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actual-bill-potts · 1 year ago

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Talking with the Hobbits who had come to live on Tol Eressëa, Finrod found, was often a delight, always interesting, occasionally discomfiting.

Take for instance his fairly mild assertion that the noble cabbage, as a vegetable, could be improved upon. He was met with twin glares so fierce he was surprised he didn’t burn to ash then and there, and had to surreptitiously check his hair for burnt ends. Then he was plied with recipes that prominently featured cabbage, and not allowed to speak on any other subject until he had meekly promised to try at least five separate dishes which the Hobbits promised to prepare with their own hands.

So he had that to look forward to.

But they were very wise in the way mortals were wise, practiced in the art of letting go, embracing the joy of impermanence. Sitting with them, hearing the histories and legends of their people, was a rare pleasure; and hearing the tales of his own people from their mouths brought new meaning to the old, old words. The Tale of Fingon and Maedhros, for instance, was not tainted for them by knowledge of future horrors. It was simply a love story. Bilbo had written a poem about it; and when he recited it in his quavering voice, Finrod was moved to tears twice over: in admiration for a love that had - however briefly - conquered all evil, and for his cousins who had been so long dead.

When Bilbo came to the end of the poem, Frodo let out a long sigh. “I love that story,” he said in his light high voice. “It was my favorite when I was a tween.”

Bilbo looked at him in surprise. “It was? You never mentioned.”

A tinge of color touched Frodo’s cheeks. “No, well, I suppose I wouldn’t have at that,” he said. “It took several years after I had passed my majority for me to admit why I loved the story so much - and by then you were off in Rivendell, bothering Elrond with your impudent poetry no doubt!”

“Impudent!” said Bilbo laughing. “Well, perhaps; but he never said a word about it. That was all his stuffy advisors; and Estel of course - but he teased me for everything. Talk of impudence! I could not remark on the sun’s rising but he must say his piece about how Hobbits are so near the ground they must see the dawn well before Men and Elves, or some such rot.”

Finrod joined them in laughter. “Who was Estel?” he asked curiously. “He sounds very like Elros. For all his majesty, he could not resist offering me a step-stool whenever I greeted him, that I might look him in the eye - and I was a mere hand-span shorter than him! He took far too much delight in being taller than an Elda.”

Bilbo chuckled. “You’re more right than you know, lad; Estel is none other than Aragorn Elessar Telcontar, your - I suppose he would be grand-nephew-in-law? - and King of Gondor and Arnor in Middle-earth.”

“Really?” Finrod said in surprise. “Why was he called Estel?”

Bilbo blinked. “Has Elrond not told you?”

“I doubt Elrond has wished to speak of those days much, while the grief is so near,” Frodo said gently.

Bilbo nodded. “True enough; well then, I will tell the story,” and he told the tale of how Arathorn son of Arador had been cruelly slain when his son Aragorn was yet young, and all that followed. Some of it Finrod had heard from Elrond, and others who had come from Rivendell; but other parts of the story, such as Gilraen’s words to Elrond, were new and moved him greatly.

“High is the valor of the Edain!” he said when Bilbo had finished speaking. “They have proven it in every Age; and the Edenith no less than the Edain.”

“Yes,” said Bilbo dryly, “there are many poems to that effect, I believe. I have even composed one myself - if you count Eärendil as a Man, of course. Accounts differ.” He turned to Frodo. “But you, my lad, have not yet explained why you loved the Tale of Fingon and Maedhros so much!”

Frodo met his eyes. “Can you not guess, Uncle?”

Bilbo held his gaze for a moment; then he chuckled. “I suppose I can, at that! What a very eligible bachelor you were, for far too many years. Ah, I am sorry, Nephew.”

Frodo laughed; then sighed. “No need to apologize! How were you to know, when I did not see it myself for so long? In any case, it would not have made a difference. The Ring took all of that from me. Perhaps it was better that I was not encouraged -” he stopped. “Well! Never mind.” He looked over at Finrod. “I am sorry, Zir; we are getting into personal matters. I will leave off the reminiscing, and we will talk of happier things.”

(That was another thing that delighted Finrod about the Hobbits: they had given him another name! They called him Zir, the Wise - or so he was assured - in their own tongue. “We cannot let the Men and Dwarves get ahead of us,” Bilbo had said, upon being introduced to Finrod, “may I call you Zir? That way you can complete the set, and be called wise in every tongue.”

“Besides, he is at least twice the size of our Samwise,” Frodo had added, laughing; and although Finrod did not quite understand the connection between Samwise and Zir he was too delighted by the name to inquire further.)

But his friend was not laughing now. Finrod said gently, “You need not, if your heart is troubled. I am happy to listen.”

“Well - perhaps not now,” Frodo said, glancing slightly at his uncle; and Finrod nodded. He did not wish to grieve the old Hobbit; and he turned the conversation down happier paths with the ease of one who had once sat between Elu Thingol and Angrod at table.

But later, when he was getting up to leave, he looked into Frodo’s eyes which were so sad and tired for all their wisdom, and said on impulse, “Frodo, would you like to look at the stars with me for awhile? And Bilbo too, of course,” he added, for politeness’ sake; but Bilbo looked at the both of them from under his white brows and said, “I am too old for such Elvish nonsense! You go on, and I shall stay beside my cozy fire,” and if his eyes were full of rue they were also laughing in the way of mortals.

Finrod offered his arm to Frodo; and they went out through the little gate and settled upon a bench. Frodo tipped his head back and gazed at the Valacirca, face solemn. There were not yet many threads of silver in his hair; but the stars caught the edges of his curls and crowned him with such light that he could have been silhouetted against the vessel of Tilion.

Finrod sat quietly beside him, feeling the stars kiss his own forehead; and after a moment Frodo spoke.

“I have come into the uttermost West,” he said, “and I have been healed in body; but not even the Valar can remove the touch of the Shadow.”

“Yes,” said Finrod sadly. “If they could, much evil might have been undone.”

“Or not!” Frodo said. “Perhaps greater evil might have come from such absolute power. Or so I tell myself, anyway.”

Finrod nodded; then he asked, “Was it frowned upon, to be - as you were - in your homeland?”

Frodo laughed a little. “To look upon lads with desire, rather than lasses? It was not frowned upon, exactly; but it was not mentioned in polite company either. I was considered strange enough already without adding to my list of peculiarities!”

Puzzled, Finrod asked, “Why should you be considered strange?”

Frodo looked at him, seeming a little bemused. “You do not hesitate to place your finger on the center of a sore, do you?”

“I am sorry!” Finrod exclaimed. “I have been scolded for that since before the Sun rose; and yet I continue to - “ he paused - “put my nose where it is not wanted, as I am told they say in the Shire.”

Frodo chuckled. “It is quite alright! I was mostly teasing you; you are extraordinarily blunt for one of the Eldar.”

“I am told it is very charming,” said Finrod, hoping it was true.

“Well - perhaps! But anyway, you might as well ask why I was not considered odd; the list would be shorter. I was an orphan, and raised mostly by the Brandybucks - who are quite the wild family - and then by Bilbo, who was an eccentric old bachelor who loved to tell stories and was rumored to have bags upon bags of gold in his hobbit-hole.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” Finrod said sincerely. “It is difficult to lose a parent.”

“Thank you!” said Frodo. “I miss them every day, though I have not seen them since I was a faunt; my mother loved poetry, though she did not often write it, and my father loved to listen to her - or so I am told…but I am losing the thread. Scholars and scribes are not looked upon with particular favor in the Shire; and I was both! Besides which, I went on far too many walks, and did not eat enough, and was rather sickly as a child.”

Finrod blinked at the list. “Your homeland sounds a bit peculiar,” he remarked.

“Peculiar you might say; close-minded is another word,” said Frodo, “or simple, even. But I loved it all the same.”

“I can understand that,” said Finrod, thinking of the foolish Elves who had once dueled in the streets of Tirion in the days before the Darkening, and how he had mourned its shining walls and soaring towers for so long.

“Sauron got his hands on it before the end,” Frodo continued, “or rather Saruman did; and much of its innocence is gone, and with it a great deal of the prejudice that has long plagued it. I am - not sure I prefer it so. I had rather be laughed at, than treated so gravely; muttered about than reverenced; particularly so when I did not do much to deserve it.”

“Did you not?” said Finrod, thinking of a laita te, laita te at the end of Frodo of the Nine Fingers - for Galadriel had given him the music at once.

“I bore the Ring of Sauron,” said Frodo, “for eighteen years. Perhaps the greatest claim to heroics I have is that for seventeen of those years, while the Ring only stirred in its sleep, I behaved - decently. But the Lay does not sing of that!” He sighed. “It was wholly evil. It sought only to dominate, to grasp and whatever it might lay hands on. My hands. I thought - for so long, I thought - I am terribly depraved, I am wicked, I must be careful - I could not see a lovely lad, or even a lass, without wanting to devour them whole, I could not catch the glint of coin without thinking that ought to be mine: and I did not give in, but the evil seeped in anyway. So you see I did not really win.”

“I don’t see how you didn’t,” said Finrod; but only half his mind was on his words. The rest was thinking, in horrified fascination, of what it must have been to hold Sauron’s soul close for seventeen years. How had Frodo not gone mad?

Frodo must have seen some of what passed in his thought, for he said, “My - friends were always there. They lifted me up; reminded me what it was to laugh. Without them I would have been lost. Merry, and Pippin, and above all Sam.”

Finrod was silent; and after a moment Frodo continued, “It was almost a relief, when I was stabbed upon Weathertop; for I felt the chill of Sauron’s hand on me and it was familiar. The evil had not come from me, after all - or at least not wholly.

“And yet, with all this experience - wise by experience, my name means - I looked upon the Ring of Sauron, there in the wasteland that was Mordor, and I desired it. I still do; and its shadow lies upon my heart. I lost so utterly that there could be no recovery. Yet it is of this moment that the bards sing.”

Finrod said, “I know a little of having one’s greatest failure memorialized in song; but I cannot see failure in your actions. It seems to me,” he continued, “that a great violation was visited upon you, and that despite this terrible wound you traveled to the Dread Lands; and that by daring to set your strength against an Enemy who could have crushed you with a thought you won the freedom of all peoples. No Fingolfin are you, with mighty Ringil! Yet you came to the Black Gates nonetheless.”

He was a little in awe. Seventeen years! Of course Sauron had not been at his full strength then; but Finrod had spent only a month in the dungeons of Tol-in-Gaurhoth and he had been weary and sick at heart when he arrived in the Halls. And Sauron had not brought his full strength to bear against him anyway, after that one moment when their Songs clashed and Sauron’s had proven the greater.

Frodo had looked up sharply when Finrod began to speak. He said, “A failure! You would consider your part in the Lay of Leithian a failure?”

“My part,” said Finrod, observing the Lay with an academic eye, “narratively speaking, is to represent someone who died in chains. A fine contrast to Beren and Lúthien, no doubt!”

“You broke your chains,” Frodo pointed out.

“Ah! The shackles of immortality; those are what remained. It is even mentioned in the Lay, I believe; Finrod walks with his father Finarfin…well, I do! I cannot deny it! And in doing so, I am the anti-Lúthien: the one who did not break his chains after all.”

“Is that how you interpret it?” Frodo exclaimed. His academic nature was clearly getting the better of him. “I have always thought that you were free, at the end: free of your Oath, and the literal chains that bound you.” Then he blushed. “I am sorry! It is easy to forget that the Lay is not only a legend! It is not right to speak so.”

Finrod was slightly amused, and deeply touched. “That is very kind of you! But I do not mind it; King Felagund, who lived under the hills, is long gone. He belongs to the singers and the poets. I remember my friends Beren and Lúthien, who were young and kind; and I am glad they are loved by so many.”

“That is very strange to me!” Frodo said, “I cannot quite regard my own Lay with that kind of detached interest.”

“Yours was not written two Ages ago,” said Finrod, thinking of the first time he had heard Release from Bondage. It had - hurt. He had been glad for the chance to accord Beren and Lúthien honor; but would have happily cut himself out of the song altogether.

He grew serious. “But it was a failure. If you wish to see what true failure looks like, Cormacolindo, look to the Lay! My people rejected me; then I set my strength against Gorthaur, there in the tower I had built, and lost; if I broke free, it was too late to save any but Beren; and I - I died with my hands yet bound.”

Frodo’s face was filled with compassion; and his gaze was far away. “Sauron’s strength is great,” he whispered, “and his will is all in dominion.” Then he seemed to come back to himself. “You know,” he said, meeting Finrod’s gaze now, “I thought of you often in the Black Lands. I did not know you, of course; but I thought of the golden Elven-king who had battled Sauron and fell. It was a - comfort, of sorts. If I fell to the Ring at last, I would be in illustrious company. And then I did; it took me, body and soul.”

Finrod felt something approaching rage fill him at the thought of Sauron laying a hand on this mortal, who was so frail and small. Then Frodo smiled, seeming to catch the thought. Those bottomless eyes glinted; and as through a glass inverted, Finrod saw a strength of will so fierce and indomitable it took his breath away. Defeated this one had been at the last; but he had not come to the fight unarmed.

Frodo looked away, up to the stars again. “I still long for it,” he said quietly. “I gave up the world for it once, and I know in my heart that if it were before me again my hand would reach out, whether by my will or no. The Shadow is on me.”

“That may be,” said Finrod, “but it was not your fault that you were - violated in such a way. I know a little of such,” he added very softly.

Frodo shrugged. “My fault or no, I will carry it until I die. But the burden is perhaps lighter shared.”

His eyes were tired; they reflected the stars. He smiled suddenly. “I thank you, you who have been named Nóm by Men, Angolodh by Elves, Zir by Hobbits! My heart becomes merry in your company.”

“I am glad,” said Finrod, “for mine is certainly in yours! I am told this is a common side effect of Hobbits!”

Frodo laughed. “Gandalf did not tell you that, surely? He is of the opinion that we are the primary cause of head-aches in Middle-earth, I believe.”

“No,” said Finrod smiling, “it was Elrond. He is quite fond of you.”

“He is quite fond of Bilbo, you mean,” said Frodo. “I cannot imagine why!”

“Can you not?” said Finrod, amused. “Elrond is quite fond of ingrates, I have noticed.”

Frodo swung around in shock, grinning. “Why, Zir, that was quite unkind of you! An insult worthy of a Hobbit Common-room! I had not imagined you had it in you.”

“I am full of surprises,” said Finrod. “You ought to invite me over for tea more often.”

“I think I will!” said Frodo. He rose slowly. “And now I think I had better get to bed. The stars cannot sustain me as they do you - to my everlasting regret!”

Hobbit and Elf parted at the gate, Frodo to bed and Finrod to the winding path down the hill. He took the path to the shoreline, seeing as he did so the light of Eärendil shining upon the ocean.

He was singing as he walked.

#silm fic #my fic #finrod #frodo #bilbo

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estel-elrondion · 5 months ago

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Arathorn son of Arador

The 15th chieftain of the dunedain and the father of Aragorn.

I like to think this is how he would have looked when he first met Gilraen.

This is also the first time I have drawn a human character from lotr, I think it has turned out decent

#lotr #lord of the rings #arathorn #art #lotr fanart #dunedain #dunedain of the north

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iminye · 1 year ago

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» That is just what the Rangers are: the last remnant in the North of the great people, the Men of the West.

@lotrladiessource | day vi · ocs · arasúlien daughter of arador

#lotrladiesweek #lotrladiessource #tuserosie #userlyndeth #userhaleths #my oc #dunedain #tinweans #tolkien #lotr #the lord of the rings #jrr tolkien #tolkienedit #lotredit #my edit #✨ mine #god i love her so much #eternal faves

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antologiadecajon · 8 months ago

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El corazón.

¿Te acuerdas de la vez cuando te rompieron el corazón? ¿Y cuando fuiste tú quien lo hizo? Y seguramente conoces a alguien que lo tiene roto. Bueno, esta nota es una oda a ese trasto, capaz de romperse tanto y tantas veces para volverse a reparar y repetir el ciclo. A veces se repara bien y otras no tanto.

Un artificio que más parece del mal que del bien, capaz de olvidar en un segundo o por el contrario nunca dejar ir.

¡Ay corazón! Tan despiadado. Tan dulce y cruel. Indulgente e ingenuo. Fuerte y caprichoso, a ratos orgulloso. Enemigo natural de la razón, gobernador de los impulsos.

¡Y como lates! tan adentro. Acompasado por el ánimo, por una respuesta, por una sonrisa. Tan intensamente lates que haces sentir a tu dueña invencible. Inamovible. Capaz de realizar cualquier barbaridad por amor y aún más por desamor. Vaya amiguito… Al pensarlo careces de sentido. No tienes lógica, ni inicio o fin. Pero así eres corazón.

Un ingrato sin remedio.

Un enamorado sin cordura.

Un loco sin control.

Un engañador por excelencia.

Un mentiroso por necesidad mas que por apariencia.

Amante furtivo,

En busca de un beso,

De un suspiro.

Cazador de alegrías,

Arador de sonrisas.

Fabricante de amores,

Diseñador de esperanzas.

¡Ay corazón!

Cómo te admiro,

Cómo te quiero,

Lates, lates y lates fuerte

Todavía más fuerte

Cómo te admiro,

Cómo te quiero,

Cómo te extraño,

Cuando aún latías y latías más fuerte

Aún por aquel.

Aún por él.

Aun por alguien.

Aún por cualquiera.

#amor #desamor #column #escritos #pensamientos #escritores #amore #textos #columna #en español

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alex31624 · 5 days ago

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Duck Comic Reading Club Week 22: Paperinik New Adventures: Ancient Future

Jojojo, the last PK review I was missing. Finally.

No need to drag this out, let's go for it.

The story starts with Donald and Lyla on a date. Jojojo, that rascal, good job Don.

But, since he's Donald Duck, the place is raid by criminals. Also, that's the Ducklair Tower, that seems to have a different business every floor.

Lyla takes on of her gizmos and then, darkness.

The couple disappeared, not even Uno can find them. And we all know what that means, they have left this moment in the timeline.

But this travel was for from accidental, Lyla was the one who took them there.

The couple is intersected, and Lyla talks PK into stop fighting. The guys who captured them are the local guards. It looks like we left Earth, and we're on…

I love the look of Dol Arador, it merges past and future in a beautiful way.

Anyway, the guard were ambushed by rebels against the ruler, known as The Ancient.

Our heroes escape with the rebels, and now is time for the exposition. The Ancient had subdue every kingdom, and now the rebels want to take him down. The Ancient's most powerful weapon is the Cup of Light, an artifact that allows him to travel through time and space. Lyla told PK that Cup is their way out of this place.

Of course, that's a lie. Lyla was the one who brought them there, there's no reason to think she can't do it again backwards. She wants the Cup, but doesn't tell PK. Someting is fishy about this.

If Lyla looked at me like that, I would melt.

That one, I would fall for that one. This one...

Something is going on. I actually suspect Lyla intentions are not good at all.

There was this part where PK is being trapped by a giant carnivorous plant and Lyla blows the plant up, with a missile on her body.

The day before the attack, the couple had a talk, and the art on that page is sublime. The way the transition between nightfall and the dawn is done perfectly.

By the way...

PK's shield can turn into a dog. How cool is that?

Finally, the rebels arrived to the city and the attack is imminent.

In situ, PK realizes that maybe he's not in the right side of this battle. The rebels were ambush by the guards, and the confrontation begins. PK and Lyla use that chance to escape, they need the Cup.

I don't want to overload the review with images, but the art is so good that I can't help myself. I want to highlight the great work done here.

That fight could be used for the cover of some metal band's album.

The couple found their way into The Ancient's throne, and now, the revelation. The Ancient is no other than Raider.

I'm not Nostradamus or anything like that, but at some point while I was reading I though, is this Raider? And it was. Raider is always a welcome addition.

They gave him a beard because it was the only way to make him cooler.

Lyla tries to pick on a fight with Raider, and he blast her directly in her chest. PK gets furious, obviously, but is time for more revelations. We all suspected Lyla wasn't our Lyla, and we were rigth. She was a robot from The Organization. What we didn't expect was that she was big, mean, robot monster.

Looks like Raider stole for himself the last artifact The Organization asked him to steal, and since they're jerks, send that monstrosity to take him down. Apparently, they needed PK for that. Why? Because we wouldn't have a comic, of course.

PK beats the hell up the robot, and Raider told him he brought peace to the planet. The rebels are better call terrorist.

I want to pause the review here because I have one doubt. Did Raider brought Trip with him? I want to think he did. Trip, now an adult, must be on the bar with a bunch of, lady friends, let said.

Now, is time to PK to go back home.

Uno has been messing around with the criminals, closing every exit. That gave time to the PBI to arrives at the tower, and Angus is there too.

Mary Ann, I get that you love the Saturday Night Fever look but at least wear a bulletproof vest. All your team is gear up to the max, and you look like you just came back from the disco.

Puff... just like Tumblr user and my best friend @puffywuffy8904. Hi Puffy!

Uno keeps the trick until PK's return. Finally, the bad guys can have what they deserve.

PK saves the day, Mary Ann happily accepts that a vigilante is the only one working in this city and Angus is still an asshole.

Other hit. The Lyla monster and the ancient Raider were good plot twists, and I loved the look on Dol Arador. Good stuff.

Just two Carl Barks reviews to be uptodate with the Club.

#dcrc paperinik #dcrc #donald duck #duckverse #pkna #dcrc week 22 #paperinik #uno ducklair #mary ann flagstarr #raider #lyla lay #duck avenger #comic review

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tyrnn · 1 year ago

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Arador the Inteleon Growth Streeeeetch

When Arador needs to do a Stretch, he will do a STRETCH.

Posted using PostyBirb

#Arador #Inteleon #adorabig #growth #moon #Earth #stretch

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aranhilelemathir · 3 months ago

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Tolkien OC Week, Day 2: Canon-OC Relationship

Word Count: 2070 Words

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Aranhil Elhanan Elemathir. The second son of Arathorn son of Arador. From a mere Dúnedain and ranger, to be the Lord of Núrnen and Harondor. But this story is not about it- It's all about his relationship with the future Steward of Gondor, Faramir son of Denethor, from another person perspective

@tolkienocweek

Ithilien, 24 November 3015

Although winter at South is not as cruel as at North, but November is still the peak of winter wherever anyone lives. It could be cold, but it will never being so cold like at North. That's what Faramir believe untill this day, even though he couldn't remember anything about the northern part of Middle Earth. But Mithrandir used to tell him about how Middle Earth looks alike outside Gondor.

Ferendir who told him if he born in Eriador, also tell many stories everytime he got a chance. Faramir, as the one who has a power among many rangers in Ithilien, insert that green eyed ranger into his patrol team, so he will listen to the straight haired ranger when he is chirping like nightingale and tell many stories to him. He told everyone in the team about the beauty of Lothlorien, then how majestic elven palaces could be, although one palace had been deserted for many centuries since The Battle of The Last Alliance ended with many tears on tow.

Ferendir also taught Faramir to draw only with a charcoal pencil and rubber. Untill in his spare time, the Captain of Ithilien Ranger will not only read or write a poem. But he will take his sketchbook and pencil, then draw something under the green foliages of the forest. Ferendir became like a brother for many rangers in Ithilien, and Faramir put that childish ranger in his heart as his older brother, just like how he used to treat Boromir in his heart.

Faramir would die for both of them if it's needed. At least it happened untill Denethor decide to banished Ferendir from Gondor six months ago, and the Steward told his youngest son if the cheerful ranger will be executed if he set his feet in Gondor again. Denethor's word feels like a death sentence to him. But Faramir really has no power against his father.

He is not Boromir. Even Faramir could sense his father's hatred towards him long time before he joined the army. Beside his strained relationship with his father, Faramir's love for his father is unconditional, just like his loyalty to Gondor. He is patiently waiting for the King to come and reclaiming his long deserted throne in Echtelion Tower, although his situation has worsened after Ferendir leave him alone in Henneth Annun. He feel so lonely in his fight against Mordor since then.

But the presence of his guests sparked a little hope in his fragile heart. Rian told him if both of Faramir's guests, one of them is Bertrand who Faramir knew already, is a Ranger of the North. Their sudden visit elevate his soul and hope. Bertrand know Ferendir already, and Faramir put a great hope to the Ranger of the North, since he think this ranger know something about his Brother Feren.

After Rian lead his guests into his study, Faramir's gray eyes looking to his guest intently. The blue eyed ranger put Star of the Dúnedain on his left shoulder of his black cloak, and greet him in traditional Elvish way. Faramir stood up and reply it in the same way, before his right hand signalling for his guests to sit on the wooden chairs before he sat back on the exact same chair in front of his guests.

"Please forgive me for disturbing you again, Captain Faramir," Bertrand said before he bowed his caramel haired head, "but i come here with Findegil for a tracking necessity."

"Tracking?" Faramir raised his left eyebrows, totally can't grasp anything from what the skin-changer mentioned before, "why it should start from Henneth Annun, if any of you may grant me with one important information here, please?"

"Because it's our zero spot, Captain. Gondor was where it start."

"Where it start... Please don't tell me if both of you are asking me about Ferendir's whereabout."

Findegil and Bertrand turned their head and looking to each other. They did so for a pretty long time untill Faramir decide to stood up. Findegil and Bertrand did the same thing and nod their heads before Faramir pull Findegil's arm and walking outside the base behind the waterfall. The gray eyed Gondorian feel something disturbing in his mind. He can sense many questions flooding his conscious, since Faramir is certain if Ferendir is really an important person.

Although he know if the Northern Dúnedain is just a few in number now, but his father got an important reason why he decide to drop an unusual decree on a northerner like Ferendir. Faramir pull Findegil's hand untill both of them enter the forest. Faramir glanced to the left and right, trying to make sure if nobody followed them. Findegil and Bertrand respond remind him if Ranger of the North got one strict culture for their chieftain, and how Ferendir used to move also remind Faramir to elven grace.

That green eyed ranger never told anyone where he used to grow. But as the one who met with elf sometimes, Faramir is certain if Ferendir is not an ordinary person who grow together with another man like him or many rangers here. Faramir stop to pull Findegil's hand when they're under the old aspen tree. His gray eyes trying to grind on Findegil's blue eyes. But he can see Findegil's eyes scream a lot of loyalty. Faramir smiled and tapping on the black haired ranger's shoulder for some times.

"We are close to each other," Faramir could feel if Findegil's blue eyes darted to his gray eyes, "he teach me to draw, and i lost my interest in drawing many months ago."

"I could imagine it, Captain. You are wise and gentle like King Theoden," Findegil intentionally cut his words, "but now i could see why he decide to didn't blowed his disguise to you."

"Hold on, Brother Feren was in disguise at that time?"

"His real name is not Ferendir, Captain. It's northerner custom to hide his identity really well."

Certainly Findegil only told Faramir a half of the truth. Since it's not only Ferendir, but also Thorongil. But what is important right now is Ferendir, since that cheerful ranger promised to everyone to go home, both Lothlorien and Eriador, in this winter. But everyone in Lothlorien only catch his feral reddish chestnut horse around five months ago, and everyone in Dúnedain camp immediately know about a letter which tell about Lord Celeborn's suspicious on Ferendir's whereabout.

"You got a nice brooch, Findegil," Faramir said while he leaned his back on the tree and sit there. His eyes fluttering when a cold wind caressing his face, "what is his real name then? I promise i will protect this secret with my life."

"Aranhil," Faramir's eyes already bulging on this kind of name. The King's Heir, "Aranhil Elemathir, to be precise. That's his real name."

"Only one lineage which used that pattern, and that name... Sound so heavy."

"It is, and i'm glad you can guess his parentage. I feel too lazy to reveal if Aranhil is the heir of Isildur."

Faramir turned his head away from Findegil and nod his head. The blue eyed ranger sat close to the Gondorian, make sure he got his time to digest this fact. In the other hand Faramir stare blankly to the foliages, feeling surprised and scared at the same time. Because he know exactly what happened at the day before Ferendir vanished, since he is the one who accompanying Ferendir to the Echtelion Tower.

He was there when Denethor spat to Ferendir's face and banished him. But what make Faramir feel not so comfortable now is because he remember if his father bring the Stone of Anor at that time, and now someone from the North come to him and ask about Ferendir's whereabout. Faramir remember when Mithrandir explained about palantir to him.

It's a really useful device, since anyone may communicate in two way as long as that person has a palantir. But he know if there are only three palantirs in Middle Earth, and Gondor is the one among those three. But unfortunately Faramir doesn't know where the last two are. What the gray eyed ranger could recall now is Ferendir's pain when Denetor throw the clothes which covered the palantir.

"Gracious Valar, no way!" Faramir murmured in a slightly scared tone. Findegil turned his head to the light brown haired Gondorian, "i guess i know where he is now."

"Are you certain with that, Captain?" Findegil asked. Faramir stare straightly to Findegil's blue eyes before asking about palantir, "is the Steward use it before?"

"He did, and will always. I remember Lord Denethor make one spot at the top of the tower to put the palantir."

"This is really the worst possibility. Thank you for your information, Captain. Me and Bertrand should create a new plan for this."

Findegil stood and whistle, then a tiny gray owl flap it's wing in front of the blue eyed ranger. Faramir also stood up and offer to lead the way back to his base. With a tightened jaw Findegil nod his head and walking back to the base behind the waterfall with the youngest son of the Steward. Everything is really messed up, and probably Findegil need to rode back to Eriador alone just to inform what his intuition told to everyone.

In the other hand Bertrand will transformed into his tiger form and catches and questioning anyone who approaches or leave the Black Gate before killing it. The plan sound so good, and probably the best one in this situation. Findegil doesn't want his comrade to wait longer than this. He can't afford Ferendir, or Aranhil to wait for another month. That childish ranger could face anything now, especially after Faramir asked him about palantir.

But it's better for Findegil to not spill anything about his plan to Faramir right now, since Findegil can't trust the Captain of Ithilien Ranger now. His loyalty to Gondor could lead everyone in a wrong way. Findegil simply hope if Faramir could figuring things out later, after he and Bertrand could retrieve his friend from anyone right now.

When both of them arrived at the base, Findegil barked to Bertrand if they will go immediately now. Rian look surprised with Findegil's behaviour. Faramir grasping for Findegil's right wrist, and that make the black haired ranger to stop his feetstep and turning his head to him. Faramir could feel if the northerner Dúnedain has tensed in a really short time, and he thought if something bad will approached everyone.

"What possibly would happened in four or five years?" Faramir asked. Findegil sighed, his blue eyes stare to Bertrand who stood behind the Captain of Ithilien Ranger, "please tell me. I also speak Sindarin if you don't want to reveal your secret."

"Another two palatir are in Sauron and Saruman's hand. The Steward will spoke only with those two if he used the palantir."

"Ah Valar, i hope he will forgive my father."

"Even Ranger of the North doesn't know the answer. Aranhil is a really complicated person, but i'm sure about the wrath from three elven realms if they thought your father also take his part in this accident."

"Three? How could that possible to happen?"

"Because he spent his times not only in the wilderness. He grow in Lothlorien and close to many high ranked elves from Rivendell and Mirkwood, including the Elven King and the supposed to be the High King of the Noldor."

"This is the most disastrous year for him then."

"Then if you will excuse me, Captain. I can't afford him to wait for another cycle of moon."

Faramir deliberately let his grip loosened. He could hear Findegil talking with Bertrand. The skin changer heavy but low growl could be heard clearly in Faramir's ears. He got his right to feel angry, since in the end Bertrand decide to bring his sister to live in Lothlorien before they lives like any Ranger of the North.

They were practicing their animalistic side there, and getting drowned by Lady Galadriel wisdom about emotional control. They grow stronger because of Aranhil's offer to them, and now only guilt which burdening Faramir pure heart. But asking for his forgiveness through someone else is really not his style. Faramir silently pray so he could properly ask for Aranhil's forgiveness about Denethor and himself once he could meet with him.

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