Faramir Fiction Archive

The Ritual (NC-17)

Written by Valkyrie

22 April 2004 | 36281 words

Series: THE RITUAL
Title: A Tradition and a Misunderstanding (Part 1/9)
Author: Valkyrie (email)
Pairings: Aragorn/Faramir, Aragorn/Arwen (implied)
Rating: NC17
Archive: yes, but let me know where
Warnings: m/m relationship
Summary: Aragorn learns about an ancient tradition concerning the King and the Steward of Gondor and in his eagerness to avoid it, he almost commits a grave mistake.
Authors’ note: this is AU. Some things are loyal to Tolkien’s story; I have changed some events and invented all the rest. If you like to read things canon, this is not a story for you.
Feedback: kind words will be welcome and constructive criticism as well.
Disclaimer: The characters are property of J.R.R. Tolkien. I have not and will not receive any money for this story. It is free for all to read.

Beta Reader original version: Minx
Beta Reader revised version: Chris
What would I have done without you guys? All remaining mistakes are mine.

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PART ONE – A Tradition and a Misunderstanding

“Enter,” said the King in a regal voice. He was sitting on one of the beautifully carved armchairs situated on either side of the great glass doors that opened onto the balcony of his room. The balcony had a wonderful view of the White City and the grand glass doors let Ithil’s light bathe the chambers in nights such as this. The King’s chambers were spacious and not as luxuriously furnished as one would think; the room contained a four-poster bed, the carving on which matched the armchairs. In front of the fireplace, situated in the wall facing the bed, lay a pile of furs. It seemed Ranger habits were hard to break for the king had ordered the furs to use them on cold winter nights, when he was sitting by the fire. A bookcase full of Númenórean history and Gondor lore occupied one wall and beside it a door led to the King’s bathroom and wardrobes.

A bare footed young man walked into the chamber. He looked at everything but the King, his nervousness very apparent. The King had to admit the man was a beauty on his own. His skin was creamy white and his figure slim with a gracefulness that reminded him of the Elves—he had that serene demeanour about him. His hair was a strange mixture of blond, light brown and auburn and the King knew it was silky to the touch. He was dressed in the ceremonial robes used for this occasion. A white ankle length loincloth beneath deep blue robes that were tied with a belt the same material as the thin silver-colour bands encasing his wrists. The belt and wristbands were made of the finest mithril weave. It was an attire that enhanced the beauty of its owner. The man kept walking until he stood in front of the King trying his best not to show his unsettled state.

“Here I am, my King, for you to make the claim.” The man proceeded to kneel in front of the King, bowing his head, his sight always trained on the floor. “I vow to serve you until the day I die, protect you with my own life and I offer myself to seal my allegiance.”

“Do you come of your free will and agree to be subjected to the trial of the Ritual?” The King asked, following the lines of the Ritual to the letter.

“I come willingly. I was not coerced to fulfil my duty. I submit to this trial.”

“I accept your offer.”

These words signalled that the final part of the Ritual would begin.

One week before

“WHAT? This is insane! What kind of tradition is that?” Aragorn got up almost knocking over his chair. He could not believe his ears. The advisor had to be wrong.

“My King, this tradition follows from the days of Númenor. It ensures the complete loyalty of the Steward…,” said the advisor from his place at one of the windows in the Council Room. Right now, it was comforting to be as far away from the upset King as possible.

“It’s the wrong way to ensure allegiance,” said Aragorn, interrupting him. “Valar! It is way beyond madness. Loyalty is not bought or bound. Loyalty is earned by one’s acts; it is freely given. Anyway, why must it be in such a way? As King I will revoke this mad tradition.” Aragorn began pacing around the room.

“My King, it is not wise to do so. The Council knows of this tradition, and carrying the Ritual to its end will assure them that the Steward of the Realm will be a loyal one, prepared to replace the King himself if it were necessary,” said the advisor in earnest.

Aragorn rolled his eyes at what he thought pure lunacy. “But Galen, are you hearing what you are saying? How could this ensure the loyalty of the Steward? From my point of view, this would prove just the opposite. How can be trusted a Steward who is so ready to do this deed?” Aragorn was getting desperate at this point. Why was he discussing this matter still?

“My King, you must understand that, of course, the act in itself is not enough. Just as the hands of the King can heal, only the King will be able to verify the transparency of the Steward.” The advisor was one step away from losing his patience and pull at his hair.

“What do you mean?” The voice of the King faltered with doubt and the advisor saw his opportunity.

“Just as your healing hands are proof of your legitimacy as King, in the same way only the King can prove the veracity of the Steward. It is an act bound by power we will never understand from a time lost in the ages. As far as we are concerned, the Ritual was created to protect the King’s lineage, though we do not know what happened to compel the men of that age to do something that radical. We only know that there were once a King and a Steward bound to do this Ritual and it was sealed with magic in order to ensure that each one of their descendants would do the same.” The advisor looked at the King’s face and felt confident for the first time since this conversation started that the King would go through with this.

“And what of the King’s feelings? Does that not count at all? What will happen if the King refuses? What will happen if the King does not want to do this under any circumstances? What of the Steward? For he is more affected by this.” Deep inside he knew that Galen’s reasoning would crush every argument of his.

“The King’s refusal would prove the Steward an impostor and a traitor of the realm. Treason is punished by death… and I’m afraid it would involve too many laws to revoke,” the advisor added stopping Aragorn with a gesture of his hand when he saw that he intended to rebut this new bit of information. “Besides, there is the fact that the Ritual will kill the traitor with a painful death. The death sentence is a relief in itself.”

“How? But… are you telling me that if the Steward is proven unfit this… Ritual will kill him? That is preposterous! What if the Ritual deems a good man unfit and kills him? I am confused. How is this decided? By the King or by the Ritual?”

“Sire, the King decides. His judgment will be aided by the Ritual, which it is impossible to deceive for it tests the Steward’s very soul. Another factor to take into account is those who occupy high ranks in the realm and who expect tradition to be followed, even more now that the King has returned. Sudden and unexpected changes would prove dangerous for the stability of the realm at this moment.”

Aragorn felt cornered. He had Arwen to consider as well. What would she think of this? As a ruler he had to put his realm first and above himself. That was a King’s fate. Right now, he wished he could be a mere man. Suddenly, he felt very tired; days of endless battle had not wearied him as much as these news.

“Does Faramir know of this?” His voice sounded defeated.

“Yes, my King, he knows his duty. As his father before him.”

“Valar, Galen! That was an image you could have avoided to put in my mind,” said Aragorn imagining his own father and Denethor in this situation. He sat at the Council table once more and pondered over the situation, not saying anything for a few minutes. In the end, he made a decision, “I will postpone the crowning ceremony.”

“But, my King… everything is ready for the ceremony to take place within three days and…”

“I will not change my mind about this! Faramir is still in the halls of healing and in no condition to attend this Ritual so soon. I will not have him relapse. Don’t you have any consideration for one who has already given so much for this realm? If I do this, it will be under my conditions or I will throw caution to the winds. I will not harm Faramir, tradition or not.” Aragorn gave his advisor one of his most regal scowls, one that would be the envy of his foster father, the Lord of Imladris.

“Very well. I will arrange for everything to take place within a week with regard to Faramir’s recovery. You are right, my King, you must forgive us. We were hasty not to think about such an important matter. And… you must consider something else,” the advisor stepped closer to the King sitting at the table. “The Steward is not allowed to lie with a man before the Ritual, not even the King himself. The power at work guarantees this is so. A fault would lead to fatal consequences deeming the Steward unfit.”

Aragorn felt his eyes widen in shock, this was another factor to add to his list of wrongs in this mess. This implied Faramir was untouched by men if the young one was truthful to this insane tradition. This complicated things even more, indeed. “I will talk with Faramir.”

“My King, there is anoth—”

“Galen,” said Aragorn stopping his advisor from relating more of what he considered pure madness. “I will talk with Faramir before I make any decision. You may leave.”

“But, Sire, this—”

“You may leave now, Galen, we will talk later. I need to get use to this idea. First, I will learn what Faramir thinks about all this and then I will talk with you.”

“Very well, my King,” said the advisor and headed to the door.

Aragorn was relieved when Galen left him alone. His thoughts wandered and they were full of young Faramir.

Galen stood in the hallway and stared at the closed door. The King had to perform the Ritual no matter what, if not the Steward would die. Why hadn’t he mentioned that in the first place? It would have ended all the King’s objections. Well, the King would learn about this when he would talk with Faramir and besides, the King had to learn about the Ritual before attending it, he would have to read the Book.

“What do you think about this?” Aragorn was sitting on his bed, elbows on his knees and a concerned look on his face.

Arwen got up from where she sat at the window and walked to Aragorn. She brushed her hand through his head in a soothing gesture. “Don’t worry, my love, all will be well. As you told me, you could do no less. Your decision was the right one. Don’t fret about this matter.”

“Fret you say? That is certainly a way to put it… But… what if…” Aragorn broke off.

Arwen smiled, anticipating what her husband meant to say. “What if you start to feel something for him? Or… do you feel for him already?” Her smile grew sweeter on her lips.

“Valar, my love, I can keep nothing from you! And I do not have an answer for that question,” he said looking into her beautiful eyes. “I felt something I could not explain when I drew him back from death but never thought of him in that way. Now, confronted with what I would have to do, I do not know what I feel for him anymore. I am confused and I would be unfaithful if…”

“It should not be so for you. It will not be so for me. I am sure of our love. The heart of Man is not as the heart of Elves. Man’s life is so short, you love with passion, and you take love in every way it presents itself. And it is good. Though I am of Elven heritage, I am now mortal as well. I understand this as well as I understand what being a ruler entails. A King’s realm always comes first.”

Aragorn buried his face in Arwen’s robes, “You are understanding and wise, my Queen. Your words soothe me.” He closed his eyes relishing in the closeness with his dearest friend and beloved.

Two days had passed since Aragorn had found out about the Ritual, two days of meetings, paperwork and bureaucracy. He wanted to speak to Faramir since then but something would always come up. If it was not the Council then it was the constant stream of guests arriving for the crowning. Now, he headed for the houses of healing at last. The bright side of all this was that Faramir would be much better at this point.

“My King,” said Varan, the warden healer, bowing respectfully, “what can I do for you?”

Aragorn nodded by way of greeting. “I want to see the Steward. How is he?”

“He is feeling better. He has recovered well though he must not strain his shoulder too much.”

“I will see him now. Please, see that no one disturbs us while we talk,” said Aragorn taking his leave to face Faramir. He had not seen the young man since he pulled him from death. Then, he was surprised when Faramir recognized him, now he wondered about the fact that maybe the King and the Steward were connected somehow, even before this Ritual.

He entered Faramir’s room and noticed that he was sleeping. Sitting in the chair beside the bed, he watched Faramir in his slumber. He believed Faramir was a man of brave and gentle spirit. Now, due to this Ritual, he started to see Faramir in another light though he did not want to do it. He knew Faramir had a troubled mind. He knew for he had been able to touch Faramir’s spirit when he drew him back from death. Faramir had suffered much, he could tell that from the long conversations with Boromir during their quest. Boromir had been always protective of his brother and he had worried about the fact that Faramir would receive all the weight of their father’s attention during his absence. The brothers had a strong bond and he could only guess how Faramir might have felt when he learned about his brother’s death.

Yes, Faramir had suffered much. He possessed a deep sadness and who knows what kind of trauma would have been left by the fact that his own father tried to murder him, burning him alive while vulnerable, when he should have been protected even more.

However, he had to admit this vulnerability brought out all the protectiveness in him. Faramir was very handsome and his own reluctance toward the Ritual did not rest in the fact of Faramir being a man, for he had lain with other men in the past. His reluctance lay in the fact that he loved Arwen and didn’t want to hurt her in any way.

He was not free to give himself to another or to take another and besides, he didn’t know what Faramir thought about all this either. For all he knew, Faramir could be terrified of doing this Ritual. And the last thing he wanted to do was force himself on this man who had endured enough already.

His reverie was interrupted when Faramir opened his eyes and stared directly at him.

“My King! I did not know you would come. I…” Faramir was surprised and started to rise into a sitting position.

“Faramir, calm yourself and lie still. You are not fully recovered yet. You have to rest,” said Aragorn rising from his chair to stop Faramir from straining his healing wounds. He used his most compassionate voice trying not to intimidate Faramir. He wanted the young man to trust him in lieu of what the future might lay ahead of them.

“Thank you, your Majesty, but I’m tired of this bed and the healers fussing over me. I’m quite well, I feel only a mild discomfort,” said the young man with a smile. Faramir was nervous for he had not seen the King since he had saved him from death. Now the King was staring right at him, kindness showing on his face. He was aware the crowning ceremony would be the next day and that he would have to go through the Ritual. The mere thought made his face turn a deep shade of red. Was it because of this that the King was here? His heart started to beat faster and as quickly as his face turned red just as suddenly it turned very pale. His mouth went dry and a little tremor ran down his spine.

Aragorn watched the emotions flicking over Faramir’s face. This man was as an open book to him. If Faramir reacted this way now, he did not want to think about how it would be in the accursed day of the Ritual. He finally decided to clear things up.

“Are you uncomfortable in my presence, Faramir? Please, tell me the truth,” said the King trying to reassure the other man that talking with him would be fine.

“NO!” said Faramir in a rush and started once more to rise from the bed, this time succeeding and getting into a sitting position before the King could stop him.

“Lie still, Faramir. Do not see me as your King right now, see me instead as your friend,” said Aragorn laying a comforting hand on Faramir’s shoulder. The young man was watching him with something akin to apprehension. He would broach the issue right now. He just hoped Faramir would not jump through the roof. “Faramir, I came here not only to see how your health is. I came to talk about you, submitting to the Ritual.”

Faramir’s eyes shut tight at these words. He knew it would come to this. He was too weak to be the Steward of the Realm. The crowning ceremony was the next day and he had not been able to perform his duties for he was still confined to his bed. He felt useless and now the King would tell him he was unfit to be his second in command. The King was surely able to sense his nervousness about the Ritual as well as to see how weak he was. His father was right to try and get rid of him before he dishonoured the Line of Stewards with his weakness. Faramir opened eyes glazed with unshed tears.

Aragorn saw Faramir’s reaction at the mentioning of the Ritual and thought he had been right all along. Faramir did not want the Ritual to be performed and tradition or no he would not do anything to harm Faramir in any way. He would reassure the young man he was not to be obliged to go through the Ritual; that he wouldn’t need to worry about anything for he would revoke this madness. Aragorn did not get to offer his reassurance for Faramir spoke first.

“Forgive me for not being worthy, Sire,” he said, reining in his emotions but, nonetheless, staring at Aragorn with a gaze full of shame and despair.

“What?” Aragorn did not understand. He took Faramir by his shoulders. “Faramir, look at me. Look at me, please,” he repeated when Faramir turned his face away from him.

Faramir obeyed his King and looked at him as if waiting for judgement to fall.

“What do you think you are not worthy of? What should I forgive? I do not understand,” said Aragorn.

“You will not have me as your Steward because I’m weak. I am not worthy of—”

“Stop this nonsense!” Aragorn cut him off before he finished and Faramir shut his eyes tight. “Look at me,” said Aragorn in his most regal voice. Faramir could not do less than obey at once. “You are a brave man, Faramir. You are a beautiful human being, compassionate, worthy of respect and you are a great warrior.”

“But—” Faramir started to protest before the King cut him off again.

“No buts… I don’t want to hear you saying something the like again. I know you might think you are worthless or lacking in skills but I know better. Whatever your father said to you it is not true. I did not come here to shun you. I came to talk about the Ritual and before you say something else hear me out first.” Aragorn loosened his hold on Faramir’s shoulders and was now caressing the other man’s head, keeping away some rebel strands that fell into the young man’s face. He suddenly realized what he was doing and somewhat embarrassed let go of Faramir and sat again on the chair beside the young man’s bed. “Please, make yourself comfortable. You need to rest, my friend.” Faramir meekly obeyed, resting on the bed again facing the King.

“I do not understand…”

“Faramir, hear me out and don’t interrupt me.” Faramir shut his mouth at once, looking expectantly at the King. “I can’t say I favour the Ritual. I think it is madness and it is unfair to the Steward to keep this tradition.” Faramir’s face was a mix of misery and expectant curiosity. “I want to make it clear that my reluctance has nothing to do with you but with the nature of the Ritual itself. I am new to this. I do not know anything but what The Council told me. I wanted to speak to you to give you the opportunity to have some say in this matter and to assure you that I will support any decision you make. I do not want you unwilling for I care deeply for you and do not want to lose any chance at a future friendship.”

Faramir was stunned. Shocked was too light a word to describe his feelings right now. The King wanted to have his permission to perform the Ritual? This was unheard of, besides, they had no choice now, and it had to be performed. But again, his King was raised with Elven standards. He felt as though a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He was not being rejected as he thought at first. His King stated he thought him worthy and considered him a great warrior. Though he still had his doubts, he would ensure from now on to be truthful to his King’s words.

“I will do what is my duty. I’m yours to command,” Faramir said with a little nod of his head.

“No, Faramir. That would not do. You must understand I am not as you would expect a King born in Gondor and taught in Gondor to be. I do not believe in rules that go against what is natural in one’s being. I will not order something, to any person in the realm, that I would not do myself. Therefore, my command would not do in this matter that I consider a grave attempt against someone’s well-being and free will. So, I am asking you to answer me truthfully. What do you think of the Ritual? Would you willingly do this?” Aragorn finished waiting expectantly for the other man’s reply.

Faramir stared at his King for some moments and could not help but feel proud. In front of him was a King worthy of giving one’s life for. He was kind, compassionate and fearless in his beliefs. And he had the honour to serve this King. Nevertheless, he was a little confused by the King’s insistence about his willingness in this matter, for they had no choice. Did not the King know that?

“I’m proud to be under your command. I would give everything for Gondor and my King. Rest assured I would go willingly into this for I was taught it was the utmost honour to be proved worthy of the Stewards’ Line by the King himself. Before I became the Steward I knew it was possible someday this would be required of me.” Faramir finished.

“Tell me what you know about the Ritual,” asked Aragorn.

Faramir complied with a nod. “The Ritual forms a bond between King and Steward where they can communicate at a mental level to ensure the upper hand in battle. The mental link is a basic one to allow basic thoughts to pass through, which is enough to share commands and tactics if it were necessary. Knowledge about this bond is kept secret between the line of Kings and Stewards, not even the Council knows of it. A good guess for this being so, would be tactical reasons. The knowledge of such an advantage would instigate unnecessary attention upon the King and the Steward.” Faramir stopped his explanation for a moment in order to let the King process all this.

“It’s unbelievable. I had no idea the Númenóreans’ power was such. I do not think even the Elves were aware of this fact, either. It calls my attention, too, that this never became known outside of Gondor.” Aragorn looked at Faramir and bade him to continue.

“It is suspected the installation of the Ritual could have been done in the times when some Kings practiced the magic arts. The secrecy of it is guarded by the Council and men of the highest ranks. The power ensures it remains so,” explained the young man.

“And… as for the Ritual itself,” he continued, “You do not have anything to worry about. Once the Steward is chosen by blood or by choice, in case the Steward in the bloodline refuses, the power works in order to guarantee at least a mild attraction to perform the Ritual. You can be sure I will go willingly, my King. I knew what being a Steward entailed and I chose to follow this path as my brother before me. I did not think I was going to ever be the actual steward though, that was an honour reserved for my brother but… father wanted a spare.”

“Did not you have the choice to refuse?”

“I am not one to shy away from my duty, sire. But a potential Steward does have a say in the matter. He has the choice to reject the Steward Line and pass it to whomever may want to replace him or whomever the King deems apt to it. The power at work guarantees no Steward can reveal the secret. We are not able to talk about it except to the King himself, the magic at work ensures it and eligible stewards come only from high ranked people who already know about it.” Faramir looked at the King waiting for what may come.

“But… what you are saying is the Steward has the choice but the King doesn’t! You have the choice to refuse or accept to be Steward with all the duties that follow. However, the King and his line do not have that choice; an heir to the throne does not have the choice to be or not to be the future King. On the other hand, you say the Steward can be selected by choice. Then, who gets to choose?”

“The King chooses who is fit to be tested by the Ritual. Only once the Ritual proved the future Steward unworthy and the man was punished with death. He would have died anyway, because the power at work would make sure of that. When executed, the man was already dying. The Ritual would not allow an impostor to go unpunished. Once chosen, this man has to be honest and know in his heart that he meets all that it is require of him. It seems this man was not truthful. From there on, no one dared to try to deceive the Ritual. When a Steward is chosen and acknowledged, the Stewards’ Line goes to him and his descendants from then on.” Faramir turned his gaze away from the King’s intense stare and looked out of the window. The sun was radiant outside. Right now, he wanted to be anywhere but here. This was proving to be more difficult with every passing moment, despite all the King had said he couldn’t help to think about his own inadequateness.

Faramir continued his explanation without facing the King, his eyes fixed on the window. “And… What you think about the King not having a choice is not true. The King has the ultimate power, as the Steward is bound to be worthy under death of punishment, the King himself is not tested. Furthermore, the outcome of the Ritual is bound to the character of the King, so a tyrant King would find a Steward of the like for the Ritual would reject one of just and pure feelings. Above all this, the King has the right and the power to cancel the Ritual tradition. It is only that no King has deemed this necessary. On the contrary, the Ritual is seen of the utmost importance where military matters are concerned.

“Then we have nothing more to talk about. I will revoke the tradition for I have the power to do so. You do not have to endure this situation, willing or not. Rest now, Faramir. I can see you are tired.” Aragorn rose from his chair and touched the other’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. He was sure he was making the right decision. Faramir could not even finish his explanation looking into his face. He was sure Faramir was not content with this situation; despite all the reassurances the young man just gave him.

Faramir turned his head hastily to look at his King, eyes wide with surprise; he thought he had heard the wrong thing for sure.

“Sleep and don’t worry about the crowning, I have delayed the ceremony a week. I would not have you attend the Ritual if you were not recovered, but now we do not have to worry about that. The same tradition states that the Ritual gives the King the power to end it and I will do it. Military advantage or not. I will talk to Galen right now and end this for good.” With that, Aragorn left Faramir to his rest.

However, that was impossible for Faramir because his King had just condemned him to a horrid death, he had not heard wrong at all. His King would revoke the Ritual without performing it but the Ritual would still see this as a refusal. It would see him as unworthy and would kill him for it. If Faramir’s emotional state had been normal he would have realized the grave error he was about to commit, but Faramir’s emotional state was not at its best. He curled up into a tight ball and thought that maybe it was better this way. He was weak. No matter what the King said to the contrary. The Ritual would still prove him unworthy due to his weakness. Besides, if he was willing, the King it seemed was not; Aragorn was most reluctant to do this so he would spare him the inconvenience. He wouldn’t tell the King what his refusal would entail. It would be better this way. His King had brought him back from death and his King would give him back to it.

Aragorn strode into Galen’s office, where the advisor was absorbed in the preparations for the crowning ceremony.

“I will revoke the Ritual, Galen. So tell me right now what I must do to end this.” Aragorn was convinced no coercion from Galen’s side would change his mind. Even less now that he knew Faramir had other thoughts about this whole thing, no matter what the young man tried to make him believe.

Galen rose from his chair with an appalled expression on his face. “But… my King,” he started to say.

“Now Galen.” The King’s voice turned dangerously low.

“All right, Sire. Did you talk with Faramir?” This could not be! Galen thought frantically, something must have happened for the King to make this decision.

“Yes, he told me everything there is to know about the Ritual. In the end he told me the King had the power to end the Ritual tradition and I’m making this choice.”

“My King, are you aware of what you are about to do? We all—”

“Galen, I’m warning you.”

Galen pressed the bridge of his nose. He could not say anything more. He had hopped that at last Faramir’s life would turn out to be happier, but it seemed he was wrong. Maybe the son of Arathorn was not so compassionate as he first thought.

“Wait here, Sire. I will go to the library and retrieve the book.” Galen left his office, his heart heavy with sadness. All the way, he could think of nothing else but how could the king sacrifice Faramir to end a tradition he did not agree with. How it could be possible that the King would take Faramir’s life when he was the one who saved him?

Faramir still lay curled on the bed; tormented by the burden of his thoughts so he did not notice the figure entering his room.

“Faramir?”

“My lady! W-what…” Faramir stopped in mid sentence, horrified to think about what he almost said. What was he thinking to ask the Lady what she was doing here?

“Faramir, are you unwell?” Arwen could see the young man was in a high state of distress but… was not Aragorn going to talk to him? She thought her husband would have straightened this situation out by now.

“N-no, my Lady. It’s nothing.” He was trying hard to get a grip on emotions but failing miserably. He arranged himself into a sitting position. Arwen rushed to help him. “Lady, please, do not bother yourself with me. I’m well,” he said uncomfortable with Arwen fussing over him.

“Faramir, call me Arwen. And it’s not a bother,” she said adjusting Faramir’s pillows in a comfortable position for him to sit. “Did Aragorn talk to you?” she asked looking at his face for some clue, resting a hand on his shoulder.

Faramir just nodded.

It was clear to her the man was on the verge of a break down.

“What did he say? Faramir? You can talk to me, Aragorn told me about it,” she said at last seeing Faramir was reluctant to confide in her.

“He left… he is going to revoke the Ritual,” said Faramir in a quiet voice, trying to hide his distress. He did not dare to look at Arwen. He feared he would betray all he was feeling right now. She was Elven and Elvenkind were famed in reading emotions very well.

“But… I don’t understand. He said Galen did not let him have any choice. He came to see what you thought about this. How come he’s going to revoke this tradition?”

“The King has the power to do so, it is part of the tradition that the King can end the Ritual forever if he deems it necessary.”

Arwen grew very alarmed, as she saw how Faramir pulled his legs close to his body and rocked back and forth unconsciously. She was sure something grave had happened.

“Faramir,” she called firmly, tightening her grasp on the young man’s shoulder, “Faramir, listen to me. What will happen when the Ritual is revoked?”

Faramir’s answer was to shake his head from side to side. Arwen had her worries confirmed; something bad was going to happen.

“Faramir? Are you faithful to Gondor and her King?” This had a reaction. Faramir looked straight into Arwen’s eyes but still went on with his disturbing rocking movement.

“I would die for them. I ‘will’ die for them,” said Faramir averting his eyes. It was clear Faramir was in a state of shock but Arwen did not give up and his words did not go unnoticed by her either.

“Faramir. As your future Queen, I order you to tell me. What will happen when Aragorn revokes the Ritual?” Arwen was clear she would not be denied. Faramir felt lost. He could do nothing but obey.

“I-if the Ritual is not completed before it is revoked, the power at work takes it as the King’s refusal of the Steward. He would be declared unworthy and… and… Please, my Lady, I want to rest.” Faramir wanted this to end.

“Faramir! But… but that would kill you, you would be declared a traitor! Did you tell him about this? Faramir, did you tell him?”

The young man shook his head in negative and Arwen’s heart skipped a beat.

“Faramir, where is Aragorn right now? Faramir! As your Queen I order you to tell me where the King is right now!” Deep inside she knew there was no time to lose.

“He went to find Galen to revoke the Ritual.” Faramir felt numb, he stared into space. His life had lost meaning. His life was about to end anyway.

Arwen ran through the halls of healing, calling for a healer. When he stepped out of his office she bade him to see to Faramir. She did not stay to explain and went running toward Galen’s office.

All fell into place now. Faramir’s distress and shock. He had just received a death sentence! Valar, she had to hurry and stop Aragorn before it was too late. He would never forgive himself if Faramir died because of him. He would never get over this; his guilt would be too great.

She arrived at Galen’s office and without thinking twice about it stormed into the room.

Title: Straightening Things (Part 2/9)
Series: THE RITUAL
Author: Valkyrie (email)
Pairings: Aragorn/Faramir, Aragorn/Arwen (implied)
Rating: NC17
Archive: yes, but let know where
Warnings: m/m relationship
Summary: Aragorn realises his error and talks with Faramir, who will receive the first orders from his King.
Authors’ note: this is AU. Some things are loyal to Tolkien’s story; I have changed some events and invented all the rest. If you like to read things canon, this is not a story for you.
Feedback: kind words will be welcome and constructive criticism as well.
Disclaimer: The characters are property of J.R.R. Tolkien. I have not and will not receive any money for this story. It is free for all to read.

Beta Reader original version: Minx
Beta Reader revised version: Chris
What would I have done without you guys? All remaining mistakes are mine.

---

PART TWO – Straightening Things

“ARAGORN!”

The King was sitting at Galen’s desk, reading from a leather bound book.

“What have you done? Elbereth! Did you revoke the Ritual?” Arwen reached the desk and grabbed the book out of Aragorn’s hands.

Aragorn was too stunned to answer. He had never seen Arwen in such a state. She was now turning the pages as if looking for something.

“What is this? Is it not the revoking of the Ritual?” she asked lifting her gaze from the book and looking at Aragorn with eyes full of concern.

“No, these are notes about Council meetings,” said Aragorn rising from the chair. “What happened Arwen? You are scaring me.”

“Oh Elbereth,” she sighed and went to the room’s window; the air in the room seemed, suddenly, not enough; the awful fright she had just suffered left her somewhat breathless.

Aragorn approached her very carefully and laid a hand on her shoulder. “What is it? Arwen? I have never seen you like this.”

Arwen turned around and embraced Aragorn, burying her face in his chest. “Oh my love, you almost made a huge mistake. You were going to revoke the Ritual and—”

“Arwen, I will revoke the Ritual,” said Aragorn interrupting her. He was getting annoyed. He thought Arwen was on his side in this. “I made my decision and…”

“NO!” she said, taking a step away from Aragorn’s embrace. “You would be condemning Faramir to a certain death. If you do not fulfil the Ritual Faramir will die, for it will be as if you would have refused him. Do you understand what I am saying?” Arwen looked her beloved in the eye, willing Aragorn to see the implications of his decision.

“That is not true, Arwen. I talked with Faramir and he explained to me that the King has the power to revoke the Ritual when he deems it necessary.”

“Yes, he might have told you that but he omitted to tell you that if you do not fulfil the Ritual before revoking it, it would be as if you had refused him. Aragorn, he will be declared unfit and die for it. You have no choice in this matter. In order for you to revoke it without doing him harm, you must complete it. I do not know why he did not tell you that but I just saw him and he was in a high state of distress; understandable if you consider he had just been condemned to death.”

Aragorn listened to Arwen, all the while thinking this could not be possible. Aragorn sat back on the chair at Galen’s desk, he was not sure his legs would support him well. There had to be a misunderstanding somewhere because surely Faramir would have said something when he told him about his decision, would he not?

He tried to remember what Faramir had said. Faramir had explained some facts but he never expressed anything about not wanting to do this duty. Now, that he came to think about it, he told Faramir he was going to revoke the Ritual when the young man said to him he had the power to do so. He had not bothered to ask Faramir what he thought about this decision and it was clear now that he should have. Faramir had doubts about his worth; he had witnessed that insecurity himself. No doubt, the young man thought his King considered him unworthy to go through with this Ritual but… he remembered having assured the young man about his value. Why then had not Faramir told him? Or maybe, Faramir assumed he knew about this and thought his King did not care if he died. Another fact that came to his mind was of Galen not telling him either. He would have a long talk with Galen about this matter.

“Aragorn?” Arwen had approached Aragorn, who stared vacantly at the desk, a troubled expression on his face.

“What?” Aragorn lifted his gaze to look at his wife.

“What are you going to do?” she asked him quietly.

“I will see Faramir. I will reassure him and then I will learn everything there is to know about this damned Ritual. It seems we will have to go through with it after all.” Aragorn reached out, took Arwen’s hands between his, and placed a light kiss on them before rising up from his chair and heading for the door.

It was that moment Galen entered the office, a large book in his hands. The King just walked past him giving him a furious glare. “I will talk to you later.” Then he disappeared into the hall leaving a startled and worried advisor behind.

“You better sit, Galen, I will explain all to you.”

Arwen proceeded to tell the advisor everything that had passed and Galen was relieved that his King was not a heartless man after all. All had been a misunderstanding. But… that did not explain the furious glare the King just gave him. Did it?

Aragorn arrived at the houses of healing and went directly toward Faramir’s room, encountering the Warden Healer on his way. “Varan, how is Faramir?”

“I have given him something to sleep. He was unresponsive… as though in shock. I do not understand what could possibly have happened for him to be like that. He is… well, he was very well, he was going to his rooms today as I told you before,” finished the healer, a pensive expression on his face.

“Do not worry, Varan. He is well; his distress comes from a different source than a physical one. I will take him to his rooms right away; awakening in a familiar place will do him good. I will take care of him from now on. Do not worry.” Aragorn left a startled healer in the middle of the hallway. He entered Faramir’s room taking in the curled up form of his Steward. Faramir lay facing away from the door. Aragorn walked to the bed and wrapped Faramir into the sheets; he then took the young man in his arms and walked out of the houses of healing with his precious burden.

He soon arrived at Faramir’s quarters and signalled one of the guards always posted in the halls to open the door for him. He walked in and headed for Faramir’s bed, gently placing the young man on the soft mattress, making him as comfortable as possible. “That will be all, thank you,” he said to the guard who left the room closing the door behind him. Aragorn took a chair and placed it close to the bed; he would guard the young man’s sleep.

Faramir looked very fragile, so different from how he had been in the morning. He had to admit the young man had very low self-esteem but he had seemed to be coping well. Now, Faramir looked pale and troubled, even in his sleep, and he hated the fact that he was responsible for the state of the young man. He hoped that he would be able to straighten things out for Faramir.

The hours passed and outside the window, the sun said goodbye with red and orange hues to let the stars show their brilliance. Arwen came by to see how Faramir was doing and tried to convince Aragorn to have some dinner but Aragorn told her he could not eat anything right now; besides, he did not want Faramir to wake up alone.

Finally, Faramir stirred in his sleep and opened his eyes. He saw Aragorn sitting in a chair beside the bed, a concerned look on his face. Faramir’s gaze went beyond Aragorn, noticing that the night had set in. How much time had passed? His thoughts had no order and they seemed to jump this way and that by their own will. Faramir suddenly realized he was in his rooms but could not remember having got here at all. He closed his eyes briefly to open them again, this time looking at the King. Faramir wondered why was the King here? He must have revoked the Ritual tradition by now and… Why was it that he was not in any pain? The magic worked at once or so he had thought.

Aragorn was getting more concerned by the minute. “Faramir?” Aragorn tried not to startle him, and the soft-spoken voice seemed to have an effect because Faramir’s gaze shifted and focused, his eyes so sad that the sight almost broke Aragorn’s heart.

“Sire?” Faramir’s voice was rough, as though the young man had been crying.

“Why did not you tell me, Faramir? You should have told me when I said I was going to end it,” Aragorn said soothingly. He looked at the young man and could see Faramir was trying hard to rein in his emotions. “You can talk to me, Faramir. Don’t you trust me?”

“With my life, my King,” answered the young man at last, his voice almost inaudible.

“Then why did you almost make me take that life away from you, Faramir? Do you have any idea what that would have done to me?” Aragorn waited for a reaction.

Faramir’s eyes were downcast, unable to look at the King anymore. After what seemed like a long time, he finally explained. “It was not my intention, Sire,” said Faramir facing Aragorn at last. “First… I thought you knew that you could not revoke the Ritual without condemning me to death. In one… mad moment I thought you… preferred to do it that way, that you didn’t want to go through the Ritual because of me and …That this was an opportunity to get rid of a weak Steward.” Faramir made a pause seeing how the face of the King was looking increasingly sad and distressed, and betrayed.

Aragorn could not believe Faramir thought that of him.

“But then… I realized you would be incapable of doing such a thing, I thought that maybe you didn’t know and I… made the decision to not tell you about it and spare you of a Steward…” Faramir did not finish the sentence; he just closed his eyes and waited for the King to pass his judgement for he could see Aragorn was not pleased with his answer.

Aragorn did not know what to say. He had assured Faramir of his worth and for some reason unknown to him the young man did not believe his words. It seemed to him now that Boromir was right to worry. Denethor did a lot of damage, implanting scorn and self-doubt; it was clear he vented all his frustration on Faramir. Aragorn felt a sudden rage toward Denethor and his madness; he got up from his chair and gathered Faramir in his arms, knowing nothing he could say would comfort this man.

For a second, the young Steward did not know what to do, the King’s embrace and the kindness he showed so unexpected to him that he tried to reject the offered comfort, but then the King tightened his hold and soothingly caressed his back. Without words his King comforted him in a way only this man with the power to heal could do, he felt saved and cherished. No words were spoken and nonetheless so much was said. Only Boromir had been able to lift his mood this way, only the unconditional love of his brother; his only friend, the only person he had confided in. Now, his King offered solace in this embrace that said so much. He felt like a fool for what he had almost done, for what he had almost made his King do.

“I’m sorry, my King, I…” Faramir did not realize a silent tear was running down his cheek.

Aragorn let go of Faramir for a moment to look into the young man’s face and was not surprised by Faramir’s reaction. He embraced Faramir once more.

Faramir clung unexpectedly tight to the King’s embrace and started to sob in earnest against Aragorn’s chest, “I am so sorry, Sire. Forgive me, please, forgive me for being such a fool.”

“Don’t ever do such a thing again, Faramir,” said Aragorn, loosening his hold to take the young man by the shoulders, looking into Faramir’s eyes to make his point. “I do not know what Denethor said to you, I do not know how he treated you; I only tell you that whatever he said that was demeaning, it is not true. You are a valuable warrior, you are someone who fought evil and survived, who looked evil in the face and kept going,” Aragorn took Faramir’s face between his hands and tenderly wiped away the tears falling down the young man’s face.

Faramir looked at his King with veneration and taking his hands from where they rested on his face, looked at them and reverently lowered his head to kiss them, then without relinquishing his hold he laid them on his face again, the feeling so warm and comforting.

“That day I was sure I was going to die, I was sure I would die fighting by the River,” Faramir started with a very quiet but unusually steady voice, considering the dire tale he was telling. “I went to fight without hope of survival, without reasons to live for.” The young man let go of Aragorn’s hands and glanced up to read his King’s face, seeing only kindness and compassion.

“I had just returned to the city, chased on my way back by Wraiths,” said Faramir, lowering his gaze once more. “My father learned about my decision to let the Halflings go and he hated me even more for it. He said …he made it clear to me that he would have preferred I had died instead of Boromir. The next day he ordered me to go to back, knowing the situation was lost there and that I might never return. He knew and nevertheless he ordered me, he preferred to sacrifice a useless son rather than see him live to remind him everyday of the other son he had lost, the one dearest to his heart.

“I was wounded and brought to the city, I don’t remember any of this though. The next thing I do remember is the fire,” continued the young man, his voice breaking a little. “I tried to call my father, I saw him lighting the pyre and I tried to call him but the smoke did not let me… I saw the flames closing in on me and… and the last thing I thought was… that I must be indeed worthless if my own father would set me afire,” finished Faramir, covering his face with his hands to hide his shamed tears from his King.

Aragorn stayed quiet during the awful tale. Denethor’s only excuse was his madness. He wanted to believe this for he could not imagine a father could be so cruel to his own son. He had listened without saying anything, allowing Faramir to let go of all the bitterness; but now that the young man had reached the end of the rope, he could not stay aside anymore. He gathered the hands of his Steward and laid them on his own chest, placing them over his heart.

“The first thing I did when I entered the White City was to visit the houses of healing and look for you,” started Aragorn. “I commanded you to return to the light and you obeyed me without question and even managed to know who I was.” The young man who kept his eyes shut, tears still running down his face. “Now, as your King I will ask some things of you and I expect my orders to be followed to the letter.”

Faramir opened his eyes and facing the King said, “My King, I will do anything you ask of me, my life is yours.”

“First and most important of all, I never, never, want to hear you saying anything akin to the words ‘worthless’ or ‘useless’ when you refer to yourself. I want to make it clear that you are a most valued warrior, you are important to the ones who care about you, including me, and your life is not mine, your life is yours. Do you understand what I am asking of you and what this implies?” Aragorn squeezed the hands placed on his chest to attract the other man’s attention.

“Yes, Sire,” answered Faramir quietly.

“Well, then tell me what you understand from this command,” said Aragorn. “Translate it in your own words,” he added right away. When Faramir hesitated to answer he continued, “I am waiting Faramir,” with an undertone of jest.

“You…” Faramir frowned. “I… I am important to you?” Finished the young man, trying to recover his hands but Aragorn had a good grip on them.

Aragorn noticed Faramir’s choice of words, important; this was indeed the key here. Denethor had demeaned him so much, Faramir had been incapable of seeing his own worth anymore. He only saw what Denethor told him, a distorted version of reality. Denethor’s reality. And it was so sad for it seemed to have been happening since Faramir’s childhood from all the things Boromir had told him, the few times they had talked about Faramir. Important was how Faramir wanted to feel, he had wanted to be important for his father but nothing he did was enough to please Denethor. He wanted to have the importance of someone who is loved.

Aragorn smiled at the expectant face of Faramir and let go of one of the young man’s hands to place his own over Faramir’s heart, amused by the man’s wide-eyed reaction. “You are ‘very’ important to me Faramir. I knew of you from your brother, he had only praises for you. He said you were kind and compassionate and a fine warrior, ‘my kind warrior’ he called you and I must agree with him. Listen to me, Faramir, I am your King but above all, I am your friend.

“Which leads me to my second request. As a friend of mine and for the sake of the ones who love you, you have the duty to take care of yourself. You will not put yourself in unnecessary danger by any means. If you are troubled you will not keep it all inside, you can come to me for friends do that, they take comfort from one another in troubled times. If you need help you go to your friends, if you feel happiness, you share it with your friends, that is the way it is done. Do you understand this as well, Faramir?” Aragorn asked; making it clear he was waiting for Faramir to translate in his own words again.

“Yes, Sire,” said the young man meekly. “We are friends.”

“Good,” said Aragorn, letting go of Faramir’s hands who quickly put them into his lap. “Very good. My third request is that you call me Aragorn, not Sire, not my Liege nor my King. From now on, I am only Aragorn for you; you will call me by my royal title only in official affairs, but in occasions such as those, even Arwen will call me King. Do you understand this as well?” Aragorn asked a wicked smile on his face. He knew this last one would be difficult for Faramir.

“Yes, Si… Aragorn,” answered the young man with a smile of his own. Aragorn was delighted for this was the first genuine smile he had seen on Faramir’s face.

“Very well, Faramir, I see you learn fast,” said Aragorn in a teasing tone. “And last but not least, I want you to give me your word of honour that you will fulfil to the letter all that I have requested of you.” Aragorn waited for Faramir’s answer.

“I give you my word of honour… Aragorn.”

“Very well, I guess that would be all for now. I want you to rest, we will talk more tomorrow. I will learn all there is to know about the Ritual and we will go through this together. Your life here will not be as the one you had; no one will ever say you are worthless and you will not let anyone tell you something like this either,” said Aragorn walking to the door.

Faramir followed him with his gaze and his eyes were troubled no more, he felt like a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He felt as light as a feather. “Thank you, Aragorn… for all you have done.”

“That is what friends are for. I will see that someone brings you something to eat, I am sure you have not had anything all day long,” said Aragorn disappearing through the door.

Faramir looked to the window; clouds of rain had moved in making the night dark. However, Faramir did not care, for light was in his heart.

Title: First Steps (Part 3/9)
Series: THE RITUAL
Author: Valkyrie (email)
Pairings: Aragorn/Faramir, Aragorn/Arwen (implied)
Rating: NC17
Archive: yes, but let me know where
Warnings: m/m relationship
Summary: Aragorn learns all there is to know about the Ritual and he does not like it. He takes the first steps to know Faramir better.
Authors’ note: this is AU. Some things are loyal to Tolkien’s story; I have changed some events and invented all the rest. If you like to read things canon, this is not a story for you.
Feedback: kind words will be welcome and constructive criticism as well.
Disclaimer: The characters are property of J.R.R. Tolkien. I have not and will not receive any money for this story. It is free for all to read.

Beta Reader original version: Minx
Beta Reader revised version: Chris
What would I have done without you guys? All remaining mistakes are mine.

---

PART THREE – First Steps

The next day, right after breakfast, Aragorn had a private meeting with Galen in his office. Galen brought the book about the Ritual and they discussed every detail.

“Well, Sire, as I told you before, we do not know when exactly in time the Ritual came to be. Its origin in history is lost to us. All that we have is what is passed from generation to generation,” said Galen.

“Besides the King and Steward, the Chief Councillor is the only person who knows the details of the ritual. The Council do not know about the nature of the test itself but does know that the King has the power to end the tradition, that if the Steward is proven unfit the magic of the Ritual sentences him to death and that every party involved would read from this book what is meant for each party to read,” finished the counsellor.

“Explain this,” asked Aragorn.

“Anyone who opens the book, other than the four parties I just mentioned, would see only blank pages. When I open the book, I can read only what is meant for the chief councillor to read, that is, a general description and information about the procedures concerning the first part of the Ritual. When the Steward opens the book he can read what is meant for him to read. When the King opens the book, he can read it all. The book is a magical one and explains everything, but only to the King. It also cannot be destroyed for it is protected by a spell.”

Aragorn nodded at this and took a pensive stance. After some minutes he finally said, “Then, Galen, you say that what I must do now is read the Book?”

“Yes, my King, I said all that I know about this. Only the book would inform you further about the matter.”

“And Faramir? Would he read his part too?”

“Faramir read it two days ago, Sire.”

“Fine then,” said Aragorn with a sigh. “That would be all, Galen, thank you.”

“I will be in my office if you need me,” said Galen, exiting the office.

Aragorn opened the Book and without further ado started to read. It took him half an hour to read everything. Although the book was a heavy and big one, the pages were thick and full of elaborate drawings and large letters. All was clear and easy to understand, the only new thing he learned was about the nature of the binding. What would really happen the night of the Ritual and where this event would take place. He realized he certainly did not know all about his chambers.

Now that he knew everything about the Ritual, he was dismayed at what he would have to do. He did not imagine it to be like this. Not at all. Faramir was a kind soul and he did not want him to suffer without reason. He had promised Faramir he would treat him as a friend, that he would never be treated in a demeaning way and now the Ritual would make him break his promise. Sudden rage took over and he threw the book to the opposite side of the room.

Then Aragorn saw something he would not have imagined, surprise rooting him to his chair. The book landed on the floor, face up but then the pages started to turn themselves until the book was closed. Suddenly, the book gyrated into the air and came to float just in front of the one who threw it away in the first place. The thing seemed to mock Aragorn, daring him to do it again. Aragorn just took it carefully and put it on the table.

He decided to go and talk to Faramir.

Faramir decided to take breakfast in his rooms. He felt quite all right but not in the mood to face the entire castle yet. It had rained the night before and he had left his bed to watch the drops softly falling on the earth. He liked rain; the sound of its cadence soothed him. But last night the rain did not have its usual effect on him for his mind was in turmoil, but in a good way. Last night his life detoured to a good direction, he now had his King’s trust, though it seemed he had always had it.

His King was kind. He was unique. A King of Men raised among Elves. A man who seemed uncomfortable with titles and power but whose leadership was undeniable. He would follow Aragorn into any battle without question, not because he was a King but because he was a man who represented all that was good in the Race of Men.

Yes, he had stayed awake all night and his King’s kindness was not the only thing he pondered about. He thought about the duty he would fulfil in a week and this kept filling his thoughts even now.

No, he was definitely not in the mood to face the household yet, much less his King but for different reasons now.

He really hoped the King knew all about the Ritual. Or maybe he did not know all yet? It would be very embarrassing to talk about all the details in his presence.

A walk in the gardens might do him some good. The gardens would surely be beautiful after last night’s rain and maybe he could forget about the whole thing and relax a little. When he opened the door, the King was standing there, a hand raised in midair, ready to knock on the door.

“My K…,” Faramir started to say, “Aragorn,” he finished instead with a bow of his head and making room for the King to come into the room.

“My friend, if you call me Aragorn and bow your head each time it would ruin all I want to accomplish,” said Aragorn with a light laugh. “Were you going out? Would you accompany me on a stroll in the gardens?”

“Of course… Aragorn,” answered Faramir, embarrassed to almost slip again. It was difficult for him to get accustomed to call the King by name. Nevertheless, the familiarity of it was nice; that the King considered him a friend and treated him as such.

They walked through the corridors in silence. Faramir did not know what to say or ask to engage the King in conversation. He wanted to know all about such an unusual man, how it had been for him to grow up among Elves, had he known all along about his heritage? What perils had he faced on the Quest of the One Ring? In the end he just asked the one thing he wanted to know about the most, despite the pain it would cause.

“How was Boromir’s death? Did he suffer much?” Faramir gave the King a quick glance to gauge the effect his questions had on the other man.

“Let us find our destination first, Faramir, for to talk about this matter would be just as sad for you as it is for me,” answered Aragorn, not missing the sorrowful expression already appearing on the young man’s face. “We are almost there. Tell me instead, how do you feel this morning? Are you in any pain?”

“No, Sire… Aragorn,” answered Faramir, mortified at his slip. “Forgive me, I can’t seem to get accustomed to call you by name. I am trying though, it is not that I do not consider you could be my friend; it is that…”

Aragorn could not stop a chuckle to escape his mouth. “Oh, Faramir, what will I do with you?” he reached out and placed his left arm over Faramir’s shoulders. “You think of me as your King and nothing else. I do not blame you for we not know each other very well. You can ask me anything you want and I will answer if it is in my power to do so. If you feel uncomfortable with a question from me, just tell me and we will change the subject. Understood?” Aragorn hugged Faramir a little closer to emphasize his point.

“Understood,” answered the young man, a small smile on his lips.

Aragorn let go of Faramir noticing the young man was somewhat uncomfortable having his King’s arm over his shoulders.

Faramir was grateful. He was just not familiar with this kind of attention from anyone other than his brother and a few friends. Very few, indeed, for as the Steward’s son, everyone in the realm watched him with respect, protocol coming in the way so many times.

The gesture, though, let Faramir remember how rare, if not non-existent, this kind of attention had been where his father was concerned. He yearned for a love and approval that never came. Not even in death.

Aragorn watched Faramir silently, noticing the pensive expression on his face. They walked in companionable silence until they reached the gardens, Faramir just following Aragorn without paying much attention.

“We are here, my friend, let’s just sit on the bench close to the east wall. Nobody would be likely to disturb us,” said Aragorn, smiling at the startled expression on the young man’s face. ‘Oh Faramir, you look most endearing when you are surprised… Now where had that thought come from?’ Aragorn realized he was already falling for the young man.

“Oh… I was thinking… I had not noticed we had arrived. You must forgive me for these days I do not know where my head is,” said Faramir apologetically, following Aragorn to the bench.

They sat in silence for a while, side by side, legs almost touching, Faramir looking at everything but the King and the King oblivious to everything but Faramir. In the end, Faramir risked a peek and met the insistent stare of Aragorn. Though red to the points of his ears, the young man could not break away from the intense gaze of the King. He thought that there were no eyes as grey and kind and warm as the eyes of this man.

“What is on your mind, my friend?” asked Aragorn.

Faramir woke from his reverie.

“What… well,” he averted his gaze.

“What is the matter? You know you can trust me.” Aragorn flinched inside at his own words, thinking that soon he would betray that trust.

“It is nothing… Aragorn, it is just that, well, it is unusual for me, this familiarity with someone of higher rank. Even with father, I had to keep protocol. And… Now, having you ask me to treat you as a friend, it is… unusual,” Faramir shrugged and cast a sidelong glance at Aragorn.

“Well, none of that,” said Aragorn. “Why do we not talk of something else, not of ranks, or protocols? You asked me something in the corridor and while I would have preferred to begin to talk of happier things I understand your need to know.”

Faramir nodded.

“Boromir died bravely, Faramir, he was a great warrior and in the end died protecting The Fellowship. He will be honoured as the hero he is,” said Aragorn.

Faramir knew his brother dying honourably was a comfort but he wanted his brother alive. His brother was all he had that was good in this world and now he was gone never to return.

“He loved you very much. He talked a lot about you and held you in high regard as a warrior. As I told you before he called you his kind warrior. He said your heart was too good and your spirit far too kind to have them wasted on a battlefield,” continued Aragorn.

Faramir just nodded and smiled a little between the silent tears that ran down his face. “He wanted me to be a scholar,” said the young man in a quiet voice. “He thought I would be most useful in the Council not on a battlefield, but my father thought differently. My father never wanted me close so he sent me to training as soon as I was old enough. I just did as I was told. Father was not one anybody dared to oppose; and besides, I wanted to prove myself worthy… though nothing I did ever satisfied him,” said Faramir, bowing his head.

“Faramir, do you really think you lack skills on a battlefield? Answer truthfully, my friend,” asked Aragorn.

Faramir just shook his head as though he was incapable of answering. Finally, he forced himself to answer when he realized Aragorn was waiting. “I pushed myself to the best of my abilities, I knew I got the task done and I know I have the respect of the men under my command… You just get tired when you receive only disapproval from the person you crave approval the most, and in the end… I just could not help but think that maybe I was doing something wrong.” He looked at Aragorn, a pained expression on his face.

“Oh, Faramir, I do not know how it would feel to try to live up to someone’s expectations and know that nothing you do would be enough. I had, aside from my parents’ death, a happy childhood and my foster father always showed me unconditional love and support, so maybe, I am not suited to give you advice in this matter. Nevertheless, I had many doubts myself and I know now, that foremost, you have to believe in yourself, you have to believe in what lies in your heart. You are a great warrior for your men hold you in high regard. You are a good brother for Boromir loved you very much. You are a good son for you tried, despite how he treated you, to please your father in his every whim. Let me know you, Faramir, as a friend. Let me give you the comfort a brother would give, do not close yourself off.” Aragorn put his arm around Faramir’s shoulder.

Faramir shook his head in a gesture of impotence, tears falling in earnest now. He hugged himself in a self-protective gesture.

Aragorn hugged Faramir in a tight embrace and held him while the young man sobbed brokenly in his arms, for a second time. By now he knew Faramir well enough to be sure the young Steward would be embarrassed with this behaviour, not because he would think it was not proper but because he, Aragorn, was the King.

He let Faramir cry. This breakdown did Faramir some good. It was clear he had suppressed much. At last Faramir could start to get rid of his demons. Aragorn tried to comfort him as best he could, soothing his back, as the sobs seemed to intensify. He said nothing though, for nothing he would say could alleviate Faramir’s pain right now.

After a while Faramir calmed somewhat and withdrew from Aragorn’s arms. He brushed his hand over his eyes, a little angry at himself. “Forgive me… I do not know what came over me… you would think I am a weakling for I have done nothing but cry in your arms since we met,” said Faramir his voice hoarse and evidently very ashamed of himself.

“If Boromir were the one with you right now would you be this upset about having cried so?” asked Aragorn, his voice a little brusque.

Faramir tried to avoid Aragorn’s gaze but the latter insisted, unrelenting.

“Would you?”

“No,” came the sudden reply, “my brother was the only one I trusted with my feelings. Besides being my brother, he was also my only true friend.”

“Then you would die for me but I am not good enough to give you comfort?” pressed Aragorn.

Faramir did something very unexpected. He laughed. He laughed out loud. A laugh from the heart, spontaneous and beautiful, Aragorn thought.

“You never give up! You have a gift of twisting everything in your favour, even my own words. The Council will be in trouble with you,” said Faramir still laughing. He thought he must be going crazy for laughing this way after crying so much, over his King’s shoulder no less! He laughed harder still.

And Aragorn joined in the laughter and he felt like thanking the Valar for this beautiful sight of Faramir, a little happy at last, no matter if it was just for a little thing.

Faramir clamed down and grew serious again. The moment lost, it seemed.

“Ah no, my friend, do not dare to be all serious again, I will take the day off. Are you up for a ride? Why don’t you serve me as a guide and show me the wonderful place that Frodo told me about, the falls of Henneth Annûn? You will tell me about your childhood pranks and I will tell you about mine, and I assure you, after this, you will not think twice anymore before calling me Aragorn,” stated a not so regal King, yanking his Steward from the bench and dragging him all the way to the stables.

Title: A Day Out (Part 4/9)
Series: THE RITUAL
Author: Valkyrie (email)
Pairings: Aragorn/Faramir, Aragorn/Arwen (implied)
Rating: NC17
Archive: yes, but let me know where
Warnings: romantic situation between two males -do not read if you do not like
Summary: Aragorn and Faramir spend the day together and the King realizes what he is starting to feel for Faramir.
Authors’ note: this is AU. Some things are loyal to Tolkien’s story; I have changed some events and invented all the rest. If you like to read things canon, this is not a story for you.
Feedback: kind words will be welcome and constructive criticism as well.
Disclaimer: The characters are property of J.R.R. Tolkien. I have not and will not receive any money for this story. It is free for all to read.

Beta Reader original version: Minx
Beta Reader revised version: Chris
What would I have done without you guys? All remaining mistakes are mine.

---

PART FOUR – A Day Out

“This is my favourite place in the entire realm,” said Faramir, contemplating the waterfalls from the wide platform of smooth rock where he sat with the King. “This place is beautiful, even more so in nights when Ithil shines so bright the waterfall seems to glow and the foam, formed by the crashing of the water over the rim creates an ethereal mist on the shore. “I remember a time,” he continued, “when the war had not reached this part yet. I used to ride all the way here and sit for hours watching the waterfall, hearing its soothing sound. Not few times Boromir came to drag me out of here. I missed the passing of time in this beautiful place,” said Faramir, his eyes unfocused in remembrance.

“You would love Imladris then. There are many waterfalls and glades that take your breath away,” commented Aragorn, pleased that Faramir seemed at last to be at ease in his presence. “Gondor has her own beauty too.”

Faramir laughed lightly. “Your friend, Prince Legolas, thinks different from what I heard.”

“Oh? And how is that?” replied Aragorn.

“Well, while I was in the houses of healing, I overheard the healers. They gossiped about the whereabouts and sayings of your friends for they had never seen Elves, Dwarves or Halflings before. The lady Éowyn and I laughed much at your dear friends’ expense; you must forgive us for that, Aragorn. The healers found out that while Prince Legolas wanted to fill everything with trees and birds, Gimli wanted to reform the stone foundations and of the Halflings, they said that they eat too many breakfasts.” Faramir looked at Aragorn and laughed louder this time.

“Have you talked with Éowyn?” asked Aragorn; delighted with the way Faramir’s mood had improved.

“Yes,” answered Faramir, calming a little from his laughing fit, “she is a strong and fine lady, she has the heart of a warrior, well… she ‘is’ a warrior. You should have seen her, giving the healers the headache of their lives.” He started to laugh anew.

“I could imagine that,” said Aragorn, “what a pair the two of you would have presented to the healers for I know you were not so judicious either.”

This last sentence seemed very funny to Faramir.

Aragorn was mesmerized by Faramir’s happiness. The young man’s laugh was so rare that when it happened it was a sight to behold. One that was light and spontaneous, as a beam lighting his face, replaced the forlorn look. “You have a beautiful laugh, and I regret I do not see it often,” said Aragorn to a bewildered Faramir.

The young Steward became suddenly shy and Aragorn would have kicked himself for losing Faramir’s laugh so carelessly. “There had not been much to laugh about in those times. Hopefully, that will change now that the King has finally returned?” replied Faramir tentatively.

“That will ‘surely’ change now that the King is here,” said Aragorn, the confidence plain in his voice.

Faramir lay down more comfortably on the grass, a light sigh on his lips. He closed his eyes to feel the sun warm his face and the light breeze lull him. “I do not remember the last time I could do this, just being here, enjoying the day, worries forgotten even if for a little while,” said Faramir, his voice a quiet murmur. “Things definitely have started to change,” he continued with a smile on his lips, his eyes still closed.

Aragorn could do no more than stare. This uninhibited Faramir he liked very much. In his opinion, the young man worried all the time, and tended to think things over a little too much for his own good. He studied the young man a little closer.

The Steward was a little pale; too pale if Aragorn thought about all the hours he had spent outdoors. The recent ordeal was still clear on his face, though now, he definitely looked much improved, the ghostly paleness of death gone. The injury Faramir had suffered would give him trouble for the rest of his life, though, for it was a Nazgûl dart that had wounded him; the nuisance would fade more with the passage of time but it would always be there.

Faramir was now sound asleep; the soothing breeze and good memories had lulled him into slumber. He could not help but reach out and brush a wayward strand of hair from the young man’s face. Faramir stirred a little in his sleep, seeking the comforting hand. Aragorn smiled. His Steward was a trusting soul by nature. He had admitted to himself that he was already lost to this young man, now he was sure. Faramir was a remarkable man, kind and brave, his spirit was a blinding force indeed. He chuckled to himself. Now that times of peace had arrived, the kind soul of his Steward would raze everything in its way, he will blind us all with his shining light, no doubt of it.

After a while Aragorn grew bold and started to caress the young man’s face, tracing with his index finger the contour of the sleeping man’s eyebrows, the eyelashes, the perfect nose, the slightly open luscious lips that right now begged to be kissed, and he could not refuse such a plea. So he slowly lowered himself and lightly touched with his lips those of the sleeper. The touch was so sweet it begged for further tasting, so he kissed him again.

Faramir was dreaming and it was such a good dream. He rode through the countryside with his King and the sun was setting on the horizon. They had decided to stop at the waterfalls and spend the night there. When the first stars showed their sparkling light they arrived at the site. In his dream, the light of the stars was so bright it lit the whole place so they did not need a fire, for the weather was warm as well. They laid the bedrolls beside one another and went to sleep. However, sleep was elusive for both of them so they started a conversation.

In his dream, his King moved closer to him, very slowly reached out, and ever so lightly caressed his face. Then his King drew closer still and tenderly kissed him on the lips.

For some strange reason, Faramir did not feel shy or ashamed to experience such emotions of lust and desire for his King. He closed his eyes, the sensations deepening as well as the kiss. He parted his lips to give further access to his King, his heart was racing, his senses on overload.

He opened his eyes to see the grey eyes of his King shining under the bright light of midday.

Aragorn deepened the kiss and unexpectedly Faramir parted his lips further, inviting him to taste him thoroughly, which he gladly did.

Then Faramir opened his eyes halfway, the hooded gaze full of desire. And just as suddenly, Faramir froze, wide eyes staring right at him, desire replaced by embarrassment.

Aragorn quickly broke apart from the young man, an apologetic look on his face. “I am sorry, Faramir. I do not know what came over me to take such a liberty. Please forgive me.” Aragorn waited for the other man’s reaction.

Faramir was stunned and quickly sat up. He had been dreaming they were at this same place but… In his dream, it was night and Aragorn was kissing him but… Aragorn had just kissed him right now and it was, obviously, midday and… He could still feel the heat on his lips and he wanted more of that, he wanted to feel it again, now, being wide-awake.

“Do it again, please,” asked Faramir, his gaze unwavering.

“What… But…” It was Aragorn’s turn to be nonplussed. This, he had not expected. The young man was very shy and he never thought he would get carried away in the kiss so Faramir would notice. And now that the young man was awake and had caught him in the act, he had expected him to recoil, not this forward petition for more. Something had happened for he would have not dreamt of this version of Faramir.

Aragorn saw enthralled how Faramir lifted his right hand to his own lips and touched them as though to assure himself the kiss had really happened. The Steward’s unwavering gaze started to shift, started to doubt and Aragorn saw how Faramir abruptly lowered his hand and his gaze. This last gesture made Aragorn emerge from his astonished state; he quickly reached out and tenderly touched the side of Faramir’s face, bidding the young Steward to lift his gaze.

Faramir looked at Aragorn once more with hope showing in his eyes. He lift his hand once more, this time to rest upon the hand touching his cheek, he inclined his head a little, closed his eyes and enjoyed the tender contact.

Aragorn closed the short distance separating them and took Faramir’s head between his hands. Slowly, drew near the other man and kissed him tenderly at first, but then, increasing the pressure and deepening the touch.

For Faramir the kiss was gentle, consuming, and possessive and bone melting. He would have slid down onto the floor were he not already sitting. The kiss ended and they parted; he looked straight into Aragorn’s grey gaze, and was lost all over again. He reached out and touched Aragorn’s lips, feeling the warmth there, feeling the faltering breathing, matching his own.

“You are beautiful; in every sense, you are beautiful. Your soul feels… pure, it seems war has not touched it, nor tarnished it,” said Aragorn. He felt as though his body was on fire. He wanted to ravish Faramir without delay but he knew he could not. Faramir must not lay with any man, not even him, before the night of the Ritual.

Aragorn realized he cared deeply for Faramir, not only as a friend, he wanted more. He had fallen for the young man, unaware of the moment that it had happened. He should see this as a complication, but instead, he felt glad. He knew he could bring happiness to Faramir, if the young man let him. He would have to talk to Arwen about this because now, he was not sure he could leave Faramir if his wife bid him to do it. Though, Arwen had stated very clearly how she felt already. Nevertheless, he wanted to be sure. He would talk to her as soon as they were back at the city; he only hoped she would understand for he could not live without her either.

Faramir stared back at him, waiting, saying nothing, but blushing prettily. It was clear he was unaccustomed to praises, even more if said praises were about his beauty.

“Faramir, what do you expect of the Ritual?” Aragorn asked suddenly.

Faramir was taken by surprise by the sudden change in subject, his face reddening anew by the thoughts the question aroused. “I…,” he faltered, lowering his eyes. “Could we please talk of something else? …I do not feel comfortable talking about it,” asked Faramir with pleading eyes full of embarrassment.

“I want to know, Faramir, and though I said you do not have to answer the questions you felt uncomfortable with, I would prefer if you answer me this one time. I will understand if you do not but I really want to know what you think of this, I do not want to hurt you more than necessary.”

At this Faramir immediately replied. “I know you would not hurt me, Aragorn, I trust you completely, I trust you with my life.”

“I hold you to that, Faramir, please remember that the night of the Ritual, no m…” Aragorn could say no more for he felt the power of the spell preventing him from saying anything further to Faramir. It was most unsettling. He wanted to reassure the young man that he could trust in him, no matter what. He did not want Faramir to think that he, Aragorn, had betrayed him, after promising he would be safe at his side. He wanted to tell Faramir many things.

“What? Aragorn?” asked the young man, seeing the odd expression on his King’s face.

“Nothing. It is nothing. We must go back, it is late and I am sure the guards are wondering about our whereabouts by now. Besides, it is well past midday and you have skipped your lunch, though this time I am the only one to blame,” said Aragorn trying to lighten the mood. Faramir did not want to answer his question and he would not push the young man further.

Aragorn rose and extended a hand to help Faramir stand up as well. They mounted their horses and slowly made their way back to the city. Neither said a word, each immersed in his own thoughts.

After a while Faramir broke the silence. “I am afraid,” he said quietly.

Aragorn almost missed the quietly said words, deep in his thoughts as he was. He looked at Faramir, waiting for the young man to say more.

“I am afraid the Ritual would declare me not worthy of the duty of being your Steward,” continued Faramir looking sideways to Aragorn. “That would mean I would die right there and though I do not fear death I do not want to be away from you… so soon.”

“You will be declared worthy, Faramir, of that I have no doubt.” assured Aragorn his Steward.

They fell silent and again Faramir was the one who broke the silence. “I fear…” He clenched his fingers on the reins and taking a deep breath he continued, “I fear the act itself and I am ashamed to concede such.”

“You have nothing to feel ashamed of. It is only natural to feel that way. Someday I will tell you of my first time and you will laugh of how nervous I was then,” said Aragorn, chuckling at seeing the wide-eyed expression on Faramir’s face.

Aragorn’s answer reassured Faramir and he was most surprised at what he said. He looked at Aragorn with a very comic expression, smiled and nodded to himself. “You certainly know how to lighten the mood, I concede that, my King,” Faramir bowed as far as he could in his saddle.

It looked like underneath all the sadness and shyness laid a frustrated little devil. He would be delighted to help him coming out.

Aragorn started to sing an old Gondorian tune and Faramir bestowed upon him one of his most beautiful laughs and then joined him in the song. That way they crossed the city gates, merrily singing. The guards watched them in stunned silence.

From a balcony, Arwen secretly smiled.

Later that same day Aragorn approached his Elven princess and invited her for a walk in the gardens after dinner.

“The stars shine beautifully, The Mariner sails high in the sky, his light brighter than other nights. Father must be happy.”

“When does he sail for Valinor?” asked Aragorn.

“Within a month, he will be one of the last to sail, along with Glorfindel, Erestor and my brothers.”

Aragorn did not say anything for a while for he knew this was a sad topic of conversation for Arwen. They walked in companionable silence for a while and came to the same bench he had been with Faramir. They sat, side by side, their arms intertwined.

“You had a good time with Faramir today, I could gather that much from the way you two were singing your lungs out,” said Arwen, smiling at Aragorn expression.

“Did you hear us?” asked Aragorn, somewhat surprised.

“Elven hearing, beloved. Though decreasing by the passing days to adjust to a mortal level, it is sharp still,” answered Arwen, laughing merrily.

No matter what, thought Aragorn, Arwen always had the upper hand and he loved her for it even more. Life with Arwen would never be boring. “I enjoyed my day with Faramir,” said Aragorn at last, “he has a beautiful soul and has suffered much.”

“He deserves to be happy, Aragorn,” said Arwen, “He already loves you, are you aware of that?”

Aragorn looked at Arwen for a long time. “Yes, you can say that he feels something for me that is not only friendship. He is loyal and—”

“No, Aragorn,” said Arwen, interrupting him. “He. Loves. You,” she repeated. “Trust Elven intuition, which I will never lose. Blame it on you saving his life; or maybe he had a glimpse of your beautiful soul when you drew him back from death; or it was simple love at first sight. He loves you and it is not gratefulness, if that is what you were thinking. It is love. Moreover, I can see you have started to care deeply for him as well, if not even love him, I dare say. You know what I think of this, Aragorn, you know what Elves think of love. Do not deny him, do not shield yourself on mortal customs, do not sacrifice him for petty laws.”

“But… I cannot help but to feel guilt every time I am with him for I will not be with you, and I am afraid the opposite would someday happen as well. I do not want to feel guilty when I am with you. I feel I cannot have you both, my love,” answered Aragorn.

When he had been with Faramir at the waterfall everything was clear for him, he was sure he wanted Faramir. He wanted to keep him and not only as a friend. But now, nothing seemed as easy as it had in that moment.

“You can have us both on our own time. We have each, our own chores. I am your Elven Queen, I am your nexus with what is left of the Elven realm, and I will be the mother of your children. He is your Steward; he is your nexus with your heritage, your people. He is your most trusted ally and will be your most trusted friend. Heed my word, Aragorn, for what I say is true.”

“Yes, beloved, but you are my most trusted friend already,” answered Aragorn.

“I concede that but give it time; he will be ‘one’ of your most trusted friends. Both of us will mean love for you. It is good to have some to choose from, don’t you think?” asked Arwen, trying to stifle her laughter.

“You are incorrigible and I like it when you laugh like that, and yes, I concede that I care deeply for Faramir. You are wise and know me better than I know myself, my Queen,” said Aragorn, placing a gentle kiss on Arwen’s cheek. He then, placed another light kiss on her lips. “I guess we should go to bed, don’t you think?“ he continued in a seductive voice.

“I think…” she answered, placing a finger on his cheek as though pondering about it.

Aragorn tugged at one fine strand of her raven hair.

Arwen laughed with mirth.

“…That yes, we must.”

“You better, my lady, you better.”

And they made their way back to their rooms, to greet the night properly.

Title: Rebellious (Part 5/9)
Series: THE RITUAL
Author: Valkyrie (email)
Pairings: Aragorn/Faramir, Aragorn/Arwen (implied)
Rating: NC17
Archive: yes, but let know where
Warnings: romantic situation between two males -do not read if you do not like
Summary: Aragorn makes a decision and Faramir disagrees.
Authors’ note: this is AU. Some things are loyal to Tolkien’s story; I have changed some events and invented all the rest. If you like to read things canon, this is not a story for you.
Feedback: kind words will be welcome and constructive criticism as well.
Disclaimer: The characters are property of J.R.R. Tolkien. I have not and will not receive any money for this story. It is free for all to read.

Beta Reader original version: Minx
Beta Reader revised version: Chris
What would I have done without you guys? All remaining mistakes are mine.

---

PART FIVE – Rebellious

Faramir felt as though he was floating on a cloud. He entered his room and went straight to the balcony to watch Ithil full and high in the sky by now. He gripped the rail of the balcony and took a deep breath; the night was fresh. It seemed it was raining somewhere, the wind bringing sweet fragrances through the air. He was very happy. He had not been this happy for a very long time.

He did not stay in his rooms for dinner as he had in the morning at breakfast time. Tonight he felt as though he could face everything life threw his way. So, he went to have dinner in the King’s private dining hall. Aragorn had said to him when they arrived at the city’s gates that he would make sure his Steward would have the proper nourishment for said Steward was still too pale for the King’s liking.

The evening passed happily with good conversation, jokes and anecdotes from Aragorn’s friends. Prince Legolas and Gimli did not stop bantering amicably between each other and he became aware of the devilish nature of the Queen. She and Aragorn laughed much at the expense of one very funny childhood story by Prince Legolas. Another thing that did not escape his attention was how much Éowyn and he had in common. They spent the rest of the evening talking about everything and anything, jumping from one topic to another with the ease of friends who had known each other from times ago, though they had just met one or two times during their recovery in the houses of healing. Lady Éowyn had a wicked streak as well. Life in Gondor would never be the same. And this was good, very good.

The next day Faramir woke up early to talk to the captains before they went on patrol. Though these were times of peace, there were still bands of renegade Orcs, who endangered the life of travellers, dispersed all over the land.

When he arrived at the barracks the men were ready to depart within the hour. He approached Beregond, one of his most trusted captains and asked about the situation.

“We are going to the River’s borders, Captain Faramir. Last night, the troops encountered a large band of Orcs, there were two wounded among the men,” said Beregond.

The slight discomfort of his Captain did not escape the Steward’s eyes. “Why was I not informed of this?” asked Faramir in an icy tone.

“I personally informed the King last night about this situation, as soon as Tanalcar gave me his report. The King gave me his approval for this morning’s scout,” answered Beregond, knowing full well that his Captain would see through his sidestepping.

Beregond was increasingly nervous for he knew Captain Faramir’s temper very well, and though the Captain was not quick to anger for any reason, he certainly knew how to make things clear when something bothered him.

“You have not answered my question, Beregond,” said Faramir.

“My Captain, you are still recovering and…,”

“And who decided that I was not well enough to attend my duties? Was it you, Beregond? Or was it Tanalcar?” asked Faramir, his anger climbing higher with each passing moment.

The men waiting in the barracks for further instructions were relieved not to be in Beregond shoes. They all loved their Captain, but nobody wanted to be the target of Faramir’s anger.

“No, my Captain, it… it was very late and we did not want to disturb you,” said Beregond finally.

“You did not want to disturb me, you say,” repeated Faramir, not so understanding as Beregond wanted him to be. “But it was, no doubt, better to disturb the King at… what time did you say the troop came back?”

“Eleven, my Captain,” answered Beregond, feeling more cornered by the moment. He knew it would come to this, he knew it and had said so to the King but the King would not listen. The King had certainly not faced Faramir’s anger yet, for if he would only know…

“Then, Beregond,” continued Faramir with an icy and controlled voice. He certainly would not have been more intimidating if he had shouted his rage at the top of his lungs, “it is well to disturb the King, and the Queen for that matter, at eleven in the night, but it is not so for the Steward of the Realm, who is in charge of security to certainly spare the King unnecessary nuisances, such as a filthy band of Orcs roaming our borders?” asked Faramir, waiting for his Captain to answer.

“Forgive me, my Captain, but the King ordered us to inform him of this type of thing no matter what hour, day or night,” answered Beregond, hoping this would appease his Captain. The King had certainly not forbidden him from telling Captain Faramir of his orders but Beregond knew it was better not to tell his Captain about it anyway.

Faramir, for his part, sensed this would lead to nothing good. He saw the nervous look Beregond gave him and he knew this Captain had never flinched under a reprimand. Not even once. He complied with orders to the letter and accepted the consequences of his errors without even batting an eyelash. This discomfort indicated something else for sure and his intuition told him something he did not like at all.

“The King ordered you to inform him,” said Faramir at last, “and what did he say about informing ‘me’ about this ‘type of thing’?” asked Faramir, unable to help himself from throwing back Beregond’s own words.

Beregond lowered his gaze. He felt ashamed for lying to his Captain, and he would not lie for omission anymore. “Captain… The King ordered me to… he ordered me not to inform you yet of things concerning fights in the field. He said you were recovering still and that he wanted you in all your capacity if anything came to happen.”

Faramir was speechless. He looked Beregond straight in the eyes and saw nothing but concern there. Concern for his well-being. Nevertheless, he could not help but feel all-consuming rage. He realized Beregond waited for an answer. He could feel at his back the eyes of the men who witnessed this uncomfortable situation and along with the rage came the chagrin.

He had obeyed orders all his life. He had been ordered to heed the protocol proper of his station, to be someone he did not want to be, to do his duty even if it meant to walk willingly to his own death. These orders had been given to his face, to him and him alone, and he had complied with every one of them, because that had been his decision.

Now, for the first time in his life, he was ordered without him being there. A decision that concerned him was made without him being there. A choice was taken out of his hands. The choice to fight, to do his duty. It did not matter that it was the King who took this decision away, it did not matter that it was the very person to whom he, the Steward of Gondor, had to submit. This had never been done to him.

He was not brought from death to this. He wanted things to change but not this way, not this much. Was this how it was going to be from now on?

“Prepare my horse,” he said in a tightly controlled voice, the men behind him understood his order was to be followed without delay, “and you, Beregond, you will stay here, for this day you will not be on duty, you can say that to the King,” and saying this he left, leaving a very worried Beregond behind.

Aragorn was bored. Were these the important things the Council wanted to talk about? At this pace, he would have to do everything himself! The Council as it was now seemed a decorative thing. He would have to make changes because he certainly would not pass the rest of his days restrained to his office.

A knock on the door interrupted the senseless exposition about two farmers’ fight over who had the right to sell the crop where. A guard opened the door to reveal a tense looking Beregond.

“May I have a moment of your time, Sire? asked Beregond.

Aragorn had one look at Beregond expression and interrupted the proceedings. “I am afraid we will have to continue this meeting in the afternoon. Some things await my assistance without delay.” The Council members started to speak all at the same time until Aragorn interrupted them, “If you are incapable of dealing with these simple things on your own, you certainly are not apt to be on this Council. Is it not your task to give me advice and not ask ‘my’ opinion on these matters? If this is so then I will make the decisions all by myself and leave you to go on your merry way,” he finished, leaving the room and a very nonplussed Council behind.

The councillors, all men past their prime, Galen included, were speechless. This was unheard of; the Council had always been treated with utmost respect.

Aragorn bade Beregond to accompany him. They walked in silence until they reached the King’s office, where a guard opened the door for them.

“Well, Beregond, tell me what news you have and… Are you not supposed to be with the patrol?” said Aragorn, sitting down at his desk, placing his arms on the wooden surface, fingers intertwined.

“My King… I do not know how to say this, I just hope you forgive me for my incompetence,” said Beregond, staring directly into his King’s eyes. “Captain Faramir went to the barracks and realized that we were preparing for a scouting. He asked me why he was not informed about this and I really tried to sidestep him, Sire, but I never have lied to my Captain and as your Majesty did not prohibit me from speaking about your orders… Sire, I told him about your orders,” finished Beregond, preparing himself for everything, even the divestment of his rank.

Aragorn closed his eyes. This day was getting darker than black with every passing hour. He lifted his gaze to ask the Captain, “What did he say?”

“Sire, I have known Captain Faramir all my life and have seen him angered very few times, each one of them… Well, one can say one does not want to be at the receiving end of Captain Faramir’s anger, Sire. However, I have never seen him as angry as I saw him today. He asked me who had made the decision of not informing him of the scout, he said that he was the Steward of the Realm, and as soon as I told him whose orders those were… He suspended me for the rest of the day and asked for his horse. He left with the scout, taking my place.”

“WHAT? Are you telling me that Faramir went to chase a very large band of Orcs in his condition? Why did not anyone stop him for that matter?” asked Aragorn, leaping from his chair and circling the desk to see the Captain face to face.

Captain Beregond certainly thought this was one of the worst days of his life. He did not know what was worse, the King’s wrath or Captain Faramir’s. It did not matter, because the important thing here was he was in the middle of it. He wanted this day to end before ‘it’ ended him first.

“My King, with all due respect, nobody would have dared to stop Captain Faramir from doing anything. My King, with all due respect; none of us would have dared to stop Captain Faramir this morning. He made it abundantly clear what he thought of this. All of us under his charge respect and love him. Not few of us owe their lives to him. We would never dare to oppose Captain Faramir as we would never dare to oppose the King. Please, Sire, do not put me again in this position,” asked Beregond. “Though I owe my allegiance first to you, my King, I owe my obedience and friendship to Captain Faramir as well.”

Aragorn calmed down, somehow, during the Captain’s explanation. He realized now he had made a grave mistake in not telling Faramir of his decision. He was sure that if he had told Faramir, the young man would have complied. Or so he hoped. Now, due to his own stupidity and carelessness, Faramir was out there, enraged, thinking who knows what of all of this. Of him.

“It is fine, Beregond. The fault is mine; I should have talked to him first. Please, inform me of any news, I will be in the Council room. If anything happens do not hesitate to interrupt,” and with this Aragorn dismissed the Captain.

Aragorn sat at his desk again, and a headache started to press behind his eyelids. Now that he came to think of it, Faramir would be prone to see this as a lack of confidence in him; as though he would try to divest him of his duties as a Steward. He started to rub his temples and decided to cancel the Council meeting for the afternoon. He would not pay any attention to it anyway, being this worried. His heart felt heavy and a sudden revelation burned through it.

He admitted to himself he was in love with Faramir and could not ever part from him. He would grieve greatly if anything happened to the young man. A knock on the door interrupted his dark thoughts and he bid the visitant to come in.

Galen entered the office, a grave expression on his face. “I gather you know the news, Sire?” asked the councillor.

“What news would those be?” asked Aragorn in return, he was not in the mood for one of Galen’s lectures. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“Faramir has gone with the patrol, Sire. Do you realize the Crowning Ceremony will take place two days from today and that if he is not present, he would—”

“If he is not present, Galen,” interrupted Aragorn, “then we delay the ceremony; we will delay it another week if necessary. If he arrives next year, the ceremony will take place then, is that understood or will I have to repeat myself?” His gaze betrayed how cold he felt inside right now.

Galen bowed and left the office. He saw this was not the moment to speak to the King.

The King was left alone once more, guilt heavy in his heart.

The patrol rode non-stop for three hours and during that time, Faramir’s thoughts were consumed alternatively by anger and guilt. Anger for being cast aside like he was useless and guilt for having disobeyed a direct order from the King. Then anger overtook him again as he thought the situation over. He decided the order was not given to him at all. No, he was sidestepped.

You are brave, Faramir, he said, You are a great warrior, he said, You are worthy, he said. But what does he do? Put me to shame in front of my men. That he does.

Faramir didn’t see anything of the bright day that seemed to mock his dark mood. He pushed his horse harder in rhythm with his thoughts. The men under his command had never wished so much to encounter Orcs on their way. At least, that way their Captain would vent his anger on the vile creatures. They thought, anyway, that their Captain was more than capable, wound recovered or not. They had seen him doing battle with fresh wounds gracing his body. They did not doubt Captain Faramir was capable of handling this situation.

Then, the orcs were spotted right ahead, and with a cry of war, he led his men into fight.

“I concede the part of your own stupidity beloved,” said Arwen, trying to appease her husband for the umpteenth time and failing on purpose.

The King and his Queen were in the royal chambers. Faramir had been gone the whole day and Aragorn was beyond himself. He could not sleep and it seemed he was not going to let his Queen sleep either.

“If you want to comfort me, my love, you are not getting the work done at all,” said Aragorn, in a suspiciously whining tone most unbecoming of a King.

“That is the point, beloved,” answered Arwen, “that way, you will think twice before you meddle like that again. I take the opportunity to warn you that if you ever do anything of the like to me, you will certainly be sorry,” she continued in the sweetest tone of voice.

“Oh Valar! I foresee the two of you will be the death of me,” said Aragorn.

“Please, love—”

Arwen did not get to say what she was going to say, for a knock on the door interrupted her.

Aragorn was out of the bed in no time and grabbing his robe, went to answer the door. He was sure that at this late hour it had to be news about Faramir. His heart wanted to escape his chest, he just prayed to the Valar and all his ancestors that Faramir would be fine.

“What news do you have?” asked Aragorn. “They have returned, my King, Captain Faramir is unwounded but he is at the houses of healing for three men have injuries and one died in the fight,” Beregond informed Aragorn.

“Thanks, Beregond, inform Captain Faramir I expect him in my office at once, tell him to wait in the office if I have not arrived, and then take a rest, it seems you need it,” answered Aragorn. He felt like his soul had flown from his body and returned. He went back into the room, changed into comfortable clothes and headed to his office to face Faramir, not before hearing a cheerful good luck from his Queen.

Title: Apologies and Confessions (Part 6/9)
Series: THE RITUAL
Author: Valkyrie (email)
Pairings: Aragorn/Faramir, Aragorn/Arwen (implied)
Rating: NC17
Archive: yes, but let know where
Warnings: male/male relationship
Summary: After a storm, calm.
Authors’ note: this is AU. Some things are loyal to Tolkien’s story; I have changed some events and invented all the rest. If you like to read things canon, this is not a story for you.
Feedback: kind words will be welcome and constructive criticism as well.
Disclaimer: The characters are property of J.R.R. Tolkien. I have not and will not receive any money for this story. It is free for all to read.

Beta Reader original version: Minx
Beta Reader revised version: Chris
What would I have done without you guys? All remaining mistakes are mine.

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PART SIX – Apologies and Confessions

On the way to his office, he thought about how he would apologize to the young man and if Faramir would accept his apologies in return. When he arrived at the office, a guard opened the door for him announcing that Faramir was already waiting for him. Aragorn took a deep breath and entered the room only to be left rooted to the spot.

There he was, beside his desk, the Steward of Gondor, as he had never seen him before. The young man he knew until now was nowhere to be seen. In his stead, was this man with a hard stare, covered all over in Orc blood. His sweet Faramir was gone and he realized he wanted this Faramir as much as the other one. A sudden rush of blood went to inconvenient parts of his body; lust clouded his senses but he restrained himself out of sheer willpower. Certainly, this was not the moment to be aroused no matter how much his body thought otherwise.

“Does the King want me to give him a report?” asked Faramir, bowing his head stiffly.

Aragorn had been willing to apologize, to plead with the young man if it was necessary but Faramir’s words, spoken in such a way, inflamed an anger he did not know he possessed. “You disobeyed my orders,” he said, with a restrained voice.

“If the King remembers, he did not talk to me at all. He gave the order to a third party,” answered the Steward with controlled rage.

“If you are not aware of that already, let me remind you that you are still recovering from your injury. You put your life in unnecessary danger today… and stop addressing me in third person. You know well I asked of you to call me by name,” said Aragorn, his voice changing in volume with each statement.

Faramir on the other hand kept his voice quiet, colder than ice and more impressive than any shout would be. “I can take care of myself very well, Sire, I have been doing so all my life,” he said, ignoring Aragorn’s petition to call him by name, keeping the impersonal stance.

“But it seems that you are still learning to do what is expected of you,” said Aragorn and regretted his words the moment they came out of his mouth. He felt as though he was a spectator of his own actions. He wanted to stop this argument, he was cornering Faramir. He knew he was being unfair, that it was his fear of losing him which spoke through him. Nonetheless, he could not stop himself. This was the last straw for Faramir. He felt something give deep inside, the dull pain in his shoulder increased to higher levels.

Orders.

That was all that was expected of him. To follow orders without question. To comply with everyone’s whims. He could not keep going on like this. He would not. Just for an instant he wondered how one could pass from total happiness to total despair.

“I am a loyal servant of Gondor, you did not give me that order but went behind my back and put me to shame in front of my men. You treated me as one would treat an infant who is fixed in a caprice and had to be sidestepped in order not to hurt his feelings,” shouted Faramir, taking two steps forward, enraged beyond any capability of returning to his senses. Titles forgotten, all forgotten; all that mattered was that he would not endure being ignored anymore.

Aragorn was speechless. Faramir was unrecognizable. He could see he had pushed the young man too far. He had let his feelings rule him.

“I will not be an ornamental Steward. I will not be a thing to move this way and that for I prefer to die to living that way, to be dishonoured.”

Aragorn grew alarmed at the mention of death and he knew then that if he wanted to straighten out this situation, it would not be easy. It seemed he would be reduced to pleading after all, and right now, he really did not care. All his anger was gone, and he realized it had been unfounded. Faramir was right about everything. “Faramir—,” Aragorn started to say but the Steward did not let him continue.

“Or maybe you thought I would be your whore, to do with me as you please, to order me around as you want,” Faramir lowered the volume of his voice and advanced two more steps.

“NO! Faramir, listen to me—” tried Aragorn once more without success.

“I know very well I have to submit to you in the Ritual Ceremony. I know you will… use me, but that does not mean you could do it again after all is over or that I would allow you to push me around.” Faramir made a pause.

Aragorn could see there was a crack in the hard facade and he took the opportunity without delay. He cut the distance between them and took the young man in his arms, hugging him tight. “Forgive me, forgive me, please, I was blinded by my worry for you and then by my anger and fear of losing you to my own stupidity. Can you find it in yourself to forgive me? I will do anything you ask of me,” pleaded Aragorn, hugging the young man tighter for Faramir was trying to break from the embrace.

>From the start, Faramir’s anger had fuelled his fighting stance. He had kept himself away from Aragorn for he knew any contact with the King would appease him. He did not want to listen to for he knew the words would weaken him and he did not want to yield in this matter. Now, all was lost in an instant, with a touch, with a gesture and a few words all his anger was gone. He knew, nonetheless, he had been right to get angry because the treatment he had been subjected to had been unfair. Now, hearing Aragorn’s reasons, he faltered, though he did not fall altogether.

“My father insulted me, he mocked me and demeaned me, every chance he got,” Faramir whispered, stopping fighting off Aragorn’s embrace but still not returning it. “I grew up accustomed to his apathy. I expected it from him,” he continued, “but I did not expect anything of the like from you.” He felt his reserve had reached its limit. The wound on his shoulder seemed to come to life. He felt exhausted beyond endurance now that his anger was gone, along with his energy.

Aragorn let go of Faramir and gripped him by his arms. “Please, do not compare me with your father, ever. I acted out of fear and eagerness to protect you. I realize now, I acted wrong, and though my intention meant no harm, I did hurt you. I only hope you can forgive me for my foolishness and be patient with me in the future for I tend to be a little overprotective of the ones I love.” Aragorn waited for Faramir’s response, be it forgiveness or scorn.

The ones I love, this was the only thing that remained in Faramir’s mind after all that Aragorn had said. Little by little, warmth was returning to his body. This, he could understand, for every time Boromir went into battle, he had feared for his brother. And when fighting together, they assured themselves to take care of each other’s back. Yes, Faramir thought, this he could understand. And forgive. He looked at Aragorn and saw sincerity in his face.

Faramir tried to say something but found out he could not. He felt suddenly very weak and he would have collapsed if Aragorn were not holding him. He tried to raise his arms to hold onto Aragorn’s but it seemed his body could not respond to his commands. He saw Aragorn’s mouth moving as though saying something to him but he did not hear him, he tried to listen but he could not.

Aragorn’s fear of Faramir’s rejection turned into deep concern when the young man’s body faltered in his hands. He tried to gain Faramir’s attention but the Steward only looked at him, a dazed expression on his face. And suddenly, the young man went limp, his body collapsing against his chest.

“FARAMIR!” Aragorn did not lose any time and lifted Faramir in his arms, calling to the guard outside to open the door for him. This time he was grateful for the constant and annoying guard posted everywhere he went.

“Is healer Varan at the houses of healing?” asked Aragorn.

“No, Sire, healer Ranya is the one attending the wounded,” answered the guard.

“Find Varan, tell him to go to Faramir’s rooms at once!” After giving the guard the order, he headed toward the young man’s chambers.

Aragorn entered Faramir’s rooms with the young man in his arms for the second time in less than a week. He placed the Steward of Gondor on his bed, his blood covered form in stark contrast to the white linen sheets. Faramir still wore his armour, his entire form covered in Orc blood and what might be his men’s. Aragorn started to take off the bloodied items to be able to assess Faramir’s condition. Beregond had said that Faramir was unharmed. Why this breakdown then? After taking off the last of Faramir’s clothes, he looked for something he could use to clean the vile mess off the young man’s body but in the end he decided to use Faramir’s shirt. He ripped the fabric, wetting it in the water from a basin he found ready in the young man’s rooms. He sat on the edge of the bed beside Faramir’s unconscious form for his task.

Aragorn’s thoughts filled with guilt for he, surely, had great responsibility in what had happened. Faramir could have died in the field. He could have died thinking he, Aragorn, did not care about him, that all he had said was a lie.

He finished cleaning Faramir’s body as best he could and found no physical reason for the young man’s collapse. He was miraculously without a scratch, and it seemed the reason for his breakdown was mere exhaustion. He placed his hand on the young man’s forehead and focussed his mind on Faramir. He recognized the young man was sleeping. He wanted Varan to check on him anyway, because certainly the wound Faramir had received at the hands of the Nazgûl played a part in this as well… Convinced now that the young man was not in imminent danger, he let his thoughts go astray.

Aragorn watched Faramir’s body and found the young man had a beautiful figure. He did not have a heavy complexion, his figure was rather slim, every muscle marked just the perfect amount. His skin was very fair, it was perfect except for a few scars marring the beauty of it. This was a testament to Faramir’s abilities as a warrior. Being in battles nearly all his life his body was almost unmarked. He put his hand on Faramir’s chest. He could feel the even rise and fall of Faramir’s breathing all the way through his arm. He slid his hand downward and finally halted on Faramir’s hip. Aragorn closed his eyes and slowly withdrew his hand, restraining himself with the power of his will. He was certainly lost. He wrapped the sheets around the young man’s body before testing his own limits further. A knock on the door startled him and he went to open it.

“Varan, you took your time,” said Aragorn, making room for the healer to enter.

“Sire,” said Varan, bowing his head. “I detoured to the houses of healing to bring what I thought I would need,” he continued, his tone of voice revealing his discontent at finding Faramir in such a state. “What happened Sire?”

“He went with the patrol this morning… No, yesterday morning,” corrected Aragorn realizing it was already past midnight,” he arrived an hour or so ago. We were at my office and… we had an argument. He was well and suddenly he just collapsed.”

Varan went to the bed and took some minutes to assess Faramir’s state. He then turn around and asked the King. “Why did you not take him to the houses of healing?”

“There are wounded soldiers from yesterday’s patrol. The patrol encountered Orcs on the way, and one of the men died in the fight. I did not want him to be there taking into account his emotional state,” answered Aragorn.

“Emotional state?” asked Varan. “What emotional state is that?” The healer had a very good idea of what had happened but he could not help but take the opportunity to bother the King. Faramir did not need someone else taking the role of the young man’s dead father. He had suffered enough.

“As I said, we had an argument,” answered Aragorn defensively. “Have you finished?” he added, eager to get rid of the impertinent healer.

“Yes, Sire, just let him have his rest. No more arguments,” said the healer, bowed and left the room.

Aragorn approached the bed once more and found deep grey eyes staring right at him. He drew near and very slowly sat on the bed. “How are you feeling?” he asked softly.

“Tired,” came the quiet reply. “I am sorry,” said Faramir after some moments.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Faramir. The blame falls all on me,” said Aragorn, reaching out to take Faramir’s right hand between both of his; he then lifted it to his lips and kissed it tenderly before placing it against his own heart.

Faramir closed his eyes; he was beginning to feel the full force of what he had dared to do. “I said awful things, unforgivable things—”

“You were right to voice them, I was not thinking straight. I should have spoken with you instead I went behind your back and almost lost you because of it. Nevertheless, you have to admit it was wrong to leave like you did; you are not recovered yet.”

Faramir opened his eyes and averting his gaze, hastily retrieved his hand. “I am not a child in need of protection. I am a warrior and I have gone to battle in worst conditions that I am now. Or was it all a lie? And you think me weak; incapable of handling a few orcs?” Fixing defiant eyes on Aragorn, he waited for a reply that would alleviate the growing turmoil he felt inside.

“Ah, but you are a stubborn!” said Aragorn jumping to his feet and trying desperately to reign in his temper. He walked to the window to give himself to school his features in a semblance of calm he was not feeling at the moment. He considered Faramir’s words and had to admit to himself the blame fell on his own shoulders. He could not go about praising Faramir’s braveness and wordiness and then step on his own words with rushed actions; even if those actions were borne out of love. It was going to require some getting used to but he had to come to terms with the fact Faramir was a warrior and as such he would be in danger’s path often. He was not a good follower of rules and caution himself. Like him, Faramir too was a ranger, used to the hardiness of the wild. He could not expect the young man to keep a quiet and out of danger life because it would ease be easier to think him safe.

“I see you have to think hard to give me an answer,” said Faramir, his rage rising once more. He had believed everything Aragorn has said about him being worthy. He had dared to believe that at last life could be different. But every passing moment he doubted this could be. His heart was still clinging to hope but feeling number with every minute Aragorn delayed his answer. This time, though, he will be no one’s puppet. Exile would be preferable.

Aragorn turned around to face the rebellious stare. The sight of Faramir in armour and covered in blood came to his mind, heating his body in inconvenient places once more. “I will never lie to you, Faramir. I admit my folly in trying to protect you. I can only say in my favour that I have never been in this position before; I have never been this close to a fellow warrior or at least, not close enough to care for him and go to such length to protect him.”

Faramir’s expression changed so quick from mutinous to surprise that it was almost funny. He was not used to these declarations of affection either and this particular one certainly deflated his anger effectively. He felt tongue-tied.

As a good hunter, Aragorn saw his chance and pursued it. “You can be sure I would never hurt lie to you or try to manipulate your feelings. It is not my nature to deceive. All that I have said to you I believe without doubt. I think you a very capable warrior and as such I would trust you with my life. Do not have to second guess yourself ever again.” He approached the bed and sat on it again, confident he was not going to be rejected, if the warm expression in Faramir’s face was some indication.

“You certainly have the power to leave me witless, that I give you,” said Faramir, letting his hand be captured in Aragorn’s once more.

“You are certainly beautiful in your rage. When I saw you standing there in the middle of my office, your stare hard and fierce, and your figure all covered in blood, I desired you,” said Aragorn, squeezing Faramir’s hand tight against his chest.

Faramir looked at Aragorn wide-eyed and speechless. He felt grateful for being already in bed for he was sure his knees would not hold him straight if he were on his feet. Suddenly he noticed his naked state under the sheets and blushed deep red in embarrassment for he saw, too, that he was cleaner. “Who… Who,” he started to ask feeling very uncomfortable.

Aragorn knew immediately what the young man was trying to ask and could not help but tease him a little. “I carried you here and cleaned you myself, though you still need a bath. I would help you with that but I am afraid temptation would be too great. Your body is a feast to my eyes, my dear Steward,” finished Aragorn, taking delight in Faramir’s increasing embarrassment.

“Please, Aragorn, you do not have to say such things,” said Faramir, trying to overcome his shamefulness.

“Oh, but you deserve the praises.” Aragorn kept teasing, “I will leave you to your rest now. Sleep, we will talk later.” He placed a kiss on the young man’s forehead and left the room.

Faramir thought he would be unable to find sleep, but his body had other ideas and he soon drifted off into his much-needed rest.

Faramir woke well past midday. He felt rested but his stomach protested at being neglected. The Steward rose and took a bath. After having a good meal he went to the houses of healing to inquire about the state of health of the wounded in yesterday’s patrol.

He entered the houses of healing and saw Aragorn talking to Varan. He unconsciously slowed his pace. “My King,” he bowed respectfully.

“Faramir,” nodded Aragorn in return.

Varan stared suspiciously at both of them.

“Thanks, Varan,” said Aragorn dismissing the healer, “Faramir, after you finish here, please join me in my office.” He then exited the houses of healing leaving a worried Steward behind.

Faramir put Aragorn out of his mind and focussed on the task at hand. He talked with Varan about the situation of the wounded and thankfully all were out of danger. He then spoke with each one of his men tarrying more than it was necessary. Finally, there was nothing left to do and Faramir’s thoughts went back to Aragorn. Every word he had said last night came all too clear back to his mind. His pulse started racing and it felt as though his heart would come out of his chest

“He was beyond himself with worry, I’ll have you know,” said Varan to Faramir, startling him. “Do not worry so, anything you would have said, he deserved it,” and with that, Varan left him.

Faramir went straight to the King’s office. On his arrival the guard opened the door for him without announcing him. Aragorn sat behind the desk, checking some papers. He saw that the Ritual Book was on the desk and tried to remember if it had been there when they were talking last night.

“Take a seat, Faramir, I will be with you in a moment,” said Aragorn, signalling to one of the two chairs in front of his desk.

Faramir fidgeted in his chair, waiting for Aragorn to finish writing some notes on a paper. He certainly felt he had been within his rights to do what he did and despite the nervousness he felt now; he would not go back on his words.

“Well, I am finished here.” Aragorn put the papers aside and came around the desk to sit in the chair beside Faramir, moving it so that he was facing the young man. “Sorry to make you wait, someone will come for that letter later.”

Faramir nodded, unconsciously straightening himself within the chair. “Sire?” he asked finally, opting to wait and see what Aragorn had to say and then rolling his eyes at his mistake. “Sorry, sometimes I forget…” He started to explain his lapse in not addressing Aragorn by his name once more but stopped at seeing his king’s mirth.

“You are hopeless, my dear steward, but I forgive you this time,” said Aragorn and then school his features. “Now, I called you here because I wanted to tell you something and I do not want you to interrupt me until I am finished,” Aragorn waited for Faramir’s consent.

Faramir nodded, looking at Aragorn’s beautiful grey eyes. He would concentrate on the soothing colour, for whatever Aragorn had in store for him.

“I am aware that it must be very difficult for you to submit to me in the way the Ritual requires. I would spare you that if I could, but as you well know, both of us are bound to do this. You, because it would be your death and I, because certainly, I do not want to lose you,” said Aragorn.

Faramir’s heart was pounding so hard he was afraid Aragorn might hear it.

“I want to make something clear,” continued Aragorn, “You, under any case are obliged to do something you do not want to do. I will never force you to do anything you do not want. If, after the Ritual, you do not want to lie with me again, then you will not have to,” Aragorn did not miss Faramir’s pleading gaze. He knew the young man wanted to say something but he wanted to finish his speech first.

“You have the right to protest when you deem it necessary. You are not my slave to comply with every order without complaint. You are entitled to give me your opinion, to disagree. What happened last night I deserved it and when I am done with what I am saying, I do not want to hear a sole apology, or regret. We are only discussing here the future, what would happen after the Ritual.

“I want you to consider what I am going to tell you. I do not want you to feel obliged by it. If you do not feel the same or something of the like, you can say no. Do you understand this, Faramir?” asked Aragorn. He bent forward and pried Faramir’s hands from their grip around the chair’s arms, holding them between his hands. He waited for the young man’s reply.

Faramir nodded once more.

“Yesterday’s events dissipated all doubts I had about my feelings toward you. I wanted to ride after the patrol. I guess I would have done that if Arwen had not convinced me of the contrary. She certainly pulled my ear yesterday,” said Aragorn chuckling. He saw that he now had Faramir’s undivided attention. It seemed the young man expected something different and of more sinister nature.

“I was worried beyond endurance, the possibility of losing you crushing my heart. I do not know when it happened but I love you, Faramir, and I want to pursue more than friendship with you. I want more of you after the Ritual, if you agree; and know that, if you want to pursue another interest I will not be in your way. You have the right to build a family on your own as well. I only ask that you gift me with some of your love. Will you?” finished Aragorn, looking at Faramir’s hands.

Faramir was speechless. Of all the things, he had not expected this. He loved the King. He loved him from the moment Aragorn saved him. It was not out of gratitude. He did not know how to explain it but something had connected between the two of them. It was as though it were meant to be.

He retrieved one of his hands and ran it through a strand of Aragorn’s black silky hair, marvelling at how soft it was. His hand soon found Aragorn’s face, and the King leaned into the touch. “I have loved you from the beginning. I felt your soul and it was as if it caressed mine. I lost myself to you without having even seen you. I agree to this proposal for I would be lost without you,” answered Faramir.

Aragorn raised them both from the chairs and embraced Faramir tenderly. He smelled the fresh fragrance on Faramir’s hair, remembering that few hours ago the beautiful strands were matted with the enemy’s blood, and he took a deep breath to dispel the memory of it. He brushed the strands out of Faramir’s neck and placed a gentle kiss there. Then he took Faramir’s head between his hands and kissed him deeply until they were both breathless. Finally, they remained forehead against forehead, savouring each other’s closeness.

They spent the rest of the day together and in the evening, they had another wonderful dinner. The next day though they barely saw each other because more guests for Aragorn’s crowning ceremony arrived. Faramir spent almost all day between Galen, seeing to the ultimate details, and the guard, taking care of security. He wanted to be sure every detail was covered for the next day he would be cloistered until the Ritual Ceremony.

When Faramir got to his rooms late in the evening, he was exhausted. But despite his exhaustion, he could not sleep. He kept thinking about the event that would take place the next day. He thought that by this same hour the Ritual would have taken place. He chastised himself for being such a fool. He did not fear death. It was not the reason for his worries. He did not fear pain for he was accustomed to it, he had learned to ride it, to endure it. So far, he had admitted to Aragorn that he feared the act itself.

Yes, though he loved Aragorn and trusted him with his life, he felt uncomfortable thinking about the intimacy of the act; nobody had touched him the way Aragorn would be touching him, nobody had seen him as vulnerable as Aragorn would see him. He had lain with women and of course, he had been the one in control. He knew of the basic procedure for two men to have sexual intercourse and though he felt attracted to Aragorn beyond any doubt, he still could not reconcile these feelings with the thought of him being the one in submission.

Faramir felt his heart pounding anew. He had accomplished very well scaring himself senseless now. A soft knock on the door startled him; he got out of bed and opened the door. And there it was the object of all his happiness and fears for the moment.

“Can I enter?” asked Aragorn.

Faramir nodded and Aragorn walked into the room. Faramir closed the door and before he had time to turn around, he felt Aragorn embracing him from behind.

“I love you, never doubt that, never,” said Aragorn, his tone desperate.

“Has something happened?” Faramir asked worried, placing his hands over Aragorn’s forearms and leaning into the embrace.

“No, I just wanted to see how you were,” answered Aragorn, “I gather you have sleeping problems tonight?”

“You know me too well, my King,” answered Faramir.

He had noticed over the last two days that Faramir almost always called him by name. But when they were alone as now, sharing their intimacy, Faramir reverted to the King word. He uttered the title in such a way it seemed to be an invitation to forbidden and wicked things. For that reason, he stopped asking Faramir to call him by his name. He could see Faramir having his way with him solely mentioning those words in the way Faramir had unconsciously perfected in so little time. He guided the young man to his bed, tucked him in and then sat on the border of the bed.

“I am no child, you know?” stated Faramir.

Oh Valar, Aragorn thought, is that a pout? Does he even realize what he is doing and the power he holds doing it? He was utterly lost.

“I know you are not,” answered Aragorn with a wicked smile, “I have seen you naked, remember?” He just could not help it.

Faramir blushed in an instant… still pouting.

“Stop doing that,” said Aragorn.

“Doing what?” asked Faramir, his expression changing to one of surprise.

“Stop pouting or I will have my way with you now,” answered Aragorn.

“I am not pouting!” said Faramir, indignation in his voice.

“You are, my dear Faramir, and you look most edible.”

“No, I am not!” He repeated, red to the tips of his ears. It seemed nowadays the only thing he did was blush all the time. It was most embarrassing.

“Yes, you are! Or do you dare to contradict your King?”

Silence for a moment.

And then laughter.

Faramir was laughing. Aragorn sighed at the sight of it.

“You did it again… lighten the mood as you always do,” said Faramir turning on his side, to get more comfortable on the bed, “Thanks, I was all in knots.”

“You are welcome, I will leave you to your rest,” said Aragorn caressing the young man’s head. He started to rise from his position on the bed.

Faramir grabbed Aragorn by the arm, making him sit again and with a quiet voice he asked, “Please stay? A little while?” He lowered his gaze for he did not dare to face Aragorn. He was ashamed with himself for being so childish.

Aragorn caressed the young man’s head again, brushing strands of hair out of his face. “You do not have to be ashamed of asking my company, Faramir,” said Aragorn taking in the blushed expression. “Make room for me there,” he added, starting to take off his boots.

Faramir’s expression was very comic.

“I am tired as well, I will not be uncomfortable,” stated Aragorn.

A wide-eyed Faramir pulled himself to the opposite side of the bed. Aragorn climbed in and gathered the still nonplussed Steward in his arms.

Though still bewildered, Faramir melted in the embrace at once. He hugged Aragorn back and buried his face in his King’s chest. With a deep sigh, he started to drift off with the feel of soft caresses on his hair.

“And I was not pouting,” sounded a mumbled voice in the silence of the room.

Aragorn kept up his sweet caress and soon the young man was asleep in his arms. He extricated himself from the embrace and very carefully arranged Faramir comfortably on the bed. He got out of the bed, took his boots and walked barefooted toward the door. With his hand on the doorknob, he hesitated and turned to look at the man sleeping peacefully on the bed.

“Ah love, but you were,” he whispered before opening the door and exiting the room.

Title: Readying (Part 7/9)
Series: THE RITUAL
Author: Valkyrie (email)
Pairings: Aragorn/Faramir, Aragorn/Arwen (implied)
Rating: NC17
Archive: yes, but let know where
Warnings: male/male relationship
Summary: Is the day of the Ritual and Faramir must prepare himself.
Authors’ note: this is AU. Some things are loyal to Tolkien’s story; I have changed some events and invented all the rest. If you like to read things canon, this is not a story for you.
Feedback: kind words will be welcome and constructive criticism as well.
Disclaimer: The characters are property of J.R.R. Tolkien. I have not and will not receive any money for this story. It is free for all to read.

Beta Reader original version: Minx
Beta Reader revised version: Chris
What would I have done without you guys? All remaining mistakes are mine.

NOTE: Blocked texts mark the words written in the book of the Ritual.

---

PART SEVEN – Readying

Faramir woke at first light in the morning. He had slept straight through the night without even waking up once. Aragorn was gone. Faramir smiled and stretched, he had not slept this well in a long time. His King definitely had a healing touch.

He suddenly remembered the entire pouting argument. He flinched inside and put his hands on his face, thinking he was reverting to his adolescence. He got out of bed and spied out of the window. Today was going to be a bright day, the sun was shining and no clouds were visible on the horizon. He wished to take a walk but he was not allowed to leave his rooms.

On The day of the Ritual the Steward must be cloistered in his rooms until a Councillor comes to retrieve him

He wondered about the fact that Aragorn might be getting ready for the crowning Ceremony. He wished he would be able to see such a magnificent act but he had to wait for whoever would retrieve him.

A knock on the door interrupted his reverie. He put on a robe and went to answer the call.

“Galen?” Faramir was surprised for surely the councilman would not retrieve him this early?

“Faramir, you must come with me now,” said Galen.

“Now?” repeated Faramir, his heart starting to beat wildly in his chest.

“You must prepare,” was Galen’s only answer

The Steward will be taken to the location where he will stay until the time of the Ritual

“Fine, let me change into—” Faramir started to say.

“That will not be necessary,” interrupted him Galen.

“But…,” Faramir started to protest again but seeing the futility of it, he complied and followed Galen through the empty corridors.

Faramir saw they were heading to the part of the tower that was mostly empty. He suddenly realized he was wearing no weapons and felt uneasy. He never parted from his weapons. Galen stopped in front of a room that had remained closed since Faramir could remember.

They entered the room and Faramir was surprised to see the room was well furnished, even better than his own rooms. The room had a bed with two bedside tables, four armchairs—two beside the fireplace in front of the bed and two more beside the luxurious curtain gracing the entire front wall. Near the entrance was another door, which led to a bathroom.

Galen went to one of the bedside tables and poured some liquid from a jar into a glass. He gave the glass to Faramir.

The Steward will cleanse his body of any remaining food and waste. He will not drink or eat anything during this process. Only when the process is done will the Steward drink the Nourishment specially prepared for this matter.

“You must drink this to empty your bowels,” stated Galen. “It will take effect within half an hour.”

Faramir took the glass, feeling embarrassed to no end. He had not had any idea what preparing would entail, but now he started to fear the whole situation would be humiliating. He drank the beverage in one long gulp.

A servant will bathe the Steward and shave all the hair from his face. During and after this the Steward must not touch himself until the Ritual is fulfilled.

“A servant woman will come at midday to help you with your bath, I will accompany her to give you further instructions,” said Galen.

“I can certainly bathe myself without any help, Galen!”

“Do I have to remind you that all that happens to you today was written to be so a long time ago?” answered Galen, his tone neutral.

Faramir averted his gaze and said nothing, trying to control the impotence he felt. It seemed the whole thing was about humiliation after all. How fitting! Was he ever going to have a respite?

“I will leave you on your own now. You will find everything you need in the bathroom. However, I warn you, you must not bathe under any circumstances until the servant woman takes care of that,” said Galen turning to leave the room. At the door the councillor halted, “You cannot leave this room, either. It is sealed. You can only leave here in my company, and though I know you would never desert your duty, this serves as well to not let anybody enter the room either,” finished Galen before exiting the room.

Faramir went to open the curtains. At least he could entertain himself looking out of the window. The Steward of Gondor was very surprised when he encountered only walls behind the curtains. He brought down the whole thing with one furious pull. What was the point of the curtain, then? It seemed the whole situation was prepared to immerse him in despair.

Suddenly, he felt nauseous. He barely had time to get to the bathroom when he threw up whatever was in his stomach. Did not Galen say half an hour? He felt helpless and was mortified to see the day had just started.

“Stop being worried, he will be fine,” said Arwen for the umpteenth time, walking to the window of their room.

Aragorn sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and hands on each side of his temples. “You do not know what I will have to do to him, Arwen. I am afraid I may lose him over this,” said Aragorn, looking even more worried, if that were possible.

“Is it that bad?” asked Arwen, leaving the window to stand close to her husband.

Aragorn just closed his eyes, shaking his head from side to side. Feeling the spell work to prevent him from revealing what was not supposed to be known. He had a lump in his throat and his heart felt, as though something was squeezing it. He fought to get a grip on himself but could not prevent a silent tear from falling down his cheek.

Arwen sat by his side and embraced him tightly.

A knock on the door startled them both. Aragorn let go of Arwen’s comforting embrace and composing himself, bade the visitor behind the door to enter.

A guard in full armour entered the room. “The guard is ready for you, my King,” he said, bowing respectfully before the regal figure.

Aragorn nodded in response and extended his right hand to Arwen, which she promptly took. “Lead the way,” said Aragorn to the guard.

“It would be an honour, Sire, my Queen,” said the guard, bowing again before the two figures who were dressed in the rich garments designed for such an occasion.

The guard turned. In the hall waited a full honour guard consisting of eight armoured soldiers who took their positions as soon as the royal couple exited the room. Aragorn and Arwen walked behind the Herald of the Realm, and the guard of eight followed them.

Thus began the crowning ceremony of the King of Gondor.

Faramir had a wretched morning. Now it was midday and he lay on the bed, back facing the door, feeling weak and miserable. On top of everything, he was very thirsty and there was not a drop of water to drink in the room, unless he wanted to drink the water destined for his bath. He wondered if that was done on purpose to weaken any resistance and humiliate him further. He was waiting for the servant woman and Galen to make their appearance. He was so exhausted that he even did not have the strength to think about what lay ahead.

A noise at the door caught his attention and he turned his head in time to see Galen and the servant entering the room. Galen had a big package in his hands and the servant a plate with two jars and a glass. He averted his gaze again and ignored them.

Galen left the package on one of the chairs beside the curtain. “Raise yourself, Faramir, I have brought you water,” said the councillor, offering a glass from the plate the servant had brought.

Faramir started to raise himself into a sitting position and felt the room spin around him. Galen quickly put the glass on the bedside table and helped him lean comfortably against the headboard of the bed. He then took the glass again and held it against Faramir’s lips.

Faramir drank greedily; he raised his hand to hold the glass by himself and saw his hand was trembling badly. He had no choice but to accept Galen’s help.

“I did not think you would be this weak, Faramir, though we have to take into account that your body has sustained much strain lately,” said Galen, putting the empty glass aside.

“What did you expect?” said Faramir with a furious glare, “I am dehydrated!”

“It had to be that way, Faramir; it is part of the Ritual. This drink will replenish your strength,” said the councillor, pouring liquid from the other jar on the plate.

Faramir drank from the offered glass as well. “What is it? It is sweet, I have never tasted this drink before,” stated Faramir.

“It is a recipe specially prepared for this purpose,” answered Galen. “Do you feel better?”

Faramir raised a hand in front of his eyes and saw that it had stopped trembling. He sat up on the edge of the bed and realized that the room was not spinning anymore. “Yes,” said Faramir somewhat intrigued by such a sudden improvement, “I feel better already.”

“Well, then go with the servant and take your bath. But first, hear what I will say,” said Galen, “The servant will clean your body. You are not allowed to touch yourself. She will clean your private parts and you must let her do it. You can touch yourself only after the Ritual is completed. Do you understand what I am saying?” asked Galen.

Faramir felt all colour drain from his face. He had thought the servant would be helping him to bathe, pouring the water over him, washing his hair or something like that…but not this. It was one thing to take a bath with a woman who is your lover and from whom you would take with pleasure any touch she would give. But it was another thing to feel the impersonal touch of a stranger all over your body, doing tasks that only you had done until this day. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm the rage he was starting to feel. It was futile to get angry. He had agreed to be subjected to this, though certainly he did not know the preparation’s details. He opened his eyes and looked at Galen.

“I understand,” he answered.

“I will wait here and prepare your attire. Go now then,” finished Galen.

Faramir followed the servant into the bathroom. He started to take his sleeping robes off but the servant halted his hands with her own looking at him apologetically. He dropped his arms in defeat.

The servant took the outer robe and then bade him to raise his arms to divest him from the sleeping gown. Faramir felt his entire body turn a deep shade of red, yet again. He felt so ashamed. The servant, then, placed a hand on his elbow and instructed him to enter the tub, first one leg and then the other. The servant bade him to sit and Faramir did so, gripping the edges of the tub during the entire bathing process, his knuckles white from the effort he was making to not jump at every touch. Only when the servant asked for his hands to wash them and to clean and cut his nails, did he let go of the edges, holding them again when she was done. She also cleaned and cut the nails on his feet.

The servant washed his hair and shaved his beard, all of it. At first, he thought the servant had made a mistake and he started to protest but she gave him another apologetic look and he knew this was part of it, too. His beard, he would look like a child now! His beard was for a reason! He gripped the edges of the tub harder, if that was possible.

The woman emptied the tub and poured fresh water. She washed his ears, his torso and his arms and then, bade him to stand up. He looked hesitantly at her but did as she wanted in the end. She started to clean his legs and Faramir closed his eyes trying to think of something else. She then cleaned his private parts, thoroughly, and Faramir missed the anchor the edges of the tub gave him.

More water was poured over him and then the woman bade him to step out of the tub. She waited with a mantle in her hands, which she used to dry his body. When she finished she left the mantle over his shoulders and Faramir was relieved that at least this part of his ordeal had ended. He took the edges of the mantle to wrap it around his body and walked to the exit of the bathroom but the servant indicated him towards a stool. It seemed this ordeal was not finished yet after all.

The Steward will be anointed with oil which will be prepared as told in this Book.

The servant retrieved a bottle from the stool. She approached him again and he took a step back; he wished that she was not going to do what he thought she was going to do. He looked at the bottle in her hands and watched mesmerized as she took the lid off and poured some of it in her hands. He could smell the sweet fragrance of the oil. She motioned him to let go of the protective mantle and he reluctantly complied.

Putting the oil bottle aside, she started to spread the oil all over his body; his face, torso, arms, back, buttocks and legs. However, she spared him what he dreaded the most. When she finished, Faramir released a sigh of relief. He expected to feel clammy, when the woman spread the oil on his body, but his skin seemed to have absorbed the oil. He motioned to recover his mantle but the servant did not let him. Then the woman indicated him to exit the bathroom. The whole thing was getting worst with every passing moment. How could he face Galen again when the man had seen him like this?

Galen was waiting sitting on a chair. Faramir noticed that some garments and items were spread on the bed. He looked at the councillor again, feeling his face redden with shame for he was unaccustomed to men seeing him completely naked. He had been oblivious to it when he was younger and he did not know about the duty he one day might fulfil. But, since the day he was told about the tradition followed by the Steward and Royal Lines and learned about the nature of the test he might endure, he became more and more aware of his body. He instinctively tried to cover himself.

The servant guided him to a chair beside the fallen curtain. She dried his hair methodically with a towel and then took a brush and combed it. When she finished, she bowed and left silently the room.

“I will dress you now, Faramir,” said Galen, motioned him to stand up and get close to the bed where the garments awaited.

“Why am I not surprised?” muttered Faramir to himself.

Galen took what seemed to be a long white loincloth. Faramir saw that the thing consisted of two pieces linked at one side by a clasp and a fitting set of ring and clip on the other. Galen placed the cloth around his waist and clasped the set; the cloth fell low on his hips. As it was, Faramir thought, the thing would cover his front and buttocks if he remained unmoving. He did not want to think what would happen when he walked because the loincloth was open at both sides, all the way up to where it rested on his hips. But then it did not matter for the cursed thing left nothing to the imagination. His mortification was now complete.

Galen motioned for him to extend his arms at his sides. The councillor helped him pass first one arm and then the other through the sleeves of a blue long tunic. The tunic was open on the front, left side wider than the other, and Galen clasped the left upper end to his right shoulder with an ornamental clip. The tunic looked now like a long robe. Galen retrieved a belt, which was made of some kind of metal, and secured it around his waist.

Next the councillor retrieved from the bed a pair of items that looked like thin manacles and put one on each of his wrists, a clicking sound announcing that they were secured. Another set similar to the manacles was secured on each of his ankles. Faramir did not like the fact that each one of the things had a ring protruding from them, as though to secure them to something else.

No footwear was provided.

Faramir was ready now.

When the moment comes the Steward must follow the Councillor to the Royal Chambers and when the Steward is at the King’s door he must knock three times.

“It is time, Faramir, you must follow me,” said Galen.

Faramir’s heart started to pound fiercely. He followed Galen through the corridors toward the royal chambers.

They arrived at the King’s chambers where two guards in full armour were posted. He felt his face burn from embarrassment at being in such robes and barefooted on top of it. Galen left him and Faramir knocked as told, his heart pounding madly in his chest.

Title: A Duty and a Dire Task (Part 8/9)
Series: THE RITUAL
Author: Valkyrie (email)
Pairings: Aragorn/Faramir, Aragorn/Arwen (implied)
Rating: NC17
Archive: yes, but let know where
Warnings: sexual situation between two males. Violence of sexual nature ahead, you have been warned!
Summary: King and Steward do their duty. But what would come of it?
Authors’ note: this is AU. Some things are loyal to Tolkien’s story; I have changed some events and invented all the rest. If you like to read things canon, this is not a story for you.
Feedback: kind words will be welcome and constructive criticism as well.
Disclaimer: The characters are property of J.R.R. Tolkien. I have not and will not receive any money for this story. It is free for all to read.

Beta Reader original version: Minx
Beta Reader revised version: Chris
What would I have done without you guys? All remaining mistakes are mine.

NOTE: Blocked texts mark the words written in the book of the Ritual.

---

PART EIGHT – A Duty and a Dire Task

Aragorn was waiting in his rooms. He did not know how he had endured the crowning ceremony, thinking all the time about the dire task he would have to accomplish. He felt his heart pounding hard in his chest for he knew that Faramir had to be on his way to the royal chambers already. The young man would knock at the door at any moment. Despite this knowledge, Aragorn could not help but flinch when the quiet knocks sounded on the door.

“Enter,” he said with a firmness he was not feeling at all.

Faramir heard the permission and taking a deep breath, entered the room. The cold manacles and anklets felt heavier than before. When Galen had secured the items on him he had felt something odd run through his body and all the way to the King’s chambers he could feel how the items were draining the energy out of him, though very slowly. He wondered if he would die this way, the cursed items robbing him of his vital energy, if he did not pass the test.

The Steward must walk towards the King and kneel in front of him saying the words stated in this Book. He must do this keeping his gaze down. He will not raise his gaze to the King until the Ritual is completed.

The young Steward paused on the threshold for the briefest of moments and closed the door behind him, trying, to no avail, to calm his beating heart. He walked towards the regal figure that was sitting on a chair by the grand window decorating the room, Ithil’s light bathing the still form. He took in the surroundings. The chamber was not luxurious but it felt warm and cozy, illuminated by the sole light of a candle for Ithil’s rays were enough at this hour. Faramir gave a nervous glance to the bed and immediately averted his gaze, looking at the fireplace instead.

He was now in the middle of the room and he was sure the King could hear his thundering heart. Faramir did not dare to look the King in the eyes for he feared what he would encounter in the grey gaze. He knew this would be his sole opportunity to do it, for as soon as he would be at his King’s feet, the Ritual forbade him to look at Aragorn until all was completed. Faramir inwardly chastised himself for letting the fear get the better of him. He forced himself to focus on the trust he had for his King, his beloved Aragorn. Still, he could not find it in himself to lift his gaze.

Aragorn saw Faramir entering the room and he thought that the young man could not present a more splendid sight. The blue attire he wore enhanced the fairness of his skin. He knew Faramir had been groomed for him, his skin bathed and his hair brushed until it shone. And on top of everything the young man looked breathtakingly beautiful without his beard, his lovely mouth more noticeable than before. The young man was nervous. He walked slowly, as though trying to delay his ordeal as long as he could, and looked at everything but him. Finally, Faramir was standing in front of him and Aragorn’s breath caught in his throat when Ithil’s bright light bathed the face of the gorgeous man standing before him, his gaze downcast.

“Here I am, my King; for you to make the claim.” Aragorn heard him say in that beautiful and quiet voice. Then the young man knelt, both knees on the floor, hands on his lap, and completed the set of words, grey gaze always trained on the floor. “I vow to serve you until the day I die, protect you with my own life and I offer myself to seal my allegiance.”

Aragorn had never seen a more arousing sight than this—of his Steward submitting to him in this way. Despite this willingness, Aragorn did not want to do what he was appointed to do for he knew he would have to hurt his Faramir. He saw the young man before him and wanted to raise him from where he knelt and hug him tight. But instead, he continued with the Ritual saying what he was supposed to say.

The King will ask the Steward, with the words stated in this Book, whether he agrees to be subjected to the trial. The King from here on will not give the Steward comfort of any kind.

“Do you come of your free will and agree to be subjected to the trial of the Ritual?” Faramir heard the King ask.

The Steward must give his answer. If the Steward does not submit, he will leave the royal chamber with the two guards posted outside of it, to be locked in a cell and await a quick death by mortal hand or endure a slow one by the magic of the Ritual; the decision would be the King’s.

“I come willingly. I was not coerced to fulfil my duty. I submit to this trial,” Faramir answered, feeling as though an axe had fallen on his head.

It is up to the King to accept the Steward’s submission. If the King does not accept it, the Steward still will be condemned. If the King agrees, the final part of the Ritual will begin and from here on the Steward must obey the King’s every command.

“I accept your offer,” Aragorn answered to the kneeling figure before him. He restrained himself with all his might from reaching out and caressing the young man’s head to reassure him. Instead, he continued with the task at hand.

The King will order the Steward to remove his outer garment. The Steward will offer the belt to his liege and walk to the place of the Ritual dressed in the remaining garment.

“Take off your robe and give your belt to me.”

Aragorn saw how Faramir’s trembling hands took off the belt and offered it to him as he was bade. He saw how the naked chest was revealed when the young man let the blue tunic drop over his shoulders to fall down into a bundle around him; the fine and white skin gleamed under the lights, a sweet aroma feeling out his senses. He felt a wave of desire travel through his body; his first impulse was to lick the young man’s fair skin. The tunic was entangled around Faramir’s legs and part of his waist. Nevertheless, Aragorn could glimpse some of the undergarment Faramir wore. The cloth was white and he could not see Faramir’s left hip but the right revealed the garment was opened all the way up, a kind of clasp holding it up. He could see a hint of the bare skin of Faramir’s flank. He restrained himself from reaching out to Faramir yet again.

The King will secure both hands of the Steward with the belt of the Steward’s garments. He will lead the Steward to the place where the Ritual will be performed.

“Give me your hands,” he ordered the young man. Aragorn took the offered hands and secured them together with the clasp of the belt. The belt now transformed into a chain. Aragorn closed his eyes in despair, his cold demeanour faltering once more, when Faramir flinched at the clicking sound of the clasp. However, Faramir saw none of this.

The young Steward could only hear the orders imparted with cold demeanour and tried harder to hide the trembling of his hands. He felt as though he was in front of a stranger, he could not find the kind and caring man he had known the past few days in the sound of that voice and he could not help but flinch at every touch and clicking sound.

Aragorn stood up from the chair taking the young Steward with him. Now that Faramir was on his feet, the blue tunic that had obscured Aragorn’s vision from the rest of Faramir’s body fell all the way down. The white cloth was a loincloth that reached Faramir’s bare feet. The garment was as Aragorn had suspected, open on both sides, all the way along Faramir’s legs, the white cloth a kind of thin silk that showed the young man’s every contour.

The King will voice the words that will open the passage that leads to the place where the Ritual will take place. The words should not be translated but pronounced in their original Quenya.

Aragorn walked to the centre of his room and spoke the words as was expected of him and saw how a part of the wall beside the fireplace disappeared before his eyes. He did not wonder how that came to pass, so many odd things had he witnessed to last him a lifetime. He could feel Faramir’s presence behind him and felt despair at hearing the young man’s unsteady breathing. He wanted to turn back and comfort him, he did not want to offer this cold facade but he was forced to do it. The Ritual stated it so.

As soon as the King let go of his hands and bade him to follow, Faramir saw that the belt he wore a moment ago was turned into a chain attached to his manacles. He was tied as though he was a prisoner! He thought desperately, his breathing increasing dangerously. Nevertheless, he followed the King without complaint, eyes always cast to the floor. Then he heard the King speak words he recognised as Quenya but could not make out their meaning. He followed the King into a passage through an entrance that he was sure had not been in the room when he had entered.

From here on Faramir knew nothing of what would happen, though on second thought, the whole experience had been one surprise after another; and not so pleasant surprises for that matter. He dreaded Aragorn’s cold demeanour and he hoped that the Ritual was responsible for it. He looked at his tied hands and the chain dangling from the manacles, moving in a soft arc with every step he took. He could not help but resent that a warrior of his station was treated in such a way, as though he were a vile criminal who ought to be restrained. Or as though he was a coward who would go back on his word and had to be tied down in order to prevent his escape from his duty. He forced himself, one more time, to stay calm, to control the rate of his breathing.

Aragorn walked through the passage with many things on his mind. He was not surprised to find all along the narrow corridor strange rocks that emitted a soft light. He turned his head back a little from time to time and could see out of the corner of his eye that Faramir was still silently following him, eyes downcast. He wondered if the young man’s thoughts were in the same turmoil as his own.

Soon, Aragorn came to the end of the corridor and stood frozen in place. There, before him, was a very spacious room. The walls were clothed with delicately woven tapestries of a beauty that surpassed any he had seen before. They depicted scenes from a past long gone but not forgotten. The creation of Anadûnê, the Land of Gift, Elves and Men sharing as the allies they once were; what must be the fair land of Valinor, the White Tree and many more drawings. Each tapestry possessed a beauty beyond comparison. Aragorn wondered about the nature of the Ritual. He thought that maybe such a powerful magic might come from the Elves of Valinor, or maybe, from the Valar themselves. Then, he thought, the Valar had no reason to meddle in the affairs of Men and neither Valinor’s Elves. Aragorn saw all this in an instant and then his gaze fixed on a large square stone that occupied the centre of the room. He did not know it would be a stone, though he should have imagined it, he thought bitterly. More remarkable, though, was the Book hovering high above the altar, its eerie presence sending a chill down his spine.

On the threshold of the place appointed for the Ritual the King will blindfold the Steward, who will remain so until the Ritual is cbqompleted. Then, the King will restrain the Steward, by hands and feet, to the altar situated in the centre of the place where the Ritual will be carried out.

Aragorn retrieved the cloth he had attached to his wrist and turning, he placed it around Faramir’s head. He observed how Faramir lost his calm as soon as he placed the blindfold on him, the young man’s breathing catching in his throat. He waited and prayed that the young man would calm down.

Faramir forced himself to take deep breaths for hyperventilating at this point would not do. When the King came to a halt in front of what was the threshold of a room, he wondered about what he would encounter beyond. But then, the King turned around and placed a blindfold on his eyes. Chained and blindfolded. He could not help but feel despair filling his whole being.

Faramir calmed as best he could and let himself be guided by the King until he was left to stand for a little while, he did not know where. After a short time, the King guided him once more, to climb what seemed like steps and he was uncomfortable to no end when the loincloth uncovered his entire flank, which the King would surely see. His liege helped him, then, to lie on a hard surface and to situate him as required and he forced himself, once more, to remain calm. Faramir let go of a breath he did not know he had been holding.

Before helping Faramir to climb on the altar he studied the square stone with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The hard platform had on one side two short chains with clasps on the end, that were set wide apart. On the other side, there was a ring. All of these were made of mithril. He thought about Faramir’s anklets with its rings attached to them and about the chain on Faramir’s manacles with its clasp in the end. The items on the surface were no doubt to secure Faramir’s hands and ankles to the altar. The image this presented in his mind was highly arousing but what he would do in the end was not.

Every step Faramir climbed up let the opening in the loincloth reveal the entire leg and part of the young man’s buttock. Aragorn forced himself not to look at the sight and instead fixed his gaze on Faramir’s face. The young man’s fear was evident; his skin had a thin layer of sweat that released into the air more of the maddening fragrance Faramir was wearing. When they arrived at the last step Aragorn helped Faramir to lay face down on the surface.

“Extend your arms over your head,” ordered Aragorn. Then, he took the chain attached to the manacles and secured it to the ring situated on the side of the stone. He walked to the opposite side and took first one ankle and then the other to secure Faramir’s legs to the chains attached to the surface. It did not pass Aragorn’s attention that the young man flinched each time a clicking sound resonated through the room or that a slight tremor travelled through the young man’s body each time he touched him by chance.

The time was near, thought Faramir. He felt the chain to his manacles being secured to something else. His ankles were secured as well, his legs spread wide apart. The sound of the clasps clicking shut chilling his very heart. Now, he was sure this would not be pleasant for him. He was chained to a stone! Tonight, he would not be offering his innocence to the King for this was no offering, this felt as sacrifice. One thing was sure; this would be no lovemaking. There would not be soft caresses, no words of endearment, no sweet surrender atop soft sheets.

When he had entered the royal chambers he had seen the huge bed with dread, thinking that soon he would lie there, giving himself to his King. Now, he lay chained on top of a hard surface, his emotions on the brink of panic, scared beyond words. No, this would not be as he had expected at all. He had to trust his King though, he had to trust his beloved, and he had to think, once again, that Aragorn’s cold demeanour was to blame on the Ritual. He had to think thus because if not, he would go mad with despair and doubt; doubt of Aragorn’s words.

Doubt of Aragorn’s love for him.

Faramir’s thoughts were stopped by the rustling sound of clothes being shed and he knew, then, that the crucial moment of the Ritual had come. He was suddenly aware of the fact that he would not be able to see his beloved King, nor caress him. Faramir’s body started to tremble in earnest as he sensed the King climb on the stone and arranging himself behind him. He tried to still himself for what would come but failed.

The King will take the last piece of cloth from the Steward’s body and will not give the Steward comfort of any kind, neither physical, nor emotional. The King will proceed to take the Steward and will use nothing to ease his way. The Ritual will test, then, the Steward’s spirit and, if the Steward passes the test, a bond will be established. If the test declares the Steward unfit, the King will guide him back to his chambers where the Steward will be arrested by the King’s guard. This is the end of the Ritual.

Aragorn’s desire increased tenfold as soon as he finished securing Faramir to the stone. He shed his own clothes and climbed on the stone to situate himself behind Faramir, his reasoning and judgement starting to cloud before the image of Faramir displayed in such a manner, a sacrifice, a beautiful offering ready for the taking. He hesitated, though, when he saw the quick rise and fall of Faramir’s back, evidence of the young man’s fear. But then, he saw how the thin fabric of the loincloth Faramir was wearing stuck to the young man’s buttocks. He saw how Faramir’s skin was glistening with sweat and whatever the young man had on him. He smelled the fragrance from Faramir’s skin and it aroused him to the point of madness. Aragorn fought for control but it was a losing battle. He reached out and opened the clasp securing Faramir’s loincloth, putting the cloth aside. He felt as if in a daze, as though something had taken over his body to leave him as a spectator of his own actions.

Everything acted against Aragorn at that moment. Faramir’s trembling body spread before him, giving himself in such a passive manner, agreeing to become a Steward even when he knew what he one day might give up for the sake of the realm. He could feel, somehow, the young man’s fear and it aroused him even more. He did not want to feel like that. He did not want to be aroused by Faramir’s fear and submissiveness. He did not want Faramir’s first time to be like this; he wanted to touch the wonderful backside offered up to him, he wanted to caress Faramir, calm him. All these he thought for the briefest of moments, as he lost the battle he was fighting to restrain the urge to plunge savagely into its virgin depths. Faramir tensed as soon as he felt the King take the loincloth off his body. His trembling stilled as the weight of the King pressed against his backside. Hands pulled his buttocks apart and he could not help but whimper. The King’s arousal pushed at his entrance and he started to panic as he realized that there would be no preparation. Then all thought flew form his mind to be replaced by pain. Blinding pain that robbed him of his breath as the King, relentlessly, penetrated his unprepared body.

Faramir tried to stifle the scream that came out of his mouth, but he could not prevent it for the pain was too much. He felt the King start to ease his way out to come in again with renewed force, and that hurt even more. He screamed again, tears running down his face, wetting the cloth covering his eyes, his breath coming in laboured gasps. He felt some liquid running down his thighs, and he realized that it must be blood, his blood. Faramir screamed again and again with each thrust of the King. He felt the manacles heavy on his wrists, sapping his energy, burying in his skin for he could not help but pull with all his might every time the King tormented his flesh. He wondered when the torture would end. Why? Why was Aragorn doing this to him, betraying his trust in such a way? Aragorn had said he loved him. Why did Aragorn take him this way?

Aragorn saw himself as in a nightmare. He used Faramir without any preparation. He felt possessed. He could not see beyond his need to own the beautiful body laid before him like a feast. As though in a deep fog he realized that he had hurt Faramir badly for he could see the young man was bleeding, he could feel it. He heard Faramir screaming, he saw every muscle on the young man tense under the onslaught, and he saw how the young man scraped raw the skin of his wrists by pulling at the chain every time he thrust into him. Nevertheless, he could not drive himself to a halt. Every time he withdrew from the tight heat he fought to end it, to stop hurting Faramir but each time he plunged in again, more forcefully than before, an unknown madness holding him in its grip. He could not help but wonder, in his mounting despair, what Faramir was thinking right now at this betrayal on his part. His sweet and trusting Faramir who he now believed he had lost forever. His beautiful Faramir who now lay before him, sobbing and whimpering from the pain he, himself, was inflicting.

Aragorn, Faramir thought.

His King.

Aragorn who swore himself to him. Aragorn, not the King, Faramir reflected, trying to find a ray of light among the terrible pain. He had no more strength to scream, he was now reduced to sobbing like a child. He forced himself to think about last night and how tenderly Aragorn had held him until he slept. He forced himself to think about the few kisses they had shared. No, the man on top of him was not his Aragorn; he was not Aragorn as he, himself, was not Faramir. They were now King and Steward and this was a duty that needed fulfilling and no matter what, he would trust his King, he would trust Aragorn.

Through the blinding pain, Faramir could feel something strange building inside him. His senses were heightening so he felt his pain increase, if that were possible. He could hear his own sobs and Aragorn’s gasps as though they were thunder on his ears. He could feel Aragorn’s hands on his sides, squeezing him; the touch burned him with heat while the cold stone under him burned with cold; the manacles and anklets he felt as heavy rocks, draining the life out of him at an increasing pace. He could taste the salty tears, that had found their way from under the blindfold to his mouth and they tasted bitterer than the bitterest thing he had tasted. They tasted of his pain and anguish. However, the oddest thing was that he could see a blinding light; he was blindfolded, his eyes tightly shut in his pain but still he could see a light that was beautiful and splendorous. Suddenly, he felt a drop of moisture fall onto his back.

All the time Aragorn wondered when it would end, how he would know the awful test was finished. Above all, he wondered if Faramir could ever forgive him. Deep within he bitterly wept over his weakness but still he could not stop taking his pleasure and he sank into utter despair. On the outside, a solitary tear fell down his face to rest onto Faramir’s back. And suddenly, his senses heightened all at once. His pleasure peaked and he came deep inside Faramir. However, he felt agony as well, Faramir’s agony. The pain was so unbearable that his breath caught in his throat. He burned from heat and cold. He tasted the sea on his mouth and heard Faramir’s whimpers as the beating of a whip against his soul; he saw a blinding light and then felt his will returned to him. Aragorn pulled out of Faramir with utmost care, and then he took off the blindfold from the young man’s eyes. Faramir’s restraints unclasped themselves, freeing the captive from their draining task and Aragorn drew the shaking form against his chest, tightening his hold around his beloved.

Somehow between the haze of pain Faramir, unexpectedly, felt the bond starting to form and he somehow knew it was no mere bond for he felt all the anguish Aragorn felt as soon as that teardrop touched the skin of his back. He felt the guilt, the struggle, the fear of rejection and the pleasure, the passion, the desire…and the love. All consuming love. For him. He did not notice the restraints vanishing, for finally a blessed darkness took him. He did not realise either how carefully Aragorn gathered him in his arms and wept bitter tears of guilt and regret.

Title: The Bonding (Part 9/9)
Series: THE RITUAL
Author: Valkyrie (email)
Pairings: Aragorn/Faramir, Aragorn/Arwen (implied)
Rating: NC17
Archive: yes, but let know where
Warnings: mentioning of past violence of sexual nature.
Summary: The bonding is done but it brought unexpected consequences.
Authors’ note: this is AU. Some things are loyal to Tolkien’s story; I have changed some events and invented all the rest. If you like to read things canon, this is not a story for you.
Feedback: kind words will be welcome and constructive criticism as well.
Disclaimer: The characters are property of J.R.R. Tolkien. I have not and will not receive any money for this story. It is free for all to read.

Beta Reader original version: Minx
Beta Reader revised version: Chris
What would I have done without you guys? All remaining mistakes are mine.

NOTE: ‘serif’ means the words spoken by a Valar.

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PART NINE – The Bonding

They were one; united in body, mind and soul. They felt each other’s pain and pleasure, heard each other’s thoughts, and shared each other’s souls. Even in his unconscious state Faramir could feel Aragorn’s love for him, giving him the nourishment his soul needed and Aragorn could feel that love reflected back at him along with trust and adoration. So they lay, Aragorn holding Faramir’s trembling body and Faramir holding tight the arms around him, unconsciously looking for an anchor in his feverish state.

They could not see and if they would have been able to do so, they would have seen a soft light surrounding their bodies and the Book of the Ritual floating above them, it’s pages turning on their own, each one of them blank. They would have seen the Book disappearing into nothing. They would have seen the Lady of Light appear above them, her hair as black as the night sky, her eyes as bright as the light of a star, her skin as white as the moon and even brighter. However, they could hear with the ears of the soul and her voice was the sweetest music that could be heard.

‘The day foreseen has come. Two souls have broken the Spell with the Power of Their Love. The last of the Line of the Great Kings and the first of the beginning of a new age. The last of the Steward’s Line and the first whose love surpassed it all.’

‘The Ritual is no more but not for the Will of the King but for the Will of the Valar who created the Ritual to ensure the upcoming of the One who would raise against Evil and help defeat it once more and forever.’

Aragorn’s only thought was – why? Why had the Valar done this? Why did Faramir now lie trembling in his arms, whimpering in pain, even in his unconsciousness? Pain that he had been forced to inflict.

‘It was foreseen by Námo, the only one of us who sees things that shall be when it is Ilúvatar’s will to be so. The Line of Kings was in danger, the Númenóreans corrupted by greed and lust for power. Long time ago, we came to you, Race of Men, and offered the Spell, we offered a way for greedy and paranoid kings to ensure their survival and the loyalty of one that would die for them. However, we ourselves looked only for the survival of the One that shall come and be the first of a new age of Men. But it was given to the Númenóreans the choice to decide on the nature of the test and so they chose to test the Steward in the most humiliating way that they could imagine; for their souls were so, corrupted. Subduing a warrior to the lowest position; his honour and pride stripped from him by an act of violence; thus, the Spell was made and sealed in the Book and the Room was created out of reach of space and time known to Men, Vairë‘s weaves adorning its walls to remember a lost time, a longed for time.’

‘Your souls are pure and have come together in love and have passed a dire test. You are now bound, as no Soul of Men has been bonded before and never two others shall be. Both your lives’ essences linked as one. Thus, should one die, the other will follow.’

‘Aragorn, for your brave and kind spirit, you are granted the choice of departing from this world when you wish to do so. It will be your decision when the road would hold only weariness for you.’

‘Faramir, of compassionate and trusting soul, you are granted the long life of the bloodline of the Great Kings and for the great sacrifice you have made Ëste sends you her Gift of Rest and Healing Touch to ease the weariness in your body.’

Aragorn felt Faramir’s trembling body go limp in his arms; the occasional whimper replaced by the sound of even and relaxed breathing. Aragorn held him tighter, grateful tears running down his face.

‘The Ritual has been fulfilled, the test passed and a corrupted tradition destroyed; blessings, beloved children of Iluvatar. You will remember the words I have told you when you wake up. Now, rest for you will need it.’

Aragorn woke up and noticed two things; he was in his bedchambers and a warm naked body was pressed against his chest; Faramir’s body, left arm around Aragorn’s waist, face buried in the crook of his neck and the head using his arm as a pillow. Aragorn studied the young man’s face; Faramir looked so peaceful, he thought, so trusting in his arms. He caressed the young man’s face with his free arm and pulled the unruly locks behind Faramir’s ears. The events of the night came to him all of a sudden. Varda, the Lady of Light had come! The Ritual was broken by the power of their love and the will of the Valar. Aragorn smiled and could not help but tighten his hold on Faramir; they were bound and not for mere military tactics. No, their bond was of another nature and ran deeper, created by the Valar by means of their love and Faramir was granted a life as long as his own. Aragorn squeezed the young man even more, his eyes misting with tears which he could not prevent from running down his face.

“Ai Faramir! What grave hurt I have done to you, my love. I just hope you will forgive me, for the madness that overtook me was not my own,” said Aragorn in a quiet voice.

Suddenly, he felt Faramir’s awareness in his mind, vague confusion and… fear. He let go of the young Steward to look at his face and saw grey eyes staring back at him, full of caution, where once was only utter trust reflected in his gaze. And this pierced Aragorn’s heart worse than a sword would have. He reached out to caress Faramir’s face and to assure him that all was over, that he was safe now. But Faramir flinched from his touch, closing his beautiful eyes and wrapping his arms around himself in a clearly defensive gesture.

Faramir awoke to someone holding him tight and speaking words that he did not grasp. For a blissful moment, he did not know space or time; but then, everything came to him in a rush. He saw the man in front on him, laying with him on the bed and could not help but shy away from his touch, closing his eyes to not see, to not fall into the despair of the memories that came rushing back to strip his happiness from him.

Faramir knew all that had happened was due to the Ritual, that it was not Aragorn’s fault for he had felt it through their bond, and the Lady had told them about the Númenóreans’ choice. But he could not reconcile all those facts with the awful thing that was done to him. He could not separate King from Beloved for right now he could not help but see only one man. The one that had caused him so much pain and humiliated him as no one had before. Faramir thought that fate was, indeed, cruel with him for taking the solace it had offered in such a horrid manner. A soft voice dragged him out of his musings. He looked once more to the beloved face, his heart filling with doubt, and his eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Faramir?” said Aragorn, though he did not know what exactly he wanted to ask. The only thing he was sure of was that his heart was breaking at seeing Faramir recoiling from him, the grey eyes widening now with despair, glazing over with the tears that would come. “Faramir?” he repeated, his voice a mere whisper. His hand that had stopped in mid air, resumed the intended touch.

Aragorn wanted to scream, he wanted to tear something, for all that had been gained was destroyed in a single act. Faramir’s smile, Faramir’s laugh, Faramir’s trust. He only hoped that the bond they now shared would help him to rebuild what they had lost. He cursed the one whose choice was such a damnable act; he cursed the corrupt ancestor who had doomed him to this guilt and despair. He cursed them all for now his sweet Faramir, his trusting Faramir, his compliant Faramir trembled at his mere touch.

“Shhh, I will not hurt you, you must believe me,” pleaded Aragorn, running his hand over the young man’s head, pushing the unruly locks out of the way behind Faramir’s right ear. “What I… what I did, I did under the influence of magic. That was not me who hurt you, my love. I would cut my hand before knowingly hurting you. Do not recoil from my touch; learn the truth in my words through our bond.” Aragorn sank into utter misery when Faramir’s tears started to run unhindered down his face.

The young man shook his head as though denying something. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get a grip on his emotions, but to no avail. His breath caught in his throat and he wanted to think that the keening sound he was hearing was not his own suffering finding its way out. He could not prevent himself from tensing up when Aragorn embraced him in a loose hold; an embrace that at any other time would have brought him succour in the middle of despair. But not now.

“Please, Faramir, see through our bond. I love you. I could not bear to lose you,” Aragorn pleaded still.

Faramir heard the words and somehow started to see, to comprehend, and to calm down. They had been victims of something beyond their control. He knew Aragorn had suffered during the ordeal. He had felt the guilt as well as the love. He forced himself to calm, to breathe, and to reach out for their bond.

And could not.

The bond was not there. He felt nothing. He raised his head from where it lay on Aragorn’s shoulder, pushing the King away from him, eyes wide, sight clouded by tears that had not stopped falling. He saw the bewildered look in the beloved face and reached out with his mind again, head shaking from side to side, feeling the panic rising in him when he still felt nothing.

Nothing.

Faramir was sure he had felt the bond. He had felt it and embraced it. He had felt connected to Aragorn’s bright spirit and despite all that he had suffered, in that moment, when the bond established itself in their minds; he had felt like a thirsty man drinking much needed water. In the middle of all, he had felt secure, cherished, and loved.

Now, Faramir could understand why he was feeling cautious, why he felt the fear, why he recoiled from the touch he craved the most. The bond was gone. He did not feel Aragorn’s warm spirit anymore. He did not feel the thing that once tasted; he could not live without. A scream caught in his throat and in the end, he panicked when Aragorn tried once more to reach out for him. He pushed his King away and dashed himself against the headboard of the bed, making himself as tiny as possible and holding desperately his head. He heard someone calling but everything was getting increasingly hazy.

“Faramir!” Aragorn could not prevent the exclamation from his lips, the panic wave hitting his mind with full and startling force. He immediately reached out to hold the young man, shaking like a leaf and disturbingly rocking back and forth. “Faramir, love, what is it?” He strained his hearing to catch what the young man kept repeating over and over.

“It is gone.”

Aragorn embraced Faramir tight and was surprised when the young man held him tighter in return, putting his arms around him and squeezing painfully, as though afraid that Aragorn might disappear at any moment. “What is gone, my love?” asked Aragorn, soothingly caressing the young man’s back, and alarmed to no end by Faramir’s increasing distress.

Faramir buried his head deeper in Aragorn’s chest, the fear of losing his beloved greater than the fear of the memories. He feared that somehow Aragorn did not want him, that somehow Aragorn had severed the bond. He did not know what to think or to fear anymore. He felt his mind falling into itself and he welcomed the approaching darkness. He wanted oblivion; he did not want to live like this. Used and cast aside. The bond had been so beautiful and consuming; he knew he could not live without it for now it felt as if it always had been there. It felt as though without it he would be incomplete, an important part of himself gone. Thus, he wanted to leave as well. He embraced the darkness for it offered the oblivion he craved.

Aragorn grew alarmed when Faramir’s mounting despair transformed into something more. Faramir’s mind was disappearing from his awareness as though the young man was not there. Faramir went limp in his arms and he felt him no more. He panicked. In a hurry he situated Faramir more comfortably on the bed and felt for a pulse, which was there, heart still beating strongly.

A very distraught King sighed in relief and covered the young man with the sheets. Then, he dressed himself in simple trousers and shirt to go to the door and ordered one of the guards to retrieve Varan for him. He did not miss the look of utter sadness that crossed the guards’ faces.

“He passed the test, do not fear,” Aragorn said to the guards reassuringly. “Hurry with the healer, please.”

The guard all but ran to accomplish the order.

“I do not understand,” said Varan after assessing Faramir’s state. “He seems asleep, but he does not respond to common stimulus. He should have awoken by now,” added the healer to Aragorn’s concern. “I must know everything that happened in order to make a further diagnosis.

A sinking feeling took hold of Aragorn’s heart for the power of the Ritual would not let… He stopped his contemplation in mid thought for now that his mind was clearer… the Ritual was no more! He certainly should be able to talk about it unhindered, should he not?

“Do you know something about the Ritual?” He said, testing the ground.

“What all people know. It is a test for the Steward of the realm. If he does not pass it, he would be killed, declared a traitor,” answered the healer.

“The test was of a sexual nature,” said Aragorn in a rush, surprised and relieved that the power that prevented him from disclosure, was gone. He could not help but redden under the healer’s bewildered stare, though. “Please, let us sit and I will explain everything,” he continued, guiding the healer towards the chairs beside the window.

Aragorn began to tell his story starting with the shock he had felt when Galen first told him about the unusual tradition. He told Varan about the grave error he almost committed and about the inevitability of fulfilling the Ritual. He told the healer about Faramir’s insecurities, about how, he himself, had promised Faramir no harm would ever come to him and how later, he was forced to break that promise by a dire and mad obligation. He told him every sordid detail of what had happened in the accursed room and he told him about the bond and the gifts of the Valar. In the end, Aragorn told the healer about their love, bitter tears running down his face.

Varan, on the other hand, was more than shocked. He was furious, not at Aragorn but at the mad kings of old. He looked at the seemingly serene figure on the bed and could not help but feel his heart constrict in sympathy. He looked then at the sight of his King, crying disconsolate as a child does and cursed under his breath. He rose from the chair and put a reassuring hand on his King’s shoulder.

“We will figure it out, my King. We will find out what is wrong with him. Have a little faith that all will be well,” stated Varan, not knowing what else to say.

“I could feel the bond, Varan, I could feel him. I could feel his distress, his fear, his panic,” said Aragorn, calming somewhat. “But it seemed he could not feel me. Ai Varan, you should have seen him. He was utterly panicked,” Aragorn started to say, but his voice broke before he could say anything more.

“Calm yourself, my King. You have to be strong for Faramir,” said Varan, trying another tactic to bring the King to relax.

It worked, for just as suddenly Aragorn angrily brushed away the tears running down his face, abruptly rose from the chair, and walked to Faramir’s side. He then, picked the young man up in his arms, wrapping him in the sheets and bade Varan to open the door.

“I will carry him to his rooms. The steward’s chamber should be his now,” said Aragorn, resolution painted on his face. “I will bring him back; I will not lose him to this.”

“Sire, I will give you my opinion about the new rooms if you do not mind,” said Varan.

“Speak,” said Aragorn curtly.

“Place young Faramir in other rooms for if he awakens in those he would be more distressed about the matter. He does not have good memories about that room, Sire,” finished Varan in a pleading tone.

“I will not even inquire about this matter, Valars help me I am glad for Denethor’s death,” said Aragorn, leaving his chambers with Varan in his wake.

Aragorn chose the rooms at the end of the same hall where his own chambers were located. Varan opened the door for him at his signal and he was rewarded with a grateful look from his healer for having paid heed to his warning. The healer put aside the sheets of the bed so Aragorn could place his charge there. Then, Aragorn himself covered Faramir with the blankets and sat at the edge of the bed.

Varan went to the door and at the threshold he said, “We will have to wait for it is clear, the choice to wake up is his. Meanwhile, I will send word to other healers to try and find out something that could help us to end this condition.” Then he left the King to his own thoughts.

Aragorn held Faramir’s right hand with his own while he caressed the young man’s face with the other, silent tears running down his face. “Wake up, my love, please?” he begged the sleeping man. “Do not rob me of your presence, beloved, for I would go mad. We can fight this, beloved, we will fight it. Wake up to fight at my side. I promise all will be well.” Aragorn lifted Faramir’s limp hand to give it a tender kiss and then placed it over Faramir’s chest.

Aragorn looked out of the window. It was raining. He thought how much Faramir liked to see the falling rain. He thought about all the things Faramir liked; such simple things. The rain, Anor reflected on the water, Ithil’s light, the mist in the falling waters, the wind blowing through the trees. His sweet Faramir was a kind and gentle spirit and his soul always looked for such beautiful things. His beloved could not end like this, he was sure of that. His Faramir could not end his days without tasting the happiness he deserved. No, he would recover and together, they would see happier times.

End of this series

Continued in: The Road Ahead

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