Rating: G
Summary: the Houses of Healing, a recovering Faramir seeks out the Ringbearer
Author's Notes: Based in movie-verse. Much thanks to my betas-you know who you are!
Disclaimer: Frodo and all recognisable characters are the property of the Estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. No offence is intended, nor profit made.

Faramir, newly-appointed Steward of Gondor, made his way carefully through the Houses of Healing. He had been recently allowed out of bed because the space was needed for the more critically injured, but he had been given a stern lecture regarding what would happen to him, should he undo any part of the Healer's work. And though he was a soldier himself, Faramir had developed too healthy a respect for the ex-Ranger and soon-to-be-King's Healer persona to want to risk his wrath.

As he drew closer to his destination, Faramir found his stride slowing-whether by necessity or by design, he couldn't be sure, but he was not above admitting it could have been a bit of both. His walk had not been long, but he was winded nonetheless. Just lying in bed recuperating had sapped more strength from him than he would have believed possible, yet he knew he was nowhere near one of the most gravely injured; his visit on this day would be to one of those who had been.

Standing in the doorway of the room he had so eagerly sought out, Faramir was suddenly uncertain. He had meant to stop and look in on the Ringbearer, perhaps sit with him a short time if it was permitted by whatever healer was watching over him. It was more than mere concern, Faramir knew, although that was part of it. He was strangely drawn to the one who had nearly given his life to save the lives of those of Middle-earth. Many sacrifices had been made in the final battles to defend the land and her people, but it was doubtful that any that lived had lost more than this small one.

Frodo's room was awash with light. Everything was white, as it was in the other areas of the Houses, but this particular room seemed almost to glow, to vibrate with the intensity of it. Or perhaps it was just that the creatures within radiated such brightness. On the bed, which was large enough to swallow them both, lay the Ringbearer and his…gardener. The former was asleep, tucked carefully beneath the soft white blankets and quilt, while the other sat atop the covers at his side.

As Faramir drank in the scene before him, he knew that his early observation of Master Gamgee being the Ringbearer's bodyguard had been correct. For although he was now dozing lightly, head tipped against the mountain of pillows that surrounded Frodo, everything in the gardener's poise and posture made it obvious that he was still his master's protector.

With a soft sigh, Faramir turned to leave. What right did he have to disturb such perfect peace just to satisfy his own curiosity?

"No, wait."

Faramir stopped, startled, at the quiet voice that came from inside the room. He turned back to see Frodo's companion, now fully alert, beckoning to him from the bed.

"It's all right ta come in." When Faramir looked hesitant, he added, "Please, my Lord. Mr. Frodo wouldn't wanna hear of me turnin' anyone away."

After a long moment, Faramir acquiesced and stepped into the room. He had no idea what to say now that he was finally there. It was obvious he wouldn't be able to talk with the Ringbearer, and there certainly was no need to sit with him; that job was already spoken for.

As if on cue, Sam swung his legs over the side of the large bed and slipped to the floor. "Why don't you take the chair over on the other side of the bed and keep Mr. Frodo company while I fetch some tea?" He looked at Frodo wistfully. "He may not be up to joinin' me fer tea every day, but that don't mean we should forget about havin' it."

He looked so fiercely determined that Faramir had to smile. Gandalf had often told him stories of the avid love Hobbits had for food, but he had always thought them to be greatly exaggerated. A race with a larger appetite for feasting than fighting? In some ways it seemed absurd; in another light, it was a most admirable quality.

Faramir nodded at Sam. "I would be honored to sit with the Ringbearer, Master Gamgee."

Sam's cheeks darkened. "Please…it's just Frodo and Sam."

Faramir shook his head. "It is most assuredly not 'just' Frodo and Sam," he said with quiet assuredness, "but it shall be as you wish. And you must in turn call me Faramir."

Sam continued to blush, but nodded his acquiescence on his way out of the room.

"Well, Frodo..." Faramir tried the name out as he said it aloud. It sounded oddly simple for one who had borne the Ring into the fires and lived to speak of it, but as Hobbits were simple folk, Faramir guessed that would carry over to grand titles as well. "I hope that sometime during your stay we will be able to talk. From what I've seen, you are a remarkable being and, like my brother, I would relish the gift of considering you a friend. I don't know what a Man of Gondor and a Hobbit from the Shire might have in common; I only know I'd like the chance to find out."

"I imagine you have much more in common than you would ever imagine," came a deep voice from out in the hallway.

Faramir looked up to see Gandalf standing at the door. "That hardly seems possible," he said, shaking his head. "It is not I that saved Middle-earth." His words were barely above a murmur. "I could not even save a mere city."

Gandalf stepped into the room. "As always, Faramir my boy, you give yourself too little credit. I hope that one day you will learn to value your worth as the rest of us do."

Wishing to relieve Faramir of the sorrow he saw in his eyes, Gandalf continued. "Frodo became an orphan at the age of twelve. He was taken in by relatives, but things there were a bit louder and more fast-paced and hectic than he was used to. You see, unlike most Hobbits, Frodo preferred a quiet corner or a peaceful tree to sit under, where he could daydream or enjoy one of his beloved books."

Gandalf gave Faramir a knowing look. "That reminds me of someone else I'm well-acquainted with. Does it sound familiar to you?"

Faramir ducked his head and looked at Frodo, to avoid meeting Gandalf's gaze.

"He finally found peace when he was taken in by an older cousin-a Hobbit who was known for being unconventional. It suited Frodo just fine, to be among the many books and stories his cousin had to share with him. He was content, if still rather quiet and reserved for a Hobbit. And he accepted that he could live his life and be as much a part of the Hobbit way of things as anyone else, in his own manner."

Faramir finally looked up. "My way was never my own choosing," he said softly. "It couldn't be."

Gandalf folded his hands in front of him. "Perhaps now is the opportunity to make your own way. You and Frodo have much you could learn from one another."

"If you believe so, then I trust it to be true," Faramir said, although he still looked skeptical.

"I do," Gandalf said firmly. "And before Frodo's time here is over, you will too."

"I've found tea," Sam announced from the door. "And some cakes as well…" His voice drifted off as he saw Gandalf and Faramir contemplating one another from across the bed.

"I'm sorry. I hope I'm not interruptin' anything," he said, even as he went to the side table and proceeded to lay out the tea things. He gave Frodo a quick once-over to be sure he still slept peacefully, than glanced back up at Gandalf and Faramir. "Will the two of you be havin' tea as well?"

Faramir seemed to come back to himself, blinking at Sam as if just realizing he'd returned. "No, thank you. I'm sure you and Gandalf have a lot to talk about." He started to stand up from his chair, wincing at the stiffness that had developed in his limbs. "I really should be getting back to…"

"Nonsense," Gandalf said with a wave of his hand. "I have already taken my tea. Besides which, I came down here to fetch Sam and to whisk him away to the kitchens."

Sam looked both surprised and intrigued. "Me? Exactly what for?"

Gandalf smiled. "It seems the kitchens have an unusually large amount of potatoes on hand, and the cooks are running out of ways to prepare them. The subject came up during breakfast this morning, and I told them I would have an answer to their problems by supper this evening."

"But…" Faramir looked at Sam, his brow furrowed. "I thought you were a gardener."

"Hmph!" Sam huffed as he passed a cup of tea in Faramir's direction. "A gardener I may be, but no Hobbit's worth his weight if he don't know a dozen different ways to prepare taters!"

Gandalf's smile widened and he winked at Faramir. "How very right you are, Sam. And at present, the kitchens of Minas Tirith are bursting with potatoes just yearning to be turned into one of your delightful dishes. Do you think you might see your way clear to assist the cooks with this matter?"

Sam's eyes glowed with interest, but the light flickered briefly as he looked at Frodo. "Um…I'd like that, but I'd best not. Mr. Frodo can't be left alone and I couldn't ask someone else ta come sit with him." He looked longingly at the door, as if saddened by the thought of missing a chance to spend time in the kitchens.

"Then *I* shall ask someone to come sit with him," Gandalf said decisively. He turned to Faramir. "Faramir, will you kindly stay with Frodo whilst Sam is away?"

Somewhat stunned by the speed at which things were moving, Faramir gave a slow nod.

Sam put down his teacup, ready to protest. "But Frodo will be lookin' for *me* when he wakes. His health has been improving, but he's still disoriented every time he wakes up. If there's someone unfamiliar in the room, he starts to panic somethin' awful."

Gandalf moved to put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "But Faramir isn't someone unfamiliar to Frodo, is he? And it will only be for an hour or two. It will do Frodo good to interact with someone new. Wasn't it just yesterday that Aragorn was saying he wished to see Frodo open up and converse with more than just you or his cousins?"

"But his throat…his lungs…Strider said…"

"Aragorn said his injuries were healing nicely. And that he would be aware of the limitations on his lungs and rest as his body needs him to." Gandalf motioned to the hallway. "So, shall we? Frodo is in good hands and I believe there are several barrels of potatoes in the kitchens, waiting for you."

Sam took one last drink of his tea, draining the cup. As he slipped down from his seat, he said his goodbyes to Frodo and picked up one of the intricately-decorated cakes to take with him.

"Sam?" Frodo shifted restlessly on the bed, batting the gauzy linens away from his face as though they frightened him. "Sam?" he croaked, his voice rough with sleep and perhaps something else.

Faramir leaned in toward Frodo and gently took hold of his wrist, watching as he struggled with the reality between slumber and wakefulness. "It's all right, Frodo. You're safe."

Frodo jerked awake immediately, head whipping in Faramir's direction, his eyes wide.

Faramir released Frodo's arm and held up both his hands in a gesture of peace. "It's just me, Frodo. It's Faramir."

"F…Faramir?" Frodo whispered, seemingly trying to decide if he was still dreaming.

"Yes," Faramir confirmed. "Do you remember me?"

Frodo hesitated before nodding, never diverting his eyes from Faramir's face. "But where is Sam?" The words crackled in his throat and he swallowed convulsively. Immediately he began to cough in great, heaving spasms that threatened to drive the breath from his lungs.

Moving as quickly as his injuries would allow, Faramir stood and poured a glass of water from the stone pitcher sitting on the nightstand. Carefully, he slid a hand behind Frodo's back and propped him upright, lifting the glass to his lips so that he could drink.

After a moment, the hitching of Frodo's chest slowed. Faramir removed his hand and Frodo flopped bonelessly back against the pillows.

"Thank…you," Frodo said haltingly. He accepted another sip of water from Faramir and took a moment to assure his voice would cooperate.

"No thanks are needed." Faramir set the glass aside and sat down, pulling his chair closer to the bed so that Frodo would not need to speak so loudly. "Your Sam is down in the kitchens," he said, in answer to Frodo's question. "Mithrandir asked if I would sit with you during his absence."

"The kitchens?" Frodo's look wavered between amused and distressed. "I hope he is not attempting to tell the cooks how to do their jobs. Again."

Faramir chuckled. "His presence there is perfectly justified this time," he assured Frodo. "Mithrandir sent him there to demonstrate some of his uses for potatoes." When Frodo looked unconvinced, Faramir gave him a somewhat embarrassed smile. "I believe we were set up."

Frodo looked at him with curiosity. "By whom?"

"By a mutual friend." At Frodo's puzzled look, Faramir elaborated. "Mithrandir."

This time, it was Frodo who chuckled. "That does not surprise me in the least," he said. "But for what reason?"

Faramir hesitated. "I believe he would like for us to become…better acquainted. And I admit that I would like that as well, if you are willing."

Frodo smiled. "It is springtime, is it not? A time for cultivating and nurturing?"

Faramir nodded, uncertain as to where Frodo's questions were leading.

"And is friendship not something that may be nurtured and made to grow stronger with time?"

Faramir felt himself smiling as well. "Yes, it is indeed."

"Well, Sam is more the gardener than I am," Frodo said with a sparkle in his eyes, "but I think this would be the ideal time for us to cultivate such a thing."

"Just add sunshine, soil, and water?" Faramir asked with his own teasing glint.

“And allow time for growing,” Frodo added. “That should be the perfect formula for friendship.”

The End