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This story is rated «NC-17», and carries the warnings «Some chapters contain graphic sexuality in the context of loving relationships (Faramir/Aragorn and/or Eowyn) and the overall ethos is polyamorous (there's enough love to go around).».
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The Song of the Steward and the King (NC-17) Print

Written by Raihon

19 March 2006 | 32932 words

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Chapter 4 – To Be a Man

A page had informed Éowyn and Faramir of the King and Queen’s arrival on the estate grounds, so they stood on the front balcony of their house to welcome them. A light snow had been falling since early morning, gracing the young trees and hedges with downy white adornments. Faramir breathed deeply of the chill February air and hugged Éowyn to his side. She smiled up at him and he kissed her on the nose where a snowflake had drifted.

The King and Queen arrived with a small crowd of onlookers, employees of the estate, who stared impudently at their new Elvish Queen even as they muttered gracious Gondorian words of welcome.

Aragorn first embraced Faramir, then, after a slight hesitation, Éowyn. Arwen’s greeting to Éowyn was much warmer and when she turned to Faramir, she grasped his shoulders and demurely kissed him on both cheeks, taking Faramir a bit by surprise, as she was usually more reserved. “Happy birthday, Lord Faramir,” she said with small but lovely smile on her face. “We did not bring you a present, I fear. Indeed, we left it in the city…”

Aragorn grinned. “At the orphaned children’s home. I trust you will not scold us for leaving your gift behind?”

Faramir laughed, “may I live long enough to see many such birthday presents bestowed. Come in out of the cold, Maida will take your cloaks,” he said, indicating a stern looking girl of Rohan standing nearby.

“What a harmonious blend of Rohirric and Elven styles you have brought together here!” the King exclaimed.

“Éowyn had much to do with the design,” Arwen said. “Since I have been here before, perhaps, Éowyn, you wouldn’t mind giving the King a quick tour of the house?”

Éowyn gave a firm nod and a quick smile to Aragorn. “Let us start with the upstairs. It is rather plainer, so perhaps the downstairs will give a more favorable impression for having seen the other half first.”

Aragorn gestured for Éowyn to lead the way, and Arwen took Faramir’s arm. “Are the others here yet?” she asked.

“Yes, but it is a small crowd. Legolas, Arasail and Luthir have all come up, and we were just joined by Beregond and Mablung. They are all in the sitting room.”

Faramir smiled with pleasure as Arwen embraced the other Elves and chatted with them animatedly. Arasail and her husband Luthir were dark Elves like Arwen, but lesser in beauty than the Queen. Arasail was planting an experimental arbor on the estate and Luthir was surveying abandoned orchards in Emyn Arnen so that they could again be made useful.

Mablung and Beregond approached Faramir, pronouncing half-Elvish nonsense sentences. “Your accents are abominable, boys,” Faramir laughed. “Behave yourselves in front of the Queen, will you?”

Beregond’s cheer faded a bit, but Mablung still looked ready for mischief.

Faramir noted Éowyn and Aragorn had completed their tour of the upper level and were now inspecting the common areas on the ground floor. Maida entered and set a bottle of wine and some glasses on the table next to Faramir, so he began to pour for his guests. After exchanging a few pleasantries with Arasail about her latest plans in the arbor, Faramir went back to the door to look for Éowyn and the King. The were just coming down the hall, so he poured them each a glass of wine.

Éowyn took a large gulp from her glass. She had a cross expression on her face. When Faramir gave her a questioning look, she pulled him out in the hall and across to the formal dining room.

“What happened?” Faramir asked.

“He is like the month of March on the Westfold!” Éowyn fumed. “With his warm words he coaxes the blossom of a smile from my lips, only to kill it off with the frost of his look. Toward all others he is constant in his affection or disdain, but because I am your wife, he covers his disdain for me with soothing words that only irritate because they are so patently false!” Éowyn took another large swallow of the wine.

“Surely not, my love. How could he possibly disdain you?” Faramir was perplexed. What had passed between them on their innocent tour? The tension between them had never eased completely, but surely Éowyn must be reacting to something the King had not intended?

“I tire of him already, but I will engage him in conversation at dinner. Watch and listen, Faramir, and judge for yourself.” She turned her back on him abruptly and crossed the hall.

Faramir shook his head. I do not understand it, but I will indeed watch and listen, he thought.

When Faramir returned to the living room, Beregond and Mablung were huddled in a conversation with Legolas and Arasail, and his suspicion was piqued. He went over to them to see what they were up to.

“Lord Faramir,” Legolas said in a teasing tone, “your old friends have many a tale to tell on you, it seems.”

“What are you on about?” Faramir asked, narrowing his eyes.

“What else are Elves ever on about?” asked Mablung. “They’re going to sing a song!”

Faramir groaned and he was grabbed on either side by Beregond and Mablung, who stuffed him into a chair that Legolas had drawn to the center of the room.

Éowyn clapped her hands in delight. “Maida, come quickly, your master is about to be made sport of!”

Maida peeked around the door frame and called out, “I was wondering when this party was going to get interesting!”

“Cheeky deoflum2” Faramir retorted.

While the others gathered ‘round, Legolas began to sing, “gwenwin in enninath…”

“Oh, please, Legolas!” Éowyn pled, “in the Common Tongue, so we can all understand.”

Legolas frowned, “it won’t sound nearly as wicked,” he averred. Arwen offered an obscene linnod as evidence in his defense and Aragorn doubled over with laughter.

“I think you are up to the challenge of improvising in the Common Speech,” said Luthir to Legolas.

“’Tis strangely easy for you to lay down the challenge for another,” Faramir taunted Luthir, “when you yourself cannot lay down two rhymes in a row!”

“The form we have chosen would give even Luthir little challenge, I fear,” Legolas said and began again:

Long years have past ere he was a lad
When he knew not the good from bad
Be it twelve year spirit or day old beer,
Drink up! came the cry of Faramir!

“’Tis false! ‘Tis false!” cried Mablung. “Those days are not more than two years passed.”

Then Arasail took her turn, clearly putting her conversation with Mablung to good use:

They say he once got stuck in a tree
And all his men gathered ‘round to see
Their glorious captain, seized by fear
At the sight of a snake hissing “Faramir!”

Faramir held up a hand defensively. “It was a very large snake!”

Éowyn leapt to her feet, “I have one!”

Faramir buried his head in his hands.

Éowyn laid a hand on Arwen’s shoulder and sang to her, rather badly:

After the wedding ‘tis never the same
I waited four months before I came…

Faramir peeked between his fingers and could see that the howl of laughter had come from Luthir.

…to Gondor and it’s mighty spear
But worth the wait was Faramir!

Faramir leapt from his chair and grabbed his wife ‘round the waist, spinning her to one side over his knee and kissing her long and hard on the mouth. “She has taught me the manners of her people,” he explained to Aragorn, who nodded approvingly.

“Lady Éowyn, I have a question for you,” the King said, and when Éowyn raised her eyebrows in response, Aragorn sang:

When she rides her black-haired steed
Does his speed outride her need?
O’er hill and valley does dew appear
And cling to the legs of Faramir?

Éowyn hooted and Faramir shook his head and wagged his finger at the King.

Éowyn stood up and answered:

With such a steed between my thighs
I ride content and full of sighs
And cry out loud for all to hear
‘Tis my own fair mount, my Faramir!

Arwen said, “well answered!” and clapped her hands, giving Aragorn a sly look, but Faramir could see that Aragorn’s mind was elsewhere. Éowyn noticed, too, and she barely concealed her annoyance.

“Let us change the subject,” Faramir suggested, returning to his chair. “You are embarrassing poor Beregond.” Beregond, indeed looked scandalized.

“Then I will sing a more innocent song,” said Arwen, who stood up and all fell silent.

Four less one is less than three
And four less two is naught to me
That two plus two is four is clear
But what holds up our Faramir?

“Ah, it is a riddle!” Luthir said.

“That is too easy,” Legolas said, narrowing his eyes at Arwen.

Aragorn also shot a strange look at Arwen, stood up and said, “Faramir, Legolas, a moment of your time?”

“What is the answer?” asked Beregond.

Mablung shrugged. “His chair, I guess.”

Faramir looked back at his chair, agreeing with Legolas that there was a red herring in the riddle, but he did not dwell on it. He joined Aragorn in the hallway where Legolas cocked his head and questioned Aragorn with his eyes.

“Maida?” Aragorn said. “Please bring our cloaks.” To Faramir, he said, “Enough of the singing. I want to breathe the fresh air and get my blood moving. Will you show me the grounds?”

Once outside and well away from the watching eyes of the staff, Aragorn laid an arm across the shoulders of the companion on either side of him and said, “days like today remind me what it is like to live as a man, and it is good to be a man,” he said, grinning broadly.

“And what are you usually, if not a man?” Legolas asked.

“The King,” Faramir said, and Aragorn nodded. Faramir, though he had been raised in the Citadel and did not chafe at its restrictions as Aragorn did, nonetheless well understood the nature of Aragorn’s mood.

“I feel that I may be myself out here with the two of you.” Aragorn gleefully kicked up snow as he walked.

“Frankly, Aragorn,” Faramir said, wrapping an arm around the other’s waist, “it will be my pleasure to take a walk with my good friend and leave that arrogant blowhard the King behind.”

Aragorn collapsed with laughter and dragged the others down with him, trying to get them as snowy as possible.

“With your permission, Prince of Ithilien, I would have you declare the grounds of Rín Tôr Nín a refuge for the King when he can no longer stand to take himself so seriously.”

“With pleasure, Lord Aragorn, I do proclaim to all that courtly manners do not hold here,” Faramir said, helping the King and Legolas to their feet, “and that the basest elements of the cultures of Elves and Men are allowed free expression so long as the wine may flow.”

“Boromir would have approved,” Legolas said with a wink.

“Nay, let us not lay the burden of misbehavior at his feet. We will blame it all on the bad influence of the Rohirrim, of whom my wife is clearly the worst,” Faramir said to Legolas who nodded in agreement.

Aragorn turned to Legolas and gave him a firm kiss on the cheek, then did the same to Faramir. “Now,” said Aragorn, “show me to your best vista so that I may look at the City and see what I am not missing.”

Legolas led the way swiftly up a slippery hillside while it was all Aragorn and Faramir could do to keep their footing. About half-way up, Aragorn turned to face Faramir with a mischievous look in his eye. Faramir stopped, firmly planting his feet at an angle to the hill, anticipating that Aragorn’s look meant that he was about to take a tumble in the snow.

“I am falling,” Aragorn said, and grabbed Faramir’s shoulders, twisting him around so that his legs slid out from under him and he landed with one knee planted in the snow. Faramir wrapped an arm behind Aragorn’s knees and brought him down, too. Aragorn grasped Faramir’s arms and pushed him so that they both rolled a short way down the hill.

For a moment, they stared at each other, breathing a little heavily, with foolish grins on their faces. Faramir, who had landed somewhat atop Aragorn, dusted some snow from Aragorn’s face and hair, feeling strangely tender toward the other man. Then something changed in Aragorn’s expression that frightened Faramir with its frankness, and with the sensual longing he felt in response to such a look. Faramir’s smile faded as he held the King’s gaze, until he finally said in an unsteady voice, “and you would have me fall, as well?”

Something blazed in Aragorn’s eyes that nearly stopped Faramir’s heart and he felt he had somehow hit the mark. Aragorn closed his eyes and pressed his lips together, as if to stop himself from answering Faramir’s question.

Legolas then called, “the view is poor today. I am coming back down.”

Faramir and Aragorn both sat up and dusted themselves off. Aragorn cast his eyes up at Faramir, who looked away, feeling thoroughly shaken. Legolas returned and they walked back down the hill together in silence.

Faramir’s birthday dinner was a modest feast considerably improved by some fresh game brought down by Beregond, and some strawberries sent upriver from Pelargir by Faramir’s former lieutenant, now captain at Poros.

“Is it springtime already in Harad?” Arwen asked, dipping a strawberry in some clotted cream, which she then proceeded to lick off the strawberry so she could dip it again.

“Strawberries can be found somewhere in the south at most times of year, except early winter,” Mablung said.

Faramir was watching Aragorn and Éowyn. As promised, she was engaging the King in a conversation that was not going well, though not for lack of effort on Éowyn’s part.

“And why do you say that, my Lord?” Éowyn asked, shooting Faramir a look.

“I am simply noting the difference between celebrations in Rohan and Gondor, not comparing one favorably to the other,” Aragorn said politely, but Faramir could see his brow furrow slightly.

“I did not think you were playing favorites. I was merely inquiring about the specific basis of your comparison.” Éowyn looked bored.

Faramir perceived a slight tilt of Arwen’s head, indicating that she, too, was watching and listening. Now Faramir frowned, and pushed a vegetable around his plate.

“I should like to defer to you on this matter, since your observations come through fresher eyes than mine,” Aragorn said.

Aha! Faramir thought, there go those warm words. And he looked up to see if a frost would follow.

Éowyn smiled at Aragorn and immediately his face grew more stern. Naturally, Éowyn’s smile faded a bit, then, and she replied, “in general, every celebration in Rohan is a good excuse to let one’s hair down.” Faramir watched as Aragorn’s gaze lingered on Éowyn’s flowing hair. “In Gondor, however, there are a few specific occasions where indiscretion becomes permissible: Mettarë, birthday parties…”

Faramir was pierced with the dual arrows of Éowyn’s merry glance and Aragorn’s troubled one. He stared back at Aragorn, by far the more inscrutable of the two. He had never seen Aragorn seem so awkward. Though his wife was gifted with a swift and sharp tongue, she was sparing the King of its full force tonight, and yet he retreated as if confronting a foe beyond his strength. What of it? Faramir wondered.

“Yet I know little of how the common people of Gondor celebrate their holidays,” Éowyn said, directing her attention now to Mablung, who obliged her with some stories of his rural childhood in Anorien’s “scrabble-landed gentry,” as he called it.

Aragorn continued to regard Faramir with an intensity that Faramir returned in full. Arwen touched his arm and said something to him, and Aragorn took up his glass and looked around the table. “A toast!” he proclaimed.

The King stood. “Our beloved Faramir has been a good sport tonight, letting us have some food and drink and quite a few laughs at his expense. I will not speak tonight of his value to me as Steward, for that is demonstrated daily by his service in the City and here in Ithilien. Instead, I would congratulate him on his thirty-seven years living a life of service, of intellect, and of honor. Faramir,” the King said with familiar look of intensity, “may your thirty-eighth year see you to the heights of happiness and the realization of your dearest dreams.”

Faramir felt a bit as if the King’s eyes had put him under their sway and he paused a moment to recover himself before raising his own glass. When he looked to Éowyn, she gave him a look seeking his confirmation of what she had noted earlier in the day. He nodded to her, thinking, the King only loses his eloquence for Éowyn. ‘Tis strange, indeed.

After bidding farewell to all of his guests but the King and Queen, who would be staying in the guest chamber, Faramir was returning from a storeroom to the main hallway via a small passage along the back of the house. As he neared a doorway, he heard voices coming from the library on the other side of the wall.

“You exaggerate,” the King said.

“Your eyes betray your preoccupation, husband,” the Queen’s said a little sternly. “Beware lest others also take note.”

Faramir, thinking he had stumbled upon a quarrel, quietly backed away, planning to exit the passage and walk around the house to re-enter at the front.

“It has been an age since I have let it go this far,” the King admitted.

“Perhaps it has been that long since you found a worthy object of your attention,” the Queen said, amused.

Faramir paused. Clearly they were not quarreling, or if they were, it was an old, familiar quarrel. But their words caused Faramir to overrule his discretion, and he stayed in the passageway to discover what further they had to say.

“That is not wholly true; I have many worthy friends to whom I would gladly devote my attention, were they not now scattered across the Western lands.”

“But this friend is nearby.” The Queen laughed softly, “and stirs in you something the others do not.”

“Arwen, we should not discuss this here!”

“None who are left in the house can understand what we are saying,” she said, for they were speaking in Sindarin.

“None but Faramir!” Aragorn whispered, and Faramir felt the blood rush to his head at the thought that they were trying to maneuver something behind his back.

The Queen continued, perhaps even more loudly than before, “tonight a rare opportunity is at hand. Why do you not reveal yourself? I see now that you suffer from your silence.” There was a rustling sound and the sound of a kiss. “Your isolation will only grow with your power. Better to stake a claim to the love of your friends now, before all around you come to see you as beyond their station.”

“I have already revealed too much! Faramir sees what another would not.” The King sighed in exasperation. “Do you find my reticence unsound? Explain to me, where is the flaw in my reasoning? I fear such a revelation, if met with rebuff, would undo our friendship, and that would wound me more deeply than would the oppression of this longing. And if met with…if…if my affection were welcomed, I fear it would undo his life.”

Faramir staggered backward down of the passageway and out the small door into the brisk night air. He stomped along the snowy path and into the arbor where he walked aimlessly through the stands of young trees. “Undo his life?” he thought. Whose? You know well the answer, he told himself, but doubts raged in his mind and he wished he had had the self-control to attend the rest of their conversation.

If Éowyn welcomed Aragorn’s affections, it might well undo Faramir’s life, much like ripping the green shoot of a seedling from the soil. His first month of marital bliss had not be so perfect as to erase his dread that Éowyn still might find him lacking compared to her first love. Yet he could not make the King’s words fit with that scenario. How might Éowyn’s rejection of Aragorn undo a friendship that, at least on Éowyn’s part, barely existed? Or perhaps it was his friendship with the King that would be undone when Éowyn revealed to him that Aragorn had feelings for her? And why would Arwen be encouraging this revealation?

How incomprehensible! he thought. No, not incomprehensible; I cannot deny that all the evidence taken together draws an ever clearer picture. It is not Éowyn of whom he speaks. Unthinkable! And yet he could not stop thinking of it. He walked even faster, his energy restless and irritating, replaying the conversation in his head: a worthy friend, stirs in you something the others do not, a revelation to undo a friendship or one’s life…

Faramir stopped and turned to face a cluster of tall saplings. “What do you want of me?!” he demanded of the night. He grasped a trunk in each hand and shook them violently, raining snow down upon his head. He shoved his hands into his hair to shake out the snow and gave a long half-moan, half-growl as he tossed his head backward to get the damp strands of hair out of his face. “Valar help me,” he hissed, leaning against one of the accosted saplings.

As he calmed himself, he worked through the bleak scenarios presented by the King: what would be undone if Aragorn indeed…wanted him? After probing his own mind for some minutes, Faramir was comforted when he concluded that if such were the case, and he rebuffed the King, their friendship would not be undone, for the idea that the King had a special attachment to him did not repulse him. On the contrary, when Faramir turned his attention at last to his body and his heart, which like earlier in the day ached with unsanctioned longing, he wondered if instead it was his life, just now begun, that would come undone.




2 Deoflum – O.E., devil

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3 Comment(s)

lovely!! Great Fic!!

— rina    Friday 7 April 2006, 12:26    #

Absolutly wonderful. Thank you, I will look for your other stories.

— EJ    Monday 9 April 2007, 5:50    #

you write so beautiful!! I absolutely love this story!!! i really feel for them!!!

— daze    Wednesday 20 June 2007, 7:00    #

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