"You brought me here to know my thoughts on the White City, did you not?"
Thorongil asked, once he and Gandalf had retired from the presence of the
steward.
"That does sound like something I would do," Gandalf replied absently, filling his pipe. He had certainly wasted no time in this area. With a sigh, Thorongil moved to the window and leaned against the sill, enjoying the fresh air. Gandalf watched him for a moment, then stood beside him. "Have you now any opinions?" he asked.
Thorongil, in an unaccustomed haste, replied, "I do not trust him."
"Who? The boy?" asked Gandalf. Thorongil was not at all fond of children, although he himself had been one not long ago. The possibility of Thorongil disliking Faramir on the basis of the boy's age was plausible, although Faramir was mature as far as Gandalf knew him. Also included in this question was Boromir, who had appeared beside his father with importance carved upon his face.
"No, the boy is fine," Thorongil said. "His brother, as well, though a blind follower of his father, if rightly I judge." He glanced at Gandalf, who nodded to this. "It is the steward whom I dislike. I know not why; his manner, perhaps, or simply his expression. Nevertheless, this man I do not trust. This leads me to guard myself against his boys."
"Why?" queried the wizard. Thorongil shrugged.
"The elder follows the old man--" at this count Gandalf raised one eyebrow, and Thorongil amended, "follows his father without thought for himself. This much he showed as he looked to his father before moving or speaking. Who is to say the younger, though less controlled by himself, is not similar?"
Gandalf pondered this for a long while, decided it valid, then said, "You watch me in much the manner you dislike of Boromir."
"I watch you to know your thoughts," Thorongil reputed. "Although I do respect your opinion, my life is not run by it. You are my companion; no man alive is my master." The old wizard chuckled, and Thorongil felt himself blush. He had played so foolishly into the wizard's hands! "Oh, so well!" he admitted his defeat. It was not learning Thorongil minded: it was this sort of lesson executed by his own humiliation.
Amiably changing the subject, Thorongil inquired, "How long do you wish to remain in Minas Tirith?"
The wizard considered. "No more than a week," he replied at last. "Will you be accompanying me to Imladris?"
Now it was Thorongil's turn to consider. "Perhaps," he replied. "We shall see."
"All right," Gandalf replied. "That was a no, was it not?" Thorongil nodded to the affirmative and Gandalf sighed. "It is not my place to say so, but they do care for you."
"I know," replied the Man absently. "Must we discuss this again?"
"No, if you do not wish to. Ah, but you do remind me. The king of Rohan sent a letter for Lord Denethor. Would you give it to him?" Gandalf produced the aforementioned document from some pocket hidden within his garb and held it out. Thorongil took the letter.
*****
Faramir toyed with the wooden flute in his hands. Music. He was more gifted with the flute than with a sword--women's work! He scorned himself in his mind. What good was a son--a second son, no less!--who could not fight, would never amount to anything in battle or military? Who had need for such an effeminate boy? If only he had been born a girl, perhaps then he would not be such a disappointment.
Not often was Faramir so hard on himself, but whenever he encountered Denethor, his uses became blatant--and shamefully few. If only he could be Boromir, the useful son, the elder son, the loved son. Bitterness edged into his mind. Words he rarely used against himself, words that sounded dirty and that, Faramir knew, no man ought speak around a woman, spoke for the first time in his mind. They surprised and disturbed him, but were not foreign, and he allowed them to stay.
Resigning himself at last from the swears and to his insufficiencies, Faramir placed the roughly carved wood to his lips and blew one sweet note from the instrument before being interrupted. "Faramir?" called Boromir from within the room. Faramir hopped from the rail upon which he had perched for many minutes, though unwillingly. He had found peace in the darkness, the warm winds and birdcalls.
"Yes?" asked Faramir, meeting his brother's eyes.
"Father asks for you," Boromir replied, voicing his brother's greatest fear, though unknowingly. Faramir, who had expected this, simply nodded. What would come, and always did come, was unstoppable and beyond human control. Faramir knew this. "He seems angered. Why did you not do as he bade you earlier? You know how Father feels about Gandalf."
"How Father feels," Faramir replied, his voice careful, not judging nor arguing but simply stating, "need not be my opinion." He would never have dared say such a thing to his father; indeed, it was strange for him to say such a thing to anyone at all: his brother, even himself.
"Aye," Boromir concurred, "this I have borne witness to. Nevertheless, this is a topic for you and he to discuss and no place of mine. Good luck, brother. You had best go at once."
"Thank you," Faramir said, gazing once into his brother's eyes and feeling desperate. For one moment he longed to cry out to Boromir, to ask him--to beg him for help, but dared not. No, Faramir would be his own master and protector.
What surprised Faramir that night was not his own actions nor his father's. What surprised him was the lack of foreplay, the belt in Denethor's hands before Faramir entered the room. The boy was not surprised by pain or the sticky wetness of his own blood. It did not even surprise him that his father went through this process with no emotion save anger and hate, and with only three words. "Shut the door," he said when Faramir entered his study, and nothing further.
*****
To Be Continued
Joshua Nenya: Thanks. . .this is probably the most embarrassing thing I will ever have to say: greetings from California! (don't laugh, please, my family voted AGAINST the recall!)
Daw the Minstrel: I don't usually write Aragorn that way, either, but in this story he is, well, dark. He is approaching an age at which he will be forced to come into his heritage, and this is increased especially by his being in Gondor. Aw, but thanks for saying that anyway. As for the prose, well, there's no heart in it. I'm faking it, forcing it, but not really meaning it, which is exactly how my prose is dry. It's annoying. I can do better than this, which is why I say it's dry.
Pippin the Hobbit-Elf: It's twenty-four years before the War of the Ring. Incidentally that is the same year in which Eowyn was born (at least, I think it was), but that wasn't intentional.
Dark Aura016: Thanks. I can see the necessity of swearing on occasion, honestly I do not condone such excessive use of it but to each his own, I suppose.
Angel of Harlem: Gr, and that's only the best chapter! I love when Aragorn is crowned king, it's just such a nice bit. . .darn it, I ought to get ver being so sentimental, but it makes me cry sometimes. Hey, I reckon at tha account Faramir and Eowyn must have looked something like Elrond and Celebrian.
Lirenel: If only this were as good as yours! 'Faramir's Story' I am familiar with under the name of JediKnightBalthasar, but I lost it. . .pity, really, but now that I have another link to it I shall be catching up. It was really well done!
"That does sound like something I would do," Gandalf replied absently, filling his pipe. He had certainly wasted no time in this area. With a sigh, Thorongil moved to the window and leaned against the sill, enjoying the fresh air. Gandalf watched him for a moment, then stood beside him. "Have you now any opinions?" he asked.
Thorongil, in an unaccustomed haste, replied, "I do not trust him."
"Who? The boy?" asked Gandalf. Thorongil was not at all fond of children, although he himself had been one not long ago. The possibility of Thorongil disliking Faramir on the basis of the boy's age was plausible, although Faramir was mature as far as Gandalf knew him. Also included in this question was Boromir, who had appeared beside his father with importance carved upon his face.
"No, the boy is fine," Thorongil said. "His brother, as well, though a blind follower of his father, if rightly I judge." He glanced at Gandalf, who nodded to this. "It is the steward whom I dislike. I know not why; his manner, perhaps, or simply his expression. Nevertheless, this man I do not trust. This leads me to guard myself against his boys."
"Why?" queried the wizard. Thorongil shrugged.
"The elder follows the old man--" at this count Gandalf raised one eyebrow, and Thorongil amended, "follows his father without thought for himself. This much he showed as he looked to his father before moving or speaking. Who is to say the younger, though less controlled by himself, is not similar?"
Gandalf pondered this for a long while, decided it valid, then said, "You watch me in much the manner you dislike of Boromir."
"I watch you to know your thoughts," Thorongil reputed. "Although I do respect your opinion, my life is not run by it. You are my companion; no man alive is my master." The old wizard chuckled, and Thorongil felt himself blush. He had played so foolishly into the wizard's hands! "Oh, so well!" he admitted his defeat. It was not learning Thorongil minded: it was this sort of lesson executed by his own humiliation.
Amiably changing the subject, Thorongil inquired, "How long do you wish to remain in Minas Tirith?"
The wizard considered. "No more than a week," he replied at last. "Will you be accompanying me to Imladris?"
Now it was Thorongil's turn to consider. "Perhaps," he replied. "We shall see."
"All right," Gandalf replied. "That was a no, was it not?" Thorongil nodded to the affirmative and Gandalf sighed. "It is not my place to say so, but they do care for you."
"I know," replied the Man absently. "Must we discuss this again?"
"No, if you do not wish to. Ah, but you do remind me. The king of Rohan sent a letter for Lord Denethor. Would you give it to him?" Gandalf produced the aforementioned document from some pocket hidden within his garb and held it out. Thorongil took the letter.
*****
Faramir toyed with the wooden flute in his hands. Music. He was more gifted with the flute than with a sword--women's work! He scorned himself in his mind. What good was a son--a second son, no less!--who could not fight, would never amount to anything in battle or military? Who had need for such an effeminate boy? If only he had been born a girl, perhaps then he would not be such a disappointment.
Not often was Faramir so hard on himself, but whenever he encountered Denethor, his uses became blatant--and shamefully few. If only he could be Boromir, the useful son, the elder son, the loved son. Bitterness edged into his mind. Words he rarely used against himself, words that sounded dirty and that, Faramir knew, no man ought speak around a woman, spoke for the first time in his mind. They surprised and disturbed him, but were not foreign, and he allowed them to stay.
Resigning himself at last from the swears and to his insufficiencies, Faramir placed the roughly carved wood to his lips and blew one sweet note from the instrument before being interrupted. "Faramir?" called Boromir from within the room. Faramir hopped from the rail upon which he had perched for many minutes, though unwillingly. He had found peace in the darkness, the warm winds and birdcalls.
"Yes?" asked Faramir, meeting his brother's eyes.
"Father asks for you," Boromir replied, voicing his brother's greatest fear, though unknowingly. Faramir, who had expected this, simply nodded. What would come, and always did come, was unstoppable and beyond human control. Faramir knew this. "He seems angered. Why did you not do as he bade you earlier? You know how Father feels about Gandalf."
"How Father feels," Faramir replied, his voice careful, not judging nor arguing but simply stating, "need not be my opinion." He would never have dared say such a thing to his father; indeed, it was strange for him to say such a thing to anyone at all: his brother, even himself.
"Aye," Boromir concurred, "this I have borne witness to. Nevertheless, this is a topic for you and he to discuss and no place of mine. Good luck, brother. You had best go at once."
"Thank you," Faramir said, gazing once into his brother's eyes and feeling desperate. For one moment he longed to cry out to Boromir, to ask him--to beg him for help, but dared not. No, Faramir would be his own master and protector.
What surprised Faramir that night was not his own actions nor his father's. What surprised him was the lack of foreplay, the belt in Denethor's hands before Faramir entered the room. The boy was not surprised by pain or the sticky wetness of his own blood. It did not even surprise him that his father went through this process with no emotion save anger and hate, and with only three words. "Shut the door," he said when Faramir entered his study, and nothing further.
*****
To Be Continued
Joshua Nenya: Thanks. . .this is probably the most embarrassing thing I will ever have to say: greetings from California! (don't laugh, please, my family voted AGAINST the recall!)
Daw the Minstrel: I don't usually write Aragorn that way, either, but in this story he is, well, dark. He is approaching an age at which he will be forced to come into his heritage, and this is increased especially by his being in Gondor. Aw, but thanks for saying that anyway. As for the prose, well, there's no heart in it. I'm faking it, forcing it, but not really meaning it, which is exactly how my prose is dry. It's annoying. I can do better than this, which is why I say it's dry.
Pippin the Hobbit-Elf: It's twenty-four years before the War of the Ring. Incidentally that is the same year in which Eowyn was born (at least, I think it was), but that wasn't intentional.
Dark Aura016: Thanks. I can see the necessity of swearing on occasion, honestly I do not condone such excessive use of it but to each his own, I suppose.
Angel of Harlem: Gr, and that's only the best chapter! I love when Aragorn is crowned king, it's just such a nice bit. . .darn it, I ought to get ver being so sentimental, but it makes me cry sometimes. Hey, I reckon at tha account Faramir and Eowyn must have looked something like Elrond and Celebrian.
Lirenel: If only this were as good as yours! 'Faramir's Story' I am familiar with under the name of JediKnightBalthasar, but I lost it. . .pity, really, but now that I have another link to it I shall be catching up. It was really well done!