Faramir Fiction Archive

Ghost Dance (PG-13)

Written by Helmboy

13 November 2007 | 12496 words

Part Two

Later that evening

Dinner was held in the main dining hall and there were people from all over Middle Earth in attendance. Dwarves from the mountains and hobbits from the Shire were sitting enjoying the meal. Elves from all the elvish lands who were visiting Inladris were there as well and the company sparkled. The party from Gondor, the only men who were in the house besides a couple of Rangers in from the country was held in honor at table. Sitting near to the Lord of the house, surrounded by the greatest of his court, Faramir and Boromir dined. As they did, both could not help but notice that the lord at Elrond’s right hand was staring at the two of them more than the usual amount.

Faramir had been startled into dumbfounded silence when he saw the creature of his dreamscapes sitting in a chair while walking down the corridor to his sleeping chambers. He had stumbled he was so surprised, prompting his brother to beckon him follow. They had entered their rooms, waiting for their hosts to exit and then Boromir turned to him, frowning slightly. “What does that scene hence mean?”

“I thought I recognized someone,” Faramir stammered.

“Who would you know that is here?” Boromir asked, walking to the bed and sitting. “I know only by name and reputation most that live here. My last visit was short and involved few.”

Faramir nodded, rubbing his face with his hands. “My mistake I guess. I was just overcome with the idea that I knew someone that is all.”

“Well, pull yourself together,” Boromir said rising. He grinned. “We are here to create a good impression for our people.”

“I remember,” Faramir said, smiling. “Lord Erestor said there would be time to wander the house and grounds before dining. I think I shall look around.”

Boromir nodded. “I shall look for someone I did see. Emphasis on did.” He grinned and slapped his brother on the shoulder with affection. “Do not get lost. Do not start a war.”

Faramir grinned, pleased to be in the company of his brother without the dampening and damaging presence of their father. Boromir smiled and turned, walking to the door and outward with the supreme confidence of someone who understood himself and his place in the world. Faramir on the other hand lived in a world with less defined outlines. His father was a relentlessly corrosive influence upon him and so Faramir worked hard to maintain himself as a man and as a member of a family where only half of those therein cared if he lived or died.

Tossing his cloak and gloves onto the bed, he turned and walked to the door stepping out into a corridor lit with torches. Furniture and art pieces, pictures and sculptures occupied places of display along the length of the hall, all of them exquisite in their complexity and execution. This was a place where learning was of the greatest importance and discussion a pastime equal to any sport he could name.

He felt peaceful and homely as he walked down the corridor to the great central staircase that led both up and down. As he looked around, he thought that is what this place was supposed to express. It was the Last Homely House of the West and the abode for many ages of men of the Wisest of the Wise. Mithrandir spent much time here among these, his equals in wisdom and courage. Being here meant feeling closer to Mithrandir, his mentor, his emotional father, his good and wise friend. Other than his brother, he loved no one more and secretly he hoped that here among the elves he would see the gray wizard again.

Down the steps passing men and women of exceptional beauty and grace Faramir made his way until he was on the main floor and facing numerous directions to go. Choosing one that led outside, he crossed the stone paved floor and stepped out into a riot of flowers that grew in massive bunches in the back gardens of the great house. Fragrances of flowers he had never seen until now met him as he walked down the cinder path that wound through bursting flowerbeds, heading downward toward the rushing sound of water.

In fact, rushing water was everywhere here. In this valley among these mountains they had built this, the most easterly outpost at the time of the Age of Elves in the beginning of the world. It may have begun as a defensive outpost but it was a work of beauty and peace now. Perhaps it always had been. Perhaps the Elves could only make things wonderful, even utilitarian things. Water cascaded over hills and great ragged cliff sides falling hundreds of feet to the swiftly flowing Bruinen River below. He could smell fresh earth, wet stones and pine trees as he continued on his way.

The sky overhead, merely a sliver of its normal immensity was as blue as a sapphire and he felt extremely relaxed and refreshed as he stood staring up at it, turning an interesting rock over absently in his hand. There were footbridges that spanned the river and led to domiciles on the other side, both in and among the trees. The trees themselves were included into all of the elf-made designs. Houses and buildings including the great house behind him were built around or included the tall trunks that gave the place not only shade but camouflage as well.

Beauty and utility he thought with a smile.

He sighed and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of birds singing, insects buzzing among the flowers and the far off sound of someone playing sweet music on a flute. When he opened them, he could see up the mountain side before him, its slope covered with dark green trees and topped at the very tip with the vestige of the winter’s snowfall.

Turning, he paused, his eyes locking with another. On the other side of the river a tall blond haired man stood, an Elf it was clear but not an ordinary one. This one was more beautiful than he had ever seen in a living person. He had a gravity about him that spoke to Faramir of ages and ages of life, layers of wisdom and experience that could not even be counted and a hint of mirth that clung to him like a halo. This figure was watching Faramir, looking at him with interest and following him with his eyes as he had ambled down the pathway. The rushing water of the Bruinen separated them, a slender footpath the only way to reach the other side beckoning him.

He turned and started toward it, drawn by reasons he could not articulate. As soon as he did the figure moved, walking farther away along the path than he already was. Faramir stopped and studied him again, noting the richness of his robes and the length and color of his golden hair. His clothes were beautiful, clothing a tall and well-made body, sweeping low around his well-shod feet. His hair spilled over his shoulders and down his back, nearly reaching his waist. A braid held back much of its golden thickness and topping his head was the most delicate of fillets made with gleaming mithril silver, of this Faramir was convinced.

Golden hair, mischievous manner, a wisdom that he wore like a second coat, this was someone very important and very old. As Faramir pondered what to do and if there was some Elvish etiquette that he had no knowledge of that would resolve this impasse he moved closer and yet again the being of light and beauty moved that much farther away. Faramir paused, turning and walking closer to the edge of the cliff along which his pathway wound. He paused and the being did too, waiting as if playing a game.

“Who are you, sire, that I might know your name?” he called out, his voice carrying surprisingly well over the roar of the water around them.

The creature laughed, adding to his beauty even more. “Who are you, intruder?”

“I am a guest of this house and I come from Gondor, representing the Steward and his house.”

“Ah, that explains it,” the creature replied, smiling enigmatically. He nodded his head and with a swiftness of foot that left Faramir light-headed, he turned and disappeared into the trees behind him. He was there, then he vanished and it left Faramir blinking. For a moment he just stood rooted to the spot, studying the trees with his keen eyes and then he looked at the rock in his hand. He tossed it over the edge and watched it hit the rapids below, swallowed as completely as the beautiful elf was by the trees. With a sigh and a puzzled mind, he continued his sojourn along the cliffs of Imladris.

Faramir sipped wine and ate delicious food without making eye contact with the great lord sitting next to their host. That personage was dressed in a gown of blue overlaid with robes of silver and a minty green. He wore a jewel on his robe near to his throat that resembled a flower that sparkled in the candle light. On his head, the fillet of earlier was replaced by another larger more ornate one. He relaxed in his chair, cup in hand, sipping his wine and offering amusing comments to all around him. He was deeply regarded and had such wisdom and youthfulness in his shining face that it belied his enormous age.

Again, Faramir was left speechless at the splendor of the First Born. All the tales and teachings of Mithrandir had not prepared him to meet such people. He felt keenly what small blood of kinship to them that was in his veins at that moment and was proud. They were a part of him and he them. Around him among the hosts that dined conversations and languages of all kind flowed. People brought out food and drink constantly and his plate and glass were almost magically never empty. Music of a different age and style played and he felt it give him a remarkable sense of peace. Only a few words did he know of the song the singer was playing. That form of Elvish he had learned but half forgotten due to ill use. However, some of it he did remember and he recognized names, Beren and Luthien, from among the many bittersweet lines.

Boromir, himself engaged in conversation with a forest elf and a ranger leaned over to Faramir, whispering to him. “I will be up late. There are those with information about the doings of Saruman and the West Country. Will you be all right alone?”

Faramir nodded, smiling slightly. “I will be fine.”

“Good,” Boromir said, smiling. With that, he rose and took his leave of their host, walking off to a side porch to talk the night away with his newly made allies.

Faramir considered his options, rising himself. Walking toward Elrond, he bowed and smiled. “Your table is famed and deservedly so, my Lord. I wish to thank you for this meal and take my leave of your table.”

Elrond smiled and nodded, his eyes taking in the tall youngster before him. “You are Faramir, Captain of Gondor I am told.”

“Yes, my Lord. I am honored to meet you. My teacher, Mithrandir, has told me much about you and many tales of this house.”

“Ah, Mithrandir,” Elrond said smiling. “Have you seen him of late?”

“No, sire,” Faramir replied, averting his gaze from the blond figure staring at him with such amusement. “It has not been my good fortune of late. I have heard that he prowls the northlands looking for whatever he may.”

Elrond nodded. “I too have heard that. I am delighted to have you at my table and bid you to stay in my home as long as you need and wish.”

Faramir bowed and smiled. “Thank you, my lord.” He glanced at the other elf and bowed slightly. “My lord,” he said before turning awkwardly.

“Lord Faramir,” Glorfindel replied, amusement thick in his voice.

Elrond looked at Glorfindel, a look of puzzled bemusement on his face. “Do you know that youngster?”

“Not yet,” Glorfindel replied, rising and stretching. “If you would excuse me I have a mystery to resolve.”

“Do you? And would I have the pleasure of knowing what it is at some point?” Elrond asked, smiling.

“At some point,” Glorfindel replied with a grin. Bowing slightly, he stepped past his chair and walked to the door through which Faramir departed. Pausing, getting a gander on where the youngster had gone, Glorfindel disappeared into the dark also. Watching nearby, Elrond smiled. The enigma of his friend and confidante would never cease to intrigue him. What fresh brand of mischief would he being hearing about tomorrow he wondered with a sigh?

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