Aragorn, as usual, was ignoring Faramir's protests.
Of course, Faramir thought hazily as Aragorn gently kissed a line up his neck, it doesn't really help that I can't manage to get a complete sentence out.
"We really--" He was interrupted by a kiss to his lips, which he happily pressed into before he could stop himself. "Have to work," he finished breathlessly, ashamed to hear his words come out as a moan when Aragorn released his lips.
"Let it wait," Aragorn said absently, pressing kisses against Faramir's neck again.
"It's been-- oh! --it's been waiting for four days, Aragorn," Faramir stammered, clinging to Aragorn's shoulders for balance as his knees began to shake. "You never... never let us work."
Aragorn lifted his head long enough to grin rakishly at Faramir. "You're not complaining."
"As a matter of fact, I am," Faramir panted, well aware that his credibility was lessened by the fact that he was practically hanging in Aragorn's arms.
Aragorn made some sort of noncommittal noise before refocusing his attention on Faramir's neck, nibbling gently. Faramir groaned, half in frustration and half in arousal. The desk they were leaning against was practically sagging under the weight of haphazard papers and reports that had not been read; Faramir was late for a meeting with the captain of the troops from Belfalas, and Imrahil was waiting outside to see Aragorn, yet here they stood in one another's arms. Nothing even resembling work had been done in the four days past that Aragorn had closeted himself with Faramir during breaks in the Council sessions, and very little had been done at any time.
And yet all the touches between them were still soft, still gentle. Faramir could scream for how gentle it was. Aragorn was clearly afraid of frightening Faramir and having him pull away again, and Faramir was not yet secure enough in the older man's affection to do anything but respond to the touches Aragorn offered. Faramir already felt like he was in a dream - a dream that he was afraid to shatter. The morning after they had come together, Aragorn had cornered him in his study and subjected Faramir to a long, lingering kiss, saying that he needed to reassure himself that the night before had not been a dream. Ever since then, Aragorn had taken every opportunity to bring Faramir to a private place for a few moments, to bestow quick and gentle kisses that set Faramir's skin on fire.
Faramir was either about to die of pleasure or go insane from it.
Nevertheless, he made another half-hearted attempt at getting out of Aragorn's arms. He could not begin to imagine the crisis it would be if Imrahil became impatient and came barging in to find them like this.
"There are people waiting for us," he murmured, turning his face away and receiving a kiss on his jaw. Traitorously, his neck arched, silently pleading for more.
But to his intense disappointment, Aragorn sighed and wrapped his arms around Faramir loosely, resting his head gently on top of Faramir's. "You are right, as usual."
Faramir echoed Aragorn's sigh. "I should show Imrahil in?"
"Mm." Aragorn rocked Faramir back and forth for a moment, silently, and Faramir's heart swelled at the simple affectionate gesture. Then, with a final sigh and a kiss to his forehead, Aragorn released Faramir and moved back behind his desk. "Yes, I suppose so."
Faramir straightened his tunic self-consciously. "I'll see you tonight," he reminded Aragorn, who seemed morose.
Aragorn snorted. "Much good may it do us." It was Orbelain, and they would both have to attend the party in the gardens, with no chance to be alone together.
Faramir shrugged. "We have to go."
Aragorn nodded, smiling slightly. "I know. I'll see you then."
Even having been in his arms for so long, even knowing how ridiculous it was, Faramir still had to consciously stop himself from bowing before he left.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A wardrobe crisis - Eowyn's, not his - made Faramir late arriving to the party that evening, and by the time they got there Aragorn was already surrounded by courtiers. Faramir tried not to be disappointed. He had more than enough of Aragorn's time to himself as it was; he shouldn't cling to him at a public celebration.
Instead, keeping Eowyn at his side, he retreated to his normal nook, his back to the bonfire. His honeymoon had been arranged so he could skip as many of these parties as possible, but he had still had to develop strategies for staying well away from the central fire--it was far too like the one Denethor had tried to burn him in for him to have any degree of comfort with it. Aragorn's aide and affection were certainly helping, but for now he still preferred to retreat to his part of the garden, a wall safely between him and the fire.
Unfortunately, having such a regular spot meant he could be easily found and antagonized by those irritated by Aragorn but unwilling to express such agitation directly to the King.
"Lord Duinhir," Faramir said as civilly as he could manage through clenched teeth, nodding to the man who was approaching. Eowyn smiled thinly but made no greeting. Duinhir was the lord of a vale on the far borders of Gondor, one who preferred to govern independent of Minas Tirith's wishes and had practically been dragged kicking and screaming to attend the council.
Duinhir inclined his head slightly. "How fare you this evening?"
"Well," Faramir replied absently. "And yourself?"
Duinhir hesitated quite noticeably before answering. "I am... well."
If Faramir had been in a better mood he might have let the hesitation pass, but he was grumpy both from having to make small talk and from having to stand at one end of the garden when Aragorn was on the other. "Your tone speaks other than your words," he said. "What troubles you?"
Duinhir regarded Faramir levelly. "My lord, you are well aware of my opinion of this Council. I see no reason to be away from my land at this troubled time. This is all that ails me."
"The reason," Faramir said heatedly, ignoring the subtle tightening of Eowyn's hand on his arm, "is so that you may know the King's will. Are you opposed to that?"
Duinhir's eyes flashed angrily. Probably pleased that I rose to his bait.
"I am never opposed to learning the King's will," he said in a dark tone. "What I am opposed to is his apparent favoritism."
Shock rang through Faramir's body at the unexpected accusation. "The King does not express favoritism," he said flatly, well aware that he himself might be the only exception to that rule.
"Then why is it that he performs favors for some of his captains and not for others?"
"Explain yourself," Faramir said sternly. "Defend your accusation."
"A kinsman of mine," Duinhir said angrily. "An officer under your command, who was removed by the King and sent to labor in the rebuilding far away."
Faramir suppressed a groan with difficulty. He should have known that business with Lieutenant Amlach would come back to him. "That was a miscommunication," he said carefully through gritted teeth. "It was not intended, and the order has already been dispatched for Lieutenant Amlach to return to the city."
"Indeed," Duinhir said drily. "And just how many other miscommunications has the King made on your behalf?"
Anger flared in Faramir. "He has no need to do so," he hissed, surging forward and ignoring the cautionary tightening of Eowyn's hand on his arm. "I fight my own battles."
"You use him as a shield the way you used your brother," Duinhir snapped back, as livid as Faramir. "You cannot face your own battles."
"Try me!"
Before Faramir knew what was happening, Eowyn's hand was gone from him and Duinhir was dragging him away from the sheltering wall so quickly he stumbled.
"You would have a test?" Duinhir said in a low voice, tight with anger. "I would give you one."
There was fire everywhere....
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Aragorn knew well where Faramir had hidden himself. He suspected if they could not do something about this fear of fire soon, his Steward would earn a reputation for intense shyness. But he did not seek him out - though he was loath to admit it, Faramir was right about the amount of time they were spending together. Instead he stationed himself on the other side of the large garden they used for these parties, his back to Faramir's preferred hiding place so his eyes wouldn't wander. He was the King now, and one of the disadvantages of being a King was not getting as much time with his lover as he would have liked.
Lover? Aragorn let his mouth quirk slightly. He had not yet seen Faramir less than fully clothed, much less loved him. To call him his lover would be getting ahead of himself.
Aragorn allowed his mind to wander - he doubted very much the courtier talking his ear off would notice as long as he maintained an attentive facial expression and made the occasional noise of interest. Lover, indeed. He let himself drift into one of his favorite fantasies - himself, and Faramir, in a warm bathing room. In the fantasy the air was heavy with steam and moisture and their skin and hair was damp; Aragorn reached out his hands and slowly undid the clasps on Faramir's tunic, running his hands appreciatively over the skin revealed to him. Faramir shivered at his touch, moving closer. Then he smiled, a mischievous little smile, and reached out to Aragorn--
"Aragorn."
Aragorn nearly jumped out of his skin. Arwen was next to him, and he had not noticed her approach. She spoke into his ear, so no one else could hear. "Aragorn, something's happened."
He could tell from her tone that she wanted him to go take care of whatever it was. He gave an apologetic look to the courtier who was watching curiously. "Excuse me, it seems there's something that requires my attention." He almost rolled his eyes at himself - he ought to be able to come up with better than that - but the courtier nodded her acceptance and moved away.
Aragorn turned to face his wife. Her face was grave. "Don't panic," she warned.
Aragorn, of course, immediately began to panic. "What's happened?"
"Faramir had an episode with the fire," Arwen said grimly. "Don't panic!" she added as she saw Aragorn's face. "Very few people noticed. Eowyn took him back to their rooms, but I think you should go to him."
Aragorn swore. "But why would he--"
"I'll deal with it," Arwen said firmly. "Go."
Aragorn went. It was beyond his ability to maintain a calm facial expression, but he managed to restrain himself to walking, not running, as he quickly wound his way out of the gardens and through the nearly deserted corridors. When he reached Faramir's door he knocked loudly. There was no answer; agitated, he tried the latch and found it open, and let himself in without further reservations.
He found Faramir and Eowyn sitting on the side of their bed; Faramir was halfway changed into his nightclothes, wearing a nightshirt but not yet having taken off his leggings. Eowyn was fully clothed and speaking to him soothingly, apparently trying to coax him into lying down. Faramir was by and large ignoring her, holding his arms around himself and shaking slightly, and Eowyn looked to be at her wit's end.
Aragorn crawled over the bed in his haste to reach Faramir; he had the young man in his arms before either he or Eowyn realized he was there. "Darling, darling, what happened?" he asked softly, burying his face in Faramir's silky hair.
"That man--" Eowyn spat. "That horrible man dragged him up to the fire--"
Faramir said nothing. He did not resist Aragorn's attempts to coddle him; instead he pressed against Aragorn silently, shaking. Eowyn stopped speaking in mid-sentence, looking back and forth between them. After a moment she leaned forward and kissed the top of Faramir's head.
"Be well, my husband," she said in an entirely softer tone of voice. Then she got up and went into the other room, gently closing the door behind her.
"Faramir, sweetheart, what man? What happened?" Aragorn stroked Faramir's cheek, applying slight pressure under his jaw, trying to get him to look up.
Faramir refused the prompt, ducking his head instead. "I just-- I just can't control this," he said in a quavering voice, clearing fighting down tears.
Aragorn wrapped his arms around him tighter. "Don't be angry with yourself, Faramir."
"How can I not be?" Faramir's voice was laced with anger and self-disgust.
Aragorn kissed the top of Faramir's head, the only place he could really reach right now. "You are not weak, Faramir," he said softly. He knew it was what the younger man needed to hear. "You have survived more than most; your weaknesses are easier to see than most. But you are not a weak man."
Faramir made a soft noise and burrowed closer to Aragorn. Aragorn kissed the top of his head again. "You are dear to me," he whispered. "Try to calm down. Try to sleep."
"I hear their voices," Faramir whispered. "I see their faces in the fire. Dead men, and my family not the least. When the fire surrounds me, I feel them reaching for me."
"Feel me instead," Aragorn said firmly. He took hold of Faramir's chin and tilted his face up gently, then kissed him slowly and deeply. Faramir allowed the kiss, even returning it, sending shivers through Aragorn's spine. He broke it off before it could get out of hand, kissing Faramir's forehead in reassurance. "You should go to bed."
"I'm in bed," Faramir replied succinctly. "It's going to sleep that may be a problem."
Aragorn smiled fondly, nuzzling his hairline. "I'll stay with you until you fall asleep."
Faramir looked at him keenly, as if trying to detect a lie. "Truly?"
"Yes," Aragorn replied, surprised by his surprise.
"You can't," Faramir protested.
"I most certainly can," Aragorn said, wrapping his arms around Faramir firmly. "If anything, I'll just be seen leaving your quarters late at night. People will assume we were taking counsel together. They'll never know I was in here cuddling and kissing you," he said, proceeding to do just that.
Faramir gave that smile he had, the one that possessed the power to turn Aragorn's heart into a puddle of goo. "Thank you," he murmured, nuzzling. "You are too good to me."
"No," Aragorn replied, kissing him gently. "I'm just good enough."
Aragorn helped Faramir out of his leggings, nobly resisting the opportunity to do a little exploring of the younger man's body. Instead he pulled the covers up around them, tenderly stroking Faramir's hair back from his face. They kissed softly for many minutes before Faramir sighed and nestled his head onto Aragorn's shoulder, relaxing his muscles. Aragorn lay still for many moments before he felt Faramir's breathing even and his facial muscles, which he had forgotten to unclench, go lax. He remained still, determined that Faramir be deep in sleep before he left. He didn't want Faramir to sense he was gone.
He wished bitterly that he didn't have to leave. There had to be some way of getting from Faramir's rooms to his without being seen by anyone. He would have to think about it.
When Faramir had been breathing with perfect evenness for quite some time, Aragorn sighed and acknowledged to himself that he couldn't really justify staying with him any longer. Though it was a relief to see Faramir so peaceful for once... Aragorn sighed and very slowly shifted himself out from under Faramir, moving his body to lean against a pillow instead. Faramir did not stir. Aragorn pulled the covers up to his chin and placed a feather-light kiss on his forehead before leaving.
He found Eowyn curled up on a chair in the next room, sound asleep. He went back into the bedroom to get a spare blanket and tucked it tenderly around her shoulders before he went back to his own rooms.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Lord Duinhir waited in the gardens where the Queen had specified she would like him to; he had expected her to fetch the King to scold him for quarrelling with his pet, and so he was surprised when she returned alone. "Follow me, please," she said pleasantly.
"I am yours to command," Duinhir replied formally.
He followed Arwen out of the garden party, as she set her course for the top of the citadel. "There is something I would like to show you," she called over her shoulder. "A view that I think will help you to understand Prince Faramir better." Duinhir said nothing.
Arwen led him up and up, to the very peak of the citadel itself, and out onto a small alcove with no railing. Duinhir stopped cold. Arwen stepped forward, right to the very edge of the precipice; she turned around and look at him politely. "Will you not come and see?"
Duinhir remained with his back pressed against the wall. Arwen watched him shrewdly, letting the silence reign.
When enough time had elapsed that Duinhir felt he could stand the silence not a moment longer, Arwen spoke. "You cannot come to the edge?" she said softly. "A warrior of Gondor? But I, a woman, can do so easily." She walked along the edge to demonstrate, eying him solemnly. Duinhir returned the gaze warily and said nothing.
There was another long silence before Arwen spoke again. "I could have done this in front of the King," she said softly, holding his eyes. "I could have done it in front of men you will have to command." She took a step closer. "I could have done it in front of your wife - as you did it in front of Faramir's."
Duinhir was silent, as still as a rabbit cornered by a hawk.
"There is no such thing as a man without weaknesses," Arwen said firmly. "Even the bravest man has something he cannot face, some fear that lays him low, and he is not a coward. He is still a good man, whether the fear of be heights, or of fire, or of poison, or of being unable to breathe. But the man who preys upon the weaknesses of others-- he possesses the worst weakness of all. It is an act of cowardice, and he shall be known as such amongst his friends and enemies both. Think of that before the next time you mount an attack of the kind you brought tonight."
She swept past him without another word or a look, disappearing into the citadel, leaving him to find his own way down from the ledge.
Accusations
Faramir knew he was in trouble the minute he saw Amlach. What he didn't realize was how much.
He had known he would have to talk to the man eventually and apologize for what had happened. It wasn't something he looked forward to. He disliked the thought of giving Amlach any leverage over him with an apology, for one thing; but what was most frustrating was that Faramir hadn't actually done anything wrong.
Still, the last thing he was going to do was let Aragorn take the fall for this. In point of fact, he wasn't sure if Aragorn remembered the whole mess - they hadn't spoken about it since the day before their picnic, and Faramir had quietly had the order sent for Amlach to return to the city without mentioning it to Aragorn. With luck, Aragorn would never have to interact with Amlach.
Unfortunately, that left Faramir with the task of pacifying him.
When he saw Amlach heading for him through the crowd, Faramir quickly excused himself from the widow he was talking to and went to meet him, determined not to let Amlach control the meeting. "Lieutenant Amlach. Follow me, please."
Amlach said nothing, but he fell into step behind Faramir. Faramir debated on where to go and finally decided on his public study, not the one attached to his rooms. No need to make this any more personal than it already was.
Faramir closed the door behind them, grateful that someone had already lit the small torches in the wall sconces, for he could not have done so and it would have created embarrassment. His study never got much light, and it was nearing dusk anyway.
He took a deep breath before beginning. "Amlach," he said, hoping dropping the title would lessen the tension, "I'm glad to see you back." That was possibly the most untrue thing he had ever said, but he had to say it. "Let me assure you that this whole mess has been a misunderstanding. I never intended for you to be sent away." That, at least, was true.
Amlach shifted slightly. "You will forgive me, Captain, if I find it difficult to believe you," he said in a subdued tone.
Faramir exhaled. "I will. I do not know how to make you trust me."
Amlach hesitated for a moment, but apparently couldn't resist making a bitter comment. "I do not see why I should, since you do not trust me."
"You have given me no reason to," Faramir said flatly. We was too tired to be tactful. "And don't tell me that Boromir trusted you," he added as Amlach opened his mouth. "You tell me that too often. I have no way of knowing if Boromir truly treated you as you claimed."
He had hit a sore spot. Amlach jumped to his feet, the force of his standing pushing his chair back a few feet. "Boromir loved me!" he cried.
Faramir blinked, suddenly seeing something for the first time. "You..." He shook his head. No wonder the man was so hostile to him. "You grieve for him."
"How can I not? He left you in his place."
Bile rose in Faramir's throat, and he also stood. So...one of the countless number who wishes I had die in his place. But Aragorn doesn't. Not Aragorn.
"You are out of line, soldier," he said tightly. Gods knew he had to take this sort of thing from courtiers and diplomats, but not from men under his own command.
"No more than you are, pretending to be what you are not."
"I am the Steward of Gondor," Faramir said, his voice quiet despite his anger. "I pretend to be no more or less."
"You pretend to be Boromir!"
"I do not!" Faramir heard the edge in his own voice and tried desperately to reign himself in. "I do not--"
"Yet you assume his position." Amlach was beginning to pace, running a hand through his hair.
"There is no other to assume it." Faramir was furious and ashamed to hear his voice crack on the words.
Amlach gnawed on his lower lip, silent for a moment. Faramir let him be. He was beginning to become slightly frightened. Amlach seemed unstable to him, somehow. As though his grief for all the pain and loss the war had brought was still there - convoluted, like Faramir's was. Only instead of a fear of fire, Amlach's grief was coming out as rage and hatred.
"I thought you would be like him," Amlach murmured.
The words hit Faramir like a fist to the gut. I was never like Boromir, never as good as he was. "We are as different as brothers could be," Faramir said calmly.
"And yet he loved you." Amlach was pacing in earnest now, only half speaking to Faramir - it seemed he was speaking to himself, or to no one. "He loved you, loved you more than he loved me. Do you realize how much he thought of you?" Amlach tugged at his hair. "Constantly, he worried about you. Always wanted to be taking care of you instead of the men on the field. And I thought it I could get close to you, if I could be near you I could understand what made a man like Boromir care for you.
"But you're nothing. He felt a sense of duty to you-- because you were his brother, Boromir would have tried to protect you and always get the best for you. He always knew it was his job to protect those weaker than him." Amlach's throat was closing up around his words, and his eyes became bright for a moment. "He never knew how much I loved him. He was too busy loving you."
Suddenly Amlach leaped forward. Stunned, Faramir found himself pinned against the wall.
"I saw him kiss you once," Amlach said raggedly. "Here." And Amlach brushed his lips across Faramir's temple, which had been Boromir's favored way of showing affection.
"Stop," Faramir said uneasily, trembling from the all-too-familiar gesture. He pushed Amlach away roughly.
The small violence incensed Amlach. "So I am unworthy even to touch you?"
"I--" Faramir found himself without words. What did one say to someone suffering repressed grief and unrequited love for one's dead brother? Faramir was so obviously inadequate in Amlach's eyes. What could he do?
"You have nothing to say to me?" Amlach's face darkened even further. "Of course not. You cannot gain from me." He started pacing again. "The King is your new project now. You burden him as you burdened your brother," he said in disgust. "It is your way to find a great man and leech off of him, take him under your spell, make him protect you and give you attention out of a false sense of duty."
"Stop!" Faramir cried. "You have no right to say these things to me."
"But someone must say them!" Faramir made the mistake of meeting Amlach's eyes, just for a moment. There was nothing but hatred for him there. "Someone must recall you to your duty before it is too late."
"What do you mean?" Faramir asked warily.
"The King will become attendant on you," Amlach warned. "He will focus on you to the exclusion of all else, forgetting his duties and coddling you; and it will lead to disasters greater than Osgiliath. It's better I should say these things now than that they should be said in front of the Council. Better that it should end now."
Amlach suddenly reached out and took one of the torches from the wall. It probably was not done with the intent of threatening Faramir - maybe he was just distraught and needed something to grasp and crush in his palm - but it didn't matter. Seeing fire in the hands on his enemy made Faramir cry out and jump back. He tripped over the leg of his chair and went sprawling painfully onto the floor.
Amlach stared at him in silence. Faramir didn't dare to move. Then Amlach snorted in disgust and lowered the torch.
"No wonder Denethor tried to burn you," he muttered. He dropped the torch onto the ground, and Faramir was too stunned and overwhelmed to even crawl away from it as Amlach turned his back and left.
