A/N: WOW so many reviews! Haha.

IMPORTANT NOTE: I know that Faramir sees Boromir's funeral boat on February 29, 3019. And since this chapter is taking place on March 1, 3019, this is the point where I say: I'm tweak-a-leaking! He'll see it at some point. No bitching, I say.

Anyway, Tolkien's characters are not mine, no they are not! But apparently, Boromir is raiding Lily's refrigerator. Interesting.

Chapter Four: Destiny is an Oliphaunt

Faramir sat alone at the front of the small boat, lost in thought. Anborn, Mablung, and Damrod were in the back, talking quietly, their voices serving as backdrop for Faramir's musings. He lowered a hand over the side of the boat, feeling the cool water of the Great River against his fingers. The waves were eerily silent, and Faramir felt jumpy, afraid of the very air which surrounded him.

As the boat continued smoothly along the Anduin, Faramir couldn't help but wish that his brother Boromir was at his side. His older brother had left for Rivendell some time ago, after they'd had an identical dream regarding the infamous Shards of Narsil. Both Faramir and Boromir felt connected to the legend that surrounded the powerful blade of Isildur, and the dream shook the brothers equally. Faramir had wanted to go to Rivendell as well, but Boromir chose the task for his own. "It is dangerous," he had explained. "You should not have to suffer such travels. Stay in Gondor. Fight. Defend. Do it for me. And for our people."

It was easy for him to say, Faramir thought bitterly. Though they'd both been witnesses of Mordor's destruction, Boromir was now getting a chance to escape. The glorious waterfalls and rocky hills of Rivendell awaited him, and Faramir was left to battle the growing shadow. He could not help but be a tiny bit jealous.

However, the past few days at sea had given Faramir the chance to ponder the entire situation. The gentle motions of the water had eased his anger and envy. He began to feel a strong responsibility for the other Rangers; he knew that he had to look out for their safety and happiness. Faramir was slowly coming to the realization that his destiny lay with Gondor. The shards of Narsil and Rivendell was Boromir's story. He would find his own.

Faramir was awoken from his daydreams when he realized that Anborn was standing beside him.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Captain," Anborn said, "but Damrod thought he saw an oliphaunt in the distance. He said I should alert you immediately."

"An oliphaunt?" Faramir echoed, sounding alarmed. "That would mean that there are Southrons nearby. You should sit with me; we will keep watch up here. Damrod and Mablung can look after the rear."

Anborn nodded, sitting on the edge of the boat beside Faramir. They were quiet for a few moments until Faramir broke the silence.

"You are thinking of that red-haired boy, are you not?"

"I pity him," Anborn replied. "His father was a friend of mine. Pelilas said that he sailed up the Anduin for Northern Gondor six months ago. He has not yet returned."

Faramir whistled through his teeth – a long drawn-out sigh of sympathy.

"What do you supposed happened to him?" Anborn asked, sounding as though he already had an answer.

Faramir shrugged.

"There are many dreadful things that can happen to a man in these parts," he answered. "Captured, tortured, murdered. There are no pleasant choices. That young boy's father is most likely gone for good."

Anborn opened his mouth to respond but before he could speak, he was interrupted by a cry from the back of the boat.

"Faramir! Anborn!" Damrod was shouting. "Men of the South! On the Eastern Shore!"

Faramir leapt to his feet, his hands immediately flying to the bow at his back. Anborn jumped up as well, and they were quickly joined by Mablung and Damrod.

"Where are the others?" Mablung asked, glancing about at the empty waters.

"They are too far ahead!" cried Damrod. "We never should have stopped!"

"Quiet," Faramir instructed, holding up a hand. He turned his eyes to the land, noting the men cloaked in red darting in and out of sight.

"So it begins," Faramir murmured. He turned to his companions, staring at each man in turn. "Come. Let us show these wicked servants of Sauron that the Rangers of Ithilien are not a force to be reckoned with."

Faeldor almost collided with his sister as she sailed through the front door, looking starry eyed.

"What are you smiling about?" he asked, giving her a curious glance.

"Oh, I just had a splendid lunch with Pelilas!" Coruwen replied, grinning widely. "Faeldor, I know that it makes you uncomfortable when I speak of him--"

"Only because you often tell me things that no brother wishes to hear from his sister!" he exclaimed with a good-natured laugh.

"—but I am just so happy!" Coruwen continued, ignoring his interjection. "I think I am in love with him."

Faeldor raised his eyebrows. He knew that Coruwen and Pelilas had become romantic with one another, but he was not aware that it had grown so serious.

"What?" Coruwen asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "What is that face for?"

Faeldor shook his dark bangs out of his eyes, regarding her closely. He wanted desperately to lecture her on the dangers of love, to warn her against falling too quickly and too hard. Such advice would surely result in an argument; Coruwen hated to be spoken to like a child. But Faeldor could not help his immediate urge to protect his sister. As her older brother, he felt that it was his duty.

"I just hope you are careful," was all he said. "But I am glad for you. You deserve that kind of happiness."

Coruwen grinned.

"Well, thank you. It pleases me to hear you say that."

"And if he ever breaks your heart," Faeldor continued, a mischievous gleam in his eye, "come tell me, and I will give him a good thrashing."

"But he is your friend!" she protested with a smile.

"Aye," he agreed. "And you are my sister."

Faramir pulled his hood up, holding his bow close to his chest. He stepped softly on the ground, his companions not very far behind him.

"Keep your eyes open," he instructed softly.

"What if there are too many?" Damrod worried aloud.

"And too few of us," Mablung added in a quiet but solemn voice.

"We are foolish to venture into battle without the others," Damrod said. "Faramir, I think we should turn back."

"If Captain Faramir wishes us to fight, then we must fight!" Anborn interjected, his voice raising. Mablung whirled on him.

"Quiet, you!" he spat. "It is your fault that we got behind!"

"Silence!" Faramir barked.

As if to illustrate his point, a red-tipped arrow flew through the trees, buzzing right past Faramir's head. It landed deep in the wood of a nearby log, its crimson feathers trembling. The Rangers dropped to the ground, taking cover behind a bush.

"We are in the middle of a battle," Faramir hissed. "Save your vapid chatter for another time, because right now, I need you to fight!"

Faramir jumped to his feet without giving the Rangers a chance to respond, and launched an arrow in the direction of his attacker. There was a crisp piercing sound, followed by a crash, and the flurry of footsteps. Faramir glanced back down at Damrod, Mablung, and Anborn.

"Come on," he encouraged. "It is time."

Together, the four men trampled through the trees, ready to strike out with their weapons at any moment. They were soon met by a small cluster of Southrons – one of which was atop an oliphaunt. The Rangers skidded to a halt.

Faramir drew his sword, dodging to avoid arrows from the oliphaunt rider. He pivoted on his heel, swinging out and beheading one of the wicked men smoothly. He wrinkled his nose in disgust as the severed head, with its painted nose and cheeks, landed on his boot. Kicking it out of sight, he spun around, plunging his sword into another man's chest.

"There are more!" Damrod yelled. "More coming!"

"Hold your ground!" Faramir instructed. "And watch out for that oliph--" He was cut off as a Southron leapt onto his back, clutching his throat with dark gloved hands. Faramir let out a choked cry of surprise, and weakly swiped at the man's hands with his sword. He gasped for air, stumbling forward, and unsuccessfully attempted to throw the man over his shoulders. Suddenly, he felt a surge of pressure at his spine, and the man loosened his grip, sliding to the ground. An arrow was lodged in the back of his neck. Faramir turned, smiling gratefully at Anborn.

Out of the corner of his eye, Faramir saw the Southron atop the oliphaunt draw back his arm. His bow, Faramir realized, was aimed at Anborn.

"Look out!" he shouted as the arrow sailed through the air. Anborn turned, but not soon enough. The arrow burrowed in his left arm, and he fell to the ground in pain. Mablung, who was the nearest to him, knelt down at his side immediately.

A blaze of fury coursed through Faramir's veins, and he turned his eyes to the huge oliphaunt and its rider. The man was smiling eerily, and he reached for his bow again.

"Not this time," Faramir murmured, grabbing his own bow. He aimed carefully, lining up the tip of the arrow with one of the oliphaunt's eyes. He let go of the string, sending the arrow soaring upwards.

It was, of course, a perfect shot.

The oliphaunt let out an ear-splitting howl, drawing all attention its way. Faramir ducked behind a nearby tree for cover. He watched the gigantic creature as it staggered, and then fell to its knees. Its rider leapt to the ground, barely even showing any sort of reaction.

Suddenly, a deep male voice cut through the air.

"Aradhel! Aradhel!"

The oliphaunt rider turned at the sound of his name being called. Faramir's hand stilled over his bow.

"We are outnumbered. Look."

Aradhel glanced up, past Faramir's hiding spot.

"Pull back. Tell the others," he instructed, his voice gruff.

Faramir glanced back towards the water and his heart warmed at what he saw. Lined up along the shore were several more of the small ships. The other Rangers of Ithilien had come to their aid.

He turned his gaze back to Aradhel, who was rounding up his troops, telling them to retreat. Faramir narrowed his eyes, feeling a growing hatred for this man. He stared at him for a long while, as if to memorize his long dark hair, painted face, and wide shoulders. He would not easily forget this evil man who injured his friend.

This battle with the men of Harad was over, Faramir thought. But there would most certainly be others. He knew that one day, he would cross paths with Aradhel again. Faramir began to suspect that Aradhel would have some important part to play in his story – the story that kept him from traveling to Rivendell. There was a reason that he was meant to stay in Gondor.

Faramir looked over at his companions, ready to assist his company. He sheathed his sword with the vigor of a man who had just accepted his own destiny, and then he began to walk towards his friends.

A/N: If Legolas were to show up in this story for five seconds, strip naked, and do an Irish jig, would that make people leave reviews? Seriously, I'll consider it.