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Family Honor (NC-17) Print

Written by Mcguffan

14 July 2006 | 162886 words

Title: Family Honor
Author: Mcguffan (anne_robbins@yahoo.com)
Rating: NC 17
Pairing: Aragorn/Faramir
Summary: Denethor sends Faramir on a mission to Khand. Gandalf provides a Northern ranger to guide and advise the Steward’s son
Archive: Please ask before archiving this.
Notes: This takes place about ten years before the events of the Fellowship of the Ring. Faramir is about 25. I took what little there was from Tolkien about Khand but most of this is just Anne’s junior anthropology so you needn’t take it seriously.

Please review, I really want to know what people think.


Chapter 1

Handing the reins of his sweating horse to a groom, Faramir looked about the courtyard glad to see the City again even if he did not know the reason for his abrupt recall. For two years the young man had roamed about Ithilien leading the troop of rangers Gondor employed to scout, reconnoiter and carry out the occasional lightening raid against troops of the Enemy attempting to make their way west. In that time he had sent weekly reports to Minas Tirith. The reports had been briefly acknowledged by the Steward’s secretary but no word of personal communication had he had from his father before now.

Even to call the letter summoning him a `personal communication’ might well be an overstatement. The Parchment had very succinctly read. `Faramir: I require your presence in the City. Return with all due haste.’ It had been signed `Denethor’. Despite the brevity, Faramir had reread the letter a dozen times and spent a long time trying to glean any information from it that he might have missed before. His close scrutiny, however, did not delay him in obeying the clear meaning of his summons and Faramir had been riding toward Minas Tirith within an hour of the message’s arrival.

Marsel, Faramir’s second-in-command, having been informed of his captain’s intent to depart immediately for Minas Tirith had asked if he or some other should not go also to attend the young lord. This question drove Faramir to yet another examination of the letter. The steward had been silent about whether or not his son should be accompanied. After a moment’s agitated thought Faramir declined any attendants. It had taken a while to adjust to Ithilien and the company of rangers he led but Faramir now felt that he had in some measure won the respect of Marsel and the others. The thought of any of them witnessing an interview between himself and his father filled the young man with dismay. He knew how he appeared before the Steward and he did not want his men to see him thus.

For his part, Marsel worried to see his usually so calm and steady captain flustered. At first, he feared the message contained news of some dire catastrophe- perhaps word that Lord Boromir had met with an injury. That would certainly explain Faramir’s agitation for the steward’s sons were as close as brothers could be but his captain had assured him the letter had mentioned no trouble at all. Marsel had grown very fond of Faramir since he had come to Ithilien. He had never been pompous and he didn’t pretend to know things he didn’t. Faramir had been eager to learn from anyone able to teach him and it was clear that the young captain held the welfare of his men to be his first priority. It was true that Faramir did not immediately impress one as a forceful commander, able to inspire instant devotion and obedience like his brother was famous for but Marsel felt that it was a mistake to underestimate Faramir. It took time but it was impossible not to respect the man. Besides the captain was still young he would grow in authority and confidence as he aged.

Faramir sensed something of the growing bond between himself and his men and it gave him a feeling of happiness and satisfaction he had never had before. He was still amazed every time he gave an order and it was obeyed promptly and without question. It was so foreign to all his earlier experience that Faramir sometimes felt he was dreaming. In addition to the kinship he seemed to be miraculously developing with his men Faramir also found he enjoyed the life of a ranger. The land would give up its secrets with careful study and Faramir enjoyed learning about the world around him. Nature was a fine companion and he grew attune to the rhythm of his surroundings. The services his rangers performed for the larger army helped the steward’s younger son feel useful. It was especially thrilling to be able to guide Boromir’s larger forces safely through terrain thick with the enemy.

There were a few drawbacks with his life in Ithilien, of course. Faramir missed libraries and discussions with librarians. The men of his troop were loyal and adept but none had had much formal education and Faramir missed the company of his tutors. The great relief Faramir had felt at being away from Denethor’s actual physical presence had quickly given way to something more sinister. The Steward’s son found himself stepping into his father’s role. Where Denethor would have criticized him, Faramir took to criticizing himself, where Denethor would have hounded him to improve Faramir drove himself to exhaustion trying harder at all his endeavors. Against reason and all fairness Denethor had seemed to grow more powerful in his absence. Add to all this, Faramir missed his brother. It was true Boromir spent much of his time in near by Osgiliath commanding the garrison but the younger brother craved the reassuring presence of the elder. Only Boromir could fully ease Faramir’s worst fears and moments of self doubt. Even so, frequent visits between the two were made and Faramir had been slowly carving a tolerable existence for himself in which he believed he could even find moments akin to peace in Ithilien. Then the summons came.

As he hurried through the Steward’s palace Faramir wondered for the hundredth time what he had done wrong. He examined all his actions since being sent to Ithilien. What had he done or neglected to do to earn the rebuke he knew in his bones was coming. Faramir considered everything from the trivial to the momentous. All of his dispatches had been sent promptly and according to the strictest form of secrecy and courtesy. He had maintained his patrols. He had led several successful skirmishes… Ah, but that thought gave rise to fearful memories:

The young captain, flushed with the success of several earlier victories had organized a raid against a band of orcs moving west. The plan was executed according to Faramir’s design. All of the enemy were slain but at the end of the day two of his own rangers were dead. It had been the first time anyone had died under his command. He knew both men and liked them. They had been young, lighthearted and trusting. Now they were corpses rapidly cooling in the evening air.

The grief and guilt of it had nearly overwhelmed Faramir. He might not have been able to resume his duties as Captain had it not been for the solicitude of his men and for Boromir. The steward’s older son saw the report of casualties as the information passed through Osgiliath on its way to Minas Tirith and he had run to Faramir’s side. He found his brother in abject misery, too paralyzed with guilt to command his men. Faramir remembered that time as the blackest in his life. He had grown accustomed in his short life to disappointment, shame, the pain of failing to meet expectations but that was all nothing to the agony of being the cause of suffering in others.

Boromir had held him close and told him that it was a mark of his nobility that he felt so keenly for the welfare of his men. He said that time, against all the evidence of the moment, would ease the pain and make it bearable. The first time a captain lost a man was always the worst. The shock of it could be overwhelming but Boromir insisted that the men had not died because of Faramir. They had died because of orcs and the men themselves had chosen to face the danger for love of their City. Faramir had to remember that lives were saved as well as lost. Mostly, though, Boromir was simply there, keeping the worst of the demons away with his solid, loving presence.

The memory of that time caused Faramir to stumble now as he strode down the corridors of the Steward’s palace. That had been eight month ago. Boromir had been right. Time did dull the pain but Faramir knew he would never be completely free of it. No word had come from Denethor concerning the incident either by way of comfort or condemnation. Upon reflection, Faramir doubted that the loss of the two men could explain the summons. It had been too long and the letter had urged speed. Again he was at an utter loss as how to explain it.

Chewing his lip in agitated puzzlement Faramir came to an abrupt halt as the hallway before him forked. If he went left he would soon find himself in the audience chamber where his father conducted business. If he went right then he would come to the family’s private rooms where he could wash and change his clothes. Faramir left off worrying about why he might have been summoned in favor of worrying about how to interpret the words `all due haste.’

On the one hand, he should proceed immediately to the Steward to discover the reason for his sudden recall. On the other, Faramir was mud spattered and rumpled from the rushed journey from Ithilien. Denethor could be fastidious about the appearance of his court. Faramir did not know what to do. Angrily he chided himself for wasting time in indecisiveness. He wondered vaguely if other men worried about such matters or if he was the only fool who had no idea what to do in these situations.

Finally, Faramir decided on a middle course. He would hurry to his rooms, wash his face and hands and brush off the worst of the dust from his clothing then he would hurry to Denethor. Faramir hoped that thus he would be able to make an acceptable appearance while sacrificing little in the way of speed yet the ominous churning in his gut suggested the compromise would not help him.


Denethor did his best to ignore the other occupant of the large throne room. The Steward prided himself on his ability to block out distractions but the wizard, who had been standing quietly a respectful ten feet from Denethor’s desk, seemed to loom. He could swear Gandalf was closer than he had been. With a conscious effort Denethor kept his eyes focused on the report of wheat production in the west and did not look up. He had made the wizard wait close to fifteen minutes now and reason dictated that was enough. Though, Denethor mused, if Gondor were as strong as in former times he could force the istar to wait upon him for weeks.

Putting down the report on wheat, Denethor raised his eyes to regard his visitor. A lifted eyebrow was both greeting and permission for the wizard to state his business. It was an irritation to the Steward that though Gandalf was rumored to be curmudgeonly the old wizard had infinite patience when dealing with Denethor. If Denethor could light upon even the slightest impropriety or breach of protocol he would have the grey pilgrim tossed out of his presence but Gandalf was ever a model of perfect decorum.

“Your son has arrived in the City, my lord Steward.”

“See the seneschal if you are interested in employment as a page. Of course, Faramir is here. I sent for him.” To his annoyance Gandalf treated Denethor’s remarks as good natured humor rather than the calculated insult he had intended.

“Just so.” The wizard replied, smiling as though still appreciating the Steward’s wit. “Shall I take that to mean you have found some little merit in my suggestion?”

Denethor’s jaw set. He reminded himself firmly that there were good reasons for allowing the wizard to believe he had been persuaded. Even so, it rankled to permit the old istar to think him malleable. “It seems to me your idea can do no harm and it may give Faramir more experience of the world. I fear he has been too coddled in this City. I have been too indulgent with him and as a result my second son is spoiled and sullen… and often tardy.” The Steward added loudly as the young man in question entered the audience chamber bowing low to his father and then to Gandalf.

“I believe this mission has a good chance of success and if so Sauron will find himself with fewer allies than he intended. And even if none who live so near his influence can be tempted from him it can only do good to demonstrate that Gondor’s arm is long enough to reach into Khand.” Gandalf put in quickly forestalling Faramir’s apologies which had quickly sprung to his lips as soon as he heard the Steward’s censorious tone.

“I doubt the Variags can be turned from their current master.” Denethor said derisively and then remembering that he was supposed to approve the possible efficacy of just such an attempt he added hurriedly. “Yet it will be no small thing to remind them of Gondor’s strength.”

Faramir who had been listening avidly was temporarily overcome with excitement. “Not all of those who dwell in Khand are Variags. Tribal wars are frequent in that land and I think there might be many enemies of the Variags who would willingly consider an alliance with the west. Alaric, who is the premier scholar of Khand’s history even suggests that several of the tribes…” Faramir, at last, became aware of his audience and trailed off, blushing. The Steward was watching with mounting malevolence as his son talked so enthusiastically.

“Well, well, despite all indications to the contrary all those hours you devoted to study and research will not turn out to be a total waste of time. You are familiar with language, Are you not?”

“I have studied it, my lord.” Faramir replied meekly.

“Well then perhaps we have finally found your strength. It is unfortunate that the times do not call for men who can chat with savages with the urgency it calls for men of war.” Denethor was, as usual, frustrated with his younger son. It was one thing to be drawn to wisdom and useful knowledge. Denethor himself had excelled in his studies but he had also excelled at the soldier’s arts. Faramir lacked backbone and the charisma of leadership. Even now the young man was turning upon him a look of such childish hurt that it made Denethor want to kick him.

If the Steward had been blessed with many children it would not matter so much if one of them was a pedantic little bookworm but in their years of marriage Finduilas had only produced two sons. After her death, Denethor found himself too busy to arrange for a new wife and he was in no mood to court again. Even a daughter would have been preferable to a son who lacked all initiative and could be bullied with a stern look. A girl could be a useful piece in the game of diplomacy. She would have been the most coveted bride in Middle Earth. Allies would have competed in great feats of loyalty to gain such a prize. Meanwhile a girl would be a comfort to Denethor as he aged, keeping his house and tending to all his needs. Again the Steward thanked the Valar for Boromir. The future of Gondor lay with him and his first-born was everything his father could ever want.

Gandalf who had watched Faramir’s head lower contritely in response to his father’s excoriation spoke quickly to divert the Steward. “Indeed many tribes inhabit the land of Khand. Every few years these tribes gather, along with other invited dignitaries and hold discussions, form alliances, settle dispute and declare war as well a host of other things. Such a meeting is to be held soon and I think Gondor will have a great opportunity to impress all those present.”

The wizard regarded father and son. Faramir had been thoroughly squelched and would offer no comment. Denethor seemed almost… bored. Gandalf would not have suspected such a reaction and his curiosity was somewhat aroused. If Denethor wasn’t truly interested in sending an embassy to Khand then why had he agreed?

“With luck Faramir will make a better presentation in Khand than in Minas Tirith. Look at you, you’re filthy.” Denethor said, suddenly becoming aware that the wizard was watching him, as well as being genuinely annoyed that his son would come before him in such a disheveled state.

“I wanted to hurry, my lord. I thought it better to…” The Steward waved his hand for silence. He always seemed to be listening to Faramir’s tiresome excuses. Gesturing to one of the omnipresent and stone faced guards standing discretely around the throne room, Denethor doubted once again, the wisdom of sending Faramir on this mission. The boy did have a gift for languages and the whole idea of soliciting the tribes of Khand for alliances was merely to distract Gandalf and the Khandrim. Yet who knew the depth of his second son’s ineptitude. Well, Denethor would endeavor to keep him on a short leash. The rest was with the gods.

There were a few moments of silence while Faramir tried not to fidget nervously as he watched his father in minute detail, desperately trying to assess if he was genuinely vexed with him or simply using Faramir as a convenient target for his grumpiness, Gandalf tried not to look too openly sympathetic with the still blushing young man beside him and Denethor ignored them both. Then, two men entered in the wake of the guard sent to fetch them. Both bowed before the Steward’s chair at the foot of the steps leading to the empty throne before inclining their heads to Faramir and Gandalf.

“Faramir, this is Lieutenant Gildel and Lieutenant Flyn.” Faramir nodded politely at the introductions. “They will be accompanying you to Khand. Heed their counsel. They are experienced men and I have faith in their ability. They will know better than you in most instances. Listen to them.”

“Yes, my lord.” It had taken a few seconds before Faramir realized his father was waiting for an acknowledgment of his words. Faramir had been given genuine orders. Denethor was not simply making unpleasant conversation or attempting to flatter the new arrivals. The lieutenants had adopted the blank demeanor of soldiers who were unwilling witnesses to a painful scene. They acted as though they were completely oblivious to the fact that one of their superiors had just completely undercut the authority of another superior but Faramir could not help but feel that gaining the respect of these men had just become a much more difficult proposition.

“See that you do. I would like to hear good reports of you.” Faramir tried not to wince. “You leave tomorrow. I’ll send thirty troops with you. That should be enough to impress the easterners. I’m also sending a wagonload of goods you can present as gifts or bribes as needed. All right, that’s all. You may go.”


Outside the throne room Faramir studied the two men who his father had deemed worthy advisors. Faramir always had a bit of difficulty concentrating on anything beyond Denethor when he was in his presence and he had taken in only the most cursory examination of Lieutenants Gildel and Flyn. Gildel looked like a typical career soldier, solid and dependable. Flyn was younger and though he behaved in the same manner as Gildel the stoic mien seemed somehow to be an affectation.

“Gentlemen, will you dine with me? We have a long journey ahead of us and I look forward to discussing our mission in greater detail.” Faramir invited. He wanted to get to know the men he would be relying on. He had expected instant assent but to Faramir’s surprise Gildel and Flyn looked a bit flustered.

“Your pardon, sir,” Gildel recovered his composure first and his posture straightened. “but we are engaged for this evening. The lord Steward has indicated his wish to talk over a few logistical question about the journey, sir. Thank you for the offer, sir.”

`And not only have I not been invited but I didn’t even know such a meeting was to take place.’ Faramir thought to himself miserably. “Well, there will be plenty of time to become aquatinted later. It is a long way to Khand. Good evening, gentlemen.” Faramir tried to smile as though he were unaffected by his father’s slight.

Murmuring polite words of parting the lieutenants left the steward’s son. `No doubt they are in a hurry to discuss what they have done to irritate Denethor such that they should earn the punishment of babysitting me.’ Faramir thought glumly turning to Gandalf who was now the only other person in the room. “Well, I hope you will eat with me, my friend.”

“I was just wondering how I might finagle an invitation. I would be happy to share a meal.” Gandalf beamed benignantly and Faramir looked back at him with an almost embarrassing rush of gratitude.


The air of Faramir’s sitting room began to fill with pipe smoke as the wizard settled himself by the fire. Faramir had gone to order dinner to be brought to them and then disappeared into his bed room to change clothes. Perhaps it was the soothing aroma of the smoke, or perhaps it was simply Gandalf’s comforting presence but Faramir found his spirits reviving somewhat. The excitement of a journey to Khand, pushed to the background while still interacting with Denethor, began to reassert itself. As he pulled on a clean shirt Faramir determined that he would treat this as an opportunity. He would succeed in impressing the various tribes in Khand and he would win ground breaking alliances. Then the Steward would have no choice but to feel a little pride in him- or at least less disappointment.

By the time Faramir emerged from conducting his ablutions, the food had arrived. Gandalf had not waited upon ceremony but had already buttered a roll. “There is something irresistible about the smell of freshly baked bread.” Gandalf proclaimed, letting his eyes close in appreciation of the hot roll.

“The pleasure is even greater when one has been denied it for a while.” Faramir responded taking a seat and proceeding to fill his plate.

“How goes life in the wilds of Ithilien? Have you learned to get by on roots and berries and collected rainwater?”

Faramir smiled but it did not touch his eyes. “I have not had it as bad as all that and I would gladly subsist on roots and berries if it meant I may be spared some of the more onerous duties of court life. But, in truth, soldiers and especially captains of soldiers eat well enough. There are, though, folk under our protection who must always spare a thought for finding next meal.”

This line of conversation seemed to cure Faramir of much of his appetite. Gandalf waited patiently for more, feeling that the young man might have a great deal he wanted to get off his chest but Faramir did not wish to speak of such grim topics. He wanted to be good company for his friend but more than that Faramir did not wish to lose himself to the sadness that could so quickly and unpredictably sink him into despair if he did not constantly monitor his own thoughts.

“So tell me, Gandalf,” Faramir continued after a moment, forcing himself to adopt a cheerful, bantering tone. “how did you convince the Steward to support this undertaking?”

“What makes you think this was my idea?” Gandalf demanding, feigning innocence.

“You are here for one thing.”

“I am capable of visiting the beautiful White City with no ulterior motive but the appreciation of its elegance.” Gandalf retorted.

“And that is why you came?”

“Well, perhaps not this time, but the tribes have not gathered for seven years. Sauron’s influence increases. I thought this was an opportunity not to be missed. Do you not think it a good idea?”

“On the contrary, I wish someone had thought of it sooner.” Faramir replied sincerely. “It grieves me that men, no different from you or me- well no different from me at any rate.” Faramir amended, remembering with whom he was speaking. “That men should be subject to such evil by an accident of geography. I cannot think that those in Khand are any less strong and steadfast, no less willing to do the right thing as they perceive it than those in Gondor. But with the dark lord such a near neighbor, they are condemned to oppression. I would like to bring a message of hope and solidarity to the east.”

Faramir had been speaking with a great deal of earnestness and the wizard had been studying him closely. As the young man finished his impromptu speech, he suddenly became aware that he probably sounded like a prize prig. `Bring hope to the East’, indeed. Who did he think he was? Blushing furiously, he hoped to make some amends for his over-zealousness in a lighter but nonetheless sincere vein. “Besides, I cannot help but look forward to the prospect of studying a foreign land. And, I am of course delighted to have your company for so great a time.”

“You do me great honor, young Faramir, but I fear our ways will part before we reach Khand, though I shall travel with you for several days.”

“But I thought… I will be disappointed to lose your company as well as the benefit of your advice.” Faramir admitted, trying to mask just how much of his confidence had drained away with the revelation Gandalf would not be with him.

“It is unfortunate but duty calls me elsewhere. I do not intend to abandon you, however. I have made arrangements with someone who has been to Khand several times. He knows the language and the customs. He will be able to guide you better than I could.” The wizard informed the young man, using all his considerable art to conceal the anticipatory glee he felt at the meeting of his two friends.

“Who is this you speak of? He is a scholar? Might I have heard of him?” Faramir asked intrigued.

“Oh, he’s not a scholar. He is just a ranger with a lively curiosity. The festival that will accompany the official meetings draws many and I believe my friend intends to participate in the fencing competition that is always held at such times.”

“He is a warrior, then? I should like to meet him. Why did you not ask him to join us?” Faramir asked, wondering suddenly if he had been unknowingly discourteous to the man Gandalf would have guide him.

“Oh, he did not come to the City. The ceremony that would accompany a meeting with the Steward would not suit his temperament.” Again Gandalf struggled to conceal his amusement. He did enjoy his little games. They always helped to pass the centuries.

“He is a man accustomed to the simple life, then.” Faramir commented, who sympathized with the discomfort of too much ostentation.

“Oh, no. I wouldn’t say that. Not a simple life at all. Not at all.” Before Faramir could question this Gandalf went on. “We will meet him at the end of the first’s day of travel. He shall be waiting for us at an inn in Eastfield.”

From then until Gandalf bid Faramir good night the Steward’s son questioned the wizard about the their guide but the only further information Gandalf would provide was that the man’s name was Strider.

Chapter 2

When the small town of Eastfield finally came into view, Gandalf heaved an involuntary sigh of relief. He did not mind travelling. Much of his life consisted of just that, but he had forgotten all the extra inconveniences inherent in a procession of several dozen soldiers and a wagon full of goods. The wizard was used to moving at his own pace, which was a lot faster and a lot less conspicuous than trundling along with such an entourage. As his nature dictated, Gandalf complained grumpily to Lieutenant Gildel but the man who had resisted all his overtures at conversation had replied. “I’m afraid there is nothing to be done about it, sir. I suspect getting around is never easy at your age. It’s natural, sir. Try not to get discouraged.” Nothing put the ancient wizard’s sizable nose out of joint faster than condescension and he was hard pressed not to give the well meaning lieutenant a giant wart someplace very noticeable.

It did not help matters that Gandalf had been starved for conversation. He had been looking forward to a long talk with Faramir. The young man was excellent company and it was one of the wizard’s regrets that he had not had the time to be a greater influence in his life. The Steward’s son, however, took his duties as captain of the expedition very seriously. He talked with his soldiers, committing names to memory and inquiring about each man’s town of origin and family situation with admirable diligence. He was assessing these men as well as bonding with them. As much as Gandalf would have preferred Faramir’s conversation to the monosyllabic answers he had from the others to whom he spoke the wizard could not help but be pleased at the burgeoning leadership skills he saw in the young man.

Gandalf had always felt a certain fondness for Faramir, though he worried for the young man. Once again, the wizard permitted himself a moment of smug satisfaction for arranging everything. Denethor had not been the only one in need of convincing, persuading Aragorn had also been a chore. He had succeeded, though without having to reveal that he had hoped Faramir would be among the company journeying to Khand. As their party drew rein before the hostelry wherein Gandalf had agreed to meet Aragorn the wizard allowed himself to feel a measure of excitement.

The publican greeted the soldiers with oily politeness. Every room would be filled beyond capacity and the innkeeper tried to conceal his glee as he promised Faramir the very best hospitality. As Faramir saw to the quartering of his men Gandalf’s eyes were instantly drawn to the dark corner where he knew he would find Aragorn, watching silently. The ranger inclined his head toward the wizard but he remained where he was for the moment taking in the bustle of the soldiers and the attempts of their captain to establish order.

“Well Gandalf, we have arrived.” Faramir announced after places had been found for everyone and his men were settled along the trestle table being served plates of stew. “Where is the guide you have promised?”

Gandalf could not help but chuckle for as Faramir had been speaking Aragorn had risen from his place and made his way over to them. “Captain Faramir, may I present Strider. Strider, Captain Faramir.” It took all of Faramir’s self-control not to betray his surprise as a tall, hooded figure seemed to appear out of nowhere beside the wizard.

Strider bowed to the startled captain, touching his fingers to his forehead and then to his lips. Faramir was fascinated by this gesture. He returned Strider’s bow and he was in the process of moving his hand to his forehead in imitation when he suddenly realized what he was doing. Trying to recover something of his poise, Faramir smiled. “When Gandalf told me that we would be meeting someone who has traveled extensively in the east and would be willing to lend us aid I could not believe our good fortune. I am very glad to meet you master Strider.”

“Division among men is one of Sauron’s greatest strengths. I am honored to be what help I may in healing these divisions. It is a mark of great nobility in Gondor to reach out to the Easterlings.” This small speech was delivered rather sternly and Faramir could not help but notice that Strider had given Gandalf a rather nasty look after the introductions.

As Strider spoke he lowered his hood and Faramir gazed at his face. Dark hair, unkempt and shoulder length cast shadows over the plains of Strider’s face but Faramir could see the strong nose and bearded chin. Partly hidden by his hair, the man’s brow was almost elegant in contrast. His eyes were the color of the sky after a thunderstorm just at the moment before the sun emerges and the world is reborn. Faramir could not immediately find a label to describe Strider’s face but even as his mind danced over such terms as `beautiful’, `strong’ and even `inspired’ he became aware that he had difficulty seeing his features as a whole. It was as though he could only study Strider piece by piece.

“Well, shall we eat? It seems to me a long time since we stopped for lunch.” Gandalf suggested, herding Aragorn, Faramir and Gildel and Flyn, who had remained with their captain, towards a table.

“So, master ranger, what is your experience in Khand?” Gildel inquired when they were all seated. Before answering Aragorn studied the lieutenant intensely. Gildel, without seeming to be consciously aware of it, straightened his shoulders and seemed to come to full attention. After a moment Aragorn’s gaze turned mild once more and Gildel relaxed suddenly as though he had just undergone a great test and had only just passed.

“I lived among them for several years. The Landi clan which is a minor family of the Ge tribe took me in and I hunted with them for a time. I met others at gatherings similar to, but much smaller than, the one we will be attending. I am familiar with many of the local customs. Though men are men in whatever time or place, their habits and rituals are different from those in Gondor. I hope I will be able to help you communicate successfully with the Easterlings.”

“Is it true that the Khandrim take many wives?” Flyn asked leaning forward and raising a lascivious eyebrow. Faramir felt an acute embarrassment not so much at the question, for he himself was struggling not to betray his excitement at having such a conversation with a man of such experience, but in the way it had been asked. He gave Flyn a disapproving look which the man ignored. Faramir wondered if kicking him under the table would have achieved better or worse results.

“Men die young and often in Khand.” Aragorn explained. He felt unused to the role of teacher and he checked his audience quickly to make sure he was not already boring them. He found that Gandalf had drifted off into his own little world, the lieutenants were listening courteously and Faramir… well, Faramir was clearly enrapt. `I think I could talk all day if I could be assured of such a listener.’ Aragorn thought, flattered despite himself. “Most women can expect to be widows many times over. Other men of the clan will marry the widows of their brothers and close friends as well as adopt their children. In that way the women and orphans are provided for. A man may have as many wives as he is able to support.”

“What about you, then? Did you honor the local customs and find yourself some nice dark eyed woman or three?” Flyn asked. He was winking, Faramir saw utterly mortified, the damn man was actually winking.

“I did not.” The reply was cool but it somehow had the effect of completely silencing Flyn. All Faramir’s fidgeting and warning looks had not registered upon the lieutenant but three simple words from the ranger seemed to absolutely squash the other man. Faramir wondered if there was any way he would ever be able to sound like that. He doubted it.

“Gandalf tells me that you are participating in a contest of some sort at the gathering.” Faramir said after a long moment of silence. The Steward’s son often felt faintly apprehensive when dealing with new people and especially people he wished to impress but he congratulated himself that his tone was even and did not reveal anything of the twittering in his stomach.

“Yes, I will be participating in the sword-fighting.” Upon this subject, the ranger appeared somewhat reluctant to speak but Gildel’s curiosity had been piqued by the mention of swords and he pursued the inquiry.

“How many enter such a contest and what is the competition like?” Is it similar to our tournaments?”

“In many ways, yes. One may compete in archery, fencing or fighting. Unlike the tradition in Gondor, the contest is open to all comers and there is no entrance fee. Although one may buy one’s way out of the first round. It is a fierce business. For many young men, this is the only opportunity to gain renown and thus win a place in some lord’s entourage.”

“So it is mostly for peasants?” Gildel asked slightly disappointed. He enjoyed watching a good demonstration of skill but a bunch of farmers rolling around in the dirt hardly qualified.

“Those who compete do not have lords, but they wish to gain employment.” Strider clarified.

“Are there prizes?” Flyn asked, having recovered somewhat.

“Yes. The winning archer will be presented with a fresco depicting the first great gathering of the tribes. The fighting champion will be given the harp that Figno used to court Mirwith.” Strider looked about but only received understanding nods from Gandalf and Faramir. Gildel and Flyn did not recognize the story and Strider decided that they probably weren’t interested in hearing it now, if ever, so he continued. “To the swordmaster will be given a gauntlet called the `killing fist’ in Black speech and rumored to have belonged to one of the dark lord’s lieutenants in the first age.”

“That seems a shabby lot of prizes. Why don’t they give out gold like we do?” Flyn demanded, though, there was suddenly a spark of interest in the man’s eyes. This time, the man was silenced by a combination of withering looks directed at him from Strider, Gandalf and Faramir. The harp of Figno was not to be derided!

Faramir was writhing in the reflected shame of his lieutenant’s boorishness and in an attempt to redeem his party he said without thinking through all the implication of venturing an opinion. “I do not think gold would be as useful to people who, as master Strider describe them, tend to rely more on trade and barter.”

The attention shifted to Faramir and the young man felt his face flush. He could hear his father’s voice telling him he should have kept his fool mouth shut and he could not help but wish the voice had intervened earlier. Neither Strider nor Gandalf looked scornful, though, and Faramir might have seen this had he not been staring so intently at his plate.

“Such prizes do not seem as though they would be easy to trade.” Gildel said, though he spoke more in the way of question than of certainty.

No one spoke and when Faramir looked up quickly he saw that Strider was looking at him, waiting for him to answer. For a moment Faramir was standing before his father confronted with a question specifically designed to humiliate him but he pushed the fear down and tried to remember where he was. “Perhaps these prizes, which would be useless for to a simple warrior, would make excellent gifts to some great lord who would take the winner into his service.”

“That is exactly what is done, Captain.” Strider said, smiling warmly and Faramir, after a moment to digest what the ranger had said, beamed back feeling ridiculously proud of himself. Gandalf, too, was smiling at both his friends but neither Faramir nor Aragorn noticed for they were too caught upon in one another.

“Why, then, would you want to win such a prize, Strider?” Flyn asked and it was a reasonably perceptive question. What did Strider want with one very old and presumably rusty gauntlet?

“Oh, Strider is simply doing me a favor.” Gandalf interjected. “I very much want to study such an artifact of the enemy. It will do the world more good in my hands than it will collecting dust in some lord’s reliquary. Of course, I am not so quick with a sword as Strider is.” The wizard gave his friend a pat on the back and an avuncular smile.

“Indeed, in all likelihood the prize will go to another but I fear I am quite helpless to deny Gandalf the attempt.”

“You are too modest, Strider. Perhaps I should tell these fine gentlemen of some of your exploits.” The wizard said with a smile. It took a moment but Faramir eventually realized that Gandalf was teasing.

“Perhaps some of our boys would like to try their luck in these contests.” Flyn announced. “Our lads should be able to take the day at this festival. We could make quite an impression, Captain.”

“I am not certain how the Khandrim would perceive it, if men already bound to Gondor entered these contest.” Faramir responded, looking to Strider for guidance.

“I think it would be read as a sign that Gondor’s army is dissatisfied, captain.” The ranger put in quietly. This advice resonated with Faramir’s own instincts and he shook his head at Flyn.

“I do not think our men should participate. We should be careful to send the message that Gondor is united. Besides, I don’t want any of our lads to get into any situation with the locals where someone could get hurt of killed.” Flyn looked crestfallen at this prohibition and even Gildel seemed strangely discouraged but Faramir attributed this disappointment to a sense of patriotism and thought no more about it.

The five men continued talking into the night. Several times Faramir who, though he was the youngest present was also the one in command of the expedition, considered adjourning but could not bring himself to part company with Strider quite so soon. The ranger was more than merely intellectually fascinating, he was attractive, compelling, enigmatic, reassuring and a hundred other things that Faramir did not have the resources to articulate. Finally, Gandalf’s not so subtle hint that if they meant to go to bed at all they ought to do so soon forced Faramir to postpone further discussion until the next day.

The three men of Gondor watched the wizard and ranger go upstairs. Faramir wondered if the two would discuss this evening and if they did what they would say of him. It was obvious to the Steward’s son that Gandalf and Strider were good friends and this surprised him a bit. In Gondor, Faramir felt that he was perhaps as close a friend as the wizard allowed himself and yet it was clear that Gandalf shared not only great friendship but great secrets with the mysterious ranger.

“Well, gentlemen what do you think of our guide?” Faramir asked the confidants his father had assigned him.

“He seems stodgy to me, a bit full of himself, really; takes himself too seriously.” Flyn decided. Faramir struggled to conceal a smile. If anything Flyn’s disapprobation further endeared the ranger to him.

“I think we will find him competent.” Gildel opined with greater deliberation. “He and the wizard have goals of their own, though, and I think I would like to know what they are.”

“So would I” Faramir said turning to Gildel, eyes gleaming with a new vivacity. “So would I.”


“I am beginning to have second thoughts, Gandalf. This is terribly dangerous.” Aragorn said after firmly closing the door to the small room he would share with the wizard.

“I have never known you to shrink at danger, my friend.” The wizard teased. Aragorn’s trepidation, however, was not to be so easily assuaged. He had been shaken by the evening’s talk and he could not help but feel that the wizard had been manipulating him- even more than usual.

“This is a risky game and I am not entirely certain why I am playing. Faramir is Denethor’s son. Why did you not warn me?” The wizard sighed. Ever since Thorongil’s departure from Minas Tirith, Aragorn had been extremely shy of anything that might result in an encounter with any of the leading families of Gondor. Gandalf was of the opinion that it was passed time for Isildur’s Heir to make himself acquainted with the next generation of Gondorim leaders whatever Aragorn’s thoughts.

“Aragorn-”

“For the Valar’s sake, do not call me that.”

“Strider,” Gandalf began again with careful patience. He had never known his friend to be quite this prickly. For the first time, he wondered if he would not have done better to alert the ranger that Gandalf anticipated Faramir would lead the expedition. “Is it not important to reach out to the Easterlings?” Aragorn rubbed his forehead resigning himself to enduring the wizard’s lecturing tone. “I want to put the `killing fist’ far out of the enemy’s reach. The gauntlet was not called that simply out of flattery, you know. It contains a dangerous magic. More than that, it is your patrimony, wergild of your fathers. Magically speaking, the power that will be opened to me when it is returned to your possession will be great. Also did you not tell me that you intended to go east again soon in hopes of picking up Gollum’s trail once more?” Aragorn nodded to all this grudgingly.

“I would still have preferred to weigh the risk myself.” The ranger seemed suddenly tired and the wizard had to struggle not to feel guilty

“There is one more thing: Faramir needs you.”

“We have had this discussion before.” Aragorn could not entirely keep the hurt out of his voice. “I thought you agreed that revealing my identity would expose Gondor to the dark lord’s full attention. That is assuming I was accepted in the first place. Something, by the by, which will never happen while Denethor still remembers that he blames Thorongil for his estrangement from Ecthelion.”

“I did not say Gondor. I said Faramir.” Gandalf said gently. Gondor was another discussion in itself and Aragorn was already sufficiently agitated. “I fear for young Faramir. You saw yourself what a good heart and quick mind he has. But the strain on him grows. In many ways he faces the same challenges as you yourself but he has been less well prepared to deal with them. If there is to be a future for Middle-Earth beyond Sauron then men such as Faramir must be protected and cherished. Tell me Dunadan, did not Faramir seem hunted to you?”

This was not an easy question for Aragorn. Gandalf had when occasion permitted outlined something of Faramir’s character to him as well as other prominent figures of Minas Tirith. Even without the wizard making a special point of it, however, the ranger inferred what a misery it had been for the young man to have his emotional security rest entirely upon Denethor’s mercurial attention. Tonight the ranger had seen for himself that the Steward’s son had had a look to him of mixed fatigue and despair, like a deer almost run to ground. It had troubled the ranger to see a man so young so beset by doubt and haunted by anxiety but Faramir had seemed to recover a great deal of spirit just over the few hours of their meeting. “I do not question that he struggles but he has the resilience of youth. He was nearly cheerful after dinner.”

“That is true. It lifted my heart to see it but such dramatic improvement was most unusual. Already you are having an effect on him.” Gandalf continued to push. He did not say it for fear of making the ranger defensive but the wizard knew Aragorn had also been mired in a spiritual malaise of his own and he hoped the two men would benefit from each other’s peculiar gifts.

“What solace do you think I can offer that you or another cannot? I do not entirely understand what it is you want me to do.”

“‘Do?’ You need do nothing. If you simply are then that will be enough. I would have thought you would have learned that much basic magic from your kin in Rivendell.” Gandalf chided. The wizard had often tried to explain to Aragorn the latent power in his mere presence but his friend firmly resisted. The king held within him the power of symbolism, of faith, of whatever it was in man that allowed him to see beyond himself to the needs of others. The potency of metaphor itself belonged to Aragorn and so strong it was in him that the revelation of his true identity was almost a technicality. Aragorn, himself however, would only claim that the wizard was building a house of words and though it was a very fine house it would not keep out the wind.

“There is something about Faramir that draws me.” Aragorn finally admitted. “He is so much like his father except that he is free of Denethor’s…” `Selfishness?’, `Contempt for those who disagreed with his opinions?’, `his self-destructive pride?’ `All this and more.’ Aragorn thought, as his mind recalled how Faramir had seemed so abashed by his own enthusiasm and curiosity as though he had been twisted into feeling shame at his noblest instincts.

Gandalf could recognize victory when it was in front of him and he clapped his hands together breaking Aragorn from his contemplations. “Well, I am glad that is settled. You will be a friend to Faramir and help him broker an alliance with Khand. I shall have the `killing fist’ after you win it and then you shall see what may be found of Gollum’s trail. In all, I think I have arranged things rather well.”

“It is a comfort to know you have matters so well in hand.” Aragorn commented, genuinely amused by his friend’s attitude. After a moment, though he sobered. “Gandalf, I fear you risk outsmarting yourself one of these days with your brilliant but elaborate plans. Be careful, my friend, that you are not so clever that you restrict the free choice of those you guide.”

The words stung. Gandalf had been genuinely pleased with himself and while Aragorn had not exactly called him a manipulative old meddler the istar could not ignore that there would be some fairness to the accusation. He enjoyed playing the role of a kindly grandfather looking after his favorites and arranging things with all the idiosyncrasy of a village patriarch but he was a wizard, an emissary of the Valar themselves. He had power that conferred terrible responsibility and his unspoken but nonetheless deeply felt conviction that he knew what was better than anyone else what was best was his greatest weakness. Feeling there was justice in rebuke the wizard inclined his head in uncharacteristic humility.


The next few days passed far too quickly for Faramir. The roads were good and well-traveled at this stage in their journey and there was little he needed to do. His soldiers already knew how to march and little more was required of them. Faramir walked with them occasionally, continuing the work of forging a sense of camaraderie. He was succeeding rather well and it was only his relationship with his two lieutenants which he still found uncomfortable. No matter how he tried he could not seem to overcome the fact that these men knew the Steward did not respect him. Faramir did not feel able to demand from Gildel and Flyn what he did not merit in his own father’s eyes. Most of Faramir’s time, however, was not spent with either his men or the two lieutenants. Most of his time was spent thinking about Strider.

In his more introspective moments, Faramir was amused with himself. He was utterly infatuated and he knew it. The ranger filled his thoughts and he felt himself exhilarated just to be near him. No word or gesture from the man was too trivial not to merit hours of happy contemplation. Never before had he felt such giddy happiness at the mere pronunciation of his own name but the way Strider said `Faramir’ made the name music. There never seemed to be enough time to look at Strider. His every motion seemed endlessly fascinating and listening to him speak was bliss. It did not trouble Faramir that his growing attraction to the ranger was doomed to be unrequited, he was practical. He would expect nothing. In a way it was a great relief. Faramir was well passed the age when most people felt the first stirrings of love.

Faramir’s first instinct was to tell Boromir. His brother had never said anything but Faramir knew that Boromir worried about his apparent lack of any sexual interest in the beauties, either male or female of Minas Tirith. Faramir could only plead that the lack of education made most women vapid and the ones with sense or ambition could find no suitable employment for their talents and thus soon became resentful or malicious. Faramir did not blame them for this, rather he had a great deal of pity for them but he did not desire them. The situation was little better among the men. Faramir disliked simpering and he was equally put off by casual liaisons where the only object seemed to be to gratify oneself as much as possible while giving one’s partner as little as possible. Boromir had said he sympathized but Faramir still felt his brother would have been better pleased to see Faramir engage in a little judicious roistering from time to time.

Faramir nearly wrote to Boromir several times. He was bursting to share the news that finally, finally he had developed a crush, but the fear that Denethor would read the letters stopped him. So accustomed was he to having his correspondence opened that he did not even consider the practice an invasion of privacy. Faramir, though, wanted to keep Strider secret from his father. `How rebellious I have become.’ Faramir would laugh quietly to himself but despite the gentle mockery there was a part of him that felt a thrill of guilty joy for in a very small way his feelings for Strider were an act of defiance. Unable to confide in his brother, Faramir relied on fantasies. By some benevolent twist of fate Boromir would be sent after them and Faramir would introduce Boromir to Strider and the three would be such great friends. There was nothing wrong, Faramir reassured himself, with a little fantasizing.

In all, Faramir enjoyed being in love. He had never understood before what all the fuss was about but now he felt at one with even the sappiest of poems and songs. As Faramir spent more time with Strider, however, his feeling which had begun as simple infatuation began to change and mature into something stronger, more durable and ultimately more heartrending. Faramir was no longer just in love where the birds sang and the sun shone for him alone. Rather he was in love with Strider, a man, a unique individual, a whole person who, unlike the songs and poems he had so recently thought so much of, was not merely a remote almost generic beloved. He was himself and utterly irreplaceable. Faramir, though he still had the sense that he was somehow not seeing Strider in his entirety, spent more time thinking of Strider’s conversation, of his personality of his interaction with others. These newly kindled flames of love and knowledge would never burn themselves out. This was no longer a standard experience of coming age this was the real thing. Faramir was thoroughly ensnared and there was no turning back.

Watching Strider as he walked beside Gandalf talking, smiling occasionally- little smiles that were only the slightest of stretch of his lips and brightening of his eye- Faramir marveled that it had happened so fast. Surely, he should have had more warning, more time to ready himself for the surrender of himself. Strider was so gentle, and it was easy to surrender. Faramir loved talking with him. Strider gave him his full attention when they spoke as though he was not only interested but like he expected to hear Faramir speak wisdom. It was these times Faramir feared that he revealed himself too much. Strider was a miracle of kindness but he could not feel a tenth of the tidal wave that swept through the young captain of Gondor. Faramir’s enthusiasm sluiced unchecked over his listener and against all better judgment he found himself speaking of thoughts and feelings he had not even shared with Boromir. Strider received his confidences with a depth of understanding Faramir would not have believed possible and he reciprocated, telling Faramir of his own philosophy fired and tempered by experience. Faramir felt himself emerging from a darkness he had not even realized surrounded him.

Faramir was careful, however, not to cling to Strider. He could have spent every moment of the day and night by him and still hungered for more, but the practical captain strictly rationed himself. He had other duties to perform and he did them. He continued to make efforts with Gildel and Flyn. He spoke with Gandalf and he made sure that the unofficial entourage of travelers, some of whom were very poor and burdened with young children, that hung about the group of soldiers for safety on the road had enough to eat. He also watched. Strider seemed drawn to the most ragged of the stragglers desperate to remain near the wagon. Despite his austere countenance, the children did not fear him, and he would carry the heavy packs of the old women for several miles and speak amiably or more often listen to the tide of grievances of both young and old. At such times Faramir imagined he saw a light emanating from Strider and sweeping out to encompass those who walked near him. Faramir might have started worrying for his sanity but he was in love and was therefore expected to see flowers spring up in the footsteps of his beloved.

In many ways this deepening love was more fulfilling than the instant visceral rush of attraction but it was also more frightening. Hope and fear were inextricably entwined. As the possibilities of joy opened before him so too did the terrifying knowledge that this joy could be lost or worse yet never be fully attained. As Faramir lay down within his small tent at the end of the first week of travel, he wrapped himself in thoughts of Strider. His imaginings in the privacy of the night differed markedly from what he allowed himself to dream in the day. As the scent and warmth of the object of Faramir’s adoration were conjured, his hand wandered down toward his groin. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. When the inevitable came and his heart was broken Faramir hoped he would be able to take the blow with a measure of philosophy.

Chapter 3

“I am glad to be finally quit of the wizard.” Lieutenant Flyn commented quietly. Lieutenant Gildel, who was naturally taciturn and did not particularly appreciate garrulousness in his companions, only grunted. “I don’t hold with magic, black or white. There is something that doesn’t seem fair about it.” Flyn continued undeterred. “A white wizard has more in common with a black wizard than either has with us normal folk, seems to me.”

“Well, he’s gone his own way now, so you can stop fretting about it.”

“Oh, I wasn’t fretting I’m just glad he’s gone. It will make our job easier without him sniffing about. Though, if I could have my way, I’d wish that ranger were gone, too.”

“What have you got against, Strider?” Gildel asked, interested despite himself. He had been glad to have the ranger about. It was plain foolish to venture into unknown territory without some sort of guide.

“It’s hard to say precisely. There is just something about him.” At this Gildel snorted derisively which prompted Flyn to continue defensively: “Well, he’s too quiet. You never know if he’s right behind you.” Flyn broke off then and glanced behind him suddenly which caused Gildel to chuckle. “Where is he now, by the by, shouldn’t he be guiding.”

“It would be no more than justice if he were behind you.” Gildel said unsympathetically. “But you needn’t panic, he went into the forest a while back with about half dozen of the urchins yipping at his heels. I believe he meant to show them how to follow deer track.”

“Well, you see? Isn’t that odd behavior?”

“What? That the boys should want to learn a little wood craft? Or that the ranger would bother to take an hour and show them?” Gildel asked, feeling a sudden surge of annoyance. Some of the lieutenant’s fondest memories of childhood involved making a nuisance out of himself at the practice yard watching the soldiers go through drills. Several of the men had looked kindly upon the eager lad and watched with patient smiles as the boy demonstrated the drill for them using a stick in place of a spear. One of the men had even let young Gildel hold his sword. Even now, Gildel felt grateful for the time and patience those men had given him.

“I just don’t want him to forget he’s here to help us not to lead nature walks.” Flyn answered. He didn’t like Strider and he knew this dislike was not entirely reasonable but he could not help the strong feeling of antipathy the ranger inspired in him.

“You would do better to worry about why we are here. And since, as you point out, the wizard has gone his own way, now would be as good a time as any to make out a plan of action.” Gildel announced, happy to turn the conversation in a more productive direction.

“Gorm and Hilo are the best swordsmen we have here. Either one of them could win the contest and then we needn’t do anything and we’ll never earn an easier bonus.”

“Yes, both men are very skilled. It is a pity the captain forbade any of our boys to enter the competition.”

“That doesn’t matter, surely. We have our mandate.” Flyn said eyeing his partner suspiciously.

“Yes, but it would have been better had you not asked him about it then we wouldn’t have to disobey an order.”

“I wasn’t to know he wouldn’t agree. Besides, I wouldn’t worry about the captain. He’ll have his hands full talking to Khand’s grand high muckety mucks. Faramir won’t be-”

A sharp jab in the ribs cut Flyn off mid sentence and before he could retaliate he heard Gildel call out rather more loudly than was his wont. “Good afternoon, Captain.”


It had not escaped Faramir’s notice that as he approached, his two lieutenants abandoned their previous conversation and- Flyn- especially started to fidget nervously. Faramir would have liked to continue beside them for a time in hopes of easing himself into some sort of conversation. He knew that he had not managed to inspire either trust or confidence in his closest subordinates and he took this failure hard. Still now was not the time to try once again to form a connection with his men.

A few minutes ago, Strider had appeared on the path in front of him leading seven grubby but happy boys. As soon as the boys saw that they had regained the road, they dispersed in search of their families. It amused him to see Strider, grim and stern, at the head of such an odd seeming group and he smiled. Strider returned the smile and came to walk beside Faramir, though his eyes followed his erstwhile charges back to the now dwindling group of families that had latched on to the soldiers’ caravan. Faramir’s smile increased as he let his senses take in the nearness of the ranger.

“There is a village several miles ahead. The border is rather fluid but this village identifies culturally with Khand.” Strider announced in his quiet voice.

“Will our arrival trouble the villagers? How can we make sure our intentions are understood to be peaceful?” Faramir asked excitedly. This was it, his first encounter with the people he had been sent to woo. He could do it, he told himself encouragingly, he would make an excellent impression. With Strider’s help, Faramir knew he would succeed.

“It might be best to make camp a small ways away from the village proper. Then you and an attendant should seek out the mayor and tell him of your intent to go to the gathering. He will probably ask you to dinner.” Strider answered watching Faramir’s usually pale face flush with anticipation and noting how attractive the young man was in his eagerness.

“Will you come with me, Strider?” Faramir did his best to keep the pleading out of his tone but he knew he had not been entirely successful.

“Of course, if you wish it but I don’t think you will have much use for me. These villagers will be accustomed to strangers, situated as they are so near the border. I will not be able to accompany you for many of the meetings and events of the gathering and this would be a safe opportunity to learn where- if anywhere- you feel uncomfortable with the Khandrim.”

Faramir could acknowledge the wisdom of Strider’s suggestion but he had wanted his company. Not only for the extra security that the knowledge of Strider’s presence would keep him from doing anything foolish but also because the idea of going to a formal dinner at the ranger’s side was somehow thrilling. He knew it would make him sound weak but he wanted to insist on Strider’s company. The ranger had said he would go if Faramir wished it.

Strider watched the emotions play across Faramir’s face. The ranger hated to see insecurity assail the young captain. It was utterly unjustified. Faramir’s genuine eagerness not only to learn but also to honor the customs of his hosts was so clear that the villagers would find themselves completely charmed. “If you would like me to remain behind I would be glad to discuss the meeting with you afterward. I am certain everything will go well but if you observe anything that seems odd or have any sort of question that I might be able to answer then I will be all the help I can.”

“Yes, I think that is a good idea. Thank you.” Immediately the tension eased in Faramir’s face. If he made mistakes Strider would be able to tell him what he did wrong and- Faramir could not help but think- if I do well perhaps he will smile at me again. Faramir was once more all enthusiasm as he excused himself. “Your pardon, but I would like to speak to the men before we approach much nearer.”

Strider bowed farewell, employing again the strange lifting of hand to brow and lips. Faramir always wanted to ask about that particular gesture which seemed to combine both dignity and respect but he feared being intrusive and so kept silent. Faramir returned the bow, quickly clasping his hands behind his back, suddenly unsure of what to do with his hands. Trying to look composed and stately the young captain of Gondor turned from Strider toward his two lieutenants.


“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” Faramir greeted Gildel and Flyn before explaining what he wanted. The two looked embarrassed as they acknowledged his order and brought the caravan to a halt and began shooing away the near by travelers. Faramir had nothing very secret to impart but for propriety’s sake a captain should not address his troops in front of gawking wayfarers. Not that there were too many families left. Each day the number of their entourage diminished as they continued east.

The soldiers had formed up before the wagon and Faramir perceived that it was time. Quickly Faramir ran through the list of everything he wanted to say. He really didn’t like making speeches. Boromir was the one who could persuade with the force of his personality and compel with the cadence of his words. Faramir, though, had expectations of the Gondorim and it was only fair that he outline these expectations himself. He would just have to hope that the ideas were powerful enough to survive his presentation of them. Taking a deep breath, the young captain climbed up on the back of the wagon and surveyed his men.

“We will camp this evening beside a village of Khandrim. Gondor has been accustomed to looking east and seeing only an enemy. Well, you and I are going to change that. We are going to turn an enemy into a friend. A soldier’s true mission is always to profess peace and that is why we are here.”

“Right now the only thing the Khandrim know about Gondor comes from rumors and lies fostered by the dark lord. They will judge Gondor by what we do. So what will they learn? They will learn that Gondor is kind, patient, that she keeps her promises and that she does not blame the victims of Sauron’s cruelty for the dark lord’s evil.”

Faramir looked around trying to assess the reaction to his words. Had he gone overboard? Did he sound like a naïve idealist as Denethor often complained? Were they still listening? He searched the faces, making eye contact with one man after another. It was hard to say. Was he making any sort of impression?

“There will be a great deal for you to explore in this new land. Each of you will have a great many stories to share over ale back in Minas Tirith. I don’t mean to keep you all locked away in camp while I and your lieutenants enjoy the festivities.” Here Faramir smiled to show that he was attempting a light tone. “Each of you will be assigned a partner and while you are not on duty you may explore as you like but you will always stick to your partner outside of camp. I know I don’t have to tell you that we are guests in this country and that I expect everyone to render a full measure of respect to our hosts.” Faramir paused, letting his words sink in before finishing brusquely. “All right, gentlemen, we have a ways to go yet. Let’s get started.”


From where he had listened, partway between the men of Gondor and the huddled travelers, Strider watched Faramir jump down from the wagon as he finished his speech. The words had been good and well chosen and the delivery sincere. It lacked a certain polish in places but it was well done. Strider felt a great deal of pride in the young man. He suddenly found himself wishing that he could have the benefit of Faramir’s wisdom and peculiar insight in all his own decisions. Faramir was Denethor’s son, however, Strider had to remember that, surely his place was with his father and brother.

It was ridiculous to imagine that the youth would even consider speaking to him with the openness that he now displayed if he knew Strider was Aragorn. It would be a betrayal to invite greater intimacy between them. Even though, Strider found himself so much in need of the youth’s company, of his trust, of his friendship. Strider felt guilt rise in him. He had tried to explain to Gandalf how passing himself off as Strider, simple ranger of the north, or even Thorongil, soldier of fortune, was dishonest when dealing with any of the Steward’s line. Gandalf had dismissed these concerns casually insisting that even if they were valid regarding Denethor, Faramir would feel no betrayal, any more than Ecthelion would have. Strider, though, could not convince himself of that and so he resolved to be cautious.

Yet, Faramir could look so ethereally beautiful, sometimes. Strider wished the young man could be less enchanting. Faramir had a way of drawing him out of himself and the morbid contemplation of all that he must do. This was exactly what Strider/Thorongil/Estel/Aragorn wanted most, to be spared if only briefly the responsibility of making good on sixteen generations worth of unfulfilled potential. It was so good to feel safe and easy in the company of another. Even with Gandalf felt the heavy tread of destiny stalking him. With Faramir though, his instincts told him he need not be constantly on his guard. He could enjoy the world from the perspective of a young and honest heart. Strider knew, though, that despite the temptation, despite the comfort of simply being with Faramir he could not allow himself to relax his vigilance

Strider wished Gandalf had not left. It was growing ever more difficult to keep himself a safe distance from Faramir. Gandalf presence could have eased the growing longing in the ranger to seek out the young captain. Now, though, there was nothing but his own will power to keep him to his resolve and that was a commodity he had felt was in short supply lately. Strider hoped very much that the obvious attention Faramir had been paying him was attributable to the young man’s curiosity and natural courtesy. If Faramir felt anything of the bond Strider recognized as growing in himself then the ranger did not believe he would be able shield either himself or Faramir from the increasing passion in his heart.


Faramir had chosen Lieutenant Gildel to accompany him to the house of the village head-man. As always Faramir was putting on an optimistic face but he betrayed his nervousness in the flutter of his hands. Strider bid the young man farewell with gentle encouragement and to the ranger’s great pleasure his words seemed to calm the young man. At the last moment, Faramir had turned back to Strider and made him repeat his promise to meet with him after dinner. Strider agreed readily, trying to conceal the gladness he felt that Faramir should seek comfort from him.

In the meantime, Strider wanted to take the opportunity to make sure those few who were still traveling with the soldiers were settled for the evening. He did not like the idea of women and children moving east but most were returning to their homes after a particularly punishing series of orc attacks. Strider marveled at their perseverance and pitied them all greatly wishing to do all in his power to help them, even if all that amounted to was lending a sympathetic ear. Before he left the bounds of the official encampment however, he heard his name being called.

“Master Strider, may I have a moment of your time?” Lieutenant Flyn caught up to him with an ingratiating smile plastered across his face. Strider felt his skin prickle with suspicion. He would be courteous, though. He had seen how much Faramir had struggled to engage the lieutenant in a relationship that would eventually lead to trust. Strider felt he could not do otherwise than honor the young captain’s efforts by refusing to indulge his dislike of Flyn.

“Certainly.” Strider answered, looking down on Flyn from his superior height with an impassive expression that strove to be warm. “How may I serve you?”

“If you have no pressing business, I though we might chat a bit. I would like to hear more of your experiences in Khand. It cannot have been easy to adjust so well to a strange land. You must be a remarkable man.” Strider frowned at the flattery. It was so obviously forced.

“Was there anything in particular you wished to know?” Despite his pains Strider could not keep the curtness from his tone. It hardly seemed to matter though for Flyn’s feigned chumminess did not diminish.

“Nothing in particular, friend, but I bet your upcoming competition has been weighing on your mind. Will this be your first fencing match amongst the Khandrim?” Flyn had taken Strider’s arm in aid of leading him to one of the camp fires. The ranger, though, turned on him a look which caused Flyn not only to drop his arm but also to take a half pace away. It took a great deal of nerve but the unctuous smile was quickly back in place.

“It will be my first such competition.”

“You’ve seen the sort of thing before, though? You have an idea of what to expect. Do the Khandrim favor any particular style?” The questions were asked in a maddeningly jovial tone that set Strider’s teeth on edge. The ranger wanted out of this encounter but all of his signals had been ignored.

“The Khandrim employ a number of styles. If you’ll pardon me I was on my way to speak to young Dash and Tom. Their families have farms several miles south and they will be leaving our little procession tomorrow.” Strider meant this to end the talk but Flyn only chuckled.

“Ah yes, charming lads and I’m sure their glad of a little attention. Do you plan to buy your way out of the first round, then?”

“Pardon?”

“The fencing tournament, do you plan to buy your way out of the first round?”

“No.” Strider was surprised Flyn had remembered the casual mention he made the first evening that some of Khandrim were able to avoid the rigors of the tournament’s first round for a fee.

“Well, I dare say the privilege wouldn’t come cheap. Perhaps the captain would sponsor you, though. About how much would a by cost?”

“I have no interest in avoiding the first round. Good night, lieutenant.” Strider turned his back on Flyn and walked away at a steady but still rather quick pace. Strider wondered why Flyn, who had not been more than civil before, suddenly wanted to hear about the fencing competition. The situation would need watching, the ranger thought with a weary sigh.


The expression of pride which all his abundant caution could still not entirely subdue told Strider what he had already suspected: The dinner had been a great success. The ranger, though, made an inquiry for form’s sake and Faramir’s words came tripping over one another in an enthusiastic tide. Smiling to see how the typically reserved and quiet young man had suddenly become almost boyish, Strider guided Faramir towards the captain’s tent at the center of camp. He wanted to discuss the evening’s events privately, both to protect the dignity of Faramir’s command but also, he could not in honesty deny, he wished to have Faramir’s company to himself if even for a brief time.

“I used the greeting you suggested.” Faramir began his narrative after first assuring Strider that, on the whole, everything had gone quite well. “I think it surprised the assembled dignitaries. They instantly began speaking to me in a dialect of Eastron that I could not entirely follow. I answered the best I could in the dialect I had been taught and they seemed to understand me better than I understood them. After a while, we reverted to the common tongue but there was a good deal of laughter. So much so that I cannot help but think I must have accidentally said something comical by mistake and made myself ridiculous.”

“I doubt it. Your efforts to speak their language almost certainly flattered them. If you sounded a bit stilted then that probably pleased them too for Easterners take great pride in the complexity and beauty of their language. It irritates them when foreigners speak it perfectly.” Strider laughed a little remembering his own first faltering attempts to learn the language of the eastern tribes. The other hunters teased him about it mercilessly and even when he had become truly fluent he had purposefully retained an accent for fear of ruining a great source of entertainment for his fellows.

Faramir smiled happily at the reassurance and went on to describe the food before moving on to an account of the dress of the other dinner guests. Occasionally Strider offered a comment or asked a question but mostly he just listened. Faramir was quite an accomplished raconteur and he had great powers of observation. An hour passed comfortably between them before Faramir had exhausted all the details of his recent experience.

Strider watched Faramir for a while after the young man had fallen silent. The captain seemed lost to reverie and though the ranger found a certain satisfaction in studying the younger man he no longer had a legitimate excuse to remain. Sighing, Strider had half risen from the camp stool on which he had perched, words of parting rising to his lips when Faramir suddenly seemed to come alive.

“Don’t go. Stay a while, yet. There is something I have been meaning to ask.” Faramir lay a hand on Strider’s arm in gentle entreaty and there could be no mistaking the plea in his eyes.

“I have already said I will do all I can to assist you. I repeat it now.” Strider answered returning to his seat. The ranger felt a sudden increase in the tension of his body at the strange mix of need warring with fear in the young man’s expression.

“I’m afraid I may ask more than you would willingly give.” Faramir swallowed hard. “If I do will you promise to tell me `no’ and be not offended for I will not speak should I risk offending you.”

“I find it unlikely you should ask for anything that I would not willingly give but you have my promise.”

Again, Faramir swallowed. Ever since Gandalf’s departure Faramir had been mustering his courage to speak- not of his feelings, that would be taking far too many liberties- but rather of his more prosaic desires. Like an old chaperone, the wizard’s beloved but nonetheless inconvenient presence had prevented Faramir from exploring- even in his fantasies- the full measure of his growing desire for Strider. Without Gandalf’s inhibiting company, however, Faramir found he could no longer restrain himself. He would not ask Strider to love him. That was impossible. Yet, Strider might be tempted into making love to him. Faramir would never love another as he loved Strider. The thought of living his whole life never having felt the touch of his beloved seemed unendurable to the young man and yet how could he ask, how could he even hint at what he craved so badly.

Faramir had been silent now for more than a minute and Strider’s gaze had grown concerned. Finally, Faramir steeled himself and plunged ahead, reminding himself all the while that Strider was the kindest man he knew and whatever foolishness Faramir said, Strider would not punish him with coldness and disdain. “Do you have any interest in me, Strider? I mean could you ever find me the least bit attractive- physically? I- I think you are beautiful.”

Strider listened in astonishment to Faramir’s nervous confession. He watched the young man’s face in wonder as his expression seemed to say that he expected rejection, had already half accepted it and yet there remained the faintest trace of hope in his eyes. Strider, himself, had not been altogether oblivious to Faramir’s charms. He already cared deeply for the young man. He even loved him if he could bring himself to fully confront the implications of that word. He certainly found him desirable, although believing as he had that a physical attraction was completely unreciprocated it was easy for the ranger to resist that temptation. With Faramir’s confession, all that changed with the force and suddenness of a blow to his solar plexus. If Gandalf had even the faintest inkling that the young captain would develop such feelings for him then, friend or not, Strider intended to have harsh words with him.

It took only a few second for all these thoughts and more to flash through Strider’s mind but it was more than enough time for the small spark of hope in Faramir’s eyes to extinguish itself in a rush of shame. “Forgive me. I spoke foolishly. I should not have presumed-”

Strider quickly rose and took both of Faramir’s hands in his own. They were icy to the touch and the ranger held them tightly willing warmth into them. “No, Faramir. You must not apologize. I never thought to be so honored with the regard of a man as lovely and decent as yourself. I find you extraordinarily beautiful. Yet, there are obstacles before us that I think must prove insurmountable.”

Faramir’s youthful countenance had been slowly brightening like the horizon at sunrise but with Strider’s last sentence, night fell once more over his features. “You love another. I’m so sorry for not realizing it immediately. Of course, you would have someone waiting for you.” Cursing himself for the fool he knew he was, Faramir thought the honorable thing to do would be to extricate his hands from Strider’s comforting and secure grasp immediately. But shame upon misery, he could not bring himself to let go of Strider for as long as the other tolerated his touch.

Strider sighed and regarded Faramir’s bent head. It would be easy at this point to confirm the young man’s suspicion. It was as kind a way as any to thwart his advances but the vision of his beloved Arwen stopped him. He would never use his lady as a shield when in truth Elrond’s daughter had increased rather than diminished his heart’s capacity to love. No, Strider would have to be as honest as the circumstances permitted.

“There is a lady with whom I have an understanding but that was not what I referred to. Her people do not believe that exclusivity is necessarily a characteristic of… fidelity.” Strider had nearly said love but that, he felt, would have been more honesty than his heart could bear. “I have secrets, Faramir, duty forces me to keep them but were I to reveal them to you then your feelings towards me would change.”

Faramir raised his head at this. He looked puzzled. “You have secrets that would change my feelings for you? I cannot think so. Strider, and I do know that that cannot possibly be your name, I know you are a wise, good, kind, honest man. I do not care about anything else. Besides,” Here, Faramir cocked his head to the side in away that was almost coy. “I may have a secret of my own.” To Faramir’s mind this was only the truth. He loved Strider and were he to admit this fact, he knew the ranger would reject him on the belief that he would be taking advantage of the younger man if he did not.

“Do not be so quick to dismiss what I tell you, Faramir. It may be that we shall meet again under different circumstances and I could not bear to see reproach in your eyes.” This was as much as Strider could permit himself to say. The temptation of the younger man was speeding the blood through his veins. The hands in his, still cold despite his best efforts, had begun to tremble.

“I will never reproach you, nor do I think I could ever have cause to do so. Please, I…” Strider could not listen to the young captain of Gondor beg. It was too much. Taking a step forward he closed his lips over Faramir’s and kissed him.

The kiss drove every other thought but that of Strider’s nearness out of Faramir’s mind. He could hardly believe it was finally happening and how much better it was than all his imaginings. His hands were trapped between their chests as Strider wrapped one arm around his waist and the other about his shoulders. Faramir made an effort to kiss back, just enough to demonstrate his eager participation. He was completely overwhelmed by Strider and so terribly glad to be so that he trembled in the other man’s arms.

The kiss had been the longest of Faramir’s life even though it had lasted only a few seconds. When Strider broke the kiss, he still held Faramir pressed tightly against him and the young man, breathless, instantly sought his shoulder, pressing his cheek to the rough cloth of the ranger’s tunic.

“Thank you.” The words escaped seemingly without notice. The young man’s gratitude was almost painful to Strider, however, and he was glad not to have seen the emotion in Faramir’s eyes at that moment.

“What do you want to do, Faramir? What would you like?” Stride asked unable to keep himself from stroking the young man’s soft dark hair as his head lay against his chest. He could not bring himself to regret this. Having Faramir in his arms was such a wonderful, comforting feeling.

Large grey eyes peered up at him. “I would like to do whatever you wish, but if you would kiss me, too. I would like that very much.”

Strider understood as he smiled and began gently kissing around the younger man’s mouth that part of Faramir’s passivity came from his attempt to hide the awkwardness he felt. `For,’ the ranger mused, `he cannot have had many lovers.’ The other part of Faramir’s response, however, was that he genuinely trusted Strider and wanted to please him more than he sought pleasure himself. This knowledge served to increase Strider’s inherent gentleness.

“Kissing you seems an excellent suggestion.” Strider answered doing just that. Eventually, the ranger began caressing Faramir’s lips with his tongue. Already the younger man’s lips were slightly parted but his mouth opened further to invite in the probing tongue. Strider tasted some of the spices that Faramir had told him had been served at the dinner and the taste mixed with taste of the young man himself was utterly delightful.

Strider spent a long time alternating deep explorations of Faramir’s willing mouth and soft gentle kisses pressed to the young man’s jaw and neck, the ranger once again drew back to look into Faramir’s flushed face and bright eyes. “There is more I would like to try, Faramir, but first I will need your permission to remove your shirt and tunic.”

Faramir’s confidence had gradually increased to the point where he felt able to return some of Strider’s affection. It took him several moments, therefore to process the ranger’s words as he had been concentrating on the feel of rubbing his own stubbled cheek against Strider’s own bearded face. When he did finally realize what he had been asked, he gave an enthusiastic nod and, while not moving back from Strider, began looking around for the pile of blankets and cushions upon which he usually slept. Taking Strider’s hand, he led the way to his bedroll. Then with another nervous smile, he dropped to his knees and began untying the laces of his tunic.

As far as Faramir was concerned, he had already given Strider permission to do whatever he wished. The young man would not have objected if the ranger had seized him by the shoulders, torn his clothes from him and then pushed him face down upon the earth. Indeed, Faramir had already had several fantasies to that effect. It was strange but the idea of being handled roughly had never appealed to him before Strider. Despite his late night imaginings, though, Faramir was still glad to be asked. It gave him a feeling of greater participation and also a sense of reassurance that while Strider might not love him, he was not simply making use of him.

Kneeling beside Faramir on the blanket, Strider gently took over the work of undressing the younger man. When his torso had been bared, Strider looked over the slim figure with such obvious approval that Faramir smiled. “Very lovely.” The ranger commented, stroking first Faramir’s arms and then his chest and belly. The young man sighed. He felt both excited and yet also relaxed, as though he were drawing on some sort of inner peace that he had never been able to access before.

After Strider had mapped the pale, slender form before him, he turned his hands to divesting himself of his own shirt. Faramir opened his eyes after having allowed them to drift shut to better experience Strider’s touch. Hesitantly he placed his hands over Strider’s: “May I?”

“Of course.”

Faramir’s hands dexterously opened Strider’s tunic and gently tugged his shirt over his head. The ranger had the distinct impression that Faramir was being especially careful not to tug too hard or rip the old fabric. The thought made him smile. Every few seconds Faramir would pause in his work and gaze up at Strider as though he were seeking approval or making sure he still had permission for what he was doing. When Strider was finally undressed, Faramir looked up again with uncertainty.

“I would like you to touch me.” Strider encouraged, letting his own fingers ghost over the younger man’s arms.

“Will you close your eyes, please?” The whispered request caught Strider off guard and his surprised expression made Faramir blush deeply. Quickly mastering himself the ranger nodded gravely and shut his eyes.

Faramir found he was a bit more at ease knowing he would not be observed as he brought his hands up and lay them reverently on Strider’s chest. He could feel the other man’s heartbeat. Faramir took his time despite the clamoring of his own desires, to fully appreciate the look and feel of Strider. His fingers teased the dark curling hair on his chest. When he gently grazed Strider’s nipples, a small shiver ran through the ranger’s body. Moving closer, Faramir kissed Strider’s collarbone and the ranger clasped him firmly about the waist in response.

Strider opened his eyes slowly and was greeted with the sight of Faramir pressing soft kisses to his neck. The sight inspired a low moan that caused Faramir to look up at him questioningly. Unwilling to resist the opportunity the nearness of the young man’s kiss swollen lips Strider leaned down and claimed his mouth with greater force than he had shown before.

Now it was Faramir’s turn to moan. The sound fed Strider’s growing hunger and the ranger touched Faramir through his trousers, pressing the painfully confined flesh. Faramir moaned again and automatically thrust himself against Strider’s hands. Breaking the kiss Strider demanded Faramir’s acquiescence with a quick look and when it was granted by a fervent nod, the ranger peeled Faramir’s trousers down his hips. Gasping, Faramir assisted as best he could. He might have been embarrassed to be displaying himself so but need overrode embarrassment and when Strider closed his erection in a tight fist his whole body trembled.

“Lie down, Sweetheart.” The ranger commanded in a husky whisper. Faramir obeyed instantly trying to stifle the whimpers bubbling from his throat. Soon Faramir’s legs were pinned by Strider’s chest. The older man tugged gently on Faramir’s arousal before a calloused thumb brushed over the tip. The young captain could no longer restrain the almost animal like noises that erupted from him. He felt tears in his eyes. Then the ranger’s hand abandoned his penis, searching behind the painfully hard organ and stroking Faramir’s testicles. In the next second, Faramir was wrapped in wet heat. He was unable to stop himself, with a strangled cry, the young man climaxed, spilling himself helplessly into Strider’s mouth.

Faramir felt exhausted, his breath was still coming hard and his heart felt as though it might beat out of his chest but even so, he had never felt such an explosion of pleasure. He was in raptures, at one with the universe. He felt no fear or anxiety, only bliss. Eventually, though, Faramir became aware of the sweat cooling on his neck and forehead. He realized that Strider was stroking his hair and watching him with an amused smile. `He hardly needed to touch me and yet I have never felt so perfect.’ Faramir thought raising a hand in an attempt to touch Strider.

“What should I do now?” Faramir asked, his energy slowly returning to him. He could not help but feel a slight nervousness return. He knew he could not return a degree of pleasure even close to what he had just experienced.

After kissing Faramir thoroughly, letting the younger man taste himself on his tongue, Strider moved back and stripped off his own trousers. Faramir watched in fascination. The tip was already dripping and Faramir was overwhelmed with the desire to touch and taste and then finally to feel Strider boring slowly into him. Reaching out, Faramir brushed the ranger’s erection with his fingertips causing the older man to hiss at so brief and light a touch. Faramir moved forward intending to use his mouth as best he could to please Strider but the ranger pressed a hand to his shoulder, stopping him.

“I want to feel your hand around me, Faramir. Is that all right?” The ranger’s voice was even lower and more gravely than usual.

Faramir knew an instant of disappointment that he would not immediately be able to taste Strider but this was quickly assuaged as he wrapped his hands around the ranger’s thick erection. He could feel the burning heat of the blood beating just beneath the silky skin. The rigid, unbendable hardness of the other man enthralled him. In some ways, Strider felt as Faramir did whenever he stroked himself but he also felt different in a way that was hard to describe. After a moment Strider put his hand over Faramir’s and began to guide it, showing the younger man how much pressure and speed the ranger wanted. Faramir learned quickly and Strider’s hand fell away to clutch a near by cushion.

Faramir watched Strider’s face as he pleasured him. He had thought the ranger beautiful before but seeing his half-lidded eyes gaze at him through a thick fringe of lashes while a bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face was beyond anything Faramir could have imagined. After a while, Strider’s breath hitched and pearly white liquid shot from his penis and covered his stomach. Quickly while the ranger was still recovering himself, Faramir bent forward and began lapping Strider’s stomach savoring as he did so the unique taste of the ranger. When he was done, Strider held him and for a short time they caressed and petted one another.

“It has grown quite late, Faramir. I should go. It would be better if no one knows what has happened.” After this declaration, Strider offered the younger man a kiss that was gratefully accepted. Strider dressed and Faramir put on his trousers but did not bother with his shirt. When Strider was ready, he turned to kiss Faramir once more but when he rose to leave Faramir did not release his hand.

“Strider?”

“Yes?” The ranger bent down once more to listen to whatever the younger man had to say.

“Why… why didn’t you want me?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Why didn’t you take me or… or at least let me use my mouth to please you?” The question had obviously not been easy to ask and it left the ranger utterly stunned.

“Faramir, this was our first time together. I want to learn your body and I want you to learn mine. There will be time enough later, surely. Believe me when I tell you that you are infinitely desirable but I do not want to be precipitate or to take a risk of hurting you. Did you not wish to do this again?” The ranger seemed more puzzled than anything else, but once again Faramir flushed a deep red.

“Of course, I want that. I… I thought… I thought you would not want anything but this one time. Yes, please come back. I’m sorry you must think I’m very stupid.”

Strider kissed Faramir, a long gentle kiss. “I think you are charming and sweet and very beautiful. As much as our different duties and your inclination permit I want to be with you.”

This time when Strider rose to leave, Faramir was able to smile and wish him a good evening, all the while repeating to himself the older man’s promise that he would come back and hold Faramir again.

Chapter 4

The next morning found Faramir in very good spirits. He had slept deeply and his joy at having attained such intimacy with his beloved Strider was indescribable. He had, immediately upon waking, experienced a fear that the easy friendship he had been developing with Strider on their journey would be strained or in some other way altered by the events of last night. His trepidation, however, was assuaged the instant he looked into Strider’s face and was greeted with the same gentle smile that he had grown so accustomed to seeing over the past few days. From then on, nothing could have caused Faramir the least worry or trouble.

He and Strider conversed as they usually did when the occasion permitted and the young captain found himself as fascinated as ever by the ranger. Though they had no chance to speak privately, Strider once contrived an opportunity to take his hand and squeeze it gently. This little gesture dispersed the last of Faramir’s fretfulness. The young man had half expected that during Strider’s frequent absences, either to scout ahead or now to accompany the last remaining family to their farmstead, he would be able to concentrate on nothing and be generally useless but this was not the case.

A great deal of the depression and anxiety that had been so much with Faramir that he had long since ceased to regard it, had somehow been alleviated by the ranger. To his happy surprise, then, Faramir found that not only could he concentrate on his duties but that his tasks seemed much less effortful than they had in the past. The captain who could easily obsess over trifles was more relaxed. His orders, which would often sound too tentative to command obedience were now delivered with more self-assertion. The change in him was subtle but it did not go unnoticed and all those who wished the young man well rejoiced in it.

Thus it was that, while Faramir lamented the moments that Strider was not with him, he filled that time easily enough planning how to pair up the soldiers hoping to find a way to ensure the best probability of controlling those men most likely to find trouble in Khand. He was able to discipline his thoughts and plan his strategies with more confidence than before. Once again, hope burned strong in the young captain that he could accomplish the two maind objectives of his life: to do good in the world and also fulfill the wishes of his father.


On his way back to the road after escorting the last of the families to their farmstead, Strider was reminded why he always hated traveling East. It was not so much the orcs, invisible to large groups of armed men but thick as flies on rotten meat whenever they sensed weakness, or the roving bandits preying on lone travelers. Battle did not intimidate the ranger. In all truth, Strider found a certain grim satisfaction in killing a few of the parasites that infested these lands. It was simple, easy and gratifying in a way he found troubling in his more introspective moments. No, what oppressed his spirits were the relentless, grinding poverty and desperation of the common people that was the inevitable result of marauding orcs and lawless men.

Adding to the ranger’s hopelessness was the conviction that so much of the human misery he witnessed was his fault. The weakness of Isildur carried through the generations now culminated in the impotence of his heir to care for the people. Strider knew these thoughts were dangerous. Indulging his sense of helplessness only made him vulnerable to anything that offered an easy answer. This journey was the first time, however, where he had braved the dark lord’s demesnes and been able- even for a little while- to fend off a deep melancholy. Faramir, Strider did not doubt, protected the ranger’s fragile sense of hope. The young man’s determination to do as much good as he was capable of doing, revived the ranger’s flagging spirits. As Strider’s thoughts turned to the young man he found himself smiling and increasing his pace to rejoin Faramir the faster.

Strider was very much looking forward to the evening, when he hoped to have another private meeting with Faramir. It had taken a great deal of self-restraint for Strider not to have gone further with the young man the night before. He had wanted very much to experience all the secrets of Faramir’s body at once, to feel him quivering beneath him, to listen to him moaning helplessly as he gave himself up to Strider’s complete control. The ranger, however, had wanted to take his time with Faramir. He was so very young, new born to the world, and filled with wonder and the promise of the future. Elves possessed seeming youth with their smooth skin and fair features but that was only external appearance hiding a world-weariness and an immortal’s indifference to all things transitory. Faramir, though, seemed to see the world with all its imperfections as a realm of possibility and he did not disdain small improvements. The young man deserved all the tenderness and affection he could show him and all the love he could not.

Another factor militated patience: Much to his chagrin, Strider had found himself plagued by thoughts of Denethor several moments after kissing Faramir. It had always been obvious to Strider that Faramir’s father was a strong and in many ways negative influence in the young man’s life. There were times when Strider almost imagined he could feel the aura of the Steward surround Faramir and guide his actions. Further, Denethor’s almost instantaneous dislike of Thorongil had impressed Aragorn greatly. He had taken it as portentous and even now whenever he worried about his own suitability for the throne he remembered Denethor’s hatred. Denethor enraged at Thorongil for alienating Ecthelion’s affection had become, in the ranger’s mind, Denethor enraged at Strider for seducing his son. The Steward of Gondor had nothing to do with Strider’s growing attachment to Faramir and the ranger did not wish the specter of the Steward to intrude upon them.

Thoughts of the Steward led Strider to once again consider the strange conversation he had had with Lieutenant Flyn. The man clearly intended to enter either himself or another in the fencing competition, his captain’s proscription notwithstanding. The question was why. Strider’s immediate impulse was to suspect that rumor of the `killing fist’ had found Denethor’s sharp ears and that the Steward had sponsored this expedition for the special purpose of getting his hands on it. Gandalf had not suspected that Denethor knew anything at all about the reemergence of one of the old relics. the wizard believed that Denethor accepted the stated purpose of the mission, to reach a rapprochement with Khand but Gandalf, despite his great self-knowledge was still inclined to overestimate the power of his own suggestions. Strider dismissed his suspicion, though. Denethor was more than capable of using a peace mission to conceal his desire for a weapon but Strider could not believe Faramir’s sincerity and commitment were feigned. The young man would be a poor dissembler and that, Strider/Aragorn mused, was surely an admirable characteristic.

Sighing a little as the image of his guileless Faramir appeared before him, Strider forced himself to stop day-dreaming and consider his own less altruistic mission. Gandalf had insisted that the gauntlet be retrieved. The Wizard had been so adamant that the gauntlet was important that Strider had feared a weapon of great power. To his relief, however, the rumored powers of the `killing fist’ were comparatively tame. The gauntlet could kill at a distance but only within seeing range. It could only take one life at a time. Gandalf had not known how long it would take to find a new target but as far as Aragorn understood the gauntlet was not much more dangerous than a crossbow. Further, no one had heard of the weapon being used since the first age. There was no reason to think there was any power left in the object. Argue as he would, however, Gandalf could not be swayed from the position that obtaining the `killing fist’ was vitally important.

The worst feature of the weapon seemed to be the way in which it killed. A victim could take hours to die as all his internal organs compressed as though squeezed. It sounded grizzly but it was certainly not the worst way to die in a battle. Yet, Gandalf insisted that it was not the actual damage done by the gauntlet that was to be feared but the effect it had upon the minds of the opposing army. Dread of the weapon and its wielder would sap the strength of even the most stout-hearted soldier. Men always feared magic and mystery more than they feared gangrene or a sword in the belly. This reasoning did not leave Strider entirely convinced. It was a subject upon which he would have like very much to have heard Faramir’s opinion but the ranger knew it was inappropriate to discuss the matter with the younger man.

There was, too, always the chance that Gandalf knew more than he was saying and this secret knowledge contained the real reason for the wizard apparent obsession. In the end, Strider had no choice but to trust Gandalf. The wizard’s labored ceaselessly to thwart every stratagem of the enemy and Strider could not in good conscience deny his friend help. The gauntlet would have to be obtained, then. Strider did not have Gandalf’s faith that he would win the contest. The ranger was very skilled but fencing was more than a question of skill. If he did not win, he would have to plan his next move very carefully. Whatever Gandalf said, Strider refused to have any part in stealing the gauntlet. That was too much to ask. At the bottom of the ranger’s pack, though, wrapped in a scrap of canvas, was an opal necklace that had been Gilraen’s. If need arose he would use that to barter for the gauntlet. And it would be another family treasure auctioned off to provide needful things to the once mighty line of kings.

Once again the ranger’s equanimity was threatened by these reflections upon his inability to reverse the decline, not only of his own family but of all the Dunedain. He strove to override his melancholy by reminding himself of his other reason for going east: the hunt for Gollum. If the Dunedain were not what they once were then they were at least the most formidable and versatile information gatherers in Middle-Earth. Not even Galadriel with her magic mirror knew more of what was happening in mundane politics and among the common folk than the rangers of the north. Though the majority of his kinsmen remained concentrated in the west guarding the Shire and Breeland, many spent several years traveling anonymously throughout all the kingdoms of men, sending back reports of not only the enemy’s progress but of any other fact or rumor that might conceivably be useful. While the Dunedain did not have the numbers to truly influence events they could do little things, teach the men of an isolated village how to defend themselves and their loved ones, keep the main roadways clear of bandits and maintain the stability of the world of men so that civil wars did not erupt to steel the strength of those who had to be united against a larger foe. If there was any word of Gollum in the East then Strider felt confident that reports of it would be left for him. Finally able to find a subject that offered him a measure of solace, Strider continued on his way back to Faramir’s troop.

By the time Strider returned to the Gondorhim, the soldiers had made camp. After inquiring, the ranger learned that Faramir was occupied in discussions with his lieutenants. Resolving to use his time to best advantage Strider sought a comfortable place to have a bit of stew and smoke his pipe. Watching the evening rituals of the Gondorhim camp through a haze of aromatic smoke, Strider continued to think upon the ready examples of nobility he had seen among his own rangers and among the Gondorhim while he was Captain Thorongil. This contemplation filled Strider with pride and a renewed sense of determination to meet his own obligation with all that was in him.


Within the captain’s tent Faramir surveyed his two lieutenants with a growing sense of frustration. He had called them together to show them the list of pairs he intended to divide his soldiers into when they had liberty to wander through the great gathering. Faramir had spent a fair amount of time getting to know the men under his command and he had chosen to match men based, not only on their compatibility with one another, but he had also meant to ensure that no two men were paired who would act as a bad influence on one other. The captain had not expected there would be any objection to his choices but he and his lieutenants had been in a discussion, not quite an argument, over two particular men for close to an hour.

“Gorm is a good man but he lets his temper get the better of him. Hilo tends to follow the example of his comrades whatever that example may be. I fear, I still think that pairing these two together would be most unsuitable.” Faramir repeated. He really didn’t want to be obstreperous but he did not understand why Flyn, in particular, wanted these two men together.

“I’m sorry, sir. It’s a difficult thing to explain, but when one has many years’ experience leading men, one develops an intuition about these things. Gorm and Hilo will do well together. I cannot think of another partner for either of them.” Flyn’s statement caused Faramir to color faintly. The captain did know the other men had more experience. He also knew that his father had ordered him to heed their advice. Faramir did not mind deferring but he needed some sort of explanation.

“Perhaps we should try the matches, I suggest. If a problem develops we can make a change easily enough.” Faramir hoped he was being reasonable and not making an ass out of himself but even if his judgment turned out to be wrong, he would like to know why it was wrong.

“Oh, sir, that sounds awfully risky. We don’t want to risk any offense to our eastern friends, now would we, sir.” Flyn replied. Faramir was growing to hate the way the man said `sir’. The lieutenant made it sound like what he meant was `idiot’. “Perhaps in a few more years, sir, you will grow attune to these kind of subtleties, yourself.”

Faramir struggled with himself for a few moments. Denethor had told him to trust these men. He supposed that left him no choice. Even so, Faramir would have liked to hear what Strider thought of the matter. The young captain felt certain that the ranger would be able to explain things. He couldn’t ask Strider, though. He would not whine about his command to a man whose respect he desperately wanted. Nearly defeated Faramir made one last effort and addressed the other man in the tent: “You have not had much to say in this debate, Lieutenant Gildel. How do you view pairing Gorm and Hilo?”

For a long time Gildel was silent. Finally, though, he spoke carefully avoiding eye contact as he did so. “I think the two men are well-matched. Though, your concern appears reasonable, sir, I think I must agree with Lieutenant’s Flyn’s advice.”

“Well, we shall match them then.” Faramir conceded, trying not to feel disappointed in himself for not being able to see whatever it was his officers obviously saw. “Thank you for your time gentlemen.” At this the meeting broke up. The two lieutenants exited the tent and Faramir followed them out.


“That was like pulling teeth. His lordship told the captain to do what we said. Why did he put such a fuss?” Flyn started complaining the moment the lieutenants were out of Faramir’s range of hearing. “It was not as if it should have made any difference to him who pairs with who.”

“No, except that your reasons for wanting to pair our two best swordsmen were bollix. Frankly, I’m surprised he gave in at all.” Gildel found that he liked the situation he had been put in less and less. He had nothing against Faramir and he felt that the young man was being treated rather shabbily. Orders were orders, though.

“Mm, it seems to me our young captain is getting a bit uppity.” Flyn continued, paying little attention to the other man. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the ranger has been filling his head with notions. Faramir was biddable enough before Strider turned up.”

Gildel did not bother to point out that they had not known Faramir for much more than a day before Strider had joined them. The lieutenant had learned that there was no reasoning with Flyn where it came to the ranger so he decided to let the other man have his little rant and be done.

“I wonder what his lordship would say if he knew how eager his son is to bend over for that scruffy, wild man.” Flyn mused with a mean-spirited grin. The time that the captain and the ranger spent together had not gone unobserved and Flyn was incapable of drawing any other conclusion about the relationship than that it was strictly about Faramir’s lust and Strider’s opportunism. The affection and tenderness that Faramir and Strider clearly showed for one another had irritated Flyn for some reason he could not quite articulate.

“If you tell him, I doubt he’ll thank you.” Gildel responded. While it had been abundantly clear from their first meeting with the Steward that the old man had a low opinion of his son that didn’t mean his lordship would tolerate low gossip and tale telling. Besides this was the army. If men who fought back to back chose to sleep belly to belly then it wasn’t anyone else’s business.

“No, I suppose you’re right.” Flyn replied glumly.

As soon as the conversation ended, Gildel promptly left off thinking of Strider and Faramir and any activities they may or may not be engaging in but Flyn continued to brood. The lieutenant wanted Faramir too unsure of himself to question anything Flyn did. Faramir’s job was to stay awake through the long boring sessions with the Khandrim diplomats, Flyn would see to everything else. And then there was Strider. The ranger had always been too full of himself. The idea that the two men could support and care for one another left Flyn feeling bitter and vengeful.


After leaving the tent, Faramir lost no time hailing a passing soldier. He asked if Master Strider had returned to camp, yet. When he was answered that the ranger had indeed returned and the soldier had indicated Strider’s direction Faramir had to firmly remind himself of the gravity of his position to keep from breaking into a huge grin and running to the other man.

“Hello Strider.” Faramir greeted coming up to the ranger at a pace that managed to maintain his dignity- just.

“Captain.”

Faramir tried not to shift his weight from foot to foot. “I have wine warming by the fire, if you would like to join me.”

“Thank you, that would be most welcome.” Strider answered, smiling as he came to his feet. Once again, Faramir had to exert all his self-control not to seize the man’s hand and pull Strider to the tent in a rush of unseemly haste.

“How did you find the homes and farmland you passed?” Faramir inquired, bringing Strider a cup of wine and urging the ranger to make himself comfortable.

“It was not as bad as I anticipated. Some crops were destroyed by orc fires but a lucky rain seems to have prevented total disaster. The gathering will be a boon to the people who live so near by. The presence of so many armed men will keep the orcs far away for a while, at least.” Strider answered, sipping his wine. The ranger would have been more comfortable to find a place on the ground but at Faramir’s agitated insistence he sat on one of the cushions and tried to think how best to manage the position of his over-long legs.

“Given the amount of territory controlled by the tribes, the gathering is being held fairly far west.” Faramir observed, wondering if he was making an intelligent comment or just prattling.

“All but the Variags were anxious to meet as far from Mordor as could be managed without it appearing deliberate.” Faramir nodded and for several minutes there was silence as each man sipped his wine.

“Faramir.” The sound of his name brought the captain abruptly from his thoughts. Moving silently, Strider had crossed the small distance between them and now stood looking down at the young man.

“Yes?” Faramir rose, standing face to face with Strider. The ranger reached out and drew the younger man into his arms. With a soft sigh, Faramir leaned against him and closed his arms about his waist. The ranger marveled at how perfectly Faramir fit against him, nestling into his embrace as though he belonged there and could not truly be comfortable anywhere else.

“I would like to kiss you.” Strider whispered into Faramir’s hair. “I would like to continue what we started last night, sweetheart.”

Faramir did not answer in words but he tipped his head up, smiling gently and closing his eyes. The expression of trust mixed with desire on the younger man’s face overwhelmed the ranger and he pressed his mouth firmly down upon Faramir’s. After a moment, Strider moved a hand to support Faramir’s head. Deepened the kiss the ranger showed the younger man a small measure of the dreadful passion he felt building within him.

Moaning at the pleasure the ranger’s intensity brought him, Faramir’s own hands sought Strider’s head and his fingers tangled in his hair. Relying on Strider to support the greater part of his weight, Faramir gave up all his concentration to enticing the ranger into becoming yet more forceful. The success of his strategy brought forth another moan from the young man as he found himself being slowly lowered to the ground. Strider’s weight descended upon Faramir and their kiss ended finally as the younger man panted for breath and the ranger moved so that he was covering Faramir but not crushing him.

“Strider!” Faramir cried, when he had the enough air for speech. “Oh goodness.” His mouth had gone dry and his hands had closed into fists in the ranger’s hair. Faramir was utterly swept away by the unexpected change he had just experienced, going from nervous excitement to helpless pleasure in the space of one kiss. For several seconds Faramir was torn between his own hunger to touch Strider, to learn every detail of the wonderful man on top of him, committing to memory everything from the shape of his hands to the location of each scar and his desire to simply experience all the blissful sensations the ranger was creating within him. This confusion had Faramir alternately nuzzling against Strider’s neck, running his hands over Strider’s back and shoulders and lying still, moaning softly as ecstasy rendered him powerless to move.

The harsh then suddenly gentle kisses that Strider had been lavishing upon Faramir’s throat, earlobes and temples abruptly ceased. Faramir emerging from the haze of pleasure in which the ranger’s caresses had left him frowned in concern. He wanted to ask what was wrong but the look of concentration on Strider’s face kept him silent. After another second Strider rose quickly and offered his hand to the younger man. Confused but trusting the older man implicitly, Faramir took the hand. Strider was helping him to his feet, when the sound of knuckles rapping against a shield signaled someone’s presence outside the tent. Without any more delay, the tent flap was pushed aside and Lieutenant Flyn entered.

Having prepared himself to keep his face neutral, Flyn took in the scene. The ranger was standing, regarding the interloper with an expression which, while by no means friendly, managed to be reasonably calm. Faramir, though, was on his knees apparently in the process of rising to his feet with. The captain’s cheeks were flushed and his lips swollen with kisses. In addition, his hair was mussed and his collar loose. If Flyn looked closely, he realized that signs of passion could be discerned in the ranger’s appearance also but Strider’s normally unkempt dress as well as his sun-darkened skin gave him an advantage over Faramir.

“Good evening, sir, Master Strider. I hope I am not interrupting anything.” Flyn’s voice contrived to sound apologetic and uncomfortable but it fell somewhat short. In truth, it was a little difficult for the lieutenant to conceal his disappointment that he had not interrupted the men at a more critical moment. He had even listened just outside the tent for as long as he had dared and he could have sworn he had heard heavy breathing.

Faramir felt as though he might faint. All the blood had drained from his face as soon as he took in Flyn’s presence. Strider, though, squeezed his hand gently and Faramir using the other’s presence as an emotional as well as physical anchor hauled himself to his feet. When he was up, Strider once more squeezed his hand before disengaging and moving a few paces away.

“What can I do for you, lieutenant?” Faramir asked. His voice started out rather higher than he would have liked but sounded normal again by the end of the sentence.

“Well sir, I didn’t know you were… Sir, I’m sorry. I just thought you would want to personally inspect the pickets we have put up tonight.”

As soon as Faramir had regained some of his composure Strider had politely turned to face the fire. The ranger was silently furious not only at the interruption but the obviously calculated disrespect Flyn was showing his captain. Strider would very much have liked to slice the man into bits using his eyes or voice but he resisted the temptation. He knew that he had to let Faramir handle the situation. The young captain would feel a great sense of inadequacy if Strider put Flyn in his place before Faramir had even managed to collect his thoughts.

“The placement of guards around the camp is a routine matter which I have full confidence you have the ability to manage without my supervision.” Strider silently cheered not only the words but the cool tone in which they were delivered.

“Oh, yes sir. No doubt of that. We are, though, if not exactly in enemy territory then we are certainly not in friendly territory. I hope you don’t mind if I presume to advise you, sir, but many very good commanders take a special interest in the defense of their men at such a time. I certainly don’t say that as a criticism, sir. No one, sir, expects you to start out knowing everything.

The authority and power that Strider had spent so much time learning to cloak behind the clothing and demeanor of a simple ranger threatened despite all his efforts to reveal itself. Strider desperately wanted to crush the soldier for his insolence and reduce him to a cowering heap. The older man somehow kept his temper, though, resolutely keeping his back to the scene.

Faramir quailed. Once again, the reminder that his father trusted this man’s judgment over his son’s own put doubt into the captain’s mind. Was he being remiss? He hadn’t thought so, but why else would Flyn come to him like this unless he was doing something wrong? It was true that Faramir felt himself humiliated by Flyn’s attitude but perhaps the fault did not lie with the lieutenant but rather with the incompetent captain who was not taking proper care of his men. Faramir wished desperately that Strider had not had to witness Flyn upbraid him so but perhaps Faramir deserved it. Even if this once instance of inspecting the patrol was a little trivial maybe Flyn felt he couldn’t take any chances with someone like Faramir. Maybe the lieutenant had decided to advise his captain on every possible detail to be on the safe side.

“Very well, I will be with you shortly.” To Strider, Faramir sounded like a reprimanded schoolboy and the ranger seethed with indignation.

“Oh, yes sir. I’ll wait for you. Once again, I apologize if I picked an inconvenient time to speak of duty, sir.”

When Flyn exited the tent, Faramir rushed over to Strider. The ranger turned from the fire and the younger man took his hands and murmured earnestly: “I’m so sorry. I- I didn’t mean for him to interrupt us. Perhaps, though, I should have a quick tour around the perimeter of camp. I- it’s probably not strictly necessary but- but I’m sure it is a good habit to get into and it won’t take me long.” At the end of this, Faramir raised his head to look into Strider’s face and then quickly looked down again. The anger he saw in the older man’s eyes made him tremble and he said again, very softly: “I’m sorry.”

Strider cringed inwardly at the way Faramir dropped his gaze and hunched his shoulders. It was as though the Steward’s son expected to be yelled at or, the ranger thought with a sinking stomach, beaten. Forcing all the anger, which was all for Flyn anyway from his face and voice, Strider took Faramir’s shaking hands and pressed them against his heart.

“You do your duty very well, Faramir. As you point out it may not be necessary for you to look over the camp now, your sincere concern for the safety of those in your charge does you credit. I would never expect you to neglect your duty for any reason. If, in your sound judgment, you want to take this precaution do so with no apology. I shall be here when you return.”

“You will? You won’t go?” Faramir asked aware that he sounded desperate but the anger in Strider’s face had frightened him. He wanted to ensure the ranger was truly not upset with him.

“Certainly, if you wish it.” Strider smiled gently, unable to keep the rush of tenderness he felt for the young man from his eyes as he released Faramir’s hands so that he could press a kiss to his forehead then brush back a lock of dark hair. Faramir visibly relaxed as he suddenly became very anxious to leave so that he could return the sooner.

“I will not be long.” Faramir promised, forcing himself to turn from Strider but a hand on his shoulder halted him.

Quickly Strider pulled the younger man into his arms. “Faramir, that man has only as much power as you choose to give him.” The words were whispered close to his ear and then Strider released him.

“I- I am going to speak to him.” Faramir responded and then repeated: “I won’t be long.” Before he hurried after Flyn.


Flyn and Faramir walked together in silence. Flyn felt satisfied in what he had accomplished and had no desire to push things further at the moment. Faramir had not caved in nearly as quickly as he should have and that troubled Flyn. The captain probably had not wanted to leave the damned ranger. It was as he had always suspected, Strider was a bad influence.

For his part, Faramir was organizing his thoughts. Strider had been absolutely correct. Whatever Denethor had said Faramir needed to protect a little of his own authority to be at all effective. He had let his own lieutenant walk all over him. Of course, it wasn’t Flyn’s fault. The man thought him weak but Faramir acted weak. The captain would have to try harder to demonstrate that he was worthy of respect.

The inspection of the perimeter guard took longer than Faramir liked. He wanted to be thorough, though, and Flyn was always finding new things to draw his attention for another few minutes. The better part of an hour had elapsed before Faramir found that the task was finished. During that time the two men had said no more to one another than necessity required. Now then, before Faramir allowed himself to return to Strider, was the time to talk to Flyn.

The lieutenant showed every sign of walking with Faramir all the way back to the captain’s tent but Faramir wanted to deal with Flyn before the man had the opportunity to get anywhere near Strider. Faramir halted abruptly, leaving Flyn no choice but to stop along side of him. Faramir took a deep breath and reminded himself again to be as fair and analytical as he could be.

“It seems to me that this was a task that did not require my personal attention, lieutenant.” Flyn frowned at his captain’s words. He had been taken by surprise. His plan had been to invite himself in for a drink and then to chat amiably for as long as it took for the scruffy ranger to grow bored and decide to seek out someone else to share blankets with. Flyn had certainly not expected to hear anything that sounded even faintly like a rebuke from Faramir.

“Well sir, it did look like you had something more interesting going on just then. I certainly meant no offense. But duty is duty, sir, even when there are things that one would rather be doing.”

Faramir could feel his face heat at these words but he strove to keep his voice even. “That is very true, lieutenant. Your duty, as I understand it, is to use your judgment to sift through the myriad problems and issues that arise in a military camp and present to me those that are worthy of my attention. The distribution of watches and pickets is not something that requires my daily supervision. I rely on you to oversee such routine matters on your own. If you do not feel able to use a lieutenant’s discretion expediently then that would be a matter we should discuss at greater length. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Flyn responded after a moment. Military training provided him with an answer he might not otherwise have been able to find, so utterly flabbergasted was he.

“Very well. Good night, lieutenant.” Faramir’s heart was beating fast but no sign of nervousness could be detected in him as he turned and walked on alone towards his tent.


Strider reclined upon the cushions in Faramir’s tent. His long body was stretched out a comfortable distance from the fire. His eyes had been closed but they opened instantly as soon as Faramir opened the canvas flap and entered. Faramir watched Strider’s eyes flick open and was reminded of a great cat who is ever alert even when he appears most relaxed. This imagery was greatly reinforced as Strider came to his feet with fluid grace and approached Faramir with a predatory hunger apparent in his movement and his eyes. Smiling, Faramir half expected to hear a leonine growl from the ranger as the other man took him in his arms.

“Faramir, you are quite chilled. Come by the fire and have some wine.” In the blink of an eye the hunter had become infinitely gentle. Taking Faramir by the hand, Strider led him further into the tent then left him briefly to pour him a glass of wine.

The day had been hot, almost stifling, but the night had turned bitterly cold. Faramir didn’t know if this was an effect of Sauron’s nearness or whether it was simply the natural climate but the extremes of temperature had taken all the Gondorhim by surprise. Such had been Faramir’s haste earlier that he had not even taken his cloak and he was now, as Strider said, quite chilled. In truth, he had not realized just how cold he was until he was back in the warmth.

Slightly embarrassed, Faramir kept his jaw tightly shut to prevent his teeth from chattering as he moved as close as possible to the fire. Strider, though, saw the twitching of Faramir’s muscles. The ranger realized that while some of it was no doubt due to the cold part of it was a physical manifestation of the stress of an eventful evening. The ranger guessed, though, that the ordeal with Flyn had ended well for Faramir had been smiling when he came in. As much as Strider would have liked to hear the details of whatever had passed between the captain and lieutenant he refrained from asking. It was not his place to interfere. He would support Faramir as best he could but he would not tempt the young man to discuss the details of his command with someone who was not part of the Gondorhim hierarchy.

Taking a seat by the fire, Strider pulled Faramir onto his lap and enfolded the young man in his arms. Sighing contentedly as warmth slowly infused him, Faramir nestled comfortably against the ranger. Strider smelled warm and comforting and the younger man allowed the scent of pipe smoke, leather and Strider to envelope him. The ranger kissed his hair gently and Faramir realized that he felt completely safe. In his beloved’s arms the younger man grew languorous. He loved Strider so much. He wanted to stay just like this forever…

Strider listened as Faramir’s breath slowed and evened out as the young man relaxed against him. The ranger pulled the other man more tightly against his chest, savoring for the hundredth time how easily- even happily Faramir accepted his touch. Strider could not do otherwise than love the man resting so securely in his arms. He was so lovely and he possessed such a lively, curious mind that seemed somehow to have escaped the corrosive cynicism that plagued Denethor’s keen intellect. The fact that Faramir could be who he was given that Denethor’s was his father astonished Strider. It meant that despite his lack of confidence Faramir had a deep and abiding strength of character. Stroking the younger man’s hair, Strider allowed himself a moment to imagine what it would be like to always have Faramir in his life.


Sighing deeply, Faramir twisted a little on Strider’s lap until he was able to put his arms around the ranger’s neck and kiss him softly on the lips. “Thank you for staying.” Strider did not answer the younger man in words. Instead he took Faramir’s head in his hands and gave him a slow and very thorough kiss.

“I think I must have dozed off for a moment.” Faramir announced as he squirmed a little, stretching his arms before settling contentedly once again in Strider’s lap.

“That is entirely possible.” Strider conceded fondly, nipping the younger man’s ear.

“I dreamed of you.”

“Was it a good dream?” Strider asked soothing the tiny bite with little sweeps of his tongue.

“Yes, it was about you.” Faramir confirmed trying not to giggle as Strider’s warm breath tickled his wet skin.

“Tell me your dream.” Strider said, his voice amused and half curious while he began moving down Faramir’s neck biting softly.

“You were standing at the end of a long corridor.” Faramir complied readily, lifting his chin a little to give the ranger better access to his throat. “I knew that it was you but I could not see your face. You started moving towards me and as you came closer I could see a light, twinkling like a star on your brow. That was all, but it was a very lovely-” Faramir stopped speaking as he realized that Strider had gone very still.

“Faramir, I have to go.”

“I don’t understand. What has happened? What is wrong?” Unconsciously Faramir had taken hold of Strider’s shirt and pressed himself against the other man in a desperate effort to keep him with him.

“It is not something, I am at liberty to explain. I- I don’t want to go. If I consulted only my own wishes I would remain with you but I have been reminded that my choices are not entirely my own. I have to think. I will see you tomorrow.” As he spoke the ranger carefully extricated himself from Faramir, lifting the younger man from his lap with obvious reluctance.

“Have I done something wrong? Please, I’m sorry. Let me make amends.” Faramir pleaded.

“This is not your fault, Faramir.” Strider said earnestly taking hold of the younger man’s shoulders and forcing him to meet his eyes. “It is mine. You are wonderful. I care about you deeply but I must think.” Strider repeated. He felt panicked, Faramir was far too perceptive. The ranger did not dare risk what further revelations greater intimacy with the Steward’s son might bring forth. Turning abruptly to escape the helpless, miserable look in Faramir’s eyes, Strider drew upon a lifetime’s worth of training overcoming his own desires and walked briskly away.

“Don’t go, please. I love you.” Faramir finally whispered to the now empty tent before collapsing to his knees, grief-stricken and alone.

Chapter 5a

Strider did not even bother looking for a place to unfold his blanket. He would get no sleep. Shouldering his pack for he did not feel entirely uncomfortable leaving it with the Gondorhim, he left camp. He walked quickly, covering ground at the astonishing pace that had given him the name he currently used. When the ranger realized that he had been searching the ground for orc sign, he forced himself to stop. Leaning back against a tree, he did his best to calm down. There was no point in letting his emotions lead him into a battle he might not be able to win. As much as he might wish it, his current problem could not be solved with his sword. The look of confusion and heartbreak on Faramir’s face haunted him. Strider threw his head backwards against the tree and allowed the sudden pain to carry away a small measure of his frustration. Hurting Faramir was the very last thing he had wanted to do, yet he had done it. He had been afraid to lose his disguise though, and so he had left. Even now, gripped with remorse, Strider could not entirely fault his reaction. If his abrupt departure had pained Faramir it must be less of a betrayal than he would have felt had he understood the full import of his dream. Not only that, but if Faramir learned the identity of the Heir of Isildur he would feel himself duty-bound to inform Denethor. That would be disastrous, for Aragorn sensed that the Steward would scour the west looking for `Strider’. The secret would then be impossible to keep and search-parties form Gondor would be the least of the Dunedain’s worries.

Sighing, Strider pushed himself away from the tree he had leaned against and resumed his walk. A part of him wanted to flee, to go and keep going. It would not be so difficult to avoid Faramir at the gathering. Strider would have a much greater ability to fit in and he could accomplish his mission and be gone without ever having to see Faramir’s face again. Removing himself from temptation was very likely the only way Strider would be able to resist that temptation. He could not leave, though. Faramir was relying upon him to guide him through the more exacting rituals of the gathering. The more he thought on it, the more Strider came to believe that it was Faramir’s mission not his own that was most important. What was one item of black sorcery more or less in an arsenal overflowing with dark magic? Forging bonds with the oppressed of one’s own kind was surely a more significant goal. And Strider wanted to stay. He could not abandon Faramir. Such a thing was not in him.

If he stayed, though, how could he protect himself? It would be easiest if Faramir wanted nothing more to do with him. If Strider’s own erratic behavior had alienated the young man then the ranger would certainly suffer but perhaps then Faramir might be saved some pain. If Faramir wished only to have his advise as guide then, while Strider would be heartbroken, he would be able to respect the other man’s wishes. Strider had little hope of such a solution though. He did not think that his sweet Faramir was capable of being fickle, if anything the young man was likely to be more loyal than was good for him. The bond between them was already too strong to be so casually broken. Strider felt a sudden surge of resentment that circumstance prevented him from having Faramir with him always. He felt such a great desire for the young man that the ranger raged that he should have fallen in love, once again, with someone who could not be his.

Strider knew he lacked the strength of will to sever all romantic and friendly relations between them. He could not hold to a resolution that forced him to be unkind to Faramir or to conceal the affection he had for the young man. So the ranger had to find some way to keep Faramir from guessing the truth. Yet Faramir’s own dreams worked against safeguarding the secret. Then too, something within Strider wanted to be recognized, something he had tried to bury beneath dirt, worn leather and patched clothing. Something that was tired of hiding and was ready to emerge as a shining beacon to all still able to discern the right. There was something within Faramir, descendant of Hurin, also; something which sought for Aragorn. Blood called to blood, even when the mind bid silence.

Again the ranger paused in his fretful travel. He had been walking around the camp in ever widening circles and he was now some distance from the Gondorhim. There were perhaps two hours left before dawn. Strider would have to think quickly if he wished to return before the journey resumed. He had no time to consider the indignity of what he was plotting. It would pain him to lie, the more so because lying to Faramir seemed somehow to be a greater evil but he would do it. If Faramir began to suspect then Strider would have to have something to tell him to put him off the track. Resolving to save the guilt for a more opportune moment Strider considered his options.


Everyone seemed very glum this morning, Lieutenant Gildel observed to himself. Strider had been nowhere to be found when the troop had roused itself. Faramir noticed the ranger’s absence immediately. He didn’t say anything but he kept looking around with an expression that reminded Gildel of an abandoned puppy. Almost against his will, Gildel saw that his captain’s eyes were red-rimmed , the flesh around them puffy. The paleness of his skin and the dark smudges beneath his eyes completed the picture of abject misery. The lieutenant hated to see anyone so obviously suffering and he had been on the point of deciding that he really ought to say something by way of comfort- though he had no idea what when the ranger entered the camp.

Instantly Faramir’s face transformed. For a moment his eyes shone with relieved joy but this was quickly replaced by a stramge mix of fear and hopefulness. The ranger approached Faramir and the two spoke briefly. When the quiet conversation ended, Faramir looked much better than he had but there was an anxiety about him that he had not shown for many days. The ranger did not look his best either and Gildel felt certain something must have happened between them. The lieutenant could not imagine what and he was frankly glad not to know.

Gildel would have happily dismissed the strange behavior of both men as the result of some little lover’s quarrel if Flyn had not also been strangely subdued all morning. His fellow lieutenant watched Faramir as though he were trying to decide if he wanted to feel resentment or not. The unaccustomed silence of the other man made Gildel itch and he wished again that he had had the sense to have been out with the flu when he had been called for this duty.

Sorting out complex emotions was not Gildel’s forte and he did not like the tension he sensed around him. He did not worry much about Strider and the captain, the two would make it up or not but he did not think either one of them would end by doing something stupid no matter what they felt. Flyn, though, was a bit different. He had been far too happy to find Faramir so polite and amenable to all his suggestions. It gave him a sense of entitlement. Now the captain was showing more signs of leadership and Flyn could not help feeling cheated. He had become accustomed to his influence and he saw Strider as a threat to that influence. This was bad enough but Denethor’s orders only convinced Flyn that he was fully justified in treating Faramir as he did. Gildel wished the Steward had never given orders to himself and Flyn that would allow them to disobey Faramir when they felt it necessary. No good could come of it, he had thought so at the time. Now he wondered just how much mischief those orders would cause before they were all safely back in Minas Tirith.

On top of all this, they were less than half a day off from the `great gathering’ and the ordinary soldiers were nervous. None of them had been so far east before and though they trusted Faramir, they were entirely sure what they were supposed to do. The men were used to fighting, none of them felt completely at ease with a peace mission. It all made for a very tense group. Gildel finally decided that there was nothing he could do for Faramir, Strider or Flyn so the wisest thing to do would be to leave off bothering about them and do what he could to raise the spirits of his men.


It was just past noon as Faramir watched his men set up a semi-permanent camp at the fringe of the great gathering. Looking out across the plain the Gondorhim captain took in the hundreds of tents, dozens of pavilions, innumerable market stalls, hastily constructed stands overlooking roped off fields and the vast sea of people. The colors and noise in a land he had come to think of as bleak and empty astonished him. No one had taken any particular notice of the Gondorhim contingent, but Strider had assured the young captain that that was to be expected until Faramir introduced himself among the Great tribes.

Strider Faramir thought, instantly diverted from the scene before him. After the ranger had left him the night before Faramir had wondered over and over again what was wrong with him that the love of his life could not bear to spend an entire night with him. He had not felt so alone and heart-sore since childhood when he had tearfully demanded of Boromir what was wrong with him that their father hated him so. Boromir had insisted that, far from hating him, Denethor loved him. Further, his brother had insisted that there was nothing at all wrong with Faramir and that if he ever heard anyone say there was then Faramir was to come to Boromir immediately so the elder brother could kick the shit out of the fool. There were, Faramir mused fondly, a great many things that he had been told to report to Boromir if he ever heard them. His brother’s protectiveness comforted him but Boromir could not protect Faramir from the man who had the greatest power to hurt him.

Strider, though, was not Denethor. Strider could never be so cold, so contemptuous. After the ranger had returned to camp he had taken Faramir aside and apologized for the night before and asked if Faramir would speak to him again as soon as they had the opportunity to be alone. Faramir had instantly agreed, filled with elation that he might get another chance. Now, the time was near and he could adjourn to his own tent with the ranger. They could have their private talk and then Faramir could receive instructions on the formal greetings the young captain would need to deliver to the most powerful of the Khandrim. Yet, suddenly, Faramir felt a strange desire to delay, to keep hope alive a little longer in case Strider told him that he never wished anything more to do with him. The suspense was terrible but it was better than losing all hope. Faramir waited a few more minutes but he finally decided he could delay no longer. Gathering his courage the young captain made his way to his tent where Strider waited for him.


When he came in, the ranger was writing something out on a sheet of parchment. He looked up and smiled a greeting at Faramir but the smile seemed strained and did not touch his eyes. “I am writing down some notes as well as the ritual greeting you will use when you visit each of the great tribes. The form is important.”

Faramir nodded and moved to look over Strider’s shoulder. The ranger formed each letter with an inattentive grace as though there were no other way to write. Faramir found his mind starting to drift as he lost himself in the aesthetic appreciation of Strider’s script. With a mental shake, the captain remembered himself and managed to take the parchment as Strider’s finished writing with a steady hand.

“You will have to visit the representative of each of the ten tribes individually.” Strider began with an unusual degree of nervousness for him, looking away from Faramir as their fingers brushed over the parchment.

“Forgive me, Strider.” Faramir interrupted, his own gaze sinking. “I do not wish to postpone my duty but I am afraid I will have difficulty concentrating on what I must learn if… if we do not speak of others matters first.”

“You are right, Faramir. I apologize for my reluctance to speak of it right away but my feelings confuse me greatly. In part, it was this confusion that sent me from you last night.” Strider took a deep breath and drew himself up to his full height. “I told you before that there were things I could not tell you about myself. Last night I was reminded suddenly of something I must keep secret. It frightened me to think how close I had come to… to an indisretion and I acted without thinking. I am very sorry.”

“You are not angry with me, then?”

“No, Faramir, no.” Strider was saddened but not surprised that the younger man would seek such reassurance. “I know that I upset you and I am deeply grieved to have done so. If I am angry at anyone then I am angry at myself.” The ranger paused a moment as he gazed into Faramir’s earnest face. He reached up and carefully pressed the backs of his fingers against Faramir’s stubbled cheek. “You have a right to be angry with me also Faramir.”

As these words and this gesture Faramir’s eyelashes fluttered shut and he leaned into the ranger’s touch. When he let his breath out it was as though he were exhaling all the fear that had been building within him since Strider had left him the night before. “No, I am not angry. How could I be when you have brought such joy into my life?”

“Faramir-”

“No Strider, there is… something I must confess. I thought perhaps it would be wiser not to speak of it but I find I must be honest: I love you.” The ranger remained perfectly still, down to his hand resting gently against Faramir’s face.

“Ah, `tis all right.” Faramir said quickly, taking the ranger’s hand from his face and pressing it within his own. “I do not expect for you to love me. Please, don’t feel under any obligation. I told you because I wanted you to know how happy you make, how much more beautiful the world seems to me because you are in it. I meant to tell you even if I had done something wrong last night. I wanted to tell you so that you would that I was grateful. I… I hope I have not ruined everything by speaking so boldly. I felt as though it was right that I should tell you the truth of my feelings. I’m sor-”

Strider’s kiss stopped Faramir mid-sentence. The ranger sealed his mouth tightly over that of the younger man before him, needing to stop the flow of words that brought him so much joy and so much sadness in the same sweet words. After the first startled second, Faramir began returning the kiss, pressing himself into the ranger’s body. Feeling the delightfully eager response of the younger man, Strider continued the kiss. Relentlessly, he drove inside Faramir’s mouth, his tongue sliding insistently against Faramir’s own. The ranger meant to drive every thought from the younger man’s mind save that of his own presence, his own passion for Faramir.

When the kiss finally ended, Faramir sagged against Strider, not sure if he would be able to stand on his own. The ranger lifted his chin gently from where the younger man had rested his head on Strider’s chest and looked into his eyes. “I love you, too, my brave Faramir. Though, I doubt that I would have had the courage to speak of it.” Confusion etched itself into Faramir’s brow as he gazed up at the man who held his heart. Smiling gently Strider bent and kissed the small furrow on Faramir’s forehead before repeating: “I love you.”

“But, why?” The question was utterly spontaneous and Faramir was even further confused by the look of pain that shot across the ranger’s face before he replaced it with a smile that radiated warmth and affection.

“Shall I give you a list of your charming attributes? Shall I go feature by feature?” Strider asked, gently tracing a line from Faramir’s forehead to his chin. “But then I would not do justice to the indivisible effect you have upon me. I love you, Faramir and it is not because of one thing or even a dozen things but it is because of everything about you; that is why I love you so.”

“You are very kind.” Faramir murmured, closing his eyes and leaning into Strider. Clearly, the ranger’s words had not fully penetrated into the younger man’s understanding but only glided along the surface of his mind. Stroking Faramir’s hair, Strider reminded himself that Faramir had spent a long time seeing himself in a particular way and it would take more than a moment to erase a lifetime’s worth of habit. It still grieved him, though, that Faramir did not truly, in his heart of hearts, believe the ranger’s words.

“If duty did not insist that we soon lend all our concentration to the Khandrim I would ask you to come with me over near that very convenient pile of animal skins and blankets.” Strider whispered, teasing Faramir’s ear with his breath.

“For what purpose would you lead me thither?” Faramir asked, writhing against Strider’s body, excitement whisking through him at the suggestive words.

“First, I would kiss you very soundly.” The ranger promised in a deep purr as he enjoyed the feel of the younger man’s body flowing against him. “Then, I think I would have no choice but to touch you- everywhere and then taste you.”

Faramir sighed happily, finding himself very aroused by the rich and melodic sound of Strider’s voice and the strong hands which were roaming down his chest, across his belly and even over his backside. “What else would you do?” Faramir demanded, savoring the heat in his groin that had been sparked by Strider’s hand on his rump.

“Why, then I would like to make love to you, Sweetheart. I would like to see you trembling with the pleasure that I’m going to give you. I want to hear you moan with passion as I bury myself deep inside you again and again.”

Faramir was already breathing hard but as Strider punctuated his words by working a thigh between the younger man’s legs and rubbing it up and own, Faramir felt himself go weak in the knees. Hearing Strider speak of such things was unbelievable. Faramir could not believe how excited he was, how much he wanted everything the ranger promised. He realized he was moaning softly but he couldn’t stop. He grasped the ranger’s shirt, trying to keep himself upright. Just as he thought he would lose control of himself, Strider started to slow things down. Supporting Faramir around the waist the ranger held the younger man until coherent thought returned.

“I think I should like that very much.” Faramir breathed, wondering how he was going to live through the hours of waiting before Strider could fulfil his promises. Strider kissed him gently then released him with a final hug. There was silence for a few moments as both men struggled to collect themselves and think sobering thoughts. As Faramir commanded his heart to slow its frantic pace, he let his eyes wander, once again, over the parchment upon which Strider had copied the formal greeting of the tribes.

Strider watched with amused affection as Faramir, who had been a panting, helpless thrall to passion scant moments before, quickly lost himself in study. Strider, himself was not able to shift his attention quite so swiftly and Faramir had read the parchment twice over before the ranger stopped having the nearly irresistible impulse to drag the young man over to the bedding and take him.

“Some of these words I don’t know and the phrasing seems flowery and elaborate.” Faramir commented, finally.

“The language is a bit archaic. They have been using the same formula for centuries.”

“Mm, well, I do not think I shall have too much trouble memorizing my part but is it really necessary to drink with each of the ten representatives?” A shadow of nervousness was creeping into Faramir voice as he contemplated reciting his lines after five or six glasses of a local concoction Strider had already described to him as `rather potent.’

“It would be very rude to drink less than your host. Fortunately, the more liquor a host drinks corresponds to the amount of friendliness he feels for his guests. I doubt any of the tribal representative will offer you more than half a glass.” Strider told Faramir as he grinned and clasped the younger man’s shoulder.

“Ah well, that is fortunate.” Faramir said returning the grin, though he was clearly still worried. “Though, I could wish that alcohol did not take such a central place in Khandrim cultural life.”

“I suppose a head for wine is assumed to signal strength, endurance and imperturbability under pressure, though it is a very bad proxy. The Khandrim are not the only ones to use alcohol in such a manner, however. I spent some time among several dwarven communities and, as a rule, no dwarf would trust anyone who could not drink half a barrel of ale then bury an axe head into a target twenty paces away. I need hardly say that I was regarded with the utmost suspicion throughout my stay.”

“I am grateful my own ordeal will not involve anything sharper than word-play.” Faramir replied with a laugh. Strider always seemed able to banish his nervousness and restore his opptimism. “Do the Khandrim always rely so heavily on formality and ritual? It seems one must learn a great deal before one can gain a hearing.”

“It is very different within a tribe than it is between tribes. Many of these people have been at long standing hostilities. If they don’t keep strictly to a script then they are likely to start hurling insults followed quickly by spears and that would be the end of the gathering.” Faramir nodded. Suddenly, remembering how long it had been since he had felt able to enter the Steward’s presence without an official summons and how much he relied on military protocol to govern his own behavior towards Denethor on the rare occasions when he was summoned.

For a long moment Strider watched Faramir. The young man’s thoughts seemed far away. The ranger found he disliked the sad wistfulness in Faramir’s eyes and he wished he had the opportunity to truly help the younger man deal with his sadness. Strider knew, though, that their time together was limited and Faramir had obviously been long oppressed. As a healer, he knew better than to reopen old wounds when he would not be able to fully treat them. Hating his powerlessness to do good where it was most deserved, the ranger put his arms around Faramir calling him back to the present. The younger man showed no surprise at the sudden embrace but instead clung to Strider as though the older man were his only hope.


Eventually, Strider forced himself to release Faramir. He needed to reconnoiter before Faramir introduced himself to the Khandrim. The ranger wanted to learn the names and family connections of the representatives as well as the local news. Strider had no intention of letting Faramir go out without a decent grasp of the lay of the land. It was true that very little of substance would be discussed at the first meeting but he still wanted Faramir to be as fully informed as possible. Flyn and a couple of men had been sent out to do some exploration but Strider preferred that Faramir not have to rely on whatever information the lieutenant managed to gather. Strider still felt uneasy about Flyn, not that he thought the man meant harm but rather the ranger did not think he was as loyal to Faramir as a lieutenant should be to his captain.

Strider also had to see about entering his name in the tournament, though that was not something he was looking forward to. Faramir had insisted that he be allowed to be present for at least one of the bouts so that he could show his support. Though Strider had strictly forbidden the younger man to do any cheering the ranger still found himself unaccountably moved by Faramir’s loyalty. Truly, Strider preferred to do his fighting without an audience and not as part of a game. Still if he lasted long enough Faramir would have his chance to watch him. The final few rounds of each of the tournaments were attended by just about everyone.

The ranger drifted through the small tents with blankets set out before them where men and women sold food and drink and trinkets. He paused for a while by knots of people letting the sounds of their conversation wash over him before moving on. Gradually he made his way towards the open areas where a few men were already paired up and fighting their bouts where the winner of two contests out of three would advance to a new opponent. The tournament had started the day before but because of the large number entering the first round the lists were still open. Half the contenders would be eliminated in the first round but a great many more would be added in the second thanks to what Strider still thought of as bribes even though the practice was perfectly above board.

The contenders were matched randomly and there were several very obvious mismatches in progress. Strider avoided these and gravitated to the more evenly matched fighters as had a great many other men who, like the ranger, wanted to assess the potential competition. Strider found that he was more readily accepted into conversations here than he had been among those at the shops. One look at his grey eyes and comparatively pale skin announced that he was not of the tribes and the condition and quality of his clothing had announced that he was not wealthy and thus he had been largely ignored among the merchants. The aspiring warriors who watched the fights were less fastidious about their companions and Strider was able to hone some of the general information he had already acquired from listening in at the markets.

The afternoon was fading into evening and Strider decided it was time to return to Faramir. He had been told, by one of the harried men trying to keep track of all the contestants and the results that had already come in, to return tomorrow morning where he would meet his opponent and a judge. All Strider could do was hope that he would not have the misfortune to square off against a swordmaster in the first round. With this thought in mind the ranger hurried back to the Gondorhim camp.

When he arrived at Faramir’s tent he found the young captain reading over the notes he had taken when Flyn had reported. At his invitation Strider glanced over the information Flyn had found. It was scanty but to Faramir’s great relief Strider told him that Flyn’s information matched what the ranger had learned, except in a few places where the lieutenant had confused the family name and the tribal name of some important personages. The ranger corrected the errors and added a few more details. It was true that Flyn had been disadvantaged in that he had had to rely on finding someone who spoke and understood common before he could ask any question but even so it seemed to Strider that Flyn had either been very unlucky or he had not asked question that would be very useful to his captain’s mission.

“I’m not sure that I’m ready.” Faramir explained as he fiddled with the velvet collar of his formal tunic after he and Strider had been through everything twice.

“You are more than ready. You will leave each representative with the conviction that Gondor not only takes a day to day interest in the affairs of the East but that she employs the most brilliant and persuasive of captains.” Faramir ducked his head, shaking it in a negative, though Strider thought he saw a small smile ghost over the young man’s lips. “Everything will go very well. And even in the unlikely event that it doesn’t you have plenty of time to recover. A small misstep will not signal the end of everything.”

“Of course, you’re right.” Faramir admitted, trying to relax a little. “I suppose I should get started.”

Strider kissed him once before holding aside the tent flap. The two men who had been chosen to accompany Faramir waited outside, breastplates shining. All trace of the anxious young man disappeared beneath the imperturbable captain of Gondor. As Faramir stepped before his soldiers he inspected them with a quick but critical eye. Then nodding with satisfaction the captain turned and moving with grace and dignity led the way toward the encampment of the first of the Great Tribes.

Chapter 5b

Inactivity was not something Strider submitted to easily. Thus, three hours later found him loitering about outside the pavilion of the last of the great tribal representatives Faramir had been scheduled to visit. He had followed Faramir’s progress as the young man went from one representative to another, watching from the shadows. After every encounter Faramir appeared quite composed. Strider could not detect anything in the young man’s manner that would indicate that he had had a bad experience. The ranger was gratified but not surprised. Faramir was his own worst enemy and if the young man could overcome his own doubts then success would come easily to him. Understanding the anguish of uncertainty from his own experience, Strider had become very protective of Faramir in the relatively short time they had known one another. Thus, he had to remind himself constantly that, though it was tempting to urge Faramir to confide in him, it would be wrong to allow Faramir to tell him anything of the great affairs of nations and their rulers that it would be inappropriate for a simple ranger to know. This was especially frustrating since Strider had some experience of politics and knew he could be a bigger help to Faramir then he currently was. As the ranger lurked, considering the vagaries of fortune he finally saw Faramir emerge from his final meeting. Strider followed the young man and his two guards for several minutes before breaking cover and hailing them.

“Hello Strider, I am very glad to see you.” Faramir greeted him warmly as the ranger fell into step beside him. Strider touched the young man’s hand briefly but did not speak as they made their way back to their own camp.

“Well, I didn’t start any wars.” Faramir announced proudly, once the two men had reached the shelter of Faramir’s tent.

“Congratulations.” Strider returned with a smile.

“The Variag representative barely tasted his wine before speaking the formal words of parting, but some of the others were very polite. They seemed curious about me and Gondor and they said they looked forward to our next meeting.” Faramir said, removing his cloak and folding it carefully. Strider could not help but notice that the younger man’s cheeks were a little flushed and that his movements were slow and deliberate.

“The tribes that showed me the most courtesy were the ones furthest west. I think there must be some formula where a tribe’s affability is inversely proportional to their distance from Gondor.” Faramir chuckled a little and the ranger raised an eyebrow.

“Strider,” Faramir said moving to the ranger and putting his arms about his neck. “I think I might be just the least little bit drunk. I didn’t say or do anything foolish, though.” Faramir said hurriedly. “I think I was too nervous to feel the alcohol until now. It all seems to have hit me at once, though.”

“I’m sure you were the model of decorum.” Strider reassured, kissing Faramir’s forehead before leaning down to cover the younger man’s lips with his own. For a while neither man spoke more as they kissed. Faramir’s passion was especially unrestrained as the effects of the liquor seemed to dissolve the few lingering inhibitions he had about lavishing all the fierce affection he had upon the older man.

“Earlier today you said you would… You said that you would make love to me.” Faramir had turned his head just enough so that he could whisper. “Did you mean it? Will you?”

“Yes, Faramir. If that is what you want, yes.” Strider’s words seemed to resonate in Faramir’s own chest and he rocked gently with the sound, even as Strider pulled the young man firmly against him.

“Yes, I want that so much, so much.” Faramir felt dizzy, overcome with desire. He clutched at Strider’s hair, at his shirt, at any part of him he could reach and hold, all the while, pressing kisses everywhere. Soon they started tugging at each other clothing, needing to feel flesh against flesh. Together, they started moving towards the blankets.

Strider thought he should be careful since Faramir was still dressed in formal attire. As he slowed the frantic motions of his hands that sought Faramir’s bare skin, however, Faramir pleaded: “It can be mended if it tears. Please, hurry.” Unable to resist the desperate urgency of the younger man, Strider quickly removed the velvet tunic heedless of the buttons he had yanked loose. Strider’s own shirt hung open at this point and the two men were finally able to touch one another.

The warmth of Faramir’s body was both soothing and invigorating and once more Strider leaned down, giving Faramir a kiss that was alternately savage then gentle. Gratefully accepting the ranger’s kiss, Faramir felt all his conscious concerns dissolve. His mind, already relaxed in a gentle haze of alcohol, seemed to melt beneath the all-conquering assault of Strider’s lips and tongue. Something was starting to shift inside him. The dream fragment he had experienced the night before replayed itself before his eyes. Then, like a final puzzle piece sliding into place understanding came to Faramir. The kiss ended.

“I know you.” The voice was soft and hushed. “I know you, my lord, my king.”

Regret and a trace of dread gripped Strider’s heart and he released his hold on the now completely passive young man taking several steps back. He had planned, should this moment come, to deny it. If Faramir persisted then he believed he could tell the young man about Thoringil, thus sacrifice a small truth to conceal a greater. As he looked into Faramir’s eyes, however, he knew that all denials would be useless. There was in the young man’s gaze a look of triumph mixed with awe and even fear. For a moment Faramir swayed then his body seemed to fold starting at his knees and moving up to his waist. Both of his palms were pressed to the earth. Kneeling, Faramir still gazed up at Strider until slowly he bowed his head and then finally he let his eyes drop.

“Faramir, dear one.” Strider said sadly, dropping to the ground beside Faramir and lifting the young man’s chin. Two silver lines carved a path down the young man’s cheeks as tears overflowed his shining eyes.

“Don’t Faramir, don’t.” Strider pleaded wiping the tears away with callused fingers.

“Forgive me, I should have known from the beginning. I should have seen.” Feeling unable to do anything else, Strider collected Faramir against his chest holding him. The young man gave no resistance, his eyes still bright with awe and love.

“I am no king. You know that, Steward’s son.”

“The Steward’s task is ended just as a candle, lit for the night, is extinguished at the sunrise.” Faramir answered quietly. He felt overwhelmed. He could not, would not move from Strider’s- No! the King’s arms. It was so wonderfully warm and safe and yet Faramir felt as though he should still be kneeling or making some other sign or demonstration that he knew his place, that he knew what honor was due his lord and master.

“The dawn has not yet come.”

“No!” The word came out as a half sob. Faramir clutched his king’s arm in supplication He had been searching all his life for the king, though until this moment he had not known what it was he was looking for. There was a raw, emptiness inside him that the man calling himself Strider had filled perfectly. He could not lose him. It would be more than he could bear.

It broke Strider’s heart to hear the desperation in Faramir’s voice, to feel the desperate pressure of Faramir’s fingers kneading his arm. Anger and recrimination would have been easier to bear than this. The ranger pulled Faramir even closer to him needing to receive comfort as much as give it. “If I were to come, this day, to Minas Tirith and if my claim were accepted,” Strider paused a moment here to let Faramir think upon with what reaction Denethor would meet a claimant to the long empty throne. “then the dark lord, ever-mindful of his defeat at the hands of Isildur, would mount a campaign against Gondor to make trivial by comparison all that has already been endured. Gondor will not suffer for my sake, Faramir. More than that, though, there are tasks I must complete before I may feel myself worthy of my heritage.”

“Then the time of the final war is at hand. The dark lord will be thrown down and you will return to us.” A tremor passed through Faramir’s body as it rested against Aragorn’s chest and the ranger realized it was caused by excitement. Faramir believed that that was exactly what would happen.

“It may be so.” Aragorn could say nothing more definite. He lacked the younger man’s faith.

“What can I do, my lord? The gauntlet, that must be very important. You should not have to fight for it. I shall get it for you. What else, what else can I do?” Faramir had shifted in Aragorn’s arms, so that he was holding one of his king’s hands to his lips and speaking urgently against his knuckles.

Feeling awash with guilt at his own inadequacy but also grateful beyond words for Faramir’s obvious love and devotion, Aragorn took the younger man by the shoulders. Carefully, he moved Faramir a little away from him so that the two men were sitting facing each other. He did not wish to separate from Faramir but it was too difficult to think clearly with the young man so close. “You are doing the most important thing that can be done, dear one. You are making understanding possible between east and west, helping to unify men. You must not show too much interest in the gauntlet lest others be drawn by your attention.”

“Very well, if that is your will. But there must be some way I may serve you, my lord.” Away from his king’s warmth, Faramir suddenly became conscious that he was naked from the waist up. Drawing his arms around himself, Faramir allowed himself to lift his eyes to his lord. How could he have missed the truth? It was so obvious. He had seen the ranger’s features over and over in paintings and statutes around the citadel. A light shone from him, too great for any darkness. Even from their first meeting, Faramir had known the man calling himself Strider was special.

No disguise should have been enough to conceal the majesty of this man. As Faramir continued to gaze in awed reverie, he realized that Strider was there too. This man was both ranger and king not just a king playing the part of a ranger. Strider had traveled the wilds, explored all of Middle Earth and the wisdom of the woods, mountains and grasslands truly belonged to him. He had endured hardships with no expectation that his great destiny would exempt him from work and struggle. Perhaps that was why Faramir had not penetrated the secret immediately. Strider, the ranger was not a pretense; he was a real part of the man who was also the king. Faramir was fascinated. There was so much he had to think about. The king was here, now, close enough to touch. Everything had changed.

“I cannot claim your service, Faramir.”

“Am I not worthy, sire?” The young man asked, sounding piteous. Anguish crashed in on him. Faramir started to sway forward. He meant to press his forehead to the ground as though the pain crushing him could be alleviated by an act of self-abasement. The king caught his shoulder, though, holding him upright until the younger man was able to stop shaking.

“There is a proper order. You know that. The Steward rules in the White City, so long as he does, your allegiance must be to him.” Aragorn had never imagined a scene such as this. He was the one who was not worthy. He did not know why Faramir accepted him so completely and without question. How could Faramir see so clearly in him something the could not always see clearly in himself.

Faramir hung his head, ashamed that his king had needed to remind him of such a simple truth. Yet with the revelation of his king, Faramir now understood much about Denethor that had mystified him before. The Steward had ruled Faramir’s universe. He had seemed all-powerful, all-knowing. A Steward might pass for a king and Denethor had tried his best to do so. The illusion could not last, though, in the presence of the true king. His lord had said that Faramir’s allegiance must be to the Steward but his true allegiance had to be to the King and to Gondor. Was his lord testing him?

“I am bound to Denethor. I should obey him and I must not lie to him… but that does not mean I must do nothing but what he tells me nor that I must volunteer information he does not ask for. Denethor is the Steward not the king. He is not Gondor. Tell me, lord, how may I serve you.” After speaking these words, Faramir looked up hopefully, wondering if he had passed the test.

“My name is Aragorn. Call me Aragorn.” It was amazing to Aragorn how thoroughly at ease Faramir seemed to be with this situation, as though there was nothing surreal or odd about the encounter. The ranger, himself, felt an weird prickle in his skin that he could not explain. Part of him wished to rise up, take the younger man’s hands in his and accept his oath of fealty. Another part, just as urgent, wanted to escape the exposure of secrets that had been so long hidden.

“Aragorn.” Faramir breathed reverently, pronouncing the name slowly as though exploring its shape and sound. “I am glad to know who you are. I think I wanted to know earlier but somehow I just did not make the connection.” As he said this Faramir reached for Aragorn’s hand but at the last moment he did not take it, he just let his own hand hover close as though he wanted to touch it but could not quite bring himself to do so.

“I meant it when I said that I love you, Faramir.” Aragorn responded instantly closing the few inches distance between their hands and pressing Faramir’s hand to his chest. “I- I know I have not been entirely honest with you but I do love you, sweetheart. Have your feelings for me changed?”

Faramir seemed confused by the question. Could Aragorn really doubt his feelings. “You have honored me beyond my deserving. I love you. The world has changed but I know my feelings for you could never change. I think , though that I understand those feelings a little better now.” Faramir smiled tentatively and moved a little nearer Aragorn still somehow reluctant to initiate contact between them but needing to be close.

Aragorn closed his eyes a moment, he had not expected the tremendous feeling of relief that washed over him when Faramir said that he loved him. He had feared to lose the young man’s affection and the extent of that fear only became apparent after Faramir’s reassurance. When the ranger finally mastered himself and opened his eyes, he found the younger man looking at him with an expression of love and adoration. Reaching out, Aragorn put his arms gently around Faramir’s neck and, drawing the other man close, he kissed him.

All of Faramir’s senses had become super-acute in the time since the truth of Aragorn’s identity had fought its way through to the young man’s conscious mind. Now Aragorn’s kiss seemed to have an even more powerful effect upon him than ever before. Heat, pleasure, wet, deep, smooth, rapture, rough, pressure, bliss, the sensations were coming with too much speed and intensity to be properly registered. He could only feel, the power of analysis had been stripped from him. Groaning, Faramir gave in to the abundance of sensation.

“There is so much I want to tell you, sweetheart, so much I want you to know. You are beautiful, love. I want you so much. I don’t think I shall ever be able to touch you enough, Faramir. I shall never have enough of you.” Aragorn’s voice was low and husky. It seemed to Faramir that his king was speaking directly into his soul, so absolutely did the sound wrap itself around him, revealing a perfect blend of pitch and tone and meaning. Yet, Faramir could feel the warm breath against his cheek and knew the whispered words had come to him the usual way.

“Yes, my lord. I want everything, love me, take all of me. Oh Aragorn, I think I must be dying; everything is so wonderful.” Faramir’s head fell forward onto Aragorn’s chest. His brow was slick with sweat and he felt the soft dark hair on the ranger’s torso stick with the moisture. His hands were on Aragorn’s shoulder and he felt the muscles beneath the smooth skin tense and relax as Aragorn moved backward so that the younger man lay on his back. This change in position forced Faramir who had been sitting on his knees to unbend his legs. As he did so, Aragorn slipped naturally between his parted thighs. Lying torso to torso, the two men kissed again.

“You are not going to die, Faramir. I won’t let you.” Aragorn said finally, after ravishing the younger man’s mouth. The ranger leaned down to kiss Faramir again, then placing his hands on either of the man’s head, he levered his weight up. Looking down into the pale blue eyes, Aragorn saw so much trust and love that it immediately sent a sweet ache to his groin. Faramir was craning his neck, obviously wanting to kiss again. Smiling, the ranger obliged, but only for a moment before starting to move down Faramir’s body. Faramir’s arms had been firmly wrapped around the ranger’s waist but as Aragorn descended the younger man’s hands crept up his back, fingers exploring vertebra by vertebra.

Enjoying the pressure of Faramir’s fingers along his back, Aragorn arched into the gentle touch. As he seemed to be moving away from Faramir’s body however the younger man let out a small whimper. The gentle pressure of fingers became the grasping of nails and Faramir’s legs which had been rubbing over Aragorn’s hips, suddenly tightened around Aragorn’s waist. “Don’t go, my lord. Oh, please don’t.”

Settling his weight over Faramir, Aragorn kissed the younger man’s sternum. “I’m not going, love, sweetheart. Be easy, Faramir.” Patiently Aragorn kissed and licked up and down Faramir’s torso. He rubbed his stubbled cheek against the younger man’s nipples and felt pleasure sizzle through the young body. Faramir did not ease his tight hold on the older man immediately, though. There was a slight burn along the ranger’s back as Faramir clutched his flesh and Aragorn felt the muscles of younger man’s inner thighs begin to tremble with the effort of squeezing around his waist. The ranger though, ignored the discomfort. He knew he had exacerbated Faramir’s insecurity by his abrupt departure the night before and he was more than willing to let Faramir hold him as tightly as he wanted if it would reassure the younger man.

As time went on, Faramir gradually eased his fierce grip on the ranger’s back and hips. Aragorn continued to pet and stroke the younger man, concentrating on relaxing as well as arousing Faramir. He drew his tongue in lazy circles around Faramir’s navel, dipping in occasionally. This made the younger man’s breath hitch and he moaned softly. Aragorn loved all the little sounds Faramir had been making, he loved the way his slim form bucked and contorted beneath him. He savored the fresh clean taste of Faramir’s sweat and the sweetness of the skin beneath. Every moment seemed to bring a new discovery joy.

“I want you out of those trousers, Faramir. Is that all right?” Aragorn asked as the rough cloth of trousers rubbed against the ranger’s sides as Faramir ran the sides of his knees along Aragorn’s ribs.

“Yes, Aragorn yes.” Faramir answered breathlessly. The tightness in his groin had been building into a delicious agony and now Faramir needed to be free of everything that separated him from Aragorn. Faramir suddenly felt a surge of urgency to have Aragorn within him. Ecstasy seared along his nerves. He did not know how much more of the excruciating pleasure Aragorn gave him he could endure. He craved the feeling of Aragorn moving inside him, wanted it so badly.

Faramir’s hands went to the laces of his trousers while Aragorn moved down his legs to remove his boots. When the boots were gone, the ranger closed his hands over Faramir’s and together they eased the trousers down over his hips and off his legs. Now completely naked with his arousal very evident, the young man regarded Aragorn from beneath thick dark lashes. He was gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat and the pale skin of his face and neck was flushed. At the same time, Faramir’s smile was shy and unsure of itself. Occasionally, the young man made small movements as though he thought he ought to cover himself but he never did. His eyes constantly sought Aragorn’s, needing to have the older man’s approval. He looked both demure and wanton and utterly irresistible.

Aragorn stared in fascinated admiration until Faramir’s hands began moving hesitantly toward the laces of the older man’s trousers. Aragorn smiled and kissed Faramir as they both worked to remove the last barrier of fabric between them. When they had both been fully revealed to one another, it was Faramir’s turn to stare lustfully. The young man’s looks were putting an ever increasing strain on the ranger’s self control and with a low growl he once again moved over Faramir, sliding his erection along the younger man’s thigh and thrusting against his hip.

“Faramir, my love.” Aragorn whispered between kisses. Faramir could not immediately return the endearment for all the sound he could push from his throat were needy moans but he began moving his hips up, the feel of Aragorn’s cock driving against his thigh driving him mad.

“Aragorn, I love you. I need you so much. Please.” Faramir moved his legs apart and tried to tilt his hips upward.

“Yes, beloved, yes.” Aragorn soothed, kissing Faramir’s damp brow. Taking the younger man’s hand so as not to give Faramir any sense of being of abandoned, even for a moment, Aragorn stretched himself as far as he could and grasped the strap on his pack that had been lying several feet away. Dragging the pack towards himself, the ranger put an arm around Faramir and began searching through his gear with Faramir in front of him sitting between his legs. Faramir wriggled until he could feel the hard flesh of Aragorn’s erection press up against his buttocks. The ranger sucked in his breath and then began rummaging through his pack with renewed energy.

As always the jar of salve Aragorn had been searching for had ended up at the very bottom of everything. Finally though, the ranger found the container and as he dragged it out as small canvas packet spilled out along with it. Faramir had been stroking Aragorn’s thighs and bending his neck backward to kiss Aragorn’s chin but as the small object hit his leg he reached for it without thinking. As he picked up a corner of the fabric Gilraen’s opal necklace spilled out.

“It was my mother’s.” Aragorn said softly as Faramir picked up the necklace, at first only curious then becoming reverent.

“It is beautiful. Do you keep it as a remembrance?” Faramir asked gently, turning sorrowful eyes upon his king.

“No.” The ranger answered, taking the necklace from Faramir and wrapping it back in its canvas cover.

“I’m sorry, I should not have presumed to touch it. I- I see that you do not wish to speak of it.” Faramir lowered his head but Aragorn, after quickly tucking the necklace back into his pack, lifted the younger man’s chin and kissed him.

“I do not wish to speak of it because I would much rather make love to you, my darling. Later you may ask anything you like.” With one arm, the ranger picked up his pack and tossed it to the far side of the tent. Then he kissed Faramir again. “And I always want you to touch what ever you want.” As Aragorn hoped, Faramir’s look of distress faded into a smile and the younger man leaned against him, letting one hand move to the ranger’s groin touching him with dexterous fingers.

“I love you so much, my lord. I want to please you.” Faramir stroked Aragorn gently trying to remember everything that the ranger liked.

“You do that, my love. You please me very much.”

Slowly Faramir moved his way down Aragorn’s body, kissing as he went. The ranger lay back, supporting himself on his elbows. When Faramir reached his groin, he looked up at Aragorn seeking his permission. The ranger nodded as he reached to gently stroke Faramir’s hair. The younger man smile briefly then leaned down to lap at Aragorn’s sex. The ranger groaned as he let his head fall back. Faramir’s delicate tongue licked up and down his pulsing length making the older man shudder. Loving the taste and feel of the hot skin beneath his tongue, the younger man grew bolder. First, Faramir placed a kiss on the tip of Aragorn’s flesh and then wrapping his lips around the thick length, he slid his tongue beneath the foreskin.

“Ah, Faramir!” Aragorn could not keep himself from calling out at the pleasure burning through him, tightening his balls. Faramir, ever attune to Aragorn’s slightest action, looked up desperately as he registered the shudder running through the older man’s body and heard him call his name. Faramir had thrilled to the sounds Aragorn had been making and he had really enjoyed the thick, heavy weight of his lord between his lips, filling his mouth, but the younger man knew that he lacked experience and this knowledge made him skittish.

“Your sweet mouth will utterly undo me, beloved.” Aragorn told Faramir petting his hair and smiling reassuringly.

“Love me, Aragorn, please make love to me.” Faramir pleaded resting his head against the ranger’s hip. Faramir wanted to bring Aragorn to completion. He wanted to give him ecstasy then feel the hot jet of fluid spurt down his throat. Yet there was an emptiness that he needed Aragorn to fill.

Sitting up, Aragorn continued to caress the dark head resting between his legs. “Do you mind lying on your stomach for a little bit, my love.” The ranger asked, fumbling for the jar of salve. Faramir smiled and stretched himself beside Aragorn, turning his head a little so that he could keep the ranger in view. Long fingers brushed his lips and Faramir opened his mouth sucking at the intruding digits greedily.

“My dear one.” Aragorn crooned, letting his other hand drift down to the elegant curve of Faramir’s backside. The younger man’s eyes drifted closed and his hips pumped against the ground uncontrollably when Aragorn began to knead the firm flesh.

Reluctantly, Aragorn pulled his thoroughly wetted fingers from Faramir’s mouth and slicked the valley between the younger man’s buttocks. Faramir’s hands clenched into fists and his head thrashed from side to side. He was not sure how to handle such an intensity of feeling being elicited by such a light touch. Kissing the small of his back, Aragorn moved behind Faramir, massaging the younger man’s cheeks so that they lifted and separated. Returning to the shadowed crevice between Faramir’s buttocks, Aragorn gently caressed the tight muscles guarding the opening into Faramir’s body.

After a moment the hands were removed and Faramir swiveled at the waist. He needed to be always touching or within sight of Aragorn or he grew alarmed. The ranger, however, had no intention of leaving. He kissed Faramir’s shoulder blades and softly urged the younger man to lie flat once more while he opened the jar of salve coating his fingers with the oily cream.

There was a completely different texture to Aragorn’s fingers as they continued to probe the sensitive skin of Faramir’s backside now that they were slippery with oil. His muscles would yield more readily to the lubrication Faramir knew, but the unmediated touch of Aragorn’s rough and callused hands upon his most vulnerable flesh had been inexplicably wonderful. The younger man did not have long to consider this, however, as Aragorn finally penetrated him and all thoughts save those of his celebrating flesh deserted him. Faramir twisted up, trying to keep his hips parallel to the ground but also needing to reach for Aragorn, to kiss him, to see his face.

Responding to Faramir’s obvious need, Aragorn moved so that he could kiss the younger man’s shoulders while continuing to stretch him. Faramir settled down a little, kissing the top of Aragorn’s head and raising himself slightly on his knees so that he could push himself back onto the ranger’s finger. A second finger was added as a result of Faramir’s eager acceptance of the first. Moaning, Faramir seemed to need to embrace Aragorn, while also impaling himself on the older man’s fingers. He was twisting himself into something like a spiral and Aragorn afraid for Faramir withdrew his fingers, putting his arms around his torso. Mewling at the loss of stimulation, Faramir nonetheless hugged Aragorn tightly.

“Turn onto your back, lovely.” Aragorn suggested, liking the idea of seeing Faramir as they made love very much. The younger man complied instantly, wrapping his legs around the ranger’s waist and canting his hips upward. Taking up more of the salve, Aragorn replaced his two fingers. He explored the moist heat of Faramir’s inside while leaning over the younger man so that Faramir could hold him. Faramir had to shut his eyes as a third finger was finally added. Reflexively his muscles tightened, squeezing Aragorn’s fingers.

“Easy, Faramir. Relax, my love.”

Nodding vigorously, Faramir took in several deep breaths. After a moment more, Aragorn could move in and out of him easily. Aragorn ached for Faramir, his whole body trembled with need for the younger man. He wanted him so badly but the fear of hurting Faramir worried at the back of his mind. It was not just a physical pain that he feared he might inflict but rather a disillusionment, a theft of innocence and betrayal of trust. Somehow Faramir loved him and trusted him; but what if Aragorn was ultimately untrustworthy. What if he could not protect Faramir? What if he could not be what Faramir needed? A Shiver ran through the ranger as these worries suddenly rose up before him but Aragorn fought them down. If he gave in to doubt now he would certainly hurt Faramir.

Taking a deep breath, Aragorn reached once more for the salve. Faramir’s gaze was riveted upon him as he slathered the oil onto his pulsing shaft. Carefully the ranger positioned himself at Faramir’s entrance. Aragorn sought Faramir’s eyes. It took a moment before the younger man was able to tear his gaze from the sight of Aragorn slick penis nudging eagerly at his back passage but when the light blue eyes looked up Faramir mouthed the single word: `yes’.

Groping for Faramir’s hand and then clasping it in his own, palm to palm, fingers interlocking, Aragorn pushed himself into Faramir’s yielding body. Faramir began to pant and he clutched Aragorn’s hand with bruising force. Aragorn filled him, stretched him impossibly wide and so deep. It burned him but Faramir would never have called what he felt `pain’. Finally, Aragorn was fully sheathed within the younger man. The ranger stilled his motion, as sweat pricked his skin. Faramir was beyond anything Aragorn had ever felt before. The younger man’s body clung to him, surrounding him with living heat.

“I belong to you now, Aragorn.” Faramir spoke the words softly but they were perfectly clear between desperate gasps.

“Yes, you are mine.”

“In this as in all things, my lord.” Faramir was so full with Aragorn that there was no place left within him for doubts or insecurity. He saw things clearly, no longer obscured by his own fears and Faramir knew happiness.

“My Faramir, yes. You are mine.” Aragorn hardly knew what he spoke. The words came from him seemingly without any thought on his part. As he spoke, though, he knew it was the truth. The two gazed at one another, living a moment that each man would replay over and over in his thoughts countless times. Then, Aragorn began to move.

Aragorn started slowly, thrusting shallowly. Soon, though, Faramir’s urgent moans combined with his own desperate desire forced him to increase the pace. In moments, he was plunging deeply into Faramir, driving downward as the younger man pushed upward. When the ranger brushed across the knot of nerves hidden deep inside Faramir, the younger man let out a sharp cry as his whole body went rigid for an instant.

The look of slack-jawed, mindless pleasure that had taken over Faramir’s features seemed very lovely to Aragorn and he leaned forward very carefully to kiss the open mouth. After a second Faramir began kissing back but the need to continue thrusting into the younger man soon became overwhelming. It had taken too long to come to this point for Aragorn to be able hold on much longer.

Each stroke now grazed against the special place inside Faramir and both men found themselves hurtling toward climax. The tightness in Aragorn’s balls was nearly unbearable as flesh slapped against flesh. The impact of each decisive thrust sent Faramir’s weeping arousal bouncing helplessly between their bellies. The two men still had a firm hold on one another’s hands but Faramir’s free hand sought his own neglected penis as his body screamed at him to find an outlet for all the pleasure Aragorn’s lovemaking was giving him.

Faramir grasped himself but his hand trembled and his grip was unsteady until Aragorn’s hand closed over his. They stroked together just a few times before Faramir’s release arched up from their joined hands. Aragorn continued squeezing Faramir’s throbbing penis and thrusting into him and the younger man continued to spill copious amounts of semen. After coaxing the last drop from the younger man’s now spent erection, Aragorn brought his thickly coated fingers to his mouth. At the taste of Faramir’s essence, Aragorn felt a final crushing tightness in his balls as he expelled himself forcefully, deep inside Faramir.

Feeling completely bereft of all strength and yet utterly happy, Aragorn withdrew from Faramir. Turning on his side, the ranger gathered the younger man against him. Still starry-eyed Faramir turned into Aragorn’s warmth, draping an arm around the older man. Aragorn summoned the last shreds of his strength and retrieved a small cloth. Carefully he tried to clean Faramir a bit so the younger man would be more comfortable, but Faramir appeared to be comfortable enough, nestling firmly into Aragorn’s side and resisting all other movement.

It occurred to Aragorn that Faramir was already asleep and that he should join the young man in that state immediately but just as Aragorn was going to match action to thought Faramir’s eyes fluttered open. “I love you. I love you very much.” Smiling a little Faramir traced a finger down the ranger’s face.

“I know you do, dear one. I love you, too.” Hearing this Faramir’s eyes fluttered shut once more and soon both men were fast asleep.

Chapter 6

Aragorn lay awake a few moments with his eyes closed. He had sensed that he was being watched but this did not trigger the response such a feeling usually aroused. The watcher was a benign presence and the ranger’s hyper-vigilance relaxed. It took only a moment for Aragorn to realize all that had happened the night before and to recognize who the warm body next to him and the gentle gaze running over him had to belong to. “Good morning, Faramir.” Smiling, Aragorn opened his eyes.

“Good morning.” Faramir responded. The ranger caught the end of an uncertain expression in the young man’s eyes but it was quickly replaced by a look of happiness and tranquility as he saw Aragorn’s smile and heard the ranger speak his name.

“I hope you slept well. There is much to do today. Does your head ache? Are you sore?” The ranger stroked Faramir’s dark hair from his face. Faramir nuzzled against Aragorn’s neck and, for a moment, he seemed to be purring with the soothing touch.

“I feel marvelous.” Faramir detected no after-effect of the liquor he had drunk and though he did feel sore he felt marvelous also. He liked the small ache in his body and he would let nothing pass his lips that could be interpreted as indicating complaint or dissatisfaction. Indeed, the mild discomfort reassured him that all that had happened before was no dream but wonderful reality. The young man had not the least concern for his own well-being but Aragorn- at once, so strange and so familiar- could he be feeling any misgivings for sharing so much.

“Are… are you well? I know you did not deem it advisable to spend the night-” Aragorn stopped Faramir with a gentle kiss. It was clear to the ranger that what the younger man was truly asking was: `Do you regret it? Would you rather you were not here, with me?’

“Dear one, I feel wonderful. I am glad for last night. I am glad you know the truth. It might be slightly more decorous if I slept elsewhere but those who take an interest in such comings and going are no doubt already aware of the time I spend here. Besides I have found that the misery of being apart from you is too great a price to pay for the appearance of propriety.”

“Me too, my lord.” Faramir answered with some relief as he snuggled even closer. The two lay together contentedly for another few minutes but neither one had the luxury of remaining in bed all day.

“I would like to show you more of the gathering this afternoon if you have time.” Aragorn announced sitting up after kissing Faramir’s temple. “I think you have seen little of the markets and the dancers, jugglers and acrobats. It would be a shame for you to miss all the entertainment.”

“I would like that very much, thank you.” Faramir had risen when he saw Aragorn’s intention to get up. There would be a meeting today of the lesser tribes. Aragorn had told Faramir to expect more talk and less alcohol and the young captain, though still nervous, felt an inner core of peace, of tranquility that he had rarely experienced before.

Aragorn nodded at the acceptance of his offer. Spending time with Faramir would be something for the ranger to look forward to. He hoped it would be an enjoyable experience for Faramir also. Though, it was difficult to doubt the younger man’s feelings when his every word and gesture, his every expression and movement was saturated in love and reverence.

Pulling on his trousers, the ranger began a methodical stretch of his muscles. Faramir watched intently as Aragorn’s body moved, the muscles tightening under the skin. He knew that while he was socializing with the diplomats and other dignitaries his lord would be fighting. It had been this thought that had given him such a pensive expression while he watched Aragorn sleep.

“Are you truly certain you wish to do this yourself, my lord?” Faramir asked, finally summoning the courage. He had been considering what might be done to keep Aragorn from having to participate in the tournament and he hurriedly explained his suggestion. “I know you said yesterday that I should not seem to care much for the gauntlet but there are a few competent swordsmen here. Gorm and Hilo are already paired together and they are quite good. Both of them could be entered in the tournament. Either one could win and… and if that didn’t work out then, well then I am sure I could think of some other way.”

“That is a very kind thought.” Aragorn said, putting an arm around Faramir. “This is my task, though. It is my responsibility.”

“It grieves me to think of you doing work from which I could easily spare you.”

“Don’t fret, Faramir. A tournament is no great hardship.” Aragorn answered. Faramir smiled. Though he was sensible that he ought to be able to do more to protect and serve his king, he did not want to try Aragorn’s patience by pressing him on a subject he obviously regarded as closed.


Anger boiled through Flyn as he stomped out of camp towards the tournament fields. He had managed to enter Gorm and Hilo into the second round but it had cost two bolts of fine cloth and a dozen steel pins. The lieutenant knew the grubby little native had been taking advantage of him but there had been nothing he could do. He had argued, done his best to haggle but the man wouldn’t budge. After that he had to scamper around trying to find someone to tell him something about the great tribes for the captain. Flyn believed he had done a fairly creditable job, given how little time he had left over to deal with Faramir’s questions. But, rather than get gratitude all he had received were suspicious looks from the damn ranger who had apparently regaled the captain with a veritable who’s who of Khandrim nobility. If Faramir was going to have Strider find his information for him why had he wasted Flyn’s time.

Further fraying, Flyn’s already frayed temper had been the disgusting smiles and loving expressions that he had been forced to witness before Strider ran off to the tournament. The lieutenant had been pleased to see a rift developing between the two yesterday but the men had clearly made up. Though Flyn sincerely disliked Strider, he couldn’t blame the ranger for pursuing Faramir’s favor. If Flyn had possessed Strider’s aura of dominance and danger then he might have taken up a career seducing men like Faramir too. Flyn’s tastes did not really run to men but there was a powerful attraction to the idea of fucking one’s supposed superiors. Flyn did not possess much in the way of sexual magnetism, however, and so he needed to be subtler to get his way. He believed he could succeed very well with his malleable captain but the ranger was increasingly becoming an obstacle.

The final straw, though, had been when Faramir announced after breakfast that Flyn would have to attend one of the tedious sessions of diplomatic niggling. Apparently there were a great many small quarrels between the tribes. People lodging complaints about small raids, the loss of a few goats, the use of the few sources of water further east, the return of dowries for repudiated wives and the like. These matters were too small to concern the tribal leaders but they had to be dealt with. Gondor had nothing to do with any of these quarrels but Faramir had ordered him to attend that evening, saying that it was important for Gondor to participate in all the meetings and to show an interest in all the affairs of the Khandrim. Flyn knew the truth, though. Faramir was punishing him for trying to keep Strider and the captain away from each other. It would not even have surprised Flyn if the ranger had put Faramir up to it. He had been so incensed at the situation that he had left Gildel to handle things at camp and come to watch the fights, ostensibly to scout for Gorm and Hilo but mostly because he just felt bloody-minded.

Flyn watched the various contests, staying a few minutes whenever he saw a man who appeared to be particularly skilled. Eventually he caught sight of the object of his earlier irritation. Curious, the lieutenant elbowed his way through several onlookers until he had an unobstructed view of Strider facing a lad of about sixteen. A good crowd had gathered which indicated that the match was particularly interesting to the gawkers. The lieutenant wondered if it was just the excitement of watching an obvious foreigner match up against a local. Flyn surmised that the ranger had apparently already drawn blood on his young opponent since there was a small cut on the youth’s forearm from which a tiny bead of blood had oozed. Therefore Flyn was witnessing the second of the three potential bouts

Even Flyn who was no friend to Strider had to admire the ranger’s swordsmanship. The larger crowd became more understandable as Flyn watched the ranger move. His footwork was good but there was something more than technical accuracy in the advances and pivots. Strider moved with slow deliberation wasting no motion until suddenly he struck so quickly he was a blur. The downy cheeked adolescent hadn’t a chance, though Flyn did notice that the lad was not completely without talent. The lieutenant wondered why the bout was lasting quite this long but in the next instant Strider’s long sword darted up and cut his opponent neatly along the forearm.

There was a murmur of appreciation from the throng and a man holding a parchment- almost certainly the assigned judge announced something in his own language. It was a good win and the spatter of applause from the experienced among the onlookers gave the proof. It took more skill not to hurt someone one must cut in a fight than it did to tear one’s opponent open. That fact explained the itinerant doctors swarming over the field looking for patients. Flyn reminded himself that he needed to make sure there was someone trustworthy on hand for Hilo and Gorm. The lieutenant did not expect his men to get injured but if something should happen he didn’t want his countrymen in the hands of the local healers.

The youth- who Strider had defeated with such careful precision, first looked surprised then dismayed. Flyn watched fascinated as it seemed for a moment the young man was going to cry. He pulled himself together, though and accepted the hand Strider graciously offered. It seemed the ranger had more to the say to the lad and he spoke earnestly for a while, in a voice too soft for Flyn to hear even if he could have understood. The lieutenant had no idea what Strider could be saying but he found that his curiosity was overcoming everything else. There was something odd about the ranger and he was determined to find out exactly what it was.

“Well fought, well fought the both of you.” Flyn announced with a large grin as he slapped both Strider and then the youth on the shoulder. The youth who had been completely absorbed in whatever the ranger was saying took one look at Flyn and murmured something to Strider before bolting away. The ranger looked profoundly irritated and called to the boy but he was leaving at a near run. Flyn felt a moment of satisfaction at disrupting the tete a tete. He disliked it on principal whenever a conversation took place that he was excluded from.

“That’s one round for you, then, master Strider. How many more before you reach your prize?” Flyn asked, sounding offensively jovial.

“It will depend upon how many new combatants enter the second round and upon how many participants are wounded too badly to continue.” Strider answered after a pause that had stretched longer than Flyn regarded as entirely polite.

“Well, I suspect you’ll want a drink. Come on, there must be decent ale somewhere amid so many people.” Flyn made as if to take Strider’s elbow but the ranger adroitly dodged.

“I think I would prefer to wash. The dust is thick on the field.” Strider would truly have preferred to begin making discreet inquiries after Gollum but he seemed to have acquired a companion. Perhaps it was all to the good, the ranger consoled himself, Faramir should still be closeted with the tribes for an hour or so more but Strider did wish to be present at the camp when he returned.

“Don’t trust the local stuff? Can’t say as I blame you. Besides the young captain might be back soon and I daresay he’ll be pleased at this victory.” Flyn said this last with a bit of a leer and again Strider wished he had the luxury of being able to knock the man’s teeth down his throat without making trouble. Restraining himself the ranger’s only response was grim silence.

“I shouldn’t wonder if our Faramir might be prevailed upon to find you employment somewhere or other after this mission. The two of you get on well and your fighting prowess is undeniable. The young captain can no doubt be very obliging.” Flyn enjoyed provoking Strider. He knew the ranger’s game, snuggling up to Faramir in hopes of his own advantage. There was no shame in such a scheme but the ranger was acting as though the suggestion offended him and that made teasing irresistible.

“The captain is not as suggestible as your remarks imply. I would think that if anyone were to take advantage of the captain’s good nature there would be very dire consequences.” Strider allowed the full force of his threat to register upon the lieutenant before continuing. “Moreover, I do not seek advantage either from Captain Faramir or from anyone else.”

The warning in Strider’s tone was not lost on Flyn and he was intimidated. Eventually though he rallied and took back the conversation. “If so then you are the only one in the tournament of whom that might be said. It makes me wonder why you bother with all this rigmarole.”

“I have said. Gandalf is interested in studying the gauntlet and I agreed to make a try for it.” Strider’s indignation had caused him to speak with more bluntness than he had intended. He castigated himself silently: he should know better than to let the lieutenant taunt him but allowing others to ascribe bad motives to him had always been difficult for the ranger who, despite the many indignities he was accustomed to suffer, still had his pride.

“I hope the wizard means to pay you for your efforts. Doing favors for friends is all well and good but a man must eat.” Flyn was surprised by the vehemence of the ranger’s denials. He seemed sincere, but if he were not here in hopes of gaining something from Faramir then why was here. Flyn had watched Strider. He had listened to Faramir even when the captain was at his most boring. He had been kind and solicitous. No hint of disgust or complacency was discernable in the ranger as Faramir threw himself at the older man. All this could not have been accomplished without effort. Yet if Strider weren’t hunting for some favor from the Steward’s younger son why did he bother? Why did he become so… territorial when Faramir was mentioned?

“I do well enough without… selling my favors.”

Flyn laughed. “A fine sentiment indeed but necessity will lead us all to compromise. A man cannot remain young forever. I’m sure you do well enough now, hunting for your food, taking on the occasional commission as guide but in another ten years or so, what then? You will not move so fast with growing stiffness in your joints and bones grown brittle with the cold. Perhaps you have some family to take you in. Perhaps you have a brother or a sister who will give you a place by the fire and add another cup of water to the soup. It will be charity, though and you may wish you had been less fastidious in times past.”

“You paint a grim picture.” Strider was rather more depressed by the other’s words than he might have wished. He did sometimes wonder what would become of him if destiny saw fit to wait another generation. He supposed he would do his duty and marry a woman of the Dunedain, father a child so the cycle could continue then hope an orc arrow found him before old age made him useless to everyone. He did not wish to abandon all hope of marrying Arwen, of winning back his kingdom and repaying all the old debts but if the chance to strike the decisive blow against the dark lord did not come soon then he would have to resign himself to certain sacrifices.

“Oh it is a grim thing to rely on others for your fate. Even the most well-meaning of people grow tired of supporting a proud old man. Take my advice, my friend, make provision for yourself now. The wizard and others of your friends are doubtless grateful, now, for all you do on their behalf but they will not remember you when you have your own needs. If the chance comes to enrich yourself and it does no harm to others then have pity on your future and take it.” Flyn finished smugly. Strider could win this tournament. Given what he had seen already it was certainly possible. If the ranger did win Denethor’s prize then Flyn would like to buy it. The Steward could make Strider a wealthy man and it was good to let the ranger consider the advantages of a secure future. If Strider balked, however, then Flyn would, of course, have to gain the gauntlet through other- less amicable- methods.

Strider had no answer to the lieutenant’s bleak description. Flyn was a schemer, certainly. Whether he had some stratagem in mind at the moment or if he was merely on the lookout for anything he could turn to his advantage, though, Aragorn was not prepared to say. In truth, the ranger was a little disgusted with himself for allowing Flyn’s words to darken his spirits as much as they had. The wretched man was only testing to what extent Strider was amenable to bribery that was all, yet Aragorn’s gloom persisted.

The two men walked on in silence then, until they reached the Gondorhim camp. Flyn decided it would be prudent to take his leave before Strider could reassert himself in the conversation. “Well, I have my duties. I hope you will be able to occupy yourself until the captain’s return. Good day, Strider.”

Aragorn, glad to see the back of the lieutenant, gave only the merest acknowledgment of his departure. He did feel a bit better when Flyn was gone, but he had the sudden desperate need to be useful to someone else immediately or else lose himself to melancholy. The painfully slow and unrewarding task of asking questions in hopes of overhearing something of Gollum would be unendurable in the ranger’s present state of mind. He had to do something else. For a moment, Aragorn thought of Faramir and smiled. The younger man’s presence was always such a comfort and reassurance. The joy Faramir felt in his presence was undeniable and to be needed and desired so completely, soothed something raw and aching in the wandering king. Faramir, with his bright eyes and beautiful mind was a source of never ending delight and for a moment Strider allowed himself to imagine he had the younger man in his arms that very moment.

Faramir was not resting happily in his embrace, though. Strider chided himself a moment for so selfishly wishing to have exclusive dominion over the Steward’s son’s company. Then suppressing a sigh, he looked about for something he might do. Observing that several animated discussions were taking place, Strider made his way over to where a large group of Gondorhim soldiers were gathered. Several of the men had already had a few hours liberty and many more were looking forward to their own leave. Relief flooding him, the ranger was soon bombarded with questions about the best things to be experienced at the gathering and demands that he explain certain situations that the soldiers had witnessed and found incomprehensible. By the time Faramir returned to his camp, several hours later, Strider was contentedly holding court among a throng of deferentially attentive soldiers.


Coming into camp, mind awhirl with recent discussion, Faramir was suddenly arrested by a strange sight: Aragorn stood amid the Gondorhim. He was speaking in a low voice, his grey eyes seeming to draw the gaze of every man present. He was completely lost in the moment and the light Faramir had first perceived in his dream surrounded him. The expression of the men, though, and the subtle but unmistakable connection between Aragorn and the soldiers was what truly stopped Faramir’s breath and caused his heart to flutter. Something was happening beneath and above the words Aragorn was speaking. The light was coming from Aragorn but it was taken up and magnified somehow by the men surrounding him, the ranger and the soldiers seemed to be participating in a communion of radiance.

Faramir was not able to judge how long he remained a silent witness but eventually Aragorn looked up and caught his eye. The ranger seemed suddenly to become aware of himself and as he did the light about him diminished. He smiled self-consciously, raising his hands in a gesture Faramir could not help but see as a benediction. After a few moments more, the crowd around the ranger began to disperse. Faramir paid close attention to the men as they left. He noticed that while some men seemed unaware that anything of significance had taken place others seemed quiet and thoughtful. The remainder of the soldiers, though smiled as a faint glow still surrounded them as they went on their way, leaving Aragorn and Faramir facing one another across the camp.

The salutation with which the young captain greeted the ranger resembled a bow much more than the casual nod he had striven to achieve. Faramir could not help himself. It caused him an almost physical pain to hide the love and respect that overflowed his heart. Faramir wanted to go to Aragorn drop to his knees and kiss his hand and it was only with great difficulty that he restrained himself. He knew the necessity of secrecy but such was Faramir’s elation that he wanted the whole world to know the truth and rejoice as he did. Forcing himself to turn away from Strider for a moment, Faramir sought out his two lieutenants and summoned them to hear their reports of what had been happening in camp during his absence.

It was nearly an hour before Faramir was finally shed of his subordinates. Gildel had delivered a succinct summary of events but Flyn had been unresponsive and sullen. The man was still sulking about being sent to attend the meetings set up to adjudicate minor disputes between tribes. Faramir had explained that morning why it was prudent for Gondor to be as involved as possible in all the proceedings but Flyn had spent the day coming up with a new list objections. Finally, Faramir was left with no alternative but to reiterate his first order and dismiss both lieutenants. Unlike Boromir whose leadership style was much more assertive, Faramir liked to explain his decisions whenever possible but Flyn’s caviling had long ceased to be productive.

Faramir realized as he sent Flyn on his way that he was not particularly worried that the lieutenant was unhappy. Faramir had considered giving the assignment to Gildel but, though the other man would have complained less he lacked something of Flyn’s polish. Gildel would have approached the meeting as something to be stoically endured, standing quietly at attention for hours until all the business had been concluded. Flyn was much more accomplished at ingratiating himself to others. In addition, Gildel had the better relationship with the Gondorhim soldiers and thus he was a better choice to leave in charge of the camp. The captain was always most comfortable when his orders gained a consensus but in this instance he felt fully justified in his decision.

Besides, now that he had disposed of Flyn he could dedicate himself to attending upon Aragorn. Faramir had a great deal to tell his lord and he had analyzed his every interaction with Khandrim in the light of discussing it all with Aragorn later. Trying to appear nonchalant Faramir set out in search of the ranger. He found him quickly but he was with a few of the men who had been with him earlier. They were not talking but the men with him had an air of soldiers doing their duty as they formed a rough circle around the ranger. They are protecting him, Faramir realized as he was first scrutinized, then saluted before the men parted allowing him to go near the ranger. Perhaps they are not quite aware that that is what they are doing but in their own way they recognize him, too. This thought inspired Faramir with a sudden thrill of patriotic pride and he stood taller as he approached Gondor’s uncrowned king.

“Master Strider, I hope you were successful in your first contest.” Faramir was certain that Aragorn had won but he did want to hear details and it was as good an excuse as any to address the older man.

“Yes, I was fortunate. My opponent was inexperienced. I trust your own business proceeded satisfactorily.”

“For the most part, yes. I did have a few questions though, regarding the relative position of several of the smaller tribes. If I might beg a few moments of your time then I would like to consult the maps.” Faramir answered, very eager to have the ranger to himself.

“I am at your service.” Aragorn replied with a smile. There was then a slight delay as Faramir waited to follow his lord before realizing that he was supposed to lead. Feeling both awkward and embarrassed about walking before his king Faramir quickly made his way toward his tent. Aragorn followed, still smiling.


Throughout the day, thoughts of Aragorn had pervaded Faramir’s thoughts. Rather than distracting him, however, the captain found that a subtle confidence and intensity of focus had been with him. Faramir was accustomed to approaching new situations with a sense of terrible vulnerability and self-consciousness. Sometimes he wondered if he retained flesh and bone, so exposed and unprotected did the raw meat of his nerves and the delicate flutter of his heart seem to him. Aragorn’s affection provided the beginnings of a defense, however. Faramir would have had difficulty explaining exactly how it was that the fact of Aragorn’s being made the world a much safer place. Finally freed from the desperate and nearly impossible task of safeguarding his fragile sense of self, Faramir’s agile mind devoted itself to keeping pace with the politics of the lesser tribes.

Now, still reeling with the sensations of being in love and of finding his king, Faramir wanted both to embrace Aragorn and to hear the older man’s commentary on the day’s events. Despite his desires, however, Faramir was somewhat reluctant to throw himself on Aragorn’s neck and begin a breathless account of all he had done and found interesting since they had parted that morning. He was partly ashamed of his diffidence for he yearned to feel the older man’s arms about him and hear his opinions delivered in that wonderful rich voice. Faramir could not initiate contact, though. The fear of displeasing and then of being rejected had been with him too long to be gotten over in a few days. Thus, Faramir stood within his own tent a few from his beloved, his arms held reluctantly at his sides.

Fortunately, for Faramir’s happiness, he did not have long too wait for Aragorn to invite him to show the affection he felt. As soon as the tent flap was securely closed, Aragorn turned toward Faramir and after regarding the younger man for a moment and taking in his half timid, half expectant smile the ranger opened his arms. With a soft sigh, Faramir fell against the ranger. He kissed his shoulder first for that was where his lips happened to be, but then he tipped his head up and met Aragorn’s lips with his own.

“I suspect you know the maps better than I do by this time, sweetheart.” Aragorn commented when the kiss finally ended.

“I confess that was a pretext.” Faramir admitted nuzzling the ranger’s neck. “I would, though, like to hear your opinion on a few matters if that is all right.”

“I am at your service.” The ranger repeated running his fingers through Faramir’s silky black hair admiring how the unkempt ebony locks framed Faramir’s face.

Smiling gratefully, Faramir disengaged himself from Aragorn’s arms and busied himself seeing to their comfort. First, he gestured for the ranger to be seated, then he bustled about finding wine and building up the fire. Faramir felt the irony of playing the host to Aragorn when everything Faramir possessed belonged by rights to the older man. It made him even more determined to see that his lord received every show of honor and deference Faramir could give. For his part, Aragorn was deeply moved by Faramir’s solicitude. He did not, however, wish to stand on ceremony with the younger man. Aragorn had never needed the trappings of leadership to bolster his authority. Aragorn in his fiercer aspect could make a crown and scepter utterly superfluous. At the moment, though, Strider would rather have intimacy and closeness than formality.

“Come Faramir, sit beside and I shall be completely at my ease.” Faramir who had been on the point of inquiring if Aragorn’s wine was suitably spiced put down the small jar of nutmeg and settled himself beside his lord. “Now, my love tell me about your day.” Aragorn continued, placing an arm around Faramir and drawing him close.

“The meeting today was much more congenial than yesterday.” Faramir began, quickly relaxing as he recounted the details of the day. “Much more of substance was discussed. Everyone with territory west of the variags seemed willing enough to sign a peace accord. I suppose this was heartening but I did not get the impression a treaty has much lasting import in itself.”

“True enough.” The ranger agreed. “Alliances shift like sand in the desert if there is nothing but words holding them in place.” Faramir nodded unsurprised. It was as he had suspected. Faramir was too much the student of history to believe otherwise. He could not help but think though that when Gondor made promises she did not retract them the moment they became inconvenient. The few counterexamples proved the general rule. Even so, those counter examples were damning. Faramir felt his face color as he recalled that Aragorn’s ancestors had made attempts to return to their kingdom and been rebuffed by Faramir’s forefathers. To reinstate the honor of his own house Faramir knew that the broken oaths had to be mended, the land returned to its proper ruler.

“I spent the majority of my time trying to find some means of truly binding Khand and Gondor in alliance. I actually received two offers of marriage this afternoon and half a dozen inquiries concerning Boromir’s eligibility. The Steward, however, would never countenance a union between my brother and a maiden of Khand. In any case, I cannot think an alliance based on marriage much less fragile than an alliance based on general good intentions.”

While he spoke, Faramir darted quick furtive glances at Aragorn. He was deliberating going through his whole thought process in hope that when Aragorn inevitably found the flaws in his reasoning he would know exactly where he went wrong. The younger man knew his presumption and he was in fear of boring the ranger but Aragorn remained attentive.

“That leaves trade. The difficulty there, though, is that Khand really doesn’t have anything Gondor needs. I made many inquiries and the Khandrim cannot produce staples anywhere near as cheaply as Rohan or even Gondor herself. There are of course luxury goods, spices, mosaics, a wealth of interesting historical artifacts etc. Unfortunately, the market for such goods is not particularly strong and I doubt very much it will improve.”

“Gondor could buy from Khand at a loss. It would be an act of humanity and would certainly serve to make Khand look to Gondor rather than Mordor. Again, however, the lord Denethor would be absolutely unpersuadable.” Faramir said decisively then suddenly realized that he had been more critical of his father than he truly thought prudent, he added. “And he is right to consider economy. Gondor is vastly wealthy compared to Khand but there is not such a surplus that we can pay twice what we do now for bread.” Aragorn mulled the difficulty for a while. Reaching into his pack he retrieved his pipe. Lifting an eyebrow in inquiry Faramir quickly insisted that he smoke as much as he liked. The ranger thanked him and continued to ponder.

“I had considered,” Faramir blurted after only a brief silence “that there are several improvements that might be made in the treasury’s accounting. I fear that the system of book-keeping is somewhat out of date. More money could be found if the treasury’s whole process of operation were modernized. This might help off-set the loss of trading with Khand but not enough.” Faramir had not been entirely certain he wanted to share this information for it put him in rather a bad light. He found, however, that he could not conceal it. The pleasure of having, at long last, a confidant temporarily overrode his desire to conceal his flaws.

“Why have these improvements not already been made on general principal.” Aragorn asked, taking his pipe from his mouth as he was broken from his reverie.

“Ah well,” Faramir had known the question must come but he still flushed. “My lord Denethor has not had time to review my- the proposal.” Aragorn, pipe in hand waited for Faramir to continue. The younger man wilted under the look of gentle inquiry and admitted: “I- I am afraid I lack the initiative to begin the project on my own authority.” It sounded pathetic even to Faramir and the young man cringed to think that Aragorn must now see him as a coward. Aragorn only nodded, though, inviting Faramir by a gentle pressure on the young man’s shoulder to move still closer.

“Do you know why goods are so expensive to produce in Khand?” Aragorn’s question startled Faramir a little for he had been silently pledging that he would take the next opportunity to institute reforms in the treasury and brave Denethor’s anger.

“The land is arid and inhospitable.” The first answer came quickly to Faramir but he added after a moment’s thought. “Raiders, either orcs or men from other tribes, make farming much less profitable.”

“Yes, but what you said of the accounting practices in the treasury brought to my mind that I never saw, in my time in Khand, an efficient method of irrigation. I know very little of agronomy but I know that the Rohirim use techniques of crop rotation and tilling that I never saw practiced in Khand.” As Aragorn spoke his fingers idly caressed Faramir’s shoulder causing the younger man to wonder at how easily the ranger could stimulate both his mind and body.

“The trick would be to convince the Khandrim to accept help. Men can be unreasonably attached to tradition, though such an attachment may do more harm than good.” So saying Aragorn looked into Faramir’s adoring eyes and had to smile. What mystery of the human imagination made this beautiful, intelligent man think he, a ranger out of the wilderness, would be a good king?

“It is wisdom to cleave to the tradition that inspires nations and gives identity to a people. Some traditions might have nothing to recommend them but the comfort of familiarity but I would give my life to keep Gondor true to the glory and promise of the past.” Faramir had clearly understood the thought behind Aragorn’s smile and the energy and vigor with which the younger man reaffirmed his allegiance took the ranger by surprise.

“Khand is rich in tradition.” Faramir resumed thoughtfully, after a moment. “The region is filled with history. Often my tutors have lamented that so much of that history could not be closely studied because the shadow in the east kept all but the very bravest away. If Gondor sent a few research expeditions to Khand, paying of course for the privilege, then the visiting scholars could set up outposts near the poorer tribes and model all the technical advances in farming. In time the outposts could become centers of trade.” Faramir had spoken as the thoughts occurred and he looked to Aragorn with a mix of hope and anxiety. He was used to thinking everything through carefully before saying it aloud and he was a bit worried about having omitted to thoroughly edit his ideas.

“What is more,” Aragorn took up where Faramir had left off, finding the younger man’s ideas fraught with possibilities. “Your scholars will need at least a small contingent of armed men to protect them. The presence of Gondorhim soldiers will add stability to the surrounding communities and discourage raiders.”

“Yes, yes and my lord Denethor could be convinced to take on the expense on the grounds that having even a small military presence so far east would be a great advantage. Also while his lordship is not particularly fond of history in itself he has a passion for objects of power. He loves all the relics of magic in the city and is always on the watch for any item that can claim a legendary reputation. I will tell him that the `killing fist’ was given as a prize in a tournament and I feel sure he will be desperate to send a score of treasure hunters east.”

Faramir was too caught up in his enthusiasm to catch the momentary shadow of suspicion that fell across Aragorn’s features. The alarming idea, however, died nearly as quickly as it was born. If the ranger’s sudden intuition had been correct Faramir would certainly have known of it and Aragorn trusted Faramir. “I think, my dear, that you now have a plan of action.”

“Yes, my lord, thank you. It is a most excellent plan. I would have been at a complete loss without you. If I can convince a few of the tribes to host an historical expedition, I believe much good may be done.”

“It is your idea more than mine, sweetheart.” Aragorn averred before quickly changing the subject. He was afraid Faramir might insist upon arguing the respective contribution of each of them and Aragorn had no interest in such a discussion. “This morning I suggested you might wish to see more of the gathering. You have been kept from any entertainment in your meetings.”

“Yes, I have been looking forward all day to seeing the dancing that has been praised so highly.” Faramir was very pleased Aragorn still intended to take him exploring. He had feared that the idea had slipped the ranger’s mind and though Faramir would not have reminded Aragorn he would have been disappointed to miss the chance to see the Gathering through Aragorn’s eyes.

“We had best hurry then, as the evening proceeds the dancing becomes increasingly… unrestrained.”


The two men who left the Gondorhim camp a few minutes later walked close together, their cloaks pulled tight about them and the their hoods casting their faces in shadow. They might have been taken for ordinary soldiers ready to enjoy a bit of leave in a strange land. Faramir enjoyed the anonymity for himself but it was still difficult for him to see Aragorn overlooked and not take offense. Even so, nothing could overwhelm Faramir’s jubilation. It was like a holiday. Browsing passed the market stalls, being jostled by the crowds, smelling the air, thick with the scent of spices was a treat. Faramir felt sometimes that he lived in too rarefied a world, estranged from the vitality of the human spirit. Now though he felt the pulse of life and community all around him.

Not long after they had entered the bustle of the marketplace Aragorn had taken Faramir’s arm. A frisson of delight mixed with apprehension shook the younger man and he looked around quickly to observe the reactions of the crowd to such a show of affection. What he saw was that no one was paying them any mind. Indeed, there was nothing at all conspicuous in Aragorn’s gesture. Everyone seemed to be touching everyone. Men walked arm-in-arm. Women had their arms about one another. Children held hands. Shopkeepers touched hands with customers who did not even look likely to buy. It was as though all of Khand had taken up Flyn’s obnoxious habit of familiarity, only among the Khandrim there was nothing obnoxious in it.

It was well into evening before Aragorn and Faramir found themselves a comfortable place to view the dancers. Faramir had spent longer than he had anticipated at the shops. He had made a long list of diverse goods that he wanted his quartermaster to barter for the next day. He had also seen a beautiful white pelt that he had asked the merchant to put aside for him. The moment Faramir had seen the pristine white fur and touched luxuriant softness he knew it would make a perfect lining to a cloak for Boromir. Aragorn, though, there was little novelty for him in a Kandrhim marketplace was nonetheless pleased and entertained to watch Faramir enjoy himself so thoroughly.

The dancers, when the two men finally arrived at the pavilion where they were performing, certainly provided a riveting display. Faramir had never known the human body could move like that. The movements were suggestive but also graceful and elegant. The tall dark-haired women draped in bangles and long diaphanous robes provided a stark contrast to the rigidly formal, almost stilted dancing that one saw in Minas Tirith.

When a woman took the stage carrying a wicked looking scimitar and began undulating around the blade, Faramir suddenly recalled that he had not yet heard the details of Aragorn’s first round victory. Without completely taking his eyes from the swaying woman Faramir moved a little closer to the ranger, whispering: “You told me little of your combat this morning, my lord. If you will I would like to hear everything about how you vanquished your opponent.”

“Say `Strider’ Faramir. There is little of merit I could tell you. The lady is a better subject of your attention.” For a time, Faramir contented himself with this answer and lost himself in the impossible seeming motions of the dancers.

As the evening progressed, however, each dance became less suggestive and more demonstrative. The men around Aragorn and Faramir stamped their feet or stared with glazed eyes as the women’s performances moved from the subtle to the overt. The audience was becoming boisterous. there was loud overeager laughter and shouted comments the precise meanings of which Faramir’s tutors had neglected to teach him. Not even in the bawdy houses of Minas Tirith could one see such a brazen public performance. For a time, Faramir watched with curiosity but it was not long before his curiosity was satisfied. The vulgarity of the show no longer held his interest and he looked to Aragorn. When he saw that the ranger had also lost interest in the dancers, Faramir suggested timidly that it was time to move on. As soon as Aragorn and Faramir began making their way through the crowd their places were instantly claimed by another couple of men.

Now free of the spell of the dancers Faramir once again felt a great interest in his lord’s first combat of the tournament. He knew Aragorn was modest but Faramir found thoughts of his lord defeating foe after foe with indefatigable strength and grace not only fascinating but even arousing. “When will your next bout take place?” Faramir asked, hoping that he would soon have the chance to witness Aragorn in a mock battle.

“Midmorning tomorrow.” Aragorn answered. The air had grown chill since the sun had gone down but the heat of the day rose up from the earth keeping the temperature moderate. The ranger knew, though, that it would soon become cold and he thought how good it would be to share warmth with Faramir. He liked the image his mind conjured of Faramir’s slim body pressed along his. The two of them sheltering one another from the cold of the world beyond themselves. With these thoughts running through his mind the ranger stepped nearer Faramir and increased the strength of his hold upon the younger man’s arm. “Less and less time will separate each round as more and more contestants are eliminated. It is not unusual for the final three rounds to be held on the same day.”

“Will you not tell me a little of the combat this morning?” Faramir asked hoping that he was not annoying Aragorn by returning to the topic.

“I have little joy in the story, Faramir.” Aragorn sighed. He felt a guilt bordering on shame for what he had done that morning and his sense of self-disgust made him drop Faramir’s arm. The younger man, however, interpreted this slight physical distancing as a grave reproof.

“I should not have pressed the question, forgive me.”

“Nay, it is reasonable for you to be curious. I am displeased with myself and it makes me disagreeable.”

“But, surely you can have no cause to be displeased with your own conduct.” Faramir suggested timidly, certain in his own mind that his king was incapable of wrongdoing.

“Well, you shall judge.” Aragorn finally answered taking a deep breath to speak of what had been troubling him. “I arrived before the appointed time of combat but my opponent had arrived first. I had the impression that he had been waiting quite a long time. The lad could have been little more than sixteen and he was plainly nervous. We introduced ourselves. Isu, the lad, was reserved at first. I did my best to put him at his ease, given that we soon must draw sword upon one another. His nervousness was palpably distressing. He could not long maintain his reserve and soon he was telling me everything about himself in an unstoppable rush of words.”

“Isu was the youngest of twelve children and clearly superfluous to his parents’ business interests and their affections. His hope was to secure a commission, see something of the world although providing for himself. He did ask if I harbored similar ambitions but he was too agitated to find fault with my very vague reply. Eventually a judge found us. The last contest he had witnessed had taken longer than expected and he apologized for being late. There was an end to conversation and Isu and I fought.”

“I took about ten minutes to gauge Isu’s speed and manner of movement without seriously engaging him. I believe he was attempting to assess me in like fashion but no one had ever told him to watch the shoulders and forget the nonsense about a man revealing his intentions in his eyes. Whatever the case, Isu’s stare never wavered from my face. The lad was not without innate talent. He was agile and there was strength in his movements but, gods, Faramir he was so young and most likely had never faced anything more menacing than a straw target.”

“He had no hope.” Faramir said gently. The younger man could hardly bring himself to regret that his lord had been in no danger but he did understand now some of Aragorn’s frustration. It had been hard luck for the lad.

“Not the least in the world.” Aragorn confirmed miserably.

“I cut him easily and the first bout ended. The second bout did not more than a couple of minute. I do not know if I did right to end it so quickly. Isu had enough inchoate talent to get a sense of it if I had played with him and there were among the observers enough veterans to know if I held back. I do not think there was anything I could have said or done to ease Isu’s sense of defeat but lieutenant Flyn happened to be by at the time and my attention was diverted.”

“It is a hard thing for Isu, certainly. But, had you not been there perhaps he would have faced another opponent far superior to him in skill, an opponent who would not have been as careful of him before or during the combat.”

“There is some comfort in that. Yet, it was I who defeated him. Such an early elimination from the tournament will surely reduce his prospects. I do not think he will be offered anything but a place in the common infantry where the men are neither well-trained nor given much opportunity for advancement.”

Now Faramir’s sense of justice was offended. The captain saw nothing to criticize in his lord, rather he was greatly impressed by Aragorn’s compassion toward one who would have been beneath the notice of many men much less exulted than Aragorn. Still Faramir was indignant that so much of a man’s future should be decided on so arbitrary a test of merit. “It would be more fair if an effort were made to match the skill level of the first round competitors. Or, better still, a man should not be eliminated until he had accumulated three losses at the hands of different opponents.”

Aragorn chuckled a little and to Faramir great happiness once more took the young man’s arm. “A worthy thought, my dear, but the tournament already taxes the organizational and administrative capacity of the sponsors nearly beyond endurance. It pleases me though to see your mind always bent on reform.”

Faramir could not help but feel immense pleasure at these words. The young man was by no means unsympathetic to the plight of Isu but it nonetheless thrilled him to have received Aragorn’s confidence. More than that Aragorn’s mood seemed to have lightened somewhat and while Faramir would never have claimed responsibility for the change he did feel as though he might have been at least a little help.

The two men had been strolling with no specific goal in mind for a while. Torches lined the more popular paths and there were still many people about. Faramir thought for a moment of returning to camp but he knew Flyn was still out and that the first thing the lieutenant would do upon returning was report. Thus, if he and Aragorn returned now Faramir suspected he would be in no state to receive any report by the time Flyn made his officious intrusion. More than that, though, Faramir was quite happy to have such public proof of Aragorn’s affection. It was wonderful that he and Aragorn were together where the world could see. It was true that they were in a foreign nation and Aragorn had disguised his identity but Faramir did not allow this to dampen his spirits. This would be a memory he would cherish forever, this easy, comfortable, companionable time spent with his beloved beneath the starlight.

Of a sudden, an idea occurred to Faramir and he unconsciously tightened his grip upon Aragorn’s arm as the thought seized him. The ranger looked inquisitively at the younger man and smiled as he saw what he had already come to recognize as the creative spark light Faramir’s face. Content to let whatever idea had taken hold of his beloved have its will, Aragorn continued to move along supporting Faramir who had stopped paying attention to his surroundings. Quickly though, Faramir seemed to come to a stumbling block in his mental meanderings and he paused.

“What are you contemplating with so much fascination, dear-heart?” Aragorn inquired with amusement. His amusement quickly dissolved, however, as he saw that Faramir had become quite upset.

“My lord-”

“Strider.” Aragorn corrected automatically. There were none too overhear them but the ranger did not wish to encourage Faramir in that particular habit of address.

“Strider, may I ask something… a favor?”

“By all means.” Aragorn did not at all like the fearful look he saw in the younger man’s eye and he led him a little way from the path for the sake of greater privacy.

“If- when- if I do something wrong or if I displease you don’t, please don’t, punish me with coldness and silence and… and contempt. Do whatever else with me you will, I do not doubt I shall deserve severity but don’t cast me from your affection completely.” Faramir was visibly shaking and Aragorn drew him against his chest. He had no idea what had brought this on, but the torment and misery that such a request revealed twisted his heart.

“Faramir, darling, not for the wide world would I hurt you. Why would you think me capable of such a thing? You are far too good a man to inspire anything but love and admiration in any with either heart or mind.” Aragorn patted Faramir’s back as the younger man shivered against him. Again Aragorn felt the nearly irresistible compulsion to seek out the source of this terrible fear in Faramir and destroy it root and branch. With sudden sickening intuition Aragorn knew that Faramir had indeed been subjected to harsh discipline and worse yet the young man had preferred even this rough treatment being completely ignored. Aragorn seethed but he controlled it as best he could. Faramir no longer shook in his arms and when the young man looked up the ranger wanted nothing but love to show in his face.

“Thank you. You are good to me.” Faramir felt overwhelmed by the kindness in Aragorn’s expression when he managed to raise his head. He was unworthy of so much. For a moment he simply gazed into Aragorn’s eyes but then something changed in the ranger’s face. Faramir was confused a moment and then he, too, became aware of what had distracted the older man. He felt more than saw or heard a presence quite close by. Someone was watching them.


Carefully Aragorn began moving his hand to the hilt of his dagger. Faramir likewise was now on guard, slowly reaching for his own weapon. A shadow moved and as one Aragorn and Faramir leapt at the movement. Aragorn brought the hilt of his knife down hard into the intruder’s trapezeous muscle sending a shock wave of pain down his arm. Taking the opportunity this presented, Faramir took hold of the stranger’s temporarily stunned arm and twisted it up behind his back looping his own arm around the other man’s throat and squeezing enough to let the stranger know he had been thoroughly caught.

“Who are you?” Aragorn demanded menacingly.

“Peace Dunadan, I am a friend.”

Faramir’s alarm was increased rather than assuaged by the stranger’s use of the elvish word and he tightened his grip around his throat. Aragorn, though, seemed deeply surprised either at the man’s voice or words and he reached up to touch the stranger’s face. “Halbarad?” Halbarad meant to affirm his identity but the grip on his throat had grown ever tighter and he could not even nod.

“Faramir, this man is my kinsman and dear friend.” At these words Faramir released Halbarad’s wrist and throat. As soon as he was free, the man bowed to Aragorn pressing his hand to lips and forehead in the ranger’s own characteristic gesture. The next Faramir knew the two men had embraced. Aragorn laughed softly and clapped Halbarad on the back enthusiastically while Halbarad laughed and could not seem to decide whether he wanted to press Aragorn to him or hold the man at arm’s length and gaze at him in the weak light of the torches.

After the first joyful greeting Aragorn introduced Faramir. At his name and title Halbarad seemed too tense. He bowed low before Faramir and called him lord but the newcomer’s attempt to interpose himself between Aragorn and Faramir did not go unnoticed. “Halbarad, I trust Faramir. He knows of my family’s history and I know he will not betray me.”

Halbarad digested this information with more calm than Aragorn had expected. His eyes widened and for a moment his hand strayed to his weapon suspecting some incomprehensible danger at work but he overcame it quickly. He bowed again to Faramir, not so low this time but with greater sincerity. “Great faith has been shown in you, sir.”

“I will do whatever I must to be worthy of that trust.” Faramir replied, meeting Halbarad’s searching gaze steadily. After a few moments of intense scrutiny, Halbarad stepped back so that he was no longer blocking Faramir from Aragorn. Inclining his head, the captain of Gondor gratefully acknowledged the small gesture of acceptance.

Watching the scene intently, Aragorn was surprised that Halbarad had given in so easily. His friend could be obsessive about his chieftain’s personal safety and he was never happy unless Aragorn was thoroughly surrounded by dozens of the northern Dunedain. `Perhaps he senses something of Faramir’s goodness,’ Aragorn mused. Often people took Halbarad’s single-minded devotion to Aragorn amiss since Halbarad made little effort to be diplomatic when he was pursuing something in his lord’s cause but Faramir was nothing if not generous of spirit. Gazing fondly at the two men so close to his heart Aragorn allowed himself to hope that the two might, in time, become friends.

Before the silence could become awkward, Aragorn took Halbarad’s arm and reached for Faramir with his other hand as he guided both men. “I have had no word from you, Halbarad, and I assumed you had started moving west several weeks ago.”

“That was my intention but I was distracted. There is much I need to tell you but first you must tell me why you are here. I saw you this morning at the tournament. I could hardly believe my eyes. There were too many people about for me to approach you but I have been searching for you since then.”

“There is much I have to tell you too, but the short answer is that Gandalf has taken an interest in the `Killing Fist’ and I have come to claim it on his behalf.” They had reached the main path but Aragorn had, unaccountably, paused again.

“He asks too much of you. Let him fetch his own damn relic.” Halbarad groused, unconsciously pulling Aragorn a little closer. Responding to his friend’s solicitude with gentle affection Aragorn allowed Halbarad to hover protectively as he squeezed his arm.

Faramir was taken aback by the candor of the newcomer’s reply yet somehow it endeared Halbarad to him Halbarad’s manner was not at all like Faramir’s own and yet the captain sensed that at the core of his surliness was a deep and unalterable concern and reverence for Aragorn.

As these thoughts and others spun through his head Faramir realized that Aragorn had not yet resumed walking. A sudden idea occurred to the young captain and he began quickly: “May I suggest, gentlemen, that we retire to camp where you may discuss everything you wish at your leisure.”

“Thank you, Faramir, that sounds like an excellent idea.” Aragorn smiled. It grieved Faramir that Aragorn should believe that either he or his friend would need an invitation to anything the young captain possessed. Faramir would just have to try harder to show Aragorn that Faramir was completely loyal.

Chapter 7

When the group returned to camp, Flyn was waiting. Faramir was a little surprised to see him so soon and he told the lieutenant to wait a few minutes while he tried to convince Aragorn and Halbarad to avail themselves of his pavilion. Aragorn declined, preferring to let Halbarad have a meal- for Aragorn had noticed his friend looked pale, tired and even thinner than usual- then the two would talk as Halbarad explored the camp. Faramir wanted to insist but he could see how odd it would seem for him to relinquish the pavilion to two rangers. Unable to do more, Faramir instructed the quartermaster that Aragorn and Halbarad were to be given anything they needed. Then with one last apologetic look at Aragorn, he called to Flyn and went off to receive the lieutenant’s report. As the first taste of stew that touched his tongue Halbarad felt himself go light-headed. He had forgotten that he had a body and that it needed regular feeding. Aragorn sat near him watching with tender concern as his friend lifted the spoon to his lips. Halbarad knew he would have to be careful. Though ravenous hunger surged through him, Halbarad suspected that if he did not eat slowly he would end by vomiting up the first decent food he had had in weeks. Then, Aragorn would grow stern and serious and Halbarad would find himself confined to his blankets, while mankind’s hope for the future crooned over him feeding him spoonfuls of porridge. Halbarad would not let that happen and so exerting all his self-control he sipped at the rich broth, counting to five between each mouthful.

Aragorn waited until Halbarad had finished eating before saying anything. It grieved him to see his friend so obviously starving and exhausted. He was too happy at their reunion, though, to raise Halbarad’s ire by insisting he take better care of himself. For some reason Halbarad believed that any time Aragorn spent looking after him was time wasted. This was especially incomprehensible to the northern chieftain since Halbarad doted on Aragorn like a mother with her babe. When Halbarad had made it through bowl of stew and declined a second helping, not sure if his digestion was up to it, Aragorn gave him a full account of all that had happened on the journey to Khand and at the gathering.

After Aragorn had told him everything Halbarad sat for a moment chewing his lip. His chieftain recognized the gesture and waited patiently for his friend to formulate his comments. “This Faramir, this son of Denethor, he loves you?”

“Yes.” Halbarad nodded at the reply unsurprised.

“You love him, too?”

“Yes.” Halbarad nodded again. Unconsciously, his face had grown grim.

“Do not tell me you object, my friend.” Aragorn sounded amused. It was not in Halbarad’s nature to disapprove or second guess anything his lord did. Indeed, if Aragorn announced that he had his heart set on marrying Elbereth then Halbarad would have begun helping him plan the courtship while still thinking in his heart of hearts that the Vala wasn’t really good enough for him.

“Of course not!” Halbarad snorted. “It seems to me though that you have so little time that you may spend with Elrond’s daughter and I foresee that you will have even less time to spend with Denethor’s son and I would prefer to see those you choose to love always at your side.”

“I have you, do I not.” Aragorn answered, putting an arm about Halbarad and pulling him into a quick hug. “Besides, there may come a time when I may have all the time I could wish with both Arwen and Faramir.”

Halbarad perked up at this. He liked hearing Aragorn speculate about a future where he could once again reclaim all that was his. This thought though quickly reminded Halbarad of something else he wished to say. “What does Gandalf find so very important about this gauntlet that he thinks it is worth your time?”

“He believes the relic still contains magic and he wishes to study it.” Aragorn replied. He did not tell Halbarad that Gandalf had also wished to encourage a friendship between Faramir and himself for he knew Halbarad would bridle at what he would see as interference.

“Sometimes I wonder about that wizard’s priorities.”

“Halbarad, Gandalf has been fighting the dark lord for centuries beyond counting. I think he knows what he is doing.” Aragorn was serious but he found there was not the least sting in his words. He was far too pleased to see Halbarad again for even a mild reproof. Sensing his advantage and overjoyed to find his lord in such a happy mood, Halbarad hid a grin behind his hand.

“Tell me of yourself, then. Since my own mission strikes you as so very inessential.” Aragorn demanded, feeling that he had been more than generous in allowing Halbarad to collect and organize his thoughts.

“I have had a very odd experience.” Halbarad complied, sobering immediately. “I was content to believe it meaningless, although finding you here I cannot help but suspect that there is something sinister at work.” All banter forgotten, Aragorn listened to Halbarad with all his attention.

“I was nearly ready to leave Khand, as you know. I had put in a good six months and I was ready to return west, but a story reached me before my departure of a living skeleton haunting the caves around a small lake- oh about- twenty miles northeast of here. It did occur to me that it might be that creature Gandalf is always on about. At the very least, it was worth investigating. Delaying my departure, I traveled to the area. The local villagers convinced me that there was something there and some people claimed to have heard a wretched howling coming from the caves. A few said there were two creatures but most claimed that the sounds of a second condemned soul were only an echo.”

“I went to explore the caves. It was a good hiding place for their was a vast network of intersecting underground passages. They ran beneath the lake and everything was covered in wet and slime. I spent a long time underground. If I was quiet I could hear the creature scrabbling along the rock. Sometimes I was sure the thing was not more than a hundred yards ahead of me. The creature appeared to live on fish when it could get it, otherwise it relied on worms and insects. I pursued him as best I could in the near darkness but there came a time when, in my haste and frustration, I neglected caution.”

“I was climbing up a small incline into a new series of caves, when rocks poured down on me from above. The creature had lured me in and I was helpless. A rock fell sharply against the back of my head then another collided against my shoulder. The wall was slick and I lost my hold. I woke with a terrible throbbing in my head and shoulder but, in truth, I was grateful to be alive. The creature must have come to inspect his handiwork for my pack had been taken, my cloak and weapons were also gone. I checked and found that I still had the knife in my boot but I had no food, no sword and no blanket.”

“I was in no condition to continue the pursuit so I tried to return along the way I had come. I often felt dizzy and light headed from the blow to my head and that must have affected my judgement for I took several wrong turns. I emerged finally into the daylight very pleased to be alive. Apparently the creature had been frightened off by my pursuit and the villagers gave me credit for ridding them of the menace. I was glad for they were generous with me given what little they had. The next day I started for the gathering, so that I could make a report and make plans to leave this country.”

“That does indeed seem to match all that Gandalf has said of Gollum.” Aragorn said, wishing Halbarad had not undertaken to follow the creature by himself. “He should be easier to track to his next hiding place since the trail is so fresh. You have made my task much easier, though I would have preferred that you only had mentioned the rumor you heard and then returned west after you had completed your own mission.”

Halbarad did not comment on this. The capture of Gollum was another task he wished Gandalf had never mentioned to Aragorn. Though Halbarad would have denied it strenuously, he was a little resentful of Gandalf. To his mind, the wizard imposed far too much upon his friendship with the Dunedain chieftain. Halbarad would have been happy to do all the wizard’s legwork if it would spare Aragorn being importuned.

“When you go to track him I will go with you. He is a sneaky little menace. While there are two of us he shall not be able to take us unawares.”

“We shall see.” Aragorn wanted Halbarad to go home. He had already done his part and more in regards to Gollum. “But you spoke of an odd experience. You did not mean the encounter with Gollum?”

“Nay, events did not proceed according to my plan after I left the village. I had not gone far when a half dozen Variag soldiers caught me. I suspected they would kill me and mostly I was embarrassed to have been such easy prey. Before one of their games actually proved fatal, however, another patrol happened along and ruined the fun. The next I knew I was hanging over someone’s saddlebow. I was taken to a much larger encampment of Variags than I had ever seen so far west- Do you know there are close to a 500 warriors sworn to Sauron less than ten miles from here?”

“I did not. All my reconnaissance has been limited to the gathering itself. You are not saying the Variags are poised to attack? No one would attack a gathering.” Aragorn had listened to Halbarad’s story with attention and deep sympathy. He knew his friend had had a very rough time and yet there was nothing of complaint in his story. He reported what he believed would be most relevant to Aragorn and downplayed his own hardship. The news of so many Variags so close was shocking.

“I don’t think they mean to attack the gathering. Such a thing would be pure anathema to any of Khandrim- And even if it weren’t the Variags would still need more than 500 men.” Halbarad added practically.

“What happened once you were taken into their camp.” Aragorn asked. Even though, Halbarad was here in front of him, whole if not altogether hale, Aragorn still felt suspense for his friend.

“Not much. I feigned unconsciousness for a while and it seemed to me the men who had captured me were in a great deal of trouble with their superiors. Water was eventually thrown in my face and I started spluttering in the common tongue. I had already given my first captors the idea that I had a very poor grasp of their language. I was, then, interrogated by someone of obvious authority. Well perhaps not interrogated exactly, I was asked who I was and what my business was. I said something banal about being `just a simple lad on his way to the great gathering to make his fortune.’ I expected to be slapped for not even bothering to be creative but to my surprise my interrogator nodded as though this was the answer he wanted.”

“‘You are a lucky little foreigner,’ the man told me with a faint smile. `Ordinarily we would already have cut you into so many pieces your own mother wouldn’t recognize you. Our captain, however, happens to believe strongly in an old tradition that demands that no man be harmed at the gathering or on his way there.’ I couldn’t believe him. I wondered if this was a new game where my hopes would be raised then dashed much to the amusement of all. But as I crouched in the puddle of water that had been thrown at me the man nudged me with his boot. `Run along, little foreigner. Don’t get caught again.’ I needed no more urging. I stood up and ran as fast as I was able. No one stopped me.”

“I was confused, though not at all displeased to be released. I thought the experience would be an interesting story suitable for mixed company but after arriving here and finding you… I am worried, Aragorn. Why did they let me go? What is it that I don’t understand?” Fear for his lord was clearly having working on Halbarad’s nerves. He felt frustrated. What he wanted more than anything was to hear that Aragorn was worried too and that they would be leaving tomorrow for Rivendell, just to be safe.

“It does seem strange but I do not see why it cannot be as you thought before. Surely you and I have seen enough in our time not to be surprised by the unpredictability of human nature.”

Halbarad took a deep breath trying to control his sense of urgent peril. “It occurs to me that there is a plot here. Somehow the dark lord and his minions are moving against you. I do not believe it is safe for you here.”

“‘Moving against me’? Halbarad, no one knows I exist. Certainly Faramir must be told about the large force of Variags outside the gathering but if there is some scheme it is much more likely to concern some matter between the tribes or even between the Variags and Gondor.”

“No one is supposed to know you exist but if you did exist then the enemy would certainly know a few things about you.” Halbarad paused a moment, metaphysics was not his strong point but he knew that Sauron would always carry a grudge. “For example, the dark lord would know that if an heir of Isildur lived he would be a tall, dark-haired, light-eyed man of the west. Perhaps he would also know that Isildur’s Heir would be preoccupied with his family’s honor, including all the various treasures of his House.”

“Halbarad, you are a tall, dark-haired, light-eyed man of the west. You could be Isildur’s Heir. You very nearly are. Yet by your own account, the Variags released you. If you are right and all these soldiers are skulking about seeking Isildur’s Heir why did they let you go? The Variags were probably only there to intimidate the other tribes.” Halbarad’s distress caused Aragorn too worry a little that Halbarad was more fatigued than he had let on.

“I don’t know, but my lord, I don’t trust it.”

“I have learned to respect your instincts, my friend, but I cannot flee from all danger. If there is some plan afoot then I want to know what it is. I do not like the idea of hiding from the unknown. Besides, I have undertaken a task and I mean to complete it.” Aragorn sensed that he was on the verge of becoming pig-headed regarding the gauntlet. Both Faramir and Halbarad had tried to dissuade him from pursuing it but both men, he knew, were over-careful of him. His own inclination had been against involving himself with the tournament but Gandalf had urged him. Now that he was committed, though, he would not abandon his task unless he were given clear evidence that the danger to him was real.

Halbarad knew Aragorn well and could see that his chieftain had dug in his heels and would remain in Khand. In truth, he had suspected it would be so. Aragorn was tenacious and Halbarad respected that. The decision had been made and now Halbarad would do all he could to be of use in whatever course his lord chose. Fully resigned to remaining at the gathering Halbarad set his mind the task of retrieving the `killing fist’ and bringing it safely home.

“You said Gandalf believed the gauntlet still had some magic in it. Do you know what kind, perhaps something capable of neutralizing five hundred enemy soldiers?” Halbarad suggested hopefully.

“No, from what Gandalf said the gauntlet did not seem overly powerful in itself, just a showy way of killing someone.” Aragorn replied.

“Did the wizard give you any indication of why he thought it was so important?” Halbarad wanted to know if this prize his lord was seeking would be of any benefit at all.

“He said it was of great symbolic importance. He said that a superstitious dread would surround the object and its wielder and that therefore it should not fall into the hands of the enemy.” Aragorn was aware that Halbarad would be even less impressed by Gandalf’s talk of symbolism than he himself had been and by the sound of his friend’s annoyed grunt he could tell that he was right.

“There will be time enough to discuss these matters later, Halbarad. The night grows late and I believe that you are in dire need of rest.” Aragorn announced. He was tired himself and did not know how Halbarad still managed to be coherent.

“I could do with some sleep.” Halbarad admitted. “Do you fight again tomorrow?”

“Yes, but Halbarad I want you to rest tomorrow. Do not worry about me. Take care of yourself. That is an order.” The two men stared at each other a moment and then Halbarad dropped his eyes.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Aragorn was very pleased to have his friend’s word and again he drew him into a hug. “I will tell Faramir of the Variags. Sleep well, my friend.”

“Good night, Aragorn.”


Faramir sat at his desk within his pavilion doing his best to draft a proposal for a historical expedition into Khand that would appeal to his father. He had spoken only a few minutes with Flyn. The man had reported that he had been very bored and that he had left as soon as he saw that the meeting was breaking up. Faramir suspected that Flyn had been the second one out the door, but he let it go. He had only intended to demonstrate Gondor’s interest in the meeting and his lieutenant had served that purpose. Now, though it was growing quite late, Faramir continued to work. In truth, he hoped Aragorn would come to him but he warned himself over and over not to expect it.

Despite his resolution to have no expectation when Faramir heard a soft scratching on canvas he jumped from his chair, grinning wildly. Running to the tent entrance, Faramir frantically smoothed down his hair and tried to slow the frantic beating of his heart. `It probably isn’t Aragorn’, Faramir told himself urgently, `do not hope’. Drawing aside the flap of canvas, all of Faramir’s anticipatory anxiety changed into relief and joy as Aragorn stood before him.

“I did not wake you?”

“No, no, I was working.” Faramir was unable to suppress his grin as he stood aside so Aragorn could come in. “How is your friend?”

“He will be better after a little rest and regular feeding.” Aragorn replied, drawing Faramir into a strong embrace. “He says that there are close to 500 Variag soldiers east of the gathering. It might be prudent to send a few scouts to confirm his report.”

“Do you imagine we will be attacked?” Faramir asked, instantly becoming serious though without extricating himself from Aragorn’s arms.

“I think it is unlikely but I would like to know their purpose and if any of the other tribes know they are there.” Faramir nodded in agreement as he tugged Aragorn toward the sprawl of cushions.

“You said you had work tonight, my dear, would you prefer that I go?”

“No! Please stay.” Faramir begged, imploring Aragorn with gentle, coaxing pressure to make himself comfortable.

“I want to stay.” Aragorn reassured Faramir, kissing his forehead before settling amid the scattered furs and pillows.

As soon as the ranger was at ease Faramir set to the task of removing his boots. For a moment the younger man feared Aragorn would try to dissuade him but after a second of hesitation Aragorn relaxed and allowed Faramir to do as he liked. Faramir took Aragorn’s now bare feet onto his lap and caressed them a while before asking quietly: “Are you certain you would not prefer to spend time with your friend. I understand that you have not seen each other for a while.”

“With a little luck Halbarad is oblivious to all company by now. He needs rest. I fear I have already kept him up too late talking.” Aragorn replied leaning forward and tugging Faramir forward until he had the younger man more or less on his lap. “My Halbarad is much like what you have told me of your Boromir. For he is all strength and ferocity but with those he cares for he is tender and protective. Further, he will not readily admit the strain his burdens place upon him. Nor does he allow himself to take all the comfort that is offered.”

Faramir lay his head on Aragorn’s chest, feeling the rumble of the ranger’s deep voice. If Aragorn had intended to choose words that would most quickly endear Halbarad to the young captain he could not have found better. Faramir had fought against it, but he had felt envious since Aragorn had introduced Halbarad as his dear friend and kinsman. He was not jealous. He did not begrudge Aragorn and Halbarad their friendship. He could not be so petty. When he thought of all the time, however, that the two had spent together, of everything Halbarad knew of Aragorn’s adventures, his tastes and preferences, of all the occasions Halbarad had been there to talk to Aragorn, comfort him, share his troubles and defend him from all that threatened him it made Faramir mournful and discontent.

“You will like Boromir when you meet him.” Faramir said, trying to move closer to Aragorn though he was already pressed firmly against the older man.

“I know I will. Your affection for him is the highest recommendation.” Cradling Faramir’s head in his hands Aragorn kissed him, then. The younger man responded eagerly, moaning softly as the kiss deepened.

As their tongues danced together, Faramir ran his hands up and down Aragorn’s back. When the kiss ended, Faramir still panting, let his head drop onto Aragorn’s shoulder. Not quite sure what he intended, the younger man took a fold of the ranger shirt in his teeth and sucked at it. He made a soft mew as he tasted Aragorn’s sweat in the rough cloth. Letting go of the fabric, Faramir turned his head and rubbed his cheek over the place he had just tasted.

While the ranger gently kneaded Faramir’s neck and scalp, the younger man started moving his head towards the collar of Aragorn’s shirt. He sent his tongue questing between the buttons holding the collar closed until he finally tasted the warm flesh beneath the cloth. Faramir pushed harder into the little gap, his tongue licking avidly. The small hollow at the base of the ranger’s throat filled Faramir with insatiable craving. Soon the buttons gave way beneath Faramir’s insistence but Aragorn’s torso still remained covered. Unable to force the fabric to part further Faramir made a small frustrated noise.

Both amused and aroused, Aragorn eased Faramir back a bit then pulled his own shirt over his head. As Aragorn’s muscled chest and abdomen were revealed, Faramir smiled broadly. Licking his lips, he threw himself on Aragorn once more. Kisses rained down upon the ranger with intermittent contributions from Faramir’s smooth tongue. Aragorn groaned softly as Faramir found his nipple and began earnestly suckling. As his breath came harder Aragorn began making attempts to remove Faramir’s shirt. The young man assisted as best he could without pausing in his adoring ministrations. When his collar had been loosened and his arm carefully extracted from his sleeves the shirt hung loosely about Faramir’s neck. Aragorn had to insist before Faramir would lean back and allow the garment to be removed. As soon as the shirt was over Faramir’s head, however, the younger man returned to his task.

Faramir felt starved and only touching and tasting his beloved Aragorn could fill him. He took strength and energy from the man and he craved more even as he felt himself being restored. Aragorn’s hands played over his back and Faramir lowered his head trailing wet, sucking kisses down to his navel. After licking several slow, broad circles around Aragorn’s navel Faramir’s tongue dipped in. Aragorn groaned softly in response. The combination of Faramir’s hair trailing softly across his belly, the rough scrape of his beard and the attentive sweetness of his mouth were having a profound effect on the ranger.

The pace of Faramir’s worshipful exploration had slowed considerably as the young man moved lower down Aragorn’s body. It was as though the first wave of intense hunger had passed and now Faramir was savoring everything. When Faramir lowered his head again he encountered the top of Aragorn’s trousers. This barrier seemed to confuse him a little. The young man bit at the leather belt around Aragorn’s waist and the picture of Faramir holding the soft leather in his teeth made Aragorn catch his breath. Hearing the change in his beloved’s breathing Faramir looked up at Aragorn with questioning yet hopeful eyes, wanting to go further but feeling the need for explicit permission.

“What do you want, kitten?” Aragorn asked stroking Faramir’s hair.

“I want to taste you.” Faramir dropped a soft kiss on the bulge in Aragorn’s trousers. “Please.”

“I think you have nearly consumed me entirely, my love.” So saying he pulled Faramir up along his body until he could claim the younger man’s mouth. Still kissing, Aragorn guided Faramir hands to his belt and the laces of his trousers and as Faramir eagerly began undressing him the ranger started work on the remainder of Faramir’s clothing.

Leaning back on his elbows, Aragorn allowed Faramir to slowly drag his trousers down his hips and thighs and off his legs. Faramir’s every movement was slow and gentle. His expression betrayed his wonder that he should be gifted with any knowledge of the man before him. Finally, when Aragorn lay fully revealed and Faramir’s own trousers had fallen passed his hip, Faramir, supporting himself on knees and elbows lowered his head over Aragorn’s groin.

Aragorn could not contain a soft cry as Faramir’s mouth closed over the tip of his erection. Light blue eyes focused instantly upon his face but seeing only pleasure Faramir returned his attention to the rigid flesh between his lips. He sucked gently and used his tongue to probe beneath the foreskin. Aragorn’s thighs were against Faramir’s chest and the younger man could feel the slight tremors run through the taut muscles in response to his action.

Releasing the head of Aragorn’s erection, Faramir licked the shaft up and down, from base to tip and back. He loved the feel of the hot skin as he slid his tongue along it. Carefully so as not abrade the sensitive flesh, he took hold of the thick shaft and pressed the highest part of his cheek to it. Faramir made a small groan as he felt Aragorn’s penis against his face. All of the caresses that Faramir had so lovingly delivered had caused at least as much pleasure and excitement to burn through the younger man as the older and Faramir felt a sweet ache building in his groin. Forced to squeeze his eyes tightly shut as his body was seized by a paroxysm of passion, Faramir readjusted his position so he could stroke his own pulsing shaft as well as attend to Aragorn.

Unable to hold back any longer Faramir took Aragorn as deep into his mouth as he could. Even as the tip nudged at the back of his throat, Faramir realized there was much more of Aragorn for him to take within himself. Drawing in a deep breath, Faramir tried to let Aragorn fill his throat. For a moment, it seemed to work but then reflex took over and Faramir had to pull away quickly. He coughed and tears stung his eyes:

“I’m sorry.” Faramir managed to exclaim through the spasms in his throat.

“No, sweetheart. Be easy” Aragorn comforted, sitting up and caressing Faramir’s back. His voice was a gravelly mix of concern and desire. “It isn’t necessary for you to try to do that, Faramir. You already feel so good.” Faramir’s cough quickly subsided but the younger man could not help but feel disappointed. He had wanted to be able to take all Aragorn could give him, to be strong enough and skillful enough to fully satisfy his beloved lord. He could not do it though and he felt keenly the metaphorical implications of his failure.

“You must not stop, my love. I need you.” Aragorn called softly seeing the look of dejection descend over the younger man’s features. “Will you deny me more of the great pleasure I always find in you.” Aragorn had difficulty understanding why his beautiful Faramir had such unreasonable expectations of himself or why any perceived inability to meet those unreasonable expectations filled him with such despair, but Aragorn loved and appreciated the younger man and he really didn’t give a damn if Faramir managed to swallow him on his first try or not.

At such prompting Faramir could not do otherwise but abandon all thought of his own inadequacy and return to giving everything he could to Aragorn. The avid intensity of Faramir’s lips, mouth and tongue soon had Aragorn groaning softly and clutching Faramir’s shoulder. Just as the pleasure grew past bearing, Aragorn called out Faramir’s name and then climaxed, falling back onto the cushions breathless and thoroughly contented.

As soon as Faramir felt Aragorn tense, he sealed his lips around his shaft. As the hot jet of his beloved’s release spilled into his mouth, Faramir climaxed with a muffled groan. Light-headed with his own orgasm, the young man swallowed the faintly bitter but altogether pleasing liquid, attempting to coax every drop from Aragorn’s spent penis. A few drops of seed had escaped Faramir’s lips, however, and he gathered the errant drops on his fingers and licked them clean before moving up to lie beside Aragorn.

“I love you.” Faramir whispered covering Aragorn’s shoulder with kisses.

“I love you, too.” Aragorn replied. Then he turned so that he was braced above Faramir looking down on the younger man. “I think, though, that now it is time for me to taste you, kitten.” So saying, Aragorn moved down to Faramir’s belly where his own release had spilled and proceeded to clean the flat surface of Faramir’s stomach with long strokes of his tongue. Faramir sighed, happily at the sensation feeling as satisfied as though he were indeed a cat who had gotten into the cream.


A short while later, Faramir lay curled in Aragorn’s arm. He had been thinking of Halbarad and of Boromir. Faramir had spoken of his brother often. He had wanted to share Boromir, who was so very important to him, with Aragorn. Now Faramir found himself growing increasingly curious about the details of Aragorn’s own family. He had been on the verge of asking several times but always something seemed to intervene before he could formulate a question. The appearance of Halbarad had reminded Faramir that he was woefully ignorant about the people that were important to Aragorn.

“You said Halbarad was your kinsmen, are you close kin?” Faramir asked turning in Aragorn’s arms so that he could face the man.

“He is the closest kin I have living. He is my second-cousin, though he is as a brother to me.” Aragorn answered drawing `harma’, a quendi letter that also meant `treasure’ on Faramir’s shoulder with one finger.

“I am grieved you have no close living relatives.” Faramir whispered. He could not help but feel the loss of his mother had damaged his family in ways beyond his ability to understand. He had little memory of his mother but Boromir told him often that she had lived for her children. Sometimes Faramir suspected, though, that Boromir did not remember their mother very well either but told stories he thought would encourage his younger brother. Faramir was never sure.

“My father died before I was old enough to know him. My mother lived to see me grow to manhood, though in all the time I knew her there was never joy in her heart.” Speaking of his mother always saddened Aragorn so he altered the conversation a little. “After my father’s death I was sheltered by the elves of Rivendell. I grew up calling Lord Elrond’s sons my brothers.”

Faramir’s eyes widened appreciably at this information and he exclaimed: “It is like a fairytale.” Aragorn chuckled and told Faramir a little of his life in Rivendell. The younger man was enchanted but something puzzled him in Aragorn’s accounts and finally he was able to identify it.

“You speak of teachers, tutors and mentors but had you no playmates?” Faramir hoped he was not being presumptuous but the first image that had come into his head when Aragorn spoke of being raised among the Rivendell elves was of a beautiful dark haired child throwing a snowball at a fair-haired companion and laughing as he ducked behind a tree to avoid retaliation.

“There have been no elflings for many years.” Aragorn responded with a gentle smile. “Elrond thought it best to keep my heritage as close a secret as possible. I was not told whose son I was until I was twenty and no dunadan, man or boy was allowed near me.”

The image in Faramir’s mind abruptly shifted and now the beautiful dark-haired child walked alone and unsmiling through the cold of a snowy forest. Faramir felt the profound loneliness of such a child and he had to turn his head lest Aragorn sense something of his thoughts.

“Are you imagining something tragic, my love?” Aragorn inquired, kissing Faramir’s hair. “Pray, do not. If I lacked for playmates I did not want for kindness. Besides, no matter their age elves always retain something childlike; only do not say so to my brothers or they will sulk.”

Faramir managed a smile at this and Aragorn kissed him. The kiss began with tenderness but grew increasingly impassioned. Faramir twisted until he was fully beneath Aragorn, then he wrapped his legs about the older man. Aragorn grunted as Faramir’s wriggling fanned the flames of his renewed arousal. Breaking the kiss, the ranger looked down and saw the eager expectation on Faramir’s face.

“May I make love to you, my Faramir?”

“Yes, always yes.” Faramir answered with no hesitation. “I love you. I love the way you make me feel and I love myself when you love me.” The younger man seemed to glow with happiness. He wanted- needed to be with Aragorn forever. Faramir did not know how he would bear their parting. He did not doubt that destiny was at hand. These were the last days of the third age and the fourth age would begin with the renewal of the land, a bright hope for the future and the king’s return to his people. All this would happen and soon but how could Faramir endure the waiting?

“Ah Faramir, Faramir.” Aragorn could not find words for what the younger man made him feel. He did not dare try for fear of invoking ancient and dangerous magic.

Aragorn quickly retrieved the salve he had used the day before and gently urged Faramir over onto his stomach. The younger man lay on his belly, opening his legs and giving Aragorn such a look of love and trust that Aragorn’s mouth went dry. Faramir was more relaxed than yesterday and was able to remain relatively still with only the occasional shiver. He accepted Aragorn’s fingers readily, relaxing into the intrusion and sighing into his folded arms.

Sweat dripped from Aragorn’s brow with the effort of self-restraint as much as from excitement. Faramir was taking three of his fingers and the man was deliberately clenching his muscles around them trying to hold them in. It was driving Aragorn mad with lust. Removing his fingers from the tight heat of Faramir’s body Aragorn gripped the younger man’s hips lifting him up onto his hands and knees. Eagerly Faramir took up the new position.

“Ready?” Aragorn questioned, grinding against Faramir’s backside and eliciting a needy whimper from the younger man.

“Yes!” Quickly Aragorn slathered oil over his erection then pushed inside Faramir. Moaning as the slender body opened to him, Aragorn held Faramir’s hips tightly and waited.

Dropping down onto his elbows, Faramir surrendered to the exquisite pleasure. As the intensity of feeling diminished slightly, Aragorn began to move. Faramir found that Aragorn could move into him with greater strength in this position and the younger man thrilled to the deep thrusts, pushing his hips back to meet Aragorn. He heard Aragorn groan behind him and the sound made him push back even harder. He wanted to be claimed with all the power within his beloved lord even if the claiming left him wounded. Faramir didn’t know what it was inside himself that made him tremble with pleasure but as Aragorn angled himself to graze that place with each vigorous thrust Faramir knew he would not last long.

Aragorn was biting his lip hard. Faramir was a vice of heat. The temptation to abandon himself to the simple need to possess, the desire to dominate was eating away at his self-control. Unbelievably, Faramir’s body seemed to tighten around him even further and with another heartfelt groan Aragorn took Faramir’s leaking erection into his fist. Faramir could not withstand so much and crying Aragorn’s name, he spent himself. Rapping his arms around Faramir’s waist Aragorn supported him for the space of a few final thrusts before orgasm took him and he lowered Faramir gently to the ground then rolled heavily onto his back. Starry-eyed Faramir still managed to curl tightly into Aragorn’s side draping an arm over his chest as their heavy breathes mingled.


Having woken first, it was now Aragorn’s opportunity to observe Faramir in sleep. The young man was classically beautiful. His face could have served as a model for a young god of music or poetry. He seemed somehow more remote, though, in sleep. Aragorn loved to watch curiosity play over his beloved’s features. He liked to watch creativity sparkle in his eyes and see the love shine from his features. Even the little frown of worry that Faramir often wore could be charming, assuming Aragorn always had the power to banish it. More time than he had realized had passed in contemplation of his lover and Aragorn suddenly becoming aware of himself, quickly rose and dressed.

He had just finished putting on his boots when Faramir, naked and with his hair mussed from sleep, came and put his arms about his waist. “Good morning.” Aragorn greeted returning the hug.

“Good morning.” Faramir replied. “Are you going so soon? I should not have slept so late.”

“That seems to be a habit of Khandrim nobility. In courtesy you should imitate their custom.” Aragorn joked but then said seriously: “I would not have left without waking you, but I think you have cause enough to be a little weary.”

“I have less cause than you. And you will fight this morning whereas I will only talk.” Faramir answered, giving Aragorn a final squeeze before finally letting him go. The younger man was sorry to lose any time with the ranger even to sleep.

“I still contend that mine is the easier task. Besides despite my earlier start I hope to return by noon whereas you, my love, will have a much longer day. I will check on Halbarad and then I must be off.” Aragorn kissed Faramir before leaving and the younger man was on the point of following just to keep the ranger in his eye a few moments longer but then he recalled he had not yet dressed. Blushing, faintly, Faramir went in search of his trousers.


After Aragorn had left, Faramir quickly washed and dressed. The meetings did not resume for several hours but the captain had several things he wished to accomplish before he started making proposals to the Khandrim. Leaving his tent, Faramir ate breakfast at the cook’s pavilion, making light conversation with the men who had also gathered there for their morning meal.

Seeing Gidel, however, Faramir bid his companions good day and signaled the lieutenant to join him a little away from the others. After an exchange of greetings, Faramir announced that he wanted to see both Gidel and Flyn at their earliest convenience. This prosaic summons had a most disconcerting affect upon Gidel. There was a moment’s silence then the man seemed to pull himself together as he attempted something like his usual businesslike tone. “Yes, sir. Unfortunately, Lieutenant Flyn is not in camp at present.”

“Where is he?” Faramir asked after a brief pause to make sure there was no additional information voluntarily forthcoming.

“At the gathering, sir.”

“He is not on leave, is he?” Faramir put the comment in the form of a question but he had looked at the schedule just last night and he remembered clearly the times when he would be without either lieutenant.

“Not as such, no sir.”

“Why isn’t he here then?” Faramir was growing annoyed. He didn’t like having to act like an interrogator with someone whose purpose was to keep him informed.

“He went to oversee some of the lads, sir. He… he said that he took it very much to heart, sir, what you said about us representing Gondor and… and he said he wanted to make sure that everything was all right, that everyone was behaving themselves, sir.”

Faramir thought about this a moment and decided it didn’t sound very much like Flyn. It was clearly time for the captain to have a talk with his lieutenant. Faramir did not look forward to the prospect but it needed to be done. Flyn needed more supervision than Faramir had been giving him. Faramir could not entirely suppress a tiny feeling of personal betrayal. He did not begrudge Flyn a few hours of free time. If he had been asked he would have consented but Faramir couldn’t allow his men to come and go as they pleased.

“When do you anticipate his return?”

“I couldn’t say, sir?”

“Very well.” Faramir sighed, quickly adjusting his plans to this contingency. “Listen, lieutenant. I have heard from a very reliable source, that there is a large troop of Variag warriors not far east of the gathering. As soon as lieutenant Flyn returns, I would like him to take several men and investigate. He it to be careful not to be seen, but I would like as much information as he can gather. All right?” Faramir had considered giving the mission to Gidel but while Flyn was certainly moody and inclined to a certain laziness, he was able to think fast on his feet and he was undeniably sneaky. Gidel was stolid and dependable. The sort of man Faramir felt he could depend upon to command the camp in his absence.

“Yes, sir.”

“Lieutenant.”

“Sir?”

“In future neither you nor lieutenant Flyn are to leave this camp without my express permission. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”


Halbarad sat playing cards with a few of the Gondorhim soldiers. He had let it be known without saying specifically that he was a former travelling companion of Strider’s. The two old friends had met by chance at the gathering and with Captain Faramir’s permission Strider had offered his fellow ranger hospitality. Halbarad also allowed the men to infer that Strider had found him somewhat down on his luck and in rather urgent need of a meal. It was not far from the truth after all. The Gondorhim tended to be polite and the advantage was that Halbarad would not have to answer too many question if it was thought these questions would embarrass him.

It had not been easy for Halbarad to watch Aragorn go off alone to the tournament earlier that morning. He knew his chieftain exposed himself to greater perils all the time but that was somehow different than actually having to see it happen. Halbarad consoled himself, though, with the thought that the tournament was not truly dangerous and that while Aragorn fought he could make himself useful having a few amiable chats with the Gondorhim. It was a matter of great interest to Halbarad what Faramir’s men thought of their commander and he intended to learn all he could.

It was not that Halbarad distrusted Faramir. From what little he had seen he was inclined to think well of the young man. Still, Faramir was important to Aragorn and that meant Halbarad would not be satisfied until he knew a great deal more about the Steward’s younger son. Nothing, Halbarad had heard so far gave him any cause for distress. In general, Faramir was well-liked. His men thought him fair and consistent which was remarkable in one so young. He had a good reputation in Ithilien but none of the men with him had seen him command a battle and that was always the important test for any commander

It was upon the point of battle command that there was some minor disagreement between the younger men and the veterans. The younger men believed that in any battle situation they would much prefer to be led by Lord Boromir. The veterans while not disputing the great Lord Boromir’s prowess insisted that there was something to be said for the more thoughtful generals. “You don’t see the quiet ones coming but then their like machines, grinding the enemy into dust. That’s how I think it would be with our captain.” This comment was quickly answered by a man on the opposite side of the question and Halbarad studied his cards and listened.

Suddenly one of the men asked loudly when the watch would change and this new topic was taken up so quickly and so universally that Halbarad knew without looking that Faramir was approaching. He was proven correct the next moment as the men called out courteous greetings to their commander. Faramir responded in like fashion before asking if Halbarad would speak with him. Surprised but not displeased Halbarad revealed his cards to the other players. “Your luck, lads.” Relieved grins were exchanged among the other players. The game had not been for money. The Stewards had consistently frowned upon gambling but the practice could not be eradicated entirely especially from the army and the game had been for points. These points were a matter of great pride and importance to the Gondorhim soldiers and everyone was genuinely pleased Halbarad had not had the chance to play out his hand.


“May I be of some service to you, Captain?” Halbarad inquired after following Faramir from the card game.

“I would beg a favor of you, if I may.” Faramir felt nervous. He wanted Halbarad to like him and he was not sure asking the man for help was the best way to accomplish that. Still, Halbarad was best qualified for the task Faramir had in mind and he hoped Halbarad would see the merit in the idea.

“I would readily do you any service. However, should this favor require too much exertion then I am duty-bound to refuse. I have been given the strictest orders to imitate an invalid. Until the order is removed, it may be that I will not be able to help you.” Halbarad smiled to show that while he meant to obey Aragorn’s repeated command that he `rest’ he did, at least, have a sense of humor about his enforced inactivity.

Faramir smiled in response though a bit timidly. “Well you shall be the best judge of whether this task will interfere with your orders.” Faramir then proceeded to tell Halbarad what was wanted. After Faramir had thoroughly explained the details, Halbarad took the commission gladly. He could not help but feel that Faramir had been very considerate and he was happy to be included.

“I am very grateful for your assistance. I will speak to the quartermaster then I must prepare for the meeting. Do you think it will take you long?”

“I doubt it. I hope to be back before my lord, for I think that would be best.” Halbarad replied.

“Yes, I think so, too. Thank you, very much.” Halbarad nodded in response and headed out toward the gathering.

Chapter 8

Aragorn was in a pleasant humor as he made his way back to camp. He had beaten his latest opponent without much effort. Though he took little satisfaction in the victory itself, he could not help but marvel that he was healthy, he had food and shelter, the sun shone brightly and it would not be too many hours more before he would once again be in the company of his very sweet Faramir. The sudden emergence of Halbarad the day before had instilled in Aragorn an especially keen sense of the reality of the great occurrences of this expedition. So much of Aragorn’s life was fragmented into disconnected shards. He moved from place to place and community to community with no true sense of a continuous home. Even in Rivendell there were so many parts of himself that had to remain hidden. There were a few people, though, who by their mere presence could knit together all the disparate series of incidents that made up his life and provide a sense of coherence and meaning. Halbarad was one such person and his miraculous attendance here just as Aragorn was discovering a deep and abiding love for Faramir struck Aragorn as great good fortune.

Trained to survive both the hostilities of nature and humankind, Aragorn did not lose himself so much to his pleasant musing that he forgot his surroundings. Approaching the perimeter of camp, Aragorn slowed to exchange a few friendly words with the sentry on duty. As he did so, however, he was surprised to notice that Gildel was pacing anxiously a few feet within the camp. Thinking that the young man on guard would be disinclined to banter with a nervous lieutenant right behind him Aragorn was on the point of quickening his step when Gildel himself hailed him.

“Strider, you’re back are you?”

“Indeed, good day to you, Lieutenant?” Aragorn would have continued on but Gildel touched his arm. Lifting a politely inquiring eyebrow, the ranger waited.

“You didn’t happen to see Flyn out there, did you?”

“I did not.” Aragorn answered somewhat surprised. He hadn’t remembered that Flyn had any leave time today. He was on the verge of asking what Gildel meant before he restrained himself. Flyn was not a model soldier but he couldn’t be really missing. This was probably just some administrative miscommunication. Aragorn would ask Halbarad if he had heard anything but make no further inquiry. He would just have to resist the urge to manage everything, especially here when Faramir would be willing to let him.

It took a visible effort for Aragorn to break from these thoughts, but any evidence of his wandering ideas was lost on Gildel who had already shifted his gaze toward the Gathering. Wishing, the lieutenant a good day once again, Aragorn left the soldier to his watch.


The sight of the young man before him, equipped with his newly issued short sword and buckler could not help but please Halbarad. It had been simple enough to fulfill Captain Faramir’s commission: Find Aragorn’s first round opponent and offer him a place in the army of Gondor. The most difficult part of the mission had been finding the youth. Having been eliminated so quickly Isu had not hoped to be sought after and instead had gone from tribe to tribe hoping to find a lord who had at least some care for his infantry. The lad had little success and had been plaintively pleading his case with a burly sergeant of the M’lik tribe when Halbarad found him.

The sergeant was having a bit of fun at the youth’s expense and it was with great satisfaction that Halbarad intervened. The thought of traveling to a strange western land, where everyone was rumored to have extraordinarily peculiar grooming habits, meant nothing to Isu as he accepted Halbarad’s offer with nearly pathetic gratitude. Halbarad did his best to leave the confused sergeant with the idea that he had just lost out on a fabulous opportunity before leading Isu back toward Faramir’s camp.

They had not traveled far before Isu’s curiosity got the better of his determination not to question his good fortune and he addressed his guide nervously. “Sir, why choose me when others have already achieved more in the tournament?”

Halbarad, who approved of curiosity in small amounts, hid his grin as he prepared to impress upon Isu the great honor and thus the great responsibility he had been given. “The man you fought in the tournament is a remarkable judge of men. Lord Faramir puts great faith in his opinion. It seems you are not completely without potential, young man and the lord Faramir wishes to see that that potential is not wasted.”

Isu was silent as his perceptions shifted to accommodate this new information. After a time Isu spoke again. “That tall stranger, he said I fought well?”

“He said you might fight well, if you work hard and do as you are told.” Halbarad corrected.

“Of course… I mean I will work very hard and do exactly as I am told.”

Taking his charge to the quartermaster Halbarad saw that Isu was properly kitted out and watched as the young man admired his new sword and traced the image of the white tree rather crudely drawn on the buckler. “You will have to wait for Lord Faramir to return before you may take the oath but you should get acquainted with your new comrades. An expression of fear replaced the look of wonder as the enormity of the changes that were about to occur in his life struck Isu with full force.

“They’re good lads. You will get on well enough.” Halbarad reassured patting Isu’s shoulder and preparing to lead him toward the center of camp. Before he could take a step, though, he heard his name called. Schooling his features to stillness Halbarad turned bringing Isu with him.

“Halbarad, I…” Aragorn broke off as he saw Isu accoutered as a soldier of Gondor. “You have been busy.” The ranger finally finished lifting an inquiring eyebrow at his friend.

“Master Strider,” Halbarad replied in the Khandrim language, struggling not to grin. “I was just about to show Gondor’s newest recruit around the camp and introduce him to the others. You two are already acquainted, though?”

“Indeed, I hope you will be happy here.” Aragorn responded, offering his hand to Isu, though he was still not entirely certain he understood.

“I will.” Isu responded a little breathlessly, touching Aragorn’s hand gently without grasping it. “Thank you. Thank you for being kind to me at the tournament. Thank you for speaking to Lord Faramir. Thank you.”

Once again Aragorn looked to Halbarad for an explanation and this time the other man relented answering in the Common Tongue. “You mentioned to Faramir that he might make a competent soldier and the captain wants men who know Khand’s language and customs.”

Grinning widely, Aragorn reached over and gave Halbarad a quick one-armed hug before returning his attention to the young man. “Come master Isu, let us see you settled.”


`Flyn was pushing things too far. This was serious business.’ Gildel fumed as he watched for the return of his fellow lieutenant. `Why did the fool have to antagonize the captain? It wasn’t necessary and if there were hostile Variags skulking about then there had to be unity among the Gondorhim.’ Gildel wished again that the lord Denethor had chosen someone else for this assignment. In any other situation Gildel would recommend that Faramir send Flyn home or at least demote him. It offended the career officer that he had to defend Flyn whenever the man decided to go flitting about without regard for proper military procedure. As Gildel continued to rage against his absent colleague he began to wonder if the damned glove could be worth so much stress and duplicity.

Questioning the Steward was the last thing a self-respecting soldier would ever do but in that small part of his mind that escaped the nearly ubiquitous blind loyalty to his Steward Gildel knew that Denethor was not aging well. Little things, nothing terribly important in themselves, kept niggling at Gildel’s mind. It was always a mistake to send a commander one did not have complete confidence in on a mission and yet that was exactly what Denethor had done. Also, the steward’s treatment of his second son made no sense. Faramir was not incompetent. Young, yes. Inexperienced, certainly. But the captain was learning fast. Why had the Steward wished to keep the true nature of the mission from his own child? It was all such an awful tangle. Gildel spat on the ground. He absolutely hated politics.


“Good news!” Flyn shouted as soon as he saw Gildel. `The man needs to stay out of the sun.’ The returning Lieutenant observed to himself. `That color can’t be healthy.’ “Gorm and Hilo’s chances look good! The men I saw fight today will be easy pickings.”

“Quiet down, will you.” Gildel muttered, his anger at the other man increasing at his causal delivery. “It is not supposed to be common knowledge that Gondor has two men in the tournament.”

“What’s eating you?” Flyn inquired, completely undismayed by the admonishment.

“What is eating me, you reckless little fool, is that the captain noticed your absence. He-”

“If he wanted me to go to another meeting, I’m glad I was gone.”

This attitude appalled the older man and he was momentarily sidetracked. “I would see you flogged for such dereliction of duty in other circumstances.”

Flyn’s eyebrows rose. He had not realized Gildel was quite this upset and while he was not alarmed he was mildly curious. “Calm down. I am not so indispensable that I cannot be spared for a few hours. Besides, we answer to a higher authority than Captain Faramir.”

Taking a deep breath, Gildel tried to focus on what was important. “The captain wanted you because there is a large company of Variags just to the east and he wants their number and position scouted. That is, if you are not too busy.” He had been unable to refrain from adding a little sarcasm to his explanation and Gildel felt a perverse satisfaction watching the insouciant expression slip from Flyn’s countenance.

“There isn’t supposed to be any armed men except for those necessary to impress the other tribes. What can they be doing?”

“Gather some men and find out.” Gildel answered with a tired sigh. “The captain wants you to report back as soon as possible.” Gildel turned away from Flyn then. He needed to find some shade. He drew a hand across his brow and took a few deep breaths, maybe the sun was starting to get to him.


Aragorn did not have the opportunity to speak privately with Halbarad for several hours. The two men had spent their time easing the initial awkwardness between Isu and the other men of the company. Isu did not know the Common Tongue and he was embarrassed to try and make himself understood with gestures. Aragorn and Halbarad taught him a few words but they spent most of their time encouraging the curiosity of the Gondrohim about the new arrival. The others would force Isu to learn and hopefully they would learn something themselves in the process. In the meantime Aragorn and Halbarad would be available to make sure things went smoothly. In any group there were always one or two who enjoyed the role of mother hen and Aragorn and Halbarad had made sure that Isu had a protector until the youth learned his way around.

“I doubt he will have any trouble.” Halbarad commented, once the two had left Isu in the care of his comrades.

“Mm.” Aragorn replied, filling his pipe. “I was not aware Faramir was actively recruiting.”

“Never have too many good men, as I understand it.” Halbarad had been surprised at how good it had been to present Aragorn with something pleasant.

“It was good of you to be so helpful to Faramir. It would have been difficult for any of the Gondorhim to find the lad.”

“Always glad to be of use.” Halbarad was obviously not interested in being expansive. Aragorn recognized in this reticence that his friend was unwilling to steal Faramir’s thunder and Aragorn appreciated it. The recruitment of Isu was both kind and practical, an idea, in short, typical of Faramir.

The two rangers smoked in companionable silence for a while before Halbarad asked after the tournament. Aragorn answered succinctly. “I fight again tomorrow morning. I suspect the numbers of spectators will increase as the tournament proceeds.”

“I want to look over the competition tomorrow. Hopefully, I can pick out the ones who might pose a threat and evaluate their styles.” Halbarad announced. If Aragorn was going to continue with this then Halbarad would help anyway he could.

“I appreciate that, Halbarad.” Aragorn replied sincerely.

“I know you have had little time here but Lieutenant Gildel was looking for Flyn earlier today. I had the impression he was missing. Have you gathered an idea about Flyn yet?” All of Halbarad’s observations tended to be insightful and the man had a special knack for rumors. Information seemed irresistibly attracted to Halbarad. People spontaneously told the ranger things that Aragorn could not find out with even the most careful questioning. When he had mentioned how much this uncanny ability impressed him Halbarad had only shrugged. `They are embarrassed to tell you the sordid little secrets of their imagination. You make people want to better than they are and with you, for a time, they are better. They tell me the gossip because I’m one of them.’ Aragorn disagreed with this analysis, finding it far too cynical an assessment but Halbarad had just responded with another of his unanswerable shrugs.

“Flyn’s a weasel.” Halbarad answered easily. “He is not much liked but neither is he really hated. I doubt he is a deserter- more of a flatterer.”

Aragorn smiled. “You are incisive, my friend.”

“Is he someone we need to be concerned about?” Halbarad asked trying to calculate all the ways in which Flyn could be a potential threat.

“I cannot say I care for the man much but I know of no reason to consider him an enemy.”

“I’ll just keep my eyes open, then.” Halbarad answered, mentally writing Flyn’s name under the heading `enemy’ and underlining it a few times. Aragorn was too scrupulously fair for his own good. Halbarad trusted instinct, his own and Aragorn’s.

“Thank you, Halbarad. I could wish you safely west of the Misty Mountains but I confess I am glad you are here.”

Halbarad concentrated on a point off in the middle distance for a while before he trusted himself to give Aragorn a grateful smile. The two smoked together, speaking occasionally but mostly silent, enjoying the day and one another’s company.

The sun had nearly set when Faramir found them. The young man approached diffidently, trying hard not to feel like an intruder. Aragorn looked so much at his ease and Faramir was glad to see him so relaxed. Perhaps he should come back later. Faramir suspected his lord had few moments like this.

Faramir was still poised on the brink of decision when Aragorn addressed him. “Will you join us, Faramir?” The ranger smiled at the younger man and gestured to a place near him- but not so near as to disturb anyone who happened to glance their way. “I would be glad of your company.”

“I did not mean to disturb you.” Faramir replied, looking to Halbarad to make it clear that it was the two of them he did not mean to disturb. “I- I thought perhaps you- you both- would care to join me for dinner. I made inquiries about the Variags. I fear I learned little enough. Though, perhaps you would care to know what I did learn?” That had not come out as suavely as Faramir had practiced in his head but Aragorn gave him that warm gentle smile that said louder than any words could that everything was all right and the world was a good place. Faramir’s nerves calmed a little as Aragorn accepted the invitation on his own and Halbarad’s behalf. Faramir led the way towards his tent, barely managing to restrain himself from looking over his shoulder every few steps to make sure Aragorn was still with him.


Faramir quickly blurted out all that he had learned from his inquiries at the Gathering about the large force of Variags hovering nearby. He spoke as though he were delivering a report that he knew was poorly researched and that he expected to be reprimanded. Several of those he talked with, though professing to have been completely ignorant of the extra Variag presence, expressed neither surprise nor alarm. Others tribal representatives knew the Variags were there because members of their tribes were merchants who were employed in provisioning them. One man speculated that the extra men represented some great nobleman who did not wish to mix with the common folk at the Gathering but that had only been a guess. Apparently each tribe relied on the traditions of the Gathering to keep them safe from any attack. The situation merited close monitoring and Faramir dearly wished he had Flyn’s report to supplement his own meager findings.

It was tempting for Aragorn to begin questioning Faramir in detail about everything he had seen, done and even thought since they had parted that morning. He loved being with Faramir when he was enthusiastic. The younger man had such a peculiar and delightful way of looking at the world that Aragorn never tired listening to him. Faramir’s insights were always perceptive and it pained the older man that Faramir seemed to feel that he had not learned all he should have. Aragorn wanted to reassure Faramir. He wanted to lavish affection and praise upon him and tell him everything he was doing was right. Especially, Aragorn wanted Faramir to know how impressed he had been that the younger man had had both the compassion and insight to begin recruiting native Khandrim to Gondor’s cause. For the time, however, he contented himself with a few words of quiet approval. On top of Faramir’s obvious concern that he had not done enough to untangle the mystery of the Variags, it was clear that Halbarad’s presence also had Faramir a little flustered. He had regained much of his old shyness and though Aragorn was confident he would quickly grow more comfortable he did not want to force his lover to be the center of attention. Aragorn, thus, resolved that he would do as much of the talking as necessary until Faramir felt ready to participate.

Aragorn guided the talk to matters he believed Faramir would find most interesting. This strategy quickly had its desired effect as Faramir could not resist the pull of new ideas. `The trick is to arouse my Faramir’s curiosity. Then, all self-consciousness leaves him.’ Aragorn thought rather smugly as he watched the rapt expression on his beloved’s face as Halbarad, at Aragorn’s urgings, recounted his impressions of Minas Tirith. The ranger was, naturally, an astute observer and Faramir was fascinated to see his City through the eyes of another. For his part, Halbarad was impressed by both the knowledge and interest revealed by Faramir’s questions.

As Faramir gradually grew bolder Aragorn withdrew a little from the talk. He enjoyed the sounds and the subtle inflections of the conversation without attending rigorously to the words themselves. He listened to the rise and fall of voices letting the emotions behind them become more prominent in his awareness. It was almost no effort for Aragorn to discern the curiosity, the occasional amusement and the solicitude in Faramir’s clear and honest tenor. In contrast to Faramir’s innocent straight forwardness, Halbarad’s voice revealed layers upon layers of protective concealment. The habit of hiding his true emotions had damped some of his expressiveness but Aragorn, who knew his friend well, could hear the grudging approval he was beginning to feel for the younger man. So caught up was he in this pursuit that he found he had to think a moment before he realized what it was precisely that Faramir had just asked him. He took a bite of mutton, considering how to answer. As he chewed Aragorn noticed that Halbarad, too, was watching, no doubt wondering what he would say.

“Yes, I have seen Minas Tirith, though not so recently as Halbarad and I used a different name while I was there.”

Faramir leaned forward eagerly, his food long since forgotten as he took in this new information. “And do you share master Halbarad’s opinions?” Though he was desperate to hear everything about what his lord thought about the White City Faramir’s question was asked almost cautiously as though he anticipated that great revelations were at hand and a certain amount of solemnity was called for.

“As a matter of policy it is always wise to agree with Halbarad.” Aragorn replied grinning at the other man, who gave a snort- not the least impressed. “I must say though that I have a higher opinion of the architecture on the second level and a somewhat lower opinion of what has been done with the gardens.”

“How… how long ago were you there, my lord.” Faramir probed, moving even further forward and worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

“It has been close to twenty years now but Halbarad knows the story. He may tell it if he wishes.”

Faramir turned from Aragorn toward Halbarad and though Aragorn could no longer see the younger man’s face clearly he was certain that it bore a look of desperate pleading. Halbarad regarded his chieftain a moment before he seemed to come to a decision. “Very well.” Scratching his chin, Halbarad turned his attention toward Faramir. “This tale should help to gratify your interest in history, young lord. For it could not be that the Lord Aragorn- even disguised- should travel to Minas Tirith and the world be not changed.” Aragorn rolled his eyes at this but Halbarad ignored him and Faramir did not see. As Halbarad began the tale of Thorongil and the battle against the Corsairs Aragorn once again leaned back no longer listening to the words but absorbed in the expression of his two friends.


Faramir clutched the table, his eyes riveted on Halbarad as though more of the story might be gleaned from the shape of the man’s mouth or the light in his eyes. Thorongil…Thorongil, there was no end to the wonder of it. Of course, later when Faramir had time to process a tenth of what he was learning he would wonder about Thorongil, Denethor and Ecthelion. There were personal questions, questions that Faramir might never truly learn the answer to but even as he was caught up in the moment of discovery, the young man knew that upon his return to Minas Tirith he would learn everything he could about `Thorongil’. It would give him a way to be close to Aragorn even when they could not be together.

Halbarad was in the midst of reenacting the Battle at Umbar complete with the use of condiments for artillery when the rattling of a spear against the shield hung near the tent entrance could be heard from without. Though the noise had been clearly heard by all present Faramir allowed himself a few seconds to hope that if he ignored it then maybe it would go away. The rattling continued, though, and bowing to the inevitable, Faramir called out permission to enter. It was with no surprise that Faramir turned to watch Lieutenant Flyn saunter into his tent.

“I have a report, Captain.” Flyn announced, eyeing Faramir’s two companions. Eru, one ranger was bad enough but now Strider’s was bringing more of his kind to camp.

“Yes, of course. Just a moment Lieutenant.” Faramir could not have expressed how bitterly he resented Flyn’s timing but he needed to hear whatever Flyn had discovered. “Gentlemen, I hope you will excuse me. I will return soon. In the meantime, please enjoy the rest of your dinner.” As he said these words Faramir surveyed the haphazard remains of their meal feeling a little silly.

Feeling all his self-consciousness return, Faramir rose to his feet and, as he knew they would, both Aragorn and Halbarad came to their feet with him. It was what protocol demanded but it made Faramir blush furiously. At least, as dinner guests he could leave them within the pavilion while he spoke to Flyn outside, Faramir tried to console himself as he gestured with almost frantic urgency for his king to return to his seat.

Faramir had nearly crossed to Flyn when he remembered something. Blushing again he hurried to his desk picked up several papers then hurried out. Flyn waited a moment after Faramir had exited, surveying the two scruffy men seated comfortably around the table of the Steward’s son. Denethor would never have tolerated such a thing. He did his best to give them both a menacing glare. Strider ignored him but the other one gave him a feral smile and Flyn suddenly decided he really shouldn’t keep Faramir waiting.


“He is not at all like his father.” Halbarad commented after he was alone with Aragorn. “Perhaps he has something of Denethor’s mind but I suspect Faramir’s intelligence is both broader and deeper.” The ranger amended after thinking about it a moment. Most of what Halbarad knew of Denethor was hearsay but he believed the Steward was clever rather than wise and he sensed better things from his son. “At least he has none of the arrogance.”

“It sometimes seemed to me that a part of Denethor’s arrogance masked a dissatisfaction with himself.” Aragorn mused. His expression was distant as though his thoughts had drifted far.

It had surprised Halbarad at first that Aragorn had been willing to have Thorongil spoken of at all and then he had been yet more surprised when he had asked Halbarad to give the details. As he thought on it though, he began to see more of his Chieftain’s reasoning. Aragorn had never particularly enjoyed speaking of his time as Thorongil. He seemed to regard his time in Gondor as representing a great personal failure and Halbarad suspected there were deep secrets there. Still, Faramir had soaked up the information regarding Aragorn’s history and connection to Gondor with such avidity that Halbarad did not doubt the young man would cherish the knowledge. Further, Halbarad as storyteller kept the narrative from touching too closely on the complex relationships that had existed between Thorongil and the Steward’s family. Finally, Halbarad had had the opportunity to experience the not inconsiderable charm of Faramir’s complete attention. The young man was a very good listener.

Before Halbarad could decide if he wanted to pursue Aragorn’s remark about Denethor, though, the other man broke from his reverie. “Did you not find him absolutely enchanting?” Aragorn asked with a broad smile.

Despite himself Halbarad smiled back. “I don’t think I would have chosen to describe him so, my lord, but he is not altogether unappealing.”

Aragorn laughed. “High praise, indeed! Don’t fret, Halbarad. I shan’t ask you to compose poetry in his honor.”

“I was worried.”

The two men continued to talk, falling into the easy camaraderie that never diminished no matter how long they spent apart. This time, though there was a subtle difference. It was so slight a change that it hovered at the edge of Halbarad’s perceptions for a while before he became aware of it. Aragorn was smiling more, his observations were free of the self-deprecating irony that he always employed when he was troubled. Halbarad himself noticed a certain easing of the tension in his shoulders as though a weight had been removed. Not understanding the nature of these little changes, Halbarad grew anxious until it occurred to him suddenly what was happening. Aragorn was happy.


It was just unfair that Flyn should be standing here in the increasing cold huddled by the dim light of a torch making a report while two men, who probably weren’t much better than brigands, sat in comfort. He had been out all afternoon watching the comings and goings of the Variag troops. He was tired and a cup of wine would not have come amiss but no, he was out here, nearly shivering, because his captain fancied his men rough-looking. It wasn’t fair!

“The Variag camp is to the north-east of our position. No attempt to conceal their whereabouts seems to have been made. If it were not for the hubbub of the Gathering we could probably see them from here. Of course, there isn’t really a lot of shelter around anyway. The land is too flat, and there are no trees.” When Faramir had no comment to make on this observation Flyn continued with a sigh. `No credit for being thorough.’ “Officers came in and out from the Gathering bringing some of the better quality food for themselves and escorting a few dancing girls but the troops stayed within the perimeter of their camp.”

“Could you tell what the men were doing in their camp?” Faramir asked, wondering whether the Variags were trying to be inconspicuous or whether they had some other task that required their attention.

“As far as I could see they weren’t doing anything. I think they may have brought in the girls because the men were getting bored.”

“It was not just that most of the men remained away from the Gathering, they stayed in camp? No foraging expeditions, scouting trips or anything like that?” Faramir asked for clarification. A sick dread had come upon him that the Variags were waiting for something, ready to deploy the moment something, what?, happened.

“I took three men with me and they all reported the same thing. Only the officers ever left and none of them stayed away long. The men had nothing at all to do. It might be that the Variags don’t intend to stay very long for the men have not even been occupied setting up a more permanent camp. Just in case they do leave in a hurry I left three of our men there to keep watch.”

“Very well, we will need to keep a vigilant guard and hopefully, with time, we may discover their purpose in coming.” Faramir finally said, the dread that the Variags were somehow seeking Aragorn a dark weight in his stomach.

“I have already arranged to have men always watching their camp.” Flyn announced, ready to go get something to eat then find his bedroll. “If there is nothing else then, Captain…”

“A moment more, please.” Faramir interjected suddenly brought back to the present. “I think it is important that I have an idea where I may find my officers at any given time. We are in uncertain territory and we need to be able to respond quickly to changing circumstances.”

“Of course, Captain. This morning I was merely monitoring to see our men were able to interact smoothly with the natives.” Flyn answered trying to sound sincere rather than bored. Faramir, though, did not seem to be really listening to his explanation but was instead offering him a few pages he had brought from the tent.

Curious, Flyn accepted the papers squinting at them in the dim torch-light. “What are these?”

“I think keeping a schedule of your activities will help you structure your time better and it will allow me to have a better idea of what is being done around camp.” Flyn just stared at his Captain uncomprehendingly. “I have prepared a lists of the tasks I would like to see accomplished and the amount of time each one should take. Please do as many as you can and put down the time it took you. Then, together we can plan how best to organize your time most efficiently.”

This had to be a joke. Flyn wanted to laugh. What absurd punishment was this? Faramir did not seriously expect him to keep a record of his daily activities. How was he supposed to get anything done with the Captain always looking over his shoulder. “Surely, the very act of keeping such a detailed account will waste more time than it could possibly save.” Flyn finally pleaded as it became increasingly evident that Faramir was serious.

“That will probably be true the first few days but after a while it will become second nature. I know this will help me get a better idea of how to allocate resources.” Faramir said, watching Flyn’s reaction carefully. He didn’t want the man to think he was angry with him but it seemed to Faramir that Flyn was the sort of man who needed a lot of structure and, as his Captain, it was Faramir’s job to see that he had it. “Give it a try and we will talk about it tomorrow.” Faramir added, for Flyn had remained silently staring at him. With a final encouraging smile Faramir turned from his Lieutenant back towards his tent.


As soon as Faramir returned to Aragorn and Halbarad he told them what Flyn had reported. In Halbarad’s troubled countenance Faramir saw his own fears reflected. The two made eye contact briefly and Faramir felt relief that his concerns were shared. “Perhaps, it would be prudent to abandon your quest for Gandalf’s glove.” Halbarad suggested, hopefully. “Or at least you might postpone it until we find out what is going on.”

“I don’t know how I would postpone it. I will either continue to fight or not.” Aragorn answered, not altogether pleased that Halbarad would make such a suggestion so soon after Aragorn had make it clear he intended to continue in the tournament.

“The gauntlet could always be purchased from the winner.” Faramir put in, timidly. “Or perhaps the winner might be tempted to take service with Gondor.”

“I think the winner might indeed be tempted to take service with Gondor.” Aragorn replied, smiling at Faramir. Then he turned back to Halbarad. “I am not yet ready to give up the quest. We do not know enough to justify believing this has anything to do with me.”

This was the reply Halbarad had expected but he had thought it worth the effort of asking. Though, it had surprised him Halbarad had been pleased to see that Faramir had seemed to agree that Aragorn would be better off forgetting about Gandalf’s relic. Perhaps the two of them together might eventually prevail upon Aragorn to take fewer risks. Bowing slightly to demonstrate his acquiescence to his chieftain’s decision, Halbarad murmured something about the lateness of the hour then excused himself.

“Are you certain you have everything you need?” Faramir asked following the ranger towards the exit to the tent.

“I am indeed, thank you.” Halbarad replied smiling a little. He was accustomed to making do with much less. “Good night, my lords.”


As Halbarad left Aragorn came up behind Faramir and wrapped his arms around the younger man’s shoulders. Sighing blissfully, Faramir turned in his embrace so that he could wind his arms around Aragorn’s neck. He could feel the tension of the day already beginning to flow out of him as Aragorn supported him. Faramir had enjoyed dinner very much and he admired Halbarad greatly already. The thought had crossed his mind several times, however, that while he was not actually in physical contact with Aragorn then he would always be lacking a key component of his happiness.

“I am very proud of you, my Faramir.” Aragorn murmured into Faramir’s hair.

The younger man, who had been happily rubbing his forehead against Aragorn’s shoulder looked up at these words. He wore an expression of polite inquiry, as though he had not understood what had been said and was awaiting clarification. The combination of intelligence coupled with so much trust shining from Faramir’s mild blue eyes silenced Aragorn and it was not until Faramir asked a question that he returned to himself.

“What have I done that you should say such a thing?”

“Dear one.” Aragorn took a breath and made a conscious effort to moderate his tone. “It grieves me that you should sound surprised. Are you not my kind, generous, compassionate Faramir? Did you not take pity on young Isu, changing his future for the better while at the same time ensuring that Gondor has a resource to draw upon in all future interaction with Khand? Are you not attempting to forge a meaningful alliance with those who have suffered under tyranny? Do you not always consider the welfare of others before your own?”

As Aragorn had been speaking Faramir allowed his head to drop onto the older man’s chest. Aragorn could feel the heat of the young captain’s blush through his shirt. “Why does it embarrass you to hear your goodness spoken of?” Aragorn asked raising Faramir’s chin so that he could look into his eyes.

Faramir’s face and neck were a delicate pink and he smiled a little self-consciously. “It does not embarrass me if I should do right but I am not so very good as your kindness makes me seem. I would not have you deceived in anything, my lord.”

At this, Aragorn had no choice but to laugh. “In time, my love you will come to have greater faith in my judgment.” Faramir’s protest had not yet formed upon his lips when the young man suddenly found that the world had tilted. With a quick movement Aragorn had swung Faramir up into his arms and proceeded to carry him, still laughing, toward the piled furs.

Faramir had to stifle a delighted giggle as he clung to Aragorn’s neck. The arms about him held him securely and the younger man felt that he was both safe and freed somehow from responsibility- as though, in some strange way, it had been a great effort to stand on his own.

Smiling tenderly, Aragorn set Faramir down gently upon the soft furs. While he was still bent over the recumbent form of his beloved, Faramir leaned forward to give him a quick, tentative kiss. The invitation had been made with all of Faramir’s most endearing and heart-rending shyness. And though, Aragorn’s response was not the least shy, yet it was still with the utmost gentleness that he pressed Faramir to the ground and covered the younger man’s mouth with his own, taking his breath and replacing it with his own.

Hungrily, Faramir opened his mouth to receive Aragorn’s sustaining force. His arms still wrapped about his beloved lord’s neck, Faramir did his best to pull Aragorn against him, wanting to feel all the older man’s weight over him. Partially acquiescing, Aragorn stretched out on his side letting some of his weight anchor the man beneath him. Moaning happily into their kiss, Faramir moved one arm around Aragorn’s waste while he clutched at his shoulder with the other.

Pausing only for the occasional breath, Aragorn continued kissing Faramir. He delved deeply into the other man’s mouth, seeking the truth of Faramir in the heat of his desire. At the same time, one arm curled around the younger man’s head, fingers tangling in the dark hair. The other hand moved over Faramir’s chest and belly. Aragorn could feel even through the embroidered cloth of Faramir’s shirt, the smooth, firmness of his beloved’s skin.

As always, Faramir gave himself utterly to Aragorn’s passion. He marveled at his lord’s strength and power and clamored for greater contact. He loved being touched. He craved the feeling of Aragorn’s hands on him anywhere, everywhere. His flesh sang for joy with the contact. With Aragorn, Faramir found unity within himself. He was no longer merely a collection of unconnected parts. He was no longer a body that hungered, a mind that sought, a heart that desired, a soul that yearned. He was a complete person who loved.

With one last searing kiss, Aragorn drew back a little. His desire for Faramir was in no way appeased but for the moment he was content to study the beautiful face before him. The younger man gazed back dreamily and pressed himself a little closer.

Carding his fingers through Faramir’s hair, an idea occurred to Aragorn and he sought to have it confirmed. “I think I know when the thought of recruiting Isu struck you. It was yesterday evening right before we met Halbarad.”

“Yes, it was.” Faramir responded, smiling up at Aragorn. The man he loved was very clever.

“Is that why you asked what you did then? Because you thought I might not approve of your idea?”

“I- I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea or not. Sometimes I have rather bad ideas. I was afraid that you would be angry with me if I tried something that turned out wrong. I would never purposefully do anything to displease you but I wasn’t sure.”

Aragorn’s hand stilled in Faramir’s hair, words of reassurance flooded his mind. He dearly wished to convince Faramir that such uncertainty was not justified, that even in the unlikely event that Faramir should displease him that did not mean he would stop loving him. Yet, had he not been cautioning himself about probing too deeply into Faramir’s insecurities. What if he brought out issues then had to leave before Faramir gained enough confidence to continue the healing process? The knowledge that there were negative forces in Faramir’s life from which he could not protect his beloved was a knife in his heart. Finally, Aragorn answered with a simple uncomplicated truth. “I love you, my Faramir.”

“I love you, too.” Faramir replied, nuzzling Aragorn’s neck. The words came readily to his lips for the truth of them had become a part of his awareness of himself. “I love you with everything that is in me.”

Chapter 9

The morning came far too quickly and it was with the greatest reluctance that Aragorn and Faramir roused themselves from the warmth of the blankets and one another’s arms. Struggling into his clothes, Faramir watched as Aragorn prepared for the day. As the older man checked over his weapons, Faramir wished again that he could watch his lord compete. Of course, if Aragorn continued until the final rounds, a proposition the younger man regarded as a certainty unless Aragorn voluntarily withdrew, he would get his chance. The day before the archery finals had been held and the various officials, including Faramir, had convened on the field to cheer favorites, bet on the outcome and consider making offers to the various competitors. The fencing competition would, Faramir felt certain, generate similar interest. “Do you anticipate watching the closing ceremonies to the archery tournament?” Faramir asked, straightening his collar. His earlier thought bringing to mind a possible opportunity to see more of his beloved.

“I suspect I shall be about.” Aragorn replied. “It will be interesting to see which tribes the winners choose to join. The crowd will know the details of each transaction and the benefits a tribe offers as an enticement are a good marker for the tribe’s power and prestige.”

Faramir brightened at this news. Though, no official business was planned for the day, Faramir knew that attending the informal, quazi-social events of the Gathering was in the best interests of his cause. If Aragorn also happened to be about and the two men were able to steel a moment together then all the better for Faramir.

Moving to Aragorn, Faramir put his arms about the older man’s waist in a loose embrace. “Perhaps, then, we shall see one another there?’ The sentence was more of a request than general speculation. It would be worthwhile to Faramir if he were only allowed to catch a glimpse of Aragorn through a crowd.

“I hope so, my love.” Aragorn replied, before giving the young man a lingering kiss. One hand cradled the back of Faramir’s head while the other was placed possessively against his backside. “The more I see of you, the better.” Aragorn finished when the kiss ended.

Smiling, Faramir pressed his body harder against his beloved lord’s. “Must you go now, Aragorn?”

“I must either go now or I will remain here all day.” Aragorn whispered, his breath tickling Faramir’s ear. Resigned, Faramir dropped back onto his heels, still standing near Aragorn but no longer pressing against him.

`There was simply not enough time.’ Faramir thought, trying to imagine what an entire day with Aragorn would be like. The thought, however, reminded the younger man that he would soon have to part with Aragorn for an indefinitely long time. Quickly, Faramir pushed the misery that such a prospect always evoked away lest it spoil the time he did have. And with a smile that was hardly even forced, Faramir parted from Aragorn with gentle words and no outward show of the deep regret he felt at even so brief a parting.


The moment Aragorn left the tent, Faramir knew he was on the verge of a great melancholy. Already he had grown to depend on the older man in ways he would hardly have believed possible even a month ago. The thought of separating from Aragorn both terrified and depressed Faramir and to distract himself from the dreadful prospect of loss, the captain turned his attention to paperwork.

Composing reports for the Steward’s perusal was a task that had always required Faramir’s complete attention. He struggled with everything from the salutation to the closing. He revised a half dozen times and spent long minutes deciding if a phrase sounded too pompous, too abrupt or too long-winded. He wasted a great deal of parchment as he obsessed over every stray mark and ink drip. His handwriting, elegantly precise when composing essays, poetry or notes for his own use, tended to degenerate when he was nervous and nothing made him more nervous than the prospect of communicating with the Steward.

These troubles embarrassed Faramir. He knew that Denethor’s opinion of him would not rise or fall appreciably whatever the style and substance of his reports. He also knew that, while Denethor intimidated many of Gondor’s captains, others did not put so much effort in their dispatches. Once Faramir had happened to notice a report Boromir had composed and was preparing to send. Curious he had glanced over it and had been amazed. The report, more like a note really, had read: `Osgiliath, January 7-14. Lord Denethor; Three skirmishes. 21 orcs dead, 3 men injured. –B.’ Faramir had been amused at his brother’s style. He loved Boromir’s forthright and easy manners. Even as he admired his boldness, however, Faramir knew he would never dare emulate it.

Yet, these last few reports had been a bit easier for Faramir. He did not agonize over every detail as in former times and though he could not stop himself from editing what amounted to mundane field reports, he no longer grappled with the work as though he were wrestling an enemy. If he had thought about it before hand, Faramir would have thought that the necessity of obscuring certain detail of his activities in Khand would have made writing reports more difficult. This did not turn out to be the case, however. Denethor while still a figure capable of producing nightmarish anxiety was no longer as important as he had been. The idea that Denethor could have known Aragorn- even in his disguise- and not loved him made the Steward’s judgment suspect in his son’s eyes in a way that all Denethor’s excoriating criticism of Faramir had not. With something akin to shock Faramir realized that he almost pitied his father. His cold pride had made him an object of terror to many who would have adored him given the least opportunity.

Sprinkling drying sand over the third and final draft of his report, Faramir could not help but consider how meeting one’s true love and king in the person of a mysterious and darkly handsome ranger tended to put ink smudges into greater perspective.


The sun flashed blindingly on whirling steel. The air was parched and thick with heat. So thirsty was the earth that though the man swung and jabbed his heavy blade with appalling speed the sweat did not have time to bead on his brow before it was lost to arid land. Aragorn watched the nearly fantastic efforts of his opponent’s movements with some admiration even as he remained nearly still, dodging attacks by the merest shifting of his body. He breathed slowly, guarding his body’s resources even as he began making a rudimentary offense.

Inevitably, Aragorn’s third opponent’s energy burned itself out and Aragorn stepped forward holding his blade to the rapidly beating pulse at the man’s throat. The man was nearly spent and speech representing too great an effort he nodded his surrender. Trying not to stagger the man left the combat area and took great gulps from a waterskin. `It had been a reasonable strategy.’ Aragorn thought as he watched the man attempt to slake his thirst with some sympathy. His opponent had assumed that an older man and a foreigner would not have been able to match his endurance. The ranger, though, had not only the advantage of experience in even more severe climates but he had as yet unplumbed depths of endurance. Despite the sincerity and potential of his opponents Aragorn had not yet met a serious challenge.

“Will you drink?” Aragorn was broken from his thoughts by one of the spectators who had, somewhat shyly, come up to offer him a temptingly full canteen. Taking a sip out of courtesy, for the giving of water was no small thing in Khand, he returned the canteen with thanks and the man retreated smiling. Aragorn was gaining some notoriety from his success and his foreign status and he occasionally found himself the topic of whispered conversations as he passed. The murmuring was not hostile but rather speculative and Aragorn suspected that increasingly large sums of money would change hands as he progressed through the tournament. The thought made Aragorn smile a little, as he wondered if it was too soon to seek out Faramir.

The young man had confided to him and Aragorn concurred in his assessment that several of the tribes were willing to agree to allow Gondor to send historical research missions into their territory but as such a proposition was unprecedented the leaders needed time to adjust to the idea before committing themselves. Thus, Faramir did not attempt to push for an immediate agreement, instead he allowed the Khandrihm to become better acquainted with him personally so that they could assure themselves of his sincerity. While this was an excellent strategy, Aragorn felt certain that he could safely snatch Faramir away from the throng for a private walk or a quiet drink in some shade. Finally deciding that the tribal leaders had had their fair share of his beloved’s attention, Aragorn made his way toward the archery grounds.

Aragorn’s eyes were drawn instantly to Faramir amid the darker-skinned Khandrim. The leaders and dignitaries clustered together around a large pavilion, set apart from the common men and women. The young captain stood among the other nobles, his stance communicating poise and dignity. Aragorn felt a fierce pride grip his heart as he watched Faramir. He did not speak often but when he did the others quieted and gave him their full attention. His manner was courteous to all, with no hint of either servility or condescension and many of the Khandrim watched him with wonder and respect, regarding him as a new phenomenon in their experience.

For long moments Aragorn was content to be an observer. Faramir’s confidence and the reactions of others to that confidence were wonderful to behold. Though, the triteness of the metaphor was hard on Aragorn’s aesthetic sensibilities (Bilbo would most certainly have laughed at him) Faramir was blossoming. Eventually, however, Aragorn grew jealous for Faramir’s attention and he made sure to cross the younger man’s line of sight. Aragorn could not resist the satisfaction he felt as Faramir noticed him and exuberance overtook the young man.

Politely extricating himself from the discussion of arrow fletching, that had until that moment been passably interesting, Faramir made his way to the perimeter of the nobles’ enclave. Faramir meant to wander casually but considered himself lucky that he was able to forbear sprinting toward Aragorn. Rather than throwing his arms about his lord’s neck as he wished when the two came together, Faramir only smiled and turned to walk with Aragorn as though they were but casually acquainted.

“How fare the Khandrim lords?” Aragorn inquired, a smile in his voice.

“Everyone is full of archery commentary.” Faramir replied, brushing his shoulder against Aragorn’s and hoping it looked as though the touch had been only the accidental result of the unevenness of the ground. “The winner and the men in second and third place, all declared their allegiance to the Variags. Apparently, the Variags always manage to claim the winners. They don’t bother recruiting anyone else. Lord Vokun is disappointed, though. He thought he had nearly convinced the second place man to join his tribe. There was a brief ceremony where the fresco was presented to the winner who then lay it at the feet of the chief Variag representative. I hope the fighting champion does not join the Variags, I should hate to think of the Harp of Figno in their custody.”

“If the harp has endured this long, there is hope it may survive the Variags’ neglect.”

“That is certainly to be hoped. I confess that I am excited that I will get to see it.” Faramir fell silent then. He was considering how best to propose that they retire from the Gathering for a time- just an hour or so. He did not wish to seem remiss in his obligations but surely he could take an hour. Before Faramir was able to convince himself that he could indeed take an hour and that Aragorn would not mind sharing the time with him, he became aware that Halbarad was approaching them, wearing an even grimmer expression than usual.

Faramir was about to comment upon the ranger’s approach when Halbarad seemed to see something that caused his expression to register alarm for a moment before he quickened his step. Curious, Faramir turned in the direction in which Halbarad had seen whatever had apparently alarmed him. He saw nothing, though, to warrant distress.

“Halbarad,” Aragorn greeted his friend warmly. “I was getting ready to suggest to Faramir that-” But whatever he had been getting ready to suggest was lost as Halbarad interrupted leaning in close and taking a firm hold on his chieftain’s arm.

“We should leave here, `Strider’, now.” Halbarad put deliberate emphasis on Aragorn’s pseudonym.

“What is it? What has happened?” Aragorn demanded softly, his hand moving to his sword hilt.

“That man,” Halbarad indicated the direction with his eyes. “is the Variag officer I met on the way here, the one that let me go. I do not think it wise that he should see you.” Both Aragorn and Faramir made an effort to appear as though they were casually surveying the crowd even as their gazes flew in the direction Halbarad had indicated.

The man, Faramir had seen him the first time he had followed Halbarad’s stare but not taken particular note of him, was wearing a helmet so that one did not really see his face unless one was really looking. Now that Faramir was really looking he understood the reason behind the helmet. The man was impossibly ugly. His nose was nearly flat with the nostrils clearly visible. His skin looked like leather and if Faramir was not mistaken his cheekbones came up from his face in ridges. He had so many features in common with an orc that Faramir realized it was not impossible that the man was indeed part orc. Shivering he turned away and reached for Aragorn’s other arm, as desperate as Halbarad to get their lord away.

“I fear it is too late for that.” Aragorn replied calmly, chilling Faramir’s blood. “The man has been in attendance at my last two tournament combats. Ah, besides he has just now seen us and I believe he may wish to have a word.”

Turning back to the orc-man, Faramir saw that it was true. He was approaching and his eyes were locked on Aragorn. Feeling the same rush of fear and adrenaline as he felt on the battlefield, Faramir stepped in front of Aragorn right into the Variag’s path. The man seemed a little startled and he paused to look Faramir up and down. His gaze made the Steward’s son feel like a hog being sized up for slaughter.

“Congratulations, sir. Your tribe has made some fine acquisitions today.” Faramir’s voice started out louder than he intended, but he gamely stood his ground. Whatever the Variags’ purposes if they wanted aught to do with Aragorn then they would have to go through Faramir.

After gazing at Faramir a few moments in the vain hope that the man would disappear the Variag shrugged. “We always take the best. It is our way.”

“Such a policy must lead to contention among the other tribes.”

“Without contention there can be no triumph. But I was not aware Gondor took an interest in recruits from the tournament.” The officer looked pointedly at Aragorn over Faramir’s shoulder.

“Gondor is always interested in talented men.” Faramir swallowed in a dry throat. Why was this Varaig interested in Aragorn? How much did he know?

“So you have begun wooing in the third round?”

“I have heard the Variag Tribe always take the best and I thought if I am to make a claim for Gondor then it would be prudent to begin discussions with the most promising combatants as early as possible.”

“These negotiations must have begun early indeed for I understand master Strider arrived with your party. Certainly, for the Khandrim, it is not entirely clear the difference between a man of Gondor and a northern forest-runner.” There was no precise translation for `ranger’ in the language of Khand and it took Faramir a moment to decipher the officer’s meaning.

“Such is the blindness of those only concerned for themselves. But it is a universal fault, I confess that there are many in Gondor who could not distinguish between a Variag and an Eldooling.” Faramir felt a small sense of satisfaction as the officer’s mouth compressed at the analogy and he continued with greater confidence. “Few Westerners travel east and it was a matter of convenience for those few to journey together.”

“A pity not all the forest-runners with their ambitions set upon the tournament could travel with you.” The Variag replied, turning his attention to Halbarad. “I was sorry to see that you had not entered any contest, though I understood that was your intention the last time we spoke.”

Halbarad faced the officer’s nasty smile with a stony expression. “As you know, I was delayed and when I arrived I found myself too weary from… travel to compete effectively.”

“Ah well, the Eastern roads are often wearying for the Westerner. I suggest you avoid them in future. But perhaps the delay was all to the good. After all, your countryman is having success and, in the end, there can be only one winner.” Having finished with Halbarad, the officer again turned his attention to Aragorn. It was difficult for the Variag to address him, however, since Halbarad and Faramir had become a human wall between them. The officer managed to ignore the others, though, and spoke directly to Aragorn. “You have great skill, master Strider. The Variags believe you are marked for great things and our eye is upon you. I wish you good fortune.” Without further speech the officer left the three men without bothering to look back.

“Let’s go.” Halbarad whispered as soon as the officer was out of earshot. This time Aragorn made no protest as both Halbarad and Faramir urged him away from the Gathering.


In the relative safety of Faramir’s tent, Halbarad paced in an agitated circle as Aragorn watched and Faramir- still feeling a little shaky- stood at his shoulder, trying rather unsuccessfully to keep from hovering. No one had spoken on their hurried retreat. Faramir was not entirely certain he understood what the encounter with the Variag signified but he knew he didn’t like it. The officer’s parting words still rang in his ears `our eye is upon you.’ The implications of that simple phrase made Faramir sick to his stomach.

“Whatever the damned glove is, it is not worth it.” Halbarad finally asserted coming to an abrupt halt in front of Aragorn.

“It does not occur to you that if the Enemy greatly desires the `Killing Fist’ then we should do everything we can to keep it out of his hands.” Aragorn spoke mildly. He, too, had found the confrontation with the Variag officer unnerving but as long as the risks of the adventure fell only upon him, he could not justify abandoning the quest. In truth, he was intrigued and unless Halbarad could make an argument that did not depend on concern for Aragorn’s safety he would remain unmoved.

“We don’t know anything about this gauntlet except that the wizard expressed a passing interest in it and the Enemy’s thugs seem intent upon winning it- or just intent on winning. If there is magic to this artifact- and it seems to me that there is a distinct possibility that the only thing at stake here is bragging rights- it is not as important as you are.” Halbarad knew that his chieftain would resist the truth of his last sentence but to lose Aragorn would be to lose the entire game.

“Halbarad, think on the tools the Enemy has lost and consider what price we must be willing to pay to keep him from recovering them. If this glove contains even the shadow of the power of another seemingly small trinket and I let it slip into his hands the resulting horror would be upon my head. There is enough on my conscience already, my friend.”

Halbarad could not immediately formulate a reply to this and while he struggled to put his thoughts in some order Faramir spoke: “The circumstances, though, seem to favor master Halbarad’s interpretation. Recall, my lord, that the Variags did not kill Halbarad when they had the chance. Why let him live unless their planned victory was only symbolic and thus depended on an audience? Besides, if this gauntlet truly contained great power then surely Gandalf or you or even I would have heard something more of it.” Faramir gazed at Aragorn, eyes pleading with him to be cautious while Halbarad nodded a vigorous affirmation of the young captain’s reasoning.

“I am now well-placed to prevent the gauntlet from going to the Variags. Besides a few ominous words, there is no proof of danger. I suspect the Variags always do their best to intimidate or suborn the potential winners in any contest in which they have the least stake. Tribal custom is too important for the Variags to openly interfere with the tournament or with anyone in attendance at the Gathering. I recommend we concentrate our efforts on devising a means for returning safely to Gondor once the tournament has ended and the `Killing Fist’ is acquired.”

Faramir still believed that pursuing the `Killing Fist’ was not worth any risk to Aragorn and he felt rather disappointed in himself that he had not been able to furnish a solution that would keep his lord safe and accomplish Gandalf’s mission. Nonetheless, the young man dutifully turned his thoughts in the direction Aragorn indicated. Aragorn registered the look of resignation on his beloved’s face and turned to Halbarad expecting to see similar acquiescence. The ranger’s formally animated face, however, had gone quiet as though in deep thought and Aragorn recognized that his friend had more to say.

“What if the gauntlet could be won by someone else who would claim the prize for Gondor?” Though Halbarad was looking at Aragorn his gaze flicked back to Faramir periodically, as though wishing to gauge the captain’s reaction to something.

“How so?”

Again Halbarad stole a glance at Faramir. He believed what he had to say would be a surprise to the young man but he wanted to see for himself. “I was seeking you earlier to tell you, Aragorn, but the Variag provided a distraction. There are two of lord Faramir’s Gondorhim in the tournament. Second round entries were purchased for them and this morning I witnessed one of them fight.” If Halbarad had harbored even the least doubt that Faramir had known this, the expression of shock on the captain’s face destroyed it utterly. Aragorn, by contrast, looked rather more disappointed than surprised.

“Who?” Faramir demanded, as soon as he was able. Halbarad told him the names for he had been scouting Aragorn’s potential opponents and it had not taken long before the two Gondor men were mentioned to him. He had even seen a few moments of Hilo’s third round match. Despite their captain’s instructions to the contrary two men from this very camp were also in competition for the gauntlet.

“I- I don’t…” Faramir trailed off as movement was heard outside. Drawn by the unusual circumstance of their captain’s early return both Flyn and Gildel had come to investigate. Having signaled his presence with a quick wrap on the post near the tent entrance Lieutenant Flyn strode boldly in. Gildel followed with somewhat more circumspection. Halbarad looked to Aragorn briefly then both rangers moved to flank the lieutenants, hovering at the edge of their peripheral vision.

Flyn surveyed the scene. Why was Faramir always with the rangers? He was supposed to be in one of those interminable meeting, wasn’t he? Flyn who was still angry about the list of tasks the captain had assigned him did his best to look disgusted by the wild men’s proximity to a nobleman of Gondor. Despite his wishes, however, Flyn found that he was intimidated. Strider had always carried an aura of danger and hidden power but it was not until this new vagabond had joined him that Flyn realized that there was also something inherently safe and reasonable in Strider. Strider, Flyn did not doubt would be a ruthlessly efficient killer, but he would not kill without a purpose and he would not inflict gratuitous suffering. He might disdain mercy but never justice. The other ranger, though, was a different story. He looked as though he would endure any misery or inflict any agony and count it as nothing if he was thus able to accomplish his ends. A fierce fanatical light shone in his eyes sometimes and though Flyn did not know what drove the ranger he feared the ranger’s zeal as he feared all manifestations of insanity. Amid these thoughts, Flyn found himself suddenly wondering if these two wild men shared his captain or if Strider kept the meaner one back from his prize.

Still uncertain as to the reason as well as the extent to which his trusted men had disobeyed him, Faramir struggled to formulate an intelligent strategy. Flyn was nervously eyeing Aragorn and Halbarad but Gildel was looking at Faramir with an air of quiet resignation. `He knows he has done wrong and he suspects that I now know, too.’ Faramir felt disappointment at this for he had wanted to believe no matter how absurd the possibility that there had only been a mistake or miscommunication. Sadness weighted his racing thoughts and he was able to speak calmly.

“Why are two men of Gondor enrolled in Khandrim tournament when I gave orders forbidding it?”

Flyn had to restrain himself from sighing with relief. He had somehow expected something more sinister and menacing, perhaps some new crisis from the Variags. “It is unfortunate, my lord. We only found out ourselves yesterday. That was the true explanation for my absence from camp that disgruntled you so. I was checking myself if the rumors were true. They were but it seemed impossible to reprimand the men for they had not been told they were not to enter the tournament. Perhaps Gildel and I were remiss in not publishing your wishes concerning the matter but it honestly did not occur to either of us that any of our men would spontaneously enroll themselves. As I say an unfortunate circumstance but it would be wrong to force Hilo and Gorm to withdraw now that they have started.”

Aragorn’s face grew ever grimmer as Flyn spoke and Halbarad, who was quite aware that he scared Flyn, did his best to look even more the conscienceless psychopath. Faramir’s features, however, remained impassive. Beneath the careful neutrality of his expression, however, Faramir felt the kindling of great anger within him. When Flyn finished his speech, his captain turned his calm countenance on Lieutenant Gildel.

The other lieutenant could meet Faramir’s eyes for only a few moments before his gaze dropped to the ground and he began speaking in a low subdued tone: “We sought to get our best men into the tournament as soon as we arrived. We were able to obtain for them entry into the second round by using some of the merchandise that did not appear on the official inventory. We have done everything we can to see that one of our men wins the gauntlet, but Captain, I swear we are no traitors. We were following orders.” Only at the end did Gildel raise his eyes to look pleadingly at Faramir.

“Whose orders?” Even as he asked, though, Faramir knew.

“The Steward of Gondor, himself; the lord Denethor; your father.” Flyn answered almost gleefully. He had been very unhappy that Gildel had crumbled like that giving him the lie to his face but perhaps this was better after all. Flyn needed to take charge now. He had had enough of nursing the brat’s ego. “Did he not tell you himself that he intended for you to heed us? He has given us a mission that we will accomplish. It seemed good because of your position to permit you the illusion that you were in charge but my colleague is correct.” Here Flyn spared Gildel a disgusted look but the other lieutenant was staring at the ground once more. “It is time we all understood each other better.”

It had taken all Faramir’s will not to flinch as Flyn’s words fell upon him like blows. Though the anger that had been lit within him now licked fiercely at his heart, he answered mildly. “The Steward rules in the White City. He should be obeyed. Show me his orders and I will comply as I am able.”

“He would not commit such instructions to paper.” Flyn replied contemptuously. Did not the bookish Faramir understand anything?

“Then I have only the word of subordinates that have already proven themselves untrustworthy.” Faramir said steadily.

“You know it is the truth.” Flyn cried angrily.

“I find myself in a dilemma. You are probably lying but I wish to see that Gondor is always served. Your claim is that Lord Denethor desires the gauntlet. Very well, I will attempt to secure it. But you master Flyn will not give another order in this camp. I relieve you of all command responsibility and I forbid you leave camp. If this is injustice you must rely upon the Steward to vindicate you. Now get out.”

Aragorn rejoiced to hear the unanswerable command in Faramir’s voice. He was further gratified to see Flyn gaping like a fish before turning to Gildel for aid. Finding none, the former lieutenant glared at Faramir in a way that spoke more of resentment than challenge then strode angrily from the tent. Aragorn gave Halbarad a barely perceptible nod and the ranger slipped out after Flyn. Halbarad would see that Faramir’s orders were enforced until the captain’s wishes became publicly known. There was a coldness to Faramir’s eyes, though, that damped some of Aragorn’s sense of vicarious victory. The coldness spoke of the building of barriers and the concealment of self.

“What of me, lord?” Gildel asked quietly after a moment’s silence. The coldness vanished from Faramir and he regarded his remaining lieutenant with something akin to compassion.

“Are you content to leave the matter of the gauntlet to me and take no further interest of political concerns?”

“Yes, lord.” Oh, in the name of all the Valar, Yes!

“Then resume your accustomed duties. We will speak soon about who shall replace Flyn.”

“Yes, lord. Thank you.” Feeling profound relief Gildel had turned to go but Faramir’s voice arrested him.

“Lieutenant, don’t ever lie to me again.”

“I will not, I swear it.” And with that, Gildel was gone.


As soon as Gildel had departed, Faramir’s breath hitched and his legs seemed to lose all their strength. Stumbling a little, the young man made his way to a campstool and sat heavily. Aragorn was by his side in a moment and Faramir pressed his face against Aragorn’s stomach, clinging tightly to the older man as strong hands stroked his hair. Inhaling Aragorn’s scent calmed Faramir a little. He was comforted by the warm solid presence of his lord, yet despite all his efforts

savage misery assailed him.

The disappointment and shame that were sluicing through Faramir at the knowledge of how much contempt his father had for him was familiar to Faramir. He believed he might have endured these emotions alone, but what shredded his sense of self-control was the truth that he had never even suspected it. He had believed he had been doing well. He had worked so hard and it had almost seemed as though his men were growing to respect him, that an alliance with Khand might be forged, that he would be useful to his country and to his king but it had all been a farce. Aragorn now knew with what respect Faramir was held in the Steward’s house. Worst of all was that because of Denethor’s games; Faramir did not know all he should about the gauntlet and its importance.

“Please Sire, forgive me for being such a fool.” The words were barely audible as Faramir murmured them into Aragorn’s shirt.

“You are not a fool, Faramir. This does not reflect upon you but upon Denethor.”

“I am a fool, though. He would not wish to humiliate me so if I were not so weak.” It was a reflection on him; Faramir thought. He felt angry with his father. He felt ashamed of him, too, and such emotions were new to him. Faramir remembered with sudden clarity the tales he had heard of the enmity between Denethor and Thorongil. How could any in the Steward’s line harbor malice against the king- even the disguised king? Then, also, what reason beside petty cruelty could Denethor have had for keeping his son so completely in the dark? What had Faramir done that his father should find so much satisfaction in hurting him? Worse though, than all these questions was the fear that Denethor’s petty betrayal would result in a greater treason. If Faramir had had Denethor’s respect then perhaps he would now know why the gauntlet was being sought so desperately. If harm came to Aragorn because of information Denethor possessed but had not shared with Faramir then Faramir would… The thought was left unfinished for Faramir’s mind balked at considering such ideas.

“Faramir, love, sweet one, does it not occur to you that Denethor might be jealous?” Kneading Faramir’s shoulders Aragorn voiced the opinion that had been growing within him for many days now.

“He can have no cause for jealousy.” Faramir stated pushing himself from Aragorn in the desire to inflict punishment upon himself. “Sire, forgive me I must… I must ask Gildel to tell me all he knows of Denethor’s intentions. I should choose someone to replace Flyn. I- I have to go.” Forcing himself up from the campstool, Faramir ran his hands over his face in a desperate attempt to compose himself. Even as he was angry with his father he also felt guilt for those emotions. Aragorn was wonderful but Faramir was not worthy of his kindness. He had duties to perform. He had been a very poor captain. If he ever hoped to deserve as much as a kind look from Aragorn again then he would need to try a great deal harder.

Before Faramir could flee the tent Aragorn caught his arm. Faramir did not struggle as Aragorn half-expected but rather he became utterly passive in the older man’s grip. When Aragorn turned the young captain to face him, Faramir moved without resistance but his eyes sought the ground. `Does he expect I shall strike him?’ Aragorn wondered, horrified by the thought. Releasing his beloved’s arm Aragorn lifted his chin. Such sadness was reflected in the light blue eyes that Aragorn could have wept. All he said though was: “I shall be here, love, when you are ready to return.”

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.

Chapter 11

Fragments of conversation drifted around him, as Aragorn studied the two men battling fiercely not ten yards from him. Halbarad was chatting with a small group of men but Aragorn filtered this conversation out as he monitored the talk around him, listening for any mention of the gauntlet, the Variags or the Gondorihm. So far had heard nothing of interest but Aragorn was not truly surprised by this. The ranger did not believe the answer to the riddle of the `killing fist’ would be found in public gossip. For the sake of being thorough, however, he roamed the gathering with Halbarad at his side alert for any item of interest. Halbarad was not his only companion, however. As ever, the Variag officer had watched his combat. Aragorn had felt the other’s eyes upon him as he exchanged a few exploratory thrusts and parries with his opponent. The Variag’s gaze never wavered, throughout the entire match, though Halbarad’s own glare directed toward the officer would have been enough to distract even the staunchest of ordinary observers. At the conclusion of the match the Variag had caught Aragorn’s eye for a moment and smiled with apparent approval before slipping away through the crowd. It was only then that rangers became aware that there were two Gondorihm amid the onlookers. Seeing that they had been noticed they raised a hand in acknowledgment but did not approach. From then on the two soldiers trailed after the Dunedain at a discrete distance wherever the rangers happened to wander.

It would have been easy for the Dunedain to lose themselves among the throng of Khandrim but Aragorn was not inclined to do so and Halbarad did not suggest it. In truth, Aragorn was touched. Faramir’s attempt to look after him was endearing and the two soldiers seemed to take their duty seriously, taking care that no harm came to `Strider’. It gave Aragorn a peculiar sense of belonging. Halbarad’s feeling may well have run in a similar vein for his only comment had been a gruff statement that if there was trouble he assumed Faramir’s men would be no disadvantage.

In addition to all this, Aragorn was now being identified as one of the likely tournament finalists and so more than the eyes of his friends and enemies were drawn to him. Accustomed to moving about inconspicuously, he had to struggle not to chafe at so much observation. A number of men were watching him now, as he stood apparently engrossed in the contest before him. None approached him, however, assuming that he was studying his future opponents and unwilling to interrupt a fighter’s strategizing. Aragorn was grateful for the temporary respite since, as he and Halbarad had strolled through the grounds after Aragorn’s successful combat, several men had approached. Halbarad had nearly broken the wrist of the first one before it became clear that he had only been offering Aragorn a folded sheet of paper.

Nursing his wounded appendage the messenger explained that it was an invitation to lunch with the representatives of one the medium sized southern tribes. Exaggerating his accent Aragorn refused courteously, claiming that he required all his time to concentrate on the tournament. The messenger did not seem surprised as he cast one last accusing look at Halbarad and left them. Other messengers from other tribes appeared as well as a few men who offered wishes of good luck, though no one from the Variags addressed Aragorn. The approach of so many strangers was taking a toll on Halbarad’s nerves so the men returned to the combat grounds and Aragorn did his best to appear focused on his potential competitors.

As the battle finally ended with a vicious stab to the losing competitor’s thigh Aragorn signed to Halbarad that it was time to go. Aragorn was not in the mood to endure another barrage of invitations. Halbarad, whose information gathering had been hampered by his desire to remain permanently attached to his Chieftain’s side, fell in beside Aragorn contentedly. The Gondorhim would also be pleased to see their charge safely back at camp and then return to their own pursuits, Aragorn reflected. From a certain perspective, it was irritating to be so persistently looked after. Taking a deep breath Aragorn resolved that he would not adopt that perspective and proceeded to lead his little entourage from the gathering.


In the comparative safety of the camp, Halbarad was able to feel marginally more at ease. The ranger felt looming danger crackle in the air and his every nerve strained to anticipate where and when the lightening would strike. Every man who had approached Aragorn had taken years off Halbarad’s life. The ranger had twitched at every movement of the various messengers, eyes alert for the telltale glint of metal. Poised tight as a bowstring Halbarad had found himself in danger of drawing his own weapon before time. It was a little better now. The Gondorhim had become familiar; Halbarad had seen them with Aragorn and his anxiety diminished slightly.

As the rangers moved through the camp, they were greeted by nods and polite smiles. Halbarad had realized very soon after arriving among the Gondorhim that these men had developed an affection for Aragorn. When he was in camp everyone seemed to know where he was. He was not sought out particularly, but people seemed to like to know that he was there. Aragorn seemed to project an aura not only of security but also of civility. Halbarad had observed similar phenomena occurring at other times and other places. As something between a soldier, spy and policeman, Halbarad usually saw people at their worst. The constant onslaught of petty brutality and ignorant selfishness colored the ranger’s perception of his fellow creatures. Aragorn though had a way of bringing out the best in those around him. Men seemed to become aware of themselves in a new way when Aragorn was there. Suddenly it was important to live up to the potential of humanity. Getting by in an ugly world no longer seemed enough of an accomplishment and ordinary people decided to become agents for good. Halbarad had no understanding of the mechanics of the phenomenon but he saw the effects in others and felt them in himself.

These thoughts soothed Halbarad as he followed his chieftain to where many of the off-duty Gondorhim had gathered. Helping himself to a generous helping of the communal stew, the ranger waited until he saw Aragorn settle near by with his own stew before he seated himself at the periphery of one of the card games being held. Of course, Halbarad continued to muse as he ate, there were some who did not react so. There were even a few for whom Aragorn’s presence seemed to trigger an extreme discomfort that often manifested itself as malice. Denethor had been one such and perhaps Flyn was another. Halbarad had never bothered wondering why a certain kind of man had this reaction to his lord. If he had been pressed he would have said it was the result of a deeply flawed character and probably correlated with other negative traits like cowardice and cruelty to animals. Why, though, wasn’t important to Halbarad. Who and where were more immediate concerns. Thus, the knowledge that Denethor was far off in Minas Tirith, Flyn had been deprived of power and no others among the Gondorhim had seemed to develop an antipathy to Aragorn was enough to satisfy Halbarad for the moment. Surveying the crowd, once again, the ranger saw that Isu and a few of those who had befriended the lad had gathered around Aragorn in a little group, watching him and subtly trying to copy his way of moving. Feeling contented, Halbarad asked to be dealt in to the next round of cards.


Men came and went according to their scheduled duties while Aragorn and Halbarad passed a relatively peaceful afternoon. Halbarad had a fair amount of success at cards, a fact which was attributed to his impenetrable bluff. Aragorn smiled to himself every time his friend won a round and spent his time sharpening his weapons. The calm of the afternoon, however, was interrupted as one of the men who had been assigned to accompany Faramir at that morning’s meetings strode in, looking smug.

“News, lads!” The man announced, before taking a dipper full of water and drinking deeply.

Halbarad who had all but won yet another hand, turned to give the man his full attention while the others exchanged a quick look before deciding to turn in their cards and let whatever news there was take precedents over their game.

“There will be one less of Khand’s tribes standing with the dark lord should it come to war. The Yavney tribe has just signed an agreement with the Captain.” A cheer went up at this announcement and then the man was bombarded with questions: `How many soldiers does the Yavney tribe have? Had Faramir gotten the rights to pass through their territory? Were there going to be treasure hunting expeditions as some of them had heard?”

The man who was now happily the center of attention, tried to answer the questions he heard but soon he had to resort to holding his hands up and demanding quiet. “I’d love to chat, lads, but the captain needs me to fetch some notes from his tent. Another one of the tribes looks like it just may see sense. The Captain is working on `em, so it’s only a matter of time.” Smiling broadly with a combination of pleasure at delivering good news and pride at having been a part of bringing about that good news, the man surveyed the onlookers. “This is what we came here for, lads.” Questions followed the man as he made his way through the crowd. He ignored them though. He had taken a little time from his mission to share news of victory with his mates but he still had a duty to do.

Conversations sprang up in the wake of the news as the men tried to pool all the little they knew of Khand’s politics. Halbarad was amused to see such enthusiasm. He had not expected soldiers to get caught up in a diplomatic mission but then Faramir had a charming enthusiasm that, when combined with the authority of his office, could have quite an impact. Then, too, Halbarad reasoned one could never discount Aragorn’s influence. Thinking of his Chieftain the ranger cast a glance in Aragorn’s direction: He was speaking softly to the group of young men who had clustered around him. As Aragorn caught Halbarad’s eye, however, he gave the ranger a smile of such warmth and happiness that even Halbarad felt like cheering.


`It is a good first step.’ Faramir told himself- trying to rein in his excitement, as he entered his tent, attended by Warin- the man he had chosen to replace Flyn. `The Yavney and the Moroc’s were not particularly strong but they had prestige and they had agreed. They had agreed!’ Faramir knew he should remain cautious and dignified but it was all he could to keep from grinning foolishly and dancing about the tent.

“Ask the men to assemble, I need to make a few announcements.” Faramir ordered Warin, biting the inside of his lip to keep his face composed. The Captain liked his new lieutenant. Warin took a greater interest than Gildel in the intricacies of the negotiations and there was no trace of Flyn’s sly maneuverings in the other man.

“Yes sir, but I am afraid that most are already aware that an agreement has been reached. Kenzo wasn’t able to hold his tongue when you sent him back for the early proposal drafts.”

“That is all right.” Faramir said magnanimously. It was just as well, Faramir told himself. He had dreaded making the announcement himself for fear that it would be met with indifference. He did wish he might have told Aragorn for he thought that Aragorn would certainly be pleased and it was always Faramir’s joy to bring Aragorn any piece of news that might please him. Still, it was a minor disappointment. “I shall still need to talk to them.”

“Yes, sir.” Warin acknowledged.

“Was there something more?” Faramir asked as Warin continued to hover near the entrance to the tent.

“Yes, sir. Hilo lost his tournament round today. I thought that you would want to know.”

“Is he all right?” Faramir demanded, sobering.

“Yes, sir. The heat slowed him down, he said. The other man was too fast.”

Faramir nodded relaxing a little. He did not expect either Hilo or Gorm to win the tournament but the thought that Aragorn or one of his own men might be in danger aroused in the young man a combination of fear and anger. “Hilo was not too disappointed, I hope.”

“Oh, no. In fact, he had been approached by several tribal women who were impressed with his performance and… um wanted to become better acquainted.” Faramir stiffened slightly and Warin continued hurriedly. “He has not yet accepted nor would he accept without your permission but I believe he did have a conversation with Master Halbarad who told him that he did not think it would not cause any harm if he accepted.”

“I believe Master Halbarad’s expertise may be trusted on such a point. I am inclined to grant permission but he must be careful. If he does not return according to schedule because he has been dallying with the ladies I will be angry.”

“I shall pass that along, sir.” Warin paused a moment. He looked a little nervous and Faramir gave him a small smile of encouragement. Warin was still new to his position and was often uncertain how to act. It gratified Faramir more than he could say to watch how well Warin grew into his new authority when Faramir took the trouble to be a little patient or to offer the occasional word of approval. “On the subject of Master Halbarad and Master Strider…”

“Please, go on.” Faramir was now all attention but he kept his face carefully neutral.

“I have heard the lads say and it seems to me, too, that, well, the army could benefit from such men. Isu has adjusted well and he did not even speak the common tongue. Strider, though, could easily be a captain. Perhaps it is not my place to say but none would object if Strider and Halbarad were to be commissioned. It seems a waste that such men should spend so much time alone in the wilderness when Gondor has such need.” Warin fell silent, peering at Faramir as though uncertain whether he had over-stepped his bounds.

“It is a good thought.” Faramir commented, making an effort to sound casual. “Now assemble the men, I shall attend presently.”

As soon as Warin had saluted and exited, Faramir began to laugh softly. The day would come when the king returned to his people. On that day these men- his men- would remember; they would remember and believe.


The evening had grown dark. Flyn had chosen a place at the extreme edge of the torchlight to await whatever message Captain Faramir had for his men. The former lieutenant had noticed the two rangers hovering at the periphery of the crowd and deliberately chosen a place as far from them as possible. It made no difference, though, for the one dangerous ranger- who now seemed to be attached to Strider- caught sight of him and gave him a bowel-loosening smile and wink. Flyn took another few steps back away from the light, then, anxious not to gain too much attention from the mean-looking ranger.

It was not that Flyn particularly cared what Faramir had to say. As far as he was concerned this whole mission was a miserable failure. There was no longer any advantage in Khand and Flyn’s greatest desire was to leave as fast to possible and return to Minas Tirith where he could once again make plans to help further his career. Flyn had decided to attend the assembly, though out of a residual sense of duty combined with boredom. Reluctant to face the condescending looks of his one-time subordinates, Flyn had spent the entire day hiding in his tent. It had been hot and stuffy and now any excuse to get out in the open air seemed good.

To Flyn’s disgust, there were cheers as Faramir strode out to stand before his men. Raising his hand for silence the Captain surveyed those who had assembled. When Faramir’s eye caught Strider’s his face lit with a boyish grin and a blush rose up in his cheeks and he quickly looked away. Flyn’s lip curled in contempt. The man didn’t understand why the other soldiers could cheer and applaud a man who was so obviously swooning after a common ranger; a ranger, moreover, who was obviously influencing the captain to turn against a good man of Gondor in favor of himself and his friend.

“Gentlemen,” Faramir began his address, the cheers finally subsiding. “Many of you have already heard the news: Gondor has signed an alliance with the Yavney and Moroc tribes.” More cheers followed this announcement, though Flyn did not understand why. Soldiers had no business concerning themselves with diplomacy. Who gave a damn what alliances were signed with whom? It was all just paper, what really mattered was blood and iron.

“This is an unprecedented step for the Khandrim, who have suffered long in the shadow of the dark lord. Each tribe’s defection is a blow struck against tyranny. None of this might have been accomplished, though had the Khandim not seen in you men the honor and goodness of Gondor.” Well, of course they would applaud that. Flyn thought sourly. Anyone could win a crowd with compliments.

“Though well begun, our task is far from over. I have invited our new allies to visit us here in our camp tomorrow next. It will be an opportunity to show them more of ourselves and our ways. Your lieutenants will have more specific instructions for you tomorrow but I feel confident that after the Khandrim have had a chance to see in us the beauty and splendor of Gondor we shall have wrested more that two tribes from Sauron’s suzerainty.” Flyn was incredulous as all around him fists pumped the air and shouts of approval met this speech. A once proud troop of men had turned into a ladies social club organizing tea parties with Sauron’s thugs. Faramir resumed speaking, praising various men by name for their efforts in reaching out to the Khandrim and encouraging others to similar acts. Flyn was too unhappy to attend very carefully, though.

It depressed him to see Faramir succeed. From the beginning Flyn had identified Faramir as well meaning but weak. He had wanted to be the one whispering suggestions into the young man’s ear, but Faramir had somehow found a measure of independence, a measure of self-worth that rendered him immune to Flyn. The former lieutenant knew in his gut that Strider had something to do with Faramir’s transformation. Just getting fucked, though, should not have been enough to make such a dramatic change in Faramir. There was something hidden in Strider and Faramir’s relationship that Flyn could not understand. Something that gave strength to Faramir, though Flyn would have wagered his career that Strider was capable of forcing his own will on the younger man. It simply made no sense.

Back in his tent after the meeting had finally concluded in yet more inexplicable adulation for the Captain, Flyn imagined what he might have seen had he succeeded in catching Strider and Faramir in a comprising position. Visions filled his head of his captain on his hand and knees fawning at Strider’s feet, pressing his face against the ranger’s muddy boots. He saw Faramir pressed over the back of a chair while Strider’s rough hands clutched at the white flesh of his hips pulling him onto the ranger. As image after image filled Flyn’s head he tried to replace the figure of Strider with himself. He thought it would please him to imagine being the one to make the Captain moan and beg and writhe but try as he might Strider remained in place. With a final effort to interject himself into the scene Flyn found to his astonishment that his mind had put him into Faramir’s place. Flyn wanted to be horrified but there was something intensely… erotic? Satisfying? Comforting? About Strider filled with passion and… affection bracing above him.

Shaking his head violently to dispel all the images Flyn rose from his cot. He did not like where his imagination had been taking him. Sighing at himself Flyn resolved to think no more of such things. He would go out and see if he still had enough clout to requisition something strong to help him sleep from the quartermaster.


At the close of the assembly, Faramir mingled among his men sharing a word or exchanging a greeting. Though, the Captain hoped his movements appeared random, each step drew him a little closer to Aragorn. At long last Faramir arrived at his destination. Glad that the growing dark covered his flush, he invited the rangers to assist in the planning of the reception. Aragorn was not able to hide the proud gleam in his eyes as he assented and Faramir felt himself tingle. It felt a little awkward to Faramir that he had to go through the show of having a reason to be with Aragorn. It grieved him that even here- so far away from the world he was familiar with- Faramir had to keep to the proprieties. So it was that the Captain struggled valiantly to ignore the happy quivering in his legs while leading the way to his pavilion at an even pace.

As soon as they had reached the shelter of the tent Aragorn wrapped his arms about Faramir and hugged him so tightly that Faramir was surprised his ribs were able to withstand the pressure. “I am so proud of you.” The ranger whispered into Faramir’s ear before kissing the side of his face. Faramir struggled to return the crushing embrace, and Aragorn loosened his grip just enough to allow the young man in his arms to breathe. Halbarad had entered behind Aragorn and had quickly made certain that the entrance was tightly closed. Over Aragorn’s shoulder Faramir could see Halbarad regarding them with indulgent affection and the Captain was suddenly struck by the thought that there was no need for secrets among the Dunedain. The men who had remained faithful to the line of Isisdur, who shared their lord’s exile, protected him and his identity from the world, these men- though scattered and hard-pressed with no land to call their own- had remained true to their duty. In a Dunedain camp, all would know Aragorn true rank and no one would look askance at their mutual affection.

Faramir thought of his own life in the comfort and splendor of the White City where there were times when the very air seemed laden with secrets. His ancestors, his family had lost sight of their true purpose. The Stewards had already denied their lord once before. Faramir knew with certain dread that Denethor would never welcome the return of the king. Faramir loved his city but something had gone wrong in its heart. Denethor plotted and schemed for more than the defeat of Sauron. Though Faramir did not know the precise nature of all his father desired, he was growing increasingly aware that Denethor’s ambition reached beyond the Stewardship. Bending his face into Aragorn’s shoulder to avoid looking at Halbarad, Faramir wondered what dire punishment fate had in store for his family for forgetting their ancient charge. Those who strayed from their oaths could never hope to escape unscathed. Perhaps Faramir’s devotion to his king might be accepted in partial atonement but with a sudden shiver of fear Faramir wondered what more might be required before the honor of the Stewards could be fully restored.

Sensing the sudden change in his beloved, Aragorn was on the point of asking the younger man what had so suddenly upset him but before he could speak a loud knock announced the presence of others. When Aragorn and Faramir had drawn apart, Halbarad stepped away from the tent’s threshold, acting as though he had only just realized he was in the way, and allowed Lieutenants Gildel and Warin to come in. Faramir’s thoughts lagged behind events and it took a few moments before he was able to set the agenda for the meeting. Eventually, though, he was able to bring himself back to the present and begin planning the reception for the Khandrim tribes.

It did not take long before Faramir found himself wishing that he had more time to prepare for his journey to Khand. He wanted to provide a demonstration of Gondor’s musical instruments, set out some examples of the book-binders craft, at the very least he could have a painting or even a sketch of Minas Tirith to display. In the absence of anything more culturally relevant Faramir and his companions decided to have the men demonstrate a few drills and to exhibit some of the armor and other martial accoutrements that were not well known in Khand. At Lieutenant Gildel’s suggestion, Faramir agreed to feature oatcakes among the hors d’oeuvres. While not exactly a delicacy, oats were not grown in Khand and the simple but tasty fare was more representative of what most people ate in Gondor.

Of course, the camp would have to go through a very thorough tidying. Boots would need to be cleaned, breastplates polished and weapons sharpened. Strider and Halbarad agreed to make sure that each of the Gondorhim was capable of making a polite greeting in the Khandorric tongue and could make the appropriate response when Faramir offered a toast to his guests. A great deal of work would need to be done in a short time but courtesy demanded that Faramir who had received hospitality from the Khandrim reciprocate. A reception would also be an opportunity to woo the tribes as well as allowing them become more familiar with their curious western neighbors. The discussion lasted several hours but eventually the lieutenants had their tasks and Faramir felt confident that he had made the best arrangements possible under the circumstances.

As Gildel and Warin rose to go, Halbarad made as if to take his leave also but a small gesture from Aragorn held him in his place. After Faramir had spoken a few parting words to his lieutenants and escorted them from his tent he returned to the small table where the rangers still sat. Eschewing the chair at the head of the table in favor of dragging the stool close to Aragorn a little closer Faramir settled himself leaning in towards his lord. There was no longer any indication of the sudden fear Aragorn had felt earlier from the younger man and the ranger allowed himself to hope that he had been mistaken in his reading of Faramir.

“You have done excellent work today.” Aragorn said reaching for Faramir’s hand and giving it a squeeze. Unable to make a suitable reply Faramir simply returned the pressure on Aragorn’s hand and tried to control the width of his smile.

“It occurs to me that you should be burdened as little as possible with concern over the gauntlet.” Aragorn continued as the smile slipped from Faramir’s face to be replaced with an anxious frown. “I have given it some thought and unless we learn something new, the best course of action would be to take the `killing fist’ out of the reach of the Variags as soon as possible.”

“I think it very likely that I shall win the gauntlet. As soon as I have it in my possession I would like Halbarad to take it and travel west with as much speed and stealth as can be managed. I shall leave, too, a few hours later. I shall go north leaving clear signs of my direction. After a time I will go south then west. With luck the Variags will follow me.” Faramir felt his chest constrict. He had not registered Aragorn’s words after he announced that he would leave very soon after he won the `killing fist’. The tournament would be over in less than a week- as few as four perhaps five days. Did Aragorn mean to go so soon? Faramir knew their time was limited but, dear gods, not even a week left?

“Why don’t you take the gauntlet west and I leave false trails for the Variags?” Halbarad’s sharp question brought Faramir back to an awareness of himself and the young captain chided himself for his selfishness and resolved to focus as much as possible on what was being said.

“Two reasons.” Aragorn began as though he had anticipated just this question. “First, even if we allow the Variags to think there is a strong possibility that you have the gauntlet their concentration will be on me. They may not even bother following you, believing I would never let the prize out of my sight. Our goal is to divide their strength as much as possible. Second, I will be better able to elude the Variags who follow me.”

“You do not so far exceed me in skill as to make any difference in out-maneuvering a pack of Variags.” Halbarad asserted firmly.

“You misunderstand me, my friend. At your best I am certain you could lead the Naz-gul themselves in circles. You are not at your best, though, Halbarad.”

Halbarad clearly meant to respond but Aragorn silenced him with a look. “You have not fully recovered from your first encounter with the Variags, there is still too little flesh on your bones and I see the weariness of your hunt for Gollum and your subsequent injuries plaguing you. Did you think I would not, my friend?” There was a trace of accusation in this last question and Halbarad lowered his eyes. He had indeed hoped that the ache in his body that had been with him since the Variags had played their games with him and the sudden unpredictable moments of weakness had gone unobserved. His own discomfort was not something Aragorn should waste time fretting over.

Halbarad might have found a response for Aragorn but Faramir spoke first. “What, my lord, shall be my task, then?”

As he turned to regard his lover, Aragorn’s shoulder straightened as though he were preparing to say something he knew would not please the Captain. When he had the chance to really look at the younger man, Aragorn forgot what he had planned to say in a rush of concern. Faramir was terribly pale and when Aragorn reached for his hand it had grown icy cold in the few minutes since last he had touched him. Suddenly aware of just how careless he had been Aragorn realized what had upset his beloved: “Faramir we will all need to meet together again and discuss what should be done with gauntlet with Gandalf. Once we are safe within Gondor’s borders we will need to decide what is next to be done- together.” Aragorn emphasized `together’.

“Five days, it seemed so short a time.” Faramir’s voice was quiet and the young man was striving to hold back the tears of relief that threatened to overwhelm him.

“Too short.” Aragorn reassured, patting Faramir’s hand gently and wishing he had been more attentive to his lover’s reactions.

Taking a deep breath, Faramir essayed a smile and repeated: “What do you wish me to do regarding the gauntlet?”

“Your task remains what it ever was. Remain here until the end of the Gathering. Dissociate yourself from Halbarad and me if you can do so. I fear the Variags will not send all their men away and that will leave you vulnerable. I don’t want anyone to believe you are shielding the gauntlet. When it comes time to leave, travel as far as possible with the other tribes.” The thought that the Variags, searching for the gauntlet, might ambush Faramir and his small contingent frightened Aragorn terribly. Attacking someone coming to or leaving a gathering was taboo but the Gondorhim were few and they would be vulnerable between here and their own borders.

Faramir was silent. He wanted to do more. It disappointed him immensely that he could not be more useful to his king, to his love. Yet, how could he complain when he knew Aragorn was right? He needed to think about the safety of his men and the alliances he was forming. Nonetheless, to have any though but to be useful to Aragorn when the man, himself, would be taking risks felt near to betrayal.

“I suppose, then, that I shall be the first to meet Gandalf as you shall both travel by more roundabout paths. I confess I shall be very interested to learn what this gauntlet does- besides cause trouble.” Halbarad interjected relieving Faramir of the need to put his great reluctance to have such a minor role in the retrieval of the gauntlet into words.

“It may not do anything discernable according to our perceptions.” Faramir said embracing the change of subject. “If the `killing fist’ produced some very dramatic effect then, surely, its secret would have been discovered ere now.”

“What might it do that would not be discernable to our perceptions?” Faramir froze a moment. The question was very much like something Denethor would spit at him on the rare occasions when he ventured an opinion in front of his father. There was no scorn or contempt, however, in Halbarad’s words- only curiosity and a touch of dubiousness that was, after all, not unreasonable.

“I have heard Gandalf say that magic is merely the manipulation of symbols, perhaps… perhaps it is related to mathematics in that regard.” This was an idea that Faramir had never spoken aloud before and he surveyed his audience before continuing. Finding only interest and curiosity, he dared continue. “Perhaps the gauntlet is a symbol that must be arranged according to some formula with other symbols before it produces an effect.”

“Gandalf did seem particularly eager to impart to me the importance of both symbols and metaphor the last time we spoke.” Aragorn added, wondering to himself what a mind like Faramir’s might accomplish given time and the opportunity to experiment.

“Such matters are happily beyond my ken. Save only that if all this is in aid of a metaphor I shall think the less of the wizard.”

“Gandalf is no idle dabbler, Halbarad. Trust him to know his business.” Aragorn admonished, though there was a smile in his eyes.

“Oh, aye. He has had time enough to learn his craft.” Halbarad’s agreement was not in absolute accord with Aragorn’s original statement but Aragorn had long since learned that was the way with Halbarad on the subject of wizardry and let it pass.

“You have no objection then to what is to be done with the gauntlet?” Aragorn asked feeling the lateness of the hour. The prospect of going to sleep, Faramir nestled securely in his arms was growing ever more attractive.

“As long as we give the Variags good cause to know I have the gauntlet so that a good number will follow me, then I am satisfied.”

“There are enough of them to send hundreds after each of you.” Faramir added, struck again by how truly the Dunedain were out-numbered, wandering the world in ones and twos to oppose armies.

“It is of greater moment that the officer who spoke to us yesterday follows Halbarad or me.” Aragorn explained, once again clasping Faramir’s hand.

“An atmosphere of fear and intimidation such as exists in the Variag hierarchy does not encourage initiative.” Having an understanding of this concept from personal experience Faramir bit his lip. “It won’t matter how many men the Variags have if none will take decisive action. With the leaders out hunting, you and your men will be in much less danger of attack from the men left behind.” Faramir could not dispute Aragorn’s reasoning though protecting the Captain was never supposed to be the goal of the expedition.

“Well if matters have been decided and you have no further need of me, I believe I shall go find my bed. I expect we shall have lots of activity and preparations to make tomorrow.” Halbarad rose as he spoke but Faramir reached out to stay his departure.

“Are you certain you have all you need, Master Halbarad? I feel I have been remiss in seeing that you have all that might be of use to you. I know that we have at least one spare tent and of course you must take all the blankets and food you desire. I am not as familiar with our herb stock as I might be but you are welcome to any of it.” Faramir had been surprised to learn that Halbarad was still suffering the after-effects of his long journey and his first encounter with the Variags. To the Captain the ranger appeared the epitome of indefatigable stoicism. If this was Halbarad when he was ill then Faramir thought he would be formidable indeed at full strength.

“I thank you, young lord, but I have all that I require. The respite afforded by your camp is a boon unlooked for. Besides I am hardly at death’s door.” Halbarad continued, giving Aragorn a reproachful look. “There is naught amiss with me that any save the most careful and punctilious of physicians would detect.”

“Go to bed, Barad nin, before I decide you look feverish.” Aragorn threatened with mock severity. Smiling, Halbarad nonetheless exited quickly leaving the two lovers to themselves.

Chapter 12

Faramir listened in exhausted contentment as the sound of Aragorn’s heavy breathing began to slow and quiet. The older man lay beside him where he had collapsed after spilling himself inside Faramir’s body. The lamp in the tent had been turned down low and in the dim illumination Faramir studied the features of his beloved. As always the Captain saw beauty in the austere features but now there was something more. It was something Faramir only saw in his lord on rare occasions and it defied the younger man’s ability to define. The chiseled face remained stern but Aragorn looked younger, less guarded. While in such a mood Aragorn laughed more easily and he spoke more readily of his feelings. The night before when Aragorn had been in such a mood, the ranger had started to sing softly as he cradled the younger man against him. It was with tremendous satisfaction that Faramir realized that he was- at least in part- the cause of such lightness of spirit in Aragorn, that he, Faramir, that could lessen for even a moment the constant vigilance of mind and heart that weighed upon Gondor’s future king. He was able to offer his beloved a measure of gladness and it was his body, his heart that offered shelter and respite. Smiling in his happiness Faramir moved his hand until his fingers brushed Aragorn’s. At the brief touch Aragorn intertwined their fingers and smiled though his eyes were closed. Letting out a deep breath, Faramir let his own eyes drift shut. The day had gone by in a blur and only now, still in a blissful haze, did Faramir have time for reflection. As usual, Aragorn had left early for the tournament. Faramir had informed his men that in order to prevent any attempts at intimidation or even sabotage he wanted Gorm and Strider to be accompanied by at least two others whenever they left camp. The Gondorhim accepted Faramir’s concern at face value. The men had observed the ever-increasing crowds that surrounded all those who remained in the tournament and with such celebrity status at stake it was no effort for them to believe one or another of the seemingly numberless Khandrhim factions might want to handicap the competition. For his part, Faramir was gratified to contribute in even a small way to Aragorn’s security.

The next task the Captain had set himself had been to tour the market with his quartermaster and a discreet escort to make sure the reception was adequately provisioned. Though the quartermaster had already made several purchases before this Faramir had expected that his language fluency would be called upon to facilitate bargaining. He was surprised, then, to find that once he had chosen what he wished his presence became superfluous. The merchants and the quartermaster seemed to understand each other very well as they shouted and gesticulated in their separate languages.

While his quartermaster was busy haggling with the wine merchant, Faramir wandered a little ways a way eyeing the goods available for trade. Pausing at one booth, he made an inquiry. After a quick negotiation, Faramir offered his dagger, which was eagerly accepted and he instructed the merchant that the rest of his purchase would be collected later. In the meantime the Captain pocketed the bottle of aloe, myrrh and a half dozen other herbal emoluments he had not been able to translate. He and Aragorn had already used all of the salve Aragorn had had in his pack and Faramir had been delighted with the opportunity to find something special. It had been a good choice, Faramir decided, as he languidly nuzzled Aragorn’s neck. He could still detect the faint scent of the myrrh in the air.

After he made all his selections Faramir left the bartering to the quartermaster. Finding he had more time than he had expected before the tribal conferences began in earnest, the Captain could not resist the lure of the tournament. He was perhaps the only one of the contingent from Gondor who had not yet been witness to a contest of swords. Sending one from his escort ahead to find if and where Gorm was competing Faramir turned his steps toward the tournament yard. The Captain would have preferred to watch Aragorn; yet he did not want to appear to the Khandrhim to be too interested in the ranger’s progress. More than that though Faramir felt he owed a show of support to his own man.

The yard rang with the clash of metal. Clouds of dust kicked up by the quick movements of the competitors filled the air. As Faramir neared the site where Gorm confronted a short but very well muscled tribesman, the crowd parted to let him approach without any encouragement from his escort. Apparently, the onlookers were sufficiently impressed by the novelty of the foreign captain that they did not mind sacrificing a close view of the combat to study him. Now quite close to the fight Faramir watched both men. The combat had clearly been in progress for some time as most of the competitors were much more evenly matched than in the beginning. This also meant that the combats were more likely to end in serious injury since all the easy victories had already been won.

Gorm was coated in sweat, so much so that it threatened his grip on his weapon. Faramir felt sincere pity for the man and was glad that his own most vigorous exertions had all taken place in the cool of the night. The memory of his own sweat-slick body locked with Aragorn’s brought a smile to his lips and the Captain quickly raised a hand to shield his countenance. In the end, Gorm emerged victorious. Faramir was effusive in his praise though this was only the first of two contests Gorm would have to win that day. There were others who offered words of congratulations to Gorm and even Gorm’s opponent was not without his admirers. Poor Isu’s loss had made him the subject of derision but that had been several days ago. Everyone who made it this far had was entitled to at least a small share of honor. Conscious of the passage of time Faramir had clasped Gorm’s shoulder once more in congratulation, then left hastily to meet with the tribal representatives.

Though the reception was meant mostly for the tribes who had formed and were most like to form alliances with Gondor, Faramir made it clear that he did not mean to exclude any of the lords who were curious. He stressed the informality of the planned gathering and begged the leaders’ indulgence should his ignorance of the customs of Khand result in any breech of etiquette. Most of the tribes took the opportunity Faramir offered to demonstrate their own graciousness, assuring the Captain that they would be pleased by whatever he managed to show them. Even the men who- in the beginning- had been inclined to be cold to the young man had warmed to him considerably. It was impossible to believe Faramir capable of intentionally giving offense and many of the tribal representatives had decided to forgive the extreme bad manners of allowing men who had already given their allegiance to Gondor to enter the fencing tournament. In all, Faramir had managed to fit in. His presence was no longer regarded as a foreign intrusion and he found that he was regarded as something of an equal. Faramir, who had always felt awkward and ill at ease in his father’s council meeting now found himself accepted among the Khandrhim. The irony of such a situation was not lost on Faramir even as he was thankful to have been allowed a true place at the Great Gathering.

That day, however, Faramir excused himself earlier than usual from the meetings in order to return to his camp and ensure that all the preparations for the next day were proceeding. He found the men hard at work practicing drills, mending tunics and clearing detritus from the campsite. Some of the men were even trimming beards and hair. Gildel and Warin were busy shouting orders and encouragement. Aragorn and Halbarad were also very much in evidence lending a hand wherever needed. The two worked together easily. Without needing to exchange a word Aragorn and Halbarad seemed to know what the other was thinking. Each man had his own strong and independent character yet the understanding between them was nearly perfect. Watching them recalled to Faramir the famous friendships of history and legend.

It also reminded him that he missed his brother.

There was so much he had to tell Boromir, so much that he ached to share. And even though, there were some things he would not be able to reveal, Faramir still felt confident that he could convey to his brother that he had found hope- all unlooked for- not only for himself but also for Gondor. Boromir possessed a brilliance and charisma that Denethor- able commander though he was- lacked. Thus, the father placed great hopes in his first-born. Boromir was to lead Gondor through the crisis of the rising darkness to the East. Boromir was to turn back the ever-increasing tide of orcs that spilled through the countryside, burning and looting. Boromir was to restore the ancient might of Gondor and return her to her former glory. Such things, however, were beyond Boromir, however. As strong as he was, and no one had greater faith in Boromir’s strength than Faramir, he could not do the impossible. There was only one in all Middle-Earth who could fulfill the Steward’s dream. Boromir would not have to carry the weight of all their futures alone and Faramir’s heart pounded with eagerness to bring this news to him. Even so Faramir deemed it best to put aside his thoughts of Boromir. He wanted to project confidence and strength to his men rather than wistfulness for his absent brother.

That evening Faramir ate with his men so that he could continue to monitor not only their preparedness for the morrow but also their mood. It was with satisfaction that the Captain saw that the Gondorhim were, for the most part, optimistic and cheerful. The only distraction from the talk on the next day’s plans had been the news that Gorm had lost the second of his two tournament matches that day. Though, Faramir condoled with the man, he was not truly disappointed. Gorm was skilled but there were several other contestants who were clearly superior. Faramir had very much wanted to avoid a match between Aragorn and Gorm. There was something intrinsically wrong with one of Faramir’s own men fighting the future king- even in a mock combat. Gorm, himself, had not been overly disappointed for the frequent battles in the heat had been difficult and the tournament rounds cut into his free time.

Faramir’s recollection was stopped abruptly as Aragorn gently slid his arm free of his lover and stretched his long limbs. After a moment, the ranger relaxed and his arm reached out once more to encircle Faramir. Losing interest in his former train of thought, Faramir pushed himself nearer Aragorn and slowly began drawing little circles on the older man’s chest with a finger.

“Did I wake you, love?” Aragorn asked turning onto his side to lie face to face with Faramir.

“I was not sleeping- only thinking.” Aragorn smiled at that and Faramir continued to stroke his chest.

“That feels nice.”

“Good.” Faramir murmured, pressing a little more firmly. Aragorn’s eyes had drifted closed but at that moment Faramir could not bear the idea of being without Aragorn, even if Aragorn only left him to wander in dreams. He needed the older man to be completely present with him.

“I heard something interesting today.” Faramir announced, sounding a bit desperate, though he could not have explained why.

“Mmh?” Aragorn’s sound of vague inquiry was not in itself reassuring but to Faramir’s relief and gratification the blue-grey eyes opened to display both interest and affection.

“I was speaking with one of the lords about the fighting finals tomorrow and I asked what the Variags would do with their new prize- for the top contenders have left little doubt with whom they mean to serve should they win the tournament.”

“Are you still worried over the fate of Figno’s harp?” Aragorn asked with a smile.

Faramir replied with his own smile and a self-deprecating shrug.

“Go on, I did not mean to interrupt.” Aragorn apologized, turning onto his back and pulling Faramir against him so he could comfortably let his fingers card through his lover’s dark hair.

“Rather than answer my question the lord asked if I knew the story of the harp. I said that I had heard something of it but I was always interested in lore and the older tales. I had intended to sound modest and understated but the fellow took me at my word and launched into an account of Figno and Mirwith.” Faramir had not been able to resist punctuating the occasional sentence with gentle nips or embellishing the odd phrase with kisses and Aragorn rubbed appreciative circles along the younger man’s spine.

“The story I was told, however, was not on all fours with what I had heard. Apparently in Khand, the harp was the pride of Mirwith’s family. After Mirwith’s father denied Figno’s request to court his daughter Figno stole the harp and would not return it until he was allowed to woo Mirwith.” At this point Faramir became aware that a slight tremble had started in Aragorn’s chest. Raising his head, Faramir regarded Aragorn with curiosity. The inquisitive look turned the tremor into a rumble and Faramir realized that Aragorn was laughing.

“Well, extortion is a bit less romantic than winning a bride through the power of music.” Aragorn chuckled, shifting Faramir off him as he turned on his side to better accommodate his mirth.

“It is not the version of the tale that is heard in Gondor.” Faramir murmured. His own first reaction had not been amusement.

“Not in Rivendell either, for Figno is revered as a hero who signifies the transcendent nature of the musical arts. “ Aragorn was still laughing.

“I know Mirwith was an Eastern princess and Figno haled from the West. Do you think that accounts for the different versions of the story?” Though Faramir was more than aware that men- and perhaps even elves- tended to distort, even unintentionally, their recollections of events so that they appeared more favorable, he had somehow believed in the sanctity of the archives. He had wanted to believe in the unimpeachable integrity of recorded history as an anchor.

“It may be.” Aragorn had finally controlled himself but a smile still pulled at his lips as he collected Faramir once more into his arms. “There is little to appeal to the Khandrhim in the story as it is set forth in the West. Still, the two versions are not necessarily irreconcilable. Perhaps bits and pieces have been remembered in both cultures and to get at the truth the fragments must be united.”

“It all hangs upon what Mirwith felt.” Faramir had perked up visibly when Aragorn suggested combining elements of both stories to create a more detailed realistic account. “If she loved Figno then it can still be a romance despite the political maneuvering and secondary motivations. If she did not then it becomes a sordid cynical tale of the exploitation and manipulation of people as well as of art.”

“None of the stories I have heard have dwelt long upon what Mirwith felt and thought.” Aragorn responded and though lingering amusement still crinkled at the corners of his eyes his thoughts were drifting to another beautiful princess out of legend and the difference between romance and exploitation.

“She loved him, utterly and completely.” Faramir’s bold assertion cut into Aragorn’s reverie and he was startled to hear words that seemed to answer his own silent doubts.

“Did she? Can you cite a source for that, Faramir?”

“I cannot, save that I know it is true.” Faramir’s light blue eyes peered earnestly into Aragorn’s grey. Some wordless communication took place between the two men. With a sudden laugh Aragorn broke the moment. Still holding Faramir the older man turned placing Faramir firmly beneath him.

“Well, if you know it is true then I cannot argue.” This reply was muffled slightly because Aragorn had bent his head to Faramir’s throat and was in the in the process of placing light kisses against the vulnerable flesh. Even so, Faramir knew that there was no mockery or teasing in Aragorn’s remark.

Stretching his arms high over his head for a moment, Faramir next brought them down around Aragorn’s neck, murmuring: “I love you, utterly and completely.”

“I love you, too.” Aragorn whispered before sealing his mouth over his lover’s. Their tongues slid hungrily together. Faramir moved his body beneath Aragorn’s with increasing urgency. The young captain had not managed yet in his time with Aragorn to overcome his surprise at the easy intimacy between them. Conversation turned to kisses and kissed shifted easily into gentle words or sometimes even grateful tears as the marvel of it struck Faramir anew. That one man could fulfill all the clamoring desires of his heart, mind and body awed Faramir and that that man should choose to reciprocate his desperate love was too wonderful to contemplate for long.

Moaning softly into their kiss, Faramir rubbed the inside of his legs along Aragorn’s long thighs before finally wrapping his legs around the older man’s waist. Dark hair cascaded over Aragorn’s fingers as he held Faramir’s head to deepen their kiss. Aragorn felt Faramir, who was now fully aroused, squirm helplessly as his penis pulsed against Aragorn’s belly.

“Faramir?” Aragorn grated the half question, freeing his mouth from Faramir’s only long enough to form the word.

Unwilling to spare the breath for a spoken reply, Faramir forced his legs up higher around Aragorn’s waist. No elaborate preparations would be necessary so soon after their last coupling. Faramir enjoyed Aragorn’s tender ministrations but he loved their second or third lovemaking in a night when precautions could be abandoned, when the recalcitrance of his own anatomy no longer delayed his desires or- more important to Faramir- his ability to accommodate his king’s desire. Now, Faramir’s muscles were yielding and receptive and he could take Aragorn inside him as easily and naturally as he took in a deep breath. As Aragorn guided himself gently into his lover’s willing body, Faramir watched. Buried to the root Aragorn braced above him his face contorted with love and passion and Faramir knew happiness.


The crowd gathered around the Gondorhim camp was visible to Halbarad even before he and Aragorn had truly left the open space of the Gathering proper and the ranger groaned inwardly. Aragorn had had two combats that day and Halbarad did not relish the prospect of more people milling about, pushing, shoving, pressing in from all directions. It was unavoidable, though. Aragorn had been greatly tempted to forget all the eyes upon him and race straight back to Faramir after his first combat round and spend as long as possible with the younger man before racing back to meet his next opponent. Such an exercise would, however, in Halbarad’s unsolicited opinion serve only to distract Faramir- already wringing his hands with worry over the evening’s reception, and tire Aragorn. Good sense had prevailed over ardor in the end and Aragorn had spent the scant time between bouts sipping water while his body recovered from the fatigue of his first battle.

Aragorn quickened his step as the two men neared the camp; eager to assist in the success of Faramir’s reception and to lend whatever support he could to the Captain. Halbarad followed with less enthusiasm if no less speed. Beside the lords, nobles and well-dressed merchants who passed inside the camp with ostentatious authority, there was a multitude of common tribesmen pressed along the perimeter of camp gazing in curiously. It had been decided the night previously that though the camp was barely large enough to accommodate all the nobles and tribal representatives who might choose to attend no one should be completely turned away. Thus the camp perimeter had been cordoned off and several exhibitions had been scheduled to occur within a good view of anyone looking on from outside.

As Aragorn and Halbarad approached they were able to hear Isu’s voice describing to the onlookers what was different about the armor and weapons of those Gondorhim going through their training regimen. The lad seemed to be enjoying his task immensely and if one of those in the crowd happened to shout a question then Isu answered with proud authority feeling himself an expert in a community he had so recently joined. Isu’s discourse was interrupted, though, as one of the tall willowy women Faramir had managed to hire from one of the dancing masters for the evening appeared carrying a tray piled high with oatcakes. As these exotic foodstuffs were being distributed among men who had expected only to catch a quick glimpse of the foreigners’ party before being chased away at spear point, Aragorn grinned at Halbarad.

Watching Isu smile encouragingly as the men regarded the oatcakes skeptically before taking small bites, Halbarad felt himself relent a little. It was not that he was insensible to the diplomatic achievements being made it was more that all his concentration and worry was bent upon the mysterious, possibly magical, definitely dangerous gauntlet and what they would do in two short days when the tournament was over and Aragorn would need to claim his prize. Struggling valiantly to rein in his anxiety, Halbarad managed a small smile. Seeing the reluctant upturn of lips, Aragorn laughed and with great affection he reached out to clasp his friend’s shoulder.

As so often happened between the two men, no discussion was needed to steer a course through the sea of Gondorhim soldiers and Khandrhim nobility. Halbarad understood that Aragorn would wish to be close to Faramir without appearing to hover or interfere while Aragorn knew Halbarad would want to avoid the larger groups of Khandrhim and remain very near Aragorn at all times. Each man respected the other’s preferences and Halbarad found himself able to relax enough to admire all the diligent preparation that had gone into the event.

Upon his first inspection of those present, Halbarad noticed Flyn- glass of wine in hand- listening to one of the wealthier Khandrhim merchants with what appeared to be rapt attention. Remembering the spirit of the evening Halbarad refrained from sneering but it took effort to keep his disdain hidden. The former lieutenant had been in a moody sulk since his demotion and before then he had been a nuisance and a bother. It annoyed Halbarad to watch the man now behave as though he were the most amiable and agreeable of people. He supposed Flyn might have some talent in ingratiating himself with important people at such events and if that were so then that talent might be of service to Gondor, even if Flyn’s main objective was self-promotion.

Though eager to remain relatively inconspicuous, Aragorn and Halbarad did sometimes approach small groups of Khandrhim who had a poor understanding of the Common tongue and Gondorhim who had no command if Khandiric at all to provide translations. Halbarad had never cared for translating texts but he did enjoy translating conversations. In speech complete accuracy was not desirable but speed was important. The mental gymnastics required to shape the flow and direction of a conversation while maintaining at least a small degree of accuracy was an interesting challenge. Occasionally he would turn a statement into a question, add a flattering remark, or omit an insensitive remark. Thus, Halbarad felt he was doing his part in fostering good relations. Aragorn left the translations to Halbarad and spoke to those of the Khandrhim who wished to congratulate him on his success in the tournament. Both men, however, took care to emphasize that they were not Gondorhim- that though they traveled together for convenience what the rangers might do had naught to do with Faramir and his men.

Taking another survey of the crowd, Halbarad suddenly froze. Not a dozen yards away stood the Variag officer speaking languidly with one of nobles of a small tribe. The man was no longer wearing armor and a helmet but a formal robe. The lack of anything to conceal his face made the telltale signs of a mixed heritage clear. The twisted features rising up from a silk collar gave Halbarad the impression of a wild boar in a tiara and he grimaced. In response to the image something animal-like arose in Halbarad and he altered his stance, lowered his head and bunched the muscles in his shoulders. The hairs on his neck stood up as though in an effort to make the ranger appear bigger and more threatening.

Aware of the sudden tension in his friend Aragorn followed Halbarad’s gaze. Seeing the officer Aragorn studied him a moment. The reception was intended for any who wished to come whether in friendship or curiosity. Still it was a little surprising that so obviously an opponent would wish to participate. The Variag, though he was very likely aware of their presence, ignored them and after a moment Aragorn shrugged and, setting Halbarad the example, turned his attention elsewhere. It was not so easy, however, for Halbarad to dismiss the presence of one he regarded as a dangerous enemy and it was some time before he was able to keep from glaring balefully at the officer at every opportunity that presented itself.

As the evening proceeded Halbarad was gradually able to let the unwelcome presence of the Variag officer slip to the back of his mind. Faramir, though the young Captain’s presence was much in demand, managed to pass by the rangers several times to offer shy smiles and a few quiet words. Isu also appeared after those gathered outside the camp dispersed the sky having grown too dark to see anything within. The lad listened to Halbarad’s almost simultaneous translations from Khandoric to Common and from Common to Khandoric with awe. The first time Isu realized the Halbarad had modified something one of the lesser nobles had said, he gaped at the ranger. When the two interlocutors had transferred their attention from the ranger Halbarad gave Isu a wink and the lad had to throw his hand over his mouth to conceal his grin.

It was in the midst of another conversation in which Halbarad served as translator that the ranger’s gaze lit upon a sight that caused his mouth to go dry and for him to break off mid-sentence. Flyn, obviously drunk was standing beside the Variag officer talking conspiratorially. Halbarad was desperate to break up the little colloquy, preferably by delivering a heavy handed slap to Flyn but the two men he had been translating for had begun agitating for him to continue. Trying to dislodge the two Halbarad spoke tersely, making it clear he wished to be elsewhere by his tone and stance. By this time Aragorn had also noticed the officer and Flyn together and had begun to move forward only to be halted after a few steps by a man wishing him luck in the tournament. Aragorn was polite but spared the man only a few moments before continuing on. Halbarad abandoned politeness and caught up to Aragorn just as he came upon Flyn and the officer.

Their approach had been noticed by the Variag, if not by Flyn, and the officer addressed the former lieutenant with words obviously meant for the rangers. “It is a pleasure to have talked with you, sir. Though, skeptical at first I have been given new hope that there may be amity between our peoples. I lament that more of the Gondorhim are not as interested in true cooperation as you are, my friend.”

Flyn blinked blearily at this oration and smiled inanely. Apparently the man was too drunk to sense the nastiness behind the words. Smirking at Aragorn and Halbarad the Variag moved away. Halbarad watched him retreat before sidling up beside Flyn taking the man’s arm in a fierce grip and hissing low and dangerous: “Now just what sort of nonsense have you been prattling?”

“I’ve been making friends.” Flyn slurred, struggling ineffectually to free himself from Halbarad’s bruising hold. “Isn’t that what all this rigmarole is for? To make friends with the savages?”

“We need to get him away from here.” Aragorn told Halbarad frowning at Flyn’s comment as he came up on the man’s other side.

“Is something wrong?” Aragorn turned unhappily to see that Isu had followed them and was now regarding the three men with an anxious expression.

“Nay, lad.” Aragorn answered attempting to sound reassuring. “Flyn has had a bit too much of the wine. Halbarad and I will see him safely to his tent. Go to Lieutenant Warin and see if he is in need of any assistance.” Still looking apprehensive, Isu turned to obey and together Aragorn and Halbarad half dragged, half carried Flyn to his quarters.


Crossing the threshold of Flyn’s tent, Halbarad released the man with a shove and Aragorn turned up the lamp. Crouching down next to Flyn, Halbarad pulled the man by the collar until their faces were nearly touching. “I’d like to know what a little slug like you could possibly have had to say keep a Vairag so very interested.” The question was spoken mildly almost kindly and Flyn shuffled helplessly in Halbarad grip trying to move crablike along the ground to escape the ranger’s politely inquisitive gaze.

“I don’t know why you care what I do or say.” Flyn answered defiance melting into self-pity. “I’m surprised you can even spare the time to notice who I talk to. I would think you two mongrels would be too busy fighting over the bitch in heat to concern yourself with what men do.”

Had Flyn been less intent upon unburdening himself of the sentiments that had been long building in him, he might have paid better heed to the rage simmering in Halbarad’s eyes. “The world has gone mad and the Steward’s son behaves like a camp-follower and a couple of low-born wild men are treated as though they were the kings of old.”

With these final words, Halbarad’s anger boiled over. Flyn’s eyes widened and he tried to fall backwards too late to prevent Halbarad’s fist from connecting with his face. Clearly unconscious Flyn lay still but Halbarad’s rage was far from spent. With a feral growl the ranger leapt upon the unresisting man and lifted Flyn’s head by the hair preparing to slam it into the hard packed earth.

“Halbarad!” Aragorn had been wrestling to control his own growing anger at Flyn, Thus, the sudden fury of Halbarad’s attack had caught him off-guard. He had recovered quickly, however, and his arms now circled Halbarad’s waist in an effort to restrain the other man. Though, Halbarad had gone still in Aragorn’s grip his muscles thrummed and ached with potential violence.

“Halbarad let him go.” For the space of several heartbeats, Halbarad tried unsuccessfully to obey the softly spoken command. Finally, though he was able to force his fingers to loose their grip on Flyn’s hair. Aragorn kept his arms about Halbarad as he rose to his feet breathing heavily and shaking with the slow release of tension. Aragorn intended his embrace to be a reassurance rather than a restraint this time for Halbarad did not often lose control and Aragorn suspected that there must have been more provocation than he knew. Halbarad was virtually immune to personal insult, all his pride was invested in his people and in his chieftain. He could not endure to hear Aragorn disparaged or the heritage of the Dunedain mocked.

Aragorn chided himself for being so caught up with his anger that he neglected to observe Halbarad’s reactions. Aragorn’s own fury had been born of a nearly irresistible need to defend Faramir. He had been torn between anger and sadness that anyone who knew Faramir- even as superficially as Flyn did- could say such stupid, malicious, spiteful things. It was a deep grief to Aragorn that a man who had so clearly benefited from Faramir’s generosity, nobility and compassion could speak so viciously about him. Finally, the fact that Faramir should be criticized for loving Aragorn had made it difficult for Aragorn to keep from doing as Halbarad had done.

“It is all right.” Aragorn tried to soothe but his words did not calm Halbarad.

“It is not all right. It is not all right that such as he should say such things unrebuked. It is not all right when you deny yourself what is rightfully yours so that he may live in conceited ignorance and comparative prosperity. It is not all right that our people should sacrifice to keep him safe in his narrow-minded viciousness.”

“Do you think he should thank us, Halbarad?”

“It is not just him.” Halbarad almost spat the words. “It is well to protect free people from the Enemy. It is well that the Dunedain wait to reclaim their past until it may be done without danger to innocents. It is well that those best able to bear the burdens of exile and anonymity take on these hardships rather than inflict them on others but, Aragorn, what if those for whom we sacrifice are incapable of respect or courtesy, what if it is not innocence we protect but narrow-minded parochialism, what then?”

`How long has this been coming’ Aragorn asked himself as he searched for something to say that might help assuage the helpless anger that had taken hold of his friend. “Such men as Flyn are the exception rather than the rule, Halbarad. He is no great specimen of what a man may be, `tis true, but neither is he the worst thing in this world. Do not think upon him and his ilk, Barad nin.” Aragorn did not know if his words were having an effect or if Halbarad was merely recovering his self-possession naturally as time passed but he felt Halbarad begin to sag gently against him as his anger drained.

“We are old campaigners, you and I. We have seen storms and tempests, battled in the fiercest cold and the most oppressive heat. We have seen the worst of what several hard decades could produce and our spirit has not diminished. Flyn is an inconvenience, a cold drizzle or a swarm of gnats. We both know how such little things can steal the heart of a man faster than an enemy host but it is not so with us, Halbarad. It is not so with us.”

“No, it is not so with us.” Halbarad answered his voice unusually hoarse as he pulled away from Aragorn. The ranger felt acutely embarrassed and he wished desperately that he had not displayed so much weakness in front of his chieftain. Halbarad never wanted Aragorn to have to worry about him, or his emotional state. He would make it up to Aragorn. He would not lose control again.

While Halbarad collected himself, Aragorn dutifully inspected Flyn. The man had managed to move backward even as Halbarad struck him and because of that the damage was not as bad as it could have been. Even so, the man would not feel like talking for a while and that Aragorn reasoned was just as well. As Aragorn finished turning Flyn on his side and stood up dusting his hands Halbarad was able to address him in something approaching his usual tone and manner: “I am afraid I have cost us whatever chance we had of learning what questions the Variag was asking. I’m sorry about that.”

Aragorn shrugged. “I don’t think he was in much of a state to speak very lucidly on such details in any case.”

“Still, I think we must assume that all the details of the camp are now known to the enemy. And I’m sure he spoke at length of the bond between you and Faramir.” Halbarad felt his ire heat once more and he deliberately took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself.

“Flyn knew nothing of the bond between me and Faramir. He will have had much to say about us, I do not doubt, but what he will have described will be a sordid little dalliance appealing only to a prurient interest.” Aragorn’s voice was hard as he said this but as he continued his demeanor softened somewhat. “Besides I don’t think he will have told all he knows about the Gondorhim camp. He is a fool and he talks too much but I do not believe him capable of selling his entire allegiance for a sympathetic ear. No, the Variags have learned little more than rumor and gossip from Flyn.”

Halbarad’s head ached and he suddenly felt dreadfully tired but he needed to know why the Variags would even be interested in Flyn’s complaints. Halbarad knew they were interested in Aragorn, more interested than they should be and Halbarad wished desperately to understand. “There is something here, Aragorn, that we don’t understand, something that if we could only figure it out then everything would become clear. What do Gandalf, Denethor and the Variags know of this Gauntlet that we do not? What is it we do not see?”

In his agitation Halbarad had begun rubbing at his eyes as though in an attempt to clear them and Aragorn feeling that his friend was clearly overwrought put an arm around the other man. “It is not a mystery we are likely to solve tonight. Let it be for a while.”

“Come, we will need to tell Faramir of this incident.” Aragorn paused a moment, hoping there might be a way to tell Faramir all he had a right to know without going into excessive detail about all Flyn had said in his drunkenness. “While we wait for him I don’t think he will begrudge us the use of the camp’s herbs. Perhaps there is something I can prepare that might soothe you a little, Halbarad.”

“I don’t want anything that might lessen my vigilance.”

“No. You will take what I prepare, though, because I tell you to do so.” Aragorn actually sounded amused as he squeezed his friend’s shoulder.

Halbarad could only grunt in affirmation of this simple truth. With a final look of contempt for Flyn, Halbarad followed Aragorn from the tent.

Chapter 13


Even beneath the large canopy erected for the comfort of the great men of the tribes, the weather was still oppressively hot. Faramir resisted the urge to fidget as he sat with a look of polite interest melting on his face. Soon, Figno’s harp would be presented and the Variag contingent, minus the Orcish Officer- who was no doubt out on the combat grounds watching Aragorn, were almost rubbing their hand with glee as they confidently expected to add another trophy to their winnings. In the meantime various poems were being read in honor of valor and all martial endeavor. The desire to spend every moment before the end of the tournament with his beloved conspired with the slow and rather boring proceedings to drive Faramir nearly mad and it took all of his self-control to maintain a stoic front. The day had started so beautifully. Faramir had awakened well before dawn with Aragorn’s arms wrapped about him. For a long time the Captain lay still relishing the safety and comfort of the embrace. Eventually, however, duty forced him to extricate himself from the reassuring arms. Faramir had nearly laughed the night before when Halbarad had announced without the slightest contrition that he had knocked Flyn into unconsciousness. From the look on the ranger’s face, Faramir could tell that Halbarad could also see the humor in the situation and the two might have giggled together like children had they shared the trust that would inevitably come with a longer relationship. Aragorn watched his friends indulgently. He was not inclined to laugh at Flyn’s expense but he did not judge his loved ones harshly for their reactions.

Once the circumstance of the incident had been explained, Faramir was decidedly less amused. He had not asked to hear what Flyn had finally said to send Halbarad into a violent rage. Only an insult to Aragorn could have had such an effect on the faithful ranger and Faramir- who did not wish to hate Flyn- was glad not to know. For a time the three men discussed how to change the routine of the camp in case Flyn had let slip more than malicious gossip while talking with the Variag. Halbarad, however, seemed sleepy and quite relaxed- Faramir surmised that striking Flyn had been very cathartic for him- and the ranger soon excused himself. Without the distraction of Halbarad’s presence, Aragorn and Faramir found it difficult to keep their conversation on task.

Even so, the practicalities of managing Flyn’s indiscretion could not be postponed for long and Faramir could not help but bemoan the fate that demanded he deprive himself of Aragorn’s presence to rearrange the duty roster with Gildel and Warin. As careful as he was to rise without disturbing his sleeping lover, Aragorn stirred as the man in his arms moved away from him. Unable to deny himself, Faramir kissed the slowly waking figure, savoring each brush of lips. Before the kisses could turn truly heated though, Faramir asserted his own self-control. The younger man began to smooth Aragorn’s hair and tuck the blanket around him as he begged him to return to sleep. In response to Faramir’s gentle entreaties Aragorn succumbed once again to slumber. Faramir finished tucking the blankets around the older man before washing and dressing quickly. It seemed to the Captain that the tent was a refuge, a sanctuary. In the future when Faramir felt beset by strife and surrounded by turmoil he would remember the quiet serenity of this place and he would remember the expression of peace on his beloved lord’s sleeping face and he would find comfort.

Warin and Gildel were receptive to Faramir’s suggested adjustments to the camp’s scheduled activities. The Captain appreciated their support, observing with mild astonishment that he was giving orders and the men were obeying as though it were the most natural thing in the world. The lieutenants assumed that the changes were being made on the principal that it was dangerous to grow too used to a routine and Faramir did not mention Flyn’s possible indiscretions. Faramir would have preferred to forget about Flyn altogether but he still felt responsible for the man and he could not help but try once again to reach him.

The Captain had sent advance word of his visit. Even so, Flyn’s possessions lay strewn haphazardly about his small tent. The odor of vomit and sour wine assaulted Faramir’s nostrils and beneath that he could detect the acrid scent of frustration and resentment. The former lieutenant stood at attention as Faramir surveyed him. Flyn looked dreadful. One eye was swollen shut and the other was bloodshot. A purple bruise adorned more than half his face and even Flyn’s usually thin lips were puffy and bulging. Such a sight of abject misery might have engendered pity in Faramir but the Captain’s face remained impassive.

The two men regarded each other for a long moment. Then Faramir who had been trying not to breathe through his nose released a sigh. Pushing a shirt off the tent’s only stool, he sat. At Faramir’s wave of permission Flyn sank onto his cot trying, barely successfully, to keep his shoulders from slumping forward. Faramir studied the defeated man for another moment before finally leaning forward and speaking softly so as not exacerbate the man’s headache.

“I daresay you would have preferred a different officer on this venture. And in all truth, I would have preferred another lieutenant. Fate would not have it as we would wish and we are stuck with one another for the duration of our time in Khand. There is no choice about that. The only choice we have is how miserable we are going to make one another. I won’t pretend that you have not been a thorn in my side but ultimately I have the power to hurt you far worse than you have the power to hurt me.” Faramir had said this last not as a threat but as a simple summary of the situation. He was finding this conversation much easier than he imagined and he realized that this was because he no longer cared if Flyn respected him.

Putting this newfound insight aside for the time, Faramir continued: “I would rather not have any more unpleasantness, however. Here are the things I need from you: Write a list of the goods you have traded in pursuit of the Gauntlet. I want an accounting of what has been spent and for what purpose. You are not to communicate by word or gesture with anyone not of this camp. I don’t want you to so much as look at anyone of the Variag tribe.”

Flyn’s expression up until this point had been carefully neutral- at least as neutral as it could be with so much swelling- but at the implications expressed in the Captain’s last sentence the corners of his puffy lips turned down and he objected. “Captain, I would never give away information important to the security of Gondor!”

“Can you swear to that? Do you even remember?” Faramir demanded, feeling anger overwhelm pity. Flyn lowered his head and Faramir calmed.

“And I do not want you drinking. Sulk in here if you must but stay sober.” The Captain resumed as though he had not been interrupted. “Do these things, Flyn, and upon our return to Minas Tirith we will part ways in hopes of never seeing one another again.”

Flyn gazed at Faramir. His face ached and his head pounded and the former lieutenant realized that he no longer had any desire to match wits with Faramir, to dominate him or struggle against him. It was too much effort. He just wanted to feel a little better and leave this miserable desert. “I will do as you ask, Captain.” Flyn finally answered and though Faramir could not have been sure it had sounded sincere.

Faramir did not prolong his leave-taking but departed quickly to allow Flyn recover in his own way. The Captain wasn’t entirely sure he believed the former lieutenant but the interview had left him confident in his own strength and that alone had made it worth the time.


Isu struggled not to feel out of place surrounded as he was by the throng of such grand personages- draped in fine clothes and carrying their importance as though it were a physical thing. He would not gawk or stare as though he were some masterless villager, though. He had a duty, a mission. He and another man had been chosen to act as Lord Faramir’s escort. Isu intended to accomplish this mission- as he meant to accomplish every service for his great commander- with skill and unswerving devotion. Darting another glance at his fellow guardsman, Isu did his best to copy him. He kept his back straight and his expression impassive even as he allowed his eyes to roam over the people nearby, assessing them for any potential threat.

As he studied those collected beneath the canopy set up to shelter the great men from the sun, it occurred to Isu that he wasn’t entirely sure what a potential threat would look like. This concerned him a great deal. Of course he could identify a knife-wielding maniac but Isu knew that was often the leas of the dangers that stalked great men. He was clever, as he had had to be to survive as the youngest child in a family such as his, and he suspected that there were much subtler perils. Impelled by his thoughts the young man’s eyes sought out his new lord. The man was seated near by and he was listening attentively to the flowery speeches and other ceremonial announcements. Isu was certain that Lord Faramir was dissecting every word finding worlds of hidden meaning in each phrase and incorporating it all into his already vast knowledge. Such an aura of quiet dignity surrounded the man that Isu had to struggle to hide the tide of admiration that threatened to overwhelm him every time he cast his eyes in the lord’s direction.

Everything had changed for Isu and he owed the world’s transformation and his own salvation to the mysterious and powerful foreign Captain. The Captain and two others, that was. The second man was Strider. The man who had tested him and miraculously found him worthy utterly perplexed the young soldier of Gondor. He did not even know if `Strider’ was a name or a title. At least Isu had heard legends and tales of great lords such as Faramir was but there was no precedent in Isu’s understanding for a man such as Strider. A shadow of secrets and hidden knowledge surrounded him. Isu, completely unable to understand Strider, had lit upon the idea that Strider and Faramir were actually the same person. Isu believed in magic and the intimacy and connection between Strider and Faramir was unmistakable. It seemed perfectly plausible that Faramir might occasionally want to act without the attention that naturally surrounded his rank and such a magical disguise would explain both the power of Strider and impenetrable mystery about him.

Even if Isu’s guess should prove incorrect and Faramir and Strider were in truth separate people still no conflict could exist between them. The young man could not have said how he knew this except that it was obvious. This truth did a great deal to ease Isu’s mind. For all that he intended to learn the intricacies of Gondor’s politics so that he might always know to stand for Faramir’s interests, it would have stretched Isu strong but new born loyalty should Faramir and Strider ever be at odds. It was a relief to know that he would never be so divided against himself as to have to choose between the two men who had helped him so much.

Immediately, this thought reminded Isu of the third man who had helped him. Halbarad was very different from both Lord Faramir and Strider and it was to him that Isu decided he would finally go for information. It was not that he believed Halbarad to be more perceptive than the other two and it was not that the tall ranger was kinder or gentler. No, the reason Halbarad was more approachable than the others was that he was more familiar. Halbarad could be tetchy and irritable, cynical, amused by vulgarity. In short, he was normal. The thought of pestering either Captain Faramir or Strider with Isu’s curiosity seemed as inappropriate and as importunate as seeking an audience with the Great Lord in Baradur to inquire about next week’s weather.

Not Great Lord, Isu quickly reminded himself. He was the Dark One or the Enemy. Sighing Isu realized that he had as much too unlearn as too learn and for that he would need Halbarad. His comrades had been unexpectedly good to him but he could not communicate with them with the subtlety needed to answer his questions. Moreover, Halbarad was not only clearly wise in the way of the world but he seemed to possess the same passion and loyalty that Isu aspired to. Yes, definitely Halbarad. He could tell Isu the things he needed to know; the only question was could he be persuaded to do so. Isu resolved to try at his next opportunity.


Out of consideration for his companions Halbarad did his best not to betray his eagerness to be away from the Gathering and away from Khand. Just one more night and day and then he and Aragorn could be quit of this miserable land. Striking Flyn had been a tremendous relief in its way but the anxiety quickly returned. It was not that Halbarad lacked patience- not at all. The ranger came of a race possessed of an almost pathological patience. Rather, it was his lack of control, his ignorance in the face of his enemy’s apparent knowledge. The sooner the Gauntlet was disposed of and Khand but a memory the happier Halbarad would be.

Aragorn and Faramir were not so ready to see the last of Khand, Halbarad knew. The ranger tried to let this knowledge rein in some of his own increasingly urgent desire to be gone. For them, their time in Khand was an idyll of comfort, passion and love. Halbarad would not see that cut short except that perhaps Faramir’s presence in Gondor would help draw Aragorn back to the kingdom he had last entered as Thorongil. Gondor needed Aragorn even as Faramir did and Aragorn needed Faramir even as he needed Gondor. It would not do his beloved chieftain any harm to have to confront that truth for himself, Halbarad reasoned as he and Aragorn returned to camp at the end of the day.

The three men sat together in the Captain’s pavilion and the atmosphere was heavy with impending loss. Faramir’s expression was mournful while Aragorn appeared resigned. Halbarad kept his own features carefully neutral and his tone businesslike. For the first part of the evening conversation centered upon plans for the next day. Barring treachery Aragorn’s victory was as certain as a single-combat could be said to be. There would be a little while after the battle had been won but before the gauntlet was presented. Usually that time was given to the winner to collect himself for the presentation ceremony and to entertain any last minute bids for his service. Aragorn expected and Faramir and Halbarad agreed that the Variags would make some demonstration of strength in that time. There would be little danger though until Aragorn actually had possession of the prize.

Though custom stronger than law forbade violence at a gathering Halbarad did not care to trust that any farther than he had to. Then, he and Aragorn would leave quickly once they had their prize. The gauntlet would pass between the rangers several times before appearing to settle with Halbarad in hopes of confusing the Variags’ attention. The details of such switches did not need to be discussed in detail nor did the exact moment the two men would disappear from the gathering or the differing routes they would take or the pace they would set. Aragorn and Halbarad knew each other too well for such a conversation to be necessary and it was better that Faramir asked to remain in ignorance lest he reveal something to their enemies by some inadvertent look or gesture. In all, Halbarad mused to himself; it would take more than the posturing of a few hundred orcling bullyboys to successfully track the rangers. If fortune favored them Aragorn and Halbarad would meet up in Eastfield where they would await the arrival of Faramir. Gandalf, too, was expected. No doubt the wizard would be aching to get his gnarled old fingers on the gauntlet. And if the ancient istar did not have a damned good explanation for all his secrecy and manipulation Halbarad had every intention of setting fire to his hat.

Feeling confident in the morrow and somewhat abashed by the somber mood of his companions, Halbarad rose to excuse himself. Aragorn and Faramir rose with him and as he said his `good night’ Aragorn clasped his shoulder and drew him against his chest for an embrace. Faramir offered him a shy but sincere smile and Halbarad bent his head to the younger man even as he rested against Aragorn’s shoulder. Though he should have learned better in all this time it never ceased to fill Halbarad with a mix of surprise and gratitude that whatever the intensity of emotion Aragorn felt for another it did not cause him to forget Halbarad. Though he loved Faramir, and Arwen as well, Halbarad was still remembered, still worth the effort of a small gesture of affection and approval. For Aragorn intensity of feeling did not imply exclusivity of feeling. To the contrary each love, each friendship made him more aware of others, more alive to the human community, more cognizant of the value of each person in his life. Halbarad’s own nature differed markedly. For him, his devotion to Aragorn overshadowed all other relationships. He was glad for the simplicity if his own personality that would admit of only one friend, one master. There was Aragorn and everyone and everything else in his life could only hope for a distant second place.

Sighing into the chill night, Halbarad did not so much as spare a glance at the campfires some dozen yards away. The light would destroy his night vision and the noise of other men snoring or thrashing would deafen him to any subtler sounds. Drawing his cloak tightly about his shoulders, Halbarad lowered himself to the ground and drew his knees up to his chest. He was close to the Captain’s tent, closer than was strictly proper but it was important to keep guard. No one would see him. He was just a shadow among other shadows on the landscape. Halbarad thought again of the night before and how good it had felt as the skin, bone and cartilage in Flyn’s face had turned to pulp under his knuckles. Only now, the rage that had triggered that episode had diminished leaving the raw desire to protect as a sharp pain in Halbarad’s chest. Guilt at losing his self-command still lingered but Halbarad thought he understood its origin. It came from his frustration at so many unknown dangers. Staying close to Aragorn would help relieve Halbarad’s tension- it would help give him the illusion of control.

Halbarad slept lightly and woke frequently. He monitored the sounds of night ever alert for something out of place. Occasionally soft sounds issued from the pavilion; so faint that only one as near as Halbarad and with superior hearing on top of that could discern them. He let these sounds pass without so much as marking his memory, though. Only a cry for assistance would have penetrated to his conscious mind. Whatever transpired within the tent was as safe from Halbarad’s observation as though the canvas walls were made of solid rock. Shifting on the hard packed earth Halbarad spared a moment to study the sky. There were still hours yet before the dawn.


It was going to be hot day for traveling, Halbarad thought glowering at the sun as though he thought to stare it down. Despite the whether which promised to be even more oppressive than usual, the ranger was in a positive frame of mind. He was standing somewhat back from the dirt circle where Aragorn would fight his last tournament battle. He watched the crowd as early comers staked out places for themselves. Both Aragorn and his opponent were already present and the public watched them with avid attention. Halbarad welcomed the scrutiny for it decreased the chances of anyone sabotaging the contest.

The leaders and chieftains had not yet arrived but then that was probably because excellent places had already been reserved for them. Not even Faramir had come yet, but Halbarad did notice that almost the entire Gondohim camp was wandering about the yard. The Captain had no doubt encouraged all of the soldiers who would not be needed to guard the camp to attend. Though the Gondorhim were still vastly outnumbered Halbarad was glad for the friendly faces in the crowd. Indeed, even as the ranger watched one of the friendly faces was approaching.

“Good morning, Master Halbarad.”

“Lad.” Halbarad responded, his customary frown softening slightly in greeting. There was a brief silence then as Isu considered what to say next and Halbarad continued to scan the people milling about.

“Not long now and Master Strider will have this tournament won.” The young man said after considering and rejecting several more direct openings.

“I expect so.”

Halbarad was clearly distracted and Isu wondered if he might take advantage of his distraction to find the information he wanted subtly without having to ask direct questions that might seem too forward or might make Isu seem silly or slow-witted in Halbarad’s eyes. “Who do you suppose Master Strider will give the prize to?” Isu asked striving to sound casual.

Uncertain about what the point of this conversation was supposed to be, Halbarad decided to turn the question back on the Khandirhm become Gondorhim in the hopes that Isu would take the opportunity to make his meaning clear. “Who should he give it to?”

“Lord Faramir is certainly worthy.” Isu replied blushing. “But perhaps the gauntlet is meant for Lord Boromir or Lord Denethor?” Isu had been told that there was great love between Faramir and Boromir but it was difficult for him to believe that. Only one of them could succeed to their father’s. How could two men in such a position be friends. This was the sort of thing he needed Halbarad to explain.

“And if Faramir were to get the `killing fist’, what then?”

“Well then he could become King, could he not?”

“Do you mean King or Steward?” Halbarad asked trying to keep the frantic urgency from his voice. Isu had almost certainly meant Steward- the concept of holding the throne for another did not come easily to the Khandrim and had probably caused confusion- but even if he had meant Steward… How could Faramir displace his elder brother and father?

“He will be the king? With the gauntlet, yes?” Isu felt unsure. Halbarad was staring at him with a disconcerting intensity.

“Isu, lad, what does the gauntlet do?”

“Do? It doesn’t do anything.” Then Isu continued unnerved even more by Halbarad’s gaze. “Does it?”

The air left Halbarad’s lungs in a sigh of disappointment. Of course, it was absurd. Halbarad had tried since learning of Aragorn’s mission in Khand to learn what power was within the gauntlet. It was too much hope that Isu would know when all of his other careful inquiries had yielded nothing. “What are you asking me, exactly?”

Isu colored. His attempts at subtlety had apparently not gone well. There was nothing left to do but ask his straight out: “It is said that the Steward Denethor does not honor Lord Faramir as he should, that he favors the Lord Boromir. It is also said that Lord Faramir and Lord Boromir are friends and that they have great affection for one another. Is that true?”

Nodding in understanding some of the tension left the ranger. Intrafamily animosity was typical among tribal leaders. Brothers vied against brothers and the sort of plots and conspiracies that would result in Civil War in Gondor were just politics as usual in this arid land. Isu just wanted to know who his lord’s enemies were.

“Aye, `tis true that Faramir and Denethor are often of different minds. It is also true that there is friendship between Boromir and Faramir. You must know, though, that even if there were only enmity between them, Faramir would never seek to challenge his brother’s place. Just so, the Steward would never seek to take the King’s place.” Halbarad added this last as a matter of general truth. Personally, he didn’t trust Denethor further than he could spit. “If you would do honor to your Captain, be a brave soldier and do your assigned duty. The Gondorhim do not resolve disputes among themselves with armed men.”

For a while Isu regarded the ranger dubiously as he tried to articulate just what it was that made this seem so very unlikely. As the youth struggled with his doubts the last combat of the tournament began and Halbarad focused upon the two figures that had slowly started circling one another.

“If it is really true that Lord Faramir does not desire to be King then why does Master Strider fight for the `Killing Fist’?”

The young man’s question struck Halbarad with all the shock and immediacy of a splash of cold water. The ranger now understood that Isu has some information that he needed but Halbarad did not know how to get to it. He had already asked the lad what the Gauntlet did and he did not doubt the honesty of Isu’s answer. So what was he missing?

“Isu, if Faramir had the Gauntlet how could he use it to become King?”

For an awful moment Halbarad was afraid the young man would not answer or dismiss the question as too silly to merit an answer. But at long last Isu sighed as though he suspected he was being given an almost offensively easy test and replied: “Surely, a man who was able to win such a great prize will have proved himself powerful and mighty. Who could deny the prowess of such a man? He would certainly be entitled not only to the respect but also the allegiance of others. Do not the legends of the West speak of tokens that will be shown to prove the rightful King? What token could have greater power than a treasure of the East?”

As Isu answered, his voice high with childlike impatience, Halbarad found himself forced to close his eyes against the swirling tide of images that assaulted him. Khand was a land where the greatest hunter could easily be made tribal leader, where a man’s worth could be measured in the number of buckskins he could display, where a princess could be bought with a musical instrument. Of course they would assume that a man could improve his social and political position with a prize won at the first great gathering in many years. There was more to it than that, though. Gandalf and Denethor had both wanted the gauntlet. Could it really be true that a glove most Gondorhim had never even heard of could be one of the tokens possessed by the rightful king.

Halbarad did not think that the tokens had been enumerated anywhere and in truth he had not given much thought to them at all. As far as he was concerned, anyone who knew Aragorn would accept him in no more than his skin and anyone who didn’t would not no matter how much a self-interested elf-lord testified to his identity or the number of ancient swords he carried about his person. What if this gauntlet was one of the prophesied tokens, though? Not all men thought as Halbarad did, after all, and Denethor wanted the `killing fist’ for himself.

When Halbarad managed to open his eyes he found that Isu was staring at him quizzically, clearly waiting for something. Taking a deep breath, the ranger composed himself to speak to the expectant young man before him: “Lord Faramir came to this land in order to make alliances with the tribes. Strider agreed to accompany him as a guide and he entered the tournament as a means of testing his skill and also as a way finding young men who might potentially be of use to Gondor. That is all. Do not suggest again that Lord Faramir would seek either the kingship or his brother’s place as the Steward’s heir. It would be an insult to his honor to imply that he would desire what by rights belonged to others.”

For the space of a breath Isu did not answer and Halbarad feared that the boy would continue asking questions but in the end Isu bent his head in acquiescence. “I would never wish to cast aspersions upon my lord’s honor. Thank you, Master Halbarad. You have given me much to reflect upon.”

`Same here, lad’ Halbarad thought to himself as he nodded in what he hoped was a way that conveyed both acknowledgment and dismissal. The ranger did indeed have much to reflect upon but even as he reviewed his conversation with Isu he knew that he would need help if he was to make sense of what he had learned.


The sight was glorious- even as he had imagined it would be. Every motion sang of graceful efficiency and controlled power. The combat was like a dance, or no not a dance, Faramir quickly revised for there was true danger here even if he had forgotten that for a moment in the face of Aragorn’s unshakable confidence. But neither was it a true struggle to the death. Aragorn’s opponent moved with desperate intensity but there was too much reserve in Aragorn. He wasn’t holding back, not exactly but neither did this fight touch the core of him. It was clear to Faramir’s practiced eye that the tall ranger was not fighting as a matter of life and death. As he watched, eyes riveted, Faramir could not help but marvel at how the arms that now wielded sharpened steel in a potentially deadly arc had wound around his body with gentle tenderness only a few hours ago. Yet the man who loved him was still discernable amid the hard edges and taut muscles of the warrior. Faramir recognized the iron control in Aragorn’s eyes, the deadly seriousness and even the quiet understanding.

Ordinarily the presence of the disconcertingly smug Variag officer would have detracted from Faramir’s appreciation of Aragorn’s prowess but now the enemy’s presence sweetened the experience. He felt triumphant, exhilarated watching Aragorn. As though he shared in Aragorn’s strength. The young Captain met the officer’s eyes once and his gaze seemed to say: `You see! See what power and what majesty you and yours must face? This is not even a real fight, for do you see how again and again he refrains from killing. Surrender now, for you are already defeated.’

“Lord.” Faramir was so caught up in the spectacle that he did not hear Halbarad. “Lord?” The ranger repeated, still speaking quietly but touching Faramir shoulder for emphasis.

“Master Halbarad, I beg your pardon. May I help you?” Faramir wanted to give the ranger the courtesy of his full attention but he could not quite manage to tear his eyes from the fight.

“I have been in conversation with Isu, the Khandrihm lad. He seems to be under the impression that whoever holds this gauntlet will have gained enough prestige to suddenly become an acceptable candidate for Gondor’s king.”

“What?” Faramir blinked a few times clearing his head of the daze he had been in and tried to focus on the ranger.

“Like the shards of Narsil or the Ring of Barahir, I presume. I am not entirely certain I understand what all this implies.”

“It is said that when the king returns he will bring tokens of his identity.” Faramir had not been able to conceal a frisson of excitement as Halbarad mentioned the ancient artifacts. Did Aragorn have these in his possession? “I don’t… The gauntlet could hardly be proof of anything. Most people in Gondor have never heard of it. It would be impossible for the `killing fist’ to be one of the prophesied tokens.”

“It would be enough if Denethor believed that it was.” Halbarad spoke very quietly. The idea came to him suddenly as he listened to Faramir articulate the thoughts that had gone through his own head immediately after his conversation with Isu. “That might also explain Gandalf’s interest in making sure Aragorn was the one to win it.”

The fight continued but Faramir could no longer find the same joy in it as his attention was forced onto his father. Squeezing his eyes shut, Faramir allowed himself to consider the possibility that Denethor’s ambition might reach as far as the throne. It didn’t seem right. Denethor loved power, certainly, and he had great pride in himself and his family but though the people respected him he did not share a deep love with them. He had always been content with their obedience- never desiring their love. Then a new thought struck him and Faramir felt a cold worm of fear begin burrowing through his guts.

“He doesn’t want it for himself. He means it for Boromir.” The Steward’s beloved son, his first born, it would please Denethor to see him king. And Boromir might be made to consent. Faramir knew his brother had no true desire for the kingship but in his own way Boromir wished to please their father even as Faramir had. Denethor would tell him that their people needed a king and that they depended upon him. He would tell him that he owed it to their family to take the rank that was theirs in all but name. Boromir would not know about Aragorn. He might not understand the true consequences of what Denethor asked and eventually Boromir might give in. Faramir desperately wanted to be in Minas Tirith in that moment, so he could go to his brother and protect him, keep him safe from Denethor’s temptations and transgressions.

Halbarad nodded slowing considering it and for a moment Faramir resented the ranger that he could contemplate something so terrible without the nausea that assailed him. “Perhaps, but how is it that Denethor and Gandalf have suddenly come to the same conclusion about an artifact that no one has paid any heed to before. And why are the Variags so particularly interested?”

Grateful to be torn from thoughts of his brother, Faramir considered Halbarad’s questions. There should be no greater incentive for the Variags to take the Gauntlet than for them to gain the allegiance of any of the tournaments’ winners, yet clearly they were fixated on the gauntlet. Could they also believe the `killing fist’ was one of the tokens of the exiled king? Did they have some plan of equipping a pretender to the throne? Faramir felt the color drain away from his face as realization struck him.

“Halbarad, I think the Variags might be the ones responsible for furnishing Gandalf and Denethor with news of the Gauntlet.” Faramir was so caught up in the horror of his idea that he was not aware that he forgot to add the customary honorific before Halbarad’s name.

“I don’t understand.” Halbarad’s mind had been reclaimed by the combat where he sensed Aragorn’s opponent was struggling. The ranger sensed the imminence of his lord’s victory and was watching for the end.

“I know what the `killing fist’ does.” Several loud clangs of metal on metal followed hard upon each other and then ended suddenly with a human cry. Faramir flinched as the roar of the crowd began to his fill his ears. “It has the power of a traitor’s kiss. The gauntlet marks the man who claims it. In seeking the gauntlet Aragorn has revealed his heritage and his intentions. The enemy will know now, they will know what Aragorn is.”

Shocked and confused, Halbarad tore his eyes from Aragorn standing victorious on the field of combat. Before he could turn his attention to Faramir, however, he caught sight of the Variag Officer. He was laughing.

Chapter 14

Leaning heavily upon his sword, Aragorn tried to catch his breath as a rushing tide of people threatened to sweep him away. His back was being pounded, words were shouted in his ears and then another wave of people would crash in upon him. Occasionally he saw a man from camp and he tried to smile but sweat was running into his eyes and he had to struggle not to become disoriented. It all reminded him of the madness and wild euphoria that followed a real battle- only in this case he, himself, felt calm and he had been one of only two men to fight. Before Aragorn had managed to collect the energy to begin moving towards a place where he might find some water and some shade, Halbarad was beside him. Aragorn did not object as the ranger took hold of his arm and began moving them through the crowd, keeping the people back with a glare and when that did not move them out of the way fast enough he simply pushed through them. When they came beneath a small canopy hung about with gauzy drapery for privacy Halbarad loosened but did not release his grip on Aragorn’s arm. While Aragorn caught his breath, Halbarad continued to look slow murder at anyone who came within his range of vision.

“What is it, Baradnin?” Aragorn asked quietly. The still almost painfully tight grip the ranger had on him bore witness that something was indeed wrong. Halbarad, though, was unable to answer immediately. While he struggled to push words passed the knot of trepidation lodged in his throat, however, Faramir came up to them his guards struggling to keep up with his pace.

“What is it?” The question was asked in the same calm tone but this time it was directed at Faramir. Nodding to the men that had accompanied him to keep others away from the canopy they had sheltered under the young captain took a deep breath. He wanted very much to go to Aragorn and let the older man put his arms about him but there were too many people milling about. Swallowing hard, Faramir recounted what Halbarad had told him of his conversation with Isu, and then added what he and Halbarad had discussed and finally he told Aragorn about his own final conclusion about the power and purpose of the Gauntlet.

“You believe that the Variags spread rumors aimed toward the West that the Gauntlet was a token of the Isildurioni then allowed it to be a prize in one of the tournaments, so that anyone arrogant enough or foolish enough to come for it would be caught?” Aragorn asked, turning the ideas over in his head even as he spoke.

Faramir regarded him helplessly, the urge to go to him, embrace him, press his face into his chest even stronger now. “I think it is a possibility we must consider.”

Studying Faramir, Aragorn could see that the young man was convinced. He was inclined to trust Faramir’s intuition and his heart sank. If Faramir had come to the correct conclusion then not only was the danger greatly increased but Aragorn had just destroyed generations of secrecy and planning in the space of a moment. Turning his eyes toward Halbarad, Aragorn saw his own feelings of shock and grief reflected in his friend’s face.

“It is a possibility we cannot ignore, but it is a bit subtle and elaborate for the Variags. I would think that such an enterprise would be beyond their capacity to plan.” Halbarad spoke up gamely. He had regained much of his reasoning faculties while Faramir talked and though he could not quell the dark fear that the Captain was entirely correct, he would not give in without a fight.

“The Variags have never been our true enemy but only pawns. The planning may have been done by others, perhaps in the Dark Tower itself.” Faramir trembled a little at his own words. Unable to resist the compulsion any longer he went to Aragorn and touched his wrist in what he prayed was taken for a casual gesture.

“They had you caught, Baradnin, and they let you go. Why would they do such a thing unless they wanted to see if you would try for the gauntlet yourself, or ally yourself with another who would try to win it? Did you not tell me yourself that though the enemy cannot be certain any of Isildur’s children exist they can make fairly accurate predictions about what sort of man any scion of that line would be like.”

Halbarad felt himself reacting to the self-recrimination in his lord’s tone. He remembered how Aragorn had summarized that the Variag trap was for `anyone arrogant enough or foolish enough’. He would have disputed the words at the time but he had still been flustered himself. Damn it, this was not Aragorn’s fault. Halbarad would not let the man blame himself. Rage swept through the ranger crowding out the fear. Now was not the time to challenge what Aragorn had said. There were too many onlookers and there was too much else that needed to be discussed. Later though, when they were safe- and they would get through this safely- Aragorn would bleeding well get an earful. The Chieftain was not going to get away with feeling responsible for events outside of his control- not while Halbarad was around. Safe in his anger, Halbarad felt able now to help figure out how they were going to extricate themselves from this predicament.

Faramir watched as Halbarad’s fists clenched at his side. The ranger’s face, which had been pale, seemed to have regained all its color in then some. Though fascinated, he had no hope of understanding what sort of internal processes seemed to be bringing Halbarad to frothing anger. He lost his interest in Halbarad’s mood; however, as he felt Aragorn gently pull away from his light touch. In the next instant, Aragorn had turned slightly. Now his body and Faramir’s ceremonial cloak concealed their hands from view. Thus, no one looking in from outside would be able to see as the older man clasped Faramir’s hand in his and squeezed gently. The relief of that contact was so great that Faramir might have smiled. He felt a shadow of the exhilaration he had felt while watching Aragorn’s fight return to him and there was a new strength in his voice as he asked his next question.

“What confuses me is, if Gandalf believed the Gauntlet was important to proving your identity then why didn’t he tell you?”

“That is easy enough.” Halbarad answered before Aragorn could draw breath to speak. The ranger was pacing now like a caged lion, ready to pounce at anything that moved. “He didn’t tell him because he knew Aragorn would be unlikely to go into the East for such a cause. He didn’t tell him because the Valar’s own ambassador cannot be bothered with the truth if that means there is a chance he won’t get what he wants.”

Faramir’s eyes widened slightly and he turned to Aragorn perhaps hoping that the other man would moderate some of the venom in the ranger’s accusation. Aragorn, however, was not certain he could deny Halbarad’s words. Isildur’s Heir had no doubts about his identity. He could hardly doubt it when he had the testimony of Lord Elrond to confirm it. What Aragorn was somewhat less certain of was his own value as a leader. If he was not suitable to rule then the mere possession of an ancient glove could not change that. It was also well within the realm of possibility that Gandalf would tell only what he thought he needed to know to make the decision the wizard had determined was correct.

“We cannot know with certainty what was in Gandalf’s mind when he suggested that the Gauntlet was important.” Aragorn announced, steering the conversation back to the matter at hand. “The question at issue now is: Do we proceed as planned?”

“You cannot go now!” Faramir exclaimed shocked that Aragorn would entertain such an idea. Unconsciously the Captain’s grip on Aragorn’s hand tightened.

“Absolutely not.” Halbarad agreed. “If this has all been an effort to draw out the Isildurioni then we are not dealing with a bunch of thugs. Those men out there will be trained hunters and all five hundred of them will have only one quarry. They won’t bother about the gauntlet, the Gondorhim or me. They will be intent only upon you.”

“I don’t know that there is an alternative. The only protection any of us have now is that the custom of the Gathering prevents the Variags from any open act of hostility. Once the Gathering ends and the tribes have departed the enemy will be waiting. If I go now, I will at least get a running start.”

“We can protect you. We can-”

“Fara-”

“No, my lord. We can. There are some tribes that will need to travel southwest. We can go a fair distance with them. The Variags will not attack if there are Khandrihm to witness it. They cannot be seen to be breaking the rules of the Gathering. Perhaps we can even tempt enough Khandrihm into Gondor itself where the Variags will not dare pursue in numbers.”

Even as the implications of Faramir’s words ran through his head, Aragorn felt self-disgust well up within him. There would be advantages to remaining with Faramir and his men. As they traveled west the Variags would grow increasingly less familiar with the territory. Also Aragorn could slip away more easily from the company while they were on the move. None of that changed the fact, however, that Faramir and his men would be putting themselves at terrible risk for his sake. There could be no doubt that the Variags would take vengeance on the small band of Gondorhim if their quarry escaped them. Finally, they could all be wrong and the Variags might be concerned only with the Gauntlet. If so then Faramir would be put needlessly at risk.

“He’s right. If we can use the other tribes as a shield we can leave Khand safely with the Gauntlet and the Enemy will not even be able to tell for certain if you were who they suspected.” Halbarad’s voice filled the silence left by Faramir’s pleas and Aragorn closed his eyes. What had seemed a victory only minutes before had turned into a horrific defeat. His conscience burned him that he was putting Faramir and those under his command at risk but there were too many unknowns to ignore the practicality of what the young captain had suggested.

Opening his eyes, Aragorn regarded the two men before him. He saw concern in their faces but they had mastered the worst of their alarm. Though both men had pledged their fates to his, Aragorn’s gaze lingered longest upon Faramir. The young man had changed in the short time since Aragorn had met him. Then, he had appeared so fragile yet still with the promise of uncommon strength and resilience in him. Now he stood here with the same resolute determination as Halbarad and the same curious nature and generosity of spirit that had been there from the beginning. Aragorn could not have explained why such a man had chosen to bestow his love and loyalty upon him but he had. Now it was Aragorn’s duty to ensure that neither man who had chosen to put their faith in him suffered for their choice.

“All right then, Halbarad and I will remain with the Gondorhim and we shall see where that path takes us.”


Various tribal representatives filed beneath the canopy after Faramir had departed. Their discussions with Strider were partially obscured by the sheer drapery hung to give an illusion of privacy and Faramir tried his best not to stare. He would have dearly loved to exchange places with Halbarad at that moment so that he could have remained at Aragorn’s side. As Gondor’s representative, however, Faramir had had his time with the tournament winner and he had had to give way to the others who wanted a chance to impress the foreign fencing champion. It was simple courtesy for Strider to accept official congratulations but Faramir knew Aragorn and Halbarad would use the time to ask more questions about the gauntlet.

Looking around, Faramir hoped to find the Variag officer among those waiting to see Aragorn. The Westerners’ previous exchange of words with Mordor’s closest ally had left them baffled but another conversation might give them greater insight into the accuracy of their current theory. Anything their enemy had to say would necessarily be informative. The officer seemed to be keeping his distance, though. When Faramir looked for him through the crowd the other man looked away as though he feared he would give something away if he so much as met Faramir’s eyes. Now that Faramir felt himself better equipped for a confrontation none was available.

Despite the difficulty of their situation, Faramir found to his surprise that his dominant emotion was relief. The uncertainty of what the `Killing Fist’ was and what it might do had unnerved him more than he had understood at first and though he had struggled to hide it the thought of Aragorn alone against all the strength of the Variags had terrified him. If any ill had befallen Aragorn while he stayed safe at the Gathering it would have destroyed Gondor’s young Captain. Now, though Faramir would be able to help divert or at the least dilute the threat.

There had been a moment during their hurried discussion when Faramir thought Aragorn was not going to allow him to help, when it seemed as though his fealty would be again rejected. That moment had passed, though, and that in itself had done a great deal to restore the Captain’s confidence. To be sure, the implications of Denethor’s desire for the Gauntlet still curdled his stomach, but now he realized he had not given his older brother proper credit. Boromir could be bold to the point of brashness but he loved his people. Not even for the love of his father would he take upon himself a title that not only went against the sacred traditions of his nation but would also sew discord throughout the country. It would take more than Denethor’s influence before Boromir would consent to do harm to Gondor for the sake of his pride. Faramir determined to have better faith in his brother in future and not allow the panic of a moment to weaken his trust.

The fear Faramir had for Aragorn’s personal safety could not be exorcised so easily. Yet, as he continued to ponder Faramir found himself wondering if it the revelation of Aragorn’s identity was truly something to be avoided at all costs. Of course Aragorn’s personal safety was of paramount importance but if that could be ensured then why shouldn’t Sauron and his servants learn that they, too, had reason to fear? Surely Aragorn would be more secure in Minas Tirith than alone or with only a few companions in the Wilds of Middle Earth. So much that was wrong could be put right if only the king would return. Aragorn’s absence hung over the White Tower like a pall. It affected the sprit of the people and sapped their will. Let the Dark One learn that his was not the only power. If that truth stirred him to wrath then let there be open war. A final confrontation was inevitable, why should not Gondor take the initiative? These thoughts bounded through his mind but ultimately Faramir trusted in Aragorn’s greater wisdom. If he said the time was not ripe then Faramir would not presume to contradict. Still it was a far better thing to be a King’s man than a Steward’s son.

Finally, the waiting ended and the time for Aragorn to be presented with the `Killing Fist’ had arrived. The Gauntlet was brought forth and placed upon a wooden pedestal. At first glance Faramir could not discern anything unusual about the gauntlet. It was a trifle larger than what most men could wear and the designs etched into the metal were a little more elaborate than what one typically found but otherwise it was an ordinary piece of chain mail. Faramir was a little disappointed despite himself. All sense of disappointment abandoned him immediately, though, the moment Aragorn emerged to claim his prize.

Aragorn had not had time to do more than rinse the worst of the dust and sweat he had acquired from his recent combat from his hands and face and wet tendrils of dark hair framed his face. His collar was open at the throat revealing, beside the strong cords of his neck the vulnerable pulse point above the collarbone. Aragorn had made no special effort to make tidy his usually disheveled appearance and his worn and dirt-stained attire make a striking contrast with the nobles of Khand. Perhaps Aragorn had even intentionally come forward in his most shabby, rangerly guise for the benefit of the Variags. If that had been his purpose, however, his effort was utterly wasted. It was as clear as day for anyone with eyes to see, Faramir thought. The streaks of dust turned to mud on Aragorn’s forearms did nothing whatever to conceal the truth. If the Variags were watching how could they not know?

Moving slowly Aragorn wove his way through the gathered Khandrihm to the pedestal. He paused a moment to study the object of so much contention. When he took up the `Killing Fist’ Faramir released a breath he had not known he was holding. What had he been unconsciously expected? A giant thunderclap and lightening writing Aragorn’s heritage in letters of gold through the air? A ball of energy to descend from the heaven and envelope Aragorn? Whatever fantasy his mind had been concocting had not come to pass. Aragorn had turned from the pedestal with the Gauntlet in hand and Faramir was beginning to hope that the assemblage might disperse quickly without further formal procedure. He was eager to return to camp and study his maps so that he could choose which tribes would be most amenable to serving as an unofficial escort. Aragorn’s presence before the crowd still commanded attention, though, and Faramir could not yet avert his gaze.

With the Gauntlet held lightly in one hand, Aragorn surveyed those around him. He wore an expression that none present was able to interpret. Then, as though coming to a decision, Aragorn moved purposefully toward Faramir. The Captain might have moved aside thinking Aragorn meant to go passed him but the ranger’s eyes pinned him in place. When the two were but a pace a part Aragorn stopped and sank to one knee in a single graceful motion laying the Gauntlet before him at Faramir’s feet.

An overwhelming sense of vertigo gripped Faramir and his vision went blurry. He seemed suddenly to be living in two realities where the details overlapped in shifting unpredictable patterns. He was still in Khand, still standing among various tribal nobles and a large crowd of onlookers but he was also standing at the gates of Minas Tirith with an army on the Pelennor Fields and thousands in the City watching. Aragorn was there in both visions, impossibly regal and filled with authority even though he knelt before Faramir. There were a few small differences. In Minas Tirith Aragorn’s hair had been carefully combed back from his face, there was a jewel at his throat and he wore the White Tree emblazoned upon his breastplate but that was superficial: Aragorn, his king and his beloved, was the same.

Even as the visions flickered and shimmered before him, Faramir started to notice that from moment to moment his vision of Minas Tirith underwent subtle changes. Each instant something was different. Sometimes Boromir was beside him and the brothers stood together then Boromir would disappear leaving Faramir alone only to reappear again. Faramir, himself, held the Steward’s rod of office. Then he was holding the crown of Gondor. Once Denethor appeared but then his image flickered not to return. The people around Aragorn changed too. Like Boromir Halbarad seemed to come and go. There were others. Beautiful creatures, so beautiful that they had to be elves, stood behind Aragorn. Sometimes there were many of them, sometimes very few but there was always one: fair haired and slight. There was a dwarf, too, and children.

Faramir grew dizzy. He could not make sense of all that was happening in two worlds at once but then the two visions united as Aragorn spoke across them: “I pledge to the service of Gondor and her people my life and honor.” The words, spoken now and at the gates of the city, pierced through the confusion of images and Faramir felt the world become steady. As soon as Aragorn had spoken the worlds again diverged. In Minas Tirith, Faramir himself had begun to speak: Asking a question of the crowd, perhaps. He would have to speak now also and he wondered if he was capable of it.

“Gondor accepts this oath and will remember it, always.” Faramir heard his own voice at something at a distance from himself. He had spoken as Gondor’s representative rather than for himself and he felt the difference in the marrow of his bones. Touching Aragorn’s shoulder with a hand that should have been trembling but wasn’t, Faramir tried to read the expression in his King’s eyes. The attempt proved futile. As Aragorn took up the Gauntlet and rose to his feet there was something so remote and unapproachable in his gaze that Faramir wondered if Aragorn, too, was being split between two worlds.

In Minas Tirith, the crowd was shouting in wild acclamation. Aragorn had risen to his feet. The cheers were deafening. The other Faramir had slipped to his knees. Faramir longed to mimic his double. Protocol demanded that he do so. It seemed necessary; as though some sort of ritual had been begun and could only be completed with a sign of Faramir’s homage. The world of Minas Tirith had started to fade, though, and the Captain managed to stay on his feet.

For a moment Faramir believed that his perceptions were still altered for he could still hear the roaring of the crowd. Eventually, he came to realize that he actually was listening to cheers and not just hearing the after-echo of the scene in Minas Tirith. Aragorn stood beside him and all the Gondorhim that had come to witness the end of the tournament were enthusiastically applauding. So were the Khandrihm. Some of the latter were clearly only being polite to the foreigners, others appeared to be gleeful that anyone besides the Variags had captured a tournament prize. Still others seemed genuinely appreciative of a good fight. Once more Faramir found himself longing to be back in camp, though now all thought of maps had slipped from his mind.

Closing remarks were thankfully brief and were largely ignored by most of those present, as people turned to their neighbors to discuss events. Faramir accepted congratulations with dazed grace. He was still disoriented as his hand was clasped or his shoulder patted. Aragorn, too, was bombarded with felicitations and good wishes. In the midst of what felt like chaos, Faramir had to struggle not to cling to the older man. Eventually the cheerfulness and backslapping receded enough for the Captain to signal a retreat.

As he was finally leading the way back to camp, Aragorn slipped away from his side. Faramir wanted to stop him, wanted to keep them together but the distance was still in the other man’s face and Faramir did not presently have the strength to bridge the vastness. The Captain had expected Aragorn to fall into step with his fellow ranger. Halbarad had looked like he had something hard and very sharp caught in his throat and he was doing his to breathe carefully around the obstruction. Had he also been privy to whatever it was that had affected Faramir?

Aragorn did not join Halbarad, however. Instead he walked among the Gondorihm. They clustered about him. Faramir could only catch one word in three of the ebullient conversations but they seemed to revolve around advice for the new recruit, nostalgia over first experiences in the service and a detailed discussion and analysis of the final combat. Aragorn drank in the enthusiasm around him. He listened to each man intently, even though a dozen were speaking at once. As soon as the camp was within shouting distance, the story not only of Strider’s victory but also his enlistment in Gondor’s service was being told at full volume.

Lieutenant Warin had pressed a mug of ale into his Captain’s hand and then retreated once he realized Faramir was distracted and not truly in the mood for casual conversation. The experience of divided reality was long over but the confusion of the experience lingered. Had what he had seen been a result of some hitherto unguessed at power of the Gauntlet? Had his imagination shown him what he had so desperately wanted to see: Aragorn’s return to his City. Faramir sometimes had dreams that had evoked similar feelings and responses but this time he had been very much awake. Even ignoring the strange images, what had taken place was amazing. Amazing, marvelous, humbling but not unprecedented. In his guise as Thorongil, Aragorn must have sworn a similar oath. Yet, each time a connection was made, each time a bond was formed Aragorn moved a little nearer to Gondor, a little closer to destiny.

Movement, very close beside him, broke Faramir from his reverie. Turning, Faramir saw that he was not the only one to have drifted away from the impromptu celebration. Halbarad, who had also found a mug of ale, inclined his head in apology. “I didn’t mean to startle you, Captain.”

“It is hardly your fault. I am a bit distracted.” Halbarad made no reply and the two stood together for a while, each absorbed in his own thoughts.

“He loves them, doesn’t he.” Faramir had been watching Aragorn’s interactions among the men and the words slipped from him without his conscious supervision.

“Oh, yes.” Halbarad answered without bothering to look up from his ale.

“How can he bring himself to leave—” `them?’, `us?’, `me?’ “How can he spend so long away from where he belongs?”

There was silence for so long that Faramir despaired of an answer but the ranger finally spoke. “I suppose he feels he must.” Then, Halbarad looked at Faramir with a weak smile. “You have made it harder for him, you know; harder for him to stay away.” It seemed as though Halbarad might go on and Faramir was eager for more. The habit of keeping his own counsel on such matters, however, overcame Halbarad’s temporary lapse and he fell silent again

Halbarad was an interesting man and Faramir would have liked to call him a friend. He doubted, though, that the ranger was not one to give friendship quickly or easily. Halbarad could spend weeks in continuous company and never reveal a single true thing about himself—as long as Aragorn was not present, at least. Faramir doubted he was capable of keeping so much of himself secret. It seemed a terrible burden. One day, though, Halbarad would be able to abandon his many disguises and be himself. When that day came Faramir hoped to take the time to become truly friends with Halbarad.

Oblivious to Faramir’s benevolent scrutiny, the ranger was staring into the middle distance. “It was strange today, earlier, after the fight.”

“Yes,” Faramir answered carefully. “I don’t think I understand all that happened.” The remark had taken him off-guard. Had Halbarad shared the vision? “Do you suppose the strangeness had to do with the Gauntlet?”

“I don’t know.” Halbarad chewed the inside of his lip. Magic and Halbarad did not sit comfortably together. “Perhaps not. I cannot see any advantage in investing an object with the power to give a select few people in a crowd a peculiar feeling, after all. Not terribly impressive.” Whatever Halbarad had experienced it was clearly not very comparable to the Captain’s own vision. Faramir was content to let the matter rest there until they had a chance to confer with Aragorn.

The two men waited together in what Faramir hoped was companionable silence. Eventually Aragorn seemed to be working his way to the periphery of the men clustered about him. When it became certain Aragorn was moving toward Faramir’s pavilion Halbarad and Faramir rose as one to follow.


It had not gone unnoticed that Faramir and Halbarad had kept to the periphery of the impromptu celebration. Several times Aragorn had sought his friends only to find them hovering around the edge of those assembled. It occurred to him that he should go to them and attempt to draw them out. But then they might prefer some time to themselves. The day had been stressful for them all and Aragorn would give his friends their space to collect their thoughts if that was what they wanted. For Aragorn himself, what was needed was to get caught up in the more ordinary but no less important concerns and cares of the soldiers. It gave him a sense of stability and comfort to hear the pros and cons of being posted to Dol Amroth debated as though it were the most crucial issue of the day. The enthusiasm of the Gondorhim had been a great solace. Listening to them eased the ominous tension growing in him.

Aragorn was in need of such comfort for he was under no illusions that the day had been anything but an abysmal failure. From the very beginning things had seemed to go wrong. Aragorn had not been able to find the words in all the night or morning to tell Faramir just how much he loved him and just how badly he would miss him. Valar knew Faramir had told him. Again and again the young captain had made it clear what even a temporary separation would do to him. Aragorn had held him and whispered loving words to him but he hadn’t been able to express everything that Faramir meant to him. Then there was the combat itself. Tired from lack of sleep and guilt-ridden about cheating Faramir of a proper profession of love, Aragorn had given his opponent far too many openings. The battle had been prolonged needlessly and the ending had been sloppy.

All that was not nearly the end. Even to remember how Faramir and Halbarad had revealed the true nature of the Gauntlet filled him with sickening dread. For generations, men had risked their lives to protect the secrets of the Isildurioni and Aragorn had tossed all that away for the sake of an ancient bit of armor. It was pointless to say that he had not understood the consequences of what he was doing. What sort of excuse was ignorance for one who aspired to become a leader of men? Despite the grim situation, Faramir, calling upon his own inner reserves of strength, had rallied and Halbarad’s flagging spirits had galvanized upon hearing the self-disgust in his Chieftain’s voice. Only Aragorn had remained mired in despair; so much so that he had not even had the strength to prevent Faramir from becoming further involved and thus risking himself and his men.

When he had first touched the Gauntlet, the fist that had been tightening around his heart closed. No stranger to the mystical ways of elves or the often-dormant thaumaturgy of the Istari Aragorn had trusted that he would be able to scry anything supernatural in the `Killing Fist’. When he touched the shards of Narsil his blood virtually sang. When Elrond drew upon the power of his Ring Aragorn felt air currents stirring in response. Here, though, there was nothing. The object was a complete null—just a lump of metal, too large to be useful even as a glove. Rather he should say no intrinsic power. It had had power enough to alter the paths of wizards and Stewards but the power was only what others brought to it. It was as Faramir had guessed and Gandalf had so slyly hinted, a symbol.

Having taken the Gauntlet, it seemed to Aragorn only right to use its symbolic power to show something of his deep gratitude to Gondor and to Faramir. He had sought an affirmation of the ties that existed between them. His intention had been to do honor to Faramir and Gondor but he was not sure that even that had turned out properly. He had expected that if the giving of his oath were to unearth memories they would be of Thorongil and Ecthelion but instead he was reminded of Arwen. The first time she had said that she would marry him- she just announced it, he had not yet had the courage to pose the question- he had felt joy suffuse him. He had knelt before her then and taken the Ring of Barahir from his finger and placed it upon hers. He had tried to anyway. The ring was too large for her and she could not even wear it on her thumb without danger of it slipping off. She had laughed and told him not to worry, that she would keep the ring for a while but that he would have need of it again. She had promised him that soon she would give him a token of her own—one she insisted he should always keep with him.

Of course, that had all been before Aragorn’s conscience and Elrond’s fears had prevailed over the precipitate inclinations of love. The feeling he had had that day with Arwen- as though the world was his and he had gained his beloved bride- that feeling had been with him when promising his life and honor to Gondor. It had amused him at the time that there was a certain irony in swearing allegiance to Gondor and Faramir as its representative. From the perspective of an onlooker, he had not acted like a man who believed he had just taken one step closer to a crown but that had been what it felt like—like he had just gained a kingdom, a lover, a bride. Surely that was not what he should have felt.

Any sense of triumph he may have experienced had been swept away as soon as he stood and took in Faramir’s face. His beloved’s countenance was filled with a fey light that reflected confusion and even pain. Aragorn had not known how to interpret Faramir’s distress. Had the Captain believed his oath had been nothing more than a cynical ploy? Surely Faramir would not impute such a base motive to him. Yet, at the nadir of his own confidence how could Aragorn expect Faramir to have more faith in him than he had in himself?

When Aragorn felt he had delayed addressing these issues long enough, he withdrew from the soldiers. Entering the Captain’s pavilion, he put the Gauntlet on the table. He had been staring balefully at the object for several moments when he heard the rustling of canvas. Steeling himself to accept recrimination or despair, Aragorn turned to face his friends.

“Stop that, both of you.” There was a harder edge to Aragorn’s voice than he had intended but the sight that greeted him had startled him badly. Just within the pavilion, Faramir and Halbarad knelt with heads bowed apparently waiting to be acknowledged. “Please, stop.”

`They do not mean to mock you. Whatever else, they do not intend that.’ Aragorn tried to assure himself as he strode across the room to his companions. Halbarad had raised his head in response to Aragorn’s words. The ranger regarded him a moment, meeting his eyes with a calm gaze before slowly getting to his feet. Aragorn let some of the accusation he was struggling to hold back show. Halbarad knew such displays, whatever the motivations behind them, made him uneasy. Halbarad knew how quickly Aragorn would interpret it as ridicule. Why then had he participated? Aragorn meant to ask exactly that but first he needed to get Faramir to his feet.

“Faramir, please, that is enough.” Taking a firm hold of the young man’s shoulders, Aragorn lifted him.

“You should allow me this, my lord. A great thing has happened today: the union of the king and the land.”

Once Faramir was securely standing on his own, Aragorn released him. He felt as he had when Faramir had first intuited his identity. Why should Faramir reverence him so? It was not a question Aragorn cared to address. Taking refuge in annoyance, he turned to Halbarad and with a raised eyebrow seemed to ask: `What is your excuse?’

“It seemed to be important, necessary, the right thing to do.” Halbarad answered his voice impassive. Tempted to throw his hands up in exasperation Aragorn contented himself with retreating to the fire. Even so, he did not miss the look that passed between Faramir and Halbarad. He knew he was being childish but he could not restrain his frustration.

“Aragorn, would it be better to talk in the morning?” Halbarad was extending the olive branch and Aragorn already feeling guilty about his churlishness accepted gladly.

“Yes, Halbarad. Tomorrow will be better. Thank you.” Giving Faramir a small smile of encouragement Halbarad slipped silently from the tent.


After Halbarad’s departure, Aragorn listened to Faramir’s quiet footsteps as he approached him. Then there was a gentle almost tentative pressure on his shoulder. Unable to remain aloof, Aragorn turned and let Faramir slip into his arms. He pressed the younger man tightly to him and kissed the top of his head. That morning he had been uncertain when, if ever, he would hold Faramir again. With the young man firmly within his grasp some of his anxiety bled away. Faramir returned the embrace and for long moments they were content simply to hold each other.

Aragorn had begun to relax. His grip on Faramir had eased a little as fatigue was allowed to creep through him. He was beginning to imagine lying down on the furs with Faramir pressed along side him. The slim body would be warm and malleable in his arms. Faramir’s beard would scrape gently against his neck as the young man nuzzled closer in his sleep. His lips would be slightly parted and his long lashes would…

“Why don’t you want to rule Gondor? Why don’t you want to be our King?” From any other man Aragorn would have taken such questions as a challenge, even as a threat but not from Faramir. Even so the older man felt himself tense. He had hoped that Faramir would not ask. Now that he had asked, though, Aragorn felt the need to answer.

“You mistake me, my Faramir. I want these things very much.” And it was true. He had denied it to himself so fiercely that there were times he had almost convinced himself that he did not desire power. But today, when for a few moments he had claimed the Gauntlet, knowing that that might announce his heritage to the enemy, when he had sworn himself to Gondor, binding himself more closely to the land he might one day rule, he had felt amid all the other emotions a step nearer to destiny and he had been elated. Then later, when those closest to him had seemed to further validate the vision of triumph he had had no choice but to confront the fact that he did want victory, he did want to be king, he did want all the power that that implied and he wanted it so badly that it was a gaping wound in his heart.

“I don’t understand.” Faramir was gazing up at him, his hands resting on Aragorn’s chest. Disengaging his own hold on Faramir, Aragorn sank down on several cushions exhaustion seeping through him. Faramir was quick to sit beside him. He wanted to be able to massage his shoulders or take of his boots or anything to ease his fatigue but the younger man did not want to distract Aragorn from the conversation or disrupt the flow of his thoughts.

“Of course you don’t understand. If I were to name a man I thought to be incorruptible, it would be you. Dear one, the very fact that I desire power is the first proof that I must not have it.”

“Aragorn, please. Why should you not desire what is yours? Surely all good leaders must want to be leaders, at least on some level.”

“If my blood is royal then it is also corrupt. When you grant me power over you, Faramir, it terrifies me that I might misuse that power. What if in desiring power I end by desiring something that does harm to those I love?”

“Such a thing is not in you.” Faramir spoke softly, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You have great power already and I have seen you wield it. Your power rests in showing others the power in themselves. With you, men realize they can be better than they are. When you lead it is by the will of those who follow you that has nothing to do with the power you fear. Such power as that is antithetical to your nature.”

Even as he spoke Faramir knew that his words could not by themselves convince Aragorn. The fear was too deeply ingrained. One day, though, Aragorn would be offered the sort of power he feared; the power of a master over slaves and that power would be repugnant to him and then he would understand that he was a leader of free men and he himself would be free to embrace that destiny with joy. Until then, Faramir would soothe his beloved lord as best he could. He would try to show him the good he did and how much those around him loved and needed him.

Drawing Faramir’s face close, Aragorn gazed into the other’s light blue eyes. Then he kissed his forehead. “I am sorry to burden you with my fears, my love. You are good to listen and you are a great comfort to me.”

“I love you.” Faramir’s whispered words were nearly lost against Aragorn’s shirt but the older man heard.

“Lie down with me, beloved. I feel so tired my thoughts are muddled but I will find no rest unless you are beside me.”

Chapter 15

Fatigue was evident in Aragorn’s movements as he took off his clothes, with Faramir’s eager assistance, and lay down upon the furs. Though the lines of his body suggested utter exhaustion, he kept his eyes open until Faramir finished removing his own clothes and nestled in beside him. Once the younger man was tucked securely against him, Aragorn gave up fighting the looming unconsciousness and he succumbed to a deep sleep. Though Faramir had slept no more than Aragorn the night before, he determined to remain awake for a while to let the reassurance of the older man’s presence seep into him. As much as he had tried to tell himself that he was prepared for their separation, as much as he had tried to tell himself that duty demanded he say farewell with as much calm as possible, Faramir had lived through the night before in anguish. He had not hidden his anguish well and Faramir suspected, with a heavy feeling of guilt, that assuaging the worst of Faramir’s own misery had taken a toll on Aragorn.

He had not meant to be a burden, far from it. He had wanted desperately to be strong, desirable, beautiful. He had wanted to be anything and everything Aragorn could desire, not only as a proof of love but also so that Aragorn would remember him through the long days ahead. It had started off fairly well. Faramir had melted like butter into Aragorn’s first embrace. He had tried to be soft and yielding and do everything that would appeal to Aragorn, but it soon became obvious to the Captain that he was trying too hard. He could not conceal his own desperation. He could not stop himself from murmuring `I love you’ over and over nor he could keep the panic from his eyes if Aragorn left off touching him for even a moment. Aragorn had given him more than love, more than happiness. Aragorn had changed Faramir’s entire world. His adoration of the older man was more than gratitude, though he was grateful. It was more than a need to please. Faramir did want to please Aragorn very much but he was coming to understand that failing to please would not result in the same sort of punishment that he was accustomed to and that had scared him so much. No, Faramir needed to love Aragorn and make him happy because that was an end in itself because when Aragorn was happy then so was Faramir.

Before Aragorn, Faramir had lived at the mercy of a savage and unpredictable world. His thoughts were consumed by the elaborate minutiae of propitiating an unappeasable and apparently random deity. With Aragorn, the world took on order. Causes had effects and events occurred according to rational, interpretable processes. From this security, Faramir found an incredible sense of freedom. His ideas, no longer bound to questions of the immediate future, exploded in all directions. At every corner he was flooded with insights and intuitions. Faramir doubted he would be able to retain more than a glimmer of what he had found with Aragorn in his king’s absence. With everything in him, Faramir feared a return to the world before Aragorn. He didn’t want to go back to chaos and darkness. Unwittingly the Variag plot had afforded Faramir a small reprieve. Though it was selfish and though the danger was very real, peace had returned to Faramir. As long as he was with Aragorn, everything would turn out all right.


He had not intended to sleep, but as Faramir’s eyes drifted open he became aware that time had passed. Aragorn, who in Faramir’s last moment of awareness had been in profound sleep, was now regarding him with hungry fascination. Smiling, Faramir closed the short distance between them to press his lips against the older man’s. It was as though with that slight pressure he had loosed a flood. The moment their lips touched Aragorn reached out and pulled Faramir hard against him while forcing his tongue into Faramir’s mouth. Purring his approval, Faramir struggled to push himself beneath Aragorn, his own tongue welcoming the invader.

Adjusting his body a little to allow Faramir to reposition himself, Aragorn buried his fingers in the younger man’s hair striving to plunge deeper into his mouth. Once his weight was settled atop the younger man, Aragorn broke the kiss to look down into Faramir’s eyes. Aragorn loved the feel of Faramir’s warm mass underneath him. It managed to be both arousing and soothing. The look in Faramir’s passion-darkened eyes proclaimed louder than words his own pleasure but Aragorn continued to gaze intently as though searching for some hint that there was more to Faramir’s reaction than was apparent on the surface. Aragorn, himself, did not care to be pinned. Could Faramir truly enjoy something that Aragorn found… disagreeable? How could he do so many things to one he loved that he did not want done to himself? He had asked these questions of himself before but the events of the day before brought them once again to the forefront of his mind.

“Kiss me?” Faramir had endured his lover’s scrutiny for as long as he was able but he did not like the shadow that seemed to be gathering in his lover’s features. “Please?” Hands that had been stroking the nape of Aragorn’s neck exerted gentle downward pressure.

Leaning down Aragorn brushed his lips against Faramir’s, even as he shifted his body so that Faramir no longer supported the majority of his weight. “Tell me what you want, my love.”

“I want you.” Faramir answered without bothering to stop his attempts to deepen the too light kiss.

“No. You must be more specific. Please, Faramir.”

Now Faramir did pause. “I want us to leave Khand safely, to go to Minas Tirith. I would like to see you King in Gondor. I-” Aragorn laid a gentle finger across Faramir’s mouth, then replaced it with another too gentle kiss.

“I mean tonight. Please tell me specifically what you want tonight.” Though Faramir was not certain why, the question was clearly important to Aragorn.

“I want you to kiss me.”

This answer coaxed a smile from Aragorn and earned him another, slightly longer kiss. “What else?”

“More kisses!”

Another kiss, but then more sternly “What else?”

“I want to touch you and I want you to touch me… everywhere. I want to feel your hands on me. I want to breathe the air that you’ve breathed. I want…” Faramir left off speaking but drew his legs up to caress Aragorn’s hips with his thighs.

“Tell me, love. I need to hear you say it.” The words were still insistent but Faramir took it as a positive sign that Aragorn had relaxed some of his weight back on top of him.

“I want to feel you inside me. The taste of you in my mouth, the feel of you in my body is everything.” Faramir’s mouth was watering around his own words. He felt the muscles in his stomach and thighs tense at the almost shameful but altogether pleasurable confession. “I wish you could be everywhere inside me at once.”

Aragorn’s head sank down on Faramir’s shoulder in something like relief. There was a wall around his inner most desires and while no single moment could destroy that wall the persistent battering of Faramir’s love and trust was slowly loosening the mortar, dissolving the sediment and leaving a few small cracks. Stroking the ranger’s hair back and kissing the top of his head, Faramir was only dimly aware of Aragorn’s internal struggles. It was enough for him to be touched and loved in whatever way Aragorn chose.

In the next moment, Aragorn had recovered his self-possession and from where he had rested his head he began to take an interest in rubbing his bearded cheek against Faramir’s chest. Sighing contentedly at the resumption of the ranger’s attentions, Faramir let his hands move down Aragorn’s neck until he was caressing his back and shoulders. Unfortunately the position of Faramir’s arms interfered with Aragorn’s ability to trace the flexible curve of his ribs. This new task had taken a place of prominent importance in the older man’s mind as kissed a path down Faramir’s sternum. Becoming aware of an obstruction in his path, Aragorn, without conscious consideration, captured Faramir’s wrist and brought the younger man’s arm down to the blanket away from his body. He kept his lover’s arm securely pinned as he let his tongue follow the contour of his ribs. When Faramir shivered at the slight tickle Aragorn applied his tongue with greater force while still pressing down firmly on the younger man’s wrist.

Aragorn looked up at Faramir as a second, stronger, tremor passed through his lover’s body. The young man’s eyes were closed, bliss written clearly across his features. Faramir’s other arm had been flung to the side in rough symmetry with the arm Aragorn held. Straddling, Faramir’s thighs Aragorn rose to his knees. With careful deliberation, the ranger wrapped long fingers about Faramir’s free wrist holding it as firmly as he held its mate. Again Faramir’s body shuddered. Aragorn felt no resistance in Faramir’s limbs, nothing that even a highly suspicious mind could interpret as discomfort or an attempt to extricate himself. Still, the long sinewy muscles of the young man’s forearms stood out with strain. There was the barest flutter of movement beneath Aragorn’s fingers as Faramir reveled in this mild restraint.

“Look at me, my love.” Aragorn commanded quietly.

Aragorn’s hold on his beloved’s wrists tightened involuntarily as Faramir obediently opened his eyes. With the increase in pressure, another tremor racked Faramir’s body and his hips bucked, though the movement was constrained by Aragorn’s weight. Despite the helpless jerking of his hips, the younger man kept his arms still in Aragorn’s grip. His eyes were dilated with passion and Aragorn saw amid the love and trust, which he had grown accustomed to seeing in his beloved that there was also eagerness and excitement. Seeing the wild arousal in his lover’s eyes sent fire raging through Aragorn’s heart but even as he felt the sweat begin to run down his temples, Aragorn felt something tight and painful within him ease.

Aragorn thought he must have held Faramir like this before at some point in their times together. Surely, he had. Suddenly, though, he was aware of the significance of holding his lover down, of physically keeping him still, directing his every motion leaving the other man helpless to do anything but obey. Releasing one of Faramir’s wrists Aragorn brought the other to his lips. He kissed the palm, then pressed his lips to the rapidly beating pulse. The idea of Faramir so eagerly helpless within his grasp, of controlling his beloved’s every movement, touching him anywhere, everywhere he wanted was intoxicating, but in recognizing the need of it he found that the desire he had so long tried to hide within himself no longer threatened to consume him entirely. Finally able to recognize what he was doing- and much important- able to recognize that there was no fear or disgust in Faramir’s eyes as the younger man also became aware of what he was doing, Aragorn found the urgency within him abate. Together, he and Faramir could explore what would please them both best. He and Faramir could take long hours to find all the myriad ways to enjoy one another. This was not a thing to rush into lightly but must come from an unassailable core of understanding. The only indispensable thing was to love Faramir, other needs and desires could be postponed.

When Aragorn released his wrist, Faramir felt a wave of disappointment wash through him. It had been so very safe with his lord holding him tightly. For those few moments he knew Aragorn’s thought were only upon him, his only concern was for Faramir and the pleasure he could take from him. Faramir, himself, had felt freed of all responsibility but to do whatever Aragorn commanded him to do, to be whatever Aragorn desired him to be. The yearning to give himself entirely to Aragorn, to lose himself completely to the other man knowing that he would be cherished and protected was so strong it made him ache. It was a hard thing to glimpse something so wonderful, so beautiful but then to turn away from it.

As though sensing something of his lover’s regret, Aragorn seemed to rededicate himself to flooding the younger man with so much sensation that he forgot any lingering disappointment. Following the throbbing line of veins up Faramir’s arm, Aragorn kissed and licked his way to the warm vulnerable flesh at his lover’s armpit and inhaled deeply of his scent. Then Aragorn covered him entirely and claimed the younger man’s mouth with aggressive thrusts of his tongue. Faramir’s eager response broke off into a plaintive moan as Aragorn brought his hand between them and stroked their erections together.

Enthusiastically, Faramir wrapped his thighs around Aragorn’s waist, rocking against him as he tilted his hips up. Aragorn grit his teeth against the sensation of his penis sliding between the firm mounds of Faramir’s buttocks. He could not contain a strangled moan as he maneuvered himself off the beautifully supple body beneath him. Faramir’s eyes went wide with sudden panic before he saw that Aragorn had only moved away from him to retrieve some oil. He had forgotten about the need for preparation. Faramir groaned at the delay and wondered what it would feel like for Aragorn just to take him without concern for anything but claiming him, owning him. The thought caused Faramir’s penis to twitch in excitement and he spread his legs wider so that Aragorn could do what he deemed necessary as quickly as possible.

Feeling the same urgency as his lover, Aragorn moved as quickly as he could. Faramir rocked back onto his fingers, testing his patience almost beyond endurance. After Aragorn had prepared Faramir as thoroughly as he was able, he lifted the younger man’s ankles to his shoulder- dropping a kiss upon the thick part of the bone of his ankle as he did so. Aligning himself against the entrance to Faramir’s body, Aragorn pushed in inch by careful inch. Faramir struggled to hurry the process, desperately trying to impale himself onto Aragorn but finding himself prevented by the older man’s firm grip on his hips.

“Oh Aragorn, oh my lord, my…love, my Aragorn, oh my love.” Faramir moaned helplessly.

“Yes, my darling. Yes, sweetheart.” Aragorn crooned in answer.

It took only a few strokes before Faramir was overcome by orgasm. Even as he was gripped by his climax Faramir became aware that this he had peaked far too quickly. He wanted to hide his face at such a lack of discipline but Aragorn- who seemed to have tensed every muscle to forestall his own orgasm reached down to stroke his face. As the last of the tremors passed through him, Aragorn began, once more, to thrust within his lover.

Without the insistent clamor of his own arousal, Faramir was able to concentrate exclusively on the feel of the man moving within him. Experimentally, he tensed his muscles when Aragorn was buried completely within him and he believed he could almost feel the older man’s erection twitch inside him. Moaning in response to Faramir’s movements Aragorn stilled to take in several heavy breaths before he was able to reestablish his rhythm. Faramir pushed his hips as high as he could manage, trying to coax Aragorn deeper inside him. Again Aragorn paused, this time leaning forward to kiss his lover, forcing Faramir legs against into his chest.

Before very much time seemed to have passed, Faramir found himself hardening again and he found himself keening softly as Aragorn’s belly moved against his growing erection. Aragorn, too, was approaching the end of his considerable endurance. Sitting back on his knees Aragorn dragged Faramir up onto his lap so that he could move with even greater power into the willing body beneath him. Faramir’s ankles slipped from Aragorn’s shoulders but he wrapped them fast around the older man’s waist and pushed himself hard into Aragorn’s lap. Bracing himself over Faramir, Aragorn drove deeply into him, his face a mask of concentration as he pushed himself against the small bundle of nerves buried within his lover. Faramir pressed both hands against the ground to keep himself from sliding across the blankets with the force of Aragorn’s thrust.

Faramir, panting helplessly, began to feel Aragorn’s rhythm breaking down. On the last thrust, Aragorn stilled as if frozen and Faramir felt heat scalding his insides. After a few seconds Aragorn began moving gently as he emptied himself inside the younger man. Faramir’s own erection was twitching in sympathy with Aragorn’s and the ranger groped blindly until he was able to take hold of the Faramir’s aching flesh. Almost at the first touch Faramir spent himself for the second time. The pearly fluid arched across his chest to mingle with the drying seed of his first explosion.

Moving with the deliberate caution of a man who knows himself to be drunk or on the brink of exhaustion, Aragorn disengaged from Faramir and collapsed onto his side. Moving as though the very last of his strength had been wrung from him, Faramir moved the few inches necessary to fall against Aragorn and throw his arms about him. They lay together for a long time, taking long deep breaths. Eventually, concern for Faramir’s comfort roused the older man. Slowly Aragorn rose and brought back a damp cloth.

“Are you all right, love?” Aragorn whispered, examining his lover as he moved the cloth over his body.

Faramir nodded blissfully. He was certain he would feel this lovemaking all through the next day, perhaps longer.

When they were both a little cleaner and the blanket had been pulled up about them. Faramir rubbed the side of his face against Aragorn’s chest as he tried to borough closer. “Do you like to hear me say the things I want? It must be that since you know already.”

“I do like hearing you say it.” Aragorn answered stroking Faramir’s hair. “But I need to ask you since I don’t know what you want until you tell me.”

“But you do know. You always know. You know before I do.” Faramir replied putting his arms around Aragorn’s neck then deliberately crossing his wrists as if they were bound together.

Aragorn kissed Faramir as he rearranged him into a more natural and comfortable position. He felt remarkably contented as he told Faramir he loved him then closed his eyes to sleep.


When Halbarad met Aragorn the next morning, he knew immediately that his friend was in a much more positive frame of mind. They did not speak beyond an initial greeting as they filled bowls of porridge, Aragorn taking an extra for Faramir, but it was clear to the observant ranger that Aragorn’s mood had greatly improved. Halbarad was relieved but not truly surprised. He knew Aragorn was reluctant to assume too obvious a leadership role, he knew that his lord guarded the secret of his identity almost to the extreme of losing himself in `Strider’. This all had to do with Isildur and Elrond and an overdeveloped sense of responsibility. Halbarad could have rattled off half a dozen ready reasons to explain why his lord and dearest friend would lose his temper, grow nervous or- worst of all- withdraw into himself whenever he suspected men might see through to the core of the leader he was. Aragorn probably could list them too, and a dozen more besides. Insight wasn’t enough in these sorts of situations.

Whatever his doubts, whatever dreadful dreams of the future haunted him, however, Halbarad knew that Aragorn would not turn his back on his people. Aragorn would do his duty. He would become king. The stakes as Halbarad understood them had to do with Aragorn’s ability to accept happiness along with his destiny. In the right circumstance, times such as this were opportunities for Aragorn to be eased into seeing himself as leader and king. With Faramir present or Arwen or Halbarad himself on a good day then Aragorn could be gently reconciled to not only the inevitability but also the desirability of his future. Halbarad was pleased, then, to see that the magic of love or unconditional acceptance or whatever it was that Faramir had been able to provide had apparently been used to good effect. Sensing the direction, if not the particulars of his friend’s thoughts, Aragorn indulged Halbarad’s faintly smug expression and counted himself most fortunate to have such a friend.

Faramir had been unrolling maps and weighting the edges, but as the two rangers entered the tent he straightened to greet them both. While the Captain accepted the bowl of porridge Aragorn had brought him with a smile of gratitude- more for having been remembered than for the porridge itself, Halbarad advance purposefully on the Gauntlet. The `Killing Fist’ had not been moved since Aragorn had set it down the night before and when Halbarad stood before the object he jabbed it accusingly with a finger.

“Any chance this will reveal any further secrets?” Halbarad demanded, pronouncing `this’ in a way that would certainly have intimidated the gauntlet, if it were possible to intimidate inanimate objects.

“If it has secrets then I think they will be revealed to Gandalf or not at all, for I can make no more from it then what is apparent on the surface.” Aragorn answered, already having turned his attention to the maps Faramir had been laying out. Halbarad gave the offending gauntlet another few hard pokes before turning his attention to Aragorn at the head of the table. When Aragorn sensed that both men were looking at him, waiting for him to begin, he allowed himself a small rueful smile before proceeding to outline his strategy.

“The Variags will be feeling very confident in their plans right now, since we have acted, thus far, as they would have predicted. They will feel justified in their assumptions and wait eagerly for the first opportunity to close the trap.” Aragorn felt very self-conscious describing events, as he could not help but feel all of this trouble was his fault alone. He had to fight down the twin urgings of his wounded pride and his concern for his friends that bid him send Faramir and Halbarad away, face the Variags alone and let them do their worst.

Taking a deep breath, he soldiered on: “Our task is to undermine their confidence in their assumptions, postpone any opportunity to confront us and finally make the cost of that confrontation seem too high.” Aragorn would have continued feeling that the worst was now over but Faramir had a question.

“Is not the ultimate goal to find a means for you to escape—Of course, if we can convince them to leave us all alone that would be the best, but surely we should devote the bulk of our energy and planning to keeping the Enemy from you.”

“I cannot leave you and your men to be punished for my escape. Do not ask it.”

“But, was that not our understanding?” Faramir demanded helplessly.

“If I allow you to shield me then I cannot abandon you. I am not the only prize in this game. You, yourself would be of great value to the Variags as would Halbarad. We shall see this through together.”

Faramir was on the point of saying that Faramir himself was hardly very valuable either as a hostage or as a source of information- since he knew so very little about the Dunedain and Halbarad would only be valuable if he was caught alive and then broke under torture. Before he could voice his thought, however, he realized just how grizzly a picture he was painting. If he were in Aragorn’s place Faramir knew would not be able to leave those who were prepared to sacrifice for him. Resigning himself to Aragorn’s decision, Faramir took a deep breath: “What must we do, then, so that we see this through together?”

Aragorn smiled proudly at the Captain for a moment before returning to strategy. “I think Halbarad shall be the most able to conceive tactics for undermining the Variags belief in their assumptions. In general, my importance must be diminished whereas the value of the Gauntlet to Denethor and Gondor should be embellished.”

“I’ll have a loud conversation with Gildel about the lengths Denethor was prepared to go to to obtain the gauntlet as soon as were done here. I’ll also invent some history for you and perhaps a few endearing but less than majestic flaws.” Halbarad began ticking through an internal list. Once he knew what the enemy thought he could plan to mislead them. It had been miserable for him not to understand the goals and motives of his adversaries.

“I shall do my best to enact whatever unroyal idiosyncrasies you shall make for me.” Aragorn commented. He had the utmost confidence in Halbarad’s ingenuity. “I suspect I shall be tripping over my own bootlaces by lunch.” Halbarad smiled and Faramir struggled not to look pained.

“With your permission, Captain Faramir, I think it best if we told people that I have given an oath of allegiance to Gondor. If Strider and I are two humble soldiers of fortune then it would seem logical that I would take the opportunity to join my comrade in his new adventure.”

Faramir murmured his assent to the deception, though he was cognizant of a slight disappointment. He would have liked very much to have Halbarad’s oath in truth. Aragorn had pledged himself to Gondor. If Halbarad would do the same, Faramir could not help but think it would draw Aragorn yet closer to his country. A personal link between the canny ranger and Gondor appealed to Faramir’s patriotic sensibilities, but Halbarad’s loyalty would probably be to the west, with Arnor.

“It might also be necessary to make use of the common perception of your relationship with your father.”

“What do you mean?” Faramir’s voice had grown chilly as he regarded the ranger. For a moment, it looked as though Aragorn might have intervened in the conversation but ultimately he remained silent, allowing Halbarad to answer the question.

“It is well known that Boromir is the favored son. Given that, your search for the gauntlet might be interpreted as your attempt to prove yourself—either you seek to please the Steward or you seek to declare yourself a force in your own right. In both cases, Aragorn drops out of the equation.” Halbarad’s voice was calm and reasonable. Faramir was tempted to find it insulting but in justice he couldn’t.

It was the painful truth that all of Gondor considered itself entitled to know all the household details of the Steward’s family. Faramir considered it enough of a humiliation to know his father lacked respect for him, the fact that it was common knowledge was worse but to deliberately publicize the situation seemed unbearable. It was sordid to deal in gossip and rumormongering, wasn’t it? One couldn’t stop people from talking but the dignified thing to do was ignore it—not exploit it.

Yet, as Faramir continued to think he began to see the advantages of what Halbarad suggested. This was life and war not a romantic ballad. He lived in the public eye and as a result everyone, from the farmers who sold grain in Minas Tirith to the merchants’ wives who bought it, had an opinion about him and his father. Why not let Halbarad use that to deceive their enemies and protect Aragorn?

“Very well. But how do you plan to disseminate all of this misleading information.”

“Mostly, I’ll just talk. Or I’ll let someone else talk and occasionally wiggle my eyebrows in a meaningful manner.” Halbarad appeared as though he was looking forward to his task.

“You expect that those you talk to will run to the Variags? Surely, they will consider the source.” Faramir’s curiosity had taken over from his previous chagrin. The ranger didn’t think he could just tell the enemy what to believe.

“No, not exactly, but I’ll talk to people and they’ll talk to others and eventually I will be forgotten.”

“But how can you be sure the Variags will hear everything you want them to.”

“I don’t expect that one seed in ten to survive to bear fruit.” Halbarad admitted. “If I present 100 things for them to notice they will catch 10 but I don’t know which 10 so I have to do the hundred.” Halbarad continued as though in apology: “The percentage might be higher except that I am trying to communicate ideas that go against what the Enemy already thinks. It would be much easier if I wanted to give them evidence to believe something they already believe is correct.”

“I admire your persistence. I suspect you have a great talent for this particular aspect of warfare.” It was becoming ever clearer to Faramir that battles were not the only tactic of war—perhaps not even the most important tactic.

“Halbarad has a very subtle mind.” Aragorn commented, pleased at the way the conversation had progressed.

“Devious rather than subtle.” Halbarad amended with a small smile of his own.

“As you will, my friend. Just remember to keep me and Faramir abreast of your plans.” Turning his attention to the maps, Aragorn next spoke to Faramir. “Since we are less likely to be attacked in the company of Khandrim, Faramir must try to arrange to travel with the Western tribes as long as possible.”

Faramir nodded. “The Western tribes do not, as a general rule, get along with the Variags and I believe a number of them will be willing to help us provided they can do so without too much risk to themselves.”

“I trust you will be able to make arrangements with the tribes.” Aragorn affirmed. “If you find that you have a choice, take the longest route possible. The further west we go and the longer the Variags must trail after us the more nervous and uncomfortable our enemy will become.”

“There are several small forests that we might plausible pass through. That will be difficult going for such a large number of men with horses unaccustomed to the terrain.” Faramir added, studying the maps. Aragorn nodded, confident that Faramir had his task well in hand.

“For myself, I will make myself useful to you two in whatever way I can but I think it important to spend time training the men. We don’t have a great deal of time but there are some combat techniques that are better suited to facing a larger enemy than what the Gondorhim are accustomed to.” Aragorn had, as Thorongil, often preached the wisdom of adapting different styles of combat to different terrain and different situations. Ecthelion had been willing to let the Captain have free rein and Aragorn had been allowed to replace the plate mail worn by rangers and soldiers with boiled leather. Before too many more changes could be implemented, however, Denethor had managed to convince his ailing father that it would be much simpler and less expensive administratively to give all Gondor’s military force the same training on the same weaponry.

“Shields and heavy armor will only impede us. I would prefer to equip the men with light arms and to make more effective use of the bow. It may be necessary to purchase some different supplies and abandon some of the more cumbersome gear.”

Faramir, who had been thrilled at the idea of learning all he could of combat from Aragorn, suddenly felt his face warm with a wave of embarrassment. “I’m afraid, my lord, that it may not be possible to reequip the men.”

Aragorn looked at him inquisitively and Halbarad raised an eyebrow—the gathering had a wide assortment of weapons and armor for sale. One could not equip an army but one could easily find supplemental gear for thirty men.

“I had Flyn give me an accounting of all the goods and moneys he had used on the Steward’s behalf. He did not bargain judiciously. We have very little left with which to barter.” Faramir, feeling small and hot, wanted very much at that moment to kick Flyn but Aragorn had started to smile.

“That is easily solved.” Moving to his pack Aragorn rummaged about a moment before holding up Gilraen’s opal necklace. “This should be worth a goodly amount of fletching at the very least.” Aragorn announced- clearly pleased- as he offered the necklace to Faramir.

“Aragorn, I…” Faramir wanted to refuse. It seemed wrong to him that Aragorn should have to sacrifice such a thing simply because Faramir had not been able to control his own Lieutenant. Looking to Halbarad for support, Faramir’s brain began to spin with myriad alternative ways of finding money. Halbarad, however, after apparently assessing the probable value of the necklace had nodded as though satisfied and turned back to the table where the maps had been laid out.

The smile was beginning to slip from Aragorn’s lips as he took in Faramir’s hesitation. Feeling defeated, Faramir allowed his lord to drop the lambent jewels into his open palm. “I shall make a list for your quartermaster of what I think is most important and we shall see how far that will go.” Aragorn commented, placing a hand on Faramir’s shoulder and squeezing affectionately. His smile had returned once Faramir had accepted the opals.

“Yes, my lord.” Faramir acknowledged dutifully, letting the pressure of Aragorn’s fingers lessen some of the disappointment he felt with himself for making the loss of Aragorn’s mother’s necklace necessary.

“If there are no more concerns, then let us be about our tasks.”

Both Halbarad and Faramir bowed, the ranger touching fingers to lips and forehead and the Captain bringing his closed fist to his breast. The discomfort of a few minutes passed was now forgotten. Faramir felt filled with confidence. Aragorn was in charge now and he would do everything that could be done. He would take care of them.

Chapter 16

As they had for the last several days, grunts of exertion echoed through the Gondorhim camp. Walking through the pairs of sweaty men, making suggesting, snarling an order, offering a compliment or a neutral turn of his lip as the situation and individual needs of the men dictated, Aragorn was pleased with the progress that had been made. The Gondorhim had gleefully put aside their heavy armor and shields, the searing heat of Khand made plate mail utterly impractical. Aragorn had expected that the men would be willing to shuck the onerous metal but he was a little surprised to see the men embrace the new and fairly rigorous training regimen he had established. Usually, someone could be counted upon to resist change. He was grateful there were so few men that it would allow him to devote personal attention to each, perhaps that was why no one grumbled. Aragorn had even coaxed Flyn from his self-imposed exile to take a few of the men through some of the simpler moves. Faramir had praised this as miraculous and the love and admiration in his eyes had provoked in Aragorn a pleasure so poignant that it was akin to pain. He had explained to Faramir that luring Flyn had not been difficult: the former lieutenant had been going mad with boredom. Aragorn had only to give him tasks that he could do well, and he had hinted that he would keep Halbarad well out of the Gondorhim’s way if he behaved. It had not been a difficult concession to tell Flyn that Halbarad would cease to trouble him. The ranger had tasks aplenty of his own. He had been working terribly hard to destroy the mystique that naturally surrounded Aragorn without resorting to buffoonery. When not so engaged Halbarad spent time taking Faramir through the techniques that Aragorn was showing the rest of the men.

At first, Aragorn himself had wanted to be the one to introduce Faramir to the different ways of fighting. Every moment he could steal with Faramir was precious, but Faramir seemed acutely uncomfortable training in Aragorn’s presence. The young man apologized profusely but whenever Faramir took up a sword to practice he grew clumsy and awkward. Aragorn, who knew very well that Faramir was capable of fluid motion and sinuous grace, tried not to be hurt by his lover’s reaction. He supposed Faramir’s sensitivity had to do with competing with an elder and very martial brother and he consoled himself with the thought that it would serve a useful purpose for Halabarad to be seen spending time with Faramir while he himself concentrated on other duties.

Taking the short sword from a large, heavily panting, over heated Gorm, Aragorn stepped in to trade parries with the man’s smaller- widely grinning opponent. Aragorn himself favored a two-handed broadsword but he was equally facile with elven knives, a short sword or a spear. He was somewhat less comfortable with a mace or ax but there was not a weapon known to man, elf or dwarf that Elrond’s foster son could not use well at need. For the Gondorhim, though, it was a bit of a shock to see that those who had been considered champions and masters of arms were struggling when given different weapons while men with less prowess appeared to excel. After Gorm had caught his wind Aragorn returned the sword to him and gave a word of praise to each man before moving on. Yes, great progress had been made but they would leave tomorrow and Aragorn felt the weight of all that he not taught those in his charge. Despite the ever-present drag of responsibility on his spirits, Aragorn retained a positive frame of mind. He was fully committed now and with that commitment the doubts and fears that lived with him like an ulcer ceased much of their torment.

Faramir had performed his role brilliantly, furthering the camaraderie he started to establish among the tribes and consolidating it by securing several companions for a leisurely journey westward. Tribal politics was an undulating mass of greed, envy, ambition occasionally and unpredictably leavened with genuine public spiritedness and humanitarianism. Faramir picked his way atop the seething swamp, finding unerringly the best path there was to be found without being pulled under into the writhing sea of corruption. Faramir did not appreciate the magnitude of his own accomplishment and not even all Aragorn’s insistence could convince the young man that what he had done in Khand was truly incredible.

Thinking upon Faramir, a smile came unbidden to Aragorn’s lips. Thinking if for them, the pair of men he had been observing preened. Brought back to himself, Aragorn sternly tried to bring his mind back to the present. Thinking of Faramir would soon lead him to thoughts of losing Faramir, of losing his quiet but still eager and insistent questions, losing his keen and penetrating intelligence, losing the light of love shining in his eyes, losing the warmth of his long body pressed against him… Annoyed with his lack of discipline Aragorn shook his head then called out to dismiss the men to their evening meal. They would have a long day tomorrow. Thanks to Faramir they would be traveling at a leisurely pace but Aragorn did not intend to abandon the training regimen he had begun and the Gondorhim would need their sleep. Tired but looking forward to starting for home the soldiers moved toward the mess tent, while Aragorn decided that, rather than brooding about it he would take advantage of the time he and Faramir had left.


The boiled leather of his new hauberk chafed and Flyn tugged at it disconsolately. Recently the men had been ordered to put aside their breastplates, iron helmets and even their shields in favor of simple leather. It was against regulations but Flyn had found that wearing all his standard armaments in the burning heat of this accursed land was too much like being boiled alive. Thus, the former lieutenant had only made sure Faramir was aware he was breaking the rules and shucked the hot metal without further complaint. The only one who had shown even the slightest reluctance to abandon the old uniform had been Isu. As the order had come from his beloved Lord Faramir the Khandrim lad had obeyed unquestioningly but the boy had mourned the loss of the insignia that had shown him a member of Gondor’s army.

Flyn, who- probably out of petty vengeance- had been tasked with helping the little savage become better acquainted with civilization had watched his charge mope. Isu would probably have kept up his dejection all the way to Gondor had not the boy lit upon the idea of taking limestone and chalk and drawing the outline of the White Tree upon the tough leather he now wore. Seeing this improvisation, the other men had all eagerly done likewise and now every man in the Gondor camp wore the White Tree on his breast. Isu had even taken the initiative and drawn the design on Flyn’s hauberk. Though he had been annoyed at the liberty Flyn had not objected very strenuously. It had saved him the trouble of doing it himself.

Seeing the tree as Flyn struggled again with his hauberk, trying to force it into a position where it would not rub against already raw flesh, he thought of Isu. The boy had not been so irksome as Flyn might have supposed. He was biddable enough and seemed eager to learn the ways of civilization. Flyn believed that civilization had not come soon enough in the poor lad’s life. He had some of the most absurd notions that Flyn had to quickly squelch. Flyn found he could almost pity the Khandrihm in their ignorance. He might have actually pitied them had they not chosen to live in such a benighted climate and so close to the Enemy. As it was, the former lieutenant did his best to be patient with the boy. It would not do to be too harsh with someone who could not possibly know any better.

Still twisting painfully in his uniform, Flyn caught sight of a familiar silhouette. Made petulant by his discomfort, Flyn rose from his place. If Strider wished to play the part of Lieutenant, or Captain Flyn considered darkly, then let him have the responsibility of leadership. He would inform the ranger that the leather for the hauberks was of poor quality and unusable unless Strider meant the Gondorhim to be chafed to death before ever they engaged an enemy.

Rising, Flyn was on the point of haling the figure when the man turned slightly and the former lieutenant saw that he had been mistaken. With a tightening in his belly Flyn resumed his seat with an undignified thud. The strangeness of his movements must have captured Halbarad’s attention for he turned and regarded Flyn. Their eyes met for only an instant before Halbarad lowered his gaze, gave a brief nod and returned to what he had been doing. The gesture would have been polite, nearly submissive except that it came from Halbarad. Flyn struggled to contain a shiver as he concentrated on staring at his toes, willing the ranger to go away.

Flyn passed a few moments in wretchedness before he dared look up. When he did he saw that Halbarad had gone. As the threat of a confrontation disappeared Flyn felt anger and annoyance replace fear. It wasn’t enough that Strider and Halbarad could have passed for brothers, with the same weather beaten skin and sharp features they also had to dress alike. Of course, now that they were soldiers of Gondor the two men were dressed more or less the same as Flyn himself but this fact did not distract the former lieutenant from his irritation. To further the confusion both rangers had recently had their hair cut. Others had taken to the idea and now the camp was filled with men whose dark-hair reached to about the same length all of who were dressed in non descript leathers and homespun cloth cloaks.

Despite the rangers’ obvious similarities, though, Flyn realized that there was something more. His antipathy toward Halbarad made Flyn very vigilant. To avoid the sadistic wild man, Flyn had grown very aware of Halbarad. He wouldn’t have failed to notice the proximity of his nemesis except that Halbarad had not been moving like Halbarad. He had been moving like Strider. It was difficult to say exactly what it was but something in the way he carried himself, his posture, the tilt of his head. It looked like Strider. Now that his attention had been startling focused on how Halbarad’s carriage had suddenly altered it occurred to Flyn that neither did Strider seem not quite himself. He had difficulty articulating just what was different but the ranger’s presence was more subdued. It was almost as if he were trying to fade into the background— a useful skill in a forester but in this case the background he was trying to blend into was other people.

Not a particularly devoted student of human nature or the human condition Flyn experienced these ideas as vague stirring of intuition and uneasiness. As much as he may have lacked true philosophical insight he did have a keen awareness of the political climate. He usually could be counted upon to know who held power, who held influence and who resented their own lack of power and influence the most. Other strange occurrences also niggled at the back of his brain: From appearances, matters had changed. Strider no longer seemed to dominate all proceedings. Faramir took more imitative and Strider seemed content to spend the majority of his time training with the men. Indeed, it was Halbarad who spent long hours with the Captain, teaching his own close quarters- often underhanded- form of combat. In other circumstances, Flyn would have suspected some sort of falling out between the esteemed Captain and the upstart ranger but Flyn could sense no dissention between the two. Indeed, Faramir’s eyes still followed Strider with devotion bordering on adoration. The Captain hid it with somewhat greater success than he had in the beginning but it was still obvious to Flyn’s acute observation.

There was Halbarad’s behavior as well. Flyn likened the ranger to a wolf, wild, vicious, acknowledging no authority but that of his wolf leader. Now Halbarad treated Strider more of an equal, a mate or comrad. It might have been convincing but it all rang false in Flyn’s suspicious mind. For one, Halbarad had been leaving Flyn alone. Though he was glad to be free of the hated ranger’s omnipresent eyes, Flyn felt sure that this reprieve was none of Halbarad’s desire. He was convinced that nothing short of a command from Halbarad’s wolf leader could have kept the mad ranger from harassing him. But if Strider still retained his status with the Captain and the other ranger then why the pretense? Had something happened in those days Flyn had spent resting in his tent after Faramir had learned the Steward had taken a more than a casual interest in the expedition? Perhaps Strider was just focusing his energies elsewhere and in the absence of his complete attention Halbarad was taking liberties? The problem worried at Flyn, chafed him worse than the accursed leather hauberk. He needed to figure out what was happening or it would drive him mad.

“Spear practice?”

Startled from his musings Flyn looked up into the eager expression of his charge. Upon realizing that it was only Isu, he relaxed. “S-P-E-A-R practice” The older man annunciated.

“S-P-E-A-R” Isu repeated dutifully, though he was fairly confident that he had said it correctly the first time.

Flyn hesitated a moment but then shrugged. There would be plenty of time to sort out the problem of Strider and Halbarad later. Rising to his feet, he gave Isu what he though was an avuncular clap on the shoulder and led the way to the practice ground to continue the task of equipping the poor youngster with civilization.


Putting down his pen, Faramir read over his hastily composed notes. He was learning so much that he knew he would forget half of it if he did not make a record. Observations about the Khandrihm already covered sheets and sheets, ideas gleaned from conversations with Aragorn and Halbarad filled pages and thoughts with no discernable provenance yet fraught with possibility crammed the margins. There was so much that Faramir had no choice but to write without his usual devotion to organization. The tidy-minded Captain longed to devote the necessary time to categorizing all the information he had acquired. Time was at a premium, however. There was a great deal to do and Faramir feared that all would not be ready. Calming the sudden surge of urgency that occasionally assailed him Faramir once more took up his pen. It did not help the young captain’s anxiety that he was required to spend most of his day appearing relaxed and amiable before the Khandrhim elite. The stress of always being before the notice of large groups of people was taking a toll on his nerves. Faramir recollected with admiration how easily and gracefully Boromir accepted public scrutiny. He took the respect and obedience of all who observed him for granted but he paid for it with his constant and unfailing devotion to Gondor and his people.

The always welcome thought of his brother and his many accomplishments reminded Faramir of the hour he had managed to spend with Halbarad practicing a form of combat that Faramir longed to introduce to his warrior brother. The day after Aragorn had won the gauntlet, the rangers and the Captain had decided on how best to manage the situation in which they found themselves. An important part of this plan involved beginning a new training regimen for the soldier, one that depended more on stealth and was more suited to forests and uneven terrain. None of the three knew how much could be taught in the time available but Faramir had been tasked with drawing out their travel as long as possible. The rangers would work the men hard in the evening while, accompanied by their escort of friendly tribes, they made leisurely progress west, stopping early and starting late.

Faramir was eager to learn the new techniques. They were imperative for the present purpose and beyond their immediate need Faramir anticipated that he would have opportunity to make use of such tactics in Ithilien. Aragorn had expressed interest in teaching him. Faramir’s shoulders sagged a little as he remembered how clumsy and inept he had been that first day and the second and the third. Finally, he and Aragorn had decided that it might be better to let Halbarad try his hand at teaching the younger man. Faramir had not been able to explain to Aragorn why he lost his grip and started tripping over his own feet whenever he faced him with the expectation of even mock conflict. It was not that he believed he could injure Aragorn, though accidents could happen and Faramir felt sick every time it occurred to him that he should ever inflict even the least wound upon his beloved. If the fear of accident was his only concern he might have been coaxed out of it but it his true concern was much less tangible. It was just wrong. He could no more face Aragorn with a sword in his hand then he could spit on the banner of the Stewards. It simply went against his nature.

Sighing a little at the results of his introspection, Faramir found himself wishing for the comfort of Aragorn’s arms and the quiet reassurance of his voice. His lord was unlikely to make an appearance for some time yet so he prepared to rein in these thoughts lest he lose himself to fond daydreams. As he was mustering the self-discipline to tear his thoughts from his beloved he heard a soft tapping outside the tent. Hope soared in him even as Faramir chided himself for letting his fantasies run away with him. Calling out permission to enter, Faramir was just able to stifle a laugh of exaltation as Aragorn appeared smiling like a benevolent deity before him.

“I was just thinking about you.” Faramir murmured into Aragorn’s shoulder. The Captain had moved so swiftly into the ranger’s waiting arms that the tent flap had only just settled into place before the two had embraced. They had been separated for less than a few hours, yet each time they saw one another both felt their spirits lift and their mood lighten.

“I was thinking of you as well and these thoughts drew me irresistibly to you.” As Aragorn spoke he drew his fingers up Faramir’s back. The younger man sighed contentedly at the sensation but soon he looked up with a faint crease marking his brow.

“Everything is all right then? Nothing has changed?” Faramir asked, needing to make sure that Aragorn had not come earlier than his custom because of some unforeseen circumstance that required another alteration to their plans.

“Nothing has changed. In fact, my desire for your company and conversation has remained particularly constant and as I have found an extra moment I wanted to share it with you if you can spare it.” Even as Aragorn smiled his reassurance the very studious and demure appearance of his lover sparked a sudden passion in him. Aragorn buried both hands into his lover’s neatly combed hair. Pulling the younger man’s face toward him, he kissed him hard.

Immediately, Faramir wrapped his arms tightly around Aragorn’s waist. His own mouth was soft and yielding against the other’s assault. Faramir gave himself entirely to Aragorn, trusting to the older man for his strength, his balance and even his breath for it was utterly clear that Faramir would not turn from the kiss for anything so paltry as air. As always, Faramir’s responsiveness spurred Aragorn’s desire. He drew Faramir’s bottom lip between his teeth, not quite biting, and heard a soft moan as Faramir’s arms tightened about him.

While the fingers of one hand still raked through Faramir’s thick dark hair, the other lowered to clutch at Faramir’s hip. Hearing another barely audible sigh of bliss from the beautiful man before him, desire leapt higher in Aragorn. All his thoughts were eclipsed by the overwhelming need to move forward with Faramir still pressed tightly to him until he encountered the first stable surface. Then, they would abandon their clothing, tearing and ripping, desperate for the heat of flesh. Aragorn’s mind, driven by passion, slid over the necessities of preparation in a headlong rush toward the merging of bodies. He could hear in his mind his lover’s soft cry as he pushed through the barrier between them. He could feel Faramir’s nails digging into shoulders as they moved closer and closer. Subconsciously Aragorn’s fingers tightened in Faramir’s hair and he gripped his lover’s hip with bruising force as he felt the two of them pressing frantically against each other, fighting blindly toward that elusive alchemical reaction where sex transformed into the physical manifestation of love.

Catching his breath, Aragorn took a step forward needing to give his mental images reality. Faramir clung still harder moving with him trying to anticipate Aragorn’s advance so as to avoid any accidental separation. The younger man gazed up at him with absolute faith, his eyes dark with desire yet his countenance was open and completely trusting. Whatever Aragorn chose to do, Faramir would accept it; more than accept he would welcome it. If Aragorn caused him pain Faramir would not question him. He would open his arms to Aragorn’s darkest fantasies with a calm and contented spirit. The Steward’s younger son would ask nothing for himself. Aragorn’s happiness, Aragorn’s pleasure were Faramir’s only object, the only goal worth attaining. This knowledge terrified Aragorn even as it excited him but mostly it filled him with a wrenching gratitude that shook him to his very core.

The young man’s adoration gripped Aragorn’s heart with protective love. Yet, the young man was no fool to trust blindly in a first passion. In the beginning Aragorn had half hoped and half feared that Faramir’s attachment would be an intense but short-lived foray into romantic attraction. The ranger had been the object of hero worship before. Young men and women bored or frustrated in their everyday lives sometimes saw in him a mystery to be solved or a danger to be overcome and for a while they imagined themselves in love. This could be flattering, though more often Aragorn found it embarrassing, but in the ranger’s mind it had little to do with him. He was only incidental to the young man or woman’s need to be entertained or important or in love. It was not so with Faramir. Though it confused Aragorn, the trust he saw in Faramir’s eyes was based on understanding. Denethor’s son knew him. He had found his way through to the truth of a puzzle that even after years of close study had left his father and grandfather with no more than guesses. Faramir knew of the duties and responsibilities that defined Aragorn. He understood something of the demons that plagued him and he loved him even so.

To Aragorn’s eye the young man was inexpressibly beautiful and his passion, which had been racing through him like a windstorm took on solidity and greater substance. He experienced no diminution of his desire but it no longer rushed through with such violent abandon. There were times when Aragorn felt almost sick with waiting. The future- like Faramir himself- seemed within his grasp yet he dared not close his fingers. If he moved before time then all would be lost. The fact that Aragorn was deeply ambivalent about that future did not lessen his frustration. He wanted Faramir- to make love to him, certainly, absolutely, but he wanted more. He wanted to be able to claim him publicly, to acknowledge their relationship to the world and defy anyone who would dispute their rights and obligations to one another. He wanted Faramir as he wanted Arwen and, gods forgive him, as he wanted Gondor, Arnor and dominion over the next age. It was not to be, though. Not now, perhaps not ever. He was not worthy. He dared not risk harm to those he loved with his presumption. Slowly, Aragorn’s grip on Faramir’s hair eased, his fingers loosened until he was gently caressing the dark strands. His other arm wound around Faramir’s waist, holding him possessively but also protectively.

“Sit with me, my love.” Aragorn asked, struggling to slow his breathing. “Talk with me awhile.”

Panting softly, Faramir’s head came to rest against Aragorn’s shoulder. “A moment please, my wits have fled and I must await their return.” Faramir felt dizzy. It was so good of Aragorn to come see him, to take the time to make him happy with his presence. There was a hungry, greedy creature inside Faramir that was howling for more touches. It had awakened as soon as Aragorn stepped into the tent and had broken from Faramir’s control as it glimpsed the look in Aragorn’s gleaming eyes and now it screamed its need making Faramir’s body shake. This creature was hysterically ordering Faramir down on his knees so he could wrap his arms around Aragorn’s thighs and rub his face against the half hard flesh between his lord’s legs. Desire burned so bright that Faramir wanted to beg Aragorn to take him. It made no difference that his lieutenants had not yet come to give the evening report. `Let them see!’ The creature raved. `Let the world know who this man is. Let them see what you would do for him. Show him how much you need him, show him how you love him…’ The clamor of creature grew fainter as Faramir began to calm. It was folly to make love when at any moment Gildel or Warin might walk in. Besides it was not for him to demand or importune. He was grateful for what he was given. It was more than he deserved.

Feeling guilty for arousing Faramir without continuing, Aragorn rested his hands lightly on his lover’s shoulders. Aragorn had not meant to tease him. `Your weakness has made you selfish,’ he berated himself. The young man was flushed, his hair was unkempt from Aragorn’s assault and his clothing was rumpled and even as the older man felt sincere regret he also realized the he was feeling a bit pleased that it had been his kisses that had sent Faramir’s heart racing and brought the blood to his cheeks, his fingers that had raked through the raven locks and his hands that had explored the young man before him so thoroughly. Faramir belonged to him. Closing his eyes with self-disgust Aragorn knew he was glad Faramir needed him glad he loved him.

After a few moments, Aragorn put an arm around his lover’s waist and guided him to the cushions. The young man, however, could not be persuaded to settle until he added fuel to the fire and made certain there was nothing neither food nor wine that could be provided for Aragorn. As ever, Faramir’s solicitude touched Aragorn even as it annoyed him a little. It was as though part of Faramir feared that Aragorn would not come to him if he could not provide the most pleasant of accommodations. It had been worse in the beginning. Then, the younger man had reminded Aragorn of a humming bird, forced to move constantly and frantically, never allowed to be still for fear of falling. Now, while Faramir continued to fuss, he would soon settle at Aragorn’s side where he seemed to draw upon a newly discovered inner-stillness which soothed Aragorn and lent Faramir a dignity that at times approached majesty.

Looking around, Faramir finally realized that he had done everything he could think of to make his lord as comfortable as possible. Sighing a little, he permitted himself to relax. Seating himself beside Aragorn, Faramir kissed the older man’s shoulder lightly. He began talking as Aragorn had requested. Mostly he spoke about their immediate plans. He found that talking helped to purge his worries. He did not know how long he could keep the tribes with them. He conjectured about personalities and motivations of the Khandrihm. Much of what he had to say Aragorn had heard before but explaining it all gave his thoughts a clarity that they had lacked while they had remained locked in his head, flashing like lightening across the horizon of his mind. When the skein of his ideas had finally seemed to untangle Faramir ran out of words. The two men sat together for several minutes content to be in each other’s company before Faramir broke the silence to ask how Aragorn was proceeding with the men.

“There is so little time, my love.” Aragorn replied as he stared into the fire. “They are accustomed to facing the enemy, encumbered in full armor. I’m focusing on archery drills—as well as one particular maneuver. We are hiding our strategy in plain sight. Though, the Variags are ever watchful, I do not think they realize that our tactics are revealed in the exercises of the soldiers. I do not think the men themselves realize how what we teach them will be employed.”

“We are so few that the Variags do not bother to scrutinize our activities save to ensure none of us escape.” Faramir agreed. Feeling the sudden inexplicable need to protect Aragorn yet at the same time beset without doubt about his ability to do so Faramir wrapped his arms around Aragorn’s waist and pressed his forehead against his shoulder.

Returning the embrace, Aragorn spoke after a moment: “Halbarad tells me that you were born to wield to the bow and short sword.” With his head against his shoulder Aragorn could not see Faramir’s expression but he sensed a soft upturn of his lover’s lips.

“He is very kind, but I am sure he exaggerates.” Faramir was pleased with his training with the ranger. He had been able to appreciate the finesse required to execute maneuvers with the lighter, shorter weapon Halbarad had insisted they use. In Gondor all the nobility were trained with the broadsword and shield almost to the exclusion of everything else. Boromir had excelled in his training but Faramir found the heavy weapon upset his balance and was it was too clumsy for precise movements. Even with the more accommodating short sword Faramir would rate his skill as no more than adequate, however.

“That doesn’t sound like my Halbarad.” Aragorn replied with a grin.

As irrefutable as Aragorn’s assessment of his friend’s character might be, Faramir would not be swayed. With a sad little shake of his head, Faramir insisted: “I do not merit praise. Though my brother is renown for his skill and courage, I fear I have little of his talent.”

“Halbarad has watched men fight for decades. He knows what he is about.” Aragorn was about to continue, he wanted very much to convince Faramir that he deserved the compliment but an idea suddenly occurred to him and left him speechless: To Aragorn’s dismay he saw that Faramir’s inability to trust in himself was greater than his ability to trust in Halbarad’s judgment. It was a sad truth but such misery had been forced on the younger man because he loved others better than himself. He would take faults and blame onto himself rather than attribute them to others. Aragorn was familiar with this aspect of his beloved and that was not what had startled him. In Faramir, whom he loved very dearly, he suddenly saw himself. `Is my distrust of myself so great that I cannot truly trust those I love?’ It was a painful question, in part because there was no Denethor in Aragorn’s own past to have turned his love of others against himself. Now that the question had been raised, however, Aragorn had no choice but to grapple with it.

“It was not my intention to impugn Halbarad’s skill or judgment. He has been exceedingly patient with me and I would never wish to insult him.” Faramir had misinterpreted Aragorn’s silence as anger at a perceived slight of his friend.

“Of course not.” Aragorn replied automatically. He wanted to tell Faramir about his insight. The younger man’s mind was well suited to understand such things and it seemed to Aragorn that he never came away from his lover’s presence without having gained in wisdom or knowledge as well as joy. As he looked into Faramir’s anxious eyes, however, Aragorn hesitated to broach such an important topic when they had so little time. Instead another idea suddenly occurred to Aragorn. There was a sudden twinkle in his eye that he scrupulously kept from his lips.

“Would you make amends, then?” Aragorn asked.

“Yes, gladly.” Faramir agreed. It reassured him somehow when he had to earn forgiveness rather than simply receiving it as a matter of course.

“Then I will have you tell me five things in which you excel.” Aragorn demanded, the smile finally appearing. “I expect you to be sincere in this, love. As charming as I find your mild mannered modesty I will have none of it for this.”

Faramir had not been entirely certain what he expected but this was not it. He opened his mouth with the first obvious objection that penance should by its nature be unpleasant. He closed it again, however, realizing that Aragorn had not set him a task he would find comfortable. The thought `couldn’t I just have a beating instead’ occurred to the younger man but he bit back the words. He wasn’t sure Aragorn would understand how he meant them. He wasn’t sure he himself understood how he meant them except that Aragorn was so very strong and Faramir suspected that he would be grateful for violent touches if they could somehow make him truly worthy of all his king’s gentleness. Indeed the thought of blood rising up from his willing flesh like rubies to be strewn at the feet of his lord as the gift of his heart made the muscles in Faramir’s belly and thighs ache.

As the silence lengthened, Aragorn’s expression grew hesitant, as though he had begun to doubt the wisdom of his proposal. Faramir was not about to allow that. “All right.” He murmured. “I’ll do as you ask. I suppose it is for my own good.” In anyone else that last would have been cheeky but from Faramir, Aragorn could not be certain.

Smiling again, Aragorn was on the point of leaning forward to kiss the younger man when sounds from outside signaled the arrival of Faramir’s lieutenants. Moving away from his lover, the Captain gave permission for Gildel and Warin to enter and give the evening report.


The long procession of men, horses and baggage made an interesting spectacle. At the head of the column, roughly thirty men, all dark haired and bearded, all clad in hoods and old leather with white chalk marks on their chests held close to their mounts and clustered tightly about a heavily laden wagon and a single banner hanging limply in the hot dry air. Loosely grouped around these men were at least six different collections of people. These people mingled among one another and even permeated through the tight knot of hooded men. There was a festive air among these satellites and there was much talking, shouting and singing as the procession moved slowly forward. It was only later at night after the column had been stopped for several hours did the throng sort itself back into its six groups, the men finally returning to sleep under their own tribe’s banner. At a constant distance of fifty yards behind, more men marched. There was no holiday spirit here. Five hundred men marched in tight formation; their horses were at the back with the supplies. The steeds were given the freedom to graze and set their own pace—a freedom the men were denied. These five hundred stopped when those ahead stopped and took up the march when the others did. It was a bit of challenge to march slowly enough not to overtake the meandering people ahead but discipline was stern and the fifty yards distance neither increased nor decreased.

Lorel, Captain of the Second Division, Chieftain of the Miroven and Officer of the Eastern Empire, watched the procession with his slightly misshapen lips pressed tightly together. He had not expected the Steward’s whelp to put up any resistance. The consensus in the Capitol was that it was the elder son who would pose the greatest threat to the Empire and Great One’s Return. Even so, Captain Faramir had doomed himself with his cunning. Lorel would have been satisfied to take only the two rangers, now that he was forced to delay and travel further away from his home he meant to destroy the Gondorhim. Once their escort evaporated, and Lorel and his Lieutenants had already been paying visits to the feckless tribal leaders who had committed themselves to travel with the foreigners, all the Gondorhim would be at his mercy.

Of course, there would be no mercy. Lorel would have the common soldiers butchered. He was still considering whether or not it was worth the bother of keeping Flyn alive. The man was a worm but he had already shown himself willing to discuss his masters with nothing greater than liquor to loosen his tongue. If even greater pressure were brought to bear Lorel had no doubt the man would reveal everything he knew of the workings of Gondor. Intelligence of the Enemy was in short supply and Lorel was very tempted to break Flyn and keep him to give insight about how his countrymen were likely to respond when the war started in earnest. Lorel did not have to decide immediately. While Captain went through this ridiculous charade the Officer had nothing but time.

Captain Faramir, there was a young man with a decidedly grim future, Lorel observed pleasantly. The Officer had been quite taken off guard by the Captain. Within a few days he had had many of the tribal leaders eating from the palm of his hand. He spoke their language, a feat no barbarian should have been able to manage. He was courteous to even the most pompous windbag and, from what the Officer had observed, a very quick thinker. According to Flyn this exceedingly intelligent, self-possessed man gave his body willingly to the ranger Strider. In Lorel’s mind that could mean only one thing and the knowledge shook him with gleeful joy.

When Lorel had first received his orders to attend the Great Gathering, he racked his brain to think which of his imbecilic political masters he had offended. Sending five hundred men to ensure all the prizes were claimed by the Variags seemed like sheer waste. The Variags always took the prizes and the tournament champions. That was the way it was. Even if they were to lose one by some weird twist of circumstance, did it truly matter? He had had no choice, however, but to accept the charge, seething all the while at the squandering of the men and his own talent.

Returning to his lodging in the Capitol, Lorel had acquired a bottle of strong spirits from the landlord and retired to his room. As he entered he saw an old man seated upon his bed. His first thought was that one of numberless crazed and homeless men of the Capitol had wandered unchallenged into his room. He drew his knife to kill the man even as he planned to have the inn’s proprietor publicly flogged.

“Greetings, Lorel, son of Larif, son of Ulris the Orc.”

Lorel wanted to kill the old man, even more so because he knew his name and lineage. There was something in his voice, however, that stayed his hand. This seemed to amuse the old man who chuckled quietly to himself. Before Lorel could muster his wits sufficiently to once again threaten the crazy old man, the wizened figure on his bed rose and approached him.

“You are angry because those who consider themselves your superiors have set you a dreary task with no promise of glory or advantage, but you are mistaken. This mission will give you everything you desire if you listen to me, orcling.” From anyone else, the epithet would have had Lorel snarling and sheathing his knife in flesh, but the old man had ensnared him somehow and he had no choice but to listen.

“Gondor will send men to this tournament.” Lorel’s eyes widened but he said nothing. “The old Steward seeks the `Killing Fist’. Do not let the presence of this ancient enemy distract you. The old spider that currently spins his webs in the White Tower is of no great concern. Save your efforts for another. He may be alone or he may travel with others of his tribe. He will be a stranger and he may attempt to hide himself among the Gondorhim but such an alliance will most likely be weak and easily broken. This stranger will also seek the `Killing Fist’ but unlike Denethor he will win what he seeks by himself.” Lorel wanted to interject that it was not so easy to predict the results of the tournaments but the old man was warming to his story. He paced the small room, his staff clicking rhythmically on the floorboards never giving the Officer the chance to open his mouth.

“He will be the tournament champion. He may be disguised as a country bumpkin, a prosperous merchant, mayhap even a bard or storyteller but he will be the one you want. Do not underestimate him or those around him, however he may choose to conceal himself he will be the most dangerous creature you have ever encountered—aside from me, of course. Once the stranger reveals himself through the gauntlet you must do everything you are able to catch him and bring him here.” The old man had more to say but Lorel was finally done passively taking orders from someone who still might well be some lunatic from the gutter.

“The Variags will make generous offers to all the tournament winners. We shall procure this stranger but why is it so important? Why is the man you value so highly interested in the `Killing Fist’? Who is he? What is Denethor’s interest in this? If the `Killing Fist’ were of any real value then the Empire would never have offered to donate it as a tournament prize in the first place.” None of this made sense to Loral, Gondor was the enemy, not some juggler or whatever he was. True, a man needed skill to win a tournament but even so.

Sighing, the old man answered Lorel’s questions. He began with the story of the Great One’s battle with Isildur. He continued through the saga of the ultimate estrangement of Gondor and the line of Kings. Next he told of the rising power and ambition of the Stewards. Finally, the old man spoke of his own cunning schemes and his attempt to solve a very old mystery. Lorel felt his knees begin to shake and he just made it to his bed before collapsing. He was not certain if he believed the old man but even the idea was far beyond anything he had dreamed of.

“One of my own has been keeping secrets from me.” The old man’s voice was as compelling as ever and the Officer found himself once more drawn into the other’s words. “Much has changed. The world is not what it once was.”

The old man placed his hand gently, paternally on Lorel’s head then lifted his chin in an iron grip. The nails were long and cut at his chin but they were clean and apparently well cared for. “I find myself in search of new alliances. I would make peace with the Great Lord. Isildur’s heir will be my gift to Him, a token of my sincerity and my value to His cause. If you do my bidding in this, I will see the rewards exceed your wildest ambitions.” With those final words, Lorel’s visitor turned and left his room. Later, the Officer interrogated the innkeeper, bar maids and potboys as well as the other guests but none of them recalled seeing anything of the old man with the strange voice.

On the long journey west, Lorel wondered constantly about that night. Sometimes he found himself believing the old man’s tale and he was overcome with excitement at the prospect of the adventure ahead. On these occasions, he conjectured that the old man had paid visits to others beside himself. Was the entire expedition the old man’s idea or had he simply taken advantage of circumstances? How much true power did he hold in the Variag Empire? Lorel would gladly trade his current position for a place in the Great One’s service but he would not risk his place in the Empire because of an old man. Even if everything he had been told was true, Lorel meant to play things very carefully. There were other times, of course, when the Officer had convinced himself his strange visitor was mad or worse yet that he had been sent by one of Lorel’s rivals to draw him into some dangerous- even treasonous- activity. Still yet, there were times when the Officer believed it was all a dream or an alcohol induced hallucination.

It was not until he found the tall lean stranger twitching helplessly beneath the spiked whips of one of his patrols. The man had been in poor shape but there had been something about him that belied his common, bedraggled appearance. There had been something aloof and calculating about the fellow even as he lay gasping and bleeding at Lorel’s feet. It was as though, despite his mortal peril, the confounded man was taking notes. Assuming this to be the first test of the old man’s words the Officer had released the stranger. Lorel’s suspicions were further aroused when after he had told the man he was free to go, he had glimpsed curiosity quickly shrouded by obsequious gratitude. An ordinary man would not have cared why he was spared but the stranger had.

The next time he saw the man, Halbarad, all trace of the pathetic and pleading man was gone. In his place stood a proud, implacable hawk-like figure. The change was startling, but the true revelation had come in the man beside him. Lorel had seen the man, Strider, before in the tournament and marked him as a favorite—he had not realized then how much the ranger had been holding back—but seeing him beside Halbarad had shown the glorious truth in the old man’s words. Isildur’s heir had come to Khand. As obvious as it seemed, Lorel acknowledged that he might have remained oblivious but for the old man’s warning. Any remaining doubts he might have had were crushed by the reaction of Halbarad, Captain Faramir and Strider himself when he confronted them. Since then the mist that seemed to shroud Strider had alternately thinned to near transparency and thickened to be nearly opaque. Lately, the ranger-King’s identity had been particularly difficult to see clearly. It hardly mattered to Lorel. He had seen all he needed and he would hunt the Great One’s Enemy as far as he ran. Lorel’s Lieutenants did not understand the stakes and already they were grumbling about continuing west when it would be hard enough to find provision for all the men if they turned back now. Lorel ignored them and their grousing. They had no vision.

In one respect, the old man had been wrong. The ties between the Ranger-King and Gondor were stronger than Lorel had been led to believe. Captain Faramir would not have risked himself and his men if he had no loyalty to Strider. It was possible of course that the alliance was only between Faramir and Strider and that the Captain was acting on his own or even in defiance of Denethor. From what Flyn had said Lorel was tempted to believe that the only connection between the Ranger-King and Gondor was the connection between Strider and Faramir. Lorel decided to make use of that fact if the opportunity ever presented itself. Always when he had faced a strong adversary Lorel found it an unconquerable strategy to divide them against each other. In this case, however, his quarries were hopelessly outnumbered and he believed they would fall to him easily.

When he had them he meant to turn Faramir over to the Empire. Presenting them with the Steward’s pup would help to smooth over any feeling that he had overstepped his authority in taking his men so far west. The council leaders would fight over the Captain, of course. Some would want to execute him, others would want to torture him for information or for fun while others yet would advocate selling him back to his father. The squabbling would serve Lorel well for the Officer intended to improve his position in the world one way or another and distracting the men above him could only help. It was a good tactic but it left the dignified young Captain in the same position as raw meat thrown to a pack of jackals. Strider was of course meant for the Great One. Lorel might be ambitious but he was no fool. He would deliver the ranger without so much as a scratch if he could help it. Lorel was by no means squeamish but the horrors the ranger would then be subjected to were not something he cared to contemplate.

That left only Halbarad. Lorel believed he was entitled to his own prize from this expedition and he had settled on the ranger. There was something in Halbarad’s devotion to Strider that deeply offended Lorel. He saw the same devotion in Faramir and Strider himself seemed to just ooze concern and affection for his two comrades but those two were not destined to belong to him. Halbarad did not have Faramir’s excuse of youth nor Strider’s excuse of needing to appear to care for the people around him. It was not right that one person should love another so much. It did not jibe with Lorel’s preferred view of human nature. He would be avenged, though, even if he had to work at the ranger for long hours over weeks and months. After all, every great man was entitled to a hobby.

With a curse, Lorel realized that Faramir and the weakling tribal leaders about him had called a halt for the day. Squinting into the sky, Lorel saw that there were still hours left in the day. Why were they moving so damn slowly? If Lorel had been in Faramir’s place he might have tried to use speed to outpace the larger and therefore slower moving pursuers. Thinking that the self-sacrificing fool might try to use the frequent stops to smuggle Strider away and give him time to run before the Officer learned his prize was missing, Lorel ordered his men to keep an unrelenting watch on Strider. If they lost track of him for an instant, he would flay the skin from their backs.

Chapter 17

The men were wary. Without any need of orders- though they had them- the Gondorhim kept close together, never straying far from their banner. Their fear was reasonable and Halbarad was glad they had enough sense to be afraid. Even the slowest of them had gathered that the ranks of Variags following them so closely did not mean them well. Most of them assumed that the grim faced warriors were just making sure they left Khand, though if that was truly their intent why send so many. Halbarad did his best to offer gruff reassurance and change the topic whenever speculation started. Fortunately, the Gondrohim trusted their Captain and aside from the occasional nervous glance backward, they were mostly content to leave the situation in wiser hands. Despite the caution of their little band, Halbarad found himself circling the group. Like a sheepdog, he moved to head off anyone he even suspected of straying. The ranger kept his eye on the wolves that threatened his flock as well. Five of the Variag watchers made no secret of their presence. They walked, grim-faced among the other tribesmen. Their presence was clearly meant to intimidate. Showing disdain for their fellow countrymen, who appeared to be enjoying the notion that they were doing something to tweak the noses of the proud Varaiags, the watchers gazed upon the Gondorhim with predatory eyes. Halbarad had to fight back the absurd impulse to wave and grin. A confrontation was the last thing he wanted. Moreover, he was not altogether confident their escort would do anything to smooth over any perceived provocation. The other tribes watched the tension between the groups with almost gleeful anticipation. They had nothing against the Gondorhim but neither would they be disappointed if the animosity broke out into something more interesting. If the Variags attacked they would become pariahs and that would suit many of the onlookers.

In addition to the five obvious onlookers, Halbarad picked out another five. These men tried to blend in with the polyglot of tribes milling together. These five, unlike the others, kept their eyes on Aragorn. He had only spotted the last two because whenever Strider drifted out of sight into a group of people or between several of the horses, the secret watchers started to panic, seeking each other through the crowd and shifting in a flurry of activity until the ranger was once again in their sights. Strider did not appear to notice the weight of so many hard eyes but as he walked along the path, he never ventured away from large concentrations of people. With that, Halbarad supposed, he would have to content himself.

“We’ll be stopping for lunch in a few minutes.” Faramir informed Halbarad, coming along side the ranger after leaving a group of tribal leaders.

“Thank you, Captain.” Halbarad replied, genuinely glad. Keeping track of everyone was giving him a headache. It would be easier when they stopped to eat.

“The pace is not too onerous, I hope.” Faramir said with a soft laugh. The procession was moving so slowly that a child would be able to manage.

“I’ll keep up.” Halbarad replied with an answering smile.

“And all of our friends, do you suppose they are keeping up?” It was their fond hope that the further they traveled the more and more of the Variag force would slip away back to their homes. Desertion was a rampant problem among the Variag lower ranks and such a long trek away from their villages and families could only encourage that tendency.

“I cannot tell—not without a proper reconnoiter.” Resisting the urge to look back at the dark mass of men behind them, Halbarad answered. He would very much have liked to reconnoiter and perhaps even do a little careful knife work in the dark. There was nothing worse for the morale then waking up to find your tent mate had woken up in the night to go take a piss and ended up with his throat cut.

“I cannot help but be curious. It is not worth the risk, though.” Faramir sighed. He knew the ranger wished to take more initiative with the enemy but Aragorn had forbidden it. Faramir had been present when they discussed it. Halbarad had insisted that, since most of the focus would be on Aragorn, he would be able to scout both the terrain ahead and the force behind. Aragorn had replied that, even the small danger of Halbarad’s capture, was too great. Annoyed that such a triviality as his own safety should impinge onto the conversation, Halbarad waved his hand dismissively and opened his mouth to begin enumerating the benefits of proper intelligence. Aragorn stopped him mid breath. `If you will not consider yourself then consider this: I will not leave without you.’ The two men locked eyes until a moment later Faramir saw Halbarad’s shoulders sag in surrender.

“I suppose not.” Halbarad’s reply brought Faramir back from his thoughts and he smiled at the exaggerated wistfulness of the other’s tone. “It is just that I feel I could do with a bit of recklessness.”

“I cannot believe you would ever take a foolish risk, Halbarad.” Faramir felt certain that the other man could be suicidally brave but he doubted that he did anything without carefully evaluating the costs and benefits.

“As a general rule, you are quite correct. Being rash, though, has a certain appeal when I am with Aragorn. Perhaps because I know that he will always keep me on the right side of common sense, I feel I can indulge my impulses.” Halbarad treasured the ability to have conversations with Aragorn that, but for the other’s presence he would have to have in his head.

“It is strange how one may have certain characteristics in some people’s company and yet quite contrary characteristics with others.” The timbre of Faramir voice had changed as though his thoughts had grown sad.

“That seems only reasonable.” Halbarad, who could take on and cast aside traits, mannerisms and perhaps even personalities at will, did not see the strangeness to which Faramir referred. “It is not appropriate to be loving towards one’s enemy even if one is loving towards one’s brother. One should be a brother to one’s brother, a friend to one’s friend, an enemy to one’s enemy and so on.”

“One should be oneself throughout.” Faramir replied with a sterness that might have embarrassed him to use with Halbarad if he had been conscious of it. “If the man who loves his brother cannot like or respect the man who… who hates his enemy then that surely is an evil and reflects a deeply- perhaps irretrievably flawed- individual.”

“If you would have it so then I think few would escape condemnation. Certainly I have not always liked or respected the man I was, the roles I have played or the characteristics I have portrayed.”

“Surely you do not count against yourself the things you must do to oppose and thwart the Enemy.” Surprise drew Faramir from his increasingly dismal contemplations. Halbarad seemed to him to be completely at ease with himself. He was a man without doubts or self-recrimination. He knew his purpose and his place in the world. Faramir envied him. He knew the ranger often acted as a spy, pretending to the sort of man who would be accepted by the Enemy or His servants, but the work was noble and demonstrated Halbarad’s courage, commitment and ingenuity. Faramir had not even considered Halbarad’s situation in his words. He had been preoccupied with the plight of a man who aspired to be a loyal and unswerving servant to his king, a devoted and accommodating lover to his beloved, a compassionate and wise leader to his men, and yet who actually behaved like a sniveling, craven fool to his father.

“A brutish act does not suddenly become good because it is done for a worthy cause.” Halbarad answered with a small shrug.

The company had stopped and all about people were moving to find some place to enjoy a leisurely lunch. Faramir looked about guiltily at the number of groups he could profitably join. There was no end to the people to flatter in hopes of buying another day, another hour of protection. Despite this, he could not bring himself to end his conversation with Halbarad just yet. “How do you manage it? How do you cope with the knowledge that you have done things that are unworthy of you?”

“I will tell you the truth: With a few very unpleasant exception, it really doesn’t bother me very much.” Halbarad could not help but note the similarities between the young man beside him and Aragorn. It was endearing to see the same sincerity and nobility in the young man of Gondor as Halbarad was accustomed to seeing in his Chieftain. In other respects their personalities complimented each other. In all, the ranger was able to come to the happy opinion that the two were well matched. “We live in an imperfect world, Captain. A man’s choices are constrained by circumstance. I have done many things I consider less than honorable but I could not honorably have done otherwise. If I must lie, cheat or kill to thwart the Enemy and protect my Lord then I will not fail to do so, so that I might have the satisfaction of calling myself honest. If I am damned for that then so be it.”

“That one should be compelled to do wrong in the service of right seems to me to be a serious failing in the order of the world.” Faramir did not entirely accept Halbarad’s argument, though he was hard pressed to identify any flaw in it.

Out of consideration for his companion’s feelings Halbarad refrained from laughing. There was no mockery in his amusement, however. The Captain was so very like Aragorn. The ranger worked for the day when Aragorn, Faramir and others like them would have the opportunity to change the way of things, so that violence would not so often equate with strength, inspiring fear would not be a certain means to power and mistrust would no longer be the only way to remain safe. Until then… “I cannot answer as to that. For myself, however, I do not mean to lose sleep over choices I would make again in the same circumstances.”

“I think, sir, that you are perhaps much more decent and honorable then you would admit.” Faramir spoke seriously though his expression registered amusement.

“I might say the same of you, my lord, if it were not impertinent.”

Faramir had no choice but to laugh. He acknowledged to himself that he could not have had such a conversation a month ago. He would have lacked the courage to approach someone like Halbarad. He would have lacked the conviction to pursue the argument. He would have balked at speaking his assessment of the ranger’s character and he would have found Halbarad’s answering remark devastating… mortifying. Now he could appreciate both the wit and insight of the remark and perhaps most importantly he could understand that there was no contempt behind the words. He felt warmed from the interaction.

“Even so, I would not shy away from anything that might help to ameliorate the situation in which we currently find ourselves.” Faramir had spoken the words as they occurred to him. He was eager to do whatever might be necessary to help protect Aragorn. Halbarads’s face remained impassive and a sudden terrible worry occurred to Faramir. Had the ranger understood his previous words as reluctance to love and serve Aragorn? He had not intended them so. He had been speaking about the hatred he felt for himself whenever he tried and failed to please Denethor, the servile manner he felt he adopted with his father and his inability to follow his own judgement if it did not accord with the Steward’s assumptions. Surely, Halbarad understood his meaning. The ranger did not think he was somehow complaining about the current danger. He couldn’t.

“Little besides courage and daring should be required now, though such qualities are dear enough.” Halbarad’s voice had not changed but to Faramir the ranger now seemed more remote.

Needing to clarify his feeling without understanding how Faramir licked his lips. “I would never suggest that men who risk their lives for a purpose greater than themselves do wrong.”

“Of course not, Captain.” Halbarad smiled and Faramir felt somewhat reassured.

“I must see to the Khandrihm but I have enjoyed our discussion.” There was relief in Faramir’s voice.

Halbarad bowed in acknowledgement and farewell. He continued to watch as the young man drifted away.


The cacophony of multiple languages and dialect rang in the air. Isu’s mind whirled with the attempt to keep up with the various conversations happening around him. The Gondorhim could only understand one another but many of Khandrihm struggled to understand their fellow countrymen as well as the Westerners. Isu enjoyed the atmosphere of laughter and experimentation around him. Everything was new and exciting. He was not so lost in the moment, however, that he forgot who he now was. He was a soldier of Gondor and as such he could not easily dismiss the prickle of worry he felt every time he considered the mass of men following them. Had it been any other tribe but the Variags he might have convinced himself it was not important, but he could not believe the Enemy’s perennial allies meant them any good. In truth he was afraid. He felt that he was at the beginning of a new and happier life. The presence of the foreign soldiers reminded him how easily he could lose everything. In a way he felt as though his past was following him, threatening to drag him back into a hopeless, futile existence. Isu had been sufficiently concerned that he had taken his fears to Halbarad. Since Isu had been tasked with minding Flyn, it had not been easy to get close to the ranger. Flyn avoided him like he carried a very nasty and very contagious disease. Eventually, however, the lad contrived to find a moment with Halbarad. The ranger’s response had been scathing and infinitely reassuring.

“Thought we hadn’t noticed, did you?” Halbarad demanded squinting at the boy before him. “Five hundred men marching at our back and you think we wouldn’t know unless you mentioned it?”

Isu stammered something about how, of all the Khandrihm, the Variags were especially dangerous. If it were possible, Halbarad’s expression became even more derisive.

“Are you suggesting that those heavily armed fellows following us with no more attempt to communicate then the occasional dirty look might not have our best interest at heart? Look here, if ever your Captain or Lieutenants are so flummoxed by a situation that they need your opinion, I have no doubt they’ll ask for it.” By this point, Isu’s face was crimson and he was looking for an opportunity to slink away. Of course it had been foolish to think that men like Lord Faramir and Halbarad would not have a firm grasp of everything happening around them. Just as he was about to apologize and withdraw, Halbarad’s voice softened.

“Yes, I know, the Variags are dangerous. I don’t doubt that you have better cause to understand that than many of us. There will be fighting, battle, death. If id does not happen here and now with the Variags then it will happen later with someone else. That is the way of things. Neither you nor I can do anything about it. You knew there was more to soldiering than keeping your armor shiny and parading about. Whether or not we end up in a fight with the Variags is not a question you need to fret about. The things that are going to have the biggest effect on the quality and the length of your life are your training and your luck in finding a commander who will not risk your life frivolously. You’ve managed to stumble onto the second, so I would say you have a lot to be cheerful about.”

Without realizing it, Isu had been nodding. He saw the logic in Halbarad’s words and he no longer viewed their long shadow with the same dread. Though there was a certain sterness in the ranger’s words Isu saw power in them as well. As Halbarad had suggested life held no guarantees but that did not mean he was helpless in the hands of fate. Training, battle skill and perhaps other skills as well would increase his own chance of surviving and also the chance of his comrades’ survival. Dismayed, Isu recalled that his lord had already entrusted him with a mission. Though he had been sensible of the honor being done him, he had not completely understood the task as significant in terms of a larger strategy. He had no right to make such an assumption, he realized- shame burning hot in him. In his service to his Captain he could find value and acquire skills that would help him serve in matters of increasing importance. He had been foolish to worry over the Varaigs when there was nothing he could about them and while there were such men as Lord Faramir and Strider who could no doubt considered every aspect of the situation. Isu took his leave of Halbarad with an easy spirit and increased resolve to focus his energies on the tasks he had in hand.

Awash once again in tide of many voices in many languages, Isu dedicated himself to understanding as much as possible. Full understanding was impossible; many of the people conversing together could hardly hope to understand each other. Nevertheless there was a great desire to communicate and men talked loudly to one another using gestures and exaggerated facial expressions to demonstrate their meanings. Isu navigated through conversations with greater facility than many and was thus somewhat in demand. The young man enjoyed the attention but throughout the stream of noise rushing past him he remained particularly attentive to one particular voice.

Isu had listened to Flyn talk at great length during his time in the Gondorhim camp. It had been helpful as Isu struggled with the new language because Flyn repeated himself fairly often. It did not take long for Isu to distinguish which of Flyn’s words would be useful and which could be safely ignored. The former lieutenant was much quieter now with so many strangers about. He seemed a little nervous around so many `barbarian savages’. Whenever Flyn did say anything, however, Isu listened. Whether the former lieutenant was in any way grateful for the young man’s constant attendance, Isu could not have known. Whatever the case, Flyn made no attempt to escape his ever-present companion. It would not have mattered to Isu what Flyn thought about him, the former lieutenant was in his charge and Isu meant to have him always in his sight.

The thought of his assignment brought a smile to the young man’s lips. Several days before their departure, Isu had been called to attend Lord Faramir. Nearly shaking with fear that he had somehow displeased his Commander, Isu entered the Captain’s tent and stood rigidly at attention. Lord Faramir had smiled at him and much of the lad’s anxiety burned away in the light of that smile. The Captain did his best to put the young man at his ease. He spoke to him about how he liked training, how he was getting along with his comrades and whether learning the Common Tongue was very difficult. Isu answered honestly and it was clear from the Captain’s comments that he was already well-informed about Isu’s progress.

When the younger man had relaxed somewhat, Lord Faramir told him why he had been summoned: “We will be traveling soon and you still have much to learn. Most of those you have been taking lesson with will have other duties. I would like you to spend more time with Flyn. I have asked him to continue your training.”

“Yes, my lord.” Isu answered swiftly. Had he been give a choice Flyn would not have been a man he would have spent time with. He would, however, accept Captain Faramir’s judgment in all things.

“As you will be spending time with Flyn, I would like you to… to remain alert for anything unusual or anything you consider improper.”

Isu did not understand.

“Observe Flyn and his interactions especially with the tribesmen and more especially still, the Variags.” Lord Faramir attempted to clarify.

“My lord wishes for me to spy on Master Flyn?” Isu was more than willing to do whatever his Captain asked, he was just unsure what actually was being asked.

Lord Faramir’s face flushed and Isu was paralyzed with apprehension. He would have thrown himself to the ground and begged forgiveness for making his lord angry. Before Isu could regain control of his limbs to do so, Lord Faramir placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “No, I do not want you to spy on Flyn. You are brothers-in-arms and your lives depend upon your trust of one another. I would never wish to undermine that.”

Taking a deep breath, Lord Faramir stepped back and seemed to collect his thoughts. “I have not expressed myself well, Isu. Let me begin again: Master Flyn possesses many strengths. Like all men, however, he also possesses weaknesses. I fear that many of Flyn’s weaknesses are apparent on this mission. He is not able to understand when he is being less than discreet. He does not appreciate the subtlety and sophistication of the tribes’ culture. Thus, he underestimates the effects of his words and actions. I would like someone who is well-acquainted with Khandrhim sensibilities to help Flyn, to protect him as well as the rest of us from himself. Can I rely on you in this, Isu?”

“Yes, my lord.” Isu affirmed adamantly. “If master Flyn cannot guard his tongue in this land I will do it for him. I swear I will not fail you, my lord.”

“I know you shall not. Thank you.” Lord Faramir smiled gently as he dismissed the young man. Isu would remember his oath and keep his lord’s trust as a sacred obligation.

Even as the young man considered the great trust his beloved lord had placed in him he was becoming increasingly aware of a conversation his charge was having with another man. As he listened he was hard pressed to identify exactly what it was that made him uncomfortable. Flyn’s interlocutor was speaking passable Westron. That in itself was strange. More than that though there was something in the nature of the question he was asking and that Flyn was enthusiastically answering.

It wasn’t simply that the large man with Flyn was interested in the Gondorhim. All of Khand was fascinated. It was slightly suspicious that the man had chosen Flyn to question. Flyn, after all, was not the most approachable nor the most affable of the Gondorhim but even that could be merely the questioner’s ill luck. Flyn had already said several things that would strike most tribesmen as condescending but the other seemed to grow only the more interested.

Isu had hoped to interject during a natural lull in the conversation but after what seemed a very long time none occurred. Finally settling for the moment when the stranger paused for breath, Isu made a comment in Khandoric that was related to the topic under discussion. He spoke with more deference then the other man’s apparent rank called for but rather than being flattered or even distracted, the man simply talked over Isu’s words still addressing Flyn. For his part, Flyn appeared to be gratified to be so very interesting. Isu became increasingly certain that something was very much amiss.

The more the two men talked the more Isu grew uncomfortable. The stranger was describing in fairly lurid detail some of the goings on in his village. Flyn answered the other with comments that Isu was not entirely certain he understood. Then, Flyn began to tell a few stories of his own. Isu wondered if he might be making them up. The young man had difficulty believing, from what he has seen of the workings of Gondor’s army, that Flyn’s stories could be true. But true or not, the Lord Faramir would not want such things said. Isu was considering how he might get rid of the talkative stranger when something in Flyn’s description caught his attention. With a sudden sickening realization Isu knew that, though no names had been mentioned, Flyn was talking about Strider.

Reeling with shock and horror, Isu stumbled over his own feet and could not regain his balance for several steps. With Strider’s identity established it became easy to guess that the other man in Flyn’s sordid tale was Lord Faramir himself. Strangely, Isu felt tears prick at the backs of his eyes. Flyn had twisted his beloved Captain’s character, describing his gentleness as weakness, his calm as obliviousness, his compassion into obsequiousness and his love for Strider into simpering. Strider, too, had been transformed from the quiet, commanding but also protective force into a dark and brooding presence exercising an almost malevolent influence over weaker minds. Isu stared up into the sun so that he might use the brightness as an excuse for the tears he could not hold back. Together Lord Faramir and Strider represented Isu’s definition of what was good. The love they had for one another, which Isu- newcomer that he was- had recognized very quickly seemed to reach out promising care and safety to everyone fortunate enough to come within its influence. To hear the two heroes of his young life so cruelly disparaged made Isu sick with anger and unhappiness.

Upon regaining something of his wits, Isu’s first thought was to run to Halbarad. Halbarad would know what to do. Immediately, Isu imagined the ranger stalking through the crowd toward Flyn and the stranger. He would take them both by the scruff of the neck and shake them hard. Then, he would snarl something to the stranger before dropping him unceremoniously to the ground. The stranger would take one look at Halbarad’s menacing expression and scamper away forgetting everything he may have heard in his urgency to escape. Next the ranger would take Flyn off somewhere out of sight of the others. Later, Strider- who was so knowledgeable about medicines- would be tending to Flyn’s various injuries when he would realize that the former lieutenant was being possessed by a minor demon or was perhaps suffering under a Variag curse. Indeed, Lord Faramir must have had some intuition of Flyn’s benighted condition when he asked Isu to look after him. Strider, of course, would heal Flyn and everything could be all right again.

The fantasy lingered for a while, but when it drifted away the helpless anger remained with Isu. He did not want to go to Halbarad. He had been assigned the responsibility of dealing with Flyn and he did not want to pass that off the moment it became difficult. More than that though, Isu didn’t think he could repeat any of what had been said. The fact that it had been spoken once struck the young man with a deep and painful shame. He didn’t want anyone else to know such words had been spoken. No, going to Halbarad would be a last resort if nothing else worked.

The next idea to occur to Isu was to use Halbarad’s name as a threat to silence Flyn. The former lieutenant hated and feared the ranger- and it was becoming clearer to Isu why that should be. Flyn must certainly be insane to interpret matters as he had and while that might evoke pity and compassion in Lord Faramir and Strider, Isu doubted that any state or illness would mitigate Halbarad’s reaction. Yet, if Isu threatened Flyn with Halbarad, then Flyn would focus his profoundest dislike on Isu himself. Isu could not obey Lord Faramir’s command if Flyn was determined to avoid him. Besides, until these last few moments Isu had never really disliked Flyn. The man had his flaws, certainly. He was long-winded, had an inflated view of his own importance and hated to be proven wrong but he had been as patient with Isu as his nature allowed. Further, he had never been deliberately cruel. Where Isu came from, such things counted for something.

Still somewhat dazed, Isu nearly tripped again when he became aware the procession was slowing to a halt. It was apparently time for lunch. Eating was the very last thing Isu wished to do but he took heart. During breaks the Gondorhim tended to condense a little drawing in on themselves. Often Strider would use any spare moment to take them through the same drill he had been trying to hammer into them. Yes, he saw now that the stranger was moving away, probably to eat with his own clan. Now all Isu had to do was find a way to keep him from coming back.


The two men sat opposite one another. A table, piled high with slices of chilled fruit and delectate pastries, stood between them- ignored by both. The prince, prince- Lorel could hardly think of the title without having to suppress a sneer- regarded the Variag coolly. There were more fighting men within the Variag capitol then there were people in this `prince’s’ entire tribe yet Lorel was expected to act as though the other’s royalty made him somehow special.

“You are not helping them with this charade, your highness. It is a waste of time.” Lorel, finally, broke the tense silence.

The other man raised his eyebrows and Lorel thought, for a moment that he would feign complete ignorance. It annoyed the Officer more than he could express how he was required to wait until the witnesses had all departed before he could move against the Gondorhim. The other tribesmen must know of his hostile intentions, yet as long as they saw nothing themselves they could be persuaded to pretend nothing had happened. It was cowardice and Lorel believed it should be beneath his dignity to indulge the other tribesmen in their desire to be deceived.

“Perhaps I am satisfied simply to annoy you and your masters.” The prince replied, making it very clear he regarded Lorel as an underling.

The officer grinned. He could appreciate that sentiment, but his royal smugness would find himself seriously out classed if he wanted to try to match the Variags for petty vindictiveness. “Indeed and it is a nuisance, I won’t deny, having to wait a little longer for my quarry. I had thought, however, that you felt some genuine loyalty, perhaps even affection for the charming Captain and his amusing band of barbarians, that you might truly wish to do them some service.”

“You said yourself that I could not help them.” The prince gave a small shrug of indifference but Lorel detected a spark of interest.

“I said you could not help them by traipsing after them like an incompetent nursemaid.” Lorel could not keep the contempt from his voice, though he had made an effort. “Gondor’s wayward children do not concern me, of themselves.”

“The tournament champion, then.” The prince demanded and Lorel nodded.

“Why?” After so much circumlocution and roundabout phraseology the question felt jarring.

“He won the tournament and would not join us.”

“Others have done the same, not many, but the Variags do not always acquire the champions. That is not enough reason.” The prince insisted

“This man is a foreigner. He is taking one of Khand’s treasures from our land to present to a barbarian court. The Variags will protect Khand’s honor even if others cannot be bothered.”

The prince’s lips curled in a grimace but he did not otherwise rise to the bait. “You said I could be of aid to the Gondorhim. How so?”

“Lord Faramir protects and shelters this Strider. Convince him that one man, however talented a swordsman, is not worth his own life and the lives of his men.” Lorel replied coolly.

“You think he would abandon the tournament champion? After the man swore an oath to him?”

“I think any commander worthy of the name would rather lose one man than thirty. Tell him this: Surrender the forest runner and he and his may go in peace. Convince him and we can all go home.”

“I do not think that I should help you.” The prince said warily.

Now it was Lorel’s turn to shrug with apparent indifference. “That is your choice to make, your highness.”

A figure appeared at the entrance to the hastily erected pavilion and caught Lorel’s eye. “If you will excuse me there is business I wish to see to before the march resumes.”

The prince understood that he was being dismissed and though the officer’s presumption rankled there was nothing he could do about it. With as much dignity as he could muster he rose. As he was turning away, however, Lorel spoke again: “Decide quickly, your highness, whether you mean to aid the valiant Gondorhim. Soon, there will be no power on Middle-Earth that will be able to save Lord Faramir from himself.”

Chapter 18

Chewing the last of his bread carefully, Isu snuck a quick glance at Flyn. The man was talking wistfully about all the various foods he planned to eat once they returned to Minas Tirith. Isu was listening with only half an ear to these musings. He had thought of an idea to stop Flyn’s conversations with the stranger and he was waiting for an opportunity to try it. No opportunity had yet presented itself, however, and time was running short. Isu needed to implement his plan before the stranger returned and that could happen at any moment. Sighing with resignation, Isu finally decided he would have to create his own opportunity. “Perhaps if your friend decides to walk with us again, he will tell us about the favorite foods of his tribe.” Isu cringed a little over the maladroit statement. Flyn nodded at the clumsy interjection but, apparently, his attention had not been caught for he continued to discuss his own thought without further acknowledging that Isu had said anything. Plunging ahead Isu continued as casually as he could. “He will probably walk with Halbarad for the rest of the day, though. But maybe someone else interesting will come along to talk to.”

As Isu expected the mention of the hated name made Flyn suddenly very alert. “What do you mean?” The former lieutenant demanded, scanning the crowd quickly before locking onto the ranger in question. Halbarad happened to be sitting alone casually gazing out at the world around him. Quickly becoming aware that he was the object of scrutiny Halbarad’s eyes were drawn to Flyn. Isu who was beside and a little behind Flyn raised his eyebrows at the ranger, wrinkled his nose and even puffed out his cheeks. Halbarad’s eyes narrowed in confusion and a little concern as he watched Isu’s strange facial expressions. When Isu smiled and looked aside as if to explain that he was only having a bit of fun, Halbarad raised a quizzical eyebrow then returned his attention to surveying the world around him.

Clearly unnerved by how the ranger had apparently been looking at him, Flyn demanded again: “What do you mean?”

“When we stopped for lunch your friend and Halbarad were talking. They seemed to have a lot to say to one another so I thought they might continue talking throughout the afternoon.” Isu replied, trying to sound nonchalant. Flyn was silent.

“When I first saw your friend last night I thought he was a merchant because Halbarad was giving him money. Then today, he was speaking the Common Tongue—not many of the Khandrihm can do that so I thought he must have had dealings with the West, but he said nothing of that to us, so perhaps not.” Isu was now making things up as he spoke. Flyn’s stillness was beginning to unnerve him and fought to suppress the urge to further embroider the tale simply to fill the silence.

Biting his lip to keep from babbling, Isu was relieved when Flyn finally seemed to come back to himself: “Come along, the march will begin soon.” Gratefully, Isu jumped to his feet and fell in at Flyn’s heels.

Later when the stranger returned with smiles and compliments Flyn walked on without turning to look at him. When the exasperated man finally stepped in front of Flyn’s path to block him, the former lieutenant snarled: “You’ve gotten all your going to get from me. Go back and tell your- your friend that I’m done with you and that he should just leave me alone. All right!” Flyn then shoved passed the other man. Isu just had time to notice that the stranger’s expression was not really as surprised as one might have expected before he scuttled forward to catch up with his charge.

The stranger stood motionless for a moment wondering how he had given himself away. Everything had seemed to be going well. Pulling himself from his immobility, he turned toward the rear of the procession. His commander would not be pleased with this new report.


The sky was darkening and everywhere men were preparing for the night. Among the Gondorhim, those who had been assigned to take the first watch took up positions around the perimeter of their comrades’ tents and fires. Aragorn watched the activity as he went through his own evening ritual. He chatted with those he came across, made sure the guards had taken up good positions, saw to it that all minor injuries, scrapes, blisters and sunburns were not ignored. He had already made a circuit of the camp and was preparing to make a second when Halbarad fell into step beside him.

The two men exchanged greetings and then continued to walk in silence. Because of the incident in the afternoon Aragorn had already been subjected to a long and- in his own opinion- unnecessarily strident tirade from his friend about the need for caution. He knew he would face a more deferential yet nonetheless insistent lecture when he told Faramir what had happened. It had even occurred to the ranger that it might not be absolutely necessary to share the event with Faramir. It would worry the young man unnecessarily. Even as he contemplated it, however, Aragorn dismissed the idea. It was unfair to his beloved friend to withhold information. His desire to protect Faramir from information that might upset him vied with his understanding that Faramir needed to know he was trusted and that denying him information would hobble his understanding of the circumstances in which Aragorn himself had so foolishly led them. In the end, he knew he would have to treat Faramir with the same respect he himself would demand had their positions been reversed.

Already dreading the prospect of Faramir’s overpowering concern, Aragorn was in no mood for another harangue from Halbarad. Yet, as the silence lengthened Aragorn began to grow more comfortable in the companionable presence of his friend and gradually he began to allow his mind to wonder. Aragorn was reflecting that the temperature was no longer dropping so precipitously at night and that in a few more days, they could expect to see the terrain slowly become green and alive. He would be glad to leave the desert. There was a beauty in the sheer vastness of the burning sands but it was a beauty he was happy to admire from a distance. The extremes of the landscape seemed to evoke similar extremes in human emotions. He wondered if, once they found themselves returned to a more moderate clime, he himself might not hope to tamp down the extremes of his own passions.

“I spoke to your young man earlier today.” With Halbarad’s words, Aragorn abandoned thoughts of cutting winds, burning sun and air that stole the moisture from your lungs with every breath and the human psychological equivalents of these phenomena. “I confess I shall have to struggle very hard not to like him.”

“Do not fight the inevitable, Barad nin.” Aragorn replied grinning. “Save your strength for battles you have some hope of winning.”

“Sound advice.” Halbarad conceded, returning Aragorn’s smile. “He really is quite intelligent and perceptive. He has wisdom beyond his years but there is also a quality of youth about him. He can appreciate subtlety without getting overwhelmed in minutiae.”

Aragorn was practically glowing as Halbarad continued. “The Captain’s intellect is informed by a keen sense of ethics, duty and obligation. Indeed it is quite startling to find someone who can devote his mind, heart and spirit to the same object without hypocrisy.” Aragorn understood what his friend was saying. There were some people who could only love something mysterious or ineffable as soon as they understood it or subjected it to analysis the thing lost its splendor and appeal. Faramir’s admiration of a person or a thing seemed to increase with his understanding and if his analysis revealed flaws he did not ignore those imperfections or grow disillusioned but confronted the reality with courage and even love. Still warm from the contemplation of his Faramir, Aragorn had been alerted by something in Halbarad’s tone that his friend had more in mind than simply indulging his lord’s affection for his lover.

“Though I could willing discuss Faramir’s many wonderful qualities at great length, it seems to me you have a different object in mind.”

“I have a different object in mind.” Halbarad conceded and Aragorn felt his muscles tighten. He was consciously preparing to be reasonable upon a subject he expected to feel quite unreasonable.

“When we leave Khand do you plan to go immediately to Minas Tirith and demand what is yours?”

“No.” Aragorn’s response was very mild and Halbarad felt a tremor through his body. These were subjects of high emotion and privileged though he was in the profound affection of his lord Halbarad knew better than to press too hard on certain matters.

“When we leave Khand do you mean to have Lord Faramir accompany us West, perhaps into Imladris or back east if you are truly intent upon searching for Gandalf’s elusive creature?”

“No.” Halbarad knew these answers. Aragorn was partly of a mind to demand he get to the point but eventually he decided to let his friend say what he wished in his own way.

“Have you given any thought to what if any contact you shall maintain with Captain Faramir?”

“Some.”

“There would be some tactical advantage to sharing information with the Ithilien rangers. Through the Captain we could also keep an eye on the political happenings in Minas Tirith. Yet, it occurs to me the disadvantages far outweigh the advantages.” Halbarad was no happier than Aragorn in this conversation but he could not remain silent on a matter he considered to be of great importance.

“You want to discuss the pros and cons of collaborating with the Ithilien rangers?” Aragorn would give Halbarad a hearing but he could not bring himself to make it easy on the other ranger.

“No, I wish to discuss what shall become of your relationship with Faramir once the two of you part company.”

“All right. Discuss.”

“I am sincere in my admiration of Lord Faramir, I do not think it either wise or kind to place him between you and Denethor.” Halbarad struggled to be matter-of-fact. “Faramir is filled with self-doubt. He will not trust his own judgment about when to speak and when to keep silent and in second guessing himself he will reveal more than ever he would have intended. The Steward will feed on his self-doubt to the sorrow of us all.”

“I would not put Faramir between Denethor and myself.” Aragorn’s voice shook with emphasis. “I would never expect him to choose between us.” Aragorn wanted to insist that he would have Faramir keep no secrets from Denethor. He almost felt it was the truth except, of course, that it wasn’t. The greatest secret of all was Aragorn himself.

“I make no claims upon Faramir besides a claim of affection and even in that I do not ask for exclusivity. I- I have already told him that he would do well to take the love the fates offer him in the time ahead.” Aragorn realized he was too vehement in his insistence, proving Halbarad’s point for him.

“Perhaps another man could avoid any conflict of loyalties, but Faramir is Denethor’s son. The old man has a nose for secrets and I think he will know it, if Faramir does not bury his love for you very deep. It is a simple fact that your interests are not Denethor’s. I would say that Gondor’s interests are not Denethor’s for in his interest in the Gauntlet the Steward betrays an interest in the crown and for any Steward to aspire to that which is so far above him cannot serve the nation.” Halbarad took a deep breath. “If you would hear my counsel regarding Captain Faramir, my lord, it is this: Claim him or let him go.”

“‘Let him go’. You mean abandon him to fortune and his father while I brood over my own overweening ambitions?” Images of Denethor’s cruelty and disdain for his younger son played themselves over in Aragorn’s nightmares. If he could do nothing else, he wanted to give Faramir the shield of his ongoing affection to hold against Denethor’s severity. “Faramir would not betray me, Halbarad. There is no duplicity in him.”

“No duplicity, none and that is why he would suffer keeping secrets from his father. Already, he must remain silent about your existence. Do not ask him to conceal anything further. Do not send him back to his father with the flame of love burning to brightly in him for any attempt at concealment. After you partSend him no word or message. Do not visit him. Do not send others to ask for information in your name and do not allow those who serve you to give him information. A different man might balance a duty to the Steward against a duty to his King but not Faramir. If the conflict did not actually break him it would certainly cause him great pain. As to Denethor, does it not occur to you that if you are wary of trusting Faramir to his care then you should also be cautious of trusting Gondor to him?”

“Don’t be flippant.” Aragorn snarled.

“I am not being flippant.” Halbarad said softly. There was silence between the two men. For the first several minutes, Halbarad believed he could feel Aragorn’s anger and sense of helplessness. If he could have taken his friend’s anguish upon himself and spared the other man then he would have done so gladly. As it was he could only share in the unhappiness.

As they continued walking around the perimeter, Aragorn seemed to calm. No longer fighting the force of Halbarad’s words Aragorn allowed himself to consider the implications. In good conscience, he could say that he had not already considered parts of Halbarad’s argument. Hearing the words spoken aloud, however, lent them a reality that they had not had before. He knew his friend was almost certainly correct that to keep any ties with Faramir after they left Khand would be a mistake. It was still painful. Being apart from Arwen had struck Aragorn as a profound unhappiness but at least with her he was permitted to visit, spend time, unburden the secrets of his hearts and then when it was time to go he could depart with the knowledge that his lady’s comfort and safety were in the hands of her powerful and protective family. How could he bring himself to leave Faramir so completely?

“As ever, I am grateful to you for your candor, Barad nin.” Aragorn took several deep breaths and reached to place a hand on Halbarad’s shoulder. “I know you would not speak unless you felt there were need. I am confounded by this situation. I can see no course that does not lead to failure- of one sort or another.”

“I would sooner fail with you than succeed with anyone else. Nor am I alone in this sentiment.”

It was not easy to hear such words. Aragorn took them into himself as one might press a knife against one’s flesh- carefully, in the expectation of pain and the fear of profound wounding. There was pain. The love and trust of others cut so deeply yet Aragorn needed it, craved it. And there was something else, too. Something Aragorn was not prepared to put a name to. “You are a good friend, Halbarad. Thank you.”

Shrugging Halbarad smiled with just a corner of his mouth as if to say `you needn’t bother to mention it.’


Happily, Faramir threw his arms around Aragorn’s neck. He had been studying the maps before the ranger’s arrival and the study had been giving him a headache. Not that Faramir needed the maps any longer. He had long since committed them to memory. The parchment gave his thoughts a focal point, however, and he found he took a perverse joy in tracing their route so far. Then, following the path they would take to the nearest point they could reach before their plan had any hope of success. It was a bit like prodding an aching tooth. Aragorn’s presence, however, instantly dispersed his gloom.

“I had intended to be here sooner, but I fell into discussion with Halbarad.” Aragorn explained his lateness as he took in the scent of fresh herbs, soap and Faramir. Though as he had come in, Faramir had been leaning over the table of maps it was apparent the young man had bathed very recently. His hair was damp and his skin glowed in the firelight. He was only wearing a pair of loose fitting trousers and Aragorn took the opportunity to run his hands over the soft hair and firm flesh of his chest.

“All is well?” Faramir asked nuzzling Aragorn’s neck.

Taking in a deep breath filled with the wonderful aroma of clean Faramir, Aragorn did not answer. “You are astonishingly lovely, I should fear to touch you until I have washed.” As he spoke Aragorn raised his hands up and away from the younger man but leaned in to kiss his lips before turning away in search of the basin of water.

“If you will, but not on my account I hope.” Faramir smiled. By nature, the younger man tended to be quite tidy- even fastidious. He had discovered, however, that an Aragorn covered in salt sweat, the dust of a foreign land and the exotic tang of adventure and strength had an undeniable appeal. Aragorn grinned in reply to Faramir’s comment but as the younger man moved to assist him in the removal of his shirt Aragorn stopped him.

“This afternoon, one of our shadows passed me this.” So saying Aragorn reached within his tunic and drew out a folded sheet of paper.

“It is written in the Common Tongue.” Faramir commented, after taking the paper. He felt a powerful sense of trepidation and did his best to quell it enough to read the careful script.

“I suppose the Variags would prefer that such a message should not be bruited about among our escort. That is good for us because it indicates that the Variags are truly worried about how their fellow countrymen perceive them.” Aragorn answered as he removed his shirt and prepared to duck his head into the tepid water remaining in the basin.

The note was short. It read: `Strider, Escape is impossible. Come to us of your own will and spare the lives of your friends.’ Faramir had to struggle against the urge to tear the papers into shreds. How dare those people try to use the Gondorhim as leverage against Aragorn? The worst of it was that such an offer would genuinely appeal to Aragorn’s strong desire protect his companions. The fact that the Variags had attempted such a ploy meant that they must understand that Aragorn would at least take an interest in any plan that promised salvation for those with him. Thus, their intention was to use Aragorn’s nobility against him. It seemed to Faramir unnecessarily cruel.

“Surely, they know you would never accept such an offer. Even if the Variags could be trusted, which they cannot, we could not lose you.” Behind his indignation, Faramir was afraid that Aragorn’s refusal was not so absolutely certain as it should be.

Scrubbing at his hair and face with a wet soapy cloth, Aragorn did not answer immediately. “I take it as a positive sign that the Variags are sufficiently frustrated with the situation to approach me. They cannot be enjoying this trek westward.”

“It could mean they are frustrated. It could also be a simple attempt to intimidate us.” Faramir conceded, “I am only surprised they should believe they have anything to gain by this. It cannot gain them what they seek.” Faramir felt that this point could do with frequent repetitions.

Wringing water from the cloth, Aragorn moved it vigorously across his torso. Faramir watched with a mixture of desire and apprehension. He wanted Aragorn to promise that he would not leave them, that Faramir would not wake up one morning to find that his beloved lord had vanished with the Variags. Aragorn was so beautiful to the younger man that he had to fight the need to embrace him and feel the warmth of strong arms envelope him. At the same time, however, Aragorn seemed to be avoiding Faramir’s eyes as he washed. The Captain was beginning to feel a little disconcerted by this and he could not help but wonder if Aragorn were in some way displeased with him.

“They hope we shall start keeping secrets from one another. I expect you will be approached next. They may even mention this note, hoping it will surprise you.”

Faramir was luminous in the flickering light. Aragorn wanted to hold the warm flesh against him and let Faramir’s presence sooth him. He knew that the young Captain was a little distressed by the Variag’s message. His love and concern shone from him. Yet, the conversation with Halbarad was still fresh in Aragorn’s mind and he had not entirely adjusted to the idea of establishing and keeping a distance between himself and the younger man. He was afraid that if he opened his arms to Faramir now then he would never let him go. So in desperation he found himself wielding the washcloth like a shield against Faramir’s advances. Guilt stabbed at him even as he saw Faramir drop his arms to his sides and lower his gaze. The fear that if he pressed then he would only earn a more forthright rejection was written clearly on the younger man’s face.

“What did Halbarad say?” Faramir asked quietly. He was instantly alarmed to see that the question made Aragorn wince. “Is there something that I do not see? Please, I beg you to tell me.”

“Not at all, my… my dear.” Aragorn sighed. He did not want to cause Faramir distress but he seemed unable to prevent it. “Halbarad held forth at great length advising me to be cautious, but there is no new danger in the Variag’s message. I… I have only wanted to spare you as much worry as I could. I think I have achieved results the opposite of my intent.”

Tension seeped out of Faramir’s body. This time when he took a step forward, Aragorn- powerless to do otherwise- put down the washcloth and welcomed him. Faramir pressed his hot cheek against the cool damp of Aragorn’s chest and closed his eyes. “You must forgive me my concern, my lord. I am afraid it is in my nature. I think I would be utterly confused and discontented if I had nothing to be anxious over.” Aragorn chuckled softly. Faramir felt it more than heard it. Then the older man leaned down to lightly kiss Faramir’s neck and shoulder.

“Truly though, please don’t worry over my reactions. I do not think I could bear it if I- if my love were . . a burden to you.” Though he had tried to remain calm, Faramir found to his dismay that his shoulders had begun to shake and that his voice was close to breaking.

“No, Faramir. You misunderstand, my love.” Stroking Faramir’s back, Aragorn wondered how to explain something he did not entirely understand himself.

“Will you make us a glass of wine,” Aragorn requested after a few moments “and I shall try to tell you how it is for me.”

Nodding, Faramir slipped from his arms to go about the assigned task. After Faramir brought him a cup, Aragorn took a few sips and saw to it the other man did the same. Then, Aragorn began to pace as he struggled to articulate his thoughts. Faramir moved to the blankets and sat down on his heels, hoping he was not in the way.

“I am accustomed to taking care of others, protecting them, loving them.” Aragorn began still pacing the length of the tent. “It seemed natural and it was easy. I took it as my prerogative to worry over the welfare of others. Even when I was on my own, even in the wilderness there were people now and then, travelers, an isolated village even a lone family trying to subsist in the harsh environs. Perhaps it was presumptuous but those people belonged to me. They were mine to look after, to guard, to help. Often they never knew I was there, but I was there. I found a certain contentment in this arrangement.”

Faramir held his hands in his lap. He knew what was coming. Not meaning to, he had transgressed some important boundary. Did Faramir’s concern signal to Aragorn that he had no confidence in him, that he was trying to usurp the role of leader? How could Faramir atone for such contumaciousness? What was more, Faramir did not know how to avoid repeating his error. He could not expunge from his mind the terrible fear that something terrible might happen to Aragorn, nor could he stop himself from trying anything and everything to protect him.

“I don’t mean-”

“Hush, Faramir.” The words were spoken softly, gently. “Let me finish.”

Aragorn stopped pacing and ran a hand through his damp hair before coming over and sitting a few feet from Faramir. “Even with the Dunedain, Arwen and the others I have come to know, it has always been my way to try and serve and protect—even the terrible fear that I might fail was something I felt entitled to. The fear was an important right and privilege, one that I had no intention of surrendering.”

“As others began to care for me, they began to fear for me as well. I fought hard against that. It hurt. It still does. That others should worry for me, that I should be the cause of anxiety rather than the solution stung badly. I think my poor Halbarad feels that anything he does for me must be done on the sly or with an apology lest I be offended. I told myself that the care and concern of others was just another burden of responsibility, something to be stoically endured. That was unkind, Faramir. I wish I had not tried to view matters thus, but you see, I had to tell myself such things because otherwise I would have to find a way to forgive myself for needing their concern, wanting it, enjoying it. I am glad you are worried for me Faramir. I am glad because I know it means you love me and I want you to love me. I need it—even though, I suspect you would be better off if you didn’t.” After the last words, Aragorn let his breath out in a long sight. The energy that had sent him striding impatiently across the tent had completely abandoned him now.

“There is always a festival on the Steward’s birthday.” Faramir said into the silence. He wanted to reach for Aragorn’s hands but he knew it was too soon. “There were parades, dances, feasts and all sorts of spectacles. Father always looked on it as a diplomatic tool, an excuse to invite allies to Minas Tirith and to dispense largesse to amuse the common citizens. The tradition is that the Steward is supposed to be particularly accessible on his birthday and though Denethor never cared for the custom he always made himself available for a few hours in the afternoon to anyone who wished to come and speak to him. Of course, there were complaints and requests for favors and the like but many people just came to see him, to wish him well- to celebrate I suppose.”

“Some of the people came from far away and many of them brought gifts. For some reason it was important to the people to present the gifts themselves, so they would stand in line and when their turn came they would present a bolt of cloth, or a bushel of apples or any number of things. Denethor was usually gracious and the gifts ended up piled on this large table beside him. These were common people, you understand, and the things they gave were never really valuable or diplomatically significant. The items represented their labor and were always the result of hard work. Denethor had little enough use for such things, though. What could he do with simple homespun cloth, how many skillfully tanned hides does one man need in a year? No matter how much toil, effort and thought had gone into these presents? At the end of the day, the contents on the table were divided among the palace servants.”

“I love you. I would give you all that I have, all that I am.” Now Faramir did take Aragorn’s hands, bringing them reverently to his lips. “Sometimes though, it seems to me that all that I have and all that I am is like the bushel of apples on that table by the Steward’s chair. You have tried hard to convince me that I am more to you than that, though, I fear, I am quite stubborn. I love you still more for your patience with me. Do not regret to love me for my sake, please.”

Tightening his hands around Faramir’s own, Aragorn pulled the younger man to him. “I’m sorry to be so selfish, Faramir.” Aragorn whispered between soft kisses pressed against the younger man’s hair. “I feel as though I punish you for the things I do not like or understand about myself and I don’t want to do that.”

Maneuvering in Aragorn’s arms, Faramir brought his lips against the older man’s to quiet him. He hated it when Aragorn’s dissatisfaction with himself was so close to the surface. Parting his lips in invitation, Faramir let his head tip back trusting Aragorn to support his weight. After several increasingly deep kisses, Aragorn let the crown of his head rest against Faramir’s forehead. The younger man could feel the ranger’s lashes fluttering against his cheek as their breaths mingled.

“You are not selfish. Too much the opposite, I think.” Faramir announced, his voice low and husky. “Let it be a good thing that I love you. Let it be a better thing that you should place some value on my love.”

“So much wisdom combined with so much beauty,” As Aragorn spoke his tongue darted out to steel a fleeting taste of Faramir’s full lips. “How could I do otherwise than love you? And yet if harm were to befall you through this love?”

A dozen quick answers surged up in Faramir. He wanted to say that there was no harm great enough to outweigh the joy he had from Aragorn’s love. He wanted to say that he was secure and sheltered from all evil by Aragorn’s presence in his heart. Before the words could spill from his lips, however, he remembered something from his conversation with Halbarad. “If it does then it was by my choice and I would not have chosen otherwise.”

Aragorn’s grip around Faramir’s waist tightened for a moment, then slowly eased. “Yes, all right.” The words seemed to have had to struggle their way to freedom leaving Aragorn slumped and exhausted after the battle.

Moving together the two men lay on their sides. Aragorn’s eyes slid closed and Faramir reached toward him, delicately tracing the contours of his face. His fingers traveled slowly over his arms and torso, reverently lingering over every curve and angle. Sometimes he did not even touch but held his hands a few inches above the older man, sensing the heat and the nearness without making contact. Eventually, a small smile tugged at the corners of Aragorn’s mouth and with eyes still closed he took hold of Faramir’s hand as it hovered so captivatingly above his heart and brought it to his lips.

“I love you.” Faramir murmured.

Now Aragorn opened his eyes and met Faramir’s gaze. “I am glad of it for I love you, too.”

Feeling almost gleeful, Faramir wriggled closer to Aragorn winding his arms around the older man’s neck. Aragorn leaned in closer as well. After placing a gentle kiss on the younger man’s lips he then drew back a little touching their foreheads together and brushing their noses together. Unable to contain his grin Faramir’s face crinkled contentedly making him look very much like a cat who smells something interesting.

For a while the two traded playful kisses but soon the kisses grew longer and playfulness gave way to more earnest intent. Aragorn had thrown one leg over both Faramir’s and his hands moved along his ribcage, the thumbs tracing circles around his nipples at the top before moving down again. Minds of one accord, Faramir moaned softly as he turned onto his back while Aragorn adjusted his weight to rest over the younger man. The two men were so absorbed in one another that it took a moment before either realized that their motion had knocked over one of the wine cups.

“Damn.” Aragorn commented, annoyed by the distraction. Fortunately the cup had nearly been empty. A thin trail of red liquid, however, had spilled over Faramir’s shoulder. Aragorn quickly collected the errant wine with a few decisive swipes of his tongue before picking up the cup, rising to his knees and collecting the one that had not spilled.

“Let me get those.” Faramir offered, groping to retrieve the cups from Aragorn’s grasp.

“No, you stay where you are. I have you exactly where I want you and you shall not escape me.” Aragorn commanded grinning wolfishly at the younger man.

Faramir smiled in return but then deliberately twisted his kiss-swollen lips into a delightfully adorable pout. “But how shall I lie idle in bed whilst my lord performs chores that I could easily manage?”

“Ah, but you need not be idle, love.”

“What would you have me do?” Faramir asked. Aragorn had already put away the cups but neither man seemed willing to abandon this thread of conversation just yet.

“Get rid of those trousers.”

Faramir obeyed. Lying on his back, he pushed the cloth down his hips and thighs. Then he turned on his side, facing toward Aragorn, and finished removing the trousers. He put them aside, stretching a little to place them clear of the blankets. Riveted, Aragorn took in every movement. His eyes followed avidly as Faramir raised his hips slightly and they pursued the path of the trousers as they crept down revealing strong shapely thighs. He watched in fascination as Faramir wriggled a little to help free his feet. Aragorn observed the slight flush of color creep over Faramir’s cheeks, down his neck and chest and wondered if it was shyness or excitement or some delightfully Faramir-like combination of both.

“Now, come and help me.” Aragorn suggested, stepping to the edge of the blankets and moving his hands to the waist of his own trousers. Faramir closed the short distance between them on his knees. He undressed Aragorn with gentle hands, then continued to lavish gentle caresses over the bare skin of his beloved. Aragorn felt himself tremble as Faramir’s breath wafted against his awakening cock. Faramir pressed his lips to Aragorn’s navel, licked gently at the jutting bones of his hips and his fingers stroked through the soft hair covering his thighs. There was an expression of bliss on the younger man’s face as he explored his lover that Aragorn found nearly as arousing as the explorations themselves.

There was nothing coy or teasing in Faramir’s attentions, even though he avoided touching the hardening sex that seemed to plead for contact right before his eyes. Aragorn knew that Faramir needed a more explicit invitation before he would lavish his generous affection upon him thus. Countless admonitions that Faramir could always touch him as he liked had not altered the younger man’s behavior. Thinking it necessary to show respect for his beloved Faramir, Aragorn tried to reciprocate. He made efforts to wait for an express invitation before bestowing the most intimate of touches on his lover. This strategy, however, did not have the desired effect. Faramir had interpreted Aragorn’s restraint as displeasure, annoyance or worst of all, anger. The younger man could only be soothed by several demonstrations of completely uninhibited and even aggressive passion. Now Aragorn simply tried to honor what Faramir seemed to want. He would have been loath to admit it, but Aragorn soon found that he could lose himself more completely in Faramir’s touches when he understood that they would go only so far and no further without his active knowledge. In idle moments Aragorn wondered if this happy congruence was purely the result of happenstance or whether Faramir understood more about Aragorn than did Aragorn himself.

Dropping down to his knees so that he was face to face with Faramir, Aragorn drew the younger man’s face to him kissing him deeply. The words `beautiful’, `love’, and Faramir’s own name were being murmured into the younger man’s hair and neck as Faramir felt himself slowly tilting backward. Aragorn cradled his head in one strong hand as he eased them both down until Faramir lay on his back. Grasping at each other, the two men kissed. Faramir used his arms and legs to pull the heavier body closer to him and Aragorn kneaded his way across the wonderfully pliant flesh of Faramir’s chest and belly.

“Love you, Aragorn. Take me?” Faramir’s words came out in a breathy moan as the sensitive buds of his nipples drew tight in response to Aragorn’s thorough handling.

“Ask me again, sweet one, precious Faramir.” The younger man’s words had the effect of a caress over sensitive skin and Aragorn wanted the sensation again- more intensely if he could find a way to have it so.

“Please, I want to feel you inside of me. Take me. Love me. I need to belong to you.” Faramir brought one of Aragorn’s hands to his lips. Drawing a single finger into his mouth, he sucked at it. He stroked it with his tongue as he drew it deeply into wet heat.

“Yes, my heart.” Aragorn murmured. His eyes had drifted shut of their own accord under the combined effects of Faramir’s words and the heat of his mouth. When he managed to force them open, he saw Faramir gazing at him over hollowed cheeks as he drew the ranger’s finger in and out of his mouth.

“Shall we be like this, then?” Aragorn asked straddling Faramir’s thighs in a quick motion. “I should like to see your face as I come inside you.”

Faramir nodded vigorously, drawing in another of Aragorn’s fingers as he did so.

While Faramir nibbled and licked his fingers, Aragorn used his other hand to caress the younger man’s burgeoning erection. When Faramir finally had no choice but to let his head slide back and moan, Aragorn reclaimed his hand letting it slip down his lover’s body. Gently he massaged Faramir’s scrotum before moving further back. Delicately Aragorn used his wetted fingers to slide into Faramir. He worked slowly, never penetrating very deeply.

“Please, love, I’m ready, so ready for you. Let me watch as you take me.” There was a hungry look in Faramir’s eyes as he massaged Aragorn’s neck trying to urge the older man to lean down and kiss him.

In response to the persuasive fingers at the nape of his neck, Aragorn bent forward. He kissed Faramir as though he wished to devour him and the younger man responded with equal fervor. When they broke apart, Aragorn groped for the oil that they kept close to their bedding.

“Here, my heart, do this for me.” Aragorn’s voice was rough with urgent desire as he quickly poured the oil onto Faramir’s palm.

Faramir licked his lips in an unconscious display of anticipation. He rubbed the viscous fluid onto Aragorn’s stiff flesh. He felt the blood beating hot in the thick shaft and felt an answering throb in his own erection. Intent as he was on his task, Faramir did spare a quick glance at Aragorn’s expression. The gleam of rapture in his beloved’s eyes resulted in another surge of blood to his groin.

“Enough, sweet-heart. You overwhelm me.” Faramir’s touches were fast overcoming Aragorn’s self-control. Lying back Faramir raised his legs to his chest. Moaning softly at such beauty arrayed before him, Aragorn kissed his lover.

When the kiss ended, Aragorn guided himself against Faramir’s entrance. The younger man watched in avid fascination as the wet tip of Aragorn’s erection nudged against him. Hand clasped within his lover’s Faramir relaxed into the extreme stretch. Watching as Aragorn slowly disappeared inside him coupled with the burning pleasure of his body’s struggle to accommodate the welcome presence of his lord within him gave Faramir a joy that seemed to stop his breath. Murmuring Aragorn’s name over and over, Faramir urged his lover to venture ever deeper.

When Aragorn could go no deeper, he stilled. He could feel a bead of sweat roll down his back and he saw that a faint sheen of moisture glimmered on Faramir’s brow. Later he would taste Faramir’s clean sweat and sweet skin. Now, though, he could do no more than revel in the feeling of completeness that permeated him. The moment could not endure forever, anymore than a man could hold back the tide and soon Aragorn found himself withdrawing a little from the dark heat embracing only to sink down again.

Faramir quickly found the need to sink his teeth into the back his hand each time Aragorn ended the slow slide within him or else he would lose himself to irrepressible cries of ecstasy. The unhurried pace of the push and pull within him seemed to turn all Faramir’s muscles to quivering jelly. When Aragorn leaned over to kiss him, the angle changed and Faramir felt fire race through nerves already steeped an overabundance of sensation.

Pressing his tongue into Faramir’s mouth in symmetry with the motion of his straining erection, Aragorn felt the slender body beneath him begin to writhe in frantic pleasure at the dual stimuli. Tilting his hips Aragorn increased the pressure with which his penis stroked Faramir’s pleasure center. He was rewarded with a stifled gasp before Faramir redoubled the effort he was pouring into their kiss.

“You feel so good to me, my sweet, my lovely. So good.” Aragorn whispered, squeezing their still joined hands.

Moaning at the words, Faramir returned the pressure. Unable to maintain even the thin illusion of control Faramir surrendered himself to the paroxysms of ecstasy coursing through him. He hoped only to endure the waves of emotion and sensation that surged within him for as long as possible.

Feeling his own control slipping, Aragorn struggled desperately to find completion at the same moment as his lover. Groping between their bodies, Aragorn wrapped strong fingers over Faramir’s weeping erection. “Faramir, love?” He squeezed gently as he watched Faramir struggle to focus passion-clouded eyes on him.

“Yes, Aragorn- Oh!” As Faramir spoke, Aragorn stroked him again, more firmly and everything dissolved into bliss. He felt his release gush from him in seemingly endless ribbons. It was as though he had been made of ice and in less than a heartbeat he had turned to warm water. Indeed, Faramir could well understand how he might have had cause to melt for spirals of searing heat were pulsing into him, marking his insides, transforming him.

Arms shaking from the effort of supporting his weight through orgasm, Aragorn used the last of his strength to ease himself gently back from Faramir. As their bodies disengaged Faramir’s legs dropped weakly to the blankets. Spent, Aragorn allowed himself to collapse beside his lover, reaching for him even as Faramir began to seek his embrace. Arms wrapped around one another, the two men dozed.

Hours later, as Aragorn drifted in between sleep and wakefulness in an exhausted haze of contentment he remembered his conversation with Halbarad and his own tangled thoughts in the aftermath. His friend’s warning to `claim him or let him go’ drew him into greater alertness. Aragorn knew he could not do the former- not yet, but as the comforting weight pressed snugly against his side silently testified neither had he done the latter. He desperately hoped his failure to put distance between himself and Faramir would not come at too great a price. As he pressed a soft kiss against the shoulder of his sleeping lover, however, Aragorn could not regret sharing this closeness for another day.

Chapter 19

Folding the carefully composed note, Lorel handed it to his Lieutenant with a small smile. He was pleased with his latest creative effort. After the first terse correspondence, Lorel had begun adding facts from the information he had gained from Flyn and his own close observation of the Gondorhim to the notes. He felt it gave them an extra feeling of menace and reality when he was able to name each of the men who would soon die horribly if Strider did not do the noble thing and give himself up. He wrote about the men who had wives, children or dependent parents frequently. He remembered to mention the desert rat that had somehow joined the Gondrohim. Sometimes Lorel sent two or three notes in a day and with each new missive his descriptions of the tortures those gallant soldiers would be forced to endure before finally succumbing to a humiliating death at the hands of the Variags grew increasingly graphic. As Captain Faramir and Halbarad were the two men closest to the ranger, Lorel always devoted the majority of the notes to describing the particularly nasty things he had planned for them in particular. Somewhat to Lorel’s disappointment, after the eighth note Strider stopped reading them. Whenever, one was passed to him, he took it holding it a little away from himself as though it were something dirty. Then he took it to the nearest fire without opening it. Lorel suspected that Strider would have liked to refuse to accept the note, but if he didn’t Lorel’s man would just leave it to be picked up by one of the Gondorhim. That thought made Lorel grin. If Strider wasn’t interested in what he had to say perhaps it was time all the Gondorhim understood the price they would pay for protecting their ranger-king. He would have to think more about that.

Even though the notes were not being read at present Lorel did not feel he was wasting effort creating them. The march was agonizingly slow and the notes were a very pleasant way to spend the time. Of course, most of the ideas in the notes were only fantasies. Lorel had every intention of delivering Faramir to the Capital in the condition in which he had first found him. As for the other men of Gondor, he would not be so profligate with his time and resources to give them special deaths. Lorel did intend, however, to give reality to the words in the notes to Halbarad. The Officer wondered if the ranger could somehow sense the extra sincerity that went into the passages describing the fate awaiting him. Lorel hoped so.

As Lorel grinned the Lieutenant who had taken the note tried to make his stance and body language even more submissive as he waited for further orders or to be dismissed. The man had every right to be nervous. The day before, he and another of the Lieutenants had been flogged. Their continued worries over their dwindling supplies, the unknown terrain and the other tribes’ perceptions of the Variags’ pursuit had finally, in Lorel’s unappeallable opinion, crossed into insubordination. Lorel felt, with grim satisfaction, that it would be some time before anyone came to him with problems that called for patient endurance rather than panicked hand wringing.

“Has the deserter been found, yet?” Lorel asked, watching as the man gave an involuntary flinched at the sudden sound of his voice.

“The search parties have not yet returned, sir, but he cannot have made it very far.” There were always deserters. That was a fact of army life. It couldn’t be helped. One set up sentries and made threats but a certain number of men would always run. Now, the problem seemed to be getting much worse. The Lieutenant could not even think of that, however, without his back starting to hurt so he kept his fears to himself. In any case, he was in no doubt as to which particular deserter his Officer had referred to.

“When they return with him, bring him to me.” Lorel was not the most draconian of Variag commanders. His general opinion was that the ranks of the Variag army were better off without the scum who ran from their only opportunity to make anything of their lives. Naturally, he hanged any man he caught deserting but Lorel didn’t put himself out over it. This case was different, though. The soldier who had fled had been one of the men the Officer had selected for the vitally important task of surveiling Strider. Lorel had put his trust in the man and he had run. It was a personal betrayal and a precedent that could not be allowed to stand. The troops needed to see an example of the results of such cowardice and perfidy and when the man was caught Lorel would provide it.

“Yes, sir.” The Lieutenant replied not quite able to meet his Commander’s gleaming eyes.

“Present Prince Goat Turd with my compliments and invite him to lunch with me tomorrow.” Lorel instructed. The time was more than ripe to continue priming Faramir to betray his king and paramour. “I feel he could do with some more friendly advice.” His highness was taking his sweet time convincing his conscience that cooperating was in the best interests of all concerned. Lorel had decided to have another go at him. He would remind him that all those treaties and understandings he had so painstakingly hammered out with Faramir would be worthless if the idealistic young man never made it home. He would remind him that distance and his tribe’s comparative insignificance would not shield him if he truly angered the Variags.

“Very good, sir. And if he declines?”

Lorel almost laughed except that he saw that his subordinate was in earnest. Lorel wondered for the first time if he had not been too harsh with this man. It was one thing to beat the flesh off a man’s back but it was important to leave something of the spine intact. “I would really prefer that he not decline. You’re not going to let some puffed up nobody from West of Nowhere tell you `no’ are you?”

“No, sir. I shall arrange the meeting.”

Lorel did not know if he had succeeded in pricking the man’s pride or if he simply feared the Officer more than any possible confrontation with the prince. In the end, it really didn’t matter. Suddenly weary of looking at the other man, Lorel waved his hand in dismissal. An idea for a new note had just occurred to him and he wanted to explore it in private


Come the dawn another tribe would leave them. With their departure the Gondorhim’s escort would shrink to two. Though it was inevitable, Faramir felt a stabbing sense of failure as he watched the protective force around them shrink. He struggled to hold panic and helplessness at bay as he wished the departing tribes a convivial farewell. The young Captain understood why the tribes would not stand with them until he and his men reached safety. Many of his allies had already stretched their resources to come this far and would find their journey home arduous. Several of the tribes had been lead by representatives of ruling councils who had already extended their authority passed its limit by bringing their party as far as they had. The lesser tribes could not afford to antagonize the Variags beyond a certain point. Despite the amity of the Gathering there was no history of trust and friendship between Gondor and any of the tribes and Faramir could not expect strangers to risk so much. Yes, Faramir understood. He could even bring himself to forgive.

Even so it galled the young Captain to spend the evening in apparently relaxed and amiable conversation with men who were preparing to abandon him to an overwhelming foe. It was the more annoying as Faramir felt there were more urgent uses for his time. Yet, here he sat. His face ached from the effort of keeping his features smooth and his expression pleasant. As the evening wore on Faramir began finding himself in the ridiculous position of having to reassure the Chieftain of the departing tribe. At several points the man, who in Faramir’s opinion might have had a bit too much to drink, took Faramir’s hands and staring at the young Captain with sorrowful eyes professed his sincere regret to be leaving and his heartfelt hope that all would be well with the Gondorhim. Even with the collusion of liquor the Chieftain could not bring himself to mention the Variag threat explicitly. Faramir was alternately touched and annoyed by these protestations. There was one particularly uncomfortable moment when the departing Chieftain became maudlin and Faramir feared the man might actually lapse into tears. Alarmed the Captain turned the conversation as quickly as possible. Sighing, as the Chieftain refilled his cup Faramir resigned himself to the complete loss of the evening.

The morning before bidding this awkward farewell, Faramir had come to the decision that it was time to share more facts about their situation with the men. The day’s march had not yet begun and Aragorn, Halbarad and Faramir had gathered in the Captain’s tent. Halbarad was perusing the note Aragorn had just been handed while the other ranger tried to rein in his growing anger. The notes were becoming ever more disturbing. Aragorn would have much preferred it had the threats been directed against him. He could have easily ignored them if they had been, but he found he could not so easily dismiss descriptions of pain being inflicted on others for his sake. Sharing the contents of these terrible missives with Halbarad and Faramir was still more upsetting to Aragorn and he would have preferred not to. Neither Faramir nor Halbarad would have consented to remain in ignorance, however, and as the notes devoted a great deal of space to the two men Aragorn could not deny them access. In truth, Halbarad did not seem at all bothered by descriptions of his own dismemberment and Faramir, though, appalled was rather more interested by the kind of mentality that could conjure such images than he was distressed by the images themselves. Even so, Aragorn clearly believed that he should have been able to protect his friends from the notes ever having been written in the first place. For some reason this latest note in particular had upset him.

“Oh, I would think my intestines would be far too slippery to use for that.” Halbarad commented. Faramir snorted then put his hand quickly over his moth to stifle any further sign of mirth.

“Don’t encourage him, love.” Aragorn advised, rousing himself from his black mood enough to offer his companions a small smile.

Halbarad, though, had already been sufficiently encouraged by Faramir’s amusement and the hopes Aragorn could be stirred from brooding. “For a man I have barely spoken to, this Officer seems to have an incredibly and I suggest slightly unhealthy fascination with my balls.”

Faramir had no choice but to laugh, though he did so behind his hand. Halbarad’s sang-froid was remarkable. The Captain thought that his brother would have appreciated the steel and wit of Halbarad’s response. Faramir wondered if he might be able to recount the incident to Boromir if he altered a few of the details.

“Keep reading, Barad-nin.” Aragorn’s voice was soft and sad. Faramir’s laughter drained away replaced by the need to offer some support or comfort to the older man. Had they been alone, Faramir would have almost certainly have embraced his beloved. He was shy of initiating too much intimacy in Halbarad’s presence though, so Faramir satisfied himself by putting a hand on Aragorn’s arm.

Halbarad must have come to the place that had so upset Aragorn, for his lips compressed and he looked up to meet Aragorn’s eyes over the paper. “It’s just more of the same: absurd posturing, lunatic ramblings, puerile nonsense.” Aragorn just shrugged non-committaly at his friend’s reassurance.

His curiosity understandably aroused by this exchange, Faramir moved to take the paper from Halbarad to see for himself just which bit of nastiness had Aragorn so glum. As he approached Halbarad again looked to Aragorn. With a cold sense of dread Faramir had a premonition that the note would be withheld from him, that he had suddenly been deemed unworthy of any further confidences.

Looking grim, Aragorn took the paper from Halbarad and put into Faramir’s hand. “You are not to take this to heart.” It had been a command and Faramir acknowledged it as such.

Relieved that his premonition had not come to pass, Faramir scanned the beginning paragraphs. These dealt with Halbarad and seemed fairly typical. Faramir had noticed there seemed to be a certain extra intensity about the words describing the potential fate of the ranger. Though, there was nothing in particular he could put a name to, it seemed to Faramir that the notes’ author spent more time and care on Halbarad. This observation disturbed the Captain enough to mention it to the ranger. He wanted to offer support and comfort to the man in case he was not quite as heedless of the continuing threats as he appeared in Aragorn’s presence. Halbarad, however, had not seemed upset by the suggestion. He only remarked that if it was so then the effort was wasted for he had not noticed

After quickly reading the parts concerning Halbarad, Faramir came to the references to himself. It was odd but he had grown strangely accustomed reading about his own dismemberment. He doubted the enemy would be able to say much to trouble him. Despite his confidence, reading of his own rape was a bit of a shock. The Variags threatened to tie him to two stakes in the middle of camp and let each soldier take his turn. He had to confess the image frightened him. As he continued to stare at the page, though, Faramir believed it didn’t frighten him nearly so much as it might have done. The attack was aimed at Aragorn. If they had not been lovers, Faramir doubted such a threat would even have occurred to the Varaiags. The entire point was to insult Aragorn, to hurt him and as a result Faramir felt anger rather than fear.

“It is as Halbarad has said: puerile nonsense.” Faramir spoke almost casually, meeting Aragorn’s eyes steadily. Aragorn, himself, looked deeply unhappy. Deliberately, Faramir crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it into the fire. “They write this in hopes it will be offensive. They want to be shocking. Truly, it is nothing to me.”

“I could kill them all, man after man; the innocent with the guilty, when I think of what they have threatened.” Aragorn’s eyes blazed and his hand shook with barely controlled violence as he touched Faramir’s cheek. Aragorn feared his own rage, knowing that he must either loose it upon his enemies or turn it upon himself. Such strong emotion could not simply disappear into the ether and it could not be banished in any other way. “I- I did not want to show that to you.”

“I am glad you did for it reveals that our Enemy is in such a state that their best weapon against us is the writing of profanity. Do not think on it, my lord. Do not be provoked. It will only incite them further.” Faramir answered, taking Aragorn’s hand in both of his and trying to counter the urge to violence with the force of his own sense of calm. The note had chilled him but the prospect of being excluded from Aragorn’s confidence, of being shut away from his trust froze his bones.

“Don’t let them manipulate you. Faramir is right. If they see this bothers you they will fixate on it.” Halbarad offered, putting a hand on Aragorn’s shoulder.

“Of course, it is as you.” Turning away from both men, Aragorn admitted the reasonableness of what his friends were telling him. Even so, his heart cried out that if he were stronger then no one would dare threaten his Faramir in such a way. If Aragorn were the man he was supposed to be then no one would dare to so much as think the things that were written on page after page about those closest to him. Guiltily, Aragorn wondered if it would be different if he had not shown that first note to his friends. It had nearly broken his heart on top of his nearly overwhelming anger to watch Faramir read the horrible things that had been written about him. If he had kept the letters to himself then his friends would still be aware of the danger but they would not have to confront all the ugliness that had been poured like poison on the paper.

Eventually reason overtook the atavistic need to snarl and claw blindly at anything that threatened what Aragorn regarded as his own and he could once again approximate rational speech. “I know you are both right, but I am afraid I cannot answer for myself if I continue to give the Variags opportunities. Any more of these messages are going to go directly into the fire. I won’t look at another and neither will either of you.”

Faramir might have liked to continue monitoring the notes from the Variags. In a disturbing way it was fascinating. To him, it was mostly an intellectual problem that hardly touched his emotions. His own, perhaps morbid, interest was not enough justify the distress the messages caused Aragorn, however. Faramir understood that had the situations been reversed and messages describing horrible tortures that would befall Aragorn if he did not surrender himself to the Variags been delivered to him, he would very likely have gone mad. In the same vein, Faramir suspected that Halbarad would not have been nearly so calm had he been the recipient of the letters rather than the subject. This understanding was sometimes communicated between the ranger and the Captain in guilty, fleeting looks that seemed to admit to one another if no one else `even though he hates to see it, better either of us than him.’

“I think it may be time to talk to the men.” Faramir broke the silence after several moments. “Our escort is leaving us. The men should know more about our situation.” Aragorn turned back to Faramir and Halbarad. With business to discuss he could leave his own dark thoughts for a while.

“What exactly do you mean to say?” Halbarad inquired.

“I want to tell them why we are being followed. `Why’ very generally speaking, of course.” Faramir clarified. “The Variags are enraged because a stranger won their tournament then chose to ally with Gondor. They also hate the idea of Gondor making peace with any of the tribes. They will wait until all witnesses have departed for their own homes and then attack. We have a strategy to meet that attack but those details will remain a secret, for security’s sake, for a while longer.”

The tension among the Gondorhim continued to grow. Faramir believed the men would do better when they had a better understanding of the situation. As it was, his soldiers knew only that they were being hunted. It could not but help to stiffen their resolve to understand that those who hunted them were motivated by jealousy and malice. In addition to his genuine desire to be as forthright as the- very unique- circumstances permitted, Faramir wanted to make sure his men heard from him before the Variags decided they wanted to broaden the scope of their snide whispers and malicious letters. The Gondorhim were not under threat merely to protect Strider, though this was reason enough for Faramir. It was probably also reason enough for the soldiers for they had come to know Strider and regard him as their own. Indeed this sense of acceptance came before one considered that Strider was Aragorn and thus his protection was an urgent duty. The soldiers were not explicitly aware of their particular responsibility to the ranger but Faramir knew a bond of loyalty and allegiance had been created, even if most could only vaguely intuit its deeper significance. There was still yet another principal in play. If a man pledged himself to Gondor then Gondor would not abandon that man. There were secrets and complexities aplenty but that simple fact could not be forgotten. Faramir would not let it be forgotten.

“Unless you have a strong objection, I think this information needs to come from you and your Lieutenants rather than from me or Halbarad. Perhaps from all three of you if that can somehow be arranged. Once you’ve done that, Halbarad and I can focus on explaining as much of our final tactics as would be safe. You are quite right, Faramir. Time is short.”

Halbarad suggested that Faramir meet with his Lieutenants as soon as possible to discuss what exactly they meant to say and then the three could circulate among the men speaking to two or three at a time until everyone had been informed. Faramir agreed and the three men continued talking quietly together. It was suggested that they begin seeking high ground when it was time to camp and lighting larger fires. Gondor did not have the strength to send patrols out so far but if it appeared to the enemy that they had genuine hope of rescue it would demoralize their pursuers. When the march finally began for the day, all thoughts of the Variags’ notes had been pushed to the back of everyone’s mind as their full attention was devoted to their future plans.

To Faramir it was more of a relief than he had expected to leave off courting their tribes and spend time explaining the situation to the soldiers. He had wanted to gauge their reactions and do everything he could to convince them that though it was dangerous to oppose the Variags it was also important. He had not expected the warmth and enthusiasm with which the men would accept his words. Faramir received pledges of loyalty and determination. The trust his men placed in him moved him profoundly. As he talked, the Captain saw the steely glint of purpose kindle in the eyes of his countrymen. Nervousness and anxiety were replaces by pride and conviction. The soldiers possessed the controlled and focused tension of a drawn bowstring. Faramir was glad to see the fire in them. What had nearly brought Faramir to tears, however, had been watching the men of Gondor cluster about Strider. They watched his movements with almost maternal fretfulness. Tribesmen found it difficult to approach anywhere the ranger for there always seemed to be one or another of the Gondorhim blocking their path. The men knew their enemy wanted Strider and they did not mean to let them have him. Strider belonged to Gondor. He was theirs.

Gladly would Faramir have spent longer with his own tribe- as he sometimes caught himself thinking of the soldiers- but the latest departure of Khandrihm had claimed his attention. Though he had been forced away to exchange smiles and offer reassurances to the tribes he felt a renewed sense of energy from his own men. In the future, the Captain resolutely decided, that he would never allow himself to become estranged from the men under his command and their feelings. He was beginning to recognize a tendency within himself to fixate upon the arithmetic of a situation. He could spend endless hours estimating the number of their escort and of the Variag force, the distance from the first garrison town, the diminishing provisions of their enemies, the number of days he could cajole a tribe to remain with him. The need to perform calculations and hazard conjectures could quickly become obsessive and at such times Faramir needed others, Aragorn, Halbarad and his own soldiers to bring him back to meaning when his thoughts began to turn back upon themselves. He would remember that.


“So this is all because of you. How did I know.”

“I beg your pardon?” Aragorn fought the wave of tiredness that assailed him with Flyn’s approach. No one else had made mention of the fact that he was the one to blame for the Variags’ pursuit. The accusing stares which Aragorn had half anticipated were never aimed at him. Many of the soldiers, far from showing any antagonism, had collected loosely about him, drawing together almost like a phalanx whenever any tribesmen tried to approach.

“All this trouble, it’s your fault. The tribes are after us because they want you. And of course, the Captain- benevolent man that he is- won’t give you up.” Flyn felt better than he had for a long time. It had been draining to sense the danger without understanding its cause. And while the danger was still real and frightening at least he was here risking his life for a reason. Flyn had chosen to be a soldier. He was not particularly brave but neither was he a physical coward yet the uncertainties he had faced in Khand had shaken his understanding of the world. He was accustomed to political in-fighting and ever-shifting alliances of convenience in the officer corps in Minas Tirith. It was natural to scheme to advance yourself and your (perhaps temporary) friends and scheme to defeat or embarrass your rivals.

Flyn had in his own modest way been successful at such games. He had seen Denethor’s orders regarding the Gauntlet as another move in the game. The Steward was involved in some sort of power struggle with his son and he was using Flyn to gain a point or some other small victory. Flyn was happy to be used because he saw Denethor as the stronger player and allying with him was an excellent opportunity. Throughout everything, though, even one’s most hated rivals were not the enemy. One tried to discredit one’s opponents not kill them. In some deep inarticulable way everyone was still on the same side. You would never send a rival- no matter how hated- blind into an enemy trap. One would never make even a temporary alliance with a foreigner. Yet, there had been more danger associated with the Gauntlet than Denethor had lead him to believe. The Steward appeared to have more in mind than simply scoring a point on his son. When Flyn thought back on the scene in which he had been forced to confess Denethor’s secret orders there had been a sense of something panic? Betrayal? Fear? Whatever it had been, there was more to it than a family quarrel. Then Faramir seemed so very friendly with all those tribes. Flyn wasn’t sure that was right. His secret fear had been that Faramir plotted or had been driven by self-preservation to outright rebellion.

The former Lieutenant could not keep the tribes straight. Some were friendly others were not. To Flyn they were all an undifferentiated mass of foreigners. What kind of alliances had Faramir made with these strangers? What had he promised? Was there treason here and if so who had betrayed whom? No one else shared his fears. Of course, Denethor’s peculiar interest in procuring the Gauntlet was not generally known. Flyn had tried to ascertain Gildel’s thought but the older man seemed to have forgotten all about Denethor’s desire to obtain the Gauntlet without his son’s knowledge. He also seemed to have not reflected upon the idea that they were leading a very large number of heavily armed tribesmen back to Gondor.

These fears had haunted Flyn. So much so that when he was told that the men following them were well and truly enemies intent on doing them harm because of some perceived insult he drank it down in gulps. Denethor and Faramir were just bickering. Flyn and Gildel had caused no more harm than seriously annoying their Captain when they had sought to gain the Gauntlet without Faramir’s knowledge. Strider had been showing-off his sword skills and irked the wrong tribesmen. Faramir had been too blindly supportive and protective of his lover to fix the problem diplomatically. It wasn’t a particularly appealing way for the world to work but it was a way that Flyn understood and felt equal to participating in. And it was greatly preferable to the alternatives.

The former Lieutenant felt some of his old confidence returning. It was a relief to have something- someone to focus his emotions on, someone who could be blamed. Strider made an inviting target for blame and Flyn was eager to start. “You have to have your trophy so the rest of us are stuck protecting you.”

“It was never my intention to put anyone in danger.”

“You certainly managed it, though.” Strider did not seem to have anything to say to this. Though, it was exhilarating for Flyn to be on the offensive,. Strider’s unwillingness to argue in his own defense was robbing him of some of his enthusiasm. So, he pushed harder. “Captain Faramir is certainly risking a great deal for your sake.”

“You think he should not?” Aragorn was genuinely curious. It was a subject upon which he had already devoted much thought. He was interested to hear another opinion and Flyn, of course, could be trusted not to hide his true feelings in order to be tactful.

“Well, once he accepted your oath, I suppose he didn’t have any choice.” Flyn did not like the ranger’s question. The former Lieutenant did not like Faramir or Strider but a commander could not just abandon someone who had been accepted into service. It was much easier to criticize what had been done then to suggest what else might have been done. “Very convenient timing, by the way: You take a sudden interest in joining our ranks the moment you need us but until that moment I wouldn’t have believed you had much inclination to become one of us.”

“Perhaps I was waiting for a time when I had something to offer in return.” Strider was staring off into the distance and Flyn had the sense that the other man was talking to himself.

“And that turned out really well. Congratulations. Denethor said he was willing to pay a high price for the gauntlet but I can’t see how it can be worth the cost we still may yet pay.”

“Why speak to me of this? Do you imagine these ideas have not occurred to me?” There was no anger or defensiveness in Strider’s voice. At the most he seemed mildly curious.

Flyn had been hoping to find a little joy in the misfortune of another or failing that he would have been satisfied with verbal sparring. Strider’s attitude, however, had sapped his glee. “I just wanted to make sure you understand that, even though you have convinced the Captain and poor ignorant lads like Isu that you can do no wrong, not everyone is ready to throw themselves at your feet when you smile. Not everybody has fallen under your spell. Some people can see right through you. Some people know that you are not what you pretend to be.”

Strider smiled. It was a small sad smile that still managed to convey a genuine yet deeply painful amusement. “I do not think it will truly be of much comfort to you, Flyn, but I understand that very well. I feel it keenly.”

Suddenly Flyn felt like he wanted to cry. All the satisfaction he had hoped to gain from a little well-earned taunting had been turned back on him. He was the one who was in the right but the expression in the ranger’s eyes stole his pleasure. He regretted approaching Strider and he found that he wished he could simply erase their entire encounter. Turning away Flyn wondered when exactly everything in his life had started to go wrong.


The canvas covering the entrance to Faramir’s pavilion fell closed upon the tribal leader’s departure leaving the remaining two men to themselves. The Prince of the Yavney Tribe watched his companion from under his lashes. Faramir looked tired to him, tired and very young. When they had first met the sincere and earnest young man who seemed to have such a passionate and seemingly naïve vision of the future had amused the Prince. His amusement had quickly turned to respect and affection, however. His tribe had been the first to sign treaties of alliance with Faramir and even now the Prince did not regret it. He had not been the only one to fall to Faramir’s charm, however. Many of the tribes had been drawn to him, intrigued by his words and ideas, desperate for the world he seemed to represent even as they still doubted such a world existed.

The enmity of the Variags had in some ways increased Faramir’s appeal even as the danger was also increased. The Prince could not answer to his own complete satisfaction why he had agreed to come so far with the Gondorhim and he could only begin to guess at the tangle of motivations that drove the other tribes. Certainly, the prince had come further than he had intended, further than was safe. When only two other tribes remained he had worried but then the Morocs had left after much fretting and hand-wringing he knew the end was near. Tonight, as the evening had been drawing to a close the leader of the Ge had announced that tomorrow morning he would be gone. The Prince could not delay any longer if he did not go soon his people would share the fate of the Gondorhim.

“I daresay he was genuinely sorry to have to go.” The Prince remarked after they had been silent for several minutes.

“Not so sorry as I am to lose him, I think.” Faramir replied with a small smile.

“The Yavney cannot remain either, Faramir.” The Prince wanted to make apologies or excuses but he refrained. He was doing what he had to for his people.

“I know it.”

“What will you do?”

“What can I do?” The Captain replied with a small shrug. The Prince was not yet ready to suggest what the young man might do. Faramir’s integrity was admirable and the Prince did not relish the prospect of seducing him from his principals.

“How long will you remain?” Faramir asked when it was clear the Prince did not mean to reply.

“A day, perhaps two. No more, Faramir. I cannot.”

“I believe there is a forest nearby, perhaps a day and a half’s easy march.” Faramir stared into the fire as his voice grew wistful.

“What is a `forest’?” The Prince did not recognize the word that had been spoken in Westrron.

“It is a large group of trees. These are not like the trees in Khand but many times taller with trunks further around than a man may reach. There are so many and their leaves and branches are so thick that one is always in shade. They teem with animals and birds of all kinds and there are too many different kinds of plants to count.” The fondness in Faramir’s voice was unmistakable and as had happened so often before the Prince found himself drawn in.

“Come with me a while longer. I would like to be able to see a forest again before…” Faramir let the sentence trail off.

“Yes, all right. If it is as close as you say. I should like to see this forest you describe.”

“Thank you.”

“Faramir,” The weight of the conversation had finally thrown down the Prince’s reticence. “It does not have to be this way.”

“How might it be?” Faramir inquired cautiously.

“Meet with the Varaiags, talk to them. Perhaps you might come to some sort of arrangement. I have seen that you will not give up your tournament champion.” The love in Faramir’s eyes whenever the other man passed within sight or his name was mentioned was undeniable. More than the obvious erotic passion between the two men, the Prince had also discerned the sort of love and trust that was usually reserved for one’s closest kinsmen. He suspected that the ranger would indeed need to be sacrificed but the Prince believed that Faramir needed to be lead gently to this conclusion. “Yet, perhaps the Variags will be satisfied with some territorial concessions, promises of goods. It might even be necessary to offer one or more other men in Strider’s place, but you can negotiate.”

“That seems reasonable to you?” Faramir had been glad that the Prince was not going to try and convince him that he should abandon Aragorn. Though it had been inevitable it had still struck him hard to so suddenly lose the Ge only a day after the Morocs. The Yavney were now the only ones left. He did not think he could have maintained the detachment necessary for such a conversation with the Prince if he had to think even briefly about Aragorn in the hands of the Enemy. The Prince’s last comment had taken him completely off-guard, however. He liked the Yavney Chief. He had begun to think of him as a friend. There were times, though, when the differences between their understandings of the world became vivid.

“Compromise seems reasonable to me. Give something now rather than have everything taken later.”

“What you describe is extortion not compromise. In any case, I shall not sacrifice any man to torture and death to pacify anyone- no matter how powerful. There are some very important things that cannot be taken away only surrendered.”

“Think on it, Faramir. Meeting with them, finding out what they want can do no harm and may do some good.” The Prince would push no further tonight. He had a great deal of respect for the younger man but sometimes he felt that Gondorhim Captain was beyond strange. He would let Faramir get used to the idea. Rising he wished the Captain a good night and left the tent.

Chapter 20

Struggling to keep his pace steady, Aragorn let his gaze roam to the horizon. It was the only safe place for him to look, but the view brought him little joy. Before the company stopped for the evening they should have arrived in the shadow of a small wood. Not even the nearness of their goal, however, could lift Aragorn altogether from his current despondency. Nearby Faramir conversed with the Prince of the Yavney tribe. The man was working on him. Aragorn could tell by the small lines that had formed around his lover’s mouth and the almost imperceptible stiffness in Faramir’s shoulders that he could not help but notice whenever he was incautious enough to allow his eyes to drift too close to the young Captain. It was a torment to Aragorn not to interrupt. He imagined the prince’s words and, more vividly, he felt his beloved’s reaction to them. Knowing that Faramir was upset cut his conscience like jagged metal. Unable to interfere he found the only respite was to direct his attention elsewhere. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could safely focus on. Halbarad, Gildel and Warin were circulating among the Gondorhim. Speaking in low voices, answering questions, making last minutes adjustments to their patiently nurtured plan and generally being useful. Of course, Aragorn had not been abandoned in the flurry of constructive activity. At least five Gondorhim surrounded him at all times. These men, however, changed often. Every hour others replaced the soldiers, while the relieved men hurried off to do things of greater importance. Aragorn would have liked to participate in the planning. He knew, however, that whatever he did received the almost frighteningly intense scrutiny of his watchers. The single-mindedness of the Variags was actually of great benefit for while they watched Aragorn, other activity was able to take place without attracting notice. Aragorn chided himself for taking his forced inactivity with such ill grace but he hated to feel useless.

Driven by restlessness, Aragorn’s thoughts wandered down morbid paths. He felt that a comparison could be made between himself and the `Killing Fist’. Like the Gauntlet, he was surrounded by an aura of history and destiny but once the veil of myth had been pierced what was left? A useless relic of a long-forgotten time. Also like the Gauntlet, Aragorn could not help but wonder how much time and potential was being spent on him by others when, in the end, there was no magic in him. Though, the thought would have deeply offended his friends Aragorn sometimes believed that he was tolerated only for the promise of victory that was implicit in his birth. If that promise never came to fulfillment how could he return all the kindness and loyalty he had been shown? These were distressing thoughts but battling the demons of his own conjuration was all that Aragorn could safely do. With the sun high overhead, Aragorn had hours left before he would have the luxury of confronting an enemy outside himself.


“It is the only thing to do, now.” The voice was urgent- coaxing, compelling. “Honor is satisfied. You have spun this out as far as can be done—further than anyone else could. Now is the time to give in. Give in, my friend, before it is too late.”

“And what will that accomplish? I am hunted by a madman, why should I believe he would be satisfied with my capitulation.” The Captain’s voice was calm and steady but if one listened closely one could hear stress fraying the edges of his tone.

“There are no guarantees, it may be that it is already too late, but Lorel is not mad. He acts for a reason. Give him what he wants. In a battle you would lose everything but he would also lose enough so that he would prefer to avoid a conflict. Why can’t you see it! Surrender is your only choice now.”

Faramir had nothing to say to this that he had not already said several times and so he remained silent. Placing a brotherly hand on the younger man’s shoulder, the Prince of the Yavney tribe softened his tone. “You care for him. All right, you’ve proved that. It is enough. You do not know what Lorel intends. Perhaps Strider will do well among the Variags, it is not impossible. If he will fight for them, say whatever it is they wish to hear. This might not end badly for the ranger.” At this last statement Faramir shook off his companion’s hand with a look of sorrowful indignation.

“Very well,” The prince conceded. “Imagine the very worst, it changes nothing. You were not given charge of these men to throw their lives away on a futile romantic gesture. Your life is not your own. It belongs to your people and you may not do as your heart pleases. If Strider is worthy of the admiration you apparently feel for him, he will understand and accept.”

“All right.” Faramir spoke so quietly that the Prince had opened his mouth to begin yet another attempt at persuasion before he registered that the Gondorhim had spoken.

“Pardon?”

“All right, I will talk to the Officer.” Faramir was clearly miserable. “I will see if there is any chance he may be satisfied with what I am willing to give.”

“Oh Faramir! This is excellent. It may not seem so now, but you are doing the right thing. I will take you to him now.”

“No! Not now. I can’t. I must talk to—I must think. This is not easy. I must prepare.”

“Faramir, there is no time. My tribe will be leaving at first light.” Indeed the Prince had an uneasy feeling that his tribe was determined to leave before the dawn tomorrow whether he was with them or no. In his determination to remain with the Gondorhim for as long as possible the Prince had pushed the patience of his people almost past breaking. “Oh, if only you could have come to this decision sooner. I could have been sure of protecting you then.” The Prince abruptly abandoned this subject as he took in Faramir’s pale and stricken face. He did not want to risk alienating the young man after having worked so hard to convince him of treating with his enemies. Even so, it would have been much more convenient had Faramir given in sooner.

“I thank you for all your care but I cannot meet with the Officer now. Don’t ask it, please. I know you have worked on my behalf, but you cannot protect me. I will meet with Lorel tomorrow. He will make known what he wants and… and we shall see. To give over one of your own simply to gratify the malice of a madman, it is not right. It is not right.”

“Life and death are more important than right and wrong. When you are young it seems otherwise, I remember.” The Prince was genuinely moved by Faramir’s struggle. He admired the younger man for his ideals even as he believed he was acting in Faramir’s best interest by persuading him to give up those ideals. “I will talk with Lorel and arrange a meeting for tomorrow. Return safely to your home, my friend, and we will put all those agreements you worked so hard for at the gathering into effect. That will be your real victory over the Variags, yes.” Giving Faramir what was meant to be a comforting embrace the Prince left Faramir’s tent and headed toward the Variag camp. Faramir followed quickly after him, needing the clean fresh air. Impatiently he gestured his lieutenants to him. He dared not linger by himself for fear that thought of what he had done would leave him in helpless tears.


The night was not as dark as might have suited the Gondorhims’ purposes. Not even a full moon, however, could have dampened Isu’s spirits. The youth was too excited for sleep even if sleep were supposed to be among the night’s activities. Before Isu started out with his companions Halbarad had given him an affectionate cuff and told him to stop smiling or the brightness of his teeth would bring every Variag within a mile to investigate. The memory pleased Isu and he had no choice but to smile again, though he was careful to pull his lips carefully over his teeth in deference to Halbarad’s admonition.

Halbarad was, unfortunately, not with Isu at the moment. The lad would have felt more comfortable with the older man’s steady presence for the work they were engaged in required care, the more so for they were working in the dark and in strict silence. During a brief lull Isu turned his gaze back toward their carefully positioned camp. As was usual, fires were burning. Isu tried to pick out which of the figures huddled near the light was Halbarad. Typically, Halbarad preferred to keep himself away from the campfires even when the night was cold. For tonight, however, Halbarad had thought it best to be rather more conspicuous. If their enemies took it into their heads to keep a close eye on him, he didn’t want them stumbling about searching.

Surrounding Isu’s adoptive people’s fires in something like a protective semicircle the Yavney had set their tents. There was some activity in that camp, even at so late an hour, associated with that tribe’s predawn departure east. The commotion served Gondor’s purposes well and Isu amused himself guessing whether or not this advantage was the result of coincidence or planning. Beyond the Yavney, Isu saw glimmers of the Variags’ fires stretching far out into the night. The disparity in size between hunted and hunter should have discouraged Isu. The odds were clearly against Gondor. As he stretched a length of thick twine taut and tied it in a knot Halbarad had shown him, however, Isu felt exhilarated. Tomorrow would almost certainly bring battle. Isu had faith in his cause and was glad of the opportunity to enter his new country having already proven himself. He was convinced that Captain Faramir would emerge victorious and even if luck should go against Isu in the fight, the young man was not afraid. After all, immortality was for the elves. The dawn could not come soon enough to please him.


Feeling boneless and entirely sated, Faramir summoned the last of his strength to wrap his arms around Aragorn as the older man collapsed beside him. Already Faramir missed the feeling of Aragorn on top of him, inside him and he was eager to renew contact. Delighting in the younger man’s affection and love, Aragorn felt a sense of blissful contentment as he clasped the younger man in a loose embrace. As their breathing quieted Faramir, who had rested his head against Aragorn’s chest, could hear the strong rhythmic beating of his heart. The sound was comforting and he let himself drift with the sound.

After the Prince had left, Faramir had had a long conversation with his lieutenants while Aragorn and Halbarad hovered just out of hearing range. When the officers were dismissed, Faramir spoke briefly with the rangers before returning to his tent. The tension among the men was clear for anyone who wished to see. Not long after the Captain had retired, Aragorn followed him. Relief flooded Faramir as his beloved appeared and he felt all the frantic tension that had been consuming him moments before evaporate as Aragorn crossed to him and without any words seized him around the waist and sealed their mouths together. The two fell on one another, kissing desperately while hands urgently pushed garments aside. So glad to be together and so glad to be assured that each man craved the other with equal ferocity the lovers clung together. Eventually, they made love but the more important thing at the moment had been simply to hold each other as close as possible

“Frustrating day, my Faramir?” Aragorn asked smoothing the soft hair at the nape of his lover’s neck.

“Mmm.” Faramir affirmed, rubbing his stubbled cheek against Aragorn’s chest in an approximation of a nod. “The prince has been good to me. He has treated me with kindness and respect. According to his own standards he has been a true friend, but I could have easily hit him at least a dozen times today.”

This confession caused Aragorn to chuckle. Faramir was far too civilized, in the best possible sense of the word, to make use of violence except in the last resort but it was a sentiment with which Aragorn could identify. “It is lucky then that we shall not have him with us any longer.”

Faramir’s reply was to try and burrow even closer against Aragorn’s chest but as they were pressed so closely together, Aragorn could feel the other man’s grin. “And what of you, my lord, how have you fared?” The question came out a bit muffled for it had been spoken to Aragorn’s sternum.

“I was bored, but that is no good cause for complaint.” When Aragorn was in a certain humor it seemed to him that a great deal of his life was spent marking time. Surely, it was better to move before the time was fully ripe than to let all of his hard won knowledge and skills rot on the vine. The frustration could be nearly overpowering. Yet, Aragorn had found himself able to cast aside this mood with Faramir so warm and alive and present with him.

Making a small noise indicative of sympathy, Faramir tightened his hold on Aragorn. He understood his lord’s frustration and he understood that its source was greater than the past day or even the entire adventure in Khand. Faramir shared the emotion for it weighed heavily upon him that circumstance should keep the king from his people. Yet, he did not know best how to offer comfort.

“Right now, however, I am quite contented.” Aragorn continued, letting his fingertips move lightly along Faramir’s spine.

“Good.” If Aragorn was contented then so was Faramir and if Aragorn was contented lying beside Faramir, simply talking then Faramir was even happier.

“You are not over-worried about tomorrow?” Aragorn inquired gently. Faramir’s welfare was very important to him and if the younger man was nervous then Aragorn wanted to reassure him.

“No.” As he spoke, Faramir realized that it was true. “I suppose, could I have followed my inclination I would have postponed a confrontation forever, willing to live with an uncertain future in exchange for present security. Now that a confrontation is at hand, I find I am almost eager for it and the idea of spending a moment longer under the Variag threat seems hateful to me. Is that not strange?”

“I would think it is good sense. One should not seek out a challenge one is not prepared to overcome. Likewise one should meet a challenge when one is ready.” Aragorn could tell from the experience of many conversations with Faramir that his lover was beginning to sort through and hone ideas that would leave both of them with a slightly different, somewhat larger understanding of the world. Aragorn found it fascinating to observe, akin to watching a spider spinning silk or a painter creating a portrait. He felt privileged to track Faramir’s thoughts as the young man talked.

“How can a person know? It seems to me men must often misjudge either the challenge or themselves. One can only truly know if one was ready or not by whether or not the challenge was overcome.” Faramir, who had been lying on his side with some of his weight resting on Aragorn, struggled on to his stomach. He folded his arms over Aragorn’s chest then leaned forward to rest his chin on his folded arms. He was the very picture of intellectual earnestness except that he was naked.

“I don’t know. Perhaps that is the only way to tell, just as it is true, more generally that a man is judged good or evil by the results of his actions rather than by his intentions alone.”

Faramir considered this for a moment. Even as he did so, however, he was conscious of an enormous sense of gratitude. He had often taken refuge in his thoughts, huddled safely in his books and studies when the outside world threatened him. Finally though there seemed a bridge between his thoughts and the world around him. His mind was no longer simply a refuge but a world unto itself that could make sense of the world outside. With Aragorn, Faramir felt safe enough to venture forth, to explore, where before he had hidden. With Aragorn there to anchor and keep him steady, he felt free.

Thus, Aragorn and Faramir passed the night.


Maintaining a rigid stance, eyes fierce and stern was difficult for Lorel as, in his mind he giggled and rubbed his hand with nearly maniacal glee. He had watched the departure of the Yavney- and good riddance- in the chilly pre-dawn light and now he was awaiting his meeting with Captain Faramir. The night before, Lorel had resigned himself to a contest of arms with the Gondorhim. It was a disappointment, for battle would risk harm coming to his prize. He didn’t want Strider to be killed. Cheating Barad-dur of the opportunity of revenging itself on the last of Isildur’s line was not something the Officer wished to risk. He had been jubilant, then, the night before when the Yavney Prince had sought him out to deliver the happy news that Faramir had finally agreed to a meeting.

Negotiation was particularly appealing to Lorel for, even though it would be therapeutic to engage in a little blood sport after all this useless travel (damn, the brat for pushing things so far), he felt the need to conserve his resources. Further, the Yavney Prince had made several threats that if Faramir did not arrive safely back in Minas Tirith then he would see to it that the Steward was told everything the Prince knew and suspected about his son’s fate. This might be a bluff. The Prince would have no proof and making accusations against a comite-tribe to a foreigner would be frowned on. Even if the Prince did talk, there was a limit to the amount of harm it could. Those who were inclined to side with the Variags would not believe it and those who had grudges would. Still, Lorel didn’t want a rumor that he broke the rules of the Gathering haunting him for the rest of his days.

Most importantly, Lorel looked forward to meeting with Faramir, because he wanted to see the brat surrender. He wanted to watch the noble Captain betray his king and his lover to save his own skin. In Lorel’s opinion, people had an annoying habit of mistaking stupidity for nobility. Noble was just code for `too stupid to know one’s own best interests’. How idiots could beguile otherwise intelligent people puzzled the Officer even as it enraged him. The Yavney Prince was a prime example: he doted on young Faramir, getting positively misty eyed when speaking of his young man’s lofty ideals. Now Lorel was interested to see the strength of the Captain and his comrades’ nobility/stupidity, just how deep was it? Would Strider offer himself in exchange for Faramir and the other’s freedom? Would Faramir try and bargain his own freedom for his king’s? The image of the two men arguing over which of them was to be the more self-sacrificing had Lorel chortling to himself.

Of course, Lorel knew that, however amusing his prey might be, he needed Strider. Nothing could be allowed to interfere with the ranger’s capture. He would demand Strider, Halbarad and Faramir plus all of the Gondorhim’s supplies, but if only he could get Strider then he would forgo the others. It would not be easy to let the others go but Lorel was determined to be sensible. Besides sending Faramir back to his father thoroughly emasculated before both the Variags and the Gondorhim by having surrendered his lover to his enemy would not be averse to his purpose. As for Halbarad, well, Lorel guessed Halbarad’s `nobility’ would take the form of following his lord and attempting a rescue. When he did Lorel would have both rangers.

The Officer had spent most of the hours till morning spinning the permutations of victory through his excited brain. He reserved a few moments before the appointed time of meeting to instruct his troops. He gave them the strictest instruction that under no circumstance was Strider to be killed- that was of paramount significance. Beyond that, Faramir and Halbarad were to be carefully watched. The others were inconsequential. He reinforced his command with the usual threats, but perhaps because of his own exuberant mood he also added a few blandishments, promising rich rewards when they returned to the Capital with their prisoner.

Looking out over the gray, misty light of morning, Lorel smiled to see the vulnerability of his quarry. Their small flimsy tents and supply wagon were the only obstacles between the groups. The Officer noted how the Gondorhim huddled near the trees- as if they could offer shelter. Lorel had been surprised to see so many trees, so tall and so close together but he did not allow the strange phenomenon to disconcert him, rather he thought how good it would be to take this rich land and use its resources. After this mission’s work the Officer felt confident he could expect some of this fertile territory would belong to him, once the Dark Lord chose to fully reveal himself.

Despite his clear advantage, Lorel reasoned it would be foolish to take chances. There was only about 100 yards between himself and the cowering Gondorhim and then another 50 yards between the Gondorhim and the tree line. He was about to order his men to circle the enemy, cutting them off, even from the illusion of escape. The other tribes had gone. Preserving the absurd charade that he meant the Gondorhim no harm no longer mattered. Lorel no longer felt any qualms about flexing a bit of muscle. Before he could issue the command three figures emerged from the group of Gondorhim and began walking purposefully toward Lorel and his hundreds of men.

The approaching men were tall, dark haired and heavily cloaked. As yet he could see nothing of their features yet their posture spoke of determination. When the men were near enough to discern their identities, Lorel released a breath he had not known he had been holding. Captain Faramir was in the middle, a step behind and to the left of the Captain was Halbarad and on Faramir’s right: Strider. The only three that mattered were tamely coming right to him. Lorel forgot about the others, they could disappear into the trees and it would make no difference to him. Let the cowards run if they wished. The Officer allowed himself a small smile. Lorel was now content to wait a few moments longer before taking possession of his prizes. He was eager to find out how his quarry would try and wriggle their way out of this. At twenty paces the three men halted.

“Of all Khand’s tribes with whom we have shared the hospitality and community of the Great Gathering only the Variags have refused all of Gondor’s overtures of good will.” Upon the first few words, Faramir’s voice quavered slightly but then steadied and grew in strength. The young Captain spoke Khandoric as though he had learned the language from songs and fairy tails and the lyrical, slightly stilted word choice reinforced him in Lorel’s mind as a hopeless innocent. “It is strange, therefore, that the Variags should have traveled so far with us. You have made it clear you do not want our friendship. What, then, do you want?”

Lorel would have thought that even Faramir would have had more than plenty of this sort of meaningless talk. The Captain knew very well what the Officer wanted. Could he truly be so fond of his own voice as to further draw this out? “I am grieved to have been so deeply misunderstood.” Lorel replied. He would play a little longer if Faramir was so intent on it. “I am eager to further my acquaintance with the Gondorhim. So much so that I invite all of you to our return with us to our Capital to partake of a full measure of our hospitality.”

“Tempting, but as we are so much nearer Gondor, why do you not come with us and allow me to play host.”

Lorel smiled thinly, it was time to end this. “Let me rephrase my invitation: You and the rangers bring the rest of your supplies and come with me now and I won’t slaughter your entire camp.”

“You can’t think that anyone would accept such an offer?” Faramir answered with the faintest hint of scorn. Lorel had not expected Faramir to accept the offer. He was still disappointed. He had hoped Faramir might agonize a bit over the it.

“It is understandable that you would not want to risk yourself for the sake of your men. You are young yet, Captain, and I am prepared to be generous with you. Give me the rangers and the remainder of your supplies and you may go.”

“You have traveled far from your home and the safety of familiar territory. You have threatened those peacefully departing from a gathering against your strongest customs. I cannot understand it. Why would you risk so much, why would you put yourselves in the way of such dangers for two men? I have tried to learn something of your ways and I respect much of what I have seen of your culture but this makes no sense to me. I have thought that it must be some personal madness that drives you so. What can these rangers mean to you?” Faramir sounded patient, curious, the very model of a reasonable man.

“You know what he means or you would not protect him.” Lorel snarled.

“Very well. Though, I still cannot understand why this is so important to you, take what you have been seeking and leave us be.” Faramir gestured toward Strider and Lorel unconsciously leaned forward. Was the ranger-king actually going to come to him, walking tamely into his enemy’s hands with no more fanfare than a flick of his young lover’s hand? It defied all credulity and yet…

Strider took a step forward and reached into the folds of his cloak. Lorel’s muscles bunched, ready for anything. Then Strider was holding aloft the Gauntlet. The `Killing Fist’ glinted dully in Strider’s hand while Lorel tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

“It must mean more to your people than I was led to believe. If you had spoken to me about it I would have left it in the care of the tribes as a demonstration of good-will.” Faramir explained as Strider held out the Gauntlet as though he expected Lorel to send one of his own men forward to take it.

“You stupid fool!” Lorel spat, thoroughly enraged. “I want Strider, the bloody tournament champion.”

Something sparked in Faramir’s eyes for just a moment but it was gone so fast Lorel could not have been sure he had seen it. He could not avoid seeing, however, that the Captain then had the audacity to feign confusion. “I don’t understand. You made him no offers after he won. Why do you want Strider?”

“Do you think I am deceived by your ridiculous act! This `ranger’, this `Strider’ is your king, Isildur’s Heir, the descendant of the Dark Lord’s most hated enemy and you shall not protect him!”

It seemed strangely quiet after Lorel’s last shouted word died in the air. Then, the Officer heard Halbarad. The man snickered to himself, though, somehow the sound seemed to carry as far as Lorel’s bellow. “You hear that, mate? You’re King.” Strider made a helpless little shrug, his expression bemused.

“You believe that? You must be mad. You have brought so many men into foreign country because you think…” Faramir shook his head as though trying to shake off extreme surprise. “There can be no profit in negotiating with a madman. Gondor has no King. Go back to your own country. You seek something that does not exist.” With that Faramir turned his back and began to move away, Strider and Halbarad falling in at his sides.

For less than a second, Lorel was stunned silent by the sheer audacity of the Captain. Then he screamed to his men to stop them. As his soldiers surged forward, Lorel took in the larger landscape for the first time since he began exchanging words with Faramir. The Gondrohim camp was completely abandoned. Not one of the enemy remained around the empty tents and cold campfires. They all must have slipped away while their Captain prattled. Lorel felt a gleeful surge of excitement. Faramir, Strider and Halbarad were running now but he doubted they would make it even so far as the forest before his own men brought them down. Then he would have all three of them, already visions of what he would do with them were beginning to fill his brain when he heard a sudden shout and everything began to happen at once.


When the men chasing after the three fugitives drew level with the abandoned tents left by the Gondorhim a flight of arrows from the tree line descended on them. Lorel had a split second to think that there might perhaps be a few Gondorhim left willing to give their leaders aid, then the second flight of arrows was loosed. These arrows burned and only a few were aimed at the pursuing Variags. Most of the arrows were aimed at the supply wagons and the area where the horses, dogs and varg-hounds were all tethered. The animals began shrieking and rearing as the burning missiles brought the smell of smoke and blood into their world. At that moment, someone from his own ranks fired at the escaping figures. The arrow did no damage falling harmlessly between Strider and Faramir but Lorel saw it and turned on the archer. He slapped the man hard enough to dislocate his jaw and bellowed amid the sound of panicked beast and confused men that the rangers should not be harmed.

Amidst all the chaos Lorel could see that the enemy archers could do only a limited amount of damage. Confusion was the greater enemy. Struggling to be heard, Lorel began shouting for organization. The supply wagons needed to be protected. It would be devastating to lose the provision they had left to fire. The animals, too, had to be protected and calmed. It would not be so difficult, if only he could regain order. Then one of the arrows struck one of the abandoned tent and the structure exploded in flames. It burned faster and hotter than it should have done and the Variags suddenly stopped and fell to the ground screaming as Lorel heard the crack of several explosions. Shards of something flew in all directions with each portentous sound. A few more of the tents were now burning with similar results. All the Variags who had been following the three fugitives were now laying on the ground, struck down by arrows, shrapnel or simply fear.

Rage lent Lorel volume and authority and soon he had any man within grabbing and shaking distance at work, putting out the fires in the supply wagon or trying to wrestle the horses away from the worst of the confusion. He felt that he had nearly regained a semblance of control when another chorus of shouts erupted. Turning Lorel saw that the Gondorhim’s own supply wagon was rolling slowing towards them from a small rise in the ground. Even as he watched, several of the burning arrows hit it. Lorel could see as the covering came loose that the wagon was filled with clay pots and jars. Knowing now what had caused the devastating explosions in the tents, Lorel ordered his men to flee the gently rolling cart. Moments later, whatever was in those clay vessels whether oil, pitch or even alcohol burst their containers sending clay shards hurtling in all directions.

`Damn it!’ Lorel howled even as he worked to contain the damage spread by the cart that was trundling slowly through his camp until it lost the rest of its moment and came to a gentle stop still spraying fire and death. Time, he was losing precious time. Lorel had been so caught up that he had not even noted the moment Strider and the others reached the comparative safety of the trees. These cheap tricks would not delay him long, he fumed. Seizing the first of his Lieutenants that came under his eye he shouted at him to collect as many men as he could and go after the fugitives. The man’s eyes rolled toward the arrow riddled bodies that lined the path the Gondorhim had used to escape.

“They are running now!” Lorel snarled, disgusted that a few archers could inspire dread in one of his lieutenants. “We have already taken the worst they can do. Do you want to let these men walk away from what they have done here!” This sobered the man and he straightened his posture as much as he was able given that his Officer clutched a fistful of his shirtfront.

“Follow them, pin them down then wait for reinforcements.” Lorel commanded. “Remember, you must not kill Strider. Kill any of the others you must, but the Valar themselves will weep for your fate if any harm comes to Strider. Do you understand me?” The lieutenant nodded and Lorel shoved him away turning back to the task of regaining control of his camp.


It was too soon to gloat. Too soon even to feel relief, but Halbarad could not keep the grin from his face as he reached the line of trees with Faramir and Aragorn. The Gondrohim were waiting for them- clearly excited and thrilled with their present success. Making sure that everyone was together, Aragorn returned Halbarad’s grin, reaching to clasp his shoulder. Faramir looked a little dazed but he managed a weak smile when Aragorn squeezed his hand. Still clasping hands Aragorn and Faramir began leading their small band through the woods. Halbarad and a few other men who had some experience of the forest stayed in the rear, covering their tracks as best they could without falling too far behind.

Despite his natural caution Halbarad felt exhilarated. They were free! Pursuit, of course was inevitable but for the first time, on this long journey he felt the advantage had shifted to their side. Halbarad had not missed the look of pride and affection that his lord had bestowed on Faramir before they moved to the head of their group and the ranger was prepared to concede that that look had been well earned. Faramir had borne the brunt of their confrontation with the Officer and his performance had been almost flawless. Not only had he kept Lorel distracted long enough to let the Gondorhim retreat to the forest and prepare their attack but he had kept the whole of the Variag camp riveted. Though surely some of the watching enemy must have noticed as their would-be quarry slipped away, none had had the initiative to do anything about it.

Then there had been the conversation itself. Faramir had played it well. Halbarad had been watching the ranks of Variags as well as their Officer and Faramir’s words had found a receptive audience. Each time the young Captain had repeated the dangers the Variags faced, each time he had attributed Lorel’s motives to madness, Halbarad had seen wretched agreement from those under the Officer’s command. Upon hearing their leader assert that one of the rangers in front of them was the King of Gondor, every man Halbarad observed looked either horrified or miserable. Lorel’s already weakening hold over his men had grown yet more tenuous.

This pleasant review of his enemies’ failures and his allies’ accomplishments, agreeable though it was, had not lessened Halbarad’s vigilance. Stopping in mid-thought Halbarad turned his head, alerted by a faintly heard sound. A moment later he was certain he heard the sounds of horsemen crashing pell-mell into the forest behind them. Tensing Halbarad waited and then he heard the first scream and relaxed. Isu and his companions had done a good night’s work. There had been no time for anything terribly elaborate but thick twine had been stretched close to the ground between trees ready to catch the unwary, a few nets filled with the largest rocks that could be quickly found had been placed along branches ready to tumble upon the heads of any causing too much of a disturbance. Oh, yes it was too soon to gloat but Halbarad found his mind turning of its own volition to a note that might be sent to Lorel in payment for all the Officer’s missives. For some reason the note in his head seemed to want to be written in verse form. Halbarad smiled.


Not even Flyn was immune to the nearly euphoric excitement that had been running through the Gondorhim. They all knew they were close, close to home and safety. Despite their growing fatigue, there was a restless energy to all their movements. Flyn himself had not truly slept since the night before the Yavney tribe left them. He had spent that night acting as lookout for Isu and the others while they ventured into the woods to set their traps. That morning he had served a similar functions, keeping an eye on Faramir’s talk with the Variags while the others prepared the burning pitch for their arrows, finished setting the traps around the entrance to the forest and filled their tents with dried wood. He had not been given the most critical of tasks; Flyn could not help but be aware. Others served as lookout besides himself and it was never suggested that he should take on any of the more complicated responsibilities. Still, he was happier than he would have realized to be given anything to do. After a long period of isolation, arising- he felt sure- from Halbarad’s baleful influence, he was glad to have been included once again into the group.

To his dismay, Flyn had been too far away to hear any but the first few words of Faramir’s conversation with the Enemy. Their talk began in Khandoric but still curiosity wheedled Flyn to take in every sound he could. At another time, he might even have left the shelter of the trees to creep closer. Now, though his desire to know just what his Captain and the foreign Officer could have had to say to one another vexed him like an unscratchable itch (and it whatever they said was surely riveting for though the Gondrohim were as careful as could be their activities could not have gone unnoticed by any but the least attentive) Flyn he stayed in his assigned place. He contrived not to notice this change in himself and when Faramir, Strider and Halbarad returned breathless and excited to begin the march through the forest, Flyn told himself that the relief he felt was solely attributable to the fact that they were finally leaving their enemies scattered and confused behind them.

The urge to move as swiftly as their own of their horses’ legs could carry them was nearly overwhelming. The Gondorhim were kept to a moderate but steady pace, however. Flyn understood the rationale: they had a fair way yet to travel and they would not be able to stop often or long so they should conserve their strength and choose their route with care. Still, when the first sounds of pursuit filtered toward them, several men looked close to panic. The habits of a Lieutenant had apparently remained with Flyn for he found himself muttering assurances and coaxing those near him back into formation. The pursuit did not last long. Some of their hunters had obviously fallen victim to their hastily constructed traps, but whether the others had gotten lost, returned to their camp or simply given up altogether Flyn could not have guessed.

Even when the forest had been silent but for several hours no one was lulled into believing they were truly safe. The Variags had chased them with too much tenacity to give up so easily. If Flyn was in the Officer’s position- tracking a vastly out-numbered quarry through unknown territory, he knew what he would do. He would split his force, send some men through the forest, then send a group to circle around to the north and another to circle around from the south. Another group would probably be left to guard what remained of the supplies. Flyn had seen maps of this region, even if the enemy hadn’t. The Gondorhim were safe from the south. A river bordered the forest in that direction and the difficulty of fording it for the desert dwelling Variags would likely prove to be a long delay. Flyn was also confident that any direct pursuit was bound to flounder. The Gondorhim were moving steadily through terrain that would prove more of an obstacle to a larger force of men. Also, Flyn suspected, anyone following them through the forest would spend a great deal of time making sure no more traps had been set.

The greatest danger would be from the north. If their maps were correct in the essentials the Gondorhim should come out of the forest sometime in the morning. They would have no choice but to halt during the darkest hours of the night, if not to rest the horses then at least to prevent losing their way. After leaving the forest they would still need to journey for the better part of a day before reaching one of the eastern most garrisons. It was still a long way, but they had already come so far. It was hard not to hope.


The men who came out of the trees in a rushing mass returned to a much more calm Variag camp. They expected to be punished. That was in the nature of things. As soon as the terror of the unknown forest, where the earth itself rose up and grabbed hold of their horses legs sending their riders flying, plants grew steel jaws that snapped shut on the unwary and horrible tree limbs that slashed down on the intruders, left them the familiar dread that was life in the Variag army replaced it. The most senior of the men drew what courage remained to him about himself and told his Commander how the forest itself had come alive to keep them out.

Lorel felt a terrible calm descend upon him as he listened. When the coward finished his explanations, the Officer simply turned away from him. The cold stillness frightened the soldier more than the expected rage and he continued to cower in place long after Lorel had dismissed him from his attention. Lorel was angrier than he could ever remember being and it leant him a clarity he had never experienced. He did not yell or order punishment because his wrath could not quench itself in the suffering of the miserable cowards who had abandoned the pursuit. Time was too precious.

Calling his lieutenants to him, Lorel regarded his men judging and weighing them for his purpose. His mind was moving impossibly fast. By the time his lieutenants assembled before him, he had decided what to do next. He would not send men into the woods again. They would not go and he would not waste the time needed to force them. If they could not go through then they would go around. Never had the Variags moved with such haste. The grim quiet of their leader spurred them faster than whips. When all were mounted and prepared to depart, Lorel turned to them. “The ranger must be taken alive. All depends on that.” There would be no quick, easy death for Strider. Even as his own rage burned him, Lorel knew the fires of the Dark Lord’s vengeance burned hotter. This knowledge made him glad. Kicking his horse into a gallop, Lorel signaled his men forward. They would ride the horses to death and then they would run themselves to death but the men of Gondor would not escape.


`Almost there, almost there.’ Faramir heard the words in the rhythmic pounding of his horse’s hooves and in the thudding of his own heart. Surely it could be no more than a dozen miles now a little more? A little less? `Almost there, almost there.’ At any moment he expected to see Gondor’s banner flying high above beckoning them to salvation. The garrison was small, just a fort meant to demarcate the extreme edge of what Gondor meant to tell the world it would fight to hold. Unlike Osgiliath which served a similar purpose and was heavily manned and was the sight of constant struggle, this fort held the line between what Gondor was able to control and those territories too remote for Minas Tirith to spend always diminishing resources cultivating and protecting. The garrison, though, could stand against a Variag siege until help could be summoned or the invaders gave up. `Almost there, almost there.’

Then the horses reached the top of a gentle slope and it was there. A wild shout rang out from at least a dozen throats. Faramir caught a glimpse of the outer wall surrounding the fortress with familiar banners streaming along the parapets. Then, he immediately looked toward Aragorn, a mad grin plastered over his face. An answering grin transformed the ranger’s usually grim expression. Without thinking Faramir slowed his horse to come level with Aragorn, the need to be near him, to touch him while he had this wild joy in his heart was overwhelming.

“Look!” A shout of alarm suddenly broke through the exaltation. As one the Gondorhim turned to see where Flyn, his face pale, was pointing to the northeast. The gladness drained away leaving the desperate men with the sound of a soft groan. From the crest of the hill, they could see, less than a mile off, at least a hundred Variags riding towards them. At the sight of their prey, the men from Khand seemed to pick up speed rushing in upon them, flooding over the rolling grassland.

The Gondorhim watched frozen for less than a second. Then the spell broke. Faramir shouted orders to move, to run even as the small troop urged their horses into a gallop. It was purely a race now, but a race that had to be won by a fair margin. They not only had to reach the safety of the fort, but alert the garrison and mobilize them to defend against the fast approaching enemy. Faramir could not allow the Variags to overrun the fort. He could not allow an act that would force Gondor into a war. Above all, Aragorn had to be kept safe. If they lost hope then they lost everything.

As the ground dipped, the fort was again lost to sight though the Khandrihm were not. Somehow, the enemy was gaining ground, not much but, their horses lathered and close to exhaustion, were bringing them nearer. They wouldn’t make it. Faramir could see that even as his heart tore at how close they had come. In the knowledge of inevitable defeat, Faramir felt his resolve harden. Even as he realized what he had to do, Aragorn and Halbarad came up along side him.

“If we continue as we are, they will overtake us before we reach the fort and give warning.” Aragorn’s voice was roughened by exertion, but Faramir could still hear that his lord had followed the same reasoning as he himself, though he had drawn a different conclusion. “They are not firing arrows, even now they do not seek a kill. Halbarad and I and some of the others can give you time. You go on and, bring what help you may.”

`Please no, my lord. Do not give me an order I cannot obey. You must not make me leave you. If I could I would send you on to safety, but you would not go. If you will stand then I will stand with you.’ Faramir spoke none of these thoughts, reaching instead for cold logic and an authority he knew Aragorn would recognize. “No, I am responsible for these men and I will stay as well.” You go, Please. Please! Aragorn only nodded sadly, before slowing his horse and wheeling sharply. Halbarad matched his every move.

“Flyn, Hilo, Isu! Go on! Bring help! Everyone else, form ranks!” Faramir shouted, turning his horse and drawing his bow in hopes of loosing a few arrows before battle was joined.

Such was the discipline of training that many of Gondorhim had begun to obey before comprehending the import of the commands. Eyes widened, and more than one man felt himself tremble but only Flyn and Hilo rode on. Isu could not believe the orders he had been given. Surely, the Captain did not mean to send him off to safety while he stayed. It was too outrageous to be credited and so the youth simply took up a place in the line that now faced the onrushing enemy and fumbled for his bow.

“Put up your hoods.” Aragorn shouted, drawing his own up. If the Variags stayed to true to their determination to take him alive, they would have to hold back against all the Gondorhim until the ranger could be identified with certainty.

Faramir drew his arm back and let his arrow fly. It was strange, after so much reckless speed to be still now. As he drew another arrow he wondered how long before they could reasonably expect help. He wondered how many men were stationed at the fort. He wondered how long before they could be told enough of the situation to act. Then, Faramir stopped wondering and shouldered his bow. Drawing his blade he looked towards his lord. He received a look of such unexpected tenderness and affection that he almost lost himself in it. As though sensing his rider’s distraction, Faramir’s horse reared as though to redirect his master’s attention. Faramir grinned and rubbed his mount’s neck, reassuring him while he awaited the Variags.

Chapter 21

The Variags began to slow their charge as they drew nearer. The Officer was apparently still holding to his obsession to capture them alive. Even from the quickly narrowing distance between them Faramir could see the mad eyes of their enemy burning with need and hatred, but there would be no quick slaughter— the embattled Gondorhim could still cling to hope. No riders seemed to have broken from the main group to pursue Flyn and Hilo. Perhaps the Officer had not noticed, perhaps he was content to let them go and concentrate on subduing the remaining men who guarded Aragorn. Whatever the cause Faramir was grateful. The first attack crashed against the defenders’ shields. The Gondorhim on either end of the line quickly fell back and together forming a circle, which the enemy immediately surrounded. After the initial collision Faramir had few moments to take in much more than what was happening right in front of him. Lorel had been able to hone in on Aragorn with uncanny precision. Both Halbarad and Faramir did their best to put themselves between Aragorn and Lorel’s rage but the defenders were crushed tightly together and despite the lighter weaponry and new techniques Faramir had acquired, it was difficult to maneuver. The Officer and those around him fought wildly but as one moved away from Lorel and Aragorn the fighting grew slower, less violent. When Faramir was able to get a brief view of the larger battle he saw the Khandrihm delivering half-hearted attacks easily parried by the Gondorhim who, unwilling to provoke true rage in their opponents, returned similarly easily avoided strikes. The only exception seemed to be Isu. The child poured all his strength into every thrust of his sword. His enthusiasm earned him greater attention and the lad was sorely beset. Faramir could do nothing to help him but the Gondorhim had taken the matter into their own hands. Slowly but inevitably the boy found his allies pressing him backward until he forced into the middle of their defensive circle. Isu continued to howl and hack at the enemy wherever he could but his comrades gave him little opportunity to push passed their sheltering presence.

Faramir felt a moment of profound pity strike him. The Variags did not want this any more than the Gondorhim. They fought because they had to but they were men, made of the same stuff of Faramir and his own people. They must have the same love of peace and desire for prosperity, decency and compassion that Faramir himself had. What doom was it that men must always fight each other. Surely, there had to be a better way. In the next moment the hesitancy born of a feeling of fellowship abandoned Faramir and he slashed brutally at a man who was aiming a crippling blow at Aragorn’s temporally unprotected left side. Feeling sick at the folly of his own emotions Faramir ruthlessly forced down any thought but that these men were his enemies and they would destroy everything that had value for him if he did not fight, fight and kill. Faramir did not dare think about time or try to measure its passing. The fury of the Variags immediately besetting Aragorn and thus Faramir did not seem to diminish even as sweat began streaming from Faramir’s brow and his eyes began to water from the intensity of his focus.

The first indication that anything had changed in the relentless battering of sword against sword was the noise. The subtle rhythm of clanging metal, snorting horses and shouting men became fiercer. Aragorn’s spirits began to lift even before his rational mind was able to gather more information. Any change in their situation could only mean rescue had finally arrived. And it was so. Horns sounded; there was a sudden loosening of pressure around the surrounded Gondorhim. Many of the Variags had begun to flee. Those that remained, though, fought on with renewed intensity. Aragorn was on the verge of wheeling his horse around in hopes of gaining a glimpse of their rescuers when a sudden weight crashed into him dragging him off his mount.

Lorel understood that the battle was nearly over. He was about to lose everything he had struggled for and this knowledge filled him with dreadful determination. Despite the protective efforts of his companions the Variags had concentrated their best attacks on Strider. The ranger had been hard pressed for the duration of the fight. He had been left no time to so much as draw breath and Lorel who had watched him in round after round in the tournament had done his utmost to keep the ranger from making the best use of his speed and agility. Without warning, then, as the Gondorhim caught the first scent of potential victory, Lorel launched himself into Strider. He landed on the ground, atop the ranger, amid the deadly hooves of excited horses, but Lorel was oblivious to all danger. He cared only about having his enemy in his hands at last. He would die this day but it would be the Gondorhim who would suffer the greater bitterness.

Hands wrapped around his throat as Aragorn struggled against the weight pinning him. Groping desperately Aragorn took hold of his sword. It had fallen a little distance from him in the fall but he was able to grasp the hilt with his left hand. As spots began to flash behind his eyes Aragorn thrust wildly at his attacker.

Howling Lorel reflexively relaxed his grip as sharp pain stabbed up and down his arm. He had abandoned his own sword before launching his own attack. It did not occur to Lorel to search for his abandoned blade, now. For a moment he had felt the ranger’s life ebbing away beneath his fingers and the thought of distancing himself from that feeling by so much as an inch of cold metal seemed suddenly impossible. Pulling back slightly the Officer struck hard. He had meant to strike him in the face but Strider was already moving, shifting their weight, seeking any kind of leverage in attempt to reverse their positions and Lorel’s fist connected with the side of the ranger’s head.

Aragorn’s head rang and he stilled momentarily as a wave of nausea threatened to overcome him. Lorel was too heavy and too well situated to throw easily. He stabbed again at the Officer aiming for his face or throat this time. Lorel dodged but this motion gave Aragorn the opportunity to roll out from under his attacker. Finding himelf, suddenly beneath the ranger, Lorel snarled and thrashed. Again Aragorn attempted to bring his sword down in a killing stroke but his wrist was caught in a bruising grip. For a moment the two were still but then Aragorn hit the inside of Lorel’s elbow with a sudden blow and the ranger’s sword fell, biting deep into Lorel’s chest and shoulder. The Officer eyes opened wide in surprise, as though- despite everything- death still came as a surprise.

Pulling his sword free Aragorn leaned over the dying man, “I am Aragorn, son of Arathron scion of Isildur and of Elendil, Cheiftain of the Dunedain and rightful King of Gondor and Arnor. You pay for this truth with your life but greater than you shall pay still more dearly.” With this Aragorn drove his sword up under Lorel’s ribs and into his heart. He had no idea why he had said what he had. He had not planned it but as he slowly rose to his feet he felt a surge of exultation. He had declared himself to the enemy and it had given him an almost staggeringly clear sense of purpose.


Faramir and Halbarad watched Lorel and Aragorn fight in near panic. It seemed to happen so quickly. The two combatants grappled on the churned up ground, horses hooves thudding around them, sometimes missing them by mere inches. The contest was over too quickly for either Faramir or Halbarad to give aid. As Aragorn rose to his feet, the victor, Faramir felt a relief so strong that it nearly overpowered him surge through his body. Halbarad had by this time fought his way to Aragorn’s side. Dismounting the ranger positioned the body of his horse between Aragorn and himself and the now fleeing Khandrihm. Faramir yearned to join them; he wanted to throw himself into Aragorn’s arms and weep. He felt drained and weak. It seemed a struggle suddenly to hold himself upright. Aragorn could give him all the strength he needed, but even as Faramir thought this he remembered that he still had duties to perform. He would have to find the strength to carry himself as a soldier and Captain a little longer.

The battle had been won. The Variags were either dead or in full flight. The newcomers were shouting their victory and riding after their enemies. `Dear Valar’, Faramir thought as he realized that less than fifty men had ridden to their rescue. `They might still have won had they held their ground’. The thought chilled him but then he recalled the faces of the Variag troops as they had listened to him and Lorel talk before the Gondorhim fled into the forest and he remembered the desultory blows that had been aimed at his own men so recently and Faramir wondered if it would have been possible for the Variags to hold their ground. It was an interesting question but one Faramir was decidedly grateful not to put to the test.

“Stop! Do not pursue them. Gondor, to me! Let them run!” The first to obey Faramir’s shouted commands were the Captain’s own men. They began to form a line behind him, rallying to him. Then the rescuers began to heed Faramir’s repeated shouts. The hornsman heard him and took up the signal. Faramir stole a quick glance at Aragorn. He was leaning rather heavily on his sword and again Faramir fought down the urge to rush to him. Halbarad was there and Faramir comforted himself with the knowledge that Halbarad, though he hovered protectively, did not appear particularly worried. Now, nearly all the Gondorhim had gathered. Some were cheering but all were looking toward him expectantly, waiting for his next command.

“Lord Faramir! Lord Faramir?”

Turning toward the sound of his name. Faramir saw a tall, straight-backed, grey-haired man riding toward him flanked by Hilo and Flyn. Flyn was looking incredibly pleased with himself and Faramir fought down the urge to laugh.

“My lord, what has been happening?” The man demanded reining in before Faramir and saluting him. “The entire Eastern border has been on alert for days looking for you. Are you all right?”

Faramir’s eyes widened a bit at that news but he replied. “I am well. We have returned with treaties of alliance and friendship with many of our Eastern most neighbors- much to the displeasure of others with what results you have seen.” Seeing by the man’s expression that he had many more questions, Faramir continued: “I would gladly tell you more of our adventures but first I must beg food and shelter if you have it to spare. We have traveled far and are in some difficulty.”

“Of Course, my lord. Forgive my thoughtlessness. I am Commander Edrin. You are most welcome to all that I can provide. We are a small outpost but we have food- and drink-” Commander Edrin was interrupted at this point by enthusiastic cheers “-aplenty.”


Most of Commander’s Edrin’s force and some of Faramir’s men rode on ahead to the fort but Faramir chose to go more slowly. First, seeing that any immediate injuries were tended then walking the rest of the way both for the sake of his horse and to let the adrenaline seep slowly from his body. It also gave him the chance to exchange news with Edrin in comparative calm.

Edrin was appropriately circumspect but Faramir gathered that when Boromir had learned that his brother had been sent into Khand with a nominal escort and the very open-ended mandate to court alliances at some sort of strange Khandroric festival he had been incensed. Harsh words passed between father and son and Boromir initially vowed to go after Faramir and bring his less experienced and openhearted brother home but Denethor Forbade it. Fuming the Steward’s heir had then occupied himself writing increasingly urgent letters to every outpost along the eastern border advising them of Faramir’s mission and commanding all to stand ready to come to his aid at a moment’s notice.

As time went on and still no word of Faramir’s fate had come to Gondor, the Prince of Dol Amroth had added his pleas to Boromir’s and the rumor was that Imrahil was preparing a force of men to be put under Boromir’s command and sent to seek Faramir. Meanwhile, Denethor had let it be known that the mission had been the idea of Mithrandir and though, Denethor himself, had questioned the reasoning behind such a mission Faramir-through youthful exuberance- had been eager to pursue the Grey Wizard’s proposal. Edrin gazed at Faramir seeking in his reaction some confirmation or denial of the Steward’s pronouncements. Faramir, though, did his best to conceal his emotions. His brother and uncle’s concern touched him deeply but he was surprised that he could be at the center of so much uproar. Denethor’s behavior did not hurt him as much as it might once have done. Deeper betrayals made this lesser one seem insignificant.

When it came time for Faramir to answer Edrin’s questions, he found that Flyn- in a very limited time- had managed to communicate quite a bit about their recent travels. Though, Flyn’s account contained many distortions and omissions, Faramir was content to let much of it stand. Flyn had apparently decided to side with Faramir over Denethor at least for the present and so his account was full of Faramir’s wisdom and courage. Faramir was a trifle uncomfortable with the man’s grandiloquence but Flyn’s version tended to downplay the participation of the rangers and the tournament which served Faramir’s purposes. Relying on Flyn’s powers of imagination and talent for plausible self-aggrandizement saved Faramir the effort of inventing his own story that would stick as close to truth as possible without jeopardizing any secrets. Also, when Flyn talked it gave Faramir the chance to move nearer Aragorn and Halbarad who were walking close behind.

Halbarad was delivering commentary on Flyn’s story through the movement of his eyebrows and an occasional grunt or snort. He was moved to actual speech, however, when Flyn began to explain how the camp had taken in a Khandoric waif and that Flyn, himself, had undertaken to teach the boy something of civilization. Whispering to Aragorn with enough volume for Faramir to overhear said: “Ah, now there is a lad in need of a severe scolding. I think I must take him aside when we have had a bit of time to recover.”

“Perhaps he simply did not understand. He is new to the Common Tongue and there was much confusion at the time.” Faramir replied quietly. He was inclined to give Isu the benefit of the doubt.

“Let that excuse work once…” Halbarad warned dourly.

“Do you not think it took great courage, Baradnin, for the boy to stand firm against a superior foe?” Aragorn voice was soft and reflective. Faramir wanted him to continue speaking so he could drift in warm sound.

“It takes greater courage to obey your lord even when it is not what you would like to do. There is too much selfishness and self-importance in a man who will disregard an order on the battlefield because he would prefer the more risky and hence more glorious task to the one he is assigned. It is always thus, with young men especially: everyone is ready to charge to death and glory, and no one is willing to dig latrine trenches.”

Boromir would have argued the point, Faramir knew. Boromir tended to honor personal courage above military discipline. He was a warrior at least as much as a soldier. Faramir, though, found himself in sympathy with Halbarad’s argument, but then he remembered that he had been contemplating disobeying orders just as Isu had. If Aragorn had commanded him to leave him to hold off the Variags alone could Faramir have done it? The question troubled him deeply for he suspected that he would have stayed by Aragorn’s side regardless. Surely, though, there would have been more to that decision than the selfishness and self-importance Halbarad had described.

As if he were aware of his thoughts, Aragorn laughed. “There must be orders that even you would refuse to obey, Halbarad. Surely, some orders should not be obeyed.”

“None that you would give.” Halbarad responded easily.

“I could wish that you were less sure of that.” There was something in the manner of the last exchange that convinced Faramir that this was not the first time Aragorn and Halbarad had touched upon these issues. He wished very much that he could think longer upon the matter but Edrin was starting to take notice of his inattention. Sighing resignedly, Faramir returned his attention to his host.

He made a few emendations to Flyn’s account and reemphasized to the Commander, the incredible importance of the newly made treaties. Faramir did not intend to allow Denethor to repudiate any of the agreements that had been made and the more people who knew about them and understood their purpose the harder it would be for the Steward to brush them aside. These contributions seemed to satisfy Edrin as they made their way into the fort.


Sunlight shone through glass windows instead of stretched canvas. Faramir loved the thick stone walls that surrounded him. He adored the bed, stuffed with sweet smelling hay. Best of all, though was the door that closed and locked. It was a small room with few furnishing and there might have been a cobweb or two in the corners but to Faramir it was perfect because Aragorn was right there beside him, hands gently stroking his back as he allowed himself to drift contentedly between waking and sleeping.

Edrin could easily have spent the entire night asking question but as soon as he had eaten, Faramir advised Edrin to send for reinforcements from nearby garrisons for there were still a large number of Variags perilously close to Gondor. Faramir was very insistent that more conflict be avoided if possible. He wanted the Variags offered food and directed towards their homes with as much courtesy as possible. The East would come to learn that Gondor was merciful whenever possible and that their quarrel was with Mordor and not the tribes. Immediately after that Faramir excused himself claiming fatigue and the need for privacy to prepare messages for the Steward. In truth, the dispatches were all but prepared. It remained only to recount the activity of the last two days and their rescue. Looking over the messages he had dutifully prepared, and then rewritten as circumstances required, Faramir was amazed at the change in the length and style from first to last. It seemed to him that those first messages that he had labored so painstakingly over were much less useful and informative that those he had simply dashed off. Shrugging he sealed the packet and asked Edrin to send them to Minas Tirith. He also took the time to write short notes to Boromir and Imrahil informing him that he was alive and well.

With this final duty done, he was finally able to go to his perfect room with the wonderful lock. Aragorn had been waiting for him and they fell together. Exhausted but hungry for one another the two men came together seeking to assure themselves that they were indeed safe. Faramir remembered the night as a blur of passion and satiation. Smiling, he stretched languidly. In response to Faramir’s motion Aragorn’s hand drifted lower down his lover’s body to squeeze his buttocks affectionately.

“Good morning, my Faramir.” Aragorn’s voice was still heavy with sleep and the sound made Faramir smile as he moved over the older man, bracing his weight on his knees and elbows to nuzzle and kiss Aragorn’s neck.

“It is a wonderful morning and a beautiful day.” Faramir replied between kisses.

“Mm, yes.” Aragorn’s hands were now busily kneading Faramir’s firm backside and his lover could not help pressing up into his hands.

“Perhaps we might spend this wonderful morning and beautiful day here, together.” Faramir lifted his head slightly from Aragorn’s neck to watch the reaction to the suggestion.

“I have never heard paradise more aptly described.” Aragorn replied, wrapping his arms around Faramir’s waist and pulling him down so that their bodies pressed together. Releasing a soft sigh, Faramir resumed kissing Aragorn’s neck. “Did you imagine I would be averse to the notion?”

“No. Not really, only we are in Gondor now. I don’t know, I suppose I thought that might make a difference.” Faramir paused in his kisses to answer but he did not lift his head. Aragorn had managed to spot the small niggling worry that had somehow crept into Faramir’s question. It was possible; after all, that what they had shared in Khand- so far away from everything familiar- might have been like a dream to be forgotten with the return to every day life. He knew that Aragorn found his insecurity troubling but it had been so much a part of Faramir for so long that it was difficult for him to identify it, let alone control it.

“Geography is not a factor in my affection for you. I love you, Faramir. Trust me.”

“I know. I do.”

For reply, Aragorn lifted his head and took Faramir’s lips in a demanding kiss. For a few moments Faramir did no more than accept the kiss as he relaxed into the security of Aragorn’s possession. Gradually, though, he was drawn into motion, tempted into the slick slide of eager tongues until he was pressing down against Aragorn’s mouth greedily. After that first kiss ended, Aragorn lay back upon the pillow. With a comfortable sigh, he took up handfuls of his lover’s dark hair, watching in fascination as the fine strands slid through his fingers.

The heavy lidded contentment of his lover sent shivers of need through Faramir’s thighs. He kissed around Aragorn’s mouth, covering his lips, cheeks, chin, nose eyes with earnest proofs of his desire. He nibbled at his ears and his necks. It was an exquisite torture for Faramir to force himself into soft and gentle motions when his blood sang with the need to please Aragorn. Even as his own arousal began to burn within him, though, Faramir felt himself grow less alert to his own body. He would experience pleasure now only as the echo of Aragorn’s. His focus had turned completely to the strong dexterous fingers running through his hair and over his scalp, the firm flesh beneath his lips and tongue and the soft, encouraging sounds drifting languidly to his straining ears. All his senses were attuned to his beautiful lover, and his joy came as the joy of the other.

Working his way down Aragorn’s body, Faramir moved his palms over his nipples. He smiled as Aragorn’s grip in his hair changed subtly signaling his appreciation. Faramir could feel Aragorn’s awakening arousal stirring against his belly and he moved purposefully towards it. First he kissed the place where his beloved’s penis emerged from the dark curls, then quickly moved to take the head into his mouth. Aragorn groaned and Faramir pushed his mouth up and down the hot shaft. Faramir could feel Aragorn’s increased arousal, the thick member grew inside him, opening his mouth with its girth. His tongue pushed beneath the foreskin, then fluttered like a butterfly’s wings against the sensitive skin.

Watching with eyes dark from desire, Aragorn caressed Faramir’s face, neck and shoulders. The younger man was now bobbing up and down on his erection, his cheeks hollowing and a look of profound concentration on his earnest young face. Faramir was making low purring noises, which combined harmoniously with the occasionally wet gulping sounds that came from his lavish attentions. The sight was so lovely that Aragorn thought the beauty of it might choke him with emotion. At that moment, Faramir looked up at Aragorn, his lips were red and a little swollen, excitement tinted his cheeks pink and his brow was slightly furrowed with concentration. His eyes entreated praise and approval, pleading for affirmation that he was indeed giving satisfaction.

“Faramir, beautiful. My own beautiful Faramir.” Aragorn murmured, his heart aching with love.

Breaking into a sudden grin, Faramir rubbed his cheek along the hot length of Aragorn causing his lover to groan at the unexpected feel of his beard. Faramir grinned once again at Aragorn’s groan before returning in earnest to bringing his lord to release. He used his hands, lips, tongue and throat to coax Aragorn to greater and greater pleasure. He felt intoxicated by the hot weight filing his mouth, the dark rich scent of arousal and the firm muscles moving beneath his hands. He could taste salty flesh and the faintly bitter liquid that promised more. Faramir wanted more of that taste, he wanted all Aragorn give him. Calling his name a final time, Aragorn spilled his seed and Faramir drank thirstily, savoring the taste as he reached down to bring himself to completion with a few hasty strokes.

Aragorn pulled Faramir up his body to kiss him. Faramir returned the kiss lazily. He felt pleased with himself and a satisfied lethargy had overcome him. Giving Aragorn pleasure always made him feel strong and proud and grateful. He was no longer Faramir the bookish younger son or Faramir, the wizard’s pupil- that epithet always came with a derisive twist to the lips. Instead he was beloved Faramir the honored and honorable friend, companion and counselor to the kindest, best man in the world, devoted servant of the greatest lord in middle-earth. The pride of it filled him and he could think of nothing greater than what he had inexplicably been given.

Resting his head on Aragorn’s shoulder, the though had just flittered through his mind that he might just go back to sleep for a little while when there was a loud knock on the door.

“My lord?” Halbarad’s voice.

“A moment.” Aragorn returned, sitting up and rubbing his hands vigorously over his face. Faramir had already sprung from the bed and was now searching for his trousers. Halbarad would not disturb them to no purpose, Aragorn knew, so he resigned himself to getting up. Wrapping an arm around his lover Aragorn kissed him soundly before turning to don his own trousers so as not to make Faramir’s modesty conspicuous.

Faramir accepted Aragorn’s kiss gratefully. He had been startled by the interruption. The more so, because Halabarad’s timing had been so fortuitous. The thought had instantly entered his mind that Halbarad had known what they were doing and had courteously waited for them to finish before announcing his presence. They had not been loud or at least not very, but surely Halbarad who was so attune to all things that happened around Aragorn would know what they had been doing. Faramir’s cheeks colored but what he felt was not embarrassment-not exactly. A very real part of him wanted it known that he loved Aragorn and that Aragorn loved him. Another part of him had to be forcibly restrained from straightening the bed sheets.

Unlocking the door Aragorn pulled it wide to reveal Halbarad. Extending a steaming mug of hot, sweet tea to his lord the ranger wished them good morning before turning to offer another mug to Faramir. Faramir, Aragorn noted with some amusement, had pulled on a shirt and was eyeing his tunic with longing as Halbarad extended the cup to him.

“We will have a visitor very soon.” Halbarad informed them. “Any guesses as to who?”

`Denethror or his man?’ The thought flashed through Faramir’s mind before he immediately dismissed it as impossible. He had only sent messages to the Steward yesterday. It would be weeks before there could be any word from Minas Tirith. Boromir? Though that was a much happier thought it had to be dismissed for the same reason. Then, the answer was obvious. “Mithrandir.”

“I expect so.” Halbarad replied. “I saw him from the battlements but it was too far to be absolutely certain.”

“How long until he arrives?” Aragorn asked, sipping his tea.

Halbarad’s eyes turned upwards, as though seeking the sun before he answered. “Very little. Five minutes? More, if the men at the gate do their job and are able to hold him until the garrison commander can be brought. But Gandalf often has a way of avoiding such formalities.” This last comment made Aragorn smile, although there was nothing of amusement in Halbarad’s expression.

“Thank you for the notice, Barad nin. We shall be there soon.” Halbarad nodded and left closing the door silently behind him.

Despite his disappointment in no longer having Aragorn himself for the day Faramir was intrigued. “I shall be very interested to hear what Mithrandir can make events.”

“Interesting, indeed. I count upon you, my Faramir to be the voice of reason should the conversation become too `interesting’.”

“I gather from Halbarad’s demeanor that he and Mithrandir are not over-fond of one another.” Faramir commented, inviting Aragorn to confide if he wished.

“It is not a question of fondness rather Halbarad does not trust Mithrandir’s means nor even all of his goals. As for Mithrandir, he sees reflected in Halbarad something of himself that perhaps he would rather not see so vividly presented.”

“Ruthlessness.” Aragorn answered the question in Faramir’s eyes.

It was a sobering statement. Mithrandir had been an intermittent, unpredictable, inscrutable but always beneficent force in Faramir’s life. Yet, he knew that is was foolish to lose sight of the ancient mission and mystical power that sometimes chose to conceal itself behind a kindly, avuncular manner. The wizard could be as unrelenting and single-minded as Halbarad but unlike Halbarad whose actions were constrained by Aragorn, Mithrandir served the Gods themselves and what horrors could not be done in the name of the Gods.

“What is more, both our friends have a taste for the theatrical. I think they enjoy performing for each other and for an audience. It can be entertaining but occasionally it becomes… wearing.” Aragorn commented, straightening his tunic.

Faramir smiled in sympathy. He was familiar with the use of words as weapons and he had seen how quickly sparring could turn into the cruelest combat if the participants were not careful. Even so, he could not help but look forward to seeing Mithrandir and hearing what news he had. He had faith that both Halbarad and Mithrandir would not press their contest too far. Unable to resist a final embrace that managed to rumple Aragorn’s just-straightened tunic, Faramir wrapped his arms about his beloved holding in his mind for a moment their wonderful day and beautiful morning. Then he turned rapidly to lead the way out into the corridor.


Aragorn and Faramir heard their friend before they saw him. He had apparently already cornered Edrin and was busily demanding that Captain Faramir be instantly summoned or if that proved too difficult that the wizard be directed to the Captain. Edrin was stalling for time. The Commander was uncertain about what, if any deference should be accorded the visitor. He knew that the Steward treated Mithrandir as an ally but he also recalled that their relationship was still cool. Then again the wizard was, after all, a wizard and it might be prudent to let him have his way. Faramir’s arrival saved the Commander from the need to make a decision and he smiled as the young lord called out a greeting.

“Faramir, I am so glad to see you well!” Mithrandir’s owlish face grinned in relief and happiness as he took Faramir’s hand and shook it warmly. Faramir could not help but smile back at the genuine affection in the wizard’s greeting.

“And Strider, too is here.” Mithrandir announced, giving Faramir’s hand a final squeeze before turning and taking Aragorn’s hand. “Unharmed I am pleased to note, though as disheveled as ever.”

“It is good to se you too, my friend.” Aragorn replied, smiling much as Faramir had done.

“Hullo, Gandalf.” Halbarad had been skulking behind Aragorn and had not yet been noticed. If the wizard was surprised to see him though, he gave no sign.

“Ah, Halbarad. I see you managed to find Strider. That is an uncanny skill you have.” The two shook hands but the greeting was perfunctory.

“Well, he made the mistake of feeding me once.”

“Mm-hm.” Gandalf was ambivalent about Halbarad. The ranger had a number of useful talents but he was not an easy man to gauge. To his wizard’s eyes Halbarad shone grey. Gandalf could nearly always see something of the inner man, hobbit, dwarf and even elf if he concentrated. It was a gift he took for granted. The same dark mist shrouded the ranger, however, regardless of the outward face he wore. The light shadows surrounding Halbarad annoyed Gandalf for grey was his color. He had chosen it carefully and it had suited his purposes very well. Now to see another’s aura covered in a cloak he had come to regard as his own was discomfiting. This thievery as he very illogically thought of it tempted the wizard to pierce the obfuscating cloud surrounding Halbarad and lay bare all that lay beneath it. The task would not be so very difficult, Gandalf knew- eyes flicking to Aragorn of their own accord- but the urge was childish. Halbarad did not merit so much of the wizard’s mental energy.

Dismissing the ranger for the present, Gandalf beamed satisfaction at Aragorn and Faramir. The wizard had quickly discovered- though not quickly enough- after leaving the two men that he had been deceived in several important assumptions about what waited in Khand. He had passed days in an agony of worry, berating himself for so thoughtlessly risking two men so vital to his future goals on such a casual throw of the dice. He had been overconfident. He had underestimated the cunning, subtlety and malice of the forces arrayed against him and the result could so easily have been devastating. Gandalf did not have the full picture of what had transpired in Khand yet. While he hoped Aragorn and Faramir could throw light on some aspects of the mystery the wizard was willing to face the possibility that he had been out-maneuvered and he could only be grateful that Aragorn and Faramir still lived in spite of his miscalculations.

`Perhaps, though, I was not altogether wrong.’ Gandalf thought to himself as he took the opportunity to truly look at the men before him. One of his objectives had been to encourage a friendship between two of his favorites. A connection between Aragorn and Faramir might prove very useful should the Steward’s stubbornness assert itself at an inconvenient time. There had also been a nobler motive for arranging a meeting between the Steward’s son and the king-to-be, the wizard reminded himself, both his friends had suffered from a lack they had not even identified in themselves. Gandalf, who understood such matters, saw in each the need for what the other could provide. To Aragorn, Faramir must surely grant a sense of possession and belonging. Aragorn could never be a rootless wandered in Faramir presence. Likewise, to Faramir Aragorn was a worthy leader in a worthy cause, a man with vision holding the promise of a better future and a higher moral order in his hands. And on top of all that the two men seemed to get along. Yes, Gandalf had some reason to be pleased with himself despite his mistakes. Looking at them now, Aragorn and Faramir seemed- well, for want of a better expression- they seemed happy.

“I have worried over you both and I am eager to hear all of what has transpired in the East. Commander Edrin has generously lent us the use of his office so we may talk undisturbed.” By the faint look of surprise on Edrin’s face, Faramir suspected that Gandalf’s statement had been premature. The Captain, however, accepted with generous thanks and the Commander was quite contented.

In the Commander’s spacious, though sparsely furnished office Aragorn and Faramir sat close to one another. Faramir had had to drag a chair across the room to position himself beside Aragorn. It had not escaped the wizard’s attention that Faramir had seemed to take it for granted that Aragorn would take what was obviously the Commander’s chair and Aragorn for his part had acquiesced to this protocol. Settling himself in a third chair, Mithrandir removed his hat and brought forth his pipe. Though he had no tobacco he could at least chew on the stem as he looked ahead to a long story. Halbarad, as was his annoying habit, had elected to remain standing- slouched against the wall just out of the wizard’s line of sight.

Mithrandir regarded his friends with a piercing gaze. “My dear Faramir, I hope Strider has been helpful to you. I did not overrate him as a guide?”

Though Faramir was blushing furiously, Gandalf noted that the young man was not flustered in the least. He spoke with calm dignity. “The more proper question would be of what use have I been to my lord Aragorn for it is both duty and privilege to be of service to one’s king.”

Gandalf smiled. He had suspected that Faramir knew, but Aragorn would not quickly have forgiven him if he had spoken freely without first making sure. “You told him, then. A wise choice, Aragorn.”

“Faramir knew without the need of telling. Though you spoke very well of him, you did not praise him highly enough. He is doubly gifted with both keen perception and logical agility with which to order those perceptions.” Aragorn turned a fond eye upon Faramir before leaning forward as he warmed to his subject. He could spend pleasant days recounting all the myriads of things that made his Faramir such a wonder.

“The old blood is strong in him. Even when he was a child I could see it.” Gandalf affirmed. “But there has been a change in both of you since last we met, Aragorn. Though you objected at the time, I knew that you two should meet. I have lived a long time and I think I may trust my instincts. It was a risk perhaps but who can argue-”

There was an abrupt thud and all eyes turned to Halbarad. The ranger had come forward while the wizard had been speaking and dropped the `Killing Fist’ onto the desk. “I’m sorry, Gandalf, did I break your concentration? Please, do go on. You were, I believe, praising your own instincts.”

“Ah perhaps it is time we focused on… this.” Gandalf murmured gesturing toward the gauntlet without really looking at it. “Tell me all that has befallen you since we parted.”

“You would not care to tell us all you know of this matter first?” Halbarad suggested.

“Patience. All things in their time.” The wizard promised.

Aragorn began the story but soon invited Faramir to continue, urging the Captain to speak at greater length than Faramir would have done on his own about all his meeting with the tribes. Faramir was still feeling self-conscience because of all the kind words that Aragorn and Gandalf had lavished upon his character before Halbarad’s timely if somewhat tactless reminder of the danger they had only just escaped and which they still did not fully understand. He had been pleased and excited to hear the two speak so highly of him but the urge to deny or at least qualify their words had been difficult to suppress. Now, though, his enthusiasm for the tale he was telling carried him away from his self-doubt.

Gandalf listened with avid attention, interjecting only occasionally to demand greater detail. The story reverted to Aragorn at the point of Halbarad’s appearance. The other ranger’s encounter with Gollum had clearly managed to distract the wizard’s interest. Turning in his chair to face Halbarad who had retreated back into his corner, the wizard struggled with his curiosity. That Halbarad would take the opportunity to chide the wizard for pursuing his tangent was clearly communicated by the twinkle in the ranger’s eye. Gandalf saw it and cursed under his breath. “Later, Halbarad, you will answer all my questions.” The wizard commanded.

“Of course, sir. All things in their time.”

“Yes, yes. Thank you.” Gandalf replied. Having his own words thrown back at him really was one of his least favorite experiences.

While Mithrandir and the ranger had been speaking, Aragorn had raised a conspiratorial eyebrow at Faramir. Grinning in reply, Faramir had no time to order his countenance into a more neutral expression before the wizard turned.

“Does something amuse you, Master Faramir?”

“No, sir. Not at all.” The young man strove to look, well- if not innocent then at least not guilty. The wizard turned to Aragorn in hopes of finding some sympathy but the ranger had apparently been struck with a sudden coughing fit and could not meet his eyes.

“Whenever you feel ready to continue, children.” This comment seemed to provoke another coughing attack from Aragorn. No one had referred to him as a child since, well he did not recall. Though Gandalf’s tone had been peevish, he was more amused than irritated. Playfulness was not a trait often seen in either Aragorn or Faramir. It warmed his heart to see them both so at ease in each other’s company and in his as well.

Faramir recounted only the bare events as they had occurred without spending time relating all of the theories and painstaking conjectures they had made to try and make sense of those events. There would be time at the end to discuss the reasons behind their adventure. For now, Faramir did not wish to go over all their futile guesses. When the young Captain spoke of discovering Denethor’s interest in the Gauntlet he revealed nothing of his own thoughts or feelings on the matter but Gandalf noticed that Aragorn placed a comforting hand on Faramir’s arm.

The wizard had also learned of Denethor’s interest. It was galling to have been first deceived as to the purpose of the Gauntlet and then to have been deceived again by Denethor’s feigned indifference to the expedition to Khand. The wizard felt he had been made to work very hard to convince the cantankerous Steward to send Faramir after the Gauntlet when Denethor had every intention of giving in. He intended to remember this incident in his future dealings with the man. Now, though he steeled himself to explain just what he had believed about the Gauntlet. “I can explain why both the Steward and I have concerned ourselves with the `Killing Fist’. I was not, at first, aware that Denethor had been given the same information as I—the same erroneous information.”

“You mean to say that you and the Steward of Gondor were both convinced that an over-sized glove that no one has ever really heard of and that has been quietly rusting in obscurity is just as good as the Ring of Barahir, Narsil reforged and an ancient and royal pedigree combined?” Halbarad’s voice contained equal measures of incredulity and contempt. “Were you not the least suspicious?”

“Of course, I was suspicious!” The wizard snapped, rounding on Halbarad. “But you have vastly over-simplified the circumstances. If you had let me explain in my own way instead of blurting out your glibly naïve summation perhaps you would gain some understanding.”

“I certainly did not mean to steal your thunder. Pray, go on. I crave understanding.”

“Just you beware my lightening, ranger.” The wizard’s eyes had darkened and seemed to have grown larger and his voice crackled a warning. Such a display should have silenced even the most careless and foolhardy. The promise of danger in the wizard’s powerful countenance, however, had the perverse effect of emboldening the ranger. It occurred to Faramir as Halbarad shifted his stance, crouching slightly and planting his feet wide apart as though preparing to leap or to withstand an attack that the ranger wanted a fight.

“I have found that storms can be strange things, the fiercer they appear and louder the wind the quicker they blow themselves—much like a child in a tantrum.”

“It might well seem so to you, as you seek refuge and protection behind the `Highest Tree’ at the first ominous sign.”

To Faramir the words represented a clear escalation but to his surprise he heard Halbarad laugh with what sounded like genuine mirth.

“It is safe there, is it?” The ranger chuckled. “You could be right.”

“Mithrandir, you know that Halbarad-”

“No my Lord Ar-g-orn, I beg you, do not defend me. You shall only prove his point.” Halbarad was apparently still quite amused, though Aragorn was not. Gandalf seemed a little nonplussed that his witticism had ended the quarrel in quite the way it had.

For his part, the confrontation between Gandalf and Halbarad had left Faramir with much he wanted to consider. The ranger’s anger and frustration had been real as had Gandalf’s irritation and defensive guilt. Even so, Faramir did not have the impression that either man had lost himself to his emotions. The idea of violence occurring between the two had never entered Faramir’s head, though the air had been thick with animosity. Suddenly, Faramir remembered what Aragorn had said to him earlier, that both Gandalf and Halbarad had a taste for the theatrical. Had they been performing? If so, who had been the intended audience? Aragorn and himself? Or had they been performing for each other or perhaps themselves. It was a question Faramir hoped to explore at greater length. For now, though, it seemed best to bring the conversation back to the matter at hand: “Mithrandir, you were going to explain how you came to learn of the Gauntlet and how Denethor learned of it as well.”

“Yes. Yes, my dear Faramir.” The wizard seemed more relaxed now as he eased himself back into his chair. “I learned of the Gauntlet from an utterly reliable source. It seemed that there had been some correspondence intercepted between several of the leading Variag tribesmen and two lore masters inquiring if the stories surrounding the Gauntlet were true. My source had only obtained a few of the letters but what these contained seemed very suggestive. Of course, I was not content with that alone. I could not, however, make direct inquiries of the two masters that the Variags addressed to confirm and elaborate on what had appeared in the copies of the letters I had seen. I fear that the masters the Variags had sought would not have welcomed any communication from me. There are rivalries in all things and there are some who hoard their learning unwilling to share with colleagues- especially if they believe that a colleague has been ungenerous with them in the past.”

Aragorn and Faramir exchanged a smile. It was not difficult to imagine that there were many who felt Gandalf had been less than forthcoming. Even now, among his friends and closest allies Faramir sensed that Gandalf would not speak profligately. Automatically, Faramir turned toward Halbarad expecting that the ranger might deliver some sardonic comment. Halbarad, however, stood impassively. Having said his piece, it now seemed the ranger was content to be silent.

“I did some research on my own, but I had little time. Before I found anything either to confirm or deny what I had found in the letters, I had to act. I thought it more than likely that the Gauntlet would not be truly significant but I did not wish to take the chance. The idea of deception had occurred to me but I thought only that the lore masters might have embellished stories of the Gauntlet for the Variags.”

“But then you did know that the Variags would seek to win the Gauntlet- that Aragorn would thus be in danger.” Faramir was indignant. How could Mithrandir be so careless about Aragorn’s precious safety.

“Of course the Variags- and all the tribes- would try to win.” Gandalf replied. “But the Variags should have expected to win at the Gathering easily. They usually do- and the presences of Westerners should have been a surprise to them. I trusted Aragorn could handle himself.”

“After leaving you in Eastfield, I returned to Minas Tirith to continue my research.” Gandalf resumed when he saw that Faramir could not formulate a response. “I found nothing. The library was bare of any reference to the Gauntlet. This was discouraging but I did not give up hope. So much has been lost; so much had been destroyed in war and strife and much more to neglect and the decay of time. Even my own memory is not what it once was. I did, however, learn something of interest during those days of searching: I was not alone in my quest. The Steward had sent his own scholars to investigate the Gauntlet. I was able to learn from careful questions that Denethor had shown them the same clues I myself had seen. I do not know how Denethor received the information but he had. I began to grow nervous.”

“While still searching for any mention of the Gauntlet I began to receive answers to my first hasty messages. I asked scholars of my acquaintance to approach the Variags’ lore masters about the Killing Fist. Apparently, the lore masters knew no more about the Gauntlet than the most famous references. This boded ill but I had received an answer to my inquiries from Lord Elrond that took all my attention. Lord Elrond, as you know, has reason to possess a substantial number of the most significant records concerning the men of Númenor. He had found a ballad concerning the Gauntlet and sent a copy.” The ballad relied rather heavily on metaphor and other exceedingly unhelpful literary devices but even the most liberal interpretation could not make the Gauntlet more than a historical curiosity. I recall the refrain in particular which referred to the `Killing fist’ as an `empty hand’.

“That sounds suspiciously like someone’s idea of a joke.”

“It could be, Aragorn, but the line could also be translated as `invisible hand’ which in the convoluted context of the song could easily mean `destiny’. At least, that is what I told myself at the time.”

“But who can have planned this?” Halbarad asked. “It is an elaborate plan for someone who could not have been certain any heir of Isildur still lived.”

“Even without Aragorn, there was little risk and the hope of much gain for whoever planned this.” Gandalf raised his hand as though to demand a hearing though no one had made any attempt to interrupt. “Into who else’s path could news of the Gauntlet fallen? Imrahil’s? Théoden’s? Even leaders in Harad? Even Boromir’s”

“If any word of the Gauntlet came to Boromir or Imrahil then it clearly meant nothing to them.” Faramir spoke with more vehemence than he had intended but Boromir was no thief, no traitor. Even in the days when Faramir could find nothing in himself to justify any pride there was always his family, there was always his brother and he could take solace that he shared in his family’s sacred mission. The House of the Stewards held Gondor in trust for their King. Denethor might have- in a moment of weakness been tempted to break faith- but Boromir was true. “Boromir would no more be tempted by the Gauntlet’s promise of stolen honor than he could be tempted by an alliance with Sauron himself.”

“Be easy, Faramir. Boromir and Imrahil have done nothing except become extremely alarmed upon hearing that you had been sent to Khand for mysterious purposes.” Gandalf soothed, waiting for the high color in Faramir’s cheeks to fade before continuing. “Whoever planned this could hope to learn how many in the Kingdoms of men, when offered a crown, would rise to the bait. Then, once ambitions had been revealed, surely discord must result. Even if none came for the Gauntlet that in itself would be informative. And what of me, meddler and would-be Kingmaker, what part would I play? On whose side would I join?”

“If you are right then it is some comfort that only Denethor- at your urging no less- came forth to stake a claim.”

“I did not urge him to stake a claim, Halbarad. Though I am glad to find that no others came forward. As to who can have planned this, I cannot say. I do not believe this ploy came from the Dark Lord, Himself or even his nearest servants. I have reason to believe their attention is focused elsewhere. No, the enemy who has woven this web has yet to declare himself. He may even have yet to decide if he will be an enemy. I sense that he may be feeling the lay of the land before choosing sides for good and all.”

“So we must ask ourselves what have we revealed to our possibly ambivalent, certainly mysterious adversary.” Halbarad inquired.

“Nothing that can do us any harm.” Faramir replied with newfound resolution. “The men of the West came to the Great Gathering under one banner, competed honorably in the Tournament and won. Then we returned home under the same banner. There the Tournament’s prize was put safely away until the one to whom it properly belongs comes to claim it.”

“More than that, better than that.” Aragorn continued, leaning slightly forward his eyes burning with the import of his words. “The men from the West took only passing interest in such tokens as the Gauntlet, rather they showed the men of Khand that the unity and prosperity of all men is Gondor’s greater object. Oh Mithrandir, if only you could have seen Faramir. Great work has been done here. I am glad there is no magic in the Gauntlet. Prophecy is a weak and pallid thing laid against the fragile bonds of trust and friendship that now may be forged between East and West.”

“I hope you are right, Aragorn.” Gandalf saw that both Faramir and Halbarad were gazing at their King with utter adoration and the wizard knew a moment of sadness. Prophecy still held Middle-Earth in its sway. Aragorn’s time had not yet come.


The sun lay just beneath the horizon and the dew lay thick upon the ground as Aragorn and Faramir walked arm-in-arm across the sparsely wooded land surrounding the small outpost that had been their refuge the last two days. They had made the most of those two days, rejoicing in each other and jealously gathering every stray word or act of their beloved to store up against the loneliness ahead. Their time had finally run out. Aragorn and Halbarad would go north then east again to renew the search for Gollum. Faramir would return to Minas Tirith, he did not wish to lag far behind the messengers he had sent to his father, for he felt a strange urgency to take a greater role in matters of state. He also wanted the Gauntlet out of his keeping. It had been decided that Flyn would present the `Killing Fist’ to Denethor. Though, Gandalf would be sure the Steward understood that it was useless. Faramir would feign ignorance as far as was plausible and hope that the Steward learned from the experience of the Gauntlet not to overreach. Any thoughts of his father, however, had been banished for this predawn walk. Faramir would think only of Aragorn and the great gift he had so unexpectedly been given.

Before Khand, Faramir had not appreciated that there could be so many shades of green. Now he drank in his surroundings, his eyes hungry for the sight of living, growing things. In a few hours time the two men would go their separate ways, their futures uncertain. They spoke a little, for the comfort of hearing one another’s voice. Gradually, though the peace of the morning overcame them and they walked on in silence. As the sun crested the horizon the two men paused. Even after dawn had broken they remained as they were, arms around one another. “Do you remember, my Faramir, that night we arrived at the Gathering and you first went out to meet the tribes?”

“Of course.” Faramir replied, smiling. “It was the first time I allowed myself to see you as you are. It was the first night we lay together.” Aragorn turned toward Faramir then and kissed him. It was a long, slow, sweet kiss but when it ended, Aragorn turned away. He walked several paces from his beloved before once more facing him.

“Do you remember also that- that you would have sworn allegiance to me that night?”

“Yes, Aragorn.” It was difficult for Faramir not to cross the little distance between them and wrap his arms around his beloved lord, yet he restrained himself. Aragorn was struggling with something and he seemed to need space for the battle.

“I- I refused you. There was so much that you did not understand, so much you could not have known.”

“I knew all that I needed. Though you refused me I was, I am yours. You must know that.” Faramir spoke calmly but there was an old pain shining from his light eyes.

Aragorn was clearly agitated. He moved another pace away from the young man before him then leaned back against the broad trunk of a tree and ran rough fingers over his forehead and through his hair. Unable to withstand his beloved lord’s distress, Faramir went to Aragorn and gently kissed and caressed his arm and shoulder. “What is it, my lord? Please, Aragorn, tell me.”

Taking a deep breath, Aragorn straightened his posture. He would not send Faramir back to Denethor defenseless. He could not. Denethor, doubtless, had his strengths but he had his weaknesses also and those weaknesses could not go unchecked. For Gondor’s sake, for Faramir’s sake they could not.

“If you would offer me now, what I refused then… then I would accept.”

Faramir nearly laughed for the sheer joy of it but seeing Aragorn’s solemn- almost fearful expression he ordered his features with the proper gravity.

“I would. I do.” As he spoke, Denethor’s younger son slipped to his knees. Taking Aragorn’s hands reverently in his own. He swore his allegiance. He spoke the ancient words as he had spoken them once before, saving only that this vow was eternal. It would not be broken, not by death, not by the world’s ending. Struggling, as an infant struggles for its first breaths, Aragorn answered. When the oath had been given and accepted and given back, Faramir rested his head against their clasped hands. The power of the binding sang in them both and they remained still listening to the old magic.

“Rise now, Faramir. And hear your King’s command.”

As Faramir came to his feet, Aragorn drew him into his arms kissing first his forehead and then his lips. Faramir’s eyes were large and filled with a fey light. Looking into the pale blue depths, Aragorn felt fierce pride and love stir him. There was so much power to do good in Faramir, so much courage and intelligence. Yet despite all his great and good qualities or perhaps sometimes because of them Faramir was vulnerable. He could be so easily hurt. The cruelty and indifference of the world could wound Faramir profoundly. Before, such thoughts had always left Aragorn either angry or melancholy. Now, though, he finally had the right- the obligation- to shield Faramir and keep him safe.

“Return to Minas Tirith, tell the Steward of the great work you have done here but keep back any information that might tempt Denethor from his duties to protect and serve Gondor. Accord Denethor the respect due his station but you are not bound to obey any command that is not in the best interest of Gondor and her people. Trust your own judgment.” Aragorn’s palms rested on Faramir’s shoulders and his fingers curved gently along the nape of his neck. “You are mine, Faramir. Be careful of your safety, for I have great need of you.”

“My lord… Yes, my King. It shall be as you command.” Faramir closed his eyes against the sudden threat of tears as he felt Aragorn draw him into a tight embrace. For many moments they stood together. Aragorn buried his head against Faramir’s shoulder, clinging to the younger man as he tried to calm his ragged breaths.


Returning to the outpost, Faramir saw that Gildel and Warin were already assembling the men for the march. Edrin had generously provisioned them, and they would make good time. Many of the men had taken Faramir or one of his lieutenants aside and expressed a desire to be posted to the Ithilien rangers so as to remain under Faramir’s command. Others asked if they might be included on subsequent missions to Khand. He had been deeply touched by this, and Faramir would do his best to ensure good placement for all the men who had served with him on this expedition. Most especially, he meant to keep Isu with him for a few years to ensure the lad was able to adapt to his new circumstances.

“It is a good day for travel.” Halbarad commented, coming up to Aragorn and Faramir and handing his Chieftain his pack. The rangers had refused horses and they would have a great deal of walking ahead of them.

Mithrandir was not far behind Halbarad and the wizard reached for Aragorn’s hand. “Send word if you find anything of Gollum. Thranduil will keep the creature if you find him. I expect we shall see each other in Rivendell if not before.” Aragorn nodded and moved closer to wrap the old wizard in a one-armed embrace.

“Where is my hug?” Halbarad asked the wizard, affecting hurt.

“Charming as ever, Halbarad.” Gandalf returned and the two men shook hands.

“Farewell, Captain. Good luck.” Halbarad addressed Faramir with a formal bow.

“I am very glad to have met you.” Faramir spoke more softly than was his wont but he took Halbarad’s hand in both his own and pressed it with affection.

Halbarad took a sudden interest in the far horizon and Gandalf gazed on in sympathy as Aragorn and Faramir clasped forearms. They had already spoken their hearts and no more words were necessary. Turning away with an almost violent effort, Aragorn started off north without daring to take a backward look.

“Well lad, I suppose we should be on our way as well.” Gandalf said gently after they had watched the two rangers until they had disappeared from sight. The wizard had always felt special warmth for Faramir and now he prepared words of comfort. He expected to see sadness, even despair in the younger man’s eyes but when Faramir turned he saw to his surprise only resolute purpose.

“Yes, I must see my father and my brother. There is a great deal to be done. The House of Stewards has grown forgetful and we have much to remember. We must make ready.”

Chapter 22 – Epilogue

Slowly, haltingly the man placed one tired foot in front of the other. He had walked so long that he could not remember anything before these terrible steps in this hellish place. His skin burned, the heat cloyed and burned down his throat with each breath. Yet, he was cold. His heart felt frozen and his bones ached. But it had always been like this, hadn’t it? There had always been this terrible pain shrouding everything as powerfully as the white mist that constantly swirled around him, blinding him with harsh light reflecting at him from every angle. The man’s ears were assaulted by the shrill screams of small animals in pain and the urge to fall to the ground crushing his hands to his ears was always with him. No sense escaped the torment of this place for the odor of decaying meat was everywhere and the taste of blood and ashes was in his mouth. Still the man walked on. Somehow he knew that if he could only stop, if he could only be still for a moment he would gain a small measure of relief but he did not stop. The horrors of this place had stripped him bare of everything- even memory. He knew not who he was or why he was here. He had even forgotten why it was that he walked on when the burden of walking was almost more than he could bear. One foot in front of the other and again and then again. He stumbled. His blind eyes leaked tears that scaled his already cindered flesh but he climbed to his feet. He had to go on, though he did not know why. When he fell a second time, he could not rise. His legs cramped and his stomach roiled keeping him off-balance. So now he crawled. He had no destination and no hope, but he would not stop.

Then above the helpless shrieks the man heard a different sound. It was a soft sound but it broke through the torture of the man’s surroundings. The voice carried with it the promise that there existed something beside the harshness of this place. Fear returned along side hope and the man gasped, taking in lungfuls of the sulfurous and putrid air. The voice came again and the man recognized that it called a name—his name.

“Faramir!”

Struggling forward, ignoring the stabbing shards of pain in his legs, Faramir gathered his feet under him. Again, he heard his name and now he knew the voice- memory sharper than the pain of this place pierced him and he tried to answer but no sound escaped his lips. Terror threatened him for he had to find the voice but there was no direction to follow: his King called him from all directions and from none. “Ar- Aragorn.” It was no more than a whisper, more thought than word, but there was a change in the quality of light straight ahead of him. This light hurt him less. It warmed him without burning him. Desperately, he staggered towards it.

“Faramir.”

Now he could see the outline of a figure and summoning the last of the strength within him Faramir flung himself forward the last few steps. Reaching out, his hands clasped solid flesh. The white fog lifted and Faramir opened his eyes.


Everything was different. The room was quiet, lit with the soft glow of candles. The air was fresh and invigorating. Faramir felt almost drunk with the sudden freedom from so much of the pain he had so recently known, but Faramir’s attention was completely captured by the man leaning over him, holding his hand in a firm yet gentle grip.

“You called me and I have come, as I am sworn to do.” Faramir’s voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper but the love and devotion were clear. “Command me, my King.”

Aragorn’s eyes closed against the tide of relief that threatened to overwhelm him. Hearing the voice of his beloved after so much time and so much danger suddenly made him feel every moment of their long separation with fresh agony. “Faramir.” He murmured holding the younger man’s hand tighter even as he gently stroked damp tendrils of Faramir’s hair from his brow. His hands trembled with the desire to explore Faramir’s body. He longed to find all the injuries hidden under the layers of bandages and somehow make them disappear. He needed to reacquaint himself with every inch of his beloved. He had to know him as he had known him before; make him his again.

“You must rest and recover your strength.” Aragorn commanded swallowing against the emotion swelling in him. The memory of where Faramir had been trapped filled Aragorn with a sick terror. Aragorn knew that place for he had visited it during a waking nightmare on the Paths of the Dead. The thought of Faramir abandoned there for days with no help and no rescue pushed Aragorn near to madness with greif and guilt.

“I will, my lord—Aragorn, we have been too long apart.” Faramir’s throat closed around the last sentence and a tremor passed through his thin body. Every day for ten years, Faramir had longed for this moment. Now, he was not certain his sick and wasted body could contain his joy.

“Too long.” Aragorn agreed, soothing the other man and himself as best he could. If only he could be with Faramir now, only sit with him, hold his hand… But he couldn’t, not now. `It is never now’. A bitter and seldom-heeded voice needled Aragorn’s resolve but it was suppressed with almost casual ruthlessness. Leaning over, Aragorn could not restrain himself from pressing dry lips to Faramir’s forehead. “Love.” The whispered word had come entirely unbidden and Aragorn bit back hard as he felt all his carefully hoarded calm threaten to dissolve. Standing quickly, Aragorn extended his free hand back toward the entrance to the room, beckoning someone to him.

“I will return, Faramir, but in the meantime I leave you in capable hands.” It was only then that Faramir became aware of the presence of others. Several people stood clustered near. They had all held quiet and still afraid to disturb whatever strange process it was that had seemed to draw Faramir back from the brink of death. At Aragorn’s gesture, however, Faramir took in glad faces drawing near. There was Bergil, Imrahil, Gandalf and…

“Boromir.”

“By Earth and Sky, Faramir if you ever frighten me like that again I’ll strangle you.” The warrior half sobbed, half laughed, as he threw himself onto his knees beside his brother’s bed and clasped his hand in both his own with a tenderness that belied the violence of his words.

“Boromir.” Faramir repeated, smiling helplessly.

Feeling a sudden surge of love for Boromir, Aragorn smiled a little. Boromir would indeed take care of Faramir. Aragorn might easily have lingered for love shone between the brothers and the beauty of it soothed him. Catching sight of Éomer’s still anxious face, though, Aragorn remembered all that was still left to do. Éowyn and Merry still lay beneath the shadows and there was Halbarad… Attempting to step back, Aragorn found that Faramir clutched his hand with strength born of desperate need. Boromir, too, had caught at his other hand. Looking down, Aragorn regarded the two faces gazing up at him. “I will come back.” He promised again, giving each hand a final squeeze.


After Faramir took a little food, Gandalf took upon himself the unpleasant task of informing Faramir, as gently as possible, of Denethor’s death. The young man took the news without apparent surprise and he seemed content to wait until something more of his strength returned to hear the details. Imrahil had observed Faramir through the wizard’s telling and was relieved that the young man, though saddened remained calm. In fact, both his nephews were bearing their father’s passing with a weary acceptance that convinced Imrahil that the news had been anticipated. Imrahil had always found Denethor awkward company but now the Prince chided himself for keeping to his refuge in Dol Amroth. But he had left the entire burden to Faramir. The gods willing he would have time to make amends to his nephew.

For the present there was little enough the Prince could do except to keep from interfering in Faramir’s recovery: He saw that the first exhilaration of Faramir’s healing was beginning to fade replaced by fatigue and the pain of his injuries and that the presence of so many visitors was growing burdensome. Thus, clasping first Faramir and then Boromir by the hand, Imrahil excused himself to see to the disposition of his knights. At Boromir’s request, the Prince also agreed to begin gathering reports about the damage done to the City and the losses sustained for the new Steward. Mithrandir left soon after Imrahil. As he left the brothers alone together, the wizard promised to return to look in on Faramir as often as possible.

As the door closed gently behind the older men, Faramir turned to Boromir. “I am sorry I didn’t tell you. I wanted to so much, but the knowledge would have put you in an impossible position and it was not my secret to reveal. Forgive me?” His voice was rough and weak from smoke and fatigue but the familiar earnestness was unmistakable.

For a moment Boromir did not understand and he experienced a sudden fear that Faramir was still caught in some fevered dream. When he realized, however, what his brother meant, Boromir flushed. It was strange but Faramir’s silence about Strider’s identity had completely ceased to trouble him. He had been so angry when he first realized that Strider was Aragorn and that Aragorn was heir to Isuldur. Faramir had allowed his brother to set off for Rivendell without a word of what secrets awaited him. He had gone ten years without even hinting that the mysterious ranger he had met in Khand was the legendary lost king of Gondor. Boromir had felt excluded, betrayed, the victim of a cruel conspiracy.

Of course, Faramir had confided much to Boromir about Strider’s character and the profound love he felt for the man. He could not conceal from his brother all that had happened in Khand and the changes in Faramir were obvious to all who loved him. Faramir did not speak often of Strider but when he did, his eyes lit and Boromir saw that he was happy. He spoke so glowingly about the mysterious ranger that once Boromir had commented that Faramir must have dreamed Strider for no flesh and blood man could be so perfect. At first, Faramir had laughed but then his mood had grown pensive and he had answered: `It seems so, yet I sometimes dream true.’ The sadness in his eyes at that moment had made Boromir wish he had kept his mouth shut.

“You told me what I needed to know. If you had tried to tell me more I would not have heard you.” This admission came hard for Boromir but he felt he owed it to his brother, for Faramir had indeed told him a great deal that he did not come to understand until after meeting Aragorn. Faramir had forced him to look beyond Gondor in the struggle against Mordor, showed him that other peoples fought in their own way for the same goal. He had fed him bits of history and lore almost casually and Faramir had engaged Boromir in questions of the nature of leadership and governance that would not otherwise have crossed his older brother’s mind. All this served to gently dismantle all the barriers of pride, arrogance and facile rationalization the Captain-General would otherwise have thrown between himself and Strider when his heart recognized his king.

Boromir had still resisted Aragorn’s claim, though, out of sheer stubbornness and out of anger. He had demanded a true story of the adventure in Khand and when Aragorn told him he wanted desperately to find a lie. He had accused Aragorn of abandoning Faramir just as Aragorn’s forefathers had abandoned Gondor. This clearly wounded the ranger deeply and Boromir felt guilt mix with his anger. In the end, though he could not resist the testimony of his brother and the witness of his own eyes. By the time the fellowship reached Moria, Boromir’s stubbornness had surrendered to the evidence all about him. Even the story of the Gauntlet, though it had begun by increasing his outrage had eventually reinforced Boromir’s distrust of the Ring. Even for a man of Boromir’s literal temperament the similarities between the One and the Killing Fist were glaringly obvious. The Ring fed off Boromir, needing him to be weak so that it could appear strong. He could not help but hear in the Ring’s seductive song the hollow notes of his own vainglorious ambitions. With that understanding Boromir’s desire soured.

“I only regret how hard it must have been for you, unable to truly confide in anyone.” Boromir continued, sitting on the side of Faramir’s bed and tucking the covers around his brother. Faramir watched quizzically as Boromir proceeded to adjust his pillows and smooth the blanket over him.

Becoming aware of the other’s gaze, Boromir smiled self-consciously. “The care of hobbits has taught me something of gentleness.”

“Pippin adores you and I hear that his cousin does as well. Your touch is soothing. I am grateful for it.” Faramir replied. He was, in truth, surprised at the tenderness of his brother’s touches. He was more accustomed to seeing his affection manifest itself in bluster, fond insults and- if he deemed Faramir healthy enough- a hearty thump on the back or shoulder. Faramir found himself swallowing in a dry and aching throat to finally see his beloved brother able to lower- if only a little- the shield of gruffness he had always carried. Boromir had no response except to squeeze Faramir’s hand.

“I have missed you so much, Boromir. You must tell me of your journey. I long to know every detail.”

“That is a tall order. Sleep, Faramir. We can talk later.”

“I will rest better if I can hear your voice. Tell me… Tell me of how the lords of Gondor returned to change the tide of battle upon the Pelennor.”

There was much in his long travels about which Boromir was not yet prepared to speak, though he longed to confide in Faramir. His brother was not yet ready to bear the burden of his confessions. Nothing of Boromir’s life before Rivendell could compare with the whole trial of the Ring, the terror of Moria, his encounter with the dread queen of the elves, the grim and grueling struggle for Helm’s Deep and then the journey through the kingdom of the dead. When the time was right Faramir could judge of all that had happened and help Boromir to come to a better understanding of it all. In the meantime, however, Boromir had also experienced times of joy and fellowship; he had done deeds of some honor and been granted more than one soul transforming epiphany.

The story of the Pelennor, despite the costs of battle held no small measure grandeur and nobility, so Boromir allowed himself to be convinced by Faramir’s pleading expression to tell what he had seen in the battle: “The Witch King fell soon after Théoden King. It seemed almost as though one had been sacrificed for the other- a gambit in the Gods’ bloody game of chess but I knew nothing of this as yet.”

“We came down the Anduin and were within sight of the White City just at the sun’s rising. There was a great cry of victory from the Enemy on the field but then a breeze caught Aragorn’s banner and from one moment to the next the fate of the battle changed. Upon landing the army of the Dead, swept through the attackers like a scythe. They moved so fast that not even the elves in our company seemed able to keep pace, but always Aragorn was at their head. He led them against the Uruks and the Orcs, avoiding the Haradrhim and Khandrim who had answered Sauron’s call. I suppose he did not wish to loose the ghoulish army upon men. It was a mercy, for the Dead were… terrible.”

“For my part, I fought as best I could, trying to cut through to the Defenders. It was only me, the elf and dwarf of our Fellowship, Elrond’s twin sons and some thirty Dunedain who had met with us in Rohan. The foremost of these rangers, Halbarad- you met him in Khand?”

“Yes.”

“He mentioned that he knew you. He was given the honor of holding Aragorn’s banner. I suppose all these Northern rangers are a bit strange, but this Halbarad was stranger than most. He was all soft-spoken humility, except for a very few occasions when he would say the most profoundly impertinent things. Aragorn was always there to rein him in but I know that, at least once, Théoden King felt very insulted.”

Faramir restrained the urge to smile. Théoden had died on the field after coming to Gondor’s aid. Amusement was out of place. “You were telling me that he carried Aragorn’s standard. A great honor indeed- but one well earned, I think.” At the last word Faramir tried to stifle a cough. His throat felt very raw, but the joy of communicating far outweighed the discomfort.

“It may be, but I cannot think that this Halbarad was altogether sane.” Boromir responded, supporting Faramir’s head as he held a cup of water for him. “He moved through the ranks of the Southrons without any thought to danger. I don’t know but that he expected that they would part before him like water before the prow of a ship. For a time, sheer audacity seemed to shield him and he moved somewhat ahead of the rest of us. Then, though, he was attacked in earnest. Rather than wait for another of us to come up to guard his left side or to take the standard from him, he ducked and dodged as best he could seemingly oblivious to those swords strokes that found his flesh. A lucky stroke cost him his grip on his sword, but it did not even slow him. One of his brethren fought his way to Halbarad’s side, meaning to take the standard and guard his retreat to our line. This act of comradeship was resisted as forcefully as if this fellow Dunadan was another of the Southern enemy.”

“As I found myself nearing Halbarad I resolved to be less gentle in my efforts to bring the man to his senses. He carried our banner and he was being slowly cut to pieces. He must either allow the rest of us to act as shield or surrender his charge. Seizing the oak staff, I had some thought of bringing the hilt of my sword against the man’s temple but as our eyes met something stayed my hand. I have never seen such a look, Faramir. I cannot describe it to you, except to say that there was something both more and less than human in it. Then the ranger simply released the banner to me.”

“It was a heady thing, brother, to charge our enemies with the King’s standard heavy against my breast. Perhaps with the banner, Halbarad gave me something of his madness for I felt neither pain nor fear until we broke through to Imrahil’s lines. Uncle saw to it that we were all mounted and we went forth again this times to the very gates of the City. Mithrandir was there already and Aragorn and Éomer arrived soon after. Almost immediately, Aragorn ordered the banner furled and taken to the camp that his Dunedain were making. I would have argued for the exhilaration of battle was still upon me but Mithrandir interrupted with the tale of recent happenings within the City and we all came as quickly as we could.”

Faramir’s eyes shone as he watched his brother. “I wish I had been there. I wish I could have seen.” Yearning mixed with joy in Faramir’s strained voice and Boromir felt a sudden shiver of dread.

“I have done much for which I am deeply ashamed.” Boromir stumbled over the words. He had not wanted to say them so soon but the weight of his conscience was suddenly too much to carry alone.

Sitting up straighter against the pillows supporting him, Faramir did his best to lean forward. Reaching out, he touched Boromir’s face. “I know something of what you would tell me. You cannot change what has been done but you can learn from it. Believe me, I love you and I am very proud of you.”

“I have been so blind, so stupidly blind.” The words broke into a sob that Boromir quickly strangled. Aragorn had already said something similar to him but he had needed his brother’s judgment before he could trust any words of solace.

“No, you see very clearly. Only, perhaps, not so far ahead.”

Laughing hoarsely, Boromir reached out to deliver a gentle shove. He checked the motion, however, at Faramir’s anticipatory wince and changed the motion into a soft caress. “Well, I love you, too. And I think it is time for you to rest. Let me just fetch a blanket.”

“No need, I am fine.” Faramir replied, hoping that his words would help Boromir make some peace with himself.

“Not for you, Mutton-head. For me.” And despite Faramir’s protest that Boromir would be more comfortable elsewhere, he was determined to stay through the rest of the night. Faramir had been alone too long.


Fatigue had reduced Aragorn’s thought processes to the most basic levels. The simplest task required the utmost concentration. Even wrapping a bandage seemed nearly beyond him but he smiled at the old woman, face lined with worry, as his numb fingers made a final knot in the worn cloth. Taking the smile to mean that now everything was well, the woman clasped Aragorn’s hand and pressed it to her forehead before returning her attention to the child who until recently had had an abscess the size of a man’s fist in the pit of her arm.

Rising Aragorn looked about him, waiting for another mother, sister, or daughter to lead him to the next forgotten victim. His vision swam but when it cleared the only ones before him were a very grim elf and dwarf.

“It is time and passed that you return to your own camp, Aragorn. We have been seeking you since you did not return from the Houses of Healing, as have your brothers and the Dunedain. It is dangerous for you to wander off.”

“I went where I was needed.” Aragorn replied, a bit wounded by the rebuke in the elf’s soft voice. As ever in time of war the healers first concerned themselves with the men wounded in battle, but common sickness and accidental injuries did not simply disappear until a more convenient time. Aragorn had been powerless against the entreaties of those who gathered around the healers begging help. Besides, he had hardly wandered off. Halbarad would not let him get lost. Even as he thought this, Aragorn sought to suppress a sudden nausea. Unbidden the image of his kinsman lying pale and shaking with the cold that there was not enough blood left in his veins to hold back rose before Aragorn’s tired eyes. But, no! Halbarad was not fatally hurt. Aragorn would know if it were otherwise. Shaking off the sudden sickness, Aragorn docilely consented to return to his camp. Legolas and Gimli promised to follow him as soon as they had called off the search.

Despite his promise, Aragorn could not return to camp without first going to the houses of healing. It was quieter than it had been but there were still many people working busily. Pulling his hood over his head, Aragorn made his way through the corridors to a quieter room where Faramir had been placed. He needed to look in just to see, just to make sure everything was all right. Leaning against the doorframe, Aragorn allowed his eyes to adjust to the dim light of the small fire burning low in the grate. The first thing Aragorn made out was Boromir sprawled across the coverlet snoring loudly. For a moment he did not see any evidence of Faramir and a pit of dread opened in Aragorn’s belly but then he saw the smaller figured obscured by his brother’s bulk curled tightly into a ball on the extreme edge of the bed. Smiling to himself, Aragorn considered waking Boromir so that he could go find a bed he would not need to share. Even as he thought this, though, he saw Faramir begin to shiver. He gripped the bedclothes and began making small noises of distress. Aragorn’s muscles were only just firing into motion when- mid snore Boromir turned on his side and threw a heavy arm across his brother’s chest and Faramir quieted.

Aragorn might have fallen asleep for a few moments in that doorway listening to the soft sounds of Faramir’s sleep beneath the louder sounds of Boromir. He roused though, at the sound of footsteps. Guiltily he retreated from his beloved’s room. Forcing himself into a stumbling run he hoped to reach his own camp before Legolas and Gimli arrived to find him missing once again.


It was less than ten hours later when Aragorn found himself once more approaching Faramir’s room. This time he was with Boromir and Imrahil and his mind while no longer quite so befuddled with fatigue was nonetheless full with the events of the morning. Aragorn had convened a meeting to discuss the next step the powers of the West would take. He had been certain of his own course. He would do whatever was in his power to gain Frodo even a slight advantage. He had been prepared to use whatever persuasive power was at his disposal to gain the army necessary for his task. All that had been needed, however, was for him to state his intent. Imrahil and Éomer had both offered him support in such terms that he had only been able to blink at them in grateful surprise. But it had been Boromir had given him the greater astonishment.

The beginning of Aragorn’s relationship with Boromir had been tense but as they had slowly grown better acquainted with one another, Aragorn grew to admire, respect and finally love the stubborn warrior. Aragorn even flattered himself that Boromir had likewise warmed to him and a spirit of trust and brotherhood had grown between them. Aragorn understood full well that all the hard won trust would be put to the test upon their return to Minas Tirith and for that reason he had dreaded facing Boromir at the meeting. Boromir had accepted him as a companion in arms and he had even bowed to his leadership after Moria but a Captain was not King. If Boromir still doubted him, Aragorn was not certain he had the will to force the issue.

The Steward stood silent throughout the debate and though Strider dearly wished to defer any confrontation Elessar could not allow any potential discord to be left to fester. On the point of asking Boromir directly whether he was content that Aragorn should lead the expedition, Aragorn was saved by Imrahil’s interjection. “My lord Steward, do these plans meet with your approval?” Though the Prince spoke quietly no one missed the importance of the moment. If Boromir wished to dispute Aragorn’s present or future position now was the time for him to declare himself.

“We have made the best choice we could from a range of dismal options.” Boromir responded with a shrug.

His muscles tightening Aragorn wondered if this was enough. Being the lesser of evils was hardly a glowing endorsement but before Aragorn could decide if he wished to press the matter, Boromir continued: “Even were it otherwise, I would always take the path chosen by Aragorn. I follow him.”

The tension in the room eased noticeably. Gandalf, seeing that he had achieved what he wished, brought the meeting to a close. As the Captains broke into small informal groups Gandalf came to Aragorn’s side. “You appear flummoxed, my lord. If it were not patently silly I would think by your reaction that you expected Boromir to have reprised his performance at Elrond’s Council.”

Blinking Aragorn turned to his friend. “I did not know what to expect. I feared to let myself hope.”

“When the Ring’s influence passed form him, he turned to you. Did you not see?”

“We never spoke of it but it was to Gondor that he turned.”

“Exactly.” Gandalf rejoined, giving the ranger a smug smile.

Upon entering Faramir’s sick room, all thought of the morning’s council fled Aragorn’s mind and he was drawn irresistibly to where Faramir was propped up into a sitting position on his bed. “How are you feeling?” He asked quietly, pressing the back of his hand against the younger man’s forehead and smiling to find it reassuringly cool.

“Quite well, thank you.” Faramir murmured, blushing a little as Aragorn clicked his tongue against his teeth and Boromir snorted. Even Imrahil directed an incredulous look at his nephew. More of the Captain’s skin was covered in bandages than not and when his visitors had entered his room Faramir had leaned forward stretching his arms toward them in greeting but then he had dropped his arms and fallen back against the cushions as the sudden movement sent pain surging through his body.

Both to distract attention from his own health and because he had been concerned, Faramir asked after Halbarad. Aragorn, who had not yet stopped letting his fingers move gently over Faramir’s forehead, laughed with the gladness born of relief that was still strong in him. “He is still a little weak but his prospects are no worse than those of the rest of us. `Tis well, for I do not know that I could have forgiven him had died for a symbol. I must be very grateful to Boromir for having better sense.”

“For Halbarad, it was a matter of honor.” Faramir was exercising all his self-control to keep from leaning against Aragorn. He told himself that it would be inappropriate to demonstrate too much of his need for Aragorn’s touch in front of his family but in truth if Aragorn would but embrace him first or make some undeniable sign that Faramir’s affection was welcome then no consideration of propriety could have held him back. Deliberately, Aragorn took several steps from Faramir’s bedside and began to examine the jars of medicine that had been left out for Faramir’s treatment. He had to remove himself from the temptation of his beloved’s nearness.

Having some notion of how much his brother and Aragorn had missed one another Boromir had wanted to give them as much of a private moment as possible. When Aragorn moved away, though, Boromir dragged a stool to Faramir’s bedside and clasped both his hands. With the air of a man imparting painful news he recounted what had been decided at the morning’s meeting. Aragorn and Faramir exchanged frequent glances as Boromir talked. Faramir was clearly a little unnerved by the manner in which Boromir spoke and Aragorn offered small smiles by way of reassurance.

“Faramir, you know you are very unwell.” Boromir pressed his brother’s hands even tighter. “We must ride forth, for we have no other choice, but… but you know that you are in no condition to accompany us. Besides, there is much to do here. You must govern the City and protect it. This task is as crucial as any other.”

Boromir was clearly doing his best to offer comfort but Aragorn wondered if the Steward was completely convinced himself. Faramir smiled a little and Aragorn realized that Faramir knew how terrible Boromir believed it was to be left behind. Aragorn could not help but be reminded of Éowyn. That passionate and headstrong young woman believed that the only task in war worthy of honor was fighting and that belief had caused her to abandon the people charged to her care and disobey the orders of her King. Were Boromir the one commanded to remain in Minas Tirith Aragorn was not certain the new Steward would be able to obey any more than Éowyn had. Certainly, he would think the order showed a lack of trust. In this matter, as perhaps in others, Aragorn suspected that Faramir was both the wiser and the stronger.

“This is no reflection upon you, Brother. No one can doubt your courage.” Boromir was beginning to babble in his need to keep Faramir from feeling any sense of injury or insult.

“Boromir.” Aragorn interrupted the other man just as he was drawing breath to continue. “Faramir understands the necessity of the duty that has fallen to him. It is enough.”

Patting his brother’s hand to prove he did indeed understand, Faramir thought of the dream that had set Boromir on the path to Rivendell. Faramir had known that path would lead to Aragorn and he had desperately wanted the mission for himself. Denethor’s behavior, though, had been growing increasingly erratic and Faramir felt that he had to stay and moderate his father’s judgments as much as possible. On top of that, Aragorn and Boromir needed time to get to know one another before coming to Minas Tirith. Now, too, Faramir desperately wanted to do his duty in this war. He wanted to be by Aragorn’s side and share the danger of combat. Yet, he had always known that Boromir was the greater warrior and that his own talents were best employed in other ways. It was not the easiest of truths but neither was it the most difficult.

Imrahil was next to speak. It was still possible to lose much in this war and not lose everything and it had seemed the responsible thing to discuss contingencies if the army sent to the Black Gate met with disaster. It did not take the four men long to realize that there was little profit in this sort of speculation, though. There were too many unknowns and no plan could possibly cover the wide number of possibilities. Falling silent the men saw in each other’s faces the seriousness of the situation that confronted them.

Aragorn had accepted Boromir and Imrahil’s offer to meet with some of the Gondor’s Captains after their meeting with Faramir. He had already met many of them that morning but it had been generous of the Uncle and Nephew to think to introduce the important military leaders in a less formal atmosphere where their new commander would gain a broader impression of the men. Aragorn wondered, though, if he might ask to spend a few minutes talking with Faramir privately before this. Boromir seemed able to interpret the pining looks passing between his brother and his king and he had taken his uncle by the arm to whisper in his ear when one of the healers knocked on the door and then entered with two assistants trailing him.

“I do apologize.” The healer stammered surprised to see his patient with so many important visitors. “I did not mean to interrupt, my lords, but it is time to change the Captain’s bandages. Also he is not able to eat much at a time so we must give him small meals often and we should also see about…”

“You need not apologize.” Aragorn assured the healer resignedly. Faramir shrank back into the bed, embarrassed to hear his condition discussed. “We have finished here. You must give the Captain as much care as you can for we have great need of him.”


Ordinarily, Faramir enjoyed Isu’s company. He took a friendly almost avuncular interest in the lad’s career and being with him always filled the Captain with nostalgic warmth. At the moment however, Faramir found annoyance warring with exhaustion as the Khandorric lad offered his deep sympathies for the injuries that precluded his Captain from joining the army’s march. While grateful for the concern, Faramir wished that people were not so keen to find his situation tragic. Unlike Boromir, Faramir never yearned for battle; he endured it only because there was no choice. His only regret about remaining in Minas Tirith was that it kept him from Aragorn, Boromir and others of his dearest friends and family. He was more than willing to lay down his life to protect his King, his Steward or his people but he was under no illusion that their fates rested upon the strength of his sword. He was content to take up a task that he felt he had some aptitude for and which no one else wanted.

Isu, in his enthusiasm, had moved from condoling with Faramir to discussing how eager he was to renew his acquaintance with Halbarad and how Aragorn had suggested they find an opportunity to discuss the implications of Khand’s response to Sauron’s call to war. Faramir had to muffle a sigh at this. Aragorn had come across Isu in this very House, as each had had the intention of visiting Faramir. The two stopped to greet one another and exchange a few words. Isu had not been the least surprised to learn of Aragorn’s identity. Indeed, Faramir suspected he would have been more surprised if Strider had not returned in some heroic capacity before too much longer. In the end, however, Aragorn did not visit Faramir on that afternoon as he was caught by Mithrandir and whisked away to other duties. Faramir tried his best to keep his disappointment in check but he grew listless and he found it difficult to concentrate on Isu’s cheerful chatter. After an enervating hour, Isu ended his visit and Faramir was left to his own thoughts.

Faramir told himself that it was selfish to expect that Aragorn would have time to visit him often. He should be grateful for as much time as he was given. This was the time of his nation’s greatest peril and the King should rightly dedicate his every moment to averting the threat. Faramir had waited ten years. He could wait a little longer. Indeed, had he not seen Aragorn, touched him, heard him call his name. How many times over the past ten years had Faramir sworn that if only he could be granted that then he would be content. If there was anything to lament it was only that Faramir was not well enough to help Aragorn with all the thousand duties that now claimed him. Faramir should concentrate all his attention on regaining his strength as quickly as possible so that he could take up his own responsibilities in the care and protection of Gondor. Despite his determination to avoid anything resembling self-pity while the future of the West was so perilous Faramir found himself tossing restlessly in his bed, the night before the army departed for the Black Gates. Sleep would not come and his thoughts would not settle. The aches of his injuries nagged at him and he could find no peace for his mind or body.

Suddenly, all of his disquiet collapsed to a single point and Faramir pushed himself up in his bed, ignoring the sudden flaring pain in his arm.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” The words were soft coming from the shadows of the doorway.

“No. I have been waiting for you.”

Lighting a candle, Aragorn made his way slowly into the room. Faramir’s face was drawn and pale in the flickering light but his eyes shone vividly. Aragorn felt a certain trepidation in being so near his dearly loved one. He ached to reach out to the younger man but he was afraid to open himself to the emotional tide that would sweep through him if he lessened his guard for even a moment. He was nearly at the end of a path that stretched out behind him for many generations. If he let himself rest now where would he find the strength to start again? Even as he felt danger prickle his skin and fatigue sap his will Aragorn could not keep himself from moving to Faramir’s bedside. With trembling fingers Aragorn reached out and caressed the side of Faramir’s face. After a moment, a deep breath shuddered from Aragorn’s chest and he laid his head gently against Faramir’s uninjured shoulder.

“I have been so afraid, Faramir. You were so lost. I was so lost; I couldn’t find you. Do not go so far from me again.” Aragorn’s shoulders trembled and Faramir tried to press their bodies together but he could not seem to bring Aragorn any closer. “I- I could not endure it if you passed beyond my reach. I need you with me …” Aragorn’s voice ground to a halt as he struggled to take in air.

“No, no, my lord.” Faramir’s voice dripped tears as he pressed Aragorn’s head into his shoulder and tried again to force the older man to relax into his embrace. “I am here, Aragorn. We are together. I will always come to you, always. We are bound together, you and I. There is no shadow dark enough, no place far enough that I will not hear you call to me and return to you.”

With another gasping breath, Aragorn lifted his head. His eyes were red and the muscles in his face contorted with strain. The evidence of worry and exhaustion marking his beloved’s strong face twisted Faramir’s heart and he leaned forward to press soft kisses to Aragorn’s wet cheeks. For a moment Aragorn was still, but then he took Faramir’s chin in his hand and guided their lips together. Faramir relaxed as Aragorn’s arms wound around him and deepened their kiss. Tasting the salt of their mingled tears, Faramir pushed himself closer to Aragorn and this time succeeded in pressing his chest to the older man’s. The cloth of Aragorn’s shirt chafed Faramir’s skin but he only pressed the harder.

Still holding Faramir in his arms, Aragorn broke their kiss and gazed at the younger man. Raising his hand to brush back Faramir’s hair, Aragorn chuckled softly. “I came here to see how you were faring, love. I thought to speak words of encouragement yet it is you who has had to comfort me.”

“I love you, Aragorn. I have missed you so badly.” Faramir was struggling to hold Aragorn but his injuries made him awkward as he tried to maneuver himself out from the bedclothes.

“I love you, too. Be careful, Faramir.” Aragorn remonstrated as an unguarded movement sent a shiver of pain through Faramir’s injured shoulder. “Here, let me.” With infinite care, Aragorn freed his beloved from the tangled bedclothes. Arranging the other man as comfortably as possible, Aragorn let his hand hover over Faramir’s bandaged shoulder. He felt the burning heat of it but that was preferable to the deathly cold that had seeped from the wound earlier.

“Will you not stay beside me?” The question was almost a whisper but Aragorn sighed in something like relief. He had not realized just how much he had needed to be asked. Pushing off his boots, Aragorn curled around Faramir laying a hand on his chest.

“How are you doing, my heart, truly?”

“I tire quickly but I am doing all that the healers advise me. I have been told that I shall be allowed to sit outside for a while tomorrow as a reward for good behavior.”

Aragorn chuckled but then spoke more soberly. “And how are you otherwise?”

Just in time, Faramir caught himself before trying to shrug. “I hardly know. Everything is happening so fast now. I can see nothing beyond how happy I am that you are here.” Not caring as newly healing skin pulled dangerously taut and burned flesh chafed, Faramir turned into Aragorn’s chest and forced both arms around his neck. He clung desperately to the other man, anchoring himself to the certainty of his lord’s strength. Aragorn returned the embrace with equal need. He had held Faramir’s memory as one of his dearest treasures but the memory could not compare to having Faramir in his arms.

Overcome with the need to give and receive physical reassurance Aragorn sought Faramir’s mouth with his own. They kissed hungrily, Faramir searching through the loose folds of Aragorn’s shirt to touch flesh. It felt to Faramir as though he had been walking a lonely path through a long night. It was only now, though, at the first pale light of dawn that he could look about him and see the sheer cliff’s edge that he had been traversing. He could see now with perfect clarity, Denethor’s growing madness, the flagging hopes of his people, the drained will of his allies and the moments of his own near despair. Even through his worst moments though his oath to Aragorn had kept his steps strong and his footing sure. He had been wounded but he would heal. Faramir had been spared the madness that had overtaken his father and the agony of doubt, despair and guilt that had threatened to leave him crippled. Losing himself further into Aragorn’s kiss, Faramir let go of the horror that had promised to haunt his dreams.

Something of Faramir’s feelings communicated themselves through the tremors that shook his body and Aragorn pressed him tighter. “I missed you so much.” Murmuring into Faramir’s unshaven neck Aragorn ran his hands- stiff with controlled need- lightly down Faramir’s back. “I must have written to you a hundred times only to burn the letters. Always I listened for news of you, anything, a rumor the merest mention of you was a feast to a starving man.”

“Every day I thought of you. As I went to sleep, I imagined your arms around me, like this.” Faramir replied still fighting with Aragorn’s shirt for contact with his skin. “I drove Mithrandir to distraction whenever he visited for I could only speak of you. I had to make sure you were well, happy, that you still thought of me, that you still wanted… still loved me.” Faramir’s voice caught on the last sentence and he closed his eyes against his tears.

“Oh gods, Faramir I have wanted you, needed you, loved you every moment from the time we traveled east together. Uncertainty sometimes plagues me but never uncertainty about that.”

“Love me now.” It was part question, part plea and part demand.

“Ah, you are so beautiful to me right now, my Faramir.” Long dark lashes swept downward and a small self-conscous smile tugged at Faramir’s lips. Aragorn gently caressed the side of Faramir’s face, feeling the truth of his words. Nor did the yellowing bruises and red swathes of healing burns diminish Faramir’s loveliness. Even a less introspective man than Aragorn could not have helped but notice that the vulnerability of another especially one who was particularly innocent, conscientious or diligent never failed to tug at his heartstrings. There was certainly vulnerability in Faramir but what truly drew Aragorn’s soul was the other man’s resilience, the hidden force. There was no question that Faramir loved and needed Aragorn but Faramir was also a never-ending source of support and strength for Aragorn. The paradox of the fragile and the indomitable was also within Frodo and that was somehow a hopeful thought.

“What will my lord do with his beautiful Faramir?” The question was a hushed whisper. It might have been coquettish except there was too much earnest passion behind it. A surge of affection gripped Aragorn’s heart and he dropped his head to nuzzle Faramir’s neck.

There was a tension within Aragorn far too reminiscent of that that over took his muscles before battle. “Ah Faramir, I love you so. I could not endure it if I hurt you. You must tell me if ever you… you… Don’t let me, just… don’t let me.”

Stroking Aragorn’s back, Faramir smiled. Aragorn was so very wise and yet this simple thing he could not understand. “I love you, Aragorn. I trust you. I want everything of you. If you have pain to give me, I want that. I ache for it.”

Breathing heavily into Faramir’s uninjured shoulder, Aragorn tried to rein in his swirling feelings. “No pain, love. Only happiness, only joy.”

“Yes.” Faramir agreed, relaxing back into the mattress. Moving his thighs apart, he invited Aragorn to settle into the cradle of his hips. He started to sway upward gently. Desire tightened through his belly even as bliss softened the edges of his thoughts.

With a groan, Aragorn let himself sink onto Faramir. He would be careful, but there was no resisting the younger man. Grief for the lost years passed over him but it was gone the moment Faramir began to rock beneath him. The smooth chest- profaned though it had been by fire- was pushed urgently against Aragorn’s own. Even through the barrier of his shirt the sensation sent shivers running through Aragorn but he cried aloud when Faramir pressed their groins together.

Hands shaking with controlled urgency, Aragorn untied the laces of the Faramir’s loose breeches. Rising to his knees, he pushed the fabric down over slim hips and firm thighs. Faramir did his best to speed this process, but Aragorn was transfixed by the pale flesh covered by a dusting of dark hair and would not hurry. Stroking the sharp bones of Faramir’s hips, Aragorn watched the play of muscle in Faramir’s legs as the younger man shifted in hopes of relieving some of the insistent urgency of his erection. Murmuring in appreciation, Aragorn’s caressing hands moved closer and closer to his lover’s sex.

Uncertain if he most wanted to turn into Aragorn’s nearing grip or lift his knees to his chest and pull Aragorn against him Faramir writhed on the bed. “Please.”

The sound broke Aragorn from his near trance and he leaned down to kiss Faramir at the same time closing his fist over his lover’s arousal. Panting, Faramir wrapped his arms around Aragorn and did his best to enclose the older man within the circle of his legs. His tongue delving deeply into his lover’s mouth Aragorn released Faramir’s penis to scrabble at the lacing of his own trousers while he used his other hand to keep his weight from crushing his lover. Faramir did his best to help push Aragorn’s trousers down his hips. He clutched at the newly exposed skin and used all the leverage he could to press them together. When his erection finally sprang free of its confinement, Aragorn slid it along side of Faramir, both men groaning with the contact.

To Faramir, it was both too much and not enough. In times passed, just the thought of what was happening now could bring him to shuddering orgasm. Now, his senses were so far overwhelmed that he could only clamor for more without any idea of an endpoint. Panting, the lovers writhed together. Aragorn was settling more of his weight on top of Faramir avoiding- as much as his desperate need to get as close as possible would allow- putting any pressure on Faramir’s shoulder or the worst of the burns on his chest. Faramir groaned at the reassuring heaviness and shifted his hips up, trying to tempt Aragorn between his thighs.

This was no temptation that Aragorn could resist but the fabric of his trousers still clung around his hips and hampered his movements. Drawing Faramir’s bottom lip into his mouth, he sucked firmly on the plump flesh for a moment before moving back. Following his beloved’s motion, Faramir sat up lavishing wet kisses upon Aragorn’s bearded cheek as the other man maneuvered himself out of his clothing. This moment’s respite was enough, however, for both men to pull back from the cliff’s edge they had been so heedlessly hurtling toward.

Sitting on his knees, Aragorn and Faramir exchanged kisses that remained passionate but were less frantic than they had just been. Aragorn considered that the wisest course was to continue as they had been, to bring each other to release with their hands. Faramir was injured after all and the ranger himself was so overwrought with so many emotions and so much long suppressed desire that he felt hardly able to recognize himself. Even as this occurred to him, though, Aragorn realized that his need for Faramir was simply too powerful within him to follow the wisest course. In the healing room there were many emoluments close to hand and Aragorn reached for the nearest container. This motion was not lost on Faramir who surprised both himself and his lover by laughing gleefully.

“Tell me you love me. Tell me you want this as much as I do.” Aragorn’s husky whisper sent shivers of joyous anticipation trilling down Faramir’s spine.

“Yes. I love you. I want this, want you.”

Reaching into the jar, Faramir coated his fingers in the herbal grease that had previously been so conscientiously applied to his burns. Aragorn watched in still fascination as Faramir rose on his knees and simultaneously grasped Aragorn’s arousal with one hand and reached behind himself with the other. As soon as the slick fingers closed around him, Aragorn’s eyes squeezed shut and he dropped the burn ointment as he grabbed his lover’s hips. For a moment, Aragorn could do no more than press his forehead against Faramir’s shoulder and fight back the impending orgasm, and then with a desperate look he touched his lover’s wrist. He could maintain no control if Faramir continued stroking him so. With a smile that managed to convey reluctance Faramir complied with the unspoken request.

“I love you.” Aragorn breathed the words into Faramir’s ear before quickly collecting the pillows that had been scattered during their earlier thrashing. Piling them together, he guided his lover against them.

As Faramir lay back he reached for the oil, once again coating his fingers. Bending his knees, he canted his hips upward and moved his hand to probe behind his straining erection and tightened balls. He moved as quickly as he could. He wanted Aragorn so badly but he knew his lover, he would insist upon some level of preparation. Though one of the many things Faramir had missed in his beloved’s too long absence was the gentle and tender way he opened Faramir’s body, the Captain felt that that if they did not join soon he would simply go careening off into madness. Dimly he was aware that his shoulder throbbed and that the reserves of energy he had struggled to build in the passed three days were rapidly depleting but such thoughts wandered on the far periphery of the things that were important.

Quickly greasing his own hands Aragorn kissed his way down Faramir’s sternum, murmuring endearments as he went. His fingers left glossy trails along his lover’s ribs as he moved downward. He paused at Faramir’s naval thrusting his tongue inside and watching the muscles spasm in reaction. He nuzzled the wiry hair at Faramir’s groin, holding the younger man as he trembled at the sensation. Then he swished his tongue across the tip of his penis. Faramir’s hips jerked upward and a strangled cry broke from his throat. Smiling, Aragorn bent his head to continue but Faramir stopped him.

“Please, I can’t… I can’t… Aragorn, not yet, not before… please.”

“All right.” Aragorn soothed, caressing Faramir’s thigh. “But here let me do this.” Cupping Faramir’s balls for a moment Aragorn then moved to stroke the delicate strip of flesh between Faramir’s testicles and the place where the younger man was using two fingers to stab almost brutally into himself. Aragorn could not have denied that- drowning in arousal as he already was- the sight of Faramir preparing his wonderfully beautiful body, eagerly- almost frantically- making himself ready for Aragorn sent yet another wave desire through him. Aragorn, though –as always seemed to happen whenever he so much as thought of his younger lover- felt a strong desire to claim, to possess. Faramir belonged to him and it was for him to ensure that his beloved was well cared for. And if there were ever the need for roughness then that too was Aragorn’s prerogative. That last thought passed too quickly through the uncrowned King’s consciousness for Aragorn to catch it. Thus, lost in clouds of lust he sank sharp teeth into the skin of Faramir’s hip before he was aware of his intention.

“Oh, oh gods!” Faramir keened helplessly. His body had gone suddenly very tense and then limp. “Again! Oh, do that. My lord.”

Twin arrows, one of desire and one of guilt struck Aragorn the moment his teeth closed over Faramir’s soft skin. He fought down both and sent his tongue out to soothe any hurt. At the same time he reached beneath Faramir to clasp the very firm and yet very pliable buttocks. Letting out another soft groan Faramir raised his legs pulling them into his chest. After a few firm squeezes, Aragorn released Faramir’s buttocks and ran a finger up and down the valley between them. Pressing inside gently, Aragorn tested his lover’s readiness. Though his finger slid in without resistance the heat and pressure of Faramir was beyond description. Quickly adding a second finger Aragorn twisted them slowly.

“Tell me again, my Faramir. Tell me you love me?”

“I do. I love you. I want you inside me now, always. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” Aragorn answered, withdrawing his fingers as he spoke and beginning to glide his penis up and down between Faramir’s buttocks. The motion felt so good and Aragorn let himself enjoy the slip and slide of oiled flesh. He made sure as well that as he moved back and forth against Faramir, he could also press his belly to Faramir’s catching his lover’s erection between them and rubbing it between their bodies. Faramir had both arms around Aragorn’s neck and he was tightening the muscles in his buttocks so that he was squeezing Aragorn’s length. At the same time he could not resist shifting beneath Aragorn’s weight. He wanted to feel the blunt head of Aragorn’s sex pressing against him and then finally inside him.

Faramir’s invitations could not be misunderstood and it was not long before Aragorn was drawn inexorably inside the younger man. He kept his eyes focused on his lover’s face, taking in the subtle flush to the face and neck, the sheen of sweat upon his brow, swollen lips parted slightly in an expression of indescribable emotion and finally the pale eyes that reminded Aragorn of the sun shining through a rain storm. Faramir met Aragorn’s gaze with equal intensity. Moving slowly but continuously the two men pressed together. When they were fully joined they paused. Beyond words they gazed at one another before setting a slow rhythm.

Release came upon them suddenly. They had been so close to the brink for so long that between one breath and the next each teetered and fell. It would have been impossible to say who came first for the moment one of the lovers started to slip the other tumbled with him. It went on and on. Aragorn pumped furiously into Faramir, emptying himself deep inside him. He wanted to mark the very core of his beloved. He had to show the younger man how much he needed him, how truly they belonged to one another. Faramir was his.

Clutching Aragorn’s back and shoulders, Faramir clung to the older man as he shook with the seemingly endless orgasm. Faramir struggled to pull Aragorn closer as he spilled himself across their bellies. A strange expression had come over the younger man’s features as he felt the searing heat of Aragorn spread through him and the warmth of his own release smearing between their bodies.

They remained together as long as possible but too soon Faramir felt his beloved slip away from him. Both men, blissfully exhausted, touched and kissed lazily. Faramir became aware once more of his shoulder. It ached and he suspected it would hurt very much in the morning but now even the ache was somehow good.

Easing his weight to the side, Aragorn trailed his fingers down Faramir’s stomach. Collecting droplets of seed, he brought his hand to his lips, tasting Faramir, smiling to once again have reacquainted all of his senses with his beloved. The frantic urgency driving their bodies together had abated and without the clamor of unsatisfied physical yearning the two could simply be together, loving and experiencing each other with quiet words and soft touches.

“You were wonderful, my love.” Aragorn’s warm breath drifted against Faramir’s ear as he whispered. Everything was wonderful, Aragorn thought. In a few moments, when he regained a little energy, he would rise and wet a cloth in the bowl of herb-scented water that was kept at the ready to cool a patient’s fever. He looked forward to gently cleansing their bodies of sweat and seed, feeling the cool liquid against his skin, watching the water sparkled on Faramir’s. He would check over Faramir’s bandages, perhaps he should even brew some willow bark for his lover. It pleased him to fuss over his Faramir and was he not justified in taking special care of his dear one. Yes, even this room was wonderful, conspiring to possess everything convenient for them.

Faramir, pushed beyond the limits of his fragile strength, could not hold back the flood of murmured words that for so long he had been forced to keep imprisoned in Aragorn’s absence. Fears that seemed foolish now but that had held the young man in mortal terror through many long days spilled from him in a whisper that began to slur as the release of so much dread made Faramir the more vulnerable to sleep. He spoke too of hopes, desires and desperate yearnings. One moment Faramir’s sentences ran over one another as emotion gripped him but not long after they would trail into silence as Faramir’s eyes drooped shut. He seemed asleep, finally overcome by all that had come before, but then Faramir would fight to open his heavy eyelids and continue on. Throughout it all `I love you,’ could be heard most frequently. To Faramir that was all he truly needed to say, the entire flood of helpless words meant `I love you.’

Cradling the younger man against him, Aragorn listened, until he could no longer endure seeing Faramir battle to remain awake: “Sleep, my love. We have much to say to one another and I mean to hear every word. Now, though you should rest, recover your strength.”

“Don’t want to sleep.” Faramir objected between delivering drowsy kisses to Aragorn’s neck. “I don’t want to be away from you even in sleep. Let me stay with you now, while I may.”

“Don’t fret, love.” Aragorn soothed, pulling the younger man firmly into his chest. “We can afford sleep. Very soon, very soon now we will be together with no fear of parting.”

Aragorn was hardly certain of this. Ordinarily, he would not have felt entirely justified making such a promise but with Faramir nestled so securely in his arms, he allowed his need to believe speak over a coldly rational assessment of their situation.

With a soft breathy laugh, Faramir tightened his grip around Aragorn’s waist. “I know it. I love you, my lord and I know that you will come back to us. But even so, let me have these moments.”

Even through his nearly stuporous fatigue Faramir heard something in Aragorn’s silence that alerted him to his lord’s doubt. “You will return! We will be together again.” This was said with great conviction but then Faramir continued. The words were a plea that seemed to hover on the threshold of impossible anguish. “If you but will it so, I shall never leave your side. I have seen it.”

After kissing Faramir with an almost violent intensity, Aragorn sought then held his lover’s gaze, “What have you seen, my love, that you should be satisfied as to the future of this great war yet remain uncertain that I mean to love you all my days?”

Conscious of the rebuke in Aragorn’s words, color crept up Faramir’s cheeks and he lowered submissive eyes. Aragorn waited, patient and inexorable as the sea and eventually Faramir lifted his gaze. In a hushed almost apologetic tone, Faramir explained his long ago vision of Aragorn’s coronation. He now recognized the figures he had thought were children as hobbits and in particular Frodo with his faithful companion, Samwise. The identity of other figures had become evident as well. Now it seemed that with each new person Faramir encountered yet another part of his vision became reality.

“It was so long ago and you say the images were always changing…” Aragorn did not doubt the pure vein of prophecy in Faramir but there seemed little certainty in what Faramir had described.

“Not this time, though! This time, this time was different.”

“You had the vision again?”

“Yes.” Faramir answered quickly and then frowned as though confused that Aragorn should ask. “Did I not say? Just now, only moments ago… just when we were together. Everything will be all right, my Aragorn- my lord. I know it.”

“All right.” Aragorn repeated, uncertain what to feel except gratitude for Faramir’s smiles. “Very well, my Faramir everything will be all right and it is safe to sleep now.”

Faramir began a protest that morphed into a soft sigh of acquiescence. He was so very tired and it was easy to obey Aragorn. His eyes closed and by the time Aragorn had lightly kissed the lids, Faramir was asleep. It was a sweet thing to Aragorn to gaze at his beloved’s face in repose but his own fatigue dulled his vision. Within moments, Aragorn slumped forward against the pillows, seeking his beloved through happy dreams.

End

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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10 Comment(s)

Ah, a story with a real plot and real character does stupid dances... I´m so thankful for that ;)
Very nice so far and I´m looking forward to learn more about Khand and our mysterios ranger xD…
Please write more and update as soon as posible.

Greetings,
Elivyan

— elivyan    Saturday 15 July 2006, 4:38    #

Have read Trial and Judgement (although the beginning of it was mangled and I have no idea how much of it I missed) and anticipate another fine story here.

— Bell Witch    Saturday 15 July 2006, 11:36    #

i’m in deep trouble now, just can’t will myself to leave the wonderful little world you created thought i should have gone back to work long time ago…totally hooked! *sigh*

— traveller    Sunday 16 July 2006, 0:28    #

Great story! Thanks for sharing it with us.

— Mandy    Sunday 16 July 2006, 23:50    #

Read through Chapter 20 in one night and then no time to finish until now. You weave a fine story with plot and character details and cultural concepts that made those first twenty chapters a butt-hurtin’ necessity. Your Halbarad is especially interesting.

Damn fine story.

— Bell Witch    Monday 17 July 2006, 4:36    #

Read this over the past couple of weeks. This is a brilliant story. Your characterizations have sploiled me for the rest of the slash world – so resplendent and nuianced, grave and sweet in their integrity. The rich community of supporting characters itself was thrilling. What I value most is the simple layered craft of each chapter. Thank you!

— stillwell    Saturday 29 July 2006, 3:09    #

Wonderful – simply wonderful. A grand story. I will look for your work always. Wonderful.

— EJ    Saturday 14 April 2007, 22:34    #

very good story. Love it. I hope you write a sequel to it.

— kijo    Monday 3 November 2008, 6:58    #

I so love your stories, please, can you gifted us with a sequel or another marvelous story ?
Thanks for sharing!

— camille    Tuesday 30 December 2008, 15:28    #

Wow, I just came across your story and spend the whole night reading it! This is one of the few really fantastic LotR stories that I have found over the years.
I love the writing style and the character developement in this piece! Somehow I love the characterisation of Flyn … while I still dislike him personally :-)
There are many more reasons why I love this story, but I cant list them all here … instead, I think, I am going to reread this story immediately after I have finished this comment :-)

Thanks for sharing it with us!
(Please forgive any misspelling. English isn’t my first language)

— Mikkalea Luna    Saturday 14 May 2011, 19:39    #

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