Dark Dreams

There was much rejoicing that night. The subjects of Rohan celebrated their king’s recovery with their finest ales and the grandest feasts that could be arranged with such short notice. The travellers were hailed as heroes and innumerable toasts were made to their health. Even King Théoden could be found in the midst of the festivities, laughing with the people of his court and partaking in copious amouof dof drink.

Faramir’s dark eyes followed the king as he wandered around the room. Théoden seemed to have completely recovered from Wormtongue’s enchantment. Faramir felt envious; he wished that he could bring himself to celebrate Gríma’s demise. But he couldn’t. The man had reached deep into his mind, leaving it raw and aching. It hurt to be that open; Faramir felt exposed and vulnerable even amidst this happy hall.

Now King Théoden was talking to Aragorn and a fair, blond woman. The woman was talking animatedly to ran ranger. *She is beautiful,* Faramir realised, wondering with a sudden pang of jealousy if Aragorn thought the same. As the woman flipped her long hair her her shoulder and the men laughed with her, Faramir felt a tight knot in his stomach.

*Of course he would like her,* Faramir thought glumly. *She is everything that a man would want.* Or should want. He had no longing for a woman’s touch. *Another legacy of Gríma?* he wondered sadly. d hed he never be free of that evil man?

As if sensing his thoughts, Aragorn looked directly at Faramir and gave him a questioning smile. The young man returned a wan smile that did not satisfy the ranger. He excused himself from the others and came to sit across the table from Faramir.

“Beloved, are you well?” he whispered, his finger lightly tracing Faramir’s hand that held his nearly full cup of ale.

Faramir nodded and gave him another thin smile. jus just a bit tired. I will be fine.”

“Of course you are tired. I have been thoughtless – you should not have to be here.”

The woman came over to them then. Addressing Aragorn, she asked, lordlord, is there anything you need?”

Aragorn looked up in surprise and quickly moved his hand away, blushing slightly. Faramir felt his stomach constrict into tighter knots. “Lady Éowyn, I would like to present Faramir, son of Denethor the Steward of Gondor. Faramir, the Lady Éowyn is King Théoden’s niece.”

The fair woman bowed her head low to him. “We are all indebted to you for restoring my uncle’s health, Lord Faramir. You are a most welcome guest in Rohan.”

As she lifted her head, Faramir looked into her eyes. They were a brilliant deep blue colour, almost identical to King Théoden’s, and in them he saw great intelligence and compassion.

*It’s no wonder that Aragorn wants to be with her,* he thought miserably.

“My lady, my friend is ill,” he heard Aragorn say. “Is there a quiet room where I can take him to rest?”

The woman looked curiously at Faramir. “We have healers in the city. Would you have me call them, my lord?”

“No, that is not necessary. Quarters far from this noise will be sufficient.”

“No, Aragorn, I don’t want to go,” Faramir said plaintively, realising his voice sounded childish. *I can’t bear to have you send me away,* he thought to himself. *I can’t bear to think of what you might do with the Lady Éowyn once I am gone.*

“Nonsense,” Aragorn said as he rose from the table. “This has been a difficult day and you need to rest.”

Faramir did feel exceedingly weary. He even faltered a little as he stood up, causing Aragorn to clasp his arm around his shoulder to steady him. His touch should have been a comfort, but instead it made Faramir feel even more despondent.

They followed Lady Éowyn up a long flight of stairs and then down a hallway to the far end of Meduseld. She opened the last door and turned to the men. “This was the chamber of the king’s son, Théodred. No one will disturb you here.”

“Thank you, my lady. There is great hospitality in this land.”

Éowyn watched from the doorway as Aragorn guided the young man to the bed and knelt on the floor to unlace his boots. After gently pulling them off, and the woollen socks underneath, his fingers gently massaged Faramir’s feet. The dark man who had seemed so sullen now shone with love. Éowyn was astonished by the intimacy of the scene. Although she yearned to continue watching, she suddenly felt embarrassed and wanted to give the privacy she knew the men desired. Clearing her throat, she said, ““Is there anything else I can get for you before I go?”

The two men turned to her as one, looking surprised as if not realising she was still there.

“No, we have everything we need,” realising the trust of his words as he spoke. “Thank you again, my lady.”

As soon as the door closed, Faramir said, “You do not have to stay with me, my lord.”

Aragorn frowned. “Do you want to be alone?”

A look of panic flashed across Faramir’s face. That was the last thing he wanted, but he would not have Aragorn stay solely on his account. “I want you to be happy, my lord,” he finally answered. “I think you would be happier celebrating with the others.”

“How can you think that, Faramir?” Aragorn said crossly. “Do you think so little of me that you believe I would rather be at a party than here at your side? I am offended that you hold me in such low esteem.”

“But you were enjoying yourself, and enjoying the company of the Lady of Rohan,” Faramir hoarsely replied. “You do not need to protect me now, my lord.”

Aragorn’s dark eyes glistened with tears at the young man’s words. He had felt such guilt at not being able to protect him from Wormtongue. He had fought to speak, to move, but the enchanter’s spell was too strong. It had made him ill to watch the evil man circle closer and closer to Faramir, stroking his fine features with his gnarled fingers, but he had been helpless to prevent it. He knew he had let the young man down, and now he knew Faramir felt the same way.

Sadly he asked, “Why do you call me ‘my lord,’ Faramir? Is that all I am to you now?”

“No, no,” Faramir replied quickly, surprised by the sadness in the man’s voice.

“I know that I have failed you, mir.mir. I broke my oath to protect you, and I understand if I have forfeited your love.” The words almost choked in Aragorn’s throat. “I will leave you if that is what you desire. I would not cause you any more pain than I already have.”

Aragorn stood up and started to leave the room. Faramir was dumbstruck for a moment. The ranger already had his hand on the door handle before he was able to cry out, “No, Aragorn, please don’t leave me.”

Aragorn turned around. As soon as he saw the tears in Faramir’s face, he rushed back to the bed and pulled the young man into his arms.

“Darling, don’t be sad. I am not going anywhere unless you want me to.”

“I don’t want you to go, Aragorn,” was the mournful reply. “Never leave me.”

Aragorn pressed his lips against the dark ringlets of Faramir’s hair. The young man’s body was curled tightly into a ball. Aragorn wrapped his arms around him as wet tears dampened his tunic. The ranger murmured softearmearments in elvish. He praised him for overcoming Wormtongue’s charms, telling him repeatedly how strong he was. He told him how proud he had been when Faramir saved them all, and spared his enemy with compassion. He reassured him of his love, promising to be with him until the end of time. He knew that although Faramir could not understand the words, he was soothed by the musical language. Gradually the sobs subsided. His hands still clutched Aragorn’s tunic for a while longer, but finally his hold relaxed as Faramir slipped into a deep sleep.

Aragorn gently pulled warm blankets around the young man before quietly undressing and sliding into bed beside him.

“Good night, my dearest love,” he said as he kissed Faramir’s forehead, but the young man didn’t notice. He was far away, standing before the citadel in Minas Tirith. The courtyard was filled with people dressed in their finest attire. Boromir was there, and Mithrandir, and even the hobbits and their other companions. In the midst of it all stood Aragorn wearing the crown of Gondor. And then the king smiled at him.


THE END