Faramir Fiction Archive

Tales Only Whispered (NC-17)

04 April 2004 | 6339 words | Work in Progress

Part III: At the Dead of Night

Master Faramir! Master Faramir! The words had fangs that bit through my sleep. Master Faramir! I didn’t ´t want to wake up. No, I told myself, that is part of my dreams. I pulled the blanket over my head and rolled myself into a tight ball. Master Faramir! No, I’m sleeping!
Someone touched my shoulder. Master Faramir, please, get up! I didn’t ´t want to open my eyes. Please! The hand was still on my shoulder. I grew cold. No, not tonight. Nausea came over me Please, Master Faramir! Someone shook me quite roughly. Moaning I disentangled myself from under my blanket. I blinked into the dimly lit face of one of my father ´s servants. Master Faramir, Lord Denethor is waiting. I don ´t want to see my father now…or ever again, I thought. Please, you know he hates waiting. Yes, he really hates it, I shuddered. I had to go. If I didn’t ´t he would come after me, and then … yes, then it would really hurt. Tell him I am coming. The servant nodded and left my chamber.

I closed my eyes and swallowed hard before I got up. It was at the dead of night. I was horribly tired. Slowly I went over to my desk. There, in the bottom drawer, I stored all my little secrets. I took out a small flask. Rosewater. My mother loved roses…I have grown to hate them. I poured a little of it out into my palm and then used it to smooth down my hair… I love the scent of roses Finduilas… I brushed away the thought of what was to come and put the flask back. With shaking fingers I unbuttoned my nightshirt. I won’t wear it. I won ´t need it anyway. He has already torn two of them – one beyond repair. I shivered as the cold night air hit my naked body. I stood in the middle of my room for a few moments not able to bring my self to move. You have to go. It took you already far too long to prepare. I opened the chest by the window and took out my blue coat. No, not my coat … Mother ´s coat. I closed my eyes and recalled the picture of my mother in Father’s bedroom. There she wore it. It looked so beautiful on her. A tear run down my cheek. Soon I will see that picture again. I drew the coat close around my still shivering body.

I went along the dark and deserted corridors. My naked feet patted hollow on the cold stone. I was freezing cold. Father always kept a roaring fire in his chambers, even in hot summer nights. He loved fire. Maybe because his heart was so cold… The sickness in my stomach increased with every step. I felt like I had swallowed a stone.

I was late. He will be furious. My heart was pounding faster and faster. The sentry who guarded the steward ´s private chambers gave me a pitiful glance as I passed him. I looked to the ground. Ashamed. Shock stabbed me like a dagger. I had reached my father ´s bedroom door. I swallowed down my nausea. I heard my blood rushing in my ears. I had to knock. I really had to knock. My arm was made of lead. It took me endlessly to lift it… I knocked.
ENTER…

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