Virtues

"Courage is the most important of all the virtues because without courage, you can't practice any other virtue consistently."
― Maya Angelou

Prince Theodred was one thing, but Lord Faramir was something else, and Guiomer wasn't even thinking about the difference of rank, even if Lord Faramir was only the son of a Steward.

Maybe it was the difference of their blood or upbringing, but Faramir had a presence that Theodred lacked. It was subtle and non-commanding. In the company of other domineering people, it was easily discounted. But even if Guiomer was one of the aforementioned people, he had grown up with Luna and Draco and he knew that ignoring that would come back and strike at him later. Because there was a deep wisdom in his eyes that spoke of hardship that was tempered by a will of steel and the nobility of his spirit.

Merlin he was getting poetic. But he couldn't help it, not when he was faced by those eyes. And it couldn't be helped that it reminded him of his mother.

"Lord Faramir, right?" Guiomer asked cheerfully. "So, what brings you to Haven?"

Faramir's eyes assessed Guiomer's colorful hair, the sword that hung at his sword belt and the easy stance he held. "I have a letter from my father for the Lady of Haven," he said. His voice was cultured and very, very polite.

Guiomer's smile did not falter. "Oh, for the Lady Gryffon then? Since you've arrived at this time, you'll have to go to the Training courts," he answered, even as he gestured for Faramir to follow him.

After a moment's hesitation, he did and both of them went to the large courtyard that rang with the sound of steel and laughter. There were only two men fighting and there seemed to be bets on going, along with lighthearted jeers, sneers and jokes. His mother was at the very heart of it, laughing along with them, dressed in loose trousers and a large tunic. Several men saw him and gave several respectful nods.

"You are the Lady's son?" Faramir asked once he saw the Lady of Haven's hair. Truly, there was no mistaking hair like that.

"Yeah. Just call me Guiomer," he said easily. When they were close enough, he called out in Latin, "Mater, I need you."

Heather's eyes shot in his direction, assessed his position and then nodded. A snap of her fingers had everyone straightening up, even Guiomer. It was pretty instinctual, especially when you tried her training methods.

"You lot," she said. She did not need to shout to be heard. "There are three more orphans who want to join the Brotherhood. When are you holding your tests?"

"Soon, my lady," a rugged looking man answered.

"Make sure that you place it on the notice boards for the orphanage, Fallean, lest I really will think your age has made you forgetful," she said, making the men break into loud guffaws.

With her business concluded, Heather headed in his direction. Guiomer tried not to smile when Faramir caught sight of the knives strapped on her person and the sword she strapped on her belt.

"The Lady fights?" he asked with astonishment.

"You cannot find a better warrior," Guiomer said with familial pride.

Heather was close enough to hear that and rolled her eyes. "Don't be modest, my son. Six times out of ten, you can beat me," she said and then her attention went to Faramir. "That design…you're from Gondor, aren't you?"

Faramir executed a small bow. "Indeed, my lady. I am Faramir, son of Denethor, of the House of Stewards."

Heathers eyebrows steadily rose as Faramir spoke. "Denethor, Denethor," she ended up muttering. "Why does that name seem familiar?"

Guiomer gave a discreet cough. Really, his mother! "I believe Aunt Enid met him in her travels, Mater," he prodded.

"Oh!" she remarked. "That man with a mind sharp enough to beat Enid in chess.

As they spoke, they were headed towards Heather's office. Discreetly, in-between the conversation, Faramir gave her the letter. Guiomer's sharp eyes noticed but he feigned ignorance and kept chattering to Faramir.

Both of them engaged in several topics while Heathers eyes scanned the written letter. Guiomer knew her well enough that it was troubling by the way her dark brows furrowed.

In the middle of describing to Faramir the delicacy of Cailyn's pastries, Heather held up a hand. There was immediate silence.

"Lord Faramir," she started. "What has your father told you?"

The answer was hesitant, which didn't quite fit the quiet confidence he had been projecting since Guiomer met him. "That I was to deliver that letter for you, nothing more. And that the letter would explain everything to you."

Heather sighed. "That letter told me that I am to teach you in the way of the sword. But by the way you hold yourself, I can say that you already know how to wield one and don't need my help. Can you give men an explanation.

Faramir's hands were clenched until his knuckles were white and he looked paler than anything. He normally was a private person, but the lack of pity on her face made him answer against his will. "My older brother, Boromir, is father's favorite. I am, apparently, too bound in my books to bring his name honor."

The last word was said with such vehement hatred that is sounded like a curse.

The awkward silence was broken by the door opening and Hermione and Draco stepping in, carrying several papers. Luna was behind them, holding a tray of cookies and tea. Guiomer scrambled to stand and help her serve everybody.

Heather slouched on her chair, her eyes closed as she contemplated options. The open letter sat on he desk like an omen, or a curse.

To take Faramir's mind off it, Guiomer introduced him to the newcomers and everyone settled in for tea and cookies, with some lighthearted topics. The letter was discreetly passed around and it seemed there was something with the way it was written that made all of their eyebrows crease.

When the plate of cookies was polished off, Heather sat up and finally opened her green eyes. "Your father said to keep you here for six years," she said. "His exact words were, 'keep him busy', I believe. However, your father does not have any power in Haven. You can stay in Haven, or you can go."

Color flooded his pale cheeks. "You truly are as gracious as they say, my lady. But my father's spies – "

He was broken off by Guiomer saying, "No. This town is named Haven for a reason, Lord Faramir. Anybody wishing you harm cannot come here and a person spying on you does not have your best interests at heart, so they cannot enter here as well."

It went unsaid that all of them, with the tweaking done to the wards, would feel the intentions of every person that entered the city. Nobody needed to hear that.

Faramir was too well-mannered to go boneless with relief, but it was a close thing by the way he nearly slumped in his chair.

Taking pity on him, Hermione gave him time to recover his composure by giving the papers she was holding to Heather for her signature. The pile was three inches high and Faramir was calmly sipping his tea by the time she finished.

"So what do you wish to do?" Heather asked.

Indecision was on his face. It wasn't obvious, but all of them had, at one point or another, been forced in situations that required reading subtle body language. Faramir was careful with what he gave away, but that was nothing compared to the Dark Lord.

"You don't have to decide now," Draco said suddenly. His face was just as perfectly polite as theirs but, for those who knew him well, they knew he was angry by the way his fingers kept twitching. Almost like he was itching to grab his wand.

"Thank you," Faramir said softly. "You are nothing like the rumors, my lady. You surpass them."

A quick word to the errand boy stationed outside her office sent Lord Faramir to the best Hostel.

But the moment the door closed and the ward for the one-way silencing spell activated, Draco stood up and smashed a window-pane with his magic. None of them startled because they had expected it.

Then he ran a hand through his hair several times, mussing it. A deep exhale later and he sat down again.

As Heather fixed her window, Luna asked, "Do you feel better now?"

He snorted. "No. his soul is beautiful. His father is a bastard not to see that."

Draco probably was seeing parallels between Faramir and himself. That partly explained his explosion. The other part, as Heather liked to imagine, was because deep down, beneath all the hedges and thorns, Draco cared for other humans. Right…!

"Well," Hermione put in. "We can't do anything about that. What we can do is to make his stay here as profitable as possible."

"If he'll stay," Guiomer said gloomily.

The window was fixed, Heather sat down again and said, "Oh, he will. When he gave me that letter, I wasn't wearing my gloves. Contrary to what you lot are thinking, his years in Haven will not be an exile."

As always, Hermione was the first to understand what Heather meant. Her brown eyes brightened. "Really? So what does he do then?"

Heather's smile wasn't kind. "From what I could see, he spent most of his time with you and Draco."

A contemplative silence, and then Luna laughed cheerily and Guiomer blinked several times.

There was annoyance mixed with gratitude in Draco's voice as he said, "Politics. You're telling me that I'm going to teach him politics."

"Philosophy and Pureblood Politics," Hermione added. "That's brilliant. He cannot fight his father in a battle of arms. So it's a battle of wits."

The open letter that lay on the table no longer seemed so ominous, or sad. It started to get the air of stupidity around it. Lord Denethor had sent his son in the wrong city for exile.

Heather's prediction came true and Faramir became a temporary resident in the city. He must have thought about it the entire night because he found Heather as she was doing her morning stretches by the Training courts. Seeing as no one was insane enough to follow her schedule, it was safe to assume that he didn't sleep the entire night.

Quick as anything, Heather slotted him with Hermione in the late morning and Draco for the entire afternoon. Early morning was hers.

"Your father sent you here with the excuse to learn the sword. So I will teach you to fight with anything."

His eyes had widened. "Anything?"

Her smile was mischievous. "The sword is not the only weapon. Anything is a weapon. The Dúnedain taught me that. And then I will teach you to be faster than anything else."

Needless to say, Faramir started to smile by the end of her spiel. He even managed to be enthusiastic as he was forcefully pushed to tour the city, along with instructions to find an orphan if he got lost.

"Your lessons start tomorrow," she said firmly. "So you better enjoy your last day of freedom."

He finally laughed and Heather considered it a success.

Heathers concentration was broken by her door opening, lowering the silencing wards that kept everything discussed in her office private. Without looking up, she knew it was Draco.

"Yep?" she asked as she scratched away with her quill.

There was no answer, and Heather's curiosity finally pinched her, enough so that she finally looked up.

And then she gulped.

Draco's anger had three stages. The first was the petty, childish stage where he hurled barbs and insults like free candy on Halloween. The second was where he got physical and needed to break something – or if you were unlucky – someone. The last was the one where a cool mask would descend on his face and he would channel that anger into producing terrifying results.

If you're lucky, you would only receive the first stage, which was his perpetual state anyway. If Fate hated you, you'd witness the third and hope that you weren't the target.

The look she was facing now was something she'd only seen once, when one of the Death Eaters had gone too far and tried to kill his mother as a taunt.

Come to think of it, Sirius had once told her that Narcissa Malfoy had the same temper.

"I need the file for the Trade Routes," he finally answered.

Heather resisted the urge to apparate out of her office. He was so calm. It was a considerable contrast to the smoldering fire in his uncovered eyes.

She quickly summoned the pertinent documents, not wanting to get in his way. He caught the folder deftly, not even a tremor in his fingers. Merlin, it was as creepy as anything.

"Anything else?" she asked calmly.

He hummed thoughtfully. "Ah! Yes, you can give me leave to attend the committee meetings for the next three months."

Oh, Godric. This was involving the city. No matter how scary Draco was in his current state, no one messed with Haven, not on her watch.

Heather raised an eyebrow. "Just tell me this: will this hurt Haven, or its people in any way?"

Draco shook his head, a creepy smile on his face. "Oh, no. it won't. This won't even be noticed, but it will hurt Lord Denethor."

He spat the name out with venom and suddenly Heather understood what he was on about. Since she liked Faramir too, she didn't say anything until a though occurred to her.

"Draco," she called out as he was closing her door. He turned, his blindfold tied back once again over his eyes. "No matter what, remember that Faramir loves his father and his city very much."

He bared his teeth at her before nodding his understanding.

That night, when they were headed for bed, Draco slipped her a piece of paper to sign. It was an embargo on the silks of Gondor.

Heathers eyebrows steadily went up as she read the document. It was damaging to Gondors reputation as silk makers and would place a considerable dent in their economy, enough to be felt but not enough to cripple it. The best thing was that the rumor could not be traced to Haven.

There was also the small fact that the House of Stewards founded the Silk trade in Gondor.

She shivered because it was just the kind of vindictive shit that Draco would pull. She supposed she didn't need to ask how much he hated Lord Denethor.

OMAKE:

What the was inside the letter

Gryffon of Haven,

I am pleased to hear the rumors surrounding your city and how well you keep the children of other nations. Rohan assured me that your city is very aptly named.

My errant son, Faramir, is a thorn to my side. He constantly questions my orders and the gives inappropriate suggestions. It would please me if you would break him of that habit. Any method would be approved by myself.

He will be fetched by the end of six years. Please, keep him busy.

Hail Manwë!

Denethor, son of Ecthelion II, of the House of Stewards of Gondor

I am so sorry for the delay. I just recovered from my illness. Guys, I think you lot ought to check only on weekends, coz I don't think my schedule is gonna improve anytime soon.

Questions that people asked the last chapter:

Latent magical who would be tied to the wards in Haven…?

Golly. You know, I was working on my final outline and that question kept going back at me. I will probably do something about it, but I won't answer it completely. Wizards aren't exactly a race of people in Arda. They are Istari, sent by the specific Valar. They don't have magic inside them, not like wizards. (If that doesn't give you a bazillion clues, read again.)

What if Aedan doesn't have any children?

Wow, now that's what I call looking into the future. Really far off. But anyway, Yes, there is a chance that Aedan won't have children, but then, given the fact that Aedan is as long-lived as any Dúnedain, the city will have protection for a guaranteed 150 years, give or take a few months or so. (Don't ask such pessimistic questions. It's really depressing.)

Would Haven be safe from Saruman and Sauron?

I suppose so. Most of the magic they use have the taint of Melkor, which is pretty much as dark as you can get. If they try any subtle spells, the taint is still there. So yes, Haven will be safe. (Sauron is pretty much the embodiment of Melkor, so yeah. Oh, by the way Melkor is a Valar who fell into the dark side. So Sauron is like an Istari who serves under Melkor)

Is there gonna be another timeskip?

I will honestly try not to. I hate doing it as much as you lot hate reading about it. Your reviews actually help me with this one. Your comments and suggestions give me an idea on what to fill in the gaps. I already know what to do at certain points, but what to do in between really gives me a headache. So please help!

Where is Kreacher?

Bugger. That question really makes me laugh every time. When I first started this story, someone would ask that question in every other chapter. Kreacher is still cleaning up Heather's office, the Sanctuary, the Library, and the Potions area. And he also cooks for their meals and washes all the Hospital bandages and linens. And then he disposes of the city garbage. You can think of him as the one-man city cleanup crew.

That's it for this one. Doesn't the letter just freaking piss you off?

R&R.

~Lady Hallen

P.S. Suggestions for Omakes wouldn't be unwelcome.