Ghosts

[Pinkie]

((ooc: -- I'm out all day saturday but will post Thrace on Sunady - pwomise! Too knackered to do it now ))

[Bogwoppit]

(Never mind medeary I so busy in the garden anyway I might not post every day. That's the good thing about it being just us two ~ no pressure! )

[Pinkie]

Lake said:

"I nearly killed someone flying the 302s, I think they're hoping some fucking alien monster will bite my head off so they don't have to deal with me and my hang-ups any more."

Thrace was, admittedly, not really payign attention. She thought his reason for being at the SGC would be bland and lifeless much like the man himself, but when he started to speak, the woman found herself feeling amused for underestimating him so much. The blonde glanced up at Lake with her eyebrows raised, holding a lungful of smoke as he proclaimed, quite bluntly, that he was responsible for almost killing a team-mate.

She blew out a laugh, toxic blue smoke whispering out from her dry lips which she licked before commenting --

"Fuck me.." she whispered in amazement, looking down at the grey and orange tip of her cigarette to avoid the hard look in his blue eyes. She wouldn't dream of letting him know that when he looked at her like that she felt exposed and bare, fucker probably knew she felt like that and that is why he did it.

Lake said:

"What about you? What the hell do you want to run round with the big boys firing guns for? Bat for the other side do ya?"

Thrace rolled her hazel eyes and gave Lake a baleful glare. She lifted one hand from her flat stomach and gave him the finger before settling her had once more. But it was only a moment upon her tummy when an arrow went soaring thruogh the air and lodged into the tree next to Thrace. The blonde cursed loudly and jumped to her feet, pulling the pistol out of her boot and aimed it in the direction that she thought the arrow had come in from.

A rope whirled in the air and Thrace glanced upwards irritably as it came down around her upper body and then tightened about her upper arms causing her arms to hitch inwards and her gun was jerked out of her hand with the force of it.

"Fuck! Lake!" she shouted, turning to see, miserably, that the Captain was in the same situation as herself. Thrace struggled in the rope, attempting to pull the knife from her thigh strap but the person holding the rope pulled it hard and caused her to fall forward on her front, banging her chin against the ground, splitting the skin and knocking her brain sideways. Groaning, Thrace rolled over onto her back and looked up into the bearded face a young man --

"What the fuck are you doing?! We're --" she stopped, not wanting to give away the location of West and the others in case the man went looking for them too --- "Who are you?!" she snapped breathily, glancing over at Lake but unable to see him for the legs in the way. She struggled as another man hunkered down by her feet and started tying her legs. She managed to kick him in the shoulder once and twisted to her stomach to try scrambled away but felt a heavy boot fall onto her back.

Another pained groan and the blonde looked up at the man with the boots and the beard.

"Do you think you are Robin fucking Hood or something? Take these off me NOW!" she demanded but got no response. Gritting her teeth, she strained her hazel eyes to look across at Lake. "Lake! Lake - Sir!"

[Bogwoppit]

"I know. And I know that you seek to do good by rousing me from this self-imposed misery, brother. I had not intended to attend the festival this evening -- but --"

Boromir smiled and opened his mouth to speak, ready to give his young brother words of encouragement, of rousing male bravado, but the expression in the Ranger's eyes halted him before the words passed his lips. He closed his mouth, a small frown of worry drawing his hawk-like brows together.

"Your words remind me of my duty here... I was such a fool to believe --"

"Faramir... do not..." Boromir cut his protest off with a harsh sigh, shaking his head and standing up away from the chest even as he placed his empty goblet on it. He stepped forward and grasped the young man by the shoulders, fixing him with a determined look. "SHE is the one who should not have believed her luck. She is the fool. Not you brother... never you."

He could not bring himself to speak her name, when all he wanted to do was put his hands around her throat and throttle her. How could she not see that the young steward was twice the man Aragorn would ever be. When had Faramir ever shirked his duty? When had Faramir ever thought purely of his own needs and cast aside those of the people?

Boromir shook his blond head in despair of ever making his brother see the good in himself, and turned away to the door.

"I will see you this evening," he said, turning as he opened the door to look back at the man. He smiled suddenly. "If I do not see you in the great hall be certain I will come back here and drag you there myself."

Still grinning, but with a heavy heart, he turned and strode down the corridor towards his own quarters. What Faramir needed was someone to restore his faith in himself, a good woman perhaps. But how could Faramir ever trust again after what that bitch had done to him?

[Bogwoppit]

On the second day they came within sight of the city of Minis Tirith, and despite some of the sights West had seen over his years with the Stargate program he was impressed, very impressed. The white city rose up higher than he could have thought possible with the level of development evident so far on this world, and a great shard of cliff speared the centre, dividing it into two halves. The whole team paused to gaze over the plain at the shining sight, and even Eledhwen looked up in awe. She had heard many tales of this place, but nothing could have prepared her for the sight of it.

West had told Lake and Thrace to remain behind them, setting up camp a little way outside the city when the main party entered. If anything untoward was going to happen he didn't want all of them stuck here. The two of them were under instruction to report back to the gate should anything seem amiss. That had been the day before, and West had heard nothing since. He wasn't worried though, they were both experienced soldiers, they could take care of themselves. And the thing about them killing each other... well that had just been a joke... he hoped...

"These... Gondorians are allies of your people yes?" he reiterated to the girl, who walked beside her horse with DJ. The two of them had hit it off big time, and West just hoped DJ wasn't thinking of taking advantage; she was just a kid.

Eledhwen nodded. "Yes, we have been allies for many years," she replied. "There will be no trouble, although they are always on the look out for more of the Dark Lord's trickery of course."

She glanced up at DJ, smiling shyly, before looking back at the major. "I know you are not some new enemy from Mordor, but the steward may want to question you before you are allowed free run of the city."

West nodded thoughtfully, and turned back, flicking his radio into life as he walked.

"Lake, Thrace, you ok back there?" he spoke into it, aware of the confused look the girl gave him whenever he did that. "Thrace...?"

There was no reply, only static, and West frowned.

"Something's wrong," he said, but before he could move further thundering hoofbeats could be heard approaching over the next hill.

Within minutes they were surrounded by mounted guards.

(ooc: Thought I better do that or else they would have gone back to look for the others...? That ok or did you have something else in mind?)

[Bogwoppit]

If the Rangers hadn't chosen just that moment to attack, Thrace would have had the nice... possibly... surprise of seeing Lake laugh. But as it was before even the corner of his mouth could lift the arrow whizzed past his ear and he ducked, leaping up and grabbing his gun before he had time to think about it.

Three or four cloaked figures jumped out of the trees behind him and he spun round, raising the P90, but before he could take aim it was knocked expertly from his hands. Within thirty seconds he was bound with his hands behind his back and no amount of wriggling could loosen the rope. He was stunned by the speed of the attack, and the efficiency with which their attackers immobilized them both, but that didn't stop him being really pissed off. He kicked the one nearest to him and the man grunted, bending down to rub his shin. Lake kneed him in the chin and the man flew over backwards.

"Fuck you!" Lake hissed as another of them grabbed his arm from behind at twisted it painfully.

He tried to look round for Thrace, but the one holding him jerked him the other way as he heard her call his name.

"Fuck," he muttered, and went limp. He wasn't stupid, he knew when struggling was pointless.

As he slumped to the ground he felt his ankles being tied, and then he caught sight of Thrace as he was heaved bodily up across the saddle of a horse.

"Sorry," he mouthed sincerely, his expression anguished.

Despite his apparent lack of moral fibre, and his carelessness with his own life, he did feel a great weight of responsibility towards his team mates, and blamed himself for fucking up when things went wrong. In fact, he generally blamed himself for everything that went wrong in his life, and generally he was right to do so. He wouldn't often admit that though, so although Thrace probably didn't realise it, his apology was quite something.

"Who are you?" one of their captors barked down at him as he hung helplessly from the side of the horse.

"Fuck you," Lake repeated, never one for the traditional reply of name and rank.

For this he got a back-handed slap across the face, and he growled, scowling at the bearded man before him. Without another word the man tugged the horse around, and began leading the small party off the track and into the trees. Lake saw Thrace for one last time, and then she disappeared from view.

[Bogwoppit]

Miriel had known it would be she who took the young steward his sleeping tablets even as he asked her to send someone. She didn't know what it was, but something drew her to this sorrowful man, who seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. Since Aldor's death she had shut herself away from everyone, from pitiful stares and well-meaning words, unconsciously deciding never again to allow herself to care about another person enough to hurt the way she did right now. Nothing was worth feeling this way, no amount of love or happiness could make this pain alright, no tender words or soft caresses could make this darkness that leached the light from all it touched any less black. Faramir did not make her change her mind, but something in his softly spoken words touched deep inside her withered soul, his kind, sad eyes stirred a shred of something in her heart that went unacknowledged by her conscious mind. She did not know why, but she had a need to see him smile the way he used to.

A peculiar feeling stirred in the pit of her stomach as she prepared to leave work that evening, and it took her a while to realise it was a feeling at all, rather than the constant dull ache that she had grown so used to. She didn't recognize the emotion, it wasn't exactly excitement, or anticipation, or even happiness, but it was... something. Better than the nothing.

Taking the small packet, she left the Houses, and instead of heading out of the citadel down towards the lower levels and her parents' house, she turned the other way up to the private quarters of the stewards of Gondor. A guard stopped her at the door, and she showed him the medicine.

"For my Lord Faramir," she explained quietly, and he nodded, lowering his spear to let her through.

She knew the way to his rooms, as she had changed his dressings once after the war, and so she made her way there quickly, pausing only to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. At the great carved wooden door she stopped, rearranging her skirts even as she wondered why she did it, and knocked briskly.

[Pinkie]

Boromir said:

"Faramir... do not... SHE is the one who should not have believed her luck. She is the fool. Not you brother... never you. I will see you this evening, If I do not see you in the great hall be certain I will come back here and drag you there myself."

Faramir believed that Boromir always spoke truth. His brother could do no wrong as far as he was concerned -- but whenever it came to Boromir trying to make him believe in himself, Faramir just could not believe him. The older brother clutched his shoulder and Faramir bowed his head, nodding non-commitally and giving a sad, weary smile to Boromir, thanking him for his efforts and encouragement.

Boromir walked off towards the door and Faramir's shoulders slumped. He glanced around, already knowing in his heart that he would not attend the festival. But the older brother turned and offered his parting 'threat' which made Faramir wince. Blue eyes shut and a feint smile touched his lips as he nodded his head to Boromir. Faramir knew the man was not joking either -- yet perhaps if he got to the festival and was surrounded by beautiful women he would be distracted and not bother coming to get his boring brother.

Faramir sighed heavily when Boromir left.
He turned to look at the letter on the desk and walked over to it, reading that line again.

I do not love you... I do not think I ever did love you, Faramir.

Feeling a churning in the pit of his stomach, Faramir shut his eyes, shook his head and staggered over to the bowl of washing water that sat by the window. The sun as fading on the horizon and for it, Faramir was greatful. It darkened the land to match his mood. Bowing his head, he looked at his reflection in the water. Lifting a finger to press his too-big nose, twirled a strand of lank reddish hair between thumb and forefinger, brushed his palm over the heavy beard on his chin.

It didn't look like him in the water.

Shaking his head, Faramir set to work restoring his appearance to resemble his old appearance a little bit more. He ran water through his hair and roughly dried it with a towel before combing through teh red strands. He washed his face and neck and calmly trimmed the beard. It was just as he was drying off his chin that he heard a knock at the door.
His head swung around and he looked at the door curiously, wondering who it was. A moment of hope swelled in him as he thought it might be Eowyn returned but then the words floated through his consciousness --

I do not love you

Faramir closed his eyes and shook his head as he walked over to the door. He pulled it open quickly, lifting the towel to his jaw as he felt a trickle of cool water roll down the side of his face. His eyes lit upon -- the woman! The healer.

The Ranger's eyes widened in surprise and he looked down at her hands to what she carried -- then he recalled that he told her to send someone with the tonic that would send him to sleep.

"Oh -- " he said with a bashful smile, remembering his manners. "I beg your pardon - I had forgotten just as I knew I would." he murmured the words as he stepped out of the way and walked back into his room, gesturing for Miriel to follow him. Sleep -- sleep would do him good. Perhaps he cuold take the tonic quickly and be asleep when Boromir arrived to bring him to the festival. Faramir could already hear the beat of drums and strum of stringed instruments that told him the festival was already underway. Yet he had no desire to go there.

Pushing the letter from Eowyn up the table a bit, thinking to hide it beneath a heavy book though most of the page still stuck out, Faramir went back to the washstand and hung the towel over the rung before turning to Miriel and wiping his hands against each other.
She was a pretty, little thing really. And not for the first time did Faramir think how similar she looked to Eowyn. He attributed that familiarity to account for the edgy, excited feeling in teh pit of his stomach when he saw her at the door.

"My honorable brother wishes me to attend the festival this evening -- I may not be able to sip this tonic you bring until much later tonight. I fear I may have wasted your time." Faramir said, bowing his head and frowning at his hands. Clearing his throat, Faramir tugged at the ends of his embroidered, velvet jacket. "You do not attend such events I gather -- either that or my flightish mind has prevented you from doing so tonight --" Faramir looked at Miriel with an apologetic smile.

[Pinkie]

It was really a fruitless exercise. Haldir found himself needing mroe and more reminders of why it was he remained amongst the humans. They were not worthy of Middle-Earth. They were petty creatures, fighting amongst themselves even now when they were in the aftermath of a war that had almost engulfed them. Engulfed Middle-Earth. A Festival had sounded a good idea to the Elf until he had learned that it involved beer and carousing. Could they not enjoy singing and dancing without obliterating their minds with beer?

Blonde hair half tied back, and wearing dark grey loose breeches with a long, light grey tunic - belted with a glimmering white belt, Haldir certainly did draw the eye. His noble face was expressionless as he glided into the great hall of Minis Tirith.

People stopped and turned to look at him which was hardly surprising. Some of these humans still thought that Elves were not real -- even though it had been the Elves that saved Middle-Earth and their precious city. To his great distress, Haldir could not visibly locate Boromir or Faramir - the only two people in the great hall that he may have been able to speak with without wanting to pull an arrow on them - nad they were not there yet.

Lifting his chin, the Elf cast a cool look about the people dancing and moved towards the dais where Denethor sat watching the gathered people.

[Pinkie]

Kawalsky was wary of all these new terms that the girl was bandying around.

'Orcs' -- 'Dark Lord' -- 'Goblins'. It all sounded slightly suspect and potentially troublesome if she proved to be using the right terms and not just making them up as she went along. No one really wantd to come face to face with any 'Dark Lord' - and he had read enough fantasy books to know 'Orcs' and 'Goblins' didn't bode well for their well being either.

Still - he suffered in silence. He trudged along for 2 days behind the lot of them, watching their backs and keeping a keen eye on the girl that DJ was becoming rather close to. She was innocent enough, Kawalsky supposed, but he never did trust aliens. He was pretty sure she was keeping something back too -- something important.
Why was she out there in the first place? Why had she readily agreed to show them to this Gondor place and why did she move with such grace and skill on a horse? How could she move with such grace and skill on top a horse?

Kawalsky's impression of Minis Tirith was much the same as the rest -- awe. Pure and simple.

He felt uneasy though. A race so advanced surely had weapons and things that would not be conducive to Earth's good health. Kawalsky was always suspicious of new races of people -- the more civilised the more suspicious.

Narrowing blue eyes, he rolled his shoulders and braced himself as he entered the gates of the city behind West. He heard his CO radio Thrace and Lake and frowned when there was no response. His expression became strained when West said there was something wrong and he was already abotu to turn when they were surrounded by men on horses. Kawalsky went back to back with West immediately, pointing his P90 up at the men on horses but turning a glare to the woman on horseback who had led them here -- Eledhwen.

"You tricked us!" he declared angrily, certain that she had led them into a trap.

"Put your weapons on the grounds and tell us your purpose at Minis Tirith warriors." one of the guards on horseback declared.
Kawalsky grit his teeth and waited for either DJ or West to do the talking. He was not the most people persno of the lot --


((ooc: I've yet to do his profile but it is much like the old one on SGC -- thinking he has the werewolf blood too cause that's just cool ))

[Pinkie]

Thrace was so tired. She hung off the back of the horse like a sack of grain - her head bobbing up and down with each movement of the beast. The smell of horse was strong in her nostrils and she could taste blood on her tongue. She had bit it countless times and she was sure one of her back teeth had been rattled loose when she hit her chin on the ground.

When night came she was taken off the back of the horse and plonked beneath a tree - tied to it and someone would ask her questions. She never answered them - only asked to see her team-mate, Lake. They refused her her terms so she spat at them, bit them and kicked them whenever they got close enough. It amused her that they rarely retaliated by beating her. They struck her across the cheek the first few times but considered themselves to be at fault if she managed to harm them after that.

On the third day that they stopped, Thrace could see the city they were being brought to rising from the ground. It was stunning but she was more interested in the fact that she was able to see Lake. He looked about as haggard as she felt and it made her wheeze a laugh.

"Lake! Lake -- " she called out to him, rolling to her side and wriggling on the ground over towards him, ending up with her head against his elbow as she caught her breath. "Fuck -" the blonde muttered, wincing as her movements caused the split in her chin to burst open again. Licking her lips, the woman huffed out a breath and sat herself up next to the Captain, shutting her hazel ees and leaning her head back against the tree.
"What're we gonna do Sir? Some research mission huh?" Thrace chuckled hoarsely and tilted her head over to peer at the man in the dying light.

[Bogwoppit]

Miriel almost gasped aloud at the sight of him standing there in the doorway, a towel held against his jaw. That sight brought back a memory... several memories, so strong that she felt faint with a longing she thought had left her. All these long months, every time she had seen a man doing a certain thing, a thing which might remind her of her own man, be it laughing, throwing his head back in the same way Aldor used to, or frowning in concentration over some task, or merely walking with a similar gait, the sorrow and longing had almost overwhelmed Miriel, to the extent at times that she would have to retire to her room for the remainder of the day to cry in private. But lately those feelings had begun to fade, when finally the knowledge that Aldor was never coming back had started to settle in her troubled mind.

Until now.

Faramir's tall frame filled the doorway, and for a moment Miriel's gaze was transfixed by the sight of his strong hand pressing the towel to his face. Aldor was forever coming to her in the middle of his morning wash or shave to tell her some thing or other, some snippet of news he had forgotten from the day before, or some plan he had hatched to make his small smithy more profitable. It always made her laugh that he couldn't wait just that few moments more to tell her.

"I beg your pardon - I had forgotten just as I knew I would."

Miriel blinked, and stepped inside as the young steward turned from the door, bobbing him a small curtsy as she did so. The movement of his hand on the letter was not lost on her, and she couldn't help but glance towards the missive as she paused beside the table. The writing was obviously a woman's hand, and an image of the missing Eowyn came quickly into Miriel's mind, causing a stab of anguish as she quickly looked away. Better to have lost a love to death, surely. At least that way you knew you had been loved for yourself, not as a pale replacement for another. What had the shield-maiden been thinking, to have toyed with this good man's feelings as she had? Did she truly believe that she could grow to love him? Or had it always been an act? Rumours were rife in the lower quarters of the city, that Eowyn had gone to follow Aragorn into the wilderness, to beg him to love her. How could she do that? How could her pride allow her to beg for love when there was one here who loved her without question?

Miriel blinked again, and turned back towards Faramir. It was not her concern, nor should she listen to gossip. For all she knew it was all complete nonsense and the lady Eowyn was merely visiting her brother. But her eyes told her the truth even as she glanced up into the sad gaze that regarded her now. This was not the face of a man who expected his wife to return home any time soon.

"My honorable brother wishes me to attend the festival this evening -- I may not be able to sip this tonic you bring until much later tonight. I fear I may have wasted your time. You do not attend such events I gather -- either that or my flightish mind has prevented you from doing so tonight --"

Miriel stepped forward, placing the small package on the table as she did so, and smiled softly. There was that strange feeling again, the slight awakening of something inside her. She could not name the emotion, but it was something akin to a maternal instinct. She didn't want this man to hurt any more, she wanted him to feel... wanted, needed... loved...? As she watched his mouth turn up into a small smile she saw the little boy inside, always seeking approval, always striving to be better in the hope he would be noticed, loved, valued. Even as he spoke he was blaming himself for keeping her from more pressing matters, as though she was an equal, as though attending a festival was more important than making sure he got a decent night's sleep for once.

"I do not attend festivals," she replied quietly, sadly, "not any more Sire."

Smiling to soften her words, in the hope he would not feel the need to apologise again for bringing up a memory of her loss, however obscurely, she fiddled with a stray lock of her hair as she glanced away from his steady gaze.

"I get the impression you would rather not attend either," she went on, rather boldly she thought, as she again looked up into his blue eyes.

His eyes reminded her of a late summer sky, bright and cloudless, but with a shadow of a storm in their depths. Aldor's eyes had been brown, dark and deep, sometimes brooding but more often sunny. She frowned at herself for comparing the two. The colour of Lord Faramir's eyes were of no consequence to her, she should not even be noticing such things. Nor should she notice how tall he was, or how his thick red-blond hair curled into his neck when damp. She fought the blush which threatened to colour her cheeks, but found she could not look away.

[Bogwoppit]

Boromir brooded as he walked slowly into the great hall, wondering what he was to do with his little brother. Perhaps he could find a woman tonight who would be willing to give the man a confidence boost... He shook his head, frowning to himself. No, that would not work, Faramir was not the type, not like Boromir himself. He was never averse to a pretty girl making him feel better, but his brother had higher morals than he. He grinned wickedly as he looked around the room, already filled with people spilling out into the courtyard. Come to think of it, he was feeling a little down... perhaps a bit of tender loving care was just what he needed...

He spotted his father, sitting in his throne like some bird of prey as his dark eyes watched the goings-on, never missing a thing despite the madness which gripped his mind. With him was Haldir, and Boromir made straight for the two. It had been a while since he had spoken to the Elf, and he was keen to hear what he had to say of the trouble rising in the East.

"Father," he greeted politely, before turning to the tall, forbidding presence by his side. He clapped the blond on the back, knowing it irritated him immensely. "Haldir my friend! How are you? I thought you had run off with one of our women it has been so long."

He knew the low regard in which the Elf held the women of Gondor, indeed, all Men in general, not just their women, and he enjoyed seeing the pained expression on Haldir's face as he was forced to picture consorting with any female who was not pure Sindarin, or at least a Noldor.

[Bogwoppit]

"Lake! Lake -- What're we gonna do Sir? Some research mission huh?"

Lake groaned as he heard the sound of her voice, and risked opening his eyes to a squint.

"Shit," he mumbled, and shut them again, the cut on the side of his head throbbing were one of their captors had kicked him. Served him right for trying to fight again. "What the fuck's going on?"

He struggled to get himself into a semi-upright position against the tree, and opened just his left eye to peer at Thrace, frowning. From what he could see she looked okay, a bit battered and bruised but in one piece. Briefly he wondered how long he had been unconscious, it felt like forever.

"You alright?" he asked gruffly, licking dry and swollen lips. "They didn't... y'know, didn't hurt you? Any more than they hurt me I mean... erm... any... differently..."

He coughed, clearing his throat as he opened the other eye again, frowning down at her to see if she got his meaning. She didn't look... molested, or anything... and shit, he didn't want her to think he cared... but there was that thing about him being her superior officer shit. He felt responsible didn't he.

[Pinkie]

Faramir asked himself the same questions that Miriel thought of in those moments when she entered his room and saw the letter from his wife. Had Eowyn ever really loved him? Did she believe that her heart could change and that she could grow to love him? Was that why she had agreed to marry him in the first place? Why had she agreed at all ? A woman such as she could have had any man she pleased -- any man except Aragorn, teh one she truly wanted.

Miriel placed the packet on the table, Faramir's blue eyes dropped to the packet. Would that little thing be able to bring about an end to the unending wakeful misery that had been his lot for so many weeks now?

Miriel said:

"I do not attend festivals, not any more Sire. I get the impression you would rather not attend either,"

Such a soft gesture was not one he had seen in Eowyn - fiddling with her hair in such a fashion. Faramir fuond the gesture to be sweet and it brought a bit more light to the sad smile that was set upon his lips already. He blinked lazily and looked from her curly hair to her eyes as she spoke. He felt regret, as she had suspected, for bringing to the surface yet another sad memory of her husband. He was saved the need to apologise further by her rather amusing observation about himself.

Faramir blew out a surprised breath of laughter and raised his eyebrows regretfully, rubbing a hand over his newly trimmed and cleaned beard.

"I would sooner eat that chair than attend this evening's festival." he said with a blithe gesture towards the chair behind Miriel. With a rueful shake of his head, Faramir's smile and expression turned reflective. He had taken that humour on quite quickly and without too much difficulty upon her suggestion. He had felt genuine amusement and mirth at her candor -- she proved a good tonic for his ailment. Perhaps he could build on that somehow? But he had to be careful, considerate in this. He did not want her to feel obliged or ordered in this for that would defeat the purpose.

Sighing, Faramir scratched teh back of his neck -- his hand movements being a form of nervousness, his confidence and lack of self-worth hugely diminished by she who should have loved him -- before dropping his hand down to his side and clenching his fists. His eyes narrowed but it was almost a flinch -- certainly not suspicion.

"I -- I wonder how a healer such as yourself would view my attendance to the festival...?" he asked, folding his arms over his chest and pulling his head back a little. "Could I beg of you to tell my brother I am too ill to attend?" Faramir breathed a laugh through his nose and took a deep breath then, his eyes shutting and hsi head shaking. "No - forget I asked such a thing, good woman. I must attend to my duty. Would you like to --- " Faramir paused, his good idea seeming to sound rather forward and more filled with intent than he had wanted it to. Yet he had said so much and could not turn back on it now, it would seem cowardly. His father would be proved right. "If it pleases you, you might come with me." he said briskly, trying to make his tone as formal as possible so that it did not sound like a proposition.