Faramir Fiction Archive

Tales of the Telcontars (PG-13)

Written by Susana

19 September 2011 | 56124 words | Work in Progress

Title: Blossoms in the Wind
Series: DH AU
Author: Susana
Feedback: Please use the form below.
Warning: AU Disclaimer: All characters and everything else belong to Tolkien.
Summary: Spring in Ithilien puts some in a reflective mood, but the beauty of the day is not to be missed.
Beta: None. Written quickly when the idea struck, so there may well be mistakes.
A/N: Set in about Fourth Age 43.

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Sometimes Éowyn would stop listening to what Faramir said, and just revel in the sound of his voice. Walking beside him in the orchard they had planted together, just a stone’s throw from the home where they had raised their children, Éowyn marveled at how different this was from the life she had pictured for herself as Théodred’s teenage shield-maid. And how fine it was, though she missed her poor cousin still.

Faramir reached out and squeezed her hand as he spoke, and she let his deep, melodious voice wash around her. The sun was setting, turning the thousands of white petals that danced in the early spring breeze to palest pink. It was Éowyn’s favorite time of year, the time of year when she had first met her husband, when the ring had been destroyed, and hope had blossomed at the same time as their new love. The season when they had been married, and the season when she had given birth to their last baby, their long-awaited fifth child and second son.

“And then he said that we should leave the southern-most three fields fallow, for this season…” Faramir paused, and reached out a calloused hand to tuck a wisp of blond hair away from his wife’s face. Éowyn’s wheat-gold tresses were liberally streaked with white. Ithilien’s Rose of Rohan was nearing eighty years of age, and bore but a little Númenorean blood. The day was coming, not this year or the next but perhaps in a dozen years, that Faramir would have to take this walk without her. Already Éowyn felt her age. She did not begrudge it, save that the aches and pains that came with her years made it more difficult to keep up with her loved ones.

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you, oh-surefooted-mare-of-my heart?” Faramir teased, his lips curved into a loving smile. His red-gold hair, only lightly streaked with white, blew in the breeze. His gray eyes were amused, and his face only faintly lined. Faramir, at almost ninety years of age, was only accounted a man of middling years, given his strong Númenorean and elven heritage.

Éowyn’s countenance, though still attractive, clearly showed smile lines, and finer lines around her eyes. But then Éowyn smiled back at her love, and years melted away from her face as she did so. “The southern fields to rest, and winter wheat in the northern most land.” She retorted, pulling her husband into her arms for a kiss. His lips met hers, and the kiss was better than the first ones they had shared, in their earliest springs together. Almost five decades of practice make perfect, or near so.

Faramir’s arms wrapped around his wife as their kiss deepened, and all thoughts of land husbandry left his head. He was just beginning to wonder if they should move, either back to the house, or past the orchard into the sheltering old-growth trees. Some place where no young or not-so-young eyes would be offended or intrigued by the sight of the Prince of Ithilien and his lady in a passionate embrace.

Then they heard an aggrieved cry of “Théodred! That’s not fair!”

The voice’s two parents ceased their kiss, the mood ruined.

“Ecthelion.” Faramir observed with a sigh, shaking his head. He set off at a rapid, though not panicked, pace in the direction of the field used for the practice of archery.

Éowyn grinned at her husband, and kept pace. She wasn’t worried that Faramir couldn’t handle the situation, but she always enjoyed seeing her younger nephew, her lost cousin’s namesake. Even when he was yelling at her younger son. Perhaps because her nephew so much resembled the first Théodred she had known.

The leaves barely fluttered, not even a twig snapped, and Legolas was beside them. At his heels was Cellillien Veasseniel, one of the two warrior ellith that Theodwyn teased were ‘Legolas’s devastatingly attractive bodyguards.’ Legolas had once been wont to tease back that Theodwyn and Éowyn were Faramir’s devastatingly attractive bodyguards. But now Theodwyn lived far away with her own husband, and Éowyn used her blade less frequently.

Legolas’s grey-green eyes, the shade of the soft moss that grew by the hidden pools in Ithilien’s sheltered glens, met Faramir’s and Éowyn’s concerned gaze. Their friend and neighbor assured them, “Elion is fine.”

Faramir paused, “Are you sure? He sounded… aggrieved.” Faramir’s youngest son was the most even-tempered of his offspring, excepting perhaps Haleth the spy-turned-Empress.

Cellillien shook her head with an exasperated smile, and Legolas, who was more and more often these days a bit quiet, explained with a rueful half-smile, “Your Ecthelion fetched the arrow that Theodwyn lost during her first archery lesson, many decades ago.”

Éowyn’s eyes flew to the crook of a tall oak tree that Legolas and Gimli had together schemed to save when the ground was cleared for building the manor house, administrative center, and outbuildings of Emyn Arnen. The arrow which had bisected a high branch for years longer than Ecthelion had been alive was now missing.

“He…” Faramir took a deep breath, “Young, reckless idiot.”

“But a good climber.” Éowyn noted, humor beginning to penetrate the terrified numbness, “He must take after you, my love.”

Faramir glowered as Legolas laughed, and commented, “Aye, my gwador Aragorn will no doubt agree, when I tell him of this.”

Taking a deep breath, Faramir asked, “I take it Elion returned to the ground safely, and Théodred has taken him off to explain why that arrow should best have stayed where it was?”

At that moment, Théodred re-emerged from the trees, an arm around the slender shoulders of the chastened teenager Ecthelion.

Ecthelion blushed to see his parents, “Ah… it was a dare…” He mumbled, guessing that Legolas and Cellillien, who’d also been at the archery field, would have filled their friends and neighbors in on the excitement.

Faramir raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

Éowyn laughed. “Well, if it was a dare, then of course you had to risk your life. If you hadn’t, someone might have called you a coward, and then you would have melted.”

Ecthelion blushed and apologized, “Cousin Théodred already told me how foolish it was. I am sorry.” Giving his mother and father his best puppy dog’s eyes, Ecthelion decided he wasn’t too proud to rub his sore bottom in an attempt to look pathetic and well-enough lessoned that his father wouldn’t feel that Ecthelion needed a second spanking this day. Cousin Théodred’s hand had been firm enough, in Ecthelion’s opinion.

Legolas put a brotherly arm around Faramir, telling Ecthelion with a grin, “Now, Elion, don’t you fret. Your Adar knows all about doing stupid, dangerous things for some nebulous reason such as “honor.’”

Elion dared a small grin, as it was Faramir’s turn to blush and sigh. Éowyn’s silvery laugh floated through the trees on the early-evening breeze.

“It was one duel,” Faramir reprimanded Legolas quietly, “and it was…” Faramir broke off, and then confessed, “Ok, that was rather stupid, in retrospect.”

Éowyn snorted delicately. She’d told her husband it was stupid, at the time. Well, her betrothed. He hadn’t been her husband, yet.

Legolas shook Faramir gently, “Ai, tithen gwador, I was not just thinking of the duel. I was thinking of the afternoon, not so long ago, when you and I nearly came to blows because you would not tell my dear iaur gwador that he was your father, nor accept a loan from him to clear those fields so that your people would not go hungry during the winter. Or when you decided to test whether you were Aragorn’s son by risking your life. Or…”

Legolas could obviously have continued, but Faramir, laughing, admitted, “Allright. I may never have climbed up a tree to retrieve an arrow on a dare, but I, too, made many mistakes. Ecthelion, as Théodred has already dealt with this matter, we will consider it closed.”

Ecthelion brightened, and said softly, “Thanks, Adar.”

“Thank your Uncle Legolas.” Faramir recommended dryly, but his gray-eyed gaze on his youngest son was fond. And when Legolas loosed Faramir, chuckling at Ecthelion’s fervent, “Thank you, Uncle Las!,” Faramir’s arm collecting Ecthelion for a hug was gentle.

Legolas lingered behind as Faramir and Éowyn and the younger men headed towards the house.

“What’s wrong, tithen-las?” Cellillien asked her Prince and friend.

Legolas, startled, immediately replied, “Nothing, Celli.” Wincing, as he was sure that would not go over well with the elleth who was almost like another older sister to him, Legolas offered, “It was just a shock, seeing Ecthelion up that high in the tree.”

Cellillien kicked her Prince, none too gently. While Legolas was yelping and hopping on one foot, she lightly shoved him to the ground. “Try again, Legolas-nin.” Cellillien encouraged.

Legolas, rubbing his shin, made a face, “How do you always know?”

“Not always.” Cellilien countered, pushing back a lock of chestnut hair and dropping to sit beside Legolas. “But I’ve known you a long time. I got to hold you the first day you were born, since I was in your parents’ apartments that day, keeping your sister company. When you were little, Eryntheliel and I dressed you up like a doll yourself. In our games you were the handsome prince who would marry the loveliest of our dollies.”

Legolas chuckled, “I vaguely remember that. Thalion and Thandrin came in, and made you two stop. I don’t think I minded it though, since I recall you both bribed me with biscuits.”

Cellillien grinned back at him, “We did. And also with trips to the stables and the kennels, and out-of-doors. You were our precious elfling, Legolas, and as a little, you were eminently bribeable.” Her smile fading, Cellillien asked, concern for Legolas clear in her voice, “So I can tell that something is eating at you, now. I wish that you would not insist on bearing the burden of whatever-it-is, alone.”

Legolas sighed deeply, “Éowyn is… so many of them are… I won’t have them for much longer, Celli. Not Aragorn or even Arwen. And not Theli, either.” Legolas blinked away tears, “Mortals… they’re all like so many blossoms in the wind.” Legolas waved his hand at the white petals blowing around them, falling to the ground and being trod under foot.

Cellillien swallowed, suddenly wishing that Thalion was here, or even better, Thranduil. She felt a little out of her depth. “Ah..” She said softly, putting an arm around Legolas, and hoping it was enough that she was there, and cared for him, and sorrowed with him, “I am sorry, Legolas. I have come to love them, too. I will miss them, too.”

Legolas laughed lightly, grief and joy mingled, “Thank you, Celli. I…” Legolas trailed off, “We should go join them. These early days of spring, when the blossoms blow, are beautiful. And not to be missed.”

Cellillien let her Prince help her to her feet, and accompanied him. Absently, she picked up the arrow that Ecthelion had retrieved at such peril, and handed it to him when they caught up with the Prince’s party in the orchard.

“What will you do with that, Elion?” Théodred asked, fondness for his cousin overwhelming his earlier furious worry at Ecthelion’s antics.

Ecthelion grinned, resembling in that moment a different Théodred, who was no longer with them. “I’m going to send it to Theodwyn, in Rhun.” He jested.

Faramir, Éowyn, and Théodred all laughed, but Legolas laughed the most merrily of all. He was determined not to waste the days he had left with these friends.

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