Faramir Fiction Archive

Walk No More In The Shadows (NC-17)

Written by Minx and Iris

12 January 2007 | 50694 words | Work in Progress

Chapter 11

Faramir’s routine was slowly falling back in place. He was still not allowed to do the entire gamut of work he’d been handling prior to his illness though. Aragorn and Gandalf let him do his paperwork from his room now and also allowed him to sit in on a few meetings in the mornings. However, while his physical health slowly returned, the nightmares he suffered remained. While not always as intense, there were nevertheless times when he would again wake up screaming and sob disconsolately in Gandalf’s arms, which convinced the wizard to continue spending his nights in the chair next to the Steward’s bed.

It didn’t take Faramir long however to start worrying over Gandalf, whom he was quite sure couldn’t possibly withstand the strain of spending each night with him. Anyone could see he was beginning to look tired from the effort.

He thought over it and soon made up is mind. When Gandalf came to his chambers one evening he felt he had readied himself to sleep alone.

“Mithrandir,” he greeted him.

“Aren’t you in bed yet?”

“I was just about to lie down.”

“Good lad,” Gandalf said affectionately.

“And I think you should be in bed too, Mithrandir,” Faramir told him, “You look very tired and I know you’ve been forgoing sleep on my account for some days now.”

“Don’t you bother yourself about that now,” said Gandalf

“Why not?” Faramir retorted, “You’ve been spending each night on that chair, and I know you can’t be sleeping comfortably there, if you get any sleep at all. I will not have you trouble yourself so because of me.”

“Well, I will not have you suffer from nightmares alone as yet!”

“I can handle them myself; I can’t always have someone around to help me, can I? It’s about time I learnt to cope on my own!”

“No, you won’t have someone to help you always,” Gandalf agreed, “But it is early yet to leave you to cope alone. So why don’t you lie down now and stop worrying about me, please?”

“No,” Faramir stated adamantly and crossed his arms over his chest.

Gandalf sighed in annoyance, “Now, look here,” he began when a small cough from the doorway interrupted him.

“I couldn’t help but overhear,” Aragorn began.

“Of course you couldn’t!” Gandalf replied sarcastically.

“It’s obvious you two aren’t going to reach an agreement on this issue, so I have a proposition,” Aragorn continued, ignoring Gandalf and giving Faramir a warm smile that evoked a small smile from that young man in return.

“Yes?” Gandalf snapped.

“You, Gandalf, should go get some sleep in your bed,” Aragorn said and immediately put up his hand to forestall Gandalf’s possibly acerbic response, “He’s right, you know… you do look tired! Don’t worry about Faramir. I’ll stay with him tonight.”

Gandalf bit back the retort on the tip of his tongue and nodded in agreement, smiling as he did so, “Yes, that’s a good idea, now. I think that should be fine.”

“No,” Faramir stated.

Gandalf ignored him and continued, “We can take turns from now on. That’s a very good idea.”

“No!” Faramir repeated more forcefully.

“What?” Aragorn inquired politely.

“You’re the king! You can’t stay awake all night because of me. It’s bad enough Mithrandir had to, but I can’t trouble you too!”

“Nonsense!” Aragorn and Gandalf both snapped out at once.

“No, you mustn’t,” Faramir insisted, “I can handle it myself. It’s just nightmares! I’m used to them. They aren’t really that bad. You have so much to do! How can you attend council when you’ve been up most of the night?”

“No, it’s always my good dreams that make me wake up in the night crying!” Gandalf muttered to Faramir’s mortification.

“Faramir,” Aragorn said patiently, grasping the younger man lightly by his shoulders, absentmindedly feeling the still thin contours, “I’m a ranger! I can do with very little sleep. I’ve done that for most of my life now! I’ll be able to catch up with enough sleep, even if I have to stay the night with you. And, besides I do recollect you telling Pippin this evening that you were feeling tired.”

Faramir glanced up guiltily at that. He hadn’t thought anyone had overheard him.

“You aren’t fully recovered yet,” Aragorn was continuing, “You need proper sleep!”

“Indeed!” Gandalf said with a tone of finality, and headed for the door, “I’ll leave you to deal with his stubbornness, Aragorn. Good night both of you!”

“Alright, then I’ll leave the choice to you,” Aragorn began in a tone that suggested Faramir would in fact have little choice in the matter, “I can either watch you from the chair as Gandalf did, or if you are worried about me losing sleep that way, I can join you in the bed. I’m used to sleeping in the wild and will easily wake up as soon as you give only the slightest hint of a nightmare.”

Against better knowledge, Faramir decided to give it one last try, “There really is no need for you to lose sleep over this. I can manage very well on my own.”

Choosing to ignore the second part of Faramir’s statement, Aragorn sat down on the bed to pull of his boots. When he looked up to undo the collar of his tunic, he found Faramir still frowning at him. Not wanting to argue any further, he simply smiled and asked, “The bed it is then. Do you have a nightshirt I could borrow?”

Once he’d changed into the nightshirt Faramir had quietly but disapprovingly lent him, Aragorn nudged the steward back against the pillows, “There now, lie down comfortably. It may be a little snug, but compared to the accommodations at Henneth Annûn, this is still basking in luxury, is it not?”

Faramir looked anything but comfortable so Aragorn did what he would usually have done and gently pulled him into his arms, intending to give him some comfort through his embrace. But Faramir tensed slightly, clearly feeling awkward at the sudden close contact. Aragorn loosened his embrace a little.

“Sleep now,” he suggested gently, drawing relaxing circles on Faramir’s back, “You look very tired.”

Faramir nodded tentatively and closed his eyes. The arms around him felt awkward initially but at the same time he felt protected and calm.

Aragorn watched as he fell asleep, his head against his chest. He stroked the sweat-damped locks of hair gently, and smiled as Faramir murmured approvingly at his touch. Carefully, so as to not awake the sleeping man, he put out the lamp by his bedside.

Faramir snuggled closer. Aragorn sighed in contentment and let his eyes close.

“Sweet dreams,” he murmured.

Faramir’s dreams were confusing. He lay in the darkness, his ears straining to hear any sound at all. It was time, he knew. The door would creak open, a single thread of light would fall on him, and yet another face would be leering at him in the lantern’s glow, even as he would whimper in pain. And yet, he felt as though all was not lost. He felt safe, somehow, and he could not understand why. Then the door creaked open, and the light fell on him, forcing him to sit up with a cry.

Aragorn was nearly asleep when he heard the soft knock, and then Gandalf pushed the creaking door open, and hissed out Faramir’s name. The wizard pushed his head in and held up a lamp. Aragorn glanced up, even as Faramir moved restlessly releasing a soft cry.

Faramir tried to open his sleep-weary eyes. All was dark around him, save for the lamp at the door. They were back. He didn’t know which one, but he did know his already abused body could tolerate little more.

“Not again, please!”

“Hush,” Aragorn whispered pulling him back in his arms, “It’s all right, go back to sleep,” he kept murmuring, noting in the dim light from outside that Faramir hadn’t awoken fully. Stroking his hair softly, he glanced up at Gandalf, still at the door, and turned the full force of his glare on him.

“You’ll wake him,” he whispered angrily, and then to a restlessly murmuring Faramir, “It’s alright, I’m here.”

“I wanted to see how he was doing,” Gandalf said stepping inside, “He looked so tired earlier.”

“He was tired,” Aragorn conceded, “But he was doing quite well till you decided to scare him so!”

“Aragorn?” Faramir’s voice was weak and confused and he was clutching at Aragorn’s tunic fervently.

“Aragorn,” he repeated, burying his head against the king’s chest.

“I’m here,” Aragorn reassured him again, at the same time feeling rather pleased Faramir had called him by his name as he’d so often requested.

Gently he rubbed his hand in circles over Faramir’s back, until he calmed down somewhat.

Gandalf slipped out quietly unwilling to disturb either man. A last look over his shoulder showed him Aragorn kissing Faramir on his head, the younger man secure in his arms now. Gandalf smiled broadly, as he walked down the darkened hallway.

Faramir came awake slowly the next morning feeling warm and strangely languorous. He stretched out yawning and then realised he was in someone’s arms… Aragorn’s arms…? He was still trying to process the information, as the recollection of Aragorn’s offer to stay the night returned to him. He shifted uneasily and but then froze in panic as he felt the hardness against his backside.

His heart racing, he scrambled away in haste, slipping out of the comforting embrace, and waking Aragorn, who yawned widely and stared up at Faramir, confused at first and then smiled.

“Good morning,” he said, taking in the sight of the frantic looking young man, hair tousled from sleep, and the nightshirt slipping off a shoulder, “Did you sleep well?”

“I — I — yes… thank you. I did… I’ll leave now, shall I? You — you’ll need…. I shan’t be in the way…,” Faramir stuttered uneasily, unable to keep his eyes from straying towards the tell-tale bulge under Aragorn’s nightshirt.

After that, Aragorn didn’t have trouble interpreting what Faramir meant. A part of him felt angry with himself for he knew he would have scared Faramir, but this wasn’t the time to make Faramir panic further. He gave a small self-conscious laugh, “Oh dear, don’t be silly Faramir, it’s far too early! Now come back to bed. It’s not even light outside.”

Faramir stared at him uncertainly, and Aragorn felt like kicking himself. Of all the things to happen… if Gandalf learnt, Aragorn wouldn’t hear the end of it.

Aragorn smiled again, and deliberately looked down at himself, before glancing up at Faramir, “I’m sorry if I have scared you. Believe me when I say I would never do anything to hurt you. But you know it’s natural for a man to wake up in the morning like this often. It’s nothing to be afraid of. You do trust me, don’t you? It happens to all of us.”

He paused to allow Faramir to collect his thoughts. The younger man still looked a little alarmed. He was biting his lower lip now.

“It doesn’t mean anything. Although I must admit I did quite like the feeling of holding you in my arms,” he continued guiltily, “But that’s about all. Come now, you can rest some more, please? I’d hate to think I’ve kept you from your sleep.”

Faramir stopped biting at his lower lip and moved forward slowly. Aragorn wouldn’t hurt him of course! He should know that!

He sat down gingerly at the edge of the bed. Aragorn smiled reassuringly again. Faramir tried to smile back but his eyes were drawn again to Aragorn’s groin. He was at least partly responsible for that, he thought, isn’t that what the king had said? And Aragorn did say he should get back into bed; what else could he mean by that?

Surely, the least he could do would be to help him out. After all, Aragorn had done so much to help him. Naturally, the king was too noble to ask outright, and he would certainly never force — but surely it’s what he wanted, what they all wanted?

And he wasn’t going to hurt him, he knew that. Not like Denethor… or the others. But it wouldn’t be fair to his king to leave him like that…

Before Aragorn could realise what had happened, Faramir had darted forward, “I — I could help,” he stuttered and pushing up the nightshirt took Aragorn in his mouth, immediately swallowing him almost completely down.

“Faramir!” Aragorn almost yelped in surprise as the wetness surrounded his admittedly aching need, “Faramir, you don’t have to do that! You really — stop now!” he started off only to gasp as Faramir’s tongue began to skilfully work around him.

Aragorn could only moan as Faramir continued. He came to completion soon letting out a shaky sigh as a warmth infused him. It had been a long time, he realised dimly… he’d forgotten how good it felt and Faramir was really quite incredible! Faramir was sitting up now, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, staring at him anxiously.

“Oh, Faramir,” Aragorn murmured sighing, “Thank you,” he said rather inadequately.

But it seemed to reassure the Steward who returned a small smile and moved back to let him rise. Aragorn however reached for Faramir and gently tugged him down, running his hands along the lithe figure. Faramir’s eyes widened a little, as the hands wandered under his nightshirt over his back, along his chest, brushing his nipples and sending a tiny jolt running through him.

“Sire,” he said uncertainly and almost fearfully, as Aragorn expertly flipped him onto his back.

“Mmm?” Aragorn muttered as he gently kissed his throat, making Faramir jerk up a little. The king was kissing him, he realised… he’d hardly ever been kissed, least of all like this, so tenderly and sensually, and certainly not over there, he thought incoherently as his nightshirt was undone and kisses landed on his chest.

“Wh — what,” he stuttered, almost terrified as he wondered where this was going. Aragorn looked up and smiled gently at him.

“Surely it is my turn to return the favour now, is it not?” he said.

“Wh—what?” Faramir yelped.

Aragorn was still smiling as he pushed up the nightshirt to expose Faramir’s member… he took it in his hands first, only to meet with a very startled protest from his steward.

“No!” Faramir cried out, “No, you mustn’t…” he mumbled.

“Hush,” Aragorn said softly and gently squeezed the limp flesh in his hands, watching with delight as Faramir’s eyes flew up in surprise.

He began stroking him gently at first and then more rapidly. Faramir let out a loud moan when Aragorn lowered his mouth onto him. It didn’t take long for him to climax… he was rarely afforded the opportunity after all. He lay flushed on the bed, hair scattered wildly around him, his eyes wide open, breathing heavily.

Aragorn moved up to him and pulled him in his arms, “Well, that was nice,” he murmured thickly.

“You—you shouldn’t have,” Faramir said.

“What? Why not?” Aragorn asked amused, “Didn’t you like it?”

“Yes, but you mustn’t… it’s not…”

“Not what? It’s only fair… you helped me out, I help you out. Didn’t you like it?”

“Y—yes, but…”

“Well, so did I, so there’s that. I suppose we should be rising soon?”

“Yes, but…”

“Sshh,” Aragorn soothed and ran a hand through the wild hair, “All that matters is that we both liked what we did.”

Faramir gave him an uncertain look.

Gandalf came by later in the evening, finding Aragorn in his study still engrossed in his work. Without even a word of greeting, the old wizard had taken one of the comfortable chairs by the fire, and silently motioned for Aragorn to take the other.

After what seemed to Aragorn a long time spent alternately staring at Gandalf anticipating him to speak his mind any minute and following his steady gaze into the fire all but expecting to find whatever captivated the wizard there from the intensity with which he looked at, Aragorn decided to break the silence himself.

“What troubles you, my friend?”

At first, he was unsure Gandalf had even heard him, until he finally spoke up.

“I may be seeing things. Problems where there are none. Too many nights with too little sleep tend to bring that on.”

“Yes, even in wizards!” he added when Aragorn’s eyebrows went skyward at that. Aragorn for one was glad to be acknowledged; to him it had seemed that until then, Gandalf had been addressing the fire.

“Like butter that has been scraped over too much bread, dear Bilbo would have said. Thin. Not that you can compare of course.”

“So it’s good then, that you’ve had some more sleep last night?” Aragorn tried tentatively when he sensed Gandalf drifting again.

“Aha! But that is what I was thinking, you see. As said, I may be seeing problems where there are none, but before you protest, I say so far we have nothing but underestimated the problem.” The intense stare that was reserved for the fire just moments ago was now firmly fixed on Gondor’s king.

“How am I to protest when I do not yet know which problem you think may or may not exist?” he countered calmly.

Just as calm now, and not breaking his gaze for a second, the wizard responded. “You are the new authority in Faramir’s life. He takes his orders from you, he answers to you, it is your judgement of him that matters now. In many a sense, you have replaced his father. Your office, this office,” he made a hand movement meant to indicate the room, “used to be his. Here, he used to report to his father, now it’s you, sitting in the same office, behind the same desk.”

Aragorn waited for his friend to continue, but when no further explanation was forthcoming, he was forced to ask.

“And you think that is a problem?”

“It may be, it may not. But you have also heard how Faramir talks about what he has been through: not so bad or even his fault. It is merely a theory, but he may well be more damaged by this than is obvious. I do not believe he has ever had a normal adult relationship, and I wonder if he fully appreciates their complexity. On top of that, he desperately wants to please, and I am not sure if he would, for example, know there is a difference between shining your boots or seeing to your sexual needs, if he thought you needed either.”

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