A/N: I do not own Lord of the Rings. Finley and Kroy (and later Darrin) are my own original characters. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 3: Of Hope and Healing

He heard hushed voices. He heard noise, but it registered in his own mind as no more than a distant buzzing. He did not know who was speaking, or what was making that noise but it did not matter to him, as the noise was not unpleasant or loud. He was not even aware he was hearing any noise at all. He was just… floating. Everything became nothing and nothing mattered.

It was not until a few moments later that he became aware of the firm mattress beneath him. His whirling thoughts focused and steadied themselves. He could distinctly feel every part of his body that made contact with the mattress that supported him; the backs of his legs, his arms, his shoulders, the heels of his feet. He felt calm, very at ease with himself; he had nothing to worry about. He was safe. Safe.

Faramir! Uncle!

He had to get up now. He had no choice in the matter. He had to help them. He had to make sure they were safe. His thoughts again began to race. He wanted desperately to open his eyes but they were so heavy. His limbs felt like lead and he suddenly became aware of his throbbing head. He whimpered, his fingers twitching just the slightest, and he felt the soft fabric of the sheets beneath his fingertips. Slowly, he brought a heavy hand to his head and scrubbed at his face, and rubbed at his gritty eyes.

"He's waking!" He heard a familiar voice.

"Really?"

"Do you think he's alright?"

"Of course, he's waking up!"

"Aye, but he looks like he's gonna be sick…"

"Well, maybe he is…?" And uneasy silence followed these words. It was Boromir who broke the silence.

" Mmnasih…" His murmured words were unintelligible. He opened his eyes hesitantly, at first cringing away from the light and sinking ubeneath the bed sheets. He squinted and his eyes stung as they began to adjust to the light. His vision was slightly blurred and again he rubbed at his eyes.

"Boromir, are you alright?" It was that voice again. Faramir. The boy had crawled onto the bed beside him and was watching him with concerned eyes. At the end of the bed he could make out two other figures, both eyeing him warily. Boromir sniffed and cleared his throat.

"I'm not sick." He repeated his earlier words, surprised by the sound of his own voice. It was dry and raspy and froggish, and it also cracked on the second word. Boromir was not so sure if there was any truth in his own words. In all honesty, he felt rather hung over. His head pounded and his throat was dry, there was a most unpleasant sour taste in his mouth. He grimaced, however, the boys at the foot of his bed visibly relaxed at this statement. The smaller one with dark hair nodded.

"I'll get Lord Elrond." And with that the boy ran off, leaving the taller freckle-faced boy alone. Boromir studied him for a moment, his vision now cleared and his eyes adjusted. He was tall, and of a lean, muscular build. His auburn hair was loosely tied back, some of it falling in front of his sharp eyes. Those eyes, as far as Boromir could tell, were green… or maybe gray. His skin was slightly tanned despite the freckles , and his rounded nose and strong jaw line were perhaps his most prominent features.

His head was tilted to the side only slightly and his eyes were curious. He was frowning, his brow creased as if he were pondering something. He was fiddling with some small trinket he held in his hands, but Boromir could not see what that was either. He turned his head to look at Faramir and gave the little boy a confused look. He managed a weak smile, and Faramir smiled in return.

Boromir could see now that he was in a healing ward of sorts, surrounded by many unnoccupied beds covered with clean, white sheets and patches of sunlight shining on the ivory white walls. The open windows were large and Boromir found it hard to distinguish what was indoors, and what was outdoors. It was a peaceful place, and it looked as if it was of elvish craft. Elvish.

"Faramir?" He questioned the boy beside him. "Are we in… ?" His brother nodded wordlessly and Boromir took a deep breath, trying to remember all that had happened before he lost consciousness. But he could not remember. He could not concentrate and it all like a fading dream. He could not concentrate. Boromir became frustrated and sighed audibly. The boy at the end of his bed was still watching him, but Boromir tried to ignore him, instead staring at the flat ceiling above. He could hear faint laughter, and distant chattering in that fluid, foreign tongue. He could hear music, and joyful merry making outside these light walls, and this confused Boromir. He tried not to pay attention to the pleasant smells that floated in through the windows. They smelled of sweets and pastries and fruit, and Boromir then realized how hungry he actually was. He was thirsty as well, but said nothing. His eyes focused again on the boy at the foot of his bed.

"Who are you?" Boromir asked, his eyes skeptical but somewhat curious. He was glad to hear that his voice was stronger this time around. The boy smiled at his question and dipped his head slightly.

"Kroy of Breeland." He spoke in a slow, matured voice; however Boromir barely had time to consider the name when a tall, elegant man entered the room followed by the small dark haired boy he had seen earlier. Upon the man's very long dark hair was a silver circlet. Boromir wondered if this man was a king of sorts, or if not that, some kind of royalty. His face was ageless, his clear gray eyes thoughtful, and his ears… pointed? Boromir gasped softly. An elf! He opened his mouth, but found no useful words to say. Instead he turned to Faramir. The boy had already hopped off of the bed and was eagerly eyeing the elf.

"Lord Elrond!" Faramir beamed. The elf lord returned the smile, and nodded in recognition towards Kroy. He hurried over beside Boromir's bed and placed a gentle, practiced hand upon the boy's brow. Boromir pulled away from the elf's touch and eyed him nervously. "Where's my Uncle?" His tone was low and cautious. "What happened? What's going on?" He glanced around. "How did I get here?" These next few questions were more urgent and his anxiety was evident in his voice. When he at first received no answer, Boromir swallowed, wondering if he had said something wrong. Then he realized he was speaking to the Lord of Imladris. This was the great elf his Uncle had mentioned. Boromir clenched his jaw and lowered his eyes.

"I'm sorry, my lord."

"Look at me, child." Boromir hesitantly obeyed, meeting Lord Elrond's penetrating gaze. "It is alright to be concerned for your Uncle. I shall tell you what you wish to know." He turned towards the two boys standing off to the side. "Thank you for looking after Faramir." Lord Elrond smiled.

Kroy and the smaller boy both muttered a short 'you're welcome' before bowing slightly and hurrying out of the healing ward. Faramir again had crawled onto the bed beside his older brother, and the Lord of Imladris began to speak.

"Your Uncle will live." Boromir released the breath he had been holding. "We have cleaned and dressed his wounds," Elrond continued, "And as we speak he is resting. He should be on his feet in a matter of days." Boromir released another shuddering breath. "He is not here, as you can obviously see, but instead in a more private area. I would see that he rests, and you both be alerted when he awakes."

"Thank you…" He felt Faramir squeeze his shoulder gently. Lord Elrond nodded and continued.

"You slept for one whole day. Here in Imladris a festival is occuring, and all races are invited from all of middle earth to come and take part in the celebrations. It is a week of fun and entertainment, and we do hope our guests enjoy the festivities." Elrond grinned, giving Boromir a moment to mull that over. "Both of your horses were found by a scouting party organized by Lord Glorfindel as they were returning home for the festival. Earlier that same scouting party had had come across the party from Lorien, and were escorting them to Imladris. Not far from where they discovered your horses, they found you." Boromir momentarily wondered if that meant they had found Talagor as well.

"Your Uncle was unconscious and close to death. You had fallen from your horse due to exhaustion. You had hit your head and received a concussion. Faramir, however, was conscious when the scouting party came to your aid. He had sprained his wrist because of the fall, but was very awake." Lord Elrond eyed the little boy.

"I was keeping watch." Faramir chimed in. A smile played on Boromir's lips, and Lord Elrond continued.

"And you did a very good job of it, young one." Elrond praised, flashing the boy a smile. "He also informed us of your encounter with wolves." Boromir nodded slowly. "We bound the wound on your forearm. It should heal quickly. Lord Celeborn of the Golden Wood carried you upon his horse to Imladris." Lord Elrond finished with a short nod.

Boromir blinked.

"I got to ride with the Lady Galadriel, Boromir!" Faramir was grinning, and Boromir frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. He heard Elrond chuckle and Boromir cast him a cursory glance. He did not know who these elves were. Unlike his father, Boromir was not skilled in the art of lore. Faramir seemed to grasp the roots his confusion.

"Remember, Boromir? We learned about Lorien in our lessons." Boromir blinked again. "Lothlorien? The Golden Wood?" Faramir tried. Still, he got no response from Boromir. "It's a forest realm; a dwelling of the elves. A refuge of sorts." Faramir looked towards Lord Elrond who nodded in approval.

"And those boys that were here?" Boromir prompted.

"Those boys you met were Kroy and Finley of Breeland, a man dwelling town west of this valley. I ordered them to look after your brother as both you and your Uncle were incapable watching him yourselves. They are here with their families. I also hoped you might get along. The race of man does not often attend this festival." Elrond smiled kindly and Boromir jumped when another elf appeared by his side.

"Thank you Erestor." The elf called Erestor dipped his head and Boromir eyed him curiously. He had brought some kind of herbal tea, and bread, and cheese along with it. "I would have you drink the tea first," Lord Elrond said. "And I know you must be hungry."

"Yes, sir." He nodded eagerly, licking his lips at the sight of food. He was tempted to swallow it all right this second, but restrained himself, carefully taking sipping the tea instead. It was alright; very hot, and sweetened with a bit of honey. It was obviously some sort of medicinal tea, but as long as it was not as terrible tasting as the sort they gave him in Minis Tirith, Boromir did not mind so much. Even so, he still thanked the elf, Erestor, as he departed from the healing ward.

"Now," Lord Elrond watched Boromir intently. "The festival began yesterday, and we finished lunch about an hour ago. Your concussion is minor, however it probably feels far worse than it actually is," Boromir lifted a hand to feel the bandage on the side of his head, "And the wound on your arm has been stitched. I would advise you to not put too much stress on it unless you wish to tear the stitches. You have slept for a sufficient period of time, and I believe that once you have eaten you will be well enough to enjoy the festival. However I encourage very little physical activity for the next day or so due to your concussion. If you become hungry at some point in between now and supper, there is no shame in asking for directions to the kitchens. Faramir, I'm sure will be able to show you your room, and when you feel that you are able, you may leave. "

"Thank you, my lord." Lord Elrond smiled and nodded before turning swiftly on his heel. Boromir watched the elf as he strode from the room, his footsteps barely making a sound upon the smooth floor. Boromir set his tea off to the side, only having finished half of it, and took the bread into his hands, tearing a piece off with his teeth. He chewed eagerly, finishing the bread very quickly and then began nibbling the cheese. Even this simple food tasted wonderful. Faramir watched him as he ate and Boromir became slightly uncomfortable.

"You have eaten Faramir… ?"

"Yes." Faramir nodded. There was a brief silence before Faramir spoke again. "I think he brought us here because of the festival."

Boromir nodded, nibbling at the cheese some more. "Aye." There was silence again, and Boromir listened to the celebrations outside. "Are you having fun?"

"Yes!" Faramir exclaimed happily, but suddenly frowned. "I was just… distracted." Boromir nodded in understanding. All of this just seemed so surreal. It just didn't make any sense that they were in Imladris. Boromir did not understand how that in so far away Gondor men fought and died for their country. How every day, the shadow grew closer and Gondor's defenses grew weaker along with his father's reign. While at the same time, Imladris celebrates.

Boromir suddenly realized that he had finished all of the cheese. He looked at Faramir, his gaze confused and somewhat lost.

"What do they celebrate?" Faramir returned Boromir's gaze, the same confusion evident in his eyes. This time there was a long silence. Neither brother said anything, as nothing was needed to be said between them. Faramir's eyes had become distant, and Boromir was surprised when he finally spoke.

"I think… I think they celebrate… hope."

Boromir spoke no more, wordlessly standing upon wobbly legs and quickly dressing himself with the clothing that was folded at the foot of his bed. It was a just a simple tunic, breeches, boots, and a belt. All of his other belongings, Faramir informed him, were in his room. Boromir was clean and his hair had been washed. He did not need any weapons, nor did he need anything from his pack. There was a brush beside his bed in the healing ward, and he quickly tidied himself up. The pain in his head had been reduced to only a dull throbbing, almost barely noticeable, and for that Boromir was grateful. Faramir took hold of his older brother's hand and led him out of the healing wing, into the festival.

To be continued…