Post by Admin on Jan 31, 2021 22:42:44 GMT
Author: Ria
Rating: G
Summary: The first steps of a journey are among the most important, and their outcomes the most difficult to foresee.
Through the roiling clouds, a single light shone, a grey-eyed man commanded him, "Seek for the sword that is broken . . ." Even in the mists of sleep, Faramir's mind, trained in the pursuit of scholarly certainties, grappled with the riddle. An impossible quest, a relic buried in the ruins of Fornost or even drowned in icy northern waters along with the palantiri of the Northern Kingdom. The voice tolled on. "In Imladris it dwells. There shall be councils taken . . ."
For a moment the stranger's piercing gaze became that of Mithrandir, the ruddy eye of his lit pipe winking among the ancient parchments of Minas Tirith's archives as he sketched out his conclusions with it's burning tip.
"Think, Faramir. Items of power do not vanish, and though they may be lost for a time, their passing leaves a trace." So, granted that the Broken Sword of Elendil could be found, what was Imladris beyond a legend of the end of the Second Age? He had never seen an elf, though in his deepest, Faithful heart he believed that they might still be found.
"Think, Faramir!" Mithrandir's voice boomed through him, even as the mysterious stranger warned him, ". . . a token that Doom is near at hand: for Isildur's Bane shall awaken --"
"Awaken, Faramir!" He opened his eyes muzzily to the intent grey stare of the man bent over him, the glint of his armor clear even in the shadows of the room, barely dimmer than the last pale stars that shone through Faramir's west-facing window. Just before false dawn, then, Faramir noted automatically, even as his mind groped after the shreds of his dream.
"Couldn't you have waited another hour -- let me sleep until dawn?" he asked his brother hoarsely.
Boromir shook him again, his voice trembling with an equal intensity. "I wanted you to be the first to know. I dreamed it! The dream you told me -- on which you swore me to secrecy -- I dreamed it.
"I am going to meet father when he rises, before his day begins, and ask for his blessing to seek out Imladris."Faramir twisted himself free of the covers to stand on the cold stone floor.
"But -- but it was my dream," he stumbled.
Boromir spread his arms, filling the narrow remainder of the room, "You dreamed it first: I grant, but the quest is meant for me. I felt it! How many times have you seen it and yet not known how to read it? Yet I felt drawn, even as I slept. I MUST go." He turned back suddenly, clapping his brother roughly on the shoulder as he did. "Nevertheless, the dream was yours first. Come with me to the Steward, and let him decide who will go. Yes, that is the only way to decide. Perhaps he will send both of us."
Faramir quickly pulled on his clothes, the leather and wool just as cold from the chest as the rest of the room, but less chill than the worry in the pit of his stomach. If only he had gone to his father when he had first had the dream, rather than waiting until he had riddled it out in its entirety. He had no illusions about whose petition their father would rather hear.
The Steward's response when he had heard their story bore out Faramir's fears. "Of course Boromir should go: we must send our strongest, our surest to find this northern fortress. I would not have the elves -- if any yet remain there -- think that I sent any but my most trusted captain to treat with them."
"What if we both went?" Faramir persisted. Inwardly he'd cursed his delay. He had been sure that the Steward would not send him on a quest with no more than a dream for evidence, and so he'd waited and lost the chance altogether.
Denethor frowned up at him. "Are you so eager for your brother's honors? Let him go on this quest of his, and you taste the labors that he has endured to earn it." He paused, staring out his window, which faced east towards the thinning darkness of the false dawn. His sons exchanged a quick conference of raised eyebrow and minute shrug, used to their father's sudden whims, the product of a mind that did not share its wealth of facts and secrets, but only the conclusions they bred. "Yes, you go to Ithilien and take your brother's place there as marshal while he is on the road. There you may show your mettle better than by following along on his quest."
"But, Father -- " he made his last, desperate appeal, as Boromir urged, "We might both go just as easily. Let Mablung -- "
The first rays of the sun shone hard across the lines of Denethor's face as he snapped back, "Do not forget that you swore to obey my word, either of you, Captains of Gondor."
The next day, Faramir watched his brother ride out before gathering his own gear for the shorter, still perilous trip to Ithilien. He felt a critical gaze at itching at his back, even in the stillness of the First Circle's stables and wondered bitterly whether the disappointment he felt belonged to his father or to the summoning stranger. He did not turn to see as he rode out into the shadowed morning.
"By a knight of ghosts and shadows I summoned am to tourney Ten leagues beyond the wide world's end-Methinks it is no journey.
Rating: G
Summary: The first steps of a journey are among the most important, and their outcomes the most difficult to foresee.
Through the roiling clouds, a single light shone, a grey-eyed man commanded him, "Seek for the sword that is broken . . ." Even in the mists of sleep, Faramir's mind, trained in the pursuit of scholarly certainties, grappled with the riddle. An impossible quest, a relic buried in the ruins of Fornost or even drowned in icy northern waters along with the palantiri of the Northern Kingdom. The voice tolled on. "In Imladris it dwells. There shall be councils taken . . ."
For a moment the stranger's piercing gaze became that of Mithrandir, the ruddy eye of his lit pipe winking among the ancient parchments of Minas Tirith's archives as he sketched out his conclusions with it's burning tip.
"Think, Faramir. Items of power do not vanish, and though they may be lost for a time, their passing leaves a trace." So, granted that the Broken Sword of Elendil could be found, what was Imladris beyond a legend of the end of the Second Age? He had never seen an elf, though in his deepest, Faithful heart he believed that they might still be found.
"Think, Faramir!" Mithrandir's voice boomed through him, even as the mysterious stranger warned him, ". . . a token that Doom is near at hand: for Isildur's Bane shall awaken --"
"Awaken, Faramir!" He opened his eyes muzzily to the intent grey stare of the man bent over him, the glint of his armor clear even in the shadows of the room, barely dimmer than the last pale stars that shone through Faramir's west-facing window. Just before false dawn, then, Faramir noted automatically, even as his mind groped after the shreds of his dream.
"Couldn't you have waited another hour -- let me sleep until dawn?" he asked his brother hoarsely.
Boromir shook him again, his voice trembling with an equal intensity. "I wanted you to be the first to know. I dreamed it! The dream you told me -- on which you swore me to secrecy -- I dreamed it.
"I am going to meet father when he rises, before his day begins, and ask for his blessing to seek out Imladris."Faramir twisted himself free of the covers to stand on the cold stone floor.
"But -- but it was my dream," he stumbled.
Boromir spread his arms, filling the narrow remainder of the room, "You dreamed it first: I grant, but the quest is meant for me. I felt it! How many times have you seen it and yet not known how to read it? Yet I felt drawn, even as I slept. I MUST go." He turned back suddenly, clapping his brother roughly on the shoulder as he did. "Nevertheless, the dream was yours first. Come with me to the Steward, and let him decide who will go. Yes, that is the only way to decide. Perhaps he will send both of us."
Faramir quickly pulled on his clothes, the leather and wool just as cold from the chest as the rest of the room, but less chill than the worry in the pit of his stomach. If only he had gone to his father when he had first had the dream, rather than waiting until he had riddled it out in its entirety. He had no illusions about whose petition their father would rather hear.
The Steward's response when he had heard their story bore out Faramir's fears. "Of course Boromir should go: we must send our strongest, our surest to find this northern fortress. I would not have the elves -- if any yet remain there -- think that I sent any but my most trusted captain to treat with them."
"What if we both went?" Faramir persisted. Inwardly he'd cursed his delay. He had been sure that the Steward would not send him on a quest with no more than a dream for evidence, and so he'd waited and lost the chance altogether.
Denethor frowned up at him. "Are you so eager for your brother's honors? Let him go on this quest of his, and you taste the labors that he has endured to earn it." He paused, staring out his window, which faced east towards the thinning darkness of the false dawn. His sons exchanged a quick conference of raised eyebrow and minute shrug, used to their father's sudden whims, the product of a mind that did not share its wealth of facts and secrets, but only the conclusions they bred. "Yes, you go to Ithilien and take your brother's place there as marshal while he is on the road. There you may show your mettle better than by following along on his quest."
"But, Father -- " he made his last, desperate appeal, as Boromir urged, "We might both go just as easily. Let Mablung -- "
The first rays of the sun shone hard across the lines of Denethor's face as he snapped back, "Do not forget that you swore to obey my word, either of you, Captains of Gondor."
The next day, Faramir watched his brother ride out before gathering his own gear for the shorter, still perilous trip to Ithilien. He felt a critical gaze at itching at his back, even in the stillness of the First Circle's stables and wondered bitterly whether the disappointment he felt belonged to his father or to the summoning stranger. He did not turn to see as he rode out into the shadowed morning.
"By a knight of ghosts and shadows I summoned am to tourney Ten leagues beyond the wide world's end-Methinks it is no journey.