tolkien one shots

the smiling of fate {faramir} (c)

tw // vague mentions of war, death, injury

word count: 1853
It was a tenuous silence between you and Denethor; the slightest of tears and it will break. The Steward of Gondor was not someone you considered yourself close to, nor would you ever want to be near him if you could avoid it- but Faramir needed you, and you would not shy away in his time of need.

"My Lord," you greeted, trying to keep the ire out of your voice. "I come bearing news of your son."

The man was sitting on his throne, disrespectfully draped across it. "How could you? Boromir is dead."

You clenched your hand into a fist, struggling to contain your hatred. "I come with news of Faramir and his men, my lord. Osgiliath has fallen."

Denethor didn't seem surprised in the slightest. "I knew he was worthless. Boromir would not have let the city fallen to such foul creatures."

You tried not to snap. "If I may, my lord, Faramir did his best. He was given few troops and even fewer supplies. It is thanks to the Valar that he held out for as long as he did."

Denethor straightened at your words. "Do you undermine me, (Y/N)?" He was challenging you, and you would not fall for it.

"Never, my lord," you returned with a bow, hiding your scowling face. "I am loyal to Gondor and it's Steward."

"Good," Denethor returned with a nasty smirk, "for I would hate for Faramir's beloved to not be here if he returns."

You shut your eyes, praying for strength. "When, my lord. When."

Denethor hummed. "We shall see, won't we?" At that, he waved a hand, dismissing you. You scowled and left, your footfalls echoing in the chamber.

You despised the man for his treatment of Faramir. You made haste to the healer's, needing to see him. Upon your arrival you kneeled beside the only occupied bed. "Faramir," you whispered. "I am here, my love."

He had been given a number of injuries, many of which could prove fatal, and so you refused to leave his side. You wanted to spend the rest of your life with him, but you feared he would soon be ripped from you.

You were still kneeling by his bedside hours later when someone else entered the room. You rushed to try and compose yourself, but remained at Faramir's side.

"Forgive me, friend. I did not realise someone else was in here." You didn't recognise the man, but you knew that it was Isildur's heir.

"There is nothing to forgive, my king." You bowed your head respectfully before turning your attention back to your beloved. "I was just tending to my lord."

Aragorn gazed sadly upon Faramir's unconscious form. After Boromir's passing, he felt the guilt of failure creep upon him, and he vowed to protect what Boromir held most dear, and that included the two people before him. "He will pull through, I am sure."

You shook your head, tears starting to build. "The chances are slim, my king." With your words the tears fell, and you struggled to compose yourself once again. You did not want to embarrass yourself in front of your future king. You used one hand to grip onto Faramir's, and the other to wipe your tears. "Forgive me," you whispered with a raspy voice.

Aragorn moved closer to you, moving to the opposite side of the bed. He lowered himself onto the floor, making himself level with you. "If it be within my power, my friend, I will help the lord recover." He gave you a small smile, resting his hand atop yours and Faramir's.

You nodded once. Your tears continued to flow, though you were not sniffling. "(Y/N)."

He looked confused. "What?"