Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof

*****

'Fine mess you have gotten yourself into now, Faramir!' The Steward berated himself as he dipped his comb in water and ran it once more through his hair. He had not appeared at any familiar congregation at the request of anyone before, and hoped sincerely that he would not need speak. A part of him hoped that the invitation had been a matter of business, but that small, childish part of himself which refused stubbornly to be stepped on hoped that he had not been invited on business but personally--as a friend. . .

"Now you are being silly," he chided himself aloud. "Politics knows nothing of friendship, only of gaining. . .something done only by some other's loss. . ."

/"Boromir, why is Uncle Imrahil not visiting for midwinter?" Faramir asked. He had been there every year before, even last year, despite that fact that Lady Finduilas had no longer been with them. The news that his uncle would not be visiting this year devastated seven-year-old Faramir.

Boromir looked with pity upon his little brother, wide-eyed and innocent, too young to bear sorrow and the weight of the world.

"Doesn't. . .doesn't he like us any longer, Boromir?" Faramir asked, and Boromir was inclined to answer, lest his brother maintain this guilty belief.

"Of course he likes us, Faramir."

They were in Boromir's bedchamber lying on the bed, excused from lessons for the day as it was nearly midwinter. Boromir had taken pleasure in this respite from book learning, but Faramir had consented to rest only because there were no insects and animals to observe and he was not permitted in the library. Ah, the agonizing restrictions of youth! Nevertheless, the brothers enjoyed their time together.

Boromir sat up straight and opened his arms to his brother. "Come here, Faramir," he said, wanting to let the younger boy know that he was not alone in this introduction to the terror of policy and relations. Not needing to be told twice, Faramir leaned against his brother and Boromir held him protectively. "Father wishes to tighten his rule in the west," Boromir said. "He wants more power."

Faramir did not understand.

"If Father gains this power, Uncle Imrahil loses it. Power is like to wealth: there is only so much wealth in a country. If, for example, Father had all the wealth in Gondor, what would everyone else have?"

"Nothing," Faramir answered.

"Exactly. So if Father has all the power. . ."

"No one else has power," Faramir supplied. He was beginning to understand this new concept, and he did not think he liked it very much. "That is not good, is it, Boromir?"

"Not at all," Boromir replied, "because if one person has all the power, no one can stop him from abusing it."

"So we support Uncle Imrahil? Against our own father?"

Boromir bit his lip. This bothered him, also, but sometimes one must choose country over kin. "Father is a strong and noble leader, Faramir, but power corrupts. Always remember that, it will never change."/

For a quarter of an hour Faramir stood in the great hall, watching, never moving. Long ago he had become familiar with this corner from which the entire hall was visible to him, and thus he knew that King Elessar had not come yet--but that meant little, for the appointed hour had yet to come.

Oddly, Faramir could not think of the man as simply Elessar. Though thinking of him as King was also awkward, thinking of him without any title seemed to go against the principles with which Faramir had been raised.

"Lord Faramir? 'Scuse me, Lord Faramir, but would you be looking for the King here?" Faramir looked about and saw that the voice belonged to a small boy of perhaps twelve or thirteen years, a boy who supposedly worked in the library, but always seemed to be everywhere else, running errands and whatnot. "Only, you will not find him here, sir," the boy continued.

That's right! Faramir remembered now that King Elessar had mentioned something along those lines, about meeting somewhere else. . ."Do you know where he is?"

"Sure as butter I do!" the boy replied, then in his awkward speech gave Faramir directions. Faramir thanked the boy and left, feeling thoroughly embarrassed. But never mind such matters, he was not yet late. At a quick pace Faramir reached the appointed room, took a deep breath, smoothed his hair, and entered.

He was greeted by a strange sight. The two dark-haired figures he had seen earlier that afternoon, whom he had been unable to recognize, were in the process of setting five places at the round table in the center of the small room. The main source of light was the fire, also a source of warmth. Faramir realized that this room must not be terribly far from the kitchens: what was the unorthodox King up to now?

"Can we help you? Are you looking for something?" one of the dark-haired figures asked.

For a moment Faramir stammered, drowning in a sea of words and nerves, then he replied, "Yes, I am looking for the King."

The one who had spoken before looked oddly at him, then asked, "Are you his valet?" Turning to the other figure, he (or she? Faramir was uncertain) said, "I thought we agreed that no servants would be here tonight."

"Perhaps Estel forgot," the second dark-haired figure replied.

"Yes, though it is not at all like him." This figure turned to Faramir, and said, "I'm sorry if he forgot to tell you, but there is no call for servants here tonight."

For a moment Faramir toyed with responding that he was a Steward of Gondor and no servant, but there was no point in it. One of those figures had looked disapprovingly at him earlier. Surely they remembered, surely this was a cruel joke. That sadly hopeful ship inside of Faramir sank, and he felt terribly dejected as he bowed to the two figures, and muttered, "Forgive me, I must have forgotten. . ."

They granted their forgiveness, and Faramir left the room. A part of him held curiosity, but on the whole he was pleased. No need to sit as an ornament, present for the sake of appearances. As he tried to convince himself that he did not feel completely rejected, Faramir plodded along the corridor, meaning to return to his own rooms for the night. Nothing like a good rest to help a person face the next day, after all.

"Faramir? Faramir, wait!" The Steward ignored the call and continued onwards, gripping his elbows in a frustrating mix of anger and hurt. "Faramir!" Running footsteps, then Faramir stopped as he felt a hand on his shoulder. This enraged him, an obvious breach of and disrespect for policy, and he whirled around to face the King angrily.

"What do you want from me?" he demanded. "You--you insult my country's traditions, you have bereft my family of their rightful position--" Was he truly saying this? This same spiel his father had used to indoctrinate him, the very propaganda Faramir had spent years denying, spilled from his lips against his will. "Did you truly think personal insult necessary?" This, at least, he meant, though he might not have been so ashamed to say it had not tears been threatening.

"Faramir. . ." Elessar's face registered no anger, only surprise and hurt. "Forgive me, I am unfamiliar with the traditions of your country. Your family. . .with the deepest respect to your line, it is no longer necessary for a Steward to rule Gondor. And if I have done anything to personally offend you, I am truly sorry."

Faramir swallowed a lump in his throat, feeling confused and uncertain, not knowing what the name was for the mild windstorm in his gullet. "My apologies, my King, I had no right to speak as such. You are foreign to this country and it is time again for a Kin to rule Gondor. But for personal injury, sire, are you truly so ignorant of it? That you should ask me to join you for a meal, only to be called a servant and turned away? How is this not insult?"

Again the King's face showed his confusion. "Who has said such things to you?"

"I cannot say! They are two but look as one!" Faramir could give no better explanation.

Then he understood. "Oh, no. Faramir, please, come back, all of this will be cleared up."

The Steward bit his lip, but had no choice but to obey. As the two men returned as they had come, the King said, "Is it so awkward to call me simply Elessar, Faramir?"

"Yes, and against tradition," Faramir replied honestly. "I do apologize for this, perhaps your custom is different in. . ." He trailed off. Where did King Elessar come from?

"Will you call me Estel, in this case? It is my childhood nickname, and cannot be associated with being a king."

Faramir considered this. He respected this confused man, though he seemed to be rather ignorant of much, and it did seem in the King's interest to make amends for the wrongs of the dark-haired figures. "I will try," Faramir said at last.

"'Tis all I ask. Ah, here we are then."

*****

To be continued

Author's note: Many awkward situations will be explained in the next chapter; the twin setting the table, for example. I do apologize for the lack of. . .well, decent prose. I'm in a bit of a dry stage.

Ivy3: He has met Eowyn, but this is set in the period after the war when she is in Rohan and they have yet to marry; however, they have decided to marry.

Thanks everyone who reviewed, and double thanks to those who told me about Faramir's eyes!