Title: Leaves of Parchment, 14?
Authors: Jenn and Silverlake Elf
Summary: With Boromir away, Faramir finds himself alone again. But now Girion is around, and the two find themselves gravitating towards each other.
A/N: Wow, sorry I took so long to post this. It's been finished since the summer, and now here I am, almost a year later, finally updating. I'm sure that not many people are left who read this, but I thought it would be worth a try anyway.
For the first time in the season, the sun was a bright orb over Minas Tirith rather than a milky-yellow circle that barely lit the landscape. The new warmth was melting away the layers of snow that covered the White City, signaling that the end of winter was fast approaching. Like a chick hatching from its egg, the citizens of Minas Tirith slowly started to emerge from their hamlets carved into the white stone of the city, embracing the weather which was growing warmer by the day.
For Faramir, though, the weather seemed just as cold as it was in the depths of winter. During the first week of Boromir's absence, Faramir had simply refused to leave his room, no matter the cajoling the servants did or how many times Girion had knocked on his door, trying to draw him out. Eventually, though, he found that as the memories of the fight he'd had with Boromir closed in on him he couldn't stay in his room.
So he had taken to skulking about the city, reminding the guards that stood on watch more of a storm cloud than the younger son of the Steward. On that thawing day he found himself outside the walls of the city, wandering aimlessly around the small target field for archery. A haze had settled around him since Boromir's departure, and he didn't realize until he was at the small dirt practice ground that he had grabbed his bow and quiver.
Remembering how he and Boromir had come out there to practice just months before, he listlessly fired an arrow at one of the targets, not putting any effort into his archery. The arrow sailed well past its target and embedded its head into the cold ground. Sighing, Faramir dropped his quiver to the ground then followed it, dropping himself into the melting snow. His eyes downcast, he studied the tip of his bow absently, running his thumb over the smooth wood as his thoughts drifted to Boromir once again.
Girion the guard was in a merry mindset, and it was only enhanced when he was informed during his midday meal that he was not needed to return to his post for the rest of the day. Taking full advantage of the opportunity, he abandoned his food mid-chew and shuffled down to his hamlet, more than glad to shed his armor and chain maille. Sloughing it off disdainfully, Girion quickly replaced his armor with comfortable yet warm garments and was out the door just as swiftly as he'd entered.
For the past fortnight, Girion had been seeing less and less of Faramir, and despite countless knocks on his door, the younger son of Denethor was not to be lured out of his quarters, not even to see his friend. Girion had resigned himself to positioning himself at his post so that he would be able to see Faramir if he emerged, but not once did the door open, not even a crack. Now that the weather had begun to grow balmier, Girion regained a grain of hope that Faramir would be coaxed out by the sunshine and melting snows.
In light of the fact that spring was on the horizon, it only seemed logical to Girion that Faramir would want to bathe himself in the warming air, filled with the first scents of blooming trees and the delicate twitterings of the first songbirds returning from the southern delta of great Anduin. As Girion meandered his way through the city, he whistled an inane ditty to himself and waved at passers-by who saluted him, knowing that he was a Guard of the Citadel. Finally, after dodging an overturned wain bearing bushels of grain and a rabble of blushing maidens making eyes at him, Girion found himself at the armory. Perhaps he will be in here, Girion mused, approaching the entrance.
"Ho, Galador!" Girion said as he hailed the man in charge of the armory and its stores of weaponry. "Have you seen Lord Faramir at all?" he asked, grinning his most endearing smile. This was especially crucial because for some odd reason, Galador held a distaste for the guard. Girion wasn't really sure why, but he presumed that it was because when they were young, Girion had always won their contests of wargames over Galador.
Grimacing, Galador trained his beady eyes up to Girion's grinning countenance. With a snarl curling at the corner of his mouth, he replied thinly, "He didn't come here, no, but I did see him moping around with his own bow and quiver before he bid the gate guards to let him out." Galador looked over Girion, feeling almost envious of how his childhood nemesis had advanced to such a high-ranking position in the echelons of guard companies. "Why do you ask?" he wondered, suspicious.
Girion ignored the dubious look that Galador raked over him. "So he's gone to the target area?" Galador nodded, refusing to abandon the sneer plastered on his features. Girion thought that he looked like he'd smelled something that had been rotting for a month in the hot sun. Smiling charmingly, Girion chirped, "Thank you, dear Galador, you have been most helpful." With that, he turned on his heel and sallied over to the gate guards, who were slacking off and trying to wrestle one another.
After much yelling for the guards' attention, Girion was finally permitted to exit the gate and resume his quest to find Faramir. Rounding the corner to the target area, he smiled to see Faramir sitting in the thinning snow, studying his finely crafted bow absently. Girion marched towards Faramir, his boots sticking a little bit in the mud formed by the snowmelt, and said "Faramir! I was beginning to think I would never see you again!"
Faramir looked up momentarily to confirm that it was Girion's voice that he'd heard. Without responding, he turned his attention back to his bow, this time pulling at the string. He sighed heavily as he manipulated the taut horse hair, wondering to himself not why Girion was out there and trying to speak to him, but whether or not he would see Boromir again. And, more importantly, whether Boromir would want to see him again.
Girion flopped down in the snow, causing some of it to fly up and land on Faramir's legs. "What's going on, Faramir?" he asked as his worry waxed. However, Girion was not stupid nor was he dense. Immediately he picked up on Faramir's depression and brought his hand up to brush aside a lock of hair that had fallen over Faramir's porcelain cheek. "You miss him."
"Miss who?" Faramir asked hollowly. Normally he was enthused to see his good friend, but he couldn't seem to muster his normal cheer for Girion, wanting rather to be left alone with his thoughts. His fingers loosened around his bow and the weapon fell into the snow with a muffled thud.
"Who else?" Girion shifted, unprepared for Faramir's intensely downcast demeanor. "It's certainly not me that you've missed. I'm not that much of a simpleton." Out of habit, Girion looped him arm about Faramir's waist and rubbed his side vigorously, as if to warm him by way of friction. Bringing Faramir's head to rest on his broad shoulder, Girion stated, voice tender, "I am sorry. I wish that there was something I could do."
Faramir relaxed slowly, soon letting the full weight of his head come to rest on Girion's shoulder as he reluctantly accepted the older man's comfort. "I wish there was something I could do," he said quietly, "I wish that I could bring him back." Tears sprang to his eyes, but he stubbornly willed them away.
An odd feeling of jealousy welled up in Girion. Was his presence not enough to distract Faramir from his despair? The irrationality of his feelings made Girion uneasy. It was true that he had taken a keen liking for Faramir, but it wasn't until now that he began to question the true depth of affection he held for him. It was unfair of him to even consider the notion of taking a higher place in Faramir's heart than Boromir. They are brothers, after all. More than that, really. Not knowing what else to say, Girion simply dried the stray tear that had escaped Faramir's blue-green eyes with the pad of his thumb. What Faramir needs right now are not your jealous emotions, Girion. Just comfort the boy, that's what he really needs.
Faramir, however, was too absorbed in his sorrow to be aware of Girion's discomfort. "I miss him so much…" he admitted quietly. "I feel so empty without him here. I hate knowing that he's away while he still harbors such a dislike for me." It was as though a dam had been breached, and soon Faramir was confessing all of his insecurities to the Gondor guard. "I wish that I could go back and time and change what I did. I wish that I could have just given him what he wanted; none of this would have happened if I hadn't."
"No, no Faramir. Don't regret anything... imagine if you had given in... do you really think that you would have been prepared for it?" he said, and though his reply was not exactly meant to comfort but rather to educate, his voice remained smooth. Faramir's words, every single one, felt like icy daggers piercing his chest. Even though they were deep, close secrets that Faramir had shared with no one else, Girion still felt needlessly insecure and hurt. Masking his emotions, Girion patted down Faramir's hair and drew him in close, snuggling him up against his body and chasing away the shivers that their snowy seat caused. "And take heart, Faramir. He will return, that's for sure. Before long there will be errand riders bringing word from him, and that's a certain bellwether to his impending homecoming."
"Errand riders?" Faramir's countenance brightened considerably at the thought of a dispatch rider bearing word from Boromir. He smiled for the first time in what seemed like forever, glad suddenly that Girion was sitting there with him to give him words of comfort. He wrapped his arms around Girion's waist, returning the embrace. "I'm so lucky to have you as a friend, Girion," he said, thinking that the older man would be happy to hear his words.
"I'm lucky to have you as a friend, Faramir. Both sons of the steward wrapped around my finger, who would've thought!" he quipped, trying to bring back his typical sunny disposition. Suddenly, he pushed Faramir over in the snow and stood up, brushing himself off and grinning. He felt the seat of his pants with his ungloved hand and grimaced. "You got my pants wet, I'll have you know!"
Faramir's face had just started to fall again as he remembered how close his brother and Girion had been, but the guard's playful shove got to him before his thoughts could stray too far. "Girion!" he cried, flailing momentarily as he found himself surrounded by wet, cold snow. He stood, tearing off his cloak made heavy with moisture. "I was not the one who told you to sit down in the snow!"
"It would've been awkward to just stand here like a scarecrow, wouldn't it?" Girion retorted, sticking his tongue out. He whirled around and began to trek back to the gate. "Now I've got to change. My rear's going to ice over, I believe. I'll leave you to your archery." Girion purposefully walked slower, expecting Faramir to come bounding up next to him and accompany him back to the city. He feared what tangled webs of jealousy and envy his mind would weave without Faramir around to distract him from his unfounded hurt.
"Girion, wait!" Faramir called, doing exactly what Girion had expected and bounding up to him like a puppy, almost no traces of the funk he was in remaining save for a twinge of sadness in his blue eyes. "You owe me a dry set of clothes, you know!" He trudged after Girion tugging on his cloak, making sure Girion had his attention.
The pair wound their way back up through the circles of Minas Tirith, drawing many stares and giggles from the out-and-about citizens due to their damp trouser-bottoms and dishevelled hair. From a distance it almost appeared that Boromir was home again, with his little brother tailing him like usual as they enjoyed the company of each other. Girion stopped to fetch some foodstuffs for his pantry, which thoroughly exasperated Faramir since he was getting cold and ansty from having wet pants. "My, but you are an impatient thing!" Girion exclaimed once he re-emerged onto the street and looked upon the anxiously pacing Faramir.
"I am not impatient!" Faramir protested good-naturedly, "I simply want to get some dry clothing!" Shaking his head, he followed Girion loyally back to his quarters, feeling better than he had in a long while. He was glad that he had Girion who always worked to cheer him up, even when he wasn't at all receptive to his friendly efforts.
"Here, you can dry yourself off if necessary," Girion barked, tossing a handwoven towel at Faramir's face. He was rooting through the cedar chest located at the foot of his bed and Faramir was standing at the side of Girion's sad excuse for a mattress, looking quite bothered by the chill wetness on his behind caused by the snow. He withdrew fresh clothes for both of them. "I'm afraid that you may find yourself swimming in these," Girion said regretfully as he laid down the dry pants for Faramir to change in to. Completely at ease, Girion stripped off his cloak and tunic, even though his shirt wasn't really affected by any weather phenomena. He raised his arms above his head and stretched, yawning and showing off his sinewy muscles and built physique. Noticing Faramir gawking at him, Girion quickly covered himself again and pulled a new shirt over his head that was topped with messy black curls. "Much better," he muttered, feeling himself flush a little bit knowing that Faramir had been scrutinizing his body. He didn't know why he felt the blood rushing to his cheeks... typically he was a confident man, completely at ease with himself.
Demurely, Faramir turned his back to Girion before shedding his sodden clothing. He was still very conscious of his spindly frame, and while Girion was his friend, he was still uncomfortable with changing in front of the guard. He tugged on the weatherbeaten clothing quickly and found he had to roll the sleeves of the rough shirt up several times before he had use of his hands. The trousers kept slipping off of his narrow hips, and he grabbed at them constantly as he tried to keep them up around his waist. "You wouldn't happen to have a belt, would you, Girion? Or a length of rope? Or string? Anything?"
Girion raised an eyebrow and looked round his living space. "A-ha," he announced, pointing to a length of rope lying coiled on the floor between the wall and a large chest. He picked it up and observed the braided cincture compared to Faramir's narrow waist and hips. "You can try this," Girion said lowly as his eyes remained fixed upon Faramir's abdomen. He stepped forward and closed the gap between himself and the younger boy and looped the rope around Faramir's waist. He began to draw it around and tie it, fingers working quickly and nimbly but still brushing the smooth white skin of Faramir's stomach. "Is this sufficient?" he asked, glancing down to Faramir's downcast face.
Faramir tested the makeshift belt with a slight tug and then stepped away from Girion. For some reason, his friend's propinquity was beginning to make him slightly uncomfortable. "Yes, it is perfect. Thank you." Perhaps it was just the man's commanding presence; he was so tall and sure of himself. Faramir started to sidle towards the door. "I should get back to my room now…Father will no doubt be looking for me soon…"
"Oh... alright..." Girion said, surprised. His hands remained suspended in the air that had been occupied by Faramir's warm presence seconds before. "Um..." he ruffled his hair with his hand, which was sort of a nervous habit of his. "I'm sorry again about the snow and your clothes and..." But Faramir was gone, and Girion found himself talking to his door that was left ajar.
Faramir found, as the days passed, that his behavior with Girion had been more than ridiculous. He knew that he only managed to demonstrate the considerable age difference between him and the guard with his childish behavior, practically fleeing from Girion's quarters and hiding himself for several days before seeking the guard out to speak to him. He chided himself in good humor and went to make amends with him. He knew that Girion's friendship was invaluable, and he soon became more at ease around the older man as he began to wonder exactly where the discomfort had come from. He figured it to simply be his separation from Boromir, his brother that was always consistently with him, if not physically then in spirit.
He found himself spending more and more time at Girion's quarters as the weeks wore on, still smarting over Boromir's departure, but comforted whenever he spent time with his friend. He normally frequented the small quarters with his customary leaves of parchment and a piece of charcoal, drawing to pass the time as Girion talked at length about whatever was on his mind.
"... And so Hirluin was fast asleep, I mean, an earthquake couldn't have woken him up, so me and a couple other of the guards in training with us crept up on him and just slaughtered him with this freezing cold pail of water, and another one of the guys replaced his pillow with a head of lettuce and oh it was the most hysterical thing..." Girion had been recounting his tales of pranks from back during his days of training to be a tower guard. He sat reclined in a wooden chair with his feet on the table and a half-eaten apple in his hand, telling his stories with gusto. Faramir was sprawled on the bed across from him, looking back and forth between a leaf of parchment and Girion's lit-up face. He noticed this, and asked, stopping his storytelling, "You're not even listening! What are you doing?"
Faramir, completely engrossed in his sketching, did not hear Girion's question or notice the break in his storytelling. He was mesmerized by the strong lines of Girion's face that were slowly starting to take shape on the yellowed piece of parchment he grasped in his hands. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and he was oblivious to everything around him save for the scratching of the charcoal on paper.
Girion was feeling impish, and a second later the apple that was in his hand was sailing across the room and hit Faramir, just grazing the top of his head before landing on the mattress. "I asked you a question." Noticing that Faramir had been hard at work over his papers, he leaned forward and asked, "What's that?"
Faramir looked up sharply as the apple grazed his pate, but quickly hid the parchment behind him as Girion questioned what he was doing. "It's nothing!" he lied, rubbing the top of his head and mussing his sandy-brown hair. "You didn't have to throw something at me, you know. I would have answered if you had just asked me politely."
"But I did ask you politely," Girion shot back, standing up quickly and flopping onto the bed. He reached around and grabbed for the sheet, face alight and his tongue stuck halfway out his mouth teasingly. "You seemed quite enraptured with it, it must be something of great importance to you."
Faramir shifted on the worn mattress, keeping the drawing out of Girion's reach. He was proud of his sketch, but an embarrassed flush colored his cheeks at the thought of Girion finding out that he had been drawing him so intently. "It's nothing more than a doodle."
"Well if it's a doodle then just let me see it, nothing to be secretive about, right?" Girion said persistently. In one quick move he lunged from the parchment and snatched it from behind Faramir's back. "Ha!" Girion looked down before Faramir could grab it back, and smiled to see his own face looking back in the form of curving charcoal lines, smudged in places with Faramir's fingerprints.
"Girion! Give it back!" Blushing, Faramir lunged at Girion in an attempt to get his piece of parchment back. He could tell, with dissatisfaction, that as they grappled for the picture, Girion's face was becoming more and more smudged. "This isn't fair!" he cried in protest as the guard used his long arms to hold the drawing out of Faramir's reach.
"You know, I really like how you brought out my beautifully chiseled cheekbones," Girion remarked as he ogled the drawing appraisingly. "And my eyebrows. I must say that I am quite handsome... Whoa!"
Girion tumbled to the ground as Faramir attacked him, reaching and clawing for the sketch. Before Faramir could gain the upper hand Girion tucked the sheet underneath him where Faramir's groping hands couldn't reach.
Climbing on top of Girion, Faramir tried in vain to reach for his drawing, poking Girion in the sides where he knew that the guard was most ticklish. "Give it back, Girion! You weren't supposed to see that!" He kneed Girion in the stomach playfully, but still applied enough pressure to try to get his friend to give up the drawing.
Girion stuck his tongue out at Faramir in indignation. "Ah! Now didn't you learn to say please?" he asked sweetly, raising his eyebrows and widening his eyes to their most innocent expression.
Faramir narrowed his eyes at Girion and lowered his face to his like a predatory animal. "Give it back…Now," he said in a voice reminiscent of Boromir when he was miffed.
Girion darted his tongue out and licked the tip of Faramir's nose. "Make me. You know I think I might get this drawing framed..."
Faramir withdrew slightly and his face scrunched up when Girion's tongue flicked across the tip of his nose, but the surprised gesture was soon replaced with a coltish smile. "Even if I do…this?" he whispered before closing the distance between his face and Girion's, kissing the older man's lips lightly.
To Girion, things seemed to phase into slow motion the second Faramir kissed him. Instinctively he arched up and returned the sign of affection, but with more pressure. "I think you're making me..." he whispered against Faramir's mouth.
Faramir had only intended for the kiss to be a joke, something to shock Girion into giving back his picture. The last thing he had expected was for the guard to kiss him back, and for himself to not pull away from the contact. "Maybe I should continue, then…" he breathed before kissing Girion again, shyly, but with an underlying force behind it.
Girion shortly took control of the situation and gently urged Faramir over, reversing their positions. Now that he was free from Faramir's weight, he leaned back down and began to kiss Faramir again, this time trying to penetrate the young man's mouth with his tongue. It didn't occur to him what was really happening, it was all just natural and desired, and he could tell by the palpable warmth between their lower bodies that that was a shared sentiment.
For the first time in weeks, all thoughts of Boromir were pushed out of Faramir's head as Girion's tongue ravaged his mouth. His eyes slipped closed and his hands floated to the back of Girion's head, threading his fingers through the dark, curly hair, encouraging Girion to deepen the kiss.
"There's your drawing, like you asked," Girion mumbled between kisses. He reached over and ran his hand over the sheet of parchment, causing it to crinkle as his fingers passed over it absently. The sound seemed to come from far off, muffled as if through thick walls. The sensations governing his actions were overwhelming, and he groaned as Faramir kissed him back in his stilted, inexperienced way.
"Keep it," Faramir murmured, forgetting completely about the picture. He was intoxicated by Girion's full lips as they massaged his sensuously. He should have stopped, but his conscience was slowly being tuned out, replaced by the appeal of Girion's weight on top of him. His legs slid up, letting the guard settle between them, the heat of their bodies rubbing together.
Girion let one of his hands drop and travel the length of Faramir's lean torso until he reached the young man's hip bone, jutting out. He splayed his fingers so that they were just bare inches from Faramir's groin. "You can stop me, if you want," he murmured as he continued to feast upon Faramir's soft mouth.
Faramir shivered as Girion's fingertips tickled the skin over his protruding hipbone. When Girion's words left his lips, Faramir's hand went to cover the man's larger hand, keeping him from pulling it away. Girion had always made him feel important, even attractive at times. With Girion, there wasn't the same tugging that made him want to pull away like when he was with Boromir. "Don't stop," he said, his words barely audible.
"We should move, then," Girion whispered in a matching soft voice. He reluctantly pulled his hand away from Faramir's lower body and began to get up. He kissed Faramir's neck and swiped his tongue over it before he tore his mouth completely away, and immediately he thirsted to simply ravish Faramir right then and there. "Go ahead," he said, voice choked with lust.
Faramir stood on trembling legs and walked slowly over to the bed. After a moment's hesitation, he lowered himself onto the thin mattress. He awkwardly laid himself out over the fur pelts, though he remained propped up on his elbows. He watched Girion's movements nervously as the man slowly started to remove his clothes, but his nerves weren't enough for him to want to remove himself from the situation.
Girion deftly shed his shirt and loosed his trousers as well. He glanced up at Faramir and gave him a cursory sweep of the eyes over his whole body. He suddenly felt the overwhelming desire to undress Faramir, slowly and deliberately, discovering every part of him individually. Without hesitation he climbed on the bed and Faramir scooted over awkwardly to make room. He laid his hand over Faramir's chest and smiled when he felt the heartbeat thrumming feverishly. "Your heart is pounding, Faramir," he said, smiling.
Faramir opened his mouth, but all that came out was a mousy squeak. He nodded his head and then swallowed hard, his blue eyes wide with anticipation. He couldn't seem to find any words to say to Girion. Shyly, Faramir turned to his side facing Girion, and began running his hands over the man's flat stomach. His other hand soon followed, tracing every curve of his body.
Girion smiled comfortingly and allowed Faramir's hands to roam over his body. Eclipsing one of the young man's hands with his own, he guided it up to his own heart and held it there fast. "My heart's pounding, too," he whispered. He began to shift and bring himself over top of Faramir, slowly covering him. He bent his neck down and kissed Faramir's breastbone which was just barely visible through the partially untied laces of his tunic. At the same time, Girion slowly brought his hand down and cupped Faramir's hardness. "Gods, you're so beautiful to me, Faramir."
Faramir shook his head, though deep down he started to believe that it may actually be true. Girion's words floated through his mind like a sweet elixir, warming him. Faramir wrapped his arms around him and pulled him closer, enjoying the feel of their bodies pressed against each other. "I…I want you, Girion," he whispered.
"Want you, too," Girion murmured in reply. He lifted Faramir's shirt over his head and tossed the garment onto the floor. He dragged his lips down, alternately tasting each of Faramir's small nubs of flesh. Girion kept one hand near Faramir's shoulder for Faramir to squeeze in case he felt the desire to stop. When Faramir didn't stop him, Girion dared to move lower. His face was bobbing just above where his other hand was firmly massaging Faramir's erection, and he asked "Are you sure you are ready, Faramir?"
"...Yes."
