A/N: I apologize for the mistake with Lothiriel's name.
IIII
Something was sticking into his back. Faramir could hear someone rambling on. Someone grabbed his arm. Strong arms carried him. He moaned in pain. What was happening? Couldn't the orcs leave him alone to die in peace? There was screaming, shouting, and then, warmth. A warmth that was growing all around him.
Suddenly, his head slammed into something hard. He moaned in pain.
"Do not take my son from me!" someone shouted. Faramir's ears perked up. He tried to open his eyes but he was so tired he could not.
There was more rambling. Faramir saw himself on the edge of a dark abyss. He was falling. Wind rushed into his face.
And then, he hit the bottom. His dark world swam and darkness took him.
Faramir gave a great cry and sat up in his bed. His ears rang with the sudden silence. He was panting. His head was throbbing. His wound, caused by an accursed Southron arrow, caused his chest to ache. The arrow was stopped by a rib. It was still in the process of healing. Mithrandir suspects that there was poison on the arrow-head.
The Steward brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. He got out of bed. The cold ground seemed to bite and gnaw at his soles. This was the first night in days that he had actually slept peacefully until that confounded dream came along.
I must have had a wicked childhood, Faramir reasoned.
He opened the door. The corridoor was bathed in shades of blue and white. He walked barefooted to the veranda, where he had Queen Arwen had talked several days before.
Faramir felt full from the feast earlier. Éomer and Lothiriel's marriage feast boasted all sorts of delicacies; Rohirric and Gondorian. Faramir, with his unsastifiable hunger, piled his plate high with the vittles. Well, except for the blood-pudding which he has detested since he was a young lad.
Boromir loved blood-pudding, he thought. Faramir remembered the times when they were younger, they snuck into the kitchen and stole food. When their father out, he thought Faramir had tricked Boromir into the stunt. Denethor whipped Faramir until blood ran like the Anduin.
Faramir used his arms to support his weight, his long and knobby fingers clutching the railing like an anchor. He felt drowsy, his head swam. He looked behind him, and around him. Finally, content that there was no one there, he shouted a swear.
It made him feel so much better.
"Go away," he said into the lonely darkness. He wanted this demon to go away. To stop bothering him. He saw his memories flicker before him, while talking to King Elessar. He saw his mother smiling, the sun bathing her skin. He saw Boromir laughing at some daft joke with him. He saw his father laughing with him.
Which happened rarely.
These happy memories stayed with him, but the minute he climbed into his bed, it attacked him. He saw his mother's battered body lying in an abandoned quarrie. He saw Boromir giving him disappointed looks. And he saw his father flogging him.
Faramir's back has a mixture of scars; those from battle and those made by his father. Sometimes, he felt the scars burn into him.
Right now, Faramir looked and felt a good deal older than his thirty-five years. He felt almost as old as King Elessar. He could not and would not sleep. He didn't want to face his memories again. Faramir did his best to avoid them. He avoided the garden where his mother would stroll. He avoided the Great Hall where his father used to sit alone. He avoided the stables where he and Boromir used to play.
But to no avail.
Faramir buried his face in his hands, using his elbows to support his weight.
A sword rang in the darkness. "Who goes there?"
Faramir turned and saw a guard glaring at him. It was Barond, the guard.
"'Tis only me," Faramir told the guard. "Faramir."
The guard stepped into the light and let out a sigh of relief and sheathed his sword. He bowed."Ha! It's only you, m'lord. I nearly mistook you for a thief! I'd suggest you go back to your bed, lest anyone mistake you again. They might not ask, the next time."
"You're right Barond," Faramir said. He bid the guard good night and the guard said,
"Good morning. It's good morning. We've just passed into the first hour of the day."
"So be it," Faramir said and went into his room. He pulled the blanket onto the floor and kicked it to one side. Then, exhausted, he threw himself onto the bed.
