A drabble...albeit an angst-ridden drabble. Idea courtesy Roisin Dubh. And I
don't own the characters...except perhaps Rhoswen.
-*-*-*-*-*-
Faramir lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling, attempting to fall asleep. But no respite from his thoughts came. With gentle fingers, he traced the spot on his face where Rhoswen had kissed him.
What a kiss, he thought. Perhaps not for her-for her, twas only a kiss for a brother- but for me...for me, it was bliss.
To many times he had held her as a brother should, and thought what rapture it was to hold such grace, such perfection of womanhood in his arms. And too many times had he cursed himself for loving what was not his to love. It hurt his brother's memory so, to covet the woman Boromir loved, Boromir worshiped, Boromir would die for. But what a woman...what beauty...what he would not do for her kisses again...
Slowly, Faramir closed his eyes as sleep found him. But his dreams troubled more than conscious thought.
It was early day, with rosy-fingered dawn peeking from behind her curtains of night, and Faramir felt the brush of a hand, carefully pushing a loose hair back from his face. He opened his eyes to see no stone walls of the cave that served as his office and quarters, but the carved eaves of his bed. And there was a woman drawing back the sleep tossed locks from his face, running chilled slim white fingers over the fine bones of his face, tracing his jaw. It was Rhoswen.
"This is a dream."
"Is not all life dreams, Faramir? Sleep...it is a good dream." How that white dress clung to rising curves and slim hips...Faramir tore his eyes from her hand to look out his window.
"You should not be here." He spoke as though she were in his room, really touching him as though she loved him.
"But I am not here."
"And if you stay, I will only keep what feelings are harbored in my heart, and they will grow...and that will cause only pain, for you do not love me."
"Ahh, but Faramir, you know not what secrets lie in my heart. Perhaps I do carry some black passion for the younger son in my soul."
"You would have brought news of it to my ears, as one who keeps your heart has been away for long months."
"Perhaps I doubt your intentions." Faramir looked at her, questioning. But his face changed to remorseful
"My intentions are bad. I love you not...it is not true love that fuels my love...it is lust."
"Then be lusty, Faramir." He could feel her breath on her cheek, nearly lost his breath as her body rested on his, fingers playing along the lacing of his vesture.
"I have sworn oaths...vows I cannot break...vows to serve Gondor. And to hurt Boromir is to hurt Gondor grievously."
"Then Boromir need never know." She whispered in his ear, sending waves of pained longing through his blood.
"This is not Rhoswen. Leave me be!" And Rhoswen rose, and the dawn faded to blackness, black swirling mists of shades and shadows, and the woman was changed, her skin darkening, and eyes of glowing red. And she shrieked, an unearthly sound no woman born of the flesh of Númenor ever made, and the captain of Ithilien awoke in a cold sweat, breathing hard.
Tomorrow he would go back to Osgiliath, and from there, back home, where he would tell Denethor, and then...Rhoswen. Why, why did it have to be him? Why did he have to tell her that the one whom she adored with her who longing, who he knew had slept with the rose of Gondor, fairest of the fair that he called sister with the longing to call lover?
Why did he have to be the one to see her tears, for there would be many tears, and why did he have to watch her grief let her waste away, a fading flower of what she was in Boromir's arms. Faramir sadly remembered his brother. Always had he been the figure in his brother's shadow, and if he took Rhoswen for his wife, to cherish and hold till death should release them, then the shadow would haunt him the rest of his life.
Faramir could see he wasn't going to get much more sleep this night, and decided to take the early watch. As he shrugged on well-worn trousers and a shirt, all of them still smelling somewhat of roses and perfume, he looked at the carven box that stood on his nightstand, half open.
The horn of Gondor sat in velvet lining, glowing slightly. Faramir ran his hand over it, gently caressing the one thing that his brother had kept closer than anything.
"Brother, where are you? What would you have me do in dark times such as these? Why should such burdens fall on my shoulders? You know I cannot bear the load alone."
A single tear fell on the horn, and Faramir looked at the glistening speck and left rather quickly, closing the case with an informal clunk.
-*-*-*-
"Enter." Denethor's cold stony voice rang through the hall, echoing in commanding resonance. Faramir straightened his face, adjusted his cloak, and repositioned the box in his arms. This wasn't going to be easy. He pushed the door open with his free arm and strode in, rather quicker than what he would have wanted.
What he wanted was to leave without telling his father. But someone had to do it. He knelt and kissed the octagonal ring of obsidian, a sign of his fealty.
"What news do you bring me, Faramir? You face tells me it is not good news." Faramir swallowed; why did he have to be strong when he felt so weak?
"Know, sir, that what news I bear to you I have cried my fair share of tears over, and have been given more sorrow over it than seems fair." Stifling a sob, he handed over the box and turned his face to the floor. Denethor opened the lid, looked at the contents, and for a moment held the room in strained and terse silence, broken by his distraught words.
"Leave me! Leave me, I say!" His voice was violent, and the servants backed out of the room, fearful of their livid steward. His hard, cold eyes looked up at Faramir, still standing there, sorrow filled and pitiful.
"Get out of my sight!" Faramir left with another longing glance at his father, and walked out, slow and silent.
-*-*-*-
The next day, Faramir awoke to the knocking of a fisted hand on his door, rather groggily saying
"Come in." A manservant bearing a box entered, setting the box on the table and drawing the curtains, flooding the room with light.
"His Lordship the Steward Denethor requires your presence this morning as he desires to hold council with you on matters of war." Faramir rose from bed, running a hand through his sleep tousled hair. Looking at the rose in the vase next to the box the servant had placed on the nightstand, Faramir broke down in racking sobs.
"Why was it to me this task was appointed?" He thought to himself.
-*-*-*-
An hour later, after tears had been dried, clothes changed, and hair washed, Faramir made his way to the Hall of Kings to hold council with his father.
He found his father at his chair at the head of the hall. Standing at his side, neither spoke to each other as the halfling knelt and swore his oaths to city and steward.
"Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor. In peace or war, in living or dying, from..." he paused, forgetting the words. "From this hour henceforth, until my lord release me, or death take me." Denethor smiled slightly at the small hobbit, and rose from his chair, voicing the words ceremony dictated.
"And I shall not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given." He held out his ring, and Pippin paused before kissing it, as a good thain should. Denethor continued. "Fealty with love, valor with honor," he cast a vehement look at his younger son as he went on, "disloyalty with vengeance." He bade Pippin rise, and sat down to eat the meal laid on the table. Turning his attentions to Faramir, he began to eat.
"I do not think we should so lightly abandon the outer defenses, defenses that your brother long held intact." Faramir drew in a breath. Only a day had he since news of his son's demise, and already he brought him up without remorse. No tears the steward shed, no sign that he felt loss.
"What would you have me do?"
"I will not yield the river and Pelennor unfought. Osgiliath must be retaken." Faramir gawped.
"My lord, Osgiliath is overrun. It cannot be done!"
"Much must be risked in war. Is there a captain here who still has the courage to do his lord's will?"
Faramir looked his father in the eye, never doubting what he would say.
"You wish now that our places had been exchanged. That I had died and Boromir had lived."
Denethor looked at his plate, reminiscing.
"Yes, I wish that." Faramir swallowed, dismayed and now inexplicably hardened.
"Since you are robbed of Boromir, I will do what I can in his stead." He began for the doors, and then turned on an afterthought. "If I should return, think better of me, father." And with that, he walked out the doors to his rooms to prepare for battle. Behind him, he heard his father say,
"That will depend on the manner of your return." Faramir bowed his head to the ground, and continued to walk, his steps slow and his normally cheerful voice mute.
Now to tell the one to whom he truly dreaded giving such pain...
-*-*-
Now we can go to chapter Nine! Big thanks to all who reviewed. I will repost with my nods. I'm sorry I keep inserting stuff...but Roisin thought I could use more development-thus, the angst ridden dreams. And a thanks to Eruanne, who's reviewed...all of my work with large helpings of flattery.
See the easily ignored button in the corner there? Click it and tell me what you liked/didn't like/think I could use help on/ would like to see happen.
Thanks!
-*-*-*-*-*-
Faramir lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling, attempting to fall asleep. But no respite from his thoughts came. With gentle fingers, he traced the spot on his face where Rhoswen had kissed him.
What a kiss, he thought. Perhaps not for her-for her, twas only a kiss for a brother- but for me...for me, it was bliss.
To many times he had held her as a brother should, and thought what rapture it was to hold such grace, such perfection of womanhood in his arms. And too many times had he cursed himself for loving what was not his to love. It hurt his brother's memory so, to covet the woman Boromir loved, Boromir worshiped, Boromir would die for. But what a woman...what beauty...what he would not do for her kisses again...
Slowly, Faramir closed his eyes as sleep found him. But his dreams troubled more than conscious thought.
It was early day, with rosy-fingered dawn peeking from behind her curtains of night, and Faramir felt the brush of a hand, carefully pushing a loose hair back from his face. He opened his eyes to see no stone walls of the cave that served as his office and quarters, but the carved eaves of his bed. And there was a woman drawing back the sleep tossed locks from his face, running chilled slim white fingers over the fine bones of his face, tracing his jaw. It was Rhoswen.
"This is a dream."
"Is not all life dreams, Faramir? Sleep...it is a good dream." How that white dress clung to rising curves and slim hips...Faramir tore his eyes from her hand to look out his window.
"You should not be here." He spoke as though she were in his room, really touching him as though she loved him.
"But I am not here."
"And if you stay, I will only keep what feelings are harbored in my heart, and they will grow...and that will cause only pain, for you do not love me."
"Ahh, but Faramir, you know not what secrets lie in my heart. Perhaps I do carry some black passion for the younger son in my soul."
"You would have brought news of it to my ears, as one who keeps your heart has been away for long months."
"Perhaps I doubt your intentions." Faramir looked at her, questioning. But his face changed to remorseful
"My intentions are bad. I love you not...it is not true love that fuels my love...it is lust."
"Then be lusty, Faramir." He could feel her breath on her cheek, nearly lost his breath as her body rested on his, fingers playing along the lacing of his vesture.
"I have sworn oaths...vows I cannot break...vows to serve Gondor. And to hurt Boromir is to hurt Gondor grievously."
"Then Boromir need never know." She whispered in his ear, sending waves of pained longing through his blood.
"This is not Rhoswen. Leave me be!" And Rhoswen rose, and the dawn faded to blackness, black swirling mists of shades and shadows, and the woman was changed, her skin darkening, and eyes of glowing red. And she shrieked, an unearthly sound no woman born of the flesh of Númenor ever made, and the captain of Ithilien awoke in a cold sweat, breathing hard.
Tomorrow he would go back to Osgiliath, and from there, back home, where he would tell Denethor, and then...Rhoswen. Why, why did it have to be him? Why did he have to tell her that the one whom she adored with her who longing, who he knew had slept with the rose of Gondor, fairest of the fair that he called sister with the longing to call lover?
Why did he have to be the one to see her tears, for there would be many tears, and why did he have to watch her grief let her waste away, a fading flower of what she was in Boromir's arms. Faramir sadly remembered his brother. Always had he been the figure in his brother's shadow, and if he took Rhoswen for his wife, to cherish and hold till death should release them, then the shadow would haunt him the rest of his life.
Faramir could see he wasn't going to get much more sleep this night, and decided to take the early watch. As he shrugged on well-worn trousers and a shirt, all of them still smelling somewhat of roses and perfume, he looked at the carven box that stood on his nightstand, half open.
The horn of Gondor sat in velvet lining, glowing slightly. Faramir ran his hand over it, gently caressing the one thing that his brother had kept closer than anything.
"Brother, where are you? What would you have me do in dark times such as these? Why should such burdens fall on my shoulders? You know I cannot bear the load alone."
A single tear fell on the horn, and Faramir looked at the glistening speck and left rather quickly, closing the case with an informal clunk.
-*-*-*-
"Enter." Denethor's cold stony voice rang through the hall, echoing in commanding resonance. Faramir straightened his face, adjusted his cloak, and repositioned the box in his arms. This wasn't going to be easy. He pushed the door open with his free arm and strode in, rather quicker than what he would have wanted.
What he wanted was to leave without telling his father. But someone had to do it. He knelt and kissed the octagonal ring of obsidian, a sign of his fealty.
"What news do you bring me, Faramir? You face tells me it is not good news." Faramir swallowed; why did he have to be strong when he felt so weak?
"Know, sir, that what news I bear to you I have cried my fair share of tears over, and have been given more sorrow over it than seems fair." Stifling a sob, he handed over the box and turned his face to the floor. Denethor opened the lid, looked at the contents, and for a moment held the room in strained and terse silence, broken by his distraught words.
"Leave me! Leave me, I say!" His voice was violent, and the servants backed out of the room, fearful of their livid steward. His hard, cold eyes looked up at Faramir, still standing there, sorrow filled and pitiful.
"Get out of my sight!" Faramir left with another longing glance at his father, and walked out, slow and silent.
-*-*-*-
The next day, Faramir awoke to the knocking of a fisted hand on his door, rather groggily saying
"Come in." A manservant bearing a box entered, setting the box on the table and drawing the curtains, flooding the room with light.
"His Lordship the Steward Denethor requires your presence this morning as he desires to hold council with you on matters of war." Faramir rose from bed, running a hand through his sleep tousled hair. Looking at the rose in the vase next to the box the servant had placed on the nightstand, Faramir broke down in racking sobs.
"Why was it to me this task was appointed?" He thought to himself.
-*-*-*-
An hour later, after tears had been dried, clothes changed, and hair washed, Faramir made his way to the Hall of Kings to hold council with his father.
He found his father at his chair at the head of the hall. Standing at his side, neither spoke to each other as the halfling knelt and swore his oaths to city and steward.
"Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor. In peace or war, in living or dying, from..." he paused, forgetting the words. "From this hour henceforth, until my lord release me, or death take me." Denethor smiled slightly at the small hobbit, and rose from his chair, voicing the words ceremony dictated.
"And I shall not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given." He held out his ring, and Pippin paused before kissing it, as a good thain should. Denethor continued. "Fealty with love, valor with honor," he cast a vehement look at his younger son as he went on, "disloyalty with vengeance." He bade Pippin rise, and sat down to eat the meal laid on the table. Turning his attentions to Faramir, he began to eat.
"I do not think we should so lightly abandon the outer defenses, defenses that your brother long held intact." Faramir drew in a breath. Only a day had he since news of his son's demise, and already he brought him up without remorse. No tears the steward shed, no sign that he felt loss.
"What would you have me do?"
"I will not yield the river and Pelennor unfought. Osgiliath must be retaken." Faramir gawped.
"My lord, Osgiliath is overrun. It cannot be done!"
"Much must be risked in war. Is there a captain here who still has the courage to do his lord's will?"
Faramir looked his father in the eye, never doubting what he would say.
"You wish now that our places had been exchanged. That I had died and Boromir had lived."
Denethor looked at his plate, reminiscing.
"Yes, I wish that." Faramir swallowed, dismayed and now inexplicably hardened.
"Since you are robbed of Boromir, I will do what I can in his stead." He began for the doors, and then turned on an afterthought. "If I should return, think better of me, father." And with that, he walked out the doors to his rooms to prepare for battle. Behind him, he heard his father say,
"That will depend on the manner of your return." Faramir bowed his head to the ground, and continued to walk, his steps slow and his normally cheerful voice mute.
Now to tell the one to whom he truly dreaded giving such pain...
-*-*-
Now we can go to chapter Nine! Big thanks to all who reviewed. I will repost with my nods. I'm sorry I keep inserting stuff...but Roisin thought I could use more development-thus, the angst ridden dreams. And a thanks to Eruanne, who's reviewed...all of my work with large helpings of flattery.
See the easily ignored button in the corner there? Click it and tell me what you liked/didn't like/think I could use help on/ would like to see happen.
Thanks!