For the "Archery" prompt.
“If you won’t tell me what’s troubling you,” Imrahil leans back in his chair and regards his nephew through narrowed eyes, “I’ll take a shot at it. You’ve been dreaming again.” He sips his wine. “Do I aim true?”
Faramir nods ruefully. “In the gold.”
“No; thunder, and a voice from the West…” He recounts the verse, and the plan; send an emissary to seek Imladris.
“You intend to draw bow at this venture?”
“Lore and legend are my province, hardly Boromir’s. To him the bright sword, the warrior’s glory. And… Father will more readily part with me.”