Faramir’s Afternoon

He didn’t understand mamas at times, he really didn’t.

"You’ll have a wonderful afternoon with your Da and sister, dear one. You won’t even miss me," Mum had said this but she really couldn’t have meant it . . . could she have? Well, the "won’t even miss me" part at least. She couldn’t have meant that part. He did miss her.

Da had been fun, Faramir granted that. Had been. Even Beryl had been fun. Had been. They had played hide and seek. They had built Minas Tirith with his blocks. Then Da had read a story. All had things.

The now things were no longer being much fun. Da and Beryl now were asleep. That seemed to happen when Da would read stories. Even Faramir would occasionally fall asleep to stories. But only occasionally. He was a big lad of eight not a faunt of three as Beryl was. Which didn’t explain why Da would usually fall asleep, seeing as he was even bigger and older than Faramir. He would have to remember to ask his Da about that sometime. For now, though, he just stood there looking at them sleeping on the sofa in the everyday parlor.

They looked rather cute, Faramir thought. Da on his (Faramir thought a few moments to work things out) Da on his left side, with his back against the back of the sofa. His left (a moment to think it through just to be sure he was correct) his left arm wrapped around Beryl, his hand resting on her shoulder. Beryl had her back against Da’s chest and her head on Da’s arm near his shoulder. Da’s other arm was tucked up by his chin, elbow bent, with his right hand (yes, right hand if he’s got his left around Beryl as decided before) right hand still holding the small book from which he had been reading.

Faramir gently tugged the book away and closed it. Da wouldn’t like that the book was splayed wide open and two of the pages curled wrongly against the pillow. He set the book on the little table beside the sofa then looked back to see if this had disturbed his Da. It had not.

Faramir looked at his father’s hand, the one on the pillow. He gently took hold of the shirt cuff and raised the hand off the pillow.

It hung there on the end of Da’s wrist, fingers gently curved though mostly straight.

Faramir let it drop.

When it landed, the fingers were curled inwards.

Interesting.

Lift. Drop. Lift. Drop.

Always the same. The fingers would straighten out quite a bit when the hand was lifted but would end up curled again by the time the hand came to rest on the pillow. While doing this, Da’s other hand had slipped down off of Beryl’s shoulder and now lay sticking out over the edge of the sofa. Palm up. Fingers curled in.

What if?

Faramir turned his father’s wrist. The hand rolled over and as soon as the palm was facing towards his Da’s feet . . . the fingers had straightened out a bit.

Palm up. Palm toward feet. Palm up. Palm toward feet. Fingers curled. Fingers straighter. Fingers curled. Fingers straighter. Wrist and arm rolled over a bit more so the palm was facing the floor. Fingers a bit straighter, though not much. Fingers that were asleep seemed to do interesting things.

Faramir tucked his father’s arm up over his little sister, uncurling the fingers so the palm rested on Beryl’s shoulder. Beryl wiggled ever so slightly. Da didn’t move.

For a while Faramir played with his blocks, but it wasn’t as much fun without his Da telling his stories of the great White City and her King. He looked about for something else to do. A smile lit his face. It was very nearly Yule and the parlor needed better decorating. There wasn’t near enough things in here compared to the formal parlor where his Da and Mum would entertain guests. But then Faramir frowned a bit. He couldn’t just go running off to get things, what if his Da woke and he wasn’t there? He’d be in trouble, that was what. He got up and went over to the sofa.

They hadn’t moved, his sister and his Da. Very asleep they were. Faramir knew that if he said, "Da?" his father might wake up and that would wake Beryl and that would spoil his surprise. He would have to be careful.

"Decorate the parlor?" he whispered at his father.

"Mmmm . . . ‘ec-or-a ‘arlor . . . soun’s ni’ ," his Da mumbled.

That was a "Yes" to Faramir’s mind. He scampered off to the Great Smial’s store rooms and soon he was back with a large ratty looking basket balanced across his hips as he struggled to carry it with both hands. It was nearly an hour’s worth of work before Faramir surveyed his efforts. He was not quite sure it was right but his tummy rumbled and he decided to eat whilst thinking it over.

He went over to the figures on the sofa. To be honest, he did check to make sure they were both breathing as they really hadn’t moved much.

"Tarts," he whispered.

"Tar’s," his father muttered. "Ras’erry tar’s . . . cus’ar tar’s . . . treacle tar’s . . ." His Da had a smile on his face. "Li’ ras’erry tar’s bes’.’

Faramir went and got all the tarts he could from the pantry. By the time he was full he had decided what the parlor needed. Auntie Pearl had done something like it in her apartments, though she had used paint, and so he knew it was something mama’s liked. He fetched his pastels and began to work.

Diamond’s cheeks were rosy from the cold, her fingers a bit numb, but her spirits high as she balanced her packages against the door frame and fumbled about for the knob. Perhaps she should have let the stable lad help her carry the parcels but she had wanted to do it herself.  Seeing if she could manage them was part of the fun of a day’s Yule shopping. She finally managed the knob and pushed the door open only to be assailed by a horrid musty smell. Then she saw the writing on the wall. Not really writing but very small blue and red connected circles, like one might make when they were learning to write. She set her bundles down, shut the door and pinched her nose closed before following the line of circles along the wall of the short entry hall into the Thain’s private apartments. They went toward the parlor. She got to the parlor and looked in.

The red and blue circles circled the room at about the height of a certain hobbit lad’s reach. Large dusty pink and purple bows were hanging from the tops of the book shelves. (The shelves had wobbled while Faramir climbed up them, but not too badly, only a few things had fallen to the floor.) A large bunch of dried flowers, complete with dust, cobwebs and small spider, hung from the lamp that hung over the table in the corner. The table cloth had stains running down the sides and something was still dripping from the edge onto the floor. (Faramir had hoped that stuff in the mug that fell over wasn’t anything important.) Odd cut pieces of musty fabric hung over the backs of the chairs in the room as though it were laundry day and too rainy to hang things outside. The floor was covered with blocks, what looked like a good many tart crumbs and one squished custard tart. (Faramir hadn’t liked the way it felt when he stepped on that one custard tart but he took his Da’s waistcoat from where he had hung it earlier when they were playing hide and seek and wiped the custard and crust off his foot so he wouldn’t track it all over the carpet.) There was a big note in childish print, written in blue and red pastels, propped on her rocking chair, "Qiet Mum. Da and Beryl are sleping. Hop you like the decoshuns I did. Faramir" She walked carefully though the mess to the sofa.

Pippin had a dusty blue bow tied in his hair, Beryl had a dusty pink one in hers. One of her husband’s feet was hanging off the edge of the sofa, a tag tied around the big toe read "To Mum" in the same printing as the sign. Faramir was laying between Pippin’s bent legs and the back of the sofa, head resting on his father’s thigh which had a dark spot on the trousers just below Faramir’s slightly opened mouth. Beryl was tucked up against her Da’s chest, her head on his upper arm. There was a dark spot on his sleeve from her drooling on him as she slept. And Pippin, her dear husband. His right arm lay along his side, his fingers entwined in Faramir’s hair. His left hand was holding onto Beryl’s shoulder. There was a dark spot on the pillow beneath his slightly opened mouth.

Diamond smiled.