I wrote this in March--it was my first drabble and my first slashy fic of any sort, though not my first LotR fic. It was done on a challenge which gave pairing, fandom, and a line that had to be included. I looked at the pairing and line, realized they were essentially incompatible, and produced 500 words of hit satire.
The title is that of a Scots folksong; it makes a bit more sense if you read the ballad, which can be found here with fairly sane spelling and here in arcane Scots dialect. With either version, substitute "blow, blow..." etc for "ba, ba, ba, lilli ba" .
Blow, Blow, Blow Ye Winds Blow
Author: Lia Ex Machina
Line: "And when we part, we shall not see each other, save in our dreams."
Word Count: 500 on the dot.
Wind, Faramir thought, should have a reasonable limit. Something to whip about a banner, sway branches, disarray hair. Trying to snatch one's cloak from one's shoulders and send it off to under-privileged Haradrim children definitely went beyond that limit. The wind seemed equally anxious to deprive him of any resemblance of untangled hair-his refusal to make a donation to the Harad Deprived Children Aid Fund had angered it. And that lovely blond hair by his cheek was getting into knots to make their detangler ruler of several continents.
Said lovely blond hair was also rather too white-blond to belong to the person it should. He thought, vaguely, that all their garments would end up with Haradrim children-not at all an unpleasant prospect, save for the wind-if they stayed outside much longer. Eventually, Faramir lifted his head and addressed his love in the language of her people.
"Shall we go in?"
He then immediately realized that his head should be higher than his companion's, and that said companion definitely should not have pointed ears, nor be looking at him as if he were parsing out a sentence in a half-learnt tongue.
"Faramir!" exclaimed the prince of Greenwood after a time. "Knowest thou not that if we go in to my tyrant of a father, we shall be forever rent in twain? And when we part, we shall not see each other, save in our dreams." Legolas sighed dramatically. "Would that I could bide all my life with thee as a mortal-and I should, love, save for my father's cruelty."
Faramir straightened up very quickly and removed himself from the Wood-elf's embrace. "No, Legolas, in fact I do not. And I have one question for you."
His apparent lover looked aghast. "What have I said? What have I done? Pray, meleth-nin, tell me of my fault that I may win thee back! What dost thou wish to know? I have not lain with any other-nor even thought of any! What is it, love?"
"How much did the twins pay you to do this?"
"What? I love thee full well, and I am no common harlot! And what twins are those thou speakest of? Mine own twin sisters, thou knowest it as I do, dwell now in more Western halls than these. And may Mandos be gentle to Ashley and Camille, that they died so young and so valiantly! They should never have tainted any of my loves with any coin, to soil and foul it!" The spider-slayer-turned-weepy-co-dependent drew himself up to a look of dignified anger that had nothing on his former battle-aura.
The such-named Steward opened one eye. "Mmm?"
Eowyn looked up at him, concerned. "You were nodding. In a wind like this, you'll get pulled off the roof if you blink twice."
Faramir nodded sheepishly. "Shall we go in?"
"Unless you have an urge to conduct an experiment in natural philosophy."
And, as they went arm-in-arm down the stairwell, "I had the strangest dream..."