fantasticmuse (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fantasticmuse) wrote2003-07-28 10:16 pm
fantasticmuse) wrote2003-07-28 10:16 pm
Yet another Ringprov challenge-
Title: Dying Young
Rating:PG
Disclaimer:Not mine. Tolkien's. God I hate these things.
Notes: Faramir learns of his mother's death. Poor kid.
Faramir watched wide-eyed as healers and their apprentices rushed in and out of the big chamber where his parents slept. Even at five years old, he could tell that something was wrong. There were never this many people in the family chambers, and especially not healers. Whenever anyone was sick they just went to the houses of healing. If the healers came to you it meant you couldn’t leave bed. And that was something serious indeed.
The little boy pushed closer to the wall across the hall from the room as the healers came out, very slowly. Looking at their faces and terrible expressions, he was suddenly very afraid, he wished that Boromir had been told to wait outside as well, instead of staying in the chambers. Looking around and weighing his curiosity against the fact that Father had forbidden him to enter the room, he gathered his courage and crept quietly into the room.
He passed through the antechambers where his father’s big desk was, and stopped just outside the door to the bedroom, which had been left open by the healers. Pausing here, he could hear a voice talking quietly inside. It took him a moment to recognize his brother’s voice, the sound of it was different somehow; Faramir had never heard him speak in such a tone before.
Leaning forward and peeking gingerly around the door, he saw his mother, in the big bed, lying very still. Next to the bed was his father, kneeling on the floor with his head in his hands. Faramir watched in confusion as Denethor’s body shook silently while Boromir stood next to him.
Boromir was still talking, and now Faramir could understand what he was saying.
“I’m sorry, Father, I’m sorry. It’s alright, don’t worry. Come on now, it will be alright.”
Boromir continued talking in the same quiet voice as Faramir stepped fully into the room and looked at him. Their eyes met, and it was then that the little boy knew that this was something even worse than the time when he had been sick enough to spend three whole days in bed.
“ Boromir? What’s happened?” He did not dare to speak in more than a whisper. “What’s wrong with Father?”
Boromir only shook his head and continued to murmur to Denethor, but his eyes moved to the bed where their mother lay.
Suddenly, Denethor seemed to notice his second son’s presence, and he shifted from his position on the floor to look up at Faramir. For a moment he just stared at the boy, then suddenly he spoke.
“My wife is dead, Faramir. Do you know what that means? Your mother is gone, and she will not return to me.” The look of pain and anger on his father’s face at that moment was a look that Faramir would remember for the rest of his life. He tore his gaze from his father’s to look at his mother in bed, lying too still to be sleeping, and then to Boromir, trying with everything he had to be stoic and strong for his father.
Watching Boromir coax his father off the floor and into a chair, Faramir backed out of the room and waited for his brother to come out. When Boromir finally staggered out he walked directly to Faramir, picked him up and pulled him into his lap.
Faramir clung to the older boy as he began to weep softly, rocking back and forth whispering,
“I love you, Faramir. I love you.”
“Love you, too. But don’t cry, everything is going to be fine. Right? Isn’t it?”
Boromir only shook his head and continued to weep.
Rating:PG
Disclaimer:Not mine. Tolkien's. God I hate these things.
Notes: Faramir learns of his mother's death. Poor kid.
Faramir watched wide-eyed as healers and their apprentices rushed in and out of the big chamber where his parents slept. Even at five years old, he could tell that something was wrong. There were never this many people in the family chambers, and especially not healers. Whenever anyone was sick they just went to the houses of healing. If the healers came to you it meant you couldn’t leave bed. And that was something serious indeed.
The little boy pushed closer to the wall across the hall from the room as the healers came out, very slowly. Looking at their faces and terrible expressions, he was suddenly very afraid, he wished that Boromir had been told to wait outside as well, instead of staying in the chambers. Looking around and weighing his curiosity against the fact that Father had forbidden him to enter the room, he gathered his courage and crept quietly into the room.
He passed through the antechambers where his father’s big desk was, and stopped just outside the door to the bedroom, which had been left open by the healers. Pausing here, he could hear a voice talking quietly inside. It took him a moment to recognize his brother’s voice, the sound of it was different somehow; Faramir had never heard him speak in such a tone before.
Leaning forward and peeking gingerly around the door, he saw his mother, in the big bed, lying very still. Next to the bed was his father, kneeling on the floor with his head in his hands. Faramir watched in confusion as Denethor’s body shook silently while Boromir stood next to him.
Boromir was still talking, and now Faramir could understand what he was saying.
“I’m sorry, Father, I’m sorry. It’s alright, don’t worry. Come on now, it will be alright.”
Boromir continued talking in the same quiet voice as Faramir stepped fully into the room and looked at him. Their eyes met, and it was then that the little boy knew that this was something even worse than the time when he had been sick enough to spend three whole days in bed.
“ Boromir? What’s happened?” He did not dare to speak in more than a whisper. “What’s wrong with Father?”
Boromir only shook his head and continued to murmur to Denethor, but his eyes moved to the bed where their mother lay.
Suddenly, Denethor seemed to notice his second son’s presence, and he shifted from his position on the floor to look up at Faramir. For a moment he just stared at the boy, then suddenly he spoke.
“My wife is dead, Faramir. Do you know what that means? Your mother is gone, and she will not return to me.” The look of pain and anger on his father’s face at that moment was a look that Faramir would remember for the rest of his life. He tore his gaze from his father’s to look at his mother in bed, lying too still to be sleeping, and then to Boromir, trying with everything he had to be stoic and strong for his father.
Watching Boromir coax his father off the floor and into a chair, Faramir backed out of the room and waited for his brother to come out. When Boromir finally staggered out he walked directly to Faramir, picked him up and pulled him into his lap.
Faramir clung to the older boy as he began to weep softly, rocking back and forth whispering,
“I love you, Faramir. I love you.”
“Love you, too. But don’t cry, everything is going to be fine. Right? Isn’t it?”
Boromir only shook his head and continued to weep.