Faramir Fiction Archive

Ghost Dance (PG-13)

Written by Helmboy

13 November 2007 | 12496 words

TITLE: Ghost Dance
AUTHOR: Helmboy/Arctapus/Arcpus
CODE: LOTR, G/F, E, B and many more, R-ish, Fantastical elements, AU on some items, Humor, Drama
Summary: I am going through the prompts at Faramirfiction.com and trying my hand at the fun. I LOVE prompts and people’s suggestions and I like to try them to see if I can improve myself with impromptu writing challenges. This one requires Faramir to have some sort of skill that is not natural to man —nothing too extreme— that an elf sees and decides to ‘blackmail’ or in this case, rattle to the core in exchange for silence. My characters are Faramir and Glorfindel with lots of secondary characters and many locations. Thanks to FaramirFiction.com for posting prompts. This is for Minx.
Disclaimer: No profit, just fun. Relax, Tolkiens. I love you.
Feedback: Any written will be answered. Comment below or write to arcpus@yahoo.com or elwingdior@gmail.com. Thank you in advance.

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Part One

In a sitting room at Rivendell

“You look positively pensive.”

“Do I?”

“Indeed.”

Erestor, Seneschal in the House of the great lord, Elrond of Rivendell, paused by the doorway, considering the expression upon the face of his arch nemesis and oldest friend and companion, Glorfindel. Balancing the need to go forth and finish his chores or spending a moment or two in verbal combat with one of the more wry and humorous personages of the house, he found himself moving to occupy the empty chair across from said personage. “Tell me. The doctor is in.”

Glorfindel smirked slightly. “You wish to probe my depths do you?”

“No, but I will listen to your confused dithering. It is my lot in life to be your sounding board and I resign myself to it without hope or possibility.”

“Oh, my friend, the possibilities are endless.”

“Elevate, elevate,” Erestor chided softly, quashing a grin.

“You must learn to get down into the gutter sometime, Erestor. I promise you the only thing you will dirty is your mind,” Glorfindel replied, smiling with a wolfish smile.

“When they invent cleanser for such you will see me there but until then, talk. Get it over with.”

Glorfindel sighed, staring into the fire once more. “I have had dreams, odd dreams.”

“About what, If I may ask,” Erestor said, settling back and crossing his legs. His smallest finger contained more elegance than most people’s entire body, Glorfindel mused, watching. Erestor coughed politely. “Pray, continue. Some of us have a duties and obligations other than lying about suffering through angst-ridden musings all day long.”

Glorfindel smiled again. “There is a dream I am having in which I am not alone. I am also finding this happening during meditation.”

“You meditate?” Erestor asked, slightly surprised.

Glorfindel’s perfect brow crinkled slightly into a frown. “I do.”

“Ah. Continue.” Erestor gave Glorfindel his ‘I-am-listening-even-though-it-looks- like-I am-not-even-though I-am-and-would-cut-my-own-tongue-out-rather-than- tell-you-so-I-give-you-this-face-and-know-it-needles-you-just-slightly-and-gives-me- points-in-this-interminable-tourney’ expression, the one Glorfindel could never read properly.

Glorfindel stared at Erestor, flummoxed once again, wondering if whether he was truly listening or giving him ‘the face’. Relaxing slightly, pulling up his own game, he gave Erestor the ‘I-know-you-are-listening-even-though-you-are-giving-me- that-face-the-one-you-think-I cannot-read-which-I-cannot-but-would-never-tell- you-so-in-a-million-years’ expression. The one he hoped Erestor could not read, which he could. “I meditate often and when I do there is this person who comes into my dream state, the highly elevated state of consciousness that I so effortlessly achieve. Often. Without effort.”

Erestor snorted. “Continue.”

Glorfindel grinned, his piercing eyes impaling Erestor. “Chuckle as you must, my friend. I have seen places you have yet to experience and lived to tell the tale.”

Erestor nodded, conceding that to Glorfindel. “That is true. Is there more to this ‘vision’? Have you seen this personage before?”

Glorfindel shrugged. “No. I do not believe I have. He is quite comely however.”

“Why did I guess this was so? You have a… a sexual fantasy and you want me to play?”

Glorfindel looked up at Erestor, slight offense forming on his perfect brow once again. “If I wished you to participate in my sexual fantasies, Seneschal, I would merely ply you with wine and take advantage of your maidenliness.”

Erestor suppressed with great difficult a chuckle. “My maidenliness. You presume to know the sheer tonnage of mine own experience.”

Glorfindel smirked wickedly, leaning forward in his desire to hear more. “Do tell, wench. Is there something beneath your robes other than ice floes? Could it be that there are facets to your fridgidity would swell a man’s interest? So to speak?”

Erestor gave him a witheringly humorless grin. “You would love to know.”

“That is obvious,” Glorfindel sighed. “One can hope. But enough about you.” Erestor chuckled aloud at the remark and Glorfindel settled back, chalking a point to his personal scoreboard. “This person, he is tall and quite comely as I have said before. I do not think he is Eldar. He has the attributes of a man.”

“And they are?” Erestor asked in spite of himself.

“Well, his hair is shoulder length. It is a shade of reddish blond that I have not seen on an Elf before. It is quite lovely, soft and wavy, the sort of hair that one would wind one’s fingers through during the throes of passion and… well, you know. Your tonnage of experience I am told.” He grinned evilly.

“Continue,” Erestor replied, not rising to the bait. However, other parts of him were beginning to buzz and so he permitted the conversation to continue.

“He is broad of shoulder and moves with a grace that bespeaks Elvish heritage. That is what is difficult. Is he Man or is he Elf? That is the conundrum. That and the exquisite curve of his buttocks.”

Erestor snorted and chuckled. “Would that I should have known buttocks would figure into your fantasy at some point. You have said mine own buttocks have an exquisite curve as well. Are you the most fickle lover ever or not?”

“Would that we were lovers and I was not just a suffering soul pursuing without avail an ice princess who has no pity on my suffering,” Glorfindel replied. He sighed deeply and meaningfully. “His buttocks are as two melons in spring, succulent and ripe with-”

“You are attempting poetry. You have little facility for such. Continue in your meandering, yet endearing manner and I shall be satisfied. Otherwise, I must go and dust something,” Erestor said dryly, smiling a tight smile as he folded his arms in front of himself.

“Ah, is that what you call it now,” Glorfindel replied smirking delightfully. “Anyway, this figure is quite intriguing and from his apparel I am led to believe he is more Man than Elf.”

“What apparel?” Erestor asked.

“His tunic bears the White Tree of Gondor but there is an ineffable air about him that speaks of Elvish heritage. I see also pale skin and freckles. Do you have a memory that includes freckles among an Eldar of either sex or of any age?”

“No,” Erestor replied, considering for the first time the idea that Elves do not freckle. “That is intriguing. We spend much time in the sunshine and yet we do not freckle. I wonder why that is?”

“I know not. It is rather interesting,” Glorfindel replied, musing for a moment. “I have never come to that bit of interesting trivia before now. Good things, dreams. Anyway, where was I? Yes, buttocks. This creature has appeared in several of my dreams and now in my meditations. When I make the effort to speak to him, he does not seem to hear me.”

“You should consult Elrond. He has great knowledge and even if it is to put you on the pathway to perfect buttocks, he can probably help you find a solution to this admittedly strange occurrence,” Erestor said, rising and adjusting his robes. “I on the other hand am on my way to do my duties. If you had any, I would suggest you do the same. However, you do not so I cannot. I must go.”

“Go,” Glorfindel said, waving him off with his hand. “I will consider your advice.”

Erestor paused in the doorway, smiling for a moment before composing himself into his usual arid and unapproachable stoicism. “That would be a first.” Then he disappeared.

Glorfindel watched him, his brow marred with a slight furrow. “Since when, wench?” he whispered with a sigh.

A short time later that same day

They arrived at the House of Elrond dusty and tired from their long journey. They dismounted and their horses taken by stable hands as others led them inside. The party entered the beautiful home from the front steps, moving inside to a decor of venerable age and exquisite beauty. Craftings of stone and wood spoke of the enormous skills of their creators, the great Eldar masons and carvers that made this house many lifetimes of men before. They were greeted by the Seneschal of the Lord of the House and taken to their rooms to freshen up. As they passed through the house they found in its beauty and furnishings such warmth and peace that the trials of their journey began to fall away.

Boromir led the way, the others following and Faramir brought up the rear. His brother had been here but once before, coming on the business of Gondor, seeking the counsel of the greatest of the Wise. Faramir had only learned of this place in songs, tales and the reminiscences of Mithrandir when the great wizard would make his way to their home.

As he walked down the hallway, he came to an open door, glancing inside as he moved by. Inside, sitting before a roaring fire was an indescribably beautiful Elf sitting on an overstuffed chair, quietly meditating on some great problem. As he passed the door way Faramir looked and the elf glanced up, meeting his eyes. At that moment, Faramir stumbled, his mouth dropping open for a second. He paused, his startled eyes meeting the startled eyes of the beautiful golden figure, himself sitting more straightly in the chair as he gawked back.

Faramir stammered, words refusing to leave his lips and when he turned, heeding the call of his brother to follow, he stumbled forward in obedience. Boromir stared at him with a slight frown and slipped his arm around Faramir’s shoulders, marshalling him forward as out of the room stepped the golden man.

Glorfindel, startled himself, watched as the men walked on, disappearing around the corner from sight. He stared silently and then sighed deeply, a smile forming on his lips. Looking upward as appreciation and awe began filling his heart in a major way, he sighed. “Thank you, Lady. I owe you greatly once again.”

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?

Part Three

The stars overhead were bright against the inky blackness of the sky. He stopped in the middle of a stone garden and looked up, searching for the Mariner. The trees were too thick here and made even the smaller constellations difficult to find. As he stood staring, he felt rather than heard someone nearby. Turning and looking around, his keen eyes searching the darkness around him, he could see nothing. Willing himself to relax, he inhaled and exhaled deeply. Easy, he thought. You are just a bit unnerved.

“You appear to be tense, young man,” a voice nearby said softly. “Maybe I can be of service.”

Faramir started and glanced around, searching for the source of the voice. “Who are you?” he asked. “Show yourself.”

“Why?” the voice asked, emanating from another direction. “This is so much more fun.”

Faramir felt the hair on his arms rise. “You enjoy scaring people do you?” he asked, glancing all around him as he turned in a circle slowly. “Is this the way guests are treated here? You surprise me. I was told this place was the soul and epitome of hospitality to strangers.”

“It is,” the voice agreed amiably. “Are you frightened?”

“No,” Faramir said, his body wary but no longer scared or startled. “Do you like playing games then?”

“Yes.”

It was silent again. Crickets chirped and the water flowed, filling the air with dazzling sound effects.

“Come out and show yourself,” Faramir asked, moving toward a bench and sitting down tensely.

“What would be the fun of that,” the voice replied from behind him.

Faramir jumped in spite of himself and turned, catching his breath at the sight of the figure behind him. It was the great lord, the noble advisor to Lord Elrond. He was bathed in moonlight, the effect of it making him appear to have an aura of the brightest silvery light. He was smiling slightly, staring at Faramir with the most intense mirth-filled eyes. “Indeed,” he said softly. “What would be the fun of that?”

Faramir leaned forward, staring at Glorfindel, his heart racing. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Why, I am the man of your dreams,” Glorfindel said with a soft silvery chuckle.

Faramir rubbed the palms of his hands on his trousers and stood, licking his lips from nervous tension. “Do you always follow strangers?”

“Only those that invade my dreams,” Glorfindel replied.

“You invade mine. I do not recall summoning you,” Faramir said evenly.

Glorfindel laughed loudly, a musical sound that was pleasing to Faramir in spite of the impertinence of it. “You summon me? I go only where I wither. You came into my dreams and meditations. I admit, however, I was surprised to see you today. I must work on my intuition. I should have felt that you were coming and I did not.” He grinned. “You are a psychic blank spot to me. I am intrigued why that is so.”

Faramir moved closer, the bench the only thing separating them. “I have questions if I may.”

“And I,” Glorfindel replied. “But you must earn them.”

“Earn them?” Faramir replied confused.

“Earn them,” Glorfindel replied with a smile. Then he turned and stepped into the darkness of the foliage.

Faramir blinked and then moved, following swiftly. Ahead of him, illuminated by what appeared to be a self-generating light, Glorfindel hurried up a path, his robes flowing behind him like the wings of an angelic being. Faramir hurried along barely keeping up until they both came to a narrow footbridge over which they would have to cross to reach a winding path into huge trees that was on the other side of the gorge.

Glorfindel paused and looked back, noting that Faramir had just exited the trees they had journeyed through to reach this spot. With a smile and a flourish of robes, he turned and slipped gracefully across, stopping on the other side. “Come,” he called. “It is simple. Just do not look down.” A laugh indicative of music accompanied that bit of advice and Faramir paused at the start of the bridge.

He looked down. A moment of vertigo caught him and then he shook it off, stepping out onto the bridge. Carefully, slowly, he stepped across and when on the other side he paused and let out the breath he was holding. Glorfindel shook his head, snickering. “I said not to look down.”

Faramir glared up at him, suddenly angry. Glorfindel smiled at his rage and turned, heading off up the trail. Faramir, determined to outlast the elf took off after him. The pathway wound and wound and then it ended. Glorfindel was nowhere in sight and there was no place to go. Faramir, angrier yet, paused and cried out. “Where are you?” he asked. As he did, a rope slithered down before him and he looked up. Standing on a flet grinning down at him, Glorfindel replied. “I’m up here.” The smiling face disappeared into the darkness and he was then alone.

Staring at the rope, Faramir considered leaving the way he came but by now he was too intrigued, too invested and so he gripped the rope and began to climb upward. It swayed and his hands burned as he pulled himself up. Nearing the top a hand appeared and he took it, finding himself pulled up like a rag doll by someone with vastly superior strength. When he found his footing, he turned and stared at his benefactor.

Glorfindel was standing in the middle of the flet, his outer robes lying on a cot nearby. He watched Faramir with intense interest as the emotions of amazement, anger, curiosity and attraction filed across the youngster’s face. “Welcome to the edge of our domain.”

Faramir peered around himself and was amazed. Everywhere he looked he could see the home fires of the people who lived here, flickering lights that signaled habitation. He was high up in the trees, standing on a wooden platform that he knew was a traditional form of home for these folk. The house across the gorge was lit up and beautiful as were the stars and moon that were now uninhibited by trees and landforms. He could count them if he had an infinity of time to do so, so thick were they in the sky. Constellations were open for viewing and so was the Mariner. He sighed and then noted that Glorfindel was beside him, looking up as well. “Now you see why we like to live in trees.”

Faramir nodded. He sighed and turned to the bemused man standing beside him. “I do not know you.”

“You do. Just not in the flesh.”

“I do not know what you mean,” Faramir fibbed, turning away from the intensely blue, or were they gray eyes that seemed to see right through him into every private corner he had.

“You do,” Glorfindel corrected gently. “You come into my meditations and dreams. You come to places unbidden and I want to know how you do so, son of Gondor. We have never met but it appears we have always met.”

Faramir felt his cheeks become hot as embarrassment and discovery began to overtake him. “It is a long story.”

“Indeed,” Glorfindel said, pulling up a couple of stools. “The night is young. I am yours.” He sat and watched as Faramir reluctantly joined him. Faramir sat a long while thinking and then he began. “I read a book, one I was not supposed to open. At least Mithrandir said not to read this book.”

“You did.”

Faramir nodded.

“From cover to cover,” Glorfindel added.

Faramir nodded again. “He told me that nothing good would ever come from such a book. Our library and archive is very old and there are documents and books in there from before the First Age. A couple of them have unknown provenances. I was told that they must never be opened. I disobeyed.”

“How old were you when you disobeyed your master?” Glorfindel asked.

“Seventeen,” Faramir replied. He sighed. “I knew it was wrong but I was intrigued. So I read them and the knowledge was not something we were meant to know. I put it out of my mind as best I could.”

“Does Mithrandir know of this?”

Faramir felt himself flush even more. “No. I do not want him to know about it. I have never mentioned it. I do not want to disappoint him. He means something to me.”

Glorfindel nodded. “And where did this knowledge, these books come from?”

Faramir sighed, shaking his head sadly. “There was the thought that they were His, he who must not be named.”

“Ah,” Glorfindel said. “Him. Well, how does this relate to you invading my dreams?”

“I… I have…” Faramir stammered, gathering his thoughts. “I have difficulty in my family.”

Glorfindel nodded. “Your father.”

Faramir looked at Glorfindel with surprise. “How did you know?”

“Sadness surrounds you like a cloud. Even as you meander through my dreams so do I through yours. Your father is a harsh and demanding taskmaster. I doubt without a thrashing that he will learn what a good son you are.”

Faramir flushed. “He is a man with many burdens.”

“And two sons,” Glorfindel interjected. “A man does not abandon a child no matter how old they get nor how difficult their circumstances. This knowledge you have learned. Tell me about it.”

Faramir mused and smiled slightly. “It’s the simplest thing, the easiest and least… traumatic thing really. I project myself out of my body.”

Glorfindel considered this and smiled. “A clever trick. I can do the same as can many of my kind. That you can as well is a neat trick indeed for a man.”

“It lets me go to places I could never hope to see in my lifetime. My father does not give me credit to be what Gondor needs when the call comes. My brother is the one whom he loves best and depends upon the most. It is a burden for Boromir but he bears it from love and duty.”

“You love your brother,” Glorfindel said quietly.

“He is my greatest friend. He has always been my protector. I love him more than anyone or anything, more than king and country,” Faramir said, pausing and flushing with embarrassment once again.

“Do not be embarrassed. Your love for your brother is sweet and good. And you look beautiful when you blush,” Glorfindel said with a grin.

Faramir felt the fire on his face deepen and he looked at his hands, folded together in front of him. “He makes life good for me. Always.”

“And your father, if he knew of this ability,” Glorfindel replied.

Faramir sat straighter, his face darkening with the worry of such a thing. “He would find a way to make it serve his needs, thinking that in the doing of it he was serving Gondor. He would taunt the Enemy and bring havoc down upon Gondor, I fear.”

Glorfindel nodded. Then he rose and walked to the edge of the flet, standing silently for a moment. “I know about it.”

Faramir glanced sharply upward, staring warily at the tall figure that appeared so benign a moment before. “You do,” he replied, an edge to his tone. Rising, Faramir stood, ready for what may come.

Glorfindel turned and looked at Faramir, appraising him. Then he smiled. “I can keep this to myself. For a price.”

Faramir felt his expression harden into disappointment and bitter anger. “Really. And what might that cost me?” he asked, his voice cold and hard.

Glorfindel moved to stand before him, his face a mask. He looked at Faramir a long time, neither man looking away and then he smiled slightly. “A kiss,” he whispered.

Part Four

Faramir stared at Glorfindel, with effort keeping his gaze even. “A kiss.”

Glorfindel smiled. “A kiss.”

“That is your price.”

“For my silence, yes.”

Faramir bit his lower lip, surprise showing in spite of his efforts to control his reaction. Too many years dodging too many emotional bullets had made this moment jarring and out of sync. “You want a kiss.”

“I want much but a kiss will suffice.”

Glorfindel stepped back, folding his arms across his chest as he waited for the war in Faramir’s mind to cease. The young man was pale now, his eyes staring at some point on the floor as he working through his situation in his head.

“Why a kiss? What do you think of me that you should be able to ask such a thing?” It was a small anguished voice the young man used that spoke the words that greeted Glorfindel with surprise.

“I do not understand,” Glorfindel said, frowning slightly. “What do I think of you?”

Faramir looked at him, his eyes deeply serious. “Yes. What do you think of me?”

Glorfindel paused, suddenly aware that some vein had been struck, even advertently and he considered his words carefully. “All I know of you is what I see in my meditations and dreams.”

“And what do they tell you?” Faramir asked, straightening his spine, his expression becoming a mask of pride and defensiveness. His face was unreadable, his hair haloed with moonlight and misery clung to him like a cloud.

Glorfindel marveled that such a transformation should happen so fast. Then he cleared his throat and spoke in soft words, compelling the youngster to lean slightly forward to hear. “I see a young man in my dreams who has desires that cannot be met in his current life. I see a man filled with love and emotion and no one to give them expression beyond a brother who adores him and of whom he adores. I see a man who has a father who is so devoid of decency that he causes you to think unthinkable things sometimes.”

Faramir, feeling the blood draining from his face, turned slightly away. “Unthinkable things?”

Glorfindel moved to face Faramir again, his sympathetic eyes filled with compassion. “You have thought of taking your own life. More than once. Perhaps in battle.”

Faramir stood stoically, the truth of Glorfindel’s words falling on his soul like a cold rain. He did not answer so lost in misery was he at that moment but Glorfindel continued on, his voice gentle and soft.

“You can command men, even animals and yet you cannot command your father’s love. You wish to be important in his life and in the life of your people but he does not let you. It eats at your soul. I see it around you, a cloud of sadness that follows you. It only lifts around your brother.”

“My brother is my rock,” Faramir whispered. “I would have a difficult time if he were to leave me alone.”

“You look for other places to go, other people to meet when you do this,” Glorfindel said.

Faramir nodded. “It lifts me to be that light, that detached from the life that I live,” Faramir said. “I find it hard not give it up. The first time I did it I saw swan ships sailing on silver seas. I was so at peace, so unburdened that I could not give it up. Then I saw you. You did not see me at first. I was surprised. Others did. But you did not. So I kept coming to you, feeling your wisdom and your goodness. It made me feel better about a lot of things.”

Glorfindel nodded, fascinated. A thousand questions filled his head but he said nothing. Faramir sighed, shaking his head sadly.

“I am sorry for invading your privacy. It was wrong of me but I felt good in your company,” Faramir said simply. He glanced up and paused, entranced by the sympathy and kindness he met in the elf eyes. Glorfindel smiled slightly and nodded. Faramir, suddenly feeling exhausted walked to the chair and sat. He rubbed his face with his hands. “There are drawbacks besides going where I should not be. I can foretell things that might be coming. I feel anxiety over my brother. Perhaps it was better when I did not know.”

Glorfindel walked to his chair and sat, reaching out and taking one of Faramir’s hands. “Whether or not you know things they will happen as they may. You were only seeking happiness and respite.”

“Perhaps,” Faramir said, sighing. “I cannot allow my father to know. He would be all over this matter and it would mean the end of Gondor.”

“Then he shall not know. In the spring, I shall come to Gondor and you will give me the books for safekeeping. I will keep them here. We are protected,” he said, caressing Faramir’s hand. “The Enemy cannot reach them here and your father will never come to this land.”

Faramir looked at him, his eyes less sad and his demeanor more hopeful. “You can do that?”

“I can,” Glorfindel said, shrugging. “I have not been to Gondor in ages. Literally.”

Faramir chuckled in spite of himself. Then his expression turned thoughtful. “You wanted a bounty for your silence.”

Glorfindel smiled and rose, pulling Faramir to his feet. “I do not take bounties that are not freely given.”

Faramir’s expression became serious, his eyes dark with emotion. “I give freely to you that which you will, my Lord Glorfindel. Of this you are owed for my transgressions.”

Glorfindel smiled and shook his head. “I enjoyed your presence, Faramir of Gondor. It is not often one of my years and experience is surprised,” he said, moving closer. Their chests nearly touched when Glorfindel leaned forward, pressing his lips against Faramir’s. He felt the younger man’s lashes brush his skin as he closed his eyes, a soft fluttering sensation that thrilled him. Faramir slipped his arms around Glorfindel’s waist, falling into the kiss. Glorfindel, pulling Faramir toward him, kissed him back and when they broke from it both were more than paid for their trouble.

“You kiss well for a man,” Glorfindel said, his hands resting on Faramir’s shoulders.

Faramir chuckled. “You may take your bounty of me anytime.”

“Ah, that’s the attitude,” he said, pulling Faramir into his arms once more.

They rode from the great house, making their way back to Gondor. The meeting had been productive and the winter, which would lay a blanket of snow on their comings and goings would put end to further meetings until the spring. Standing beside Lord Elrond Glorfindel watched Faramir leave, pausing only long enough to turn in the saddle and wave. He waved back and smiled, calculating the number of days it would take for him to last through the winter and ride to Gondor in the spring. It was many and so he resigned himself to nagging Erestor and serving the youngster by his side, Elrond. They turned and walked back to the house.

“Are you going to tell me of your adventures?” Elrond said, smiling at his mentor and friend.

Glorfindel smiled. “I am preparing a rousing version of my story, embellished here and there to make it even better than it was, my friend. You must give me time. You cannot rush an artist.”

“So I am told,” Elrond replied with a grin.

Many months later

“So you are leaving the sanctuary of this place and riding to man land,” Erestor said leaning on the doorjamb of Glorfindel’s chambers.

“That is so,” Glorfindel said, cinching his saddlebags. “Do you want to come along or would that crimp your dainties bouncing on a saddle to Minas Tirith?”

Erestor smirked and shook his head. “I leave that to you and your own balls.”

Glorfindel laughed in spite of himself.

He rode through the gates, cutting an impressive figure on his white horse. Bells on the meara’s bridle tinkled a silvery song as he rode slowly through the town, riding around the seven circular levels as he made for each gate on his way to the King’s House. People, most of whom had never seen an elf let alone a lord of the First Age stared at him with something approximating awe and Glorfindel was secretly amused as he made his stately way upward through the thronging city.

Round and round through each gate he rode until he came to the place he sought, news of his coming evidently preceding him. Passing a withered tree he paused, remembering other times. Spurring on his horse, he headed for the great doors that led to the inner sanctum of Gondor’s seat of power. Glorfindel dismounted and was lead inside by a guard. His scarlet uniform was vaguely familiar from older and better days. He paused, taking in the scene and then walked with enormous dignity and not a little ethereal splendor toward a crowd of men and women who stood around the Steward. He, himself was sitting on his small seat below and to the side of the empty throne of the Kings of Gondor. Images from the past filled Glorfindel’s mind and he pushed them back, concentrating on his mission.

Reaching the Steward, Denethor rose and together with those around him bowed slightly. “I am honored, Lord Glorfindel, that you have come to Minas Tirith and graced us with your presence. There are many in our company that do not understand that there is more to your people than the tales and fables that they have learned as children.”

Glorfindel smiled and bowed ever so slightly. “I am honored to be here. It has been many ages since I have been to this city and,” he said, turning and sweeping his hand around the room, “many is the statue in this room that was a man in my lifetime.”

Denethor, his expression hardening at the sound of a mention of the rightful kings of Gondor barely managed a smile. “That was then. This is now.”

“Indeed,” Glorfindel replied equally as regally. Behind Denethor and off to one side Glorfindel could see Faramir and his brother, Boromir, both standing side-by-side, the most intense expression of wonder and anticipation on Faramir’s handsome face. That expression alone Glorfindel reasoned justified the hardship of this trip. He smiled at them and more than a few heads turned to see. “I am here to visit with a friend, a good friend.”

“Indeed,” Denethor said, nodding. “May I inquire who this friend might be? Could it be a member of my court?” he asked, looking back at Boromir with a smile. Boromir, swallowed hard and looked tense, glancing at his brother who stood silently.

“It is,” Glorfindel replied. “My good friend invited me to Gondor last year and I am very, very happy to come.”

“Ah,” Denethor said, understanding bringing a smile and relaxation to his body. “I will have him escort you to chambers then.” He turned. “Boromir, will you do the honors?”

Boromir, startled, dropped his hands to his side, staring from his father to his brother and back again.

“I am afraid, Lord Denethor, I was neglectful in being more explicit. My good and great friend is your other son, Lord Faramir.” He turned and bowed slightly in Boromir’s direction. “No offense, Lord Boromir.”

“None taken,” Boromir said with a smile. He turned and nudged Faramir, who started and stepped forward, taking Glorfindel’s saddlebags from him.

Glorfindel smiled, nodding to all including Denethor and then followed Faramir from the room. Winding up stairs and through corridors, they made their way to the quarters given over to visiting dignitaries. When the door closed, Faramir dropped the bags and turned, gripping Glorfindel in a bear hug. He hugged and hugged the older man, finally letting him go. Holding him by the shoulders, Faramir’s face was alight with happiness. “You came,” he whispered.

“I came,” Glorfindel replied. “I said I would.”

“You did,” Faramir said, grinning broadly.

“Your father was shocked,” Glorfindel said, looking doubtfully at Faramir.

Faramir just shook his head and smiled. “Do not worry yourself over him. I shall never forget his face as long as I live.”

Glorfindel grinned. “Good. It is worth the journey then.”

“You will never know how much,” Faramir said his voice filled with gratitude. For a moment he stood silently, the gratitude he felt overpowering him and then he stepped forward, embracing Glorfindel and kissing him. Glorfindel enclosed Faramir in his arms, kissing him back, all the trials of the journey fading away. As he held Faramir he heard a sound by the door. They broke the kiss and turned, meeting the deeply embarrassed gaze of Boromir. He shifted his feet and then cleared his throat. “Dinner… um, dinner is ready.” Then he turned and hurried out the door.

Faramir, blushing with his own embarrassment stood with his arms around Glorfindel. The elf sighed and glanced at Faramir, noting his discomfort. “Good thing you are not a completely backward country or you and I would be betrothed.”

Faramir laughed in spite of himself.

Part Five

One would never know that there was anything wrong in the house of Denethor from the dinner that night. The conversation around the table was bright and charming, the women flirting and the men asking of deeds of value from past ages. It had been a long time since Glorfindel had been in such a company of men and the constant questions about the early kings of Men especially Isuldur seemed to rankle the Steward more and more as the evening wore on. He struggled to contain himself and Glorfindel took a measure of the man from the corner of his eyes.

When dinner was finished and the women retired, the men gathered in the salon to talk and drink wine. Glorfindel took his glass and husbanded the contents, preferring to remain sober in such volatile company. The Steward was in no way of similar mind and took to his cups with vigor. As he did, Glorfindel noted the rising tension of his sons and the other men in the room. Even though a part of his journey here was to find out what sort of man Denethor was, he knew he would have no decent conversation this night with him as far from sobriety as he was getting to be. Rising, he bowed slightly at Denethor. “My Lord, you lay a table worthy of poems. However, the journey this far has taxed me. I would beg your indulgence if I may and retire to my chambers.”

Denethor, looking at Glorfindel with a mixture of powerful emotions displayed openly on his face nodded. “You may.”

Glorfindel bowed slightly again and turned to Faramir. “Would you do me the honor of showing me the way again. I believe I have forgotten.”

“I find it hard that one such as you, a hero of the First Age would forget anything,” Denethor remarked, chilling the room as he did.

Glorfindel schooled a pleasant expression on his handsome face and turned, regarding the Steward. “Age has its drawbacks, Lord Denethor, even for Elves.”

“Immortality is weighing you down is it?” Denethor said, rising to his feet. “I would think that there would be few drawbacks to living forever.”

Glorfindel considered the man before him and felt utter disdain. He quashed that line of thought and smiled slightly. “Imagine outliving everything and everyone you ever knew. Imagine living so long that even the land changes and you do not. Imagine endless days one after another and having to find something in your life that will occupy them. Sometimes there is a blessing in death. Sometimes life can be worse than dying.”

Denethor glared at him, his watery eyes fixed on Glorfindel’s face. “Why are you here?”

Boromir, groaning softly, shifted on his feet but stilled by a glance from Glorfindel. Faramir, watching with despair felt deep and unbearable shame fill him from this spectacle. He wanted to run away but did not dare move for fear things would become worse.

Glorfindel composed himself and turned to face Denethor. “I came to visit a friend in a city that I have loved for all the ages of men and elves. Since I am here on a private visit, I do not have to do you the courtesy of greetings. I have out of respect and out of friendship for Faramir.”

“I can see Boromir. I can see that,” Denethor began.

Boromir stepped forward, his fists balled tightly. “Don’t,” he started.

Glorfindel stilled him with a touch, laying his hand on Boromir’s arm. “Do not exert yourself. It is clear that your father is not feeling well at the moment. I will take my leave now.”

“Leave the city,” Denethor said, the contempt on his face distorting his features. “Do not stop at this room.”

“You presume much, Steward,” Glorfindel said in a quiet voice.

“Do I?” Denethor said. “You come here and tell tales of older days when men were supposedly better and smarter than they are now. If that was true, where are they? How is it that my house bears the burden of Gondor and her defense? Where is the King? Where is the line of Isuldur today?”

“You have done a service for the people of Gondor, Steward, you and your family. However, you are not the king and you never will be. The omens and portents are clear. The King will return some day and claim what is rightly his. You will stand in honor for all you do but you forget your place.”

“My son deserves to wear the crown,” Denethor said, glancing hotly at Boromir. The tall man stood head hanging, hands on hips and filled with embarrassment and despair. “My son, Boromir, will be king.”

“What is supposed to happen, will,” Glorfindel said quietly. He looked at Boromir and Faramir, “I did not wish to cause discord. I will leave.”

Faramir looked up, his face filled with dismay and shifted on his feet. “You are welcome in this house.”

“I know,” Glorfindel said, smiling at Faramir even as he felt sick to his stomach.

“I decide who is welcome,” Denethor said, hissing at his son.

Faramir looked at him and something old and bitter snapped inside his heart. He walked to his father, pushing two men apart to do so and took his cup. He stared at it a moment and then turned, throwing it with all his might into the fireplace. It crashed and the flames flickered before settling. When Faramir turned toward his father, his face was as pale as death.

Denethor stared at him with surprise and then rage quickly replaced that. He stepped forward, his clenched fists raised and shook them at his son. “How dare you!”

Faramir, suddenly calm and composed reached out and shoved his father hard with both of his hands. Denethor flew backward and landed hard on his buttocks, shock and fear replacing his rage. He sat a moment staring at both his sons and then rose shakily, gathering his rage again. Turning to the men standing by the fireplace, he raged at them, pointing at Faramir. “Arrest him! He attacked me!”

The men stared at him and then each other. One of them, a captain in the guard shook his head. “You must be more careful, sire. Falling like that can cause a man your age great harm.”

Denethor stared at him, disbelief warring with fear once more. “What did you say?” he asked, glancing from one to the other. “What did you say? I told you to arrest my son!”

For a moment, it was just silent and then another man stepped forward, his face pale but his mind made up. “And we said no.”

Denethor looked at them all and then his sons and Glorfindel. “Will none of you obey your king?”

“You are not king,” Boromir said.

“I am the Steward of Gondor! You will obey me!”

“Then who shall you arrest, father? Faramir for what he did or me for what I will not do?” Boromir asked, stepping between his brother and his father.

“I am the Steward of Gondor. You must obey me,” Denethor said, looking from one to the other.

“You are the Steward of Gondor when you show that you are worthy of it. You are not now, my Lord,” the captain said quietly. “We will not support a tyranny.”

Denethor looked at them, one to the other and then turned, lurching away from the group and out a side door. Boromir caught Faramir’s arm, halting him. “I will tend to him.”

“My Lord Boromir,” the captain said, standing stiff and tense. “I mean no offense to your house but I will not act against Lord Faramir.”

Boromir looked at him and then his brother. He patted the man on the arm and nodded. “Do not worry about it. I will take care of it. This matter is private and it stays among us.”

The men nodded and turned, together walking out of the room and into the night air beyond. Faramir stood beside Glorfindel and watched as Boromir left the room to manage their father. He looked at his hands and they felt numb. Glorfindel took his arm gently and the two walked away, leaving the empty room behind.

They sat by the fire, glasses of wine in hand. Faramir stared at the fire silently, comforted by the figure of Glorfindel beside him. He sighed deeply. “He has humiliated me for the greatest period of my life and I have taken the abuse. Somehow, this was different. He attacked you and it shamed me. I would never have defended myself but I felt I owed it to you.”

Glorfindel sighed. “I have lost my family long ago. All the comfort, all the wisdom and guidance has long been gone from me. I am a fatherless child. Even though I know it will be good in the end when we all live someday in the Blessed Lands, I am still a fatherless and motherless child. For all that I miss and mourn it seems less to me than what plagues you. You have a father that for reasons unfathomable is not man enough to be father for two sons. I find that tragic.”

Faramir sighed, looking at Glorfindel with deeply sad eyes. “Sometimes my brother is all that keeps me going.”

“You have him and he loves you. That is admirable in him. Love him back and know some day that your father will regret what he has said and done. He will be sorry for what he has missed,” Glorfindel replied.

There was a soft knock on the door. “Enter,” Glorfindel said.

The door opened slowly and a very uneasy Boromir entered the room. Pausing awkwardly inside, he nodded. “I am here to apologize for my father and his behavior,” he began, obviously deep pain evident in each word he said.

“There is no need for you to say anything,” Glorfindel replied. “Please. Come and sit.”

Boromir glanced at Faramir, shuffling uneasily for a moment and then he sighed, moving to a third chair that Faramir pulled forward. He sat heavily, leaning back wearily.

“It was not my intention to be a problem in your house,” Glorfindel replied, cutting both men off when they rose to protest. “I am a symbol of a time your father disdains. I am a living memory of the kings of whom he has grown tired. Your father wants you to be king, Boromir. One can excuse a man for wanting a son to prosper.”

“But treating a guest like he did you, that is not forgivable,” Boromir interjected.

“There are few things in this world that cannot be forgiven,” Glorfindel chided gently. “There must be forgiveness or there will never be peace.”

It was silent a moment and then Boromir sighed. “Our father’s reign is failing. We are hard pressed by the enemy and he does not see it. He was a great man in his day but things have become difficult and it falls to us more and more.”

Glorfindel nodded. “Then you must be strong for your people and each other. In my time, long ago, we had divisions that last to this day. People did not stand together and we suffered. Many is the ghost who haunts me, many is the moment that replays in my mind. Do what you know is right and you will not have to look back at your life and feel shame.”

“You fought the balrog,” Faramir said, looking at Glorfindel. He paused, uncertain as Glorfindel winced. “I am sorry. I did not mean to hurt you.”

Glorfindel sighed, shaking his head. “Worry not. Much of what happened then is still a veiled memory. The Beast and I, we fell into darkness together and because of this act, I am remembered past mine own days.” He smiled slightly. “It is my epitaph. That is what Men would say. Epitaph.”

“If you died,” Boromir said gently.

“I did after a fashion. I remember falling away, the darkness swallowing me up whole,” Glorfindel said, speaking for the first time about something he had not addressed to another for many a generation of man. He sighed. “It had to be done. The sacrifice was necessary to save all those people.” He gazed at Boromir and Faramir and then back to the fire. “Because you lead, you have to make those sacrifices. You may not want to make them but you do them because it is what you do. It is what your life is and becomes. You can be broken by them. They can cast you down. Your father struggles with this burden. It could break him,” he concluded.

“It is difficult,” Boromir said, nodding. “He means well for our people but the burden is heavy and the road is long.”

“Your father has his path and you both have yours. You cannot live another person’s life,” Glorfindel counseled gently. “Do the best you can with your own.”

Boromir sighed. “He is a good man. He was. I hope you do not judge him from the actions of this night.”

Glorfindel chuckled and they both looked at him, curious. “I have learned a long time ago that judgment is best left to the Valar. I am but a single person and I do not know all ends. Do not fear that I would do that. I among all you might meet am aware that sometimes life does not give you what you want and how that can mark a man.”

Boromir sighed and nodded. Then he rose, pausing and looking at Faramir. “Then I bid you good evening.”

“And I, you,” Glorfindel replied with a smile.

Boromir nodded and then, hesitating a moment, turned and walked to the door. He exited and the door closed silently. Faramir continued to stare at the fire. “When will you be leaving Minas Tirith?”

“I think it would be wise to leave in the morrow,” Glorfindel replied.

Faramir nodded, sadness informing his features. He swallowed hard and nodded again, unable to say what he wanted. Glorfindel reached out and took his hand into his own. “But tonight, I am here for you.”

Faramir looked into kind eyes that had seen years fall by like leaves from a great tree, years and years that he could never match. At that moment, he did not care that he would be gone some day and that beautiful face would still be young , wise and as beautiful as it was right then. He only knew that he was glad at that moment to be sitting in the same room with this one single person. Tomorrow would bring what may come. He leaned in and closed his eyes as he was wrapped into such warmth that the memory of it would last the rest of his life.

Epilogue

The sun warmed his face and he opened his eyes, raising his head and shielding himself from the brightness with his arm. Raising up on one elbow, he turned and looked toward the window where Glorfindel stood, his hands on the sill and his gaze cast out over the great plain beyond the city gates. He was clad to his waist, his tunic and other garments lying on a chair near the cold hearth.

Faramir studied Glorfindel, noting the broad set of his shoulders and the flow of muscles that formed his powerful physique. They were long muscles, the kind one has when running is a large part of your exercise. He had a bowman’s shoulders and the slight bunch of muscles in one shoulder rather than both due to wielding a sword. His hair was braided into one long thick golden plait and it fell down the length of his back to nearly his waist. A silver band, slim and marked with Elvish lettering rounded his right bicep. On his back, a faint white jagged mark scored his shoulder, extending nearly six inches along his shoulder. Other than that faint blot, the souvenir of some ancient battle, he was free of blemish. It was remarkable consider the life of difficulty and the end he had received that he should be thus.

“The sun is cresting the far away mountains,” Glorfindel said, knowing instinctively that Faramir was stirring. He felt connected to the youngster emotionally after the night before.

“You are preparing to leave,” Faramir said, sitting up, the white sheets that tangled him falling away to his lap.

Glorfindel turned and looked at Faramir, memorizing the curve of his cheek, the faint blush of his light skin, the soft wave of his hair. All of this, he remarked into memory as he mentally prepared to leave. “You look especially beautiful this morrow.”

Faramir flushed slightly, smiling slightly. “As do you.”

Glorfindel moved closer, stopping at the foot of the bed. “Don’t move.” Faramir stilled, his eyes never leaving Glorfindel’s. “I want to look at you.” The older man sighed, shaking his head. “You are beautiful. Your eyes, your emotions are there for anyone to see. I will miss you.”

“I wish I could come with you,” Faramir said, longing in his voice.

“It is not to be,” Glorfindel said, sitting on the end of the bed. “You may come to Imladris and I may come here. That is all there is in these harsh times. All else is folly.”

Faramir stared at his foot, which protruded from the sheets. The night before was a lush and sensual blur. “Did you sleep well?”

Glorfindel smiled. “Have you not heard? We do not sleep.”

“I had,” Faramir said, smiling slightly. “Nice trick, that.”

“We rest by contemplating beauty,” Glorfindel said, his features becoming serious once more. “Your hair, I see it and touch it, the softness of it, it fills my senses. Your skin is soft as well, soft and pale. Your lips, your soft lips… when I contemplate these things, when I touch them if only in my memories, then I feel rested.” He was silent for a moment. “All of this I think about when I am tired and it refreshes me.”

Faramir sighed, shaking his head. “If I think about you, it makes me sad.”

“I am sorry,” Glorfindel replied. A rap on the door broke the moment and Glorfindel rose, walking to his clothing and stepping into the bathing room that joined his suite.

“Come,” Faramir said when the older man was out of sight.

The door opened slowly and Boromir’s face appeared. “You awake?”

“Barely,” Faramir replied, smiling faintly.

“Rise and shine,” Boromir said, walking into the room and pausing at the foot of the bed. His eyes roved his brother’s figure, noting red marks on his upper arms. He did not bother to ask about them, shoving such thoughts from his mind. “Come and dine with me.”

“And Father?” Faramir asked, his voice filled with uncertainty. “What of him?”

“At this moment, I care not about him,” Boromir replied, bitterness in his voice. “He sits at table silently. He watches me with his eyes and says nothing. I believe he has found a newer and more different world this morrow than yesterday. Come down with me.”

“I will come,” Faramir said, nodding.

“Good,” Boromir said, relaxing visibly. He turned and paused at the door, looking back at his brother. “I do not know what there is between you and Lord Glorfindel, Faramir, but I am happy if it pleases you.”

Faramir looked at his brother, a smile forming on his face. “Thank you,” he replied softly. Boromir nodded, shifting his feet uncertainly and then turned to go. “Do hurry.”

The door closed and Glorfindel stepped out, fully dressed. He smiled at Faramir and moved to the door himself. “Do not tarry,” he said with a chuckle.

Faramir nodded and smiled as the great lord slipped into the hall.

Faramir entered the room side-by-side with Lord Glorfindel, sitting together at the table. There were others there, some eating already and others starting and all nodded and greeted the two as if the night before had never happened. At the head of the table, his dark eyes fixed upon the two, Denethor sat nursing a glass of wine. Boromir, sitting in his usual place at his father’s side, nodded to his brother as he and the elf lord took places of honor too.

Breakfast progressed, conversation flowed and when it was concluded, Faramir stood. “Lord Glorfindel has to return to Rivendell this day.”

Everyone looked at Faramir, expressions of sincere disappointment and nervous anticipation lining the table all around. Denethor’s glass paused on its journey to his mouth and he glanced at Glorfindel, who sat completely composed in his seat next to Faramir. “I am honored to have helped host your visit, my Lord, and I hope you return again,” he said with conviction.

“I am honored to have a chance to visit the city again after all these long years,” Glorfindel said, “and it will be my greater honor to return.” Glorfindel rose and turned to Denethor, who sat staring with something akin to dread. “Your son is my good friend. It has been my personal pleasure to visit him in his city and his home. I will convey the hospitality of Gondor to my Lord, Elrond. I extend the courtesy of our hospitality to Gondor and your family. I would consider it a personal honor to be able to see members of this great house visit our valley more often. The long ties between our people are legendary and should be upheld and treasured now as they were then.”

Denethor sat silently, the muscles of his jaw working. Then he set his cup down and stood, malevolency in every movement of his body. “Thank you, Lord Glorfindel. I shall consider this and hope at some point in time I can avail myself of the famed hospitality of Lord Elrond. Please convey my personal regards to his person.”

Glorfindel nodded, watching as Denethor turned and without another word, left the room. Faramir let out the breath he had been holding and noticed that his brother did also. Turning to Glorfindel, he sighed. “You will be going now?” he asked sadly.

Glorfindel nodded, his own expression equally sad. “If you will do me the honor.”

“I will,” he said, turning and following Glorfindel as he walked up the table to Boromir. Extending his hand, he gripped Boromir’s arm in a warrior’s grasp.

“Thank you for coming,” Boromir said, nodding. “I am honored to meet you.”

“And I, you,” Glorfindel said. “I am glad that Faramir has such a brother as you.”

Boromir flushed slightly, nodding. “It is I who am the lucky one.”

Faramir smiled at his brother, a look of naked admiration on his face and then he turned and followed Glorfindel to the door and beyond, into the courtyard where his horse waited saddled. Pausing by his steed, he turned and sighed, smiling sadly at his lover. “I will miss you, Faramir.”

“There are always dreams,” Faramir replied. “When you are far enough away, check your bags. I put the books into them.”

“They will never see the light of day,” he replied. Then he leaned in and they kissed, a soft sweet kiss. Leaning his forehead against Faramir’s, they stood together for a moment. Then with a sigh and a smile, he turned and mounted up, taking a handful of his horse’s mane. “I will write to you.”

“And I, you,” Faramir said, smiling.

“Or better yet,” Glorfindel said, smiling. “I will see you in my dreams.”

Faramir chuckled and watched as the horse turned, beginning the long trek to the main gate below and the cross country trip to Elvish lands in the west. Faramir stood at the ramparts, watching as Glorfindel wend his way downward and until he was gone from sight on the vast plain before the city. He stood there a long time after, his mind filled with memories and worries about the days to come.

“You are back.”

“Yes.”

“And your trip? Was it profitable?”

“Yes.”

“Minas Tirith, is it what you remembered?”

“Yes.”

Erestor paused, staring at his foil, considering the disquiet that seemed to enrapt him. “You appear to be distressed.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“You may talk to me about what ails you, Glorfindel. I can listen well.”

“Yes.”

He paused. “Is that, ‘yes, I will talk to you’ or ‘yes, you are a good listener’,” he asked.

“Yes.”

Erestor moved to sit on the bench beside his friend, placing his hand on Glorfindel’s arm. “You do this to yourself and you wonder why it hurts.”

Glorfindel continued to look at the toe of his boot.

“I am sorry.”

Glorfindel looked at Erestor and shook his head. “How do they do it? How do they live such pain-filled lives? How can they not understand that all that matters is the people you love and have in your life?”

Erestor shook his head. “They are human,” he said softly. “You are not.”

“It should not matter,” Glorfindel said, sighing softly. “I love someone who does not have the love of his father. How can you not love your son?”

Erestor shook his head again. “I do not pretend to understand the foibles of men. I am sorry for your pain.”

Glorfindel sighed and nodded. “So am I.”

Erestor rose and turned to Glorfindel. “Come. I will fix you tea.”

Glorfindel grinned in spite of himself. “You always think tea fixes everything.”

“It usually does,” he said, pulling Glorfindel to his feet. “Come. Tell me about perfect buttocks and the foibles and follies of men. I shall tell you of inventories and menus and you will feel better.”

“Do you think so?” Glorfindel said, chuckling for a moment as he turned and followed his friend.

“Works for me,” Erestor said, smiling.

Glorfindel smiled. “Ah, you give me a glimpse behind your armor plating.”

“For this one time only,” Erestor replied, opening the door for the two of them.

“Oh please,” Glorfindel said, pausing and sweeping his hand before him. “Ladies first.”

Erestor, a prim look of brittle triumph on his exotic face nodded. “Pearls before swine,” he said.

Glorfindel’s laughter could be heard all over the house.

Ghost Dance finis

11/12/07 © arcpus@yahoo.com or elwingdior@gmail.com

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