Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or the scenery of Lord of the Rings; the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien does. Also, this story may contain male on male action in later chapters (ifI'm in that kind of mood) so beware.
He winced at the touch of the strange hand on his shoulder; concentration on the leather bound folio at his desk had sealed him off from the reality of all around him. Quickly he shut the heavy leaves of the book and spun around in his chair to face the intruder who had shattered the peace of his precious afternoon.
"I am sorry, Faramir, I did not mean to startle you," the cloaked man before him said, unhappily aware of his intrusion. Faramir, for his part, simply stared at the dusty, olive-bronzed face before him. Hours alone, lost in the ancient texts of Gondor's history, were slow to settle, and he blinked unceremoniously before finally responding.
"You did no such thing . . ." he paused, realizing he did not recognize the man, and tried to steer his mind in the direction of an end to his pitifully unfinished sentence.
"Aragorn is my name," responded the man, realizing that in addressing the second son of the Steward, he had forgotten all common courtesy. Laughing softly, the laugh of one beyond the years of his appearance Faramir thought, he remarked, "my apologies, it has been a long road that I have travelled and lonely. I seem to have left all decency behind". Faramir felt an instant warmth towards this uncouth intruder, whose stark and ragged appearance only vaguely cloaked a well of easy kindness. So unlike the men of Gondor, he thought, so unlike my father. Why his thoughts had drifted to Denethor, he could not say; too much study of lineage and kingship perhaps; the man's easy demeanor came as a sharp and welcome contrast to the stony glory of his heritage and home. Yet he found more in the gaze of this stranger than simply a kind nature. Faramir's thoughts rippled, too much time spent in books, I am now hallucinating the glory of the kings of old before my own eyes; willing into life that which I have sought in print. This much he was sure of, he liked this Aragorn, whoever he might be.
"No, no. No discourtesy done, my friend. You will not find me as strict in the rules of the court as my noble father," he responded, eager to return the charm of the older man.
"Ah, good. Well met then, Faramir. But as to the reason for my interruption – I traveled here with Mithrandir, whom you know"
"Mithrandir? He has returned at last, then" Faramir exclaimed, unable to contain his joy at the chance to reunite with the Wizard who had inspired and encouraged his studies, seeing beyond the meager place Denethor had designated for his second son. Aragorn laughed again, amused by the young man's excitement,
"Yes, and he has sent me to ask that you come to see him at your leisure. I wished to make the acquaintance of one who shared my interest in the old stories, so I, for the moment, have accepted the role of messenger."
"Gladly will I come; it has been long indeed since the White Tower has seen Mithrandir. I myself was hardly grown to manhood," Faramir remarked happily as he rose from his studies to follow Aragorn. As he did, Aragorn managed a glance at the title of the large folio on the desk. In golden elvish letters it said, Beren and Luthien. Ah, thought Aragorn, the boy is truly gifted, to be reading such a work so young. Eyes flicking back to the face of Faramir, it was with difficulty that Aragorn forced back a sudden revelation: the boy was beautiful. Living among Elves for so many years, he had grown accustomed to seeing beings whose loveliness emanated from every element of their lives and bodies. But to be presented with the same from a fellow man, Aragorn chose to dismiss it, though not without difficulty.
Together they left the round study; Faramir's untried boots clicking on the white marble, Aragorn's worn pair thudding in quiet rhythm.