Love me Father! Love me!
Faramir's pain rung throughout his body, as physically true as the sour
lurching of his stomach as he ran up the stone steps of the Aagellath
garden.
Love me Father! Love me! He tore through a close hedge of thorn bushes.
Running harder now, tears flowing down his cheeks like rivers from the
ocean of want and suffering.
Very soon, he was tired and could run no longer. Panting, he fell to the ground, face groveling into his already wet palms. His eyelids stung with the salt from his tears, and shamefully, the repeated rubbing he had given them. Faramir tried to calm himself, tried to push the hurts far from him. He had had it with self-pity, none was achieved with the inward looking attention.
He would have to earn his Fathers love. There had to be something, something that he was doing wrong. He would have to go to war. He would bring his men to the gates of Mordor, he would fight down Sauron with his own hands. he would capture the ring and bring it to his Father-! And that was exactly what Boromir would do. That was surely why his Father, the great Denethor, favored Boromir so. It was his courage, his manly skills, his physical strength and valor of a true prince.
And what am I? What am I?
Faramir asked himself quietly, And what am I? What am I?.
Always stuck in the books, his valiant Father would complain. A quiet soul, a coward of a boy when he was younger, one that loved to walk the gardens and sing songs to his lonely heart, one that thought much and grew pale till his Father forced him out to work with the scouts of Gondor. He had learned to talk to others more and not shy away from their intrusive eyes, but he still yearned for quiet. For time alone with those he loved, for true talk and not the worldly gibberish that Gondor soldiers seemed so fond of. He wanted to spend time with those who saw true goals and not ones of emptiness and defeat. He wanted to.
Leave. He wanted to leave.
Faramir whispered to himself, until a servant stumbled upon him a few hours later. "Prince Faramir!", the girl squeaked, large brown eyes thrown open in awe and speechlessness. He felt a strange sort of contentment at the attention that he had never had from his Father.
He nodded gravely at the little girl and hoped wildly that his tears and rashes were long gone. Oh! How could he bare it if the rumor of prince Faramir crying and rubbing at his eyes, all alone in the deserted gardens. he had had enough shame! Enough!
"What is it you want?" he snapped without meaning to, eyes ablaze as if the embarrassment had already taken place and was not simply a threatening possibility. The girl backed up, near tripping over the stone steps as she drew back farther from him- where he crouched, sad and alone, at the bottom of the stairs, "W-why, Prince! Prince Faramir. M'Lady sent me out t-to loo-k for you, my Prince-!"
Faramir felt his anger die as quickly as it had come, and faster, as he nodded resignedly, "Excuse my harshness then, tell the Lady I am making way."
Bravely, the girl smiled and turned to leave, saying in a shy voice over her shoulder, "So, they were right about you m'Lord." she paused, waiting for him to invite her on.
He nodded.
"They says you gots a sweet heart." she giggled and, mortified at herself, ran off.
Faramir felt a flame of pain and fury well up in his chest. Sweet heart? How dare they mock him?! He'd had enough. He wanted to leave. Leave to where the nature of himself would no longer be a shame to him and his whole family.
Very soon, he was tired and could run no longer. Panting, he fell to the ground, face groveling into his already wet palms. His eyelids stung with the salt from his tears, and shamefully, the repeated rubbing he had given them. Faramir tried to calm himself, tried to push the hurts far from him. He had had it with self-pity, none was achieved with the inward looking attention.
He would have to earn his Fathers love. There had to be something, something that he was doing wrong. He would have to go to war. He would bring his men to the gates of Mordor, he would fight down Sauron with his own hands. he would capture the ring and bring it to his Father-! And that was exactly what Boromir would do. That was surely why his Father, the great Denethor, favored Boromir so. It was his courage, his manly skills, his physical strength and valor of a true prince.
And what am I? What am I?
Faramir asked himself quietly, And what am I? What am I?.
Always stuck in the books, his valiant Father would complain. A quiet soul, a coward of a boy when he was younger, one that loved to walk the gardens and sing songs to his lonely heart, one that thought much and grew pale till his Father forced him out to work with the scouts of Gondor. He had learned to talk to others more and not shy away from their intrusive eyes, but he still yearned for quiet. For time alone with those he loved, for true talk and not the worldly gibberish that Gondor soldiers seemed so fond of. He wanted to spend time with those who saw true goals and not ones of emptiness and defeat. He wanted to.
Leave. He wanted to leave.
Faramir whispered to himself, until a servant stumbled upon him a few hours later. "Prince Faramir!", the girl squeaked, large brown eyes thrown open in awe and speechlessness. He felt a strange sort of contentment at the attention that he had never had from his Father.
He nodded gravely at the little girl and hoped wildly that his tears and rashes were long gone. Oh! How could he bare it if the rumor of prince Faramir crying and rubbing at his eyes, all alone in the deserted gardens. he had had enough shame! Enough!
"What is it you want?" he snapped without meaning to, eyes ablaze as if the embarrassment had already taken place and was not simply a threatening possibility. The girl backed up, near tripping over the stone steps as she drew back farther from him- where he crouched, sad and alone, at the bottom of the stairs, "W-why, Prince! Prince Faramir. M'Lady sent me out t-to loo-k for you, my Prince-!"
Faramir felt his anger die as quickly as it had come, and faster, as he nodded resignedly, "Excuse my harshness then, tell the Lady I am making way."
Bravely, the girl smiled and turned to leave, saying in a shy voice over her shoulder, "So, they were right about you m'Lord." she paused, waiting for him to invite her on.
He nodded.
"They says you gots a sweet heart." she giggled and, mortified at herself, ran off.
Faramir felt a flame of pain and fury well up in his chest. Sweet heart? How dare they mock him?! He'd had enough. He wanted to leave. Leave to where the nature of himself would no longer be a shame to him and his whole family.