Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Note: This was inspired by an absolutely amazing RPS fic called Keep it Secret...Keep it Safe... by Greymist what can be found on the Mirrormere site. For some reason I can't post the link here. Grrr...If anyone wants it let me know. This isn't slash nor RP but, again, inspired by so...And, as always, thanks to Mandi for making me make sense.
First Embrace
It was when the armies first arrived home that he felt most alone.
The city celebrated now, loud and colourful celebrations that lasted through the night and into the new morning. A truly new day with the sun rising in the east for the first time in his life without being marred by black, sinister smog.
Those celebrations he took part in, for he too felt joy. Why would he not? They had survived, they had triumphed. The King had returned, a man whom he already loved with all his being. A new age was soon to begin and he, for all appearances, would be involved in shaping it. Those he loved, his uncle, his cousins, had survived to return home and he thought, perhaps, he had found a chance for a love of his own.
Yes, as his city rejoiced, he, too, had much to be glad of, bittersweet though the occasion was for those not there to share it with him. He was alive and that was not something he could take for granted, something he would celebrate. He had courted death too often not to feel relief, odd relief, at the idea that it was no longer his close companion for even before he rode out to what he thought would be his doom he had known any moment, any misstep could end his life; such was the war they had fought for all his memory.
No, as the city came to beautiful life around him the grief that tore at his heart pressed less upon him. As the people he had nearly given his life to protect became intoxicated on the joy of this renewal he gave himself to it, to them, as he ever had. They made him, his people, he could begrudge them no joy.
And so he forced the ache in his heart away for them, for himself, because to dwell on it would only bring more hurt, might even tempt madness. Surrounded now, feeling welcomed, wanted, helped to soothe him. It did not heal, not yet, but it lessened the ache.
It was not, in the midst of this, that he felt so alone he could barely keep from tears. In those moments before he had returned the White Rod to the King and had it passed back into his keeping, he had seen and for a moment felt great despair. Felt as if, perhaps, the cries he had held back for years might be wrenched from his soul at long last.
It was that, in that first moment, when none came to him in breathless wonderment, nor had he any to go to.
He watched as his cousins flew to their returning father and brothers and for a moment, their family had closed ranks without him, laughing and crying, arms and eyes only for each other. His Rangers, those who had not ridden to meet their doom with him, held tight to their family; brothers, wives, parents, children. Mithrandir, and so too the new King, were watching with glad eyes the hobbits, still able to ride back amidst much turmoil. His newfound love was clasped tightly in her brother's arms, both scolding each other in their own language, blond hair obscuring happy wet faces, the young King of Rohan's relief at her well being written plain in his eyes.
He stood alone, arms empty, heart bleeding. His hands shook ever so slightly and he gripped the reins of his horse tightly to cover the tiny slip, squelching the spasm before any other saw. He watched and swallowed, hearing too loudly the drum beat of his heart.
In the next moment, perhaps, an arm was extended, a glance, a smile, a thought, but only ever a second one, even by those he loved most.
He forced back the lump that had formed in his throat in that second; met his uncle's eyes clearly, smiled at his men, bowed to his King and returned the shy glance of a certain lady. But his heart still thumped loud and heavy in his throat and he felt the tingle of tears held behind his eyes as he forced himself forward.
And he remembered all too well the feeling when none other mattered, of rushing heedless through the crowd into the strong arms that closed about him, gripping him hard, letting go with the greatest reluctance and the relieved laughter they shared. The message in green eyes as they combed over him quickly, carefully for injury, smiling as they found none, seeming to laugh and say, "Look at us! We have survived another battle, you and I. We are home, again, for we are together."
He could near feel the crush of the metal armour against his leathers and the welcome whoosh of lost air as they held each other tightly, a bit desperately, so relieved and dazed and ecstatic to find themselves together again. The feel of his own face split in a smile, the rasp of unshaven chin against his cheek and the tickle of damped hair clinging briefly to his forehead, mingled with his own. The smell of smoke and sweat, the distant roar of cheering voices overpowered by the rush of utter relief that seemed to drown out everything else as it sped passed his ears.
He knew the giddiness, knew the complete joy, knew the utter love and felt hollow without it, reminded again of that which he had lost. For a moment, as he saw all those around him taken by it, he felt painfully alone and suddenly forgotten. He looked down, tears stinging behind eyes that refused to shed them.
He forced a swallow, looked up, eyes dry. He could not blame them, for he knew too well what it was to forget all others in that moment of dazed reunion after one thought for certain they had looked their last upon a most beloved face. To see them again, to hold them safe within that circle of an embrace...
How much he would give for that moment again to be his? The thought tempted him but he refused to entertain the answer. To have those arms, that moment back...
No, it would not be. He could not think on it overmuch. He would not allow himself to feel hatred for those who still had such things.
He had no others intrude upon his thoughts then, he did not wish to intrude upon those of others. There was no room for any others in that first moment and, despite the pain, Faramir would not have it any other way.
He only wished he had more than a ghost of memory to share that first embrace with.