Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all characters therein are the property of Tolkien Enterprises. The following is a work of fiction intended only for entertainment.

Prologue: In Which the Wanderer’s Doom is Foretold

The birds wheeling high over the towers cried out their greetings, their shrill cries piercing the calm of the blue sky and echoing off the stones. One circled down to a window opened wide to the morning and fluttered briefly before the dark-haired woman with star-bright eyes who leaned against the sill before darting back to join its fellows.

The woman smiled and reached up to brush back an errant wing of hair but she stopped when a warm hand smoothed away the wisp and cupped her cheek.

“Undomíel.”

Arwen Undomíel sighed and turned into the warmth of her husband. “Estel.”

Aragorn drew her close and kissed her temple. “They will be here soon.” He stepped back and regarded her, his eyes grave. “Are you certain of this?”

She nodded. “It must be so.” She walked into the room and settled into a chair drawn before the fire, smoothing her skirts.

Aragorn frowned and followed her into their sitting room. He moved to the great table in the middle of the room, on which a jug of wine and cups stood. Pouring out the wine, he looked up at the knock upon the door, his countenance lightening as he beheld the two graceful figures that entered. “Elladan, Elrohir, you are welcome.”

“We would not dare ignore so weighty a matter as a call from the King and Queen of Gondor.” Elrohir’s light laughter echoed about the room as the twins greeted their sister and one-time foster brother. “Though we arrived late last night my curiosity would not allow me to rest further than was polite this morning.”

“Indeed, why the urgency?” Elladan queried, seating himself at the table and accepting a cup of wine. “We made haste from Imladris, though we did not know the reason.”

Aragorn carried a cup of wine to his wife and remained leaning against the fireplace. His face was stern as he said, “Arwen has suggested I take counsel with you, as men of war, on a matter on which she and I cannot agree but which must be decided soon.

“When I became king of Gondor I negotiated peace with Harad. I hoped that it would hold, but alas, it was always a fragile peace and has come undone even sooner than I had feared. I am already in consultation with Éomer of the Mark, for war returns to Gondor.”

“We had heard whispers of such even in Imladris,” Elladan answered. No more levity could be seen in the faces of the sons of Elrond; once more they were the grim warriors that had ridden ceaselessly against the orcs for so many years.

Aragorn nodded. “Soon I must ride out and in my absence my Steward is to guide the city, as has always been done. But Arwen advises me otherwise.”

“Sister?” Elrohir said. “What have you seen?”

Arwen did not turn from her contemplation of the fire. “I have seen many things but only a few are yet clear to me.”

“Then what was your advice?” Elrohir asked.

“Send Faramir to the far southern reaches of Harad,” she replied. “Not as a warrior but as an emissary, to speak with the chieftains of the tribes who roam there. The tribes of southern Harad are not united in their animosity to the West and may be won over.”

Aragorn shook his head. “He is not like his brother Boromir, who traveled often on behalf of his father. He has spent his whole life in Gondor and is more firmly rooted therein than perhaps any other man, and despite his great learning is not well-versed in other lands and peoples. What manner of emissary would he be? Do you not remember his misconceptions about the elves?”

A small smile curved Arwen’s lips. “My grandmother Galadriel was amused that he should have thought her people either imaginary or frightful but allowed that his mistake was useful to her. His ignorance does not matter. He handsomely admitted his error, Estel, and more importantly he has been more than welcoming to me.”

“And both Legolas and Gimli speak well of him,” Elrohir added. “Your Steward is a man of courtesy and quick to learn.”

“Faramir is a true son of Gondor.” Arwen nodded slowly. “The time of trial for Gondor is not yet over and not only trial by arms will be needed. Frodo taught us that.”

“For shame, Estel,” Elladan chided. “Despite all these years you still forget of whom you speak. We may all be the children of Elrond but Arwen also dwelt many years in Lothlórien. The granddaughter of Galadriel and Celeborn sees farther and more clearly than we do.”

“Not so far or as clearly as I would wish, Elladan,” Arwen murmured. “I cannot see the end of Faramir’s doom or even a great part of it. And much of what I see is yet strange to me.”

Elrohir shrugged. “The clouds before the future- that is the gift of this Age, sister.”

Aragorn sighed and pressed a hand to his brow. “You know it is not that I disbelieve or distrust Arwen. I know that Gondor will be safe while king and Steward are gone. But you ask me to suspend an ancient law of Gondor and part a man from his young family for a dangerous and uncertain quest in enemy lands- a good and gentle man who has already suffered greatly for his city. And his wife- her healing has only begun as well. This troubles my heart.”

Arwen nodded but her face and voice were implacable. “Nonetheless, he must go to Harad.”

She rose from her chair and moved back to the great window. She leaned into the breeze, gazing at the endless expanses that stretched out to the south below her.

Aragorn watched her. “Why, beloved?” he asked softly. “Why must he be the one to go?”

The daughter of Elrond did not answer while she watched the people below and the birds above. Finally she turned to him and Aragorn saw the light in her grey eyes- eyes bright with the wisdom of an Age that had not yet passed into memory.

“He dreams of Núménor,” she replied.

A/N: This story, which is loosely based on Homer’s Odyssey, is in response to a challenge at Emyn Arnen. There is no need to read that immortal classic in order to understand this story other than to amuse yourself picking out what I have ‘borrowed’ and what is original. I am following book canon so please don’t expect to see any of Odysseus in Faramir, though (they are two almost diametrically dissimilar men!)