3. January 2004
Altariel: I would like to see pieces in which Denethor and Faramir exhibit a functional father-son relationship. Faramir does not need to be a child still.
All Gondor lies before him, black and red, smelling of yellowed age.
"Tell me all of them!" the boy demands, imperiously. Behind him, his father laughs, and ink-stained fingers trace the line:
Cair Andros. Henneth Annûn. Osgiliath. Minas Tirith. Pelargir. Dol Amroth. Anduin that runs throughout, past Tol Brandir to the sea.
"And that one?" the boy asks, pointing to the tower in the mountains. Silence, ere his father answers:
"The enemy took it long ago."
"I shall get it back!" Faramir declares.
The arms about him tighten, draw him back into a proud embrace. "One day, Faramir. One day...."
Fealty and Service—by Marta
"Here do I swear fealty and service …"
The words flow from his lips with a certainty I have scarce heard from him. Surely he is his brother's brother. But more than that he is his father's son.
Faramir. Sufficient jewel I named you, but you have proved me wrong. Much more than sufficient.
Old hand covers new as I lay my palm on the hilt of your sword. Our eyes catch, and we both see each other as never before. Kindred flesh, men of Gondor. The bond we share is now cemented by oath.
"And this do I hear…"
A Valediction—by Alawa
The horn’s call faded and Faramir watched the Steward’s fingers tighten on the stone. "Do not regret you choice," he searched for comfort as they walked towards the Tower, "his strength has always been our hope."
The hall offered sanctuary from the pitiless glare outside. Denethor poured the wine, cool and fragrant, and turned towards his son. "So, it seems we must seek to fill your brother’s place as best we can," he said, and Faramir felt cheered by his father’s ghost of a smile.
Their cups chimed fleetingly together. "To Boromir!" their voices joined in the ritual of farewell.
Tidings of Death—by Avon
It was just after the fifth hour that you suddenly stopped and turned pale. The goblet in your hand slithered to the floor in a pool of spilling red.
“Faramir?” I asked
You scarcely breathed but in a thread of voice said, “Boromir… I hear his horn. He is calling, Father.”
I stepped to where you stared unseeingly out a window and watched you anxiously.
Suddenly your head went down.
“It blows no more, Father.” You turned and looked at me, eyes blind. “He is gone.”
Tremors shook you and I reached for you and held you… my only son.
Investment—Starlight The man flattens his palms on the table, looks at them briefly then back at the chessboard, studying the perfect, almost artistic arrangement of the few remaining pieces: Black corners his White. His gaze shifts to the man opposite him whose palms are also flattened upon the table, eyes deep and dark as his own, and he smiles, faintly. ‘You have improved, Faramir,’ he says. ‘We- I’ve not played in ages.’ ‘You play this game every day of your life.’ The smile broadens. How could I ever regret all those hours I spent teaching you? ‘Well done, son. Well done.’ *** The inspiration for this drabble came from Altariel's 'The King is Dead,' one of my favorites from her works. I've re-written it several times, but I think this is the most functional of them all. I couldn't, however, bear to part with the title... Reach—Wild Iris Hastening to the armsmaster for a report on my second-born son, I caught sight of the boy himself on the wall above. "Faramir! What are you doing?" Spitting over the parapet, I could see, as every yokel in the city had done before him. He stepped back. "Bor'mir said I could not hit the enemy from here." I waited. He lifted his eyes. "I thought I could." Those grief-grey eyes, the straight set of the jaw — like his mother… like his brother. "You need a weapon with a longer reach," I said. I glanced below. Yes, the armsmaster still waited.
Jay of Lasgalen: My first love is the twins, and I write about them more than any other character.
A decision—by paranoidangel
The decision is made.
Although father cautions us to be careful and tells us it will not bring back that which was lost, nor restore our broken family, I can tell he would do the same in our place.
Arwen cries, for she does not wish us to leave. But home will never be the same again and there seems little point in staying. There is nothing for us here any more.
The decision is made and we will ride out tomorrow. We will not rest until we kill all orcs so no others will suffer what our mother did.
Beyond Death—by Elvenesse
We stand with you cradled in our arms and you laugh up at us. Mother and Father named you well. Little sister, the stars shine in your name.
We could not prevent your father’s death, but you we will protect. Darkness will not be your end.
Forever is too long a time for mortals to comprehend. You have both passed beyond the boundaries of Arda and there is no longer anything left for us here. We go now to join our parents, to wait for the ages to pass and for forever to come.
Eru willing, we will meet again.
Stars for Elendil—by Avon
They say we must choose when our father leaves… choose to stay and die a mortal death or sail to those who love us and who wait… choose to be mortal or Elf, we who have never been either.
Father does not ask - why ask for knowledge that will tear him between us and Mother - and we do not tell.
We made our choice when we rode into battle on the Pelennor - rode with a star for Elendil bound to our brows, rode to save the world of Men, rode with our brother, Estel… hope of mortals. Imhiriel: I would like to see some interaction between Elrond and Gilraen. Sons—paranoidangel Elrond found Gilraen in the garden doing nothing. He sat beside her and waited for her to speak. "I got used to having him at home," she said, "but now..." she trailed off. "Do not worry, Elladan and Elrohir will protect him." "The last time Arathorn went out with your sons he didn't come back." There was silence. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply they were responsible." Elrond turned to look her in the eyes. "I cannot promise you your son will return and I cannot promise mine will either. We share the same fears." Gilraen smiled in understanding. Leavetaking—Forodwaith Gilraen and her escort mount and prepare to depart. Dawn is near, but the grey mist of morning hides it. The Master of the House has come to see them off, and she gives him her hand in farewell. "My thanks are little enough return for years of shelter, yet I offer them nonetheless." "They are more than sufficient, Gilraen. But will you not remain?" "There is no longer any victory it is possible for us to share, Master Elrond. In the end, one of us will lose a child. I will not stay to see who it must be." Inheritance—Starlight The lady’s countenance is grave. Mayhap she guesses the reason of my summons? ‘Gilraen-’ ‘Before you begin, my lord, I will ask if you’ve seen him.’ ‘I have. He’s become all I had hoped he’d be.’ She nods, her gesture revealing lines of care I hadn’t noticed. I reach for her hand. ‘He is ready.’ Gilraen winces; her hand tightly clasps mine. ‘It’s time, for him and for us.’ ‘Is he, then, to become his father’s son,’ she gives me a fleeting smile, ‘to be Estel no more?’ ‘Nay, my lady. He will be Estel still- now more than ever.’
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.