Chapter Five: Grieving
Rating: PG this chap
Chap. Summary: Aragorn and Faramir make their first attempt to break through Faramir's fears.
A/N: Betaed version has finally arrived! More hopefully coming soon.
Faramir awoke the next morning feeling groggy and stuffy-headed from crying so much the night before. He stumbled out of bed and went to his basin to splash cold water on his face, hoping it would reduce the swelling around his eyes and nose. He glanced into the empty study and wondered how long Aragorn had stayed the previous night. Having the King of Gondor sitting in his study waiting for him to sleep had decidedly been one of the most uncomfortable experiences of his life,
He smiled sadly. It was the sort of awkward yet endearing gesture Boromir would have made. He of Eomer's determined way of calling Faramir "brother" and the clumsy attempts to step into Boromir's shoes. Well, my dear Eomer, it looks like that position is already being filled.
The unexpected thought, instead of being comforting, left Faramir feeling a little emptier than before. He wasn't sure if he wanted anyone to try and take Boromir's place--as if anyone could. Dressing hastily, he left his room in search of something to take his mind off the disturbing thoughts.
Distraction presented itself in the form of Eomer. Feeling he really could no longer in good conscience justify avoiding the man, and also feeling slightly guilty over his lack of participation in planning his own wedding, Faramir did not attempt to avoid him. In fact, revealing a masochistic streak he had not known he possessed, he went right up to Eomer at breakfast and asked if there was anything he could do to help.
Thus it was that he found himself happily ensconced in the library, walled in by volume after volume of Gondorian and Rohirric ceremony and reflecting that maybe Eomer wasn't that bad after all. Aware of Faramir's preference for scholarly pursuits, Eomer had asked the groom-to-be to go about designing a wedding ceremony that would satisfy both cultural traditions, a somewhat daunting task. Faramir was thrilled with the excuse to delve into the ancient tomes he had spent so much of his childhood taking every spare moment to read. He loved reading about ancient history and tradition--after all, he had taught himself Sindarin from the ancient manuscripts mostly to be able to read about the culture of the Eldar.
Faramir would have been more than happy to spend the rest of the day in this pursuit, but it was not to be. Eomer reappeared in the mid-afternoon, offering Faramir the opportunity for some exercise. It was clear the muscular man felt that being cooped up in a library all day was nothing short of torture and that he was doing Faramir a great favor. Feeling indebted to Eomer for setting him such a pleasant task in preparation for the wedding, Faramir gave in with a sigh and followed Eomer to the sparring grounds.
It wasn't quite as bad as Faramir had expected, which was rather like saying an orc wasn't quite as bad as an uruk. He had never in his life been so relieved to hear the bells announcing dinner in half an hour. He was no stranger to this type of sparring--he and Boromir had frequently been known to keep themselves sharp against each other. But Eomer's fighting style was as enthusiastic and overbearing as his personality, forcing his smaller companion to exert himself to keep up. Faramir refused to humiliate himself by calling for a halt; nor was he going to cite his recent brush with the Black Breath as an excuse for his exhaustion. Still, when the bells began to ring he immediately dropped his sword and sent a grateful prayer westwards.
Parting briefly from Eomer, he ran back to his chambers to strip out of his sweaty clothing. He gingerly touched his limbs as he changed into a more formal outfit, reflecting sourly that he would be sorting some interesting bruises the next day. He would have to resume his efforts to evade Eomer until the wedding; otherwise he would be black and blue all over when he took his vows.
Dinnertime had become an event to look forward to since Aragorn took the crown. Not only had Arwen brought elven chefs with her from Rivendell, but she and Aragorn set a relaxed table, where friendly conversation rarely ceased to flow. The seating arrangements had become much less complicated since the large party of elves that had accompanied Arwen had left. Now Aragorn and Arwen sat together at the head of the table; at their right was Eomer, and next to him Eowyn. Faramir sat to the left with Imrahil beside him. Because Arwen sat on Aragorn's right, this put Aragorn and Faramir right next to each other. At the beginning this had proved useful because Faramir could murmur discreetly, with his napkin over his mouth, the name of any nobleman or courtier that Aragorn had temporarily forgotten. It proved so useful, in fact, that Aragorn had occasionally offended some very august and important persons by keeping Faramir firmly installed at his side, allowing no other near.
Tonight it proved useful for another reason--Aragorn and Faramir were able to converse privately, without being overheard by the rest of the table. Towards the end of the second course, Aragorn took the opportunity to do so. Imrahil and Eomer were engaged in a lively discussion of the advantages versus disadvantages of having mounted riders in combat; Eowyn had been a participant in the discussion also but had gotten sidetracked and was now explaining the Shieldmaiden tradition to Arwen. Aragorn turned to Faramir as their plates were being removed. "Have you thought about last night at all?" he queried.
"I have," Faramir said cautiously, trying to puzzle exact meaning from the King's ambiguous words.
"I stopped by the library today to see if I could find any records of this kind of--hypnosis, I guess you would call it," Aragorn said. "I saw you there, but as you had a fortress of ancient tomes built two feet high around you I thought it best not to disturb you," he added with a gentle smile.
Faramir blushed uncomfortably. "It was not my intention to build a fortress," he said quickly. "I was not even aware you were there. It is odd, for I usually--" Faramir stopped suddenly. He had been about to explain that he was usually so in tune with the King's presence that he noticed when Aragorn entered or left a room, but why should he go on about that? It might embarrass Aragorn, not to mention himself.
"I know, you were concentrating so deeply that I couldn't bear to disturb you," Aragorn said affectionately. "What were you doing?"
Faramir explained briefly his attempts to blend the matrimonial traditions of Rohan and Gondor into one cohesive ceremony. Aragorn found it all nearly as absorbing as Faramir did, and they were soon in serious danger of being waylaid from their original topic of conversation. They were saved by the arrival of the third course, which caused a necessitous break in their conversation. Picking up his knife and fork again, Aragorn commented in a conclusive manner that it sounded fascinating and he was sure there was no man in Gondor who would do a better job. Faramir was ridiculously pleased, so much so that he actually became light-headed, and rebuked himself fiercely. You never got praise from your father so you run and lap it up from Aragorn, is that it? he asked himself scornfully.
"My efforts were unfortunately less successful," Aragorn said, drawing them back to his intended topic of conversation. "I did find two recorded cases of similar occurrences, and was able to form some theories on exactly what is happening. Unfortunately, there was no mention of how it can be cured." Faramir's shoulders slumped. "But I have some ideas of my own."
"Tell me," Faramir invited, marveling that Aragorn had taken so much time out of his busy schedule to work on this.
"What I believe to be happening," Aragorn said gravely, "is that all the grief and fear you did not have time to cope with during the war has become irrevocably tied, in your mind, to fire. Whenever you see a fire, it's like all the sorrow of everything that happened is pouring down over you at once. It's no wonder that you can't cope with it; no one could."
Faramir nodded, relieved to hear Aragorn say this. "What the records don't say is how the situation can be changed," Aragorn continued. "But it seems to me that the thing to do is attempt to break down all the emotions that have become tangled up in this, to absorb them one at a time so they cease to rush at you in a group."
"And how do you propose to do that?" Faramir asked, not without some misgiving.
Aragorn eyed him speculatively. "You aren't going to like it."
"I did not expect to."
"I believe the best course of action is to deliberately trigger the problem. By confronting fire--in controlled circumstances, of course," he added, holding up a hand at the look of dismay on Faramir's face. "Something small at first, just a candle or a lamp. I will be with you. You can tell me what you are thinking, what it feels like. And if you become overwhelmed I will be able to pull you out of it."
Faramir took a deep breath while Aragorn waited, hopefully it seemed to Faramir. "It sounds like it may work," Faramir said cautiously. "Mind you, I do not like the idea very much. But neither do I like the idea of being afraid of fire for the rest of my life."
Aragorn smiled, but there was little humor in it. "I wish I could do better for you, my friend."
"What do you mean?" Faramir asked, sincerely baffled.
"You came to me for help, and the solution I offer is not only difficult and uncomfortable, it may very well not work. I am afraid of putting you through pain to no purpose," Aragorn confessed.
"It will have a purpose," Faramir said firmly. "Even if we do not conquer this fear I will feel better for having tried. My only wish is that we could devise a solution that will not take up so much of your time."
Aragorn raised his fork and pointed it at Faramir like a miniature trident. "Now, none of that, Faramir," he said lightly. "You are about to slip into your humble-Steward routine, and I detest it."
Faramir surprised himself by being comfortable enough to laugh. Oh, if Aragorn only knew what was behind his so-called routine! If Aragorn realized what being so near and so beautiful did to his Steward; if he knew that Faramir had to place barriers of rank and deference between them to avoid becoming romantically attached to this wise, caring, and all-too-available man. It did not bode thinking about!
The rest of the evening went smoothly. Aragorn and Faramir compared their schedules and realized the first time they were both free of other commitments was two evenings hence, and both agreed to keep that time available. Aragorn suggested they use his private gardens to work in, so they could be assured no one would interrupt them. But before they could make further plans Arwen called them back into the table's conversation, and with feelings of guilt for secluding themselves so long they went back to chatting amiably with their friends.
The next two days were a blur of work and apprehension for Faramir. He was relieved that there was so much to be done, as it kept him from becoming over agitated at the thought of what he might experience in front of Aragorn when they approached the fire. On Oranor he again spent the day ensconced in the library, this time with Eowyn by his side to help clarify the Rohirric traditions he was reading about. With Eowyn's presence the work went slower because they spent so much of their time laughing. Eowyn was possessed of a ready wit and an indomitable spirit that refused to bow, even under all the griefs of the late war, and Faramir found himself more and more in awe that she had consented to marry him. One part of him argued that it was as much for her own protection as for any other reason; but another, more secret part cherished her company and prayed that she genuinely cared for him as well.
Eomer joined them briefly in the afternoon. Faramir feared a repeat of yesterday, but leaving the library was not mentioned. Instead, Faramir discovered that if you could get him out of his armor and off his horse, Eomer wasn't really all that bad. He was even, heaven help him, beginning to develop a sort of amused fondness for the overbearing man--he could see how one could get to like him, in time.
Faramir spent the evening sneaking Aragorn's schedule for the next few days away from his clerk and approving it. It was difficult to stay one step ahead of the self-important courtiers and ambassadors who thought every detail of their lives and projects required the King's attention, but Faramir was ruthless about it. He scribbled out two appointments that were particularly ridiculous. One he could just inform the petitioner that he needed to deal with it on his own, but in the second case the lady in question was the daughter of one of the more influential council members; with a sigh, Faramir added her into his own schedule.
He didn't know what Aragorn would have thought of his alterations; nor did he know if Aragorn was aware Faramir tinkered with his schedule or not. Faramir had not exactly brought it up. He wasn't certain how far his duties as Steward extended, but he did know he disliked the thought of Aragorn bogged down with pointless inquiries and political intrigues when there were so many better uses of the King's time.
The next day was something of a whirlwind compared to the relative calm the day before. Faramir had half-hoped he would make it to the library again, but he should have known his luck wouldn't hold out that far. Imrahil awakened him early in the morning and shepherded him to a fitting for his new suit of clothes for the wedding. Since Faramir and Eowyn were both showing a remarkable lack of interest in their own wedding, aside from designing a ceremony, Imrahil had taken it upon himself to make sure his nephew went through all the necessary preparations, much as Eomer had taken it upon himself to do everything else. Faramir spent an insufferable morning holding his arms out from his sides while he was stuck with pins and instructed on the difference of shading between red and scarlet. Eowyn and Arwen stopped by briefly and nearly died of suppressed laughter before Imrahil shooed them away.
When he was released from the tailor's, Faramir made an immediate beeline for the heart of the lower levels of the city, praying none of the decorators, caterers, vinters, florists and so on whom Eomer had engaged would be able to find him there. He occupied himself making visits to the families of rangers that had been lost in the war.
He had made personal visits to each family as soon as he had been released from the Houses of Healing, to express condolences and praise the fallen ranger. He was aware such praise from a commanding officer often eased the burden of grief (even though none of the Fellowship's protestations of Boromir's bravery had eased his). But Faramir was also taking it upon himself to make sure the women and children were being taken care of, and had some means of support with the loss of their father/husband/son.
While visiting with his rangers' families did take him out of reach of the various functionaries of the wedding, it unfortunately made him easily accessible to other soldiers. Lieutenant Amlach showed up, and Faramir found himself having a virtual repeat of the conversation they had held on Orbelain, the only change being the exclusion of the part where he offered to introduce Eowyn. Again, as soon as Faramir began to explain himself Amlach bowed and moved away. It was almost, Faramir reflected sourly, as if Amlach did not really acre what his reasons were, but rather thought to wear Faramir down into consenting by constant pestering.
Well, it would not be so. As soon as Amlach moved away from him Faramir excused himself and went straight to his study to shuffle through the various rosters and begin looking for a place he could move Amlach to if the man continued to be a problem. Yet annoyed as he was, he did not plan to move him yet; patience and the man's close association with Boromir dictated that Faramir wait and see what Amlach was like on the field.
Faramir quickly forgot his original purpose in coming to look at the rosters; he became engrossed in the various smaller problems plaguing the army and began mentally shuffling soldiers from unit to unit, trying to predict where they might be needed most, how the losses from the war could best be covered. He was so involved that he missed the call to dinner and dashed into the hall several minutes late, well after the first course had been served. He would have been less embarrassed if he could have unobtrusively seated himself the end of the table, but Aragorn had saved his place for him.
Faramir slid into his chair, face burning. Miraculously, the conversation did not even falter. In Denethor's day, whenever Faramir had been late (which was not infrequent, as he was often so involved in his reading that he didn't hear the bells) all talk would immediately cease as he entered the hall, and Denethor would stare at him icily as he took his place. If Boromir was there he would make a silly face at Faramir or kick him under the table to try and break the tension, but it would be several minutes before Denethor's glare would lessen and the courtiers would feel they were permitted to speak again.
Now, Faramir only received teasing glances from Eowyn and Eomer, and the conversation continued to flow naturally. Gradually, Faramir felt his muscles release the tension they had acquired on realizing he was going to be late. Then, of course, the tension only came flooding back as he remembered with sudden force what he was doing after the meal. He glanced sidelong at Aragorn. The older man was involved in an animated conversation with Imrahil and didn't seem to notice Faramir's uneasiness. Faramir couldn't catch the gist of what they were talking about, and eventually he stopped trying. He just concentrated on getting food past the minor lump in his throat.
The meal passed without incident, unless you counted Arwen telling a story about Aragorn's childhood escapades that made Eomer choke on his wine with laughter. Faramir managed to laugh along, but between fretting over Amlach, whom he still hadn't found a place for, and the upcoming confrontation with fire, he couldn't get into the spirit of things. Eowyn noticed and sent him a questioning glance across the table, but he smiled back reassuringly.
When the meal was over Aragorn rose to excuse himself. Arwen always retired with whichever courtiers had been at dinner that evening for music and general socializing, and sometimes Aragorn would join them, but often he still had meetings to attend to in the evenings. Tonight after he had bid farewell to everyone he glanced questioningly at Faramir, and jerked his head slightly towards the hallway. Faramir quickly rose and followed him out.
"You seemed distracted at dinner," Aragorn said as soon as they were in the hall. "I hope you haven't been fretting too much about this."
"Not too much," Faramir replied. "I mean, that's part of it, but I've been distracted by some issues in my unit. That's why I was late to dinner," he added in an apologetic tone. "I became over-involved trying to sort out where I'm going to put a per--all the soldiers that have been pushed into the unit after the war."
If Aragorn noticed Faramir's mid-sentence alteration, which Faramir rather suspected he did, he didn't comment on it. Instead, he said, "Do you need help with it?"
"Oh, no," Faramir reassured him quickly. "It's not overly difficult, just time consuming."
"I understand you all too well," Aragorn said with a sigh. "I know it's important that I hear all these ambassadors and petitioners myself, but I really have to wonder about some of the things they think they need help with."
Faramir laughed. "If there wasn't a King, I am certain they would find a way to cope by themselves. But since there is a King, everyone is being sure to take advantage of your--let's see--your knowledge and experience? Your wisdom and fine judgment?"
"My soft-heartedness and gullibility, you mean," Aragorn grumbled. "I find I cannot turn anyone away."
"That is a strength, not a weakness," Faramir said firmly.
They reached the entrance to the gardens and went through with a nod from the guard. "I've told them you're to be admitted at all times," Aragorn said aside to Faramir, nodding back.
Faramir was stunned at the display of trust. "My Lord?"
"Well, I thought it best if we're going to be working on the fire issue in here. You don't think you'll walk in on Arwen and myself in a private moment, do you?" Faramir suppressed a smile. "Seriously, I want you to always be able to reach me."
Faramir did not know what to say to this, but fortunately Aragorn did not seem to require an answer. He moved to a stone bench which had an oil lamp on it, apparently previously set out. "I thought we should start out small," he said with a smile, taking the lamp and moving it to a retaining wall that was roughly chest high. "Maybe later we can progress to larger fires. But a lamp is manageable, and easy to put out." The rest of the sentence was left unsaid: if you need me to.
"I truly appreciate this--" Faramir began.
Aragorn stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He didn't say anything, but the look in his eyes was enough. In fact, it was almost too much. Faramir blushed and looked down. Aragorn removed his hand as if burned.
"Ready to start?" he asked in an overly cheerful voice.
"I suppose," Faramir said, his tone the opposite of Aragorn's. "What do I have to do?"
"Watch the fire." Faramir repressed a shudder at the thought. "Watch the flame of the lamp and tell me what comes to mind. We'll go from there."
Faramir took a deep breath and nodded. Aragorn gave him a sympathetic look. "Don't expect too much," he cautioned. "At least not this time. I expect it will take many attempts before we can break through everything that's bothering you."
Faramir nodded again. "I understand."
"Are you ready?"
Faramir bit his tongue to keep from giving a tart reply; the constant delays were wearing holes in his nerves. "As ready as I'll ever be."
Aragorn struck the flint. It was a curious device, built right into the bottom of the lamp. A spark could be produced just by turning a knob. On the second try the mantle lit, and Aragorn quickly eased the glass casing over the flame as it kindled. He stepped back and stared at Faramir expectantly. Faramir looked back blankly; he almost felt as though he should perform a trick.
"Look at the fire, not at me," Aragorn said gently.
Oh. Right. Wincing slightly, Faramir dutifully trained his eyes on the small flame.
It didn't take long for a feeling of nausea to wash over him and settle in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't believe there had been a time when he had found lamplight pleasant and soothing; flames were unnerving and unlovely, threatening.
He couldn't help glancing back and forth from the fire to Aragorn. He was decidedly uncomfortable being watched intently like this. Aragorn seemed to realize this and tried to look away, but he was clearly unwilling to move off in case Faramir had some sort of breakdown. Faramir gave a shaky little laugh, trying to relieve the tension. Aragorn smiled warmly but did not laugh with him. Feeling even worse, Faramir turned back to the fire.
It was stupid, really, the two of them standing here waiting for something to happen, neither one of them really knowing what they were doing. It was again the sort of thing Boromir would have done; even when he didn't understand what Faramir was going through, which was often, he would try to find some way to help.
Boromir wouldn't have known what to make of this fear of fire, or of Denethor's mad attempts to burn Faramir. Everything was so straightforward in Boromir's world, everything was either right or wrong. There were none of the shifting layers of shadow and smoke that pervaded Faramir's mind. Faramir longed for that simplicity. If only Boromir had been here--Boromir would never be this weak. If he had been here maybe Faramir, too, would have been able to be strong; if he could have leaned on Boromir's strength he could have withstood this fear, he knew it. But he would never have that strength again.
Faramir was aware of someone shaking him vigorously, and Aragorn's voice floating somewhere above his head. He had been burning, burning for the longest time, and Boromir's hand was just out of reach. Faramir couldn't find the words to tell Aragorn that he needed to stay where he was, he wanted to be with Boromir. But then he remembered that there was some reason he ought to pay attention to Aragorn, so he left the fire.
Faramir came back to reality with a sudden shock. He was sitting on a stone bench and tears were pouring down his face; Aragorn was kneeling next to him, holding him by both shoulders and looking frightened. Faramir immediately craned his neck to look at the lamp, but it was long out.
"Faramir!" Aragorn exclaimed, still shaking him. "Faramir, can you hear me?"
Faramir took a huge breath, and only then realized he had been holding his breath for some time. "I hear you," he managed to gasp out. "It's well, I am back. "
Aragorn let out an inarticulate noise of relief and without hesitation pulled Faramir into a deep embrace. Faramir fell clumsily against his shoulder, feeling Aragorn's fingers twine into his hair as the older man's arms enveloped him. To his intense distress, Faramir felt more tears welling up within him. Before he could even try to stop, he was yet again sobbing into Aragorn's shoulder.
Aragorn rocked him back and forth like a child, which was all well and good as that's what he seemed to be behaving like. Miserably ashamed but unable to stop, Faramir cried and cried, feeling the burning in his throat as he tried to contract it against the tears. He should have known better; once he got started he could never stop until he was completely exhausted.
Aragorn seemed perfectly patient, for which Faramir was intensely grateful. Even this, though, had a sting to it. There was only one other person who had been willing to hold Faramir this way. Even Aragorn's kindness only served to reinforce the grief.
Faramir suddenly remembered he was supposed to be telling Aragorn what had happened, not drenching his tunic. "It made me--I saw Boromir," he managed to choke.
"I know," Aragorn murmured soothingly.
Faramir pulled back. "What? I don't--how could you--know?" he flailed.
Aragorn looked worried. "You've been saying his name," he said gently. "All this time as you cried."
This was one revelation too many for Faramir. Not knowing what his own body was doing was a new experience, and he definitely didn't like it. His expression must have betrayed him, because Aragorn hastened to add, "Don't worry. Even if you can't remember, it would be in keeping with my theory. In fact, it almost proves it. Your grief for Boromir is so overpowering that it can take you out of the moment, make you completely unaware of your surroundings or even of yourself."
"But what must I do?" Faramir asked miserably. "I cannot cease grieving for him, I have tried."
Aragorn looked at him with something best described as compassion. "You must begin to grieve for him, Faramir."
"Aragorn, that's ridiculous. I've done nothing but grieve for him this whole time."
"By yourself," Aragorn pointed out firmly. "Alone in your room at night, when the day's tasks are completed and you can no longer delay it. You try to exhaust yourself so that you won't feel it, but it catches up with you and you spend the quiet of the evening crying. Then you sleep, and when you wake the next morning you throw yourself back into your work so you won't have to think about it. Am I right?"
Faramir didn't say anything; his silence was Aragorn's answer. "You seek solace from no one, so no one dares to seek it from you," he continued. "But there are those you could talk to. There are others whom you could share your memories and your grief with, and maybe the sharing would lessen the sting."
Faramir shook his head impatiently. "I don't have time to grieve."
"Faramir!" Aragorn exclaimed. "That is why you are in trouble here!"
Faramir was forced to concede the point with a nod of his head. "All right. I think I understand you."
"Good. Now, I think you should take a few days off to--"
"Oh, no," Faramir said ominously. "Absolutely not."
"But, Faramir--"
"No."
"Faramir, Gondor will not fall apart at the seams if you take some time to heal yourself!"
Faramir put a hand on Aragorn's shoulder to ease the severity of his next words. "If this is what these sessions are going to bring," he said seriously, "then they will end now. I am grateful for your help, but I will not accept your charity or you deference."
"This is not charity," Aragorn protested.
Faramir shook his head firmly. "You must promise me now, Aragorn, that--" He hesitated, trying to put his conflicting emotions into words. "That if I reveal my weaknesses to you, as a friend, you must not let it cause you to treat me differently, as a Steward."
Aragorn paused. "I do not believe it is condescension to offer you a few days away from work in order to cope with a personal problem," he said carefully.
"But I do not wish it," Faramir replied gently, touched by Aragorn's insistence. "I trust you, Aragorn, and if you think talking to others will help me with this--problem--then I will do so. But I need you to continue to trust in me. Don't you see that I cannot reveal myself to you, cannot be completely honest and open when we do this if I am afraid it will keep you from relying on me as your Steward?"
Aragorn's face was grave as he considered this. Finally he said, "I see. You need to trust that I will not think less of you for this." Faramir nodded emphatically. "All right," Aragorn sighed. "I promise not to treat you any differently. If you promise to begin speaking of your grief."
Faramir nodded dutifully. "I am sure any member of the Fellowship would be pleased to speak with you," Aragorn offered. "And I of course..." He didn't finish the sentence, but Faramir understood.
"Thank you. It is a kind offer, but I believe it will be best if I can speak to my family first," he said slowly, working it out in his head as he went. "Imrahil...his daughter, Lotheriel...people who knew him before the war." Even saying that much threatened the renewal of tears, but to Faramir's surprise it was only a threat and nothing more.
"Good." Aragorn clapped him on the shoulder. "I believe this will help, Faramir, I truly do."
Faramir nodded weakly. Exhaustion was swamping him all of a sudden. "Aragorn," he said, "thank you for pulling me out. And thank you for holding me while I cried. I wish I did not weep so easily." Aragorn murmured that it was all right. "Right now I truly wish for nothing more than to go to bed; this has exhausted me."
"I'll walk with you," Aragorn said, instantly rising and holding out a hand to pull Faramir to his feet as well.
"Only if you do not insist on staying until I sleep this time," Faramir warned.
"I promise," Aragorn said with a smile. "Only to the door."
"Are you afraid I will collapse?" Faramir exclaimed as Aragorn wrapped an arm around his waist.
"Yes," Aragorn said simply.
"Oh." Faramir was not as disheartened as he might have been by this revelation, because Aragorn's tone was light, almost cheeky. In fact, it was almost as though he was flirting. Wishful thinking, Faramir he told himself sourly.
Still...wouldn't it have been easier for Aragorn to put an arm around his shoulders than around his waist? Maybe Aragorn thought he needed the extra support. Faramir gritted his teeth and resolved to walk with a firm step, to prove he was capable of it.
When they reached his rooms, Faramir turned and said, "Good night," in a very firm voice.
Aragorn grinned at the finality in his voice. Just to see what his reaction would be, he asked, "Are you sure you don't want me to..."
"No!" Aragorn laughed, and Faramir had to chuckle along with him. "No," he said again in a quieter tone. "But I thank you."
Aragorn smiled, and leaned in to give Faramir a good night hug. Faramir put his arms around Aragorn's shoulders, reflecting drowsily that this hugging thing just might become a pleasant habit. He was startled out of his thoughts by the gentle rasp of a beard against his cheek, and the faintest ghost of a kiss. Then, before his arms could register the loss, Aragorn had left them and was halfway down the hallway, retreating hastily. Faramir stared after him for a long time before shutting his door; and it was an even longer time before sleep found him.