Choice

Faramir swallowed the cold lump of fear in his throat. He folded his hands on the table and forced himself to meet Frodo’s furious gaze. Now was the time to ask. Now or never. The question had burned in his mind for weeks now, torturing his sleep and creating an uncomfortable distance between them. Frodo’s long suffering patience had finally snapped. His eyes, now a deep hue of indigo, stayed fixed on him. “Well?”

“You paint the sea all the time,” Faramir said. The fear he had kept clenched inside him made his voice tremble. He was not ashamed of this, not in front of Frodo.

“But of course I paint the sea,“ Frodo said in an impatient huff. “It is all I see from the balcony. You do not like my paintings, so this is a good reason to brush me aside day after day? If you do not the sea, then I shall draw mountains or … or the streets of the village or Kharam’s monkey or ridiculously rude Rangers of Ithilien.”

“I have no objection to anything you paint,” Faramir said. He clasped Frodo’s hands. “But I see you paint day after day. You become so immersed in it, so much so that I fear that one day you will just sail away on one of those ships in your paintings. You yearn for the sea. You cannot help it.”


( Choice, PG, Frodo/Faramir )