A Fearful Farewell, by Kaylee Arafinwiel
Mar. 25th, 2016 03:35 pmB2MeM Challenge: Like a fearful Faramir
Format: Ficlet
Genre: Deathfic
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Character deaths
Characters: Faramir, others
Pairings:
Creators' Notes (optional):
Summary: With his father and brother going into great danger, Faramir couldn’t possibly be left behind – no matter how afraid he is to go forth.
“Brother, surely you cannot mean to leave me behind! It was I who received the message,” Faramir protested, even as they clasped hands in farewell. “Surely you realise this is madness. With you and Father both gone, who will rule the City?”
“You, of course, Faramir,” came the calm, somewhat surprised reply. “You are more than capable. You know this. I am Captain-General of Gondor, brother – I must ride at Father’s side. Our enemy’s strength is great; he would have me with him as we fight to defend our country together. And if there is aid to be found, surely Father and I together will find it.”
“Mir,” he found himself whispering, switching to flawless Sindarin though his voice shook. “Muindor, please, let me come with you – I am afraid if you go, I will never see you again. Never see you or Ada again.”
“We will find each other again, muindor dithen.”
“Come, my son, we must make haste. Faramir, go back inside.” His father sounded worried, impatient, but overall stern. “You will rule in my place as Steward until my return. Now go, keep the Citadel for us. I have faith in you. Do not break my trust.”
“Yes, Father,” Faramir whispered. Nevertheless, he watched until their horses were out of sight, surrounded by guards. They were not riding to war just yet, after all – merely seeking aid and an answer.
He looked East, and shuddered. War would fall soon enough.
Days passed; a week, perhaps two. No sign of them, but portents of war had come at last. Finally, he had enough.
He summoned Pelendur, his father’s chief counsellor, and asked for his horse and provisions. “I ride to find our lords,” he said grimly, when Pelendur had given him all he asked for.
“Who will rule until your return?” Pelendur asked as Faramir pulled on a stained green cloak, the hood covering his dark hair well. Faramir handed him a ring of keys.
“Keep the city well, my lord – and if all else fails, look to the North for aid.” He rode swiftly for the plains of the Morannon, where he felt he would find an end to his quest.
Along the path, he fell in with the Horse-folk, as he thought he would; they were retreating from the plain of the Morannon, attempting to rejoin their Gondorian allies in the battle. He spurred his horse on in time to see the King of Gondor fall.
“Father!” Terrified, Faramir broke away and fought his way through the warriors, striking out with his sword until his path was clear. When he finally knelt beside Ondoher’s broken body, he found it covering another – his beloved brother.
Artamir…
“No! Artamir, no…” Faramir cried, and his fear, his grief, turned to fury. Every last one of these Wainriders would die, he resolved in that moment. The Éothéod defended Faramir as best they could, but eventually the line was broken.
Silver horns sounded in the distance. The banners of Prince Adrahil flew over the field. Gondor would have aid – too late.
Faramir, son of Ondoher, was slain ere the Prince's knights ever joined the battle – and the struggle for Gondor’s crown had begun.
Format: Ficlet
Genre: Deathfic
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Character deaths
Characters: Faramir, others
Pairings:
Creators' Notes (optional):
Summary: With his father and brother going into great danger, Faramir couldn’t possibly be left behind – no matter how afraid he is to go forth.
“Brother, surely you cannot mean to leave me behind! It was I who received the message,” Faramir protested, even as they clasped hands in farewell. “Surely you realise this is madness. With you and Father both gone, who will rule the City?”
“You, of course, Faramir,” came the calm, somewhat surprised reply. “You are more than capable. You know this. I am Captain-General of Gondor, brother – I must ride at Father’s side. Our enemy’s strength is great; he would have me with him as we fight to defend our country together. And if there is aid to be found, surely Father and I together will find it.”
“Mir,” he found himself whispering, switching to flawless Sindarin though his voice shook. “Muindor, please, let me come with you – I am afraid if you go, I will never see you again. Never see you or Ada again.”
“We will find each other again, muindor dithen.”
“Come, my son, we must make haste. Faramir, go back inside.” His father sounded worried, impatient, but overall stern. “You will rule in my place as Steward until my return. Now go, keep the Citadel for us. I have faith in you. Do not break my trust.”
“Yes, Father,” Faramir whispered. Nevertheless, he watched until their horses were out of sight, surrounded by guards. They were not riding to war just yet, after all – merely seeking aid and an answer.
He looked East, and shuddered. War would fall soon enough.
Days passed; a week, perhaps two. No sign of them, but portents of war had come at last. Finally, he had enough.
He summoned Pelendur, his father’s chief counsellor, and asked for his horse and provisions. “I ride to find our lords,” he said grimly, when Pelendur had given him all he asked for.
“Who will rule until your return?” Pelendur asked as Faramir pulled on a stained green cloak, the hood covering his dark hair well. Faramir handed him a ring of keys.
“Keep the city well, my lord – and if all else fails, look to the North for aid.” He rode swiftly for the plains of the Morannon, where he felt he would find an end to his quest.
Along the path, he fell in with the Horse-folk, as he thought he would; they were retreating from the plain of the Morannon, attempting to rejoin their Gondorian allies in the battle. He spurred his horse on in time to see the King of Gondor fall.
“Father!” Terrified, Faramir broke away and fought his way through the warriors, striking out with his sword until his path was clear. When he finally knelt beside Ondoher’s broken body, he found it covering another – his beloved brother.
Artamir…
“No! Artamir, no…” Faramir cried, and his fear, his grief, turned to fury. Every last one of these Wainriders would die, he resolved in that moment. The Éothéod defended Faramir as best they could, but eventually the line was broken.
Silver horns sounded in the distance. The banners of Prince Adrahil flew over the field. Gondor would have aid – too late.
Faramir, son of Ondoher, was slain ere the Prince's knights ever joined the battle – and the struggle for Gondor’s crown had begun.
no subject
Date: 2016-04-05 03:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-05 04:18 am (UTC)Thank you so!
Kaylee