Disclaimers: Anything that begins with an F, B, M, A, D, P, E, U, N, V, I, or S and ends with aramir, oromir, ithrandir, orwen, ordor, ngmar, ragorn, rwen, nor, enethor, alantír, owyn, lboron, ndómiel, azgûl, alar, thilien, auron, or ocial life is not mine.

A/N: A few people asked for a possible sequel to "The Departure of Boromir," and I thought it might be interesting to write something of the same kind for Faramir. Anything OOC is there for comedic purposes and is not meant as an insult to canon or canon-based fanfiction.

Flames will be harnessed for use in the spontaneous-combustion special effects that appear in my stories.

This takes place a little after Faramir asks Eowyn to marry him, before Aragorn's coronation.

Faramir had not really, really intended to look into the Palantír.

Not really.

He had just been tidying up the tower room when he found it, wrapped up in a dusty velvet cloth, tucked away in a dim corner. He had not thought it still existed—Mithrandir had told him that his father had been clutching the Anor-stone when he had met his fiery demise—but he remembered from his study of lore that Seeing Stones were not easily destroyed. And when he pulled the cover off the ancient globe, and saw little multicolored lights dancing in its black marbled surface, he thought, Denethor used it all those times... Why can't I?

Now Faramir was a very cautious sort of person, and he was loathe to engage in anything rash without giving the matter serious thought. But there seemed little harm in the Palantír. Both the line of the Kings and the line of the Stewards were supposed to be able to exercise some amount of control over what they wished the Stones to show them. And, after all, Mordor was fallen, so there was no danger of coming into contact with Sauron. And, as for being traumatized by images of the future... He saw plenty of that in his dreams, and hadn't he survived?

So, still feeling slightly guilty even though his brain tried to justify itself, he peered into the depths of the Palantír. At first he saw nothing... Then, a pair of withered hands, surrounded by fire. Denethor's hands, burning.

He used all his willpower to master the Anor-stone, and suddenly saw something quite different.

It was six o'clock in Ithilien, and dinner was always punctual.

Faramir found the cozy domestic scene of their private dining room quite relaxing. He sat on one side of the square table, while Eowyn sat on the other. To his left was Elboron, who took after Boromir in appearance, and to his right his daughter Morwen (the spitting image of her mother). Plenty of food, a happy family—Faramir was content.

And then he made a fatal mistake.

"Dear, would you mind passing the potatoes?"

Eowyn looked up suddenly, eyes blazing. "Oh, I see how it is!" she yelled. "I train to be a Shieldmaiden and ride into battle and slay a Nazgûl and all I'm good for is passing potatoes? Do you think I'm just a perfect housewife with no fire or ambition? Do you think I sit around all day just so that when you come home from goofing off and doing who-knows-what that I'm just here to pass you your potatoes? You want your potatoes? Well, then get up and get them yourself!"

"I just asked..."

"Is this the kind of example you want to set for your children? Do you want Morwen to grow up thinking that she's only here to serve her husband? Do you want Elboron to grow up thinking it's okay to think he's superior to his sister just because he's male? Is that what you want, Faramir? Is it?"

"Are you a sexist, Daddy?" put in Morwen.

"Of course he's not!" interrupted Elboron, springing to Faramir's defense in a very Boromir-like manner. "He did all the housework yesterday because Mom was too tired!"

"That doesn't make Daddy a better person, Boro," said Eowyn. "Why shouldn't he do the housework? Is that supposed to be the wife's job? Why shouldn't he do his share? He's obviously still too lazy to serve himself without his wife there to help him!"

"Alright, alright, I'm getting the potatoes!" cried Faramir, cutting off his warring family. He rose, walked to the other side of the table, picked up the serving dish, and carried it back over to his plate. After heaping a generous portion onto his plate, he turned to Elboron. "Do you want some?"

"How come you asked Boro first?" whined Morwen. "Do you think he's better than me because he's a boy?"

"No, he just happens to be closer to where the plate is," said Faramir softly. "And he's the eldest."

"Well, what has age got to do with it?" cried Eowyn. "Are you implying that you're my better because you're older than me?"

"No, dear, I..."

"I think you are!"

"I'm not..."

"I ought to have married Aragorn instead of you!"

"Eowyn, he's old enough to be your grandfather."

"Well, he looks good for his age!"

"He was happily engaged to Queen Arwen fifteen years before you were even born, dear."

"Ha! I could have won his heart over that Elf if I hadn't decided to settle for you instead! What has Arwen ever done? Did she fight in the War of the Ring? Did she defend any of her dying uncles on the battlefield? Did she slay the Witch-king of Angmar? No, all that Arwen Undómiel did was mope in her bedchamber and make banners!"

"Some men prefer more... quiet women."

"Are you saying that I should be taciturn just to please you?"

"I never said that I..."

"I think you are!"

"Why do you two always fight all the time?" wailed Elboron.

"Because your mother and I sometimes misinterpret each other's words, Boro."

"Because your father is a misogynistic, chauvinistic bastard!"

"By the Valar, here we go again," muttered Faramir. Then, to his wife, "Eowyn, I'm sorry for the things I said. Can you forgive me?"

"I suppose so," she grumbled. Then, she grabbed her arm. "It's been twelve years to the day that I fought the Nazgûl, and my arm pains me. You shall have to do the dishes, Faramir."

"That's what you said yesterday, Mom," said Elboron suspiciously.

"Even if my arm didn't hurt, which it does, I can't be expected to do the washing up simply because it is the traditionalist role of a woman," snapped Eowyn. "If you're not careful, Elboron, you'll turn out just like your father."

"What's wrong with that?" said Elboron.

"Alright, alright, I'm doing the dishes!" cried Faramir. "Will you please stop arguing?"

"Should I stop arguing just to please you?"

With a gargantuan effort, Faramir wrenched himself away from the Palantír and slumped against the chair, breathing as heavily as if he'd run a marathon.

So this was his future. This was what he had to look forward to.

Faramir considered spontaneously combusting. He thought about it as rationally and as carefully as a man who has just seen such a vision can. He thought about it, and decided against it.

Instead he wrenched open the tower window and threw himself out of it.

A/N: Well? I liked writing "Departure of Boromir" better, but this was still fun. I am not anti-Eowyn in general; I just have issues with the fact that she pouts, whines, runs about, slays Ringwraiths, and flirts shamelessly with Aragorn for the entirety of TTT and RotK, and she still manages to land Faramir.

Or maybe, in some dark, twisted part of my brain, I'm actually jealous of a fictional character.

Why would that not surprise me?