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The Flame That Burns Within (R) Print

Written by Eora

23 December 2012 | 12161 words

[ all pages ]

Epilogue.

A fire, this time tamed by hearth and mantle. Faramir tended to it, iron poker in hand, dislodging stubborn wood and stoking the flames. His hair hung down across the side of his face, illuminated by the firelight, copper curls that had re-grown since his own trial by fire. Eventually, he stood, nodded in satisfaction and wiped the soot from his hands onto his breeches which he then set about removing.

Beregond lay on his side in the bed, just watching him. The house had been finished only a week, and the furnishing of it seemed to take up the remainder of the following days. Tonight, after sleeping for months on camp-beds in rangers’ outposts, Beregond finally had the luxury of a roof over his head and a mattress beneath his body. What was even better, was that it was a mattress, a bed, a home that he was sharing with Faramir. Emyn Arnen seemed a thousand leagues from the memory of Minas Tirith, and Beregond felt that though he could never forgive himself, never forget, never escape the past, he at least could find some small peace here. And Faramir loved him.

“Will you come to bed? I have spent too long sleeping alone these past weeks.”

Faramir turned to him and smiled. “Patience,” he said, and gathered up his clothing, folding it upon the clothes chest. Beregond liked his neatness, his attention to the small things. He liked Faramir’s gentleness. He liked how Faramir now was open to him, how he had become warm where before he had been cool, tender where he had been distant, unafraid where before he had shied away. Beregond was gazing at the fireplace when Faramir finally came to the bed and ran his fingers through the younger man’s hair. “It was not because I did not wish you beside me.”

“I know,” Beregond rolled onto his back, hair fanning out onto the pillow beneath his head. Faramir sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at him. “But you are here now, and I would like your heat.”

Faramir smiled wryly. “Cold?”

Beregond raised his eyebrows. “Lonely.”

“Ah.” And when Beregond slid over to allow him space, Faramir pulled back the cover and climbed in beside him, a warm thigh against Beregond’s. Before the former guard could speak, Faramir moved closer and kissed him, shy tenderness against his mouth. They had been together only twice since Beregond’s departure from the city, but both times had been a far cry from the hurried liaisons they had conducted up against walls or bent over desks. Both times, Faramir had shaken off his gruffness, what Beregond had thought was a show of unconcern, of the absence of feeling, and had turned out to be a gentle, considerate lover, and Beregond fell even further for him. His touch was seeking, never rough, his embraces loving, his caresses slow and affectionate. His kiss now was sweeter, and Beregond melted into it, his hand finding Faramir’s beneath the blankets.

“I love you.”

The red-gold light of the room made Faramir’s eyes gleam. A fingertip traced a lower lip. Faramir smiled, again; he had kept all of his smiles saved up for Beregond, it seemed. This one was sleepy, content, full of fondness. Beregond found himself returning it.

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5 Comment(s)

Very nicely done! I like the quiet tone of the fic, it suits both the characters and setting.

— Minx    Sunday 23 December 2012, 18:04    #

Thank you Minx! When I was writing it I got this overwhelming feeling of, not sadness, per se, but a more sedate, quiet atmosphere that carried me through it, which I hope sort of complimented the private nature of the relationship (or maybe not, but I tried!) :)

— Eora    Monday 24 December 2012, 15:26    #

What beautiful imagery! I love the way you capture both men!

— Ria    Monday 24 December 2012, 17:29    #

LO, WHAT AN EPICAL JOURNEY! O_O

When I read the first part, my immediate thought was: Exactly what this old, dull tomb needs. XD And then the narrative river broadened and the story grew and grew (quotation!) until I was drawn into the siege of Minas Tirith once more, so vivid and moving as if I witnessed it for the very first time. My dear friend, you are obviously made for the biggies! Not only that you are a master of headspace and inner dialogues, no, you also know how to propel the ´real´action. You might be pleased (or scared to the bone) to learn that now I will lean back with a cup of nice hot tea and a plate of scones in order to await the release of your first 1.000-pager… :)

Nevertheless there ar one or two aspects I like to point out in particular. First: As irritating as it sounds, I loved how horrified Beregond is by the prospect of being Faramir´s groundbreaking experience. Many cultures have this strange ´virginity´ thing running that, apart from other nonsense, alleges that it´s immensely desirable to be the first one, while ignoring the huge responsibility that comes with it. As long as you are just one amongst many, it is no big deal. But as the first one, you are responsible for shaping somebody´s idea of sexuality. Of course not a hundred percent, but there´s still a lot depending on you. All the cleverer men I know have decidedly declared their fondness for experienced partners. Quotation of ex-boyfriend: “Oh no, not a virgin! Crap!” X)

And second: Faramir failing at bringing his leader the `Great Secret Weapon`. Why yes! Most of the time all we (which is: me) see is how injust Faramir is treated by his father after rejecting the ring. BUT: As a matter of fact what he did was refusing not only the wish of his father but also the command of his military leader, this not even once but twice (a) when he did not give order to shoot the Hobbits once he spotted them and b) when he had the chance to get the ring). From outside it must indeed look as if he had betrayed his city, his people and the efforts of his brother. And then, when reporting those incidents, instead of apologizing (and promising not to do it again), his only self-defense is “I did what I judged to be right.” Let´s face it; Denethor´s reaction might seem cruel to us, but in his capacity as a ruler he would have been entitled to do a lot more to his undutiful son than just giving him an oration.

And the meaning of this pointless raving? Just that reading your fic brings up all sorts of deep and not-so-deep thoughts – not to mention that it makes me customarily crying. ;) Oh, and just since this is the perfect occasion: MERRY CHRISTMAS OVER THERE! :)

— raven22372    Tuesday 25 December 2012, 18:04    #

Ria- Thank you! :) I think I mention to everyone who ever leaves me a comment but to receive any compliment on characterisation is the best thing I can hear as I maintain that it is my biggest weakness (not that the rest of my writing is at some sort of golden standard but you know what I mean.) I’m glad you enjoyed, thank you for reading!

Raven- First of all, a VERY Merry Christmas to you too! I hope you’ve had a lovely day (and goodness, I hope I didn’t actually make you cry on Christmas day!!! D: ) The best thing about today was that they showed Fellowship on tv, with Two Towers tomorrow evening (and RotK on the 29th) !

Ohgrfdgbdfnbf, I really don’t know what to say. Thank you AGAIN as always for reading my stories and for always leaving such gorgeous feedback, I honestly sit here blushing like a fool whenever I read your thoughts because the things you say simply cannot be true at all, but thank you so very much anyway for saying them. 1000 page epic? Ahem, well, the longest story I’ve got in my archives is a paltry 60 pages, but as I was very lucky to receive a new laptop today (I talk as if I didn’t know about it- I paid for two thirds!) I’m sure we can try and beat that target! I’ve not even transferred my files over from the old one yet but I’ve already begun a story (cough something about a night before the coronation? cough although I hope you forgive me if this little accompaniment to your wonderful artwork doesn’t quite reach those lengths! ) Is this the longest fic I’ve published on this site? I didn’t check! I have so many plans for long stories that I can never quite get finished, though I do work on them on and off, so maybe, one day!

I was terrified of writing events during the siege. I still don’t think I’ve really captured it very well but I did try my best, but there was so much to fit in and I sincerely hope that my efforts are at least coherent. I really wanted a sort of mournful overtone to the whole story, only becoming happy at the very end, which I hope I’ve achieved. There were so many things I needed to include in this story and I hope I didn’t go overboard with the issues and events and emotions; Beregond’s sort of ‘…erm…’ over finding out rather abruptly that he is probably Faramir’s first experience with a man I tried to make out of a sort of pity that isn’t quite pitiful. I think he feels sorry for Faramir more than anything else, how he never seems to have anything nice happen to him, and that he feels the need to deny himself or to postpone the exploration of his inner feelings for so long. I hope he makes Faramir happy (and I think he does :)) Faramir’s not meant to be wholly without experience, but he’s never had cause or courage to look boldly at another man in this scenario.

Generally I just felt really sorry for Faramir during all of this :( He is the better son, in my opinion, though Boromir is in no way a bad person nor dishonourable but I think Faramir’s innate kindness and gentle mercy make him a more rounded individual. Obviously, Boromir is wholly on Faramir’s side but even he can’t stop the whims of their father from casting Faramir in the poorer light always. I wanted Faramir’s deep sense of duty, both to the realm and to his family, far outweigh his personal feelings, and his dislike of war, so much so that he wouldn’t even really voice his disinclination when he knows he rides out to an almost certain death. He might justify it to himself by knowing that he is doing the ‘right’ thing, retaking a city that he failed to hold as penance for letting the ring slip from Gondor’s grasp, and also, riding out, he may well be reunited with his brother soon enough anyway. These were the sorts of things I had in my mind when I was writing thing, perhaps not overtly but I tried to keep that mood and feeling at the forefront when I was writing Faramir’s character. I needed him to be sombre, deeply sad but quietly so, almost shrugging in the face of insurmountable woe as if to say ‘why bother getting upset, it changes nothing, and I must do my duty.’ Poor Faramir. I have so many angsty, sad story ideas concerning these things but I must give him something nice and fluffy to enjoy first I think :) (namely Aragorn’s chest-hair, ha!)

Thank you again for taking the time to read this story, and again, a most Merry Christmas to you! (And your parcel will be on its way very shortly!)

— Eora    Wednesday 26 December 2012, 0:29    #

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