Author's note: Finally! Chapter 2 is finished!! I was preoccupied with 'Red
Dawn'. Please forgive me! I'll spend more time with this one in the future.
Chapter 2: Company
I sipped some of the wine in my cup. I tasted nothing. I felt nothing except uselessness.
What could I do to prove my worth? Did I even have any worth? Didn't I matter too?
Probably not.
I finished the glass of red liquid and looked around. There were my former soldiers. But now that I had become Captain of the Ithilien Rangers, they were no longer under my command as a soldier was, only as Gondorians were. Boromir had been made Head of Gondor's army.
He was smiling and laughing. He hadn't been this jovial since his last victory, a while ago. It had been a small, but quick victory.
To this very day a month ago, it had been an exact year since Mother's death. I still wore black in her remembrance. Boromir hadn't been too cheerful either, but he had never been very close to our mother.
I ran a hand through my hair and stood to get another glass of wine. Mablung came up beside me.
"You're not looking much better, Faramir." He said. I turned away.
"I'm still nowhere near 'well', that's all."
"Ask for leave." He suggested mildly.
"No, I don't want to disappoint Boromir."
"Disappoint him? That's absurd, Faramir. He is your brother. He will understand."
"I suppose that much is true." I muttered, seeing a servant boy and telling him to get another glass of wine.
"You're drinking." Said Mablung flatly.
"I believe I am."
"Stop it then." He tried to move the glass from my lips.
I chuckled, and stepped back to avoid him.
I sat down again, but he remained where he was. "Do you want me to ask him for you?
"No." I replied so suddenly that I surprised even myself.
"But-"
"I'll be all right, Lieutenant. You are dismissed. There are enough people here to help me if I get too drunk."
I really didn't want him to follow me around. Mablung wasn't a servant, he was an officer. After all, he deserved a bit of fun. I wouldn't let my state of mind affect him.
Mablung gave a resigned sigh. "I tried..." he muttered to himself and left me.
I finished another glass. As if on cue, the servant boy returned with another goblet of wine. I thanked him and gave him a coin. He had eyed me warily, but bowed and muttered, "Thank you, my lord." all the same.
I swirled the liquid in the glass, unsure of whether to drink it. Getting a hangover didn't seem like the brightest idea. And tomorrow would be nearly my last day before setting off to Henneth-Annun, the Ranger's refuge and Ithilien base. I didn't want to stay sick all day.
I took the wineglass and emptied it into a drain. Now, I wouldn't have anymore temptations to drink it. I wasn't drunk. In fact, I was nowhere near. I probably could have spared that last glass.
Better safe than sorry.
Setting the glass on a table, I mingled with the crowd. Most of the men addressed me by name, and I would have to turn and shake hands with them, perhaps start a conversation. It lightened my spirits, but only by so much.
Shaking my head with a small smile, I left another table.
Suddenly, there was a flash of royal blue and someone collided hard against me. I stepped back, a little puzzled. A girl stood there, off-balance, and surprise in her dark eyes. Her raven hair hung at her waist. A sudden look of confusion passed through her elven features, as I gave her a look of apology.
"I'm sorry, sir. I was just...hurrying past, and I didn't see you." She said.
The blue dress she wore was light and looked to be of spring season. There was a black trim on the collar and waistline. Her sleeves were of light blue silk. A thought passed through me: her features did not seem in all elven, yet not purely like my kind.
"It's quite all right." I said gently. "Are you hurt?"
"No, sir, I'm not. Thank you though." She said. She rubbed her wrist. Was she nervous? Did she know who I was?
"Would you like to sit down?" I asked, pointing to a table nearby, away from the large crowds.
"It's very kind of you, sir." She said gracefully.
I smiled a little at her politeness, "I haven't seen you around before."
There had been no word from Father about a visit from the elves. Why was she here? Minas Tirith was fair, but nothing like the beauty of Elven kingdoms.
I pulled out the chair for her.
"Err...Thank you, sir. I'm from Rivendell." She said.
"Rivendell?" I said, "I thought your dress looked to be elven made."
It clarified only a little. Why was she here? An errand perhaps? No, she would have been in the Citadel's Throne Room with Father, not here in a soldier's party.
"What is your name?" I asked, "From what I know, there have been no visitors from Rivendell."
"Ariaelle of Imladris." She said, "My father's name is Mariol. He's a guardsman here. I'm a half-elf. My mother..." She paused and I trained my eyes on her. What was wrong? "My mother was an elf and my father from Gondor."
"I see." I murmured. It made more sense now. Mariol was her father. He would be on sentry duty tomorrow night. Perhaps I should tell his daughter to remind him... Suddenly, she kicked me lightly near my ankles. Her head shot up as I regarded her stilly.
"Sorry." She said quickly. I moved my chair and shifted myself so my legs and hers were not parallel. She smiled gratefully and stretched.
Her shoulders moved. It seemed as though she was nursing a sore spot underneath the table.
"Are you all right?" I asked curiously.
She winced slightly, "Oh...well...my wrist hurts a little. That's all..."
"May I see?" I asked. My Silver pendant wasn't useless. And if it the hurt was little, I wouldn't need anything at all.
She blinked and slowly nodded. She put her hand on the tabletop.
I moved my fingers near hers but paused, "Can I touch your wrist?"
She nodded.
I examined her wrist slowly, feeling for any sign of a sprain. Finding none, I searched for torn muscle. There was a little. Bruises? A few. I closed my eyes for a moment and moved my fingers along with what I felt was the start of the pain. I ended up next to one of the major veins.
"If I'm right," I said. "It should hurt there."
"You can try."
I watched her and pushed the spot gently. She drew a quick breath and met my gaze.
"How did you do that?" She asked, surprised.
"I talk to the healers sometimes. I learn simple things like those." I replied. Lord Elrond had taught me as well. And Mithrandir, he had helped.
"Oh."
"Haven't you learned that from Lord Elrond in Imladris?" If she lived in Rivendell, wouldn't she have met Lord Elrond? When I examined her, I had sensed a little bit of her resistance that only came with healing others. If I was wounded in battle, it was difficult for any healer to patch me up. I usually kept my wounds secret.
"Oh, yes." she said, "I just...can't heal myself yet. I can heal others though."
"I see." I murmured, "What can you do?"
"Um...I can heal external wounds and bleeding, though severe bleeding makes me tired." I nodded. It wasn't easy to heal bleeding for me either. "I can also heal fractures and broken bones...severe ones are difficult. I can clean wounds and heal...err...basic sicknesses."
"That's quite a bit." I said, smiling.
She blushed, "Oh well...you found where it hurt."
"But you said that you could not yet heal yourself, so there is nothing to say."
Her wrist tightened and she flinched.
"Can you make it go away?" she pleaded.
"The pain? Maybe, but it would have to hurt before it got better. You should keep talking while I work on it." I said.
I might as well help her out. Though, she seems a little...different. She wasn't "shy" like the other court ladies. They would act like a kitten, when speaking with the gentlemen, but would gladly chatter and gossip away when they were alone with friends. Ariaelle didn't seem like that at all.
The thoughts went on in my head as I massaged her wrist, concentrating hard.
"Do you shoot as well as Mariol?" I began the conversation.
"Well...I wanted to, but he never taught me." she said distastefully.
"Oh, really?" I said, a little shocked, "You wanted to learn how to fight?"
She nodded, "Yes, I've always wanted to, but Father doesn't think that I should learn how. I end up reading and writing instead. Perhaps I'll be a scholar and not a Ranger."
"There are no female Rangers." I said quietly, pausing.
"Oh really? How do you know?" she asked curiously.
I sighed, "I am Faramir, second son of Denethor, Lord and Steward of Gondor. I command the Rangers of Ithilien."
Chapter 2: Company
I sipped some of the wine in my cup. I tasted nothing. I felt nothing except uselessness.
What could I do to prove my worth? Did I even have any worth? Didn't I matter too?
Probably not.
I finished the glass of red liquid and looked around. There were my former soldiers. But now that I had become Captain of the Ithilien Rangers, they were no longer under my command as a soldier was, only as Gondorians were. Boromir had been made Head of Gondor's army.
He was smiling and laughing. He hadn't been this jovial since his last victory, a while ago. It had been a small, but quick victory.
To this very day a month ago, it had been an exact year since Mother's death. I still wore black in her remembrance. Boromir hadn't been too cheerful either, but he had never been very close to our mother.
I ran a hand through my hair and stood to get another glass of wine. Mablung came up beside me.
"You're not looking much better, Faramir." He said. I turned away.
"I'm still nowhere near 'well', that's all."
"Ask for leave." He suggested mildly.
"No, I don't want to disappoint Boromir."
"Disappoint him? That's absurd, Faramir. He is your brother. He will understand."
"I suppose that much is true." I muttered, seeing a servant boy and telling him to get another glass of wine.
"You're drinking." Said Mablung flatly.
"I believe I am."
"Stop it then." He tried to move the glass from my lips.
I chuckled, and stepped back to avoid him.
I sat down again, but he remained where he was. "Do you want me to ask him for you?
"No." I replied so suddenly that I surprised even myself.
"But-"
"I'll be all right, Lieutenant. You are dismissed. There are enough people here to help me if I get too drunk."
I really didn't want him to follow me around. Mablung wasn't a servant, he was an officer. After all, he deserved a bit of fun. I wouldn't let my state of mind affect him.
Mablung gave a resigned sigh. "I tried..." he muttered to himself and left me.
I finished another glass. As if on cue, the servant boy returned with another goblet of wine. I thanked him and gave him a coin. He had eyed me warily, but bowed and muttered, "Thank you, my lord." all the same.
I swirled the liquid in the glass, unsure of whether to drink it. Getting a hangover didn't seem like the brightest idea. And tomorrow would be nearly my last day before setting off to Henneth-Annun, the Ranger's refuge and Ithilien base. I didn't want to stay sick all day.
I took the wineglass and emptied it into a drain. Now, I wouldn't have anymore temptations to drink it. I wasn't drunk. In fact, I was nowhere near. I probably could have spared that last glass.
Better safe than sorry.
Setting the glass on a table, I mingled with the crowd. Most of the men addressed me by name, and I would have to turn and shake hands with them, perhaps start a conversation. It lightened my spirits, but only by so much.
Shaking my head with a small smile, I left another table.
Suddenly, there was a flash of royal blue and someone collided hard against me. I stepped back, a little puzzled. A girl stood there, off-balance, and surprise in her dark eyes. Her raven hair hung at her waist. A sudden look of confusion passed through her elven features, as I gave her a look of apology.
"I'm sorry, sir. I was just...hurrying past, and I didn't see you." She said.
The blue dress she wore was light and looked to be of spring season. There was a black trim on the collar and waistline. Her sleeves were of light blue silk. A thought passed through me: her features did not seem in all elven, yet not purely like my kind.
"It's quite all right." I said gently. "Are you hurt?"
"No, sir, I'm not. Thank you though." She said. She rubbed her wrist. Was she nervous? Did she know who I was?
"Would you like to sit down?" I asked, pointing to a table nearby, away from the large crowds.
"It's very kind of you, sir." She said gracefully.
I smiled a little at her politeness, "I haven't seen you around before."
There had been no word from Father about a visit from the elves. Why was she here? Minas Tirith was fair, but nothing like the beauty of Elven kingdoms.
I pulled out the chair for her.
"Err...Thank you, sir. I'm from Rivendell." She said.
"Rivendell?" I said, "I thought your dress looked to be elven made."
It clarified only a little. Why was she here? An errand perhaps? No, she would have been in the Citadel's Throne Room with Father, not here in a soldier's party.
"What is your name?" I asked, "From what I know, there have been no visitors from Rivendell."
"Ariaelle of Imladris." She said, "My father's name is Mariol. He's a guardsman here. I'm a half-elf. My mother..." She paused and I trained my eyes on her. What was wrong? "My mother was an elf and my father from Gondor."
"I see." I murmured. It made more sense now. Mariol was her father. He would be on sentry duty tomorrow night. Perhaps I should tell his daughter to remind him... Suddenly, she kicked me lightly near my ankles. Her head shot up as I regarded her stilly.
"Sorry." She said quickly. I moved my chair and shifted myself so my legs and hers were not parallel. She smiled gratefully and stretched.
Her shoulders moved. It seemed as though she was nursing a sore spot underneath the table.
"Are you all right?" I asked curiously.
She winced slightly, "Oh...well...my wrist hurts a little. That's all..."
"May I see?" I asked. My Silver pendant wasn't useless. And if it the hurt was little, I wouldn't need anything at all.
She blinked and slowly nodded. She put her hand on the tabletop.
I moved my fingers near hers but paused, "Can I touch your wrist?"
She nodded.
I examined her wrist slowly, feeling for any sign of a sprain. Finding none, I searched for torn muscle. There was a little. Bruises? A few. I closed my eyes for a moment and moved my fingers along with what I felt was the start of the pain. I ended up next to one of the major veins.
"If I'm right," I said. "It should hurt there."
"You can try."
I watched her and pushed the spot gently. She drew a quick breath and met my gaze.
"How did you do that?" She asked, surprised.
"I talk to the healers sometimes. I learn simple things like those." I replied. Lord Elrond had taught me as well. And Mithrandir, he had helped.
"Oh."
"Haven't you learned that from Lord Elrond in Imladris?" If she lived in Rivendell, wouldn't she have met Lord Elrond? When I examined her, I had sensed a little bit of her resistance that only came with healing others. If I was wounded in battle, it was difficult for any healer to patch me up. I usually kept my wounds secret.
"Oh, yes." she said, "I just...can't heal myself yet. I can heal others though."
"I see." I murmured, "What can you do?"
"Um...I can heal external wounds and bleeding, though severe bleeding makes me tired." I nodded. It wasn't easy to heal bleeding for me either. "I can also heal fractures and broken bones...severe ones are difficult. I can clean wounds and heal...err...basic sicknesses."
"That's quite a bit." I said, smiling.
She blushed, "Oh well...you found where it hurt."
"But you said that you could not yet heal yourself, so there is nothing to say."
Her wrist tightened and she flinched.
"Can you make it go away?" she pleaded.
"The pain? Maybe, but it would have to hurt before it got better. You should keep talking while I work on it." I said.
I might as well help her out. Though, she seems a little...different. She wasn't "shy" like the other court ladies. They would act like a kitten, when speaking with the gentlemen, but would gladly chatter and gossip away when they were alone with friends. Ariaelle didn't seem like that at all.
The thoughts went on in my head as I massaged her wrist, concentrating hard.
"Do you shoot as well as Mariol?" I began the conversation.
"Well...I wanted to, but he never taught me." she said distastefully.
"Oh, really?" I said, a little shocked, "You wanted to learn how to fight?"
She nodded, "Yes, I've always wanted to, but Father doesn't think that I should learn how. I end up reading and writing instead. Perhaps I'll be a scholar and not a Ranger."
"There are no female Rangers." I said quietly, pausing.
"Oh really? How do you know?" she asked curiously.
I sighed, "I am Faramir, second son of Denethor, Lord and Steward of Gondor. I command the Rangers of Ithilien."