Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof
Five and twentieth of March in the year two thousand, nine hundred, four score and eighteen
Theodred,
How do you fare? 'Tis a lovely summer, and I can only hope that in Edoras you feel the mellow heat as calmly as it is felt here in Minas Tirith, like a soft blanket exploring every corner of the city. The childlike inquisitiveness of the heat saps my admiration and I find little interest in other subjects, yet so few of the thousands of tomes in the library discuss heat. Some suggest that with height heat increases, being closer to the sun, yet how can this be when snow gathers atop the mountains?
I fear this letter shall reach you considerably later than I compose it: be not offended, prithee, for again I am serving restitution for various ills my father sees. He sees never the good I do! Two days past I slipped from the archery fields and grimy toil to the Pelennor, where I discovered a patch of wood sage. Contrary to its name, this herb grows most anywhere. Its various uses include cleansing aged sores and, taken internally, it serves as a diuretic.
Father fails to see the advantages in this plant. When summoned before him I knew what wrath I faced. "How does the brother of Boromir leave his weapons for women's daydreams?" demanded the Steward. "Would you abandon your post in a time of warm, leave Gondor undefended? Speak!"
"If you would but look here, Father--" I offered him the herbs, extracted with much care to the preservation of the roots.
"It shames me to see my son present flowers in place of honour!"
"Father, please, it is an herb, not a flower! It has many uses-- disinfectant, and as a diuretic--" After I explained this term to him, he smacked the herb from my hands. For a moment I remained motionless, my blood pounding as drums in my ears, and I looked from my father to the plant upon the ground. I knelt to gather the herb but he hauled me to my feet.
Hardly above a whisper Father informed me, "You will not kneel on the ground like a servant!" I felt blood in every vein in my body throb, then slowly calm as Father released me with such a shove that I stumbled but dared not fall. He snatched up my hands. "Look here, Faramir--dirt ground into every line, beneath the nails. Not the dirt of battle, nay, the dirt of gardening!"
"Father, it is not simply gardening--"
"This dirt profaning your hands profanes my blood in your veins. Until you are purged of this profanity show yourself not in public. No grain of dirt may touch a tome in my library nor the weapon of an archer! You, my boy, may spend one hour a day at archery, and following this will work with swords the remaining hours, am I understood?"
Note that in his anger, he owns everything. The hours of swordplay leave me exhausted and sore, and the bruises of his slap remain upon my fingers. One day I will find him athelas and he will laugh! When my eternal quest ends, my search for this drug--for I do believe the old tales in the cobweb volumes, that athelas, kingsfoil in the common tongue, holds magic. Wait, only wait, until he knows not deadly from black nightshade, and confuses one for the other.
I must end here, for my eyes are sore from this secret candle's light and my hand from swordplay aches. Forgive my complaints, dear friend, for I dare not voice them aloud here!
- Faramir.
1 April, 2998
My dear young friend, when will you write the date in short? There is no call for this "two thousand and nine hundred and" business. You are such a scholar, Faramir!
Eomer, that dear young cousin of whom I so often write, is visiting Meduseld with his mother, my Aunt Theodwyn, and his sister, whose name is Eowyn. Eowyn, whose was born three years ago, is a thing of such small size any would think her capable only of sitting and looking about, wide-eyed. The last is true, for if anything her eyes are the widest blue orbs you ever may hope to see. However, Eowyn enjoys knocking things over (particularly goblets, in especial those filled with wine) and pulling hair.
In this way Eomer is a better relation than I, for while I have lightly slapped her hand more than once (nearly suspected my ears to blister for all Father talked at me, and I only slapped her lightly, the little tattle- rat!) Eomer continues to ease his sister's hold by manipulating the skin over her belly, which sends her into fits of laughter.
When I received your last letter Eomer and Eowyn asked at once from whom I heard--well, perhaps not at once, and only Eowyn had the brass to ask outright. Such is her manner. Someday I hope you meet her, for she is truly a brilliant young woman. In a few years she shall have a spirit to rival your own!
Let no one tell you this is untrue, Faramir. You have such a spirit, that you seek blossoms even where forbidden. Your heart knows what is right and it leads you.
Have you spoken with Boromir of your spat with Denethor? Surely he will be more useful than I am. Enclosed are some flowers and such-like from Rohan. Eomer brought them as an apology after reading your letter without permission.
Love, Theodred
Ten and fifth of April, in the year two thousand, nine hundred, four score and eighteen
Theodred,
I shall write the date as is proper, Theodred of Rohan, as should you!
As for those plants you sent: one is monkshod, a poison used on arrowheads, as I presume you know. The second, called Queen's Delight or Silver Leaf, causes a burning sensation if ingested in large quantities. Neither is very healthy; you had best stay clear of these and keep an eye on your young cousins! They find many poisons! However, dandelion, quite pleasing to the eye, gives forth a healthy milk, which, though best if not ingested, serves many purposes with which I will not bore you.
...I have not been so negligent as to wander from weaponry for flowers again, but cannot keep myself from herbs. Father sent a servant to search my rooms and found the herbs taken from the kitchens which I stored between my bedsheets and he is furious...
Fifteenth May
...caught me reading in the library when I ought to have been at swordplay with Boromir. How terrible my guilt, for my brother now faces our father's wrath as well! Many months will pass before he forgets this incident, of this I am certain. Father has forbidden me from the library for a month...
Twentieth May
..."Must you cast always shame upon me?" he shouted. My heart trembled, but I held my shoulders still. "Stealing away from your proper lessons, in disguise, to wander the Third Circle! Why when I have forbidden you from such crafts must you observe an herbalist? Is it not enough that you are constantly seeing the healers for your clumsiness? You spit on your family repeatedly; where is the respect for your blood?"
"Father, please! If you but allowed me to learn I swear--"
"You are of noble birth, Faramir. You cannot change this and neither can I."
"Father--!"
But do not think ill of him, Theodred, He means well, but he does not understand me. He does not understand about booklearning, for to him this always served as a means...
Thirtieth of May
...Oh, Theodred, it was beautiful! However did you find such a volume? Everything from the leather of the covers to the thread binding the leaves to the ink stole my breath with its beauty! Thank you, my friend, for ever so much. Thank you a thousand times!...
Third of June
He found it, Theodred. Father found the book. To my shame I shed tears when I entered his study to see my beloved herbal upon his desk. Why does he torment me so? Does he do this of some perverse pleasure? I bargained with him, offering to learn bow and sword, even staff and spear and lance if he would but give me an hour a day with the herbal. "It was a gift, Father!" I added, for ignoring a gift is rude.
"A son of Gondor should train with weapons without reward! His duty is to defend his people! Please me with your skills, and this will be returned to you. If you do not progress, if you fail to attend your studies..."
"I will be good, Father. You will be pleased!"
Theodred, I sicken myself. I cannot live here; I will die! Please, I mean not to impose, but perhaps might I visit Rohan, just for a time? Only a week would be enough. I must see open fields; I must read! Already I feel my spirit wither.
Please reply with haste! I beg it!
Yours, Faramir
To be continued