Immortalitui // Faramir 🥀

Chapter Fourteen - A Celebration

Word Count: 1,588 words. 

Warnings: None. 

Gondor
Years ago...

It was the birthday of the Steward's son and a celebration fit for a King was thrown for him. People danced across the floor of the grand hall, drinks and conversation flowing without issue. Arathiel supposed that when drunk, even your worst enemy could become your friend.

"A dance, milady?" Faramir asked, approaching the elf's side. She stood leaned against one of the back walls and she had known who it was before meeting his gaze.

She fought the smile that threatened to blossom on her face at the sound of his voice. The things that man did to her were something that she didn't want to ever understand.

"I do not dance," she told him sternly.

"You fight," he countered, matching her position on her right, "and they are ever so similar."

"I don't suppose you wish to kill those you dance with and so I do not see your analogy."

The Second Son, smiled at the woman. "He enjoys the celebrations," he commented, letting out a heavy sigh. "I was never one for them. Never much a fan of people."

Boromir stood by a group of men, soldier by the looks of them but none that Arathiel would recognise. A pint of beer in his hand, he clasped his hand across one of their shoulders, laughing boisterously.

"Human celebrations are vastly different to Elven gatherings but quite like you I would prefer to be in the company of few than the company of many," she replied.

Arathiel could feel him looking at her, but she wasn't sure that he knew that. Faramir often stared at the elf, she had noticed, but she was sure that she had missed many of his gazes. They scared her in a way that she didn't understand. She needed him to leave or else her confusion might grow.

"I am sure that there are many women that would like the pleasure of your company and would be far more entertaining than me," she tried, hinting that she wanted him to leave.

Either he knew what she was doing and ignored it or didn't know at all when he spoke again. "They are all distracted by my brother. It is his birthday after all. Besides," – his eyes flickered across the side of her face – "none of them wore clothes for battle to a celebration."

Arathiel wore what she usually did, belt and weapons still in place. "You cannot be too careful."

Faramir placed the glass he was holding down onto a nearby table and the elf couldn't help but watch as he did, turning her head ever so slightly. The man then turned to look at Arathiel, holding out an open hand.

"A single dance?" he proposed.

She still shook her head. "I do not dance."

She had danced on several occasion, however Elven customs were starkly different to the movements that men found enjoyment out of.

His hand dropped. "Is the music not to your liking?"

"It is too loud." It was a pitiful excuse, but she did not want to seem rude in rejecting his request. The thought of hurting him almost... pained her.

"Follow me," Faramir told her, stepping around the elf. She questioned whether she should do as he asked, uncrossing her arms and looking at the crowd around her. The Second Son opened a small wooden door off the side of the large hall.

Regretting it as soon as she started moving, Arathiel followed after him, closing the door behind her. It had led them outside, to a small balcony that overlooked the Kingdom.