AragornsBabe491:  You haven't been on lately.  What's up?

StewardsRule:  Not much.  Been busy.

AragornsBabe491:  Oh.  So you haven't been avoiding me, then?  Putting me on 'ignore' or anything like that?

StewardsRule:  Why would I do that?

AragornsBabe491:  I thought you might be a little upset with me or something.

StewardsRule:  Just because you turn everything we write into an Aragorn story?  Why would that upset me?

AragornsBabe491:  *whew*  What a relief!  I really thought you might be angry.

AragornsBabe491:  Anyhow, I thought you might want to try another shot at some fanfic?

StewardsRule:  I don't know.  It hasn't been going too well lately.

AragornsBabe491:  Well, I thought maybe we could write one about Faramir, since you like him and all.

StewardsRule:  ...Seriously?

AragornsBabe491:  Consider it a peace offering.  Besides, then you can get a chance to see why it's so hard not to put your favorite in a story.  I mean, really, you are to Faramir as I am to Aragorn, right?

StewardsRule:  I don't think anyone is to any character as you are to Aragorn.  But I'll take the peace offering!

AragornsBabe491:  Was that a compliment...or an insult?

*******

Faramir, Steward of Gondor, had more reason than most Men to understand that much suffering and doubt can revolve around inanimate objects.  After all, he had encountered the One Ring itself.  But the object which lay before him now presented, in its way, an even more difficult challenge.

It was a simple globe of black crystal, perhaps a foot in diameter:  the palantír of Orthanc.  And although he knew it was not the same one which his father had held at his death, the very sight of it made Faramir's mouth go dry.  King Elessar had graciously offered to appoint someone else to survey the palantír, but Faramir had refused—both because he would not shirk his duty as the Steward and because he felt it would be disastrous to give in to fear.

He took a deep breath, brushed aside a curl that had fallen into his eyes, and tried to calm his mind.  It is perfectly safe, he told himself.  There is no longer any risk of encountering Sauron.  The Stone is only a tool, which can be used for good as well as evil.  He set his jaw firmly, his handsome face taking on a look of stern determination as he prepared to try again.

Just then, Faramir was startled by a shadow cast over the menacing orb in his hands.  He turned his head to find King Elessar himself standing directly behind him, peering over his shoulder with curious but piercing grey eyes.

Shutting out the distracting presence, Faramir focused all the power of his formidable mind on the dark globe.  A light sweat broke out on his forehead and he pressed his lips together tightly as he concentrated.  This time he was rewarded by a faint glimmering light in the center of the palantír, like the flame of a candle no thicker than a child's finger.

"Be wary, Faramir," a noble, rich, wise, and gravelly voice intoned behind him.  "For though the Dark Lord is vanquished, the palantíri are still difficult tools to master."

The flame died as Faramir's concentration broke, but he scarcely noticed.  He could not help but be impressed by the words of his respected King; after all, the Man had bravely gazed into a palantír once himself, and that when Sauron had still sullied Middle-Earth with his evil presence.

He stood, facing the Man, his King, Elessar.  "My Lord, your guidance would be greatly appreciated in this matter."

"I thought it might," the King responded proudly.  "You see, the trick is to focus yourself absolutely on the Stone.  Distractions can be very dangerous."

Faramir nodded.  "Yes, I was just trying to do that..."

"If you hold the Stone steady and firmly, you will most likely succeed in your quest for knowledge," Aragorn continued boldly.  "That is how I did it when I held the palantír and defied Sauron those years ago."

"Yes, Sire, I know all this," Faramir answered patiently.

"And you must remember that it is really just a tool that can be used for good or evil."

"I remember.  I am sure I will succeed with a little more practice."

"Good-good."  King Elessar paused, stroking his stubbled chin.  "Faramir, why do you not let me search the stone for you?  I have had experience in the matter, after all, and am troubled less by it than you seem to be."

Faramir drew a deep breath.  "With all due respect, Your Majesty, may I request that you GO AWAY AND LEAVE ME ALONE?"

*******

AragornsBabe491:  He wouldn't say that to his King!

StewardsRule:  Want to make a bet?

AragornsBabe491:  Faramir's a respectful servant of the King.  He wouldn't be so...rude.

StewardsRule:  He wasn't rude!  He was very polite about telling Aragorn to butt out of HIS STORY!

AragornsBabe491:  It WAS Faramir's story.  Aragorn was just helping out.

AragornsBabe491:  He does know more in this situation, after all.  And he's the King.

AragornsBabe491:  Hello?  Are you there?

AragornsBabe491:  Dammit—you logged out!  You put me on 'ignore' again, didn't you?  Didn't you?!

*******

"Pardon me, but did you just tell me to sod off?" Aragorn asked Faramir as the two stood in the throne room together.

Faramir's eyes widened and he bowed hastily.  "I do apologize, Sire.  Fanfiction."

The King groaned loudly.  "I cannot begin to tell you how much I've tired of that word and all it implies."  He sank to the floor, head in his hands.  "I finally stand as King, and still, someone else toys with me like a mere puppet on a string. "

Faramir gingerly set the palantír on the seat of the Steward's chair and sat down next to his King.  "It is dreadful at times, isn't it?" he asked sympathetically.

"Generally, yes," Aragorn woefully agreed, a tear coming to his grey eyes.

"If I may suggest," the young Steward continued, "I find that a cup or two of wine usually helps after one of these attacks..."

"I'd down the bottle, Faramir, if it would help.  Never do I do anything remotely worthy of a King unless it is also completely ridiculous.  And then there was the time that half-breed monstrosity tried to bed me in the woods.…"  Aragorn shuddered, and hastily added, "Never a word of that, my Steward—to anyone."

"Your secret is safe with me, my liege."  Faramir paused.  "How do you imagine we shall fare in this latest adventure?"

Aragorn turned to his Steward with a startlingly honest expression upon his noble face.  "As long as I do not end up bedding you, I care not."

Faramir edged away.  "Éowyn will kill you if you try anything," he said nervously.  "In fact, I will kill you if you try anything—King or no.  Sire."

"I have no designs on you, Faramir."  Aragorn tried to be reassuring, but with fanfiction lurking around every corner, he couldn't be certain of even his own intentions.  Then his face took on a thoughtful expression.  "But it occurs to me that drunkenness may be our best defense in this case.  If we are incapable of moving, they cannot make us do anything."

Faramir's rare grin appeared.  "I do believe there is some of the 2998 left in the royal cellars."

"Shall we?"  Aragorn started to head in the promised wine's direction.

"Lead the way, Sire."

THE END

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