uFARAMIR THERAPY SESSION NO.2/u
The therapist found herself going back over and over her session with Faramir son of Denethor during the course of the week, and on the next Thursday she fidgeted with impatience as she awaited his arrival, glancing at her watch and tapping her pen and glancing at the clock.
She began to wish that he were one of those clients who arrived early rather than late, but as the minute hand of the clock crept subtly towards the three, worry started gnawing at her. The therapist leapt to her feet finally, hurrying to her door once more. "Helen? That Faramir guy didn't ring to cancel did he?"
Helen pulled a face and nodded her head almost imperceptibly towards the small cloakroom. Faramir's odd little smile peered around the doorframe. "I'm sorry I'm late, Miss Julie. I was delayed upon leaving, otherwise I would have been on time this week."
The therapist halted in the doorway, composing herself a little. It would never to for clients to see their therapist in a state of stress. "Ah, Faramir, I'm glad you could make it. It's okay if you're a little late - I have plenty of time today."
He nodded graciously and stepped out of the cloakroom, his weapons apparently already laid down in there. She moved out of the way and into her office, leaving the door open for him before going to sit in her chair and waiting for him to come in. She jumped when his voice spoke from somewhere close behind her. She hadn't even heard the door click shut.
"Miss Julie-"
"Oh!"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he looked down at her, that assessing look making itself known again. "I was going to ask if it would be alright for me to sit on a chair this week - I wasn't very relaxed sitting on the bed."
"Yes, yes that would be fine." she mumbled distractedly, hurrying to her feet again and fetching the swivel chair from behind her desk. She wheeled it across the thick carpet with difficulty, then started trying to turn her armchair to face it. Faramir - who had been watching her with a very bemused expression - now moved to help her. She stepped back as he easily manoeuvred the large piece of furniture.
"Um, thank you."
He just glanced at her once, a strange little twitch of a smile on his face and a shrewd gleam in his eye. He relaxed into the swivel chair then, casually swinging from side to side on it.
"So." she began, pressing the button on her tape recorder down with finality. "How have you been over this last week, Faramir?"
He sighed and stilled the movement of the chair by uncrossing his legs and planting his feet down firmly. His hands came unclasped and each one now gripped an arm of the chair feverishly. He leaned forwards and fixed the therapist with a piercing stare. "I had to fight my way back in to see my father - allies of ours have come to help defend our city, and I believe the small matter of a forfeit on my life have been forgotten. There are terrible things attacking us, Miss Julie. I doubt you could understand, but they are the epitome of every man's fear. Even the bravest scatter before them." He looked away and leaned back again, his voice becoming bitter. "Yet still my father bears his grudge and shuns my advice and reason."
The therapist frowned, troubled by the thought of such an unforgiving person. "Did your father ever harm you or your brother, Faramir? Did he.beat you?"
His attention returned to her quickly, and he seemed puzzled. "He had no need of it. We did not steal like the other children and we attended all our lessons - both the physical ones and the mental. We did not disobey him ever."
"Would you have?"
"I don't understand."
"If he wasn't so.domineering, would you have been more like the other children? Were you kept subdued by fear of him?"
His eyes narrowed as though he finally understood, and he leaned his chin on a leather-clad hand. "I suppose so. But I think we also had a genuine desire to learn. Boromir so that he could live up to father's expectations and myself so as I could prove worthy of the role I desired. Father did shout, though, if that is what you are getting at, Miss Julie?"
"Go on, Faramir," the therapist encouraged.
"After our mother died when we were very young, father could think of little other than Boromir's training. If I entered a conversation between the two at mealtimes, or if I defeated Boromir in duelling practices that father watched, I would be told either that their business was none of mine, or to play fairly. I don't know if father ever let himself believe I could truly be better than Boromir at anything. If Ianyone/I could be better than him. That's why his death came as such a shock. It's what has made him become so pessimistic recently, I believe." He managed a rueful almost-smile; "but of course, it is for the therapist to decide."
She smiled a little at this, then leaned forward herself, looking at him in earnest. "You keep coming back to your brother's death. How much do you think it has affected you? As much as your father?"
He leaned back in the chair so that he was looking down at her. "Yes. I loved my brother as much as my father did. Only it has affected me in other ways," he said shortly, obviously not finding this as easy as the rest of their conversation.
"And how do you think it has affected you in comparison with your father's reactions?" she pressed. "This is likely to be very important to our sessions, Faramir, I want you to understand that."
For a moment the therapist did not believe that he was going to answer her question - his lips were firmly pressed, paling to the colour of his light skin, and his head was held high and proud. He looked like an offended stallion that was judging a rider to be worthy or not. Eventually a quiver ran down his neck and it relaxed, his lips parting in a sigh of resignation as colour flowed back into them. His shoulders slumped a tiny bit, and he couldn't hold eye contact any longer. "If anything, I think it has given me hope where it has sapped my father's. But it has made me numb. I do not see the beauty of my land as I used to; I do not stop to observe anymore. I no longer feel such a thrill as I used to before battle; I have become like a drone. My only goal is to continue fighting for my city and my father. To prove to him that although Boromir is dead he still has me.
"I don't think I am as open with my emotions as I used to be. My brother and I used to talk much together. Our rooms were near enough that when I dreamed - " Faramir stopped abruptly, as though waking up or realising that he was on the brink of revealing something he shouldn't have. He continued warily, "When I dreamed of evil things he might hear my upset and be awake for me to speak with. Together we could discern the meanings of such visions and afterwards our minds would be at peace. We knew that we could share anything with one another. Despite father's.favouritism we remained friends, as brothers should be. Even when our city began to be attacked we fought alongside one another and there was no man in our realm who would not follow the sons of the Steward into battle," he gave a rueful laugh and cupped his chin in one of his hands again. "Yes, we were well liked together. But when you take away the arrow the bow is useless. Alone Boromir left our realm in search of answers. He did not return. And now that I alone govern our army I feel burdened. I feel weary and lonely, but still with hope and still with a desire to fight. I am torn."
The therapist checked that her tape recorder was still on, astounded and gladdened by her client's lapse into a reverie of spoken emotions. This was what most of her clients did right from the start - they came expecting to have to perform like that. Now she felt as though she were coming closer to understanding the problem and she felt her own shoulders tire a little; as though she now shared the warrior's burden.
"So you think his death has made you isolated?" she asked as gently as she could, her hands trembling a little.
He gave a small start and his chin leapt an inch or so off his hand. He blinked and gave a gasp, as if only just remembering her presence. His hand almost instantly covered his eyes and he turned his head away from her.
"Yes, that's what I think," Faramir said quietly, still not looking up. He pulled the glove off the hand that covered his face - the motion was angry, swift, frustrated. He sniffed and drew his weathered fingers across his cheeks, blinking back further tears. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Miss Julie, this is silly, I - "
"It is not silly, Faramir son of Denethor!" The therapist strode across the room and hefted a box of Kleenex from her desk with one hand. She placed it firmly on his knees and said, "Don't be ashamed to cry - that's the first step on your road to recovery! Remember that. I know it's hard." she continued as he ignored the tissues, his shoulder twitching convulsively while he tried in vain to bottle everything up again. "I know it's hard, because as you say, you have been shying away from displays of emotion, but once you've finished, I promise that you will feel the burden you carry with you lighten a little."
He drew a deeper breath and lowered his hand. The therapist gazed down at him as she stood between the two chairs and felt that she had already become much more involved in this particular case than any other she had ever happened across. Faramir's eyes were closed but silent tears were now washing his cheeks and matting his lashes. He took off his other glove and let the pair fall to the floor beside his chair before opening his eyes again. He glanced briefly up at the therapist, flashing a brief smile for show and picking a tissue from the box.
With a sigh part of relief, and part of pity, the therapist resumed her seat opposite him. It saddened her to see his proud face distorted by tears and loss, and she found herself becoming curious once more about his culture. It appeared to her that though war apparently ravaged his people and deaths occurred too often to count them all, the people were still sensitive to suffering and still retained goodness, despite the evil deeds they themselves performed. Pursing her lips a little in thought, the therapist leant forwards once more, rocking a little on the edge of her seat.
She said nothing while he fought his emotions back, and waited patiently as he massaged his temples and eyes impatiently, and drew deep breaths of self- disgust. Only when with a final gasp he leant back in his chair once more and studied her with reddened - but steady - eyes did she speak.
"Faramir," she said gently but insistently. "Would it be at all possible to meet your father - Denethor?"
His determination to keep eye contact faltered, and his glance fell and leapt from one spot on the floor to another as he thought about it. The therapist cringed to see his fingers whitening as he squeezed the armrests. She saw that they were unclean - and she did not think that it was just mud underneath the ragged nails. Her thoughts were interrupted when with a sudden return to his calculating, shrewd form, he asked, "Why do you wish to see him? It is I who came to you for help and anyway, I could not bring my father here."
"In some ways you are so similar to other people who have come to me with family troubles, Faramir," the therapist admitted, breaking her policy of never mentioning other clients to the one she was with. "But in other ways you are the most unusual and different person I have ever met. I don't think I can understand your situation fully until I know more - I think it may help me to see Gondor, and to meet with your father."
He leaned his head back on the headrest and studied her with an amused, relaxed expression, although she could still see a dampness on his cheeks. "And what should I say to my father were I to take you before him? That I am seeing a therapist from the wild lands beyond Rûhn? If he even knew that I am seeing a therapist he would be so angry that he would curse me a thousand times, and curse the death of Boromir a thousand more, all before wishing for my death instead of his."
The therapist's next argument died on her lips. "Where? Where on earth is.'Roon'? And where is 'Gondor'? I haven't heard of either, and I've been wondering for some time about your city. How is it that a full scale war can be waged without the knowledge of.of anyone?"
His lips curved a little and he interlaced his hands before his chin, watching her. "You have not heard of them because to you they do not exist. There is no place for you but earth. There is no Middle-earth for you - because no-one here knows how to find it."
The therapist almost blurted out to him that he was beginning to show the signs of someone who deserved a straightjacket and padded cell, but something held her back. She knew that all the others had been just as sure as Faramir was of their other lands' existence. She kept reminding herself that. But none of them had carried a sword and bow, none of them had come to her willingly nor under the pretence of family upsets, and none of them seemed quite so.Inormal/I. She knew that although so much about him seemed strange, when compared with those who had been committed to mental hospitals he was positively sane.
"Please, show me where it is. At least take me there once. I promise I won't ask to meet your father, but show me Middle-earth."
Obviously enjoying being the one in control this time, Faramir leisurely stretched his arms back and rested his head on his locked fingers. His grin was feral when he asked; "Can you ride? It is many miles by horseback from the land you call Dartmoor to Rûhn and took me at least two days by your reckoning through paths that I knew of without the burden of another."
"Horseback? You don't travel by cars? Or planes?" The therapist was beginning to feel considerably out of her depth.
"We are fighting a war that - among other things - aims to ensure that we remain free of cars and planes. They would do grievous harm to our lands and cause naught but upset I'll warrant."
"I could.I could get a couple of riding lessons during the week - enough so that I'd know how to stay on a horse at least. I'm physically up to it, I do yoga and aerobics, and I know enough about camping and travelling by foot to hold my own. Will you meet me in a week and take me to Middle-earth with you or not?"
Faramir gave her the full force of his quiet considering look. His fingers rubbed absent-mindedly at the stubble in the shallow dimple in his chin. "Very well. You must dress appropriately - wear trousers. Do not bother with food for I can arrange that. I am to meet you here at my normal time next week?"
The therapist didn't reply for a moment, so stunned was she that he'd agreed to take her. Doubts began to float up to the surface of her mind that had been forgotten in her sea of interest, but she knew that it had been her who had pressed the point and now she could not go back on herself. "No, not here. I'll meet you outside my house. Do you know Oxford Street? It's a rather main one, the houses are a little more spread out with a little more garden." Faramir nodded. "I live at number forty-two. Meet me there at nine? Ten? On Thursday next week."
"Nine would be better if you don't mind, Miss Julie - an hour can make a lot of difference."
"Nine it is then," the therapist said with feigned satisfaction, hoping that her troubles were not lining her face, as they were wont to do. She stood up and smoothed her skirt self-consciously before offering her hand to Faramir once more. He gave a sigh and clasped it with one of his own long-fingered hands, but he didn't shake it - he drew it to him a little and gave it a gentle kiss on the knuckles. The therapist felt her jaw drop as he got up, gave a small bow, and left her office.
The therapist found herself going back over and over her session with Faramir son of Denethor during the course of the week, and on the next Thursday she fidgeted with impatience as she awaited his arrival, glancing at her watch and tapping her pen and glancing at the clock.
She began to wish that he were one of those clients who arrived early rather than late, but as the minute hand of the clock crept subtly towards the three, worry started gnawing at her. The therapist leapt to her feet finally, hurrying to her door once more. "Helen? That Faramir guy didn't ring to cancel did he?"
Helen pulled a face and nodded her head almost imperceptibly towards the small cloakroom. Faramir's odd little smile peered around the doorframe. "I'm sorry I'm late, Miss Julie. I was delayed upon leaving, otherwise I would have been on time this week."
The therapist halted in the doorway, composing herself a little. It would never to for clients to see their therapist in a state of stress. "Ah, Faramir, I'm glad you could make it. It's okay if you're a little late - I have plenty of time today."
He nodded graciously and stepped out of the cloakroom, his weapons apparently already laid down in there. She moved out of the way and into her office, leaving the door open for him before going to sit in her chair and waiting for him to come in. She jumped when his voice spoke from somewhere close behind her. She hadn't even heard the door click shut.
"Miss Julie-"
"Oh!"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he looked down at her, that assessing look making itself known again. "I was going to ask if it would be alright for me to sit on a chair this week - I wasn't very relaxed sitting on the bed."
"Yes, yes that would be fine." she mumbled distractedly, hurrying to her feet again and fetching the swivel chair from behind her desk. She wheeled it across the thick carpet with difficulty, then started trying to turn her armchair to face it. Faramir - who had been watching her with a very bemused expression - now moved to help her. She stepped back as he easily manoeuvred the large piece of furniture.
"Um, thank you."
He just glanced at her once, a strange little twitch of a smile on his face and a shrewd gleam in his eye. He relaxed into the swivel chair then, casually swinging from side to side on it.
"So." she began, pressing the button on her tape recorder down with finality. "How have you been over this last week, Faramir?"
He sighed and stilled the movement of the chair by uncrossing his legs and planting his feet down firmly. His hands came unclasped and each one now gripped an arm of the chair feverishly. He leaned forwards and fixed the therapist with a piercing stare. "I had to fight my way back in to see my father - allies of ours have come to help defend our city, and I believe the small matter of a forfeit on my life have been forgotten. There are terrible things attacking us, Miss Julie. I doubt you could understand, but they are the epitome of every man's fear. Even the bravest scatter before them." He looked away and leaned back again, his voice becoming bitter. "Yet still my father bears his grudge and shuns my advice and reason."
The therapist frowned, troubled by the thought of such an unforgiving person. "Did your father ever harm you or your brother, Faramir? Did he.beat you?"
His attention returned to her quickly, and he seemed puzzled. "He had no need of it. We did not steal like the other children and we attended all our lessons - both the physical ones and the mental. We did not disobey him ever."
"Would you have?"
"I don't understand."
"If he wasn't so.domineering, would you have been more like the other children? Were you kept subdued by fear of him?"
His eyes narrowed as though he finally understood, and he leaned his chin on a leather-clad hand. "I suppose so. But I think we also had a genuine desire to learn. Boromir so that he could live up to father's expectations and myself so as I could prove worthy of the role I desired. Father did shout, though, if that is what you are getting at, Miss Julie?"
"Go on, Faramir," the therapist encouraged.
"After our mother died when we were very young, father could think of little other than Boromir's training. If I entered a conversation between the two at mealtimes, or if I defeated Boromir in duelling practices that father watched, I would be told either that their business was none of mine, or to play fairly. I don't know if father ever let himself believe I could truly be better than Boromir at anything. If Ianyone/I could be better than him. That's why his death came as such a shock. It's what has made him become so pessimistic recently, I believe." He managed a rueful almost-smile; "but of course, it is for the therapist to decide."
She smiled a little at this, then leaned forward herself, looking at him in earnest. "You keep coming back to your brother's death. How much do you think it has affected you? As much as your father?"
He leaned back in the chair so that he was looking down at her. "Yes. I loved my brother as much as my father did. Only it has affected me in other ways," he said shortly, obviously not finding this as easy as the rest of their conversation.
"And how do you think it has affected you in comparison with your father's reactions?" she pressed. "This is likely to be very important to our sessions, Faramir, I want you to understand that."
For a moment the therapist did not believe that he was going to answer her question - his lips were firmly pressed, paling to the colour of his light skin, and his head was held high and proud. He looked like an offended stallion that was judging a rider to be worthy or not. Eventually a quiver ran down his neck and it relaxed, his lips parting in a sigh of resignation as colour flowed back into them. His shoulders slumped a tiny bit, and he couldn't hold eye contact any longer. "If anything, I think it has given me hope where it has sapped my father's. But it has made me numb. I do not see the beauty of my land as I used to; I do not stop to observe anymore. I no longer feel such a thrill as I used to before battle; I have become like a drone. My only goal is to continue fighting for my city and my father. To prove to him that although Boromir is dead he still has me.
"I don't think I am as open with my emotions as I used to be. My brother and I used to talk much together. Our rooms were near enough that when I dreamed - " Faramir stopped abruptly, as though waking up or realising that he was on the brink of revealing something he shouldn't have. He continued warily, "When I dreamed of evil things he might hear my upset and be awake for me to speak with. Together we could discern the meanings of such visions and afterwards our minds would be at peace. We knew that we could share anything with one another. Despite father's.favouritism we remained friends, as brothers should be. Even when our city began to be attacked we fought alongside one another and there was no man in our realm who would not follow the sons of the Steward into battle," he gave a rueful laugh and cupped his chin in one of his hands again. "Yes, we were well liked together. But when you take away the arrow the bow is useless. Alone Boromir left our realm in search of answers. He did not return. And now that I alone govern our army I feel burdened. I feel weary and lonely, but still with hope and still with a desire to fight. I am torn."
The therapist checked that her tape recorder was still on, astounded and gladdened by her client's lapse into a reverie of spoken emotions. This was what most of her clients did right from the start - they came expecting to have to perform like that. Now she felt as though she were coming closer to understanding the problem and she felt her own shoulders tire a little; as though she now shared the warrior's burden.
"So you think his death has made you isolated?" she asked as gently as she could, her hands trembling a little.
He gave a small start and his chin leapt an inch or so off his hand. He blinked and gave a gasp, as if only just remembering her presence. His hand almost instantly covered his eyes and he turned his head away from her.
"Yes, that's what I think," Faramir said quietly, still not looking up. He pulled the glove off the hand that covered his face - the motion was angry, swift, frustrated. He sniffed and drew his weathered fingers across his cheeks, blinking back further tears. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Miss Julie, this is silly, I - "
"It is not silly, Faramir son of Denethor!" The therapist strode across the room and hefted a box of Kleenex from her desk with one hand. She placed it firmly on his knees and said, "Don't be ashamed to cry - that's the first step on your road to recovery! Remember that. I know it's hard." she continued as he ignored the tissues, his shoulder twitching convulsively while he tried in vain to bottle everything up again. "I know it's hard, because as you say, you have been shying away from displays of emotion, but once you've finished, I promise that you will feel the burden you carry with you lighten a little."
He drew a deeper breath and lowered his hand. The therapist gazed down at him as she stood between the two chairs and felt that she had already become much more involved in this particular case than any other she had ever happened across. Faramir's eyes were closed but silent tears were now washing his cheeks and matting his lashes. He took off his other glove and let the pair fall to the floor beside his chair before opening his eyes again. He glanced briefly up at the therapist, flashing a brief smile for show and picking a tissue from the box.
With a sigh part of relief, and part of pity, the therapist resumed her seat opposite him. It saddened her to see his proud face distorted by tears and loss, and she found herself becoming curious once more about his culture. It appeared to her that though war apparently ravaged his people and deaths occurred too often to count them all, the people were still sensitive to suffering and still retained goodness, despite the evil deeds they themselves performed. Pursing her lips a little in thought, the therapist leant forwards once more, rocking a little on the edge of her seat.
She said nothing while he fought his emotions back, and waited patiently as he massaged his temples and eyes impatiently, and drew deep breaths of self- disgust. Only when with a final gasp he leant back in his chair once more and studied her with reddened - but steady - eyes did she speak.
"Faramir," she said gently but insistently. "Would it be at all possible to meet your father - Denethor?"
His determination to keep eye contact faltered, and his glance fell and leapt from one spot on the floor to another as he thought about it. The therapist cringed to see his fingers whitening as he squeezed the armrests. She saw that they were unclean - and she did not think that it was just mud underneath the ragged nails. Her thoughts were interrupted when with a sudden return to his calculating, shrewd form, he asked, "Why do you wish to see him? It is I who came to you for help and anyway, I could not bring my father here."
"In some ways you are so similar to other people who have come to me with family troubles, Faramir," the therapist admitted, breaking her policy of never mentioning other clients to the one she was with. "But in other ways you are the most unusual and different person I have ever met. I don't think I can understand your situation fully until I know more - I think it may help me to see Gondor, and to meet with your father."
He leaned his head back on the headrest and studied her with an amused, relaxed expression, although she could still see a dampness on his cheeks. "And what should I say to my father were I to take you before him? That I am seeing a therapist from the wild lands beyond Rûhn? If he even knew that I am seeing a therapist he would be so angry that he would curse me a thousand times, and curse the death of Boromir a thousand more, all before wishing for my death instead of his."
The therapist's next argument died on her lips. "Where? Where on earth is.'Roon'? And where is 'Gondor'? I haven't heard of either, and I've been wondering for some time about your city. How is it that a full scale war can be waged without the knowledge of.of anyone?"
His lips curved a little and he interlaced his hands before his chin, watching her. "You have not heard of them because to you they do not exist. There is no place for you but earth. There is no Middle-earth for you - because no-one here knows how to find it."
The therapist almost blurted out to him that he was beginning to show the signs of someone who deserved a straightjacket and padded cell, but something held her back. She knew that all the others had been just as sure as Faramir was of their other lands' existence. She kept reminding herself that. But none of them had carried a sword and bow, none of them had come to her willingly nor under the pretence of family upsets, and none of them seemed quite so.Inormal/I. She knew that although so much about him seemed strange, when compared with those who had been committed to mental hospitals he was positively sane.
"Please, show me where it is. At least take me there once. I promise I won't ask to meet your father, but show me Middle-earth."
Obviously enjoying being the one in control this time, Faramir leisurely stretched his arms back and rested his head on his locked fingers. His grin was feral when he asked; "Can you ride? It is many miles by horseback from the land you call Dartmoor to Rûhn and took me at least two days by your reckoning through paths that I knew of without the burden of another."
"Horseback? You don't travel by cars? Or planes?" The therapist was beginning to feel considerably out of her depth.
"We are fighting a war that - among other things - aims to ensure that we remain free of cars and planes. They would do grievous harm to our lands and cause naught but upset I'll warrant."
"I could.I could get a couple of riding lessons during the week - enough so that I'd know how to stay on a horse at least. I'm physically up to it, I do yoga and aerobics, and I know enough about camping and travelling by foot to hold my own. Will you meet me in a week and take me to Middle-earth with you or not?"
Faramir gave her the full force of his quiet considering look. His fingers rubbed absent-mindedly at the stubble in the shallow dimple in his chin. "Very well. You must dress appropriately - wear trousers. Do not bother with food for I can arrange that. I am to meet you here at my normal time next week?"
The therapist didn't reply for a moment, so stunned was she that he'd agreed to take her. Doubts began to float up to the surface of her mind that had been forgotten in her sea of interest, but she knew that it had been her who had pressed the point and now she could not go back on herself. "No, not here. I'll meet you outside my house. Do you know Oxford Street? It's a rather main one, the houses are a little more spread out with a little more garden." Faramir nodded. "I live at number forty-two. Meet me there at nine? Ten? On Thursday next week."
"Nine would be better if you don't mind, Miss Julie - an hour can make a lot of difference."
"Nine it is then," the therapist said with feigned satisfaction, hoping that her troubles were not lining her face, as they were wont to do. She stood up and smoothed her skirt self-consciously before offering her hand to Faramir once more. He gave a sigh and clasped it with one of his own long-fingered hands, but he didn't shake it - he drew it to him a little and gave it a gentle kiss on the knuckles. The therapist felt her jaw drop as he got up, gave a small bow, and left her office.