Faramir Fiction Archive

That which you can never have (NC-17)

24 April 2007 | 23005 words

Pairing: Haldir/Faramir
Disclaimer: No money is being made from this, and I’m sure Master Tolkien would be horrified at what I’ve done to his characters. They do belong to him, however, and I’m only living vicariously through them for a while, and promise to return them relatively intact, if not exactly as they were before.
Warnings: Totally AU.
Summary: Raised alone and ‘different’ in a sickhouse for all this life, Faramir has been taught that he wasn’t whole, and was, for all intents and purposes, more trouble than he was worth. A visitor from another realm tries desperately to change his mind.

Faramir’s hand rested against the windowsill, his eager eyes fixed on the Rangers across the field as they rode into the forest, sitting tall and proud on Minas Tirith’s finest mounts. His face was turned slightly toward the sun, and while he normally relished the warmth on his skin, at the moment, he could seem to think of nothing else but how it would feel to just once sit astride such an animal, trusting it bear you away from the city, and wherever else your heart may desire, then safely bring you home again. He’d never ridden of course, never even been allowed into the stables to touch one of the majestic beasts, but he’d dreamed of it for all his life.

It was a silly daydream, nothing more. He accepted that. He had no choice, really.

“Faramir, you mustn’t waste your time wishing for that which you can never have.” Enrif’s, voice was strained and distracted. The steward’s son was a nice enough lad, and if he didn’t have to many others to look after, Enrif might have taken the time to find a way to make the young man’s life easier. As is was, however, he was a healer, in a dark, forgotten part of the city, in charge of a sickhouse that no one ever visited or cared about, the home of the forgotten soldiers, those who would never live a normal life, or be able to walk the streets of Gondor without frightening the women and children alike.

With a heavy sigh, Enrif slid his arms underneath Faramir’s thin legs and the other behind his shoulders and lifted him. “You would do well to say in your bed. I have enough to do without having to carry you from your seat at the window every day, and I have ordered the other healers not to give in every time you beg to be moved. You should be content to look outside once every few days or so. You have books, and parchment, and you can hear what goes on outside your window, Faramir, but I want you to stay in bed and stop being so much trouble!”

Faramir looked down at his hands and blinked back the tears as Enrif quickly covered his legs with the thin blanket. “I am sorry,” he said softly. “It is just that I love watching the horses. They are so…”

“They are nothing special.” Enrif cut off Faramir’s words before he could continue. “I’ve ridden almost every day of my life, and they are simply a means of getting one from one place to another. Much like I am to you, apparently, as often as I’m forced to carry you back to your bed! Why, Faramir? Why must you always be such a burden?”

With that, the healer left, muttering under his breath, leaving Faramir alone, as usual, with his books, and the never-ending desire to know more of the world around him, the world outside of this house that he’d been placed in since he was but a few weeks old, and one that he had never been allowed to leave since.

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