Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters
and/or places thereof
*****
"You are certain of this?" Gandalf regarded his companion evenly, but uncertainty rang clearly in his voice. Thorongil knew he had made grave accusations against the Steward of Gondor, ignoring his place as a visitor and observer to report what he believed had happened to Gandalf. Of what else to do he had no ideas. Surely, though, surely Gandalf would know.
Yet as the wizard sighed and his eyes softened, Thorongil realized something that would change his thoughts for ever. "You knew all along!" he accused. "You knew, and you allowed this to continue?"
"Yes, I allowed this to continue. Try to understand. Among the Elves, you learned to despise violence--" Gandalf began, but Thorongil cut him off impatiently.
"Are you telling me you condone such abuse of an innocent child?" Thorongil said with angry vehemence. Unable to stand still, he paced the room like a caged lion, fighting for control of himself. Every few moments he would pick up an item, twist it in his hands as though to break it, then replace it and pace again.
"Thorongil," said Gandalf, in an equally angry, clipped voice. "Remember to whom you are speaking. You disapprove of Denethor's actions because of their violent nature. One hour past you cared little for the boy if you cared for him at all. You are failing to think for yourself in your opposition to violence on the strict basis of your upbringing." When this speech was finished the recipient stood, frozen still, hardly able to keep his mouth closed.
"Gandalf. . .I. . .of course, you are correct," Thorongil stammered. "Yet from childhood I was taught that violence is wrong, and cannot help but wonder what Faramir--is this his name?--has done that the sounds I heard would be as I believe they are. To discipline a child by such means. . ."
"It is their custom," Gandalf replied, but in an understanding and compassionate tone. Thorongil met the wizard's eyes. "Not to such degrees as I believe Denethor executes against his youngest, but certainly to smack a boy's hand or to spank a child, in Gondor, is an acceptable manner of correction. To one accustomed to punishments little worse than missing supper or writing lines, this must seem quite extreme." Thorongil felt a blush creep over his cheeks. It was true that physical punishments had never been used against him, and that repulsion at violence had been fed to him, and he had swallowed it as easily as milk.
And yet. "I cannot condone Denethor's treatment of Faramir. The boy is shy and frightened, he plays at disappearing. Being the second son should not be a punishable offense. But there is nothing we can do for him, Thorongil, and this you must remember. It is not our place to take Faramir from harm's way, no matter how we care for him. I understand the difficulties of this," he added after, laying a hand on the man's shoulder as Thorongil's posture slumped slightly. "I have spent many years fighting the urge to take him away, take him somewhere safe. It is neither my place nor is it yours."
"One day," Thorongil said, his muscles taut beneath his skin as fury boiled within him, "one day it will be my place." He raised his head and looked straight into the eyes of the old wizard, who gave an approving smile. Many years Thorongil had put out of mind or made no use of his ancestry. Gandalf was pleased to see him at last making use of, or at the least acknowledging, his blood. Almost sadly, he replied, "One day, Thorongil. Not today."
*****
In a daze Faramir left his father's study. He remembered to shut the door behind him and to pull his cape and tunic both over the new welts, not at all wincing at the pain. He had come accustom to it now, and was numb all over. Tonight had been almost lax. Routine as this situation was, it never ceased to feel kin to betrayal. But who had betrayed whom?
Fumbling his way through corridors, not knowing where he was headed, Faramir wondered. Had he betrayed his father, or had his father betrayed him? Was his nature a fault against his father, or was his father simply being unfair to blame him for something beyond his control? Was it beyond his control?
Absorbed in thought, Faramir did not notice Thorongil, equally lost in meditation, until the two ran into each other, landing Faramir on the floor. The boy bit back at cry at the pain of his fall. "I am sorry, young Lord, I did not see you there. Are you all right?" Thorongil asked, sounding as though he truly cared one way or the other.
"Just fine," Faramir managed. The man extended his hand and the boy took it, amazed as Thorongil hauled him to his feet.
"All's right, then," he said. "How fare you on this night?" 'Not your place to ask!' a voice in Thorongil's head shouted. Nevertheless, he asked it. This child interested him. What would he say?
"I fare well, Lord, as I said before. And yourself?" asked Faramir. What was going on? Why was this stranger asking him so many questions? Faramir sucked in a deep breath and began to count. 'Please let me disappear,' he begged to the higher powers.
"Well. I have a letter for your father from the king of Rohan, know you where to find him?"
"In Rohan, my lord," replied Faramir, not understanding.
Thorongil laughed. "Your humour is appreciated, child, but I meant to ask where I might find your father."
"Oh. . .oh!" Faramir felt himself blush. Here he had made a fool of himself in front of a visitor, and one his father seemed intent on disliking nonetheless. "In his study, would you like me to show you the way?" he asked, hoping to make amends. If word of this reached Father. . .!
"Yes, that would be very helpful," Thorongil replied. "Thank you." He wished to better know the boy, Gandalf's scolding fresh in his mind. "Which direction?"
"This way," Faramir said at once. He would be polite, but not make unneeded conversation. He led Thorongil along and hoped the older man would not ask questions. Questions were dangerous; Faramir was smart enough to know that.
Thorongil took no offense by Faramir's manner. Instead he watched the boy's odd way of walking and noted the spots of blood seeping onto the fabric of the boy's cloak. Now night had fallen and no light came through the windows, when windows there were, but whenever the two passed through a circle of torch-cast light the deep red blotches were painfully apparent. 'Sweet Eru, does he realize? Does he not hurt?' Thorongil thought.
"We are here, Lord Thorongil," Faramir said. "This is my father's study." Thorongil nodded.
"Thank you, Lord Faramir." Thorongil smiled, trying to remember if he had kept leaves of Athelas in his pack. He hoped, and thought, that he had. "I look forward to knowing you better," he said, and meant this truly.
"It has been a pleasure meeting you," Faramir replied. Both stood awkwardly for a moment. Faramir thought that the old man was prying into things not his business and hoped he would leave soon. Thorongil thought that Faramir was a only a boy, and had earned too many bruises for his few years. He should be abed at this late hour, feeling safe beneath the covers, mayhap fearing the monster beneath the bed. Perhaps Faramir felt some pity them or perhaps a part of him he was unfamiliar with was acting, for before leaving Thorongil he muttered, "Do not anger my father." Then he disappeared into the shadows.
*****
To be continued
Galorin: Thank you. . .I do not like to give out spoilers, but I promise you knowledge where once ignorance reigned and Varda's blessing to tears.
Daw the Minstrel: Interesting question. Denethor and Faramir know, of course, as well as Mithrandir and now Thorongil. As for who else, really no one knows, no.
Elemmire2: Gandalf brought him to the White City to know his opinions. He would have been five years prior, when reassigned by Thengel, if I know my history rightly, but many changes can come about in five years. If you're wondering, you have only to ask.
Radiion-Hobbitwarrior: Don't I know it! Gah! The two characters whose reputations have been completely ruined by that film are Elrond and Faramir. Both were kind people, but then Peter Jackson had to go and. . .argh! Mostly I respect his work, but this I cannot see the purpose of.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed, I do enjoy hearing from you!
*****
"You are certain of this?" Gandalf regarded his companion evenly, but uncertainty rang clearly in his voice. Thorongil knew he had made grave accusations against the Steward of Gondor, ignoring his place as a visitor and observer to report what he believed had happened to Gandalf. Of what else to do he had no ideas. Surely, though, surely Gandalf would know.
Yet as the wizard sighed and his eyes softened, Thorongil realized something that would change his thoughts for ever. "You knew all along!" he accused. "You knew, and you allowed this to continue?"
"Yes, I allowed this to continue. Try to understand. Among the Elves, you learned to despise violence--" Gandalf began, but Thorongil cut him off impatiently.
"Are you telling me you condone such abuse of an innocent child?" Thorongil said with angry vehemence. Unable to stand still, he paced the room like a caged lion, fighting for control of himself. Every few moments he would pick up an item, twist it in his hands as though to break it, then replace it and pace again.
"Thorongil," said Gandalf, in an equally angry, clipped voice. "Remember to whom you are speaking. You disapprove of Denethor's actions because of their violent nature. One hour past you cared little for the boy if you cared for him at all. You are failing to think for yourself in your opposition to violence on the strict basis of your upbringing." When this speech was finished the recipient stood, frozen still, hardly able to keep his mouth closed.
"Gandalf. . .I. . .of course, you are correct," Thorongil stammered. "Yet from childhood I was taught that violence is wrong, and cannot help but wonder what Faramir--is this his name?--has done that the sounds I heard would be as I believe they are. To discipline a child by such means. . ."
"It is their custom," Gandalf replied, but in an understanding and compassionate tone. Thorongil met the wizard's eyes. "Not to such degrees as I believe Denethor executes against his youngest, but certainly to smack a boy's hand or to spank a child, in Gondor, is an acceptable manner of correction. To one accustomed to punishments little worse than missing supper or writing lines, this must seem quite extreme." Thorongil felt a blush creep over his cheeks. It was true that physical punishments had never been used against him, and that repulsion at violence had been fed to him, and he had swallowed it as easily as milk.
And yet. "I cannot condone Denethor's treatment of Faramir. The boy is shy and frightened, he plays at disappearing. Being the second son should not be a punishable offense. But there is nothing we can do for him, Thorongil, and this you must remember. It is not our place to take Faramir from harm's way, no matter how we care for him. I understand the difficulties of this," he added after, laying a hand on the man's shoulder as Thorongil's posture slumped slightly. "I have spent many years fighting the urge to take him away, take him somewhere safe. It is neither my place nor is it yours."
"One day," Thorongil said, his muscles taut beneath his skin as fury boiled within him, "one day it will be my place." He raised his head and looked straight into the eyes of the old wizard, who gave an approving smile. Many years Thorongil had put out of mind or made no use of his ancestry. Gandalf was pleased to see him at last making use of, or at the least acknowledging, his blood. Almost sadly, he replied, "One day, Thorongil. Not today."
*****
In a daze Faramir left his father's study. He remembered to shut the door behind him and to pull his cape and tunic both over the new welts, not at all wincing at the pain. He had come accustom to it now, and was numb all over. Tonight had been almost lax. Routine as this situation was, it never ceased to feel kin to betrayal. But who had betrayed whom?
Fumbling his way through corridors, not knowing where he was headed, Faramir wondered. Had he betrayed his father, or had his father betrayed him? Was his nature a fault against his father, or was his father simply being unfair to blame him for something beyond his control? Was it beyond his control?
Absorbed in thought, Faramir did not notice Thorongil, equally lost in meditation, until the two ran into each other, landing Faramir on the floor. The boy bit back at cry at the pain of his fall. "I am sorry, young Lord, I did not see you there. Are you all right?" Thorongil asked, sounding as though he truly cared one way or the other.
"Just fine," Faramir managed. The man extended his hand and the boy took it, amazed as Thorongil hauled him to his feet.
"All's right, then," he said. "How fare you on this night?" 'Not your place to ask!' a voice in Thorongil's head shouted. Nevertheless, he asked it. This child interested him. What would he say?
"I fare well, Lord, as I said before. And yourself?" asked Faramir. What was going on? Why was this stranger asking him so many questions? Faramir sucked in a deep breath and began to count. 'Please let me disappear,' he begged to the higher powers.
"Well. I have a letter for your father from the king of Rohan, know you where to find him?"
"In Rohan, my lord," replied Faramir, not understanding.
Thorongil laughed. "Your humour is appreciated, child, but I meant to ask where I might find your father."
"Oh. . .oh!" Faramir felt himself blush. Here he had made a fool of himself in front of a visitor, and one his father seemed intent on disliking nonetheless. "In his study, would you like me to show you the way?" he asked, hoping to make amends. If word of this reached Father. . .!
"Yes, that would be very helpful," Thorongil replied. "Thank you." He wished to better know the boy, Gandalf's scolding fresh in his mind. "Which direction?"
"This way," Faramir said at once. He would be polite, but not make unneeded conversation. He led Thorongil along and hoped the older man would not ask questions. Questions were dangerous; Faramir was smart enough to know that.
Thorongil took no offense by Faramir's manner. Instead he watched the boy's odd way of walking and noted the spots of blood seeping onto the fabric of the boy's cloak. Now night had fallen and no light came through the windows, when windows there were, but whenever the two passed through a circle of torch-cast light the deep red blotches were painfully apparent. 'Sweet Eru, does he realize? Does he not hurt?' Thorongil thought.
"We are here, Lord Thorongil," Faramir said. "This is my father's study." Thorongil nodded.
"Thank you, Lord Faramir." Thorongil smiled, trying to remember if he had kept leaves of Athelas in his pack. He hoped, and thought, that he had. "I look forward to knowing you better," he said, and meant this truly.
"It has been a pleasure meeting you," Faramir replied. Both stood awkwardly for a moment. Faramir thought that the old man was prying into things not his business and hoped he would leave soon. Thorongil thought that Faramir was a only a boy, and had earned too many bruises for his few years. He should be abed at this late hour, feeling safe beneath the covers, mayhap fearing the monster beneath the bed. Perhaps Faramir felt some pity them or perhaps a part of him he was unfamiliar with was acting, for before leaving Thorongil he muttered, "Do not anger my father." Then he disappeared into the shadows.
*****
To be continued
Galorin: Thank you. . .I do not like to give out spoilers, but I promise you knowledge where once ignorance reigned and Varda's blessing to tears.
Daw the Minstrel: Interesting question. Denethor and Faramir know, of course, as well as Mithrandir and now Thorongil. As for who else, really no one knows, no.
Elemmire2: Gandalf brought him to the White City to know his opinions. He would have been five years prior, when reassigned by Thengel, if I know my history rightly, but many changes can come about in five years. If you're wondering, you have only to ask.
Radiion-Hobbitwarrior: Don't I know it! Gah! The two characters whose reputations have been completely ruined by that film are Elrond and Faramir. Both were kind people, but then Peter Jackson had to go and. . .argh! Mostly I respect his work, but this I cannot see the purpose of.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed, I do enjoy hearing from you!