Darkness and L¯Far
folder
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
9
Views:
2,233
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Currently Reading:
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Category:
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
9
Views:
2,233
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Epilogue
EPILOGUE: Minas Tirith, Midsummer’s Eve 3019
The White City was abuzz with excitement – King Elessar’s betrothed was arriving today, with a full complement of elves from Rivendell and Lórien. The Gondorians had seen many strange things of late, what with the appearance of Halflings and wizards, invading Oliphaunts and Haradrim, and the return of the king from exile. But this, the arrival of the Lady Arwen Evenstar, seemed to have eclipsed them all.
Or perhaps it was only that, after so many years at war and the death of so many, including the old Steward, a wedding was an especially joyous occasion – and a royal wedding even more so. Whatever the reason, everyone in Minas Tirith was eagerly looking forward to the festivities. The king had ordered feasts for every level of the city, with the best foods that could be found from Gondor and Rohan. Musicians had been hired to entertain the crowds and rumours abounded that Gandalf might treat the happy couple to a fireworks display. Old friends and relations had travelled from as far away as Dol Amroth, and even Rohan was represented by the lovely Princess Éowyn, who some suspected had won the heart of Steward Boromir. It promised to be a grand day for Gondor.
Inside rge rge room high in the citadel tower, two men were also preparing for the arrival of the bridal party.
“Ow, that hurts!”
“Stop fidgeting, Faramir. You’re acting so nervous anyone would think *you* were getting married.”
“Must you pull so hard? I’m not one of the horses in your stable.”
“Fine, then greet Haldir with your tangled ranger hair,” Aragorn said, tossing the brush onto the dressing table. “I’m sure he has done nothing special to look good for you today!”
“Do you think he has, Aragorn?” Faramir said dreamily. “It has been over three months since we left Lórien, he might care nothing for me anymore.”
“Don’t be absurd, my darling,” Aragorn said, forgetting his exacerbation as he kissed the top of the raven head. “Once someone falls in love with you, I fear it is forever.”
“You’re a fine one to talk, getting married tomorrow,” Faramir teased. “Haldir warned me of the fickleness of men.”
In one swift motion the king lifted Faramir and tossed him on the bed. “I see I must remind you of the worth of men before you return to your elven lover,” he said, falling on top of him and undoing the silver laces at the neck of Faramir’s tunic. The young man playfully swatted his hands away, protesting half-heartedly as Aragorn’s lips viciously attacked the curve of his neck.
A sudden knock on the door interrupted them, to theismaysmay. Aragorn sighed heavily as they got up from the bed. Faramir quickly redid his tunic as the king opened the door to one of the citadel guards. The guard bowed to him. “King Elessar, the wedding party has just reached Rammas Echor. They should arrive within the half-hour.”
“Thank you, Falborn. Please bring them to the citadel. We will meet them outside the Great Hall.”
The man bowed again and left. Aragorn met Faramir’s eyes and smiled. “I see my lesson will hav wai wait until you return. And when will that be again? In two weeks? Three?”
Faramir returned his smile. “I promise to return by Yáviérë at the very latest. That’s just three months away.” Seeing the pained look in Aragorn’s face, he quickly added, “And if yoill ill intend to escort the hobbits home, you might enjoy some time in Lórien yourself. Besides, now is the best time for me to leave. I have few pressing duties, and I think that the Lady Arwen will want her husband to herself for a little while at least.”
“Yes,” Aragorn admitted, “you are probably right. But please hurry back. Your brother would make a fine steward in wartime, but he leaves much to be desired in times of peace. Gondor needs you here with me.”
“Oh, is it Gondor that needs me?” Faramir laughed, wrapping his arms around the king’s waist and lifting his chin to kiss him. “Gondor will be quite happy with a Queen now, especially one as beautiful as the Lady Arwen.”
“Can you honestly say you are not jealous at all?” Aragorn asked.
Faramir unwound himself from his lover’s arms and sat down again at the dressing table, scrutinizing his appearance as he considered the question. Finally he admitted, “I do not feel threatened by your relationshif thf that is what you ask, but I cannot say I am not envious of it. You have known each other for so long. Even when I first saw you together in Rivendell I envied your closeness. You seemed very comfortable with each other.”
He looked closely at Aragorn’s reflection in the mirror, and the older man nodded. “Yes, that is true. We fell in love so long ago, when I was very young. I always knew we would marry, and have children, and that I would grow old beside her.” Aragorn moved to stand behind Faramir, resting his hands on his shoulders. “And in truth, I never thought to love another so much.” He picked the brush back up and ran it – more gently this time – through his lover’s dark hair.
Faramir watched the king in the mirror, smiling at his wrinkled brow as he battled a stubborn tangle. “And now what will you do with your lover once the queen arrives?” He knew the answer already, but he realized he needed to hear it again.
ill ill force him to wear his hair short, for a start,” Aragorn said with mock annoyance. Faramir giggled as he took the brush from him, and expertly untangled his thick black hair. “Then I will proclaim him my chief councillor, to advise me on all the urgent matters facing Gondor.”
“And then?” Faramir asked expectantly.
“I will make him the Prince of Ithilien in reward for his valiant efforts during the war of the ring.”
“Anything else?”
Faramir sounded very impatient now, and orn orn decided to give him what he wanted. He leaned down and kissed him, gently biting his full bottom lip before saying, “And he will share my bed every night, and serve the King of Gondor in every possible way.”
“Oh, yes!” Faramir’s eyes were shining now.
“And I will command him to remain with me in Minas Tirith, and not allow him to run off to Lórien with a gorgeous elf,” Aragorn added, as he stood up.
“Now who is jealous of whom?” laughed Faramir.
“It is not jealousy,” Aragorn replied. “It is realistic. I am merely a king, how can I ever hope to compete with the warden of Lórien?”
“You will never have to compete, my love,” Faramir said. He stood up and straightened the king’s sable tunic as he talked. “You know that you are what I live for. I need you just like I need air to breathe. You are a part of me, part of my mind and my body. Not even Boromir, who I love more than my life, can compete with you for my ctioction.” He paused as he pressed the soft velvet of the tunic into place, then stood back and cocked his head to one side to examine his work. Aragorn watched him with a bemused expression, but Faramir was too absorbed to notice.
Aragorn loved watching Faramir when he didn’t know he was being observed. After leaving Lórien he had kept a close eye on Faramir, unwilling to let any further harm befall his lover. He had witnessed his fighting prowess at Amon Hen, where the fellowswas was divided by an Orc attack, as well as in their battles at Helm’s Deep and the Pelennor. He had been heartened by his courage as they ventured through the Paths of the Dead. In Edoras they had met Gríma Wormtongue, and he had seen the young man face his enemy with intelligence, calmness, and even compassion. Only Aragorn knew what this show of strength had cost him. As he comforted the weeping young man in his arms that night, Aragorn was reminded that his recovery was not yet complete. He vowed to do everything in his power to bring Faramir some peace, knowing that he would forfeit his own life if it would help this man he loved so dearly.
Once they were back in Minas Tirith, Aragorn had been concerned that Denethor’s demise might prove a setback to Faramir’s fragile emotions. Both brothers had been disconsolate at their father’s death in the Battle of Pelennor, and he had found himself comforting Faramir more than once, but the younger man had finally rallied with his and Boromir’s support.
Since the war ended there was no longer any need for this protectiveness, but by now watching Faramir had become second nature. Now he found himself relishing the tiny things that revealed more and more about this man he had come to love. His quarters were fastidiously neat, the only disarray in the books scattered wherever Faramir happened to badinading. He insisted on helping Aragorn select his attire for each public appearance, and the king soon discovered that he had an exquisite sense of style. He had insisted on the sable tunic today, claiming that it matched perfectly with the Lady Arwen’s ebony hair and suggested a visual connection between them that Gondorians outside the citadel could see from afar. This attention to detail was just one of Faramir’s endearing qualities. The king found his thinking fascinat and and realised he adored him more witch pch passing day.
When he was finally satisfied with the king’s appearance,amiramir said softly, “Haldir can never comeweenween you and me. The way I love him is different. I am still in awe of him, I think. He is so beautiful, so far above me that I still cannot believe he loves me.”
“Of course he loves you, my darling,” Aragorn said, as Faramir turned his attentions to his own tunic. Aragorn watched him with deep appreciation. If anyt he he had grown lovelier since they left Lórien. His deep blue robe set off his smoky eyes perfectly, and they shone like brilliant gems sparkling in the bright sun. His strength had fully returned now, and Aragorn could make out his sinewy muscles through the cloth. His lean build had filled out somewhat, and he had lost his former gaunt appearance.
“You can never see your own beauty, Faramir, nor will you believe how wonderful you are,” Aragorn finally said, struck with the truth of his words. “So Haldir and I must keep proving to you that you are loved, even if that means I must share you with the elf.”
Faramir blushed bright red now, and Aragorn yearned to savour those ruby lips once more, but their time was quickly running out. Instead he reached his hand out to stroke his cheek, and was rewarded when Faramir leaned into his hand and gently kissed his palm. Aragorn sighed and bestowed a quick kiss to Faramir’s forehead as another knock sounded on the door. They smiled gently at each other and finally hurried out to meet their lovers.
THE END
The White City was abuzz with excitement – King Elessar’s betrothed was arriving today, with a full complement of elves from Rivendell and Lórien. The Gondorians had seen many strange things of late, what with the appearance of Halflings and wizards, invading Oliphaunts and Haradrim, and the return of the king from exile. But this, the arrival of the Lady Arwen Evenstar, seemed to have eclipsed them all.
Or perhaps it was only that, after so many years at war and the death of so many, including the old Steward, a wedding was an especially joyous occasion – and a royal wedding even more so. Whatever the reason, everyone in Minas Tirith was eagerly looking forward to the festivities. The king had ordered feasts for every level of the city, with the best foods that could be found from Gondor and Rohan. Musicians had been hired to entertain the crowds and rumours abounded that Gandalf might treat the happy couple to a fireworks display. Old friends and relations had travelled from as far away as Dol Amroth, and even Rohan was represented by the lovely Princess Éowyn, who some suspected had won the heart of Steward Boromir. It promised to be a grand day for Gondor.
Inside rge rge room high in the citadel tower, two men were also preparing for the arrival of the bridal party.
“Ow, that hurts!”
“Stop fidgeting, Faramir. You’re acting so nervous anyone would think *you* were getting married.”
“Must you pull so hard? I’m not one of the horses in your stable.”
“Fine, then greet Haldir with your tangled ranger hair,” Aragorn said, tossing the brush onto the dressing table. “I’m sure he has done nothing special to look good for you today!”
“Do you think he has, Aragorn?” Faramir said dreamily. “It has been over three months since we left Lórien, he might care nothing for me anymore.”
“Don’t be absurd, my darling,” Aragorn said, forgetting his exacerbation as he kissed the top of the raven head. “Once someone falls in love with you, I fear it is forever.”
“You’re a fine one to talk, getting married tomorrow,” Faramir teased. “Haldir warned me of the fickleness of men.”
In one swift motion the king lifted Faramir and tossed him on the bed. “I see I must remind you of the worth of men before you return to your elven lover,” he said, falling on top of him and undoing the silver laces at the neck of Faramir’s tunic. The young man playfully swatted his hands away, protesting half-heartedly as Aragorn’s lips viciously attacked the curve of his neck.
A sudden knock on the door interrupted them, to theismaysmay. Aragorn sighed heavily as they got up from the bed. Faramir quickly redid his tunic as the king opened the door to one of the citadel guards. The guard bowed to him. “King Elessar, the wedding party has just reached Rammas Echor. They should arrive within the half-hour.”
“Thank you, Falborn. Please bring them to the citadel. We will meet them outside the Great Hall.”
The man bowed again and left. Aragorn met Faramir’s eyes and smiled. “I see my lesson will hav wai wait until you return. And when will that be again? In two weeks? Three?”
Faramir returned his smile. “I promise to return by Yáviérë at the very latest. That’s just three months away.” Seeing the pained look in Aragorn’s face, he quickly added, “And if yoill ill intend to escort the hobbits home, you might enjoy some time in Lórien yourself. Besides, now is the best time for me to leave. I have few pressing duties, and I think that the Lady Arwen will want her husband to herself for a little while at least.”
“Yes,” Aragorn admitted, “you are probably right. But please hurry back. Your brother would make a fine steward in wartime, but he leaves much to be desired in times of peace. Gondor needs you here with me.”
“Oh, is it Gondor that needs me?” Faramir laughed, wrapping his arms around the king’s waist and lifting his chin to kiss him. “Gondor will be quite happy with a Queen now, especially one as beautiful as the Lady Arwen.”
“Can you honestly say you are not jealous at all?” Aragorn asked.
Faramir unwound himself from his lover’s arms and sat down again at the dressing table, scrutinizing his appearance as he considered the question. Finally he admitted, “I do not feel threatened by your relationshif thf that is what you ask, but I cannot say I am not envious of it. You have known each other for so long. Even when I first saw you together in Rivendell I envied your closeness. You seemed very comfortable with each other.”
He looked closely at Aragorn’s reflection in the mirror, and the older man nodded. “Yes, that is true. We fell in love so long ago, when I was very young. I always knew we would marry, and have children, and that I would grow old beside her.” Aragorn moved to stand behind Faramir, resting his hands on his shoulders. “And in truth, I never thought to love another so much.” He picked the brush back up and ran it – more gently this time – through his lover’s dark hair.
Faramir watched the king in the mirror, smiling at his wrinkled brow as he battled a stubborn tangle. “And now what will you do with your lover once the queen arrives?” He knew the answer already, but he realized he needed to hear it again.
ill ill force him to wear his hair short, for a start,” Aragorn said with mock annoyance. Faramir giggled as he took the brush from him, and expertly untangled his thick black hair. “Then I will proclaim him my chief councillor, to advise me on all the urgent matters facing Gondor.”
“And then?” Faramir asked expectantly.
“I will make him the Prince of Ithilien in reward for his valiant efforts during the war of the ring.”
“Anything else?”
Faramir sounded very impatient now, and orn orn decided to give him what he wanted. He leaned down and kissed him, gently biting his full bottom lip before saying, “And he will share my bed every night, and serve the King of Gondor in every possible way.”
“Oh, yes!” Faramir’s eyes were shining now.
“And I will command him to remain with me in Minas Tirith, and not allow him to run off to Lórien with a gorgeous elf,” Aragorn added, as he stood up.
“Now who is jealous of whom?” laughed Faramir.
“It is not jealousy,” Aragorn replied. “It is realistic. I am merely a king, how can I ever hope to compete with the warden of Lórien?”
“You will never have to compete, my love,” Faramir said. He stood up and straightened the king’s sable tunic as he talked. “You know that you are what I live for. I need you just like I need air to breathe. You are a part of me, part of my mind and my body. Not even Boromir, who I love more than my life, can compete with you for my ctioction.” He paused as he pressed the soft velvet of the tunic into place, then stood back and cocked his head to one side to examine his work. Aragorn watched him with a bemused expression, but Faramir was too absorbed to notice.
Aragorn loved watching Faramir when he didn’t know he was being observed. After leaving Lórien he had kept a close eye on Faramir, unwilling to let any further harm befall his lover. He had witnessed his fighting prowess at Amon Hen, where the fellowswas was divided by an Orc attack, as well as in their battles at Helm’s Deep and the Pelennor. He had been heartened by his courage as they ventured through the Paths of the Dead. In Edoras they had met Gríma Wormtongue, and he had seen the young man face his enemy with intelligence, calmness, and even compassion. Only Aragorn knew what this show of strength had cost him. As he comforted the weeping young man in his arms that night, Aragorn was reminded that his recovery was not yet complete. He vowed to do everything in his power to bring Faramir some peace, knowing that he would forfeit his own life if it would help this man he loved so dearly.
Once they were back in Minas Tirith, Aragorn had been concerned that Denethor’s demise might prove a setback to Faramir’s fragile emotions. Both brothers had been disconsolate at their father’s death in the Battle of Pelennor, and he had found himself comforting Faramir more than once, but the younger man had finally rallied with his and Boromir’s support.
Since the war ended there was no longer any need for this protectiveness, but by now watching Faramir had become second nature. Now he found himself relishing the tiny things that revealed more and more about this man he had come to love. His quarters were fastidiously neat, the only disarray in the books scattered wherever Faramir happened to badinading. He insisted on helping Aragorn select his attire for each public appearance, and the king soon discovered that he had an exquisite sense of style. He had insisted on the sable tunic today, claiming that it matched perfectly with the Lady Arwen’s ebony hair and suggested a visual connection between them that Gondorians outside the citadel could see from afar. This attention to detail was just one of Faramir’s endearing qualities. The king found his thinking fascinat and and realised he adored him more witch pch passing day.
When he was finally satisfied with the king’s appearance,amiramir said softly, “Haldir can never comeweenween you and me. The way I love him is different. I am still in awe of him, I think. He is so beautiful, so far above me that I still cannot believe he loves me.”
“Of course he loves you, my darling,” Aragorn said, as Faramir turned his attentions to his own tunic. Aragorn watched him with deep appreciation. If anyt he he had grown lovelier since they left Lórien. His deep blue robe set off his smoky eyes perfectly, and they shone like brilliant gems sparkling in the bright sun. His strength had fully returned now, and Aragorn could make out his sinewy muscles through the cloth. His lean build had filled out somewhat, and he had lost his former gaunt appearance.
“You can never see your own beauty, Faramir, nor will you believe how wonderful you are,” Aragorn finally said, struck with the truth of his words. “So Haldir and I must keep proving to you that you are loved, even if that means I must share you with the elf.”
Faramir blushed bright red now, and Aragorn yearned to savour those ruby lips once more, but their time was quickly running out. Instead he reached his hand out to stroke his cheek, and was rewarded when Faramir leaned into his hand and gently kissed his palm. Aragorn sighed and bestowed a quick kiss to Faramir’s forehead as another knock sounded on the door. They smiled gently at each other and finally hurried out to meet their lovers.
THE END