Faramir Fiction Archive

That which you can never have (NC-17)

24 April 2007 | 23005 words

Chapter 9

Faramir had nothing to pack and though he still was certain he could not live with Haldir in a talan on the ground, he certainly couldn’t stay here either. Each time he even thought of his room, he could see the broken chair that Haldir had made him, and he remembered the rage in his father’s eyes. No, he couldn’t stay in this sickhouse, but maybe another, maybe one where he could learn to do something and pay his own way, so as not to be a burden on his father any longer.

He was nervous, constantly looking over his shoulder, certain that someone would be coming to kill Haldir at any moment. But Haldir looked calm, at least on the outside, as he had helped Faramir dress, placing a soft kiss just over each bruise, then dressed himself and carried the young man back to his room.

Faramir’s only possessions were the books his uncle sent him, and those he gave to the other patients. Even the clothes on his back were standard thin gray tunics and breeches given to all residents of the sickhouse, so he couldn’t call them his own either.

No, his only possession had been the chair Haldir had made for him, and now that was long gone.

Haldir had planned on taking Faramir riding that day, and had ridden Nahar to the sickhouse that morning. The day was cool, so despite Faramir’s protests, Haldir took the worn blanket from his bed, wrapped it around his shoulders, and carried him outside, all the while shushing Faramir as he worried about getting in trouble for stealing the blanket. It was the slightest of his worries, but since Haldir would not listen to reason and kept insisting they could have a life together, Faramir though winning the blanket-argument was at least a bit more feasible.

He was wrong of course.

It was still early in the morning when Faramir, wrapped snugly in his blanket, was carried outside and deposited neatly on Nahar’s back. Haldir climbed up behind him, and with one arm resting around Faramir’s stomach and holding him close, they proceeded to leave Minas Tirith. To Faramir’s surprise, Haldir guided their mount straight through the city. His father had always told him he was so ashamed of Faramir that he had to take the nearly deserted streets around Gondor to get to the sickhouse, so Faramir knew such streets existed. Not that he would know where they were, but Haldir seemed intent on letting all of the city see him!

“Haldir, we cannot go this way,” he whispered frantically. “Look, there are people up ahead! They will see me… and see you with me!”

“I am proud to be seen with you,” Haldir said, resting his chin on Faramir’s shoulder and pressing a kiss against his neck.

“But… ”

“But nothing, meleth. You are too beautiful to be hidden, and too loved for me to be the one hiding you.”

Faramir closed his eyes and shook his head, though secretly, he was thrilled to actually see the city of his birth and the people he would have seen every day had he not gotten sick all those years ago. “These are your people,” Haldir said softly. “Smile, love, look them in the eyes. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

Slowly, Faramir lifted his head and looked around him. No one was staring, not really, they only gave him and Haldir a cursory glance, then went on about their business. They saw several other Elves who greeted Haldir then smiled at Faramir, and several of the men, women, and children walking the streets even smiled as well. No one made fun of him, as they had at the sickhouse, as his own father had, no one looked at him as if he disgusted them, and above all, no one told him he wasn’t good enough to be with such a stunning Elf. As they rode through the streets of Gondor, Faramir wondered if this was what it was like to be normal.

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