She was beautiful. Long golden locks in tangled heaps about her face, pale
skin softly glowing in the sun's first rays, grey eyes half lidded as she
slowly leaves her dreams. Her mouth moves and he strains his ears to hear
her. "Faramir."
He smiles. Every morning since they first woke in the same bed, she has greeted him in this manner. Whispering his name in some disbelieving tone, almost as though she doubted he was real. He had never asked why she woke like this; he didn't feel the need to. He knew deep within that she doubted Fate as much as he did. Fate, which had given him, the greatest gift after cruelly taking all he'd ever known. Fate, which had shoved them together, each needing of the other, yet not ready to ask for help. "It may be that only a few days are left ere darkness falls upon our world, and when it comes I hope to face it steadily; but it would ease my heart, if while the Sun yet shines, I could see you still. " He sighed, taking her in his arms.
She had been a mystery to him, a precious jewel still half hidden in the earth. A flower, that while still fair to eye, was dying inside, but not dead yet. He had taken it upon himself to heal the Lady of Rohan of whatever ailed her, for she had become a beacon of light in his fading world and he would not have her fade also. ' This was not what I had in mind.' He thinks with a smile as she nuzzles the skin of his neck gently. He kisses her lightly before she falls back to sleep, letting her dreams take hold of her again. He is silent taking in the sounds of his land. The rustle of the leaves, the sound of birds calling, and the voices of Men mingling together creating a song he'd grown used to.
It did not take long before his attention returned to his wife. He watched her sleep, feeling as though he was looking at some unearthly creature. 'Flowers fair and bright, and maidens fairer still...' It was then that he found himself whispering to her. "What do you dream of, beloved?" He asks her sleeping form only to be answered by the sound of her even breathing. Does she dream of open plains? A sea of tall grass swaying to the beat of thundering hoofs. Of a golden hall sitting upon a rocky hill, fenced by tall snow capped mountains. Perhaps her dreams lay in the White City with another... But he shakes his head at the thought, ashamed of his doubting mind. His wife was as loyal as she was proud. Though he cannot deny that he had once thought she loved another, and his love for her would have let her go if it had been her will. Thankfully she has long since forgotten the desire she had once held for the King. Then perhaps she dreams of the past she speaks of so rarely. Dreams lined with familiar faces lost to time, and kinsmen who have long since returned to the halls of their fathers.
Does she dream of her garden? Of rich soil that gives birth to brightly colored flowers and countless other things. He gently takes her hand in his own, cherishing the feel of her calloused palm beneath his fingertips. Does she dreams of battle? The rush found in each swing of your sword. The vibrations that shake your very bone with each parry. The sound of steel cutting through the air as you dodge and swing out. He wonders if he did the right thing in marrying her. For while their marriage has brought him not but joy, he wonders if perhaps he has caged her like the others had.
His eyes rake her body settling on the swell of her abdomen. Perhaps she shares his dream? The dream of children running through the halls, laughter that flows like the currents of the Great River, and happiness that can surpass all other emotion. She stirs again and draws his attention. She still sleeps, yet her lips move and utter a single word. Her tone is light and heartfelt. "Faramir."
And he smiles, for now he knows. She dreams of him.
A/N: The Lord of the Rings is owned by J.R.R Tolkien.
He smiles. Every morning since they first woke in the same bed, she has greeted him in this manner. Whispering his name in some disbelieving tone, almost as though she doubted he was real. He had never asked why she woke like this; he didn't feel the need to. He knew deep within that she doubted Fate as much as he did. Fate, which had given him, the greatest gift after cruelly taking all he'd ever known. Fate, which had shoved them together, each needing of the other, yet not ready to ask for help. "It may be that only a few days are left ere darkness falls upon our world, and when it comes I hope to face it steadily; but it would ease my heart, if while the Sun yet shines, I could see you still. " He sighed, taking her in his arms.
She had been a mystery to him, a precious jewel still half hidden in the earth. A flower, that while still fair to eye, was dying inside, but not dead yet. He had taken it upon himself to heal the Lady of Rohan of whatever ailed her, for she had become a beacon of light in his fading world and he would not have her fade also. ' This was not what I had in mind.' He thinks with a smile as she nuzzles the skin of his neck gently. He kisses her lightly before she falls back to sleep, letting her dreams take hold of her again. He is silent taking in the sounds of his land. The rustle of the leaves, the sound of birds calling, and the voices of Men mingling together creating a song he'd grown used to.
It did not take long before his attention returned to his wife. He watched her sleep, feeling as though he was looking at some unearthly creature. 'Flowers fair and bright, and maidens fairer still...' It was then that he found himself whispering to her. "What do you dream of, beloved?" He asks her sleeping form only to be answered by the sound of her even breathing. Does she dream of open plains? A sea of tall grass swaying to the beat of thundering hoofs. Of a golden hall sitting upon a rocky hill, fenced by tall snow capped mountains. Perhaps her dreams lay in the White City with another... But he shakes his head at the thought, ashamed of his doubting mind. His wife was as loyal as she was proud. Though he cannot deny that he had once thought she loved another, and his love for her would have let her go if it had been her will. Thankfully she has long since forgotten the desire she had once held for the King. Then perhaps she dreams of the past she speaks of so rarely. Dreams lined with familiar faces lost to time, and kinsmen who have long since returned to the halls of their fathers.
Does she dream of her garden? Of rich soil that gives birth to brightly colored flowers and countless other things. He gently takes her hand in his own, cherishing the feel of her calloused palm beneath his fingertips. Does she dreams of battle? The rush found in each swing of your sword. The vibrations that shake your very bone with each parry. The sound of steel cutting through the air as you dodge and swing out. He wonders if he did the right thing in marrying her. For while their marriage has brought him not but joy, he wonders if perhaps he has caged her like the others had.
His eyes rake her body settling on the swell of her abdomen. Perhaps she shares his dream? The dream of children running through the halls, laughter that flows like the currents of the Great River, and happiness that can surpass all other emotion. She stirs again and draws his attention. She still sleeps, yet her lips move and utter a single word. Her tone is light and heartfelt. "Faramir."
And he smiles, for now he knows. She dreams of him.
A/N: The Lord of the Rings is owned by J.R.R Tolkien.