Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof
"Faramir."
A rough hand on his shoulder shook the boy awake. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. It was early yet, the sky only gray in color, betraying an hour between midnight and dawn. The urgency of his tone more than anything alerted Faramir to Thorongil's intent. "Don't," Faramir whispered. He looked at the Ranger, clad in tree colors, ready to disappear into the foliage and out of Faramir's life for ever. "Don't go," he pleaded.
Thorongil shook his head, shifting the shadows on his face. "I have to," he answered. "I came to bid you farewell, then I must be gone. There are reports of orc attacks to the north-west. I go to protect my people. Legolas and the twins will be gone also, and Mithrandir cannot stay. You will be safe here." Though his heart ached Thorongil refused to succumb to emotion. Pain was easier for him; he understood pain.
"But you will come back," Faramir stated, half-asking, wide awake now.
"As soon as possible," Thorongil promised. After a moment of awkward indecision he hugged Faramir briefly; in response Faramir threw himself against Thorongil as though the tighter he held the man the longer he would stay. "We will meet again," Thorongil swore, then he drew away and in moments was gone. For a long while Faramir sat numbly missing his...friend? mentor? He knew not the word for his relationship with Thorongil. Then Faramir rose quickly.
Without dressing he left the cell and fled down the corridor, encountering no one at the early hour. Even when his feet touched the snow Faramir did not stop, but stood still and watched as Thorongil and the three elves rode out of Imladris with men Faramir did not know. When the last notes of their horses' hooves pounding the earth faded, Faramir turned and went back inside. Thorongil was gone.
Faramir stood motionless for some moments, not knowing where to go. Would it be wrong of him to seek someone, anyone, if only for company? Was that not a selfish aim? At last Faramir decided that he would go to the chambers of Lady Arwen, and if she proved awake perhaps...perhaps he might aid her somehow. He did not want to be alone, not with that empty feeling in his gut.
When he knocked on the door it swung open. Tentative, Faramir inched into the room. Only when he stood beside the woman and saw her form, still as sleep yet with eyes open, did he stop, and gasp. Tears sprang to Faramir's eyes. Only once before had he seen eyes so wide yet so unseeing. 'Ai, I am a curséd, terrible boy!' he thought. 'She is dead...she is gone, just like Mama!'
He fled the room, tears springing to his eyes. 'I must leave,' Faramir thought. 'I cannot stay here, not after...not after causing another death...not after driving the others away.' He looked about the cell, staring at the unmade bed. No sign of life pervaded the room save this. Faramir went to pack, meaning to leave Imladris as son as possible. He lifted a tunic, then quickly replaced it. 'I never owned this; I borrowed it, only. I...own nothing.'
Biting his cheeks to keep from crying, Faramir sought the most worn of the garments given him, lent in his opinion, and dressed, for his nightclothes would not suffice on the journey back to Gondor. Then he moved over to the bed and clumsily straightened the coverlet. Satisfied with his work, he turned to look once more at the cell.
When his eyes set upon the instrument left unobtrusively in the corner, Faramir could take no more. He sank to the bed in tears, buried his face in his hand and tried very hard to awaken no one with his sobs as he gulped in air. Nothing could stop the flow of tears, though he attempted vainly.
"Roan..." Elrond mentally swore at himself. Four children he now considered adults and people of high moral quality had at one time or another looked to him for guidance. Why, then, could he do nothing for this child? Asking 'what's wrong' would be futile, as Faramir hardly trusted him. Hug him? Frightening the child would do no good. Instead Elrond swallowed his pride and knelt before Faramir. "I would help you, Roan, but you have to tell me what to do."
Faramir burned with shame. "I'm sorry," he managed to croak through sobs. "I...Lady Arwen is..." Lost, Faramir simply cried and shook his head.
"All right." Elrond stood. As if an afterthought, he placed a hand on Faramir's shoulder. "Just focus on breathing, little one. I will bring Arwen to speak with you, all right?" He sensed that a man could not comfort the child as a woman could, perhaps because no woman had ever mistreated him as a man had.
The moment he was alone, Faramir leapt to his feet. Elrond would know in only moments--he would see Arwen and know what evils Faramir wrought. He jammed his feet into his worn leather boots, his one reminder of Gondor and the only possession truly his, fumbling with cold fingers and tear-blurred vision to tie the laces.
"Faramir is a good boy, he's smart and sensitive, and if you let him stay he would become a man of whom any one whose heart beats within him would be proud." The words echoed in Faramir's mind as he paused, one hand on the cloak gifted him by Boromir. He had not addressed more difficult issues by simply not thinking about them; now Faramir realized that he would abandon Thorongil as he had Boromir: without saying good-bye. Tears sprang to his eyes as a whimper escaped his lips: "Boromir..."
He crumpled to the ground, unable to stand. "Why now?" he whispered pathetically. "Why can I not leave? I don't want to hurt anyone else, I don't..." He tried to understand, but words flitted just beyond the reach of his mind as stars tumbled from his eyes. Uncertain, Faramir took Elrond's advice and focused on breathing. His lungs filled with oxygen; he held his breath and exhaled. Losing himself in repetition and the simple, natural process proved easy enough for Faramir.
Arwen arrived to find him staring into the distance, tears falling without hysteria. Faramir sat with his knees drawn up to his chin and his arms wrapped around his legs, looking by all appearances like a dead man. "Roan." She touched his shoulder gently. When Faramir raised his head, his eyes were wide in disbelief.
"Lady...?"
"Good morrow, Sunshine," she said.
"Lady!" Faramir jolted forward and threw his arms around her. For a long moment they sat together, Faramir holding Arwen to know that she was there, not dead at all, warm and breathing. Arwen held the boy gently, offering what comfort she could.
"He is regressing." Arwen pushed her knuckles deep into the dough, rolling the moist stuff beneath her hands to the heels of her palms. She did not have to bake bread: indeed, most would have expected the Evenstar never to clean plates or bake, but to sit about at ladylike tasks all day. Those who thought this knew not what a ladylike task was, but supposed that a Lady knew. Slamming a fist hard into the dough, Arwen nearly laughed at the thought of these people. She enjoyed working, hated acting the layabout.
Without pausing her rhythmic motions, she looked to her father. His face was stern but unreadable. Arwen guessed his thoughts, knowing him well. "You ought not be so worried at the time I spend with him. He is not Estel."
"Think you that I do not know this?"
Elrond paused, amazed at his sudden flare of temper, but Arwen only laughed, a fluttering, teasing sound. "You must hate how straight my arrows fly," she commented. Elrond said nothing, but turned his head away. He did not leave, but remained in the doorway, watching his daughter fold and compress dough for bread, lying her smile. His mind wandered to Celebrían, to Arwen, to Elwing his mother...everyone he had lost.
"What do you seek to be to this boy?" Elrond challenged his daughter. "Will you be his sister, his protector? Valar forbid, will you be his mother?" He asked the last as though the idea was preposterous, that Arwen could not possibly raise a broken child like Faramir.
Seething inwardly, Arwen pounded the dough. Slowly she took her hands away and approached her father. Setting her jaw stubbornly, she demanded, "Why should I not? He cannot look after himself, and I doubt you would savor the task."
"You should not have to look after him. He is not your responsibility. You did not bring him here." Even as he said this Elrond knew how thin the argument was. He would not have accepted it, and he knew Arwen would not. He only asked to know her answer, and to try because he could not admit defeat.
"Estel is responsible for him. And if Estel is to be his ada, as anyone can see in Sunshine's eyes no one else may be, then who shall act as nana to him?" Arwen drew a deep breath. She knew the pain she had inflicted with her words and regretted it, but refused to withdraw her statement.
Elrond nodded slowly. So his youngest child had grown up. He knew that, had known for many years, yet again and again he kidded himself that she remained a child. At the same moment father and daughter heard a muffled sob imperceptible to human ears: Faramir was crying. For a moment Elrond was drawn back nearly fifty years, when another boy awoke from dark dreams at late hours.
Arwen looked to her father in apology, drawing him from his reverie. She hated to leave the conversation unfinished, as did he. "Go to him," Elrond said. He knew not to which "him" he released the last of his children.
To be continued
And now for healing Sunshine...
Thanks to everyone who reviewed, I always love hearing from you!
Lord Elrond of Hogwarts: But consider how Faramir is hearing this. Hearing his father spoken ill of is a considerable offense. That being said, I also agree with Elladan.
Midgette: Nor did I, a year ago! The more you write, and read, the better you get. If you'd like any help, I'd be glad to oblige. Don't stop writing!
You guys keep commenting on Arwen. If you want to check out where she's coming from, I've an Arwen story entitled 'Daisy Chain.' (all right, enough shameless self-promotion)