Disclaimers and Warnings: See first chapter.
Author's Note: Uh, I hope you enjoy dialogue because that makes up about ninety percent of this chapter...
4. The Voice Under All Silences
"Love is the voice under all silences, the hope which has no opposite in fear; the strength so strong mere force is feebleness: the truth more first than sun more last than star."
- E. E. Cummings
Éomer stared blankly at his sister's swollen stomach, his hands entwined in tight knots, fingers pressing harshly against knuckles and fine bones as if to grind them to dust. As long as he concentrated on Éowyn's extended waistline, the way her dress stretched over her belly, he could hold other images at bay.
"Éomer," his sister's voice sounded as if through a fog. "You are truly starting to scare me. Please talk to me."
He still felt sick and his mouth tasted of vomit. He thought he might have thrown up after leaving that room – leaving Faramir. He bit the inside of his cheek to contain a scream.
"Is… Do you think Faramir is happy here?" he finally asked. He didn't know what the answer could possibly change, how it could reverse the terrible realisation he was slowly coming to.
Éowyn's brow furrowed. "I do not think he is unhappy, if that is what you are worried about. He does not like to talk about it, of course, but I know he is still affected by the Black Breath. I think that is why he likes to keep busy, to feel like he is moving past the war." She smiled slightly, stroking her belly. "It feels good to be creating something."
Any other time, Éomer would have asked about her health, but his thoughts were still stuck on orbit around Faramir, his mind scuttling away whenever he came too close to the truth. Now, Éowyn's words had added even more fodder for his guilty conscience. He hadn't thought about the Nazgûl in relation to Faramir - hadn't worried about nightmares or depression because Faramir was always giving him that gentle, welcoming smile, asking about his day or offering to rub his shoulders.
And then. They had sex often, he supposed. Most every evening Éomer would lay Faramir out on the bed and bury himself in that tight, sweet body or he would slide to his knees after their midday meal and drink his dessert directly from the source. Faramir seldom initiated more than a kiss, but then he had always assumed that Faramir was just shy, easily embarrassed, a little prudish. Faramir had also never shown any interest in being the more active partner and thus Éomer had taken him, from behind, in the dark, interpreting his hitched breaths and muffled keens as sounds of pleasure, his jerks and rippling muscles as encouragement. But…
He stood up abruptly, ignored Éowyn's questioning looks as he brushed a hasty kiss over her cheek, and then left to confront his fears.
He found Faramir pacing in their quarters, though the other man stopped as soon as he entered and turned to face him, his hands clasped behind his back and his spine rigid. He looked composed but strained, equally ready for battle as for surrender. Éomer wondered when he had become the enemy.
"Faramir," he greeted him, but then didn't know how to continue.
"I am sorry, but if you allow it I will make it up to you," Faramir took the words out of his mouth.
"Make what up to me?" he asked.
Faramir seemed thrown by the question for a moment, but then answered as if by rote. "I am a failure, a constant disappointment and you deserve a better husband."
"That is not the problem." He clenched his hands at his side at the irrational rage that welled up in him. "You allowed me to take advantage of you, to coerce you into acts you evidently did not enjoy. You turned me into a man who hurts his husband, a... a rapist, a monster."
Faramir obediently reiterated his apology and Éomer felt sick to his stomach, wishing he could take back those thoughtless, angry words and bite off his own tongue. None of this was Faramir's fault. How could it be, when Faramir had thought he had no choice?
"Why did you not tell me? Did you not think I would stop?" he asked, pleaded.
"I did not know you wanted to stop," Faramir answered, his light brows furrowed in confusion. "I thought you enjoyed it."
Éomer felt his breath catch in his throat, another wave of nausea snaking up in his throat. "You thought I enjoyed hurting you? Is that the impression I gave you?"
"You have been very good to me," Faramir said with a slight shake of his head. "You have been very forgiving of my faults."
"Faramir, this not your fault and... None of this is your fault." Éomer ran a hand through his long blond hair. "Can you tell me, did I hurt you today or any of the other times we… I initiated intercourse?"
Faramir sank down on the bed, his hands neatly folded in his lap. "That is a very harsh description."
"Then let me put it another way: Did you enjoy what I was doing to you?" Éomer insisted, sitting down next to Faramir but making sure to leave ample distance between them.
"What does that matter?" Faramir asked, timidly reaching for his hand. "I am your husband. It is my marital duty, is it not?"
Éomer suddenly remembered Faramir's insistence on wanting to please him, his timid admission that he lacked experience. "You are my husband, and I am yours. But our martial duties do not include suffering at the hands of the other, through intercourse or otherwise."
"I am sorry," Faramir murmured, ducking his head.
"Your apology was unnecessary the first time," Éomer pointed out before sighing deeply. "I am the one at fault here and I apologise for however much that is worth. And I had no right to shout at you, to lay the blame at your feet when I should have made sure you consented fully to my attentions."
"But I do," Faramir protested. "I swear I do. You did not force me or… or rape me. We are married; I consented."
"When you agreed to marry me it did not give me blanket permission to do as I please with you!" Éomer insisted, squeezing Faramir's hand to make him look up. "I vowed to honour and protect you. Do you feel like I did? Do you feel honoured, protected?"
"I feel like your husband." Faramir looked pleadingly at him. "You honoured me by inviting me into your family. You protected me from disgrace and you gave me a new home, a new purpose. I will never be able to repay you for your kindness."
"Is that what you are trying to do?" Éomer asked, coldness spreading through his veins even as his voice remained gentle.
"You made it clear from the beginning that intercourse was an important part of our agreement," Faramir answered. "It is only right that I try to satisfy your needs. I know I lack expertise, but I will learn to be a better husband."
Éomer had to curb his violent impulses, against himself and against his dear husband. It was evident that Faramir saw no wrong in letting himself be hurt to supposedly please his husband, and while Éomer's own callous behaviour had certainly contributed to that, he was equally sure that he was not the only one who had done damage to Faramir's soul. Aragorn had tried to warn him about Faramir's hidden fragility, he realised now. It didn't excuse his lack of care in handling his husband, his lack of attention to Faramir's needs.
"Can you tell me about what experience you did have? Before our marriage?"
The other man bit his lips. "I… Boromir dared me to kiss one of the maids when I was twelve."
"A kiss?" Éomer asked, getting up abruptly. "Is that all you did?"
Faramir blushed bright red. "In truth, I ducked out. It did not seem fair to risk her reputation on a lark."
Éomer almost laughed at the predictability of Faramir's justification, feeling an unexpected alacrity at how absurd it was to see Faramir so concerned for the wellbeing of some unknown woman when he couldn't even grasp the concept of protecting himself from unwanted advances.
"So no kiss and no experience beyond that?" Éomer summed up and Faramir nodded timidly. "Then you must have assumed that it was supposed to be like this? That is was normal for me to hurt you?"
"You did not hurt me," Faramir said immediately, seemingly before even processing Éomer's words.
"Please answer the question, Faramir. I promise I will not be angry."
"I… yes. Just because I did not engage in these activities myself, it does not mean that I am totally ignorant. I was given to understand that some discomfort is to be expected and that the experience of pain is not unusual. You have been very gentle with me."
"From where did you receive this information?" Éomer asked, making sure to keep his voice soft and his stance non-confrontational.
"I read books and with how long we often stayed in Ithilien it was not uncommon for some of the men to seek each other's company," Faramir answered almost defensively.
Éomer could just imagine what lewd comments Faramir might have heard from his rangers and given the amount of books Faramir liked to read, it was only a matter of time until he found one that fit his experiences.
"As I have a little more practical experience, allow me to give you my view on the situation, all right?" Éomer asked, taking a few measured steps to gather his thoughts. "Intercourse between two men can be painful – there is no natural lubrication, you understand, and on the road or in the heat of the moment it might be that other things take precedence over careful preparation."
"You used saddle oil," Faramir pointed out.
Éomer inclined his head in agreement. "I did. But if I had known that you had no experience… I would have made a point of preparing you more thoroughly. As I did not do that, you – quite naturally - tensed up at the unfamiliar sensation and your muscles fought against the penetration, making it even more uncomfortable and painful for you."
Faramir shook his head unwillingly. "The men I patrolled with, those who did something like this, I mean, they did not seem to mind being sore the next day. And I do not, either."
"A little soreness can be a reminder of a good time," Éomer agreed. "But if you did not enjoy it, it is only painful and I do not want that for you, Faramir."
"Oh," Faramir ducked his head. "What do you want?"
Éomer was tempted to return the question, but could already guess that it would not garner any viable answer.
"There is no excuse for what I did to you. I took advantage of your inexperience and your desire to please and I am deeply sorry that I led you to believe that intercourse was a duty to endure rather than pleasure shared. I will understand if you want to be left in peace from now on." He raised a hand to silence Faramir's immediate objection. "I want you to know that you always have that option, whether you come to that decision today or ten years from now."
"What other options are there?" Faramir asked eagerly.
"I am not a man of words, Faramir, and my apologies can be little more than a drop of saddle oil on a torn stirrup. But if you will allow it, I would like the chance to be a better husband, to repent with actions rather than words."
"I…" Faramir broke off and Éomer stepped in, "You should think about it. Would you like me to give you some space?"
"You have given me a lot to think about," Faramir admitted. "Do you think you could just hold me for a while? If it is not too much of an imposition."
"I would be glad to, truly, but I am not sure you are asking for the right reasons," Éomer hedged, watching the resignation spread over Faramir's face with a hollow feeling in his gut. "I should go."
"As you wish, my lord," Faramir answered woodenly. "If it pleases you, I would like to see you for breakfast tomorrow."
Éomer inclined his head, wanting to reach out to his husband, gather him in his arms and forget that anything had ever gone amiss between them. Instead he turned to the door and left to find a quarter for the night.
He woke earlier than usual. The guest quarters he had retired to the night before felt unfamiliar and he missed Faramir's warm weight next to him, the soft sound of his breathing. What a sweet lie he had told himself! While he had lived in married bliss, Faramir had lived in a nightmare.
But self-recriminations would help no-one, he reminded himself. For now, he could only do as Faramir had asked and meet him for breakfast. They usually took their first meal in the Golden Hall, but today he thought it best not to get sidetracked by politics or court intrigue. He took a moment to straighten his clothes and freshen his face with a bit of water before he slipped from the guest chambers and down to the kitchens where he arranged for breakfast to be brought up to their chambers.
But it was early yet and if Faramir was still asleep, he didn't intend to disturb his rest. Instead he gathered some fresh clothes from the washer women and left to take a quick bath. The bathhouse was built around a natural hot spring, the water collecting in several large pools and elvish crystals making them glow from within. He nodded in greeting at the few riders that were already in the water but selected a smaller pool to the side as he had no mind for idle conversation and didn't intend to spend more time than necessary.
He had a quick soak, scrubbed himself thoroughly and then dried off to get dressed in his fresh set of clothes. He tied his wet hair at the top of his head to get it away from his nape, wished the other men a good day and then made his way back to their rooms where he found Faramir awake and dressed, the fine hair around his face still slightly wet. Éomer had noticed a slight chill in the air, but Faramir had bundled himself in thick clothes, layering a jerkin lined with sheep skin over a leather tunic and shirt. Somehow, Éomer thought, it would have been less conspicuous if he had donned full armour.
"Good morning," Éomer greeted, offering Faramir a gentle smile. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yes, thank you," Faramir said, still pondering the table. "I was not sure I would see you today."
Éomer pulled out a chair for Faramir. "I am happy to break my fast with you, Faramir. If you are ready for that."
"Oh, yes, of course," Faramir murmured. "I am sorry."
"Please stop apologising," Éomer asked, serving Faramir some of the fresh bread.
"Oh," Faramir said then visibly bit his tongue. "I feel like I should, though. I upset you and I do not quite know why."
"You do not understand why I am upset?" Éomer questioned, striving for an even tone.
Faramir took a careful bite, looking down at his plate instead of looking at Éomer. "You thought you had raped me. And you are an honourable man. But…"
"But?" Éomer asked, though he wanted to refute Faramir's assessment.
"But I am not a maiden! I know I am not as good a swordfighter as Boromir was, or as fearless a leader, but I can stand up for myself; I can defend myself and I am not some damsel in distress that needs to be rescued or protected!" Faramir burst out and Éomer was honestly relieved to see some fire return to his meek little husband. "And frankly, I do not appreciate the insinuation that I do not know my own mind and cannot make my own decisions, like I am some hapless child that needs to be taken by hand and does not understand what is happening… my lord."
Éomer reached out to squeeze Faramir's hand. "That was certainly not my intention. I apologise."
"It is all right," Faramir murmured, ducking his head once more. "I was out of line."
"I think you spoke your mind. Now if you can tell me with the same honesty and conviction that you feel my equal in this marriage, comfortable with telling me if you would like to change something about our relationship - then I really have no reason to worry, do I?"
Faramir's fingers, long and graceful, played along the edge of his plate in a nervous flutter. "You are my king and I am your subject. How could I ever be your equal?" he finally asked.
"I am your husband first," Éomer insisted more harshly than he should have if Faramir jerking into uprightness was any indication; he sighed quietly. "I was never meant to be king. I never wanted to be king. Least of all with my husband."
Faramir seemed fixated on if not actually interested in his breakfast and didn't answer. Éomer sighed again, reached out to recapture Faramir's hand. "When my cousin Théodred was sixteen, he was sweet on one of the maids." He smiled softly when Faramir looked up in surprise. "Théodred… he was not shy about anything, least of all his affections, and he set about wooing her with all the impetuous eagerness of a first-time suitor. Flowers, picnics, jewellery… and she seemed receptive, or so he thought. Until her fiancé petitioned the king to please stop his son from molesting his soon-to-be wife."
"That is…"
"It was horrible," Éomer finished for him. "Théodred apologised, of course, but how can you make up for something like that? The couple moved to Snowbourn immediately after the wedding and Théodred took great pains never to come near her again."
"Why are you telling me this?" Faramir demanded. "It is horrible, as you said. But I do not see what bearing it has on our situation."
"Do you not?" Éomer asked in disbelief. "Faramir... you know what parallel I am trying to draw." He raised a hand to silence Faramir's immediate protest. "This incident occurred not because she was a girl, but because she felt beholden to Théodred and did not dare refuse his advances. Would you dare refuse me, Faramir? Did you think you had a choice in this marriage?"
"I was not forced to marry you," Faramir insisted stubbornly. "And I never wanted to refuse you. I consider it an honour to serve my king in whatever he requires of me."
Éomer wanted to bang his head against the table in frustration. "I do not require… Théodred was blinded by love and desire and maybe that is some excuse, but he always warned me about making the same mistake - I can imagine perfectly well what he would have to say about this and I can assure you he would be far less forgiving than you seem to be."
"There is nothing to forgive," Faramir replied instantly. "I made a choice and I stand by it."
"Would Boromir agree with you? If he knew how I had treated his little brother, would he just smile and clap me on the back and be happy to leave you in my care?" Éomer asked and Faramir's shattered expression told him that he had finally found the right approach. "He would not, would he?"
It was becoming evident that Faramir had no qualms about what had happened between them and a part of Éomer wanted to demand who had taught him to care so little for himself. But one thing he was equally certain of was that Boromir had loved his brother with his whole being. The open admiration and all-encompassing affection with which he had talked about Faramir had left little doubt about that.
Faramir's back bowed, as if finally bending under the tremendous burden he had carried for months, maybe for years, and he hid his face between his hands, uneven breaths belying the tears he tried to hide. Éomer reacted instinctively, perching awkwardly on the arm of Faramir's chair and wrapping himself around the young Gondorian, smoothing his hand over the heaving back and crooning soft nonsense into his ear.
After a while, Faramir started to calm down, straightening slightly and pulling out of Éomer's arms with an embarrassed, watery smile. "I am sorry for my lack of composure. It is just that I miss him."
"There is nothing to be ashamed of," Éomer murmured, sliding back into his own seat to give Faramir the space he seemed to need right now. "Not a day goes by that I do not wish my uncle and cousin were still alive, that more of my men had survived this wretched war. There is no way to change the past, but we can keep them alive in our thoughts and memories."
Faramir sucked in a breath then released it in a shuddery exhale. "Boromir… he was very protective of me. My father often told him to stop coddling me."
"I am not an expert on fathers, but I understand that it often falls to them to instil a sense of righteousness and duty in their offspring," Éomer said carefully, not wanting to upset Faramir further by getting into a debate about Denethor's good judgement or lack thereof. "That is however not within the purview of a husband. We are both men grown, Faramir; it is not up to me to discipline you or dictate your thoughts and actions. I asked after your brother because I know about a big brother's love for his younger sibling." He sent Faramir a small smile. "We are quite protective, almost manic in our wish to see our siblings happy and safe."
"I am not… You cannot replace him," Faramir said, a hard edge to his normally soft intonation. "I do not want you to."
"That is not my intention, I promise you," Éomer replied, meeting Faramir's wary gaze. "But I still want the same things for you, your happiness and safety, and I know that they may not be as much of a priority for you as they were for your brother."
"What about your happiness?" Faramir asked. "I know I was not your first choice for a husband and I do not want you to harbour regrets."
"Actually you were my first choice, Faramir," Éomer corrected firmly. "I admit marriage was not on my mind when I last visited Gondor, but when Aragorn suggested you the idea became a lot more appealing. I could have pushed for someone else, but I never even entertained the thought after meeting you."
"But…" Faramir shook his head, whether in denial or confusion.
"You are a brave warrior, respected and beloved by your men, an excellent advisor, dedicated and loyal to your people with far more political savvy than I could ever hope to possess and a true son of Gondor, kind and gentle and so very beautiful. Please do not doubt my willingness to love you as fiercely and as devotedly as you deserve."
"You cannot mean that," Faramir's voice was barely a whisper. "I am nothing like what you described and this… this is not a love match."
"I do," Éomer corrected, running his fingers through Faramir's soft locks. "And I am not resigned to a loveless marriage just because we entered into it for political reasons. Does that seem unreasonable to you?"
"I… no, I suppose not," Faramir murmured, but he sounded far from convinced.
Éomer sighed, dusting a kiss over Faramir's knuckles. "I know those are only pretty words and you have no reason to believe me."
"I want to," Faramir admitted softly, ducking his head even further as if expecting a cuff or an angry tirade.
"That is more than I had hoped for," Éomer answered honestly. "I want the chance to love you, Faramir, and to earn your love in return."
"All right," Faramir agreed, too quickly, too reflexively and Éomer felt a shudder down his own back at the realisation that they could quickly slide back into the same destructive pattern.
"That is what I want, Faramir. But this needs to be your decision, though you need not make it alone. Listen to Boromir's voice inside your head and talk to someone, to Éowyn if you trust her enough, or to Aragorn or one of your men in Gondor. You are not a prisoner here and while you will be missed, it might do you some good to get a bit of distance. I will wait."
He left then, closing the door softly behind him, because he wasn't sure he had the strength for further discussions, for Faramir's pleading gaze, for the pain he imagined hidden under a thin veneer of composure. If he was honest with himself, he was afraid what either of them might agree to if he didn't leave.
Being king didn't lend itself to idleness or daydreaming, but still it was almost impossible to ban Faramir from his thoughts. He tried to tell himself that the decision was in Faramir's hands now, that no amount of worrying could change the past. But still he replayed their conversations in his head, attempted to detect any small nuance or unusual wording he might have missed the first time - like he had missed so many things. He found himself clenching his hands in helpless anger, wondering what other hurts he may have caused his own husband, how deeply he really failed him, and if there was even a chance to fix this.
He made his excuses for Faramir, asking that he not be disturbed, and ordered Faramir's meals to be delivered to their rooms. He wished he could do more and worried that Faramir might feel deserted. But the last thing he wanted was for Faramir to feel pressured and thus he kept his distance.
He only returned to their chambers after the evening meal, gently rapping his knuckles against the door.
"Come in!" Faramir called, facing him as soon as he entered the room. "Good evening, Éomer."
"Good evening," Éomer returned the greeting. "I was hoping to get some things, if that is all right with you."
"It is not actually," Faramir replied, startling him with the quiet resolution in his voice. "I appreciate you trying to give me space I neither asked for nor wanted, but if you want to get your things now that is a lot more solitude than I am prepared to endure."
"Faramir…" Éomer hesitated at the door. "I do not want to pressure you into a decision you are not ready for."
"You said we were equals?" Faramir demanded, standing with his feet shoulder-width apart, his hands relaxed at his side.
"Of course," Éomer replied immediately. "I do not mean to subdue you."
"Then please respect that I can make my own decisions. Simply because you think you treated me wrongly, that you hurt me and that I was too scared or too pathetic to speak up against it, does not mean you get to negate any decision I make from now on, disregard all of my opinions or take away my agency. I never felt like a victim until you started treating me like one."
Faramir's voice was still soft and steady, his gaze unflinching and direct.
Éomer swallowed heavily. Had he treated Faramir like that? Had he been too mired in his own guilt and anger to notice how much his attempts to handle the situation had hurt Faramir? Had he made everything worse by expecting Faramir to conform to what he assumed would be an adequate reaction to being raped by one's own husband? He jerked internally at the word that had slipped into his thoughts unbidden. Faramir might have a different opinion on what had happened, but Éomer refused to whitewash what he had done, refused to skirt responsibility. He wanted to make amends; he wanted to make Faramir happy. But that wasn't what he had tried to do, was it? He had accused Faramir of being complicit in his own rape and shifted part of the blame onto his already stooped shoulders. He had pushed and prodded and argued to convert Faramir to his point of view, to make Faramir hate him as much as he thought he deserved, as much as he hated himself. He had talked at Faramir instead of listening to Faramir's own timidly voiced opinions and that had got to stop. He owed Faramir far more consideration than that.
"Please believe me that that is the last thing I wanted."
"I do, of course," Faramir answered. "And I understand that you are worried. But if this is to be my decision, you have to trust that I know what is best for me and not try to convince me otherwise."
Éomer inclined his head in agreement, motioning to the table to indicate that they should sit down. "And have you made your decision?"
"In part," Faramir answered, obligingly sinking into the chair opposite of him. "I thought about what Boromir would want for me and what he would expect of me. He taught me almost everything I know, including that running away from problems only gives them space to grow insurmountable. I am not prepared to give up on our marriage and I hope neither are you."
"I am not giving up, either," Éomer assured him, reaching out and intertwining their hands.
Faramir breathed a sigh of relief, smiling slightly at him. "Thank you."
"I hope you agree with me that things will have to change, though," Éomer pointed out, rubbing his thumb absently over Faramir's knuckles.
Faramir nodded, nervously licking his lips. "Equality."
"Honesty."
"Trust."
"I would say that is a good basis," Éomer agreed. "Have you decided anything else?" Faramir worried his lip between his teeth, gnawing on words that wouldn't roll off his tongue. "Honesty, remember?"
"I do not want to share your bed... intimately," Faramir said softly, avoiding Éomer's gaze.
"Thank you for telling me. It seems like a good idea to me," Éomer assured him, squeezing Faramir's fingers a little tighter. "I realise that I put too much emphasis on the physical aspects of our union. We barely knew each other and I just assumed that familiarity would follow naturally in the wake of intimacy and passion. I was obviously wrong."
"I am not saying never again," Faramir was quick to assure him. "But I have to figure some things out first. I'd understand if you... looked elsewhere or..."
"Faramir," Éomer interrupted him sharply. "I have no interest in looking elsewhere. And I have no intention of sharing you, either."
While Faramir stuttered out an avalanche of apologies, Éomer bit his tongue until he tasted blood. He was certain Faramir had not intended to turn their marriage into an open arrangement, but had instead made his offer to be generous. Still, at the thought of Faramir turning to someone else, sharing his bed with a faceless man who managed to illicit true moans of pleasure, strum his lust like the strings of a harp, make his body arch into his every touch, anger - no, jealousy - had welled up in his belly and clouded his mind. And now Faramir once more looked like a startled colt, all wide eyes and jerking movements, as if he was ready to flee at the slightest provocation.
"It seems I have to apologise again," he started softly. "Not for the meaning of my words for I was quite serious about that, but for my tone and wording. You are not something to be shared and even if you were, it would not be my decision to make. But it would be remiss not to tell you that I hope to be the only man in your life."
"Of course, Éomer," Faramir whispered. "I promise."
"Thank you," the young king replied. "And I give you the same promise."
Faramir nodded jerkily, but seemed unwilling to continue their conversation. Maybe they had talked too much already, like in a constant tug-of-war, charging ahead only to find themselves pulled back by another issue. As much as Éomer wanted to believe that they could rebuild their relationship on equality, honesty and trust, there was a part of him that still doubted Faramir would be open about his fears and wishes, and if anything his latest outburst had shown that Faramir was only too quick to cower away and submit to what he thought were Éomer's desires.
"The room next door is empty," he offered after a moment of silence. "I could sleep there and we can still take our meals together and arrange our schedules so that we can get to know each other better. Would that be agreeable to you?"
Faramir nodded and even helped Éomer to pack some things for the night before he brought him to the door and firmly closed it behind him.
A while ago, I posted a list of "Ten reasons why you should review" at the end of one of my chapters. But you know, there are always two sides to every issue and I admit it was rather biased of me to only look at the pros. So to remedy that situation, have another list.
Ten reasons not to review:
1. You're too busy saving the world. (Thank you! Someone really should get down to that.)
2. You're very (love) sick. (I hope you feel better soon.)
3. You were so inspired that you're in danger of being trampled by plot bunnies if you do not start/continue writing your own story right now. (That's the greatest compliment.)
4. You don't want to influence the story in any way, but want it to remain a pure product of my imagination. (If only you knew what's going on inside my head…)
5. You're reserving judgement till the story is completed. (I see you're a bit of a risk-taker considering my generally low self-esteem and lack of motivation.)
6. You do not believe in freedom of speech. (In that case the internet must be a rather dangerous place for you.)
7. You're undercover. (Don't tell anyone, but so am I.)
8. You took a vow of silence which also extends to the written word. (I have nothing to say to that.)
9. You don't think I will be interested in reading your reviews. (Bit of a conundrum, that - how am I to know that anyone's interested in reading this story if you don't review?)
10. You have nothing - absolutely nothing positive to say about this story. (Farewell then.)
