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Post by gandalf on Apr 28, 2012 23:25:30 GMT -5
[img src="http://i252.photobucket.com/albums/hh25/KryoDragon/dragon%20chronicles/gandalf.png["]
One day usually blurred into the next, and the next, and the next. Leaving each day to not stand alone, but as a whole with the rest. So many places, so many things to be done, so much for one poor older man to remember. Being a wizard of sorts was not an easy job to say the least. Yet it was one that took an mans journey farther than one could possibly imagine at the same time. What could he say, people needed him. Needed his advice, his teachings, his company even. As always he was willing to give it, to be there.
Never did he stay in one place though, that was not Gandalf's way. He preferred life on the road instead of inside all the time counseling one person over many people. Yet he enjoyed usually every stop he made unless there was a bout of bad news, then the follies were gone. Luckily though most visits were better than not. One thing he did enjoy was visiting where there was children. Children were always the light in any world. They brought joy, peace, love, and innocence where there would be lack of respite. Without children in Gandalf's mind there would be less to look forward to.
One particular child he was fond of visiting on occasion was Faramir. The child in his mind always seemed fond of visiting him in return. Mostly it was probably because of his ability to bring wonders from elsewhere and tell stories that only the great Gandalf the Grey could tell. This visit wasn't any different then any of the last he had made. As always it was just one of those perchance meetings that he always seemed to make, though they were about as on purpose as having to put on clothes. Seeing Fairamir he approached him hoping that the boy would take notice. He leaned against his staff casually and waited a moment or two before speaking. Finally though he said something just in case he hadn't noticed or even if the boy had it was still respectful to say hello.
"Hello Faramir." he stated with a smile.
TAG: Faramir
WORDS: I never check
NOTES: I don't know where Faramir lived so I had to make the post vague. If you wanna add that in, in your post your welcome to. Otherwise I hope this is good enough of a post.
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Post by faramir on Apr 29, 2012 8:27:50 GMT -5
His mother had passed away two years & two months ago. For several days Faramir had been avoiding his father as much as he could, spending majority of his free time in his room on the topmost level of Minas Tirith, careful not to (unintentionally) send a boomerang of (contrasting:son-father&father-son ; painfully similar:Finduilas) emotions storming Denethor's way and back. For a while the contents muddling in Faramir's mind were too disordered (or too much of a disorder) for him to convey anything (yes, anything at all; from the tip of his tongue sat a bittersweet pin) to his brother, save for a set of automatic greetings & farewells. But he did consider visiting Boromir's room with tears showering down his face as a reminder of the fact(?) that he was not alone. A consideration which had been decided against, for how could he seek comfort&convey his thoughts&feelings when he had no clue where & how each of them were placed in his entire being?
Fast forward through molasses time and stop now, evening: Faramir on his bed, curled into a microscopic ball. His mother's cloak in his arms. Nostalgic material sunk into midnight. Stars not even glowing around the collar. He pressed his nose into the black-blue cloak. He could smell her, her eyes and hair and lips and shoulders, the lines dipping into her palms as she held him, or touched him. Every thread of her was in the air around him. Part of him thought: let me forget! And part of him begged the memories to stay.
A knock sounded from the door. Immediately Faramir put the cloak away beneath his pillow, cringing for a slow millimetre at the thought of it being (temporarily) crumpled. The manservant who knocked had done so ever so faintly, as if Faramir had been more or less comfortable drowning in the memories. He climbed off the bed and put his shoes on, then gave his hair a careful brushing. Mithrandir was visiting today. There would be stories and (metaphorical) fireworks for Faramir, hopefully. Given the amount of stairs leading up to the topmost level of the city, if Faramir was quick enough, he would be able to arrive at the Citadel before the wizard. There was no sophisticated reason for this -- just Faramir's emphasis on politeness.
He left the room and made his way out. Stopped by the White Tree because he dared not interact with Mithrandir right in front of Denethor's eyes. There was no doubt that the Steward would know of this coincidental meeting (after all, Denethor, not Faramir, was the one who had requested the wizard's... assistance, a word Faramir felt the Steward refused to say, much less think out in its entirety), but seeing Mithrandir was like... ... ...he lost the words.
His head was bowed while he waited. The black-covered men who guarded the Tree never failed to invoke a more-than-slightly uncomfortable feeling of distress within him. Guards all around, confining the spaces which were already confined. Caught in this thought Faramir did not notice Mithrandir approaching him, and did not do so until the wizard spoke -- to this Faramir quickly turned his head to face Mithrandir, before smiling back. "Mithrandir!"
Notes: Re-searching through the novels was eating up time, so I used the Internet instead -- apparently at the topmost level of Minas Tirith are lodgings for the Steward and presumably his family, so I am making the assumption that Faramir lives there. Please let me know if you are fine or not with Gandalf heading to Minas Tirith to assist Denethor with a random issue; I doubt Faramir would be allowed to invite Gandalf over for a cup of tea and some tea-time stories.
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Post by gandalf on May 7, 2012 0:17:36 GMT -5
[img src="http://i252.photobucket.com/albums/hh25/KryoDragon/dragon%20chronicles/gandalf.png["]
Well at least the boy remembered him. Then again it was hard for people to forget him. Like a spot, he seemed to stick out like a sore thumb. Gandalf did not mind, however, it was something he was used to. He glanced Faramir up and down, taking in the young mans visage. He could tell Faramir looked a bit peckish, but he could tell why. However, he said nothing over it, yet he would possibly speak to the boys father if he got the chance to. For now he was here with Faramir though, which he was happy to see.
"How goes the day young Faramir?" Gandalf stated warmly. "I am pleased to see you. I know I am here to see Denethor, but I am glad I ran across you first. I had thought about you while I was traveling here. Ah every time i see you you are getting older and older."
He shifted his weight on his staff. The thing was as much of a tool as it was a resting post. Around him Gandalf could hear the sounds of the town. People wandering about the main town doing work and getting supplies. For an old man he still had excellent hearing. It seemed like he had been old forever. Youth was something of a distant dream he once knew, but had forgotten like a tidal wave came and washed it away and left only but that of a cotton ball. Yet he could still feel the memories there like they were just yesterday.
TAG: Faramir
WORDS: I never check
NOTES: I don't know where Faramir lived so I had to make the post vague. If you wanna add that in, in your post your welcome to. Otherwise I hope this is good enough of a post.
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Post by faramir on May 12, 2012 22:24:50 GMT -5
Now that he had a longer, better look at the wizard, Faramir wondered how old Gandalf was. The beard, the grey hair, the lines sewn across his skin suggested a typical old, yet age seemed to have failed to place its trace on him, or even seemed to have ignored him, avoided him, or chose to spare him. Or perhaps he was young in actuality, just marked by an (over?)abundance of knowledge&experience(s).
"The day goes well," answered Faramir, smile still surviving on his face as he lied -- half lied, because he was indeed glad to see Gandalf. "What does Mithrandir have to share?" His head moved in a small tic motion to the left. He chose to avoid using "you" (even a capitalised "You"); somehow it was difficult to speak in second-person in the presence of the White Tree. Its flimsy trunk & frail branches looked as if they had been made of not wood but stone, a silent, glacial, glass-like stone which, if shattered, would spill out heavy emptiness. This moved Faramir to silent distress -- for how could something so organic&raw|organic & raw be so... inorganic? He struggled to find the word, but found none. Language would ruin its totality.
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Post by gandalf on May 24, 2012 16:34:41 GMT -5
[img src="http://i252.photobucket.com/albums/hh25/KryoDragon/dragon%20chronicles/gandalf.png["]
The boy seemed restless, not surprising of course in some cases, but at the same time curious in other cases. It wasn't like he did have those days himself. He noticed that Faramir was somewhat distracted too. Before he could get lost in thought though too much he drew it back to the moment letting its lofty nature not take hold.
"What do I have to share." he mused. "Well outside of meeting with Denethor, I think one of things I can share is that I had just come from visiting the elves deep in the mountainsides. I enjoyed my time quite thoroughly. A quite but quaint visit to say the least. You know me I always have some fun story to tell. Oh, and I brought you something."
He pointed up a finger and smiled before reaching into his robe to draw out a small pouch with something in it. "I wasn't completely sure if you would like it or not, but I thought of you when I got it."
He held out the pouch to him, its contents not revealing of itself. He hoped that Faramir would enjoy it either way. Gandalf was always fonder of the younger folk. Not as many things to worry about. Or duties to really have to take care of aside from the chores they have to do for some of them.
TAG: Faramir
WORDS: I never check
NOTES: I don't know what Faramir would like in a gift from Gandalf so I thought I would write a note giving a few ideas and letting you decide once its opened what it should be. The ideas were a flute, a small dagger hand carved, or some sort of statue hand carved. If you don't like any of the above that's find you can come up with something. Or if you think I should revise my post let me know.
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Post by faramir on Jun 14, 2012 20:48:03 GMT -5
Elves? Mountainsides? Deep into the mountainsides? Curiosity swirled like dust from an ancient lover's present, Faramir's mouth dropped open as he prepared to flood the wizard with questions. Then closed when the topic was changed swiftly. So very swiftly. For what were elves to Mithrandir? Possibly normal.
But. A gift from Mithrandir. Straightaway Faramir felt the (surprisingly) ceaselessly exciting feeling of.. anticipation, to put it in language. Excitement&Anticipation. They never got old with Mithrandir. He never failed -- would never fail -- to surprise Faramir. The tales dancing from his mouth, the lines around his eyes cutting deep into his skin as he smiled.
"Thank you, Mithrandir," breathed Faramir as he took the pouch. For a while he gazed at it. Should he open it? Right in front of the wizard? Sometimes he did, sometimes he didn't. Intuition was the main influence over these actions. Perhaps it was rude to do so. He didn't know. He never asked Mithrandir because -- well, what if it was rude to ask such a question? A rude method to determine the rudeness of a certain thing.
But he wanted to see Mithrandir smile. Because surely the thing in the pouch would make Faramir happy, and he would be so happy that he would smile, and that would make Mithrandir smile, and possibly the two of them would laugh, and the white tree would be cascaded with smiles and laughter.
Well, here goes. He opened the pouch and reached in to reveal a flute. A flute. At first he couldn't speak. A flute. And then -- "Th-thank you. Thank you," a beam had stretched across his face, "thank you. This -- a flute -- thank you --"
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