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

Author's note: When Faramir writes his sonnet, remember, he is twelve years old. It's not going to be a work of poetry. Also, Sindarin is written in English as I don't speak Sindarin and therefore cannot write in it.

*****

The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the windows into the library. Lord Elrond sat at a table with a heavy tome before him and Faramir, who would have much preferred to sprawl on the ground and bask in the sun's rays, sat opposite Elrond and tried to be as quiet as possible. The two sat in an uncomfortable and awkward silence, but neither broke it.

Faramir felt someone watching him and looked up from the book he held. When caught staring Elrond smiled. Faramir forced himself to smile back before returning to his book. Silently he berated himself--another chance lost. Stop being such a coward! "Um, e-excuse me…Master Elrond." Aware of the shocked expression on Elrond's face, the boy continued, quickly as he dared, "I was wondering…that is, if I may ask, might I use a quill and paper? Everything that has happened in the past two weeks, I want to record it so I cannot forget."

And so that he forgot to tell Thorongil nothing, but Faramir did not add this aloud. It seemed so odd that he should have grown more fond of Thorongil in the man's absence, but Faramir could think of little more than the fact that tomorrow he would be thirteen. He would be a man! So Thorongil must arrive today, he simply must.

Elrond recovered his shock for a smile. "You speak Sindarin?" he asked. "For all this time?"

"No, sir!" Faramir answered fervently. "I learned." He remembered when Thorongil spoke to Elrond, pleading, and what he said: "Faramir is a good boy, he's smart and sensitive, and if you let him stay he would become a man of whom any one whose heart beats within him would be proud." He had not known it, but Faramir would never forget those words.

In two weeks! Elrond was amazed. Though Faramir occasionally lapsed in his grammar and his accent needed work, his Sindarin was not unimpressive. "You have the advantage of learning a vernacular form of Sindarin. No one will ever know it for your second tongue."

"Vernacular?" Faramir tried the word carefully, letting his tongue find the syllables.

Elrond searched for the word in Westron and spoke it, and Faramir understood. "As for paper and quills, if you will come with me I have those things in my study." Faramir followed Elrond, trying his best to learn the ways of the twisting corridors. He remembered so many times being lost in his own home of Gondor, crying until at last Boromir or Finduilas, in early days, found him and reassured him.

Hearing his name used, Faramir blinked away the echoing sobs of his childhood. He looked at Elrond first, then at the object in the elven lord's hands. Then he sought to ask a question, but his mouth only moved without sound. "You will make use of this, I think," Elrond said, pushing the book further towards Faramir.

With shaking hands he took it and held it in his hands and looked it over. The leather covers were old but not cracking, clearly having been kept in a drawer. Embedded in the midnight colour were thin lines of silver to form a picture: a star with many points upon it, at the center of the back cover's lower edge. With reverence Faramir turned the yellow pages, not turned yellow with age but this colour to begin with, thick and blank. He wanted badly to bring the book to his face and smell the musty leather and parchment but dared not.

"May I keep it?" Faramir asked, silently hoping against all hope that he would be allowed to. Elrond smiled and nodded, and Faramir felt his whole face light up. It was lucky that Elrond remembered to give him a quill and pot of ink, for Faramir's gratefulness overtook him and he had not the forwardness to ask.

Then Faramir went back to the room he had been inhabiting, which he had come to think of in the possessive, sat on the bed with his legs tucked beneath him, and wrote.

Day One

Today I met a lady in sunshine

Who gave to me a name and a smile

As though by the mercy of those divine

For I had been lost in the recent while.

Faramir a title then forbidden

A problematic monster's gaping maw:

Introductions, identity hidden!

Roan she called me, the colour she saw,

Oh, Valar, why oh why did I have to write that poem? I cannot believe I wrote that. Also I feel very bad for not finishing it, but cannot bear to waste the space further. This is what happened: I was walking in the gardens when I met a lady, who asked me my name and I did not know what to say. She called me Roan, saying that this is my colour, or what I remind her of. Now I have chosen a new name, and also have seemed to compile a number of nicknames: Roan is one nickname and the other Sunshine. Lady Arwen, who first called me Roan, will say often, "Good morning, Sunshine." But the name I have given myself is Etana. It means strength, and

"Roan?" Faramir looked up to see Arwen standing in the doorway. "Forgive my entry, you left the door open."

Faramir nodded. For the first time in many hours he looked to the window and saw the sky darkening. On any other day this would have meant supper, always a welcome event--Faramir found himself eating quite a lot and constantly hungry of late. It embarrassed him, but no one else seemed to notice. And anyway, today the onset of evening only meant that Thorongil would not return to Imladris. Faramir would be a man before he had the chance to…to what? He wasn't sure.

"How are you, Roan?"

"All right," Faramir answered, closing the book and picking at a hole in his sock. He felt too saddened to act joyful.

"Rumor has it visitors have just arrived in Imladris." Arwen waited. When Faramir did not catch on, she added, "Perhaps you are waiting for someone?"

At this Faramir sat up straight. "Thorongil is here?" he asked.

"Yes," Arwen replied, "only just." Faramir leapt to his feet and began to run out of the room, then stopped.

"Go on," she urged him. "He will be happy to see you. Go!" This was all he needed: Faramir burst into the corridor and turned a corner. When he came to the last straight of hall before passing out of doors, he stopped and slid off the friction his socks created against the floor.

Faramir's slide ended when the door failed to move out of his path and he smacked right into it. But no matter! In moments he was on his feet again, dashing outdoors and through the mud--for it had rained much recently--not caring that he managed to splatter the stuff all over his legs. He had a very human run, his knees forming circles as he moved them.

Then, just as he was readying himself to admit failure, Faramir saw the visitor Arwen spoke of; not only Thorongil was come, but Mithrandir also! They stood by the stables, not far, talking with someone Faramir did not know. Though surely coincidence, Faramir felt his heart might burst with happiness. Or, if this did not come to pass, with speed.

The most astounding thing happened then. Faramir had every intention of hugging everyone very much (somehow this seemed appropriate in Imladris as it never truly had in Gondor) but, because he was running, he had enough momentum that Thorongil managed to catch him and spin him in the air. Faramir thought of a bird.

"Why did you do that?" Faramir asked when he was back on the ground.

"Ah…I do not know. My brothers used to do that to me when I was small, I did not think. You have my sincerest apologies."

"That's all right," Faramir said. "I think I might have liked that."

They smiled. Then the stranger made a comment in Elvish, likely not intended for Faramir to understand, "This is the friend you wanted me to meet?"

"Three guesses!" Thorongil shot back sarcastically.

"I am your friend?" Faramir asked.

Now Mithrandir laughed. "It would seem you have both underestimated Faramir. Let us hope you never meet him in battle, for neither of you should come out again!"

"That is no longer my name," Faramir said quietly, taken by a spell of shyness.

"It isn't? Why not?" the wizard wanted to know.

"Because," Faramir said, "it was thought that I should be safer under another name. They call me Etana."

"Etana, is it? It suits."

Faramir smiled at the wizard's approval.

"Let us come inside then, Etana, for I have no need of two sick men."

"Two?" Faramir asked. He looked to Thorongil, who smiled in a laughing sort of way and followed the wizard. Faramir asked him quietly, "Who is he?"

Thorongil blinked in confusion, then followed Faramir's gaze. "He is a friend from Mirkwood, whose name is Legolas." They fell into silence, then Thorongil said, "You learned Sindarin very quickly." Faramir blushed. "How do you like it here, after two weeks?"

Faramir could think of nothing to say, as though his mind were a slate suddenly wiped clean of chalkdust. "I…Everyone is very nice here," he answered without answering the question asked of him. Then, in a lower tone, he confided, "It is amazing! There are two elves who look as though they are one!" Thorongil smiled, knowing who he meant. "But it all feels so temporary."

"How?"

"Well, just that…" Faramir brushed the hair out of his eyes and scratched behind his ears nervously. "Like a giant breath being held…and everyone waiting, just waiting to know what is going to happen, no one daring breathe…and they're all waiting for me, I know it. I have to decide now, don't I? And I am so afraid that no matter what I say it will be wrong…" He felt the tears in his eyes and bit his lip to keep them back.

Thorongil watch Faramir for a moment with interest, then he spoke quickly to Legolas in Quenya, saying, "Give us a moment, please?" With a brief nod Legolas hurried away from them.

For a moment the two stood awkwardly in the falling darkness, their breath forming white clouds in front of them. Faramir felt his inside curling into a ball and wished to do the same himself, feeling watched, feeling bad. With a heavy sorrow in his eyes Thorongil knelt before Faramir. Faramir wanted to speak, he wanted to...he was unsure of what he wanted. To apologize, perhaps? Thorongil placed his palm over Faramir's heart and quietly he said, "Follow your heart, Faramir. It will not lead you astray."

Then the tears did come, and Faramir allowed Thorongil to hold him while he cried, though he tried very hard to staunch the flow. "I want to stay here, Thorongil, I truly do, but I don't want to hurt anybody. They are all such good people, I should not inflict myself upon them."

"Faramir--"

"I know," he sobbed quietly, "I mustn't say that."

"No, you may say whatever you think. You must speak the truth. However, you are a lovely person and the people here, they want to help you."

Faramir drew away then and held his elbows cupped in his palms. "How would you know?" he asked.

"They looked after me when I was small," he answered. "This is my home and they are my family. I want to share that with you. That is what I was taught here."

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Faramir spoke slowly, "But I…"

"You do not have to decide yet," Thorongil told him, and Faramir smiled. "Are you ready to go inside? It is cold out."

Thorongil stood and Faramir took his hand, then jumped away, unsure of why he had done that. "I-I am sorry…" Thorongil offered his hand and smiled. "You know, I am Etana here."

"Yes, and I am Estel. But you are Faramir of Gondor no matter where you go."

"Lady Arwen calls me Roan," he said for no reason at all.

Thorongil nodded. "Yes, Arwen is like that sometimes."

Faramir asked him what she was like, and Thorongil answered that she was like nothing else. "Do you fancy her?" Faramir asked.

"Do I…honestly, Faramir!" Thorongil looked up contemplatively. "It is going to snow soon," he commented.

"You did not answer my question."

*

Faramir closed his eyes and lost himself in the noise of conversation buzzing about him. Everyone seemed so familiar, falling into a step they had invented themselves. The twins, whom he often thought of as a single being, their sister Arwen, Thorongil (who they called Estel), Legolas and Elrond seemed to be a family never apart, in spite of species differences. They all joked and laughed and threw things at each other--well, Elrond did not throw anything, but he smiled tolerantly at such missiles.

When Faramir opened his eyes, he was no longer sitting at the table with the others but lying on his back in bed, staring up at the ceiling. With a happy sigh he shifted and closed his eyes again, ready to sleep.

Some corridors away, in Elrond's study, the elven lord himself sighed--but not happily. "I need you here to look after him," he said. "Etana looks after himself well enough, but he dislikes coming to table and he refuses to bathe. He will not allow anyone to touch him, but he lets you swing him about so he must trust you. Although the boy is living I doubt he thinks at all of his home, and if he banishes this from his memory…"

"I know, I know," answered Thorongil. "I will do my best for him, Elrond. Nothing short of it." Elrond did not need to look to see the dedication in Thorongil's eyes: it was clear enough in his voice. Nevertheless Elrond did look into Thorongil's eyes, and sadly noted that all of his sons had grown up.

*****

To be continued