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.
