Fic: Missed Chances (for [livejournal.com profile] trianne)

Aug. 1st, 2007 03:33 pm
[identity profile] remix-puppet.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] a_conspiracy
Title: Missed Chances
Author: [livejournal.com profile] claudia603
Characters/Pairings: Frodo/Faramir, Frodo/Aragorn (implied only)
Summary: Frodo and Faramir explore what could have been.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1567
Author's Notes: I think I broke a few remix rules, but I hope that Trianne will forgive me because this is the story that came out! :)
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of the Estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. No offense is intended, nor profit made.
Title, Author and URL of original story: Seven-Year Itch, by [livejournal.com profile] trianne.


Missed Chances

The garden that Samwise had designed for Frodo in Minas Tirith had flourished beyond anyone's imaginings, but very few people knew it. The garden was for Frodo alone so that he could escape the rushed, oversized world of the Big Folk. It was a quiet, green piece of home tucked away in a hidden corner of the Citadel. In fact, Faramir had almost missed the gate because creeping vines and clematis covered a door that was only as tall as his neck. Grinning, he bent to enter, but his amusement soon turned to awe as he beheld the garden.

A pleasant fragrance of thyme and lavender was carried on the breeze, and it immediately put him at ease. A flurry of butterflies danced around a patch of vivid forget-me-nots. Spikes of pink and purple vesper flowers lined the wall. Daisies, lavender, and all sorts of other flowers for which Faramir knew not the name surrounded a hobbit-sized pond filled with goldfish. He felt warm with gratitude that dear Frodo had invited him for tea in such a peaceful place, far from the bustle and noise of rebuilding and the weeping of people still deeply grieving.

Frodo sat on a bench beside the pond, his feet dangling. Faramir's heart leapt. Just looking at him made Faramir feel flustered and muddled.

Frodo waved to him. "Oh there you are, Faramir! I'm glad you found the garden. I'm afraid it's a bit out of the way."

"It's delightful. Sam designed this? He is a gardener who deserves the highest praise indeed. I would commission him to design the gardens in Minas Tirith and Emyn Arnen."

"And he would never do it. Come, I have tea waiting."

Faramir was charmed to see a rather short wooden table – still too large for a hobbit but yet not too small for one of the Big Folk, a happy compromise between Frodo and Aragorn, Faramir guessed with an unhappy twinge in his heart. A kettle of tea sat in the middle, along with a basket of sandwiches and biscuits.

Of course he chose Aragorn. Even Éowyn would have had Aragorn before me.

When he had laid eyes upon Frodo at the King's coronation, Faramir had been rendered breathless by how achingly beautiful, vulnerable, and beyond all hope alive, Frodo was. He had forgotten the effect that Frodo had on him at Henneth Annun.

He buried deep inside him a shameful thought that he had harbored when Frodo had first been brought back from Mordor, when he had hung to his life by a wispy thread. He had already pledged himself to Éowyn and for a moment, he had grasped the thought that it might have been better if Frodo had died on the quest because then Faramir need not face that Frodo could never be his. He had only thought it for a fleeting moment while he clasped Éowyn's pale cool hand. After that, he had fervently prayed for Frodo to live, for him to not be too damaged. He would never tell Frodo how he had treasured the memory of pressing his sword against Frodo's soft pale neck and how his cock had twitched and stiffened. He would never tell Frodo that while talking to him in Henneth Annun, he had longed for Samwise to disappear, for all his men to disappear, for there to be no urgency to Frodo's quest or his own. He had wished only that he and Frodo could drink wine and talk long into the night and that when they retired to bed he could hold Frodo in his arms and taste those delightful lips-

Now Faramir sat across from Frodo sipping a lovely fragrant tea. Aragorn was dealing with some matter in the Gondorian village of Calembel. Éowyn had traveled to Rohan to help her brother with some matters. He could almost imagine that it was just he and Frodo and that they had another chance.

No. Stop.

"Do you feel safe here?" he asked, really meaning to ask if they were truly alone.

"Safe?" Frodo looked at Faramir quizzically.

"Does Aragorn arrange for guards while you are here? Trained archers?"

Frodo laughed. "Ah, I see where you are going with this," and for a moment, Faramir's heart lurched because he believed that Frodo had read his thoughts. "The answer is no. No guards, no Big Folk – unless I invite them, of course. This was to be my Shire in Minas Tirith."

Faramir was not certain, but he thought he discerned sadness in Frodo's voice.

Heart thudding, he asked, "Are you happy here, so far from your home?"

"Happy?" Frodo smiled. "I suppose I am. But sometimes I am so lonely that it hurts." He bit his lip and looked at Faramir, as if he had stumbled by blurting a private thought aloud. He hastily added, "Not that Aragorn isn't the best of companions. He is so dear and kind to me. I love him dearly."

"Of course he must be," Faramir said, faintly. "Of course you love him."

"And how is Éowyn?" Frodo asked. "How long before she returns to Gondor?"

Faramir swallowed and his stomach rolled with guilt as he thought about Éowyn, the woman he had pledged to love for as long as he lived. "She will be back within the week." Faramir swallowed the last biscuit and washed it down with more tea.

Frodo got up and walked to a grassy patch beside the wall. He sat down, leaning against the wall. He beckoned to Faramir. "Come. It is very comfortable. The sun warms the wall and it is soothing to the back."

Faramir's heart quickened. He would sit close enough to Frodo that they would touch. He settled on the ground beside Frodo, and found that Frodo was right. The sun-warmed wall massaged his back, and he felt relaxed and utterly content. He was careful to keep space between himself and Frodo. If their legs touched, he might lose his mind from desire.

Éowyn seemed part of another world in shades of gray, far away, and his throat pulsed and he felt warm – almost too warm. When Frodo smiled at him, his brilliant eyes matched the blue of the sky and of the cornflowers, and Faramir's heart nearly stopped.

"The sun. We never thought we'd see it again, did we?" Frodo asked.

"Thanks to you."

Frodo smiled modestly. "Thanks to many."

Faramir's heart stuttered when he felt gentle pressure against his arm. Frodo had laid his head against him, eyes closed, with a smile of contentment. Faramir put his arm around him, hugging him close. It felt the most natural thing in the world.

"You made me feel safe," Frodo said.

"I did? I thought I treated you deplorably." Then he cleared his throat. "Aragorn."

"He does not love me."

Faramir was taken aback by Frodo's blunt honesty.

"Oh…" Faramir laughed. "I am sure that is not true. He's besotted…I've seen how he looks at you."

"Sam will come to visit soon, and I will likely return to the Shire with him. But this stays between us, Faramir."

He slipped his hand in Faramir's and Faramir was left breathless. His cock pressed hard against his trousers.

"I have heard that you will wed Éowyn," Frodo continued.

Frodo reached up and his lips covered Faramir's in a deep kiss. Faramir shivered and the world twinkled away to nothing but the thudding of his heart. Time had stopped, and the sun seemed bright and yet far away, a new sun that represented…a new hope but lost love, lost potential. If only he hadn't met Éowyn, if only he had spoken his mind and vowed himself to Frodo in Henneth Annun when the night was so dark, then Frodo would be his.

"How was that?" Frodo whispered in a hoarse voice.

Faramir could say nothing, but he planted his mouth over Frodo's. He wanted the kiss to go on and on, to engrave everything about this afternoon in his memory so that later, on some lonely night when Éowyn slept beside him, he could remember the velvet of Frodo's lips, the scent of tea and pipe-weed and soap, and the silky soft hand that he clutched.

"Shall we go to my chambers?" Frodo asked, breathless. His cheeks were flushed, his hair mussed. Faramir stared at him, mouth dry, and he wanted to nod, imagining them both free of their clothes, tangling in the silk sheets.

Someone must put a stop to this, he thought. His mind was muddled, as if he had drunk too much wine.

"No, no." Faramir said, clenching his fists, and his voice did not sound like his own at all. "We cannot." A kiss he could keep secret from Éowyn, from Aragorn, but if they took it farther, everything would fall apart.

Frodo did not answer. He bowed his head.

Faramir's heart ached, that he might have hurt this beautiful creature that he loved, to whom he owed everything. "Frodo…"

But Frodo looked up and his eyes were bright and kind. "Thank you," he finally said. "I'd lost my head."

They did not say much the rest of the afternoon, but Faramir stayed until the sun was low in the sky.

When they parted, they never spoke again of this day and they treated each other with reverence and love, as between comrades in battle and nothing more.
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