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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

[ all pages ]

Chapter 8 – Of Love and Valor

Faramir quietly went down the hallway he knew intimately from childhood and he made sure that no one watched or heard as he slipped into the King’s chamber. For a moment after he entered, Aragorn just stared at him, with an anxious look in his eye, but then he approached Faramir and tentatively took him into his embrace. The King looked into his eyes once more and Faramir saw there a mixture of fear and hope that mirrored his own. “Do you really…” Aragorn faltered.

“Kiss me again, Lord, and I will answer you without words,” Faramir said, his voice husky.

After the exchange of many sweet kisses that grew increasingly savory as their bodies sought to press closer and closer together, Faramir’s passions were aroused. But the strangeness of his desire frightened him, so when Aragorn made to undo his clothing, he became overwrought and broke away, seeking a drink of water from a pitcher near the door. He felt as if a serpent of fire had uncoiled inside him and was compelling him into the arms of the King. It was not like ordinary passion and it was all the more troubling that he felt it for a man. He gulped down another cup of water, eyeing Aragorn warily.

“My Lord,” Faramir eventually said, “you have overcome me! Scores of battles have I fought as a Captain of Gondor, yet you have vanquished me with a few kisses. Have mercy on your poor soldier, who struggles with a foe untold of in the tales of old.”

“What foe, my friend?” Aragorn laughed, approaching Faramir and gently grasping his shoulder. “Seek you yet proof of some hidden design?”

He took the measure of the other man for a moment, and steered his thoughts into calmer waters. “Nay, Lord,” Faramir smiled, “the foe is not in thee, but in me. For in me grows a great force, whose powers I fear.” He looked deeply into Aragorn’s eyes,” Whence comes this force and how will I know its nature, be it friend or foe?”

Aragorn drew closer, so their bodies were almost touching. “How does any mortal discern such matters? We search our feelings, consult our reason…” He closed his eyes, inviting a kiss.

Faramir placed a hand on Aragorn’s chest; his heart was pounding heavily. “And we seek to follow the path of the mighty who have fallen before us. Did not the legends of your ancestors drive you hard on the road to glory? Would passion and reason alone have sustained you in the struggle against the dark?”

Aragorn’s eyes were keen in searching Faramir’s face. He looked pleased and intrigued with the question. “Indeed not,” he replied. “For passion would have bade me stay in Rivendell to dwell with my beloved, and reason would have defeated me in setting hope against hope.”

“As for me,” Faramir said, “an unexpected passion drives me to your arms and I find reason to be strangely lacking in its objections, for if neither we nor our wives have any complaint, the reason of convention seems less compelling.”

“So let reason be, gentle Faramir,” Aragorn said, his lips drawing their breath just above the side of Faramir’s neck, “and give passion its due.” A moan of assent escaped Faramir’s lips and Aragorn kissed him deeply and long held him in a fiery embrace. He led Faramir to his bed and there they lay, undoing each other’s clothes with no little haste.

They each gazed at and caressed the other’s body, then Aragorn moved atop him, leaving a trail of kisses down his bare chest, and Faramir again felt unrest and struggled with his thoughts about the nature of these acts. Aragorn extracted his moans by caressing his hardness but then he gasped, “no, Lord!”

Aragorn looked at him in surprise. Faramir escaped his embrace and leapt up from the bed. The King stifled his laughter at this new burst of agitation, his eyes ravishing Faramir’s bare skin. “What now, my agile friend? Share your thoughts with me.”

Aragorn sat up on the edge of the bed and immediately Faramir knelt at his feet, clasping the King’s hands in his. “My Lord, many songs are now sung about you, praising both your valiant deeds and your enduring love for Queen Arwen. And even of me, songs are sung about the new alliance between Gondor and Rohan, cemented by my love for Éowyn.”

Understanding, the King nodded gravely. “But no song shall ever pass the lips of the men of this world telling the tale of the love between the King and his Steward, nor has any such tale ever been told.”

Faramir gazed up at Aragorn, feeling the King could see into his very soul.

“Rise, dear Faramir, and tell me why this troubles you.”

Faramir stood and walked to the balcony window. “Can valor be found in a love that needs must remain unsung?” he asked of the stars.

Aragorn approached behind him, slipping his arms around Faramir’s waist and nestling their heads side by side. The King gazed also out at the stars, seeming to consider the answer to Faramir’s question. “If valor lies in the esteem of the people, then indeed we are pursuing an unworthy path. But does not valor lie in the deed itself? Must a man’s actions be judged in order for them to be great?”

Faramir felt the world had reversed itself, that water flowed uphill, that the sun rose in the west, and that it all made perfect sense. He turned to face the King, still wrapped in his arms, saying, “and if a man offers another a precious gift, is its worth diminished because others would not so value it? Is the measure…” The King gazed at him with such a tender look that Faramir lost his words.

Aragorn pressed his advantage and swiftly kissed those now stilled lips. “Faramir,” he whispered, caressing Faramir’s hair, “what you offer me is indeed an inestimable gift, one so precious I almost dared not hope for it. Now come, if your mind be soothed at last, and let us just rest in each other’s company a little while longer. It seems you need more time to reflect on whether you want from me what I desire from you.”

Feeling a strange mixture of relief and disappointment, Faramir let the King lead him back to bed. Then they lay together, their unclothed bodies warm where they touched and cool where kissed by the air.

This bed is no different from my own, Faramir thought, but I feel as if lost in a foreign land. And here is my King to guide me, yet still my heart is faint. It is not I who offer him a precious gift, but he who grants me the honor of his affection, and still I do not fully accept this boon because…why? I know full well the difference between law and morality, and I have always been able to interpret right and wrong through the lens of my own judgment. So how do I judge myself but as a coward for not daring to defy convention when I have searched my heart and found it willing, searched my conscience and found it clear? Every fiber in me aches to know his pleasure, and yet here I lay still, stricken by my thoughts. He is too gentle with me!

“Lord Aragorn,” Faramir whispered, pleadingly.

“Yes, my love,” Aragorn answered, piercing Faramir’s heart with his words.

“I would have you move me. Lend me your passion to subdue my reason,” Faramir said, his voice breaking.

And with that, the King was upon him, devouring his skin with mouth and hands. And again, Faramir felt the fearsome power within him began to grow, the wild force which he hoped Aragorn would help him tame.

Faramir lost himself in the sensations of a man’s touch. Aragorn’s beard tickled Faramir’s skin and his hands were rough and strong, confident of what they were after. When Faramir’s hand sought Aragorn’s firmness, the King thrust into him with abandon. Grasping Aragorn’s sex caused such a great longing to fill his chest that Faramir whispered roughly, “my Lord, now let me serve you!” Aragorn’s sex in his mouth was both exciting and frightening. He took Aragorn deeply and vigorously, adoring the gentle pressure of his Lord’s hand atop his head, thrilling at the low moans his lips and tongue were inducing, and in the end, he felt Aragorn’s spasms of pleasure deep within his own groin.

When Aragorn bade his head back to the pillow, Faramir exclaimed, “how is it that I find such satisfaction in something I had not before thought to even want?”

Aragorn caressed his face. “Have you never desired another man?”

Faramir shook his head. “Not like this. But you have,” he guessed.

Aragorn smiled. “Yes, but it has been rare that circumstance and conscience allowed me to share myself in this way with another man. Rarer still is what I now feel…” He kissed Faramir softly and Faramir’s body, still tense with unsated desire, surged toward Aragorn’s.

“And with women, it is not a question of desire, or even conscience, but of duty,” Aragorn continued, kissing Faramir’s face and neck. “I have lived many years and suffered from love for more women than Arwen alone, but a man who would be king has to be very cautious in spending his seed on a woman not his wife.”

Faramir laughed and said, “I am afraid I have not been entirely cautious in that regard, though enough so that I am certain I have no heirs lurking about. Of course, it was not so important then… It is curious. Though others might judge that to lie with another man is dishonorable, is there any more honor when they lie with a woman for whom they have no love?” His eyes narrowed a bit as he thought on it. “Surely not. It is not love but debauchery we despise; weakness of the flesh, not the joy of hearts in union.”

Aragorn pressed his forehead against Faramir’s and ran his fingers deep into the other’s hair. “My philosopher-poet, mmm,” Aragorn growled, “you awaken every part of me.”

Faramir sighed, feeling as if in a slight swoon. “What is your pleasure, my Lord?” he asked, caressing Aragorn’s back.

“Indulge me in the pleasure you have just taken from me,” said the King, who then drove Faramir to gasping fits with sharp nibbles to his chest and a swift stroking hand elsewhere. Then the King’s lips blazed a trail down Faramir’s belly, and his tongue descended deep into his nether regions.

“No, my Lord!” Faramir exclaimed when Aragorn’s lips gently cupped his tender flesh. “You shouldn’t!”

Aragorn chuckled softly. “I shall and I will. Do not presume to know what is fitting for a King and I will show you what I know of how love is given between men.”

As Aragorn tenderly caressed him with his tongue, Faramir felt set aloft, so he drove his hands into his Lord’s hair to hold him fast to the earth. Though the pleasure was intense, it also felt profoundly strange to look down and see the King’s mouth encircling him. As he, too swiftly, reached his highest pleasure, his moans culminated in a cry: “Oh, Aragorn!”

After a few moments, Aragorn’s face was beside him, smiling playfully. “You called me by my name.”

Faramir started. “I did?”

Aragorn nodded. “You cried out, ‘Aragorn.’”

“Does that not please you?” Faramir teased. “Would you have me cry out, ‘oh, my beloved King!’ in my moment of need?”

Aragorn lay his head on Faramir’s chest and laughed. “That would not do,” he agreed. After a few moments, he added, “Indeed, I crave the chance to be Aragorn with you, so please do not think of me as King Elessar.”

Faramir smiled sadly, wishing it could indeed be so.

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

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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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