Little Things

LITTLE THINGS: The Affairs of Wizards
by Janet Elizabeth

To My Brother Faramir,


I write to you in hopes of finding a cure for this thing that ails me. I am quite ill and all my
thoughts, words and deeds seem tinged with this sickness that haunts me.


But let me be clear on what has befallen your might brother. Do you remember when we were
boys, still young enough to need tutors, but old enough to bear arms and command small
companies of men? Do you also remember who was our teacher and master of knowledge? Of
course you do, for you adored him then and still do now.


But I did not adore him and in fact I expressed my despite of him at every turn. I shouted my
dislike of him at the end of every lesson and would constantly complain to father that I did not
wish my mind to be filled with the useless knowledge that only a wizard can provide. Everyone
knew of my dislike for Mithrandir, including the greybeard himself.

But that is not the whole truth. There is another I must share, for while I publicly denounced his
attentions, that was merely a cover for my youthful broken heart. I am shamed at my wanton
destruction of our teacher's good name, and all because of a misunderstanding and my own silly
emotions.


You see, dear brother, I and Gandalf had a very brief affair of the heart, or at least my heart was
involved. The state of his I am at a loss to say what he felt. All I know is that for a fortnight he
dallied with my body and toyed with my emotions.


Yes. You have read the right of it. We were lovers, old Mithrandir and I, but doubt not the
vigor of his manner. He may appear as an aged man, but he has fire and youth in him still. Or
he did then. He was stern with me in our trysts and I was a silly boy, allowing myself to fall in
love someone who's only loyalty lay in the care of Middle-earth herself. He cared for me only
as another of her children and child I was. I remember too well the early days of our trysting, the
passion and the fumbling hands of the oldest son of Denethor. I remember how he guided me,
taught me and then in the end, spurned me.


He was kind enoug his his way, but I was still wounded to my core as I watched him leave us. I
remember you cried that day, but I did not. I had spent all my tears the night before as I raged
and wept and begged him not to end things. But the old saying came true to me that night. You
know the one, "Meddle not in the affairs of wizards for they are quick to anger". And angry he
was with me as I threatened to go to our father with a tale that he had taken me without honor,
though I only said such things to try and force him to remain with me. He struck me then, not
once or twice, but thrice and I could not believe that someone who had been so tender and gentle
with me could beat me so. If you remember, I lied and said I had been in a fight with our distant
kin, the Prince of Dol Amroth. I don't know if father believed that, but I did not care then. I
was bereft and not given to charity towards anyone. I know my lie made my father order a
beating on the young Prince, but when your heart is broken from it's first love affair, you care
nothing for the welfare of others.


And now years have passed. You and I are men and leaders of men. Our father is old. But my
wounds are still present and have coloured all my exchanges with others. Still, I thought myself
well rid of my first lover. Until now.


He has caught me again and I am right back where I started. Gandalf is too dangerous for me.
He was in Imladris when I arrived and now I am upon a great quest with him. I daresay that he
remembers all too well what we shared those many years ago, but he says naught of it. But there
are odd moments when I catch his eyes on me and I feel the flush of shame creep over my flesh
again. I am glad for the darkness of Kazadhum despite the danger and the imminent attack of
the orcs. The darkness gives me relief from the gimlet gaze of my torment. For the secret I must
tell you yet, is that I love him still.


I live in torment. I only hope you will have some words of comfort and not judgement when you
and I next meet. Time has been no cure for this and only death shall release me.


Your Captain,
Boromir son of Denethor