Hi guys,

I am so sorry how long it has taken me to upload anything in the last few months. I have had a lot of personal issues that have meant that I have not been focused on writing. I have no idea if people are still interested in this story, but I have enjoyed writing it so far, and will continue to do so.

As always, feedback is welcome. I'd love to know whether you think I am writing the characters well, and whether changes to the plot works or not.

I hope you all enjoy the second chapter :).

Disclaimer: I own nothing. All characters/locations etc. belong to the Tolkien Estate and New Line Cinema.

Just another little note, as the elves are introduced in this chapter, and Faramir can speak Elvish, from this point on, there will be many conversations in Elvish. To save me having to state every time they speak Elvish, I will simply replace the speech marks with ^ to indicate a character speaking in Elvish.

The ride from Minas Tirith to Rivendell had been a long and exceptionally hard one. Though he was a fast and skilled rider, the journey took him far longer than he would have liked, and he faced several problems along the way.

After first setting out, he did not stop riding for a full day, determined to get as many leagues between him and the city, in case his father sent any men out to bring him back to Minas Tirith. The ride was harsh and tiring, especially for Anorroch, but he felt it was necessary, and as ever, his faithful horse complied. It was several days before he allowed himself to truly rest, and even then, he wouldn't call uncomfortably slumped against a tree, constantly on the lookout for any attackers, rest.

He certainly did not envy Boromir having to deliver the news to their father. Denethor made it very clear which of the two of them he wanted to go on this mission and would not react well knowing that his youngest son had disobeyed him. After Boromir had told him that the reason for the travel was due to rumours of the One Ring, it did not surprise him why he had favoured Boromir for the task. The One Ring was a powerful weapon, and Denethor saw Boromir as the more powerful of the brothers.

Father wants me to bring it here, to use Sauron's weapon against him. Boromir's words echoed through his head. Faramir himself knew very little of the weapon as it had become more of a legend than something that was real, but what he did know was that the rings of power were too powerful for men to wield them. He wondered whether Boromir would have obeyed their father's wishes and brought the ring back to Minas Tirith. At this point, rumours of the One Ring were merely that: rumours. Faramir knew not whether there was any truth to what his father had told Boromir about Elrond calling a meeting to discuss the Ring. For the sake of Gondor, he could only hope that if the rumours were true, the Ring stayed as far from Minas Tirith as possible, no matter what his father wished.

Soon after he left, he cast the thought of his father and brother aside, wanting to focus on the task at hand. He had taken the North-South road, deeming it to be the quickest way to Rivendell, though this meant many uncomfortable nights sleeping in woods and forests. Not that this bothered him. As a Ranger, he was used to the harsh outdoors, but he would admit to himself that when he saw the city of Edoras on the horizon, he was extremely pleased at the thought of a comfortable, warm bed for a night.

Not that he had felt particularly welcome when he arrived at Edoras. He had never visited Rohan, but his brother had made short stops to Edoras over the last twenty years, and always returned with stories about how wonderful it was. He spoke with great admiration for the King and his son, Théodred, and spoke of how the King's nephew, Éomer, was a fine warrior, and that his sister, Éowyn reminded him of their cousin from Dol Amroth, Lothíriel. In fact, Boromir rarely had anything negative to say about the people of Rohan, and his brother had said that the Golden Hall of Meduseld itself was a beautiful place, full of life and happiness.

It did not take Faramir long to realise that the place Boromir visited over a decade ago no longer existed, and was instead replaced by a bleak, hopeless city. The rumours surrounding the failing health of Théoden King seemed to be true, and he was allowing Rohan to fall into darkness.

When he arrived, Faramir had been met by a man named Gríma, who was clearly suspicious of him, asking him a hundred questions as soon as he arrived. Faramir had explained that he was the son of the Steward of Gondor and was merely passing through, hoping for a soft bed for the night in the home of his father's allies. Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Gríma quickly hurried off to find servants to prepare a room, leaving Faramir sat in the Golden Hall alone.

"It has been many years since we have received a visit from a man of Gondor," a soft voice spoke from behind him, making him jump up. Seeing that he was startles, the woman's face became riddled with guilt, "Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you."

"No forgiveness is needed, Lady…"

"Éowyn," she said, and Faramir at once realised who she was.

"The niece of the King?" he asked, and she nodded. He took a good look at her, and the breath was knocked from his lungs by her beauty. He had seen many beautiful women before, but in Gondor the women were often pampered, with jewellery and their hair made elaborate, whereas the beauty in the woman before him was more natural, and therefore, in his eyes, far more beautiful.

She had the typical blonde hair of the Rohirrim, hair that fell midway down her back, and it was loose, rather than tied up as women of Gondor usually have their hair. Then there were her eyes, a crystal blue colour which any man could get lost in, though there was something in them that told him she was unhappy.

"My Uncle sends his greeting but is unable to greet you. He has been ill recently," she told him, not meeting his eye, and Faramir immediately knew that was not the full truth, but it was not his place to press, so he left it.

"I hope he recovers quickly," he opted to say instead.

"Thank you, I will pass your wishes onto him. In his absence, I have been sent to escort you to your rooms for the night."

He followed her as she walked him through the halls of Meduseld. The halls were empty and dark, and the silence felt unnerving to him. And as they walked, he felt that someone was watching their every move. There was something foul at work here, but he did not have the time to stay and investigate what it was.

They spoke of their countries, and of their brothers as they walked, and the way that she described her brother, Éomer, reminded him of his own brother. They arrived at the room that had been prepared for him, and he thanked her, bidding her farewell as he planned to leave at first night. And as she walked back down the corridor in darkness, he felt a sense of unease. He had just met this woman, but the corridors did not seem safe for her here.

However, he ignored the part of his brain that was overthinking everything, and enjoyed a peaceful sleep in Edoras, and when the morning came around, he rose at first light, and continued onwards towards Rivendell.

He rode again along the North-South road, and soon after leaving Edoras, he came across Isengard in the distance. A part of him longed to turn off slightly to seek the council of Saruman, though he knew the errand he was on was far more important. He had never met the wizard, but Gandalf had always spoken very highly of his dear friend and knowing how much Faramir loved lore and reading, had urged him to one day visit the wise wizard. As he passed the fortress, something inside him told him to hurry past it, and any thought he had of spending a day there disappeared. He was not sure why, but his instincts were usually correct, so he followed them, riding past Saruman and towards Rivendell.

After a few more days of riding, he reached Tharbad and was now in completely unfamiliar territory. He found a map while he was in Tharbad and evaluated his options, settling for following the River Bruinen for the rest of the way. The river went right the way to Rivendell and it was the best route for him to take, especially as he did not want to stray too far off track. His journey after leaving Tharbad was not completely uneventful, Anorroch had thrown one of his shoes. This had spooked him and so he had thrown Faramir from his saddle, nearly into the nearby river.

He had landed awkwardly on his leg and he would have to get it looked at when he arrived at Rivendell, but he did not think it was broken. He knew Anorroch would be uncomfortable for the rest of the ride, but it was now closer for them to continue to Rivendell than turn back to Tharbad, and Anorroch would be able to have a well-deserved rest when they got there.

Finally, after ten more days of slow riding, Faramir found himself looking upon Rivendell for the first time and he found himself speechless. Ithilien was a beautiful place and Faramir had always felt himself drawn to the nature and the wonderful forests there. He often imagined what it looked like before Sauron's return, and even saw himself living there in his dreams, older, surrounded by children and grandchildren. Even the White City was wonderful to look at, a truly magnificent piece of architecture. This was something different though, it felt like something that did not belong in this world that was threatened by darkness. The Last Homely House was surrounded by a forest that added to the beauty of the realm and he felt a sort of peace wash over him just looking at it.

He passed a few elves as he entered the forest, not quite yet in the realm of Imladris, but within elven borders. They glanced at him suspiciously as he rode, not that he could blame them. Relations between elves and men had become a little strained over the centuries and elves have long memories. The relationship between men and elves was not as broken as elves and dwarves, but they considered men to be untrustworthy and weak, driven only by their desire for power, and in return, many men did not like the elves, several jealous of their immortality.

Faramir had always admired elves though. He himself had very distant elven heritage from his mother's side and he had always wanted to meet them, discover their ways and learn from them. He used to spend hours in the library of Minas Tirith reading about the legends of Gil-galad, Lúthien and Galadriel and he had always prided himself on his ability to speak Elvish better than many of the men he knew.

"Who goes there?" A fair voice shouted out and Faramir halted Anorroch, and then the man whom the voice belonged to appeared. The elf was golden haired and had an air of intelligence about him. His eyes bore into Faramir's, doubt in them and his bow was pointed at him, trying to decide whether he was a threat or not. "What business does a man of Gondor have in Imladris?"

"My name is Faramir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor. I come here on behalf of my father, seeking the council of Lord Elrond," Faramir answered, though that did little to please the elf, the arrow still notched and pointed at him.

"What council?"

"Concerning a meeting your Lord has summoned. My father heard of the meeting and felt that a representative of Gondor should be present as we are so close to Mordor."

The elf regarded him for a minute, and then the eyes so full of doubt and suspicion softened and he lowered the bow he held.

"Very well. Follow me, I will take you to him."

The elf introduced himself as Glorfindel and escorted Faramir through Rivendell. The sun shone through the trees, casting a light on Imladris and it looked truly magical. Elves were enchanting creatures, and it was fitting that the place they lived looked like something from a dream.

Eventually, Glorfindel showed him to the stables.

"I will have someone see that your horse has his shoe re-fitted."

"Thank you, My Lord," Faramir replied, jumping off Anorroch and stroking the stallion's mane, muttering to him in Elvish.

^I will be back soon.^

Faramir left Anorroch at the stables and followed Glorfindel through Rivendell. He kept falling behind the elf, taking his time to admire everything he saw. He felt like a child, but it did not bother him, for he was completely mesmerised by everything around him.

Eventually, Glorfindel escorted Faramir the House of Lord Elrond. The Elvish decoration and detail to the house was truly breath-taking and he blinked to make sure what he was looking at was real. Glorfindel opened a door to a room where two people were talking. Faramir assumed one of them was Lord Elrond, and the other he recognised very well.

"Lord Elrond, this is Fa—" Glorfindel had been in the middle of introducing Faramir to Elrond when Gandalf had turned around. Smiling as he saw one of his favourite pupils, he extended his arms, rather uncharacteristically, but Faramir smiled and embraced him anyway.

"Faramir, my boy. What a pleasant surprise."

"You know this man, Gandalf?"

"Of course, I do. Faramir has been a dear friend of mine since the time he was a mere child of three, running around on unsteady legs chasing his older brother." Faramir laughed slightly at Gandalf's words. He couldn't remember their first meeting, but Boromir had told him the wizard had been instantly impressed with the then three-year-old Faramir.

"My Lord, this is Faramir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor. Faramir, this is Lord Elrond of Rivendell."

Faramir bowed his head in respect and decided to address him in Elvish.

^It is an honour to meet you, My Lord.^

Lord Elrond's eyebrow rose slightly in surprise.

^You speak Elvish?^

"Oh yes, Faramir is quite the intelligent young man. Faramir, among others, are the kind of men I was telling you about, why you shouldn't doubt their strength and courage. He may even surprise you with some of his knowledge. Though, I fear if you show him your library, he may never leave it." Gandalf's eyes sparkled with humour and even Elrond let out a small laugh, before addressing Faramir once more.

"You are very welcome here, Faramir son of Denethor."

"Thank you, My Lord."

"It is always a pleasure to see you, my friend, but what brings you all the way to Rivendell. It is quite the journey from Minas Tirith."

"My father heard of a meeting being called by Lord Elrond and felt that Gondor should be represented. He somehow knew that this meeting would be key in the fate of Middle-Earth's war against Sauron and being so close to Mordor, he felt that Gondor would possess knowledge that other realms and races may not."

"Denethor sent you?" Gandalf seemed ill at ease know that it was his father who sent him here.

"Not exactly. He sent Boromir here, feeling that Boromir was a better choice for the task. I had a recurring dream, telling me to come to Imladris, but my father ignored it, telling me it was nothing. It was not until Boromir had the exact same dream that he felt it meant something, especially with his knowledge of the meeting, and so he gave Boromir the orders to come." Lord Elrond looked intrigued at the mention of the dream and pressed for further details.

"What was this dream?"

"It was a voice. Nothing else. Just a voice in the darkness. It said:

Seek for the Sword that was Broken
In Imladris it dwells;
There shall be counsels taken
Stronger than Morgul-spells.
There shall be shown a token
That Doom is near at hand,
For Isildur's Bane shall waken,
And he Halfling forth shall stand."

Both Elrond and Gandalf looked interested, and it was clear that they knew of parts of the dream and what they meant, and the scholar in Faramir wanted to ask them right now for answers.

"I suspect that over your stay here, the wording of your dream will make sense. I cannot speak of these things now, but I invite you to sit upon the council in three days' time. Then things will become clear to you."

"Thank you, My Lord. I had another dream. In fact, I have often had dreams I cannot explain, but this one was recent, and was the reason I came and not my brother. I saw him fighting in a forest and he took three arrows to the chest defending what looked to be children. His words did not make sense, but my dream was as real as you are now, and I knew if my brother came to Rivendell, he would die."

"It is odd," Elrond said, a mix of confusion and admiration on his face as Faramir described his dreams. "I have never met a man who has prophetic dreams. The son of the Steward with foresight is unlike anything I expected to hear. The House of Húrin has gifts, but foresight is not among them. Who is your mother?" Elrond's question caught Faramir off guard, and his reply became stuck in his mouth, but eventually he managed to get his words out.

"She was Finduilas of Dol Amroth. Sister to Prince Imrahil."

"Perhaps that explains it then. The House of Dol Amroth are descended from elves, you must have Elven blood in you. Though even among elves, foresight is not a common gift. Do you often dream of what appears to be the future?"

"Sometimes, though many dreams I cannot tell if they are real or just dreams. I remember when I was young I used to dream of my mother dying before she did. I have seen my brother re-take Osgiliath and myself living in Ithilien in peace. Then there are other dreams too. I have seen the fall of Númenor, or what I assume is Númenor. I see the great wave destroying the land. It is a recurring dream I have had since childhood."

"That does not surprise me. Dreaming of the past is common for those who can dream of the future. But the future is never set in stone. Your brother will not die in the forest as you saw him, but it is unknown what fate will truly have in store for him, or you for that matter. Your coming here may prevent tragedy, or it may simply be you who takes your brothers place. Changing what you see in your dreams will not necessarily work for the better. You must have care in how you react to them."

"I will."

"There is more to you than what meets the eye, Faramir of Gondor. I see great things in your future." Elrond had a faraway look, as if he was viewing Faramir's future right there, but he quickly snapped out of it. "I must leave you now, but as you are acquainted with Gandalf already, I will allow him to escort you to your rooms. Perhaps a detour to the library may be an option."

Elrond's mouth turned up in a small smile and he bowed before turning to leave, Glorfindel, who had stayed out of sight for the conversation, following him.

He and Gandalf caught up on what had happened since the last time they saw each other, which was several years ago. Gandalf had spent a long time in the library of Minas Tirith, reading through old letters and transcripts dating back to the late second age and early third age. Faramir had helped all he could, but Gandalf was more private than usual and Faramir had his own duties in Ithilien to attend to.

He and Boromir used to race each other to see who could reach Gandalf first when they saw him riding towards Minas Tirith. Being the elder of the two, of course Boromir won the races, but the older he got, the less interest his older brother had in the wizard. Faramir, however, became more eager to spend more time with Gandalf the older he got, desperate for anything he could learn from him.

"Deep in thought?"

"I was just thinking of when Boromir and I used to race each other to be the first to greet you. It was always a horribly unfair contest, he is five years older than me."

Gandalf chuckled at the memory of two young boys sprinting towards him and throwing their arms around him whenever he approached the White City.

"How is Boromir?"

"He is well. I do not see him as often as I would like. I spend far more time in Ithilien than I do in Minas Tirith."

"Who will lead your Rangers while you are here?"

"In truth, I did not think of that. But many of my men are more than capable of taking temporary command. Or perhaps permanent. Should I return, my father may be that angry with me that he strips me of my rank."

"I doubt that. If you say you left without his permission then I do not doubt he will be angry, but your men will want you back as their captain. There is no man better for the job."

Gandalf opened a door to the library of Rivendell and once more Faramir found himself speechless. The library of Minas Tirith was something to behold. As a child, he had often gotten lost while wandering around the library, unable to remember his way around its vast area. But before him was a library more incredible than the one at home.

It was several floors high, and as far as the eye could see, there were books, hundreds of them. Gandalf had been talking to him, but he found himself unable to listen. Once more, he felt like a silly child who had been given a new set of toys, or his first wooden sword. But he realised he did not care. He had never been one for fighting as many men had, he preferred reading and music, and he was in his element here.

He took notice of the books the library had. Some were familiar to him, as he had read copies in the library at Minas Tirith, but many he had never seen before. There were recent publications, and some that looked as if they belonged to the First Age, preserved well by Lord Elrond. There were books written in Westeron, Sindarin and Quenya and there were even some written in Khuzdul and Rohirric. There was a mixture of story-based books for all ages, or books that would teach the reader of lore and history.

Seeing his enthusiasm, Gandalf patted him on the back with a smile on his face.

"I will leave you here, my friend." He started to exit the library but turned around before left. "Faramir, it is good that you are here."

Faramir smiled at Gandalf's words, for they meant a lot to him. Since leaving Minas Tirith, he had constantly doubted himself over whether he did the right thing, whether he was capable enough of doing this. His father's words were constantly in his mind. Always you cast a poor reflection on me. He had doubted himself for as long as he could remember and to have someone as wise as Gandalf place faith in him was a confidence boost, assured him that he was right to take his brothers place.

He began to search for a book to read and found one containing the history and lore of the elves of Imladris. Finding a corner with decent lighting, he sat down and began to read.

Hours must have passed while Faramir had his nose buried in the book, but he did not notice as time went by. He was so immersed in his book that the only thing that brought him back to the real world was the candle dying out, and he realised that it had turned dark and he had lingered in the library for far longer than he had meant to.

Faramir put the book back, taking a note of the page he reached in the hope he would return and continue reading it tomorrow, and then left the library. He wandered around for a while, getting easily lost while looking for someone who could lead him to his rooms for his stay here, but he found no one. He stumbled into a room with several artefacts which took his interest.

He looked around the room, decorated beautifully, and came to a painting on the wall. The painting depicted Isildur cutting the One Ring from the hand of Sauron, his sword breaking in the process, defeating the Dark Lord and allowing the people of Middle-Earth to live in peace. This was a story that every child in Gondor learned from an early age, how the heroic King had watched his father fall, and end the dark lord's tyranny with a single stroke.

Moving his gaze from the painting, his eyes were drawn to a statue of a woman, a platter in her hands and the shards of a broken sword perfectly preserved. Seek for the Sword that was Broken. This must be the shards of Narsil, Faramir thought as he looked upon the legendary sword. He had never imagined he would stand within the grasp of the sword of legend from his childhood. Though broken, it was clear that the sword was magnificent. Faramir's own sword was beautifully crafted, a gift from his Uncle of Dol Amroth, but this was the sword that he used to pretend to swing at dragons during his childhood, and here he was looking upon it.

Faramir heard a noise, and realised he was not alone in the room. Sat in a corner, reading a book was a man that Faramir had never met before but somehow recognised him from somewhere. The man was looking at him intently, and Faramir quickly became uncomfortable under his gaze, feeling as if the man was trying to read him.

"You are from Gondor." It was not a question, but a statement, and as Faramir was about to ask the man how he knew, he gestured toward the white tree of Gondor embroidered on his chest.

Faramir's eyes widened and he now realised where he recognised the man from. His voice had been the think that helped him remember.

"Be at peace, Son of Gondor."

This was the man he saw in the dream he had of Boromir's death. The man who tried to save his brother. His mind kept casting back to his dream and the things that were said, though he still could not make sense of them. something told Faramir that this man was important in some way, but which way he knew not.

"I am Faramir, son of Denethor." The man's eyes darkened slightly as Faramir revealed his father's name, but he chose to ignore it. He knew his father had become ill liked outside of Gondor.

"I am Estel, foster son to Lord Elrond." Faramir wondered how a mortal man had fallen under the care of Lord Elrond but it was not his place to ask, and so simply nodded his head in acknowledgement. "You were looking for your room. Allow me to escort you there."

He followed Estel as he escorted him through the corridors of Rivendell. neither man spoke for a short while as they could not think of anything to discuss, and the silence was almost painfully awkward, but eventually Estel broke the silence, finding a topic to discuss.

"How fares Gondor?"

"It prospers still, though it is a daily struggle. They have never reached Minas Tirith, but we have had to constantly deal with orc raids. Ithilien is nearly always under attack one way or another, and we are now struggling to hold Osgiliath. Mordor grows stronger each day, and I fear that we do not have enough men to defeat them alone, but our allies grow thin."

"The men of Gondor are strong, and therefore there is always hope. Here is your room." Estel showed Faramir inside and spoke up again before he left. "You are welcome here, Faramir of Gondor. Your council will be much appreciated in these dark times."

He left and once more Faramir felt ill at ease, but he was not sure why. There was something about Estel that made Faramir wary, but at the same time he felt somewhat comfortable around him, despite only having just met him. Faramir was sure that between his dream and everything else that had happened, it would not be the last he would see of Estel.

Hope you enjoyed the second chapter, I am hopeful the third chapter will be up soon and there certainly will not be as long as a gap as there has been between the first and second chapters.

Also, if anyone would like to beta my work, please get in touch as I am looking for one, and would be grateful, as I know I make little mistakes throughout.