FIC: Gen : Drown the Wakeful Anguish, PG, Thranduil, Faramir, Legolas
Title: Drown the Wakeful Anguish
Author: alexcat
Type: FCGen
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I profit from the use of these characters.
Warnings: None
Beta: Jaiden
Characters: Thranduil, Legolas, Faramir, Boromir, Denethor
Author’s Note: AiA 2014
Spoilers: No
Summary: Faramir runs away from home.
~~~
He was tired of hearing about Boromir. His father talked nonstop about his older brother as if Faramir did not exist at all. He loved his brother dearly, but he simply didn’t want to hear the name even one more time. He was tired of being the one to blame for everything, his father’s whipping boy.
When one of the traveling caravans that made circuits around Middle Earth plying trade, entertainment and news made its stop in Minas Tirith, young Faramir convinced the old man who led the group to let him tag along. He doubted that his father would ever even know he was gone.
“You’ll have to do your share, son. We all pull together. There are always horses to water and feed, slops to empty and the women always can use a helping hand with laundry and such. Can you do these things?” The old man doubted a Steward’s son did much work.
“I can do anything you ask of me. If I don’t know how, I’ll learn. I promise I won’t be any trouble.”
The old man nodded. “You can travel in my wagon then.”
And they set out.
Traveling with the caravan was hard work, but Faramir didn’t mind. He got to see places that he’d only heard Boromir talk about, and he was treated as an equal by the others. He made some new friends, as well.
But his journey was short lived. On the way to the Greenwood, they were set upon by Orcs. Elves from Mirkwood descended on to the Orcs, but not soon enough to keep the young Gondorian boy from being injured. Gravely injured.
The old man who led the caravan was concerned, but not concerned enough to stay. He and his caravan were gone by the time the elves returned from chasing the Orcs to find the boy lying motionless on the ground.
Legolas, only son of Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, ordered him to be taken back to his father while he scouted the area for the marauding Orcs. They would burn before he returned to his father. He didn’t want to be there when the wounded boy was taken in, didn’t want to hear Thranduil’s lecture.
*
Thranduil had less to do than he let on, like to all the elves of the palace. It would never do for them to know that most of his duties were simply to sit and nod. And be responsible for what everyone else did in his name.
If only Legolas would see that. His son seemed to respect him less than anyone else he knew. Had he been this way with his own father? It certainly didn’t seem that way to him. How was he to groom Legolas for the crown if his son thought he was an idiot?
He sighed and motioned for a servant to bring him a glass of wine and the stack of invoices for the goods he’d had bought from outside the Green Wood. Living in caves in a poisoned forest meant that they had to buy much of their food and drink from outside, from men and hobbits mostly. The money for such came from the royal coffers. He collected a small tax from his subjects and along with what mithril and jewels they mined and sold to other elves, they had enough to buy the things his people needed to survive.
It had not always been this way. Before the Evil awoke and began to poison the wood, there had been plenty for all. They’d feasted and celebrated each season in the green and growing wood but now, there were dark and evil things lurking in the wood, things that would eat the children and kill them all, given a chance.
He was almost done with his glass of wine and about a fourth of the way done with the invoices when part of the guard in the woods returned with the boy. A human boy, and an injured one at that.
“Who told you to bring him here?” he roared at the captain.
“Legolas, Sire. The people with him fled the Orcs and left him for us to take care of. Legolas sent us back while he took the others and went after the Orcs.”
“Very well. The boy is still alive?”
“Yes, Sire, but he is gravely injured. Shall I call for the healer?”
“Take him to the infirmary. One of you go for the healer. I will accompany him.”
They hurried and within the hour, Faramir’s wounds were cleaned and stitched, bandages placed and the healer had given him herbs to bring down his fever and to ease the pain that made the unconscious youth moan and cry out.
“Does he need someone to sit with him?” Thranduil asked the healer.
“Yes, a cool cloth applied to his head will help cool him and a soothing voice will keep him calm. I shall call one of my apprentices to come at once.”
“No.” He placed his hand on the healer’s arm to stay him. “I will sit with him. I have little else to do anyway and your apprentices may be freed up for more active pursuits of healing. I will send for you if he needs you.”
Thranduil watched the young man. He looked like a human from the south, maybe Gondor. His clothing had been cut away to treat his injuries so Thranduil couldn’t tell his rank from that. He’d guess the boy came from a well to do home. He showed no signs of hunger or the bad teeth and hair that many of the poor humans showed. He was a little skinny, but they did say he was with a caravan so that meant he was a runaway.
This one had someone looking for him. That much he’d wager.
*
Boromir and his troops arrived back in Minas Tirith after several weeks out chasing Orcs on the borders. He thought it odd that Faramir was not there to greet him. His younger brother might have issues with their father, but the two of them were close and always had been. Their father was a difficult man in the best of times and of late, he had become worse, blaming the boy for his own shortcomings and everyone else’s as well.
He went to the great hall, where his father greeted him as the returning hero.
“Father, where is Faramir?” Boromir was becoming alarmed.
“I don’t know. He said something about a caravan the day after you left. Haven’t seen him since. Why?”
Boromir exploded in his father’s face. “You haven’t seen him in weeks and it doesn’t bother you?”
“No. Why should it?”
“He is your son, my brother and you act like he’s no one!”
“You are home safe, my brave son. It is enough.”
Boromir was so angry with his father that he had to leave the room, afraid of what he might do or say. He went to the barracks and summoned several of his best men, men he trusted with his life, with Faramir’s life.
“Faramir has run away since we have been out and right now, I don’t know exactly when, but I do know he left with a traveling caravan. I want the three of you to find out all you can and report back to me.”
All were friends as well as soldiers under Boromir and they all loved his younger brother. They nodded and set about making a plan.
*
Faramir didn’t wake until the third day. He only remembered the terror of the attack. Nothing more. Not even his name.
Thranduil sat by him when he opened his eyes.
“Ah, you are awake, young one. You’ve been asleep almost three days.”
Faramir’s eyes widened. Even he knew this was no common elf like some he had seen before. This elf was royal from his shiny silver hair to his mithril crown, woven with ivy and a few tiny flowers. On a man, it would look silly. On this elf, it looked regal.
“I am Thrand - just Thran. I’ve been caring for you since my son found you injured in the forest. Your caravan had been attacked by Orcs. You were lucky to make it.”
“Did they all die?” He finally whispered when he found had voice.
“Two did but the rest ran. They thought you were dead as well.” It was kinder not to call them the cowards they were to the boy’s face.
“Water?” he asked and Thranduil fetched a glass with some cool water and held it for him to sip.
“Take it slowly, son. You’ve had a rough few days and too much at one time will only come back. Just a few sips at a time but you can have it often.”
Faramir loved the lyrical sound of the elf’s voice as he spoke in the Common Tongue. He lay back and relaxed.
“If you do well with the water, I will see if Cook can come up with a nice broth tomorrow. We’ve got to get some fluid back in you. Your injuries are not as grave as we first thought, but you did lose some blood and you’re beat up pretty badly. I suspect your sleeping for so long has helped you more than anything we could do for you.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“I do not. From your speech and your looks, I’d say you’re from Gondor. You’re not Rohirrim and you speak as a man with some education. From your question, I am right in thinking that you do not remember your name?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, if there is a name you fancy, then choose it and I shall call you that.” Thranduil smiled at him.
“Anardil. I think that was king of Gondor once long ago. I think it means friend of the sun.”
Thranduil smiled. “Close enough. Then I shall call you Anardil.”
He saw the boy was tired, so he sat back and let him fall asleep, not leaving until he found himself drifting off as well. He told the healer’s apprentice to come for him if the boy needed him during the night. He made a stop by the kitchen on his way to his own rooms.
“What are you doing still here?” he asked Cook, who usually went to bed very early and rose several hours before dawn to get her breads rising and her meats cooking for the coming day. “I didn’t mean for you to wait food on me.”
“I stayed to make you something to eat because I wanted to, Sire.”
“I’ll grab something. You go on to bed. It’s not long before you get up.”
She handed him a plate she’d made and kept warm for him. It had roasted chicken, chopped vegetables with a bit of vinegar and oil infused with herbs to flavor it and a big chunk of her best yeast bread, still warm. A glass of wine finished the meal.
Since she stayed, they talked about her day, his day, what she had on the menu tomorrow. Cook had run his kitchen since she went to work for his own father many, many years ago. In front of others, they were formal, king and subject, but alone, they were friends, the friends who clung to one another in their grief over his father’s loss so long ago.
When he finished, he washed his dishes and set them in the drainer. He turned and kissed the older elf on the cheek. “Goodnight, Cook. Get some rest.”
“You rest well and fast, Sire.”
*
He slept only a few hours before he was back in Faramir’s room. The boy was still sleeping. The apprentice said he’d slept peacefully though he’d asked for water several times. It seemed his fever was gone and his color was much better.
Thranduil sent the apprentice back to the kitchen for some broth for the boy and he sat down to wait for Faramir to wake. He didn’t have to wait long. The boy grimaced when he opened his eyes but soon smiled when he saw his new friend sitting by his bed.
“Good morning, Anardil. Did you sleep well?”
“I’m starving!” Was the boy’s answer.
“Your broth will be here soon. If you manage that, we’ll ask the healer if you have something heartier.”
“I still don’t know who I am.”
“Do not worry. It will come back, I expect. Just enjoy the rest and get stronger. I am sure there is someone who wants you back out there.”
“Do you have children?” Faramir asked, not wanting to think about his past right now.
“My son, Legolas, found you. He sent you here while he chased Orcs. He’d rather be anywhere than here with me, I’m afraid.”
“Why?”
“For the same reason I did not get along with my father, I suppose. I think it is the gods’ way of telling us to make our own way, to leave our parents.”
“I can’t remember my father.”
“I am sure he is worried about you.”
Cook arrived with a steaming bowl of broth and some freshly baked bread. Thranduil helped his young charge to sit. Faramir wanted to feed himself and Thranduil sat back to watch.
“I believe my son will come home tonight, and if he does, I’ll have him stop by so you can meet him.”
“I wish I had a father like you,” Faramir said wistfully. The elf had made him feel special and treasured, something he somehow knew he did not get at home.
“You probably do,” the elf said kindly.
“Then why wasn’t I at home?”
“I can’t answer that one, son. I would treasure a son like you and tell you so. I treasure my own son - ” Thranduil stopped in midsentence. He did treasure his own son, but they argued more than they got along and he wasn’t sure he’d ever told Legolas how much he loved him in so many words. Perhaps he should rectify that as soon as possible.
He was saved from further questions and further pondering by the very son he spoke of.
“Father, we have come from the wood. We found the Orc band and they are no more.” Legolas looked tired and he was covered in grime from the gruesome chore he’d completed when they burned the corpses in a giant pile, both to get rid of the stinking creatures and to warn other bands what would happen if they strayed too close to Thranduil’s kingdom.
Thranduil nodded and rose. “I will be back shortly,” he told Faramir as he followed Legolas out of the room.
Once outside, he asked. “How many were in the band?”
“It was fairly small, only seventeen of them, but they were hauling quite a load of gems and gold. We brought it back. Perhaps some can be identified and returned to the owners.” He reached in his pocket and took out a signet. On it was the crest of the city of Minas Tirith in Gondor, the White Tree of Gondor and the Seven Stars of the Arnor.
“This would be the crest that the Steward of Gondor uses,” Thranduil said.
“Maybe your guest is a part of his family then.”
“He has no memory of who he is and thinks he’s a runaway. I think he might be one at that. I shall show his this ring and see if it jogs his memory.”
“I am going to the baths and will speak with you later today then, Father.”
Thranduil watched him walk away, feeling proud of the elf his son had become. He was brave and dutiful, even if a bit willful now and again. He certainly had that trait in plentiful supply himself.
He looked at the ring again and returned to Faramir’s room.
“Did your son kill the Orcs?”
“Yes. They will trouble no one else. He found this.” Thranduil held out the ring to Faramir.
“Is it mine?”
“I believe it might be. It is the crest -”
“Of the city of Minas Tirith,” Faramir finished for him.
“Do you remember?”
“The ring? Yes.”
“But nothing else?”
Faramir shook his head sadly. Thranduil patted his shoulder reassuringly. “You will. Right now, you are safe and among friends so don’t worry about it.”
*
Boromir and his band tracked down the caravan near Rohan. The old man was still the leader though his wagon was a bit worse for wear these days.
“I am Boromir of Gondor. I am searching for my younger brother. He would have joined you several weeks ago in Gondor.”
“I remember the lad. He did leave Minas Tirith with us but he left without a word somewhere along the way.”
Boromir was no fool. The old man was lying through his teeth.
“Where might it be that he left you?” Boromir leaned closer to him when he asked.
“I don’t remember. Maybe near Bree.”
“Bree? If I go to Bree, will anyone remember you being there?”
“Maybe it wasn’t Bree. Maybe it was -”
Boromir put up a hand. “No more lies. Where did you leave him?”
“Near Mirkwood.”
Bormir exploded. “Mirkwood! Are you crazy, man? Mirkwood is rife with danger.”
The old man shrugged, but Boromir could see his fear. The man was still lying.
“You’ll find him there. I swear it.”
“If I don’t, I will find you and no matter what it takes, you will pay. Does you understand?”
The old man nodded. Boromir stomped off and mounted his horse. They headed for Mirkwood.
*
Faramir was up and about. Thranduil had found him some appropriate clothing and shoes. He moved him into the family apartments in his underground palace. The boy had his own room but more times than not, he could be found in the library, reading scrolls and histories of the Sindarin people and of Middle Earth itself.
While he was reading, he remembered something.
Mithrandir, the wizard. Mithrandir used to read to him, to tell him stories of old, to teach him. In a library larger than this one with high ceilings and tapestries on the wall. He went in search of Thranduil to tell him the news.
Thranduil was reading a missive and he looked up when Faramir knocked.
“I remembered something, a wizard named Mithrandir. He used to read with me.”
“Mithrandir is a friend to us as well. Perhaps I shall contact him to visit us and perhaps he can help you regain your memory.”
Faramir smiled. “I’d like that though I like staying here. You are very kind to me.”
Legolas contacted the wizard, who had heard the way a man like him heard things that Faramir was missing from Minas Tirith, and Boromir was frantic with worry and out searching for him.
“He does not know who he is, Mithrandir. He is happy with Father and Father is kinder to him than he has ever been with me.”
The wizard smiled at Legolas, a knowing smile. “Dear boy, no one ever loved their son more than your father does you. He is kind to this boy because something inside him knows how badly the boy needs love.”
“Love? He has a father and a brother to love him.” Legolas did not understand.
“Yes, he does but his father does not love him the way he should, the way Thranduil loves you and your brother. His father is eaten up with pain since his mother’s death and I think this boy reminds him of his mother. So, he treats his son as if he is to blame for all the wrong in the world, while the eldest son is treated as a Prince of Gondor.”
“Does he hate his brother, then?”
“No, the brothers are close. That is why Boromir is hunting him. He was gone, and Faramir ran away from home. Their father did not stop him. Nor did he even try.”
“Then you must send for this brother, this Boromir, to come to the Green Wood and fetch his brother.”
“I think Faramir needs the shelter of your home just a little longer. He needs to regain his memory a little more. If his brother takes him home now, he’ll just run away again.”
“What shall I tell Father then?”
“Tell him exactly what I have said and that I will come in two weeks’ time, and if the boy has not regained any more of his memory, then I shall endeavor to help him along with a bit if wizardry.”
Legolas hugged Mithrandir. “Thank you, my teacher. You still teach me things even though I may not want to know them. I will try to be more understanding with the boy and with my father as well.”
They parted, and Legolas did not immediately go home. He camped in the woods closest to his home, the woods that were still green, for a few nights. He needed to think. He needed to think about his father.
Mithrandir must be right but still, he felt a pang of jealousy when he thought of the boy and his father. His father seemed unnecessarily harsh with him sometimes. But he’d always known that the king loved him, loved his brother as well. Thranduil had much responsibility and was not a demonstrative elf in any event. He would remember this when he arrived home.
Thranduil greeted Legolas when he arrived.
“What did you find out?”
“He knows who the boy is but says he will not come for a few weeks so the boy can regain his own memory if possible.”
“So who is he then?”
Legolas hesitated. “Where is he?”
“In the stables.”
“It is as we thought. He is the second son of the Steward of Gondor. The man is a bad father to him so young Faramir, for that is his name, ran away while his elder brother was out chasing Orcs.”
“Then it is good that we have shown him much kindness. He will know that all fathers are not such as his.” Thranduil smiled at Legolas.
“No, not all have a good and fair father as mine is,” he said then did something he had done very seldom since he was a boy. He put his arms around his father and kissed his cheek as he had done years ago. “I love you, Papa. I do not say it enough.”
Thranduil held him tight, reluctant to let his son see the tears that had suddenly come in his eyes and dripped down his cheeks. “And I love you too, my son, more than you’ll ever know until you have sons of your own.”
*
Faramir had no idea that his new friends had found out who he was. He did know that he was remembering things, not all at once but in little snippets that sometimes made little sense. He remembered someone who must be his older brother. He remembered playing and laughing with an older boy. He remembered sitting in a woman’s lap, a woman who smelled better than anyone he’d ever met. She must be his mother.
One day a few weeks later, he saw the boy from his memories. He was a man now and he’d been escorted into the palace by Legolas himself. Faramir did not immediately go to see the man. He seemed to have business with Thranduil so Faramir stayed in his rooms and waited.
He was on pins and needles until someone tapped on his door. “May I come in?”
He opened the door, and he knew as soon as he looked into those grey eyes that the man was his brother, Boromir, and that he was Faramir, the son of the Steward of Gondor. He threw himself into Boromir’s arms.
“I am so sorry that I left. I was tired of Father treating me like an unwanted servant boy so I left.”
“You are safe! None of those things matter! I was afraid I’d never see you again!” Boromir was beside himself with joy at seeing his brother, so happy, in fact, that he forgot to be furious over his running away in the first place.
They sat the rest of the day and talked. Faramir’s amnesia had left the moment he saw his brother, but he still had no memory of the day of the attack. Boromir asked no questions about it, seeing that it upset him.
That evening, Thranduil invited the brothers to sup with him and his family in their family dining room. This was where his sons had eaten porridge when they were tots and where they’d told him of their adventures over a delicious dinner served by Cook when they were older. Outsiders seldom saw these rooms, humans never had.
Thranduil was decked out in his finest this evening with his white robes and his mithril crown, woven with flowers and green ivy. Legolas was dressed in his green robes with his long hair braided and fastened with a mithril clip.
The King held his glass up in a toast. “To family, whether they are related or not.” He smiled at the boy from Gondor as he said it.
“To family!” Everyone said and they drank. For a moment, all was quiet and then they all talked at once and the room was filled with warmth and kindness, something that would never be forgotten by any of them.
~the end~
Author: alexcat
Type: FCGen
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I profit from the use of these characters.
Warnings: None
Beta: Jaiden
Characters: Thranduil, Legolas, Faramir, Boromir, Denethor
Author’s Note: AiA 2014
Spoilers: No
Summary: Faramir runs away from home.
~~~
He was tired of hearing about Boromir. His father talked nonstop about his older brother as if Faramir did not exist at all. He loved his brother dearly, but he simply didn’t want to hear the name even one more time. He was tired of being the one to blame for everything, his father’s whipping boy.
When one of the traveling caravans that made circuits around Middle Earth plying trade, entertainment and news made its stop in Minas Tirith, young Faramir convinced the old man who led the group to let him tag along. He doubted that his father would ever even know he was gone.
“You’ll have to do your share, son. We all pull together. There are always horses to water and feed, slops to empty and the women always can use a helping hand with laundry and such. Can you do these things?” The old man doubted a Steward’s son did much work.
“I can do anything you ask of me. If I don’t know how, I’ll learn. I promise I won’t be any trouble.”
The old man nodded. “You can travel in my wagon then.”
And they set out.
Traveling with the caravan was hard work, but Faramir didn’t mind. He got to see places that he’d only heard Boromir talk about, and he was treated as an equal by the others. He made some new friends, as well.
But his journey was short lived. On the way to the Greenwood, they were set upon by Orcs. Elves from Mirkwood descended on to the Orcs, but not soon enough to keep the young Gondorian boy from being injured. Gravely injured.
The old man who led the caravan was concerned, but not concerned enough to stay. He and his caravan were gone by the time the elves returned from chasing the Orcs to find the boy lying motionless on the ground.
Legolas, only son of Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, ordered him to be taken back to his father while he scouted the area for the marauding Orcs. They would burn before he returned to his father. He didn’t want to be there when the wounded boy was taken in, didn’t want to hear Thranduil’s lecture.
*
Thranduil had less to do than he let on, like to all the elves of the palace. It would never do for them to know that most of his duties were simply to sit and nod. And be responsible for what everyone else did in his name.
If only Legolas would see that. His son seemed to respect him less than anyone else he knew. Had he been this way with his own father? It certainly didn’t seem that way to him. How was he to groom Legolas for the crown if his son thought he was an idiot?
He sighed and motioned for a servant to bring him a glass of wine and the stack of invoices for the goods he’d had bought from outside the Green Wood. Living in caves in a poisoned forest meant that they had to buy much of their food and drink from outside, from men and hobbits mostly. The money for such came from the royal coffers. He collected a small tax from his subjects and along with what mithril and jewels they mined and sold to other elves, they had enough to buy the things his people needed to survive.
It had not always been this way. Before the Evil awoke and began to poison the wood, there had been plenty for all. They’d feasted and celebrated each season in the green and growing wood but now, there were dark and evil things lurking in the wood, things that would eat the children and kill them all, given a chance.
He was almost done with his glass of wine and about a fourth of the way done with the invoices when part of the guard in the woods returned with the boy. A human boy, and an injured one at that.
“Who told you to bring him here?” he roared at the captain.
“Legolas, Sire. The people with him fled the Orcs and left him for us to take care of. Legolas sent us back while he took the others and went after the Orcs.”
“Very well. The boy is still alive?”
“Yes, Sire, but he is gravely injured. Shall I call for the healer?”
“Take him to the infirmary. One of you go for the healer. I will accompany him.”
They hurried and within the hour, Faramir’s wounds were cleaned and stitched, bandages placed and the healer had given him herbs to bring down his fever and to ease the pain that made the unconscious youth moan and cry out.
“Does he need someone to sit with him?” Thranduil asked the healer.
“Yes, a cool cloth applied to his head will help cool him and a soothing voice will keep him calm. I shall call one of my apprentices to come at once.”
“No.” He placed his hand on the healer’s arm to stay him. “I will sit with him. I have little else to do anyway and your apprentices may be freed up for more active pursuits of healing. I will send for you if he needs you.”
Thranduil watched the young man. He looked like a human from the south, maybe Gondor. His clothing had been cut away to treat his injuries so Thranduil couldn’t tell his rank from that. He’d guess the boy came from a well to do home. He showed no signs of hunger or the bad teeth and hair that many of the poor humans showed. He was a little skinny, but they did say he was with a caravan so that meant he was a runaway.
This one had someone looking for him. That much he’d wager.
*
Boromir and his troops arrived back in Minas Tirith after several weeks out chasing Orcs on the borders. He thought it odd that Faramir was not there to greet him. His younger brother might have issues with their father, but the two of them were close and always had been. Their father was a difficult man in the best of times and of late, he had become worse, blaming the boy for his own shortcomings and everyone else’s as well.
He went to the great hall, where his father greeted him as the returning hero.
“Father, where is Faramir?” Boromir was becoming alarmed.
“I don’t know. He said something about a caravan the day after you left. Haven’t seen him since. Why?”
Boromir exploded in his father’s face. “You haven’t seen him in weeks and it doesn’t bother you?”
“No. Why should it?”
“He is your son, my brother and you act like he’s no one!”
“You are home safe, my brave son. It is enough.”
Boromir was so angry with his father that he had to leave the room, afraid of what he might do or say. He went to the barracks and summoned several of his best men, men he trusted with his life, with Faramir’s life.
“Faramir has run away since we have been out and right now, I don’t know exactly when, but I do know he left with a traveling caravan. I want the three of you to find out all you can and report back to me.”
All were friends as well as soldiers under Boromir and they all loved his younger brother. They nodded and set about making a plan.
*
Faramir didn’t wake until the third day. He only remembered the terror of the attack. Nothing more. Not even his name.
Thranduil sat by him when he opened his eyes.
“Ah, you are awake, young one. You’ve been asleep almost three days.”
Faramir’s eyes widened. Even he knew this was no common elf like some he had seen before. This elf was royal from his shiny silver hair to his mithril crown, woven with ivy and a few tiny flowers. On a man, it would look silly. On this elf, it looked regal.
“I am Thrand - just Thran. I’ve been caring for you since my son found you injured in the forest. Your caravan had been attacked by Orcs. You were lucky to make it.”
“Did they all die?” He finally whispered when he found had voice.
“Two did but the rest ran. They thought you were dead as well.” It was kinder not to call them the cowards they were to the boy’s face.
“Water?” he asked and Thranduil fetched a glass with some cool water and held it for him to sip.
“Take it slowly, son. You’ve had a rough few days and too much at one time will only come back. Just a few sips at a time but you can have it often.”
Faramir loved the lyrical sound of the elf’s voice as he spoke in the Common Tongue. He lay back and relaxed.
“If you do well with the water, I will see if Cook can come up with a nice broth tomorrow. We’ve got to get some fluid back in you. Your injuries are not as grave as we first thought, but you did lose some blood and you’re beat up pretty badly. I suspect your sleeping for so long has helped you more than anything we could do for you.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“I do not. From your speech and your looks, I’d say you’re from Gondor. You’re not Rohirrim and you speak as a man with some education. From your question, I am right in thinking that you do not remember your name?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, if there is a name you fancy, then choose it and I shall call you that.” Thranduil smiled at him.
“Anardil. I think that was king of Gondor once long ago. I think it means friend of the sun.”
Thranduil smiled. “Close enough. Then I shall call you Anardil.”
He saw the boy was tired, so he sat back and let him fall asleep, not leaving until he found himself drifting off as well. He told the healer’s apprentice to come for him if the boy needed him during the night. He made a stop by the kitchen on his way to his own rooms.
“What are you doing still here?” he asked Cook, who usually went to bed very early and rose several hours before dawn to get her breads rising and her meats cooking for the coming day. “I didn’t mean for you to wait food on me.”
“I stayed to make you something to eat because I wanted to, Sire.”
“I’ll grab something. You go on to bed. It’s not long before you get up.”
She handed him a plate she’d made and kept warm for him. It had roasted chicken, chopped vegetables with a bit of vinegar and oil infused with herbs to flavor it and a big chunk of her best yeast bread, still warm. A glass of wine finished the meal.
Since she stayed, they talked about her day, his day, what she had on the menu tomorrow. Cook had run his kitchen since she went to work for his own father many, many years ago. In front of others, they were formal, king and subject, but alone, they were friends, the friends who clung to one another in their grief over his father’s loss so long ago.
When he finished, he washed his dishes and set them in the drainer. He turned and kissed the older elf on the cheek. “Goodnight, Cook. Get some rest.”
“You rest well and fast, Sire.”
*
He slept only a few hours before he was back in Faramir’s room. The boy was still sleeping. The apprentice said he’d slept peacefully though he’d asked for water several times. It seemed his fever was gone and his color was much better.
Thranduil sent the apprentice back to the kitchen for some broth for the boy and he sat down to wait for Faramir to wake. He didn’t have to wait long. The boy grimaced when he opened his eyes but soon smiled when he saw his new friend sitting by his bed.
“Good morning, Anardil. Did you sleep well?”
“I’m starving!” Was the boy’s answer.
“Your broth will be here soon. If you manage that, we’ll ask the healer if you have something heartier.”
“I still don’t know who I am.”
“Do not worry. It will come back, I expect. Just enjoy the rest and get stronger. I am sure there is someone who wants you back out there.”
“Do you have children?” Faramir asked, not wanting to think about his past right now.
“My son, Legolas, found you. He sent you here while he chased Orcs. He’d rather be anywhere than here with me, I’m afraid.”
“Why?”
“For the same reason I did not get along with my father, I suppose. I think it is the gods’ way of telling us to make our own way, to leave our parents.”
“I can’t remember my father.”
“I am sure he is worried about you.”
Cook arrived with a steaming bowl of broth and some freshly baked bread. Thranduil helped his young charge to sit. Faramir wanted to feed himself and Thranduil sat back to watch.
“I believe my son will come home tonight, and if he does, I’ll have him stop by so you can meet him.”
“I wish I had a father like you,” Faramir said wistfully. The elf had made him feel special and treasured, something he somehow knew he did not get at home.
“You probably do,” the elf said kindly.
“Then why wasn’t I at home?”
“I can’t answer that one, son. I would treasure a son like you and tell you so. I treasure my own son - ” Thranduil stopped in midsentence. He did treasure his own son, but they argued more than they got along and he wasn’t sure he’d ever told Legolas how much he loved him in so many words. Perhaps he should rectify that as soon as possible.
He was saved from further questions and further pondering by the very son he spoke of.
“Father, we have come from the wood. We found the Orc band and they are no more.” Legolas looked tired and he was covered in grime from the gruesome chore he’d completed when they burned the corpses in a giant pile, both to get rid of the stinking creatures and to warn other bands what would happen if they strayed too close to Thranduil’s kingdom.
Thranduil nodded and rose. “I will be back shortly,” he told Faramir as he followed Legolas out of the room.
Once outside, he asked. “How many were in the band?”
“It was fairly small, only seventeen of them, but they were hauling quite a load of gems and gold. We brought it back. Perhaps some can be identified and returned to the owners.” He reached in his pocket and took out a signet. On it was the crest of the city of Minas Tirith in Gondor, the White Tree of Gondor and the Seven Stars of the Arnor.
“This would be the crest that the Steward of Gondor uses,” Thranduil said.
“Maybe your guest is a part of his family then.”
“He has no memory of who he is and thinks he’s a runaway. I think he might be one at that. I shall show his this ring and see if it jogs his memory.”
“I am going to the baths and will speak with you later today then, Father.”
Thranduil watched him walk away, feeling proud of the elf his son had become. He was brave and dutiful, even if a bit willful now and again. He certainly had that trait in plentiful supply himself.
He looked at the ring again and returned to Faramir’s room.
“Did your son kill the Orcs?”
“Yes. They will trouble no one else. He found this.” Thranduil held out the ring to Faramir.
“Is it mine?”
“I believe it might be. It is the crest -”
“Of the city of Minas Tirith,” Faramir finished for him.
“Do you remember?”
“The ring? Yes.”
“But nothing else?”
Faramir shook his head sadly. Thranduil patted his shoulder reassuringly. “You will. Right now, you are safe and among friends so don’t worry about it.”
*
Boromir and his band tracked down the caravan near Rohan. The old man was still the leader though his wagon was a bit worse for wear these days.
“I am Boromir of Gondor. I am searching for my younger brother. He would have joined you several weeks ago in Gondor.”
“I remember the lad. He did leave Minas Tirith with us but he left without a word somewhere along the way.”
Boromir was no fool. The old man was lying through his teeth.
“Where might it be that he left you?” Boromir leaned closer to him when he asked.
“I don’t remember. Maybe near Bree.”
“Bree? If I go to Bree, will anyone remember you being there?”
“Maybe it wasn’t Bree. Maybe it was -”
Boromir put up a hand. “No more lies. Where did you leave him?”
“Near Mirkwood.”
Bormir exploded. “Mirkwood! Are you crazy, man? Mirkwood is rife with danger.”
The old man shrugged, but Boromir could see his fear. The man was still lying.
“You’ll find him there. I swear it.”
“If I don’t, I will find you and no matter what it takes, you will pay. Does you understand?”
The old man nodded. Boromir stomped off and mounted his horse. They headed for Mirkwood.
*
Faramir was up and about. Thranduil had found him some appropriate clothing and shoes. He moved him into the family apartments in his underground palace. The boy had his own room but more times than not, he could be found in the library, reading scrolls and histories of the Sindarin people and of Middle Earth itself.
While he was reading, he remembered something.
Mithrandir, the wizard. Mithrandir used to read to him, to tell him stories of old, to teach him. In a library larger than this one with high ceilings and tapestries on the wall. He went in search of Thranduil to tell him the news.
Thranduil was reading a missive and he looked up when Faramir knocked.
“I remembered something, a wizard named Mithrandir. He used to read with me.”
“Mithrandir is a friend to us as well. Perhaps I shall contact him to visit us and perhaps he can help you regain your memory.”
Faramir smiled. “I’d like that though I like staying here. You are very kind to me.”
Legolas contacted the wizard, who had heard the way a man like him heard things that Faramir was missing from Minas Tirith, and Boromir was frantic with worry and out searching for him.
“He does not know who he is, Mithrandir. He is happy with Father and Father is kinder to him than he has ever been with me.”
The wizard smiled at Legolas, a knowing smile. “Dear boy, no one ever loved their son more than your father does you. He is kind to this boy because something inside him knows how badly the boy needs love.”
“Love? He has a father and a brother to love him.” Legolas did not understand.
“Yes, he does but his father does not love him the way he should, the way Thranduil loves you and your brother. His father is eaten up with pain since his mother’s death and I think this boy reminds him of his mother. So, he treats his son as if he is to blame for all the wrong in the world, while the eldest son is treated as a Prince of Gondor.”
“Does he hate his brother, then?”
“No, the brothers are close. That is why Boromir is hunting him. He was gone, and Faramir ran away from home. Their father did not stop him. Nor did he even try.”
“Then you must send for this brother, this Boromir, to come to the Green Wood and fetch his brother.”
“I think Faramir needs the shelter of your home just a little longer. He needs to regain his memory a little more. If his brother takes him home now, he’ll just run away again.”
“What shall I tell Father then?”
“Tell him exactly what I have said and that I will come in two weeks’ time, and if the boy has not regained any more of his memory, then I shall endeavor to help him along with a bit if wizardry.”
Legolas hugged Mithrandir. “Thank you, my teacher. You still teach me things even though I may not want to know them. I will try to be more understanding with the boy and with my father as well.”
They parted, and Legolas did not immediately go home. He camped in the woods closest to his home, the woods that were still green, for a few nights. He needed to think. He needed to think about his father.
Mithrandir must be right but still, he felt a pang of jealousy when he thought of the boy and his father. His father seemed unnecessarily harsh with him sometimes. But he’d always known that the king loved him, loved his brother as well. Thranduil had much responsibility and was not a demonstrative elf in any event. He would remember this when he arrived home.
Thranduil greeted Legolas when he arrived.
“What did you find out?”
“He knows who the boy is but says he will not come for a few weeks so the boy can regain his own memory if possible.”
“So who is he then?”
Legolas hesitated. “Where is he?”
“In the stables.”
“It is as we thought. He is the second son of the Steward of Gondor. The man is a bad father to him so young Faramir, for that is his name, ran away while his elder brother was out chasing Orcs.”
“Then it is good that we have shown him much kindness. He will know that all fathers are not such as his.” Thranduil smiled at Legolas.
“No, not all have a good and fair father as mine is,” he said then did something he had done very seldom since he was a boy. He put his arms around his father and kissed his cheek as he had done years ago. “I love you, Papa. I do not say it enough.”
Thranduil held him tight, reluctant to let his son see the tears that had suddenly come in his eyes and dripped down his cheeks. “And I love you too, my son, more than you’ll ever know until you have sons of your own.”
*
Faramir had no idea that his new friends had found out who he was. He did know that he was remembering things, not all at once but in little snippets that sometimes made little sense. He remembered someone who must be his older brother. He remembered playing and laughing with an older boy. He remembered sitting in a woman’s lap, a woman who smelled better than anyone he’d ever met. She must be his mother.
One day a few weeks later, he saw the boy from his memories. He was a man now and he’d been escorted into the palace by Legolas himself. Faramir did not immediately go to see the man. He seemed to have business with Thranduil so Faramir stayed in his rooms and waited.
He was on pins and needles until someone tapped on his door. “May I come in?”
He opened the door, and he knew as soon as he looked into those grey eyes that the man was his brother, Boromir, and that he was Faramir, the son of the Steward of Gondor. He threw himself into Boromir’s arms.
“I am so sorry that I left. I was tired of Father treating me like an unwanted servant boy so I left.”
“You are safe! None of those things matter! I was afraid I’d never see you again!” Boromir was beside himself with joy at seeing his brother, so happy, in fact, that he forgot to be furious over his running away in the first place.
They sat the rest of the day and talked. Faramir’s amnesia had left the moment he saw his brother, but he still had no memory of the day of the attack. Boromir asked no questions about it, seeing that it upset him.
That evening, Thranduil invited the brothers to sup with him and his family in their family dining room. This was where his sons had eaten porridge when they were tots and where they’d told him of their adventures over a delicious dinner served by Cook when they were older. Outsiders seldom saw these rooms, humans never had.
Thranduil was decked out in his finest this evening with his white robes and his mithril crown, woven with flowers and green ivy. Legolas was dressed in his green robes with his long hair braided and fastened with a mithril clip.
The King held his glass up in a toast. “To family, whether they are related or not.” He smiled at the boy from Gondor as he said it.
“To family!” Everyone said and they drank. For a moment, all was quiet and then they all talked at once and the room was filled with warmth and kindness, something that would never be forgotten by any of them.
~the end~