A/N: I want to thank you all for being so patient with me! I'm so sorry about this posting thing. I used to be so consistent! I guess my life went haywire, or something. 8-D Anyway, to make up, I'm double-posting, so you can get as much phsycotic Faramir as you can handle! And don't forget to review. So far in all of my posting days, I have never gotten flamed, so...if you want to, you can, but I'll probably just delete it. (Is that an option?) Ok, rambling here...

Chapter Eight: A Visit

"He has broken my teeth with gravel;

he has trampled me in the dust.

I have been deprived of peace;

I have forgotten what prosperity is.

So I say, 'My splendor is gone

and all that I had hoped from the Lord.'"

-Lamentations 3:16-18

A very wise man once said, "To err is human, but to forgive is divine." What a pearl of wisdom that is! You, reading this, may not believe it is very hard to forgive at all. What can anyone have done to you that is so awful you cannot forgive them? Or perhaps you do understand me, perfectly well. If so, we are kindred spirits. How many nights have you lain awake, pondering and trying desperately to bend your will to what you wish it to do? How insufferable it is! How the flesh cries out and fights with all its might to be free of the restraints of good and upright conduct! Yet in losing that battle, you have lost more than you could ever imagine you could lose.

Not long after my son told me about his part in my wife's death, my Uncle Imrahil came to visit us again. I always treasured his visits, because I really had more in common with him than with anyone else. He too had lost his parents when he was young, and his sister (my mother) had died. So had his wife. I looked on him as a father, because he was the only one I had ever known.

We greeted in a tender manner, clasping hands and shoulders. He hugged me in a strong embrace, smiling as he said, "You look good. Have you been sleeping?"

I nodded. "Yes. The ghosts do not haunt me as often as they used to."

"That's good," he sighed. "And how are the children?"

"Doing as well as can be expected without a mother," I said. My mind immediately flew to my recent discharge of Sililian, who had been replaced by a gentle and quiet woman named Sheena. I had told her upon meeting that she was not to encourage belief in God or angels or other nonsense, and she had nodded meekly with a quiet, "Yes sir."

My mind snapped back to the present as my Uncle said, "And all goes well in Ithilien?"

I nodded again. "After fifteen years we should be making progress, don't you think, Uncle?"

"Aye," he laughed. "And the King has put his trust in the right place." I allowed a small, quiet grin to take over my mouth, and Imrahil murmured, "A smile. Haven't seen one of those on your face since...well, a long time."

With a sigh, I turned toward the window and walked over to it, my hands clasped behind my back. "And how is Dol Amroth?"

"Better than ever. But I am getting too old for it, I fear," Imrahil said.

"Never," I replied absently, watching as Morwen and Feomir played in the grass. It was after school and they were allowed to roam free over the estate. I quickly opened the window and called down to them. They looked up and waved. "Be careful," I called, and they nodded. Feomir looked up in fear for a minute, but upon seeing my pleasant look he grinned.

"Don't worry, Father!" he yelled. "We'll just stay here."

I nodded and began to close the window. As I did so, I felt a soft hand on my shoulder and looked back to see Imrahil (who I had completely forgotten about) smiling at me. His eyes crinkled in the corners, betraying his age and care. "You cannot always keep a reign on them, Faramir," he said. I shrugged.

"While they are under my care, I will watch over them," I replied. "Now, shall we continue on-"

A shriek cut off my words, and I instantly bolted to the window. Morwen was cowering away from something, while Feomir was grabbing a large stick. I needed to see no more; in half a second I was out the door and down the hall. I made the garden in record time, catching a glimpse of Feomir delivering a last blow. I dropped to my knees beside Morwen, who instantly sprang towards me and caught hold of my neck. "Shhh," I soothed, stroking her hair. "It's alright, child." I looked at Feomir questioningly, and he shook his head.

"It wathn't a thnake, Father," he lisped, trying to keep his lip from trembling. The boy was just like me in the fact that he lisped when frightened or excited. "It was only a beetle."

I breathed a sigh of relief and patted Morwen again. "You see?" I soothed, "it wasn't a snake."

She shook her head. "I thought it was the snake that killed Mother! I thought it was going to kill me too!" She clung to me, unconsciously holding my neck in a death grip. Half choking, I managed to pull her off and pick her up.

"Hush, Morwen. There is no danger," I whispered as I took her inside. When I reached her room I found Sheena finishing the final touches on a sock. She sprang up and reached for Morwen.

"What happened?" she asked, and I caught the note of fear in her voice, as if she thought I might blame her for what happened. I shrugged her off and set Morwen on the bed. The child was practically in hysterics, and I immediately sent Sheena for a healer (without the information she had requested).

It was only after the healer had calmed her to sleep and pulled me aside to tell me that she was going to be fine, but needed rest and care that I noticed my Uncle again. I wiped my face with a crooked grin and leaned against the wall where he was standing. "Sorry Uncle, just a little bit of excitement."

He shrugged. "It looks like you've got a case on your hand."

My smile fell. "Yes. Morwen has nightmares too, and I know of all the children, she is the one who misses her mother the most."

My Uncle hesitated. "Perhaps she wonders what happened to her mother?"

"Hmm?" I replied. "She knows what happened to her mother. She-"

"No, perhaps she wonders where she is. They all do, Faramir. You need to tell them, reassure them." He looked at me searchingly. "And you need to tell yourself."

I crossed my arms. "Imrahil, must we go into this? I have settled my mind, and there is no going back. You know what I think."

He shook his head. "Your father said the same thing, Far. He couldn't understand why your mother was taken from him. But there are some things that just aren't explained!"

"Well, there are a lot in my case," I bit out. "Perhaps you'd like to tell me why I was abused?"

There was silence. I had never brought up the subject of my abuse before in my life. Been questioned about it, yes. Had a conversation and got the emotions off my chest, yes. But I had never started the conversations.

Imrahil sighed. "Faramir, I am not Eru, nor do I know everything. But you can be sure-"

"Oh yes?" I exploded. Quickly, I rolled up my sleeve and showed him the marks of the whip. "I have borne these since I was ten. Give me one good reason for them, and I will listen to whatever you have to say."

Imrahil shook his head. "I do not have one."

I nodded, and the strength flowed out of my body in an instant. I sagged against the wall and wiped my face again. It was then that I saw my son standing in the doorway, and I straightened immediately. "Feomir?" I asked, "How long have you been here?"

He bit his lip and whispered, "Since you came in." Then he burst out passionately, "What did Grandpa do to you, Father?"

I felt tears swelling in my eyes, but stubbornly refused to let them fall. I had never intended my children to know about any of this, and here it was pouring out like a rich stream of blood. I was on the verge of telling him to go to bed when Imrahil said gently, "Feomir, there was a time-"

"Imrahil!" I snapped. He immediately stopped and raised his eyebrows at me. I turned to Feomir.

"Go to bed, Feomir. It's late and you need your sleep," I said, making my voice as gentle as I could. Incidentally, it was not very gentle. As he obediently turned to leave, I added, "And do not take your sister into the garden anymore. She is frightened of it."

When Feomir had left, Imrahil turned to me. "What was that all about?" he asked. "The boy did nothing wrong! And why should he not know about your past?"

"For the same reason a colt is not shown a whip," I sighed. "He will learn in good time."

Imrahil looked as if he wanted to say something very much, but he shook his head and turned away. "The only way I have been able to keep from becoming bitter," he said, "is by placing my trust in Eru. I pray that you will do the same." Then he left to find some rest.

I stood in the little room a while longer, gazing out at the moon, and only one sentence broke the absolute silence before I left.

"Then you are a bigger fool than I thought."

The next morning found myself in the great hall pouring over several maps of Ithilien and muttering aloud. Little rest (a thing I have, you no doubt know, long been used to) had found me the night before, but I felt abnormally alert and alive. Perhaps my spat with Imrahil had enlivened me.

I was just tracking a likely course through a thicket of trees in Northern Ithilien when I heard a step behind me. I have a knack for recognizing people that are close to me and their various walks, coughs, and snorts, and so it was with no difficulty that I was able to say (without turning), "Good morning, Uncle."

Imrahil chuckled and stepped up to the table. "Too long a Ranger, Faramir."

I smiled to myself and asked, "Did you have a good sleep?"

"No," he replied, then hesitated. "I was beset with guilt. I came here to apologize for the things I said last night...they were unnecessary." He cleared his throat and went on: "I come to encourage and console you, and I can only blunder."

I threw my pencil down and turned to look at him. "No Uncle, don't say that. You are a great comfort to my family and I. And all is forgiven."

He smiled and laid a hand on my shoulder. "You are doing a fine job of raising the children."

Maybe the sunlight was playing tricks on me, but I could have sworn I saw a tear trickle down his weathered cheek. But when I looked again, it was not there, and I dismissed it. "Shall we breakfast?" I asked, and we left the room and the maps and the apologies to themselves.

William Shakespeare
Real quick-who else loves Imrahil? ME!