This, That and the Other Thing

Learning to Fly

They say the Steward is cold and grim, that not even the blooming of spring brings him joy. But they did not see him long ago, on that windy spring day.

Minas Tirith, 2988 TA

Denethor leaned out of the tower window, and surveyed the courtyard. He could see the Tower Guards at their posts, a goodwife walking to the kitchens, and Faramir playing . . . or at least it seemed like playing, for the boy was behaving rather oddly.

Faramir had a very large piece of blue fabric with him. Every now and then, he would fling it into the wind, and then chase it until it fell down, usually right on top of him. The boy seemed disappointed at this, but nonetheless tried the same thing over and over again, with much the same result. Denethor watched for a few more moments, and then decided he had enough. It’s time to get to the bottom of this.

He walked swiftly to the courtyard. “Faramir. What is it that you are doing?”

Faramir greeted his father breathlessly, and held up the blue fabric. “It’s a kite, Father! I read about it in a book.”

Denethor could feel a guffaw coming on, at the sight of Faramir’s “kite”, but the earnest look on his son’s face made him hide his amusement, at least for the moment.

“That is not quite how you fly a kite, son. Would you like me to show you how?”

And that was how, on a windy spring day long ago, the Steward spent much of the day teaching his young son to fly a kite.