Disclaimer: We own nothing, repeat, nothing, about this story except the plotline. And no, it didn't really happen. That part's made up.
Hi! Pel here! Thanks to all reviewers! Sorry it took so damn long. We got…lazy. Actually, to be honest, I've had this chapter written for months, but laziness, History Day, uber-crushes, laziness, moving, laziness and broken computers contribute heavily to not having it out yet! Sorry! Again…
We rejoin our humble warrior a fortnight later, in Gondor.
Faramir, having just proven himself worthy of his love Eowyn, was feeling extremely smug and exceptionally pleased with himself.
He was whistling himself a jaunty tune as he stopped in front of an elaborately carved shelf of books, trying to pick a good story for a peaceful read.
He had just decided that perhaps now was not quite the time for reading when his youth's diary-er-journal…caught his eye. He plucked it from the shelf and plopped down onto a cozy sofa.
He flicked it open and thumbed through it dully, reading a passage here or there, when that documentation of one fateful (not to mention disturbing,) afternoon appeared.
Faramir remembered it well, though he shuddered at the recollection.
It had been nearly a decade ago, and haunted him even still, as sharply as it had when first he'd discovered it.
Reader, prepare yourself, for you are soon to realize the fateful reasoning behind the Steward of Gondor and Faramir's father, Denethor's hatred towards his youngest and rather more sensitive son. What follows is a true account of the happenings as they occurred. They have not been modified or revised in any way. This is not a tale for the faint of heart.
"The passage I am about to detail pain and trouble me, and I fear the memory may affect me for the remainder of my existence. These words are never to leave this leaf and shall be the last time I, myself, hope to look upon them.
"I fear I may not have the will to finish this tale, though I will try my very hardest to convey it to these pages, and these alone."
And so goes the tale…
"I found myself utterly at a loss for entertainment or occupation this eve, and began to wander the halls. I passed through room after droll, dull room, questing for some source of even momentary distraction.
"Hoping my father or brother may help remedy my boredom, I started toward their halls.
"When I arrived, my father's doors were closed, unusual in itself. More peculiar still, were my findings when I opened the entrance and peeked inside.
"My eyes grew wide and my cheeks hot as I searched for words, for my voice to rescue me.
"Try as I might to utter an apology for my quite humiliating invasion, I found my throat dry and resistant, and no sound but as raspy groan escaped.
"No words possibly suffice to accurately describe what my now tainted eyes beheld, but I must continue as best I am capable, for it is my worry that I may go mad if the sight is not siphoned onto leaf. It is my hope that by these words escaping my quill, perhaps the memory, too, shall escape my mind.
"There my father stood proud. I remained momentarily undiscovered. He was clad in lady's garments. It chills me to think on it. Here my memory clouds a bit. Things were….odd, obviously, and I find it difficult to discern what took place next. I believe it fell as such:
"I must have made some sort of din, though again I remember not, for my father then turned, still clad in the gown and shod in freshly-noticed feminine sandals, coal lining his wide, frightful eyes, and colour filling his all-too-moistened lips. He gasped and shrieked and yelled for me to take my leave.
"And that, I fear, is the sordid tale I experienced this very eve, and though I shall tell no-one, I believe the whole city knows even now, for circumstances are tense and whispers follow my poor, gender-confused father wherever he steps.
'Tis three hours now, since I discovered him, and he has yet to look in my direction, save to glare or scoff at my presence. I do pray this does nothing to mar our relationship."
Able to read no more, Faramir snapped the diary-er-journal…shut and later in the evening burnt the accursed book by his quarter's fire, hoping never to think of that wretched memory again, and still hoping beyond hope his father may have forgiven him somehow before his not-so-untimely death at the Citadel.