Faramir Fiction Archive

Tales Only Whispered (NC-17)

04 April 2004 | 6339 words | Work in Progress

Part V: After

Hot pain shot through my lower body. I screamed. Tears were running down my flushed face. Then, suddenly I felt his body relax. He sighed heavily. His weight was pressing me down into the mattress. He panted. I could smell his breath – stale wine - and I could smell the sweat from his body. The odours that were hitting my nostrils made me sick. I felt like vomiting. I lay stock still, swallowing back wave after wave of the oncoming nausea.

How long we lay there I couldn’t ´t tell. I have lost my sense of time long ago. At least the high tide of the burning pain was over. Slowly – very slowly the pain in my abdomen had ebbed away. What was left now was a dull stinging – like a ghost of the former pain. I abhorred this feeling even more as it would last. Long - very long.

I swallowed and bit back another oncoming sickness as I sensed something liquid oozing from my body. My father’s come, mixed with blood. My blood. And it felt like it was a lot of blood this time. I could smell its coppery scent. “Please, stop bleeding,” I prayed inwardly. Loosing too much blood meant being weak and Father hated weakness!

The weight on me shifted. Moaning he rolled over. I could breath more freely now. His weight was lifted from the bed. Carefully I opened my eyes. Father stood naked in front of the bed staring at the portrait of my mother. “Finduilas”, I heard him whisper hoarsely. Then something was draped over my naked body. The scent of roses, the soft feeling- it was my mother’s coat.

I heard the patting of my father’s naked feet on the marble floor. I didn’t dare to move. I had closed my eyes again. I heard Father leaving the room. I didn’t stir. I bit my lip, unsure what to do. I felt hot and sticky. And I felt filthy, yes, very filthy. My only desire now was to clean myself, but I knew I couldn’t leave – not without father’s consent. I dared to do so once. A shiver went down my spine as I thought about it.

I heard the soft cringe of the door. He was back! He touched my hair. I still didn’t move – couldn’t move. He stroked my cheek, my shoulder. Cold hands. “Finduilas,” his voice was soft, nearly gentle. I opened my eyes. I stared at him. I couldn’t read his eyes. “Faramir, I am Faramir,” it was no more than a whisper. I wasn’t sure whether he had heard it or not. His face didn’t change. He continued to stroke me. Then he bent down for a kiss. The taste of wine and strong spirits was in his mouth.

Suddenly I felt something cold and wet between my legs. I fought hard not to cry out. I didn’t even dare to breath. What was he doing? And then, with a small sigh of relief, I realised it. He was cleaning me up! “Father,” he didn’t answer but continued to move the wet rag over the inner side of my thighs. “Father?” I whispered again as the cleaning stopped. “Hush.” He rolled me over, wrapping me up in my mother ´s coat. He placed a kiss on my forehead.

He held me close to his own body. “My love.” “Father?” It was only a muffled sound as my face was pressed now to his chest. His hand travelled over my back, hard and cold hands. I lifted my head a bit. “Father, I am tired. Please, am I allowed to leave?” He looked down into my face. I swallowed down the lump that was forming in my throat. “By the Valar, I have angered him now.”

He cupped my face in his hands and placed another kiss on my forehead. “Why don’t you stay here, my love? I want you to sleep next to me. I want to hear your breath; I want to feel your body.” “Father?” “Faramir, my love.” And I lay down next to him, hiding my face as hot tears were streaming down my cheeks…

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