Chapter Two
Only own Elena

Faramir could not hold back his grin as Elena quietly made her way

into the dining room. She had changed from her boy's clothing into

a deep red gown, her face was washed and her hair fell softly to her

shoulders. She really was a pretty girl when she was not covered in

mud. With her black hair and big eyes, Elena was the very image of

their mother. But the similarities were only skin-deep. Finduila was

the type of woman every man in Gondor wanted. Beautiful, poised,

graceful, and meek. Her daughter on the other hand was about as

meek as a dragon. Their parents said that Elena was just going

through a tomboy phase and she would outgrow it, but Faramir

knew better. The passion that Elena showed in her fighting as well

as her studies showed that this was deeper than a phase. He did not

understand why his parents were so determined to crush that

passion. He glanced at his mother who sat at his father's left. At the
age of forty-two Finduila was still a stunning woman. She sat

quietly eating her soup while his father discussed foreign affairs

with Mithrandir and Boromir. He loved his mother dearly, but he

often wondered if she had ever had an intelligent thought in her life.
She never spoke about anything other than the proper setting of the

cups at the dinner table and what the proper accoutrements were for
a formal banquet. Was this what they wanted Elena to become?

Faramir smiled as he remembered the day six years ago when his

sister had come bursting into his room ready to tear her hair out

with frustration at their mother's tea lessons. He'd picked her up

and kissed her forehead, like he always did and gone to the kitchen

to get them both a piece of cake. When he'd returned he'd found

her sprawled on his bed, her nose buried in the book he'd been

reading, her eyes hungrily devouring the words. Though he'd

known that Elena would never use the knowledge in the books, her

thirst for knowledge had motivated him to share his lessons with

her, teaching her everything he learned from Mithrandir. Surely, the

things he taught her were more useful than the proper way to serve tea.

"Of course, the alliance with Rohan is vital to Gondor,"

Denethor was saying. "But if Theoden thinks that his Rohirrim can

keep their borders safe without our aid, he will be sorely surprised

the first time Rohan's safety is threatened"

"I don't know about that," Mithrandir argued with the Steward of Gondor. "Theoden has fought many battles in his day"

"But the Rohirrim cannot compare to the armies of Gondor," Denethor said sharply.

"What do you think, Finduila?" Mithrandir addressed his mother.
All at the table looked up in shock that the wizard had asked the

steward's wife her opinion. Finduila looked down at her plate.

"I am sure whatever Denethor says is true," Finduila said mildly.

Faramir wanted to throw his spoon across the room. He was never

getting married. If all the women of this world knew nothing but

how to obey their husbands then he would just as soon remain a

bachelor. He didn't want a woman who would agree with whatever

he said. He wanted someone who would challenge him. He looked

across the table to where his sister sat playing with her food. If only
more women were like her. Not only could she fight but she had a

mind as well. And she was not afraid to speak that mind. She could

debate any topic with him until the sun came up. And she would

never back down; she would stand her ground until he gave in and

admitted she was right. Until he found a woman like that, he would
never marry.