Faramir Fiction Archive

Everything That Was Missed (NC-17)

Written by VestalDarkness

26 February 2007 | 2754 words

Pairing: Faramir/OFC
Type: HetRomance, Canon
Warning: Consensual and nonconsensual sexual activity.
Beta: None
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings. I do own this story, and it may not be used without my permission.
Author’s Email: VestalDarkness@yahoo.com
Feedback: Feedback is always appreciated!
Archiving: FanFiction.Net, AdultFanFiction.Net, Of Elves and Men, Faramir Fiction Archive. Anywhere else, just ask first, please!
Summary/Notes: Faramir learns the price of great love.

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Everything That Was Missed

But oft she would watch the sun’s fading
As the cold of night crept across the moors
And in that moment she felt the loss
Of everything that had been missed
The Missing

Deala woke to an empty room and a cold bed. Pulling the worn sheet over her bare chest, she looked at the battered makeshift table to her right. A small pouch of gold coins and an arrow had been left. The arrow was long in shaft and tipped with gold and green fletches, the arrow of Faramir, Ranger of Gondor.

Picking up the arrow and clutching it in her fist, Deala lowered her head and softly sobbed. Every morning was the same. She was always left wondering if she would ever see him again.

Rachel watched her sister dress for the day’s work, pulling her long, curly red hair back in a kerchief and tying the pouch of gold coins to the inside of her brown leather skirt. When Deala turned, Rachel quickly looked away. She didn’t want her sister to see the disapproval in her eyes.

There was an awkward silence, and then Deala quickly tucked her white cotton blouse into her skirt and pulled on her vest, tying the laces tight. “It is not any of your business how I spend my nights, Rachel,” she murmured, striding out the door with her head down to begin feeding the animals. Rachel followed her.

“Deala, you can’t go on like this! You have to end it!” Deala filled her apron with chicken feed and turned blazing green eyes on her sister.

“I will not end it, Rachel! I love Faramir!” Rachel crossed her arms indignantly and then grabbed a bucket of oats for the few horses they owned. She couldn’t deny that they fared well with Faramir’s gifts. The money he left for Deala to live on fed them and kept the farm running. But her sister was being torn apart by this affair. The Steward’s son had captured her heart, and Rachel knew all too well that nothing good would come of it. She had never known Faramir, but she had been one of his brother’s conquests. Boromir had broken her heart.

“Deala, please,” she implored, softening her tone, “I know you love Faramir, but he does not love you.”

The chicken feed gone, Deala turned back towards the barn. “How would you know?” she hissed. “You don’t know anything about it!”

“I know royalty!” Rachel shot back. “The Steward’s sons are nothing but lusty creatures who wish to own women! By god, Deala, Faramir even pays you for your services!”

The slap came as a surprise to Rachel. She cupped her cheek in her hand, tears filling her eyes. Remorse flickered briefly through her sister’s gaze, and then it hardened. “Faramir is nothing like his brother, Rachel!” she spat. “He has no desire to be Steward of Gondor! He is a loving, honorable man, and I am not his whore! I am his lover, and one day I will be his wife!” Deala ran from the barn, overcome by her emotions. With Faramir’s arrow clutched to her chest, she cried until she fell asleep.

It was more than a week before Faramir came to her again. He looked like a defeated but content man. There were no words as Deala removed his dark green cape and armor, letting his weapons fall to the floor.

His kiss was incredibly longing and it consumed Deala. She melted into Faramir’s embrace, craving the press of his warm, lean body against hers. His tongue parted her lips and his hands caressed her breasts through the simple shift she wore, finally tugging at the fabric, pulling the garment over her rounded hips, exposing her breasts to his eyes.

Stepping back, he slid the dress over her head and dropped it on the floor along with the rest of his things. Deala blushed as she always did at the sight of his naked body, and Faramir smiled, lovingly pulling her into his arms. Running his fingers through her shining hair, he kissed her forehead and her eyelids, cupping her face in his hands as he kissed the bridge of her nose and then her mouth.

Sliding his hands down her bare shoulders and arms, he nuzzled her head back in order to kiss the column of her throat. He came to her breasts, heaving with desire, and smiling to himself, he blew on her tiny rosebud nipples, listening with pleasure to her gasp as they hardened immediately. Laying soft kisses across the tops of her breasts, he let his thumbs tease the nipples before he moved his mouth down to flick one with his warm tongue and suck it between his lips.

Faramir gathered Deala to him as she trembled against his body, nursing on one breast and then the other. Picking her up, he deposited her on the bed on her back, her legs hanging over the edge, and laid one last gentle kiss on each nipple before letting his tongue map the soft trail of downy hair on her belly. He spread her thighs with his hands while his tongue swirled in her navel, and he felt her body tremble with anticipation as he carefully lapped at her swollen desire.

“Oh Deala, my love, how I have missed you,” he moaned, kissing the source of her pleasure. “I would never leave your side if it were within my power.” His tongue slowly slid inside her, and all talking ceased as her legs were draped over Faramir’s broad shoulders and he made love to her with his mouth. His touch was exquisite, and Deala knew none would ever rival it.

Clutching his hair in her fingers, Deala made small keening noises as Faramir pushed her body over the edge. Crying out her release, he slowly removed himself and stood, her grip on him loosening to let him rise. His proud shaft was erect and weeping, and he pillowed Deala in the center of the bed to prepare her for his entrance. Leaning over her, he slowly pushed his way inside, listening to her erratic breathing as she wrapped her legs about his waist and began to move with him.

Faramir became lost as he moved, his hands bracing himself above her, his hips moving frantically to push himself further inside her. Never had he felt such pleasure in all his life, and he knew he never would again. Deala was the woman he loved, completely and absolutely, and no one would ever take her place.

Deala cried out Faramir’s name as she took her pleasure again, and this time Faramir felt his own release deep inside her. As he collapsed, he deftly rolled to the side, cradling her in his arms as he went. He had to have her close, for they only had these moments, moments stolen from the fabric of duty and time, and they would never be enough. Her head came to rest in the hollow of his neck, her breasts tight against his chest, their hips nestled together. Covering them with the warm furs he had brought for her bed, he kissed the top of her head and fell into his first dreamless sleep in a week.

The next morning, Faramir got quietly out of bed and began to put his clothes back on. He had to go rejoin his men in Osgiliath; they would miss him soon if he was gone much longer. Just as he was about to swing his cape over his shoulders, a small voice behind him said, “Don’t.”

Faramir turned and saw Deala, the furs pulled up around her chest, her chin resting on her knees. She looked at him guiltily and then said it again. “Don’t.” Faramir stared blankly. He wasn’t sure what she meant. Taking a deep breath, Deala stood, letting the blankets fall away from her, and she pressed her nude body against Faramir, his armor hard and unyielding to her skin. “Don’t leave me, Faramir,” she whispered softly. “Please.”

Faramir smiled tolerantly and stroked her cheek. “Darling, you know I have to leave. My men are counting on me. There is a war going on, they need me there. Take this. It will suffice until I see you next.” He gave her a tiny pouch of gold coins. Deala clutched the pouch in her fist, remembering her sister’s harsh words. As Faramir turned to go, he heard her throw the money to the ground. He stopped to look back at her. “Deala?”

“I don’t want your money, Faramir,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes. “You can have it back.” Rachel’s words ran through Deala’s head over and over. She knew Faramir loved her, but he had never said it. He never said goodbye, he always left while she still slept. He paid for her to live, but never had they discussed marriage or even children. Deala supposed she should be surprised that they had no child yet. Blinded by pleasure the night before, she had not had the time to think of these things. She knew it was selfish, but she loved Faramir, and that love demanded certain things. Things she wasn’t getting.

“Deala,” Faramir said hesitantly, “what is wrong? You have never refused my hospitality before.” Deala bit her lip and looked at the floor. It was hard to breathe. She was afraid of driving Faramir away, but this could continue no longer. She deserved more than a warm bed at night and a cold one in the morning.

“Faramir, it is not your hospitality I refuse. It is this game we play. I have had enough.” Her words were brave, yet she felt anything but. Would Faramir rebuff her wishes?

He bristled visibly at her words. “Game, Deala? You think this is a game to me? You are sorely mistaken.” He began to arrange his arrows in his quiver. How dare she assume that this was a game?

“Faramir, I do not understand you,” Deala said quietly. “You leave without saying goodbye. You have never spoken of marriage or heirs. Now that Boromir is dead, you will become the Steward. You will need heirs. You will need a wife. What weighs on you so heavily that you cannot speak of these things to me? Please, Faramir, I would understand.”

Faramir clenched his fist and took a deep breath. Never had Deala expressed discontent with him. Everyone in his life was unhappy with him. She had been his refuge, his safe haven. Now even she was turning on him. “Deala, you cannot possibly understand,” he said. “I have lived in Boromir’s shadow for my entire life, and even in death, he still hovers over me. I am not good enough for my father, I was not good enough for my brother, I am not good enough to rule Gondor, and now I am not good enough for you. In doing the right thing, I have forfeited my life, and it is likely I will die soon upon my return to Osgiliath. You would ask this of me now? How long have you felt this way?” He felt his rage growing. He had nothing left.

Deala took a step back, appalled by the anger in Faramir’s face. “Faramir, I never knew… forfeited your life?” The look in his eyes frightened her. It was like his last scrap of faith was gone. Dear god, what had she done?

“It does not matter what I have done, Deala. What matters is that even you have lost faith in me. I have nothing left. I have done the only worthy thing I can do. I know I am not the most loving man when it comes to words, but I have had enough of being doubted in my life.” His voice was rising, and Deala shrank back against the bed, falling on it. Faramir took a step towards her, roughly undoing his leggings. Deala’s eyes widened, and she began to shake her head frantically.

“Faramir, no… you wouldn’t…” She screamed in fright and threw her arms over her face as he pulled her towards him, burying himself inside her in one thrust. He knew he had hurt her; he could sense that she was crying. But it didn’t matter anymore.

“You want me to love you, Deala. I did. I love you more than anything I have ever known, and it is because you never questioned, because you never doubted. I have had a lifetime of not being good enough for those I love, and I am tired of it!” He was yelling now, pounding into her mercilessly as she sobbed piteously, begging him to stop, saying she was sorry. “Sorry isn’t good enough, Deala,” he hissed, her name poison on his tongue. “Is this good enough for you? It was certainly good enough last night!”

Deala was thrown roughly from Faramir as he spent himself within her, standing and shifting his clothes back into place. Leaving the money on the floor, he took his weapons and left Deala to think on what she had lost.

Months later…

The war was over. Good had triumphed over evil, and largely because of Faramir’s good deed in letting Frodo Baggins leave Osgiliath and go to Mount Doom. He was now the Steward of Gondor, Prince of Ithilien, and he was to marry Lady Éowyn of Rohan. But first, there was some business he had to take care of.

The little house was just as he remembered it. A pang of guilt stabbed him in his chest as he made his way through the door and back to Deala’s bedroom. He had hurt her. He had wronged her. Though he still loved her, he had realized it too late. Now he could never go back.

Deala was straightening the bedroom, and Faramir noticed that she barely had anything in the room, despite the money he still sent her from time to time. He did not want her to have to struggle to survive. It was not in his nature to let that happen.

She turned at his entrance, the ghost of a smile gracing her face before it went blank, unfeeling. She rubbed her swollen belly absentmindedly, and tears threatened to destroy her visage. She fought them back and faced him squarely. “My lord,” she said, curtseying as best as she could, “what are you doing here?”

Faramir stepped forward. He had not known she was pregnant. The child had to be his; she was too far along for it to have been anyone else’s. Had it been conceived, he wondered, in that fatal moment of rage and pain, the moment that had snatched his life away and thrown it into the dark, cold abyss, never to resurface? His regret ran deep. What a fool he had been. What fools they had both been.

“My lady, I was not aware of your condition,” he said, willing the quaver out of his voice. “I have come with news.” She merely waited, and he took a deep breath. “I am to wed next month. Lady Éowyn of Rohan is to be Gondor’s princess.” Ceasing with formality, he stepped forward and took her hand. “Deala, I needed you to know. I was a fool, but it is too late. I can never be forgiven for what I did.”

The tears broke through and Deala began to cry. “Oh, Faramir,” she sobbed. “I am so sorry. I never stopped loving you. You were always good enough for me.” Faramir nodded sadly. He had known great love, and he had thrown it away. His happiness was buried forever.

“I’ll send you money for the child,” he said. “But I will never see him, for it would be too painful for both of us. You know that. He will never be Gondor’s heir.” Deala sat heavily on the bed, trembling uncontrollably. She was unable to say anything, and Faramir did not wish to stay longer. Taking his leave of her, he whispered a tear-choked goodbye before closing the door.

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