Rating: PG-13...finally
Chapter Summary: Aragorn and Faramir confront fire again, and for a crucial moment Faramir's walls crumble.
A/N: At last, some slash. For those of you curious, don't expect to see Lieutenant Amlach again for quite a few chapters, but when he does come back it will be with a vengeance. Note: Orgilion is a day name, like Monday or Tuesday.

Chapter Seven: Need

"Are you busy this evening?" Faramir inquired.

Aragorn looked forlornly down at the disarray of papers covering his desk. "No?" he hazarded.

Faramir chuckled. Aragorn continued to stare in bemusement at the virtual forest's worth of papers that were somehow his to deal with. "You'd probably know before I would, anyway."

"There is nothing on your schedule, if that's what you mean."

"That's what I mean." Aragorn selected one of the papers and slid it across the desk to Faramir. "What does 'M. DA for C' mean?" he asked plaintively.

"Meet with Dol Amroth for Council," Faramir replied patiently. "You are officially welcoming the two representatives Imrahil has sent for the council tomorrow."

"But the council doesn't convene until next week," Aragorn protested. "Why am I meeting with them tomorrow?

"Do you want to personally welcome every representative from every province on the day before council convenes?"

"No."

"Then you'll meet these two tomorrow--Sire," Faramir added, realizing that his tone had become somewhat over-authoritative.

Aragorn grinned easily at him. "Well, apparently I am not busy this evening, at least. Why do you ask?"

Faramir shifted in his seat and looked away. "I was hoping you might help me with the fire again," he muttered.

Aragorn frowned. "Isn't it a little soon?"

Faramir shrugged helplessly. "Perhaps. But I am uneasy."

Aragorn leaned forward and captured one of Faramir's hands, causing the younger man to drop the papers he had been nervously shuffling. "So I see," Aragorn said, smiling gently to offset any chastisement Faramir might perceive in his words. "Yet I had hoped you would take more time to work through your grief before confronting this fear again."

Faramir spoke carefully. "I am attempting to work through it, my lord. I have spoken with my remaining family, as you suggested, and it did help. I know it cannot be fixed all at once," he added hastily, as he saw Aragorn drawing breath to say the same thing. "But I believe that I have made progress, and I am loathe to let this lie for any longer than necessary."

"Would you not rather wait until after your wedding, at least?"

Faramir shook his head firmly. Seeing Aragorn's expression was still skeptical, he sighed softly. When he spoke again his tone was slightly quieter, more genuine. "I do not think you realize how much this bothers me, Aragorn. In the past week I have wept in your arms more times than I have wept in the company of another since I was fifteen." He blushed slightly as he made this admission but managed not to avert his eyes. "I dislike the feeling that I may burst into tears one night at the dinner table should someone light a candle in front of me. I wish to conquer this fear."

"But tonight? Tomorrow is your wedding day!" Aragorn exclaimed.

"All the more reason to get it under control," Faramir said firmly. "What kind of a husband will I be?"

"Very well, I can see that you are determined," Aragorn finally conceded. Faramir blushed lightly again. "We can try after dinner tonight."

"Thank you."

"I do not expect anything to have changed," Aragorn warned him one final time. "I think it will take longer."

Faramir nodded, fingers shifting restlessly amongst the paperwork again. "Still, I must try. What is this?" he asked suddenly with a frown, his hands seizing upon the order Aragorn had drawn up last night for Amlach's removal from the city.

Aragorn glanced at it. "Nothing," he said, swiftly taking the paper from Faramir and adding it to a stack in his drawer. "Let's go over the meetings on Orgilion again. I am afraid I will start running in circles the second you and Eowyn depart!"

------------------------------------------------------------

The two men excused themselves directly after dinner that night, as they had done earlier that week. No one commented on it, but Faramir thought he saw a few people looking askance. But he had to admit that this could just be his guilt, projecting onto others his feeling that he might be taking up too much of Aragorn's time.

The guard nodded, impassive as ever, as they slipped past him into Aragorn's gardens. So far Faramir had not taken advantage of Aragorn's offer to share this private sanctum whenever he should chose, but he had no doubt the soldiers who shared this guard duty had been made aware of the offer, and would never bar his entrance.

It made him uncomfortable. He was aware that he himself was responsible for bringing down the walls he had so carefully put in place between himself and Aragorn--it had been an act of necessity. He needed help, and only Aragorn could give it to him. But as much as he enjoyed Aragorn's friendship, as soon as he got this fear under control he intended to try to revert to a slightly more formal relationship with his king.

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate everything Aragorn was doing for him--things were just becoming too uncertain, too dangerous between them. The way Aragorn reached out to him--the way he had kissed Faramir's cheek that one night--the way Eowyn was beginning to smirk and give Faramir knowing glances whenever he said Aragorn's name.

It wouldn't do. Aragorn had a kingdom to run, a kingdom newly recovered from war and having narrowly escaped from the brink of destruction. It was Faramir's duty to help Aragorn hold that kingdom together, not add to his continually mounting responsibilities. The last thing the King of Gondor needed was a lover who was a burden to him, who was constantly seeking support and approval and demanded a great deal of his time and attention, as Faramir was already starting to do even as his friend. He was already too much of a distraction to his King.

So it was with firm resolve that Faramir faced the fire again, determined to put an end to this weakness quickly and free Aragorn of the burden he had accepted. Aragorn set the lamp between them on the same stone wall and lit it without a word. He watched Faramir carefully, apparently unwilling to make even a pretense of looking away after what had happened last time.

Faramir gazed dully on the flame and immediately felt the overwhelming feelings boiling up inside him. He grimly locked his gaze on the tiny flicker, refusing to look to Aragorn for even a moment of comfort, afraid of what would happen if he did. He gritted his teeth, determined to keep the fear at bay by sheer force of will. It seemed to him that he could hear dim echoes of what had happened that day resounding in his skull; he could hear the clash of swords and young Pippin screaming, and his father's cool voice ordering more oil. They thought I was asleep; they thought I couldn't hear them fighting over whether I should live or die. How ironic that the only person present who had known me my whole like was the one calling for kindling.

Aragorn glanced at the sheen of sweat covering his steward's skin, and the fierce lines of concentration writing themselves into Faramir's face. He decided it was time to snuff the flame.

It was a moment before Faramir blinked and looked up. "Why did you do that?"

"It looked as if you might be starting to become overwhelmed," Aragorn replied cautiously.

"I'm not," Faramir said tersely, flicking his hair back out of his eyes. "I'm fine. It's much better than last time. Light it again, please."

Aragorn had deep misgivings; but Faramir looked determined. And he couldn't forget what Arwen had said to him last night; he must pull away from any gesture that said he thought Faramir was weak or incapable of taking care of himself. Reluctantly, he lit the lamp again.

It wasn't, Faramir told himself fiercely, as though there was really anything to be afraid of. A fire this small could not hurt him. Out here in the garden, there was nothing that could catch on fire if the flame were to spread and engorge as his worst fears whispered it would. Unless, of course, one of them were to accidentally reach out and knock it towards the other, and it were to catch on their clothing. Faramir had a sudden image of Aragorn's tunic wreathed in flame.

Aragorn was just beginning to think that maybe it was true, Faramir had somehow already made astonishing progress, when the young man suddenly gasped. His eyes widening, Faramir backed hastily away from the lamp. He turned his back and quickly strode to a young sapling Arwen had transplanted recently, putting his hand out to it as though he needed support.

Aragorn quickly snuffed the flame and went after Faramir, but he hesitated and then stopped when he was a few feet away. Faramir was still facing away from him, the heels of his palms digging firmly into his eyes. His body seemed tense and his breath was audible, very heavy and deliberately even. Aragorn thought he might have been suppressing tears, and remembered with vivid clarity what Faramir had said that afternoon about weeping in front of others. He debated his next move, unsure if his physical closeness would be a boon to Faramir or if it might cause the younger man to break down. He did not want to give Faramir any excuse to consider himself weak.

In the end, though, it didn't matter. Faramir was hurting, and Aragorn had long ago lost the ability to put mind over heart when it came to this particular man. He slowly moved to stand behind Faramir, placing comforting hands on his shoulders. He felt the tremors running through Faramir's body.

Abruptly Faramir turned and wrapped his arms around Aragorn's waist hard enough to bruise, his breath suddenly becoming harsh and ragged. By reflex Aragorn's arms came up to encircle Faramir's shoulders; then when he realized Faramir was not going to pull away he tightened his grip. He was going to try to get Faramir to rest his head on his shoulder, but before he could begin maneuvering Faramir did so of his own volition.

Damn. Aragorn felt himself begin to sweat. He almost wished that the walls Faramir had built up between them hadn't come down; he could even almost wish that he wasn't here, like this. There was something about Faramir that made comforting him irresistible, but oh, to be this close....It was dangerous. It was beyond dangerous. Faramir's face was pressed against his neck. He could feel Faramir trembling; he wished it was because of him.

Aragorn tightened his grip, and found himself turning to rub his cheek over Faramir's hair. Oh, gods, I can't do this....I need to stop this, now. He turned away, but his fingers found their way of their own accord to where his face had been a moment ago. Faramir's hair was soft as it slid between his fingers. He could feel Faramir's breath against his neck. He could feel his lips.

Faramir was no longer trembling. He nuzzled gently against Aragorn's neck, breathing deeply. Aragorn wondered if he knew what he was doing. Aragorn's fingers clenched into Faramir's hair and gently urged him to face upwards.

He had meant to look at him. He had meant to meet Faramir's eyes and ask him without words if he was distressed, he had meant to smile at him. But he lost control. Faramir's lips were too close to his.

If he had been thinking at all by that point, he would have intended for it to be a gentle kiss, a brief and tender touch of lip to lip. But he had no sooner begun than Faramir leaned forward, pressing his lips back against Aragorn's. Something Aragorn had not known existed inside him reared up and caused him to take the back of Faramir's skull in both hands and hold the younger man steady while he deepened the kiss, teasing Faramir's lips open and sliding his tongue inside.

Bliss. Faramir tasted of bliss. Aragorn knew he was going to collapse any second, but he didn't care as long as Faramir came down with him. Kissing had never been like this with any other. Faramir's mouth was wet and warm and his eyelashes were on Aragorn's cheek, and oh gods his tongue was under Aragorn's, and his fingers were digging into Aragorn's back.

Aragorn's fingers clenched in Faramir's hair as he pulled the younger man even closer. He allowed them only a brief gasp of air before determinedly sealing his lips over Faramir's again, delving deeper into his mouth. He explored Faramir's mouth forcefully, not rough but extremely thorough, determined to taste everything. He dimly sensed that Faramir's knees were starting to buckle and got ready to hold him up.

But Faramir tore his mouth away from Aragorn's, his movement almost violent with its suddenness. Aragorn gasped, feeling a shock ripple through his body at the loss. Awareness of what they were doing and where they were flooded back to him just as suddenly, and his body followed Faramir's into rigid tension. They remained frozen for what seemed an eternity, neither daring to meet the other's eyes. Aragorn's hands hovered agonizingly an inch from Faramir's shoulders--not wanting to confine, but not wanting to let go either.

Faramir shook himself slightly and leaned forward, putting his arms around Aragorn's waist and his head on Aragorn's shoulder again. But the tension only hummed thicker in the air. Faramir was not happy--Aragorn could feel it radiating from his skin, and into his own. Faramir was trembling again, and this time it was because of Aragorn, but this was not what he had wanted.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, realization of what he had done sweeping over him. He had taken advantage of Faramir's trust; he had used Faramir when he was emotionally vulnerable. Faramir was always loathe to turn away any comfort or physical touch offered, even if he was uncomfortable with it; he may not have even wanted to kiss Aragorn. "Oh gods, Faramir, I am sorry." Faramir was silent. "I didn't mean to...I'm so sorry."

Still Faramir said nothing. Aragorn thought about trying to explain himself. See, I know you wanted me to step in and help you, but the thing is I'm falling in love with you.... He bit his tongue, feeling absolutely useless as he rocked Faramir back and forth gently, like one would a frightened child. He waited for Faramir to pull away from him, dreading seeing the hurt and confusion in the younger man's eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered again, brokenly, unable to do anything else.

Faramir stopped trembling, but Aragorn did not mistake it for a good sign. Faramir's body was still, but tense. He reached for Aragorn's hand and brought it to his lips.

Aragorn stood still as stone as a dry kiss was deposited on his palm. "Good night," Faramir said quietly. And he disentangled himself from Aragorn and walked away without looking at him once, his eyes trained on the ground. Faramir's shoulders were hunched and his hands were balled into small insecure fists. Aragorn stood and watched him go, his palm tingling, and felt that something had been lost.