ze children of ze night, vot beautiful music zey make | vampire AU

[insufficientjewel]

The 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.

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[elfstoned]

It would be a gross breach of courtesy, Aaron reasoned, to inconvenience a guest in any way. That included causing a guest to feel uneasy, or worse still, unsafe in his house.

He had allowed himself to become hungry. Aaron was used to solitude; the house of Elendil was never visited by choice, and no villager, he believed, would make the perilous trek to it in such inclement weather, no matter what sickness afflicted the village. He had not expected to have to master his thirst in the presence of a living man for some time.

It was a foolish, needless risk to take, and Aaron cursed himself as he fastened his cloak around his neck. Hunting in this weather would be difficult and tiring, and there was no guarantee of success. Most animals would have taken shelter, and all tracks washed away. However, he had no choice: even if he were to successfully master himself for the duration of the storm and the guest's stay, it would grow more and more difficult to conceal that he was looking at this Faramir fellow with hunger. At best, it would be impolite. At worst, it might drive the man to try his luck on the road, believing it to be the lesser danger.

The side-door by the kitchen may be too far away to hear as it opens and closes again. Faramir may not glance out the window in time to see a human figure slip into the trees. He may not hear any disturbance in the woods, and he may not see a great wolflike dog, its mouth bloodied, lope through the downpour and disappear under the eaves of the house. And if he does not go downstairs, he certainly will not see Aaron, soaked to the bone, hanging his clothes to dry in front of the sitting room fire, stoked to its full height and blazing so merrily it seems to mock the very storm.

[insufficientjewel]

Had he been at ease, Faramir would have seen and heard none of it, indeed. But he was not at ease, and his hearing had always been keen - keen enough to catch the sound of the doors opening and closing, the commotion in the woods that barely overcomes the howling and crashing of the storm. It brings him to the window, his candle set aside so he can better look out on the night.

The wolf - too big, surely, to be a dog - is invisible through the rain-lashed window until the lightning flashes, turning it into a ghost-shape. He feels the hair prickle on the nape of his neck, some deep and atavistic dread. For a moment more, Faramir stands at the window, frozen, caught between the urge to go back to bed and forget this ill omen, and his own curiosity. Not only curiosity, either: that beast had been heading towards the house, and all that is needed is an unlatched door.

At last, deciding, he turns away from the window and reaches for his candle, wrapping himself quickly in a blanket and starting out onto the landing. Seeing the light that spills from the sitting room, he hesitates, but nonetheless, heads downstairs, candle held up, his free hand clutching the blanket around his shoulders.

"Sir? Hello?"