The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings one shots and Imagines

Home again - Part 5 - Faramir x Reader

(Y/n) sat bolt upright at a sudden loud sound. She couldn't remember having closed her eyes; but given what she had been through, the emotions and stresses of trying to return to the city without the Steward knowing, she couldn't be surprised that sleep had taken her to its arms. She had come to her old room and sat on the bed, a thousand memories bombarding her, as she looked around the space that had barely seemed to have changed since she was forced to sail away that dreadful day.

To begin with, her parents had sent her messages assuring her that she would be allowed to Minas Tirith, very soon. That her father was petitioning Denethor, and she would be home sooner rather than later. But despite all these assurances; despite how, in the end, both of her parents had made their plea to the Steward, their words had fallen on deaf arms. Sooner, turning into later, then much later, and then.............not at all; much of her mother's correspondence apologising for their inability to change Denethor's mind. But despite the hope that she had kept in her heart, deep down, (Y/n) always knew that the vile old man would never allow her to return to the great white city. The Steward, just like anyone else that knew she and Faramir, well aware that (Y/n) made his younger son far too happy for Denethor's taste. She gave him something to smile about; made him feel worthy, feel loved, and that was something that the atrocious Steward could not have.

When she had arrived at the home of her aunt and uncle, her letters home had always been filled with questions about the young man. (Y/n) desperate to know how Faramir was, if he missed her just as much as she missed him, and how Denethor was treating the boy that she loved. But in the end, it had all become too painful for her. The notion that one day, a letter would come and tell her that Faramir was to marry too much for her to take. The mere thought of Faramir's name, causing her to sob long into the night.

For a while, the separation from the younger son of Denethor, had made her ill. She had had no desire to eat, to rest, to do anything. But then she had realised, that that was the thing that Denethor would want. He would want her to pine away, to fade away until she was nothing more than a ghost. (Y/n) having a feeling that the old man would have laughed if she had died. Would have laughed all the more when he told Faramir of her demise. So, she had pushed herself; pushed herself to do all that she could to show Denethor that she would not let him win. That he might have been able to separate her and Faramir; but in the end, he would not be the victor. Though her letters to her parents had stopped any mention of her life before she had joined her aunt and uncle. Anything that might cause them to mention the boy that she loved, replaced by normal pleasantries.

(Y/n) gasped, as she saw a large, dark figure in the room. It just stood there, as still as a statue. The only thing that she was able to hear was ragged breathing, the lady not sure whether it was her own, or the man's that seemed to be just watching her. All she could think about was getting to her sword that she had left to rest on a chair by the door. All she could think about was showing this man that he could not just come into her parents' home. That if he thought he could take whatever he wanted, then he was wrong. (Y/n) quickly grabbing at the small candle that still flickered on the table next to the bed, ready to throw it at the intruder, until the light from the dancing flames caught the outline of the man's face; until it caught his gentle features. His eyes wide, as he stared at her.

It had been years, more years than she cared to remember, since she had laid eyes on the visage; but she could not forget, would not forget that handsome facade. He was of course older, a few lines here and there that the candlelight picked up, and he now had a short beard and moustache that were the same colour as his shoulder length hair. Yet all that, all that just made him more beautiful than she had remembered.

But was he real? It wasn't the first time that she had dreamt of him coming into her rooms, and taking her into his arms, before he would carry her away to a place that they could be happy together. A place that Denethor could not get to them, where he could not hurt them. So, this, this could just another one of those times. Yet there was something, something that told her otherwise. And she had to know.

"F........Faramir.............Is.........is that you?" (Y/n) questioned. Her hand now trembling as the man moved closer. His feet appearing heavy, as he pulled them across the wooden floor.

"I...............(Y/n).............Am I...........am I seeing things...............?" Faramir managed to reply. The younger son of the Steward of Gondor, suddenly finding himself engulfed in a pair of warm arms, as (Y/n) jumped from the bed and wrapped herself around him. Faramir holding her tight, and feeling her heart beat in time with his. Her smell once again filling his senses, as he buried his face into her hair.

She was real. After all this time, after so many years, (Y/n) was finally home. The girl that he had loved, who he had never stopped loving, was now a beautiful woman, and back with him. Faramir pulling away, only to crash his lips into hers.