My Notebook

The Season of Finduilas

2007-11-27T19:09:39Z

Faramir, Finduilas and Elboron. One Family. Three Generations.

Title: The Season of Finduilas
Fandom: LotR
Characters: Faramir, Boromir, Legolas, Elboron
Category: Family, Angst, Humor
Disclaimer: Not Mine.
Notes:Written for foxrafer, who asked for a treat (happier, lighter themes) containing any characters in the sons_of_gondor Holloween Trick or Treat Fic/Art Exchange.

("I hate it," snarled Faramir, "I hate it when people say they are sorry, but there're not. Sorry that she's dead.")

Summer In Paris

2007-08-30T18:16:05Z

In the year 2007 in Paris Faramir remembers summers in Ithilien.

Title: Summer In Paris

Category: Supernatural, Family

Rating: PG

Warnings: None

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Summer In France

Francis huffed as he ran past the various cafes. Trust Alex to choose such an industrial area. The streets were filled by dime-a-dozen tourists determined to see every famous place in the capital. To top it all, it was an extremely hot day which Francis felt was vaguely unfair. The summer so far had been mild. It always was. But today…

He took the chance to glance at his watch and groaned. He was late already! Alex and Brian better not tease him about it, he thought, or he might remind them of the times they had been late, the pigs…

Francis was so intent on his brothers past misdeeds that he almost knocked a young Frenchwoman down. “Désolée!” he called out as jogged away the Frenchman in him rebelling at the callous treatment of the girl.

Finally reaching the Seine he cast his eyes around for his brothers. He spied Brian first flirting with a pretty redhead. Alex was standing behind him half amused. Their eyes met and Alex rolled his eyes heavenward. Francis pace finally slowed to a walk as he watched his brother use his considerable charms on the girl. Her friends standing behind were giggling too. Four pale men were also watching them, seated at a table in a nearby café. His brothers drew attention to themselves every where they went.

A wicked idea crossed young Francis’ mind. He really shouldn’t. But really; Brian deserved it. His brothers came all the way from America simply to irritate him. They made such trips several times every year. They would claim it was to check up on him and make sure he was paying attention to his art and not impregnating a girl instead. And what they really did was mess up his apartment, flirt with his teachers and classmates, disrupt his schedule and tease him about everything under the sun. Their promiscuity should be a crime! The most sacrilegious was their utter refusal to stay still while posing for him!

Oh yes Brian utterly deserved it.

Francis grinned. It was the same grin that caused his stepmother to label him the devil. Well, Brian was going to find out how much of a devil he really was.

He broke into a run again and flung himself onto Brian. Startled Brian caught hold of him out of pure instinct. Francis immediately put his plan into action by jabbering in French and English. “Papa! Comment ça va? Tout va bien. Except for Madam Giselle’s classes which are très mal.”

Brian was gaping like fish out of water and Alex was trying hard not to loose it. The girl in front of him and her friends were baffled. He turned to them and blinked widely and innocently, made himself as non-threatening as he could and said “Bonjour Mademoiselles.”

They immediately started cooing over him. “Hello! Aren’t you a sweet little thing?” She said as she tousled his hair. He bore it graciously because it was hurting Brian a lot more than it was hurting him. And it would hurt Alex a lot too. If his oldest brother didn’t start breathing normally soon he’d get a heart attack. Or a hernia.

Francis smiled sweetly at her and turned back to Brian. “Papa. I hope I’m not too late. I got caught up in traffic and classes ended late today.”

“What do you study?” asked one of the girls.

“I study art Mademoiselles.”

As the girls gasped in appreciation Francis added. “Papa came all the way here to pose for me!” he said proudly.

The girls cast admiring glances at Brian who was still inarticulate. “How wonderful!”

“Isn’t he? And he’s been raising me since mama left him for another man 15 years ago.” Francis said.

The girls were in raptures now. “Could you do a painting of us?” one of the girls asked hopefully.

“Ah that would be impossible. I do not have the skill to achieve even a portion of your loveliness on canvas. You should not be so gorgeous. It is dangerous for mortals to be exposed to such beauty.”

The girls freaked out on this. After many compliments, much cooing and giggling the girls finally took their leave. Francis made a mental note to contact Jack about them. His friend would love to do their portraits. Sans fee and sans clothing.

He schooled his face into innocence and turned to Brian who was probably going over the various places his body could be disposed of. Francis was not mistaken. Brian finally snapped out of his dazed state and grabbed his younger brother around the shoulders and shook him till his teeth rattled. “You- How- How could you? Devil- the de-,” when the shaking finally stopped Francis took a moment to collect himself.

“You really shouldn’t do that. People will think you’re abusing me and you will get thrown in jail for being a child hitter,” Francis admonished him.

Thankfully for Francis’ continuing life expectancy Alex stepped in. “You deserved it,” He told Brian.

Brian huffed. “So Frankie, how are the paintings for the show coming on? Did you even start on them?”

Alex shot Brian another glare, warning him to hold his tongue. “Don’t mind him. You said Madam Giselle was still giving you trouble?”

Francis shrugged. “She’s fine.”

Brian immediately straightened up from his indolent pose. “What do mean fine? Is the old cow-”

“Brian! She doesn’t love me but she doesn’t hate me either. Nowadays she just ignores me,” Francis smiled at his brothers’ over-protectiveness. “And I still have a month for the show.” Francis frowned. “Is Papa coming?”

His heart began to sink as his elder brothers exchanged frowning glances. “He has business,” Brian explained uneasily. If Daniel Drake had been there that very moment Brian would have ripped his head off; father or no father. Alex felt the same.

“You would think he could clear one day off his calendar. Monsieur Drake; so busy that he has an entire month planned out,” Francis murmured bitterly. Pushing himself against the railing he began to walk towards his apartment.

Brian and Alex followed him quietly, each plotting various painful and long drawn out deaths for their father.

Alex threw his arm around his youngest brother and said in a cheery voice. “Guess what Brian got you.”

Francis turned to them in terror. “It’s not another stripper is it?” he asked, panicked.

Brian gave him a wounded look. “Don’t you have any trust in me at all?”

“NO!” Francis and Alex exclaimed in unison before all three of them burst out laughing. They were nearing the quartet Francis had noticed earlier. They apparently were paying the three brothers no particular attention but Francis still felt uneasy. His whole body was tingling. He observed two of them were twins. All of them were unnaturally pale. Just as they were passing their table one of the aforementioned twins looked up and locked gazes with him. It was only for a second though and Francis was grateful, for the experience he went through for that one simple moment of concurrency was enough.

“The Orcs will be on the west bank.”

“Captain Faramir? Your orders?”

“We will attack six hours after dusk.”

The gaze of the stranger immediately passed to Alex and fixed on him almost hungrily. Observing that gaze Francis wanted to scream- but he had no idea why.

“Ithilien is always so hot during the summers.”

“It is not always so Boromir. You picked an unlucky day to visit,” An amused voice answered.

It was only his brothers’ tight grips on his arm that made him aware that he had stumbled, his legs unable to support him. The four strangers leapt up gracefully from the table to help him. But only the man with grey eyes and grey (silver mithril) hair actually touched him. The rest stayed back respectfully making no effort to come near him.

“Is it always so hot in Ithilien?”

“No, Sire, you picked an unlucky day to visit us. We usually have mild summers here.”

Grass was shredded as the Prince remembered a similar conversation with his now dead brother.

“Boromir must have hated it.”

A snort.

“He always chose the hottest days to travel to Ithilien. He had exceedingly bad luck concerning the weather.”

“I have a feeling he blamed you for it.”

Amusement.

“Oddly enough he did. He claimed I controlled the weather. You did not tell me you were a mind reader Aragorn.”

Laughter.

The man’s touch on his body brought Francis an inexplicable mixture of terror and exhilaration. Looking into those extraordinary eyes Francis felt as if he had lived a entire life those few moments. He was sure of one thing though. “You are the oldest one.” The voice did not seem as it came from his throat at all. It was rough as if he had been screaming for hours. The man did not look startled; in fact, it looked as if he had been expecting it the cryptic statement.

Aragorn (Alex) on a throne looking majestic. Boromir (Brian) fighting with a sword. Lying in a boat. His father older than he looked now.

“Are you alright? Francis!”

Fighting the Orcs. The hot weather did not deter them. Arrows slinging through the trees finding their mark. His in particular.

“Faramir!”

“Eoywn?”

“Elboron is hiding in the pantry refusing to come out.”

“What did Legolas tell him now?”

Clear, beautiful laughter. No sound so beautiful could exist. No woman so beautiful could exist.

“He told Elboron the hot sun would burn him till he turned black!”

“Francis!”

Francis took a deep breath and pushed himself away from everyone. Right now he did not want anyone to touch him. He felt as if he woken from a dream and any solid touches of the real world would dispel the few traces left.

“I’m fine,” Francis was relieved that his voice was back to normal. He wanted to stay and talk to the four men but his brothers convinced he was coming down with everything from polio to cancer to viral fever hurried him off.

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“You just can’t keep to yourself can you dear brother?” Elrohir mocked Elladan as the two eldest Drake brothers dragged their protesting sibling away.

“I didn’t do anything,” Elladan pouted. “How was I supposed to know that the Steward would have any paranormal abilities?”

“None of us did,” retorted Glorfindel. “Which is why we must stay away.”

The three of them turned towards the man Francis had called the oldest. The man quirked a silver eyebrow and said, “What is life without fun?” At the disbelieving looks the other three gave him Celeborn laughed.

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An Article From The French Times,

By Pascal Herve

Cultural Correspondent

Last night an eagerly anticipated event came to pass, for me at least. The annual Students Arts Appreciation Society finally put its show with its marvelous paintings on display for the whole of Paris to marvel over. The gallery was filled with several distinguished guests for the paintings were done by the most talented students the Sorbonne has to offer.

Many works were exclaimed over and some received attention more than others, richly deserved. Malfoy’s painting of a naked woman waiting by the stream for her lover was one of them. The painting ‘Italy’ by Eugene was another. ‘Mercedes’ by Lily Potter is an excellent example of the influence of post-impressionism on the current generation of artists.

But of all the pieces on display none received more attention and praise than the landscape painting ‘Summer In Ithilien’ (oil on canvas) by Francis Justin Drake. It may be implied by some that the painting received such attention due to the fame of the young painter. After all being the youngest son of the famous industrialist Daniel Drake who is one of the richest men in the world is enough to make even the most mediocre person interesting. His mother too was no stranger to fame. Besides the highly publicized affair Francoise Fournier engaged with Daniel Drake while he was still married she was also an extremely successful painter. Called a modern day Freda she was the most celebrated female artist of her time.

But it seems that Francis Drake has inherited not only his parents’ fame but also his mother’s talent. ‘Summer In Ithilien’ is most realistically done. You feel as though a person could simply walk in and rest in the shade of one of the trees or hide in a bush. We are also treated to the tantalizing glimpses of the strange men in green hiding among the foliage; perhaps waiting to ambush an enemy? I would not have been surprised if they walked out of the painting too.

As I mentioned before the painting is very realistic but it seems to me as though it is but a dream, for such a place must have existed in another life.

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Authors Note: Okay so most of the names are blatantly ripped off from many books and even one or two TV shows. Can anyone guess them all?

artemisblack666 @ 2007-08-16T18:45:00

2007-08-16T13:32:25Z

Our Little Secrets

Category: Suspense, Supernatural, Family

Rating: PG

Warnings: None

Faramir and Boromir had always kept silent their secrets as children. And now as adults they still kept their secrets…even beyond the grave.

Faramir smiled and nodded at Legolas, the Elf who would soon reside with him in Ithilien, as soon as he formed the new Elven colony, that is. Talk of it had already started and so far there had been no opposition, rather the idea had been looked upon with favour and approval whether it was needed from them or not.

He and Legolas had become something of friends, talking about matters in Ithilien drawing them close. He found the Prince of Mirkwood a light hearted person, young still by the reckoning of Elves.

Faramir's eyes swept over the gathering checking whether anyone needed anything or anyone needed any rescuing. He had to often rescue the King from over eager nobles and the king had been rather thankful for…there!

Faramir sighed. He knew that Lord Eradan could not keep his claws out of the king for long. He sighed again and was about to go over to them when two Elves suddenly appeared from seemingly nowhere and led the king away. The two elves looked alike so they must be the twin sons of Elrond. It was difficult for any one to tell twins apart but Faramir had been able to tell who Elladan was and who Elrohir was in but a few meetings.

The hobbits had retired to bed early so the gathering was somewhat less noisy. Gandalf was smoking his pipe in a corner talking to a bright haired elf. Must be Glorfindel, one of Lord Elrond’s councillors. Faramir made a note to stay away from him, it was rumoured that he had visited the halls of Mandos. Gandalf was giving him strange enough looks as it was.

Eowyn too had retired to bed, a pity since she was one of the few people he enjoyed conversing with though he enjoyed riling up her brother, Eomer. It would have been better if Théodred had lived and been king for Eomer was a warrior not a statesman. Théodred had been both and would have made a much better king. Being betrothed to Eowyn did not make him blind to this fact. Eomer had been not been pleased by his sister’s choice and not hidden it. This in the beginning had given Faramir an insight into the young king’s character. Anyone with some sense would not have shown such blatant hostility to a Steward of Gondor and a Prince.

He was sitting and laughing at a table where the Aragorn and his bride were occupying including several elves. All of them seemed to be enjoying themselves but Faramir felt no desire or compulsion to join them. He was counting the seconds when he could escape.

Talking to the young Lord of Lossarnach, he spied the King and Legolas heading towards him and felt the urge to groan out aloud. Why the king insisted on trying to make him join his little group he could not fathom. Faramir respected the king but had no wish to join in his circle. They were too boisterous for his tastes.

Sure enough they invited him to join them at their table but Faramir declined their invitation and instead sought the king’s leave to retire. He saw a gleam of frustration in Aragorn’s eyes but couldn’t care less. He was tired of the King’s pity.

Aragorn and Legolas joined their friends again and saw that Glorfindel and Gandalf had also joined them. The group also consisted of Elrond, his daughter and twin sons, Erestor, Eomer and Lord Ohtar, a gondarin noble who was rapidly gaining the trust of Aragorn.

“Lord Faramir will not be joining us?”

“No,” said Aragorn shortly, displeased.

“He must be tired,” Arwen placated her mortal husband. “He did, after all, manage all the royal engagements and he is not yet recovered from his wounds.”

“I think he may yet be grieving the loss of his brother,” offered Lord Ohtar. “The circumstances in which he received news of his brother’s death weighed heavily upon his mind.”

“What do you mean?” asked one of the Elven twins, taken aback.

Gandalf signed, “The fabled horn of Gondor bought the ill news. Almost as if Boromir had willed it, the horn was split into two and one part was found near Osgiliath and thus sent to Denethor,” He paused for a moment and seemed deep in thought; no one dared rouse him in such states.

Gandalf was struck by the thought that had just occurred to him. How had the horn reached Osgiliath? According to Gimli, Legolas and Aragorn the horn had been safely laid in the boat. Ah well, stranger things had happened.

He started to speak again, “The second part was found in Ithilien by Faramir himself. Portents of Doom. The cleaved horn pointed towards Boromir’s death but they had no way of knowing whether he was dead or alive.”

“Lord Faramir knew,” interrupted Lord Ohtar. “He claimed that he saw his brother’s body in a boat flowing in the Anduin. But he himself was not sure if it was real or an dream.”

Glorfindel and Gandalf exchanged uneasy glances and in silent looks agreed that they would have to talk soon.

Lord Ailios now spoke up, “Ah, but the young lord has always been prone to such episodes; even more so than Boromir.”

At this statement eyebrows were raised in the group while Ohtar looked mortified.

“It is true,” nodded Ailios resolutely, “When the Lady Finduilas passed beyond the circles of this world, Boromir who was a lad of not yet ten summers refused to relinquish her memory. He claimed that she was still alive and pointed to empty air alleging she was present there.”

Silence greeted this short speech. Aragorn opened his mouth, closed it and shook his head. He turned to Ohtar. “Is this true?”

Ohtar was uncomfortably put on the spot. “Yes,” he admitted. “It did happen. No one else could see her.”

“Could Lord Faramir?” asked Eomer, leaning forwards.

Neither Ohtar nor Ailios answered. But sometimes silences can be all the answers you need.

Faramir cut an impressive figure in the still bustling corridors. He was one of the tallest men in Gondor, only an inch or two shorter than Boromir. Walking tall, he reached his rooms and quickly took off his vest and overcoat till he was clad in only in a loose white shirt and pants.

He still unbuttoned the top few buttons so that the shirt was just hanging off his shoulders. It wasn’t quite that hot but the dart wound still gave him trouble mainly by raising his temperature. Faramir strolled over to the table in the living room and poured himself a glass of wine.

He quickly gave the room a once over and turned towards the balcony. Faramir signed in relief as the cool night air caressed his hot skin. He leaned against the railing and took sips of the wine.

The moonlight made his skin glow as if he were a child of the moon. It made him look ethereal. Like an angel.

Faramir took another sip of wine. Turning to the right he grinned sardonically. This particular balcony gave a very clear view of certain parts of the main palace. He could see the royal family along with Gandalf, Glorfindel and…was that Eomer?

Faramir tried to focus his eyesight but instead of clearing up his vision got blurred. He raised an eyebrow when an entirely different image appeared. He shook his head, who knew that Elrond had so many old memories haunting him?

Turning, he stepped back into his rooms and ran a hand through his dark hair that reached till his shoulders.

He stopped; wine glass still in his hand and grinned. His first real smile of the whole eve-, no, the entire day. A man was standing in the centre of the room, arms folded across his chest.

The mystery man spoke, “My dear stubborn brother, even in death I cannot be free of you.”

Faramir laughed and setting the wine glass down sauntered up to the Boromir. “You’ve got it all wrong, dear brother. You are the stubborn one refusing to leave, haunting me even after your death. If anyone has the right to complain it should me.”

Boromir looked wistfully at his younger brother, able to see people with a glance and yet gave no thought to himself and the self destruction he had been going through culminating in the ill-fated ride to the defence of Osgiliath. Boromir was glad that he could take care of the person that meant the most to him in the whole world, in all the phases of reality.

“Who will look after you then? Father did not do a particularly good job,” Boromir snorted.

Faramir gave him an unkind look. “Have you been in the cellars?”

Boromir was thrown by the sudden change in the subject. “Why?” he stammered.

Faramir shook his head in exasperation. “It’s you who’s been pilfering Aragorn’s dwarf ale, isn’t it? That’s all I need, a drunken ghost on my hands.”

“I took only a little, there’s not much to do here you know?” Boromir defended himself.

Faramir turned towards the bed and sat down. “Do you really think it’s me who’s holding you back? Because I know father is gone, truly gone. Even I can’t See him.”

“No,” Boromir exclaimed firmly. “It is my choice. Not yours.”

“Are you so sure?” Faramir asked looking at him intently.

“Yes!” Boromir cried in exasperation.

Faramir looked up at his for a while before smiling. He looked away and said, “Do you think this- whatever you are; that is the immortal life that Men are supposed to have?”(1)

“No, I don’t think so.” Boromir paced slowly before the bed. “I think that this is an in-between place-,”

“In between place?” Faramir grinned amusedly.

“Well, do you have a better name?” His big brother shot back.

Faramir raised his hands in capitulation and Boromir continued, “As I said, this condition is beyond life and yet not quite death. I know that there’s something more out there, I sometimes feel a strain, like a rope trying to pull me somewhere.”

Faramir wrinkled his brow as he frowned, “Does it hurt?” he asked.

“No, it’s merely irritating; I’ve gotten quite good at ignoring it,” Boromir waved his hand airily. “But first, tell me; how is Osgiliath?”

Faramir’s eyes brightened and began detailing the plans for the rebuilding of the once mighty city in earnest. But his elder brother didn’t pay attention to the words, but rather the hands gesticulating in the air, poet’s hands forced to pick a bow and arrow and sword and spill blood. He watched the war wound scar hidden by the white shirt. He watched the sparkle in the eyes. And Boromir watched the lines on his brother’s youthful and handsome face.

Few had given to the war as much as the Hurin brothers had. Mother, father, home, family, comfort, life, innocence, sanity.

Boromir would over his dead body tell Faramir that after their mother Finduilas had passed away her spirit had been held bound to Arda only because of her youngest son’s refusal to let go. Boromir had been horrified to see his younger brother speak to air as their mother. Until he began to see her as well. Not so frequently and clearly as Faramir and yet their father could not see a wisp of her.

And one day she was gone. Faramir had been devastated. Boromir suspected now that maybe a power more than they could comprehend had finally aided Finduilas against her own son.

Boromir’s attention was snapped back to his brother when Faramir cried out in vexation, “You’re not even listening!”

“I was!”

“Was not!”

“Yes, I was; now be quiet!”

Boromir mentally cursed himself as Faramir’s eyes narrowed in anger. He apologised hastily, “Sorry, I was just thinking about Théodred.”

The anger in those special eyes dimmed and Faramir nodded tiredly, “He’s still hovering around Eomer. I didn’t know him know him at all so I don’t know what unfinished they have. He saps all the strength out of me sometimes.”

Boromir nodded warily, some did affect his beloved brother in not so good ways. This gift of his brother’s was well hidden. No one alive except Faramir knew of it. Only Boromir had known and right now he was not exactly in a position to tell anyone. The secrecy had been his own idea. The entire fiasco with their mother had warned the dangers of such a gift.

Faramir had been shocked at Boromir’s impudence when he had forbidden to inform their father of this gift. But Boromir knew that their father had suspected and no matter how much he tried to prevent his brother’s eyes glazing over at mealtimes with their father or stop him at staring at thin air where no one saw anything at all but Faramir saw people. Living people who were supposed to have died hundreds of years ago.

It was cruel that Faramir had to live in a place where there was so much history and so many living corpses to haunt him.

The silence was broken by Faramir’s yawn. Boromir chuckled. “You should get some sleep.”

Faramir nodded sleepily. “When will I see you again?”

Boromir smiled at him gently, knowing that no matter what sins he had committed in his living existence, his bond with Faramir was right, and that though he may have failed at everything else, this connection with his brother transcended everything else. “Whenever you want,” He whispered.

Faramir reached towards him and Boromir would have held his breath, if he needed to breath and his heart would have thudded in his chest if he had a beating heart anymore. But Faramir’s hand simply passed through him and Boromir let out a disappointed sign.

But Faramir simply withdrew his hands till it barely skimmed his upper arm and concentrated as he closed his eyes. A few moments later he opened his eyes and gripped the arm firmly. This time it touched warm skin.

Two pairs of similar gray eyes met, one exasperated yet shining with pride and fondness while the other sparkled with childish pleasure.

Now it was Boromir who was solid and though Faramir was solid too, his edges were blurred.

Faramir was getting better at this.

“Enough,” Boromir commanded and pushed back. “Go to sleep,” He said as he slowly faded.

Faramir remained for a few moments on the bed, a smile on his face. Then he walked over to the balcony to close the doors and pull the fluttering curtains. But before he did so, he caught a glimpse of the main ballroom, and though none of the living saw him, the dead did. The group consisted of the King and other personages previously mentioned had begun to disband and the silver people only he could see turned towards him despite of the distance as though they sensed him.

He nodded to them, a silent salute and closed the doors.

“Do you think Lord Ailios was right?” Elrohir asked Glorfindel. Most of them had gone to bed by now, the bustling hallways which Faramir had passed through now empty and silent.

Now Glorfindel, the twins and Erestor were making their way to their rooms after the entire day of merrymaking.

“About what?” Glorfindel asked absentmindedly.

“About the Stewards family seeing the dead,” Erestor said irritatibly.

“Seeing the dead? That is not what the good lord implied,” Elladan said darkly.

“Yes, it was more along the lines of that Lord Faramir and his brother had a touch of insanity,” Elrohir agreed dryly.

“Every kingdom has its scandals and so does every powerful family in the kingdom, especially a ruling family,” Glorfindel said dismissively.

Erestor looked at his friend in suspicion, that had been too casually dismissed. And only a blind man would have missed the looks that Glorfindel and Gandalf had given each other and almost every mention of Faramirs’ name.

At the threshold of their rooms Glorfindel turned around to bid the twins a goodnight as he shared a room with Erestor and the twins had another room to themselves. But he was foiled as Elladan casually stuck foot preventing the door from closing. “Not until you tell us why you and Mithrandir find Lord Faramir so intriguing,” Elladan said smoothly.

Ah, so Erestor was not the only one.

Glorfindel raised a pale thin eyebrow as he opened the door wider to let them in. “Only because I do not want to have a conversation about the Steward in the halls where anyone can eavesdrop,” He warned.

“Well?” Elladan asked.

“Well what? It only seems that the Steward had a grief-stricken reaction to his mother’s death and people are blowing it out of proportion because of his father’s insanity. But as we all know children can have extreme reactions were their mothers are concerned,” Glorfindel rebuked them gently. (2)

The twins looked abashed for a moment and Elrohir spook up. “The Lady Galadriel thought he was quite interesting. As did our grandfather, the Lord Celeborn who spook to Faramir for quite some length.”

“Celeborn may have spoken to him but what makes you think the Lady was interested in him?” Erestor asked brow furrowed.

“She gazed at him quite often,” Elrohir said simply.

Glorfindel signed. “Look-,”

“Is he a danger to Arwen?” Elladan asked intensely.

“No!” Glorfindel was shocked. So this was the reason the normally discreet twins were meddling. “Lord Faramir is loyal to the Gondor and its King, by proxy to its new Queen too. Mithrandir has always found Faramir to be unusual. And all this interest in him was taken because of that. Mithrandir wanted my opinion in whether Faramir had any foresight which though diluted is still sometimes manifests itself in some descendents of Numenor. You know his meddlesome ways. As for the Lady Galadriel she possesses a particular ring(3) which possibly alerted her towards his abilities. And the Celeborn has always been a discerning individual. He needs no trinkets.”

Elladan frowned. “A touch of foresight? That is all?”

“It is very rare in Men,” Glorfindel reminded him gently.

Erestor laughed. “It seems that the talk of ghosts spooked us quite a bit.”

“Speak for yourself,” Elladan snorted.

“There is much we do not know about death. Indeed we know nothing at all,” Elrohir said. But he was smiling as he said it.

Fears laid to rest they all settled down in bed. Except for Glorfindel. How could he? He hadn’t told them of the strange glow that the Elven ring-bearers(4) had seen around Faramir. The strange, whispered rumours about the Stewards sons. The strange feeling that he himself got whenever he was near the man. Mithrandir’s’ subtle hints. The long intense conservation Celeborn had with Faramir but refused to speak about even to his Lady. Glorfindel knew one thing for certain. Faramir was no ordinary man.

Boromir watched as the Elves finally went to sleep as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed. He took a small measure of satisfaction in the discomfort his presence (even though it was unknown) caused in the golden-haired Elf. Boromir, unlike the other three elves had not been fooled. He knew quite well that Glorfindel along with some of the blasted elves and the ruddy wizard suspected Faramir having much more than a touch of the foresight.

Boromir stretched his arms over his head and reflected that death had made him quite impudent. Maybe it was the same with all ghosts? But he would not mention this thought to his brother as he would insist that the impudence was Boromir’s fault.

As for the elves…

Boromir’s eyes narrowed as his arms dropt to his sides. After much eavesdropping and casual inquiries to Faramir, he deduced that the Wizard would be on his way to Aman along with the other elves. They wouldn’t have time to figure out any of his little brothers secrets.

Secrets they had kept from their own father, secrets bound by blood.

No, there would be no need for him to interfere. The elves from the new colony yet to be founded in Ithilien would comprise of elves from Lasgalen. If they anything at all like Legolas they would ignore Faramirs’ eccentricities.

Boromir cast one last glance at the sleeping elves and made his way to Faramirs’ chambers. He would warn Faramir to be extra vigilent. And no more trying to solidify ghosts, not even him; for a while anyway. Faramir flipantly called it ghostwalking. Boromir snorted. It was due to this ghostwalking that Faramir's wounds always healed more slowly than others.

He watch over his little brother as he slept…as would the rest of the spirits.

Author Notes

(1) It’s been maintained that Men (i.e. humans) possesses true immortality beyond that of elves. All Elves will die when Earth/Arda is finally destroyed but the spirits of men will endure beyond the ending of the world.

(2) Elladan and Elrohir are Arwens’ brothers. Years ago their mother was captured by orcs and tortured. They managed to rescue her but she was so traumatized by her treatment at the hands of the orcs that living in Middle-Earth became a torment for her and so set sail for Valinor. In their grief the twins took to wandering together waging war on the orcs who they held responsible for their mother’s loss.

(3)The ring mentioned is one of the 3 Elven rings which are the most powerful after the One Ring. They were also the only ones unsullied by Sauron.

(4) The three Elven ring bearers are Galadriel, Elrond and Gandalf. All three were present at the coronation of Aragorn.

THE END