Like a flower made of ice, wild and strong, in the middle of the storm, a hint of beauty....
He halted in his stride, his glance straying back to the houses despite himself, stone houses, made to look soothing but cold yet... cold houses shielding a cold flower.
Slowly he resumed his stride once more, one step at a time climbing the stairs that would lead him up on the eastern wall of the city.
For in the east, all of our hopes and fears lie....
Dark clouds were hanging over the so much feared border to the black eastern lands of mordor, clouds hanging over the mountains, that would no longer protect them from the hordes of orcs that were swarming the land.
He half turned to shield his eyes from the wind that was strong up here on the wall, lowering his gaze to half-wonderingly look at his own hands. The bruises on them were all but healed, small injuries only, bearing no importance compared to the shadow he had weathered.
They were the hands of a warrior, clearly bearing the marks of a man adept with the sword, bearing the marks of battles uncounted, and another one maybe dawning, far on the horizon... Sooner than he liked – and battle always came to soon - these hands would maybe defend this city again, when the final stroke of doom would hit the world of men in a killing blow.
Maybe he would live to see the end.
He lifted his gaze, looking to the eastern wall of the Houses of Healing, wondering through which of those windows she would be spying east, as some inexplicable voice told him she would. He could not see her, not from where he was standing, and yet he tried.
Shadow lies on us still...
Her words were echoing in his ears, every phrase dancing through his spirit as he stood in silence with only the wind to keep his company. He remembered her eyes if nothing else, her eyes and the expression that so well mirrored his own feelings. For both of them had stopped to care...
Faintly he mused on the impression he must have made on her. As far as he could tell, his facade was holding, his display being the same as always, the same air of what he hoped was some kind of calm, of friendliness even for he had no desire to place himself above those that clearly were not beneath him.
But nothing ached like smiling...
And yet he had smiled, when she was there. And yet, he had felt, when she was there.
You feel to much, you think to much
Words of his brother, kindly spoken, and now even more valued since the brother in question was long gone. Yet he had stopped to feel the moment his father had wished him dead, had replaced all with the graceful void of certain death. How sweet it had been, for one moment... to feel...
Even if it might have been the pity for a young lady, a beautiful bird in a cage, desperadely trying to spread her wings and return where she belonged... so cool, so sad...
Even if this pity hurt in itself
The man who would soon be the stewart of Gondor turned his back to the threatening darkness and descended the stairs into the gardens again. His stride was long, als he passed between the trees and flowers, trying not to look at the Houses, mostly failing in the attempt. There were questions on his mind.
And Faramir had never been one for long leaving his questions unanswered....
Yet, while the sun still hangs in the sky, maybe it is worth the hope...