Fear of Fire, Chapter Three: Attraction

Rating: PG this chapter

Disclaimer: Am I Tolkien? No. Do I want to be? Yes. Any questions?

Summary: Arwen teases Aragorn about his growing attraction to a certain Steward.

A/N: Sorry this is so short, I had a hard time writing it. I've had a lot of difficulty getting from where I was in chapter two to where I want to be in chapter four. Hopefully the next chapter will be both longer and better.

In the meantime, Orbelain is the high or celebratory day in Gondor, something like Sunday. This takes place approximately two to three weeks after the first two chapters.

Fear of Fire: Attraction

When Aragorn had served in Gondor under Faramir's grandfather, the Steward had begun a tradition of holding weekly informal parties on the eve of Orbelain. It gave his oppressed people a chance to forget, if only for an evening, the shadow and threat that was spreading over their land. The custom had proved popular and Denethor had continued it, though his parties had never been as successful as his sire's--undoubtedly due to Denethor's habit of scowling through them, his gloomy demeanor casting a pall over the evenings that many were glad to escape.

Now that the threat of Mordor had been removed and the King had returned, the parties were far from a thing of the past. Instead, Aragorn had taken over the tradition with enthusiasm, and continued to hold progressively larger and merrier gatherings in the many gardens of Minas Tirith as the summer progressed. They served many purposes, not the least of which was allowing the multitude of courtiers and nobles to interact with the King and Queen in a less than formal setting. Aragorn and Arwen's parties were a huge success, largely because the rulers themselves smiled and laughed and, in Aragorn's case, drank right along with their subjects.

Tonight Aragorn was humming jauntily to himself as he snapped up the buttons on the sleeve of the tunic he had chosen to wear. Completely lost in his own thoughts, he jumped about a mile into the air when a voice behind him said, "I take it everything went well with Faramir, then."

Arwen was leaning against her dressing table, resplendent in a light blue silk dress. She smiled wryly at her husband's startled reaction to her presence, from which Aragorn gathered she had been there for some time. "Yes, all is well," he replied, gathering the remains of his dignity and resuming fastening his tunic.

"The outer provinces are doing well?" Arwen asked in a poisonously innocent voice, batting her eyelids for extra effect.

Aragorn shared an amused smile with his wife. Only a few days after Faramir and Eowyn had announced their engagement, Eomer's enthusiasm for his sister's proposed match had become so overwhelming that Faramir had swallowed his pride and begged Aragorn to find some project that would take him out of Minas Tirith for a few days. Aragorn had taken pity on him--Eomer's attempts at male bonding could get rather strenuous at times--and developed an intense desire to know how some of the outlying areas of his newly acquired realm were faring. A task that he could, of course, trust to none other but the Steward.

He had humbly sued Eowyn's pardon for stealing her betrothed away from her so quickly, to which she had replied with a straight face that she understood his duties to king and country. Eomer had looked so disappointed that Arwen had been overcome with giggles and had to leave the room. The King of Rohan had compensated for his loss by throwing himself into the wedding plans with all the energy and enthusiasm Faramir had been spared. Privately, Aragorn believed that Eomer wanted to get Eowyn wedded and bedded before she could remember that she wasn't attracted to men. At any rate, the wedding was set for a week from tomorrow.

"Yes, everything is well," Aragorn repeated, then frowned slightly. "Do you know he actually wrote a report for me?"

Arwen raised one eyebrow. "Scandolous."

"A very thorough report," Aragorn continued. "With suggestions for improvements in each of the provinces and lists of whom to contact to go about getting it done. And he must have known I wouldn't have minded a bit if he had simply taken a holiday in Dol Amroth for a few weeks."

"Faramir is very conscientious, Estel. You know that," Arwen chided as she moved forward, intent on subduing the rebellious collar of Aragorn's tunic. "If you wanted him to take a holiday you should have said so plainly."

Aragorn held his hands out limply from his sides--he had learned long, long ago that this was the only sensible course of action when Arwen approached his outfit with that particular look of determination. "I doubt he would have taken the suggestion." But though he did wish he could make Faramir relax for a while, the knowledge that he couldn't wasn't enough to quell his jubilant mood.

"What are you smiling about?" Arwen asked curiously as she worked her fingers around his collar.

"Nothing in particular," Aragorn replied hastily. Was he smiling? Yes, he supposed he was.

"Really, Aragorn. I know you better than that. What are you thinking about?"

"Faramir," Aragorn replied absently. It was true enough, and hopefully Arwen wouldn't see fit to probe to deeply into the matter.

"What about Faramir?"

"Just in general," Aragorn demurred. For some reason he wasn't ready to share the particular details of his conversation with Faramir that had him in such a state. "I'm glad he's back. I need someone to foist the paperwork onto."

Arwen's hand left the back of his collar and cuffed his head lightly. "What was that for?" Aragorn demanded.

"Try telling me the truth," Arwen said mock-sternly. "And don't you forget for a second whose granddaughter I am."

Aragorn sighed. When one's wife was not only thousands of years old but heir to telepathic abilities from both sides of her family tree, one really didn't stand a chance. But he still didn't want to share this with Arwen--not that he could understand this strange reluctance on his part. Arwen was his confidante, his best friend--that was why she was here, spending a good portion of even an immortal life here in Gondor. If there was anyone he could tell, it was her.

But it was too new still, too private and precious a hope to express aloud. So Aragorn tried his best to answer both truthfully and misleadingly. "Faramir and I have just been talking about the, ah, interesting particulars of our marriages," he said, sharing a smile with his wife. "Discussing how we can further help each other promote the image that we're each happily married. Neither of us has someone special now, but we've agreed to help divert any court suspicions should the situation change."

"Faramir is not seeing anyone?" Arwen asked with an amused smile.

"No, he said not for many years," Aragorn replied with a slight frown; it bothered him to think of Faramir having been so much alone, though he couldn't say he objected to it at this very moment.

"Oh, Aragorn," Arwen sighed, shaking her head in mock exasperation as she gave his collar a final tweak. "You are so transparent."

"What?" Aragorn asked suspiciously.

Arwen smiled fondly, plucking at the gold embroidery on Aragorn's sleeve. "Two weeks Faramir is gone, and you have thrown yourself into the rebuilding of Minas Tirith with a passion, wearing your old Ranger clothes around the city so you're hardly recognizable, and ignoring the courtier's attempts to get to know you. Then this afternoon Faramir returns and before he has had time to exchange more than the barest civilities with his intended, you whisk him off for what I might point out was a very long private conference. When you finally release him you come back to the room all smiles because you have discovered he is not seeing anyone, and then you change into that devilishly handsome tunic Adar gave you--the one you always wear when you want to make a good impression. How blind do you think I am?"

Aragorn smiled sheepishly.