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insufficientjewelThe storm still howled and battered against the windows outside, but now that he was dry and warm, Faramir was less troubled by it. He was grateful, indeed, that it had come on when it had: if he had been further along the road, perhaps he would not have come across this home and its generous, if strange, inhabitant.
Still, there was a certain prickle of unease crawling at the nape of his neck, unanswered and unexplained. Something sat ill with him about this place - no doubt only the shadow of his experiences outside, and concern for the horse lost in the storm. So he told himself, in any case, and let himself be shown, with heartily-expressed gratitude, to a dim bedroom.
By candlelight he readied himself for bed, as best he could without a clean nightshirt, and settled at last between the sheets. But with the candle out, the rain lashing against the window and lightning casting its odd, momentary glare across the room, sleep did not come. He found himself straining in the dark at every unfamiliar sound, tense and wary. So the minutes passed, and stretched into hours: and still the storm did not pass, and still rest eluded him. At last, groping in the dark for his matches, Faramir relit the candle at his bedside. For a moment, he sat on the edge of the bed, watching the flame, his lips pressed taut. It would be taking a great liberty to go wandering around a stranger's house at this hour, particularly one who had treated him so honourably - yet he was restless, unable to quell that itch of anxiety in some primal corner of his mind.
He stood, lifting the candle, and began to pace the room. It would not let off all of his restlessness, but perhaps it might help a little, ease that tightness of childish fear from his chest. After all, it was foolish to be so anxious. It was only a storm.
Still, there was a certain prickle of unease crawling at the nape of his neck, unanswered and unexplained. Something sat ill with him about this place - no doubt only the shadow of his experiences outside, and concern for the horse lost in the storm. So he told himself, in any case, and let himself be shown, with heartily-expressed gratitude, to a dim bedroom.
By candlelight he readied himself for bed, as best he could without a clean nightshirt, and settled at last between the sheets. But with the candle out, the rain lashing against the window and lightning casting its odd, momentary glare across the room, sleep did not come. He found himself straining in the dark at every unfamiliar sound, tense and wary. So the minutes passed, and stretched into hours: and still the storm did not pass, and still rest eluded him. At last, groping in the dark for his matches, Faramir relit the candle at his bedside. For a moment, he sat on the edge of the bed, watching the flame, his lips pressed taut. It would be taking a great liberty to go wandering around a stranger's house at this hour, particularly one who had treated him so honourably - yet he was restless, unable to quell that itch of anxiety in some primal corner of his mind.
He stood, lifting the candle, and began to pace the room. It would not let off all of his restlessness, but perhaps it might help a little, ease that tightness of childish fear from his chest. After all, it was foolish to be so anxious. It was only a storm.
