Dark Dreams
folder
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
1,230
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
1,230
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.
Chapter One
In "Darkness and Light", Faramir joined the fellowship instead of Boromir. After being brutally abused by Orcs and Gríma Wormtongue, he began the healing process in Lórien (with the help of Aragorn and Haldir) and then continued on the quest. Now in Edoras, Faramir must confront Gríma and his personal demons. It is not essential that you read the first story, but it will make much more sense.
“Faramir, wake up!”
*Don’t listen to him, little brother,* Boromir’s booming voice filled his head. *There are none you can trust save Gríma. Everyone else has abandoned you. He is the only one who loves you now. You will return to him soon.*
“No!” Faramir cried out in his sleep. He wept as he felt strong hands shaking him.
*Stay here with us, son,* his mother urged kindly. *That man will only bring you more grief. Haven’t you suffered enough, little one? When you are with Gríma again you will find peace.*
The voices of his loved ones should have brought comfort, but since Moria they had taken on terrible associations, pulling him back into the pain and fear of those nightmarish days. Still he dreaded to open his eyes. Awake he would feel the knotted lash as the Orcs whipped him relentlessly, would scream as they roughly forced themselves between his legs, would endure the shame of his body’s betrayal as he responded to Gríma Wormtongue’s insistent caresses. The darkness offered some relief, if only that of momentary oblivion.
But the very real voice that called to him through the darkness would not rest.
“Faramir, my love, please wake up. It’s only a dream.”
“No, it hurts,” he protested, wrenching himself out of the arms that tried to encircle him.
The voice sounded so soothing, so promising, but how could he know who to trust? His loved ones always urged him towards the pale man. And Wormtongue himself often disturbed his dreams, his thin bloodless lips whispering that he was lovely, that he was loved. But Faramir knew this was a lie. The man’s eyes were dull and lifeless, as if his soul had died. Faramir knew that if he looked into those eyes he would lose his soul as well. *Don’t wake up,* he told himself.
But he could no longer ignore the arms shaking him to wakefulness. Finally he opened his eyes to see a dark face staring anxiously at him.
“Aragorn?” he asked in a confused voice. He could still hear the voices in his mind; they sounded familiar, but he could no longer make out their words. Faramir shook his head to clear them.
“You were dreaming again,” the other man said softly, reaching out to wipe the tears from Faramir’s cheek. “Everything is fine now.”
Faramir shook his head grimly. “They get worse each night.”
Aragorn put his arm around the young man’s shoulders. “Was it about Moria again?”
Faramir nodded. “Before I often dreamed of things that were to come, but now in sleep my mind is trapped in the mines. I only think of what happened there –” He shuddered, and was comforted by Aragorn’s arm hugging him still closer. “I thought the dreams had ended in Lórien – they did go away for a while – but they haunt me still.”
Aragorn smiled. “At the risk of sounding like a certain elf, I must remind you that it takes time to heal your spirit, longer than your body.”
“I know that,” Faramir said, a bit irriy. Ay. Although he recognised the truth in these words, he grew tired of Aragorn and Haldir always counselling patience. “But I fear there is something more sinister. That man I told you about – Gríma Wormtongue – he is often in my dreams. He wants me for some reason. Do you think that means anything?”
Aragorn shook his head. “I do not know. I do trust the foresight of your dreams, for that is what brought you to Rivendell, but I do not know what part this man may still play in our future. Sadly we know very little about him.”
“Only that he is a servant of Saruman, and an enemy. I fear there is more to it though.” Faramir bit his bottom lip as he thought. After a moment he said, “I cannot think what it might be, but I am afraid our paths will cross again.”
Aragorn looked the young man squarely in the eyes. “That day may come, my love, though I will do all I can to prevent it. I will not allow him to hurt you again even if it means my life. I swear this to you on the name of Isildur, and on Gilraen my mother.” He searched Faramir’s face, making sure his words had sunk in before he continued. “But know that you are strong, Faramir, and you are dearly loved. He has no claim on you. What he did to you he did without your free will; you gave him nothing and you are not bound to him in any way. Even if you encounter him alone, with none but yourself to rely on, you will defeat him. You are a strong and able warrior, Faramir of Gondor, and you have nothing to fear from any man.”
Faramir smiled at that – a thin smile, but a smile nonetheless – and Aragorn kissed his lips softly.
“Now you should rest. We must leave early if we are to reach Edoras tomorrow.”
“Nay, I have no desire for sleep now,” Faramir replied. “I will take the rest of your watch so you can rest.”
“Sit with me a while then as I finish my pipe.”
Faramir wrapped his blanket around him and followed Aragorn to a fallen log where his long pipe sat, already stuffed full with Longbottom Leaf. They sat beside each other, their arms just touching. The nearness of the man’s body warmed Faramir and he breathed deeply of his smoky scent. White threads floated from the pipe, scattering in the cold winter air as surely as his dreams.
TBC
“Faramir, wake up!”
*Don’t listen to him, little brother,* Boromir’s booming voice filled his head. *There are none you can trust save Gríma. Everyone else has abandoned you. He is the only one who loves you now. You will return to him soon.*
“No!” Faramir cried out in his sleep. He wept as he felt strong hands shaking him.
*Stay here with us, son,* his mother urged kindly. *That man will only bring you more grief. Haven’t you suffered enough, little one? When you are with Gríma again you will find peace.*
The voices of his loved ones should have brought comfort, but since Moria they had taken on terrible associations, pulling him back into the pain and fear of those nightmarish days. Still he dreaded to open his eyes. Awake he would feel the knotted lash as the Orcs whipped him relentlessly, would scream as they roughly forced themselves between his legs, would endure the shame of his body’s betrayal as he responded to Gríma Wormtongue’s insistent caresses. The darkness offered some relief, if only that of momentary oblivion.
But the very real voice that called to him through the darkness would not rest.
“Faramir, my love, please wake up. It’s only a dream.”
“No, it hurts,” he protested, wrenching himself out of the arms that tried to encircle him.
The voice sounded so soothing, so promising, but how could he know who to trust? His loved ones always urged him towards the pale man. And Wormtongue himself often disturbed his dreams, his thin bloodless lips whispering that he was lovely, that he was loved. But Faramir knew this was a lie. The man’s eyes were dull and lifeless, as if his soul had died. Faramir knew that if he looked into those eyes he would lose his soul as well. *Don’t wake up,* he told himself.
But he could no longer ignore the arms shaking him to wakefulness. Finally he opened his eyes to see a dark face staring anxiously at him.
“Aragorn?” he asked in a confused voice. He could still hear the voices in his mind; they sounded familiar, but he could no longer make out their words. Faramir shook his head to clear them.
“You were dreaming again,” the other man said softly, reaching out to wipe the tears from Faramir’s cheek. “Everything is fine now.”
Faramir shook his head grimly. “They get worse each night.”
Aragorn put his arm around the young man’s shoulders. “Was it about Moria again?”
Faramir nodded. “Before I often dreamed of things that were to come, but now in sleep my mind is trapped in the mines. I only think of what happened there –” He shuddered, and was comforted by Aragorn’s arm hugging him still closer. “I thought the dreams had ended in Lórien – they did go away for a while – but they haunt me still.”
Aragorn smiled. “At the risk of sounding like a certain elf, I must remind you that it takes time to heal your spirit, longer than your body.”
“I know that,” Faramir said, a bit irriy. Ay. Although he recognised the truth in these words, he grew tired of Aragorn and Haldir always counselling patience. “But I fear there is something more sinister. That man I told you about – Gríma Wormtongue – he is often in my dreams. He wants me for some reason. Do you think that means anything?”
Aragorn shook his head. “I do not know. I do trust the foresight of your dreams, for that is what brought you to Rivendell, but I do not know what part this man may still play in our future. Sadly we know very little about him.”
“Only that he is a servant of Saruman, and an enemy. I fear there is more to it though.” Faramir bit his bottom lip as he thought. After a moment he said, “I cannot think what it might be, but I am afraid our paths will cross again.”
Aragorn looked the young man squarely in the eyes. “That day may come, my love, though I will do all I can to prevent it. I will not allow him to hurt you again even if it means my life. I swear this to you on the name of Isildur, and on Gilraen my mother.” He searched Faramir’s face, making sure his words had sunk in before he continued. “But know that you are strong, Faramir, and you are dearly loved. He has no claim on you. What he did to you he did without your free will; you gave him nothing and you are not bound to him in any way. Even if you encounter him alone, with none but yourself to rely on, you will defeat him. You are a strong and able warrior, Faramir of Gondor, and you have nothing to fear from any man.”
Faramir smiled at that – a thin smile, but a smile nonetheless – and Aragorn kissed his lips softly.
“Now you should rest. We must leave early if we are to reach Edoras tomorrow.”
“Nay, I have no desire for sleep now,” Faramir replied. “I will take the rest of your watch so you can rest.”
“Sit with me a while then as I finish my pipe.”
Faramir wrapped his blanket around him and followed Aragorn to a fallen log where his long pipe sat, already stuffed full with Longbottom Leaf. They sat beside each other, their arms just touching. The nearness of the man’s body warmed Faramir and he breathed deeply of his smoky scent. White threads floated from the pipe, scattering in the cold winter air as surely as his dreams.
TBC