Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and I’ll put them back safely when I’m done!

 Author's Note: This was written for Marigold's Challenge #2. It stands on its own, but I thought that it would work well with the Gondor Tales. Let me know how you like it! Enjoy!

Meetings

      Frodo sighed happily and wiggled himself into a state of luxurious, comfortable, decadent bliss in the soft featherbed. He hadn’t thought that he would ever be able to get used to sleeping in such comfort after Mordor, and yet here he was, snuggled down into the huge bed like the most innocent hobbit bairn.

    The day had been long and eventful, but hardly boring. The citizens of Minas Tirith lauded Frodo as a prince of the land, and though he was rather uncomfortable with it, he had yet to be bored by it. Everyone in the Company was honored, but Frodo especially so. It seemed that people liked to give him things, he mused as he tucked the quilt over his shoulders. So far, he had acquired beautiful new clothes, a silver circlet, and a trunk load of books from a wizened bookseller in the Fourth Circle.

    Those same books were lying on his bed now, waiting for him to pick them up and devour them. The fact that it had been a cool, rainy sort of day that had passed into a cool, rainy night helped. A bowl of crisp green apples sat on the table next to his bed, and Frodo picked one before opening his selected book and reading.

     He had been reading for quite some time when he first became aware of the feeling. It was one that he was familiar with, although it was not nearly so unwelcome as before. It was the feeling of being watched intensely. Frodo lowered his book and looked around. What he saw startled him greatly.

   A small hobbit lad stood next to his bed, regarding him with serious green eyes. Frodo was so surprised that he could only say, “Hullo.”

      “Hullo,” the lad answered. “Who are you?”

      “Frodo Baggins,” Frodo replied. “And who are you?”

       “Faramir,” said the lad, and climbed up onto Frodo’s bed.

       Frodo set his book down and moved over to make room for the lad. Faramir settled himself on the soft featherbed and proceeded to stare at Frodo. Frodo stared back at him, wondering why on earth the lad looked so much like Pippin, who was, to the best of his knowledge, asleep in the next room. He also wondered why a hobbit lad shared the name of Captain-Prince-Faramir.

     “Are you the Ringbearer?” Faramir finally asked.

     “Yes,” replied Frodo.

     “I thought so,” little Faramir said. “You look just like your portrait.”

      Frodo frowned. “What portrait, my lad?”

      Faramir took an apple from the bowl and bit it. “The one that hangs in the portrait hall,” he said. “That the King commissioned.”

      “The King? Do you mean Aragorn?” Frodo asked, rather faintly.

      Faramir nodded. “I call him King Strider sometimes. So does Eldarion. We only do that when he isn’t working.”

      Frodo gazed at the lad in amazement. Who was he? Who was Eldarion? What was going on?

     “Tell me, Faramir,” Frodo began in his kindest voice. “What are you doing here?”

     “Visiting the King and Queen, of course. Isn’t Queen Arwen beautiful? She’s not as pretty as my mamma, though,” Faramir replied.

     Frodo shook his head. “No, I meant, why are you in my room?”

     Faramir froze, and stared at him with large eyes. “Was I not supposed to? I’m sorry! It’s just that we were playing hide and seek, and I needed a place to hide, so I came in here. I didn’t think that anyone was here, but you were. I’m sorry, I can leave.”

    “No, that’s quite alright,” Frodo replied. “You can stay awhile.”

   Then, at a loss of what else to say, he lapsed into silence. Faramir quieted as well, thoughtfully munching his apple. Frodo felt his eyelids grow heavy, but fought it until he had asked Faramir one more question.

     “Faramir, who is your father?” he asked, leaning back on his pillows.

     “Don’t you know?” Faramir asked, surprised. “I thought that you knew everything! You’re the Ringbearer!”

    Frodo smiled and yawned. “I’m not that brilliant, Faramir, I’m just a hobbit like yourself. Now tell me, I’m about to fall asleep.”

     Faramir looked at the Ringbearer. It was true, he looked very tired. His blue eyes were closing; he was almost asleep.

     “My father’s Peregrin Took,” he said quickly, in a loud voice. “He’s the Thain of Tuckborough.”

      Frodo smiled. So that was why Faramir looked so familiar. “That’s very good, my lad. I must rest now; my strength isn’t what it used to be. Good night.”

     Frodo’s eyes closed; when he opened them again, it was daylight. His books were still on his bed, his unfinished apple lay close at hand, browning. The book that he had been reading was open on his chest, not where he had laid it to one side. He frowned.

    “Was it a dream, then?” he said aloud. “It was so real.”

    Still, there was no use wondering about it. Frodo got up and dressed, and joined his friends in the kitchen for breakfast. He was none too surprised when Aragorn asked him, later that day, to sit for his portrait. He mentioned the dream in passing to Pippin, as it was only fair to say, “I dreamed that your son came and talked to me. He sat on my bed and ate an apple while hiding from the seeker in hide and seek.”

     Many years later, when Frodo had crossed over the Sea, and Pippin indeed had a small son named Faramir, a curious thing happened when they were visiting Minas Tirith for a few months. Pippin was reading in the library when Faramir ran up to him, and exclaimed, “I met Cousin Frodo in his bedroom! He was very nice to me; he gave me an apple!”

    Pippin asked Faramir to show him the room where he had seen Frodo, and was led to the house where the Company had lived during their days in Minas Tirith. When Faramir opened the door, he frowned and cried, “But it was his room, Father! And he was reading, and had a bowl of apples, and said that it was very good that you were my father. Where is he?”

   Pippin reassured his son as best as he could. Secretly, he was very happy that Frodo had been able to see Faramir. He didn’t know how, but their two very separate worlds had combined that night, for a short meeting. He closed the door to the empty room that had been Frodo’s, and led Faramir away to a late supper.