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Prelude to Innocence
by Akin
Faramir opened his eyes into the night. His confused mind had to adjust for a moment to realise where he was.
He could not think of a reason why he was up. The silence of the tent was not interrupted.
Nothing at all. Not even Tiris' soft breathing. He harked, but heard nothing could have revealed the presence of another in the tent. He sat up and looked at the other sleeping place. It was empty. The tangled blanket still lay there, but there was no sign of the occupant. Tiris' cloak and backpack were also gone.
Faramir cursed softly and got up. He had always had a light sleep and he could not understand how it was possible that he had not been awoken by Tiris' departure. He reached into the artist's bed and stated there was only a little warmth coming from it. It could not have been very long since Tiris had left.
Faramir swiftly put a cloak around him and went out. Despite the protection of his clothes the cold night wind immediately bit into his skin.
He glanced around, but could not see anything in particular, not even the guards only grass covered in silver. He wondered whether it was possible that the guards had fallen asleep, but then found it unlikely.
There were only two places where Tiris could have gone to hide. The first was the old, now dry, bed of the Harnen, building a shallow canyon.
The second was a little further from the camp. It was a very small group of meagre trees by the river.
Faramir crouched behind the tents and looked out for the guards.
He still could not see them, but that of course did not mean that they could not be watching the camp hidden. He did not want to risk anything, so he kept on hiding behind the tents until he was finally able to slip into the cover of the canyon. He sighed relieved and then he looked around.
To his immense disappointment he could not see anyone. Then there was only the second possibility of Tiris' whereabouts- the group of trees.
Faramir gazed along the canyon. He did not want to get out of its cover. He was sure that the guards would spot him in the plain land immediately. It already was a miracle that they had not noticed him crouching to the river. But if he walked along the canyon, he should be able to get there.
He started to run along the long black lace of water silently. There were several clouds running on over the skies, but the stars shone brightly. The hiding and coming moon was lightening and darkening the dark flow. Harad was a hot land, but during the night the temperature was dropping. It was enough to make one without the protection of a the cloak shiver.
Faramir finally entered the island of trees and immediately felt the temperature drop even further. The air was more damp and he wondered whether the trees had something to do with it.
Maybe they need especially damp air so they create it for themselves from the water they get from their roots.
Faramir got up the muddy bank.
He could spot his friend in the thin vegetation almost immediately.
Tiris was crouched and furiously working on something on the ground. There was a small lantern hanging above his head, moving from one side to the other together with the wind. Its dim glow was hiding rather than illuminating. Faramir opened his eyes wider, gazing into the darkness, trying to pierce it, but to no avail. As much as he tried, he could not see more than Tiris' strange, haggard motions.
It was scaring him.
He had heard about soldiers who crumpled after their first battle and never were the same again, but he had never seen anything like it before.
Fascinated by the sinister appearance and his own strange perverse interest in this madness, Faramir stepped a few paces closer to the source of the light. When a stick broke under his foot, Faramir immediately halted; to observe madness was something different than to have its attention centred on him.
Wind was ruffling his hair and wheezing around his ears, and he hoped that it was strong enough to cover up the noise he had made. His hope had faded, when Tiris stopped to move with his arms and turned to him.
Tiris' face was almost hidden in the darkness and Faramir thought, his eyes glittered like the ones of a cat.
Within this moment of uncertainty he felt like a prey.
Tiris moved a little and the faint glow of the lantern fell upon his face; his expression was a testimony of his
inner torment.
Faramir expected madness to shine in the glinting dark eyes, yet there was nothing of such kind there. Only pain.
Tiris straightened, waved to him. When Faramir did not move, he called in a silent voice.
"Faramir, come here. I will show you something."
Like a whisper of death! Faramir immediately chastised himself for the ridiculous thought, but the fear he felt inside did not want to release its fingers closed around his heart.
He forced his legs to move forward to Tiris, who motioned to the canvas lying on the ground.
"This is my best work, I am sure. It is called the Victory!"
Entering the small circle of light around the lantern, Faramir finally got a look at the work.
The canvas was covered in a strange mixture of reddish brown. Faramir gazed at it questioningly. Only then his eyes fell on his friends hands. They were covered in mud and blood flowing from several cuts of different lengths covering the artist's palms.
Faramir felt bile rising into his throat. From the amount of the blood covering Tiris' hands and the canvas Faramir guessed Tiris must have lost more of the precious liquid than he could afford. The artist did not seem to be influenced by it, though.
Faramir tried to preserve the little reason Tiris hopefully still had.
"Yes. I think you are right, it really looks like your best work."
"I knew you would be of the same opinion! And when it would be finished!"
Faramir looked at the strange artistic work again. To his horror, it appeared as if something new was trying to get out from inside his friend. Something scaring. But despite that this work was by far better than anything Tiris had created before.
Scared by this sudden interest, Faramir supressed the thought. There could be nothing grand about it for it was a work born of suffering.
But is not every great work born of suffering?
Stepping closer to his friend, Faramir tried to insist soothingly.
"Come, the painting can wait. Midnight is coming soon and there will be a difficult day tomorrow. "
Tiris' eyes left his work and looked at Faramir suspiciously, " This does not sound like you at all. I have presented my unfinished work to you which will be the best I have created so far and you want me to give up working on it?" then he cried out, "I am giving you my soul!"
Taking Tiris bleeding hands in his, Faramir said, sadness welling up in him. "You have already given me more than you could, more than you should."
Tiris set his one hand free and softly touched Faramir, leaving a bloody trail on his cheek, "Faramir, always so mindful of the others. Do not be afraid for my sake."
"When you want to ease my worries, come back with me. Let me take care of you and then rest."
Tiris looked back at the painting, undecided. Faramir hurried to finish the sentence. "Come." he took the painting from the ground, "I will take this, so you can finish it later."
Tiris nodded slowly, and suddenly he appeared tired. Faramir quickly recovered everything and they set out on the way back to the camp. Walking back, worries crept back to him. Tiris was leaning on him, obviously more exhausted than he wanted to admit. Faramir doubted whether his friend would be able to walk on his own. It was unthinkable to try to get into the camp past the guards with Tiris in his condition without being noticed. How would he explain their strange posture? And more, how would he explain how they got out of the camp without being noticed?
"Come, at first we have to take care of your hands." He whispered to Tiris. He felt the older boy lean more into his shoulder and nod a little.
He lead Tiris back to Harnen. When they reached it Faramir almost slipped into it, taking Tiris down with him, but then he managed to keep his balance.
"Sit down here and let me take care of it."
To his surprise, Tiris obeyed this silent order and sat down by the stream heavily. Faramir crouched to him, cupped cold water into his hands and carefully poured it over Tiris' palms.
The mud closing the wound was almost dry, but with the water it started to wash away and some wounds began to bleed again.
Seeing this, Faramir dared to take a look at his friends face, but Tiris appeared to be in a kind of sleep: his eyes were closed and he was leaning on a tree. Faramir returned his attention to his task, relieved to know that the treatment was not so painful after all. By the time he finished his task, most of the reopened wounds were nearly closed, not bleeding at all.
Finally cleaning his own hands, he whispered, "Wake up. We are finished."
Tiris' eyes slowly opened and he asked sluggishly, "We can return now?"
Faramir turned back to the camp worried, it was not very far and the guards could hear them. He took Tiris' arm and threw it over his shoulders, helping his friend to stand up.
"Be quiet. The guards must not hear us!"
Tiris nodded, but Faramir was not certain if his friend understood.
Faramir supported Tiris, stumbling over this additional weight. The further they got, the more Faramir became convinced it was not possible for the guards not to notice them. He had tried to walk straight, but Tiris was walking heavily and unsteadily, swaying both himself and Faramir.
If Faramir had hoped to get into the camp unnoticed his hope was fading with each passing moment. He could see calm horses and tents, but more important was that he could see the guards, and they saw them!
It seemed like their well of luck was to end.
"Hold on a little moment. Then you can rest," he whispered to Tiris' ear, who to his surprise nodded dumbly into his shoulder.
"I have an idea, but walk on."
They swayed further to the camp. Faramir could already see the guards and was relieved that he did not know them very well. With a little luck they did not know him either.
Just as he expected, the guards had noticed them immediately and had drawn their weapons. For a moment Faramir was afraid that they would shoot them as intruders, but to his relief when they came closer, one of the guards chuckled,
"Do not shoot! Is it not the captain's small brother?" he mockingly asked the other.
Faramir knew he had to act soon before they had a chance to give them a second look. With slurred almost incomprehensible words he growled, "How dare you to call me little brother?"
The other guard joined the first and chuckled slyly, "Yes. And it seems like he has drunk more than he should have. They could have shared at least. Do you think we should tell the captain?" he asked half laughing.
A pang of fear went through Faramir's heart. Boromir must not know!
"Forget about it. The way they both look, the headache they will have tomorrow will be enough of a punishment. They will be sick like dogs," they laughed viciously and let them pass by.
When they were far enough, Tiris' whispered, "I did not know you could act so well."
Faramir shrugged gently, "Experience."
Tiris mirthlessly drawled, "Of course."
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Faramir sadly looked at the figure of his friend huddled in the covers. Although Tiris was covered with Faramir's covers as well, he was still shivering and Faramir strongly suspected that it would take more than only blankets to make Tiris feel warm again. He had never seen anyone at the brink of his strength, yet he was certain that Tiris was at the end of his.
Faramir tore his eyes away and looked upon the green rough linen of the tent. It was not one of the most appealing sights it offered, but at least he did not have to watch Tiris. He could not loathe Tiris for his weakness, only himself for his own.
Can you ever forgive my self pity? Without seeking consolation I had found it in my brother. I had forgotten about you. Though you might have needed it more than I did.
Faramir forcibly pushed the thought out of his mind. Most likely his words would not have made any difference. The soft nudge into the open arms of insanity was already given and Tiris was sliding down the path of madness into its embrace without slowing down. There was no way to stop it.
Faramir bit hard into his lower lip hard.
If we cannot stop the sliding, then we will have to bend the path.
He smiled vaguely into the night. The thought appeared nearly outrageously simple, but already as he started to explore it, Faramir realised that it was naiveté to consider it as such. There were about five hundred and fifty men in the camp and several healers who were constantly taking care of a few wounded. How to do something without being noticed by anyone? It almost seemed an impossible task.
He had to act quickly, but think thoroughly as well. Faramir lowered himself onto his sleeping place and rested his chin on his folded arms.
How to manage something so horribly difficult when the time was short, resources thin and the eyes all around them were ever watchful?
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THREE HEYS TO ALEX FOR CONSTRUCTIVE QUESTION!!!
Alex-my favourite review, almost criticsm, but definitely constructive. I can't believe that I forgot to mention it myself. I implanted the answer among the lines which will be in the next chapter, but only thanks to you. THANK YOU That would be really pretty strange if I didn't mention such a needed fact. I mean the Steward's family almost fell apart because of the orphans and I forgot to mention them!! Terrible me tsk tsk
tHe InSaNe One-hey I didn't mean to insult you with the you-thing ;). Faramir surely does get into several situation which I would not describe as heart-wrenching, but let's say tense and difficult. I can guarantee you that. How will Denethor react? I don't know precisely myself yet. I have a very vague idea, but I know how strange Denethor can be. The question is whether he would cooperate, that is another thing, I can tell you he is quite subborn chap.
Caroly-I admit that I love to play in characters' heads and especially in Faramir's so cute and intelligent one. That's a real pleasure. I only hope that I won't let you, poor readers, leave emotionally scarred. ;-)
Shlee Verde-I have to admit that I personally like this chapter a lot, I hope you enjoyed it just like you did the last one. I am sorry that you had to wait so long, but it was really inevitable.
I thank you everyone who encouraged me and told me one way or another that he/she likes the story, EVERY comment (criticising especially) is welcome!
If you have any questions or didn't like something, just drop me a line I will surely respond. Constructive criticism is more than welcomed.