Human Behaviour

Summary: Faramir is lost and found again, Aragorn is bothered and confused.

Author's Note: This is written for the Slashy Santa exchange. And honestly it was a lot harder to write a man/man pairing than I thought!

If you ever get close to a human�
And human behaviour�
Be ready to get confused�
There's definitely, definitely, definitely no logic�
To human behaviour�
But yet so, yet so irresistible�
And there's no map�

Bj�rk - Human Behaviour�

Home, all he could think of was home, strange and confused images flashed before his inner eye, bits and pieces of old memories locked away in his subconscious. While his body was pushing itself to the brink of life, his mind was lost in memories of him and Boromir as they got their first pony, how he had beaten his brother in a card game. His mind kept feeding him happy childhood memories and all he longed for was home! He had no recollection of Boromir dying, or his father's madness, or his own broken heart and pride as he had ridden out once more to defend Osgiliath. �

Faramir fell over a rock and fell like a dead man into a pool of mud.� He lost consciousness from lack of food and loss of blood. Not knowing or caring where he was. Lucky for Faramir he was not far from home.�

The White City was almost empty since Aragorn had commanded they all should meet Sauron at his own fortress, and that the surprise element in this deed that might give them a chance he didn't think they stood otherwise. The soldiers mostly thought that this sounded like rubbish, but they had all seen their city destroyed by a dark and evil force none could grasp. A few had remained behind to guard whatever was left of inhabitants of the city, and citadel guards was there to protect the tree in the courtyard. �

Most of the civilians of the White City were helping with the immense work to find, identify and bury the fallen on the battlefield outside the gates. Crows and other animals started to assemble in what would be considered nothing but a banquet. A young girl was working at the outskirts of the battlefield with two men.� They pulled every dead man onto a cart, and when no more would and if they didn't know any of them, they would bring it to the giant pyre. The dead minions of the Dark One they left for dog and raven. The young girl searched the bodies, first for anything of value and then to see if it was someone she knew.�

She lifted a corpse's head and paled.� "Come quick!" she called, and the young men hurried to her side, staring in disbelief at the mangled face of Faramir.�

"How on earth did he end up here?" one man said.�

"But he was lost!" the other man added.�

The girl nodded grimly, "It seems he somehow found his way here, or someone left him here.". The two men looked at each other as the girl felt Faramir's neck and nodded, "He's alive," she whispered, "leave the cart, let's get him quickly to the healer's quarters."�

The entire White City was buzzing, some relieved and others scared by the fact that a man believed dead could come back. Maybe he was infected with evil magic, others thought it was a good omen that Aragorn and the Fellowship would be victorious. Whether it was due to these, no one knew, since Faramir did not wake up.� The healers worried that he had been unconscious for five days and fed him water from a sponge to keep him from dying. All they could do was wait.�

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As the black tower crumbled and the earth swallowed up the orcs and other minions of the Dark One, the war ended. Frodo had succeeded in his mission, and now all that was left was to return home and restore a new world order.� When they returned to the White City they were received as heroes and kings, basking in the dawn of a new era of man.� Finally had the line of kings been restored and the future looked bright once more.�

At the feast held in Aragorn's honour that night, the food was plenty and the wine flowed freely, and for the first time in years they could make merry. Only Aragorn had dark thoughts in the back of his mind; it seemed as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders, and the huge responsibility of his ancestry suddenly came crashing down.�

One of Eomer's men disturbed his thoughts.� "My Lord," he whispered as he laid his hand on Aragorn's shoulder, "the young Captain Faramir has been found alive, what will you have us do with him?"�

Aragorn turned his head and looked up at the soldier with a mortified expression, "...Do with him?" he said softly. �

The Rohirrim soldier looked flustered, "He being the son of the Steward and all.� Politics, My King."�

"So you are telling me that he should be a threat to me, is that what you are saying, my good man?" Aragorn whispered acidly.�

"Some might still believe that he should rule the White City, not you My King."�

"Maybe he should," Aragorn hissed as he stood up from his chair, "show me where he is." �

"But My Lord, you cannot leave your own celebration." �

"Watch me," Aragorn said, walking out of the hall with the baffled soldier hot on his heels. �

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The soldier showed Aragorn to the healer's quarters, and left the king with the healers there. The king was quickly behind a door made of a cloth, and then they too left him alone with Faramir. �

Aragorn stepped to the bed and looked down at the young man; he looked so fragile and deadly pale as he lay fighting for breath in the white bed linen.� "Faramir?" he whispered, but no reply came, only a rapid movement of Faramir's eyes under the closed eyelids. Aragorn sat down on the bed and softly touched the Captain's forehead.� He was burning with high fever. Why had the healers not done anything about this?, he thought to himself.� Maybe it was the general impression and belief that he would want absolute power and rid any annoyance in his path, such as the young captain. And admitted it would be terribly easy to press a pillow down over the young dying man's face and smother him, claiming that Faramir had suffocated in sleep.� Aragorn had learned his healer's lore from master Elrond himself; none of these second-rank healers would ever dare question him, and for some reason Aragorn believed that neither would they actually care what really happened.�

But he thought better than that and in his mind he could almost hear Elrond scold him. And so he laid his hand on Faramir's chest and counted the heartbeats he felt flutter under his palm. That Faramir was failing there was no doubt; he would have to do something fast, or the White City would be without its Captain. He wished he had his foster father here with him, but he didn't.� He would have to figure this all out on his own. �

He decided that the first thing that should be done was to make sure that Faramir's wounds would heal; this would cause the fever to lessen. But for this to happen he needed strength and he would only get that through food. Since Faramir would not wake, then perhaps Lembas would be the right thing to give him. Although the elven way bread would offer nourishment, it would not be enough - not for healing to the extent that the young captain required. And so as Aragorn left, he ordered that someone should run to the kitchen and fetch a plate of food, mash it with milk, and he would personally feed this to his patient. As he returned to the captain's sickbed, feeding the mash to the unconscious man proved harder than he had thought. But he managed, and as the bowl was emptied, he wiped Faramir's mouth with a cloth as he simply looked at him.� Aragorn heard a rustle of the fabric that acted as the door and turned with a smile as he saw �omer and Legolas standing in the entry.�

"Is he going to live?" �omer asked.�

Aragorn nodded "I think so" �

Legolas walked over to the bedside and looked at Faramir. "He is broken," he stated as he stared with unblinking blue eyes at the young man, "he will need a friend as he wakes."�

"If he wakes," Eomer mumbled in the background.�

"He will wake all right, ye of little faith" Aragorn said with a knowing grin.�

"My Lord Aragorn" Eomer said, crossing his arms across his chest "you cannot spend more time here with the sick and wounded, you have a coronation, and the fair lady Arwen and her brothers are on their way to celebrate with you."�

"And Lord Elrond?" Aragorn said with hope in his voice.�

"Lord Elrond too, My King."�

Aragorn looked up at Legolas and nodded, "Then I fear not for the future of our young friend."�

But Legolas still looked troubled, "Lord Elrond is a healer of the body, not of the spirit."�

"Body first, mind later," Aragorn said, and for that he received a dirty chuckle behind him from Eomer.�

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On the 20th day of his miraculous escape, Faramir opened his eyes but there was no one there to see it. For a moment he thought that he was dreaming as he heard hushed voices and the sound of running water.� Where was he? This was not Barad d�r; these were human voices, not orc. He was confused and wanted to sit up and explore further, but as he tried a sharp pain shot up his spine and he screamed.�

A healer came running in and helped him lay down again.� "Fetch the king" the healer barked at a younger man, who ran from the room. Faramir tried to talk but only a raspy sound left his lips and the healer ran soft fingers over his forehead in an attempt to calm him. �

Aragorn looked at Faramir with a serious expression, as if he were trying to read the other man's soul through his eyes.� Faramir closed his eyes and groaned; he didn't want to let anyone see his thoughts and he did not know this man. Aragorn smiled as he stood.� "Sleep," he said softly, then left the room.�

Faramir lay in the bed looking at the wall, trying to make sense of the pattern in the tiles.� "Sleep, he said - Hah! As if that was going to happen," he thought.� He didn't care to sleep ever again, for every time he closed his eyes he saw yellow fangs and squinting evil goat eyes.� Faramir vaguely wondered if he would ever be able to face his father, if Denethor would think him a complete failure. For he did not just lose Osgiliath, but he managed to get himself captured, all because he was weak, not a warrior like Boromir. The orcs had broken his mind and body, and Faramir was amazed that he was actually still in one piece.� How could one endure such pain and still exist? �

That night Faramir did not find any rest.�

Aragorn returned the following day determined that he would try and talk a little with his patient.� After all, so much had happened that Faramir did not know of:� Denethor was dead, Aragorn himself was about to be crowned king, and the war was over. All these things Faramir had missed in his long captivity. Seeing the young man awake as he entered the room, Aragorn smiled and went to sit close by in a chair. But as he sat he was completely taken by the tormented look on the other man's face. "Good morning, Faramir" he said, opting for warmth. �

Faramir grunted, but didn't move. �

"Faramir, I don't know if you even know who I am, but I am afraid a lot has happened in your absence," Aragorn began. "I am sorry to inform you that your father has perished," he said with a sombre tone while reaching for Faramir's hand. �

For a moment Faramir was about to pull away, but Aragorn's hand felt warm and comforting.� Not that he needed comfort for his father's death, no, he needed shelter from the damaged dreams. He didn't answer the man in the chair, but smiled sadly and closed his eyes.� It was strange that he didn't feel more grief over his father, but he had to admit to himself that he was somewhat relieved; he would not have to fear the confrontation and the punishment. �

"I also have good news," Aragorn continued, although he was unnerved by the lack of response from the young man. "The war is over, we have won." �

This caused Faramir to stir. "Over?" he whispered, barely audible. �

"Yes, my friend," Aragorn smiled, "and the tree in the courtyard is blooming once again, giving the people faith in the new world of Man." �

Faramir knitted his brows.� It was in bloom? That would only mean one thing: "The king has returned," he managed in a soft voice.�

"�Yes" Aragorn answered, trying to read the conflicting emotions that moved across Faramir's face. �

"Oh," Faramir said and sighed. �

"Are you not happy that we all shall be united under one king, as in the old days?" Aragorn said softly, squeezing Faramir's hand. �

Faramir smiled lazily, "Thrilled," he replied with a cold tone.� Aragorn frowned and did not respond.�

Aragor was glad he had not disclosed to Faramir who he was. He had a strange feeling about all this; Faramir's tormented eyes haunted his steps as he departed, and somehow his coronation lost its glamour. Instead Aragorn began to think of Faramir's recovery as his first priority. He talked with Legolas and Gandalf about this, thinking they would surely understand, but Legolas had seemed amused. Gandalf warned him not to lose himself in all his efforts, to leave his patient's healing to Lord Elrond who would soon arrive. �

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The day of the coronation was approaching and a messenger came with word from Elrond. The elves would arrive later that afternoon and this sent the White City into even more furious preparation. Aragorn was glad he could escape and see Faramir as people were driving him insane with their constant questions�.should the food should be served before or after the speeches.?...did he want red or pink rose petals?� Truth was he didn't care anymore, they could all do as they pleased. All he cared for was to have Faramir smile again have his eye lose their veil of terror.�

As he came into Faramir's room that day, he found his friend sitting up in bed and eating bread. "Improving I see," he said with a genuine smile, "I'm glad."�

"So am I," Faramir responded, watching Aragorn as he walked over to his chair and sat down. �

"You've been in this bed ten weeks and tonight Lord Elrond of Rivendell shall come and examine you.� He will know how to get you back up and running about in no time." �

"And then what?" Faramir said, close to a whisper, "What will happen once I am ready to leave these halls?" He couldn't ignore the broken-hearted look he got from Aragorn.� But now he had said it; he had voiced his fear.� Night after night, he had lain awake worrying and wondering what would happen now.� Would his mystery friend simply hand him a bag of coins and see him on his way?� He hoped not, because in those ten weeks gone by Faramir had come to care a great deal for this other man.� Ambivalence had changed into listening, then into friendship, which had in turn transformed into something else he did not know. But it was a fact, Faramir was more frightened of what would happen once he was mended than he was of his nightmares.� They were still there and sleep often avoided him, but he had found that thoughts about his nameless new friend held all those terrors at bay, and he hoped dearly that their time together would never end. �

"Then the king will need a new Steward. He cannot be in the city all the time, and he might need someone to care for his city when he is away," Aragorn offered with a nod.�

"And you would know this to be true?" Faramir asked with disbelief.�

"I do," Aragorn said, "I am sure the king wants you to stay."�

Although Faramir seemed calmed by this, something kept nagging him. Something did not make sense.�

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Aragorn sat in his room talking to Lady Arwen who had arrived along with his brothers and Lord Elrond. Elrond was attending Faramir, and Elladan and Elrohir were off to help with the preparations for the coronation, but most likely bothering everyone instead. Only Arwen had the time to listen to her foster brother.� �

Arwen sat with a smug smile listening to Aragorn, hearing what it was he did not say, and she suddenly cut off her foster brother's conversation. "You care a great deal for young Faramir, don't you?"�

"I grew quite fond of him while I tended to his injuries.� He is a good man."�

Arwen laughed softly and took Aragorn's hand, "That is not what I meant," she said. Aragorn smiled but didn't seem to understand her laughter.. "Oh Aragorn, you are not that thick headed, are you?" she grinned, but as Aragorn still looked confused, she just shook her head.�

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The day of the coronation had arrived, and Aragorn was both pleased and frightened.� What if was not the king they all expected him to be? He stood in front of the mirror and looked at himself dressed in the elegant robes given to him, when he heard a knock on the door.� Without thinking about he called for his visitor to enter, but as he turned to see who it was he was struck speechless by his guest. In the doorway stood Faramir wearing an unreadable expression. "My King," Faramir said and bowed with much labour. �

"Oh no, don't bow to me," Aragorn exclaimed and hurried to steady his friend. �

Faramir looked at Aragorn in disbelief, "Why did you not tell me who you were? I should have known that it was the king himself who held vigil over my sickbed."�

"Believe me," Aragorn said as he closed the door behind them and led Faramir to a chair, "I had no intention of untruths, but you seemed so.. uhm�resentful of the king that I didn't want to tell you.� I thought that you might.."�

"That I might what?" Faramir asked as wrung his hands in his lap.�

"That you might stop talking with me." Aragorn knelt in front of Faramir and took his hands.� "That would have saddened me greatly." �

"But why should you care? You are the king, and I am..." Faramir said, looking down intensely at their hands in his lap. �

"You are my friend," Aragorn said, squeezing Faramir's hands. �

Faramir swallowed hard.� "And you are mine.� Nothing could change that.� What you did for me was the most beautiful gesture I could ever have dreamed of." �

Aragorn looked at Faramir. "I only did what I wanted.� I wanted to see you every day, and the days where I couldn't find the time, it tormented me long into my sleep," he softly said the words.� And as soon as the words left his lips, Aragorn suddenly made sense of Arwen's smug grin.� Had she really read it that fast? This feeling of friendship with Faramir was not friendship, it was something else, but he could not name it yet.� He was not ready. �

Faramir blinked, and wet his lips nervously. This was too absurd.� He was not supposed to feel like this, and he should not look at his king's lips and wish for nothing else but to kiss them and hear Aragorn say what he had just said.� It made his heart flutter like mad, but words eluded him, so instead he leaned forward in a moment's insanity and kissed the lips he had thought of so often.� Faramir's thoughts were jumbled:� this was very wicked, he should not go about kissing kings, and if Aragorn did not think him insane, he would surely punish him in the worst possible ways. �

But Aragorn didn't.� In fact he was relieved that Faramir had kissed him, since he had not the courage to do so himself; he could fight any foe, yet he couldn't find the courage to kiss the Captain. �

As the kiss ended, both men looked at each other and knew that this was the beginning of something new and something different. They had a long way before them and many memories to mend. But somehow they both had faith that everything would work out just fine as long as they had each other to keep the nightmares at bay. �

It was a smiling king who was crowned that day, and a healthy Faramir seen attending the feast. �
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