Disclaimer:-If I owned Lord of the Rings then I would be writing whole books about Faramir and not just writing a stupid fanfic.
Gandalf paused as he glimpsed the rising sun. Better rest for a while and then continue the journey to Minas Tirith or the guards seeing him would make a hue and cry about enemies approaching under the cover of darkness.
As he rested his back against an old tree he reflected. Mount Doom had burst into flame again and soon Sauron would play his last savage stroke and engulf the whole of Middle Earth into darkness. If not for the Stewards Minas Tirith might as well have fallen long ago. It was strange that that the Stewards had shown to be more wise than the kings.
Or, he mused, perhaps they felt that they were guarding something not theirs, even if they felt that the king would never return. How strange Mortals were, they would sometimes steal things from others but when it came to safeguarding something of others they would take care of it more carefully than anything of their own. Likewise the kings of Gondor had disregarded their kingdom while the Stewards had disregarded their families while taking care of the kingdom. There had been tension between Stewards Turin and Turgon, Turgon and Ecthelion, Ecthelion and Denethor and now between Denethor and his second son Faramir.
How could Denethor not love his endearing second child? Gandalf knew that Faramir had the gift of foresight, he could read the hearts of men as shrewdly as his father, growing up Faramir would become a great captain of men, a brilliant military strategist, the blood of Numenor runs nearly true in him and he would lay down his life for Gondor and his father, what more could a father ask of his son? And yet Denethor was cold with him. And if he read the signs correctly Denethor was being more than cold to the child. The Grey Pilgrim was seldom wrong in his long life but right now he wished he were. Few he had come to love in his long life and he had somehow come to love the second child of the Steward of Gondor like a son, he thought to himself as he got up to continue his long journey to Minas Tirith.
"Faramir! Fa-ra-mir! Where are you Faramir?" Boromir yelled as he searched for his bereft nine-year-old brother. "Where are you, you little piece of-"
"Little piece of what?" asked the said lost brother, popping his head out of a book to look more clearly at his brother.
"Finally! Found you!" Boromir said as he flopped down beside Faramir. "I've been searching for you all morning. Uncle Imrahil's wife is going to have a baby!! The news came just an hour ago."
"Hmm…" said Faramir, apparently more interested in his book than in the yet unborn babe.
"Maybe it'll finally be a girl!" He paused, looking at Faramir and said, "And maybe I should throw you in the pool with your book."
"Huh? Oh, sorry Boro, I was just reading about Tar-Palantír."
"He was one of the one of the kings of Numenor, wasn't he?"
"Yes. He was the second last king and he made lots of prophecies about the fall of Numenor," Faramir continued, eager to share his knowledge, "But people didn't believe him and his nephew usurped the throne after he died."
"Well, people would have believed and paid more attention to him and his prophecies if he had just gone out and told that Numenor was going to sink." Boromir snorted, "Anyway, its nearly lunchtime, we should get going."
"You go on ahead, I'll just put this book back in my room."
"Alright, but don't be late!" Boromir said as he scampered off.
Faramir sighed as he gathered his books, another lunch with father, another hour sitting at the lunch table either to be ignored by him or listen about his own faults. Why couldn't father leave him alone? But the true trouble had started about a year ago maybe more, maybe less. He dumped his books n the table and looked out of the window. A flash of gray caught his eye. Faramir suddenly brightened up.
It was Mithrandir!
Faramir debated, to go and meet him and risk being late for lunch or to meet him later. But it appeared to be already decided as his father was walking with Mithrandir and they both were disappearing into the house. Feeling more cheery than a few minutes ago he made his way to the hall for lunch.
Faramir suddenly spied the Wizard walking alone.
"Mithrandir!" He cried as he left forward to hug the wizard.
"Ah!" The Wizard exclaimed in delight, "How have you been, Faramir?"
"I'm very well, thank you," Faramir said cheerfully while wincing inside and wondering, Does he suspect? Does he know?
"Where is father? I thought I saw him with you."
"The Steward was called away on some urgent work, I believe it had something to do with the army." Mithrandir said while thinking that it's always about the army nowadays.
"So, tell me more about yourself, Faramir, and your brother. He's supposed to join the army soon isn't he?"
"Oh, yes, he is in a few months. And he's going to be the best warrior ever born!" Faramir bragged as they made their way through the crowd of Gondorion soldiers intent on getting to the storehouse where the weapons were kept.
"And you? What are you going to be? A warrior too?" said the Wizard.
"I have to be, in these times, especially being the Stewards son," Faramir said frowning. "Though maybe I'll be a ranger, they say Ithilien is beautiful."
"Anyway, Faramir, did I tell you the story about the burglar and the thirteen dwarfs and their plan to get a treasure from a dragon?" Mithrandir said, hoping to raise the boy's spirits.
"Really? Tell me about it!" Faramir exclaimed eagerly.
"Well, it all started, as they say in Middle Earth, a chance meeting…"
The young boy and the old man went off hand in hand not knowing what the coming days would bring them but bring it did. It brought fireworks to change the course of destiny or perhaps that had been destiny's plan all along.