The Eyes of the White Tower
Hey all, yay, I've finally got around to getting my stories up! Well this is probably going to get quite big, it's one of the stories I have high hopes for! This chapter is from Faramir's pov, but I will fiddle around with time a bit later and we'll find ourselves in the Gondor of Ecthelion's life. Anyways, this story is dedicated to Sam, for being a great friend and co- writer.
Chapter 1- The White Tree.
The tombs of the stewards are a cold place. None dare to venture there save the bravest, those who do not fear the bitterness of a place long forbidden. The air is still in those tombs, there is no breeze, and the only light is the eerie flickering of torches, of flame.
As a child, I would often visit the tombs. I was never afraid of the dead, unlike Boromir. He would linger in a corner of the stony room, staying as far away from the decorated coffins as possible. He would never venture within a metre of the pyre in the middle. He looked at it with fear in his eyes, as if frightened that the spirits of the heathen kings of old would arise.
I loved my brother dearly, but at some times we could be as different as it was possible for siblings to be. Whereas Boromir was renown for being brave in battle, he could never bear the thought of things changing, and could not face up to unexplained elements of the supernatural. I often told him of the shadows that would appear to me, and I even pointed them out to him if they dared to show themselves while he was with me, but he could never see them.
As we grew older, I often wondered if my child-self had made these stories up to frighten my proud brother. I began to doubt myself as the years went on, but that did not stop me from visiting the tombs. Only there could I find peace, comfort, and solace from the growing hatred of my father.
It was on the last day I ever saw Boromir that my questions were answered. The white banner bearing the proud tree of Gondor rippled in the wind as I bade farewell to him, seeming to be waving its own goodbye.
"Remember today, little brother"
And I do. I remember that I didn't need to say anything to him, that the look we shared reflected all the memories and brotherly love we held between us. And yet as he looked at me in that hour I knew that would be the last time I ever saw his face. Boromir would find what the great warriors of Gondor sought, glory in death, but he would not return to the white city.
I remember that father, when he saw tears in my eyes as Boromir rode away, he looked at me with a barely disguised look of hatred and said, "Do not weep. You show such a small amount of faith in him".
I met his eyes with a glare as stony as his own. "He will not return", I replied, a certain of it then as I am now.
I was not prepared for the blow he struck me. The side of my head throbbed with pain as I wiped blood from my lips.
"You dare to predict your own brothers death!" he hissed at me with anger apparent in his face. "You are no son of mine, but the pupil of a sorcerer".
My anger grew at this insult of Mithrandir, whom I knew and loved.
"Gandalf is greater than you will ever be!" I answered slowly, and then I ran. I may have been a man full-grown, and a captain of Gondor's army, but I knew when to run.
I ran blindly through the city, tears escaping my eyes for the brother I loved and now would never lay eyes on again. Before I knew it, I found myself in the tombs, sinking down against the cold stone of one and blinded to anything but my grief.
The shadow surprised me at first, yet I knew I did not need to be afraid. It was the shape of a tall man, bearded and kingly. I felt a chill run through me as it bent to touch my shoulder.
"Do not despair", it said. "They will look to his coming from the white tower, and he will not come, but he will always guide you, Faramir. His voice was like a whisper, yet I heard it clearly. His words calmed me, and I found it in me to bow my head to him.
It was then he disappeared. Who was he? I turned to the tomb behind me and read the inscription:
Ecthelion II
Son of Turgon
Lord and Steward of Gondor
Then I knew whom it was that had spoken to me. The Grandfather I had never known. Ecthelion, most wise of Stewards.
Hey all, yay, I've finally got around to getting my stories up! Well this is probably going to get quite big, it's one of the stories I have high hopes for! This chapter is from Faramir's pov, but I will fiddle around with time a bit later and we'll find ourselves in the Gondor of Ecthelion's life. Anyways, this story is dedicated to Sam, for being a great friend and co- writer.
Chapter 1- The White Tree.
The tombs of the stewards are a cold place. None dare to venture there save the bravest, those who do not fear the bitterness of a place long forbidden. The air is still in those tombs, there is no breeze, and the only light is the eerie flickering of torches, of flame.
As a child, I would often visit the tombs. I was never afraid of the dead, unlike Boromir. He would linger in a corner of the stony room, staying as far away from the decorated coffins as possible. He would never venture within a metre of the pyre in the middle. He looked at it with fear in his eyes, as if frightened that the spirits of the heathen kings of old would arise.
I loved my brother dearly, but at some times we could be as different as it was possible for siblings to be. Whereas Boromir was renown for being brave in battle, he could never bear the thought of things changing, and could not face up to unexplained elements of the supernatural. I often told him of the shadows that would appear to me, and I even pointed them out to him if they dared to show themselves while he was with me, but he could never see them.
As we grew older, I often wondered if my child-self had made these stories up to frighten my proud brother. I began to doubt myself as the years went on, but that did not stop me from visiting the tombs. Only there could I find peace, comfort, and solace from the growing hatred of my father.
It was on the last day I ever saw Boromir that my questions were answered. The white banner bearing the proud tree of Gondor rippled in the wind as I bade farewell to him, seeming to be waving its own goodbye.
"Remember today, little brother"
And I do. I remember that I didn't need to say anything to him, that the look we shared reflected all the memories and brotherly love we held between us. And yet as he looked at me in that hour I knew that would be the last time I ever saw his face. Boromir would find what the great warriors of Gondor sought, glory in death, but he would not return to the white city.
I remember that father, when he saw tears in my eyes as Boromir rode away, he looked at me with a barely disguised look of hatred and said, "Do not weep. You show such a small amount of faith in him".
I met his eyes with a glare as stony as his own. "He will not return", I replied, a certain of it then as I am now.
I was not prepared for the blow he struck me. The side of my head throbbed with pain as I wiped blood from my lips.
"You dare to predict your own brothers death!" he hissed at me with anger apparent in his face. "You are no son of mine, but the pupil of a sorcerer".
My anger grew at this insult of Mithrandir, whom I knew and loved.
"Gandalf is greater than you will ever be!" I answered slowly, and then I ran. I may have been a man full-grown, and a captain of Gondor's army, but I knew when to run.
I ran blindly through the city, tears escaping my eyes for the brother I loved and now would never lay eyes on again. Before I knew it, I found myself in the tombs, sinking down against the cold stone of one and blinded to anything but my grief.
The shadow surprised me at first, yet I knew I did not need to be afraid. It was the shape of a tall man, bearded and kingly. I felt a chill run through me as it bent to touch my shoulder.
"Do not despair", it said. "They will look to his coming from the white tower, and he will not come, but he will always guide you, Faramir. His voice was like a whisper, yet I heard it clearly. His words calmed me, and I found it in me to bow my head to him.
It was then he disappeared. Who was he? I turned to the tomb behind me and read the inscription:
Ecthelion II
Son of Turgon
Lord and Steward of Gondor
Then I knew whom it was that had spoken to me. The Grandfather I had never known. Ecthelion, most wise of Stewards.