Past and Remembered
By: Ariaelle
Disclaimer: I do not own any of J.R.R. Tolkien's characters. If any people or places relate to those in real life, it is purely coincidental. Ariaelle of Imladris is a character of my own making.
Author's note: This is my second piece of fanfiction, after 'Red Dawn'. I hope it's a fun read. 'Past and Remembered' corresponds with 'Red Dawn' and is a tragedy/romance/action-adventure. Enjoy and please review! I want to dedicate this piece also to J.R.R. Tolkien for inspiring me to write and also to David Wenham for his beautiful portrayal of Faramir, which this fanfic is now based on. And I'm really sorry, the formatting isn't working with me. Faramir's writing in his diary...at 'ill and weary' he stops and puts down his quill. Sorry for making it so complicated!
Chapter I: Depression
It was dark in my study. The only light came from the fireplace. I began to write:
I was the Captain of the Ithilien Rangers. It was a worthy position in Gondor's army, given to me by my father. But I did not receive my Captaincy because of battle prowess.
I was a poet, a dreamer, and a musician. I was a lover of the arts.
And yet, I was also a soldier. My strength with the bow was good and my firing accurate. My blade was elven-made, a present from my brother, Boromir. It was more slender than Gondorian blades, so I had another made for common use in Ithilien.
My father was the Steward of Gondor, and my brother, the heir. I loved them and my mother. But my father was different.
Sometimes, I wish that I had another father. I would rather give up my status and have a loving father, than be in the position that I was in now.
My father loved my brother and not I. It was obvious. Even in our names, you could tell. 'Boromir' meant 'Mighty Jewel.' 'Faramir' meant 'Sufficient Jewel.'
Through the words he spoke and the actions he commanded, I could tell he loved me not. My captaincy meant my banishment from court. There was no more need for him to deal with me and my "excuses." He would no longer have to see my face and feel the disappointment I evoked.
What did I do?
Nothing. I let him be. I let him discourage and push me lower than Boromir. It was his personality and his nature that influenced his actions. After all, he was the Steward and Ruler of Gondor.
I sank into depression more than often and my worrying would make me ill and weary.
I put the quill down. A good start, I thought.
I had received the diary as a gift from Boromir.
"Take this, little brother." He had said, "You'll make more use of it than I."
I had been happy to take it. Paper was used sparingly these days.
I stretched and got up to look out the windows of my study. Stars littered the sky and the moon shone like a beacon. I smiled a little. I wondered why, for I hadn't been smiling for a while.
My captaincy had enlightened and depressed me, both at once.
There was a knock at the door.
"Enter." I said off-handedly.
Mablung's head poked in, "Captain?" he asked uncertainly.
"Mablung, you know better than to call me that," I grumbled and plopped into a chair.
My second-in-command enjoyed the chain of command. I despised it.
"Just teasing, Faramir." Seeing my humorless look, he followed with, "All right?"
"No." I said, more than a little cross.
"Is it me?" he asked slowly.
I scratched my chin, "No."
"Mmm..." Mablung lowered himself into a chair, "May I sit down?"
I shot him an annoyed look and he blinked in puzzlement.
"Really, Faramir, you don't look too good. Are you sick?"
"No."
He came over and surveyed me. His eyes ran over the desk, searching for wineglasses or ale. "Is it another of those headaches?"
"No."
"Faramir." He said concernedly. "What's going on?"
"Nothing."
"Will you talk with your brother?"
"No."
"He wishes to speak with you."
Mablung clapped a hand on my shoulder and I looked up. He put out a hand and I ignored it. Irritably, he kept his hand right in front of my nose until I'd grasped it reluctantly. He pulled me up.
"Thank you." I muttered.
He sighed and said, "You aren't well and I will not ignore that fact."
I rolled my eyes sarcastically.
"Can I fix you anything?" he asked, as though he were a servant boy and not a lieutenant.
I shook my head, "It's fine, Mablung. But you can stay in here if you want. Just-" I paused, remembering the diary.
"Yes?"
"Don't look through that." I said, pointing at the leather bound book.
A mischievous grin spread over his face. "Is it what I think it is, Captain?" he gently stressed the word of protocol.
I colored and stalked out before he could elaborate. His burst of laughter echoed in the corridors as my face burned.
Shaking my head, melancholy took over once more. I went directly to my brother's chambers.
I knocked.
"Who is it?" Boromir asked from within the room.
"Your brother." I said, without humor.
He opened the door spontaneously. "There you are! I have an idea..." he said, grinning.
He closed the door quickly and frowned. He lowered his voice, "The soldiers are bored."
I shrugged nonchalantly. "It's always like that when they're being recalled. Most are always late, so those who are early will have to wait."
Boromir wasn't listening, "We should all stay up tonight."
I knew him well, "No, brother, we can't start celebrating with the men. I mean, Father hates those sort of things." And I'm not in the mood for getting him agitated, I wanted to add.
Boromir nodded, "I know. But I'll be starting it anyway. The soldiers are rambunctious. I haven't slept sound for two days!" I knew that he'd been unusually tired for the last little while, but was it worth upsetting Father?
"He'll be very unhappy with you." I said knowingly and he smiled.
"Oh stop your fretting, Faramir." He grinned, "Let's go get a drink!"
He pushed me back out the door and we walked straight down to the mess hall.
Lo and behold! Ale barrels were already set on one side and tables were spread out in the hall. It didn't matter if he asked me or not, I realised. He'd already made plans.
Not in the best mood, I sat down. A few men trickled in. Boromir had already taken the liberty of telling the men.
I guess I'm just another soldier, I thought sadly.
Mablung came straight to me, "I doubted you would return."
I made no reply. Depression was still sinking slowly into my bones.
"Faramir?"
"Yes?" I said softly.
"You don't have to be here." Mablung said comfortingly.
I stared blankly at him, something I only did in the most difficult times.
He could see the pain in my eyes. He could see the regret and the anger. He could see the anxiety and anguish. He was a friend, a truly good friend.
I turned away and sighed. "Thank you, Mablung." I said softly.
He drew a sharp breath, "I only want you to be happy, my lord, though it seems to be a difficult thing to achieve at this time."
I nodded, "I'm sorry for all this. It's just...everything. I don't know all of the Rangers stationed in Ithilien. They might not like me, or..." I stopped. I sounded like a child, I thought angrily to myself. Getting all frustrated with Mablung and then not apologizing and now, having him listen to all my troubles.
But then I remembered the scenario I was in. My father hated me. He hated me, his second son, so much that he wouldn't banish me outright, but disguise his actions by making me captain. Ironic, I thought. I wouldn't be able to visit Boromir often. I wouldn't be able to joke with him at breakfast or enjoy the leisure of my personal chamber. I'd be sleeping on damp leaves for a long while. I wouldn't be able to write and read Elvish poetry every evening. My life would just have gone down the drain.
Listen up, princeling, my other side protested. You're half prince and you're treated like one. Breakfast? Don't you know that most of the peasants don't even have enough food for one meal a day? Don't you know that they suffer from poverty, while you enjoy a feather bed? Don't you know that none of the soldier you command have never been treated half as well as you are?
I felt like a selfish, arrogant son of a Steward. Mablung tilted his head to one side, awaiting my response.
"I think I'll stay here. I'm feeling better." I told him quietly.
"That's good, my lord." He said. He stood and left me alone.
It was going to be a long night.
By: Ariaelle
Disclaimer: I do not own any of J.R.R. Tolkien's characters. If any people or places relate to those in real life, it is purely coincidental. Ariaelle of Imladris is a character of my own making.
Author's note: This is my second piece of fanfiction, after 'Red Dawn'. I hope it's a fun read. 'Past and Remembered' corresponds with 'Red Dawn' and is a tragedy/romance/action-adventure. Enjoy and please review! I want to dedicate this piece also to J.R.R. Tolkien for inspiring me to write and also to David Wenham for his beautiful portrayal of Faramir, which this fanfic is now based on. And I'm really sorry, the formatting isn't working with me. Faramir's writing in his diary...at 'ill and weary' he stops and puts down his quill. Sorry for making it so complicated!
Chapter I: Depression
It was dark in my study. The only light came from the fireplace. I began to write:
I was the Captain of the Ithilien Rangers. It was a worthy position in Gondor's army, given to me by my father. But I did not receive my Captaincy because of battle prowess.
I was a poet, a dreamer, and a musician. I was a lover of the arts.
And yet, I was also a soldier. My strength with the bow was good and my firing accurate. My blade was elven-made, a present from my brother, Boromir. It was more slender than Gondorian blades, so I had another made for common use in Ithilien.
My father was the Steward of Gondor, and my brother, the heir. I loved them and my mother. But my father was different.
Sometimes, I wish that I had another father. I would rather give up my status and have a loving father, than be in the position that I was in now.
My father loved my brother and not I. It was obvious. Even in our names, you could tell. 'Boromir' meant 'Mighty Jewel.' 'Faramir' meant 'Sufficient Jewel.'
Through the words he spoke and the actions he commanded, I could tell he loved me not. My captaincy meant my banishment from court. There was no more need for him to deal with me and my "excuses." He would no longer have to see my face and feel the disappointment I evoked.
What did I do?
Nothing. I let him be. I let him discourage and push me lower than Boromir. It was his personality and his nature that influenced his actions. After all, he was the Steward and Ruler of Gondor.
I sank into depression more than often and my worrying would make me ill and weary.
I put the quill down. A good start, I thought.
I had received the diary as a gift from Boromir.
"Take this, little brother." He had said, "You'll make more use of it than I."
I had been happy to take it. Paper was used sparingly these days.
I stretched and got up to look out the windows of my study. Stars littered the sky and the moon shone like a beacon. I smiled a little. I wondered why, for I hadn't been smiling for a while.
My captaincy had enlightened and depressed me, both at once.
There was a knock at the door.
"Enter." I said off-handedly.
Mablung's head poked in, "Captain?" he asked uncertainly.
"Mablung, you know better than to call me that," I grumbled and plopped into a chair.
My second-in-command enjoyed the chain of command. I despised it.
"Just teasing, Faramir." Seeing my humorless look, he followed with, "All right?"
"No." I said, more than a little cross.
"Is it me?" he asked slowly.
I scratched my chin, "No."
"Mmm..." Mablung lowered himself into a chair, "May I sit down?"
I shot him an annoyed look and he blinked in puzzlement.
"Really, Faramir, you don't look too good. Are you sick?"
"No."
He came over and surveyed me. His eyes ran over the desk, searching for wineglasses or ale. "Is it another of those headaches?"
"No."
"Faramir." He said concernedly. "What's going on?"
"Nothing."
"Will you talk with your brother?"
"No."
"He wishes to speak with you."
Mablung clapped a hand on my shoulder and I looked up. He put out a hand and I ignored it. Irritably, he kept his hand right in front of my nose until I'd grasped it reluctantly. He pulled me up.
"Thank you." I muttered.
He sighed and said, "You aren't well and I will not ignore that fact."
I rolled my eyes sarcastically.
"Can I fix you anything?" he asked, as though he were a servant boy and not a lieutenant.
I shook my head, "It's fine, Mablung. But you can stay in here if you want. Just-" I paused, remembering the diary.
"Yes?"
"Don't look through that." I said, pointing at the leather bound book.
A mischievous grin spread over his face. "Is it what I think it is, Captain?" he gently stressed the word of protocol.
I colored and stalked out before he could elaborate. His burst of laughter echoed in the corridors as my face burned.
Shaking my head, melancholy took over once more. I went directly to my brother's chambers.
I knocked.
"Who is it?" Boromir asked from within the room.
"Your brother." I said, without humor.
He opened the door spontaneously. "There you are! I have an idea..." he said, grinning.
He closed the door quickly and frowned. He lowered his voice, "The soldiers are bored."
I shrugged nonchalantly. "It's always like that when they're being recalled. Most are always late, so those who are early will have to wait."
Boromir wasn't listening, "We should all stay up tonight."
I knew him well, "No, brother, we can't start celebrating with the men. I mean, Father hates those sort of things." And I'm not in the mood for getting him agitated, I wanted to add.
Boromir nodded, "I know. But I'll be starting it anyway. The soldiers are rambunctious. I haven't slept sound for two days!" I knew that he'd been unusually tired for the last little while, but was it worth upsetting Father?
"He'll be very unhappy with you." I said knowingly and he smiled.
"Oh stop your fretting, Faramir." He grinned, "Let's go get a drink!"
He pushed me back out the door and we walked straight down to the mess hall.
Lo and behold! Ale barrels were already set on one side and tables were spread out in the hall. It didn't matter if he asked me or not, I realised. He'd already made plans.
Not in the best mood, I sat down. A few men trickled in. Boromir had already taken the liberty of telling the men.
I guess I'm just another soldier, I thought sadly.
Mablung came straight to me, "I doubted you would return."
I made no reply. Depression was still sinking slowly into my bones.
"Faramir?"
"Yes?" I said softly.
"You don't have to be here." Mablung said comfortingly.
I stared blankly at him, something I only did in the most difficult times.
He could see the pain in my eyes. He could see the regret and the anger. He could see the anxiety and anguish. He was a friend, a truly good friend.
I turned away and sighed. "Thank you, Mablung." I said softly.
He drew a sharp breath, "I only want you to be happy, my lord, though it seems to be a difficult thing to achieve at this time."
I nodded, "I'm sorry for all this. It's just...everything. I don't know all of the Rangers stationed in Ithilien. They might not like me, or..." I stopped. I sounded like a child, I thought angrily to myself. Getting all frustrated with Mablung and then not apologizing and now, having him listen to all my troubles.
But then I remembered the scenario I was in. My father hated me. He hated me, his second son, so much that he wouldn't banish me outright, but disguise his actions by making me captain. Ironic, I thought. I wouldn't be able to visit Boromir often. I wouldn't be able to joke with him at breakfast or enjoy the leisure of my personal chamber. I'd be sleeping on damp leaves for a long while. I wouldn't be able to write and read Elvish poetry every evening. My life would just have gone down the drain.
Listen up, princeling, my other side protested. You're half prince and you're treated like one. Breakfast? Don't you know that most of the peasants don't even have enough food for one meal a day? Don't you know that they suffer from poverty, while you enjoy a feather bed? Don't you know that none of the soldier you command have never been treated half as well as you are?
I felt like a selfish, arrogant son of a Steward. Mablung tilted his head to one side, awaiting my response.
"I think I'll stay here. I'm feeling better." I told him quietly.
"That's good, my lord." He said. He stood and left me alone.
It was going to be a long night.