05 August 2006 | 593 words
Title: Battle Truth
Prompt: 011 — Red
Author’s Notes: Faramir realizes the brutal truth of a soldier’s life after his first battle.
Faramir knelt on the soaked, stained ground with his hands resting in his lap.
He had always been taught that battle was a glorious thing. That victory was the path to honor and remembrance in the halls of his ancestors.
Now he knew what a lie that was.
Kneeling on the turf, sticky with crimson, his body shuddering as cold, red liquid dripped off his blood stained hands, he knew what a Valar forsaken lie that was.
There was no glory in this, no honor in the slaughter.
He realized that battle was drenched in the blood of innocent men.
Title: Pale Strands
Prompt: 012 — Gray
Author’s Notes: Faramir makes a discovery.
It was during a cold evening as Faramir and Aragorn sat before a dying fire and talked, that Faramir made the discovery.
He was combing his fingers through Aragorn’s thick, soft, dark hair, a habit he had developed early in their relationship, when a pale flash amidst the deep brown caught his eye.
“Oh Valar.” Faramir said with a chuckle, fingering the strands.
“What?” Aragorn asked.
“It’s finally happened.” Faramir said with a theatrical sigh.
“What’s finally happened?” Aragorn inquired.
“Love of my life,” Faramir said with a smile, “You’re getting gray hair.”
“Valar above, I am old.” Aragorn grumbled.
Prompt: 013 — White
Author’s Notes: Faramir is not nearly as innocent as everyone thinks he is.
Faramir was not as innocent as everyone seemed to think he was. Even Aragorn, who knew more about him than any other, found his supposed naïveté his most endearing features.
He had long ago stopped trying to convince him otherwise; much as he loved the Ranger, he was stubborn enough to make such arguments useless.
But Faramir was not innocent.
Faramir had killed, coldly and mercilessly. He had cut down enemies in cold, impassioned blood.
He had fucked with nothing more behind the tainted clash of skin than pure release.
He was not as pure as everyone seemed to think.
Title: Toward Death
Prompt: 014 — Black
Author’s Notes: Faramir rides toward certain death.
He could hear the roaring thunder of dozens of horses galloping at all speed across the Pelennor. He could hear the clang of armor, the gasping breath of his men.
Glare from the sun gleamed off the silver breastplates and helmets, off the sharpened edge of his sword.
He could see the masses of black that covered Osgiliath. The twisted demons of servants for the Dark Lord. The orc army.
They rode toward a black death. He knew it.
He was going to die. His men were going to die.
All because he was not strong enough to defy Denethor.
Prompt: 015 — Blue
Author’s Notes: His eyes are the window to his soul.
Finduilas, wife of Denethor, had given her younger son many unappreciated, but great, gifts; not the least of which were the piercing eyes the color of the endless summer skies.
To any who cared to look, anyone who took the time to notice, those eyes were the key to understanding Faramir.
On the rare occasion he was angry, they turned the pale, hard color of ice.
When he was happy, they turned rich aquamarine. Joyous and deep.
In sorrow, they turned dark, as though his emotion could not be contained.
All he felt was reflected in the two endless pools.
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Thank the author
The following people read the story, enjoyed it, and would like to thank the author: ophelia , Mel