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I, Faramir (PG-13) Print

Written by Surreysmum

21 February 2011 | 7582 words

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Day 5

I find myself decidedly reluctant to keep writing this. But the King has commanded it.

Sometime in the middle of that night, I woke to the sound of Aragorn’s quiet breathing and opened my eyes to find that Ithil had risen and was flooding the cave with water-filtered moonbeams. The snow must have stopped for the light to be so bright. I became aware of a pressing need to empty my bladder, and pushed myself carefully, reluctantly away from the warmth of my companion, cocooning the blankets around him as I emerged into the chill.

I approached the cliff-edge of the cave. Beyond the water, as I knew well, it was a precipitous fall into the deep, forbidden pool. There was surely no way, short of having stickier feet than a Mirkwood spider, that anyone could have scaled that cliff outside and used the waterfall as an entrance. But we were always cautious men, we Northern Rangers, and we had driven short, lethal spikes into the cave walls all around the opening to the waterfall. I had grown so used to seeing them there I had forgotten all about them.

That waterfall flows too fast and strong ever to freeze, but it blows a mighty spray into the cave-mouth, and wherever it landed the spray froze on that more than chilly night. In particular, the ice had formed and grown all over each spike like a strange translucent tree-bark. Where the moonlight caught them, the spikes glittered so brightly they cast shadows upon each other at odd angles.

I heard Aragorn’s footsteps approach me. “Beautiful,” he said, when he realized what I was looking at.

“Deadly,” I replied, shuddering a little.

His hand fell on my shoulder briefly. “Both,” he conceded. Then he stepped forward closer to the curtain of water, reached into his lacings and matter-of-factly pissed into the waterfall. As he tucked himself back in, and I rather shamefacedly followed his example, he said, “Come back to bed, ‘Mir. I can’t sleep tonight without my warming-pan.”

I was glad to oblige. It took more than a few moth-eaten old blankets to shut out the bitter cold that night, and his warmth at my back made the difference in letting me sleep as well.

I am not quite sure why – perhaps it was those spikes that set my sleeping imagination wandering into dark places – but towards dawn I had again a horrifying dream that I have had on occasion since the War, the one where Aragorn kills me.

I say horrifying, but one of the most striking, disturbing things about this dream, every time it has come to me, is while I am in it, I am neither horrified, nor panicked, nor even fearful. Nor have I ever been able to recall, upon waking, any exact reason why I must be killed, or why it must be Aragorn, of all people, who kills me, or why in that particular fashion (and it is always the same). We are merely agreed that it must be done. Indeed, if I am anxious at all, it is only that I must make a good death. Is this the ghost of my brother in my mind? But Aragorn did not kill him; quite the opposite.

As well as I can recall, it never seems to happen in battle, or in any public place of execution. If anything, it’s a rather private execution, just him and me. And there is no ceremony; I merely say “All right, then, it’s time.” And I sit back comfortably and spread my arms submissively, and he looks at me with that rather intense stare he sometimes gets, and asks, “Are you ready?” And when I nod, he lifts Anduril and plunges it deep in my chest, and it doesn’t hurt, not as you’d expect. Sometimes he even plunges the sword in several times before I die. And as I die – is this not ridiculous? – I feel nothing but happiness and delight at having done as he wished.

Always at this point, just before my mind convinces me I have truly expired, I wake and

worry about what kind of insanity is overtaking me, that I would dream that one of my best friends would kill me, and that I would wish it. I remember once babbling about it to Wynnie, in the middle of the night, but she did not seem as concerned as I am; maybe she was just too sleepy. She patted my hand and said, “If Aragorn comes back to kill you again, ‘Mir, just tell him I’ll be right behind him with my sword, and he’ll have to answer to me!”

That night in the cave, I think I woke just as dawn was breaking, but I cannot be sure because I didn’t open my eyes for quite some time. I must have been thrashing about in my dream, you see, because the first thing I became aware of was that Aragorn had a hand around the back of my neck, and he was rubbing it soothingly, and murmuring even more soothing words in Sindarin. And then the next thing I was aware of, rather embarrassingly, even though it is entirely normal for menfolk in the morning, was a hardness in my breeches – and in his. So I pretended to be a little more asleep than I was, so that neither of us need be ashamed, and only “woke up” gradually as he continued to repeat his soft Elvish phrases in my ear.

As soon as he realized I was awake, Aragorn moved away with a quick, “Good morrow, Faramir!” I meant to tease him about the Sindarin; for some reason (perhaps because I never use it, not being one for elf-lore, and having terrible pronunciation to boot) he seems to think I don’t understand it at all. But by the time I had formed words in my head, he had escaped into one of the smaller caves. And shortly I heard faint sounds issuing from it that – well, that any man would recognize. And if I continued to listen intently, it was only for fear that I would be interrupted as I dealt with a similar urgent need myself.

That same urgent need that I now need to deal with again, apparently, just from remembering and writing this. Curses upon the man.

No, I don’t mean that. He is my liege lord and my friend. And I will do the thinking he has asked me to do – but tomorrow. Tomorrow will be soon enough.

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6 Comment(s)

I liked this one. Things like this can get a bit sappy, but this was written in a way people really think, at least my own thoughts tend to phrase themselves similarly. Thanks!

— Mandy    Monday 27 November 2006, 0:46    #

Thank you, Mandy! I consciously decided against “Tolkienesque” language in favour of the more informal tone of a diary for this one – glad it worked for you!

— Surreysmum    Monday 27 November 2006, 1:14    #

I really, really enjoyed this! I loved the subtle will they, won’t they between Faramir and Aragorn throughout, and even though Faramir’s decision at the end was a little bittersweet, it made sense in this universe and I really liked that. I’m not so much a slash-fan as I am a fan of good, believable writing and this was certainly a joy to read, it flowed so well, like Mandy I really liked the informal tone- it sets up the idea of the diary very well indeed. Seeing Aragorn and Eowyn’s points of view at the end was a very nice touch as well (I loved the line ‘I’ll Wynnie him…‘ ,ha!) Well done and thank you for sharing such a lovely and well written story! :)

Eora    Monday 28 February 2011, 20:42    #

It pleases me very much that you enjoyed it, Eora!

— surreysmum    Monday 28 February 2011, 21:43    #

I like it. Not too sweet, definitely not whining. A good start.

— alcardilme    Wednesday 2 March 2011, 4:41    #

Thank you!

— surreysmum    Wednesday 2 March 2011, 15:15    #

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