When Faramir walked into his study, still hearing the three men in the other study shouting, his father sometimes lapsing into Sindarin which only irked Éomer more, he found two familiar Elves waiting for him. Glorfindel hurriedly ushered him inside and locked the door. The great Balrog-slayer looked petrified. Faramir started to look confused, then he guessed that anything was possible when these Elves were around, so decided it would be a waste of energy to bother being startled.
Erestor took him squarely by the shoulders and looked directly into his eyes. "If you go anywhere near even one of those women, you are a madman. Please tell us it is safe in here?"
Faramir nodded slowly, breaking Erestor's frightened hold and moving to his desk. He could not suppress the small wisp of a smile that crossed his face to leave troubles outside and get on with the work of the kingdom. Erestor settled with assurance that the study was secure and took a seat across from Faramir, offering him a hand with the papers.
Glorfindel remained standing and went to the window. He stood there looking about as if measuring distances for some time.
"You will not be able to escape, mellon," Erestor said with no small amount of satisfaction in his voice.
"Neither will you, if that be the case," Glorfindel said pointedly.
"Ai, but i am not the one who made that... ill-advised remark." Erestor's grin was maddening. "I just think they have all gone insane."
Glorfindel shuddered. "Of course, Galadhriel has been like that since the fall of Doriath and the rest of Beleriand, when she realized kingdoms were for the taking. You have to expect her granddaughter to have picked up some of it, but when you combine that with what she picked up from Elrond... i have nothing but pity for poor young Estel if he ever makes a wrong move."
By this time Faramir was really beginning to wonder what these two were prattling about, but he knew it would all come to light much too soon anyway. Erestor started to mention something about Éowyn being just as mad as the other two they had just discussed, but a withering stare from Faramir stemmed that. The advisor had seen that glare all too often from the one he assisted in what seemed like it must have been a previously life, but was in reality less than a year.
Faramir sighed and let Erestor go ahead and take on whatever work he wanted to. Faramir knew he needed to go see Éowyn. On his way toward the chambers set aside for her in the Citadel he wondered how he would explain to his wife that he could scarcely even understand his actions, let alone explain or apologize for them. He had not counted on his cousin berating him stridently from the moment she answered his knock at Éowyn's door to the moment she sent him away like a scolded child.
Faramir sighed and decided to just give up. Entering his chambers, for some unknown reason, his heart about hit rock bottom. Closing the door behind him he sank down to the floor, acting as a human barricade because the last thing he wanted to see was another person who would turn on him. He was wracked with overwhelming, painful sadness. He felt scorned, rejected, abandoned. He painfully reminded himself that he had brought this on himself with his behavior. He was unable to restrain his tears. He wondered if, since everyone else had given up on him, he should not do the same. Faramir was tired of experiencing sadness and anger that he did not understand, more than anything he was tired of being someone he no longer knew. He realized that his life had started to unravel the day he found Boromir dead.
The Steward's eyes, which had been fixed on a spot of nothingness about six inches in front of his face for about a half an hour, now moved upward, not quite of his own accord, and looked out into the darkness of his unlit chambers. The open window directly opposite the door let in the pale sheen of the full moon, but because the window faced east and the moon was at its summit, the light admitted was still rather sparing. The whitish-blue of the moonlight glinted off an object resting on the bed, catching Faramir's attention. A chilly autumnal breeze crept around Faramir, making him shiver involuntarily as he rose to find out what gleamed a reflection so. Picking it up he found it was his father's Elven hunting knife.
Faramir carefully ran his fingers first over the etched runes, then along the edge of the blade itself. "Gûd daedheloth," Faramir said aloud softly, reading the Sindarin in Tengwar runes. "Foe of Morgoth's Realm."
A cloud passed over the moon, cutting off Faramir's lone light source. A fell urge to drive the knife into his own forearm swept Faramir. So much could end then and there, he thought. All the years from his mother's death to Boromir's could be gone, all the pain with them, no more worry about who would be disappointed or displeased.
Faramir's fingers tightened around the smooth wood of the handgrip. The breeze delayed and the shadow lingered, causing Faramir to lose his focus on the Elven runes. A state of bemusement seemed to invade and cloud Faramir's mind and he was not completely aware that he was lifting the knife only to drive it quickly downward.
At that moment the breeze finally thrust the dark cloud aside and the fair moonlight again reflected on the Elvish words gûd daedheloth. It was the last thing Faramir saw before the blackness swarmed him.
ooo
No, you are not allowed to ask... you just have to wait till next chapter up. However, if anyone who hasn't (or anyone who has for that matter) read the Silmarillion, really doesn't understand what's going on here (the Morgoth references, etc.) i will explain, just drop a note..
