A/N: Aragorn drew Faramir back from the brink of death in the Houses of Healing. Only 10 days later Sauron was overthrown and when the Eagles brought news to the city Faramir discharged himself from the Healers’ care and took up his duties as Steward.

Was he healed enough for the task?

*****

Chapter 1

He called me back; he called my name and I could not refuse him. I opened my eyes and without doubt knew that I looked upon the face of my King; and I loved him, loved him for his nobility and compassion. I would serve him to my last breath. 

When next I woke, the forces of the West were gathering before the gates preparing to march to the last battle, a final, brave, hopeless stand at the very gates of Mordor. I had them carry me to the walls that I might salute my comrades and honour their task. Proud tears clouded my vision, the banners’ hues blurring in the bright spring sunshine as the host marched proudly across the ruin of the Pelennor Fields to the sound of trumpets. I bade the healers carry me back to my bed, for I was too weak with that final grief to find my own way. I sought the quiescent oblivion of the healer’s herbs.

I awoke to the bright warmth of sunshine on my face and the tantalising smell of warm bread in the air. A Halfling was standing at my bedside offering me his assistance. He introduced himself as Meriadoc, cousin of Peregrin, but I would have known him without introduction from his cousin’s description. He too carried the physical wounds of battle and in his eyes I could see the pain of a gentle soul who had seen too much and who grieved still for those he had lost. But he was good company, quick to laugh and eager to share tales of his friends and his homeland far away.  He helped me to wash and dress and with the assistance of the lad Bergil escorted me out into the garden.

On the second day after the Passing of the Host, I was resting in the garden when the Warden of the House of Healing came to me, accompanied by a fair and beautiful maiden, Eowyn, Lady of Rohan, she who had defeated the Witch King and fallen under his shadow. She too bore the injuries of battle and remained in the healers’ care.

I was moved by her beauty and by the sorrow she bore. Her beauty shone out like a beacon, but it was as sun on a bright winter’s day, sun that offered beauty and light but no warmth. Our conversation gave me an insight into her pain; she had sought valour and death on the field of battle: valour she had achieved but death had eluded her and she knew not how to face her newly kindled life.

Her company brought me pleasure and I believe she found comfort in my presence. We kept each other company and shared the endless daily wait upon the walls, our eyes ever turned north and east towards the shadow.  On that final day we stood together, still nursing our griefs, our hands entwined as the cloud and shadow swept towards us; and then it fragmented before our eyes, bringing hope and joy even as the eagles flew towards us with news of victory.

Victory brought great joy and relief to the city, and the people rejoiced in those first few days as the reality began to sink in. Messengers came swiftly from the Captains with news and urgent requests for healers and supplies to be carried to the Field of Cormallen, where the Host would remain to tend to the wounded and suppress any lasting insurrection from the forces of the Enemy. Merry joined the wagons, eager to be reunited with his kinsmen, all of whom lay within the healers’ care. Lord Eomer, now uncrowned King of Rohan, begged his sister to join him but she declined; she stayed within the House of Healing nursing her wounds, both physical and spiritual.

I discharged myself from the healers’ care. Duty called me; with father and brother dead, I would fulfil the role of Steward if only for a little while, until the King came to claim his crown.  My injuries were healing; the wound in my shoulder had closed and the healers reassured me that strength and use would return to my arm if I kept it rested.

I took up my duties and set myself a single goal: to set to rights, where possible, the damage done to the city and to prepare a suitable welcome for the King that I might hand over my badge of office with the honour of the Stewards intact.

The task was immense. A tour of inspection with Hurin, Captain of the Guards, and with the Chamberlain left me in no doubt that the city was in dire straits. The first two tiers of the city were so badly damaged by fire and blast that few dwellings were habitable. The city gates were sundered and offered no protection from further assault. The Pelennor and the Rammas still stank from the rotting bodies of the dead and the choking smoke of funeral pyres. The troops left to defend the city struggled with double shifts of duty, alternating guard duty and supervising the clearing of the battle field by the prisoners of war -- a bitter undertaking for troops long wearied of battle and toil.

Within the city, there were few citizens able to assist in the clearing and reconstruction. Long years of strife had taken most of the able bodied men, and the women and children had been sent away to safety. I was left with the elderly and the infirm. The House of Healing was still crowded with the wounded and dying; the walking wounded helped with their stricken comrades, but it was never enough.

The city coffers were all but empty and the storehouses and grain stores sadly depleted. There was no fresh meat and few dairy animals, and our access to fresh game was severely limited in the aftermath of war. It would take weeks or months to re-establish adequate trade routes and supplies, and I had no emissaries to send to speed the process. I ordered that all food supplies be gathered together in a central storehouse so that they could be rationed and distributed equitably, a task made more urgent as the flood of returning refugees placed greater demands on both food and shelter.

There were not enough hours in the day to begin to make an impact on the task in hand. I was kept busy till late into the night. I needed little sleep, my mind too busy struggling to comprehend the complexities of ordering and running a city; I was untrained and unprepared for the task and had only my father’s Chamberlain to guide my efforts. I assigned a young Ranger Cadet, Tamir, to be my squire. I struggled with many physical tasks; even dressing myself was difficult with only one useful arm. I submitted to his assistance and ministrations with a degree of impatience and frustration; fortunately he was of a gentle and placid disposition and endured my ill temper with a wry smile and a degree of maturity and discretion not found in many of his older colleagues.

I had seen little of Eowyn since we received news of the victory. My duties kept me busy and she remained within the healers’ care. I missed her company and held onto a memory of her presence, hugging it within myself as a promise for the future, a bright flame to light my days when cares and duties and buried grief threatened to overwhelm me.

When the Warden came to me and told me that she was ailing, I cursed myself for my neglect. I met with her in the garden; the pale spring sunshine warmed the air but she shivered within her cloak. I knew that soft words would not thaw her reserve or win her heart. I knew her to be bold and fearless and tempered with steel, and yet I saw within her eyes uncertainty and fear. I challenged her to accept my love and regard and to acknowledge her own feelings; I knew in my heart that she would rise up and answer my challenge and when she came within my arms and offered me her heart, I thrilled at the knowledge that I had at last found a home, there within the sanctuary of her embrace.

Chapter 2

He called me back, back from the dark vale where I cowered under the harsh voice and poisoned words of the Witch King; all about me, the dead and dying lay broken and spoiled: brother, cousin and King amongst them. I wanted to join them in death but death was denied me, and I lingered in grief and pain. Yet the voice was insistent and a gentle hand drew me back to brightness and light and I awoke to find my brother weeping at my side, joy and relief lighting his beloved face. I felt crushed; I had failed, any hopes of completing my quest now frustrated by my weak woman’s body. I welcomed the pain of my broken bones, a small enough token of failure, and I refused the numbing relief of the Healer’s herbs.

The Host marched out in vain hope for the final conflict. From my bed I heard the trumpets blow a farewell salute, the proud notes echoing around the walls of the citadel, answered by the cheers and blessings of those who remained on the walls. I had no hope of victory or of ever seeing kin or comrades in this lifetime. I drew the blankets over my head and wept.

When I could no longer bear the cloistering of the sick room, I begged the Warden to release me; he refused and took me to the new Steward of the city, a fellow inmate of the Healing Halls. Lord Faramir refused to countermand the Warden’s orders. I could see the pity and grief in his countenance but he spoke to me gently. I bowed to his authority and resigned myself to continued confinement. Lord Faramir was gentle and kind, and in his eyes I saw kindled the offer of regard and admiration; I would not acknowledge the offer. I had no room for misplaced consideration. I left him and returned to my room.

Over the next few days, we would meet in the gardens and upon the walls. Sometimes friend Merry joined us and lightened our hearts with his gentle humour and easy, undemanding affection.  We spoke of those we had lost and about those dear to us; but mostly we waited and watched in silence. I grew to look forward to his company; he was fair of face and had a stillness and gentleness of spirit that called to me. I saw long-standing pain and griefs in his eyes, and yet he voiced no complaint and sought always to support and comfort me.  When a chill wind left me shivering, he drew a beautiful cloak about my shoulders, a treasured heirloom that had been made for his mother; as he struggled to fasten the clasp at my throat, he gave me a look of such deep feeling that I felt myself drowning within his gaze. I pulled away, afraid of the intimacy of the gesture. I caused him pain. He flinched at my withdrawal and I felt shamed by my action but I could not allow myself to open to him.

On the last day, we stood together on the wall, our eyes turned to the shadow in the east. Fear and dread pressed down until I feared I would scream out loud. The roiling blackness rose up and threatened to overwhelm the land; and then suddenly it rolled away and the sun shone and the eagles came, crying of victory and the overthrow of darkness.  We stood together, hands clasped tightly, and dared to believe that the future lay before us.

Faramir took up the responsibilities of his office. He discharged himself from the healers’ care and threw himself into the mammoth task of preparing for the return of the King.  Merry left with the wagons and I returned to the House of Healing, confused and uncertain, while all around me rejoiced at our liberation and victory.  I should have been happy; my brother had survived and the King, the object of my unrequited regard, had triumphed over adversity to now claim his rightful heritage. I cowered within my bower, afraid to face him and unable to see where my future lay. I had chased death and an end to unfulfilled hopes and now my path was clouded; I shuttered my heart and balanced on the precipice of endless empty tomorrows.

Faramir broke down the doors of my self enforced isolation. He drew me forth and challenged me to accept his love and recognise the wishes of my own heart. I looked into his eyes and suddenly everything seemed easy and clear; he loved me and my heart sang. The joy and love in his heart drove away the shadows, and I lost myself in his arms and drowned in the sweetness and passion of his lips. His love healed me and I knew peace. I vowed then to stay within the healing halls, to renounce the sword and to offer my services and to learn gentler arts.

Every day my Lord would visit the House of Healing. He walked the sick-rooms offering words of comfort and comradeship to the men still within our care. He sat at the bedside of those who battled against grievous injuries, his presence welcomed by both healers and sick. His men loved him and I basked in the reflected glow of their regard. We would snatch brief moments together, planning fanciful schemes for the future, before duties and cares called him away.

He pushed himself relentlessly and I would try to ensure that there was food available so that he could eat as we talked. I tasked Tamir, his squire, to ensure that his Lord ate properly and took care of his health. As the days passed I became increasingly concerned; Faramir was grey with fatigue and I suspected that he was often in pain; his arm now constantly either in a sling or tucked into the front of his jacket for support. He denied the pain and brushed aside my concern, refusing to bother the healer, too busy to allow physical weakness to interfere in the discharge of his duties.

One day he came late in the afternoon. Something had happened. His eyes looked haunted, grief and pain clouded his face.  He did his rounds as usual, comforting the sick and joking with those he knew well, but even they could see his pain, though he tried hard to disguise it. As he walked into the small chamber that served as an office, he swayed against Tamir and took the offered arm for support. We helped him to a chair and he sat down and laid his head down on his arms on the desk. I sent Tamir to get some tea and hot food. I added a pinch of herbs to the tea and had to coax him to drink; he never spoke but tears soon coursed down his face. I knelt at his side and embraced him and he sobbed against my shoulder until exhaustion finally threatened to overwhelm him. I helped him to his feet and manoeuvred him over to a low padded settle; I covered him with my cloak and sat at his side, comforting him until sleep finally overpowered him.

I banked down the fire and turned down the lamp and left, quietly closing the door. Tamir couldn’t tell me what had transpired to affect his Master so acutely, only that he had had a long private meeting with Hurin, the Warden of the Keys, and the Chamberlain. I bade the squire to prevent anyone disturbing Lord Faramir, confident that the herbs I had administered would ensure that he would sleep for many hours, and not to allow him to leave until he had had a hot meal.  I went to my own bed troubled in mind and unsure if he would resent my interference. There was still so much that I didn’t know about Faramir. He had opened his heart to me but of his past he said nothing, locking the door on emotions that threatened his fragile equilibrium.

Chapter 3

Eowyn loved me! I would say the words out loud to myself in the long sleepless watches of the night.  We snatched brief moments together when our respective duties allowed, brief happy moments when the past was forgotten and the difficulties and worries of the present were pushed aside. I longed to escape the oppression and gloom of the city and show her the beauty of the countryside that I loved. I promised to build her a beautiful home where we would shut out the world, a home filled with love and comfort. She would laugh and tease me and declare that she wasn’t sure she was cut out for a life of domestic bliss. I loved her laugh; it tugged at long buried memories that danced just beyond my grasp.

Each day I went to the Healing Halls to see and offer my support to the wounded and to the healers who worked so tirelessly to ease the suffering. Some of the patients I recognised, Rangers and soldiers of Gondor, and many were strangers who had joined us in the battle against evil. One lad in particular drew my attention. His name was Beruel and he was young, barely old enough to wield a sword; I had known him since he was a babe. His father had served long and bravely as a ranger in my company; he fell to an Orc arrow at the battle of Osgiliath and his body was never recovered. His son now lay wounded and lost in the dreams of fever; an Orc blade had injured his leg so badly that the healers had to amputate it to try to stem the spread of infection; he now lay hovering between life and death, calling to his father in his confusion. I sat by his bed and willed him to live, to fight his way back.  I needed him to recover as a promise that the future was worth the sacrifice of so many innocents.

I tried to visit the troops guarding the city each day. I couldn’t help them in the gruesome tasks that they faced day after day, but I wanted them to know that their efforts were recognised and appreciated. I made it my business to inspect the prisoners, to see that they were treated appropriately and that they had sufficient food and water. Lord Aragorn had ordered that the prisoners be put to work clearing and repairing the damage but that they were not to be mistreated. We had taken no Orc prisoners!

In the city I was daily being smothered under piles of paperwork. Nothing was too small to require my personal attention; all decisions seemed to land on my desk. A scribe assisted me, my grip still too weak to hold a pen for more than a few moments.

My shoulder gave me constant pain and my arm seemed to get weaker rather than stronger; I became adept at disguising both, too busy to allow physical weakness to interfere with my duties.

Late one evening when sleep evaded me again, I rose and wandered through the citadel, relishing the peace and quiet of the sleeping city. My feet carried me unthinking to the door of my brother’s room. Placing the lantern on the floor, I turned the handle and pushed the door gently so that it swung open slowly. My view of the room jumped and flickered in the guttering flame of the lantern. The familiar smells of leather and soap evoked such a strong rush of remembrance that my senses were reeling.

The room was as he had left it all those months ago: a soldier’s cell, sparse and functional, no soft touches. The only personal effects were a small framed picture and a lump of amethyst crystal that sparked and flashed in the light of the lantern, both mementoes of our mother. I picked up the portrait, the only likeness I had ever seen of her and my only way of picturing her gentle face. I had no memory of her, just a sense of her presence and the softness of her voice. The crystal was the first and only independent gift from her sons, found on a market stall in Dol Amroth not long before her death.

Boromir’s presence was so powerful that I looked over my shoulder half expecting to see him standing against the mantelpiece, on his face a wicked grim, tempting me to some mischief. All I saw was his long formal cloak draped over a wooden stand, leather boots standing to attention ready to be claimed. I buried my face in the soft woollen folds of the cloak, desperate to re-establish a bond with him, loneliness and longing battering at my heart. I left the room, locking the door behind me and pocketing the key. There were too many questions that I hadn’t asked and too many answers I couldn’t face.

One popped up and hit me unexpectedly the next day. I was consulting with the chamberlain and Hurin and had some formal papers to sign. I asked for the Steward’s Signet Ring to attach an official seal. The awkward pause that followed this request should have alerted me but I pushed on without thought. I still knew nothing of the circumstances of my father’s death, but I had assumed that the insignia of his office had been retrieved. They told me it was destroyed and when I demanded an explanation they told me the story of my father’s decline and death, carefully edited, I later learned, to exclude my part in the tragedy. The stark facts were enough to fill me with horror. That he should have succumbed to madness and despair, deserting his duty to his people in their hour of need so at odds with the man I knew that for the briefest of moments I thought that they lied to me, but the compassion and sorrow in the eyes of my companions quickly squashed that hope.  I staggered to my feet and seeking the seclusion of the nearest privy retched violently until my stomach had nothing left to lose and my head swam.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. I’m sure that I saw and spoke to many people but I recall nothing until I reached the healing rooms. I took a deep breath and plastered a smile on my face; I would not bring my grief here. I laughed and joked, wondering as I did so how it could be so easy to pretend that I was alright, while inside my head pictures and words warred and fought as I tried to comprehend my father’s downfall; fear gripping my guts that maybe his madness was a curse that shadowed our family.

Eowyn was waiting for me in the small office. One look at her beloved face enough to crumple my resolve and I collapsed. She fed me warm sweet tea as though I were a child and when I could hold back the tears no longer she held me, rocking me in her embrace and cooing words of comfort. I don’t think I uttered a word but she seemed to understand; she made no demands, asked no questions, just offered me her love and the protection of her arms. I awoke as the first streaks of dawn lightened the sky, disorientated to find myself in a strange room, wrapped in a cloak, my boots on the floor at my side. I snatched open the door to find Tamir asleep in a chair on the threshold. I retrieved my boots and left him sleeping while I went off to begin another day.

***

Beruel died. I sat at his bedside and watched as he took a last few faltering breaths. I held his hand and willed him to take one more breath, to keep fighting, not to leave me. He was my talisman of hope, but hope and wishing were not enough and he slipped away taking a part of me with him. I held him as he grew stiff and cold beneath my hand. I kissed his brow and said goodbye; I felt Eowyn’s hand on my shoulder but I couldn’t face the love and compassion in her eyes. I shuttered down my heart and walled in one more grief.

I had Tamir saddle up my horse. He helped me to mount, and disregarding the pain and handicap of my useless arm, I kicked my heels and galloped away from the city across the Pelennor, leaving Tamir trailing my wake. I didn’t get far, weeks of inactivity and the after effects of my injuries had weakened me more than I realised. I could feel my heart racing and my head throbbed and pounded with a sense of impotent rage I could barely control. My minder soon caught up with me and I was conscious of his unspoken condemnation of my recklessness.

As we neared the Rammas we came across a party of prisoners under guard working to clear the debris of battle and repair the damage.  As we approached, one of the prisoners, a swarthy –skinned southerner moved a block of stone and revealed the remains of a soldier, identifiable by his armour as a Ranger of Gondor; the corpse was headless and defiled. The prisoner kicked at the body in disgust. I was off my horse in an instant, simmering anger blinding my thoughts and my reason. An unspoken command to the guard had the prisoner on his knees before me. He sneered at me in defiance, scorn plainly written on his face, and then he spat on the ground at my feet. I’m not sure what he expected by way of reaction; I’m sure he saw only an unarmed, crippled Captain, hardly a threat. I crouched down until my face was barely inches from his and I spat out, for his ears alone, that he should have awaited the clemency of the King’s judgement; he looked into my eyes then and I saw a flicker of fear. Never taking my eyes from his, I pulled the knife from my boot and slit his throat.

In that moment I recognised with crystal clarity that I was beyond any hope or want of redemption; the madness of the Steward’s line finally manifest in its last remnants. I watched the body slump to the ground, the crimson blood spreading in an ever increasing pool until it filled my vision. And I felt nothing, my mind closed down to the point that all I could hear was my own heartbeat and the silent screaming in my head.

I don’t remember the journey back to the city, whether I rode or walked, if I spoke or was silent. I’m sure that Tamir accompanied me but I was not conscious of his presence.  Once back in my chamber I pulled a bottle of strong spirits from the closet and, dismissing Tamir, endeavoured to lose myself in the peaceful oblivion found only at the bottom of a bottle.

I must have succeeded for I awoke in the first rays of dawn; someone had removed my bloodied and soiled tunic and put me to bed, another degradation to add to the litany of my failures.

Chapter 4

Faramir was withdrawing from me and I couldn’t find any way to hold on to him and draw him close. His single-minded determination to prepare for the return of the King overshadowed all other considerations, even his own health. It was obvious to all that he was suffering; he was pale and gaunt, and deep shadows shuttered his eyes. He seemed to be permanently cold and would shiver within his cloak while standing close by the fire. I knew that Tamir shared my concern, and he did his best to look after his Lord, but Faramir would not even acknowledge that there was a problem. He steadfastly refused to see the Healer, even when it was clear that his arm was now all but useless. When I raised my voice to remonstrate with him, he just raised his hand to my face in a gentle caress and with a sad smile told me not to worry. I wanted to scream in frustration, but I had no one to turn to, nobody with the authority or understanding to help me deal with the situation.

Faramir was in attendance when the boy  Beruel died. He sat with him for several hours as his condition deteriorated. He had invested so much hope in the boy’s recovery that when he finally slipped away Faramir seemed cast adrift in his grief. He rejected my attempts to offer him comfort and support as if they were another intolerable burden. He bolted away from me, calling for Tamir as he went.

I went to his private chambers later in the day, ignoring propriety, determined to try to find a way to help him. Tamir was again standing guard at the door, his manner and face betraying both worry and shock. I asked to be admitted, but he said that the Lord was indisposed and not receiving any visitors. I stood my ground and probed more deeply and asked if he was unwell or needed assistance. Tamir was obviously torn between his duty to obey his orders and his desire to share the burden of his concern. In the end I took the decision from him. I pushed past him and opened the door; my senses were immediately assaulted by the stench of sickness. I heard Tamir behind me gasp in shock. Lord Faramir was sprawled on the floor beside the hearth, an empty bottle still clutched in his hand. Fortunately he had collapsed onto his side; otherwise he might have chocked on his own vomit. He was unrousable. His tunic sleeve was heavily stained with blood and I feared he was injured, but we could find no wound. Tamir looked at me uncomfortably. I guessed that he knew the story behind the bloodstain but he kept the knowledge to himself. Between us we managed to remove the soiled clothing, get Faramir into bed and clear up the mess. We even managed to get him to swallow a cup of water, but through all our ministrations he remained unaware and unresponsive.

I sat with him for a long time, drinking in his beloved features, so ravaged and changed; in the last few weeks he had aged beyond belief. When he cried out in his sleep, I held him close and whispered my love, hoping that somehow it would register deep into his subconscious; it was all I could offer him.

***

The day appointed for the return of the King was fast approaching. The city was awash with people, refugees returning from exile and foreign dignitaries all clambering to be part of the celebrations and to pay homage to the King. I saw nothing of Faramir; after the death of the boy he had stopped visiting the House of Healing, at least in the daytime. One of the patients told me that he saw the Steward silently walking the corridors in the dark hours of the night.

The wounded inmates of the Houses gradually regained their strength and health and were discharged from our care. Those who remained would likely never be fit enough to undertake normal duties, but even they were caught up in the general feeling of excitement.

I was certain now that Faramir was avoiding me. He kept to his chamber and office, never venturing to the food hall or even to the gardens. When I tried to see him, he was too busy to attend me. I was deeply hurt and saddened by his withdrawal for I knew to the core of my being that he loved me and that we shared a bond that would last for ever. I had never considered myself a romantic, had never harboured hopes and dreams of love and romance, but I recognised in him a kindred spirit; that he was the other half of me and that without him I was incomplete. I would fight to the end of my days to reach out and pull him back from wherever his demons had driven him.

***

It was a momentous sight; the walls of the city thronged with citizens all eager to catch their first glimpse of the King. I found myself a position in front and to the side of the barrier set before the ruined gate. Faramir and the Captains faced the Pelennor and waited for the Royal entourage to step forward. The sound of a trumpet called for silence, and an expectant hush descended over the crowd.

All eyes were on the King, all eyes except mine. I had looked only long enough to catch sight of my brother, but once I had placed him, I couldn’t prevent my gaze ranging back to Faramir. I was far enough back and to the side that I could see his face in profile, and the bright morning sunlight cast his features into sharp relief, his cheekbones prominent, his eyes deep and shadowed. His black garb and cloak emphasised the pallor of his face and the dark smudges under his eyes. I could see a black silken sling about his neck, but it had been discarded and his arm was hanging limply at his side. I hoped that the intensity of my gaze would draw his attention, but if he knew I was there, he paid me no attention.

The ceremony progressed and Faramir surrendered his staff of office to the King; he seemed surprised when it was passed back to him, the King reaffirming his status as Steward. I saw Faramir falter and Hurin had to offer him his arm in support, though the gesture was hidden from general sight by the folds of his cloak.

The King was proclaimed by the people, and at the King’s request, Gandalf set the crown upon his head. The trumpets sounded a fanfare and the King’s standard was raised above the citadel.

As the Royal party began its progress up through the city, I moved to my brother’s side; he greeted me with joy and a hearty embrace and teased me gently for not heeding his request to travel to his side at Cormallen. He was so full of all that had happened that my preoccupation went unnoticed. I listened and responded but my attention was taken with seeking sight of Faramir. I finally caught sight of him; he was behind me in the procession. As we approached the Garden of the White Tree, I stepped to the side and waited for him to draw abreast of me. I grasped his arm and drew him into the garden. The walls surrounding the garden blocked out most of the noise, and we stood facing each other in the relative peace of the green oasis of calm.

And he appeared calm; his gaze locked to mine, and for an instant the world stilled and the two of us were suspended in a moment frozen in time. I looked into his eyes and saw love and longing…and then it had gone; a shutter had descended and he was closed to me. I put my hands to his face and would not allow him to look away. His cheeks burned beneath my fingers, and for the briefest of heartbeats he leaned into my touch.

When he spoke it was not words of love that I heard; instead, in a voice flat and devoid of emotion, he released me from our understanding. A cold shiver ran through me and I could not hide my hurt, but I did not release him. He gave no reason, no explanation; I challenged him to deny that he loved me, that his heart had changed…, and his sense of honour would not allow him to lie to me, but neither did he affirm his feelings. He asked me to leave him, distress plainly visible in his manner and bearing; but I would not walk away. And when he could bear it no longer, he turned and stumbled away as if the weight of the world pressed upon his shoulders.

I hated to show weakness but I couldn’t stop my tears. I stayed in the garden until I had composed my mind and my emotions. I had not given up on Faramir, my senses screaming loudly that all was not well with him; the heat of his face and the glazed look to his eyes were testament that it was more than despair that ailed him.

I comforted myself that no one knew of our attachment, or of our subsequent estrangement, and I would not broadcast the fact until I had had the chance to get to the root of Faramir’s withdrawal. That decision taken, I took a deep breath and made my way to the Hall of Feasting where the festivities were in full swing.

I caught sight of Merry and was introduced to his fellow Hobbits; they proved a lively group, but our conversation was cut short when Pippin was called away. He was absent for some time and when he returned he was obviously distressed. I sensed that he was reluctant to discuss the reason for his upset in my company, so I excused myself and left the Halflings to comfort their friend.

The afternoon passed quickly and I was introduced to many fair and noble folk. The room was crowded and, with the wine and ale flowing freely, the noise soon made conversation difficult. All the while I scanned the crowd for a sight of Faramir, but he was not to be seen. Towards early evening, I had a glimpse of him but when I looked again he had vanished into the throng.

As the evening celebrations drew to a close, I found it increasingly difficult to maintain a cheerful façade. I was at the point of seeking leave to withdraw when I heard the King ask after his Steward, but no one could recall seeing him.

Chapter 5

The long-awaited day arrived and I stood at the gateway of the city and awaited my King. Throngs of people lined the walls and walkways of the city. Hurin and the Captains stood beside me at the barrier set up before the ruined gates. I didn’t need to look around to know that Eowyn stood close; I could feel her presence and her eyes upon me.

Events moved forward and I approached Lord Aragorn and tendered to him the White Rod, symbol of my office. He handed it back to me, and I would have dropped it if Hurin had not steadied my hand. I did not want it…I wanted only to hand-off the now hated responsibility and disappear into peaceful obscurity. But duty called, and I would not spoil this moment of destiny or shame myself in the eyes of the King. The ceremony progressed, and I called upon the citizens to proclaim the King, and he was crowned and the people rejoiced. Above the Citadel, the banner of the Stewards was lowered and replaced by the banner of The Tree and The Stars as the King returned in triumph and glory.

As the procession moved up through the city, I had two tasks still to complete: to talk to the Halfling, Peregrin, and to face Eowyn. In the event she sought me out, she left her brother’s side and stepped into the garden, drawing me with her. She stood in front of me, tall and proud and brilliant in her beauty. I would have looked away, but she held my face and I felt I would drown in the depth of love within her eyes, but the cold, deep well of my fears bubbled up, and I hardened my heart against her love. I removed her hands from my face and released her from our alliance. I saw the pain and shock in her face as she paled; it grieved me and I felt as though my heart was shattering into a thousand brilliant shards. She challenged me to deny my love for her and I couldn’t, but neither could I hold her to a relationship with a lineage as tainted as mine, to risk bringing forth children with such a blighted heritage. She would not leave me and in the end I turned and walked away, left her standing rocked with grief and tears; it was the longest, bleakest walk of my life, but I consoled myself that by leaving her I was protecting her from a lifetime of grief and regret.

The celebrations for the Royal Party were laid on in the Great Hall. There was to be no formal sit-down banquet, the store rooms and larders not yet restocked sufficiently for producing a worthy feast, but a buffet was laid out along one wall and the wine and ale were flowing freely. Distinguishing Peregrin was easy, his livery setting him apart from his companions. I sent a messenger with a summons to say that he was required in the Steward’s office.

He had already started on the ale, and I took advantage of his slightly tipsy state. I knew that he had been present during my father’s last few hours and I asked him to tell me all that had occurred. He was clearly reluctant to relive the experience, and, to my shame, I pulled rank and ordered him. He pulled himself to his feet and standing to attention began his tale. If the earlier facts of my father’s death had shocked me, these new revelations left me reeling and finally tore away the props of my reason. As he talked, I looked out over the city with unseeing eyes. I didn’t even realise he had finished speaking until he pulled on the sleeve of my jacket and offered me a glass of wine with shaking hands. I saw the tears on his face and the grief in his eyes and I felt shamed. All I could manage was to whisper my apologies and release him and send him back to his friends.

Later in the evening I found myself in the Great Hall, the celebrations still in full swing. The room was noisy and hot. I secreted myself in a shadowed, dark window recess, a retreat often used in my childhood when avoiding my father’s notice. It offered a good view of the room and its occupants, while I could remain hidden from all but the closest observation. I removed my heavy ceremonial tunic and rested back against the comforting, cold roughness of the stone walls. My shirt was damp with sweat and the coldness of the stone leeched some of the heat from my skin.

The noise of the throng got louder and louder and made my head spin. I could see groups of people laughing and talking. Eowyn was with her brother and the Elf, Legolas, she seemed composed, and when the King came and joined them, she seemed to be at ease. After a few minutes she excused herself and moved away to talk to the Hobbits. She looked around as if seeking someone and I knew that it was me her eyes sought; I pulled further back into my refuge and closed my eyes to shut out the dizzying blur of colour and movement. I had a desperate need to escape the throng and find peace and solitude. Without even seeking leave to withdraw, I rushed for the side door nearly knocking over one of the servants in my hurry; I mumbled a hasty apology but I had to keep moving.

Blind instinct guided my steps from the heat and noise of the Great Hall.  The coolness of the night air buffeted me like a wave and chilled the sweat against my skin. I stood at the wall and looked out over the plain, now studded with tents and pavilions and the twinkling of many campfires, the pungent smell of wood smoke and roasting meat wafting on the evening breeze. The smell triggered an overwhelming sense of nausea, bringing to mind the fetid, sickly smell of funeral pyres. I took a deep breath and pushed my thumb and finger against my eyelids to blot out the unbidden visions of my father that flashed in my mind. The buzz and murmur of raucous celebration played over the open ground and filtered fitfully up to the higher levels. I should have been happy, should have joined in the festivities with my friends and brothers-in-arms, but how many of them now remained? No, I could not celebrate; joy and happiness had no purchase on my heart and self-loathing blotted out all chinks of hope and light.

In my head I heard the echo of a familiar voice. He called again and my need to find him blotted out all other thought from my head.  I knew where to find him, knew were to seek sanctuary. I hurried along the darkened corridors, playing the keys through my fingers as I went. At the door I hesitated, suddenly so apprehensive that my fingers shook and I struggled to fit the key in the lock; the door opened silently and I peered into the inky darkness. I crept in and locked the door. I called his name softly but the echo had gone. I called more loudly and stumbled forward until my hand brushed against the warm softness of fabric…his cloak. I pulled it over my shoulders and buried my nose in the heavy folds of memory. I staggered forward in the darkness until my knee nudged the edge of the bed. I lay down wanting only to close my eyes and to find peace, to blot out all pain and memory, to escape from the blight of unfulfilled expectations and shattered dreams; with his name on my lips, I allowed the waves of darkness to rise up and sweep me away to oblivion. 

TBC

****

Chapter 6

Lord Faramir was missing. It was Pippin who first alerted me. As the evening drew to a close, the guests gradually slipped away to their beds until only the King’s closest friends and companions remained. Faramir was not present and when the King enquired after him, no one could recall when he was last seen. I saw Frodo and Pippin huddled together talking earnestly and then they came to me, both concerned that Faramir had seemed unwell and distressed earlier in the day. Putting this together with my own encounter earlier, a sudden chill gripped my heart. Not wanting to raise the alarm un-necessarily I slipped away and sought out the duty guard and asked him to begin a discreet search for the Lord Steward and to report back to me with any news.  All night I paced the darkened corridors of the House, waiting for news.

By dawn there was no word and I could no longer conceal my concerns. I went first to Faramir’s room, but there was no sign of him. I spied Tamir sitting in a darkened alcove and it was clear that he shared my concern. Lord Faramir had dismissed him after the coronation ceremony and had instructed him to rejoin his company as his services would no longer be required; unable to enjoy the celebrations with his colleagues and worried about his Lord’s health, he had crept back into the Citadel at night fall He had been quietly searching the Citadel and the town but had had no more luck than the guard. He had questioned the gate guards and was assured that Lord Faramir had not passed through the city gate; he had also been to the stable and checked that the Steward’s horse had not been taken. 

I sent Tamir with a message to the King and requested that he meet me at the Steward’s office. The office was a mess; it looked as though the large desk had been cleared of documents with a sweep of a hand. On the desk were just three objects: the Steward’s White Rod of Office, the official desk seal, and a letter, crudely addressed to the King. As I moved around the desk, I nearly tripped over a stuffed saddle bag that had been left on the floor. I didn’t have to wait long; I soon heard the sound of many footsteps in the hallway. I drew the King aside and explained quickly what had happened; he ordered an immediate and thorough search of the Citadel. He and Gandalf questioned all those who might offer some insight into the situation: the Warden, Hurin, the Chamberlain, Tamir, and finally myself. Putting together the various testimonies was like fitting together a puzzle, each new piece of information adding to the image until a clear picture emerged, a picture of distress, debility and emotional collapse. The urgency of finding him was spurred by a fear for his safety.

It was late in the afternoon when Legolas sent word that he had news and that he required the assistance of Gimli’s axe in the Steward’s private quarters. In error we went first to Faramir’s room but found it empty. We eventually found him outside a heavy, metal-studded, oak door that was resisting all efforts to break it open.  Three heavy blows from the Dwarf’s axe shattered the lock and the door swung open to reveal a plain and sparsely furnished room. The shutters were closed and little light filtered in to brighten the gloom; the air was oppressive and foul. I pushed open the shutters to let in both light and fresh air as one of the party kindled a lantern. Faramir lay on a bare mattress, legs tangled in a heavy woollen cloak; he tossed and ranted in a high fever, the bed sullied and the back of his shirt stained with blood and foul-smelling corruption. Aragorn took one look and lifted him as though he were a child and without a word carried him to his own chamber. I picked up a small framed picture of a young, beautiful lady that had fallen to the ground; I thought just to place it back on the shelf but a sudden instinct stopped me and I carried it up to the King’s chamber.

***

I sat by his side for many hours as the King and the healers attended him. The shoulder wound proved to be a deep abscess below the scar on his shoulder. It had obviously been festering for many days or even weeks; the infection had spread from the wound and was poisoning his system; the abscess had further damaged the blood supply and nerves to the arm. They opened and cleaned the wound and packed it as best they could with healing herbs and dressings. As I helped to bathe him, it became clear how ravaged his body had become. He was thin and wasted to the point of emaciation; his muscles wasted away until rib and hip bones protruded against unpadded skin. All the time we tended him, he thrashed and muttered, lost in the depths of delirium. We sponged his skin with cool water and cold compresses but nothing seemed to ease the fever. As a last resort, the King sent two rangers up into the high hills to collect ice to pack around his body. This seemed to work; his temperature fell slightly and he ceased ranting, only to slip away into deep unconsciousness, unrousable to touch or pain.

The companions took it in turns to sit with me as I maintained my vigil; for two days and nights I nursed him, talking and calling to him, trying to give him something to hold on to. The King tried to extend his healing touch, as he had done once before, but now he found only darkness. I looked into his eyes and saw defeat and grief, and I feared then that Faramir was lost, and for the first time my hope flickered and I felt an icy fist grip my heart.

It was not in our power to bring him back; that decision now rested with Faramir himself; wherever in shadow he now wandered, only he could pull himself back from the brink and take a chance on life.

I woke at dawn on the third day, stiff and sore; I had fallen asleep in the chair at the bedside, my head resting on the mattress and my hands clasping Faramir’s cold weak fingers. I tried to sit up but was unable to lift my head; during the night a handful of my hair had become tangled in the fingers of Faramir’s left hand, and try as I might I couldn’t extricate myself; his hand was clasped tightly into a fist. It raised the first smile seen in the sickroom for many days as the King came to my rescue. I wouldn’t believe it had happened by accident; at some point in the night he must have wakened sufficiently to know that I was there and I felt shamed that I had failed to notice.

He showed no further sign of rousing as we tended him; I assisted the healer in changing the dressings to his shoulder and was relieved to see that the wound was less inflamed and appeared to show signs of healing. We bathed him and refreshed the linens on the bed and propped him up against pillows so that we could attempt to get medicine and nourishing fluids into him. When he was finally settled, I was told, no ordered, to take myself off to my quarters to sleep and eat, and instructed not to return until supper time; I wanted to protest but one look at the King’s countenance told me that protest would be in vain. Legolas took my arm and escorted me away. I was grateful for his support; I was aching with exhaustion, the stress of the last few days finally catching up with me.

I didn’t return to the sick room that evening; I woke in the first light of dawn and realised with a shock that I had slept the day and night away. I flew from my bed, washed and dressed quickly, and hurried through the darkened corridors of the Citadel to the door of the King’s chambers, apprehension and fear jostling for supremacy in my heart as I quietly entered the room. The King raised his hands in mock surrender when he saw my face; I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of my anger until I was sure how Faramir fared. As I moved closer to the bed, I realised that the King’s eyes weren’t the only ones watching me. Faramir was awake; I saw pain and uncertainty, hope and love flash across his face; he reached out his left hand to me and I moved to his side, tears of relief falling un-bidden as I leant over to kiss his hand. I vaguely heard the King excuse himself as he left to give us some privacy. Our reunion was brief but heartfelt; Faramir slipped in and out of sleep, unable to utter more than a whisper, but words were un-necessary between us; a squeeze of the hand or the briefest touch said all that words could not.

I stayed by his side all day, nursing and caring for him, jealously guarding the precious few minutes when he was awake enough to know my presence. My vigil was interrupted late in the afternoon when the King and my brother arrived. I could tell by the gravity of their expressions that they had come to discuss something of great import. They wanted me to step outside with them but I objected rather forcefully; from the wry grimaces that passed between them, they had obviously expected my reaction. They drew me over to the fireside, and after a moment’s hesitation, it was Eomer who broke the silence. Taking my hand he explained that he could no longer delay his return to Edoras; the knowledge of King Théoden’s fall would spread quickly and the people of Rohan needed him to begin to task of restoring the country and to reassure them with his presence. His request went unspoken but it clambered loudly within my heart.

This then was the dilemma: my brother and my people needed me in Rohan, and with all my heart I wanted not to be parted from Faramir. I sat down heavily and buried my head in my hands, for which ever way I decided, I would be failing in my duty to the other. I was the First Lady of Rohan and I had abandoned my people in despair when I donned armour and rode forth to battle; if I failed them now, it would be a final betrayal. I looked from Eomer to the King; they could not or would not influence my decision.

 I heard Faramir whisper my name; when I got to his side, I could see he was distressed. I caressed his face and tried to soothe him, but he caught at my hand and pulled me down until my face was near enough to him that I could feel his breath on my cheek. He told me to go, told me that my people needed me. I wanted to cry out that he needed me too, but he silenced me with his finger. He gestured to the picture of the young woman that lay on the bedside cabinet. I picked it up and went to hand it to him but he would not take it.

“Look after it for me; it is of my mother; I will come to you when I am able and claim you for my own.” I embraced him tightly then, though I felt my heart was breaking; I felt him relax and go limp in my arms and knew that he had lapsed again into sleep.

We rode away at first light to the cheers and good wishes of the people lining the walls of the city. Faramir never got to hear my farewells or to feel the kisses I settled on his lips and brow, kisses sprinkled with my tears; he had wandered back into deep sleep and I would not wake him to witness my distress. 

The ride back to Edoras seemed never ending.

Chapter 7

I wandered in the glades of Ithilien looking for something or someone. It was so peaceful and quiet that only the soft murmuring of the breeze in the treetops disturbed the silence. The forest floor was studded with blooms of every colour and as I brushed past them their heady scents perfumed the air.  I kept looking over my shoulder, waiting, always waiting. I needed to share this with someone; joy and contentment bathed me in light. I started to run forward with the sheer joy of living; I could run like the wind, never tiring, the warm air caressing my skin with feather light touches. There was a log on the path in front of me; I leapt over it and then realised that it wasn’t a log but a person sleeping. I stopped to see if they needed help- it was Beruel, and as I approached, he jumped to his feet and ran off and beckoned for me to follow. He looked so happy and full of life. I followed, never quite able to catch up with him but managing to keep him within sight.

His path took us deeper into the forest; sunlight dappled through the canopy casting moving shadows on the undergrowth. He stopped running and stepped into a sunlit glade. Scores of people began to move out into the sunlight. There were so many faces; friends and comrades that I never thought to see again, all whole and unblemished, no stain of death or injury marred their faces. They all looked so happy; I moved from one to another, and though they never spoke, each greeted me with happiness and pleasure.

I noticed it had grown dark. A large bonfire burned brightly in the centre of the glade; it gave off no smoke but sent up sparkling showers of sparks into the night sky to light the darkness like fireworks. A tall cloaked figured called me forward; I couldn’t see his face but as I moved towards him, he was joined by a companion. I had my back to the fire. The firelight flickered and revealed to me the faces of the two hooded figures; I recognised them both: one was the prisoner from the Rammas and the other was my father.

Neither spoke. They lowered their hoods and I saw contempt and loathing in their eyes. They moved towards me, edging me back closer to the fire. I called out and begged for their forgiveness but they just kept moving. I could feel the heat of the fire against my back; I tried to move aside but they had me cornered. I called to the assembled crowd to help me, but they stood like statues. I fell to my knees and my father crouched down before me. I heard his voice in my head, full of loathing and madness: “You should have sought the King’s clemency, but I am not the King and I have no mercy.” He pushed me backwards into the fire and, with a fierce grip on my shoulder, he held me within the flames. “Now my son, you will burn for all eternity, for madness cannot be allowed to flourish and there is no hope for you.”

I screamed for help but no help came. I felt the fire scorch and burn the flesh from my body but still I endured. Through the haze of the flames, I saw my mother and brother hand in hand watching and then they were gone and I burned within the flames, lost and without hope. I called to the stars to help me, to have pity, but they abandoned me; their light snuffed out and the sky went black, and the blackness filled me and smothered the flames.

For time without measure, I drifted within the cloak of darkness, cradling the pain to myself as a measure that at least one of my senses still functioned. The darkness was absolute and the silence deafening. Occasionally I sensed a presence circling around me, supporting me, calling me. It was reassuring but not something that I wanted or needed to react to. The darkness was my friend; it offered nothing, demanded nothing, and sought nothing but acceptance.

It was lonely but I had always been alone; from early childhood, I had only ever been really close to my brother. He was the only one who accepted me without question and the only one to whom I had nothing to prove. I believed that I earned the respect of my comrades in arms, but respect was not friendship and friendship was not love. The memories of Boromir opened the floodgates of remembrance; in my darkness, scenes from my past played in a never-ending cycle. Not all were painful; I saw beloved faces and relived happy moments, but those happy moments couldn’t erase or negate a lifetime of doubt and unhappiness, couldn’t give me back the love and respect of my father, his final act in life the ultimate betrayal of trust. I recognised that I had driven myself with hopelessness and self-doubt. I had always had a smug confidence in my personal integrity, proud that I treated others with confidence and respect. Now even that integrity seemed suspect, driven by the need to prove myself to others; I had been living my life in the pattern of other people’s expectation and never able to meet the goals that they set or I expected.

Now the choices were all mine, and I struggled with the demons that clouded my judgement and stifled my instinct for self preservation. Accepting the darkness was so tempting, to no longer struggle with the shadows that crept ever further into my soul as they dampened my spirit and sucked all joy from my life. I was so tired of simply existing; life without joy and hope was no life.

And then the darkest of all realisations swept over me, for I realised that I had rejected the two offers of redemption that the defeat of Sauron had extended to me…Eowyn and the return of King.

What now of hope! Easier by far to accept the darkness and stop fighting, stop resisting, ignore  that little something that hovered at the edge of my consciousness, that little spark that offered a hint of a promise. Hope was dangerous, too fragile and too delicate; one touch of my fingers and it would evaporate into the shadow whence it came.

No, better by far to stop resisting and accept the darkness.

***

I felt myself moving forward through the darkness until I stood at the entrance to the King’s Hall. If I entered here, a decision would be demanded, resolution achieved. Was I ready? Could I make a decision? Or was it easier to stay in this dark undemanding nothingness forever.

The doors swung open and I paused on the threshold taking in the familiarity of the surroundings. The room was dark: only the light from a wall sconce illuminated the Steward’s seat at the base of the dais. The seat was occupied. My Father sat watching my approach; he raised a hand and signalled me to stop, and then he stood, his face calm and impassive, no scorn, no bitterness evident in his expression. And then he saluted me and at his side I saw my mother and brother, and they both smiled at me. My heart jolted within my breast; I wanted to move forward, to embrace them but my feet would not obey me. It was my shadow-family that moved; they glided past me and stood with their backs to the closed door, watching me. Boromir signalled my attention back toward the dais; I turned around. The light in the sconce had been extinguished and now a shaft of light from a high window illuminated the King’s Throne. The King sat in splendour, bathed in sunlight, tall and regal and exuding power and compassion; at his side a figure stood, cloaked in a mantle of midnight, face hidden within the shadows of a hood. I recognised the cloak; it was my mother’s, and yet my mother stood behind me. I looked from one to the other in confusion until the King rose to his feet and lowered the hood and revealed Eowyn as the cloaked figure at his side.

No one moved, no one offered encouragement or inducement. This then was my decision, past or present, kin or companions, certainty or risk. The past held no dangers, only the hope of reunion beyond the circle of life. The present was more difficult, the future terrifying….and yet…could I reject the hand of friendship, the offer of hope in the future!

I turned back to my family, looked into the faces of each one and saw love and sadness and compassion. Now I moved until I stood an arm’s length from them. I could see that they were phantoms of memory and yet their love was real and stole into the recesses of my heart. I saluted them and felt tears spill from my eyes; I saw my mother’s hand reach out to me and felt the faintest ghosting of touch on my cheek…and then they were gone.

I walked slowly through the Hall to stand at the base of the dais; Eowyn slowly descended the steps and extended her hands to me, joyful and radiant. As she stepped closer, she moved out of the shaft of sunlight and I lost sight of her in the darkness.

***

I lay in the darkness as awareness gradually came to me. Hearing was the first sense that I mastered and yet it offered few clues to my situation. It was very quiet; I concentrated harder and heard the hiss and crackle of a fire in the grate, my own breaths whistling with each rise and fall off my chest, the distant footfall of a sentry. I drew in a breath and sampled the scents in the air; the musty, pungent smell of a sickroom overlaid the more subtle aromas of soap and herbs, and somewhere closer to me the heady scent of roses and lavender pricked at the edges of an illusive memory. I tried to take stock of my situation. I lay on a soft mattress, propped onto my right side, a bolster at my back. I tried to move but my body would not cooperate; I couldn’t move my head and my limbs felt like dead weights.

I marshalled all my energies and forced my eyes open. As my sight focussed, I took in my surroundings; it was night-time and the amber glow from the hearth and a single lantern gave the only illumination to the large and unfamiliar chamber. I moved my gaze back to my immediate surroundings and realised for the first time that I was not alone. Eowyn was seated at my side, sleeping with her head resting on the mattress, my right hand enfolded tightly within her hands; her hair splayed out before me, glowing like gold in the flickering rays of firelight. I tried to speak her name but could make no sound. My left hand lay on the mattress near my face; I closed my eyes and focussed my remaining energy on inching my fingers down towards her hair, progress was so slow that I feared the few inches were beyond me, but I persevered until I felt the precious strands of gold within my grasp. As I played the tresses through my fingers, fresh waves of roses and lavender filled my senses and accompanied me as I drifted back into darkness.

I edged back towards consciousness, aware that some time had passed; I couldn’t open my eyes but through my closed eyelids I sensed that it was daylight. I heard two, no three male voices in quiet conversation but I was too busy concentrating on my physical state to decipher their words. I was propped up in the bed, not against pillows but against the warm and comforting solidity of a broad chest, my head supported against a shoulder by a hand upon my brow. I lay passively as I felt a spoon against my lips and tasted the salty sweetness of broth slide over my tongue; felt the soft touch of fingers against my throat encouraging me to swallow. I turned my focus to the conversation and this revealed the identity of two of those present. The King and Eomer were discussing the reordering and restoration of Rohan, and it was clear that Eomer was anxious to return to his homeland as quickly as possible. And what of Eowyn? Would she go with him? The possibility caused my heart to plummet. It was clear that both King and brother realised that she would be torn between her sense of duty and the call of her heart and neither wanted to influence her decision. I wondered why she was not here to participate in the discussion. And then the person behind me joined in and asked about me and what plans they should make. This was altogether too much; I needed to let them know that I could hear them. I still couldn’t open my eyes, so I did the only thing I could think of to get their attention: I closed my lips tightly against the spoon and pushed my head back against the shoulder supporting me.

Someone spoke my name and I felt my hand lifted. ‘Welcome back, nephew.’ I squeezed the hand that held mine, it was a feeble attempt but it was the best I could manage. Aragorn spoke quietly, reassuring and gentling my fears, his voice a balm that soothed me back to an untroubled sleep. For the rest of the day I slipped in and out of sleep, aware of the gentle hands and ministrations of my carers but vaguely conscious of the absence of the one whose presence I most needed. At one point I clasped my uncle’s hand and gasped out her name; he smiled and reassured me that she was resting and would be back later. She came at dawn; flustered and out of breath, anxiety hastening her steps. Her gaze shot daggers at the King who raised his hands in acknowledgment at her anger. And then our eyes met and the King was forgotten; she was at my side in an instant, she kissed my hand and wiped away the tears that had leaked un-bidden down my cheeks; we embraced, each wetting the other’s shoulder with our tears, tears of joy and relief and completion.

I was not good company; I drifted in and out of sleep, blacking out halfway through conversations; it was very disorientating but Eowyn always recognised my discomfort and prompted me back to understanding. I had few visitors. Eowyn tended me in the daytime and Tamir or one of the healers sat with me at night; I was never left unattended.

I woke from a deep sleep to see the King and Eomer in earnest conversation with Eowyn. I couldn’t hear their words clearly, but I could see that Eowyn was distressed. I remembered the snatches of conversation I had overheard. Eomer was to return to Rohan and he needed Eowyn. I would not allow her to be torn in two; her brother and her people needed her and she was trapped here by her devotion to me. I called her to my side and reached for her hand. I told her to go with him, to go home, and watched in despair as I saw the look of rejection and hurt flicker across her features; desperate to reassure her, I bade her take the portrait of my mother and keep it for me, promising to come to her when I was fit and able. I saw the look of gratitude in her brother’s face as he nodded his thanks. I held her as tightly as my weakness allowed as I felt exhaustion overtake me once more.

I never saw her go, never got to say a proper farewell; I woke to a chamber full of sunlight and empty of her presence. I closed my eyes and feigned sleep, ignoring my carers and passively accepting their ministrations; I had urged her away so that she would not be forced to choose, but I missed her with a fierce and powerful ache in my heart.

TBC

Chapter 8

We rode away at dawn, the first rays of the sun just catching the topmost towers of the citadel. I rode at the head of the column with my brother; dressed warmly in leggings for modesty and a short riding cloak for warmth. I rode astride as was my habit, for riding was as natural to me as walking and I was determined that my presence would not slow the progress of the troops; all were eager to return home. We kept up a brisk but steady pace and the leagues passed swiftly. I had become soft in the preceding weeks and by the end of each day I was so mired down with exhaustion and aching muscles that I had no energy for talk and so went quickly to my blanket for the blessed relief of sleep.

During the day, the rhythmic monotony of hoof beats allowed me to drift into reverie; I had much to think over and ponder. Faramir was often in my thoughts; I still quailed to think how close I had come to losing him. I would never forgive myself that I had failed to recognise the depth of his distress, and that I had failed to intervene earlier to prevent his collapse. There was still so much of him that was a mystery to me; his kindness and compassion were aspects of his personality that hid the depths of his self-doubt and his pain. He was one of the bravest men I had ever met. You only had to hear the testimony of the men under his command to recognise the respect and honour that they afforded him and yet his iron will was an effective mask hiding a bruised and fragile soul.

Twice now he had sent me away from him, on the day of the coronation and again from his sick bed, and yet I wasn’t daunted and I never for one moment doubted that he loved me. I’m not sure that I had been able to hide the hurt when he told me to go with my brother, but now as the leagues lengthened between us a new thought came to me; he wasn’t sending me away but was taking an impossible choice from my shoulders, another illustration of his insight and compassion over-riding his own interests. He didn’t want me to be torn between my duty and love for my people and my love for him; his capacity for self-sacrifice was almost breathtaking in its ruthlessness.

As we drew closer to Edoras, my mind turned increasingly to what we would find on our return. We had ridden away to the call of war leaving only a token guard to protect the city; King Théoden had led the warriors to Helm’s Deep and the refugees had retreated to Dunharrow. Our people were dispersed, their homes and villages in the Westfold laid waste by the invading marauders; re-ordering the land would be a long and painful process, and I owed it to my people to assist in that recovery.

We rode through the city gate to a scene of chaos and confusion. Many of the refugees had made their way to the city seeking stability and reassurance within the palisade. The captain of the guard met us at the doorway to the Golden Hall, his relief at our arrival palpable in his salute. He gave his report while we snatched a hasty meal; Edoras had escaped the attention of Saruman’s allies, but the outlying villages were not so lucky and were still subject to attack from isolated bands of Orcs and Wildmen.

Eomer assigned to me the task of ordering the city, resettling the refugees and organising those fit and able to work for the benefit of all. I followed the model that Faramir had used so successfully in Minas Tirith; all provisions were pooled into a central store and distributed equitably. Homes were allocated on the basis of need- many families had lost husbands, brothers and sons and the women now headed many households. We had many orphans to care for, and it fell to me to find families or foster-families to care for them.

Eomer concentrated on re-organising the remnants of the Eored into workable units, but their numbers were sadly depleted. It would take many seasons to restore them to full strength. Units were sent out to Helm’s Deep and Dunharrow to assess their strengths and to accompany any refugees who wished to return to Edoras.

The weeks passed quickly in a blur of activity until we had established a degree of stability and order. I heard from Gondor only once; messages came from Minas Tirith by courier for my brother and one pouch included a letter for me from Merry. He gave me news from the city and details of the arrival of Arwen Evenstar and the wedding of the King. The only news of Faramir was that he had been sent away to Dol Amroth shortly after my departure. This explained why he had sent me no messages but left me in the dark as to his recovery and puzzled as to why he had been sent away from his home city. I know he had been intending to leave Minas Tirith after the coronation, but I feared now that he had resigned his Stewardship. I had no idea what this meant for me or for our future together; I hoped we still had a future together.

The day loomed that would see the troop mount up for the ride back to Gondor to escort home the body of the King. On the evening before his departure, I took supper with my brother; we discussed the organisation and running of the Land during his absence. I asked him to carry a letter to Lord Faramir, for I was sure that it would be possible to have it forwarded to Dol Amroth; it was a bland and rather impersonal letter because I was eager not to make assumptions about Faramir’s feelings or about his future. I did ask my brother if he could make discreet enquiries without betraying my interest; the last thing I wanted was to be the subject of gossip and speculation.

I stayed behind; the journey to Gondor and back was likely to take more than a month and I was to take charge in my brother’s absence. There was much to organise, for we expected many dignitaries to accompany the cortège and attend the funeral ceremonies. I had little time to think or to brood; we had insufficient accommodation within the King’s quarters to house all of the expected guests. After consulting with the Chamberlain of the King’s Household we decided to commandeer the larger, more comfortable dwellings of the city and furnish them as befitted Royal and eminent guests.

During a foray into long closed store-rooms, I came across an oak chest bearing the seal of my father’s household. When opened, it revealed many letters and documents and my father’s sword and regalia. Hidden at the bottom of the chest was a leather pouch containing jewellery; one piece I recognised for it had been a piece that fascinated me as a child. It was a circular cloak clasp, cunningly designed of two interlocking pieces that when joined looked like a single brooch. It was the size of my palm, fashioned of yellow and white metal, heavily decorated with intricate, twisted banding and cabochons of precious stones, in the centre the image of a running steed. It had been given to my father by my mother as a betrothal gift, a true family heirloom. I tucked it into my pocket, hoping that I would find a use for it before too long.

TBC

Chapter 9

I was to be taken to Dol Amroth to recuperate. My uncle was to travel back to his city on one of the swift trading vessels and had offered to take me with him. When it was suggested to me, I was immediately overwhelmed with a desire to get away from Minas Tirith. Dol Amroth held happy memories of my childhood; yes, it would be good to get away.

The logistics of getting me away posed difficulties. I was still confined to bed, unable to walk or even sit unsupported for more than a few minutes. I would have to be carried on a litter and then taken by wagon to the quayside; to save my embarrassment at this ignominious departure, it was arranged that we would leave at dawn. Accompanied by Tamir, I was hustled away at first light with no one to wave me off or to mark my departure.

I remember little of the journey. I believe it possible that the herbs and potions of the healers kept me comfortable and sedated, but I do not know for certain and I did not ask.

Dol Amroth was like another world; I was cozened and cosseted by my family and Tamir fussed around me like a mother hen. I had a suite of rooms within my uncle’s quarters and had the full-time attention of his personal physician.

As the days passed, my strength improved, my appetite returned and within a week I was able take a few steps and to sit out in the sun. Morning and night, I was dosed with potions and every morning I was prodded, pummelled and massaged to within an inch of my life. My shoulder still gave me pain but the wound was healing as well as anyone could have expected; my right arm was slow to improve. It was weak and my grip poor; I could barely make a fist and had to resort to using a sling. I submitted to the healers’ care with as much patience as I possessed, willing to do as they bid in an attempt to minimise the disability of my arm.

Needless to say, I was content. For the first time since coming of age, I had no responsibilities, no duties, and nothing demanded my attention beyond the need to look to my own health and wellbeing. I slept late, spent hours reading, and sampled foods and flavours I never dreamed existed. I pushed Gondor further and further from my thoughts until a whole hour could go past without my thinking about it.

Every day, my uncle would find time to spend with me, and as the weeks passed, we took longer and longer walks in the gardens or down by the seashore. I swam in the clear warm waters of the bay and allowed the song of the sea to steal into my heart, its comforting sighs relaxing my mind and clearing my thoughts. Prince Imrahil was a calm and gentle companion but ruthless in his compassion; I was allowed no secrets, allowed to hide nothing. We talked and discussed the past and when fears and memories threatened to overwhelm me, he would prod and poke, soothe and comfort until I had faced down the demons. Sometimes we would talk about my mother and he would tell me about her past and her childhood and about our family visits to Dol Amroth when we were children. The memories brought me comfort. I dreamed about my family, dreams of love and laughter. I wept long and often, finally allowing my grief to surface, to acknowledge the pain and the hurt and the loneliness, and to mourn for those I had loved and lost. Loving arms held me, making no attempt to stem the tears, for with the tears came healing.

My uncle had arranged to return to Minas Tirith for when the Riders of Rohan came to collect the body of their fallen King. I wished to return with him but required the confirmation of the healers that I had recovered sufficiently and was fit enough to travel. I was fairly confident of their approval and thought myself to be well on the way to recovery. A week before the proposed day of departure, I received an unpleasant reminder of just how badly my system had been affected by my trials. I had spent the morning reading on the terrace, dozing and luxuriating in the feel of the sun on my face. Just before noon, Tamir came to remind me that I had arranged to dine with my uncle. He collected up my books and helped me to my feet, and I followed him through the corridors.

We had to pass through the main dining hall to reach my uncle’s private chamber beyond. I got halfway across the hall when a servant carrying a pile of crockery slipped on the polished floor. Her scream of alarm and the crash of breaking pottery had me immobilised with shock. The sound reverberated within my skull, echoing and multiplying in intensity until I was back on the battlefield, the screams of battle battering my senses as the darkness descended.

When I came to my senses, I was lying on a couch in a small ante-chamber, Tamir and my uncle at my side, concern and worry clouding their faces. I was confused and disoriented; my head ached and my shoulder throbbed. Someone pressed a glass to my lips and I tasted sweet wine. After a few moments, I heard the healer’s voice and listened as Tamir explained to him what had happened. After the servant’s fall, I had fallen to the floor, keening and crying in fear and panic, banging my head as I collapsed insensible on the cold stones. I had not roused when they carried me from the Hall and had remained insensible for many minutes. I struggled to sit up and as I did so the blanket covering me slipped to the floor; my uncle retrieved it quickly but not before I noticed that my leggings and tunic were wet. My body had betrayed me in the most public and embarrassing manner; I cringed with mortification, pulled the blanket to cover my embarrassment and begged them to help me to my room.

For two days I lay in my bed, ignoring all visitors by feigning sleep. Food was sent back to the kitchen untouched; I accepted the healer’s ministrations in passive silence. I kept sending Tamir away but he kept returning until I gave up the battle and accepted his presence. The fragile façade I had built up in the last few weeks was shattered along with my peace of mind. I knew I was being unrealistic not to have expected setbacks but my body’s treacherous betrayal had shattered my confidence and I couldn’t bear the thought of facing those who had witness my humiliation.

On the second evening my uncle entered my chamber carrying a tray of food. He sent Tamir off to supper and sat in silence by my bed. After a while he pulled a piece of parchment and a quill from the desk and sat looking at me expectantly. He asked me what messages I wanted to send with him to Minas Tirith as I was obviously not yet sufficiently recovered to accompany him. I had to smile at his un-subtle manipulation and told him that blackmail was an unattractive attribute and probably breached all manner of laws and that I would report his infamy to the highest authority. He laughed and embraced me and marvelled at my miraculous recovery.

I sat and picked at the supper while he proceeded to lecture me. Gently but with stern authority he gave voice to all of the thoughts that had been swirling round my head for the last two days; it was as though he had read my mind. He urged me to be patient and to be kinder to myself; I had seen enough of the effects of battle to know that even the strongest and bravest of troops could be felled by battle fatigue and yet I could not accept or forgive it of myself. And it was true. In my arrogance I had never believed it could happen to me. I clasped his hand and voiced my greatest fear: that it would happen again and shame me in the eyes of the King. He couldn’t reassure me that it wouldn’t happen again but he was sure that the King would find nothing shameful about an affliction caused by bravery and sacrifice. I had to accept his assessment; he knew the King better than me, but my fears remained.

****

The journey back along the Anduin was uneventful. I enjoyed watching the scenery of Gondor unfolding before me and revelled in the familiar scents that drifted across the waters.  As the sun-kissed towers of the city came into sight, my heart thudded in my chest. I stood at the prow and watched my city grow before my eyes until I could see the banners fluttering from every turret. The quays of Harlond thronged with boats, large and small, and while we waited for a berth, I spied a crowd of figures waiting to greet us. After we docked, two tall graceful figures broke away from the crowd and ascended the gang-plank. I recognised Legolas but his companion was a stranger to me. Legolas introduced the stranger as Lord Elrond, father of Queen Arwen and foster father to the King. I found myself subject to the close scrutiny from the tall Elf Lord who drew me aside and explained that the King had asked him to meet me, in his capacity as a healer, to see if I required assistance for the short journey back to the city.  I reassured him that I was well and that I wished to ride into the city. His eyes ranged over me taking in my immobilised arm; I saw him throw a questioning glance over to my uncle, and though he looked doubtful, he nodded in acceptance.

Our welcoming committee, including Merry and Pippin and an escort of mounted troops, waited on the quayside. Tamir and Legolas helped me into the saddle of a tall but placid looking mount; I would have been insulted in normal circumstances to be given such a mount, but it was many weeks since I had ridden and I was conscious of my infirmity and diminished strength. I returned the salute of the guard with a smile and we set off for the short ride across the Pelennor. As we rode I was flanked by the two Elves who rode so close to me that I’m sure they feared I would fall at any moment. It took all my concentration to control the horse with my left hand and maintain my balance. By the time we had passed through the ruined gate and ascended through the levels of the city, the effort of riding was taking its toll. Legolas and Tamir helped me to dismount and assisted me to my chamber, where I sank onto the bed with relief. I must have dozed for a while, but I woke feeling refreshed and was able to welcome the many visitors who dropped in to say hello during the course of the evening; it was lovely to see them but none stayed for long. Tamir had obviously been given instructions that I needed to rest and soon discreetly chased them away.

TBC

Cloaks of Remembrance 10

Tamir roused me with a gentle shake; from the position of the sun, I had slept long into the morning and was late for my appointment with the healer. He helped me dress quickly and accompanied me to the House of Healing. On entering the chamber, I was surprised to find not only the warden but Lord Elrond awaiting me; I muttered embarrassed apologies for keeping them waiting. Lord Elrond asked that he might join the warden in assessing my recovery; I nodded my assent, awed that one as eminent as the great Elf Lord should concern himself with my health

For the next hour I was examined, manipulated, and assessed. As Tamir helped me to replace my tunic, Lord Elrond questioned me about my recovery. With a silencing glance to Tamir, I described the progress of my recovery in Dol Amroth, omitting only my weakness in the Dining Hall; that humiliation was one subject that I did not want to share. I found it difficult to sustain the Lord’s penetrating gaze; I was sure he guessed all of my secrets but he held his council.  After consulting with the warden, Lord Elrond gave me his prognosis, and whilst his verdict was not a surprise, I was distressed to have my previously un-voiced suspicions confirmed; the wound in my shoulder had healed well but the residual damage to nerves and muscles would likely be permanent; I would never regain the full strength in my shoulder or hand. I would never wield sword or bow again, although with exercise I might expect some improvement from my present state. I thanked him for his candour and begged leave to retire, wanting privacy to absorb the revelations of his prognosis, but I was not destined to seek that privacy yet; the King had requested that I attend him as soon as I was free.

Lord Elrond accompanied me up through the city to the Citadel. At the doors of the Great Hall, sentries saluted and stood aside to let us pass. I was expecting to see the King on his throne but it stood empty; I followed Lord Elrond through the Hall and into the ante-room beyond. He bid me wait while he sought the King and informed him that I waited.

I was only too familiar with this room; it was the room my father favoured for private or personal audiences. Many times in the past, I had awaited his judgment for misdeeds or perceived failures. The room was unchanged, a gloomy dismal place with spartan furnishings. I stood and gazed at the familiar pattern of tiles on the floor as tendrils of anxiety began to wend their way into my heart. As the minutes passed I concentrated on the patterns, my mouth so dry that I found it hard to swallow. I rubbed my hand against my tunic to rid it of the sweat on my palm and locked my quaking knees to prevent myself falling in a heap on the floor.  I had the strongest urge to turn and flee but before I could act I heard the door behind me open and the sound of soft footfalls. I sensed the King walk across the room to stand before me; I drew myself up tall and saluted, raising my eyes from the floor to the level of his chest. Through the sound of my heartbeat in my ears, I heard him speak my name; I couldn’t answer, all my concentration focussed on standing upright. I struggled to slow my breathing as I felt sweat bead on my lip and forehead and black swirls press at the edge of my vision.

“Estel!” I heard the warning cry coming from behind me, though I hadn’t realised until that moment that there was anyone else in the room. I felt a hand on my shoulder as someone levered me down into a chair and pushed my head down between my knees; a calm, soothing voice urged me to breathe slowly and deeply whilst rubbing slow circles on my back. I tried to raise my head but the hand on my shoulder prevented me from moving. I felt cool fingers on my wrist and then on my throat.

“Have you eaten this morning?” I could sense a note of exasperation in the voice I now recognised as that of Lord Elrond. Still unable to get any words out, I could only shake my head. The Elf Lord sighed, “Estel, look after him while I go and arrange for some refreshments to be brought. You do know that if you terrify all of your councillors to the point of collapse by your mere presence, council meetings will be long and tedious!” I heard him chuckle as he glided from the chamber.

Now that the immediate sense of panic had faded, I felt waves of mortification wash over me.  My worst fears had been realised and yet again I had displayed weakness and debility to the one person I was so keen  to impress; every one of our encounters so far had seen me prostrate with illness or weakness; how could I hope to achieve his favour or his respect? I closed my eyes and wished to simply disappear.

As the silence lengthened, I sensed the King draw up a chair and seat himself facing me. I opened my eyes and raised them slowly to meet his gaze, expecting to see scorn and derision; what I saw was compassion and understanding, and it confused me.

“Faramir, please! You have nothing to fear from me!  Nothing to fear and nothing to prove!” I felt the tension drain out of me and slumped back into the chair as the impact of his words filtered into my consciousness.

“I could never fear you, My Lord.  I fear only that I am not worthy and not fit to fulfil the role that fate has lain before me.”

 “Please, tell me what troubles you?” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. His gaze was troubled as he watched me.

Oh, where to start! He didn’t rush me, just waited for me to find the words. I started with the easy bit, I told him of Lord Elrond’s prognosis for my recovery; I would never again lead my Rangers into combat, never again wield a sword to defend my kin or country, never again draw a bow, and likely never even be able to scribe my own letters! What use could I be as Steward? Even if I could overcome these obstacles, I had forfeited the right to hold office; I had not forgotten that I had resigned my Office and sought permission to retire from my land.

“You were not thinking clearly when you wrote that letter.  Indeed, it is barely legible. I would not hold you to it and would gladly destroy it and pretend I had never seen it!”

“Then I would have to write it again!” I got to my feet and paced restlessly, aware of his scrutiny and his concern. I was submerged in memories of the Rammas and of the prisoner whose life I had taken. I did not allow the memories to overpower me and for the first time I spoke of it out loud, not just of the prisoner but of the boy who had died and my feeling of helplessness and despair. Not that I was seeking excuses, for there were none. He listened patiently until my words faded to whispers.

“And what would you have me do, Lord Faramir? Judge you? Punish you? Do you think I had not heard this story already?  You should know well enough that there are no secrets amongst troops! What could I do or say that would punish you more severely than you have punished yourself already.” His voice was stern but his eyes held only regret and compassion. “There is no case to judge. The prisoner‘s life was forfeit when he stepped on the soil of Gondor and brought war to our Land. He can have expected only death; if he had submitted to his captivity with humility, he would now be making his way home with his compatriots, defeated but alive; that he is not is a result of his actions….there is no case to answer”

“But how do I face my men with this on my conscience when I cannot face myself? I’ve let them down, betrayed their honour and their sacrifice.”

Our audience was interrupted by Lord Elrond who came to announce that luncheon was served in the Queen’s sitting-room; the King seemed thankful for the interruption. He silenced me with a wave of his hand and led me through to an elegant and peaceful room, where I was introduced to his bride. There are no words that could do justice to describe the Elven Queen; I had heard of her beauty and yet nothing had prepared me for the reality; her presence filled the room with the beauty of a star-lit sky and her gentle manner would have put me at ease had I not been blushing like a pimply-faced youth. I stammered an inarticulate greeting and kissed her hand; she took my discomfort in her stride and before long we were conversing like old friends. The afternoon passed quickly, but soon a messenger came for the King and our little party was broken. It was only as I was taking my leave that the King reminded me of our unfinished business and promised that we would return to it at a later time.

I didn’t see the King again for several days but my days were not idle. I was still under the healers’ care and each day I presented myself, accompanied by Tamir, to the Healers’ chamber where Lord Elrond demonstrated to us both exercises that would strengthen my muscles and help me to regain my strength. I also spent many pleasurable hours with the Hobbits and getting to know Legolas and Gimli. Whilst they were all good company, I felt most at ease with Frodo. He was still recovering from his own ordeal and I found in his quiet manner companionship, comradeship and mutual understanding. We shared many common interests and a love of lore and history; we would talk for hours while Sam pottered around us, providing us both with refreshment whether we wanted it or not. He was very good at ignoring our protest and frequently threatened to report us to the King or Lord Elrond if we did not comply, the humble Hobbit gardener transformed by adversity into a fearless and ruthless guardian.

***

Eomer and the Riders of Rohan returned to collect the body of their fallen King and a banquet was arranged for the evening to honour their arrival. During the afternoon, Merry brought me a letter from Eowyn and with it a request from Lord Eomer that he attend me in my chamber for a private audience. While Merry went to convey my agreement, I read the letter; it was brief and rather impersonal; she enquired after my health and hoped that I was recovering well. She made no mention of the future, of our future, and I could only conclude that she no longer anticipated that our futures lay together. This saddened me greatly and yet I could not blame her; twice now I had sent her away from me and I could not expect her to subject herself, the proud and fearless White Lady of Rohan, to the possibility of another rejection. And yet, I could not envision my future without her by my side; I needed her love and her strength.

It was in this despondent mood that Eomer found me. We talked for a while of generalities, about my recovery and also about my brother, whom he had known slightly from earlier days. But soon we ran out of small talk and an embarrassed pause ensued, neither of us comfortable to introduce the subject that echoed unspoken between us.  I broke first.

“How is Lady Eowyn, My Lord?” He smiled at that and took a moment to pause before answering.

“She was well when I left her, though the last few weeks have been filled with much toil and difficulty; Rohan’s people have suffered greatly and there is much to be done! But I think, my Lord Faramir, that you have a more personal interest in my sister’s wellbeing? I believe that you had an understanding? Does that understanding still hold?

“In truth, I do not know. We parted without resolving anything between us and I fear that in telling her to go back to Rohan I may have led her to believe that I no longer wished for our alliance.”

“And do you?”

“It is the dearest wish of my heart to spend the rest of my life making her happy. I love her and I believe that she loved me but I do not know how she feels now.”

“And what if she refuses you? What will you do then?”

“There will be no other for me! If she refuses me, then I will endeavour to do my best to pass from day to day in useful pursuits, and I will spend the rest of my life trying to persuade her to change her mind…we were destined to be together for eternity and if necessary I will spend eternity trying to win her heart.”

“Then I wish you luck; I know my sister well and she can be as stubborn as a mule!”

****

The judgement of Beregond was due to take place in the Great Hall in the morning. Before retiring for the night, I sought a word with the King and I requested his permission to address the Knights and Rangers before he dealt with the matter of Beregond. I could see he was puzzled by my request and I hoped he wouldn’t ask me my purpose, for I wasn’t sure that he would approve. Fortunately his attention was called away and I escaped further questions by slipping away to my chamber.

At daybreak Tamir helped to dress me in my ceremonial uniform; he strapped on my sword and tucked the dagger into my belt. I smoothed my hand over the embroidery on the black tabard and traced the shape of the white tree with my finger, remembering the pride I had felt the first time I had earned the right to wear it. I broke my fast with some soft bread, although I had no appetite and I had to force it down, but I would not risk Lord Elrond’s wrath by fainting from hunger.

 I made my way to the Hall; the tables had been pushed to the side to make room for the ranks of troops and my footfalls echoed within the vast empty space. The doors crashed open, startling me from my quiet introspection, and Hurin led in the ranks of Knights and Rangers; they formed up in neat rows in front of the dais. I saw Beregond off to one side with an escort. He was dressed in full uniform but was unarmed; I gave him what I hoped was a smile of encouragement.

The King sat on the throne, at his side Eomer, Prince Imrahil, Lord Elrond, Legolas, Gimli, Meriadoc and Peregrin. I stood at the base of the dais and when all were ready I turned to the troops. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths and pushed away anxiety…I had to stay focussed.

“Soldiers of Gondor, we are gathered here today to witness a serious and solemn event, but before we proceed to that task, I have requested the opportunity to address you all. I therefore ask your indulgence and ask Beregond’s pardon for prolonging his ordeal. I will be as brief as possible.

“We find ourselves at the beginning of a future no longer overshadowed by the threat of Mordor or the malice of the Dark Lord. We have all grown up under that shadow and have watched the country and the people that we love suffer. That Gondor resisted the evil for so long is a testament to the bravery, honour and sacrifice of the troops who for so long fought to protect their homeland. I am so proud of you all and honoured to have had the privilege of leading you through all of those dark days. I look on your ranks now with relief that you have endured and with great sadness for the faces of brave and honourable comrades who paid for our victory with their lives.

“The King has returned to us and Gondor will go from strength to strength under his leadership. But while we can enjoy the fruits of our newly acquired peace there may come a time in the future when we will be called upon to defend our borders or come to the aid of our neighbours. We must be vigilant and we must be prepared. It is with great sadness and regret that I must tell you that because of my injuries I will never again lead you as your Captain; I will never again wield sword or bow. Before I can offer my service to the King as Captain General of his troops there is a matter that I need to put before you.”

I paused at this point and, turning away from the troops, I requested Peregrin to join me at the base of the dais. “Peregrin Took, you offered your services to my father, would you assist me now?” I could see his confusion and uncertainty but with a glance to the King he nodded his agreement. I asked him to help me remove my sword and dagger; he took them and laid them reverently on the lower step of the dais. I removed my sling and had him help me to remove my embroidered tabard; this he took also and placed it with my weapons. I thanked him and sent him back to his comrades.

The King stepped down towards me, his face stern and in his eyes a look of recognition.  In a voice for my ears only he spoke, “Lord Faramir, this is not necessary. You do not need to do this!”

“Yes, Sire, I do. Please do not stop me now. It is the only way!” He must have seen the determination in my heart; he put a reassuring hand on my shoulder and returned to his throne. I turned back to the ranks.

“The Men of Gondor are known for their honour and bravery; you have never let me down or betrayed the high standards expected of you. It is vital that those who lead you must be above reproach. It is with sadness and humility, therefore, that I have to admit that I have betrayed those standards and failed in my duty to you and to Gondor. I took the life of a prisoner, a prisoner under the protection of Gondor. I allowed grief and despair to overwhelm me and I killed him; we were no longer at war, he was unarmed and my life was not in danger; there was no justification for my action and I can offer no excuses. And so I stand before you now and ask your forgiveness. I cannot and will not presume to take command of troops without being sure that they have respect and confidence in me; I cannot, in all conscience, send loyal and brave men into danger if they mistrust my judgement or my loyalty to them. So now I ask your pardon and I place my future in your hands. I will accept your judgement with humility and respect.”

I knelt then and bowed my head. I heard gasps of concern from behind me but the silence from the troops was absolute and seemed to stretch interminably. At last I heard a soft footfall. Hurin stood before the dais and saluted the King before turning to face the men.

“Soldiers of Gondor, you have heard the word of Faramir, Captain of the Ithilien Rangers.  You all know the nature and the character of the man before you; you have served with him in danger and adversity. You have heard his admission and you are asked now to give your judgement before your King and your comrades. I ask you now, do you put your lives and your trust in Faramir, son of Denethor, to honour him as your Captain and your Companion and to follow him to whatever end?”

As one they stepped forward and saluted and then they were chanting my name. I slumped back onto my heels; I couldn’t have got to my feet then if I had wanted to; my knees had turned to jelly. The King and Peregrin were at my side, and supporting me with a hand under each elbow, they helped me to my feet. The noise of cheering was deafening and didn’t abate until the King himself had helped me to replace my tabard and fasten my sword. He lifted his hand to silence the cheering.

“On the day of my coronation, I conferred on Lord Faramir the title of Steward of Gondor; his memory of that day is, I believe, a little hazy. It is my great honour, therefore, to confirm that appointment, and I ask him now to accept the regalia of his office. Lord Faramir has spent his life protecting Gondor and, more specifically, his beloved Ithilien, a place that holds a special place in his heart. For this reason I am afraid that I am going to have to increase the burden of his duties as Steward by appointing him Prince of Ithilien, to make his home there and to supervise its regeneration.” His last few words were drowned out by the renewed outbreak of cheering. He smiled at me then and placed a plain gold circlet on my head. I stood to attention and saluted him, although I couldn’t see his reaction for the silent tears I could no longer contain.

The King remained at the base of the dais, and with a hand on Peregrin’s shoulder for support I climbed the steps to stand beside Eomer and Lord Elrond. Eomer clasped my forearm and bowed his head to me in a gesture of acknowledgement; I felt Lord Elrond’s touch on my shoulder and a seeping of comfort and warmth spread through my chest, as my heart rate slowed to a more normal rate. I was barely conscious of the rest of the proceedings until a renewal of cheering broke into my consciousness and I realised that by the grace of the King, Beregond had received a just and honourable punishment for his desperate actions.

When the soldiers had been dismissed, I sought an audience with the King and asked for his permission to accompany the funeral cortege to Edoras. He didn’t answer immediately and in his expression I could see that he doubted that I was sufficiently recovered to undertake what would be a long and exhausting journey. I didn’t press my case but neither did I stand down, meeting his gaze and returning it with what I hoped he would see as determination. Finally he sighed and agreed, but only on the condition that I followed the guidance and instruction of Lord Elrond with regards to my health. I would have agreed to far greater restrictions; so eager was I to see Eowyn and to settle things that I would have agreed to go bundled up in the baggage wagon!

A/N: According to canon, the judgement of Beregond occurred before Eowyn and Eomer left for Rohan. I have placed it at the return of Eomer for the purposes of my story.

TBC

Chapter 11

The cortege began its slow progress from Minas Tirith, at its head the Eored  led by Eomer, all in full armour, helmets and breastplates gleaming, and the sun glinting from the forest of spears. Behind the Riders of Rohan rode the Royal Party including the Elves of Lorien and Rivendell. Frodo and Sam were given pride of place and rode beside the King, and Merry rode on the wagon bearing the fallen King of Rohan.

I was under strict instructions from Lord Elrond to ease myself back into the saddle gently, to begin by riding for an hour at a time until I had built up my endurance and stamina. I thought he was being over cautious. I was again allocated the docile horse that had been my mount when we arrived home from Dol Amroth. I had offered Tamir leave of absence to spend some time with his family but he had declined and requested permission to accompany me. I was touched by his loyalty and rather relieved not have to rely on a stranger to assist me with the more personal of the tasks that I could no longer accomplish unaided.

As the procession set off, we rode side by side towards the rear of the mounted section, just ahead of the baggage wagons. I set off in great spirits; after an hour I was beginning to tire, although I would not admit it even to myself. After two hours the tension of trying to appear composed was beginning to take its toll. I could feel the sweat running down my spine and my left hand held the reigns so tightly that I couldn’t release the grip. I wasn’t aware of Lord Elrond moving back through the procession until he was at my side. He didn’t have to say anything; his expression spoke volumes. He signalled the procession to halt and dismounted; he pried my fingers from the reigns and, giving them to Tamir, helped me down from the saddle. My legs buckled and refused to support my weight and I would have fallen to the ground if he hadn’t supported me. As he settled me in one of the wagons, he subjected me to a stern and forceful lecture on following instructions and looking after my health. He gave me a foul tasting concoction and the next few hours passed in a blur.

When I came to myself, night had fallen and I was still lying in the wagon. I tried to sit up and failed miserably Every muscle in my body screamed in protest; I felt as though I had been kicked and rolled beneath my horse. My groans brought Tamir to my aid. He helped me up and handed me a platter of food and a flagon of ale. He seemed rather subdued, and it took me a while to find out that he had received a rather severe dressing down from Lord Elrond for allowing me to over tax my strength on the first day of our journey. I was ashamed that I had put him in such an impossible position, and I apologised and promised to behave in future; this earned me a wry grin.

When I had finished eating, he helped me to my feet and I began a slow and unsteady walk around the encampment to try to ease some of the aches from my protesting muscles. I soon found my way to the pavilions set up for the Royal Party. I stood just beyond the limit of the firelight and watched them all laughing and relaxing; the Hobbits huddled together with Legolas and Gimli and to one side the Elves reclined gracefully in the shelter of the trees, talking softly amongst themselves. I desperately wanted to be a part of the companionship that they all seemed to share but something held me back and I turned to leave, regretting that I had ever thought to come on this journey.

The King and Lord Elrond stood before me and they made a formidable posse. I tried to hold their gaze but as both were experts in intimidation I soon looked down, chastened. They took pity on me and taking one arm each led me to a small tent set aside for my use. Their lecture was mercifully short and administered with compassion, but the King made it clear that they would not allow me to endanger my health. After laying down the law, the King left, leaving Lord Elrond to offer his assistance and healing skills; I submitted to his ministrations and he massaged away the worst of the pain, his skilled hands working their magic on my abused muscles.

From that day, I acquired an Elven escort whenever I rode; sometimes it was Lord Elrond or one of his sons and sometimes Legolas. It was impossible to deceive the perceptive gaze of the Elves; they noticed the first signs of fatigue and never let me push my limits. As the journey progressed, I was able to spend longer periods riding until by the end of the first week I was able to spend half a day at a time in the saddle.

As we travelled, I got to know my companions better and I soon lost the sense of alienation that I had felt at the outset of our journey. My days passed in a routine; I would ride during the morning until we stopped for the noon-tide meal and during the afternoon I would ride in the wagon. Even when riding in the wagon, I was able to socialise. Sometimes Frodo or Pippin would sit with me on the wagon, their small ponies making it awkward for them to ride and talk to those on bigger mounts.

My ‘good’ behaviour seemed to meet the approval of my self-appointed keepers and they relaxed their vigilance, although I have no doubt that they monitored me from a distance. I was enjoying the freedom of being on horse-back again, and as my confidence grew, I became more relaxed in the saddle. The weakness in my arm did not hinder me much as I rode, although mounting still posed difficulties as I had to adjust to relying on my left hand for strength and control.  Although my physical strength was improving, I admit that I was dog-tired, collapsing into my bed-roll at the end of each day, exhausted.

One morning I woke feeling groggy and disorientated; I had slept badly, my sleep disturbed by vague and distressing visions that remained just beyond recollection. I could tell by Tamir’s worried expression that my dreams had not been quiet. I managed to gulp down a mug of hot, sweet tea but could not face breakfast; just the smell of the food invited waves of nausea. I felt on edge, all of my senses heightened to the point that invoked a vague nightmarish quality to my perceptions. I decided not to risk riding and when the caravan moved off for the day, I was safely ensconced in the wagon, propped against cushions for comfort and sheltered from the harsh light of the sun by a canopy strung over willow struts. I closed my eyes to cut out the jarring images of movement, and feigned sleep to avoid unwanted enquiries about my health; actual sleep I shunned, aware of the visions that still pressed closely just beyond my consciousness.

By lunchtime I felt a lot better; my headache had improved, and although my senses were still sensitive, I was able to swallow some fruit  and one of Lord Elrond’s more noxious concoctions. I elected to take to the saddle for a while, and though he looked somewhat sceptical, the Elf Lord did not object, although he and my uncle rode close beside me and insisted I take regular drinks from the water skin hooked onto my saddle. My two guardians chatted to each other but I took little notice of their conversation. I forced myself to relax into the saddle and concentrated on the sensations of my surroundings, the warm breeze on my face, the heat of the sun on my back and the fresh smell damp greenery wafting up from the broad river that ran sluggishly beside the trail.

The afternoon passed quickly and when we finally stopped for the day I handed my reins to Tamir and wandered off towards the river to find some shade and to get away from the chaos and bustle that accompanied setting up camp.  There were no tall trees but the stunted wiry shrubs of the open grasslands grew a little taller by the water’s edge and I found a relatively cool spot in which to rest.

I was soon joined by my uncle; he sat down close to me but remained quiet, not wanting to intrude on my privacy. I was soon lost in daydream, mesmerised by the sparkle and flash of sunlight on the water. A gust of breeze blew the scent of the campfire towards the river and a startled flock of waterfowl took to the air with a chorus of cackling protest. Time slowed and I recognised the onrush of darkness; I managed to issue a cry of warning, but the flashes of sunlight were flames, the smoke of the campfire the smell of a pyre and the call of the birds the screams of the dying. I clutched desperately to the arm beside me, determined that this time the darkness would not win, and would not over power me. I heard concerned voices but I could not acknowledge them. The visions from my nightmare returned in full horror, for these were waking dreams; I watched my father writhing within the flames as his flesh seared and burned, I heard him call out my name with his last breath and I cried out to him. The vision changed and I saw my brother, dead Orcs at his feet; watched and reeled as I felt the arrows pierce his chest, knocking him to the ground. And all the time I fought to keep the darkness at bay, forcing my breath slowly between clenched jaws until finally the darkness receded and I collapsed, exhausted, into waiting arms.

I awoke to the touch of cool compresses on my face and neck and gentle hands upon my cheek. For one delirious moment I thought it was Eowyn and I called out to her; but I was mistaken, when I opened my eyes it was Arwen who sat at my side. I turned my face into the pillow and slipped back into the blessed oblivion of sleep.

To the gentle but insistent questioning of Lord Elrond, I had to recount everything that had happened from the moment of waking until the darkness had receded, so that he could try to understand what had occurred.  He listened intently to my answers and then questioned both Tamir and my uncle; they in their turn gave him not only details of the day’s events but also described what had happened in the Hall at Dol Amroth. With his account given, Tamir beat a hasty retreat, avoiding my eye; my uncle was braver and he stayed despite the filthy looks I threw his way. I turned my attention back to Lord Elrond.

“Am I destined to spend the rest of my days collapsing and wailing like a baby, my Lord?” I couldn’t keep the bitterness or the distress from my voice. “I cannot represent the King at Court if at any moment a dropped plate or a bird’s cry can reduce me to a cowering wreck. I will not put him in the position where he has to apologise to his allies or to his friends for the weakness of his Steward…I would rather go in to exile now!”

“Peace my friend; it will not come to that. Now relax and do not distress yourself.” He levered me back against the pillows and kept his hand upon my forehead and I felt waves of comfort flowing from his fingertips.

“This situation can be managed,” he continued. “Look on today’s episode as a lesson. Today you fought the darkness and you won! In time you will be able to master the darkness, but you must learn to listen to what your body is telling you. In the last few months your body and spirit have been subjected to terrible strain and you will always bear the scars, for they are beyond my power to remove. But you can learn to live with them, learn to manage them so that they no longer threaten your confidence or your sense of control. They can only control you if you let them. Today you were weakened by exhaustion and a slight fever, probably made worse by the heat of the sun. You will always be weakest when you put yourself under duress…if you allow yourself to become overtired or over anxious. You must learn when to say no to unreasonable demands, to delegate when overburdened, to stop putting your own needs so low down  in your list of priorities that they get lost.

“You are your own worst enemy, Faramir. You must learn to accept the love and support of those around you; there are many people who would offer you that support if only you would reach out to them. Allowing yourself to be loved is not so hard; it takes courage to open your heart and of all men you do not lack courage. But shutting your heart to others can be a difficult habit to break! Is that a battle you are prepared to face?”

I looked from Lord Elrond to my uncle; in their faces I saw compassion and affection mingled with a touch of exasperation; no doubt they looked on me as a wayward youth in need of a good dose of common sense. I had to smile then; these two men, Elf Lord and Uncle were as dear to me, no dearer to me than my own father had been; he had demanded loyalty and respect and I had loved him, but they offered love and respect without demanding anything in return. I nodded and whispered my thanks, though I am not sure that they realised what I was thanking them for.

***

Chapter 12

A messenger was sent to inform us that the funeral procession approached. The funeral cortege wound its way slowly across the wide open grasslands, the dust plume of the riders visible long before the procession itself. The city emptied as the people of Rohan stood in silence to honour their fallen King. Edoras had never seen so many fair folk within its walls and I was over-awed by the prospect of hosting the company. It was only as the procession passed through the gate and moved up through the city that my heart lurched and I recognised a familiar figure riding between Prince Imrahil and Legolas. I wanted to catch his eye but my attention was called to my brother and then I was swept up in the formalities of greeting our Royal guests.

The funeral rites for King Théoden were planned to take place on the third day after the arrival of the cortege. For two days I had barely a minute to myself; from first light until late into the evening, I rushed between hall, kitchen and guest quarters to ensure that all of the guests were well looked after. I managed to exchange only the briefest of greetings with Faramir; for much of the first day, he remained in his chamber recovering from the journey and on the second day I was much occupied with organising a banquet for the evening, juggling constant interruptions from ever hungry Hobbits. Merry teased me about Faramir until I took him aside and explained that his teasing was likely misplaced as I was no longer sure of Lord Faramir’s intentions; poor Merry was obviously embarrassed that he had caused me discomfort and from then on was rather subdued.

We were coming to the end of the feast and, as was the custom of our Hall, Eomer and I as hosts began to move amongst our guests. We set off along opposite sides of the Hall greeting old friends and welcoming newcomers to our land and our hearts. When I reached the table of the Hobbits, they greeted me enthusiastically, all somewhat under the influence of the ale that had flowed freely throughout the evening. Merry was still uncharacteristically subdued and so I sat by his side and teased him until he was once again his cheerful self. As I took my leave of them, Frodo rose to his feet and drew me aside.

“Talk to him, my Lady” he said pointing with his eyes to the table where Faramir had been placed. “I know I should not intrude on what is a private matter, but he is a dear friend and has suffered much…and I believe his feelings for you are unchanged. Will you not help him? I think he has much that he would share with you, if you would let him!” I was too surprised to answer but I hugged the brave and indomitable Hobbit and made my way to find Faramir.

When I got to his place, it was empty. No one had seen him leave or could tell me how long he had been gone. His platter of food was almost untouched and I feared that he had been taken ill. I was about to send a servant to see if he had retired to his room or if he needed assistance when I was approached by Lord Elrond. He was carrying a cloak and a goblet of warm, spiced wine. He informed me that Faramir was outside seeking refuge from the heat and noise of the Hall and asked if I could spare a few minutes to take him his cloak and the wine as he feared Faramir might catch a chill in the cool night air. I wasn’t deceived by his non-too subtle plotting but I accepted the errand with pleasure, asking the Elf Lord to make my apologies to my other guests.

I collected my own cloak and slipped out through a side door. Faramir was standing at the side of the Golden Hall, the lee of the building protecting him from the worst of the chill evening breeze. He stood at the edge of a sheer drop, though he seemed not to heed the danger; his gaze was fixed on the far horizon, where the last rays of the sunset reflected golden hues onto the snow-capped peaks in the distance. I called  to him softly, not wanting to startle him; he turned slowly as if in a dream and although he looked at me, it was as if he were looking at a ghost and it wasn’t until I stepped up and placed a hand on his cheek  that he acknowledged  my presence.

“I thought you were a dream,” he whispered and then he shuddered. I set down the goblet and pulled the cloak about his shoulders, fastening the clasp. He pulled me to him them and held me tight, but it was an embrace not of passion but of desperation, and when I looked into his face, I saw fear and anxiety. I pulled away slightly, picked up the wine and with a hand under his elbow guided him to a bench against the side of the Hall. I sat to his left, held the goblet to his lips, bade him drink the warm scented wine, and wouldn’t let him be until it was finished. I put my arm around his shoulder, pulling my cloak over his until he was encased in two layers of warm wool. His head lay against my shoulder and I felt some of the tension leave him.

I reached into the pouch at my waist, took out the cloak clasp and placed it on my lap. Quietly I told him of its history and of its significance. I had no doubts now about where my future lay and, taking his hand, I offered him my love, my heart and my future, holding out to him the clasp as a pledge for the future.

But he wouldn’t take the clasp; he folded my fingers around it and placed them back on my lap. I would have pulled away then, fearing that I had misinterpreted his intentions and his wishes, but he held me tight, his arm about my waist.

“From the moment I first saw you, I loved you!” he whispered. “I knew, even then, that you had captured my heart and I thought my heart would burst with the joy of knowing you; even before you knew me or came to love me, I loved you then and I have never stopped, not for one second. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, to make you as happy as you have made me, to grow old with you beside me and to watch our children grow.

“But you do not know me; you have only seen me weak and helpless and mired in fear and doubt. I cannot allow you to bind yourself to me until you understand the real me, what I am and what I have done. I would not have you chain yourself to another golden prison, to bind yourself to a future built on an image or the quick-sands of unrealistic expectations.” As he spoke he became increasingly agitated and I tried to calm him; he tried to pull away from my embrace, but I held him firmly and drew his chin up so that I could see his face.

“Faramir, do not shut me out, please. Whatever it is that troubles you can be sorted out, if you will only share it with me.” I would not let him look away; I held his gaze until at last I saw fear replaced with a small ray of hope. “I will listen to all you have to say; I will stay with you. Give me your trust as you have given me your heart; they are both safe within my keeping.”

Cocooned by the blanket of darkness we sat together, my arms around him, his head upon my shoulder.  He talked, sometimes so quietly that I strained to hear his words. He talked of his past: of his family, his mother’s death, his estrangement from his father; of the dreams that had taken his brother away on his fateful quest; of his endless battles to protect his land from evil; of the comrades he had lost and the hopelessness of their fight; of the attacks by the Nazgul, the death of his beloved brother and his father’s implacable grief; of his final desperate retreat from Osgiliath; and of falling to the enemy’s arrow and the fell effect of the Black Breath; of his father’s attempt to take his life upon the  funeral pyre; of the death of the boy in the House of Healing and his subsequent killing of the prisoner on the Rammas as despair had finally claimed him; and finally of the crippling nature of his injuries and the Healers’ prognosis of his disability.

I don’t know at what point the tears had started but as his words tailed off into silence I could feel the dampness against my shoulder; he wept silently, his body shaking with emotion, I didn’t attempt to stem the flow of tears, seeing in them a release for the dam of emotion that had been held back for too long. I held him tightly and gradually he slipped down until his head lay on my lap. I adjusted our cloaks about him and sat in the darkness, murmuring endearments and caressing his cheeks until finally his weeping eased and the tension left him and he drifted off into exhausted sleep. I kept my vigil as the city around us went to sleep. I rather feared that we would be there all night; we were hidden by the darkness and I wasn’t sure that either of us had been missed.

I tried to gently rouse Faramir but was unable to break through the depth of his exhaustion; I had almost resigned myself to a long vigil when I was rescued by Tamir who had come looking for his Lord. I asked him to return to the Hall and fetch either Prince Imrahil or Lord Elrond, if they were still about; I urged him to be discreet, for I knew Faramir would hate to have his weakness broadcast publicly.  Tamir returned quickly, followed by Lord Elrond and Legolas; it took the Elf Lord only a moment to assess the situation and though he too was unable to rouse Faramir, he reassured me with a smile. Legolas and Tamir lifted Faramir and with arms joined behind his back and knees carried him carefully to his chamber.

Lord Elrond helped me to my feet and I made to follow the retreating figures but he detained me. I couldn’t see his face in the darkness but I knew his perceptive gaze was upon me; he didn’t say anything but he understood, and suddenly I was sobbing in his arms; I felt his hands rubbing circles on my back but I could not stop my tears.

“How has he done it?” I sobbed. “How has that brave and gentle soul survived so much pain and hurt? I’ve never once heard him complain. He tears himself in two rather than offer hurt to those he loves. He takes everything life throws at him and asks nothing in return.”

“He is rather remarkable, isn’t he? He has a special something that draws people to him and makes them want to protect him. I wonder that his father failed to see his remarkable qualities.”

“His father must have been a fool!” I couldn’t keep the anger and scorn from my voice.

“No, not a fool, just a sad man, blinded by grief and despair and the spite of the enemy!”

“Will he be all right, My Lord?” I asked as my tears abated.

“His health and his strength are fragile still and his recovery will be slow; he has made good progress so far, and with love and support from those around him, I think he will do very well. His physical recovery will, I think, be easier than the recovery of his spirit…his arm will always be weak but with rest, exercise and good food there is no reason why he shouldn’t recover his former strength and endurance. You, I believe, hold the key to his spiritual recovery. Can you give him the love and support that he needs. It may not be an easy journey; although he hides it well he has been badly hurt by his experiences. You will need strength and patience to help him through this. Do you love him enough to take on this burden?”

“It is no burden!” I cried. “I will do whatever it takes to make him happy!”

“Then I wish you joy, Lady. I believe you will be very good for each other.”

As we walked back to the Hall, I showed the clasp to Lord Elrond and told him of its significance. I asked him if he would ensure that Faramir would find it by his bed when he awoke. He gave me his assurance and he took his leave, promising to look in on Faramir and to make sure he was settled.

I went to my own bed with my heart full of hope.

***

TBC

Chapter 13

As we approached the city of Edoras, I made a change to my usual routine and took to the saddle after the noon-tide halt; I was determined that I would enter the city on horseback and not be carried in the back of a wagon like some ailing invalid.

The city was visible from a distance, and the last few miles across the rolling grasslands of Rohan seemed to pass very slowly. The sunlight glittered on the Golden Hall as it stood proud on its plinth of stone. It seemed that everyone in the city had come out to welcome home the sad cortege. They stood in silent rows to pay their respects to their fallen King.

I saw Eowyn; she stood proudly at the gate, her golden hair glinting in the early evening light, her white gown a brilliant contrast to the midnight blue of her cloak. I’m not sure that she saw me, for as the procession came to a halt, she was immediately swept into the formalities of welcoming her Royal and Elven guests.

When the horses had been handed over to the stable-hands, we were escorted to the great hall where a buffet was laid in honour of the assembled guests. It was an informal occasion; all of the travellers were weary and eager for their beds. I had not been expected and no room had been allocated to me, but with a quiet word to the Chamberlain, my uncle arranged for an extra cot to be put in his room. I excused myself early, and taking a dose of one of Lord Elrond’s potions, I was soon asleep, thankful for a warm, comfortable mattress after two weeks on the trail.

It was mid afternoon when I awoke. Tamir was sitting by the window reading, and when I remonstrated with him for not waking me sooner, he explained that he had strict instructions not to disturb my rest. He offered me a platter of food, and I picked at it while he arranged for hot water to be brought to fill the bath tub. It was bliss to sink into the hot fragrant water and to wash away the dust and grime of the journey. He wouldn’t help me to dress until he had massaged away the worst of the aches and tensions from my back and shoulders and assisted me with the exercises prescribed by Lord Elrond. I had to compliment him on his skills. He had learned his lessons well; when he had finished his ministrations, I did feel much better.

I had to endure endless teasing, especially from the Hobbits, who seemed to take great delight in embarrassing me for my tardy habits. I tried to take their ribbing in good part and was relieved that Eowyn was not there to witness my discomfort; it was very important to me that I didn’t embarrass or shame myself in her eyes. There was so much that I wanted to say to her, so much that I needed to explain. I sat for a while talking with King Elessar and his Queen and we were joined by Lord Eomer. When the Queen excused herself, I found myself facing the scrutiny of the two men who held my destiny in their hands. I laugher nervously when the uncrowned King of Rohan asked me my intentions.

“My wishes are unchanged, my Lord,” I stammered, before pulling myself up straight in my chair and facing him. “It is my dearest wish to take Lady Eowyn as my bride, but I will not allow her to bind herself to me until I have had a chance to talk to her, to let her know what is she agreeing to. You know of what I speak, my Lord; you have seen and heard of the weakness that plagues me. I will not have the one that I love beyond life itself enter into a union blind to that weakness.”

Eomer looked at me with a guarded expression. “I know of what you speak, and it does not blind me. I know you to be a man of honour and integrity; I know you have the trust and favour of the King and that you would love my sister and make her happy. What worries me slightly is that you doubt your own worth!”

“I fear only that I will let her down, that she will be disappointed when she sees the real me…. or that she will turn me down.”

It was King Elessar who spoke next, with teasing laughter in his voice. “She cannot turn you down, or accept you for that matter, if you do not speak to her. For one who is so fearless in conflict, you seem strangely reluctant to engage in this battle! Can it be that you are afraid of the fair maid, my Lord?”

“Fair maid she may be, but she is also a Shield-maiden of Rohan, the Shield-maiden who challenged and defeated the Witch-King.  Would you not fear her wrath, My King?”

Eomer chuckled at this description of his sister. “Faramir, in two days time we will complete the ceremonies in honour of King Théoden. It would be fitting to announce your betrothal at the climax of those celebrations, if a betrothal there is to be. Let me know at first light on that morning if you have succeeded in securing my sister’s consent and approval.”

I spent the rest of the day and most of the next getting to know the city and trying to catch a few minutes alone with Eowyn. I could almost believe that there was a conspiracy afoot to keep us apart; every time I caught sight of her, I excused myself from my companions and made my way to her side only to have her called away by some urgent errand or duty. I was acutely conscious that time was passing and that still nothing was settled between us; we had exchanged only the briefest, most impersonal of greetings and that was in the company of many others. Perhaps she was avoiding me! I had to consider the possibility that her feelings had changed and that she no longer wished to continue with our association.

The familiar feelings of doubt and anxiety twisted themselves into a tight knot within my chest. Remembering the words of Lord Elrond, I decided to get out of the constrained atmosphere of the Hall and seek peace and tranquillity in the open air. Filling a water bottle and picking up some fruit I made my way down the hill towards the city gate, hoping to find a garden or sheltered spot in which to relax and unwind. I found no garden but just beyond the gate was a small grassy hillock, topped by a flowering gorse bush. I spread my cloak upon the grass, lay down with my hand behind my head, and watched the high sparse clouds drift passed. The sun was pleasantly warm, and lulled by the play of the breeze and the soft haunting music of birdsong, I must have fallen asleep.

I was woken by soft whispered voices close at hand; I listened, without opening my eyes, to ascertain who had found my retreat. It took only a moment to identify that it was Frodo and Sam; I rolled to face them and opened my eyes. They were sitting on a blanket a few feet away with a picnic spread out between them; it took them a minute to realise that I was awake.

“Are you here by chance, or were you sent?” I asked with mock severity. Sam looked abashed but Frodo was not so easily fooled.

“It is all a bit overwhelming, isn’t it?” he said, his voice and expression full of understanding. “We weren’t sent, but you had been missed. If you’d rather be on your own we will understand. The last thing we want to do is intrude.”

“No, my friends, I would welcome your company, and a taste of your picnic.  Sometimes, well… I feel a little lost within the crowd!” We ate in companionable silence. With his stomach full, Sam was soon snoring softly in the afternoon sun. Frodo shuffled closer to me and sat on the edge of my cloak.

“Faramir, soon we will have to say goodbye, for we will be leaving to return to our homes. I would like to see you happy before we go!  Do not make the mistake that I made.  I thought I had all the time in the world. Grab your chance of happiness; it stands right before you!”

“You still have a chance for happiness, Frodo.  You are young yet!”

“Young to your eyes maybe, but I am older than you realise.  I held the ring for too long; it kept me looking young, but it took away the part of my heart that should have been kept for a bride. I do not know what we go back to, but I fear that I will always be alone.” The look of desolation in his eyes nearly broke my heart; I pulled him to me and embraced him and just for a moment he sagged against me, but then he pulled away. “Don’t let Sam sleep too long,” he said with a sad tight smile, turning and walking back towards the gate. I watched him go, marvelling that one so seemingly frail could have endured so much.

***

I did not enjoy the feast that night; the hall was full and noisy, tables crammed in to accommodate the guests. The atmosphere was thick with smoke from the brazier in the middle of the hall and from the pipe-weed of both hobbits and dwarf. I was not particularly hungry. Sam’s picnic had blunted the edge of my appetite and the persistent knot in my chest made swallowing difficult. The small amount of food that went from my platter found its way to the hounds who scavenged under the tables. I was seated half way down the Hall; I watched those on the top table laughing and chattering until I could bear it no longer; time had run out, and Eowyn was as far from me now as when I had been at Dol Amroth.

I slipped away from the table and went outside to seek sanctuary in the rapidly falling dusk. I left the Hall by a side doorway, avoiding the sentries who stood guard at the main entrance. The walls of the building offered shelter from the wind that constantly whistled around the summit of the city, but even in this sheltered spot the early evening air was chill and I had not thought to pick up my tunic or cloak. I wrapped my arms around my chest and looked out across the wide open grass-lands. This was such a strangely beautiful landscape, totally different from the lush beauty of Ithilien; the distant snow-capped mountains, their high peaks standing mute guard, were now painted crimson and gold as the last rays of the sun caught their icy pinnacles.

I don’t know how long I watched there; I felt the chill in the air but it did not seem to touch me. I breathed in the moon and stars and let their beauty and tranquillity seep into my heart; I think I came to a point of acceptance then. I let go of dreams, let go of expectations and looked to the stars to find something to fill the void left by hope.

“Faramir?” A voice called out from the shadow of the Hall. I wasn’t sure at first if the voice was real or in my head. I turned to the sound and saw a vision before me, a figure cloaked in midnight, their face lost in shadow. The phantom moved slowly towards me and raised a hand to my cheek; the hairs on the back of my neck prickled and I shivered. I recognised her then and she drew a cloak around my shoulders. I was overwhelmed and clutched her to me so tightly she gasped; I feared that if I let go she would disappear as quickly as she had come.

She guided me to a bench and held a goblet of warm wine to my lips; I was shaking too much to hold the vessel myself. She pulled her cloak over my shoulder, and I rested against her, safe within the circle of her arms. We sat for a while in silence, and then she showed me a large brooch and described to me its history; a family heirloom, a treasure, a betrothal gift, and she held it out to me as a pledge of our future together. And I could not take it. I folded her lovely slender fingers around the jewel and set them back in her lap. She tried to move away then, but I wouldn’t release her, not until I had told her what was in my heart.

Once I started talking, I couldn’t stop. I poured out my heart into the darkness, told her of my love for her, my hopes, my wishes. I told her why I feared to bind her to me, began the sad litany of my life that had led me to the shell I had become. She listened in silence, letting me empty out my sadness against her shoulder, and when I faltered, she soothed and comforted me until I could continue.  I looked up into her eyes, expecting to see sadness or disappointment; but what I saw there were deep pools of understanding and love; it made my heart leap and I felt just the faintest stirring, a tiny flicker of hope. And still she held me tightly against her shoulder. When finally I had run out of words and the tears flowed and would not stop, still she held me, safe in the darkness, cocooned in her arms, cherished, loved.

***

Tamir woke me not long after dawn; I had an appointment to keep, and for a few groggy, sleepy moments, I couldn’t remember how the evening had ended, how I had made my way to bed. I sat up slowly and lowered my legs over the side of the bed and was surprised to find my left hand tightly clutching a round metal brooch. Overwhelming joy flooded through me and I held out my trophy to show to Tamir; he was grinning nearly as widely as me and obviously knew of its significance. He helped me to dress, and while I collected a roll of parchment from my pack, he busied himself removing the clasp from my cloak and replacing it with Eowyn’s gift.

I walked into the Hall to find almost the whole company assembled at breakfast, all except Lord Eomer and the King. I schooled my features to what I hoped was my normal expression, nodded a greeting towards the top table and, after a word to the chamberlain, went in search of my quarry. I found the two Rulers in earnest conversation on the steps before the main entrance to the Hall. They were facing me and I stopped a few feet away from them and waited to catch their attention.

“Ah, Lord Faramir, did you want something?” said the King.

“A moment with Lord Eomer, if it is convenient, Sire!” Both men looked serious, but could not hide the amused sparkle in their eyes. My mouth was suddenly dry, but I took a deep breath.

“Lord Eomer. I, Faramir, Son of Denethor, wish to make a formal request to take Eowyn, Lady of Rohan as my wife.” I pulled the official parchment from inside my sling, handed it to him and saluted.

“And who seconds your proposal?” he said, glancing at the script. The King stepped forward and stood at my side, a hand on my shoulder.

“I, Elessar, King of Gondor, do second the proposal.”

Eomer fixed me with a glance. “And does the Lady consent to this union?” Nervously, I moved my hand up and fingered the clasp at my neck.

“I believe she does, My Lord!” I stuttered.  He looked at me intently then, as if trying to decipher my thoughts. His expression softened as his gaze moved from my face to a point over my shoulder.  I felt soft gentle fingers entwine themselves with mine and I turned to find my love at my side, and she smiled at me, a smile full of sunshine and love and promise.

“Then, as Lord, I give my consent, and as brother, I give you both my blessing.” He stepped forward and embraced his sister and then he clasped my arm.  “I will make the official announcement at the end of the day’s ceremonies.”

I stood in a daze, oblivious to all around me but Eowyn; I felt my heart would burst with joy as I lost myself within her gaze.

“Faramir, if you do not seal the contract in the appropriate fashion, I shall have to show you how it is done!”  the King whispered in my ear. I needed no further encouragement; I pulled her to me and kissed her with all of the passion of a heart brimming with love; doubts gone, fears forgotten, future beckoning with the promise of joy

I only pulled away when the sound of clapping and cheering filtered into my consciousness. I turned towards the Hall to find we had a large audience of friends and companions, all smiling and obviously enjoying the spectacle we were making.

 I blushed, but Eowyn, with great presence of mind, simply curtsied to the crowd and kissed me again…and again.

TBC

****

 Epilogue

Dawn stole quietly through the curtains and the soft morning light on my face urged me to rise to meet the day. This was my time, a favourite hour of the day when I could relish peace and serenity. I looked down at my husband’s sleeping face, so beautiful to me that even after nearly twelve years of marriage, it still had the power to send a thrill through my heart. His hair, now peppered with silver lay tousled across the pillow. I resisted the urge to drop a kiss on his brow, not wanting to disturb his rest.

I slipped out of bed and, wrapping my cloak around my shoulders, padded on bare feet across the chamber and into the hall. I stopped at the door to our son’s room and peered in silently; he lay sprawled across the bed with the carefree abandonment of his eleven years, covers kicked off onto the floor, a discarded book at his side. I pulled the door closed and continued on my way to the garden.

My toes curled at the touch of the dew- sparkled grass and I picked my way gingerly towards my goal, a garden seat beneath a tall and stately silver birch tree. I pulled my feet up and sat cross-legged on the bench; not very elegant, but it allowed me to tuck my feet under my cloak and enabled me to rock backwards and forwards to ease the discomfort in my back. Resting my head back against the smooth bark of the tree, I closed my eyes and allowed the stillness and peace of the garden to steal through me. On this mid-summer morning, I let my memory roam and contemplated the blessings of our life.

We had made our home into a refuge from the cares and worries of the outside world, a sanctuary where we could retreat in the company of our friends and relax. We had found a perfect spot on a hillside overlooking a tributary of the Anduin, a spinney of tall trees behind and an open grassy meadow in front leading down to the water. Our home was built not of the bright white stone of Minas Tirith but of soft mellow sandstone, shipped up river from the quarries of Belfalas. It was designed around a large sheltered quadrangle that housed the formal garden in which I sat. Originally we had intended to have a fountain as the centre-piece of the garden but Legolas gave us a silver birch sapling to plant in honour of the memory of Boromir and so we gave it pride of place at the centre of our home.

One of our greatest blessings has been the love and companionship of our friends. Over the years we have grown closer and now we have a large and loving extended family. We have opened our home to them and within our Halls there is no rank and no privilege; when the door is closed, formality is left behind. The King and Queen are frequent visitors, and they seem to relish the freedom and informality of being simply Aragorn and Arwen. Every year we alternate with long visits to Edoras and Dol Amroth and our families visit us. In the early years, these friends helped and guided us when times were difficult. Faramir now has a host of honorary brothers, and they treat him gently and with fond indulgence, though he is often the recipient of their gentle ribbing.

We have had our griefs and our sadness. The birth of our son was a great joy, but it followed a long and difficult labour and to our sadness and disappointment for ten years there was no sign of a brother or sister to complete our family. It was a difficult burden for me to bear, knowing how much Faramir longed for a large family; his own lonely childhood had affected him deeply. He proved to be a proud and indulgent father, quick to praise  and slow to anger, with endless patience and a burning desire to pass onto his son his own love of lore and history and the importance of trust and honesty. It often fell to me to provide the discipline; not that he was a difficult child, just a normal boy full of energy and occasional mischief.

It was our dear Elf friends who provided the greatest support when we faced a crisis in the early year of our marriage. Faramir had made use of the King’s newly instigated courier system to correspond with Frodo. Their letters had been infrequent but I know that Faramir valued the contact. Frodo’s letters detailed life in the Shire and the comings and goings of his friends, but there was an underlying hint of melancholy to his words, a sense of alienation and dislocation. Faramir offered what support and reassurance he could and even suggested that Frodo come back to Gondor; but that letter went unanswered.

Our next letter from the Shire came from Merry with news of Frodo’s unexpected departure with the Elves, and of the shock and grief of the companions, especially Sam. This news rocked Faramir and sent him spiralling into grief and depression. He grieved that Frodo had been unable to find the comfort he so richly deserved in his own homeland, and grieved that he had been unable to offer his friend the support he needed. His grief was deepened by the knowledge that two of his mentors had also taken the Ship into the West; Gandalf was a mentor of his youth and Lord Elrond a treasured friend. Arwen and Legolas rallied to our side and offered what support they could, reassuring Faramir with their confidence that Frodo would find the healing and companionship that he sought in the West, giving him the benefit of their knowledge of their Elven heritage.

But in the end Faramir provided his own healing; he had a series of dream/visions so clear and detailed that he awoke with tears on his cheeks; he saw a vivid and beautiful landscape, bathed in sunlight, the colours clear and vibrant, blue crystal clear waters lapping against white soft sand. For three nights these visions came to him and on the fourth night the vision changed and he saw Frodo; not the Frodo that we had known, sad and hollowed by sadness, but a Frodo who was happy and healed and content; and he was comforted.

Lord Elrond’s prediction of Faramir’s recovery was well founded; by the time of our marriage his strength and health had improved. He was diligent about his exercises and over the months and years his arm has continued to improve, though it is still not strong enough for him to wield his sword. The dexterity in his fingers has improved to the point that he could use it for all but the most delicate movements; he can write for short periods with his right hand but has also taught himself to write well enough with his left hand for everyday correspondence.

Beregond is still captain of the White Guard of Ithilien and Tamir is his lieutenant. Each year Faramir appoints a cadet to his service, though the position is now administrative rather than personal; it is considered a position of great honour amongst the cadets and one that they all covet. Once or twice a year, Faramir goes out on exercise with the troops for a week or two, to oversee the training and assess their strengths and weaknesses, and when duties allow Aragorn tries to accompany him; Arwen and I believe it is an excuse to escape the constraints of the Court and relive earlier, simpler days! They come back dirty and smelly and invigorated, and I would not begrudge them a minute of it.

***

My early morning reverie was interrupted by the arrival of Legolas.

“You look disgustingly health for one who spent much of the night trying to sup our cellar dry!” I teased as he sat down beside me on the bench.

“I was only keeping your husband and guests company. I wouldn’t wish to appear unsociable, now, would I?” I squeezed his hand fondly and kept hold of his fingers.

“I wonder if you and Aragorn could perform a service for me today.” I asked.

“Of course, what would you have us do?”

“Could you take my two men out for a long ride and keep them occupied for the day?  Take a picnic; go hunting.” I took a deep breath then and rocked forward.

“Eowyn, are you all right!” As the spasm passed, I smiled and placed his hand gently on my swollen abdomen and watched his face as he felt the tightening build once more. He smiled then and a look of wonder crossed his fair features.

“Today?” he asked. “But isn’t it too early?”

“A week or two maybe, but the midwife is not concerned. And I have Arwen here to be with me. You remember what he was like last time. I’d rather he not know what’s happening until it is all over; he will worry less and I can concentrate on the job in hand.”

“You haven’t told him yet?” he asked.  I shook my head. “Well, we had better go and rouse those sluggards before events overtake us,” he said, helping me to my feet and guiding me back inside.

***

Diary entry of Faramir, Prince of Ithilien

FA 13

Mid-summer’s Day

Today my beautiful wife, Eowyn, gave birth to a son and a daughter. The birth of twins was an unexpected and unlooked-for joy. Both babes are well and of a good weight and Eowyn is almost bursting with the pride of her accomplishment. I suspect that she and our Elven friends knew of our unexpected blessing but they kept the secret well. When Arwen introduced his siblings to their older brother, the look of awe on his face brought tears to my eyes.

Our joy is now complete and I give thanks for the blessings that we have received.

We could ask for nothing more.

*****

Shireling: February 2004

Thank you to everyone for your lovely and generous support. This story has taken over my life for several months and it has been a pleasure to share it .