Disclaimer: Faramir the Amazing, etc. are not mine.
This chapter took me three weeks to write, if not more. You can blame it for the inordinate amount of time it took me to write this story as a whole. Well – part of it, anyway. It is rather choppy as a result, but we can all overlook that, can't we.
A special thanks to Emera for helping me figure out exactly how to have this conceivably happen.
Another thanks to all you reviewers out there!!
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Chapter Five: Dreaming
Faramir stood as straight as he could. His father, his brother, everyone was counting on him to show that the youngest member of the House of Mardil was strong and brave. He had to show them. Stealing a glance over at his father, he saw how straight and stern he was, and stood even straighter. He watched as the citizens filed past the body lying atop the tomb, one by one, most with tears in their eyes. The people had loved Finduilas, he knew that at least. Today was the last day she would lie in state. Today was the last day he would ever see her.
Eventually, when the long day of standing was over, the Steward's two little sons were taken back to their rooms. Faramir obediently let his nurse send him to bed, but he could not sleep. [Mother used to read to me when I couldn't sleep. I wish someone would read to me.] The boy climbed out of bed, and fetched himself a book. Sitting down on the bed, he tried to read, but he missed his mother's comforting arms around him, and her soft voice singing to him. Tears began to form in his eyes, but he stubbornly wiped his hand across his eyes. [Father told me not to cry. I will not cry.]
But he missed his mother terribly, and eventually he let the tears flow freely. He reprimanded himself for it, but did not try to stop. [If only I could see her one more time...] An idea quickly formed in his mind, and he grasped onto it, unthinkingly. [I can go to see her before they close the tomb, and put her away forever.] He crept over to his chair, and pulled on the tunic he had been wearing that day, and a dark cloak. [At least no one should see me,] he thought, double-checking that he was clad completely in black. Then he silently tiptoed out of his room, past the guards, past everyone, and down to the 6th level.
Faramir retraced his steps of earlier in the day back to the door to Fen Hollen, the Silent Street. The door was open. Before asking himself why, he made his plan of how to sneak past the Porter. Picking up a small rock, he tossed it a few feet away from him. The Porter walked over to where the rock lay. Using the opportunity, Faramir ran quietly behind him through the door. As soon as he was inside, he hid behind one of the pillars that lined the small passageway, and waited for the Porter to return. He did so soon, and Faramir held his breath while the man took his seat again, which faced away from the Silent Street and Faramir.
The boy waited another minute, to make sure the man would not come inside, and then he began to dart behind the columns that lined the alleyway, one at a time. It seemed darker there than in the rest of the City, but Faramir had come with a purpose, and would not let his imagination frighten him away. Finally, the narrow passageway came to an end, and Faramir entered the Hallows of Rath Dinen. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that no one had followed him, and he sighed in relief.
Faramir's confidence grew as he approached. Although shadows hung around him, haunting the solemn buildings lining the road, he plucked up his courage and walked steadily down the middle of the road. He thought back to earlier that day, and turned towards the last building on the left. Again, the door was open, and so Faramir walked in. Now his memory of the way was much less clear, and it was not soon before he was beginning to doubt his decision to come, as he stood debating in the vestibule. The tombs were shrouded in darkness, and Faramir's eyes adjusted quickly to the dark. It was then that he spied a light coming from one of the smaller hallways.
[They must keep a light in there. That's probably where Mother is. I remember going that way too.] Faramir walked towards it, around a few bends, until he reached the room where it was coming from, the room that held his mother. Suddenly, Faramir felt as though he was not alone. He peeped cautiously around the corner, into the room, and saw his father standing beside the pale body of his mother. [Why is Father here?] he questioned, and fear of discovery was overridden by a desire to see what his father was doing.
Faramir stared at the face of his motionless father, and Faramir saw that there were tears in the man's eyes, and that they continued to fall. He fought back the urge to run in and embrace his father, knowing that he would probably only anger him. Faramir's large eyes took in as much of the scene as he could – his father, holding a small nosegay of flowers, standing in vigil over his mother. It seemed to him to be unreal, and yet here was Denethor, who had never been seen to shed a tear, crying openly for his wife. [But he is not openly crying,] Faramir thought. [Father thinks he is alone.] Faramir felt a surge of guilt at intruding on the Steward. He backed away, thinking that he would leave his father. But suddenly Denethor leaned in over his wife, and said some quiet words, which Faramir couldn't hear. He then turned away from the tomb, and began walking towards his son.
Fear overcame reason, and Faramir, in a desperate attempt to avoid his father's sight, quickly opened one of the doors that led to a tomb. Knowing that the doors only locked on the inside, he made sure to leave the door open a crack so that he could escape as soon as his father passed. But as the Steward walked by, he paused in front of the door that Faramir hid behind. The door had no opening or crack, and so Faramir could not see his father, but as he held his breath, he heard the door close. And he knew he was locked in. As much as Faramir wanted to call out to his father to let him out, he didn't want his father to ever know that he had snuck to the tomb. So he said nothing, in the hopes that he might be able to find a way out after his father left. Gradually, the echoes of Denethor's footsteps receded, and Faramir was left alone in the crypt.
He tried to keep himself calm, as he tried to turn the doorknob. It did not move. Panic then overtook Faramir's mind. He tugged on the door handle as hard as he could, but it refused to budge. His heart began to beat even faster. Faramir began to shove the door with his hands, then his arms, and finally he threw himself at the door again and again, desperately praying that it would miraculously open and he would be set free. But his wish did not come true, leaving him with nothing but bruised arms and a broken spirit.
Suddenly, another idea, no matter how unlikely, formed in his mind. The darkness inside the tomb was impenetrable, making it well nigh impossible for him to see beyond an arm's length, but he thought that there might be another passage out of the tomb. With this in mind, Faramir rested his hands against the wall and began to follow it along the circumference, keeping at least one hand against the wall to feel for an entrance. The stone was cold to the touch, and Faramir shivered inside his cloak. Still, he ran his hands along the wall. Suddenly, he felt an empty space, no wall for him to hold onto. Excited, he turned towards the empty air, feeling anxiously ahead of him. His hands, though, met with a solid stone wall.
With a sigh and a sinking hope, Faramir lowered his hands to his sides. [How am I ever going to get out of here?] He paused in thought, considering the little alcove. [Maybe it is part of a door of some sort?] With this notion in mind, he felt again for the opening, finding it again quickly. Searching with his hands, he found the sides of the break in the wall, and ran his hands along one to find the bottom. His fingers rested on a small ledge about even with his waist. [Not a door, then,] he thought, whatever hope he had in him crashing. [Then what is it?] Reaching his hands in, he felt soft cloth. It seemed to be fine velvet, but it had been thinned with age. [With age.] A realization dawned on the boy. [This is a crypt. There must be – bodies – in here!] He gave a cry, and sprang back into the darkness. Losing his balance, he fell upon the cold, hard floor. With a small sob, he curled himself into a ball. [How am I going to get out of here?]
Despair crept into his heart, but he fought it back down. [There just has to be a way out of here,] he tried to reason, but he could not think of another way. His eyes had adjusted to the dark as best as they ever would, and yet he could still not see past his outstretched arms. [I should at least try to find my way back to the door.] He stood up uncertainly, not quite sure of where the wall was anymore, since he had sprang away from it so quickly. Faramir took two steps in the direction from which he came, feeling for the wall, but his hands did not touch anything. He began to question himself. [I thought I came from this direction. But was the wall on the other side instead?] He turned in his tracks, and began to walk in the other way. [There must be a wall here somewhere.] His senses told him that the room was relatively small, no more than the size of his bedroom. But if so, then where was the wall? [Well, it must be here somewhere.] He chose a direction and walked with his hands in front of him. After a few steps he felt a solid wall again, and breathed a sigh of relief.
This accomplished, Faramir tried to discover exactly where he was. He remembered turning right from the door, but choosing a direction from the middle of the room made him lose all sense of location. [If only it weren't so dark,] he thought. [I should have brought a light with me.] But he knew that these thoughts were not going to help, and so he contented himself with following the wall again.
Faramir followed the wall again, until suddenly he felt his hands brush up against the cloth. He stifled a cry as his hands touched it again. [I will not be afraid. I will be brave like Boromir.] He paused for a moment, feeling a small draft against his neck. A moment later, it was gone. He glanced over his shoulder, but of course could see nothing. Faramir's eyes looked nervously into the black, but it was no use. He turned in the opposite direction, remembering that the door was to the left of the alcove, and followed the wall again. His hands, he thought, should have met with the door by now, but still he continued walking, not having felt anything but stone. Suddenly, the arm that had been leaning against the wall had no support and Faramir lurched to the side, falling onto the wall. His arm landed on something hard, covered in velvet. [But I already found the body,] he thought in confusion. His hand felt the shape, and realized that it was another corpse. This time, however, he remembered to keep to the wall in his retreat, and he took a few steps before sitting with his back against the wall, his arms wrapped around his knees.
[I wish Mother was here,] he thought, and again tears began to trickle down his cheeks. [I don't want to stay in here. It's too dark – and quiet.] The sound of his heart seemed to echo loudly in the chamber, and the boy, accustomed to the large crowds of the court, found himself stifled by the unwavering silence. He sniffed slightly, and even that small sound magnified and bounced back to him. [I'm never going to get out of here.] He rested his head on his knees and began to cry.
But in a few moments he sat straight up, tensed. [Was that not the sound of laughter?] He shivered involuntarily. [I could have sworn that it was. I know what I heard. But it cannot be.] His mind fought with his senses, but in the end, neither won, for although he was still sure of what he had heard, no other sound was made.
After what seemed to be a few minutes, he heard the soft rustle of cloth. [It sounds like – velvet.] Unbidden fears flew into his mind. [It can't be...] Again, he heard the sound of moving cloth. But this time, he was certain.
"Is anyone there?" he said, feeling suddenly afraid, more so than he had ever felt before. "Who's there?" His voice echoed loudly. He took a step forward, away from the wall, but stopped in his tracks, hearing the rustle again. "Who is there?" he repeated, but louder and with more fear this time. There came no reply. Faramir began to shiver. He felt a draft pass behind him again, and he whirled around, half-expecting to confront a dead man. But there was nothing that he could see.
Again came the sound of laughter, but it was much more mournful this time, and it was closer. Faramir began to breathe more heavily, and his body began shaking in fear. His ears picked up the rustling again, as he walked forward. "Please, leave me alone, just leave me alone," he whispered, and he covered his ears and closed his eyes. He knelt on the ground, and bent himself over, so that his head nearly touched the ground, and rocked himself back and forth, trying to pretend that his mother's arms were still around him. He began to sing an old song that his mother had taught him, but still it could not calm him.
When what seemed to him to be hours had passed, he tentatively lowered his hands and opened his eyes. But as he did so, Faramir heard the rustling again, and it seemed to him that he could hear faint whispers, but they were too quiet to understand. Choking back a sob, he stood up and ran away from where he was, but it seemed to him that the whispers came even closer. His body met with the wall, and he turned his back towards it to face the center of the room. The air seemed harder to breathe somehow, and his heart began to beat faster. Faramir tried to get away from the whispers, but it seemed as though he was only coming closer, as he ran along the length of the wall.
As he ran, he felt the wooden beams of the door brush his arm, and stopped against its comforting presence. The whispers, now accompanied by that same rustling, had followed him there as well, and Faramir knelt again. Tears were streaming down his cheeks now, and he could not seem to catch his breath. In vain, he tugged again hopelessly on the door, but he already knew it would not open.
Abruptly, all the sounds died as Faramir heard the distinct sound of heavy footfalls, coming slowly towards him. His breathing quickened again. There was no change of pace, no occasional soft tread, just the steady rhythm of heavy boots against stone. Panic seized the boy, and he began to pound again on the door. "Please, let me out, someone!" he cried, as the pace quickened, increasing to a run, until it had reached him. He leaned back on the door, when suddenly it gave way to his body, and he fell into a sobbing heap on the floor.
Instantly he was gathered into someone's warm arms. His first thought was of his mother, but he remembered it was not so. But at the moment, he didn't particularly care who the person was, so long as they were protecting him. He continued to cry, first hysterically, but finally calming, until he reached a dull whimper. It was then that the embrace relaxed, and he was able to see the person.
"Faramir," Denethor said with worry in his voice, "what has happened? Are you ill? How did you –?"
"Father, I'm sorry..."
"What for? What has happened? How did you end up here?" Denethor drew him back into his arms, and took a shaky breath. "Tell me – how came you here?"
"Father, I'm so sorry," Faramir started brokenly, and he began to cry openly again. He could not forget his fears so easily – even now his heart was beating quickly. Denethor held him close, and hushed him only half- heartedly, letting his son cry his fill. Eventually the sobs became less common, and Faramir began to tell his tale. "I wanted to see Mother again, before you put her away."
Denethor clasped his son tightly. "Go on, Faramir," he said simply.
"I just found my way back here, but then I saw you standing next to Mother. I was going to go, but then you came towards me, and I thought – I thought you were going to be mad at me. So I hid myself in the room. But you closed the door and I couldn't get out."
"Oh, Faramir, my little son," Denethor said with a slight sigh. "I am sorry. I didn't realize you were in there." He ran his hand through Faramir's hair, trying to straighten the now-tousled waves. "What an fright you must have had."
"There's something in there, Father. I heard it."
"There cannot be, Faramir, it was your fears taking over your reason."
Faramir shook his head. "There is, I know there is. It almost was upon me, but then you opened the door and saved me." He clutched at Denethor.
"Come, stand up," Denethor said, gently pulling Faramir to his feet. He took Faramir's smaller hand in his own, and took a step towards the door.
"No," Faramir said, dragging his feet. "It will take me."
Denethor took a torch from a nearby wall sconce. "No, it will not. I am here now. Nothing will ever harm you, whenever I can protect you."
Holding the torch in front of him with one hand, and leading Faramir with the other, Denethor moved his way into the room. Faramir could see now that the room was larger than he had supposed, and that there was more than one alcove, explaining why he had been so confused. He peered into the dark, and saw that there was nothing lurking. "But there was something. I know there was, Father."
"As I said before, Faramir, it was nothing." Denethor turned to leave.
"But the bodies – they are dead, and yet they came alive!"
"There are no corpses in this tomb, Faramir."
"No, in the alcoves! There's a body in each – I felt the cloth."
Denethor led a reluctant Faramir back into the sepulcher, pausing when he had reached one of the alcoves. "No, Faramir, look." He obeyed. "The stone effigies were covered with this velvet blanket, nothing more."
"But all the noises! I heard rustling cloth, and I thought the body had come back to life –"
"Faramir, you too are wearing velvet. You probably made the rustling noises yourself."
"But what about the whispering and the laughter and the footsteps! I heard those too!"
Denethor gave a weary smile. "Faramir, as soon as your nurse could not find you in your room, she sent a message to me straightaway. I thought that you might come here, and I have been looking for you in every passageway of the House of the Stewards. When I could not find you, I came back here. Everything echoes strangely in these stone halls, and normal sounds can be heard differently from what they are. What you heard was me searching for you."
Faramir bowed his head, embarrassed. "I am sorry, Father. Forgive me."
"I am not angry, Faramir. I was worried after you." He replaced the torch in the sconce. "Come. You wished to see your mother one more time, and you shall." Denethor led Faramir into the room with his mother, and together they stood, until Faramir began to sway with weariness. "Come, you should be getting back to sleep. You need your rest to be strong today."
Faramir let Denethor carry him back to this room, and fell asleep with his father at his side.
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"Father," Faramir murmured, as he felt a gentle shaking to his shoulder. He moved slightly, and was prepared to sleep further, but the shaking became more persistent.
"Faramir, wake up." Eomer's voice broke through his thoughts, and he sat up quickly. "I didn't mean to disturb you," he said apologetically, "but there is a slight problem."
[How could things possibly get worse,] he thought to himself. Immediately he cursed himself for thinking it. [Thinking that is the surest way to invite disaster.] "What is it?"
"The torch is going out, Faramir. Once it does –" Eomer left the thought unfinished. "We probably won't have it in three hours. I thought that you would wish to be awake."
"Yes, thank you." Faramir's heart pounded. [The torch cannot go out. It cannot. It must not.] He noticed that Eomer was looking at him strangely, and wondered if he had spoken out in his sleep, or if there was something wrong with him. Either way, he was uncomfortable with the gaze. "Eomer, why don't you get some sleep now? I've had plenty, and it's only fair for you to rest."
Eomer nodded. "All right, I will. But wake me up right before the torch goes out." He stretched his body out on the floor, wrapped in his own cloak. Faramir sat up, and leaned against the wall of the cave, trying to again ignore his own discomfort. He held his hands over the torch to keep warm, knowing that soon he would not be able to do so. Eomer's breathing soon indicated that he was fast asleep. Faramir wrapped his arms around his legs, rested his chin on his knees, and watched the dying torch.