Éomer rushed to the Houses of Healing with Imrahil, Prince
of Dol Amroth, at his side. They greeted Gandalf by the doors, and immediately
asked him what had become of Éowyn and the Steward of Gondor.
The man at Gandalf’s side, identity hidden by his grey cloak,
listened intently as Gandalf confirmed for Éomer that his beloved
sister yet lived. He could not help but stiffen, however, as the wizard
revealed that Faramir had been wounded by an evil poisoned dart. Since
Denethor’s fall into madness, Faramir was now Steward of Gondor;
yet he lay in stillness, near death.
Aragorn pushed the cloak from his face and revealed himself. “Time
is running out,” he told his astonished friends. “For Éowyn,
for Merry… and most critically for Faramir.” So saying he
turned and headed into the Houses of Healing, the three men following
him.
Kneeling at Faramir’s bedside, Aragorn laid a hand across the
younger man’s brow and paused for a moment in deep thought. He
had always secretly hoped his path would one day again cross with Faramir’s,
yet he had never expected a reunion such as this. Faramir lay before
him, cold and grey, his spirit waning in despair even though his wound
was healing.
Pippin had told them of Denethor’s attempt to burn alive his
only living son, and Faramir had long ago in brief glimpses revealed
to Aragorn that his father the Steward held little love for him. Aragorn
had seen the intense pain in his lover’s blue eyes, and known
that he was cut deep by his father’s actions, though he tried
to speak of them casually. The healer had done what he could while they
were together to soothe and comfort Faramir, bringing them both joy
and the blush of love in the process. But worry had niggled at Aragorn
in the years since; he had feared that, despite his love for the younger
man, their parting had only served to wound Faramir further.
Now he looked down on the cold still features of his one-time lover
– his love – and yearned with all his being to defeat whatever
beast of despair was eating away at Faramir’s soul.
“Faramir,” he called softly. “Faramir.” *Come
back to me,* he thought urgently, willing the man to hear him through
his unnatural sleep. *Now that I have found you again, you must not
leave me, my love. I cannot lose you to this…* He laid his head
on the younger man’s chest, craving each shallow breath, each
leaden heartbeat, as proof that there was yet hope.
Aragorn’s face showed the strain of his will, as with each desperate
whisper of his love’s name, he tried to make contact with Faramir’s
waning spirit. *So many times I have thought of you, so many nights
I have dreamed of you. My love. I did not forget. Do not go before I
can look into your lovely eyes again, and tell you these things that
are closest to my heart. Do not leave now that our time to be together
has truly come.*
Aragorn raised his head and took a deep breath to steady himself. Laying
two leaves of athelas across his palm, he breathed his deepest hopes
into the frail dried herbs as he ground them finely between his hands
and cast them into a steaming bowl of freshly-drawn water. The fragrance
rising from the herbs lifted his spirits, and he brought the bowl closer
to Faramir, hoping it would revive him as well.
All who stood attendance at the sickbed were hopeful, yet nonetheless
amazed as they watched color begin to return to Faramir’s face,
easing away the grey tones of near-death. Aragorn’s gaze did not
stray from Faramir’s face as he continued his silent beseeching
of his friend, hoping his powers, his love, would be enough to return
the man to him.
The man on the bed stirred, and gasps of wonder greeted him as his
eyes fluttered hesitantly open. His head had been filled with such nightmarish
visions as he slept; things he knew to be unreal and yet which seemed
too horrifyingly real. Now, as his gaze focused on the face nearest
his, he thought he was certainly still trapped in that terrifying state
of sleep without rest, for the vision before him could not be true.
A pair of kind blue eyes watched him adoringly from a much-beloved face;
ah yes, he knew that face. It was a face that had pervaded his dreams
for years, granting him his dearest wishes of love and tenderness, then
vanishing with the dawn and taking warm comfort with it. Why did fate
continue to mock him, torment him so– ever reminding him of all
he had lost? His lover, his love…
The vision smiled, raising a hand to gently stroke Faramir’s
cheek as he watched him return to consciousness. The touch was so real,
so warm… Faramir wanted more than anything to believe, to cling
to this moment of joy and security and leave the nightmares behind him
forever. “My lord,” he breathed, willing the words to be
true. “My lord, I heard you calling me… I am here. I am
with you.”
Aragorn’s breath caught at the love washing over him. “I
am with you, Faramir,” he replied. “Do not walk in the shadows
any longer, but stay here with me in the light.”
Faramir’s eyes welled helplessly with grateful tears. “You
command me,” he told Aragorn joyfully. “I will stay.”
Aragorn was anxious, restless. He would be leaving with the others
at dawn, heading for Mordor to challenge Sauron at his own Gate. He
did not know what would become of their mission, but he knew it would
undoubtedly become a suicide mission if Frodo were to fail in his destruction
of the One Ring. This could be his last night ever in Minas Tirith,
his last chance to be with the man he knew had ever been intended as
partner to his soul.
“Faramir!” he cried out in soft greeting as he approached
his friend’s sickbed. The joyous gleam lighting Faramir’s
eyes in response would keep Aragorn warm through the long march to come,
he felt. Aragorn took a seat by Faramir’s bedside and clasped
the man’s hands in his own.
“My king,” Faramir replied with a knowing grin. And what
a shock it had been to learn that!
Aragorn waved this away. “Do not settle that burden on me just
yet, my friend! Besides, you know I come to visit you in no political
capacity.”
Blue eyes twinkled at this. “Ah, then this is not an official
visit? I hope then that your behavior will be quite unfettered by propriety
and convention!” Faramir teased.
The healer could not hold back a laugh, and took a quick look around
to make sure he hadn’t disturbed any of the other patients. Fortunately,
due to his rank, Faramir had been moved to a bed in a semi-private alcove,
and their conversation was now screened by heavy curtains. “After
my coronation, my Steward and I must be sure to draw up some new ‘conventions’
for the kingdom,” he replied, teasing in kind. He kicked himself
immediately, however, as darkness shrouded Faramir’s eyes at the
mention of what had formerly been Denethor’s position. Aragorn
took a firmer grip on Faramir’s hands and decided to have out
with his bad news, hoping the moment could get no bleaker.
“We leave at dawn. We journey to Mordor.”
Faramir settled back once more against his pillow, resignation etched
deeply across his face. “I know,” he said simply, and without
trace of accusation. “I knew it must be so.”
“It must,” Aragorn agreed, hoping desperately that Faramir
truly understood.
The young man nodded. “Yes. And I am yet unable to travel with
you, though I would have my share of the fight if I could.”
Aragorn leaned in closer, pinning Faramir’s blue gaze with his
own. “My love, your bravery is already legend among your people.
You have grown to be the leader I knew you were destined to be, and
there is yet more for you to do.” Abruptly, he remembered himself.
“More for *us* to do,” he said quietly. “When I return…”
he began, then trailed off, willing his eyes to speak for him.
“If,” Faramir replied morosely, his eyes downcast.
The response was immediate, and fierce. “When,” the healer
insisted, grasping his friend by his shoulders. “When.”
The word settled alone on the air, stern and definite.
Faramir thought for a moment, and sighed deeply. Finally he raised
his eyes to Aragorn’s once more. “Love me,” he said
simply. “I would know your touch again before you go.”
The older man ached at these words, desiring nothing more than to fulfill
his friend’s every dream, renew every promise that had lain so
empty in the years since their first meeting. “My love, you are
not yet well,” he murmured regretfully. “I would-“
His words were cut off abruptly as a finger was laid across his lips.
Faramir turned the full force of his devastatingly blue gaze on him,
quelling all remaining protests. “Love me,” the young man
repeated.
Aragorn knew he could deny his love nothing, and surrendered, taking
the younger man’s lips in a gentle but passionate kiss. Faramir’s
hands threaded through his dark hair, pulling him in closer as he deepened
the kiss. The healer moaned softly at the feel of the young man’s
tongue questing with his own, and he traced the other man’s face
with gentle fingertips, willing the moment to be branded on his memory
for eternity.
Faramir shifted on the bed, attempting to pull the older man down on
top of him, but Aragorn would not risk harming him in any way. To distract
his lover, the healer instead sent his hands on a slow exploration of
the young man’s body, stroking and caressing as the men continued
to kiss. Upon reaching the growing bulge in the young man’s breeches,
Aragorn began to rub along Faramir’s length with knowing fingers.
Faramir moaned into his mouth, and the older man broke off the kiss
to trace his lips over his lover’s neck and chest, loosening Faramir’s
shirt laces as he continued to lick and suckle on his path downwards.
Freeing the young man’s straining erection, Aragorn smiled in
appreciation at the lovely sight before dipping down to lovingly lick
at the head. Faramir gasped and breathed out on another moan, only to
have Aragorn coax his own hand to cover his mouth.
“Hush, my love,” the older man looked up at him with a
wicked grin. “Remember propriety and convention!” With that,
Aragorn dropped his head once more and continued to explore Faramir’s
cock with his tongue.
As suggested, Faramir clamped his hand tightly over his mouth. Even
that barrier was soon not sufficient to wholly contain his whimpers
of pleasure as Aragorn worshiped his cock, alternately licking along
the length with long swipes, sucking gently on just the head, teasing
the base with the tip of his tongue, taking the entirety into his mouth.
Faramir’s eyes rolled back in ecstasy at the loving treatment,
and he dropped his free hand to thread his fingers through his lover’s
dark hair.
Aragorn blew gently across the head of the young man’s erection.
“Come for me, my love,” he whispered passionately before
swallowing Faramir’s cock once more.
Had Faramir once said that Aragorn commanded him? The thought careened
crazily through his head as he immediately gave into his lover’s
demand, emptying his seed into Aragorn’s mouth and throat. He
bit down hard on his own hand, attempting to muffle the sounds of pleasure
he could not hold back as the older man swallowed and licked him clean.
Aragorn knelt next to his beautiful young lover, enjoying the hazy
expression in Faramir’s eyes as he slowly came back down. When
the other man’s gaze finally tracked lazily to his, Aragorn smiled.
“Remember me, my love. Remember this,” he whispered, softly
kissing his lover’s full lips. “I will return to you. We
will be together as destiny has decreed.” So saying, he kissed
Faramir one last time, then retreated quietly into the shadows.
This time, despair did not cloud their parting. After years of turmoil
and battle, they had been rejoined… and the two men knew in their
souls that this parting would not endure.
END.