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Rain, Rain. ‘Rain… Rain, go away, come again some… other day.’ Faramir sighed. Even remembering a childish memory taxed his mind, for he had seldom heard the fairy tales, and sayings most children know by heart. He did not like rain. It made everything grey and nasty, and his cloak and shirt clung to him unpleasantly. Why wouldn’t that stupid key turn? ‘There! I’m finally in.’ he thought. ‘Now… Eru, please, please don’t let that be what I think it is. Oh, please let some one have buried… it.’ He gulped, looking at the charred remains of his father. ‘It is what I think it is. No one had time or cared.’ He tried not to inhale as he lifted the body down from the fire damaged stone table. The stench was overpowering as it filled his lungs. He hated death. He could feel tears forming as he thought of the horror and hopelessness of this death, but he scrubbed them away. He tenderly folded the fleshless hands over the strong ribcage. On an impulse, he tenderly kissed his father’s forehead in farewell, choking back a sob as he felt the coldness of the flesh under his lips, for his face had been but little damaged in the conflagration. The look of peace was there, and Faramir found it comforting, somehow. But, oh, what he would not give for his father to speak to him, to tell him what a failure he was. He wanted that so badly, he wouldn’t even mind the pain. “Oh, Ada.” He whispered. “Ada.” He wrapped the body in a clean shroud he had brought with him. He had feared he would find it so. He carried the body outside of the burned shell of a building, and down to where his horse stood waiting. He lifted Denethor’s body onto the saddle and swung up behind, checking to see that his shovel was fastened behind. The bell rang for midnight as Faramir left the city. Dawn was painting the sky when he came to his hill, the hill where his mother lay, and where two innocent boys had buried their dog. Faramir began to dig next to his mother, his injured shoulder racking in pain. They should be together, with Orc to guard their feet. He would one day join them. The sooner, the better, although the thought of a white maiden in the houses of healing gave him a pale sort of hope… His shovel hit a stone, and he cursed. “Now Captain, that’s not proper!” Faramir’s head snapped up, and he stared at his lieutenant and the four men with him. “What-” “We’re here to help.” Anborn said stolidly. “Can’t let you do this by yourself. No man should bury his kin alone.” “But I-” “No talking.” Eledain the silent growled. The rangers began to dig, and at a cloudy noon they lowered the Steward in. Faramir took the stones he had gotten from the river and laid them over the top of the mound. No beast would desecrate this place! His throat felt tight. He wanted to scream, he wanted to just lie down and die here, next to his parents. He was so alone… Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day. Grief, grief, go away, come again some other day. He wanted to scream that at the top of his lungs. But he didn’t. Anborn grabbed him before he could fall and pulled him into a tight embrace, and the walls came tumbling down. Faramir put his head on his shoulder and wept, unable to hold himself in any longer. He could feel tears coursing down his face, and was only vaguely aware that Anborn had seated himself on the ground, and was all but holding his young captain on his lap! He could feel his hand gently rubbing his back, and hear his voice soothing him. His men, he could sense them near, lightly touching his shoulder or head in comfort. He should be ashamed of his weakness, he knew, but he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. He had loved his father! He had loved his rangers! He had so dearly loved his brother. Hot tears soaked into Anborn’s shirt, but the rain was cold, and his captain was shivering. Slowly the sobs seemed to lessen, and Anborn pulled back to look at Faramir’s face. “Better?” He asked, gently finger combing the tangled dark hair from Faramir’s cold wet face. Faramir nodded. “I’m sorry.” He choked, pulling away from Anborn. “I didn’t mean to-” “Captain, everybody cries!” The lieutenant protested. “There is no shame in grieving for someone you loved.” “I can’t cry. It is shameful.” Faramir in a small voice, so unlike the strong captain Anborn had known that the man felt like protecting his young captain as he would a child. “Never mind.” Faramir stood up. “I shall not ‘never mind’! Faramir, look around you! Every last one of us has cried on your shoulder at one time or another. I know I certainly have more than once. Are you saying that what we have done is shameful?” Faramir looked confused. “No, no it was not, but… I can’t, that’s all.” “Yes you CAN!” Mablung said. “If you don’t, if you keep locking yourself away from help for your pain, one of these days they will have to drag you off the field or court, a raving battle casualty, and then they’ll lock you in the healers basements with all the other broken soldiers.” “Mablung, your active imagination never ceases to amaze me. Be quiet.” Damrod sighed. “What the lunk is trying to say, captain, is that if you don’t accept our help, this grief will slay you.” His jaw hardened. “And I will not allow another of my friends to become a casualty of this abominable war. So stop being so bloody proud and accept the helping hand you have always given to others!” Faramir turned away. “I should have died. I should have died with them.” “Don’t EVER say that!” Anborn snapped, shaking Faramir by the sound left shoulder. “Not ever. What has been, has been, and what shall be, shall be! Wishing that you had died does none good, and a great deal of harm. Not to mention the dishonor done to those who fell. It is akin to saying you are not pleased with their sacrifice, that it was not enough that they died for you. I know that you do not wish to say that, that you never would, that your grief makes you say what you would never even whisper. But still, the affront is there. Say it not again.” The young Steward bowed his head. “I’m sorry. I shall not.” He murmured again, and all the rangers converged on him at once, hugging him tightly, and allowing him to weep, and weeping with him, for they knew that the tears were not all for the fallen Steward, but for his men, their friends and they had healing power in them. Finally he stood up. The grey rain was still dripping disconsolately down. “Come then.” He said softly. “Let us go… home.” “Just a minute captain, you’re a site to behold.” Mablung pulled out a handkerchief. “Spit on it.” Faramir complied, and his face was scrubbed ruthlessly. “Ahhgh!” Faramir yelped. “Leave some skin!” “That’s for scaring us all so bad this morning when the healers could not find you!” They laughed, and the feeling was good after the tears. They got on their horses, and rode back to the City. Faramir dismounted before the house of healers, and sighed. “I go to prison.” He moaned. “Promise to write me?” “Keep your chin up, eat your vegetables and stay out of drafts and you’ll be freed.” Anborn told him sensibly. Faramir snorted. “You forgot ‘say your prayers’.” “You won’t forget that, ever, Captain.” They led his horse away, and Faramir went indoors. “FARAMIR!” The head healer pounced. “WHERE WERE YOU?” He shrieked. “You have no IDEA- You’re dripping wet. Go to your room and get out of those wet clothes immediately!” He commanded, and Faramir allowed himself to be dragged to his room, stripped, bathed, bandaged and fussed over. “Beregond should NEVER have told you!” The healer hissed as he bandaged his shoulder after heating it. “You could have died. You must swear not to leave here again before I release you.” “I swear. But do not blame Beregond, I he did not tell me. I saw it in his eyes.” Faramir sighed, and the healer was silent. “Please, healer, I am tired.” “Eat first.” He then allowed them to drag him to the dining hall, and shoved him in a chair in front of the Lady Eowyn, who handed him a bowl of oatmeal. Oog. Eowyn raised her eyebrow. “Horse feed.” She said softly, poking her own with a spoon. Faramir surprised himself by smiling. “I agree.” They were silent in a friendly way for the rest of the meal, and afterwards, he was hauled to his room, undressed again, and put to bed. After they had left the room, he got out of bed, went to his window, staring at the stars. He began to hum softly. ‘Rain, rain…’ The steady dripping had stopped. ‘Come again some other day.’ He didn’t hate it anymore. And he would not mind if it came again. But he WAS glad it was gone for now. Well? What did you all think? I wanted to write it SO BAD! It’s been knocking on my door for ages! Review: | |||||
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