Faramir Fiction Archive

Stone Waits Forever (PG-13)

15 August 2007 | 489 words | Work in Progress

Title: Stone Waits Forever
Author: CBPotts
Pairing: Gimli/Faramir
Rating: Pg to Rish
Disclaimer: Insert your disclaimer of choice here
Notes: Sometimes we don’t know everything we think we know. Also, I’m transcribing from notes here, so it’ll be in dribs and drabs until there’s a free hour in the schedule.

It was the way of men to have no patience. Gimli knew this, knew this well, and yet he still marveled at the speed with which passions flew among the humans. It only took them a moment, a thought, a passing glance and raised eyebrow to connect. Somewhere in the lightning fast unspoken interchanges, the men found common ground between them, recognizing affinities in the blink of an eye, and acting upon them faster than that.

Or so it was with Faramir. The lad was comfortable here, riding with the Rohirrim over the open plains to fulfill one of the new King’s many requests. Borders needed securing still, and his love would fain be away from Gondor than in it.

Not when there was open country to explore and fine horses to ride. Not when there was the open sky to sleep under, stars standing as one’s only blanket.

Not when every horse was manned by a fine, tall, blond-headed Rohirrim, clean-shaven and intense, with eyes flashing like emeralds.

Every horse save Patches, the overgrown pony Gimli had secured for his own.

One of the Rohirrim had caught Faramir’s eye, or perhaps it was the other way round. Would that it were so, for Gimli would rather tether his bitterness to a stranger than to one dearer than his heart’s own blood.

He could not fault the blonde rider for his choice. Faramir was fine indeed, with quick bright eyes and a gleam, like raw gold, shining in his eyes, belying a quicker mind. His voice was a subtle and pervasive thing, a small stream that would in time etch through a mountain — his words had a way of burying themselves deep, deep, deep within Gimli’s consciousness.

And there Gimli would keep them, worrying over them from time to time. Dwarves are seldom content with the mere having of treasure, you understand. They must do more than possess something. They must know it, taking the time to examine their riches from every angle, knowing every facet of every gem until a stray beam of starlight could not fall upon it without the dwarf knowing precisely at which angle it would refract into a million captive rainbows.

Faramir’s words were such a treasure. More oft than not, in a still moment, Gimli would sit with this hidden hoard, letting his ear trace over softly delivered syllables, the companionable word, the shared, secret laugh. They were his joy, his delight, his one lone hope.

But the sounds he had from Faramir now, just beyond the firelight’s range, as he lay with the foul, fair Rohirrim? These were the purest torment.

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