Faramir Fiction Archive

That which you can never have (NC-17)

Written by Anorienbean

24 April 2007 | 23005 words

Chapter 2

As the sun rose the next morning, Faramir heard the stirrings of his housemates, and slid up in bed to rest against the headboard. His breakfast was brought to him before the rangers of the city set out for the day, and, as usual, he had to barter his food to convince the young healer’s apprentice to carry him to the window. The apprentice quickly ate and hurried from the range of motion, murmuring about how tired he was of having to move Faramir every day.

Every day was the same in this place, but each morning, he awoke with a smile, anticipating the hours ahead of simply watching the inhabitants of Minas Tirith go about their business in the distance, completely unaware of the serious blue eyes that watched them without fail. It was all he had, all he knew, and for one who could never function in the ‘real world’ as Enrif often told him, it was more than he deserved.

The day passed slowly, as it always did, but Faramir was more than content to simply watch the people – his people – as they began heading to the taverns for the noon meal. His own stomach was growling and he was anxious for some food as well, though trading his morning meal for the opportunity to sit by the window was never a decision he regretted.

“You brought him here?”

Faramir startled and turned toward the door to his room. The voice was unfamiliar, and in a place such as this, anything new was cause for excitement.

“What is this place?”

“It is a sickhouse, Master Elf. Your comrade has been brought here so as not to disturb the others.”

“But… why? He will live, and I will take him back to Lothlórien as soon as he is able to travel.”

“Have you not seen him? He has scars on his face and arms, scars that even Elven healing will not erase, and…”

“And so you have hidden him away? What kind of people are you? You hide those who are not perfect, so as not to offend those who see themselves as flawless?”

“Master Elf…”

“Just make him well, healer, so I can take him home. His family will welcome him, whether he is scarred or not.”

Faramir’s eyes were wide as the door to his room opened and another of the healer’s aids walked in with a tray full of food. He saw a tall, blond Elf pacing the hallway, obviously frustrated and confused about the manner in which his companion was being treated.

He’d never seen an Elf before, and without thinking, Faramir looked beyond the servant who was setting his tray down and smiled at the Elf. “Would his family really welcome him home?” he asked softly. “Would they not be ashamed of him?”

The blond looked up at once, keen Elven ears picking up the softly spoken words even from a distance. “Ashamed?” He stopped just outside of Faramir’s door and looked at the young man in thoughtful silence for a moment. “Why would they be ashamed? They love him, and they will care only that he is alive, and able to return to them.”

Faramir’s normally pale face flushed, never really thinking the Elf could hear him. “I… I see. Please accept my apologies. I just…”

“There is no need to apologize,” the Elf said kindly, wondering who the young man was waiting to see. “I am simply unaccustomed to the way Men think, I suppose. I cannot imagine feeling ashamed of someone I loved.”

He stepped aside as the silent aid made a quick exit from the room, having no desire to speak to the much larger and intimidating Elf.

“Men and Elves must think very differently, I suppose,” Faramir said, turning back toward the sunlight, thinking his visitor would now leave.

Haldir, however, studied the young man in silence, watching the way he was completely entranced by whatever it was he was looking at in the distance. He moved forward a few steps and saw that Faramir’s eyes were trained on the stables, and an almost unconscious smile played on his lips as another group of riders – this time several young Men who were merely out for some fun – headed toward the outskirts of the city.

“There are some of the finest steeds I have ever seen in your stables,” Haldir mused, causing Faramir to startle.

The steward’s youngest son looked up in surprise and was immediately struck by the ethereal beauty of the Elf behind him. After a moment, he found his voice. “Aye. Some were sired from the stables of Rohan.”

Haldir nodded and smiled. “Do you ride often?”

Faramir’s eyebrows arched in surprise and he bit back a sigh of longing. “I have never ridden… but it has always been my dream.”

Though not well acquainted with all the ways of Men, Haldir knew that most were taught to ride at a very early age, so the idea that the young man before him had never ridden struck him as odd. “Never ridden? Why?”

The reason was all too obvious for Faramir, but he realized that the Elf could not see his legs underneath the blankets. He turned slightly and pulled the coverings away. “This is why,” he murmured, thinking that now, surely the Elf would leave.

Blue eyes regarded Faramir’s thin, almost useless legs, then moved back up to his face. “You could still ride,” Haldir said, trying to hide his surprise that obviously, the fair young man was a patient here, rather than a visitor.

For the time it took his eyes to blink, Faramir was filled with hope. It was gone just as quickly, however. He’d never been allowed out of this house in all his life, and it was foolish to think the he one day would. He could not walk, he had no other means of transportation, and besides that, Denethor had always told everyone that his youngest son had died as a child, so he could not afford to let anyone see him, and ask questions. “It is not for me,” he murmured. “I can content myself with simply watching.”

At that moment, a tentative knock on the door caused both Man and Elf to look around. “You may see your friend if you are absolutely certain you wish to,” Enrif advised. “Though I see no reason why you would subject yourself to it.”

Haldir bowed slightly to his companion and smiled, ignoring the healer’s words. “Good day,” he offered as he put one hand on Faramir’s shoulder. “Maybe we can talk again tomorrow?”

Faramir jumped again as Haldir touched him. For as long as he could remember, he had only felt the touch of another when it was necessary to move him. The healers had certainly made it clear that they had no wish to do anything more than that, and, of course, his visitors were limited to his father coming by once every month to pay Enrif for his silence and his care, meager as it was.

A smile touched his lips and Faramir nodded eagerly. “I would love to talk to you tomorrow.” He had no idea why the Elf would wish to talk to him, but he was nevertheless grateful that he even pretended to want to return. “My name is Faramir, and this room is my home. I never leave it, so I will be here should you really wish to return.”

You never leave it? Why ever not? Haldir held his tongue and gave Faramir’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “It is my pleasure to meet you Faramir,” he said, bowing once more. “I am Haldir of Lothlórien, and I will be back tomorrow.”

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