A Gondor Winter Fest

by Onóno Laivindur and various

I shall set the stage; Everyone join in to lift Denethors spirit for the Winter Fest.

The great hall and the dining hall were ablaze with candles and braziers. Winters grip was fast but inside the courts the trees hung from the rafters, the wreaths, and garlands, which were laced throughout on walls and banisters, lifted the hearts of all but the Steward.
Boromir noted to Faramir how father always descended into blackness during this festive time since mother had left them.
"This year it will be different!" Boromir challenged.
"He is not spoiling it for us all this year, you mean to say?" Retorted Faramir with half a grin and knowing look.
"Not if we can help it little brother. Come let us conspire and work a miracle together." Boromir said in a low tone so as not to be over heard by the servants.
Boromir rose and came to sit beside Faramir at the great table and over their hot spiced wine they began the conspiracy...

tbc by YOU! I suggest you write out the rest of the tale and place it here as a reply. It will be interesting to read the various plots to bring Joy to Gondor!



"Well you know Boromir that mother loved Christmas", said Farimir.

"Yes," said Boromir.

Faramir had a big grin on his face.

"What are you thinking of little brother," asked Boromir.

"I was thinking big brother that we could do the 12 days before Christmas," said Farimir.

Boromir was deep in thought, "well you know little brother that may just work."

Boromir and Faramir set out to bring the holiday cheer to Gondor.

(lengthy middle-earth rendition of the 12 Days of Christmas)
- Faramirgirl


Boromir paused and peered into his cup, which had gone cold while they were singing then waved for more mulled wine.

"You may want to check your cup before she refills it, I found some cedar bits in mine," observed Faramir.

"A little greenery never hurt anyone," replied his brother with a smile for the comely server in the green gown who came, warm jug in hand. She had auburn hair and eyes set a shade too close together to be truly pretty, but she wasn't too poorly to look upon...

Faramir rolled his eyes. "This from the man who would never eat broccoli..."

"Little trees," said Boromir very seriously "were never meant to be eaten."

"Come! Your cup is filled and then some. And ho, here come the jongleurs, just in time."

"Do I know them?"

Faramir waved them to the front, where the people stepped back to give them a clear space for their performance. "You may, though I know them better. They're from among my own men, showing off some of the talents they've used to amuse us in the evenings afield."

"You're jesting."

"No! Really, they're quite good... watch."

The drummer had now struck up a beat, and the brightly dressed men began moving together in a sort of dance. One of them picked up a piece of fruit from the table, added two more to it and began juggling them. In a short time, all three of the men had done likewise, passing pieces back and forth between them with small shouts and building it up by adding pieces of the crockery and other odd bits the enthusiastic crowd handed them. Boromir was so busy splitting his attention between the performers and his father's expression he didn't notice Faramir was no longer beside him.

Denethor's expression changed, from a slight frown to a slight astonishment, or perhaps surprise. Boromir looked to see what had finally caught his attention and almost spit the drink of wine he had just taken.

His brother was among the soldier-jongleurs, in the center of them whilst the trio passed objects around him, closer and closer. He stood very still and smiled, completely at peace as butter-knives, heavy cups and poultry-legs flew so closely that his hair waved in their passing. Boromir held his breath, afraid that something would go amiss, that their father, who held so tightly to protocol and dignity would see his younger son bespattered with foodstuffs before all assembled.

His fears were set to rest as there was a triumphant sort of shout and the men tossed things in the air all at once. Faramir also raised his hands and laughing, caught a chicken leg in one hand and a goblet in the other. Not a thing was dropped, and applause broke out all around as the breathless men bowed deeply to the Steward and took their leave, accepting their Captain's touch of a hand as they went.

Faramir bowed, smiling, to Denethor and returned to his seat by his brother as the music for a dance struck up.

"Well! What did you think of that? Did he like it?"
- Primula




“What is your plan, brother?” Faramir wondered aloud as Boromir strode purposefully down through the tunnel and out onto the Sixth Level.

“I am not sure. I have a thought, but cannot be certain that what I consider can be done.” He walked in silence again and Faramir had to content himself with only that, noting only that his brother held a piece of paper in his hand.

They stopped at the Second Level. Boromir looked towards his left, shook his head and strode towards the right. About four stalls further along the street, he stopped. Pointing, he smiled. “This is the place. Now, to find what I hope for.” He walked into a small gallery. Paintings covered the walls, paintings of Minas Tirith, Osgiliath, Ithilien’s vast forests, Dol Amroth – Faramir gasped at the skill of the painter.

“No,” Boromir moaned quietly. “This will not do.” He quickly left the shop and turned right again. Faramir followed, nonplussed.

“Ah, mayhap we have found it.” He walked into another shop and, once again, Faramir noted they were in a gallery. This time, portraits hung upon the walls.

Tears filled his eyes. At last he understood Boromir’s Yule gift for their father.

- Agape4Rivendell