"It just happened," Faramir repeats, quietly, and sighs. Silence hangs on him, heavy as a shroud. He's never been a man of many words, never - even in such a situation as this - one to speak without thinking. Perhaps especially in such a situation. There are too many thoughts to sort through, too few words to make them fit. He is angry, yes - but the anger is almost an afterthought to grief and shame.
He steps away from the door, a little closer to Jack as he looks the other man up and down searchingly. Then, clasping his hands behind his back, he clears his throat.
"She will carry it," he says at last. "This has done hurt enough already. There is no reason to endanger her for it. She will carry the child, and I will love it as my own, though what will become of such a child when they are grown, I know not."
It's matter-of-fact, and if it weren't for the look in his eyes and the tightness of his posture, he might have been discussing the weather. There's a part of him that says he ought to leave it at that. Warn Jack off touching her again, on pain of death, and turn away, and find a way through this maze of confusion somewhere away from the eyes of the man who brought it about.
Instead, he abruptly moves to sit, his shoulders slumping, his breath, for a moment, catching.
"What is it, that drew you together?" he asks, then shakes his head, as if scolding himself. "Nay, not what drew you to her. That I know. She is a fair lady, and bold. But what is it that you give to her, that I cannot?"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sforzinda
no subject
Date: 2017-06-02 06:35 pm (UTC)He steps away from the door, a little closer to Jack as he looks the other man up and down searchingly. Then, clasping his hands behind his back, he clears his throat.
"She will carry it," he says at last. "This has done hurt enough already. There is no reason to endanger her for it. She will carry the child, and I will love it as my own, though what will become of such a child when they are grown, I know not."
It's matter-of-fact, and if it weren't for the look in his eyes and the tightness of his posture, he might have been discussing the weather. There's a part of him that says he ought to leave it at that. Warn Jack off touching her again, on pain of death, and turn away, and find a way through this maze of confusion somewhere away from the eyes of the man who brought it about.
Instead, he abruptly moves to sit, his shoulders slumping, his breath, for a moment, catching.
"What is it, that drew you together?" he asks, then shakes his head, as if scolding himself. "Nay, not what drew you to her. That I know. She is a fair lady, and bold. But what is it that you give to her, that I cannot?"