Dusk brought with it the quiet to Dol Amroth by the sea. Out in the harbours the ships had come home to rest, their sails pulled down and anchors set, as the golden rim of the sun disappeared behind the waves. The sight was a common one for the people who dwelt in that fief but Adrahil knew that to his younger grandson, Faramir, who sat now upon the remains of an old stone wall and looked out westwards, to watch the sun seemingly sink into the sea each night was a fascinating pastime that never lost its lure no matter how often he saw it.

First it would slowly turn a deep red and the blue of the sky around it would be replaced by the pale shades of evening. And then it would gently caress the edge of the vast sea before slowly dipping into the water, spreading its colours so that the sea too turned from grey and blue to red and golden. Until finally all that would be left would be a thin line of gold between the sky and the sea. Soon, that would vanish too and the night would stretch its canopy over the land, as the stars would begin to come out.

They would seem to appear slowly. One or perhaps two at first glance but before one could realise it there would be more. So many more that to count all of them was not within the capability of anyone he knew.

“How many stars do you think shine above us?” He remembered Faramir often asking when he had been much younger. The child had expected his brother might know for in his eyes his brother knew everything. But Boromir had had no answer and so he had asked his father who would know more than Boromir because he was older. Denethor had no answer either, and nor had his mother. And finally, he had asked his grandfather.

“More than you or I can count,” Adrahil had replied, and had smiled as his grandson realised that he would have to remain content with the knowledge that the heavens contained so much that he could learn but a fraction of the tales they could tell him.

He walked towards the wall where he knew the boy would be sitting patiently, waiting for the darkening expanse above to fill up with its glittering display, so that he might learn what he could of that fraction.

The only sounds around were those of the garden, the rustle of leaves and the incessant chatter of night insects and that of the sea. But the sounds of the sea were second nature to those who spent their lives by it, a sound that was not appreciated nor even really noticed unless one went far away from it. He knew why his grandson liked to sit by the sea so much. When he had been a babe in arms his mother would hold him as she walked the ramparts of the castle watching the sea that she missed so much in Minas Tirith. And when night fell she would listen; to the waves breaking on the coast and the gentle waters of the calm harbour lapping against the ships anchored in it.

Adrahil reached the little block of stones to find his grandson not looking up to the skies as was his wont but rather down at the ground, where he seemed to be sketching out a pattern on the mud with a small, thin stick. The boy seemed more serious than usual, and especially in contrast to Boromir who was in high spirits after coming out quite well in his sword practice earlier in the day.

“Did you enjoy your sword fighting lesson with your uncle today,” he asked as the raven head turned at his approach.

“I do not spar as well as Boromir does,” the child said quietly. And then after a pause, “But it is important, is it not, that I should learn to fight as well as he does? So that I too can defend our land like Boromir is going to.”

Adrahil frowned. It seemed to him that his younger grandson’s voice held a note of unhappiness before he lapsed into silence. Faramir bent down again and went back to the drawing on the mud. Looking over his shoulder, Adrahil could just about make out the outline of a figure holding a sword in hand. It was a proper sketch of a person holding a sword not just a stick figure, as most boys of Faramir’s age would have been wont to draw. Then the twig ran all over the mud and hastily erased away the rough sketch, as though embarrassed by the audience.

“Uncle said Boromir will make a very good soldier for Gondor,” he said in a small voice as Adrahil sat down on the stones beside him, stretching out his long legs over the grassy embankment.

“Yes, he will. But is that not a matter of pride to you?”

“But that means he will have to leave home.”

“He will have to leave home if he wants to become a good soldier,” Adrahil agreed, “Or he will not learn how to really fight and defend what is right.”

The twig was ground into the mud morosely as the boy continued to stare at the ground.

“But you will always get to meet him when he comes home,” the prince suggested.

Faramir pulled up his knees to his chest and hugged his legs, before turning to look at Adrahil, “But I want him to be home always,” he muttered, the half-hearted tone telling his grandfather that he knew what he asked for was hardly possible.

“It may be,” he said slowly, “That some day that could happen.”

The boy glanced up warily, “Father says Gondor needs all the soldiers she has if we wish to withstand our enemies.”

“And he is right.”

The clumping of footsteps made them look up and over their shoulders. Boromir came up to where they sat, his face wreathed in smiles and his hands full of fruit.

“Those are not from the kitchens,” Adrahil said mildly.

“No, they are from the trees over there,” Boromir said very vaguely, and then promptly changed the subject, “What are you teaching Faramir today, Grandfather?”

Adrahil decided that ‘the trees over there’ probably referred to one of the orchards the boys had been forbidden from raiding for the fruit were yet to ripen. He maintained his silence however and turned to the question.

“I thought,” he said, “That we could do Menelvagor today.”

“Menelvagor,” Faramir repeated, “Menel is the heavens, the sky ... the Swordsman of the Sky!”

“The Swordsman of the Sky?” Boromir repeated, “I know that one!”

“You do know something of the stars, I see,” Adrahil said in an amused voice.

“Mother showed it to me when I got my first real sword,” Boromir said excitedly, whether at the memory of the sword or at knowing about the stars, Adrahil could not decide. He did notice though that the mention of his daughter had made his younger grandson sit up interestedly.

Boromir was still speaking, “She said she liked seeing the Swordsman from her window in Minas Tirth because she could see him from her windows here. And she said that it made the cold nights easier when she knew he was shining above.”

He knew that feeling. It was one he had often had when sailing the lonely waters in the cold nights. Finduilas was very much his daughter; he had always known that.

“She could?” came Faramir’s small voice, interrupting his reverie.

“Yes, she could,” Boromir declared, “The stars we see here are the same stars that shine over Minas Tirith, after all. The same stars that you see from your window each night.”

“Can we see it now?”

Adrahil watched in amusement as Boromir looked around rapidly, “See! Over there, that star there is the head and those stars are his left arm, and there is his right arm, and –“

Faramir’s head swung in every direction as his eyes tried to follow Boromir’s hand waving around the sky expansively.

“Which bright star?” he asked finally.

Adrahil sighed and gently pivoted Faramir's shoulders so that he faced west. The sun had finally sunk completely away and the sky had turned a deep blue and little dots had begun to sparkle all over it. He could see what his daughter had meant.

“Do you see a bright red star there?” When Faramir nodded he proceeded, “That is Menelvagor’s shoulder. Now, watch carefully. Do you another one by its side and a third in the middle above them?”

The intent raven head nodded solemnly, “Those are his right shoulder and his head. And can you see below them lie three shining stars?”

“Yes.”

“That is his belt. And the two spread below his belt are his feet. Now watch around his shoulders. Can you see his hands spread out?”

Faramir nodded excitedly.

“Where is the sword?” Boromir asked suddenly.

Adrahil continued patiently, “There it lies below his belt. Can you see those tiny stars? What do you think they are?”

“A sword,” Faramir stated definitively.

His grandfather nodded, “It is said that in Menelvagor can be seen a great warrior who lived many years ago.”

“What did he do? Did he win many battles?” asked Boromir promptly.

“He did slay a dragon,” Adrahil replied.

The rise of Boromir’s eyebrows could be seen even in the dimming light. Faramir continued watching his grandfather patiently.

“He got rid of an evil that tainted a part of the world. But it was not enough, for the darkness still remained as it still remains even today over our land. And that is why Menelvagor shines so bright upon us with his sword in hand. To remind us that he will guard us against it. And to give us hope that some day all that we fear shall be vanquished.”

“It is not a very bright sword,” Boromir said as he watched the western horizon, “But if it achieves its aim, that is all that is of importance, I daresay.”

The older man nodded gently, “And that is where the importance of the sword lies. Not in its brightness or its sharpness or in the sword itself. It lies in what one chooses to do with it.”

They nodded back solemnly at him before turning back towards the Swordsman.

“How the belt shines,” Faramir whispered softly.

“I should like a belt such as that some day,” Boromir mused, “To hold my sword when I ride out to battle... Oh look, grandfather! It is beginning to disappear behind the water.”

“Yes, do you see the red star I showed you first?”

The two boys nodded.

“That is Borgil.”

“Gil is star, I know. Bor is... ever?” Faramir asked hesitantly, watching the upper half the constellation that remained.

“Yes, it is. It is always Borgil that you will see the first so as to tell you that Menelvagor will ever be there, even if you cannot see him. You merely need the faith that he is there for you whether you can see him or not,” Adrahil said looking into his younger grandson’s face.

The quiet face broke out into a small smile, “He will always be there,” came the soft response as they looked towards Boromir who was biting into one of the fruits.

The handsome face promptly contorted into a most unbecoming grimace and gave vent to a sound of disgust at the sour taste of unripe fruit, and then pulled an indignant face at the laughs that greeted him.

***

A/N: This is a part of the Stargazers' challenge – Faramir learns about the constellations in Dol Amroth. It is also meant as a graduation gift to Starlight who set the lessons rolling with Earendil.

Menelvagor is the same as our Orion, The Hunter, with a little leeway taken regarding its visibility in summer. Orion as I understand is generally seen quite clearly in winter over a fairly large latitudinal span. In summer however, it might just about be visible towards the west before it sets, a little after sunset.

Borgil coincides with Betelgeuse, the star that forms Orion’s left shoulder.

Menelvagor is also said to represent Turin Turambar and to forebode the Last Battle that shall be at the end of days.