Aragorn heard the distant sound, an echoing, rolling call that seemed to him to resound off Mount Mindolluin.

It had pealed through Minas Tirith, resonating through the stones, as he stood waiting to meet Ecthelion, Steward of Gondor, masking his wariness at being where he was.

“The Steward’s heir,” he was informed.

He had met Denethor soon afterwards, battle-weary, yet a proud and noble man, confident and at ease in a post he was born to.

The echoes of the horn were fading as he watched the bearer enter the halls of Imladris, weary and travel-stained, yet just as proud and noble.

Altariel suggested a follow-up to the earlier drabble, involving the second son. I thought that seemed a very good plan, and this way I get to make a series of some sort of these:).

***

Faramir resembled his father in many ways, yet Aragorn was struck most by where he differed.

Denethor’s eyes were steel and fire in the brightness of a summer morning; cold yet scorching, seeing more than one would want to show. And Aragorn knew he saw more than a ranger.

Faramir’s eyes were fevered and weary in the dimness of a torch-lit room. Yet, underneath the shadows kindled a fire piercing through the darkness - a steel-grey gaze, intense yet warm. And Aragorn knew he saw more than a healer.

'My lord, you called me. I come. What does the king command?'

***

The last line of course is filched from the book verbatim.:o

Conversation

An unused path leads to the most magnificent view in all of Minas Tirth. Aragorn knows this place of old. It is still there when he returns. But another has found it too.

Faramir stands with his back to the view. They exchange cautious greetings. Aragorn steels himself for the conversation that must follow. It is inevitable, he tells himself sternly. Faramir will ask of them. He does not wish to forget but he knows remembrance will cause pain, for both of them.

Faramir turns to him. Aragorn tries hastily to find the right words.

“What was my grandfather like?”

***

This one is a little silly- 

“I don’t know many songs,” Boromir responded, not entirely truthful. He did know many songs, just not ones he deemed appropriate for the company present.

“Just one,” Pippin urged.

Boromir shrugged, smiling, “I am a soldier, Master Pippin, not a poet. Now, my brother Faramir…”

“Soldiers don’t sing?” Merry asked Aragorn, confused, for he’d heard Aragorn sing.

“They do,” Boromir amended, “Just not of normal things. They sing of heroes and – oh, all right. Just one then.”

He looked around at the interested group gathered around him. Aragorn and the hobbits nodded encouragingly.

“It’s called Captain Thorongil and the Corsairs.”

***

“Captain Thorongil? You? The same Thorongil who served under my grandfather nearly forty years ago?”

Aragorn was not surprised that Faramir was surprised.

“Yes. I am older than I look.”

"I've heard much about you," Faramir said slowly.

Aragorn was surprised at that. He did not expect Denethor to have spoken of him to his sons, and while the records in the archives mentioned his service, and detailed the battle against the corsairs, it was just as much as they would do for any captain of Gondor, Faramir included.

“There is a song,” Faramir explained, "Captain Thorongil and the Corsairs."

***

A/N: This doesn't entirely belong in this lot, but it does need a home, poor thing. This one was instigated by Nol and encouraged by Sphinx. I’m no poet. It doesn’t rhyme consistently but if you try to sing it to the tune of Clementine, it might just work.

I’d suggest singing ‘beer’ as ‘bee-er’ and ‘he had’ as ‘he’d’ and ignoring the lack of rhyme in the last paragraph.

In a Tavern

In a tavern, near the stables,
Having ale and plates of boar,
Were some rangers and some soldiers,
Singing songs of days of yore.

In a corner of this fine inn,
Lurked two strangers unnoticed,
King and Steward, they sat listening
To the singing in their midst

Loud the voices of the men were
Ringing through the air so still,
As they raised their mugs of beer,
In a toast to Thorongil.

In the shadows, sat their hero,
Upon his face a look so bleak,
For the song was one he had dreaded,
In the worst of all his dreams.

***