Faramir Fiction Archive

Tales of the Telcontars (PG-13)

Written by Susana

19 September 2011 | 56124 words | Work in Progress

Title: Nothing
Author: Susana
Series: Desperate Hours
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Rating: G
Warning: Desperate Hours AU
Disclaimer: All recognizable elements are Tolkien’s
A/N: Set in Third Age 3019, only a few months after the end of the Ring War, when Elrohir is really still just getting to know Estel’s Steward.

Summary: Faramir is leading a patrol, to discourage leaderless orcs from venturing into Gondor, and otherwise make sure all is well in Gondor. Elrohir has accompanied him, and the two are scouting away from camp, early one beautiful morning, when Elrohir notices something, and is distracted.

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Nothing

Faramir flashed the sign for a pause.

Elrohir, who had helped to invent the ranger hand signs, obediently stopped.

Faramir indicated the bank opposite them, and Elrohir smiled to see the large otters, warming themselves on the pebbly shore of the Anduin, as the sun rose above the tree-tops.

Faramir quietly passed Elrohir to take a closer look, not quite as silent as an elf. But nearly so. As quiet as Estel, when Estel had been a young man. And the twins had trained Estel.

Faramir watched the otters, a rare smile playing across his face.

Elrohir studied Faramir, and frowned. Then he forgot himself for a moment, leaning closer to see the Steward better, and stepped on a twig.

One of the otters barked in alarm, and they all slid into the water. Elrohir flushed. Some elf he was.

“What?” Faramir asked Elrohir softly, confused at the King’s foster-brother’s odd behavior.

“Nothing.” Elrohir replied quellingly. And it was. That Faramir looked like Estel from time to time was just one of those funny tricks of inheritance. Faramir’s mother was also a distant descendant of Uncle Elros, through Elendil’s cousin Imrazor. And Faramir’s unknown true father had been Northern Dunedain, perhaps even one of Dirhael’s or Ivorwen’s cousins. Ivorwen herself, Estel’s maternal grandmother, was a distant descendant of Mairenwen, born Almairen, who had been Imrazor’s niece. It was just a trick of the early morning light, that Faramir, smiling, had looked enough like Estel to be his son. A trick of shared elven and Númenorean heritage, and the odd light. That’s all.

Faramir looked at Elrohir in concern for a moment, before turning to continue their scouting foray.

Elrohir hid a sigh. Wonderful. Now he could not help but see his baby brother’s face in the Steward of Gondor’s countenance. Soon he would be acting like Glorfindel or his father, and yelling at Faramir for Estel’s mistakes, and vice versa. Surely, surely, he could avoid turning into “Uncle Grumbles.” If not, Elladan, Melpomaen, Arwen, and Legolas would all tease him mercilessly. Quite possibly Estel, too.

“Oh, the trials of being Elrond’s oldest son,” Elrohir reflected silently to himself. Then he stepped on another twig, which snapped loudly, breaking the morning hush again.

Faramir glared at him, half amused, half incredulous. “Oh yes,” Elrohir thought to himself, wincing as he signed “sorry,” to the Steward, “He’s going to tell Estel, who will tell Legolas, who will tell Elladan, and I will never hear the end of this. Elrohir Elrondion, noisier than a human whilst walking through the forest in the pale morning. Twice. I’ll never hear the end of this. And all because I am distracted by a nothing.”

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