Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.
Author's Note: Just a mini-fic, nothing special, it just wanted to be written. I'm always looking for feedback!
A Dream
"You have born the years gracefully, that is certain."
Faramir paused, the glass raised halfway to his lips and cocked an eyebrow. "Thank you."
"You have also done your office proud."
He took a swallow of the bitter liquid, grimacing slightly at the taste. Why he had the glass or was drinking from it he did not know, one could not get drunk in a dream, or at least he had never had that particular experience, and he never much enjoyed liquor such as that he sipped. Perhaps it was simply because the glass had been offered...
"You have done Gondor proud and...me, as well."
That was unexpected. He set the glass down and looked thoughtful at the man seated before him. This was decidedly the oddest dream he had ever had and not least because he appeared in it at his full age, when he always felt like something of a child in this presence.
"A Prince?"
Fararmir nodded, "Yes. A Prince and a Steward."
"And a Ranger still."
Faramir chuckled. "Though not an active one for some years."
"They still call you the Captain."
"They will always," Faramir's eyes softened at the thought, trailing a finger down the side of his glass. Most of his Rangers were gone, having past through the curtains that veiled the world in which he yet remained in the past few years. The Rangers though, the new ones, he still belonged to them.
"It is a great tribute."
"Perhaps," Faramir agreed, inclining his head. "Not my favourite role but one I treasured nevertheless."
"You have enough of them."
Faramir looked quizzically at his companion, unsure whether to judge it as a hidden barb or not. His companion smiled very slightly and rubbed his chin but there was no malice in his expression, amusement, yes, and slight, still, aggravation but that was not directed at him.
"You are not, to be sure, the only person with such an...inclination towards multiple...roles."
Faramir laughed a little. "He only goes by a few names now, you know."
"Bully for him."
Faramir nearly chocked on the drink from the laughter that bubbled up inside him. "Does he displease you so much?"
"The very notion of him does."
"He is very dear to me," Faramir said quietly. "A brother, if not by blood, and my King, if not yours."
"And you are his Steward and do well at it and, perhaps, I cannot begrudge what he has done for Gondor even if he shall never be my King as he is yours."
"Perish the thought." Faramir agreed, raising his glass just slightly.
"You enjoy being Steward."
"Yes." Faramir replied.
"And you do it well but, still, it is not your most favoured role either."
"No, I suppose it is not," Faramir allowed. He did not know what was even as he said the words.
"A Prince too, an accomplished one as well, scholar and solider, something I doubted and you, rightfully did not. These are close to your heart, yes, but none are your heart." The man paused. "What, then, is it that you are?"
"A friend, a husband and a father," Faramir smiled. His eyes grew bright and the grin grew as he thought of the family's newest addition. "And a grandfather too."
"So...What is it you are waiting for?"
Faramir paused in his thoughts and sat very still for a time. He laughed out loud, then, and took a sip of the drink, smiling broadly. "I wonder. Nothing I suppose or perhaps tradition."
"He is ready."
"Yes he is," Faramir agreed. "And he will be wonderful, you would like him, I think."
"Yes, I believe I would."
"He is ready," Faramir repeated to himself. "And so am I. My time grows short."
"Not so short."
"Shorter then," Faramir amended. He set down the glass and looked into eyes surprisingly similar to his own. "Thank you, father."
"It is your dream," Denethor told him.
"It is not a dream," Faramir replied. "We both know it."
Denethor shrugged but did not look displeased. "Think what you will."
Faramir chuckled and shook his head. He was right, this was not a dream. "Will I remember it come morning?"
"Some, perhaps," Denethor told him. "What is important will remain at the very least."
"I can ask for no more," Faramir allowed. He looked carefully at his father. "Why did you do this?"
Denethor looked back at him, and Faramir found a hint of warmth in the grey eyes. "You deserve it."
Faramir nodded slowly, "Thank you."
Denethor shrugged, and leaned back in his chair, regarding his son. Waiting.
"I will not see you again, will I?" Faramir asked.
"Not for a time, no," Denethor raised an eyebrow, his expression changing ever so slightly and Faramir saw the barest hint of guilt there. "And not as you have in the past."
"Good," Faramir said. "I can do with out those dreams. We were not always like that, our family, you and I."
"No, we were not," Denethor agreed.
There was silence for a time. Faramir felt the dream shifting and felt a moment's regret he would not remember all of what was said come morn.
"Faramir!"
He looked up sharply at his father's tone, looked at the old man before him. Denethor seemed as startled as his son at his outburst but than his face softened and he gave a very small, slightly sad grin. "The wizard...he was right in the end, you know."
Faramir nodded.
"I did remember," Denethor swallowed and looked away for a moment, then appeared to force himself to meet the eyes of his son. "I do love you, Faramir, and I am proud of what you have done."
"I know," Faramir told him. "It took time but...those wounds are healed and I know that what you did was an attempt to spare me a worse end. I do, too, love you, father."
"You would forgive a foolish old man?" Denethor asked quietly. "Who saw not what was before him?"
"I did long ago," Faramir said quietly but sincerely.
Denethor rose then and stood before his son, who looked up at him with the grey eyes of a much loved, much respected man. His father kissed his brow in something akin to a blessing and pushed his grey hair back from his still fair, if weathered, face.
And he grinned at him as Faramir could only very faintly remember him ever doing while he still lived. Faramir smiled back at him.
"I will see you in some years hence but not before. We will be there, waiting for you, when the time comes," Denethor bestowed upon him a tender look and a somewhat wistful smile. "Be joyful."
"Oh father," Faramir whispered, reaching for Denethor's hand and squeezing it. "I am, so much, in so many ways."
"Good." Denethor's hand slipped from his son's and he stepped back, his face still soft and faded.
Faramir blinked to see the ceiling of his home in Ithilien. The moon cast a silver light through the window. Eowyn muttered something in her sleep, rolled over and buried his face in the crook of his neck.
He chuckled, brushed her white hair from his face and kissed his wife's forehead. He sighed softly, closed his eyes, and fell back into dreams.
Author's Note: Just a mini-fic, nothing special, it just wanted to be written. I'm always looking for feedback!
A Dream
"You have born the years gracefully, that is certain."
Faramir paused, the glass raised halfway to his lips and cocked an eyebrow. "Thank you."
"You have also done your office proud."
He took a swallow of the bitter liquid, grimacing slightly at the taste. Why he had the glass or was drinking from it he did not know, one could not get drunk in a dream, or at least he had never had that particular experience, and he never much enjoyed liquor such as that he sipped. Perhaps it was simply because the glass had been offered...
"You have done Gondor proud and...me, as well."
That was unexpected. He set the glass down and looked thoughtful at the man seated before him. This was decidedly the oddest dream he had ever had and not least because he appeared in it at his full age, when he always felt like something of a child in this presence.
"A Prince?"
Fararmir nodded, "Yes. A Prince and a Steward."
"And a Ranger still."
Faramir chuckled. "Though not an active one for some years."
"They still call you the Captain."
"They will always," Faramir's eyes softened at the thought, trailing a finger down the side of his glass. Most of his Rangers were gone, having past through the curtains that veiled the world in which he yet remained in the past few years. The Rangers though, the new ones, he still belonged to them.
"It is a great tribute."
"Perhaps," Faramir agreed, inclining his head. "Not my favourite role but one I treasured nevertheless."
"You have enough of them."
Faramir looked quizzically at his companion, unsure whether to judge it as a hidden barb or not. His companion smiled very slightly and rubbed his chin but there was no malice in his expression, amusement, yes, and slight, still, aggravation but that was not directed at him.
"You are not, to be sure, the only person with such an...inclination towards multiple...roles."
Faramir laughed a little. "He only goes by a few names now, you know."
"Bully for him."
Faramir nearly chocked on the drink from the laughter that bubbled up inside him. "Does he displease you so much?"
"The very notion of him does."
"He is very dear to me," Faramir said quietly. "A brother, if not by blood, and my King, if not yours."
"And you are his Steward and do well at it and, perhaps, I cannot begrudge what he has done for Gondor even if he shall never be my King as he is yours."
"Perish the thought." Faramir agreed, raising his glass just slightly.
"You enjoy being Steward."
"Yes." Faramir replied.
"And you do it well but, still, it is not your most favoured role either."
"No, I suppose it is not," Faramir allowed. He did not know what was even as he said the words.
"A Prince too, an accomplished one as well, scholar and solider, something I doubted and you, rightfully did not. These are close to your heart, yes, but none are your heart." The man paused. "What, then, is it that you are?"
"A friend, a husband and a father," Faramir smiled. His eyes grew bright and the grin grew as he thought of the family's newest addition. "And a grandfather too."
"So...What is it you are waiting for?"
Faramir paused in his thoughts and sat very still for a time. He laughed out loud, then, and took a sip of the drink, smiling broadly. "I wonder. Nothing I suppose or perhaps tradition."
"He is ready."
"Yes he is," Faramir agreed. "And he will be wonderful, you would like him, I think."
"Yes, I believe I would."
"He is ready," Faramir repeated to himself. "And so am I. My time grows short."
"Not so short."
"Shorter then," Faramir amended. He set down the glass and looked into eyes surprisingly similar to his own. "Thank you, father."
"It is your dream," Denethor told him.
"It is not a dream," Faramir replied. "We both know it."
Denethor shrugged but did not look displeased. "Think what you will."
Faramir chuckled and shook his head. He was right, this was not a dream. "Will I remember it come morning?"
"Some, perhaps," Denethor told him. "What is important will remain at the very least."
"I can ask for no more," Faramir allowed. He looked carefully at his father. "Why did you do this?"
Denethor looked back at him, and Faramir found a hint of warmth in the grey eyes. "You deserve it."
Faramir nodded slowly, "Thank you."
Denethor shrugged, and leaned back in his chair, regarding his son. Waiting.
"I will not see you again, will I?" Faramir asked.
"Not for a time, no," Denethor raised an eyebrow, his expression changing ever so slightly and Faramir saw the barest hint of guilt there. "And not as you have in the past."
"Good," Faramir said. "I can do with out those dreams. We were not always like that, our family, you and I."
"No, we were not," Denethor agreed.
There was silence for a time. Faramir felt the dream shifting and felt a moment's regret he would not remember all of what was said come morn.
"Faramir!"
He looked up sharply at his father's tone, looked at the old man before him. Denethor seemed as startled as his son at his outburst but than his face softened and he gave a very small, slightly sad grin. "The wizard...he was right in the end, you know."
Faramir nodded.
"I did remember," Denethor swallowed and looked away for a moment, then appeared to force himself to meet the eyes of his son. "I do love you, Faramir, and I am proud of what you have done."
"I know," Faramir told him. "It took time but...those wounds are healed and I know that what you did was an attempt to spare me a worse end. I do, too, love you, father."
"You would forgive a foolish old man?" Denethor asked quietly. "Who saw not what was before him?"
"I did long ago," Faramir said quietly but sincerely.
Denethor rose then and stood before his son, who looked up at him with the grey eyes of a much loved, much respected man. His father kissed his brow in something akin to a blessing and pushed his grey hair back from his still fair, if weathered, face.
And he grinned at him as Faramir could only very faintly remember him ever doing while he still lived. Faramir smiled back at him.
"I will see you in some years hence but not before. We will be there, waiting for you, when the time comes," Denethor bestowed upon him a tender look and a somewhat wistful smile. "Be joyful."
"Oh father," Faramir whispered, reaching for Denethor's hand and squeezing it. "I am, so much, in so many ways."
"Good." Denethor's hand slipped from his son's and he stepped back, his face still soft and faded.
Faramir blinked to see the ceiling of his home in Ithilien. The moon cast a silver light through the window. Eowyn muttered something in her sleep, rolled over and buried his face in the crook of his neck.
He chuckled, brushed her white hair from his face and kissed his wife's forehead. He sighed softly, closed his eyes, and fell back into dreams.