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A Hard Choice (NC-17) 
Written by Nerey Camille17 December 2011 | 13421 words
Previously in ‘A Hard Choice’
Faramir asks the spirit of his mother for counsel as he muses the choice Arwen has imposed on him. He is neither angry with the Queen nor afraid of her, but that doesn’t help, for either choice is partly against his heart and his duty. As the sun goes down, Faramir still doesn’t know what to do.
Chapter 6. Where a long-kept secret is discovered
The Queen of Gondor knocked on the door to the Steward’s rooms. Faramir opened and she entered briskly, laughing at his expression of surprise. Faramir looked into the corridor to ensure there was no one and closed the door carefully before speaking to her.
“My lady, what are you doing here?” he asked, a slight frown on his brow.
“Why, paying you a visit, it would seem, my lord Steward,” came the playful answer.
It was cold outside. Arwen had immediately felt the warmth coming from the hearth and she was already extending her hands to the bright fire. Faramir joined her and helped her out of her cloak, which he hanged on the wall.
“These are beautiful rooms,” she said, curiously taking in the interior of Faramir’s quarters, that she had never seen. She noticed his sober but elegant taste and the pictures and objects of Elvish and Gondor craft on the walls.
“I am glad you think them so,” said Faramir absent-mindedly, coming back towards her, “but really, Arwen, this is most unsafe. We are in the heart of the Citadel, anyone could have seen you coming!”
“No one has seen me. And even if they had, cannot a Queen check how her Steward is lodged? Come on,” she said, putting her arms around his neck and touching her nose to his, “you haven’t even given me a proper welcome.”
Faramir enfolded her in his arms and his lips brushed hers. Gently, his tongue caressed the inside of his lady’s mouth, tenderly and unhurriedly, until she sighed with ease.
“I could never tire of this,” she said, throwing back her head and hair, eyes closed.
Faramir quickly seized the opportunity to land a kiss on her exposed neck.
“I am happy to see you here,” he said, smiling.
Her eyes opened and her gaze became mischievous for a moment, but then she had to close them again, for Faramir was kissing her, and this time his kiss was full-fledged, deep and vehement. His hands came to rest on her hips, and Arwen’s mind was blown away for a moment, as she lost herself in the fiery dance of their tongues. Then suddenly she laughed, slipped from his embrace and ran to the window, where she stood with her back to him, panting a little.
Faramir gave a half-annoyed, half-amused sort of sound. Oh, didn’t she love to be as playful and elusive as an elfling, rendering him mad with desire, knowing he could never decide if he found it frustrating or endearing that she, being thousands of years older than him, behaved so much more as a fickle child.
But he could deal with it. As well she knew, for she was trembling slightly, fully expecting her teasing to be soon properly returned. Faramir walked soundlessly until he stood behind her. Without turning, she seized one of his hands and squeezed it.
“I wanted to see what views there are from here,” she said.
“A fair sight of tall Mindolluin,” he replied. “Take care not to expose yourself.”
This brought her back to the danger that was ever hanging over their heads.
“Is this safe?” she asked.
“I suppose so,” he said, after a short pause. “Anyone might come looking for me, but as long as it is locked, they will not enter. Only the Warden of the Keys on the King’s orders could force my door, but Aragorn would not resort to such means unless in the gravest circumstances, such as a military emergency. He has no reason to look for me at this hour, or to expect that I should be available.”
His arms surrounded her, and his chin came to rest upon her shoulder, as he looked across the window with her. Then he pushed back a strand of hair in order to kiss her ear. Slowly, he drew his tongue over the sensitive skin, his teeth gently biting the pointed lobe. Arwen moaned and relaxed against him.
“You do know how to undo me…” she murmured, and turning towards him she buried her hands into the mane of dark hair, her lips eagerly searching for his. She kissed him as a thirsty traveller would drink from a fountain, and Faramir felt the usual temptation to laugh as well as a great surge of tenderness for her. Arwen slid a hand under his garments and ran her fingers over his chest, and Faramir shivered and felt his manhood swell at the thought of what would follow. She pressed her body against his, kissing his face and jaw, and Faramir applied his lips to the swan-white skin of her neck, now as avidly as a famished man would fall on a plate of food. One of his hands squeezed her buttock, the other cupped one of her breasts and Arwen gasped.
“Come,” she said raggedly, drawing him by his robe. She threw herself on the bed, face up, curtain of hair flowing over the coverlet and pillows. Her fingers ran upon his arms as Faramir straddled her and deftly undid the laces on the front of her robe, pushing it away from her body. As always, the beauty of her naked breasts rendered him speechless for a moment. He shook his head and reverently caressed one of them, then he sucked the nipple and Arwen pressed his head against her bosom. Faramir’s hands slid beneath her skirts and pushed them up, stroking her calves and thighs along the way. Arwen undid the clasp on her girdle and the whole robe fell to the sides, revealing the remainder of her body. Faramir chuckled. These garments, so very practical for the activities they were about to engage in, had started to be popular soon after he had become Arwen’s lover. The Queen’s style was imitated by every lady of the court, and Faramir doubted not that if ever she decided she’d rather be fucked from behind, fashion would quickly change again.
“I’ve been wanting to ask you for some time,” he said, lowering his head between her legs so that his hair brushed her inner thighs and the soft fur covering her sex. The sensation caused Arwen to instantly shiver with pleasure, and Faramir grinned. “The dress may have passed as a harmless fancy. But aren’t your maids up in arms about your habit of wearing nothing underneath?”
“Oh, they do not know,” she guffawed. “I don’t mind wearing undergarments as a rule. I only take them off if I am going to see you… though it is a nuisance to always have to wait for them not to be looking.”
“I see.”
Faramir’s tongue casually licked the little pomegranate seed that lay below the eaves of the forest, coaxing a jerk out of the elf’s body. Then his mouth glided further down.
“Your fountain, my lady, is already flowing,” he remarked calmly. “May I take that as a compliment to my beauty?”
Faramir was a good lover, but sometimes he overdid the talking part. She suspected he did it on purpose.
“Take it as you will, as long as you don’t stop,” gasped Arwen impatiently.
Chuckling to himself, Faramir complied. His arms roamed ceaselessly the silken skin of the Queen’s thighs and belly, sometimes going as far as the edge of her breasts; his tongue danced wildly on her bushy mound, and around the entrance to her haven. His lips bathed and swam joyfully in the waves of her stream, and she was the gayer for it. Her hands conveyed possession and command as they caressed his hair and pressed his head against her. Her body was in chaos: it was writhing like mountains scattered by an earthquake, fluttering like a bird lost in the middle of a storm, melting like soft silver in a dwarfish fire, and she was moaning, Faramir thought, as only an Elven princess being satisfied could.
Arwen stopped moving and cupped Faramir’s head, lifting it from her lap.
“Come…” she pleaded.
Faramir’s face emerged, red and wet but harbouring a broad smile.
“Wait.”
He quickly disrobed himself, with a sigh of ease. Naked, he was a prodigious view to Arwen. She could never stop marvelling at his body: tousled hair, admittedly not nearly as silky as hers but inexplicably more alive and strong; hair-shadowed chest, incredibly welcoming and warm; long well-shaped limbs, whose firmness made her moist with desire; slightly dark skin, that spoke of a life spent outdoors and somehow evoked to her the wild, untamed nature that crouched under his civilised manners; and of course, that funny, wonderful part of him which gave her so much pleasure, and which was now standing at attention. She extended a hand to touch it lightly.
“Come,” she said for the third time.
“My Queen’s wishes are orders to me,” he answered teasingly. He helped her out of her robes, until she lay naked before him, and he slowly lowered himself upon her. Arwen stretched herself upon the bed, buried her hands in his hair and spread her legs, feeling with a profound pleasure his shaft sliding slowly into her.
“You are the jewel of all lovers, I swear,” she said in a strangled voice, and Faramir felt again a stab of tenderness at her words.
King Aragorn Elessar was sitting comfortably in an armchair, a cup of wine in his hand, his feet towards the fire, and he was content. Everything in Gondor was going well, there hadn’t been any Orc incursions in the last few months and now, on top of it, he was about to receive the visit of a dear friend. Legolas of Mirkwood had written to him to announce his arrival to Minas Tirith, accompanied by a party of Elves who meant to restore Ithilien to its former beauty. The letter said they would arrive in five days, and it was dated three days ago.
Receiving Elves would be a welcome change from the people of Gondor, who sometimes tended to take themselves too seriously. It would also be good for his wife, Arwen Evenstar, in whom was ever present the longing for her home. It had worried him at the beginning, but now Arwen seemed to be settling in Minas Tirith at last; she had been much more cheerful these last months.
Aragorn, former Ranger of the north, revelled in the peace of these days after so many years of toil. He smiled at the equerry who entered and handed him a roll of parchment. Aragorn opened it and read it twice. Then he rolled it again and looked at the servant.
“Where is the Lord Steward? Is he in the Citadel?”
“I expect so, my lord.”
“Then find him and tell him to join me here.”
Arwen and Faramir cried together, and then lay motionless, their bodies damp, and hot, and appeased. Faramir moved off Arwen and lay at her side, tracing her cheek and jaw with one finger. Her lips blossomed into a grateful, affectionate smile. Faramir smiled too, happy that she was happy, and pulled her into a hug. She snuggled to him and soon fell asleep peacefully. For now, Arwen the Mortal slept like any human, and making love tired her.
Faramir kissed her brow, and caressed the long silk of her hair while he listened to the small sounds of the castle. And so Arwen found him, still beside her, when she woke up a little later, refreshed and untroubled as a flower opening its petals in the first morning of the world.
“You are always so beautiful when you wake up,” he murmured tenderly.
She smiled, and gazed at him, and her eyes held no bitterness, only joy. She would never spoil this moment saying that if she looked glowing, it was only because and when she awoke in Faramir’s arms. Aragorn’s shadow was ever present between them, there was no need to bring it closer.
Faramir looked back at her, knowing that whenever she held her silence there was a good reason, and thanking her for it. On the rare occasions at the beginning when she had criticized Aragorn, even implicitly, it had pained him, and she had since learnt her lesson well.
“I love you,” he said artlessly. Once again, she did not answer, but this time it was because the words had brought tears to her eyes. That Faramir seemed to consider as answer enough, for he lifted himself on his elbow and kissed her. Then he laughed, and she laughed with him, and all tension dissipated. For a short time.
Arwen rolled over Faramir and eyed him unabashedly, chewing her lower lip.
“I do feel like another round. Do you think that Gondor can live without a war for another couple of hours?”
Faramir laughed, said he hoped so, and raised himself on his two elbows to lick one of her nipples.
The equerry entered the King’s study again, a perplexed expression upon his face.
“The Lord Steward is nowhere to be found, my lord.”
Aragorn lifted his head from the great map before him and looked at the servant sternly.
“Are you certain of that?”
“His quarters are locked, there was no answer when I knocked, and no one has seen him in the Citadel or going out of it.”
Aragorn frowned. This was strange. Faramir was under no obligation to be anywhere near at this hour, but it was not like him to be impossible to find.
He looked at the parchment the equerry had brought him earlier and read it again. It was a message from the lord of Lebennin, urgently requesting aid from the King of Gondor. A horde of Orcs and Haradrim, remnants of the armies of the Dark Lord, had crossed the Anduin near Pelargir; as he waited for Faramir they were roaming the lands and destroying everything in their path. They must be halted, and he needed his Steward.
A decision had to be made. Aragorn only hesitated for a second.
The Lord Húrin, Warden of the Keys, hastened towards Faramir’s rooms. He had been ordered to find the Steward, anywhere he might be, and to bring him to the King without delay. As he had told his lordship, the Steward was usually easy to find, and if no one had seen him pass the gates of the Citadel (of which he was certain, for his job was to be aware of such things), then chances were that he was in his rooms and had decided, for reasons of his own, not to acknowledge his presence.
“Heavens know that I do not like to disturb him,” had said the King, “least of all in this intrusive fashion, when he is the hardest-working man in the realm, but it can’t be helped. Tell him I shall make amends to him later.”
Even before reaching the Steward’s chambers, Húrin knew that he had been right in suspecting Faramir was there. The door was thick, but still he could hear the moans and sometimes even cries coming out of the room. There was more than one voice, and the Lord Húrin thought sympathetically that whatever the King did afterwards to atone for it, this was indeed a good moment he was about to ruin. But orders were orders, and so Húrin knocked upon the door, curiously wondering who Faramir might be with. He was not married, he had no declared lover, nor was he known as a man who brought that sort of company to his rooms.
Though by the sound of it, he had a good deal of practice in the matter. The people inside were obviously enjoying themselves so much that they had not heard his loud knocks. So Húrin took out the key that opened the Steward’s quarters, and after a short hesitation inserted it into the keyhole. It made a lot of noise when he turned it, but still Faramir and his unknown companion (or companions) didn’t give any sign that they had heard.
No other choice but to enter the place! For a split second, Húrin almost hated the King for putting him in this awkward situation: couldn’t matters of state have waited for a few minutes? On the other hand, he was positively brimming with curiosity; never again would he have the chance to see this much of Faramir’s privacy; although they had been fast friends for more than twenty years, the Steward was so guarded about these matters…
Húrin took out the key and slowly pushed the door open, then advanced cautiously into the room. At the far end, in front of him, was the bed, now put to full use by its occupants. The curtains had been drawn, probably to dissipate the heat of lovemaking, and Húrin averted his eyes from the couple moving rhythmically on the sheets. The man lying face up on the bed must be Faramir, though his voice was barely recognizable as he urged his partner to ride him faster and deeper. Of the girl atop him Húrin could only see her swan-white skin and a long, silky curtain of black hair. Even now they were so completely engrossed in each other that they had not seen or heard him. Blushing, Húrin stepped forward towards the bed, intending to tell Faramir that the King was expecting him.
Only when he was three feet away did Faramir glance up. They gazed at each other for a second and Húrin was surprised by the expression of sheer dread that spread over Faramir’s features. Then the girl sensed something was wrong and turned to see what was frightening Faramir so. She looked Húrin squarely in the eyes and he suddenly felt weak at the knees.
It was the Queen.
Note on this chapter: this is the first time I publish a scene featuring graphic sex. It was tricky to write, so I am particularly eager to read your feedback on the matter!
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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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 #