“Plrrfft!” Faramir said loudly, scaring away the birds roosting on the bush near him, and startling the old man enough to nearly drop his pipe.

Faramir sighed impatiently as he pulled his fingers out of his mouth, “How ever does he do it?”

“How does who do what?”

Faramir looked up startled, and sprang to his feet uncertainly when he saw Mithrandir standing at the steps leading down to the shrubbery. The old man walked down the steps and Faramir gazed at him curiously, much as he had the previous day when he had arrived in Minas Tirith to meet his father. He moved briskly for one of his age, and he carried a staff in his hands.

Faramir felt a little awkward, not having spoken to him before, for the old wizard, as some of his father’s councillors had called him, had seemed quite busy in an intense discussion with Denethor.

“Well, child,” Mithrandir said in an amused tone, “Whatever was that noise you were making? I almost thought I’d see a herd of oliphaunts charging down on me.”

A herd of oliphaunts, Faramir thought would be much louder, and he blurted out as much, “Father said it sounded like a herd of oliphaunts when Boromir was learning to play the lute,” he said doubtfully, “Was I as loud as that?”

“No,” Mithrandir told him, and the skin near his eyes crinkled up some more, making him look much nicer, “Forgive me then. It has been many years since I last saw a herd of oliphaunts.”

“You have seen oliphaunts?” The awkwardness that Faramir felt vanished in an instant.

“Yes,” again the eyes crinkled up, “And yes, I’ll tell you all about them. If you tell me what it is you were trying to do, scaring away all the birds like that?”

“I was trying to sound a birdcall, sir, like Boromir does. When he does that, then the birds come and sit on his hand and let him feed them,” he said, “I’d like to do that too.”

“Ask him how he does it,” Mithrandir suggested.

“Yes, I suppose I should,” Faramir said a little doubtfully.

The wizard looked at him silently for a moment, and Faramir found himself gazing back at the wrinkled face.

“If you like I can show you how I do birdcalls,” Mithrandir offered.

“You can?” Faramir said, a little excitedly, before his shyness from the previous night returned.

“I mean would you, sir? Please, if you have the time?” he said after a pause, hoping he sounded politer now.

“I certainly would,” the wizard said smiling, “And it will not take very long.”

It took them a few hours. By the time they were done, Faramir had learn not only just how to place his fingers and to blow softly through them, but also how to make the sounds vary by moving his finger a little this way for a robin’s call or a little that way to sound like the small yellow birds hopping on the birdbath. And Mithrandir even showed him how he could place a cherry seed between his teeth and let out a completely different sound.

He was a fine lad, Mithrandir would say later to any who would listen, polite, kind and a little shy. And he displayed none of the wariness mixed with exasperation that his father or even some of the hobbits in the shire were so wont to when they saw the wizard. It was a refreshing change.

“Thank you,” Faramir said, as they left the shrubbery together. He was due to go for his archery practise. “I didn’t want to ask Boromir because father says he is readying to join his troop next week, and so I mustn’t disturb him with frivolous matters. He is always with the arms masters or with father. It was very kind of you to help me.”

“I was most happy to help,” Mithrandir said solemnly, “But you needn’t worry. It is not so frivolous after all. I hear the rangers in the woods use birdsongs to speak to each other when they fear their enemies are eavesdropping.”

“But tell me,” he asked as they neared the citadel buildings, “Has Boromir learned how to play the lute yet?”

“Oh yes,” Faramir said enthusiastically, “He plays very well.”

He was also a most loyal brother, the wizard realised, when he did get to hear Boromir play the lute a few days later.

Thank you to Nefertiti for the muses!

Faramir had known the old wizard his whole life, but until this day had never looked upon him in any way but as a wise, grandfatherly figure. Denethor had been jealous of him, had accused Gandalf of stealing his younger son’s love, as if he had not enough love in his heart for both a father and a grandfather!

But Denethor had shunned him, and though the young man had yearned for his father’s love and approval, he had never received it. Now that the ruling steward was dead and the station had come to Faramir, he found himself in great need of direction and affection.

His dead brother Boromir had loved him, but none other had ever touched his heart. After Denethor’s death, Faramir found his great need driving him to search for love, and at first, he thought the Lady Éowyn would be a comfort to him. But Éowyn accompanied her brother back to Rohan and did not return, so Faramir was left alone.

Gandalf found him on the balcony outside his bedroom in the castle one day, gazing out over the reconstruction of the nearly ruined city of Minas Tirith. The old wizard laid a hand upon his shoulder, offered him an easy smile, and Faramir slid comfortably beneath his arm into a companionable embrace.

“What is wrong, Faramir?” Gandalf asked as he stroked the young steward’s sandy-colored hair.

“I am lost,” Faramir answered, twisting in the wizard’s arms to press his face against the solid shoulder.

“No, Faramir, you are not lost,” Gandalf assured him. “You are merely misdirected.”

The younger man calmed at the comfort as Gandalf’s strong hand caressed his back. “I love you, Mithrandir,” he whispered.

The old wizard hugged him more tightly. With a heavy sigh, he answered softly, “And I love you, my Faramir.”

“Do you remember that day long ago when you held me on your lap and consoled me when I had been disciplined? Do you remember what you told me that day?”

Gandalf’s eyes clouded in memory. “Of course I remember. It was not so long ago to me. I told you I would always be there for you when you needed me.”

“I need you now,” Faramir said, his voice breaking.

Gandalf’s hand cupped the back of his head. “And I am here,”

As Faramir drew back slightly, two sets of tear-filled blue eyes met and held for the space of twenty seconds before the young steward closed the distance between their lips and kissed the wizard. Gandalf’s surprise hindered his reaction, but he did not pull away. His mind processed quickly and came to the conclusion that the deed was acceptable. Once that had been settled, he pulled Faramir closer and deepened the kiss.

When their eyes met again, the younger man was breathless. “Will you be with me tonight, Mithrandir?”

Gandalf kissed him again before his measured reply. “I will stay with you and hold you tonight, but being with you is quite another matter. I choose not to take advantage of your desperation until you are certain of your heart. Love and sex are two completely different things, you know.”

With an acquiescent nod, Faramir took his hand and led him to his bedroom. Being held in Gandalf’s arms this night was a good beginning.