Faramir, Father's Bane
I do not have ownership of rights to The Lord of the Rings,
it's associated world or any affiliated literature or films,
nor am I making any profit off of it.
Let me know what you think! This is my first LOTR story and I take all your comments and reviews into account when I'm writing. I hope you enjoy it!
Chapter 1
"Do you wish that our places were exchanged?"
"I do."
"Very well. Since you are robbed of your son and heir, I shall go in his stead. But if I return think better of me, father."
"That depends on the manner of your return."
"Faramir, son of Denethor!"
The young captain clenched his fists. The whispered words stung him, like the deadly bite of some venomous snake in the arid wastes of Harad far away. Before his eyes there was nothing to be seen, not a point of light, not a vague greyness, nor the dark blue of the twilit sky. It was a darkness devoid of color, a void, a black pit of horrible, all-consuming nothingness.
"Who calls?!" the young captain answered to the blackness.
"Faramir!" the shrill voice said again, cold and cruel as steel swords.
"Show yourself foul creature of darkness!"
Faramir's hand reached for his sword, but, to his horror, no hilt nor scabbard did he find there. Suddenly he felt exposed, without armor or raiment or weapon with which to shield himself from the blow of his enemy. He was naked in the dark, helpless in the face of his foe.
"Faramir, lesser son of the lowly House of Stewards-ever faithless, and foolhardy-thou hast dared to defy the might of Sauron, Lord of Arda*! No slumber of peace shalt thou have, no quick escape to refuge in cursed Mandos'** halls. Nay. Long shalt thy torment be!"
Suddenly, Faramir felt chill. An overwhelming fear came on him, like he had felt at the Causeway Forts under the Shadow of those terrible Creatures. He could hear their shrill bone-chilling screams in his mind. The fear grew, and Faramir sensed the approach of the fell being.
There was a horrible, contemptuous laugh.
"Even now thou cowerest in fear! What art thou after all but a Wizard's Pupil, a puppet, a craven, willful child, an insolent shadow of thy brother's brutish might? Always faithless to friend, or countryman, or kin, now thou art even thy father's bane."
Faramir's heart sunk within him. Father's bane? He nearly choked on the words. What terrible devilry was this? He searched his fading memory, trying to understand what this might mean.
There was more cruel laughter.
And then...
"Away foul servant of Morgoth the Chained! This one at least thou shall not have!"
The voice was loud, but distant, commanding, but somehow pleasant, like a cool stream of water flowing down through the green fields of Lebennin, or a breath of wind from the Sea refreshing one as he stood at the Harlond on a hot summer's day.
Suddenly a silence, deep and foreboding reigned.
The fear began to fade. Color, of a sort came to the blackness.
A sweet, familiar scent filled the air and far off, he could see a light.
"Faramir! Faramir!" a voice, lordly but kind, gently called.
"I am here lord. Who art thou?"
The figure slowly approached, straining his eyes like one searching desperately in a dark vale for a friend, lost and blind.
Suddenly, Faramir beheld the figure more clearly. Kingly he looked, but also worn and weathered. His face was kind, and his eyes gentle. He was dressed in armor emblazoned with a white tree and seven stars, the sign of Elendil, long since disused. On his brow white flames (if flames they were) formed the crown of the ancient kings, and on his chest sat a bright green stone. Venerable and wise he looked, yet also like one in the prime of his manhood.
Could it be true? Could there indeed be a king returning to Gondor in these days, dark as they were?
The dark thoughts of moments before fled his mind.
"My lord, this is a joy unlooked for! I am your humble servant! What is your command?"
"Come, Faramir, son of Denethor! Walk no longer in darkness!"
To be continued...
*Arda is the Earth, of which Middle Earth is part.
** Mandos is one of the Valar ( the "gods" of Arda-the world in which Middle earth lies). He is the Master of Souls, responsible for the dead of both Elves and Men. They both dwell in his Halls (also called Mandos), though there is no contact or mingling. Here Men are judged by Mandos and then depart Arda to fates that even the Valar don't fully understand.
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