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Darkness and Light (NC-17) Print

Written by Lilith and Minx

29 March 2004 | 29486 words

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CHAPTER SIX

For the past month Haldir had sat silently by Faramir's bedside each night, watching him sleep. He knew it surprised his brothers and fellow wardens that he spent so much time tending to Faramir. But they understood that, after his part in the man's rescue, he intended to complete the job he'd started. Faramir needed to heal, a slow and lengthy process. The Lady had assured Haldir he would heal when she had seen the young man shortly after his arrival.

The more time he spent around Faramir, the more impressed Haldir was with his innate qualities. Having survived such a gruesome attack by the Uruk-hai, and then suffering the pain from so many wounds so stoically, was a huge achievement. Faramir was a fine and noble young man, Haldir could see. The elf was also drawn to his diffidence that seemed much more Elvish than human. There was none of the boorishness that he associated with men. In their everyday encounters Faramir was unfailingly polite, his voice soft and gentle. If anything, he seemed too humble for his own good, always uncomplaining and deferential. The very attack, Haldir knew, would have done his confidence no good.

Haldir sighed softly as he watched Faramir's face, the tired lines somewhat softened in sleep. He should wake him and get him to eat something, he thought, but waking him suddenly did not prove wise, as Pippin had demonstrated. Haldir had arrived just in time to see the uncertainty and discomfort among the group, and had later gotten all the details of their encounter from Legolas. The days since had been tiring ones for the Gondorian. His nightmares had returned in full force since the walkers' visit. He woke up several times each night, crying out for his friends or his brother and father, and then would sob disconsolately before reverting to a fitful sleep, leaving the elf convinced that he surely needed more care and looking after. At least the healers allowed him to move around a little now. That had made him a little less morose.

Haldir ran a hand over the soft hair fondly, hoping that it would help rouse Faramir slowly. He really needed to get some food into him. He was thin and still quite pale. Haldir had seen enough of Faramir's body over these days to discern that, although on the smaller side, Faramir still had the look of a warrior, with the broad shoulders of an archer. The elf was committed to ensuring Faramir would once more look every inch the brave young warrior he once was. All it needed was time, much care, and love, all of which he was willing to provide. And especially, he realised with dawning clarity, love.

He had, he decided, become very fond of this brave young man.

"Dear, brave Faramir," he said softly, still stroking the raven hair as the man slept on.


Faramir lay still in bed. He'd been awake for a while, but it was so nice to feel the hand on his hair and he did not want it to stop.

He was no longer surprised to find the elf standing over him when he first woke up, but he could not help wondering why someone so fair as Haldir would fuss over him. Yet he found himself welcoming his attentions more and more. There was something so calming about him, something eternal and soothing. Others might consider him cold, or haughty, but Faramir could never see him that way. In his eyes, he was a saviour. He had saved him from the mines, from his nightmares. And sometimes, when Haldir was sitting beside him, Faramir felt whole again.

Faramir cracked his eyes just enough to see Haldir's distinctive profile. His beauty was breathtaking. His long hair shone in the morning sun, braided and pulled back in Elven fashion. It looked as soft as spun gold, and Faramir burned with the desire to touch it. He fought the urge, though. He was enjoying lingering over each of his features and wanted more time to observe the elf unawares. There was a tiny scar, long healed, marring the otherwise perfect skin on his cheek. Faramir wondered how he had gotten it. He studied the noble nose, his broad, untroubled forehead, the slight points on his ears. Suddenly an unbidden image flashed through Faramir's mind – he was kissing those ears, licking their entire length and tickling the tips with his tongue, as Haldir moaned ecstatically.

Faramir gasped. Haldir heard the strange sound and looked at him quizzically. "Good morning. Are you all right?"

Faramir could only nod in reply. He knew this was not the first time he had dreamed of kissing the elf. In dim dreams he had covered his entire body with kisses, and been kissed in return. Yet this was the first time that these thoughts had invaded his awake mind.

This could not be! Haldir was a march warden of Lórien, not some barmaid that he could entertain such lustful thoughts about. What a way to repay all of Haldir's tender care!

"Faramir, you look pale. What is it?" The elf's voice interrupted Faramir's thoughts, dragging him back to reality.

"I am fine. Just a dream, that's all," Faramir shrugged, grateful that he had such a convenient excuse. He looked at the elf with open eyes now.

"Are you sure? How do you feel?"

"Very well, Haldir. Did you sleep at all, or did you sit there watching me all night?"

"Elves need very little sleep," Haldir replied, sidestepping the question. "Now can I get you some breakfast?"

Faramir nodded again, grateful for the time alone to collect his thoughts. By the time Haldir returned, he had almost managed to convince himself that what had happened was indeed a dream, not the musings of his depraved mind.

Aragorn came by when he'd finished eating and Faramir found himself nodding shyly at the ranger in greeting. Haldir rose a little stiffly as the ranger entered the room, and immediately bade farewell. Aragorn did not seem to notice his absence. "How are you today, Faramir?" he asked gently.

"I am well," he replied, smiling a little at Aragorn's routine question.

"I have brought you some books from Lord Celeborn's library. I thought you might like to read awhile after you've had your walk."

Faramir took the books gratefully and then accepted Aragorn's arm as he very carefully helped him out of bed. The healers now allowed him to take small walks and indulge in light activity. It was slow and a little painful, but he endured it because it gave him something to do. Lying in bed all day, unable to even sit up without help, every muscle in his body protesting, had plunged him into a state of despair in which he questioned why he had even been saved. His thoughts had often turned to darkness – if not to what he had endured, then to what might happen to the quest now, and what might be happening in Minas Tirith, where his brother battled the forces of Mordor while he lay here helplessly.

But being able to move now made him feel much better and less depressed. He even felt lighter. He did not know whether the lightness he felt was due to the feel of cool air on his face, or the fresh smells of leaves and grass, or quite simply because Aragorn held his arm tightly and guided him very gently along the tiny path. He enjoyed these little walks greatly, but he'd have enjoyed them even more if they could have spoken more freely. He often had to rack his brain to come up with something to say, then Aragorn would answer. It was very unlike the spirited talks they had enjoyed earlier, before Moria.

He had truly appreciated the fact that they had started to become such good friends on the road from Rivendell. He'd been drawn to the older man in a way he had rarely felt. The more they spoke, the more they found they had in common. Both were scholars as well as warriors, and found many subjects of mutual interest to discuss. Aragorn had travelled through many lands, most of which Faramir had only ever heard of, and he thirsted to learn more of them. Aragorn had seemed to enjoy their conversations, and with the older man Faramir had discovered a degree of understanding that made him very happy.

He had that no more. Not for the first time, he cursed the Uruks for causing more than the physical hurt and trauma. He cursed them for ruining the wonderful bond that had been growing between him and Aragorn.

He despaired of ever finding that connection again. While Aragorn was solicitous towards him, always making sure that he had eaten enough, that he slept, even staying beside him during his worst nights, the bond that they had shared seemed to be lost. As the weeks stretched on, he and Aragorn were as much strangers as they had been on their first day in Rivendell. Yet he could not blame the ranger for rending that bond. How could someone as brave and noble as Aragorn want to even speak with one as cowardly as he?

He had let down the fellowship. He had heard how Aragorn had turned around without rest from the borders of Lórien itself. It was no small distance between the gates of Moria and the Golden Wood, yet Aragorn, and Gimli, too, had traversed that thrice in succession all because of him. They should have been resting here in Lórien, not running back to Moria to rescue him.

And now they were tarrying here too long, when there was so much at stake – for them, for Gondor, for the whole of Middle-earth. Aragorn said all of them needed rest, and the time to leave was not far. He knew he would have to get better by then, if he were to be of any use to the quest. But he could barely walk; much less use a weapon. It made him worry even more about why Aragorn might expend so much effort over him.

But even these troublesome thoughts could not keep the Gondorian from relishing Aragorn's attentions. Even lacking the bond that they had begun to forge, just being near him gave Faramir a deep sense of contentment. He often found himself sneaking peeks at the ranger when he wasn't watching. He liked to see the grave face, lost in thought, the deep grey eyes watching some unseen point. He liked the sound of the calm and soothing voice, his soft, gentle laugh. He quite simply liked the idea of being near Aragorn, he decided.

In the earliest stages of his recovery, still lost in dreams and the influence of Gríma's draught, Faramir had often shied away from Aragorn, unwilling to accept that his presence was real. Then he had avoided his eyes, not wanting to see in them the disgust and contempt that he felt for himself.

But when he finally met his gaze, he saw none of that. He had seen sadness and concern and, he thought, tenderness. As Aragorn cared for him over the weeks, he grew to depend on the man, and to trust him, until now he woke up each morning looking forward to his visits. Of course, he could never let him know this, or demand more of his time than he freely gave. Faramir had no intention of imposing on him more than he was already doing. And it would certainly do no good for Aragorn to learn how intensely he craved his visits. He could never admit that they were what he lived for.

Over the past few weeks, Faramir had begun to realise the extent of his feelings for the ranger. It scared him at first, to have such feelings for another man. As a soldier he knew men often lay together while out on the front. That none begrudged, for the warriors of Gondor led harsh lives, battling many foes, and in the thick of war what little comfort available was happily accepted. But this was not wartime, and they were not fellow men-in-arms. And to make matters worse, his feelings for Aragorn were something much stronger than these brief liaisons. Surely it was not right to have such strong feelings for another man, that too one who would be his king. This was not how the noble men of Gondor behaved!

He did not think Aragorn would appreciate such thoughts either. He had, very briefly, harboured a secret hope that he might share his feelings, especially when he learned how Aragorn had raced back to rescue him, and even later when he sat with him and looked after him. Sometimes the ranger would look at him with such tenderness that he had really wondered, and even dared to hope. But Aragorn never said anything. When Faramir caught him staring at him and asked if anything were the matter, the older man would only shake his head, smile sadly, and say it was nothing.

He wished he could drive that sadness away, that he could bring the smile back to Aragorn's face. Suddenly a second unbidden image came to him. He was pushing the stray locks of hair off the ranger's face as he kissed him lightly on his lips. When he moved to rub his cheek against the bristly hairs of the other man's beard, Aragorn wrapped his arms around his body and held him close. He leaned his head against the older man's chest and listened to the rhythmic beat of his heart while Aragorn stroked his hair and dropped light kisses on his head.

What is happening to me? Faramir thought as the image dissipated. First Haldir, now Aragorn? Not only did he not deserve their attentions, but now he was abusing their friendship. Faramir chewed his lip in confusion.

Lost in his thoughts, Faramir did not notice Aragorn watching him closely. They walked back to his room in silence, and Aragorn helped him back to bed.

"Haldir will be here soon with your noon meal," Aragorn told him, as he pulled the covers up to tuck Faramir in. "Would you like to read a book until then, or would you prefer to take a short nap?"

"A book," Faramir said promptly, and it seemed a ghost of a smile flickered on Aragorn's face.

"Which one would you like?" the ranger asked.

"I do not know," he confessed. "I have never seen any of these before, and – Oh! Is this an account of the Lay of Nimrodel?"

Aragorn smiled widely. Faramir looked so much livelier now, so like his old self as he thumbed through the books that he had borrowed from Celeborn.

"Yes, it is," the ranger said. "And it is quite good. I read it during one of my earlier stays here."

"Oh!" Faramir said, and then after a pause continued, "Would – would you like to read it with me, Aragorn? Unless – you have some work – er – unless you would rather rest. I will understand," he added hastily.

"I have nothing to do now, save watch the hobbits eat!" he said cheerfully. "Why don't I read it aloud to you?"

To Faramir's surprise, the ranger nestled beside him in bed and began reading the ancient song of hope and great beauty. Faramir fell asleep about ten pages into the book, lulled by Aragorn's sweet voice and the scent of the forest from his tunic.


Faramir's head slipped onto Aragorn's shoulder as he slept, so close that the ranger could feel his breath on his neck. He quietly closed the book, marking the page where Faramir had fallen asleep, and placed it on the floor. Then he carefully shifted himself so that Faramir could lean against him more comfortably. Slipping one arm around the younger man's slender body, he very gently pulled him close, taking care not to wake him. Faramir needed all the rest he could get. He quietly stroked his arm in a soothing manner, and watched his face, so peaceful in sleep.

"I am so glad we could find you," he whispered softly. "I knew we would. Yet, I wish we had reached you sooner, so you might have been spared this."

He closed his eyes as he remembered how Faramir had looked when they had found him, his battered body under the blanket. He recalled the despair he had felt in Moria, when he first saw the extent of his bruises and gashes, and later how it had pained him to see the grimace of agony on the unhappy face when Faramir first tried to walk. He also thought of the Faramir he knew earlier, the smiling young man who had countless times pleaded for tales of far-off lands. He looked so different now, pale and gaunt. And yet, Aragorn felt no lessening of his love. In fact, with his rapid recovery after his ordeal, he now appreciated his courage and his fighting spirit even more.

"My dear, brave one," he whispered as he kissed Faramir lightly on the head. "I hope you get better soon. I worry so for you. I really need you by my side."

He really did. He loved Faramir so much! He wanted nothing more than to hold him in his arms, to look after him and ensure that he was never hurt again. He unconsciously tightened his hold around Faramir, and stroked his cheek softly with the other hand. His fingers traced their way down to his jaw and over his neck, then he stopped himself.

How badly he wanted to touch Faramir all over, to kiss his worries away! But he could do no such thing. Only recently had Faramir stopped shying away from him. He still seemed wary of physical contact and often shrank back if things became too noisy. Aragorn could not possibly abuse that trust by forcing himself too close. And in all likelihood he would never be able to get as close as he desired. No matter what Aragorn felt for him, after Moria, Faramir would be looking to anyone but men for company!

Sighing, he continued to hold Faramir close, breathing in the scent of his soft hair, until Haldir arrived with his noon meal.

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7 Comment(s)

I loved the way Faramir went from someone scared out of his wits to someone so loving. Keep up the good work.

— balrog    Thursday 28 June 2007, 10:15    #

Oh man, I’m probably going to hell for liking this! :)

— Luthien    Monday 7 January 2008, 8:15    #

This is one of my favorites to read with Faramir’s courage. I would recommend it to all. Thanks

— balrog    Tuesday 3 March 2009, 5:30    #

Thank you Balrog!:)

— Minx    Sunday 8 March 2009, 18:09    #

read it twice, love it.Great work. Hope you write more Faramir-Haldir work. :-)

— blondie    Saturday 14 December 2013, 19:10    #

@blondie: Thank you so much. Good to hear you liked reading this. Lilith has written a few sequels to this, and I hope you were able to read those too.

Minx    Wednesday 1 January 2014, 14:45    #

Loved it, whats is the name of the sequels,,,have you other faramir haldir yourself, its great

Line    Wednesday 4 November 2015, 13:46    #

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