Faramir Fiction Archive

Family Honor (NC-17)

Written by Mcguffan

14 July 2006 | 162886 words

Chapter 10

Settling himself by the fire, Aragorn prepared to wait. Denethor’s interest in the gauntlet boded ill. As Halbarad would doubtless be quick to point out, Gondor’s Steward would not want any artifact of the Isildurioni for mere sentiment’s sake. Yet, even as he racked his brain, Aragorn could remember nothing in his conversations with Gandalf that would lead him to believe the `killing fist’ was so very dangerous. It was frustrating certainly. Even more frustrating, Aragorn began to realize however as he found his thoughts drifting from the gauntlet yet again, was the misery that Faramir was clearly undergoing with the revelation of Denethor’s deception. Giving up, Aragorn put aside the useless speculation about wizards and magical artifacts and allowed himself to contemplate the unhappiness he had seen in his lover’s eyes. One of the little daydreams Aragorn had allowed himself as the pleasure and satisfaction of being with Faramir had enveloped him had been that he might somehow contrive to steal the young man from his father, take him away and keep him somewhere safe and happy. It pleased Aragorn to imagine taking Faramir to Rivendell. He felt suffused with genuine contentment as he wondered what it would be like to sit with Faramir in the hall of fire, to watch his eyes light up as he explored the library or to wander leisurely together through the forests and building that seamlessly blended of art and nature. Most of all, though, Aragorn wanted to introduce his beloved Faramir to his beloved Arwen. Such a meeting would be difficult for the diffident Faramir but Aragorn knew with the certainty born of great love that Arwen would cherish the young man and that Faramir would love and revere Arwen in turn.

Grimly, Aragorn resolved that he would permit himself no more such indulgences. He could not take Faramir to rivendell. He could not take Faramir anywhere. The young captain belonged to Gondor and to the Steward. He was needed in Ithilien and it would be a cruelty to even consider taking Faramir from his beloved brother. Aragorn knew all this but he had needed his fantasy for the thought that he would not only be parted from Faramir but that Faramir would again have to face the unmediated force of Denethor had been nearly unbearable. Resolving to think only of practicalities, Aragorn decided something else would need to be done. Faramir needed to learn to protect himself better. But how could Aragorn show him that he was safe and loved and that though Denethor’s coldness was always to be regretted it was neither Faramir’s fault nor his responsibility? Could Aragorn do that though in the short time they had? Could he do it, given that Faramir would easily perceive just how angry Aragorn was himself at Denethor’s behavior? Would Faramir understand that Aragorn did not want to compete with whatever duty Faramir felt he owed his father but that he only wanted his lover protected?

These thoughts and others roiled through Aragorn’s mind until he heard the approach of footsteps. He recognized the sounds as belonging to Halbarad, but he still could not refrain from looking up hopefully in case Faramir had also come. He had not, though, and Aragorn’s mouth thinned in disappointment.

“He is closeted with Gildel choosing a successor to Flyn.” The ranger answered Aragorn’s unspoken question.

Aragorn nodded, acknowledging his friend’s seeming prescience. “How have the men taken the news of Flyn’s disgrace?”

Halbarad allowed himself a small smile at this. “Faramir, of course, did not go into great deal about the circumstances but the soldiers know Flyn’s temperament and no one believes him falsely accused. Rather, I think the men are glad their captain has had the backbone to deal decisively with a breach of discipline.”

“And you foresee no more problems from Flyn?”

“If we had more resources I would counsel keeping a watch on him out of general caution but as it is I do not think it worth the time. Flyn might be a schemer but he is not a traitor. He was acting under Denethor’s orders.” Halbarad disliked Flyn but he truly blamed Denethor. What fool would play games like that- giving lieutenants orders without informing the captain? It was pure idiocy.

“Yes, he was following Denethor’s orders.” Aragorn agreed. “This must have been such an awful shock to Faramir. It is unthinkable that a commander would put a subordinate in such a position much less a father do this to a son.”

“Still there must have been some warning, some hint.” Halbarad interjected, tugging his ear in a gesture of irritation. One of Halbarad’s particular gifts had been an instinct for when someone was setting him up

“Would you have suspected it, Halbarad?” Aragorn asked, genuinely curious.

“From Denethor?” The reply was incredulous.

“From your father?”

Halbarad sighed and did not answer. His father had been a true and faithful Dunadan- dedicated to the line of Isuldor and the defense of all those threatened by the enemy or so Halbarad had been told by those who had known his him. That was not the point, however. Halbarad did not blame Faramir for not anticipating Denethor’s machinations but he was nonetheless irritated. Halbarad was Dunedain not of the Gondorhim, but as Gondor rightly belonged to Aragorn Halbarad felt a certain kinship with the people of Minas Tirith. They were gauche, less sophisticated relations to be sure but still family. Thus, it was a blow to Halbarad’s pride to see palace intrigues and deception in the White Tower. One expected that sort of thing from Harad or even Khand but Gondor should have been above such petty plotting.

“Well, now we know Denethor wants the `killing fist’ do you mean to let him have it?” Halbarad asked after a pause.

“It will depend upon what Gandalf has to say. It grieves me but this is not something I feel confident leaving to the Steward.”

“You still mean to fight for it yourself, then?” Halbarad asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Yes, Gorm and Hilo are both good men but I want to make sure the gauntlet comes to us.” That was more or less what Halbarad had expected and it was at least some relief that the Variags would have other targets besides his Chieftain.

There was silence for a time as Aragorn seemed to stare off into the flames and Halbarad watched his lord. Aragorn’s concern for Gondor’s young captain was clearly upsetting him. Halbarad ached to relieve something of his lord’s distress but apart from offering to go to Minas Tirith and slap the Steward around a little, he could think of nothing that would lift Aragorn’s spirits.

“I cannot help but wonder sometimes.” Aragorn, finally broke the silence. He spoke quietly without turning his face from the fire but Halbarard heard him. “Had Ecthelion and Denethor not quarreled, Had Thorongil never come between father and son then might not there be less bitterness for Denethor?”

“There isn’t a damn thing wrong with Denethor that allowing me to take him on a few weeks long hike through the Brownlands wouldn’t cure.” Halbarad answered angrily. “It disgusts me that a leader of men should not protect those who need him. I have no patience for the tragic misfortunes of Denethor!”

“No, I see you do not.” Aragorn replied, finally looking at Halbarad. Aragorn’s expression was sad but he managed a smile for his friend. No one gave comfort quite like Halbarad. Even as the ranger’s words cheered him though, Aragorn could not help but consider that he had taken a great deal from Denethor and he meant to take more before all was settled between them. Aragorn’s eyes drifted again to the fire and the men lapsed once more into silence.

When the silence was next broken it was Halbarad who spoke. “You know, your young man is not as fragile as he seems. It may not be my business but he has someone to believe in now and that will give him strength. Besides, he is twenty-five. Who among us was comfortable with the world or our place in it at that age? He just needs a little time to grow comfortable in his own skin.”

“As ever, you speak wisdom, Barad-nin.” This time, Aragorn’s smile was more genuine as he rose from his place and drew Halbarad against him in a grateful embrace. Faramir was indeed strong. His deference and Aragorn’s own desire to protect his lover sometimes obscured that fact to him there was great resilience in him.

“Well, I would that you remember that more often.” Halbarad replied, returning the embrace with such an affectionate gentleness that it might have been comical had it not been so sincere. “Good night, my lord. Rest well.”

The question of who would replace Flyn was quickly settled, yet Faramir remained with Lieutenant Gildel desperately seeking some hint as to what Denethor hoped to gain through the gauntlet. Gildel had remained fairly patient throughout the interrogation, meekly answering the same question several times. `Yes, Denethor knew the `Killing Fist’ would be in Khand, though he did not mention that it would a prize at the contest. No, the Steward gave no instructions on how to handle the gauntlet nor did he seem to believe it was dangerous to carry. No, it didn’t matter to Denethor if the prize was won, bought or stolen so long as it was attained.’ After a long time, the lieutenant began to look longingly at his men clustered a little distance away and Faramir could see the man was having difficulty standing at attention without shifting his weight or making any other sign that he was growing increasingly bored.

Eventually, the Captain took pity on his subordinate and dismissed him. He knew his questions had long since grown repetitive but Faramir was no closer to understanding. Now deprived of even the pretense of usefulness that questioning Gildel had given him Faramir bit his lip and considered what to do. The thought of returning to Aragorn leapt before him but the captain ruthlessly suppressed it. Faramir did not deserve to be in the man’s presence. He did not deserve to hear his deep voice speak soft, comforting words. He did not deserve to be protected in his strong arms or held against his warm chest… Squeezing his eyes tightly shut for a moment, Faramir began to walk briskly, hoping the movement would afford even a small measure of relieve to the aching in his chest.

The pity of it was that Faramir had been starting to feel competent, as though he were a man fulfilling a man’s responsibilities. Now he felt as though he were a child who had been caught sitting at his father’s desk and trying on the Steward’s ring. How could Aragorn respect him now? With vicious irony Faramir reminded himself that earlier that day he had been daydreaming that Aragorn would permit him to follow him, to travel with the Dunedain. Faramir knew that he did not deserve that honor, that he would be more of a hindrance than a help, but the idea of sharing his lord’s life, of facing dangers together, of perhaps helping to soothe Aragorn after a difficult day… but all that was folly. How could Faramir be so presumptuous? How could he aspire to serve his king when even his own father knew he was worthless?

Gritting his teeth, Faramir bit back the tide of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. There was no way he could apologize enough for all that had happened and yet Aragorn had looked upon him kindly before they had parted. The depth of compassion that Aragorn held within him astonished Faramir. He simply did not understand how the older man could care for him. Wistfully, Faramir allowed all the gentle words of praise that Aragorn had lavished upon him to flow over the aching fragments of Faramir’s thoughts. Even if an alliance with Khand had been only a pretext to Denethor, Aragorn had taken it seriously and, Faramir acknowledged self-consciously, he had made progress on that front. It was after all just possible that Faramir had managed to do some good.

Then too, Faramir thought cautiously, Gandalf had been playing a similar game to Denethor. Faramir had come to a halt without realizing it as his thoughts took on a new direction. Wasn’t he being a bit self-centered? His injured feelings were secondary to the larger political implications of all that was happening. Faramir’s first thought- Faramir’s only thought- should be for Aragorn and how best to serve him. And what had been his lord’s words before had fled his presence: `I shall be here, love, when you are ready to return.’ Dismayed at his own selfishness Faramir realized that he had kept his king waiting while he indulged in childish petulance. Shame spurred him as the young captain hurried back to where he had left Aragorn several hours earlier.

Some of his resolve began to abandon him, however, as he drew nearer the tent. Faramir did not know if he should expect a rebuke or not. He felt that his behavior merited it but he did not know how he would endure it if Aragorn said he was disappointed in him. Would Aragorn hold him responsible for not penetrating his father’s true designs? Wasn’t he responsible for it? Still, Aragorn’s eyes had been so kind earlier. Steeling himself, Faramir knocked to announce his presence, then entered the tent.

Aragorn had waited, just as he said he would. As Faramir cautiously advanced the ranger’s stern features softened into a smile of welcome. “Are you feeling better, Faramir?”

“I- um, yes, but I wanted to apologize for not returning sooner. I did not mean to… to inconvenience you.” Faramir had moved into the approximate center of the tent and stopped. Clasping his hands behind his back the captain lowered his head, feeling very much like a child about to be chastised for sulking.

“You must take time to heed your thoughts and feelings after such a revelation, Faramir.” Aragorn replied, wanting his beloved to see the sincerity in his eyes but the younger man was determinedly studying his boots. “If I have a concern it is that you do not extend to yourself the same consideration and compassion that you give to others.” Aragorn laid a hand on Faramir’s shoulder. “If it would be of any service to you we could talk about it.”

Biting his lip, Faramir risked a quick glance upward. He did not know how to speak of his feelings concerning his father. They were so convoluted and if he was utterly honest, he did not think he could even make the attempt without shaming himself terribly. “No, my lord. I am sorry but I do not think I am able to talk about it.” The admission cost him dearly and once again Faramir stole a look at Aragorn’s face, ready to see disappointment there.

“It is for you to say.” Aragorn’s gentle tone did not alter in the least. In truth, the ranger was even a little relieved, for he was not certain he could hear his beloved speak of his sense of hurt and betrayal without traveling to Minas Tirith and taking a horsewhip to the insensitive Steward and such a thing could not be.

“I would ask a favor of you, though.” Aragorn continued, pleased when Faramir looked up, eager for the opportunity to do something for his lord. “Do not dwell upon the incident. I fear the intensity of your thoughts drive your feelings into too harsh a judgment of yourself.”

Immediately Faramir’s face fell. “Ah but my dear lord, how am I not too think upon it or judge harshly when I do?”

“Is there naught else, then, to claim your attention that you must resort to causing yourself pain?” While Aragorn’s voice remained gentle, there was for the first since Faramir had returned a note of sternness.

“Yes, of course there is much for which I have to be thankful. Forgive me, I did not mean to talk back.”

“I think you must talk back if we are to have a conversation, love.” Aragorn replied mildly, though in his heart he seethed that Faramir should feel the need to apologize. He did not want to lecture Faramir he wished to talk to him.

“I- I only meant that I will try very hard to do as you ask.”

Aragorn surveyed the younger man speculatively for a moment before coming to a decision. “I would like to help distract you, if you will permit it.”

“Of course.” Faramir replied instantly and a moment later he accepted Aragorn’s offered hand. Curiously, he allowed Aragorn to lead him where their blankets were spread. It would be wonderful if Aragorn meant to distract him by making love to him. Faramir craved his touch and even the pressure of their clasped hands was a great reassurance to the younger man. Yet, Faramir did not think love play was what Aragorn intended.

“Take off your shirt, love, and lie down.”

Obediently, Faramir dropped to his knees on the blankets and began removing his shirt. Aragorn, too, settled onto his knees and when the shirt had been disposed of Faramir tentatively reclined. He wanted to obey but was unsure what exactly Aragorn wished him to do. Seeing his beloved’s mild confusion Aragorn guided Faramir onto his stomach. The young man gazed up at him with complete trust and Aragorn felt tenderness squeeze his heart.

“Relax, my love.” Aragorn instructed as he placed the palms of his hands on the backs of Faramir’s shoulders. Still uncertain what Aragorn meant to do Faramir complied. He allowed himself to enjoy the light contact and waited patiently for whatever was next.

“Now take a deep breath, sweet one… And slowly, let it out.” As the air left his lungs, Faramir felt the pressure of Aragorn’s hands increase. At the same time a warmth started to spread through him. Without knowing the moment it first started to happen Faramir realized that his body had gone entirely limp. His limbs were warm and heavy. Then Aragorn’s hands began moving and Faramir knew nothing but what those hands whispered to him.

The contrast between gentle healer and fierce fighter had been one of the many things that had drawn Elrond’s daughter to future king of men. She was fascinated by the extremes of gentleness and battle fury that lived in her beloved. During Aragorn’s long absences the lady of Rivendell filled sketchpads with drawing of her beloved, sword clasped tightly in one hand and sprigs of athelas held carefully in the other. As Aragorn’s hands flowed over Faramir’s unresisting flesh, however, Arwen’s mortal love knew there was no contradiction. To protect Faramir, to keep him safe, Aragorn would bring steel and fire to a legion of orcs and he would wield herbs and medicines in the same cause. Death and danger stalked his people and not all these perils would fall beneath a sword. Sickness and privation contended for those Aragorn would claim as his own and he held these perils back with all the skill his foster father could impart to his most avid student.

Aragorn had learned his lessons well and more besides. For men, more so than elves, craved the gentle, caring touch of other humans. Faramir with his keen understanding lived very much in his head and neglected the atavistic murmurs of blood and muscle. The body remembered the suffering of the heart and mind. Faramir’s bones and sinews cried to Aragorn in a language beyond words of shoulders hunched protectively against harsh words, of a spine held straight beneath impossible weight, of a jaw clenched tight to hold in the churning bile of anxiety. The legacy of other wounds marked Faramir, too. Harsh blows to accompany the harsh words scarred the young man, though the scars could not be seen they remained nonetheless. With gentle strokes Aragorn soothed the accumulated miseries. Slowly, the memories gave up their hold on Faramir under Aragorn massaging fingers. Tensions locked away so long that they seemed permanent melted away. Finally, Aragorn’s hands rested once more on their original starting place on the backs of Faramir’s shoulders. As the hands were lifted slowly, Faramir returned to a more conventional awareness.

“What did you do?” Faramir breathed sitting slowly as Aragorn released an exhausted sigh, wiped the thin sheen of sweat from his brow and sat back on his heels.

“You were hurting, Faramir. I wanted to help.”

“‘The hands of the king are the hands of a healer.’” Faramir intoned softly, before reaching for Aragorn’s hands and pressing them to his lips in awed fervor.

“I would think spending so many years under Lord Elrond’s tutelage would have had more to do with it but as you will. You will have less trouble now keeping your thoughts from subjects that give you pain?”

“It is most remarkable.” Faramir who now clasped Aragorn’s hands to his heart replied. “For though I feel a lingering sadness, I feel very much removed from how I felt earlier.”

“And how do you feel otherwise?” Aragorn inquired, smiling. He had had occasion to employ similar remedies often enough whenever someone close to him experienced pain that was more than simply physical. Some of Faramir’s initial euphoria would fade; even so, he had felt that with Faramir he had had a particularly good effect. This result, Aragorn felt sure, had to do with the younger man’s great faith in him.

Faramir considered a moment, still pressing Aragorn’s hands to his chest. He felt strong- even powerful. He seemed to move with an effortless fluidity. Energy surged through him and he felt as though he could run a league without losing breath. “I feel as though my desires were within my power to gain, as though I might fulfill my best hopes for myself.”

“Tell me of your hopes for yourself.” Aragorn requested, extricating himself from Faramir briefly, so that he could recline against the cushions. He had used a great deal of concentration earlier and now weariness left him feeling unusually placid. When he had made himself more comfortable, Aragorn invited Faramir to sit beside him and the younger man eagerly nestled against him.

“Oh, my hopes are conventional to the point of being trite.” Faramir replied with a self-deprecating shrug as Aragorn, feeling his exhaustion, leaned into Faramir in a reversal of how they usually sat. “I want to be reliable, trustworthy, competent- the sort of man who can be counted on.”

“You are those things already. You surely seek for more.” Aragorn’s eyes had drifted shut and he spoke even more softly than usual.

“I hope, then, to be at your side always. I want to go where you go, protect you, love you, serve you.” It was no more than the truth, yet Faramir was surprised to hear himself confessing to such a grand ambition. Aragorn’s head still rested upon the younger man’s chest and perhaps it was that the ranger was obviously fatigued while the captain felt invigorated that triggered not only the sense that Aragorn might in some way need protection but that Faramir might also be able to provide it.

“Ah, I fear that that is beyond the rights of either of us, now.”

“Someday, though? Perhaps? Someday?” Faramir seized upon the vague idea behind Aragorn’s murmured words that when circumstances changed; as Faramir knew they would, and the King took back his own there was a chance- even a little chance that Faramir might be granted a place near him.

“Someday. Perhaps.”

For a time Aragorn spoke no more. Buoyed by contemplations of a happy future, Faramir tenderly smoothed his hair. Soon though, Aragorn raised his head and while his ideas still retained a languid quality, they had regained something of their habitual cautious vigilance. “Even if all should come to pass according to our best expectations there may be many years in which your duty keeps you in Gondor and mine keeps me away. I would not have you deny yourself love or kindness.”

“But I belong to you.” Faramir spoke with quiet conviction. He had expected Aragorn to say something of this kind and it grieved him that his beloved could believe him capable of sparing so much as a glance for anyone else.

“I belong to you, too.” Aragorn returned pressing his lips to younger man’s temple. Faramir felt his face heat with pride and delight at these words. He knew it was the truth. Only part of the reason it was so difficult for Faramir to break himself of habitually addressing Aragorn as `my lord’ was his need to constantly express deference. The other part was that Faramir had been making- in the only way he felt he could- an assertion of possession. He said `my lord’ and he meant `my king’, `my love’, `my future’ and `my own’.

“We both also belong to others, Faramir.”

These words had the effect of returning Faramir to a greater sense of perspective. The truth that others had a claim upon each of them did not exactly depress him. Faramir loved and needed Boromir, his comrades in Ithilien, his City, his uncle. There were countless others, too, that put faith in him, or at least, in his family and Faramir could not imagine a life where he chose to ignore duty and responsibility. Aragorn had many more responsibilities than Faramir. He belonged to all Middle-Earth. Faramir realized with an emotion akin to pride. There was also that lady with whom Aragorn had an understanding. This thought spawned an emotion in the younger man that, though far from pleasure managed to fall short of jealousy. Romantic fantasies aside, it was a weakness to depend on one person to such an extent that one forgot the world.

Faramir sighed and Aragorn took this as something near to acquiescence and pressed his advantage. “Do not keep yourself aloof out of a sense of obligation to me, my love. It would grieve me to think that you were lonely.”

“No, not out of a sense of obligation. Never.” Faramir pressed closer to Aragorn’s side. It seemed to him suddenly that there was something buried deep beneath the granite and iron, far below the fathomless depths of strength and grim determination in Aragorn that was vulnerable, something that suffered and was painfully… huma. Faramir acting on blind instinct spoke the first words that came to him: “I cannot love anyone as I love you. No other could be to me what you are. I love you and there is no being in this life or any other that may claim your place in my heart.”

“You are very young, my love.” Smiling wearily, Aragorn tucked a strand of hair behind Faramir’s ear.

“Some truths are clear to a man whatever his age.”

To Aragorn’s astonishment he felt a telltale prickle at the back of his eyes. The day must have been more draining than he realized. Advising Faramir not to avoid love during their separation had made him maudlin. Then, Faramir’s words, spoken with such heart-rending conviction recalled to his mind his own thoughts upon first seeing his Evenstar when he had been five years younger than Faramir was now. Folding the younger man into his arms Aragorn kissed the top of his head and waited for his emotions to regain their usual equilibrium.

“Aragorn make love to me, please.” Faramir asked, still tucked into the older man’s chest.

“Is that what you want?” There was the trace of a smile in Aragorn’s voice as he began moving his fingers very slowly up Faramir’s spine.

“Yes, I do.” Faramir responded looking up with a grin before moving the few feet, quick as a cat, to the small chest where he kept his various effects. Convenience had spurred the migration of the oil that Aragorn habitually carried in his pack to the chest where Faramir kept his comb, razor and small mirror. Even at so short a separation, Faramir glanced at Aragorn frequently as though he expected the ranger might disappear if he lost sight of him for more than a moment. Having found what he sought, Faramir returned as quickly as he had gone. With a smile that was seductive even though not entirely sure of itself, the younger man presented the jar to Aragorn.

Accepting the jar, Aragorn quickly put it to one side and wrapped an arm around Faramir’s torso. Then with a sudden surge of desire Aragorn pulled the younger man into a fierce kiss. He felt his melancholy leave him as Faramir opened to him, welcoming him. Aragorn did not always approve of his own desires. The ranger could not be easy in his mind or body without a sense of control. If nothing else was within his influence then he could always find comfort in controlling himself. This need, however, troubled Aragorn’s conscience for could it not grow perilously close to the lust for power that had been Isildur’s bane? When Aragorn looked into Faramir’s eyes, though, he saw the mirror image of his most potent wishes. It was easy for Aragorn to question his own motives but he trusted Faramir. If Faramir was able to- more than was able to, needed- to give himself to Aragorn without fear or reservation then Aragorn could no longer regard his own desires as a temptation to darkness.

The kiss deepened. Aragorn could feel Faramir’s heart beat faster against his ribcage and he moved a hand to press Faramir head closer as he caressed the younger man’s tongue with his own. After long moments, the kiss ended and Faramir fell breathlessly against Aragorn’s shoulder. Breathing deeply himself, Aragorn continued to press his lips and tongue against Faramir’s jaw and throat. Faramir’s hands roamed over Aragorn’s torso, seeking the flesh beneath the cloth.

Clumsily, Aragorn managed to remove his shirt while keeping an arm about Faramir. As soon as the shirt had been flung aside the younger man Straddled Aragorn’s lap and began to rub their chests together while coiling around Aragorn to kiss the nape of his neck beneath the fall of soft dark hair. Aragorn groaned as Faramir’s maneuvers also allowed the younger man to rock maddeningly against Aragorn’s quickly hardening penis. Faramir felt the increasingly urgent nudging at the back seam of his trousers and he clutched Aragorn’s shoulders and arched his back in enthusiastic encouragement.

Desire overwhelmed Aragorn’s senses as Faramir continued to move against him as though their clothing was no obstacle to the merging of their flesh. In that moment Faramir was almost painfully beautiful. Description failed Aragorn except that Faramir was light and heat and all things needful. Closing his eyes, in an attempt to rein in something of his passion, Aragorn pressed his cheek to Faramir’s chest. Faramir hissed as the unexpected sensation of the ranger’s unkempt beard brushed across his nipples.

“My love, I cannot wait.” Aragorn confessed in an agony of anticipation. “I must… I need you now.”

Aragorn’s words had an immediate effect upon his lover. For a moment, Faramir was transfixed and a joy akin to that he felt at the moment of release suffused his features. This immobility did not last long, however, and suddenly it was Faramir who was all frantic urgency. Rising onto his knees, though still astride Aragorn’s thighs, Faramir began pushing his trousers passed his hips without bothering to remove his boots.

As carefully as he could while still deep in the grip of passionate desire, Aragorn eased Faramir onto his back. Then, pausing to stroke the emerging thighs, Aragorn moved down his legs to his boots, which he quickly tugged free. As soon as his lover was naked, Aragorn began pulling at his own boots. Eager to speed the process, Faramir scrambled up to hands and knees to begin working at the laces of Aragorn’s trousers while pressing kisses to the older man’s stomach. Finally extricating himself from his trousers, Aragorn tried in vain to suppress a groan. Faramir clasped him about the waist and lay back, pulling Aragorn with him.

Burying one hand in Faramir’s hair, Aragorn kissed the younger man deeply. He felt the slender body tremble beneath him as Faramir parted his thighs and tilted his hips up. In an act of supreme will the ranger ended the kiss rising to his knees between Faramir’s legs and groping blindly for the jar of oil.

“You said you could not wait.” Faramir husked between ragged breaths. Aragorn could not have been certain through the distortion of Faramir’s and his own desire but he thought he heard a note of petulance in the voice.

“I can wait to keep from causing you pain.” Aragorn replied with a certain fierceness meant more for himself than for the younger man. Lifting Faramir by the hips, the ranger pulled him a little closer. Faramir’s only answer was a helpless little moan followed by a determined push as an oil-slick finger probed between his buttocks.

Pushing himself onto his hands and feet like a crab, Faramir rocked onto Aragorn’s fingers. Faramir’s desperate need for Aragorn shone from him so strongly that the ranger could not meet his gaze for fear that his own emotions would become just as transparent. So with his eyes squeezed shut Aragorn continued to prepare his lover as carefully as his racing blood would let him.

It did not take long. Faramir opened easily to him and Aragorn believed that it would now be safe to proceed. Withdrawing his fingers, Aragorn reached for the last of the oil and slathered it over himself. As he moved, however, the ranger could not avoid taking in the exquisite sight before him. Faramir was watching him with a nearly frightening intensity of concentration, the younger man’s face was contorted into such raw longing that it took Aragorn’s breath. Though, he said nothing Faramir’s entire body communicated a desperate plea: `claim me, need me, master me, love me.’ An answer welled up within Aragorn. The ranger’s desire coupled with Faramir’s own longing overrode the omnipresent voice that always warned him to beware any offer of power, that it was wrong to demand so much from another, that he should not want this, that he must not need it.

“Turn onto your side, my love.” Aragorn commanded and the words flowed like dark honey over Faramir’s raw nerves. With a small moan as his heavy erection changed angles, Faramir turned onto his side lifting one thigh to his chest as he did so. Aragorn moved behind the younger man, aligning their bodies and positioning his own throbbing sex at the entrance to Faramir’s body. Faramir’s arms groped behind him desperate to hold Aragorn as the older man guided himself into his welcoming body.

Kisses fell heavily over Faramir’s neck and shoulders but, for the moment, Aragorn was content to move slowly within his lover. He was exactly where he wanted to be and though the silken grip of Faramir’s body tempted him to move in an ecstatic frenzy he wanted this to last. Faramir, also, felt a blissful placidity merge with the pleasure that urged a headlong rush toward completion. It was good like this, perfect just as it was. There was nothing left of fear, doubt or anxiety for him. How could there be with Aragorn there inside him? What darkness could threaten where the king’s will ruled?

To Faramir, the push and pull of Aragorn’s length within him was as the ebb and flow of the tides, deceptively slow, powerful and seemingly inexorable and eternal. Despite the slow, steady pace Faramir found himself growing dangerously close to orgasm. He made an effort to resist the waves of pleasure that were carrying him so tantalizingly close to completion. He wanted this lovemaking to go on and on but seemingly of its own volition his hand crept toward his groin.

“Not yet, my Faramir. Wait, love.” Aragorn whispered as he felt the mounting tremors of his lover. Beyond words, Faramir nodded. Finding the strength deep within himself he let his hand drop.

Responding to Faramir’s need and without changing the rhythm of his thrusts, Aragorn carefully began urging his lover to lie more fully on his stomach. Faramir whimpered as his weeping erection was pressed between his belly and the soft bedding but Aragorn murmured to him and stroked his back and rather than being swept away Faramir let the powerful surge of feeling rush through him without mastering him. From this new position Aragorn finally increased the force and speed of his strokes. Faramir’s hands scrabbled against the bedclothes and he arched up to meet Aragorn’s thrusts.

“Now, my love. Come for me, Faramir.” As soon as the words were spoken Faramir did come. His body bucked with the force of his release. Aragorn felt the already tight body convulse around him and unable to do anything else, he followed his lover into orgasm.

Aragorn’s solid presence was a heavy but comforting weight, as Faramir lay sprawled beneath him utterly spent. Though his mind still felt a little hazy, Faramir believed that he had been allowed to experience something new that night. It was as though Aragorn had allowed him to glance more deeply into his heart than ever before. There had been reluctance, at first. Faramir has sensed that and it had pained him but then his love had become himself- more himself. Faramir wanted it always to be that way. He wanted Aragorn always to allow him to experience the full measure of his lover’s mastery.

“I love you.” The words were a breath on Faramir’s neck. Then Aragorn was moving, turning onto his side, his body slipping free of Faramir’s.

“I love you, too.” It was not enough, those words. They expressed much but they did not plumb the depth of Faramir’s feelings. He had so much more to say. At the moment, though it took the last measure of his strength to tuck himself into Aragorn’s chest and throw an arm around the waist about his lover.

“That was wonderful.” Faramir finally murmured after the two men had lain contentedly together recovering their strength.

“You are wonderful, Faramir.”

“Aragorn, may I ask a question?”

“You are my lover and my friend. If you may not then I do not know who may.” Aragorn replied, hugging Faramir to his chest.

“You said earlier that I should… that I should try not to remain aloof.” Faramir struggled to remember Aragorn’s exact words. “The lady, the one with whom you have the understanding, is she… does she make you happy?” The question had been lurking in Faramir’s mind since the first and only time the unknown lady had been mentioned.

Aragorn was quiet for so long that Faramir wondered if he had made a mistake and that Aragorn did not intend to answer. Eventually, though, the ranger sighed and ruffled Faramir’s hair in a gesture of affection. “She is Arwen, daughter of Elrond of Rivendell. Yes, she makes me happy.”

“It is like Luthien and Beren.” Faramir murmured, feeling somehow reassured. As he spoke the words, however, Faramir felt Aragorn tense slightly.

“She is as beautiful as the nightingale but we are not a certain pairing.”

“I do not understand, my lord.”

“She wanted us to marry. Can you believe it, the Evenstar of the elves and a ranger wed? Her father would not permit it, nor would I have it so. Elrond would have her marry no less a man than a king or journey with her people across the sea. I think sometimes that she would do better to heed her father’s counsel and remain with her own kind.”

“I must be separated from you for… for perhaps years and it is almost more than I can bear. It seems unkind that lady Arwen should be asked to spend her immortal life parted from her beloved.” Faramir spoke very softly as though to apologize for the boldness of his words by offering them quietly.

“Elves are not natural to this world, my Faramir. Here, all that lives must die. Shall I wish that upon one I love?” Faramir wrapped his arms tightly about Aragorn, offering comfort and support as best he could. In response, the ranger made an effort to relax. “Let us speak no more of this tonight. If our time together is perforce limited then let us put the time we have to the best use we may.”

Grinning at the suggestion, Faramir lost no time in starting to kiss a line down Aragorn’s chest.

“Are you certain that I should not come with you?” Faramir asked again as he pulled his boots on. “It may be that my presence would demonstrate to the Variags that you are under Gondor’s protection. Though, I confess, I do not understand all that is going on it seems clear there are those who mean ill at work.”

“I did not speak idly when I said that your work here is important, Faramir. You cannot be spared from your mission. Besides, the crowds at the fight grow ever larger. I will not be vulnerable to any secret attack. Do not worry.”

“As you wish, Aragorn. Only do, please be careful.” Faramir acquiesced, though he would worry anyway.

Smiling Aragorn gave the younger man a tender kiss before turning to exit the tent. Following him out, Faramir watched as he strode purposefully out towards the gathering. Aragorn had not traveled twenty paces, however, before Halbarad- appearing from nowhere- fell into stride beside him.

As soon as the two rangers were out of earshot, Faramir called Gildel to him. “How long before the next pair of men are scheduled to take liberty at the gathering?”

“As soon as Berle and Milif return, sir. I would guess in another couple of hours.”

“Let the next pair go now. Mention to them that Strider is fighting in the tournament now and they might want to watch.”

Gildel gazed at his captain for a moment, observing that Faramir never took his eyes from the receding forms of the rangers. The lieutenant made no comment, however, delivering a sharp salute before turning to carry out his orders.

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