a short moment
His feelings for his Steward had grownto a proportion that surprised him, but he knew there was still a dangerous path here, one he did not want either of them to tread. He had heard tales, but he still did not know if Faramir himself had felt that he had stood in his brothers shadow.
Elessar had fallen, slowly, day by day, for the man whose interests and humor, talents and manners mirrored his own – who seemed as elven and otherworldly as he himself in this everyday world of everyday men. Faramir was the only companion he had ever had who understood being pulled so deliciously hard between the world of the flesh and that of the spirit. But to take this final step, beyond friendship into admitting love –
Denethor had needed the combined power of father and soverign to demand his fealty, and Elessar knew that Faramir would never allow himself to be used as a replacement again. He could only hope he had made his plea convincing, that Faramir would understand that it was his own bright mind and strong heart that had captured his king.
He clutched the handle of his tankard and watched the wave of pain pass over the face of his friend, and thought he knew the answer he was about to hear.
Well, his love would not diminish. As they spent their days together, perhaps in time he would find a way to persuade Faramir of the truth of what he saw when he looked at the one he loved.
The Steward brought his hand to his face, pressing his temples with the steel-hard, whisper-soft touch that made Elessar quiver to consider. When he looked up, his eyes shone with grief, and need was plain to read upon his fair face. So was his answer.
"I am sorry, Elessar. Perhaps I will always be sorry. But it would be neither fair to you, nor right. I cannot look at you without seeing Boromir..."