II.  Libation (Faramir)

“What have you to say for yourself?” asked the Prince of Ithilien of the young and red-faced lieutenant.

“We were on leave, my lord.” answered the tall officer, turning redder, if that was possible.  His hands were also red; as were the faces and fingers of the twenty-two Rangers who now stood at attention.  It could be more accurate, thought the Prince, to describe the hue as purplish-red. 

“…And they were short-handed for the pressing of the grapes in Greenhollow; the village below Amon Dîn.  We thought it only right to offer our help, so they would not fall short in their harvest.”

“And such help led to this new coloration?”

“It would have not have been fitting to leave with the work unfinished, Sir.  Then there was the feast to celebrate it; and wine that needed sampling.  We could not disappoint our hosts; we had to uphold the honor of the Rangers - Ithilien’s Finest!”

“Of course you did, lieutenant.”  The Prince of Ithilien said kindly.  “Very well, since you were all on leave, I deem such occupation acceptable.  You and your men are dismissed.”

As the lieutenant turned, obviously relieved, to go, the Prince caught him by the shoulder.  “Your honor is unstained, but the same cannot be said for other attributes.  I suggest that you scrub your face before you go up to greet your mother.”

Elboron blushed again.  “Yes, sire” he replied, grateful that his men had started to disperse.

The Prince smiled and pressed his son’s shoulder.  He remembered another young Ranger and his band who had once passed through the same village and aided in the vineyard‘s harvest, before leaving with red faces and aching heads.  “Call your men, my son” Faramir urged. “Let us assure that all of Ithilien‘s Finest take some tea.”

This ficlet was originally written for the 23 Red Rangers prompt of the 2005 Henneth-Annun email list Christmas challenge.