Immortalitui // Faramir 🥀

Chapter Twelve - Beginnings

Word Count: 1,797 words. 

Warnings: None. 

Gondor
Years ago...

"Pity," he muttered. "I liked that dagger."

Faramir sent a smile towards the elf beside him. It was early, certainly too early for anyone else in the city to be awake. He had found her practising with her sword against a straw dummy not three hours ago. At that point, the sun still hadn't risen into the sky and Faramir questioned whether she had gotten any sleep at all.

Arathiel and him had been engaging in a challenge that he suggested. He had told her that he wished to get some training in before the soldiers got to the freshly sharpened blades. That had been a lie on his part. It was clear that she wanted the area as well and so he told her that they would have to compete for it. In truth, he had simply been out for an early morning stroll and spotted her in the training yard. He simply couldn't resist the chance to talk to her.

"You could go about retrieving it," Arathiel suggested.

The dagger that Faramir had thrown missed the straw dummy entirely, flying passed it and over the ridge. To get that back would take hours.

"You only wish for me to leave so that you may find yourself alone again," he retaliated.

She shook her head, picking up another dagger and examining its balance. "Is there something wrong with wishing to be alone? No one to pester you?"

"I pester you?" he posed.

She hated it. The fluttering feeling in her stomach whenever he was near. That shaking breath when the man smirked. "In a way," she replied, not entirely lying.

With a strong arm, Arathiel tossed the dagger that she was holding. It lodged itself into the face of the dummy. Faramir shook his head in astonishment.

"You really are a mighty warrior," he commented.

Her throat tightened at his use of the word mighty. She was a warrior yes, Arathiel had been a solider since she was old enough to hold a sword, but there was nothing mighty about the way she fought. About the way she killed.

"I am no better than the blade I wield," she explained, turning to look at the man. It had been a mistake on her part. Faramir was already staring at the elf, eyes fixed on her as they moved in thought. Now that their gaze had met, she couldn't tear herself away.

"Your eyes speak of pain and time long past, but your beauty is something neither old nor young," he muttered.

His voice. It was something that she couldn't understand, the things it did to her. How could one man have such an affect on an immortal being? There had been many men more handsome than the one she stood in front of, many that had made her feel things, but this one? It was like the world had taken every ounce of strength from her and placed it all in this single human body. She craved to be near him, to feel strong, and with him, she was.

"I am an elf. We are known for our beauty," she tried.

He took a step closer. "I have seen many elves in my life and although not as long as yours, it has been most informing. I have never seen an elf with your beauty nor with your knowledge or your kindness. Your strength."

"There are elves that can lift entire buildings if only they tried," she argued, leaning her hand against the table she had taken the dagger from. "My strength is depleted due to my human heritage and so I assure you, my lord, that there are elves stronger than I."