FIC: Hope is Kindled for i_o_r_h_a_e_l (LotR; Aragorn/Faramir)
Title: Hope is Kindled
Author: aprilkat
Recipient: i_o_r_h_a_e_l
Fandom: LOTR
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn/Faramir
Rating: R
Warning: Slash
Feedback: Please.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Tolkien, New Line and Peter Jackson own.
A/N: For the Sons of Gondor Halloween Trick or Treat Exchange. Many thanks to mews1945 for the beta.
Suddenly Faramir stirred, and he opened his eyes, and he looked on Aragorn who bent over him; and a light of knowledge and love was kindled in his eyes, and he spoke softly. "My lord, you called me. I come. What does the king command?"
"Walk no more in the shadows, but awake!" said Aragorn. "You are weary. Rest a while, and take food, and be ready when I return."
"I will, lord," said Faramir. "For who would lie idle when the king has returned?"
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King. "The Houses of Healing."
Faramir awoke, confused yet alert. Every sense tingled, telling him to be up and doing, yet he held himself still until all was clear in his mind.
Finally the jumble of images and sounds assaulting him sorted itself into coherent experiences, and he felt himself becoming Faramir once more. He lay on his cot, allowing the familiar sounds of the Houses of Healing to soothe him.
Pushing back the thin wool blanket covering his body, he hefted himself up, carefully, gauging the condition of his body. Gone was the raging fever that had fed his living dreams of bonfires; the multitude of wounds both small and great already had retreated to healing scars. The blackness that had consumed his very spirit seemed now a mere wisp of fog hanging on the edges of a summer's day.
He grunted with the effort of pushing himself to his feet, but was pleased to find himself shaking only as from long disuse rather than damage.
A healer moved forward quickly to take his arm, calling for an aide to help him with the Steward. Faramir collapsed back onto the cot, realizing what the title implied. His father - gone then.
Allowing the healer to settle him back into bed, Faramir croaked, "The King? Has the King returned, or did I dream?"
Reassured and amazed, Faramir asked for an audience with the new King and was stunned to discover that two days ago Isildur's Heir had marched with the remnants of the Gondorian and Rohirrim armies to take the war to the Black Gates of Mordor itself. However, the Prince Imrahil had left his assistant to inform Faramir of the city's immediate needs and given him instructions from the King-To-Be about backup plans should dire events transpire.
The knowledge that the fate of his entire country would rest on his shoulders alone should the sortie against Sauron fail staggered Faramir, but he recovered himself without pause and required an immediate meeting of all officials remaining in the city.
Faramir straightened his tunic as he heard the flourish of trumpets announcing the arrival of the Captains of the West. He took a deep breath and lifted his eyes to the sight of the Steward's banner; it danced in the wind from the White Tower of Ecthelion for the very last time, its silver proudly glinting in the sun.
He moved forward from behind the barrier that served to block the broken gate of the city, followed by the captains of Gondor and Rohan. His lady laid her hand upon his arm; smiling at each other, they moved slowly between the festive ranks of the citizens to greet their new King at last.
Eowyn's eyes glowed strangely; Faramir knew that this meeting was rife with conflicting emotion for her. He had no doubt of her love for him, and he himself knew that to her he owed a new future undimmed by dreams of black waves and tumbling cities. Yet for both the coming of this particular King held more uncertainty and potential than they could imagine, and each respected whatever should arise from it for the other.
The royal contingent detached itself from the hosts of soldiers; Faramir met the King and smoothly moved through the ritual, kneeling to surrender the white rod of the Stewards. His heart contracted as he lifted his eyes to take in the face of his Lord; the stern beauty of that noble face seemed to be more than Man, touched by the grace of the Valar. Then Aragorn smiled, his grey eyes warm and understanding, and he returned the rod and the position to Faramir.
As planned, when Faramir offered the crown of Eärnur to Aragorn, the Heir returned that as well, calling the Ring-Bearer forward to bring the crown to Mithrandir to crown him. Faramir turned toward the small figure and stopped, stunned.
He had heard about the ravages the Halfling had suffered in completing his task and was prepared to see a change in the Frodo he had met in Ithilien. But although weeks had passed and Aragorn's healing had revived him, the change in the Halfling struck Faramir deeply. Frodo seemed but a slight reed, the pallor of his face in the sunny day almost translucent, as if Frodo himself was more spirit than flesh.
Their eyes locked, and where Faramir had seen blank blue suddenly was fire and ash and indestructible darkness. One blink and again there was only a calm surface of blue, but Faramir knew without doubt that Frodo had seen the same in Faramir's eyes. As the crown passed from Faramir's hands to Frodo, they were linked in their understanding of devastation and despair.
"Faramir, dine with me tonight?" said Aragorn.
"Gladly, my liege," said Faramir, rubbing his eyes. They had spent weeks meeting with representatives of lands suing for peace and jockeying for favor with the new King. While Aragorn seemed to be tireless in his patience and good judgment, Faramir felt fatigued from the long days.
Aragorn requested that dinner be sent to his own quarters for the two of them alone, a rare circumstance. They discussed some of the ramifications of Faramir's move to Ithilien, including his marriage to Eowyn once she returned from Rohan. Beregond had already set into motion many of the arrangements for the White Company and had begun the construction of barracks for the troops assigned to Ithilien.
After the servants removed the last of the meal and retreated, the two sat in companionable silence as they drank one goblet of wine after another. As the firelight flickered and the torches burned low, Faramir felt himself melting into the gloom.
"Faramir," said Aragorn from the dimness. "I sense a heaviness about your spirit yet. What is it that hangs on you?"
Surprisingly, Faramir felt neither fear nor bar to his speech. "I am not sure, my lord. Since the war was won, I have felt as though I walk through a life that is not real. I see the joy all around, my heart is touched by the woman I have wooed, yet beneath it all is an abyss. My unworthiness?" He choked slightly as a darkness rose within him.
Aragorn stood and walked over to him, towering over him for a time as if in contemplation. Suddenly he reached down one hand and pulled Faramir to his feet. Faramir did not resist, facing Aragorn chest to chest, their hands still clasped. Aragorn looked deep into his eyes, then put his other hand behind Faramir's neck and pulled him closer.
As their lips met, Faramir found himself assailed by a thousand images: his father's wrathful eyes and heavy hand, his brother's broken body, his mother's long-lost gentle smile. His life unrolled before him, and he saw himself a child bereft, a disappointing son, an inferior brother, a failed commander. He groaned in protest and tried to pull away, but Aragorn merely shifted to clasp him firmly with strong hands, pushing him back against the wall.
Taking Faramir's head in both hands, Aragorn looked him full in the face. Those grey eyes shifted from pity to love, and now Faramir saw himself reflected there: a commander who had both the strategic intelligence of his noble father and the military ability of his mighty brother, a man whose sense allowed him to make good decisions for his people while his sensitivity earned their love.
"But I'm not--" he objected.
Aragorn silenced him by running his hands over Faramir's shoulders and down his arms, then kissed him once more before tugging Faramir's shirt over his head. Suddenly Faramir capitulated, heatedly pulling off clothes and embracing Aragorn as they sank to the rug before the fire.
Their arms and legs entwined, they thrust against each other, pushing and struggling. Faramir felt his blood pounding as if in combat and growled to find his hands held over his head against the floor. Twisting in vain, he found himself trapped, paralyzed; out of the corner of his eye he saw the flames and
hears his father weeping and saying: "Do not take my son from me! He calls for me." Hearing his father's dying scream, Faramir sees the evil Ring being consumed by the flames, the same flames that are reaching out to him, and he weeps, cold tears splashing everywhere, putting out the fire...
Faramir opened his eyes to see Aragorn sitting beside him, one hand resting on Faramir's chest over his heart, the other stroking his hair. Aragorn's face was also streaked with tears, but he smiled softly and with great understanding.
"Where one is loved, one has hope, yes?" asked the King.
Faramir wondered if Aragorn meant that he loved him or that his father had loved him after all, but decided it really didn't matter, because it was all true.
Faramir had just dismissed the Royal Wedding Planners when he heard a hubbub in the Courtyard; leaving the Tower Hall, he found Aragorn standing jubilant before the guards of the Citadel. As the cheering subsided, Aragorn strode toward him, holding between his hands a small sapling bearing white blossoms.
Gasping in disbelief, Faramir reached one finger out to gently touch the flower; Aragorn nodded as Faramir glanced toward the withered tree in the Court of the Fountain.
"The sign has been given. The New Age has begun," said his King.
~fin~
Author: aprilkat
Recipient: i_o_r_h_a_e_l
Fandom: LOTR
Characters/Pairing: Aragorn/Faramir
Rating: R
Warning: Slash
Feedback: Please.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Tolkien, New Line and Peter Jackson own.
A/N: For the Sons of Gondor Halloween Trick or Treat Exchange. Many thanks to mews1945 for the beta.
Suddenly Faramir stirred, and he opened his eyes, and he looked on Aragorn who bent over him; and a light of knowledge and love was kindled in his eyes, and he spoke softly. "My lord, you called me. I come. What does the king command?"
"Walk no more in the shadows, but awake!" said Aragorn. "You are weary. Rest a while, and take food, and be ready when I return."
"I will, lord," said Faramir. "For who would lie idle when the king has returned?"
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King. "The Houses of Healing."
Faramir awoke, confused yet alert. Every sense tingled, telling him to be up and doing, yet he held himself still until all was clear in his mind.
Finally the jumble of images and sounds assaulting him sorted itself into coherent experiences, and he felt himself becoming Faramir once more. He lay on his cot, allowing the familiar sounds of the Houses of Healing to soothe him.
Pushing back the thin wool blanket covering his body, he hefted himself up, carefully, gauging the condition of his body. Gone was the raging fever that had fed his living dreams of bonfires; the multitude of wounds both small and great already had retreated to healing scars. The blackness that had consumed his very spirit seemed now a mere wisp of fog hanging on the edges of a summer's day.
He grunted with the effort of pushing himself to his feet, but was pleased to find himself shaking only as from long disuse rather than damage.
A healer moved forward quickly to take his arm, calling for an aide to help him with the Steward. Faramir collapsed back onto the cot, realizing what the title implied. His father - gone then.
Allowing the healer to settle him back into bed, Faramir croaked, "The King? Has the King returned, or did I dream?"
Reassured and amazed, Faramir asked for an audience with the new King and was stunned to discover that two days ago Isildur's Heir had marched with the remnants of the Gondorian and Rohirrim armies to take the war to the Black Gates of Mordor itself. However, the Prince Imrahil had left his assistant to inform Faramir of the city's immediate needs and given him instructions from the King-To-Be about backup plans should dire events transpire.
The knowledge that the fate of his entire country would rest on his shoulders alone should the sortie against Sauron fail staggered Faramir, but he recovered himself without pause and required an immediate meeting of all officials remaining in the city.
Faramir straightened his tunic as he heard the flourish of trumpets announcing the arrival of the Captains of the West. He took a deep breath and lifted his eyes to the sight of the Steward's banner; it danced in the wind from the White Tower of Ecthelion for the very last time, its silver proudly glinting in the sun.
He moved forward from behind the barrier that served to block the broken gate of the city, followed by the captains of Gondor and Rohan. His lady laid her hand upon his arm; smiling at each other, they moved slowly between the festive ranks of the citizens to greet their new King at last.
Eowyn's eyes glowed strangely; Faramir knew that this meeting was rife with conflicting emotion for her. He had no doubt of her love for him, and he himself knew that to her he owed a new future undimmed by dreams of black waves and tumbling cities. Yet for both the coming of this particular King held more uncertainty and potential than they could imagine, and each respected whatever should arise from it for the other.
The royal contingent detached itself from the hosts of soldiers; Faramir met the King and smoothly moved through the ritual, kneeling to surrender the white rod of the Stewards. His heart contracted as he lifted his eyes to take in the face of his Lord; the stern beauty of that noble face seemed to be more than Man, touched by the grace of the Valar. Then Aragorn smiled, his grey eyes warm and understanding, and he returned the rod and the position to Faramir.
As planned, when Faramir offered the crown of Eärnur to Aragorn, the Heir returned that as well, calling the Ring-Bearer forward to bring the crown to Mithrandir to crown him. Faramir turned toward the small figure and stopped, stunned.
He had heard about the ravages the Halfling had suffered in completing his task and was prepared to see a change in the Frodo he had met in Ithilien. But although weeks had passed and Aragorn's healing had revived him, the change in the Halfling struck Faramir deeply. Frodo seemed but a slight reed, the pallor of his face in the sunny day almost translucent, as if Frodo himself was more spirit than flesh.
Their eyes locked, and where Faramir had seen blank blue suddenly was fire and ash and indestructible darkness. One blink and again there was only a calm surface of blue, but Faramir knew without doubt that Frodo had seen the same in Faramir's eyes. As the crown passed from Faramir's hands to Frodo, they were linked in their understanding of devastation and despair.
"Faramir, dine with me tonight?" said Aragorn.
"Gladly, my liege," said Faramir, rubbing his eyes. They had spent weeks meeting with representatives of lands suing for peace and jockeying for favor with the new King. While Aragorn seemed to be tireless in his patience and good judgment, Faramir felt fatigued from the long days.
Aragorn requested that dinner be sent to his own quarters for the two of them alone, a rare circumstance. They discussed some of the ramifications of Faramir's move to Ithilien, including his marriage to Eowyn once she returned from Rohan. Beregond had already set into motion many of the arrangements for the White Company and had begun the construction of barracks for the troops assigned to Ithilien.
After the servants removed the last of the meal and retreated, the two sat in companionable silence as they drank one goblet of wine after another. As the firelight flickered and the torches burned low, Faramir felt himself melting into the gloom.
"Faramir," said Aragorn from the dimness. "I sense a heaviness about your spirit yet. What is it that hangs on you?"
Surprisingly, Faramir felt neither fear nor bar to his speech. "I am not sure, my lord. Since the war was won, I have felt as though I walk through a life that is not real. I see the joy all around, my heart is touched by the woman I have wooed, yet beneath it all is an abyss. My unworthiness?" He choked slightly as a darkness rose within him.
Aragorn stood and walked over to him, towering over him for a time as if in contemplation. Suddenly he reached down one hand and pulled Faramir to his feet. Faramir did not resist, facing Aragorn chest to chest, their hands still clasped. Aragorn looked deep into his eyes, then put his other hand behind Faramir's neck and pulled him closer.
As their lips met, Faramir found himself assailed by a thousand images: his father's wrathful eyes and heavy hand, his brother's broken body, his mother's long-lost gentle smile. His life unrolled before him, and he saw himself a child bereft, a disappointing son, an inferior brother, a failed commander. He groaned in protest and tried to pull away, but Aragorn merely shifted to clasp him firmly with strong hands, pushing him back against the wall.
Taking Faramir's head in both hands, Aragorn looked him full in the face. Those grey eyes shifted from pity to love, and now Faramir saw himself reflected there: a commander who had both the strategic intelligence of his noble father and the military ability of his mighty brother, a man whose sense allowed him to make good decisions for his people while his sensitivity earned their love.
"But I'm not--" he objected.
Aragorn silenced him by running his hands over Faramir's shoulders and down his arms, then kissed him once more before tugging Faramir's shirt over his head. Suddenly Faramir capitulated, heatedly pulling off clothes and embracing Aragorn as they sank to the rug before the fire.
Their arms and legs entwined, they thrust against each other, pushing and struggling. Faramir felt his blood pounding as if in combat and growled to find his hands held over his head against the floor. Twisting in vain, he found himself trapped, paralyzed; out of the corner of his eye he saw the flames and
hears his father weeping and saying: "Do not take my son from me! He calls for me." Hearing his father's dying scream, Faramir sees the evil Ring being consumed by the flames, the same flames that are reaching out to him, and he weeps, cold tears splashing everywhere, putting out the fire...
Faramir opened his eyes to see Aragorn sitting beside him, one hand resting on Faramir's chest over his heart, the other stroking his hair. Aragorn's face was also streaked with tears, but he smiled softly and with great understanding.
"Where one is loved, one has hope, yes?" asked the King.
Faramir wondered if Aragorn meant that he loved him or that his father had loved him after all, but decided it really didn't matter, because it was all true.
Faramir had just dismissed the Royal Wedding Planners when he heard a hubbub in the Courtyard; leaving the Tower Hall, he found Aragorn standing jubilant before the guards of the Citadel. As the cheering subsided, Aragorn strode toward him, holding between his hands a small sapling bearing white blossoms.
Gasping in disbelief, Faramir reached one finger out to gently touch the flower; Aragorn nodded as Faramir glanced toward the withered tree in the Court of the Fountain.
"The sign has been given. The New Age has begun," said his King.
~fin~