Lord of the Rings/Faramir/.006 Hook
Title: Drawn In
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Characters: Faramir
Prompt: #006- Hook
Word Count: 266 words
Rating: G
Summary: Faramir sat, in the stillness that only came after a battle, blood-stained sword naked across his grimy knees.
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I am not Tolkien. Or Legolas would not be blonde and Faramir and Boromir would have dark hair in the movies like the books.
Notes: None.
“I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend: the city of the men of Númenor; and I would have her loved for her memory, her ancientry, her beauty, and her present wisdom. Not feared, save as men may fear the dignity of a man, old and wise...”
-Faramir
The bodies were left for the carrion to feast. Black and red, blood mingled with grime and blood all over the trampled grass slathered with mud. It had rained recently, and rivulets and creeks of blood ran over the land.
Faramir sat, in the stillness that only came after a battle, blood-stained sword naked across his grimy knees. His left fist was scabbed black with dried blood, and the pain as he clenched the sword’s hilt was distant.
What he remembered more than emptiness or a wasteland of sword-cuts and blocks and sweat and grunts and cries and dirt:
The pat on his back from Boromir as his brother told him he’d done well for his first conflict. And the small smile on his father’s face as he reports the successful attack on the orc raiding party.
Faramir never meant to be a warrior. But that was the moment that the smile on Denethor’s face and the pride in his brother’s eyes drew him in, and he was hooked, and while he never grew to love the sword, it always hung by his side, his fingerprints impressed onto the hilt still-warm, blade barely cooled from the blood.