uFARAMIR THERAPY SESSION NO. 1/u

The first impression that the therapist got which indicated her client's.difference was that the form her secretary had handed her only bore one name - Faramir son of Denethor. Heaving a sigh of irritation, she pulled off her reading glasses and left her desk to ask the secretary about it.

"Helen, what's with this guy's name?" She asked, leaning on the doorframe and waving the paper pointedly.

Her secretary looked up and shrugged, "You told me it's best to let them have their way with stuff like this if they sound particularly unstable. He was totally adamant that that was his name - found the concept of second names rather quaint as far as I could tell."

Unimpressed, the therapist nodded and swung back into her room, closing the door as she did so. She sat down again and began tapping her pen on the table as she watched the clock. She was aware that she had picked up several habits during the course of her life - many, admittedly from her clients.

It was several minutes since 'Faramir son of Denethor' was scheduled to arrive when her secretary finally gave a soft knock on the door to announce his coming. This wasn't unusual - they were always either early or late, and the therapist had considered performing a study to see whether verging on the mentally unstable led you to a fear of punctuality.

Muffled by the door she caught only the odd word from her secretary, but it was "Okay, just hang your cloak up there," that made her sit up a little. ICloak?/I she wondered, standing up and moving around the desk to stand near the door. She held her glasses to her eyes and peered down at her information again. It was just the normal as far as she could see - parental problems, family deaths, etc.

When the door opened and her client stepped in she couldn't control a little raise of the eyebrows. He was wearing a green and brown tunic under a leather waistcoat, and had some form of green trousers on too, as well as matching leather boots. And he had a sword on his belt and a quiver of arrows on his back.

Recovering a little, she held out a hand. "Hello, Faramir, my name is Julie and I'm here to listen to anything you feel you have to say."

He hesitated, casting a suspicious glance around the room. When his eyes fell upon her outstretched hand he frowned, choosing instead to step back and give a little bow. "Greetings, Julie, I'm glad that you are willing to help me."

She stared at this and was aware of her mouth gaping like a fish's as she watched him straighten again, his expression one of the utmost sincerity. "Um, well, perhaps you'd feel more relaxed if you took off your weapons, Faramir. You're perfectly safe in here, I assure you. You can just put them on my desk there if you want."

He gave her another suspicious look before walking past her to the desk. With surprising care he laid his quiver upon the desk, and then unbuckled his belt and put it down too. She gave a sigh of relief and moved to the armchair by the chaise-long. "Please, have a seat," she gestured to the couch.

Moving slowly over to it, he gave her what she at first perceived to be an imperious glare, but later she realised he was still assessing all he came across. He looked down at her; his arms folded and chin tilted at a disobedient angle. "I am not ill, Miss Julie, I do not need a bed."

"Um." she looked up at him, her confusion growing. "Well, this isn't a bed, it's a couch. I don't mean to imply that you're ill, because you're obviously not. It's again, just to help you relax when you're talking." She was glad to hear the rational therapist within her kick in.

Giving her that strange look again, he sat down awkwardly on the edge of the leather chaise-long and folded his hands in his lap, obviously waiting for her to begin.

"Well," she said, taking a deep breath. "Let's start at the beginning. Tell me a bit about yourself and your family, and what led to the current conflict."

He looked alarmed for a moment, sitting up straighter. "Conflict? How did you come to know about that?"

Even more perplexed, she held up the paper that her secretary had given her. "It says right here.about you father?"

"Oh, yes." he relaxed again.

"Do you mind if I record our conversations, Faramir? You see, listening to them again will help me to understand how to help you."

He looked confused, a frown creasing his brow. "That's fine, Miss Julie, if it will aid you."

"Thank you," she nodded, flicking the switch on her recorder. She prompted him again to tell her about himself.

"My father is the steward of our city, Gondor. The stewards have ruled since the last king, Isildur, was killed many years ago. I had an older brother of the name Boromir, who was being trained by our father to take over as steward, but Boromir was killed." The therapist began to wonder a little about the amount of murders in this land of 'Gondor' that her client spoke of. "Boromir had always been father's favourite for as long as I can remember. They were very similar, Miss Julie - both were very loyal to our city and our people, but they would always allow the ends to justify the means, if you can understand me?"

The therapist nodded. Normally when clients were talking they lost themselves in their own memories and recollections and were seemingly happy to talk as if to themselves for their allocated time. Faramir had stubbornly remained in a sitting position, his eyes focused as he told the story to her.

"Father never thought too much of me, his younger son. Boromir was strong and healthy; there was no reason to believe he would come to an early end. Father always saw me as the runt - a weakling next to my brother and a coward. But I'm not, Miss Julie."

Again his use of her name made her sit up a bit. She had decided he was undoubtedly the most unusual client she had ever had.

"I became a Ranger. Do you know what they are?" She shook her head, fascinated despite herself. "Well I don't suppose any one word can describe us. We are expert trackers and hunters. We specialise in secrecy, and can take out large armies in very quick time with only a few well-disguised archers."

"Oh, like guerrillas?" She asked, beginning to suspect him of being involved with some sort of Middle-Eastern conflict.

"Yes, I suppose so." He conceded.

"Tell me, Faramir, where is it that you come from? Where is Gondor?"

"It is a part of Middle-Earth, just to the West of the land of Shadow."

She stared. IOh my God, what if he's with Al Qaeda and he's going to blow this building up?/I "Okay, I see."

He considered his hands, which were folded neatly on the skirt of his tunic. "Well despite becoming a Ranger, I was still not given respect from my father. He instead thought of me as an exile, although he did not hesitate to put me to use where there was danger approaching his city. One day my Rangers and I came across a pair of hobbits as we conducted an attack. We held them captive for a while, because I was curious as to their business in our land."

"You kidnapped them?" The therapist was horrified - she had no idea what a 'hobbit' was, but they sounded terribly cute to her and the idea of anyone being captured like that scared her.

He gave her his assessing look again, leaning back a little. "Do you think it was wrong? They were trespassing, and we did not threaten them or use force other than a push and a shove onto the correct paths." She said nothing, but wondered again at this strange and confusing man. "If I upset you, Miss Julie, please say and I will rethink my accounts."

"No, no, it's fine. Continue, please," she gestured with her hand to emphasise her words, also shaking her head a little as if to bring herself out of a dream.

"We had seen their tracks, and we knew their party had previously been of three, but we had only caught two. They called themselves Frodo and Sam and told me they had known my brother. I did not get an entirely positive reply when I asked whether they were friendly with him - they seemed very reluctant to talk of it. When I told them of his death they appeared ignorant, so I still had no news of how it happened."

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you." He paused for the first time in his account, and the therapist studied his expression carefully. He was looking down and his face was as closed as it had been since he entered, but the therapist wondered if perhaps his eyes looked glossier, as though they were covered by a thin layer of salt water. "Well we found the third member of their travelling group, and." He frowned, as though he was deciding whether some detail should be included. "I found out from him that the hobbits had something of importance."

"Is that all you found out?" The therapist found herself suspicious of this part of the tale.

"Yes." He looked at her with a guarded expression, as though he was expecting more questions on this subject. Because he was leaning forwards his long hair fell over his face, and the therapist leaned back a little, unnerved by the effect it produced. "They had something of great power that I thought could save our people."

"What did your people need saving from?"

Again, that appraising look. "Great evil. That is enough for you to know. I admit that within a few moments I was beginning to think that I could gain the respect of my father by bringing the hobbits to him. I overheard them discussing it, and I.I forced them to come to Gondor with me, to save my city and to meet my father. The one called Sam told me how Boromir was killed then." For the second time, Faramir paused and the room became silent. The therapist was slightly ashamed to find herself holding her breath. "He was corrupted by the power of it. The thing that the hobbits carried drove my brother to insanity. And it was beginning its work on me."

"What Iwas/I it?" she asked, leaning closer again.

"A tool belonging to the great evil of which I spoke. Servants of this evil were launching an attack on Gondor, and I shot one that was calling to the hobbits for its master's tool. I witnessed something then between the hobbits that made me realise what a fool I was to try and use the object they carried. I set them free, but my city now labels me as a traitor - my life has been made forfeit and I will find no sympathy from my father. Do you see my problem, Miss Julie?"

The therapist nodded without saying anything. She was wondering how someone who talked of killing so easily still had enough compassion to release prisoners that he had planned to use. "Yes, I think I am beginning to understand. I hope that this session has helped you also, Faramir?"

He did not give her his customary look of judgement this time, but one corner of his mouth curled into a smile. "I believe it has been of some use, yes. I thank you for your time." He stood up, walking back to her desk and replacing his weapons. She watched him move slowly but deliberately back to the door of the office, each movement reminding her of a cat stretching after a sleep. He smiled again as he left the room, nodding his head once also.

The therapist reached for her recorder, already wanting to listen to his words again, but she found that her fingers had not fully depressed the button and that not a thing had been recorded. With a rueful sigh she headed back to her desk, preparing to make a Ilong/I set of notes.