Immortalitui // Faramir 🥀

Chapter Twenty-Eight - Goodbye

Word Count: 2,272 words. 

Warnings: None. 

Gondor...

"You must stop worrying about them my dear Arathiel," Boromir told the elf, walking by her side as they descended the spiral of Minas Tirith towards the lower towns.

Faramir walked behind the pair, watching their conversation with keen observation. He noticed how she walked with a small limp as they slowly made their way downhill. He wondered why it was noticeable on the steep path but not when they walked the halls of the kingdom.

"I have been tasked with preparing them for battle," Arathiel countered, and Faramir smiled. It was not at the way she spoke, but he smiled simply because she had spoken at all. 

He noticed how Boromir smiled at her joyously, casting a look back to his younger brother on occasion. The elder son of the Steward was enjoying the elf's company, but he knew of how his brother felt, observing the way he rose to speak but quickly fell back down as she continued.

"I think I am in my right mind to worry about them," she finished her earlier response.

"They are capable fighters," the older brother countered, hands behind his back as they emerged into the daylight.

"All men and women are capable fighters Boromir," she reminded him, "but it is only with training that capable fighters may become warriors."

He leaned closer to her as they stopped. "You are so very wise my lady."

"I am aware."

The man smiled, casting a glance at Faramir before returning it to Arathiel. "I must go to my father, he is expecting me."

The elf smiled. "We cannot keep Denethor waiting now, can we?"

"Not if I value my life," Boromir joked, but somewhere in there, Arathiel questioned whether it was indeed humour.

"Arathiel?" he called out as he walked away, turning to look at her once more.

"Boromir," she responded.

He had a sudden thoughtful expression as he watched Faramir approach her side, casting her a soft look before watching his brother alongside her.

"There's a difference between living and surviving," he told her, "and it is impossible to tell the difference before you have found what you live for." He walked away.

"That was rather heartfelt," Faramir commented, his hands posed behind his back like his brother's had been. They matched each other more often than not, although they were indeed brothers of opposites.

"I was not expecting that from him," Arathiel agreed.

"Humans are unpredictable," the Steward's son explained, turning his eyes to her.

"Yes, I have often found that to be true among man," she told him, meeting his gaze. It was always there. That pull. She could describe it now. Arathiel thought perhaps it was their version of Elven love, and she had thought that it would not hurt, but in fact, she had come to find that it hurt more than should it be of Elven descent.

Elves have the ability, once they have found their love, to know exactly how the other feels - a bond of sorts - but Arathiel could not find her way into his mind, nor did she long to. If he did indeed love her as she was suspecting she loved him – in whatever way an elf can love a mortal – it would fade, and Faramir would be better for it.

"Shall we continue our walk?" he asked her. "There is something that I would like to show you."

Arathiel smiled and he could have sworn that he was under a wizard's spell. "I do not like surprises."