The picture worth a thousand words which provided the inspiration for this story is Mountain Lake.

*****

Faramir stood upon the ramparts of the city of Dol Amroth and gazed out across the water of the inlet below.  The wall was high, but Faramir was tall for a boy of thirteen, and he had little difficulty looking over the top of the wall.  The day was calm, and the water below reflected back the blue brightness of the sky.  Boats on the water looked small as they passed to and fro, and the shore on the other side was shadowed by distance.

Boromir stood beside his brother, watching him out of the corner of his eye.

"I hear you have been studying geography with Uncle Imrahil," Boromir said, breaking the silence between them.

"Yes," answered Faramir happily.  "Uncle has been showing me maps of the area and telling me some of the history of the lands that surround Dol Amroth.  I enjoy learning the names and histories of places!"

Boromir laughed.  "You have always been fond of maps, even when you were very small.  You would work very hard at drawing complicated sketches and then tell me long stories about the people who lived there in the places you were mapping.  I still remember how you used to pester Father to let you hold the maps he was working with, and beg him to tell you tales about the places you would point out."

"I was not pestering him!" Faramir objected.  "Maps are so very interesting, I wanted to learn everything I could, and Father has so many maps and knows so much history...."  Faramir looked suddenly worried.  "Father did not truly think I was pestering him, did he?"

"Of course not!" Boromir grinned.  "I am only teasing you.  Father always enjoys talking about history, as you know, and having a son who drinks it all in like water is very pleasing to him.  That said, let us see just how well you have learned your recent lessons.  Tell me the names of everything we can see here from the wall."

Faramir laughed, happy to comply with his brother's request.  "Well, out there to the west is the Bay of Belfalas.  The bay here below the walls is not really a bay, but an inlet of Belfalas.  It is called Cobas Haven.  Cobas Haven is fed by the Morthond River, which flows down from the north out of the White Mountains."

"Very good!" Boromir approved.  "And what is another name for the Morthond?"

Faramir thought carefully for a moment, before producing the answer.  "Blackroot!  The Blackroot River."

"Good!  Go on, then.  What else have you learned?"

"Uncle told me that Cobas Haven used to be inhabited by fisherfolk who lived and fished on the waters of the inlet, but they relocated after the Elves established a haven at Edhellond on the Morthond River, sometime during the Second Age."  Faramir paused thoughtfully.  "Boromir, have you ever been to Edhellond?"

Boromir looked down at his younger brother and smiled.  "I thought there must be a reason why you are so intent on the bay today.  Uncle Imrahil's tales have you thinking of legends and mysteries, yes?"

Faramir nodded.  Stretching out his arm, he pointed across the inlet.  "It must be just about there, where the river empties into the waters of Cobas Haven."

"Yes, that is correct, though you cannot see the settlement from here.  From what I understand, Edhellond is not far upriver from the mouth of the river, near where the Morthond meets the River Ringló."

"So you know of it?" Faramir asked eagerly.  "Have you seen it for yourself?"

Boromir shook his head.  "I know only what you know, Faramir, for I have heard the same tales and legends from our uncle.  I have not been there, however, nor do I know anyone who has seen it.  It is not a place Men go, even those who live close by.  It is an Elvish place, and not for us."

The disappointment on Faramir's face was striking.  "Do the Elves still live there?  Uncle Imrahil says that the last ship sailed long ago, but I wonder if there could be a few who have remained behind.  There are Elves living elsewhere in the lands, I believe -- in the North somewhere, far from here.  Perhaps one day they will return to Edhellond, if only to take ship into the West, as they do in the old stories."

"I do not know if any Elves remain, Faramir," Boromir replied slowly.  As he spoke, his face gradually settled into a frown.  "No one has seen them, and no ships have sailed from Edhellond for many years.  They cannot pass into the Bay without being seen from the walls of Dol Amroth.  It seems unlikely to me that any Elvish folk are left in that haven, but it is hard to know for certain.  Elves remain apart and do not become involved in Men's affairs."

Faramir sighed, not noticing Boromir's frown.

"I hope I shall one day meet Elves!" he exclaimed.  "I know you say they do not become involved in our affairs, but the time may come when that will change.  Even if I cannot speak with them, I should like to see them with my own eyes.  Yet if they should wish to speak with me, by chance, there are so many questions I want to ask them!"

The frown on Boromir's face disappeared and he smiled down at Faramir.  "I think that if anyone could have effective contact with such a mysterious and withdrawn people, it would be you, Faramir.  You are right, of course; there may come a day when they will leave their hidden havens and reveal themselves.  Perhaps one day you shall meet your Elves!"

"I hope you can meet them, too, Boromir!"

"Perhaps I shall," Boromir replied thoughtfully.  "In that case, I will also have some questions I wish to pose."

There was a long silence between the brothers, as they gazed out over the water and thought their separate thoughts.  The silence was broken at last by Boromir, who grasped Faramir's shoulder and shook it gently.

"Let us leave these thoughts of Elves and what we will say to them for another day, my brother.  Are you hungry?"

"Yes!" Faramir cried happily.

"Excellent!" Boromir laughed.  "Let us make a foray, then, and see what we can find in the kitchen to satisfy our hunger!"