me think back on our story: the parallel need not be pointed out, I guess :) And now I read indeed it is so.
Well, in so far I of course cannot see many parts that correlate to our plot – that must be still to come. And I have to wonder as to the reason why Arwen is about to do what she’s said to be about to do by the request. Unless some other Elf suddenly comes up, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. What, is Faramir, along with his habitual role of facing tough decisions, going to have to deal with another habitual task of having to tend to women whom Aragorn’s can’t make happy? Because if that is not the reason and Arwen is fully happy with Aragorn, then why would she…?
And what is the reason of Aragorn’s behaviour? To bring another man, even if a friend, to your new wife’s personal chamber and leave them alone ‘to talk’ seems strange, to say the least. Naturally, he trusts them both endlessly, but still, it’s kind of awkward and, I mean, why? Does he feel like his presence would encumber their conversation? But as ‘freinds’ certainly they wouldn’t be talking of anything that is not for his ears? And why in such private settings, why couldn’t they have talked in a garden or on some terrace? It’s almost as though he’d brought Faramir there for Arwen to tell him something the two of them had decided on ahead of time…
Anyway, all that I’ll have to wait for you to tell us. Now, I especially loved this: It took him some time to realize that his happiness was of a sort that could lead him to trouble. And in line with it I really liked the scene with the bath, the juxtaposition of Aragorn’s unsupecting happiness, so simple and self-focused as such happiness tends to be, and the complexity of Faramir’s emotion. Of course there’s a special note of bitter irony to Faramir, just when he imagines himself in that bath with Aragorn, being presented with the mental image of the King ‘swimming’ there with some lady – to coming to learn of the marriage in such intimate settings, where the intimacy itself seems to exclude the possibility of actual sensual intimacy, seeing as Aragorn is so comfortable and unwary it seems he doesn’t consider Faramir in the sexual sense. And Faramir is such a good man, feeling as little jealousy as possible in such situation, whereas a more ‘human’ kind of man, even like his own brother, I am sure would have been beside himself with humiliation and the desire to burn the lady-rival to ashes, a good match for Aragorn or not.And now, if this ‘good match’ is going to start doing some inappropriate things that would show her as not such a good match after all, will Faramir feel offended on behalf of his beloved King whom he wishes so much happiness? Or will he rather actually be tempted by her? Hm, the multitude of the possibilities is so sweet – not to mention it can all go in a totally unexpected direction, too :)
And, as for the “nothing really AU” – where’s Eowyn? ;) She makes no appearance this far – I understand by the plot she ought to still be in Rohan at this point, but still, if she were his much beloved bride, probably she’d come up in Faramir’s thoughts at least once… Or is he smitten so badly by Aragorn that he just forgot about her? xD
— December Thursday 23 June 2011, 11:25 #