Disclaimer  All characters belong to JRR Tolkien. I borrow them for my own amusement and promise to give them back unharmed.

A/N

This tale continues the story of Faramir, Steward of Gondor first explored in ‘Cloak’s and Memories’. For those unfamiliar with that story, Faramir suffered a permanent disability to his right arm following his neglect of the shoulder wound he received during the siege of Gondor. His trials also left him subject to episodes of what we would now recognise as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder/ Battle Fatigue.

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Chapter 1

Faramir, Steward of Gondor sat propped up against a saddle and allowed his young squire to help him remove his cloak and tunic. He slipped his weak right arm out of the sling and let his hand rest against his lap, massaging the numb palm with his left thumb, an unconscious habit picked up during his prolonged stay in Edoras. He let out a sharp breath as Tamir began to massage his aching shoulders and exercise the weak and aching muscles in his shoulder and arm.  Tamir had learned his skills at the hand of Lord Elrond and though a riverside camp-site was not an ideal location for his ministrations, Faramir was only too grateful for his skills.

As he relaxed under the hands of the squire, Faramir allowed his thoughts to drift back to Edoras. For five months he had been a guest of the newly crowned King of Rohan. For Faramir it had been five months of healing, allowing him to rebuild his strength and begin to heal the shattered walls of his confidence.  Central to his recovery were the gentle and loving ministrations of his betrothed, Éowyn, White Lady of Rohan and sister of the King. He had arrived at the city, unannounced and unexpected amongst the funeral cortege of King Théoden, unsure even that Éowyn still welcomed his suite, but her heart was true and their betrothal had been announced to the whole company, receiving the blessings of Kings, Elves, Hobbits, Men and Dwarf.

He had used his time well; he had established an easy friendship with Éomer based on mutual respect and on the mutual uncertainties of men faced with duties and responsibilities that neither had sought nor expected. They spent many nights by the fire discussing and comparing the different styles of administration of Gondor and Rohan, trying to get to grips with the intricacies of diplomacy and protocol. In this Éowyn was able to offer valuable insights into the personalities and processes; her devoted attendance upon King Théoden had given her access into the procedures of the court even when Wormtongue’s influence had been at its most insidious.

His physical recovery had been remarkable. Daily riding lessons from the horse master had enabled him to refine his skills and regain his confidence in the saddle. Adjustments to his saddle and riding technique helped to minimise the handicap of his disabled arm. Rarely in his life had he had the opportunity to ride for pleasure but now it was a joy that he could share with Éowyn and, though he would never match her skills or experience, they would ride out with Tamir and a small escort and revel in the freedom of the open grasslands.

Now, eight days out from Edoras and the rigors of the trail and sleeping on hard ground were beginning to take their toll. His difficulties earned him merciless ribbing from Gimli and wry smiles from Legolas. He had to admit that in less than a year he had become a sorry excuse for a Ranger, he couldn’t hunt, tend or saddle the horses and even his cooking skills had been laughable, though in the present company this was not a problem. It had been a pleasant journey and Faramir had really enjoyed the opportunity to spend time getting to know Legolas and Gimli, recognising early on that their habitual bickering and back-biting was a front that masked a deep and abiding friendship, a friendship that reminded him of his own relationship with Boromir. It was a bitter-sweet recollection that he had been consciously avoiding while away from the familiarity of Minas Tirith and the thought that he would have to face it on his return nagged at his memory like a sore tooth.

He was roused from his musings by a gentle tap on his shoulder indicating that Tamir had completed his ministrations

****

Faramir  woke with the dawn to find  Gimli preparing breakfast. Taking a mug of tea with grateful thanks Faramir looked around for signs of the Elf

“Gimli, was it my snoring or yours that drove Legolas away this time”.

“Definitely yours” grumbled the Dwarf, “I should think they heard you back in Rohan. Legolas said you’d likely driven away all the game with the racket you were making.”

“Did I make a sound last night, Tamir?”

“No sir, though I did hear thunder rumbling from the other side of the camp, but it must have been from a storm in the mountains because Gimli told me that Dwarves never snore”.

“Fancy me sleeping through a storm,” sniggered Faramir and they all laughed at what had become a running jest.

All three jumped when several dead rabbits dropped over their heads to land on their laps. Gimli was the first to react, without looking he reached back and hooked his arm behind the Elf’s knees and before he had time to react Legolas found himself sitting down rather more abruptly that he had anticipated.

“Care to join us for breakfast, O mighty hunter.” This earned Gimli a cuff around the ear as he passed bread and cheese to his friend.

“Faramir, how many days will it take us to get to Minas Tirith?” asked Legolas between mouthfuls.

“With good weather and no delays we should be there in three days. The trail is well marked and follows the foothills all the way to the city. Why do you ask, is there a problem?”

“No, not a problem but we are running very short of rations and I for one am getting  a little bored of eating rabbit for every meal.”

“Well, we should travel fairly close to some settlements or farms as we get nearer to the city, though that is assuming that the people have moved back. To be honest, I don’t remember seeing much sign of life when we travelled to Rohan, but that was several months ago. It seems fairly settled here now but it’s hard to tell; it’s not a part of Gondor that I am very familiar with, Ithilien was always my home territory.”

“Well, we must hope that we get the chance to trade or barter for some basic supplies before the Elf’s pointy ears turn furry.” quipped Gimli, moving hastily out of reach.

The travellers took to the trail and kept up a steady pace, stopping only to allow the horses to rest. Towards mid afternoon Legolas called back that there was a settlement about a league off the trail. They could see smoke rising into the still afternoon air and heard dogs barking a warning.

They approached the buildings slowly and in single file. From a distance they could see adults and children milling about the yard but as they got nearer the women and children disappeared from sight leaving only one man and two dogs to greet them.

Faramir signalled the others to stop and wait back. He slipped from the saddle and handed the reins to Tamir. As he paced forward slowly he flicked his cloak back over his shoulder and held out his hands to show that he was unarmed. When he was several paces away from the gate the man signalled him to stop. They eyed each other, uncertain and wary. The man was tall and heavily built, Faramir could see only part of his face but what he could see showed young handsome features; the rest of the face was lost inside the folds of a hood.

“Greetings, friend. We come in peace.”

“Give me your name and your business, stranger.”

“I am Faramir, of the house of Húrin, and with me is Legolas of the Woodland Realm, Gimli son of Glóin and Tamir, my squire. We are travelling back to Minas Tirith on the King’s business. We have been on the road for many days and are in need of supplies. Can you help us?”

The man stared at him from under the hood and then seemed to come to a decision. He relaxed his grip on the pitch-fork he was holding and moved forward to open the gate; he stepped forward until he stood a pace in front of Faramir. He flicked his hood back and stood to attention, raising his right hand to his heart in salute.

“Greetings, Captain Faramir. Islin, Son of Isladin as at your service, it is a pleasure and an honour to meet the brother of my Captain, Lord Boromir.

It took all of Faramir’s considerable experience at ordering his features not to flinch at the sight in front of him. As Islin had lowered his hood the reason for his concealment became obvious, for while the right side of his face was fair and unblemished the left side was a hideous, misshapen mask. A deep ragged scar ran from the centre of the forehead down through what had once been an eye-socket, across a shattered and distorted cheek-bone and curved into the hairline where once there had been an ear.

Faramir returned the salute by using his left hand to hold the right up to his chest.

“I see I am not the only one to have a reminder of the bad days,” said Islin, as Faramir slipped his hand into the sling that hung around his neck.

“No, but we have our lives and for that we must be grateful.”

“Come,” beckoned Islin, “come and meet the rest of our little community, it is not often we get visitors.” He waited until they had all passed into the yard and closed the gate after them, calling for the rest of the ‘family’ to come forward. This was not a family but a disparate group of waifs and strays who had come together for mutual support and protection.

“This is my grandmother Bethael, she has lived here all her life until she had to evacuate into the hills. She nursed me when I was discharged from the Army and when the fighting was over we moved back here.” He pointed to the only other man, “this is Dan, we’re not sure how old he is, he is mute except for knowing his own name. He understands a little but he is strong and willing and has an excellent way with animals.

This is Mareen and Lisael; they are both war widows and have brought their children here. We work together and look out for each other; Bethael cares for the children and prepares the meals and the rest of us tend the animals and the crops.”

Legolas handed the brace of rabbits over to Bethael with a smile and was relieved to see that the cooking pot held a thick vegetable stew. The children were all fascinated by the Elf and rather than have them following him around he sat down and showed the older children how to fashion snares to catch rabbits and birds for the pot. Gimli used his time to repair a broken plough blade, watched by Dan.

Islin showed Faramir around the farm. It was large but showed signs of neglect and decay. Many of the buildings were falling into disrepair, most of the barns and stables were empty though the main farmhouse was sound. He explained that the women and children lived in the farmhouse and that he and Dan and the older boys lived in rooms above the stables. There was a large and thriving kitchen garden and orchard that provided all of the fruit and vegetables they needed, with enough to spare to allow them to trade at a local farmer’s exchange. Chickens roamed freely, two pigs were penned in a fenced section of the orchard and two dairy cows chewed patiently in the meadow.

“You seem to have everything you need here,” Faramir commented to Islin as they completed their tour of inspection.

“Ay, we do well enough, though we need a horse to pull the plough, but that will have to wait. We can manage for now; a neighbour lends us his animal in exchange for help with his harvest and any crops that we can spare.”

“Is it a good life, do you miss the Army?” asked Faramir, certain that he knew how Islin would answer.

“Yes, it’s a good life. It’s hard work but I have a warm bed, a full belly and friends who need me and don’t care that I am less than pretty to look at,” he said with self-depreciating humour, “But though I never thought I’d say it I miss the old days; I miss the friends and the companionship and even the danger.” Faramir nodded in acknowledgement of shared reminiscences.

****

They left at first light, refreshed from a night spent on soft fragrant straw; belly’s full of sweetened porridge and saddle bags replenished with more than enough food for the remainder of the journey. As they were leaving Faramir pressed a handful of coins into Islin’s palm. He tried to refuse it but Faramir was adamant. 

“Keep it,” he said with a smile, “put it towards the purchase of that horse you need. Bring this land back to how it should be and I will consider it a gift beyond measure.”

The travellers followed the track back to the main trail and turned east towards their destination as the sun crested the mountains. They travelled briskly and in good humour; stopped briefly to see to the needs of the horses and were soon on their way again.

Faramir was buoyed up by the prospect of returning to his city, confident of finding his place in the new order, of preparing for his future with Éowyn, of finally being himself now that the oppressive influence of his father and the benign but overwhelming shadow of his brother no longer confined him.

He travelled on in blissful ignorance that just out of sight along the trail he faced an encounter that would shatter his preconceived notions and undermine his beliefs in all that he held dear.

******

TBC

Chapter 2

It was the cry that first alerted them; the high pitched wail of an infant in distress, the sound so incongruous in the plains of Anórien that they all halted their mounts in order to listen. They could see nothing to account for the cry, but the trail veered off, skirting the base of a small grass covered hill and disappearing from sight.

Legolas leapt down from his mount and sprinted up the hill, dropping to his knees as he neared the summit and crawling forward to scout ahead.

“It appears to be just a family on the move,” he said as he returned a few minutes later. “Just a woman and a youth pulling a cart.”

“No men with them,” queried Faramir, his Ranger’s wariness kicking in. “Could they be a decoy for an ambush?”

“I could see no sign of others; the ground is too open for concealment. My guess is that they are simple travellers.” Faramir readily accepted Legolas’s judgement.

Legolas remounted and they moved off. As they rounded the bend in the trail the group came into view. They were a sorry sight; the two-wheeled cart was designed to be pulled by a pony but there was no animal between the shafts, just a half-starved boy and a woman, hunched over and further burdened by the keening infant strapped to her back.

With their eyes fixed grimly to the ground neither noticed the approaching horsemen until they were only yards apart. The boy let go of the shaft and drew a knife from his belt, moving in front of his mother to protect her. The woman, unable to bear the weight of the cart alone dropped the shaft she was holding and the cart tipped forward.

“Keep back, mister,” the boy warned, defiantly waving his knife in front of him.

“Peace, lad, we mean you no harm.” Faramir slipped from the saddle but made no effort to move closer.

The woman straightened up and placed a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder. “What do you want with us, Sir,” she said, addressing Faramir.

“We want nothing, Mistress; though we would offer you what assistance we may, for you appear to be in need.” At this the woman’s strength seemed to give way and she sank to her knees.

“The children are hungry, Sir, if you have food to spare I would be for ever in your debt, for I have nothing left to repay your kindness.” As she spoke she released the shawl that held the infant and when released the child crawled forward and pulling at her mother’s bodice settled into her lap and began to nurse.

The family huddled together while the travellers kindled a fire and prepared a meal. Faramir introduced himself and his companions but got little information beyond their names and destination.

“My name is Lireal; my son is Tomos and my daughter Liramaer. We have been on the road for many days.”

“Where are you heading, for surely you cannot go far.”

“We seek only a place to live in peace. My husband’s family have a farm near the border with Rohan, but I don’t know if they will have us. ..We have nowhere else to go.” She looked up at him them and he was shocked to see the depth of despair and resignation in her face. He realised that she was younger than he had first imagined and he knew that he couldn’t leave these desperate people to fend for themselves.

Whilst the family ate Faramir conferred with his companions. “Lireal has told me little of her circumstances but we cannot leave them here; they would not survive more than a few days on their own. We could take them with us but I doubt that they would want to retrace their steps.”

“What about Islin, Sir,” said Tamir, before anyone else could speak “He has enough room to take on extra helpers and they would at least be warm and fed.”

“It’s a good idea, Tamir, but how would we get them there,” said Faramir trying to work out the logistics of transporting the exhausted family and the heavily laden wagon. “Gimli, could you fashion a harness to attach the wagon to one of the horses?”

“Ay, but we couldn’t burden the beast with extra passengers as well.” Gimli walked over and examined the cart; testing its weight and balance. “If we’ve rope enough to make me a harness I could pull this, although it would be slow going. It would be good to exercise some of these muscles after so long perched on that bony nag,” he said with a wink at Legolas.

Faramir looked over to Lireal to gauge her reaction but the family were all huddled together asleep and he was loathed to disturb them.

“Right,” he said having come to a decision, “Get to it, Gimli. If you set off now and get a head-start we will follow when they wake.”

Gimli quickly improvised a harness to fix between the shafts of the cart that would allow him to take some of the weight across his chest. Legolas tucked a water skin and a parcel of food into the wagon and whispered some quiet words of encouragement to his friend. Gimli took up the strain and moved off whistling a tune that they all recognised as one of  Merry and Pippin’s bawdier drinking songs.

Tomos woke first; he jumped to his feet in alarm when he noticed the absence of the wagon. He leapt at Faramir knocking him to the ground and pummelling his chest with his fists.

“What have you done with our things,” he yelled, fear and desperation giving him strength. “You said we were safe with you…You’re nothing but thieves and liars.”

Faramir couldn’t dislodge the boy, so he did the next best thing; he pulled him against his chest and held him tight until he stopped struggling. “Peace, Tomos. It’s alright. Gimli has gone ahead with your wagon and we will follow when you are all ready to travel.

Lireal, who had been roused by the commotion, came closer to see Tomos sobbing against Faramir’s chest, fear and exhaustion finally overwhelming him.  Faramir released his hold on the boy to allow him to retreat to his mother’s arms but he stayed put, grasping his cloak and wetting his travel stained jerkin with his tears. Faramir comforted him as best he could.

“He misses his father,” whispered Lireal, “He is too young to be the man of the family; he should be running around and getting into mischief, not trying to protect me and his sisters.”

“Sisters!” queried Faramir. But Lireal turned away and didn’t answer.

“Lireal, there is a farm-stead a couple of hours ride away. We stayed there last night. They are good people. We will take you there…They are good people and I will ask them to look after you until you are strong enough to make a decision about where your future lies,” explained Faramir.

“Why should they help us, we have nothing to offer them”.

“They are a community; they have all suffered loss and hardship, they work together and support each other. Islin, who manages the farm, was injured during the war and is badly scarred but he is a good man, he will not turn you away. You and your children will find peace and companionship there….Please trust me, you will all be safe there; we cannot leave you out here alone.” Lireal simply nodded, relieved not to have to face any more decisions.

They set off again; Lirael sharing Faramir’s mount, Tomos with Tamir and Legolas cradling the sleeping infant. They had covered half of the distance back towards the track when they caught up with Gimli; he still had the energy to sing, his feet plodding to the rhythm of his song, but he was clearly exhausted. Despite his protests they made him stop to rest and Tamir offered to help him with the cart for the rest of the journey. It was decided and as they set off for the final leg of the journey Faramir led Tamir’s horse who now carried Lireal and her daughter. It gave Faramir the chance to get her to tell him her story and as her tale unfolded Faramir was filled with grief and anger.

“My husband was a career soldier, a cadet from the age of fourteen. I moved to the city with my mother when I was ten. She was a seamstress and I was apprenticed to a weaver in the city. We married on my seventeenth birthday and set up home in one of the army quarters in the first circle of the city. It was the proudest day of Beran’s life when he received his Commission into Lord Boromir’s company. He was away a lot and received his share of injuries but nothing that kept him away from action for long. We had a good life; Tomos came along and then my lovely Betham….

“But the fighting just got worse. People were leaving the city and Beran wanted me to go away to safety but I wouldn’t leave him. Months and years passed and things got more difficult; I couldn’t get work. My mother came to live with me to keep me company and to help with the children, Beran got home less and less. Just after Liramaer was born my mother died.

“Beran was injured at Osgiliath; they brought him home to the city more dead than alive and he lingered for months. He’d gone into the river and the cold or the water affected his head…he didn’t know who I was though I nursed in the Houses of Healing day after day. When he finally slipped away I was relieved, I’d said goodbye to him months before, the man lying in the bed wasn’t my Beran…

“It was a struggle looking after three children on my own but Gondor always looked after its soldiers and their families. While Beran was alive we received his pay and after he passed, a regular pension; our accommodation in the first circle was free; it was difficult but we managed. It was too late then to get out of the city. We hid in the caves in the last days…I didn’t want the little ones to see what was happening…I had a knife…I wasn’t going to let the beasts have my children.

“When it was all over we came out and moved back into our home but had to share it with another family. They said the old Steward was dead and that we had a new King but we had to wait weeks for him to come; not that it made any difference to us, we just muddled through as we could, sometimes we got meals at the barracks, often we went hungry.

“We thought things would get better when the King came but it didn’t take long to realise that we were the forgotten people.  One of the first things that changed was that they cancelled the pension and gave us a one off payment; a bag of silver coins, they said it was to set us up for the future; it seemed like riches. We had to move out of the first circle into empty houses in the third circle; they never told us that we would have to pay rent…the silver soon ran out. There wasn’t much call for my weaving skills but I got odd jobs where I could.

“When Betham fell sick I wasn’t allowed to take her to the House of Healing; a new rule from the King’s Council, we had to first seek the services of an apothecary appointed to the Army and you had to have the coin to pay for it. By the time she was sick enough to go to the Houses it was too late…the Warden berated me for leaving it so long, he said I should have known better. I took my beautiful girl home to die.”

“There is nothing left for us in Gondor. My Beran gave his life for the country he loved and he trusted Gondor to look after us. The old Steward cared for his people and Lord Boromir would never have allowed us to be thrown aside…I vowed when we left the city that I will never give my son to Gondor; Gondor has had all that I can give it.”

****

By the time Lireal had finished her tale they had almost reached the farm. Faramir had listened in silence; his mind screamed at him that it was all a mistake; that the King would never have allowed this situation to occur but his heart could not dismiss the veracity of her tale. It occurred to him that Lireal didn’t realise who he was or what position he held; he had introduced himself only as Faramir and had not given his title. He wanted to test this thought.

“What of the Steward’s other son,” he asked, “does he not look out for his father’s people?”

“No one has seen him; some say he died, some say that the King had him banished after his Coronation; he certainly doesn’t seem to need a Steward,” she said bitterly.

Faramir’s heart felt like a stone in his chest. He could not keep this deception any longer. He drew the horses to a stand-still and turned to face her.

“Lireal,” he took her hand and waited until she met his gaze. “Lireal, I am Faramir, I am the Son of Denethor and brother to Boromir. I am the Steward, appointed by the King at his Coronation. I was not banished; I have been in Rohan recovering from my injuries. I am on my way back to Minas Tirith to take up my duties.” He watched her expression turn from horror to disbelief.

“If that is a jest, it is a cruel one.”

“It is no jest, I am Faramir…I am the Steward, though I don’t know yet what my place will be in the King’s new order. I’m not sure that I can even serve a King who would betray his people…” He lapsed into silence as a fresh wave of anger and revulsion rolled through him.

“And what will you do now, my Lord,” she whispered.

“I don’t know.” All of the hope and promise and optimism that had sung in his heart only hours before evaporated to leave only the bitter chill of a blighted future.

As Faramir had hoped, Islin welcomed the exhausted family; they were swept away by Bethael with a promise of hot food and a warm bed. Gimli and Tamir staggered into the yard not long after and managed a hasty supper before sleeping. Legolas offered to see to the horses leaving Faramir to explain to Islin as much of Lireal’s tale as he felt able to share.

“If what she says is right, then she won’t be the only one to have suffered,” said Islin sadly. “There must be hundreds of widows and orphans in the city and further a field. What can the King have been thinking…”

“I don’t know…I thought he was an honourable man….I just don’t know what to think any more…part of me wants to turn around and never set foot in the city again but that would make me just as responsible…how do I even begin to put this right.”

They sat in silence for a while, watching the clouds skitter across the night sky.

 “Use your strengths,” Islin counselled. “Just because you no longer carry a sword doesn’t mean that you are no longer a soldier….use your skills; get to know your enemy, learn their strengths and weaknesses, plan your campaign as if it were a battle and keep an open mind, don’t allow yourself to become blinded by emotion…I know you can do this, you are an honourable man,” he said. “Do what ever you  have to do to get to the truth and never forget your birthright…do it in the name of every man and boy who gave their lives for Gondor, do it for every widow and orphan left to lament for their loved ones, do it for your brother…”

*******

TBC

Chapter 3

It didn’t take elvish perceptions to see that Faramir had spent a sleepless night, exhaustion was written clearly on his face, his eyes shadowed and dull. He barely touched his breakfast and paced restlessly as the horses were readied for departure. Islin and Lireal came into the yard to see them off; Faramir drew them aside.

“Lireal, I’m sorry that I can do so little to ease your suffering but I promise you that I will not forget you or your story. I will do everything in my power to set things right…I will do my best to restore Gondor’s honour so that you may once again have confidence in those who lead our country. I cannot bring back your loved ones or mine, but I will make their loss have meaning.” He reached into his tunic and pulled out a small piece of parchment, it was marked with his signature and the impression of his personal seal.

 “If you have need of anything, if you need my help, send word with the messengers who pass this way; show them this cipher and they will make sure I receive your message.” He embraced her gently and then turning to Islin he drew his right arm to his heart in salute; his eyes giving the thanks he didn’t trust his lips to utter.

Tamir helped his master to mount and the three horses passed out of the yard and onto the trail. They travelled swiftly; Faramir’s silence casting a pall over the companions. They rode late into the evening, stopping only when falling dusk threatened to obscure the trail. It wasn’t snores that kept the companions awake in the dark hours of the night; when Faramir finally sank into restless sleep old nightmares of fire, loss and grief had him splitting the night with his cries.

The following day passed in a similar manner, Faramir silent and distracted pushed the pace, seemingly unaware of the plight of the horses or his friends. The rhythm of hooves on the trail seemed to hypnotise him so that he was heedless of his situation or his surroundings. Lireal’s story tormented him, it played over and over in his head and try as he might he could make no sense of it. He had had total and unquestioning confidence that the return of the King would herald a new and positive era for Gondor after centuries of steady decline; that the King would be noble and honourable, that he would honour the statutes and customs of his new Kingdom. Yet within a matter of months it seemed that the most vulnerable people of Gondor had been betrayed by the very King who had vowed to protect them.

In order to try and bring some sense and order to his thoughts, Faramir replayed Islin’s council through his mind like a mantra; use your strengths…know your enemy…plan a strategy. Faramir’s mind baulked at the thought of the King as his enemy; the very thought was treason, and yet…was his allegiance only to the King or did his responsibility to the people of Gondor also bind him.

There were no answers; nothing he could do until he got back to the city and saw for himself what was happening. Never before had he felt so alone or so isolated. There was no one in whom he could confide. He counted Legolas and Gimli as friends but it was a new and fragile friendship and their first loyalty was to the King and Faramir was not prepared to challenge that loyalty. He ached with longing for Boromir’s bluff and down to earth council; he would have known what to do, would have ploughed through protocol, met the problem head on, and forced it into the open. But Faramir didn’t have Boromir’s confidence or his training in the duties of the Steward; Faramir was never intended for the honour; even after his brother’s departure from Gondor Denethor had not deemed his second son worthy of instruction in the responsibilities of the position.

“Faramir!” Legolas’ urgent call went unheeded. He urged his mount forward until they drew level; he reached for the reins and pulled Faramir’s mount to a standstill.

“Faramir, enough, we cannot keep going at this pace!”  Legolas couldn’t hide the censure in his voice. Faramir looked around in a daze. “If you cannot spare a thought for your friends’ at least spare one for the poor horses. I would not like to be the one to explain to Éowyn that you had run her beautiful gift into the ground with thoughtless neglect.” His voice softened at the look of distress on Faramir’s face. “Come, my friend, we will go no further today, you need to rest.”

Faramir had not the energy to argue or even reply. He dismounted and staggered to the shade of the nearest tree and slipped down, resting his head against the trunk and closing his eyes to shut out the questioning looks of his companions and the reminders of his own inadequacies.

“Sir,” Tamir approached a short time later bearing a cup of hot tea. “Please Sir; drink this, it will help you to relax and Gimli will have food ready soon.” Faramir just shook his head not even opening his eyes. Tamir looked in desperation to Legolas for assistance. The Elf took the cup and, ushering Tamir away, took his place.

“Faramir, look at me.” With his hand on his cheek he turned the pale face towards him. “Faramir, you need to drink this, I will not allow you to neglect your health; you are exhausted and in pain, let us help you.”  With a sigh of resignation the Steward raised his left hand to take the cup but it shook so badly that Legolas helped to guide it to his lips. “Can you not tell me what distresses you so, my friend,”   the Elf asked, but Faramir didn’t answer, afraid that even one word would be his undoing. He closed his eyes, his left thumb pressing viciously into the palm of his numb hand.

After supper Tamir set up the bed-rolls close to the fire; Legolas offered his own so that Faramir would be more comfortable. He and Tamir helped Faramir over to the fire and directed him to sit with Tamir at his back and Legolas cross-legged in front. When Tamir placed his hands on his shoulders and started to gently massage the stiff and aching muscles Faramir flinched at the touch.

“Relax, my friend,” whispered Legolas his voice soft and soothing. “Relax and close your eyes, I will help you to rest. Listen to my voice and breathe slowly and deeply.” Legolas extended his arms and placed his hands on his friend’s face; thumbs resting lightly on the closed eyelids, fingers splayed from forehead to temples rubbing gentle circles across the furrowed brow. Gradually the combined ministrations worked their magic and they felt Faramir relax under their hands. Tamir moved away but Legolas continued to soothe with his hands and his voice. He moved his hands down from his face to his shoulders and gently guided Faramir down onto the blankets. “Sleep well, my friend,” he whispered covering him with blankets and a warm cloak.

The remaining companions moved to the far side of the fire where they could talk quietly without disturbing Faramir.

“Tamir, do you know what this is all about.”

“No, Sir. I was hoping you could tell me. I don’t understand it; he was so happy, really looking forward to going home…It doesn’t make sense, Sir. What did she say to him? It can only have been Lireal, but what can she have said that would have upset him so?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t hear her tale, I had the boy with me and I thought it best to give them some privacy.”

“I’m worried, Sir. I’ve seen him like this before.” Tamir couldn’t hide the catch in his voice. “It was before you came, before the coronation…he drove himself like a demon, wouldn’t take heed of anyone, not even Lady Éowyn…he nearly died…” The squire turned his face to the fire to hide his distress. Gimli laid a hand across his shoulder.

“Don’t you worry, Lad? Whatever is troubling him we will not let him face it on his own, we will all look out for him, whether he wants us too or not. Yon Steward is about to find out that he is not the only one with a monopoly on stubbornness!”

*****

They arrived at the White City before dusk the following evening, entering the gates unheralded and unannounced. They parted at the stables high in the sixth circle, Faramir and his squire making for the Steward’s chambers and the Elf and Dwarf to be ushered into the Royal apartments, tasked to tend to the King Faramir’s apologies.

By the time Faramir had broken his fast and attended the Warden in the Houses of Healing it was approaching noon. He waited in the ante-chamber of the King’s apartments to be announced.

“Ah, My Lord Steward, so good of you to grace us with your presence.” The hint of sarcasm in the King’s tone, the result of a long and tedious morning listening to whining supplications from endless courtiers, was not lost on Faramir; he felt a shiver run through him reminding him of interviews with his Father.

“Sire, I bring you greetings and messages from King Éomer,” he said formally, handing over the pouch containing parchments and letters, “there are also letters to the Queen from Lady Éowyn”. The King accepted the package and gestured to Faramir to be seated.

“How are you faring, Faramir,” he asked more gently, seeing the tension in the younger man’s bearing. “What did the Warden have to say?”

“I am fine, Sire. My recovery in Edoras has been pleasing, though the journey home has set me back a little; my arm suffers from long days in the saddle and cold nights on the hard ground but it’s nothing that a few days of rest and exercise won’t remedy. I apologise that my treatment this morning delayed my attending you sooner.”

“There is no need for apologies, I would rather not face Éowyn’s wrath for allowing you to neglect your health,” he said with a smile trying to put the steward at ease, but Faramir, his eyes to the floor,  missed the King’s attempts to ease the tension between them.

“What now my Lord, are you ready now to take up your duties as Steward?”

“As my King commands,” said Faramir formally.

“No, not as I command,” said the King in frustration. “What do you want? Are you ready for this! Talk to me Faramir!”

“Sire, I know nothing about administering a city or a nation. Until the last days of the War I had spent barely a few weeks in the city in the last ten years. I was stationed out at Ithilien, away from the Court at my father’s behest; he thought it unnecessary to have me instructed in the duties and responsibilities of his Office. I know some of your councillors by sight and reputation only…they were always my father’s men; I was not considered worthy of their notice, I had no influence and therefore no value,” he finished bitterly.

“And yet you took on responsibility for preparing the city for my arrival, and made an excellent job of it, though at too high a personal cost I fear,” said the King, his eyes straying to Faramir’s disabled arm.

“It was my duty, Sire. I dealt with each crisis as it appeared…”

“Faramir, we have to work this out between us. I am new to this responsibility too. I would like you to take over responsibility for civic administration; that would relieve some of the burden from my shoulders and leave me more time to deal with the broader issues of defending our borders and managing our relationships with our neighbours.”

“Of course, Sire, though I would ask that you allow me the chance to familiarise myself with the duties and responsibilities that that entails before I take on the role formally, I would not want to embarrass you or cause problems because of my lack of knowledge or experience.”

“Faramir, are you sure you are recovered enough to take on this role. If you wish simply to retire to Ithilien I would not stand in your way,” said the King sensing the underlying uncertainty of the Steward. Faramir read into the King’s question a lack of confidence in his ability to perform the duties and his heart dropped with the old familiar sense of inadequacy.

Despite all of his uncertainty Faramir knew that he had to avoid being banished from the city; away from the seat of power he wouldn’t have the ability or the influence to keep his promise to Lireal. “No Sire, I wish to stay here and serve our people,” he said. “I wish to take up the duties you laid upon me; I seek only your indulgence in allowing me time to prepare myself.”

“Very well, but use the time wisely for I will have need of your council. You may sit in on council meetings until such time as you feel ready to take charge,” he said getting to his feet, indicating that the audience was over. Faramir bowed and withdrew, and with a sigh the King retreated to his private quarters with a sense of unease and disappointment.

 *****

TBC

Thank you to everyone who has been kind enough to leave a review. I really appreciate your comments.

Chapter 4

There was so much to do, so much to learn and to understand but Faramir was never one to shrink from a challenge and that challenge started now. As he walked away from his audience with the King he played over the encounter in his head. It was clear that he had made a poor impression and for that he was sorry but he had promised Lireal and Islin that he would put right the inequities imposed over the last months and he had decided on his strategy.

He needed information and he needed to understand how the system of administration worked. He barely knew the members of the King’s council or what functions and power they held. He needed to find out what role the King had played in the new statutes and he had get at this knowledge without raising the suspicions of the King or the council members; if he tipped his hand and they realised that he was scrutinising their actions his task would prove impossible. No, he would play up his ignorance and pander to their superiority and vanity, allowing them to underestimate his capabilities until he knew enough to challenge them.

But his first task was purely personal. He summoned the Chamberlain and the house keeper to meet him in the Steward’s official chambers. The suite of rooms comprised of a large audience chamber that had served Denethor as an office, a smaller private sitting room and the bed chamber; all of the rooms were dark and depressing; gloomy wall hangings adding to the sombre effect. Faramir had not been beyond the audience chamber in years but in all that time it was unchanged. He pushed down the familiar feelings of revulsion and promised himself to banish all painful remembrances from the rooms.

“I want these rooms stripped back to bare floorboards and walls,” he announced. “I want everything removed; hangings, furniture, bedding, clothing...I don’t care what you do with it…burn it, sell it, give it away to those in need. The next time I enter this room I want it cleared and clean….nothing left.” He looked around, taking in for the last time this symbol of the past before it was swept away for ever. “I want the shutters removed and the windows glazed and I want lanterns and chandeliers to light up every corner.”

“My Lord, what about your father’s personal possessions and correspondence, surely you don’t want all of those disposed of!” Lord Corrin, the Chamberlain exclaimed. “I served him all my life; you cannot wipe out a lifetime.” The poor man was nearly in tears.

“Forgive me, Lord Corrin, it was not my intention to upset you or to dishonour my father’s memory, but in a few months I will be bringing my bride here and I want to make a home for her.” He put his arm on the old retainers shoulder and walked him back through to the audience chamber. “Perhaps you could take charge of sorting through the papers and documents…make sure all of the official papers go to the archives…anything personal or private can be set aside and I will sort through it later.”

“Thank you, my Lord, I would be honoured.” Lord Corrin bowed as if to take his leave but then stopped. “My Lord, there are some things that I need to discuss with you, things that you need to know!”

“Is it urgent?” Faramir asked puzzled.

“Not urgent, but it is important and not something that can be put off much longer, Sir.”

“Well, let us find somewhere a little more private and comfortable for this important discussion.” Faramir led the way to his own chambers and called for tea and refreshments. He sat down in a comfortable chair beside the fire and indicated to the Chamberlain to take his place opposite. Faramir observed the Chamberlain and realised that the man he had known all his life as his fathers most trusted and loyal servant was looking frail and old.

“I served your father for nearly fifty years,” the old man started, his eyes lost in the depths of the fire. “We started as fellow cadets together and learned to be soldiers, but I was never cut out to be military man and I was soon moved from active duty to administrative tasks. When your father received his first command I went with him as his Adjutant and when he became Steward I moved into the Citadel and became his Chamberlain; responsible for the running and management of the household. For fifty years I was his friend and confident…” his voice tailed off as he lost himself in long forgotten memories. Faramir waited in silence, watching the play of emotions cross his companions face; grief, loneliness and longing. He felt humbled that he had underestimated the depth of devotion that Corrin had harboured for his father.

The quiet voice continued. “Your father settled his affairs long ago. Your brother, as his eldest son and heir was to inherit his title and duties and the bulk of his personal holdings, which are quite considerable; those all now come to you. Your father inherited great wealth from his father but circumstances during his stewardship meant that he did little to increase his holdings and he merely lived off the profits. When you were born your parents wanted to ensure that you would be financially independent, they made over your mother’s marriage portion to be held in trust for you until your marriage.”

Faramir was stunned; he had never given a thought to inheritance or wealth. Long years enduring the harsh and unforgiving life of a ranger, so far removed from the comforts and conveniences of settled living, had driven them from his consideration.

“You are a very wealthy man, my Lord,” said the Chamberlain with a smile. “You are a man of property and commerce; you own trading ships, a vineyard, many fine properties in Dol Amroth plus a large reserve of gold. And that is not all; the Quartermaster informs me that neither you nor your brother ever drew your Army pay! There is now a considerable sum in the coffers with your name on it waiting to be collected.

“My father gave us a small allowance, enough to cover any living expenses…..but I don’t understand, what ships, what vineyard…who has been overseeing them all this time?” he asked in confusion, unable to comprehend this sudden turn of events. “What do I know of business and commerce…what am I to do with riches,” he stuttered, and then blushed at the naivety of his own question.

“Your uncle has managed those assets in Dol Amroth and I have been responsible for your Father’s affairs here in Gondor. You will need to speak to the Prince and decide how you wish to handle your affairs there and I will give you any assistance you need here for as long as you need me.”

Faramir, though still shocked, had enough wits about him to suddenly realise that the man in front of him was more than a faithful retainer, he was an ally; one who knew the city and the citadel inside-out, who knew the personalities and the procedures of the court and could be of invaluable assistance in the Steward’s quest to influence how the city and state were governed.

For the next hour the two men discussed Faramir’s concerns and when the meeting was over the Steward had a better understanding of not only how the Council had operated under Denethor’s rule but also how the system was open to abuse. The Chamberlain’s parting remarks gave Faramir much to think on.

“You have to remember, my Lord, your father was a canny and powerful leader. He ruled the council with a rod of iron, it was impossible to slip things passed him. But that’s not to say that he didn’t turn a blind eye to all of the councillor’s wiles; he allowed small transgressions as a means of controlling or preventing bigger deceptions. Both sides knew where the line was drawn and knew the penalty for overstepping the mark! Just remember that the King is as new to his role as you are to yours – he is a soldier at heart, not a politician; he relies heavily on the advice of his councillors!”  

****

The next meeting of councillors was not for two weeks and Faramir made good use of the intervening days to begin his search for understanding. His days settled into a routine that gave him little time for leisure or relaxation. He rose at dawn and spent an hour or more in the Houses of Healing with Tamir or the Warden receiving treatment for his arm and shoulder. After breaking his fast the morning was spent in his office researching past council business and studying archive records for information. He worked with a scribe, compiling notes and cross-referencing information. Tamir became his eyes and ears out and about in the city and down in the barracks; able to mingle with the merchants, soldiers and ordinary citizens in a way that Faramir, as Steward, could never have achieved. Afternoons were given over to improving his level of fitness and strength; riding out on the Pelennor with Legolas or Tamir, or sparring on the practice fields with them in his attempts to teach himself to use a light sword with his left hand; a task that left him reeling with frustration.  In the evenings he went back to his relentless search for information.

He had almost no contact with the King except for one stiff and stilted luncheon party. Organised by Arwen, it was only her presence that prevented it from descending into

embarrassing silence. The two men were so awkward and uncomfortable that they found little or nothing to talk about; both reading into the behaviour of the other disappointment and disapproval. After Faramir had excused himself and gone back to his quarters Arwen rounded on Aragorn and voiced her own dismay.

“What in the name of goodness was that all about,” she demanded. “What is going on between you two? Why is he so bowed that he won’t even look you in the eye...It wasn’t like this at Edoras…I thought you two got on well?” she said, hardly able to hide her distress.

“I don’t know….I really don’t know. He’s changed. He was different in Edoras after Éomer announced their betrothal; happy and open and full of fun….Legolas said he changed on the journey back; he thought it might just be bad memories from coming back to the city but I’m not so sure…perhaps he resents my being here!”

“That’s ridiculous and you know it. Faramir is one of the most loyal and honourable man I have ever met. He swore allegiance to you, he wouldn’t betray that vow. No, there has to be more to it than that.”

“Well, all I can do for now is to give him the space he needs to find his own way,” said the King, running is hands through his hair in frustration. “I want him here, I need him by my side but I can’t force his friendship or his trust. I can only hope that he finds his way here in his own time.”

*****

The day of the meeting of the Councillors arrived. In the chamber the table was set; the King’s place at the head and a place for Faramir at the far end of the table. In between, eight spaces for the King’s Councillors. Faramir took his place and motioned for his scribe to bring over a chair and take a seat at his side. He didn’t have to wait long for the rest of the attendees to arrive. They entered in groups and took their seats with barely a glimpse to acknowledge the silent Steward. Last to arrive; the King acknowledged their communal obeisance and drew the meeting to order.

“Gentlemen, I wish to take this opportunity to welcome Lord Faramir to our meeting today. He has recently returned from his convalescence in Rohan. He has requested that he be allowed time to familiarise himself with our procedures before he takes an active role in the pursuance of his duties as Steward,” explained the King. It didn’t escape his notice that some of the Councillors regarded the Steward with barely concealed scorn.

“Lord Faramir, do you wish you address the council,” the King invited, hoping that he would take the opportunity to make a positive impression on the grim faced councillors.

“Sire!” He got to his feet hesitantly and took a moment to compose his thoughts. His face partially concealed by a curtain of hair; he looked the picture of cowering uncertainty. “Gentlemen, thank you for your patience and forbearance,” he began, his voice quiet and wavering. “I have to admit to you that I know nothing of the nature of the ordering of our great city. I am a soldier by training and I served my late father in that capacity with pride and diligence. With your help and guidance I hope to be able serve my King and my country and fulfil my duties as Steward.” He sat down abruptly, blushing. As his eyes scanned the assembled company he noted the sly, self-satisfied grins exchanged by some of the councillors and the King’s look of sorrow.

“Perhaps, you could begin by explaining why we have an un-authorised person in attendance at what is a confidential meeting,” demanded the man to the King’s right.

“Lord Haralil, I don’t believe there is any need for belligerence,” the King cautioned, but Faramir raised his hand to forestall any further support from that quarter.

“I apologise, Sire, Gentlemen; I meant no disrespect to the dignity of this council. As you no doubt realise, my disability means that I am no longer able to write,” he said drawing attention to the sling supporting his disabled arm. “There is so much that I don’t know, so much that I need to learn to enable me to fulfil my duties; I cannot hope to remember everything that happens without notes to jog my memory. I was hoping that my scribe would be able to take notes for me….” he trailed off, sinking back into his seat.

“I’m sure that no one could object to easing Lord Faramir’s burden in this matter,” pronounced the King, moving the meeting forward quickly to matters on the agenda.

Faramir remained a largely passive observer of the proceedings, occasionally whispering quietly to his scribe and only participating when asked for his specific opinion. When the King finally pronounced the meeting over Faramir withdrew hastily to confer with his scribe and with Tamir, leaving the disgruntled King to entertain his councillors to luncheon.

TBC

Many thanks to everyone for their kind comments, you make my day.

Chapter 5

It had taken Tamir only one visit to the First Circle  and to the barracks to confirm the truth of Lireal’s story; the level of privation and hardship amongst the most vulnerable people of the city had shocked even the squire, who had  personal memories of poverty from  his own childhood.

Faramir cut short one of his afternoon rides with Legolas and made his own tour of inspection. After he had seen enough to convince himself that urgent action was needed he made his way to the barracks to find the Quartermaster. On the way he passed numerous crippled and ragged veterans; too disabled for active service but with no other means of supporting themselves. Faramir gave away the few coins in his purse to the children who pulled at his cloak begging for food. By the time he got to his destination he was heart-sick and angry.

The Quartermaster snapped smartly to attention when Faramir entered. “I do what I can, Captain!” he explained sorrowfully, not even needing Faramir to voice his anger. “I am allocated barely enough to keep the troops that are still on the register and maintain the horses. I’ve asked for more, tried to explain the problems but I’m told time and again that the City finances are too precarious for needless extravagance! I send the troops out into the hills to hunt for game to supplement the rations we have but the pickings are still scarce…I just wish I could do more!”

“Do what you can,” said the Steward sadly. “I will send you what aid I can. Now that I know what the situation is I will help to put things right. Come up to my chambers            in the Citadel tomorrow evening and we will work out a plan of action. I need your discretion in this matter; it would be better if my involvement went unnoticed!”

“Gentlemen!” Faramir called the meeting to order and waited for quiet. “We have much to discuss and organise. Firstly, Lord Corrin, do you have in your service a young lad you can allocate to be my squire?”

“Yes Sir, of course.” Puzzled, his gaze passed from Faramir to Tamir.

Tamir blanched and gave a heartfelt cry of disbelief. “My Lord, what have I done to offend you?...please don’t send me away!” he begged.

“Peace Tamir, you are not to be dismissed, I have more important things for you to do than filling my bath and helping me to dress! If we are to succeed in this task I need you beside me as my Adjutant…that is if you want the promotion?” he asked with a smile of affection. Tamir raised his right hand to his heart in salute and swallowed hard before nodding his acceptance.

“Lord Corrin, do I own any properties in the lower circles of the City that would serve as a centre for providing relief?” The chamberlain mentioned several but the most suitable appeared to be a long abandoned villa that had once been owned by a family whose business involved the trading and importation of fabric from the south.

“It has been empty for many years, Sir, but I believe it to be basically sound. The house is quite extensive and there is an adjoining complex of caves and warehouses that were used for storage; it is located in the second circle against the northern boundary of the mountain.”

“Excellent,” exclaimed Faramir. “We will start small and begin with the basics; providing a hot meal a day and a place to sleep for those in need.”

“But Captain, how are we to supply the provisions for such a task?” The Quartermaster couldn’t keep the concern from his voice.

“I believe you hold a considerable sum of back-pay in my name.” Faramir smiled as comprehension slowly dawned on the old soldier’s face.

“You would do that, Sir”

“Of course, I have no need of it; indeed, until the other day I didn’t even know about it. I would rather put it to use than have it sitting gathering dust and pricking at my conscience. I ask only that you haggle and stretch it as far as possible and that you keep accurate records of how the money is spent.  I will leave you to appoint those you can trust from amongst the veterans to oversee the day to day management and they will report directly to me, via Tamir. Once we have things established we can extend the help we provide. There must be a pool of un-tapped talents amongst those left in need….we need to give them the chance and the opportunity to share those skills to equip others with the wherewithal to support themselves; there are widows, orphans and veterans who all need the means of regaining their independence and their pride. We have to give them back their belief in Gondor; if we can’t achieve that then we have failed.”

****

Tamir ushered in the new squire at first light. Ferris, a tousle-headed lad of twelve looked terrified; his scrubbed face and stiff new uniform glowing in the light of a lantern. Faramir talked to him gently, trying to put him at ease as Tamir showed him how to best assist his new master. The transition from Tamir’s capable, discrete assistance to the lad’s fumbling attentions was going to take some getting used to. It reinforced to Faramir that if he wanted to become more independent he would need to work with the tailors, seamstresses and cobblers to make his clothing more suitable to his disability; laces were impossible to fasten one handed and small buttons fiddly and frustrating; buckles and buttons he could manage if they were of sufficient size.

Over the next few days, in between his hours spent in the archives, he had several appointments with the tailors as they worked out between them what would work best. Several times Legolas managed to catch him receiving their attentions. Not realising the reason for this flurry of sartorial attention he took to teasing Faramir about his new found interest in fashionable attire. To begin with Faramir took the teasing in good part but one afternoon when tiredness and frustration at his lack of progress on the practice field had frayed his temper, one joke too many pushed him over the edge and he rounded on the astounded Elf.

“I never thought I would have cause to accuse you of insensitivity, Legolas,” his voice quiet and full of anger. “I thought you my friend and yet you know me so little that you would accuse me of selfish vanity. I do not seek adornment or fashion! I seek only the ability and the self-respect of being able to dress myself! Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to be totally dependent on friends and servants to do the most basic and intimate tasks for you, to have to stop and think before every action to judge whether you can actually manage without assistance, to not even be able to write personal and private correspondence, to have no privacy and no dignity…” He struggled hard to keep his voice from betraying the depths of his hurt.

 “You have only known me as a cripple,” he continued, “but a year ago I was one of the best archers in Gondor and while I might not have matched you for speed I would have matched you for accuracy at hitting a target…” His anger fizzled out at the stricken look on his friend’s face.

“Faramir, forgive me, I meant not to hurt you. Please, my friend, say that you forgive my thoughtless jest! I do forget sometimes the extent of your difficulties because you manage it so well and without complaint….What may I do to redeem myself?”

“Of course I forgive you Legolas, if you will forgive me for taking my bad temper out on you. I should not have let my frustration get the better of me” Faramir soothed tiredly.

“You are tired and weary and you are working too hard, my friend. Why don’t you join Gimli and me for a little relaxation this evening? It might help to take your mind off whatever it is that troubles you. We would gladly share your burdens, if you would allow us!”

“I thank you for the offer but I must deal with this myself, though I will gladly accept your invitation,” Faramir said. “When and where should I meet you,” he asked, keen to smooth over the tension between them.

“By the gate to the sixth circle at the second bell past sunset; we will make sure that you forget your worries for one evening!”

The tavern was crowded and noisy; a favourite haunt of Gimli’s kin, the dwarves raucous enjoyment drowned out even the best that Gondor’s finest troopers could achieve. In a secluded corner the three friends watched the impromptu floor show with increasing mirth. Legolas and Gimli had supped enough ale that they had reached the point of noisy boastfulness. Faramir observed their attempts to best each other verbally with growing amusement. His own sobriety did not go unnoticed.

“Are you going to make that one mug last all evening, Faramir?”

“That is my intention, Gimli,” he said thumping the Dwarf on the shoulder and making him spill his beer. “I wish to remain sober enough to enjoy watching you make a fool of yourself.”

“Do you never let your hair down, Steward? Just once wouldn’t you like to just let go! To forget dignity and duty; we won’t let you come to harm!”

“Why do you not drink, Faramir?” asked Legolas, draping an arm over the man’s shoulder.

“For more reasons than I would wish to inflict on you in your present state,” he confided softly. “But  for  the record, I cannot drink more than a little; Lord Elrond formulated a herbal remedy for me that eases the pain and spasm in my shoulder, unfortunately it reacts badly with alcohol; it is not a pretty sight, as Éomer can testify!” he said with a self conscious laugh.

“Now that sounds like a merry tale, please tell us more!” begged Gimli, still attempting to mop the beer from his beard.

By the end of the evening Legolas was getting maudlin and kept apologising over and over for his misplaced jest earlier in the day. No matter how many times Faramir reassured him that the matter was forgotten he simply wouldn’t let it rest.

“Please… tell me what I can do to make amends,” he begged for the fourth time. In desperation Faramir came to a decision.

“Go for twelve hours without the use of your right arm!” he challenged and watched as comprehension dawned on the Elf’s face.

“I can do that!” he slurred. “Jus’  twelve hours; no problem!”

Legolas climbed groggily to wakefulness to find Gimli sitting by his bed.

“You’ve really done it this time, Elf…thinking with your ego again…you will never survive this day without my help.” Legolas swung his legs over the edge of the bed and looked in confusion at his right arm. His hand was folded into a fist and firmly encased in a thick bandage.

“You are not to take that off until after your dinner engagement with Aragorn and Arwen this evening,” smirked the Dwarf.

Washing and dressing were a problem; grooming and braiding his hair to fastidious elven standards, impossible. Gimli assisted, unable to hide his mirth at Legolas’ embarrassment but the Elf’s trials were not yet over.

 “One moment Legolas, you are not yet ready to go out and face the world!” Gimli produced a soft leather belt and proceeded to fasten it loosely around the Elf’s bicep and then around his chest, preventing him raising his arm by more than a few inches. “Now we may go and find breakfast!”

As fast as lightning Legolas shot out his left hand and grabbed a handful of Gimli’s beard, lifting until the dwarf was standing on tiptoes.

“One more smirk out of you, Dwarf, and I will personally shave off half your beard! Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.”

By the end of the day Legolas was nearly screaming with frustration and would have strangled Gimli if he had had the ability to do so. He excused himself from the royal party as soon as the meal was over and went off in search of Faramir.

As Faramir helped him to release his bonds Legolas again apologised to him and complimented him on the aptness of his punishment.

Faramir reacted with horror. “Legolas, it was not meant as a punishment. I would never presume to punish you…I wanted only to help you understand the difficulties that I face!”

“Don’t fret, my friend, if I had been more understanding your action would have been unnecessary. I have had a difficult day but you have to live with this; my admiration of your fortitude grows with each day.” A look of mutual understanding passed between them and the seeds of a lifelong friendship took root.

TBC

*****

A/N

Many thanks to all my lovely reviewers.

Chapter 6

With only a week before the next council meeting Faramir was confident that he was beginning to get a feel for how the system of administration operated. He had also begun to comprehend that there were more areas of concern than just the administration of the military. The deeper he delved into the contracts and agreements pushed forward by the council the more convinced he became that there was evidence of serious mal-administration and  corruption. Whoever was involved in the suspect dealings had covered their tracks well and Faramir, Tamir and the scribe had to follow a vague and convoluted paper trail to begin to unravel the story.

Faramir cancelled his afternoon appointments with Legolas, concentrating all of his energy and attention on deciphering the council and city business. Tamir became his eyes and ears in the city. He talked to the tradesmen and artisans in the market place and in the shops that lined the business areas of the city. He would accompany other Rangers into the taverns and get a feel for the mood of the people and listen to the gossip and the talk; always a good source of information.

Faramir made only one visit down into the lower levels of the city; he and Tamir met with the quartermaster at what was now known as The Refuge. He was amazed at the strides that had been made. The building teemed with purposeful activity; the kitchens fed between 150 and 200 people a day and basic dormitories housed as many of the homeless as turned up on the doorstep. Widows had pooled resources and had set up a collective for teaching cooking and sewing skills to the young girls, while veterans instructed the lads in carpentry and practical skills. The large gardens had been cleared from the long years of neglect and showed the early promise of a bountiful harvest. Faramir’s monetary resources were rapidly being eaten up but they all had hopes that the Refuge would become self supporting before the money ran out.

On the day before the scheduled meeting he received two requests seeking his attention to matters in Ithilien. The first was from Beregond who wanted to discuss some concerns with troop supplies and deployments, and the second was from the master builder who needed to consult with the Steward on the plans for the location and building of his proposed home in Emyn Arnen. Faramir decided that he would seek leave of the King to journey into Ithilien after the meeting.

The council meeting followed much the same pattern as the first. There was endless prolonged, seemingly pointless discussion on subjects ranging from taxation to the price of grain in the markets to the supply of candles to the Citadel. It struck Faramir forcefully that despite the endless talking very little was actually decided upon. It was also noticeable that when asked a direct question the Councillors rarely gave a straight or direct answer. Faramir continued his strategy of passive observation; most of the councillors ignored him completely and those who did acknowledge his presence treated him with condescension. Faramir deliberately avoided catching the King’s eye but was aware from the tension in his body language that the King was not impressed with his performance.

When the subject under discussion moved on to the reconstruction of the lower levels Faramir decided to test the information he had gathered.

“My Lords, forgive my question if it appears naïve,” he began hesitantly; “I notice that one of the projects underway is the rebuilding of the barracks and the housing for the families of our troops? May I ask what has been done for those who have been moved out of the areas under renovation?”

“Don’t worry your head about them, my Lord; we sorted that out while you were taking your ease in Rohan. We would not have wanted the people to suffer any unnecessary distress because the Steward was too busy to concern himself with matters in his own realm!” The King was fairly bristling with indignation at the insolence of Lord Haralil’s reply and it required all of his restraint not to intervene but Faramir’s response was humble and conciliatory.

“I am grateful to the King and all of his councillors for the efforts they have taken on behalf of the people of the White City. I hope in time I will prove myself worthy to earn my seat at this table.”

The meeting progressed with agonising slowness through the morning. Refreshments were provided at mid day and the discussions continued into the afternoon. Faramir watched and listened, taking note of every evasion and obfuscation.

 By the end of the proceedings he was convinced in his own mind that the king had not been a party to the edicts that had so badly affected Lireal and the others in her predicament. Despite the fact that the King’s signature and seal marked the documents Faramir had seen enough of the way the Councillors operated to be sure that he had not been apprised of the full implications of the changes. The Councillors had played on his inexperience and had manipulated him and the King was so isolated from the day to day activities and conditions of his people that their hardship had gone unnoticed.

Faramir was relieved that his faith in the King had not been so totally misplaced but his mistrust had driven a wedge between them and Faramir was not sure how to bridge the gulf that now separated them.

The king closed the meeting and Faramir excused himself quickly, the first to leave the room. As he reached his office he realised that he had left some papers in the council chamber. His scribe offered to fetch them but Faramir bade him continue on his way and retraced his steps to the now empty room in time to see the door to the King’s chamber slowly swing on its hinges.

*****

The King stood and waited for the last of the Councillors to depart before he strode to the door at the rear of the chamber that led to his private ante-room beyond; his face full of thunder and his hands clenched in frustration. He pushed the door back so angrily it crashed closed; the violence of the impact caused the latch to jump and the door to swing slowly ajar.

“That Boy will be the death of me!” he yelled, surprising the two elves relaxing quietly in front of the fire.

“Another productive session, I take it,” said Legolas facetiously.

“Estel, please calm yourself and tell us what angers you so!” soothed Arwen pouring him a glass of wine.

“Whatever made me think he would be any use as my Steward? He simpers and cowers and lets them walk all over him; all it needed today was for that oaf Haralil to pat him on the head and send him off to his basket!” the King fumed.

 “For goodness sake stop sniggering Legolas, this is not funny. He has about as much back bone as a jellyfish…it’s no wonder he drove Denethor to distraction. I might as well pack him off to Ithilien and make the appointment purely ceremonial; he is no use to me here. I wish to goodness he showed some of his brother’s spirit; Boromir would never have allowed those self-satisfied, jumped up….two-faced…”

“Enough Estel,” Arwen chastised. “Remember, he is new to this task and he is young yet. You should remember how apprehensive you were the first time you had to sit in council…” Arwen’s lecture was cut short when Gimli appeared in the doorway.

“Whatever is going on here,” he demanded. “And what have you done to Faramir? I just passed him in the chamber and he looked as pale and frozen as one of those blasted statues.”

The two Elves exchanged horrified glances; Arwen turned to her husband to see him bury his face in his hands with a groan. Legolas hurried out to try and find Faramir.

****

Faramir stood rooted to the spot, every word of the King’s tirade echoing through his head and lacerating his heart. He was desperate to get away but too numb to move. The confirmation of the King’s low opinion of him was not a surprise and yet the hurt of it shocked him to the core.  He didn’t hear Gimli arrive; wasn’t aware of his presence until the Dwarf shook his arm. He managed to focus his gaze but was unable to force any words through the tightness in his throat. With a final look of desperation he shook his arm free and blundered out of the chamber leaving the bewildered Dwarf staring after him in disbelief.

He knew the citadel well enough to find a hundred places in which to seek solitude but he had his own favourite bolt-hole and in his distress he made his way there. He ran his hand along the cold stone of the corridor until he felt the chill of the stone give way to the warm silky smoothness of polished wood. Taking the bunch of keys from his belt he searched for a familiar ornate brass key and pushed open the door to his own private sanctuary; a garden, tucked along the outer wall of the building and totally private; with the door secured nobody would find him. The garden overlooked the Pelennor and out to the river beyond; it had been his mother’s retreat and it had fallen into neglect after her death but Samwise had brought it back to life; had poured his love into the soil and had made it bloom again in honour of the friendship between them.

Now the weary Steward drew on the strategies that over his lifetime had served him so well when the vagaries of his father’s temper or the challenges of command had taxed the limits of his endurance. He sat on the bench and, resting his head back against the wall, closed his eyes. He deliberately relaxed the tension in his arms and shoulders, breathing deeply and allowing the warmth of the sun to seep into him, warming to the frozen core of his being. As he felt the tension leaving him he shifted the focus of his attention to the small sounds around him; the rustle of leaves dancing in the breeze and the soft call of a songbird. Slowly he opened his eyes and gazed up into the sky, watching the movement and play of the clouds as they drifted high above the horizon.

Only when the tranquillity of nature had soothed his distress did he allow himself to contemplate the wreck of his relationship with the King. That he was the author of his own misfortune he did not doubt, but the King’s opinion of him was based on a false impression created to allow him to expose the rottenness at the core of the council and as a strategy it had been successful but the cost was so high?

He paced along the length of the garden contemplating how best to approach the process of reconciliation, for he knew that the process would have to begin with him. The King thought him weak and spineless; he would have to prove himself afresh, to prove to the King and the council that he was equal to the tasks allotted to him, to prove his stature and his worth and prove to himself that he was a worthy of holding the title of Steward. With new resolve Faramir left his sanctuary and made his way back to the Royal chambers.

*****

“Sire, Lord Faramir seeks leave to attend you.” the Page announced, interrupting the still heated discussion between the King and Queen. Both were surprised that the Steward should choose to face them so soon after the earlier debacle. The King was swiftly on his feet and without waiting for the Page to announce him ushered Faramir into the room.

Faramir stood to attention and saluted both the King and Queen. Arwen made to approach him to offer a more informal greeting but he forestalled her with a shake of his head.

“Sire, I wish to request  leave to journey into Ithilien.” The request took the King by surprise and he observed the pale solemn young man before him, noting the closed and guarded expression and the tension in his rigid stance.

“Will you tell me the purpose of your journey,” enquired the King, hoping to draw out a response form the subdued steward.

“The master stonemason needs to consult with me on the setting of my new dwelling in Emyn Arnen, Sire; they are ready to begin the foundations. Also, Beregond has some concerns to do with the forces out in Ithilien and has requested that I visit and see the situation for myself.”

“Are these concerns of Beregond matters on which I should be worried,” asked the King, conscious that the forces in Ithilien were the first line of defence against potentially hostile forces from the east and south.

“No Sire, it is my understanding that it involves matters of administration and supply; Beregond is a good and loyal commander, he would have asked for reinforcements if he though security was compromised,” he reassured with firm confidence.

“How long do you intend to be gone and who will accompany you?” enquired the King.

“A small party of troops are leaving for the garrison in Ithilien at first light, Tamir and I travel with them as far as Emyn Arnen; Beregond will meet us there and we will travel south with him. Depending on what I find I expect to be away for a week, maybe ten days.”

“I need you back here for the conference of councillors and envoys in three weeks Faramir. I need you here…” the King asserted. Faramir nodded his head in acknowledgement of the request that was also an order. Thinking the audience was at an end the king turned away.

Faramir remained in his place.

“Was there something else, my Lord Steward?”

It took all of Faramir’s resolve to stand his ground. Taking a steadying breath he looked the king in the eye.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, it wasn’t my intention to intrude on a private conversation,” he began. “I’m sorry that I have been a disappointment to you. I wish with all my heart to prove to you that I can be what you want, what you need.”

“I’m sorr…” Faramir  silenced the King with a wave of his hand.

“No, Sire, A king should never apologise to his servant…it shows weakness!”

“And what about to his friend?” Faramir dismissed the question, knowing that he could not yet claim friendship with the King.

“I will continue to fight, Sire. It is all I’ve ever known; fighting for Gondor, fighting for my father’s approbation, fighting to be seen as worthy for the positions I held, even  fighting to emerge from my brother’s shadow….I loved Boromir; he was my rock, my friend, my mentor, he was the one who loved me for myself….But Boromir is DEAD! How much longer do I have to remain shadowed and diminished by his memory? If I could change one thing in my past it would be to have stood firm against both my father and Boromir and not allowed the quest to be taken from my shoulders…I should have gone, and if it had claimed my life at least now you would have had a worthy Steward; one whose worth was not in question…”

Arwen came forward and placed a hand of comfort on his arm and for a brief moment saw through the carefully shuttered emotions and read in his eyes grief and pain without a hint of self-pity. Her touch nearly undid the composure he strove so hard to maintain and he closed his eyes to shut out the compassion radiating from her and allow himself the space to reorder his thoughts.

“Sire, I ask only that you allow me the opportunity to prove myself worthy…do not judge me too hastily or underestimate my commitment to your service or to Gondor! I will not let you down.” With that Faramir saluted and with great dignity made his exit.

The King watched the retreating figure with a sense of disquiet, feeling humbled and diminished by the quiet dignity and restraint of the Steward.

TBC

Chapter 7

In the royal apartments supper had been cleared away and the guests should have been relaxing in front of the fire over a glass of fine wine but once again the topic that engaged their attention was the absence of the Steward.

 The Council was concluded and all but one of the delegations had been seen off on their way with all of the necessary pomp and splendour. Only Prince Imrahil remained; his concern for his missing nephew delaying his departure.

“I take it there has been no word, Sire,” queried the Prince, voicing the question that they had been studiously ignoring all evening.

Legolas answered for the King. “The messengers should have reached the garrison at Emyn Arnen late last night, but even if they have anything to report we cannot expect to receive word back before first light tomorrow! If Beregond went south with Faramir as planned it could be several days before we hear anything.”

“And you say there has been no report of trouble? Can you think of nothing that would explain his delay?” The Prince of Dol Amroth words were sharpened by his growing anxiety.

“He went in response to Beregond’s request,” explained the King. “Apparently he had some concerns to do with the Troops but Faramir thought it merely administrative and logistical difficulties; he assured me that he had had no indication of trouble on the borders.”

“I don’t understand it! It is so out of character. If Faramir gave an undertaking to be here for the Council then something grave must have occurred to keep him away.”

“I’m not so sure,” said the King sadly, “since he returned from Rohan he has not been himself. He has been passive and withdrawn and his behaviour in meetings borders on embarrassing; he stumbles and fawns and allows the councillors to ride roughshod over him…he has not performed well!” Imrahil was almost more shocked by these revelations than by Faramir’s absence.

“There must be some mistake, Sire, surely. That just doesn’t sound like the man I know; Faramir has always put duty and honour before everything.”

“But we have to consider that this change in character could be a result of the trials and difficulties he has encountered in the last few months,” explained the King, voicing for the first time a worry that had been plaguing him for some time. “Faramir has twice cheated death and has also come under the influence of the Black Breath; for one as introspective and sensitive as Faramir, who knows what the long term consequences of that might be?”

****

The two mounted figures raced across the Pelennor in the darkness with as much speed as their exhausted mounts could manage. They had been riding for hours and the steady rain added to the misery of their journey.

As they reached the gates of the White City a trumpet sounded in the darkness to announce the return of the Steward to the city. Guards released the mighty new gates to allow the travellers entry. Tamir called to the Guard Commander to alert him that two wagons with escorts would arrive by first light and that they should be directed to the healing houses without delay.

The Commander gave his instructions and then, retrieving his own mount, accompanied the Steward and his Adjutant up through the silent, rain-soaked levels of the city.

“Sir,” he said addressing Faramir. “I have orders that you are to be escorted up to the citadel without delay!”

“Am I under arrest?” he asked, noting the discomfort of the Commander but not having the energy to make further comment.

“No, Sir,” he apologised, “My instructions were only that you should go directly to the King.”

They parted company at the stables; Faramir and Tamir handed their mounts over to the grooms and as they headed towards the Citadel two Guards moved into step behind them.

Footsteps in the corridor forewarned the Royal entourage of the approach of the Guard party. A Squire knocked and announced their arrival.

“Sire, Lord Faramir!” A collective sigh of relief echoed around the room as Faramir, accompanied by Tamir, entered the room and saluted the King.

For those observing the two travellers much could be deduced from their appearance. Both were dishevelled and dirty, their hair sopping wet and their mud-splattered cloaks dripping expanding puddles on the tiles at their feet. Faramir held himself rigidly upright, too chilled to even shiver; Tamir one step behind him watched his master rather than the other occupants in the room, ready to offer a supporting hand if necessary.

The only person who seemed to miss the significance of Faramir’s grey-faced, dark-eyed countenance was the King. His initial relief at the safe return of the travellers quickly giving way to long suppressed frustration and anger.

“I take it there is a ‘very’ good excuse for your prolonged absence, my Lord Steward!” his voice quiet but icy. “I made only one request of you, one requirement that you should be here at my side for the Council. Was that too much to ask?” he spat, crashing his hand onto the table in his anger.

“I’ve gone out of my way to accommodate your whims and inadequacies but I cannot ignore this blatant dereliction of duty…If you find your duties as Steward so onerous I will arrange for you to be relieved of them. If you cannot offer me your cooperation and support you had best hand over your Badges of Office and remove yourself from my city…!”

“Estel…ESTEL! A moment please!” The Queen’s tone was not one to be ignored. She drew the King aside. “For goodness sake control your temper!” she hissed. “This is no way to deal with this situation…Get yourself in hand and look at him…He’s nearly dead on his feet. Your lecture can wait for a more suitable time and place.” With this she poured a glass of spirit and took it to Faramir but he was unable to hold the glass steady. She covered his hand on the glass and raised it to his lips, at the same time signalling to Tamir to draw up a chair. Between them they helped the Steward to remove his sodden cloak and gently levered him down into the chair. Legolas passed the Queen a woollen blanket and helped her to drape it around Faramir’s shoulders.

Arwen knelt down beside him and tried to chafe some warmth back into his frozen hands.

“Faramir, can you tell us what happened?”

He tried desperately to clear the fog in his head and looked from the Queen to the King. Arwen squeezed his arm encouragingly.

With his voice quiet and flat with exhaustion he gave his report.

“We spent several days at Emyn Arnen; there was more to sort out and decide than I had anticipated but the mason and builder had the plans and work well in hand. Beregond arrived and we discussed the expansion of the garrison, the training regime and general administrative details; he was worried that poor supply schedules were causing disruption and low morale amongst the troops.

“With those problems addressed we set off south towards the border area; half of the battalion were stationed there and I wanted to see for myself troop deployments. There were no major problems except for more gripes about supplies, so we headed back toward Heneth Annun where the remainder of the battalion were on training exercises. Beregond left us half a day’s ride from the refuge and he set off back to the Garrison.

We knew when we got within sight of the camp that something was amiss. Half the troops were resting in the open on the hill above the entrance to the cave complex. Off to the side were five freshly dug graves. No one challenged us as we approached; I demanded to see the officer in charge and they pointed to one of the graves and explained that the Sergeant was down in the caves.

The Company had been decimated by an outbreak of Summer Fever; out of a roll of fifty only eight had been unaffected. Not only had they lost their Officer but their medic had also succumbed to the affliction; those in the open-air encampment were either recovering or those unaffected who had not been involved in caring for their sick comrades.

We made our way down into the refuge; it was chaos! Three or four men trying to care for more than twenty in various stages of the illness. It was pitiful; many were raving and had to be restrained to prevent them injuring themselves, some lay gasping for breath, wheezing to get enough air into their lungs. There were no healing herbs left and the food supplies were rank and spoiled. The lads caring for them were exhausted; we stayed and did what we could!”

“Why didn’t you send for aid?” someone asked.

“Beregond was nearest but I didn’t want to risk spreading the contagion to the Garrison,” Faramir continued. “We lost four more men; those that just had the fever seemed to recover well enough, if slowly, but in some the contagion affected their lungs…there was nothing we could do! They gasped for breath until they just gave up the fight against the fluid in their lungs. After the last death we decided to return to the city. The last seven who were all left with breathing problems we loaded into wagons to bring them back here. They should arrive by morning though two of them may not have survived the journey…”

“May I be excused now, Sire,” begged Faramir struggling to get to his feet. “I must warn the Warden to expect patients and the Troop Commander to send reinforcements… Beregond will be hard pressed to maintain safe coverage of the border areas of South Ithilien…I must see….”

“Peace, Faramir,” soothed the King, with a hand on his shoulder to keep him in his seat. “It will be attended to. Legolas, will you see that the message is sent to warn them in the Houses of Healing and also get the Troop Commander up here as soon as possible.” With those arrangements made he turned back to the Seward.

“I owe you my apologies, Faramir. Please forgive my outburst earlier; I should have trusted that some crisis had kept you away…I’m sorry!”

“A King should not apologise, Sire. I let you down again…I’m sorry!” Faramir slumped down into the chair, all energy finally exhausted.

“Tamir, how long is it since either of you slept?” The King turned his attention to the Adjutant while Arwen ministered to Faramir.

“I don’t know, Sire. Too long!”

 “Have you had any symptoms of the fever?”

“No, Sire, but I had Summer Fever two years ago and I’ve heard that you can’t get it twice!”

“True enough. Do you have family in the cit?,” the King enquired.

“Yes, Sire, my mother and sister run a small shop in the Third Circle,” answered Tamir, puzzled as to the relevance of the King’s question.

The King went into command mode. “Right, Tamir, when we are done here you are to report to the Warden and if he pronounces you free of contagion you are to go to your family to recuperate. On the third morning from now, if the Warden gives you leave, you may return to duty. Is that all clear?”

“Yes Sire.”

“Lord Faramir, you are relieved of all duties until further notice. Prince Imrahil and Tamir will escort you to the Houses of Healing; you will submit yourself to the Warden’s care and instruction until he releases you.”

“But Sire…”

“No, Faramir, that is an order and a request…” Aragorn knelt down beside the Steward and captured his gaze. “How long is it since you felt the onset of symptoms?” he asked gently, resting his hand against the Steward’s pale, clammy forehead, feeling the tell-tale heat of fever.

“I’m fine, Sire… ‘m cold…just need to sleep…too much to do…Beregond needs…”he rambled, losing the battle for coherence.

“Come on then Lad; let’s find you a warm and dry bed.” Prince Imrahil coaxed as he helped him gently to his feet. Assisted by Tamir he led the ailing, exhausted Steward out of the Royal apartments.

“Imrahil, tell the Warden I will be there presently,” the King called to the retreating figures.

.

.

TBC.

A/N

Thank you to everyone for your kind and supportive comments, I really appreciate every one.

Chapter 8

With a clean bill of health Tamir left the Healer’s chamber and asked for directions to Lord Faramir’s room. He bade leave of one of the attendants to be admitted; she had him wait while she enquired.

Through the open doorway he could see that the bed was empty and he craned his neck to get a better view. He could see two people standing one each side of a high padded bench; when one of the attendants moved Tamir caught a glimpse of Faramir. The bench was tilted at a sharp angle and Faramir lay face down along its length, his head lowered and his arms extended above his head; padded rests at his shoulders held him in place and prevented him slipping forward. He lay pale and unmoving, oblivious to his surroundings. The scene reminded Tamir of a macabre scene of torture!

The attendants were focussed on their patient; taking it in turns to bang rhythmically on his back with cupped hands. One of the towels that covered Faramir slipped and Tamir caught a glimpse of his naked back and shoulders, revealing a mass of livid bruises.

“What are you doing to him?….leave him alone!” Tamir’s shout alerted the attendants to his presence. Shock and anger goaded him into action and he pulled the nearest attendant roughly away, trying to shield his master’s battered body with his own. “Keep away…don’t touch him,” he sobbed. His cries brought others to the chamber.

“Peace, Tamir, no one is trying to hurt him…you must let the healers work.” The Queen’s voice soothed and her hands gently but firmly pulled him away.

“Look what they’ve done to him, Lady! Please don’t let them hurt him any more, he’s been through enough,” he begged as she led him away to a quiet room along the corridor to be joined by the King and Prince Imrahil. Nobody spoke until Tamir had calmed.

“I’m sorry Tamir, we should have given you some warning before you saw Lord Faramir, your early arrival took us by surprise.” The King’s voice broke through his distress.

“And is this where I am to be told my services are no longer required, Sire?” Tamir asked bitterly.

“Why should your services be no longer required?”

“If my Lord is to be stripped of his responsibilities and banished I will not be able to accompany him; my service is pledged to Gondor.”

“Lord Faramir is not to be banished. I spoke in anger and haste and for that I have already apologised…he is relieved of his duties only until he is recovered. Besides which, it is not for me to interfere in Lord Faramir’s appointments, only he can release you from his service,” he reassured, conscious that the Adjutant had spent the last three days worrying about his Lord’s and his own future.

“Tamir, Lord Faramir has been very ill since you brought him here,” explained the Queen. “As we feared, he contracted the Fever; his exposure to the cold and rain plus his state of exhaustion weakened him and the illness has affected his breathing. The Healers have been trying to clear the congestion in his lungs by tipping him and percussing his chest, as you saw earlier. The bruising seems to be a consequence of the illness; he had bad bruising to his arms and shoulders when he was admitted to the Warden’s care that must have occurred before his journey to the city! I promise you no one has mistreated him.”

“I’m sorry, my Lady…it was such a shock and I’ve been so worried about him. I should have been here to take care of him, not lazing about and getting under my mother’s feet.” This last bitter comment was addressed towards the King.

“Tamir, we need you to tell us what really happened at Henneth Annun?”

“Lord Faramir has already explained that, Sire.”

“And what about the bits of the story he left out?  It is obvious that there is more to the story. Why in his fever did he keep crying out that he had taken a life, had killed a boy called Beruel? Does that name mean anything to you?”

“There was nobody at Heneth Annun by that name,” Tamir said after a moment’s hesitation. The King didn’t miss the evasion of the reply.

“So you don’t know who Beruel is?” Tamir found himself pinned by the King’s gaze; he couldn’t ignore this direct question.

“Beruel was the name of the boy who died here in the wards before the Coronation,” he confirmed reluctantly. “It was his death that pushed Lord Faramir to despair before he…”

“…killed the prisoner,” finished the King with sudden understanding. “So what happened at Henneth Annun to trigger that bad memory?” All eyes turned to Tamir who squirmed under the collective scrutiny of those present. He was clearly reluctant to say more or to reveal what had transpired.

“Tamir, we need you to help us. We all recognise and applaud your devotion and loyalty to Lord Faramir but we cannot help him if we do not understand what we are dealing with,” the Queen explained taking the lead. She realised that the Adjutant’s antagonism towards the King was hindering the interview.

“Please help us to help him,” begged Prince Imrahil.

Tamir turned and addressed his report to the Prince.

“It was like my Lord said, the place was in chaos; all order had broken down, there was no one left to take charge. Lord Faramir re-established order in the camp at the surface, organised light duties for the convalescents and rotas for sentry, hunting and cooking duties for the others.

“Then we went down into the caverns.” Tamir looked to the Queen, his face haunted by the memory

“It was like something out of your worst nightmare…the sick and dying lying in their own filth! The lads looking after them were doing their best but they were run ragged; with no hot water, no supplies, they could do little more than scratch the surface!”

“We lost track of the days; the patients either got better or died ‘till we were left with just seven; they had lost the symptoms of the fever but were left with breathing problems. By that time we were all pretty exhausted.”

“There was one soldier who helped us look after his companions, his name was Johean; not the brightest spark but gentle and compassionate, always cheerful, always singing, and not the usual rough and bawdy soldier’s songs but sweet rhymes and tunes such as parents  sing to their children. He looked after us too, bringing hot drinks and food and urging my Lord to rest.”

“Just when we thought we were through the worst Johean got sick; just keeled over in a dead faint. Within hours he was raving and thrashing and we had to restrain him to his cot to keep him from hurting himself. For two days his fever raged before it finally broke and he knew us again; he kept apologising for getting sick!” Tamir’s distress broke the progress of his story and Arwen pressed a cup of water into his hand, allowing him to regain his composure.

“That night Lord Faramir insisted that he take first watch, he promised to wake me at midnight so I could take over and let him rest.”

“I wasn’t sure what woke me but I realised it was nearly dawn. I could hear people talking in the main chamber; one low and soothing, the other loud, high-pitched, full of fear.”

“Johean was cowering against the wall by the waterfall, he couldn’t see me but my Lord did and he signalled me to stay back. He kept talking to him, low and soothing; he was squatted down, slowly edging closer all the time. It was like Johean was two people; one minute talking quite rationally and the next raving and cowering saying orcs and goblins were after him. Lord Faramir got close enough to get a hand onto his arm and managed to coax him away from the water. I could see that Lord Faramir had the situation under control so I went to get some blankets… One of the other patients woke with a fit of coughing; the noise seemed to panic Johean, he leapt away back towards the water. My Lord tried to hold him but the lad was like a man possessed; he knocked Lord Faramir down and he lost his grip…Johean fell down into the pool below.”

“Lord Faramir was on the ground but he wouldn’t let me help him. He told me to get help for Johean, so I called for aid and headed down the stairway to the lakeside. He was dead, though whether by drowning or injury I couldn’t tell. We retrieved his body and I returned to the cavern. Lord Faramir was still on the ground, soaking wet and cold. I couldn’t rouse him. One of the patients said he had seen him have a fit, so I guessed it was one of the turns he’d had before. We lifted him onto a cot and got him warm and dry; he didn’t wake for several hours. By the time he finally roused the boy had been buried. He insisted on getting up, ordered the wagons and said we were leaving for the White City. He never once mentioned the lad or what happened…”

A long painful silence followed the completion of the tale, each listener contemplating the significance of the revelations.

“May I be excused now, Sire. I would not want to be accused of dereliction of duty to My Lord.” Tamir stepped perilously close to the line of insolence in his address to the King.

“Tamir, you forget yourself!” chastised Prince Imrahil, “remember to whom it is you speak. You owe the King your respect!”

“My apologies Sire. It was not my intention to disrespect the dignity of your office.”

“And what of me personally, Tamir. Can I not claim your respect?”

“Have you earned it, Sire?”

****

Later in the King’s apartments the discussion turned again to Faramir.

“Why is it that everyone else seems able to get through to the boy and I cannot,” grumbled the King. “You all seem to find no difficulty in gaining his confidence and his trust and yet with me he is withdrawn, defensive and downright frustrating. He effortlessly commands loyalty and devotion from his retainers, the people love him and yet to me he is a closed book.”

“Tamir certainly thinks you treat his Lord ill,” commented Imrahil with a chuckle. “There aren’t many who would dare cock-a-snoot at the King!”

“It is so frustrating!  I get the feeling that there is something going on that I don’t understand, some piece of the puzzle that is hidden and yet the harder I look the more obscured it becomes. Legolas, you are closer to him than anyone, have you any idea what is going on here?”

“No, though I don’t for a minute doubt his loyalty. He works himself hard; though at what I don’t understand. I have asked him what it is that consumes his time and his attention but he said he was just learning about the duties and responsibilities of being Steward!”

 Legolas looked thoughtful for a moment before continuing. “You might like to consider that perhaps you are the problem, Estel!”

“Me, I don’t understand?”

“Well, not you personally but the rank you hold, your position!  He’s not like us, he never knew you as a scruffy, smelly Ranger,” he said with a smile but not in jest. “Think about it, he’s been brought up on tales of lore and history, of ‘the Return of the King’, and you appear like a knight out of legend to vanquish the worst threat ever known and to personally pull him back from the very brink of death. I think he cannot see you as anything other than The King and he doesn’t think himself worthy of your friendship or consideration.”

“You may be right, my friend,” said Imrahil sadly, “his father’s treatment of him left him with a very poor view of his own worth and an intense fear of drawing attention to himself. I pray that he can weather this latest setback”.

****

Faramir’s recovery was slow and his convalescence closely monitored by the Warden and his friends. He chaffed against the enforced idleness, having been forbidden to indulge in anything related to work. He got around this restriction by having Tamir run his errands and keeping him informed about progress at the Retreat. As he slowly regained his strength he begged to be allowed out in the afternoons to sit in the gardens and enjoy the sun.

Tamir, armed with rugs and cushions would see him settled in his own private garden and would supply him with refreshments and books that would occasionally conceal documents from his scribe or the Chamberlain. He tried to write to Éowyn but his feeble attempts to write with his left hand frustrated him and he was unwilling to have the scribe or Tamir pen these personal letters on his behalf.  He explained his dilemma one afternoon when Arwen and Legolas joined him.

“Faramir, Éowyn knows that you were missing and that you have been ill,” the queen explained.

“How…why.” Faramir was distressed by the news. “You should not have told her!”

“Faramir, the envoy from Rohan was here for the Council, there is no way he could have concealed your absence on his return to Edoras. When you returned and were so ill I thought it only right that I should let her know; in her place, I would have wanted to know!”

“Please, Lady, would you help me to send word to her that I am recovered, I need to put her mind to rest as soon as possible. She worries about me!” he finished, sheepishly.

“Of course she does, we all worry about you.” She didn’t say it out-loud but Faramir caught a hint of her unspoken ‘silly-boy’.

 “How are you faring now, Faramir?” asked Arwen one afternoon, a few days later, noticing that he appeared to be particularly tense.

“Just fine!” he replied sarcastically. “Every morning I am prodded and poked, massaged and manipulated until the ‘Warder’ and his henchmen come and batter me senseless. Then, if I am a very ‘good boy’ and cough up enough to satisfy them, I am rewarded with a dose of some foul concoction that knocks me out for hours…my life is one round of pleasures!”

He was surprised when his tirade elicited a merry laugh from Arwen.

“It’s not funny!” he pouted.

“No, but now I know you are truly on the mend,” she laughed. “My father always said he could tell when his patients were getting better by how much they complained!”

“I miss him, My Lady; I wish he were here…. Oh, forgive me, that was thoughtless of me, I never meant to cause you distress,” he begged, seeing the look of sadness on the Queens face.

“I too miss him, Faramir. But can you not bring yourself to confide in me, for it is clear that you are greatly troubled, would it not be better to share what distresses you so.”

“I cannot, though I thank you for your offer; I have to find a way to resolve this on my own…”

“Faramir, does this trouble pose a threat? Are you in trouble? Does it threaten Estel?”

“No, Lady!” he cried, clasping her hand and holding it to his chest. “There is no threat to the King, no risk. I have pledged my life to his service, I will not let any harm come to him if it is in my power to prevent it.”

As he was allowed more and more freedom Faramir began to take a more active role in the management of the Refuge. Arwen, overhearing the Steward and Adjutant discussing plans, asked him about it. Without revealing the circumstances under which it was established or his own role in financing the venture he explained a little of what it involved. He was astonished when she asked to see it. He tried to dissuade her, citing its location in the poorer section of the city and the humble nature of the users but she was not to be put off. So one afternoon the three of them plus a small Guard detail set off for the Second Circle.

Arwen was amazed not just by the scope but by the scale of the undertaking. The building teemed with men, women and children all busy and occupied. The Elven Queen soon attracted an entourage of small children, hanging on her skirts and following her from room to room. She didn’t seem to mind the grubby handprints that stained her gown or the stifled giggles as they shyly touched her hair and her ears. Faramir left the Queen talking to the women in the kitchens about domestic concerns, while he went to the gardens to talk to the veterans. It was Tamir who rounded them together when it was time to return to the Citadel, conscious that the King would not take kindly to it if they kept the Queen out late.

Arwen made frequent visits to the Refuge; she enjoyed the opportunity of being involved; offering her skills and her experience and relishing the company of the younger members of the community. Faramir didn’t accompany her on these subsequent visits and he knew that he could not now hope to keep his own involvement in the project a secret, but whatever the Queen learned on her visits she kept it to herself and protected his confidence.

TBC

A/N;  Thanks to everyone for your feedback. Hugs. J

Chapter 9

It was so long since he had last been  here that to Faramir it felt like stepping back in time.

The circular room was at the very highest point in the Citadel; it provided a panoramic view to the very limits of the horizon in all directions. In the centre of the room set on a stone plinth stood an optical instrument of exquisite design. The room served a dual purpose, in daytime the telescope could be angled in any direction to give those watching a clear picture of happenings in the lands around the White City; giving a strategic advantage to the guardians of the City. In the night time, the wooden shutters of the roof could be moved back to allow the telescope to be angled to the night sky. It was here that Faramir and Boromir had learned to read the night sky at the elbow of a tutor and had spent many happy hours lost in the beauty of the celestial dance.

Arwen was enchanted; she had never felt so close to the stars. She was fascinated by the telescope but having examined it and seen its capabilities she was happy to leave the beautiful example of Dwarven craftwork and to settle upon cushions on the floor and gaze up into the star-sparkled night.

“Faramir, how did they ever get you away from this place?” she asked, noticing that, for the first time since Edoras, Faramir looked truly relaxed.

“We were only supposed to come here with the tutor, other times it was off-limits,” he explained. “Boromir found out where the old man kept the key and of a night-time when he had been ‘encouraged’ to have a glass or two of wine we would purloin the key and sneak up here with blankets and spend hours enjoying the solitude. The second time we were discovered we both received a beating and Father confiscated the key….after that we got rather good at picking the lock!”

“Faramir, I’m shocked,” teased Arwen “I always imagined you as a ‘good’ boy.”

“Yes, but you fail to take account of my brother’s influence, Lady. Boromir was never one to take no for an answer! And we did no harm…a little escapism was a welcome distraction at times.” Arwen sensed that this was touching too close to memories best left undisturbed and she changed the subject to one less likely to cause her companion introspection. They both watched as the small crescent moon edged its slow path across the night sky to finally disappear behind the rim of the mountain. Arwen was surprised when Faramir broke the silence.

“Tamir told you what happened at the caves!”

It was a statement rather than a question and not knowing how best to answer she merely nodded.

 “Don’t worry, I knew the story would come out and it has been obvious that no one wants to ask me about it! You must all think me weak.”

“I’m sorry; we all feared that it was too soon, that it would distress you to have to think about it.”

“Lady, I have had long to think about it! Hours of enforced idleness and long hours in the night when sleeplessness is a welcome relief from the horrors that plague my dreams.” Faramir got to his feet and stepped out onto the walled balcony that encircled the room. He leaned against the wall, resting his chin on his hand and gazing out into the velvet night. He sensed Arwen at his elbow.

“ I cannot waste any more time or energy on regrets or ‘what-ifs’; ‘if’ I had sent for help, ‘if’ the garrison had been properly supplied, ‘if’ I had not allowed Johean to risk his health by tending the sick, ‘if’ I had not fallen asleep on watch, ‘if’ I had not been too weak to prevent him falling…. No, Lady, I cannot risk thinking on what cannot be changed; that way risks madness! And madness is too close a companion to my kin to risk falling willingly into its clutches…let it find me out if it must, I will not go looking for it!

Arwen put a hand to his cheek and turned his face towards her. “Faramir, never imagine that we, that I, think you weak! You have faced burdens and trials to break the strongest spirit and yet each time you bounce back ready to face the next obstacle that fate throws in your path. You are strong, and brave and loyal and we love you for it.” She had to laugh at the look of disbelief that flickered across his expression before he schooled his features once more into their usual careful watchfulness.

“There is one who doesn’t share your feelings, Lady,” he said sadly. “I seem destined always to shame or disappoint him….”

“Ay, and I could bang your heads together for it…but I will not give up on you both; he wants your friendship, as you need his!”

*****

Aragorn and Legolas lay sprawled in easy chairs, enjoying the remnants of a second bottle of fine wine. Their day had been busy and tiring; a tour of inspection of the harbour and the Causeway Forts, checking the progress of repairs and the state of  the fortifications. The fire had burned down to a dim red glow as they bickered good-naturedly. They heard the approach of visitors long before the door opened; merry laughter echoed along the quiet corridors. Faramir escorted Arwen into the chamber, his hand tucked protectively at her elbow, both still giggling at some shared jest. The King got to his feet to welcome his wife.

“Well, Lord Faramir, I see you are not content to take up my wife’s  afternoons with your concerns, now you also abscond with her for half the night as well !” he swaggered slightly, the effects of the wine affecting his balance. His words were stern but his eyes smiling to soften the effect.

 Faramir had taken a step back at his approach, intimidated by the King’s inebriated proximity; memories of his father burst upon him like an icy deluge. He heard the words but missed the expression. He froze, all colour draining form his face to leave him rigid with mortification.

“Sire,…Lady, forgive me!....forgive….I meant to impropriety!” he shot a despairing look at Arwen. “Please excuse me, I meant to offence!” He saluted and turned to the door.

“Faramir, wait!” The Queen went to follow him but turned back as she reached the door.

 “You two wait right here!” she whispered fiercely, her face a mask of anger. “I have not finished with you!” She left the room and caught up with Faramir in the corridor. Ten minutes later she stalked back in to find King and Elf in bewildered silence.

“Have you any idea what you have just DONE?” she demanded. Legolas had only ever seen her this angry when dealing with a thoughtless prank of her older brothers and he knew better than to interrupt. Aragorn tried to rise but she pushed him back. “Sit Down,” she shouted, finally raising her voice.

“For weeks now I have been building up his trust, his confidence; finally getting him to open up to me enough to share his fears and worries. And with one stupid, thoughtless comment you have undone it all.” She paced up and down fixing them with a piercing stare that would have put Lord Elrond to shame.

“Have you any idea how close he is to breaking; he has been to the edge so often and each time you seem determined to push him over. Every time he is in your presence he leaves bowed and dejected. How much more do you think he can take? He barely sleeps at night for the horrors that stalk him and his day-time thoughts are filled with the fear that he will succumb to the madness that took his father and blighted the life of his mother and brother!”

“You have never bothered to get to know him,” she ranted. “You have no idea of the lengths and pains he goes to for your people. What do you know of this city, Estel, or of its people? How many orphans are there? How many widows? Who looks out for the people in need! He could tell you, he has been back only weeks and yet he knows more than you have learned in nearly a year!”

“He tries so hard to be what you want and you treat him no better than his father did!” With that she walked out and smiled to herself, quite pleased with her little tantrum.

Inside the chamber King and Elf sat side by side stunned into immobility.

 ****

Breakfast in the royal apartments was a quiet affair; a fragile truce had been affected between the Royal couple not helped by the lingering effects of the previous night’s wine. Arwen, Legolas and Gimli gathered near the hearth and the King sat at the table, playing listlessly with the food on his plate.

“Sire, Lord Faramir seeks an audience,” announced the squire.

Faramir nodded to the two well-briefed guards and the three of them entered; the guards taking post just inside the door. Faramir nodded a greeting to the Queen; she acknowledged his obeisance and engaged her attention back to the Elf and Dwarf.

“Sire, I seek your permission to address the Councillors at the end of tomorrows Council.” Faramir’s request was cold and formal.

“Do I take it you intend to take up your position formally, Faramir? Are you ready for that?”

“It is one of my intentions, Sire,” the tone almost sneering.

The King looked up sharply and noticed for the first time that the Steward seemed agitated, his eyes wild and restless, and his normal calmness of bearing and neatness of attire absent. He also noticed the presence of the guards. He felt the first stirrings of alarm; Arwen’s warnings about his mental state still ringing in his ears.

“Can you tell me what it is you wish to bring before the Council.” The King kept his voice and bearing calm.

“No Sire,” Faramir looked over his shoulder to the guards and back to the King, “Better that you don’t know!” he whispered, conspiratorially.

Aragorn, now alarmed, tried to attract the attention of the others in the room without alerting the Steward but their attention was held elsewhere and they didn’t notice the King’s agitation.

“Faramir is any thing wrong!”

Faramir walked around the table and stood at the King’s shoulder; he bent down and hissed in his ear.

 “Wrong! Everything is wrong…this experiment is not working. Gondor needs no King…It is time to set things right. Time for a return to the rule of the Steward’s. I had hoped to keep this quiet until the Council but if you give your word to go quietly I will see to it that you are escorted quietly and discreetly  over the border with all due honour, though I would have to keep the Queen here to ensure your cooperation…. I hope you don’t make it necessary for me to see you bundled out in gag and manacles; it would hardly be dignified.”  As he stood up he looked over and winked to the Queen.

“Now sire, if you will excuse me I have a coup to organise!” Faramir left, taking the guards with him and closing the door softly.

It took Aragorn a moment to process what had just happened.

“Aragorn what was that all about,” asked Gimli with innocent curiosity.

“Quickly, go after him Legolas, he has lost his reason. See he is confined to his room until I come with the Warden.” As the Elf disappeared the King turned into the room, shock and disbelief etched on his face. Arwen had her face buried in her hands and he could see her shoulders shaking. He went over to comfort her.

“Don’t worry, My love, we’ll look after him…he will get the best…..”

“Oh Estel, if you could only see your face!” Arwen had to sit down she was laughing so hard. Gimli was nearly chewing a cushion to control his mirth.

“What...What is going on?” Aragorn’s indignant questions were interrupted by the return of Legolas.

“A message from Lord Faramir, Sire.” Smirking, he held up a smoked fish impaled onto a stick.

“And what is the message?”

“Kippers”

“Kippers!”

“Yes, Sire, Kippers….I believe they are a famous delicacy in Dol Amroth….Herring, filleted and smoked.”

“I believe it means you have been gutted and strung up to dry, Estel!” said Arwen, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

“You set me up” he pouted

“Nice to see you haven’t lost your touch Arwen, your brothers would be proud!” snickered Legolas.

“Traitor!” Aragorn muttered, but even he couldn’t keep his face straight. “Where is the cheeky young pup now?”

“He is off to the quay at the Harlond; Prince Imrahil’s vessel has been sighted, it should dock within the hour.”

“Well, you may tell my Steward that revenge will be swift and painful,” the King assured his companions with a glint in his eye.

TBC

Chapter10

The Princes of Ithilien and Dol Amroth stood together and waited for the page to announce them. Announcement made, the page stepped aside and signalled for them to enter. The Royal couple both rose from the table to greet their guests. The Princes stood to attention and saluted. Faramir took one pace back to allow the King to greet his friend and ally.   

Faramir had not seen either King or Queen since his little display yesterday and was slightly apprehensive of his reception. He had spent the night on Prince Imrahil’s ship, discussing his financial holdings in Dol Amroth.

 Faramir took the opportunity to glance over to Arwen; she winked reassuringly. His jest of the day before had been her idea, convincing him that humour was an ideal way to bridge the gulf between the King and himself. In the past he had only ever been on the receiving end of jests and pranks. But he trusted the Queen to know how best to approach the King.

When Imrahil moved away to speak to the Queen, Faramir remained, aware of the King’s scrutiny but not quite confident to meet his eye. The King walked slowly round behind him and Faramir was conscious of his imposing presence, could feel his breath on his hair.

“Do I take it you still wish to address today’s Council, Steward of Gondor?”  Faramir was aware both of the menace in the King’s tone and of the merry laughter coming from the other side of the room. He deduced that Arwen was apprising his uncle of his behaviour yesterday.

“Yes, Sire.” He tried to sound confident, but that confidence was shaken when a strong forearm snaked around his neck and held him firmly pinioned.

“And can I take it that if I allow this privilege no harm will come to my person or to the dignity of my office.” The arm tightened and he could only nod his confirmation.

“Put him down, Aragorn. You don’t know where he’s been”. Gimli cuffed the King on the shoulder and the arm around his neck loosened. The King turned Faramir round to face him. He cupped his hands around the sides of his head and tilted his head up until grey sparkling eyes met their match in the Steward’s hesitant gaze.

“Welcome home, Faramir, Steward of Gondor, you have been away from us too long.”

Faramir had to swallow down the tears that this heart-felt salutation induced, for he saw for the first time the friendship and the approbation that accompanied it. The King tilted his head forward until their foreheads touched.

Faramir felt a band of sorrow and fear around his heart.

 This was too soon, too unexpected, too fragile a moment. He longed to sink into the comfort that the gesture promised. But he was about to betray the honour and the trust so freely given; if the King countermanded his actions this day, all would be for naught. He withdrew with a tight smile and a look of sorrow that chilled Aragorn to the bone.

*******

The moment of truth had arrived.

Faramir stood in the empty Council chamber and looked around to ensure that all of the preparations had been completed to his satisfaction. The meeting today was not just of the Civic Council but also included some of the King’s special advisors; Legolas to represent the Elven Kingdoms, Gimli for the Dwarves, Prince Imrahil, the Commanders of the Tower Guard and of the main Garrison, the Warden of the Houses of Healing and finally Lord Corrin.

However this day played out it would change things for ever; it would make or break Faramir and he would end the day with everything or nothing.

He had confided in no one; only those party to his investigations knew the extent of the corruption he had uncovered and even Tamir was not a party to his intentions, though he was canny enough to make a good guess. Tamir had returned last evening from an errand that had taken him away from the city for the best part of a week; Faramir had missed his company and his council. Tamir could read him so well that he always seemed to know when he needed cheering or silence or distraction.

A bell sounded in the distance and gradually the chamber filled; the Councillors standing respectfully when the King arrived and declared the meeting open. The meeting progressed as usual. The slow boring tedium of overworked procrastination and evasion dragged on through the morning, relieved only by some heated discussions on the repayment of loans to Dol Amroth. Faramir watched and listened, rehearsing again in his head what was to come later.

It was with general relief that they all adjourned at noon for refreshment. Faramir took the opportunity to confer with Tamir and to ensure that all was ready. He forced himself to eat a little, though his stomach rebelled at the thought. A few minutes before the meeting recommenced Aragorn sent Imrahil to find him. He was out on the balcony trying to relax and clear his head.

“Faramir are you alright,” Faramir tried to smile but the gesture never quite reached his eyes. He stepped forward and embraced his uncle tightly, with a hint of desperation and sadness

“Uncle, promise me you will stay with the King, whatever happens! I have made what arrangements I can but I can’t see all ends….look out for him!” he begged.

“Faramir what is going on? Why will the King need protection…what have you done?”

“It is what I am about to do….all or nothing. If it goes badly…tell him I’m sorry…tell him I did my best.” he whispered, his words caught up and blown away on the breeze.

“Faramir!....” A bell sounded in the distance calling the meeting back to order and cutting off any further discussion. Imrahil had a whispered discussion with the King as they took their places.

If any of those at the table noticed the armed Tower Guards standing silently to attention in the dark recesses of the Hall they were too complaisant or too wise to comment on it.

With only two relatively minor items still on the agenda matters were soon concluded.

When the King stood, most thought it was to declare the meeting over, however he merely announced that Lord Faramir wished to address the Council. Faramir took a sip of water and closed his eyes before getting to his feet.

“Sire, Gentlemen of the Council, I thank you for your indulgence.”

“I have observed these last few Council meetings and I have learned much; it has been an interesting and enlightening process. I feel it is now time for me to accept the mantle that His Majesty saw fit to bestow upon me.” The White Rod, symbol of the Steward’s authority lay on a stand in the centre of the Council table; Faramir placed a hand on its smooth surface. “The King has asked me to take responsibility for Civic administration and to preside over this Council and I now feel ready to formally accept that role.”

Faramir stepped away from the table. As he walked towards the King, Tamir emerged from the shadows bearing a small velvet cushion on which lay a finely wrought ring. This was not the ring that had been Denethor’s symbol of office; that token had been lost in the conflagration that had consumed the Steward. This new ring had been forged with metals melted down from jewellery retrieved from Denethor’s vaults. It bore the crest of the Steward quartered with the symbol of Faramir’s Princedom of Ithilien.

“Sire !”  Faramir gestured for the King to rise. Puzzled, Aragorn pushed back his chair and got to his feet.  Faramir went down onto one knee before the King, taking the King’s right hand within his grasp.

“Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor, and to Elessar, High King of this realm, to speak and to be silent, in peace and in war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until my Lord release me, or death take me. So say I, Faramir, son of Denethor.” Faramir leaned forward and pressed his lips to the King’s ring.

“And this do I hear and honour, Elessar, High King of Gondor, and I will not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given: fealty with love, valour with honour, oath-breaking with vengeance.” Tamir stepped forward and offered the cushion towards the King. Taking the ring, he allowed himself a smile as he examined the cipher and he slipped it onto the Steward’s finger.

Faramir bowed to the King and returned to his place at the table.

“Sire, Gentlemen,” he began, addressing the assembly.  “When I returned from Edoras, it was with hope and conviction that I was returning to face the proud beginnings of a new and positive future for the country and the people who hold my heart; a new King and a new beginning. I travelled joyfully for I was coming home.”

“A chance meeting on the road changed that hope to anger and despair.” Legolas and Gimli exchanged puzzled and concerned glances.

Faramir signalled to the page at the door who stepped outside. A moment later Tamir entered escorting in a young woman. Gimli and Legolas knew the woman at once though she bore little resemblance to the haggard, half-starved refugee they had last seen at the farm. Lireal, nervous but with her head held proud, stopped in front of the King and curtsied.

“Sire, may I present Mistress Lireal, widow of Beran, a Lieutenant in Lord Boromir’s Company.”

“Welcome, Mistress Lireal, it is an honour to meet you,” said the King. Tamir brought forward a chair and set it between the King and Legolas and both stood as she took her place.

“Sire, Mistress Lireal has travelled a great distance so that she can recount to you her story. Will you hear her?” 

“Of course. Please proceed Mistress Lireal, take your time and we will hear you.”

Lireal told her story, much as she had recounted it to Faramir; her tears came when she got as far as the account of her daughter’s death and both King and Elf clasped her hands in support. When she finally finished speaking an uneasy, uncomfortable silence fell over those present. The King got up and raised her to her feet.

“Lireal, I thank you for your courage in coming here today. Your story is one of sadness and tragedy and yet I believe there is much of import that we haven’t yet heard. I trust that Lord Faramir will enlighten us. Tamir, would you please escort Mistress Lireal to the Royal apartments and ask the Queen to keep her company until we are finished here.” All those present got to their feet as they left.

“Lord Faramir, are you ready to continue,” asked the King. Faramir nodded.

“As you can imagine I was greatly angered and distressed to hear that the poor and needy of the city were suffering in the aftermath of the war. But what angered me most was that those hardships seem to have been exacerbated by actions and decisions taken by those very people who had the responsibility for the welfare of the people and for the administration of the city; by the King’s Council.” All eyes turned to the King, who sat in stony faced silence, the implications of the Steward’s accusations only too clear.

“Just what are you accusing the King’s Council of, My Lord,” sneered Lord Haralil. “It sounds perilously close to treason!”

“Sit Down.” The King’s voice dripped ice and venom. “Lord Faramir, continue.”

“I promised Lireal; I made a vow that I would get to the root of this iniquity, whatever the cost. And so I came back and I watched and I listened. I learned all that I could about the Council and the Councillors. I read every contract, examined every edict, and researched every undertaking sanctioned by the Council since before the death of my father. I watched you in action, saw how you did business, observed how our system of administration could be massaged and manipulated.” Faramir felt his own anger rising as he spoke. He forced him self to stop and to let go of the anger, he couldn’t afford to let emotions get the better of him. He started to pace; as he got close to the King he caught his eye and hoped that he would recognise his sorrow and his regret.

“It took only a few days to confirm Lireal’s story and to discover the number of people left destitute by the new statutes; widows, orphans, veterans who had given everything in our cause. I was sickened and disgusted; disgusted to know everything we had fought for could be wiped out with the stroke of a pen!”

“But as I looked more closely I knew that that wasn’t the worst of it. The properties used to re-house the families had been requisitioned in the name of the Council but the revenue from the extortionate rents charged never appeared in the treasury but went to a private land-lord. The contract for re-building the damaged homes and properties in the first and second levels was for more properties than even exist and not all of the properties were even in need of rebuilding, some only required repair. The treasury paid for quality materials but shoddy and second rate goods were supplied.  Everywhere I went I heard complaints about poor goods and high prices. Even prices for essential goods like bread were rising because of a shortage of grain, and yet I knew from before the coronation that the grain stores, though depleted, should be sufficient, especially as several shipments of grain had been sent from Dol Amroth. So I checked the granaries and the invoices of supply; there was no shortage of supply but distribution was being held back to over-inflate the price.”

He was pacing now; restlessly moving from one end of the table to the other, all the while unconsciously grinding his left thumb into the palm of his numb right hand.  As he passed close to Legolas the Elf reached out and briefly squeezed his arm in a gesture of support and encouragement.

“As a Commander, what I find unforgivable is that Ranger’s have died because of this corruption. That the equipment supplied to the men who are still defending our borders is inferior is bad enough but how can anyone justify the supply of spoiled rations and the absence of basic medicines. I have seen the requisitions and the letters from the Commanders begging for proper supply; I have also seen the invoices billing the treasury for services provided and the two just do not tally.”

“Everywhere I looked I found more evidence of deception and profiteering. The only one I couldn’t explain was who benefited from the new rules about access to the Healing houses. The Warden didn’t benefit except for a smaller workload; although he assures me that delaying access had caused more than just the death of Lireal’s daughter. The apothecaries gained financially but didn’t have the power to influence policy decisions; them I came across the name of the head of the Apothecaries Guild and it occurred to me that many of the Guilds had powerful and influential Masters.” His gaze raked around those seated at the table and several squirmed in their seats, unable to hide their discomfort.

“And so Gentlemen, I sat here through all of those tedious meetings; sat here and allowed you to sneer and treat me with contempt and now is the time of reckoning!”

To those watching, Faramir suddenly seemed to grow in stature and presence; as though the spirit of his esteemed ancestors had emerged amongst them. There was no doubting that the son of Denethor had emerged from his father’s shadow.

Faramir stepped back to his place at the table and pushed a pile of parchments towards his scribe. “These are copies of the contracts and statutes enacted by this Council that pertain to Civic administration and rebuilding. As of this moment all such contracts are declared null and void!” Faramir couldn’t do the deed himself with only one hand, so at his signal the scribe took the papers and tore them from top to bottom. A buzz of outrage hummed through the chamber but no one dared to protest out loud.

“As we speak officers are going to every business and merchant’s premises who supply goods or services to the city, they will be seizing all documents and records. We will be convening a board of enquiry that will investigate every contract, every detail, and all of those found guilty of maladministration, corruption or malpractice will be held to account.”

 Faramir was now functioning on pure adrenaline, his heart racing and his knees locked to keep himself upright. He needed to get this finished, not sure that he could sustain his composure in the face of this unrelenting pressure. He caught the King’s eye and Aragorn could see that he was struggling.

“As Steward I have no confidence in this council to represent the best interest of the people, or the nation. Between you, you have countless years of experience, you should be able to command the respect and approbation of the citizens but you have betrayed that trust and you have betrayed your King, giving him poor council and embroiling him in your treachery!” Faramir stalked around the table and placed a parchment in front of each of the eight Councillors.

“These are your letters of resignation; you will sign them and hand in your badges of office before you leave this room. If there is anyone here who feels that they have been ill-used this day you are free to reapply for your position.” Faramir was shaking now and black stars swirled at the fringes of his vision.

“You will remain in the city, under house arrest. Any attempt to leave the city or to obstruct or interfere with the investigation of these matters and I will personally see to it that you spend time as a guest of the King’s jailors!”

That was it.

The deed done for good or ill; now would come the reckoning.  If the King supported his proposals they could work together to rebuild the future; if he did not, Faramir faced exile or worse; there was only one penalty for treason.

 Faramir had to concentrate to keep his composure; with only the briefest glance around the table he pushed himself upright with the last of his strength.

“Sire, Gentlemen, this Council is hereby dissolved!”

Faramir used his left hand to raise his right hand to his heart in salute and turned and left the chamber. Only sharp Elven eyes noticed the smear of blood, a palm print on his tunic over his breast.

He managed to walk steadily until the door closed behind him.

TBC

A/N.  Did the boy prove himself? And what of the consequences!

Thank you to everyone for your support and encouragement.

Chapter 11

As the door closed behind Faramir a stunned silence descended upon those present.

For several seconds everything and everyone was silent.

Tamir was the first to move; with a pre-arranged signal to the Guard Commander the watchful sentries moved out of the shadows with swords drawn and formed a protective perimeter around those seated at the table. That duty accomplished, Tamir ushered Arwen and Lireal back into the Royal apartments from the shadowed corner where they had been observing the proceedings.

The appearance of the troops seemed to break the spell of silence and shock. Prince Imrahil, once assured in his own mind that the King was protected and safe, whispered urgently to Aragorn and, having received a nod of approval, moved through the line of Guards and left the chamber by the main door.

As the room descended into noisy chaos the King merely pushed his chair away from the table slightly, folded his arms and waited, his face an expressionless mask.

“Sire, you cannot allow….”

“I’ve never been so insulted; just who does he think….”

“The Boy is mad, Sire…”

“Gone just like his Fath…”

“Needs locking away…”

“Accusing us, who have given our lives to Gondor? How dare he….”

“You cannot allow the boy to usurp your authority, Sire, Order his arrest….he is a traitor to Gondor and the Council…”

Aragorn allowed the litany of outraged protest to continue. He let his gaze roam over the faces of those present, catching the eye of each of the special advisors, he read their disgust and sense of outrage; it matched his own.

“GENTLEMEN” The King’s voice cut through the cacophony.

“I will not waste my breath or my energy on pointless discussion. You have outstayed your welcome and usefulness. You have two minutes to comply with Lord Faramir’s directions. You will be escorted to your homes and you will stay there until called to appear before the tribunal. Believe me when I say that I will be seeking the slightest infraction to justify seeking your immediate arrest.” The King got to his feet.

 “Captain, see to it.”

“It will be my pleasure, Sire.”

Aragorn beckoned to Legolas and Gimli. In the Royal apartments Aragorn made straight for the wine decanter and with shaking hands poured himself a large drink; he downed it in one swallow. With his initial anger subdued by the warmth spreading through him he poured drinks for all and distributed them.

Legolas and Gimli had gravitated to Lireal and were talking to her quietly, trying to ease her concerns about the consequences of Faramir’s revelations. Arwen, with one look at her husband’s shocked demeanour, put down her own glass and moved into his embrace.

“What have I done?” he whispered into her hair. “What have I done?”

“It is bad, Estel, but nothing that cannot be set to rights,” she soothed.

“I trusted them…how can I have been so blind…so stupid! It all seemed so easy, they knew their roles and their responsibilities and I had no reason to doubt their honesty or their integrity. They read me as an easy touch from the beginning,” he choked.

This seemed to pull Aragorn back to the reality of the situation.

“Legolas, Gimli, did you have any idea about this?” he demanded.

“We had no idea, Estel. We would not have kept something like this from you. We didn’t hear Lireal’s tale until just now. Though it explains a lot. It is no wonder Faramir has been so distressed; he has been carrying this burden alone for so long.”

Why didn’t he confide in us?” queried Gimli

“I think I can answer that, Sire,” Lireal stepped forward until she stood before the Royal couple.  “He feared that you were involved; at least at first.”

“I was involved! May the Valar forgive me; all of those statutes carry my signature and seal,” he groaned.

“And what will happen to him now…will you set him aside. He was doing what he thought was right…for his people…for your people, Sire. Will he be punished?”

“Punished for doing what is right! Is your opinion of me so low? No, if anyone deserves punishment it is me…I allowed myself to be deceived and manipulated…”

“Ay, but you didn’t know what the consequences of the Councils actions would be…you were deceived by those self-serving parasites” Gimli couldn’t keep the loathing from his tone. “House arrest is too good for those Son’s of Orcs; the dwarves would not have been so lenient to those who fouled the good name of their King.”

“And are incompetence and negligence less serious failings in a Ruler than corruption, Gimli? However you look at this I have failed! He threatened me with a coup yesterday…He could have done it and who would have doubted his right…!” he choked.

“But that was just a jest, Estel; he would never threaten you or your Rule. He pledged himself to your service and he values honour above all else. Do not doubt him,” counselled Arwen.

“Sire, the Chamberlain requests a moment of your time.” The page stood hesitantly at the door.

“Lord Corrin!” greeted the King, “not more problems I hope!”

“Sire, I’m sorry to intrude but Lord Faramir is indisposed and I was wondering about this evening’s banquet; given the events of today, do you still want to go ahead as planned?”

“Yes, though there will be a few empty seats; the parasi…Councillors are otherwise engaged and I hardly think their wives will come unescorted,” he said with grim satisfaction.

“Lord Corrin, I noticed you seemed little surprised by Lord Faramir’s revelations today. Did you know what was going on?” the King demanded.

“Not the extent of it Sire, though my Lord had confided in me his worries when he first returned to the city. I never anticipated the depth or breadth of their dishonesty. I believe he learned early in his investigations that you were not involved Sire, but by then he was too deeply enmeshed in the process to reveal his suspicions without forewarning the Councillors,” the old retainer explained.

“Your loyalty and devotion to Lord Faramir are to be commended; I hope I will soon earn that same trust,” said the King, by way of dismissing the Chamberlain.

*****

Prince Imrahil had recognised the signs of Faramir’s distress and knew that they threatened a crisis. He hurried along the echoing corridors to his nephew’s chambers. The main chamber was empty but he could hear a young concerned voice coming from the bedchamber beyond. He found Faramir slumped against the wall, retching violently into a basin held by his young squire.

“Oh Faramir, what have you done to yourself this time?” he asked sadly, taking the pale clammy cheeks between his hands.

“Hurts..” gasped Faramir, grinding his fist into his temple in a futile attempt to get at the pain.

“Quick lad, go to the Royal apartments. Tell the King that Lord Faramir is indisposed and that I will stay with him. If Tamir is still there ask him to come here quickly; if he is not, send for a healer.”  The squire looked terrified at the prospect of taking a message to the King but Imrahil shooed him on his way, giving him no chance to protest.

He lifted Faramir and placed him gently on the bed, closing the curtains to shut out the light. Tamir rushed in and, taking one look at his Lord, took a small crystal vial from the cabinet and measured five drops of clear liquid onto a small spoon.

“Here Sir,” he said, tipping the drops onto Faramir’s tongue. Faramir hadn’t the strength to even to grimace at the bitter taste of the elixir.

Faramir struggled against the rapidly encroaching oblivion of the sedative.

“The King…!” he gasped.

“The King is safe; angry but safe,” soothed the Prince.

“He sent you…is it banishment or my life!”

“I don’t understand, Faramir!”

“I accused him of maladministration and corruption; he cannot excuse treason!” Faramir whispered weakly.

“He is not angry with you…he means you no harm. Rest now, you are overwrought. All will be well,” he reassured, placing a cool compress on the furrowed brow. Faramir slumped back into the pillows embracing the drug induced stupor.

 Imrahil noticed bloodstains on the linen and looked for their source; he could find no obvious wound until he examined his hands. It was the thumb of his left hand he noticed first, the nail stained and encrusted with blood. He gently unfurled the fingers of his right hand and gasped at the sight that met him; new gouges and scars in various stages of healing criss-crossed the palm, testament to Faramir’s unconscious habit of rubbing his numb palm when agitated. It took a few moments to bathe and apply salve to the wounds. Tamir applied bandages to protect the hand from further damage.

“He will likely sleep for a couple of hours, my Lord, I will stay with him,” offered Tamir.

“Thank you Tamir. I thank you for your care and devotion to my nephew.”

“What else can I do Sir; he would give his life for Gondor, as I would give mine for him,” exclaimed the adjutant with bright-eyed sincerity.

.

Faramir was beginning to rouse when a gentle knock on the door broke the silence.

“How is he faring,” asked the King, moving quietly across the room.

“He is still sleeping, though I think he will wake soon. Can I take a message for you Sire?”  Tamir tried to edge the King back towards the door.

“Thank you but I will wait here and speak to him when he wakes; there is much I need to say to him. Perhaps you could escort Lireal back to her accommodation; she is awaiting you in my apartments.” Tamir recognised the dismissal and left with an almost imperceptible nod of his head in place of a salute.

“Faramir” The King’s voice was soft but insistent and it drew him back along the last steps to wakefulness. The darkness of the room confused him and he tried to rise.

“Be still now, all is well. You need to rest a while. I wanted you to know….I wanted to reassure you…to thank you…to apologise…”

“A Ruler should never…”

“…apologise! So you keep telling me, but I am not any Ruler and I am not your father and I do not have to follow his instructions.”

The King clasped Faramir’s hand as he continued, “I have made grave errors and caused great suffering and distress to our people. It is too grave a misjudgement to be easily forgotten or forgiven but I would be comforted to know that I have your forgiveness. Can you forgive me, Faramir?”

“Of course I forgive you, Sire. I know it was not your intention to cause distress. You are not angry with me?” Faramir couldn’t help but ask. “You are not angry that I failed to inform you of what was going on.

“Why should I be angry, you have shown nothing but honesty and integrity, you risked losing everything for honour?  I own to being disappointed that you didn’t feel you could come and confide in me and it grieves me that this matter has caused unnecessary estrangement between us. It is me who is humbled and shamed that I ever doubted you.” Aragorn offered Faramir a drink and when he was settled back against the pillow he replaced the cool compress on his forehead.

“We will talk tomorrow, we have much to discuss. I will go now and leave you to rest…I would like to be gone before Tamir returns; I fear he does not look upon me too kindly! Perhaps I should banish you to Ithilien to protect myself from your diligent bodyguard,” the King joked, relieved to see the pale face lifted by the hint of a smile. Faramir drifted back to sleep.

*****

The great banqueting hall glittered in the flickering light of hundreds of candles and lanterns as the assembled guests took their places. The settings had been hastily rearranged to disguise the gaps left by the absent ex-councillors. The guests rose to their feet as the Royal couple entered and took their places at the centre of the top table.

Faramir had asked the Chamberlain to set a place for him at the end of the table, next to Prince Imrahil; far enough away from the rest of the Royal entourage to avoid discussion of the day’s events. The worst of his headache had eased but he was left feeling weak and shaky. He had always hated these formal court festivities and had managed to avoid them since his return from Edoras but he knew his absence tonight would reflect badly on his newly acclaimed status as Steward.  He slipped into his place almost unnoticed.

“Faramir, you should be in your bed,” his uncle remonstrated, noting his pallor.

“Don’t fret, Uncle. I’m fine,” he whispered irritably. “I need to be here; I need the Court to see that I still have the King’s favour.”

He managed well enough through the soup and fish courses, eating a little but avoiding the wine, sipping instead on well-watered ale.  He sighed in dismay as the main course was put in front of him, knowing that he was unable to tackle the beautifully presented guinea-fowl with only one hand. He was saved the embarrassment of struggling with the food or of asking for help by the arrival of a page bearing a roll of parchment. Faramir took the message and examined the contents. He made his way to the King and asked for permission to retire, indicating the parchment by way of explanation. As he took his leave the parchment slipped unnoticed from its resting place inside his sling. Legolas saw it fall and retrieved it, tucking it into his tunic for safe keeping.

“Ay, it seems Faramir is missing out on the fun again,” commented Gimli as the Steward disappeared.

“I don’t think it will distress him too much,” said Legolas, catching Arwen’s eye and directing her gaze to the place Faramir had just vacated. Her eyes widened in sudden understanding.

“Why! I don’t understand?” uttered Aragorn, his gaze moving between the two Elves.

Legolas leaned in front of the King and took hold of his right hand.

“My Lady,” he said, extending the captured hand towards the Queen, “Look after this until the end of the meal.”

“It would be my pleasure, my Prince,” she smirked wickedly. She kissed her husband’s fingers and then moved his hand down and tucked it under her knee, trapping it against the seat. Without further comment the two Elves proceeded to tuck into their main course.

“Much as I am enjoying this rather unseemly token of your affection,” he said, somewhat irritably, “please may I have my hand back? I am fond of guinea fowl, I requested it specially and it is difficult to eat with only one hand.”

“Is it really! I would never have thought it,” teased Arwen. “You may have it back at the end of the meal.”

“Sire, would you like me to cut your meat up for you or would you prefer to pick it up with your fingers and eat like an Orc?” Legolas’s face was a picture of innocence. Realisation suddenly dawned upon the King and he looked towards the Steward’s empty chair.

“Oh! Why didn’t he say something?”

“Because that would just have drawn more attention to himself. Now eat your dinner, you are beginning to make a spectacle of yourself,” ordered the Queen, refusing to release the trapped digits.

*****

The banquet was over, the guests dispersed. The King and his three friends relaxed in front of the fire.

“Aragorn, you seem to have decorated the front of your tunic, is it the new fashion to wear one’s dinner,” quipped Gimli.

“You can take the Ranger out of the wild but you can’t take the wild out of the Ranger!” giggled Legolas.

“Quiet, Elf, or you will be wearing your wine,” growled Aragorn, still smarting from the embarrassment inflicted upon him by the two Elves.

“I should go and check on Faramir,” said Imrahil, “he was in no condition to be wrestling with matters of State after the trials of today.” He got to his feet but Legolas stayed him.

“I don’t think it was anything too serious,” he said with a reassuring and slightly sheepish smile.

“What do you know” queried the King, suspiciously.

“Nothing, just a hunch.” Legolas passed round a plate of sweet cakes in the hope of diverting their attention, not wishing to get his friend into strife.

“Legolas, if you value your braids tell me what you know?” Aragorn grabbed the Elf by the hair and held him pinned. “You cannot dissemble to save your life”  

Legolas sighed, pulled the parchment from his tunic and passed it to him. Aragorn unrolled the message and a look of puzzlement passed over his face. He passed it to Imrahil; the parchment contained just a list of eight names.

“I don’t understand…do I?” queried Imrahil. Gimli glanced at the message and let out a loud guffaw.

“I think our crafty young Steward made sure that he wouldn’t have to stay too long at the banquet,” he chortled.

“You mean he arranged this in advance. That there was no crisis -why, the cheeky young pup...”

“You have to admit, it shows initiative and cunning,” smirked Legolas

 The King looked at his companions with a twinkle on his eye. “This deception cannot go unpunished. Revenge will be mine!”

TBC

Thank you to everyone for your kind words and generous support.

I am rapidly catching up with myself, posting faster than I can write. So please forgive me if updates are a bit slower than usual, I will do my best to keep on track.

Chapter 12

Grey eyes watched from the shadowed doorway.

It was late, a few scant minutes short of the midnight chimes. Faramir sat slumped over his desk; the room dark but for the light of a single lantern at his side. The state of his desk gave a clue to his state of mind; the normally clear and uncluttered space littered with the remnants of his attempts to get his thoughts into words. For over an hour he had been trying to write to Éowyn but his inability to pen the letters with his left hand only added to his inability to form his thoughts into a meaningful narrative. In his previous letters to Edoras he had not alluded to his suspicions or his discoveries, not wanting to strain the loyalties between the two Royal Houses. But now it was all out in the open and he wanted to share his thoughts with his betrothed.

He crumpled up another ruined parchment and threw it towards the hearth with a groan. Exasperated and frustrated beyond endurance he reached for the only comfort to hand. He leaned down to a small cupboard beside his desk and took out a bottle of spirits and a crystal goblet and with a shaking hand poured himself a good measure. He grimaced as the unfamiliar, fiery liquid caught the back of his throat.  He banged the glass down onto the table only to discover he had misjudged his own strength; the stem of the goblet snapped.

“Oh, DAMN it all to blazes!” The bowl of the goblet hit the wall and smashed into a thousand rainbow fragments.

“Pox and Bloody damnation!” his frustrated cry rang out into the darkness. He allowed his head to fall to the desk with a dejected thump.

Aragorn watched with growing unease, not sure if his plan for retaliation was wise. Faramir’s despair and frustration were clear and there was no denying that the day had been a trial for the Steward; Faramir’s tension was a physical entity that filled the room with its vibrations. But soft words and calm reassurance were unlikely to penetrate the defences of this pale, stubborn young man; no, he needed to be jolted out of his cocoon of misery.

Aragorn entered the room silently and stepped unnoticed behind the Steward’s chair.

“Lord Faramir, it is accepted protocol to stand in the presence of your King!” he barked loudly.

Faramir shot to his feet in confusion. His face had no colour left to lose but he felt all the blood in his body drain towards the floor.

“In the last two days you have threatened my rule, gutted and disbanded my Council and now you have the audacity to use subterfuge to avoid my company.” Aragorn slapped the parchment onto the desk. Faramir recognised it and knew that he had been caught out.

“Sire, I beg your forgiveness, no slight was intended…”

“Silence! You have not been given permission to speak,” Aragorn ordered. “I thought we had arrived at an understanding but I cannot allow this final insubordination to go unpunished.” He walked round until he was facing the ashen faced Steward.

“Lord Faramir, remove your boots”

“Sire?”

“I said remove your boots or I will have the guards do it for you.” Faramir noticed for the first time that two guards had entered the room with the King. This situation was getting more bizarre by the moment and Faramir was confused.

“Sire, if I am to remove my boots without assistance I will need to go through to my chamber,” he explained.

“Do it!”

Faramir walked through to his chamber and sat in a chair next to the hearth. He unbuckled the fastenings on his boots and hooked the heel into a notched metal plate fixed to the fire-fender. While Faramir’s attention was fixed on his task Aragorn snagged a robe from the bed and passed it one of the guards.

Faramir, uncertain of what to expect next from this odd interaction, got hesitantly to his feet and awaited the King’s instruction. At a signal from the King the guards moved into position on either side and slightly behind of Faramir. Without a word he led the small procession back into the main chamber.

“Halt” The King’s order echoed through the darkened chamber. He allowed the silence to lengthen before moving to stand so close that Faramir could feel his breath on his face.

“Do I need gag and manacles, Steward?”

 “No Sire, I will come quietly.”

The words had barely left his lips when he found himself draped across the Kings shoulders like a yoke. He caught the eye of one of the guards and was surprised to see him wink. Whatever was going on here wasn’t threatening and Faramir could only play along.

The odd procession moved through the silent corridors, past the Royal apartments and up an unfamiliar staircase, back into a part of the citadel hewn from the solid rock of the mountain. The stairway terminated at a heavy oak door. The King dismissed the guards having reclaimed Faramir’s robe.

The brightly lit chamber was large and had a high domed ceiling. The floor was smooth and lined with marble tiles; in the centre of the room was a large steaming pool; Faramir recognised the three occupants: Legolas, Gimli and Imrahil. They all called jocular greetings but Aragorn ignored them and moved to the far wall of the chamber where a natural waterfall fell from a rocky lip. He turned his back to the wall and took a step backwards positioning Faramir to receive the full blast of the icy water. Faramir gasped in shock. After a moment Aragorn stepped forward.

“Faramir?”

“Yes, Sire?”

This was obviously the wrong answer and earned him another blast of cold water.  Aragorn tried again.

“Faramir!”

Yes, My Lord?” Another icy shower.

“Faramir!”

“Yes,…. Aragorn?” Success!

“You should put your skills to training hounds,” quipped Gimli from the pool.

“Hounds are much less trouble!” laughed Aragorn. “Faramir would you like to warm up now.”

“Yes Please, Si…Aragorn.”

“Well saved, Faramir!” Legolas’ voice floated up from the water.

Faramir, expecting to be set back onto his feet, was surprised to find himself launched into the air. He hit the water with a splash and the shock of the warm water after the icy shower caused him to gasp in a lungful of water as he sank to the bottom. By the time he had been hauled to the surface and had cleared his lungs Aragorn had stripped off and was reclining in the water on the ledge that ran around the edge of the pool, enjoying  a glass of wine. He passed one to Faramir with a smile.

“No throwing the glasses,” he laughingly admonished. Faramir gulped down the wine and placed the glass carefully on the tiles.

Faramir rested his head back and closed his eyes half listening to the banter of his companions. As he warmed up his wet clothes pulled uncomfortably. Using his teeth and his left hand he managed to undo the cuffs and buttons of his shirt; he pulled the soggy garment off and threw it into a heap on the floor. His leggings were not so amenable, the wet fabric refused to yield to his fumbling fingers and he gave up with a sigh.

“Would you like some assistance?” asked Legolas with a grin.

“Thank you, but that would require a greater degree of intimacy than I feel comfortable sharing.” This caused great amusement from the others, who laughed at his embarrassment.

Legolas took pity on him, noticing that he was again looking tense and uncomfortable.

He put his hands on the Steward’s shoulders intending to massage away the tension so clearly visible in his posture. Faramir instinctively pulled away. This earned him a gentle reprimand.

“Relax, Faramir. I’m not trying to seduce you. Just relax and let me make you more comfortable.” Faramir turned sideways and raised his feet onto the ledge, resting his head forward onto his knees.

Legolas flinched, shocked by the tension he felt in Faramir’s neck and shoulders.

“How do you function in this state?” the Elf exclaimed as he attempted to relieve the knots in the tense muscles and tendons. Faramir merely groaned, unable to formulate a reply.

“Faramir, what would you have done if I had been involved in the corruption you uncovered?” The King’s question took him by surprised and he took a moment to formulate his reply.

“If I had found evidence that you had knowingly conspired with them I would have confronted you. I would probably have consulted you, Uncle, and also Éomer, and the queen… If between us we had been unable to convince you to reverse the situation I would have resigned the Stewardship and left Gondor; I could not have stayed….I could not have seen all that my brother and father  gave their lives for betrayed and spoiled….”

“I’m very relieved you are on my side, Faramir. Your performance today was awesome; it was like seeing the ghost’s of Denethor and Ecthelion once more gracing the Council chamber. Boromir would have been so proud of you!...I was so proud of you!”

Gimli had refilled the wineglasses and Aragorn proposed a toast.

“To Faramir; my friend and my Steward!”

“To Faramir”

Faramir acknowledge the salute and buried his face back to his knees.

It was a while later that Faramir’s voice broke into the relaxed silence of the chamber.

“It’s a shame really,” he said to Legolas, his head dropping to rest sleepily on the Elf’s shoulder.

“What is?”

“That you weren’t trying to seduce me!”

“What!” came the Elf’s shocked response, as the rest of the companions howled with laughter.

“Imagine the kudos of having two fair-faced blondes fighting for my affections,” he giggled.

“You are getting altogether too cheeky, young one,” said Legolas, ducking the grinning Steward under the water.

“Is the water too hot for you, Elf… you seem a little flushed,” teased Gimli. Faramir was oblivious to the teasing; he had fallen asleep with his head resting against the edge of the pool. He snored quietly.

“How much wine has he had?” asked Legolas, looking down at the sleeping figure.

“He has barely finished two glasses.”

“Three! He had at least one down in his chamber earlier,” Aragorn corrected.

“But he told us he doesn’t drink because of his medicines.” Gimli looked to Imrahil for confirmation.

“It is true but he has never had a head for wine; not like his brother or father.” Imrahil looked on his nephew with unconcealed affection. “I have only once seen him the worst for drink and that was in Dol Amroth just after his coming of age. He never drank in his father’s presence; Denethor used alcohol as a weapon, a tool to gain advantage over others. I have known him reduce Councillors, Commanders, even Envoys to quivering wrecks; he plied them with drink and then used their fuddled state to learn what he needed…he was formidable and utterly ruthless. Faramir would never allow him that advantage, even when his father berated him for his abstinence.”

“I think we should wake him before he manages to drown himself,” said Legolas. He climbed gracefully from the pool and donned a towelling robe. Imrahil roused the sleeping Steward and helped him out of the water. While Legolas held him steady, Imrahil stripped him of his wet leggings and helped him on with his robe.

“Come on Faramir, time you were in your bed,” urged Legolas as Faramir leaned against him for support.

“Be gentle with me!” he slurred

“So gentle, you won’t know I’m there, Faramir,” soothed the Elf with a laugh.

 “Imrahil, I think I need your assistance; I need a chaperone to protect my honour and my reputation,” said Legolas.

“This is priceless, Aragorn,” chuckled Gimli as the Elf and the Prince half carried the Steward from the chamber. “This has got to be worth a whole year’s teasing…. It will be interesting to see who wins in the blushing stakes.”

“Has anyone ever told you, Gimli, you have a very wicked streak?” said the King, his heart lighter than it had been in months.

TBC

A/N. Thank you for your support and encouragement.

Chapter 13

Waking was painful: his head was pounding and his tongue thick and seemingly stuck to the roof of his mouth. He attempted to turn over and retreat back into the painless oblivion of sleep but his plan was thwarted.

“My Lord,” the words quiet but insistent.

 “My Lord”

“Alright, alright, Ferris, what is it” he groaned, still not able to force his eyes open.

“I have a message for you from Tamir, Sir. The King requests your attendance after noon for a conference. Tamir also asked me to remind you that Mistress Lireal’s party will be leaving shortly; he has gone down to see her off. He thought you might wish to see her before she goes”

Faramir was still trying to summon the energy to lift his head from the pillow when a loud knocking shattered the quiet.

“I’m not surprised you keep off the wine if you wake looking like that,” boomed Gimli. “Your face could curdle milk….I’m not sure what that blond suitor of yours  sees in you…I’ve seen prettier faces in the stables.”

“Ferris, please escort that Orc out of my chamber before I do him an injury.”

“Ah, but I come bearing gifts,” said Gimli, presenting a steaming mug. “A gift from His Majesty for a poor unfortunate subject who cannot hold his drink… but if it’s not wanted I will take it back.” Gimli turned and headed for the door.

“Wait Gimli, I’ll forgive you if you promise to speak more respectfully of Lady Éowy,.” Faramir said, reaching for the potion.

“Who said I was referring to Éowyn,”

Gimli paused by the door as the implications of his comment filtered through the haze of Faramir’s befuddled brain. He ducked out smirking as Faramir’s face went from pale to flushed pink.

“I’ll have to tell Aragorn that’s one up to Faramir,” Gimli chuckled as he departed.

****

The potion did its job and within an hour Faramir was walking down through the levels of the city. His mood lightened as he progressed; many recognised and greeted him as he passed, veterans saluted and stopped him  for brief words of comradeship and remembrance. Children’s voices mingled with the call’s of vendors hawking their wares and Faramir was aware once again of  the  spirit of renewal and regeneration in the city. This was what he and Aragorn had to foster and build upon and Faramir now had the confidence and the conviction that they could achieve that together.

He passed through the archway into the courtyard of the Refuge and was surprised by the absence of activity. The normally bustling courtyard was empty but for a heavily laden wagon; a sturdy work horse harnessed between the shafts. The horse nuzzled his tunic looking for treats but he had nothing to offer. A quick glance at the contents of the wagon revealed sacks of seed and grain, baskets of nails, gardening tools, blocks of salt, skeins of thread and lengths of heavy canvas. Secured to the top of the wagon was a wooden frame; a loom he had commissioned as a special gift, remembering that Lireal was trained as a weaver.

The tell-tale sound of hooves on cobbles preceded the arrival of a lad leading a second horse.

“Lord Faramir”

A blur of arms and legs cannoned into him sending him reeling backwards and he came to rest sitting on a low wall with an armful of quivering youth.

“Tomos!”

Faramir held the boy away at arms length to get a better look at him. He would not have recognised the boy; he had grown and filled out, his face tanned and glowing with health, his hair bleached gold by the sun and his eyes full of sunshine and laughter.

“I didn’t realise you were making the trip here with your mother, Tomos, but I am delighted to see you and to see you looking so well; I can see that life on the farm suits you?” The boy nodded but then his face fell and he suddenly looked sheepish.

“I wasn’t supposed to come…I was supposed to stay home and help Dan look after things… but I stowed away in the Wagon!” he whispered. “Mother wanted to send me back with one of the troopers but in the end she let me stay….though I have to do stable chores for a month when I get back.”

“What was so important in Minas Tirith that you had to defy your mother,” Faramir asked gravely, tilting the lad’s chin up until he met his gaze. “Did you miss your friends?”

“No…yes…but that wasn’t the reason,” the boy’s eyes suddenly glistened. “I never got the chance to say thank you…You left before I could say goodbye…And I never got to say sorry”  His face crumpled in his distress and large silver tears glistened in the sunlight as they dripped from his chin. Faramir pulled the boy close.

“Oh Tomos, what have you got to be sorry for.” He comforted the boy until he was composed enough to speak.

“I called you a liar and a thief and I hit you and I never got to say sorry and you were trying to help us  and now we are safe and happy and my mother smiles again….and it’s all because of you…”he blurted without pause for breath.

Faramir was momentarily stunned, he had forgotten about the incident and yet it had been on the boy’s mind all this time. He turned the boy’s face to his.

“Tomos, there is nothing to forgive. You were doing a man’s job trying to protect your mother and sister, and you were very brave. I’m pleased that I was there to help you and it makes me so happy to know that you are all settled….So friends now?” Tomos nodded.

“I have something for you.”

 He lifted a satchel from the wagon and took out a bundle wrapped in cloth. He handed it to Faramir with a shy smile. Faramir unwrapped the cloth and a small wooden carving of an eagle dropped into his lap.

“Did you make this?” Faramir asked with delight, examining the flowing lines of the bird in flight.

“Yes, Dan taught me….his carvings are wonderful, they look so real…he’s starting to talk a bit …he was a soldier too, you know…like my father,” again the boys words came out in a hurried stream.

“Well Dan is an excellent teacher, this is wonderful and it will have pride of place on my desk and I shall think of my special friend every time I look at it,” he said, ruffling the boy’s hair.

“Well Captain, I hear that you have set the Council on its head!”

“Islin.”  

The two men exchanged salutes and then Faramir was drawn into a brief hug.

“Am I in for any more surprises,” laughed Faramir. “Did you sneak in the back of the wagon as well?” He took a moment to observe the ex-soldier, noting that his scars had faded making his disfigurement less obvious. “You look well; I take it the farm is thriving?”

“We have expanded since you were with us, we now have eight adults and a dozen children but the extra hands more than make up for the added bellies to fill; the harvest was good and we are well provided for. I took the chance to come for supplies, and to tell the truth,  I wanted to be here. When Tamir came to ask Lireal to come before the Council and told us what you were planning, I wanted to be here for her…and for you. Lireal and Tamir told us about the meeting…I wish I could have seen it. You did well, My Lord! You did your brother proud. I hope the King knows how lucky he is to have you.

“He does!”

They both spun round to find themselves under the scrutiny of the Royal entourage, who had emerged into the courtyard after visiting the Refuge.

“Sire!” They both saluted. Faramir performed the introductions.

“So Islin, you think I should keep this troublesome reprobate in my service, do you?”

“Yes, Sire; if only to keep him out of trouble. From what Tamir told us he needs a full time keeper.” Faramir shot Tamir a withering glance and the adjutant had the grace to blush.

“Perhaps I’d better go with you then Islin…If you think you can find gainful employment for a one-armed, crippled, ex-captain with a nose for disaster” Faramir said, climbing up onto the seat of the wagon. “You’ll protect me won’t you Tomos?”

“But I cannot spare you, so you just get down and let these good people be on their way” the King commanded, raising a hand to help him down.

“Yes Sire.”

With a last farewell Islin and Tomos climbed up to take their seats. Lireal pulled Faramir away from the crowd.

“I’m sorry that we didn’t get a better chance to talk,” she said. She took in the pale face, the sunken cheeks and the dark shadows around his eyes.

“Are you really all-right…I was worried about you? They said you were ill and you are still pale.” She cupped her hand to his cheek. “You must take better care of yourself,” she commanded softly, kissing his cheek and embracing him. “Thank you for everything.”

“It is me that should be thanking you…I could not have done it without you. I know it wasn’t easy for you coming back to the city. I will not forget your courage”.

She leant up and whispered to him. “You are not the only one with a wedding to plan.”  He saw her eyes settle on Islin and recognised the unspoken message in the gaze.”

“Then go with my blessing. I wish you happiness and joy in your new life.”

Faramir lifted her up onto the wagon and when she was settled Islin flicked the reins and the wagon set off through the archway, joining with a detail of mounted troops who would be their escort back to the farm.

****

They stood at the wall and waited for the small caravan to emerge from the gate and begin its slow progress northwards across the Pelennor.  Faramir felt the prickle of eyes watching him but each time he looked around to find the source of the scrutiny he could find no one looking at him. He chatted with his uncle, his gaze alternating from the vista below to his companions; it was starting to grate on his nerves, this feeling of being watched.

He saw Gimli talking to Legolas; the Elf looked over to him and bowed. Faramir experienced a sudden flashback to the previous evening’s happenings and to Gimli’s comments in his chamber. He felt the blood rush to his cheeks.

“Legolas, could you spare me a moment?” Faramir decided to take the bull by the horns and confront his embarrassment. He moved away from his companions and waited for Legolas to join him.

“I fear I owe you an apology, my friend. I am sorry if I caused you any embarrassment.”

“You mean you were toying with my affections,” gasped Legolas, with a pained expression, his hands clasped to his breast.

“Oh, behave; you promised once to keep me safe if I drank with you!”

“I did keep you safe…who do you think put you to bed!”

 Legolas had a sudden thought, his memory going back to Faramir’s conversation that night in the ale house.

“Please, don’t tell me that you propositioned Éomer!”

“He was very understanding…after he had sheathed his dagger…though he did ban the Chamberlain from ever serving me anything stronger than watered ale…and he told Éowyn…she thought it was hilarious!”

And then they were laughing, leaning against each other for support as they gasped for breath, much to the amusement of their companions.

A call floated up from the plain below and they returned to the wall to wave a final farewell to the travellers.

As they all made their way back up to the citadel Aragorn and Faramir walked together deep in conversation. At the rear of the procession Tamir walked beside Prince Imrahil.

“Are they really reconciled Sir,” Tamir asked, as he watched the King and his Steward together. “Have they made their peace?”

“I believe they have, Tamir. You need no longer fear for Lord Faramir’s safety at the hands of the King. I think that they now understand each other; though I don’t believe it will always be a placid relationship, they are both stubborn and have strong opinions. I believe life will continue to be interesting!”

****

“Well Faramir, there is much that needs to be set to rights, much that needs to be organised. I think it would be best if we decided between us how to move forward.”

They sat together on a sun lit balcony, just the two of them. It was an informal meeting and yet they both knew that it was a defining moment in their fledgling relationship.

“I am, as ever, at your command Sire!”

“NO, Faramir.” Aragorn got to his feet and stalked to the balustrade. He took a deep breath to control his irritation before turning to face the younger man.

“No! Can you not see? That is not what I want from you, not what I need! If we are to rebuild the glory of Gondor we have to work together…I have to know what you think, what you feel….There are any number of fledgling Lord Haralil’s waiting in the wings ready to bow and scrape their ways into positions of power and influence. I need you….” He forced himself to calm.

“I need you to guide me through this labyrinth…your revelations yesterday proved just how unprepared I am for this task…without a council my need for your support and guidance is greater than ever.”

Faramir was quiet, processing the situation and formulating his own response. He was moved and humbled by the King’s plea. He knew of command, had worked his way up through the ranks to lead his Rangers, he knew how to give and receive orders, knew how to lead and inspire his men, knew also the loneliness and isolation of command.

“Aragorn, I think you first have to decide what manner of Ruler you wish to be.” The use of his name raised a smile.

“What do you mean?”

“My father, for all his faults, was a good Steward. He kept Gondor functioning and safe in a time of threat and fear. But those times are gone and you have to decide how you are going to move forward. Do you want to be an absolute ruler, do you want to re-instigate the Council, do you want to appoint independent advisors or have elected representatives. There is no precedence for this, Aragorn; this is a new Era, your Era, you can create it in whatever format suits you. As far as I can see there is no right or wrong answer, you can stick with  tradition or you can create your own traditions…I will support you in whatever you decide, provided it works for the good of the people!”

Faramir hesitated before going on, not sure quite how to proceed; apprehensive as to how the King would take his next thoughts. But the barrier between them had been breached and so he pushed on.

“We have arrived at this point because Lord Haralil was allowed to isolate you from the consequences of the decisions taken. He created systems and protocols that prevented the Commanders and the people from having access to you, just as he blocked access to the Houses of Healing. And you played into his hands by keeping your distance from the people!” Faramir stopped, afraid that he had gone too far. He sank back into his seat waiting for the backlash, unconsciously fidgeting with the bandage on his hand. The healer in Aragorn seeing the gesture batted his hand away.

“Go on...spit it out…I won’t bite you! Say what’s on your mind.”

“The people don’t know you…you are as much a stranger to them today as on the day you took the Crown. Don’t get me wrong, they revere you, they are proud to have the King restored but they don’t know you or….love you. You are too remote; you can’t hide up here in your shiny white tower and expect to…” he paused, trying to organise his thoughts. “Lireal left the city because she felt the ordinary people had become invisible, that they didn’t matter. You have to change that, Aragorn, they are the ones who need you most…they have no one else.”

“I think you are wrong there, Faramir. I think they have a very eloquent champion, even if he doesn’t yet realise his true worth. So what does my Steward suggest?”

“Get out and about. Visit the barracks and the training yards, meet the people, visit the markets and the ale houses and the apprentice houses, set up schools …let the people know that they have some means to air their grievances. I can take much of the burden of administration off your shoulders, if that is your wish, so that you have the time and the opportunity to accomplish these things. You are a good man, Aragorn and I have absolute confidence that you will be a great King.” They lapsed then into silent contemplation.

Aragorn broke the silence.

“Then let us decide first what we are going to do about this tribunal. Have you given that any thought?”

“It must be seen to be fair and impartial and for that reason I think it would not be a good idea for me to be involved. I will turn over all the research and information that I have uncovered and will collate the information retrieved from the searches yesterday. Draw on nobles from Gondor and representatives from the other Kingdoms to sit on the panel; choose those with no connection or interest in the trades under scrutiny.”

“Yes,” agreed the King, “and we need to set this in motion quickly, the longer this is allowed to fester the longer it will take to re-establish the confidence of the people.”

Further deliberation was cut short by the arrival of a messenger.

“Sire, an envoy has arrived from Edoras bearing messages for Lord Faramir!”

TBC

Thank you once again to everyone for your support and encouragement. I welcome and treasure every comment.

Chapter 14

As he walked quickly along the corridors from the Royal Apartments to his own quarters,Faramir made a conscious effort to push down the strands of anxiety that prickled down his spine. There had not been time for the message Arwen had helped him send to Éowyn to have been received and replied to; the messengers must have passed on the trail.

He took a steadying breath before entering his chamber. Tamir and the scribe were working at the desk organising and sorting piles of documents and sheaves of parchment.

The messenger stood to attention at his arrival. He vaguely recognised the Rohirrm though he could not put a name to the face. The man still bore the dust from the trail and his face betrayed his tiredness.  

“Lord Faramir, I bring greetings and messages from Éomer King.” He offered forward a leather message pouch; Faramir took it and nodded his thanks.

“Is all well in Edoras?” he asked, knowing that he would only get the vaguest of answer from the King’s messenger; anything of import would be contained within the official correspondence.

“All is peaceful, Sir. The harvest was good and the foal pens are filled with some promising beasts. Oh, and Lady Éowyn asked me to pass on her regards.” This was said with a smile and just the hint of a wink.

“Good, good,” the Steward said distractedly, emptying the contents of the pouch onto his lap. He set aside three official looking scrolls of parchment for attention later and examined one addressed to him in Éomer’s own distinctive scrawl. He felt around inside the bag but there was nothing else, no message from Éowyn.

“Tamir, would you arrange food and a billet for the King’s messenger.” He turned back to the envoy, “I am sure there will be return messages for the Golden Hall from myself or from King Elessar, when must you leave?”

“At your convenience, Sir.”

“I will leave word for you at the barracks when all is ready,” he said by way of dismissal. He took Éomer’s letter through to his small sitting room and sat in the window recess to read it in peace. He broke the seal and unfurled the parchment.

He smiled at the greeting, Éomer had addressed him as brother; it brought back fond memories of his time as a guest of the Golden Hall. It also caused his heart to clench  as his thoughts turned to Éowyn. He had been so sure that she would have sent word to him but then his own correspondence to her had been very inadequate, perhaps she was replaying the compliment.

He scanned through the letter quickly, relieved to find that it contained no bad news. He went back to the beginning to digest its contents more thoroughly. Éomer enquired about his health and sent his greetings to Aragorn and Arwen. The rest of the letter concerned the arrangements for Faramir’s marriage to Éowyn. The majority of the legal and procedural details had been agreed during Faramir’s stay in Edoras but no date for the nuptials had been set. The official period of mourning for King Théoden was nearly over and Éomer was keen to finalise the arrangements. They had agreed that the ceremony would take place in Minas Tirith, a small private ceremony for close friends and relatives with the King to officiate. The arrangements for more widespread celebrations to honour the marriage were in the hands of the Queen.

Faramir let the letter rest in his lap as he turned his gaze to the view beyond the window; looking but not really seeing the city and the surrounding lands splayed out before him. His mind was back in Rohan, riding across rolling grassland, the freedom of the plain and the freshness of the breeze mingling with the joy of having Éowyn at his side. He smiled at the memory.

I hope that smile is for me.

The words were barely a whisper on the breeze and they settled around him; the voice of memory. His smile deepened and he rested his head back against the casement, stone rubbed smooth by long use, closing his eyes to better hold on to the warmth of remembrance.

I hope it is a good dream.

The voice whispered in his mind, bringing with it the scent of honeysuckle mingled with clear air and horses.

“It is a good dream,” he answered under his breath, not wanting the moment to end.

But as ever duty called and he still had much to do. With a sigh of regret he pushed away his memories and with a last look out at the view he picked up the letter and turned to leave.

She stood watching him, not five paces away, as still and beautiful as a statue, her pale features illuminated by a shaft of sunlight. He too was turned to stone, too shocked to process if this was reality or illusion; a mind-trick played on his heart by his longing for her presence. The silence lengthened, became charged and painful; he started to raise his hand in supplication, fearing he would shatter the illusion with his movement.

“Please…” he gasped, his knees giving way as he dropped back into the seat he had just vacated. “Éowyn!”

The arms were real. The warmth and strength of her as she came to him were real. The racing of her heart and the quickness of her breath as she buried herself in his embrace were real. He tried to speak but each time the words were swallowed up in the overwhelming reality of her presence.

She shushed and gentled him; unfurled the fingers that clung to her arm so tightly that she knew would leave her marked. She turned his face to the searching rays of the sun to better see him. She traced the contours of face, allowed her fingers to explore even as her eyes took in the ravages wrought upon his dear face by his recent trials. And when she could bear to look no longer for fear of exposing her grief she brought her face to his and kissed him.

 They spoke little beyond quiet reassurance and endearments, content for the moment to savour each other’s company. Faramir kept holding her away from him to drink in her beauty, to reassure himself that she was real and not a phantom of his overtaxed imagination.

Some time later Tamir knocked and brought them back to the present.

“Sir, My Lady. The Queen has sent word to remind you that you are expected to dine with her, this evening.”

“Thank you, Tamir. If you are you finished for the day would you be so kind as to escort Lady Éowyn to the Royal Apartments,” He turned to Éowyn. “I presume that is where you are staying.”

“Yes, I will be the Queen’s guest… until we have our own household,” she said, blushing.

“Then I will bid you farewell, My Lady, until this evening.” He raised her hands to his lips in a farewell salute. It was only as she was leaving that he realised she was still dressed for the trail in leggings and tunic.

Faramir was the last to arrive, he and Ferris hindering rather than helping each other in their efforts to see him suitably groomed and attired for the evening. He found himself the target of much teasing and banter. He greeted Éowyn with a smile so full of love that he glowed. He complimented her on her transformation from rider to Lady and her own face glowed in the warmth of his adoration.

It soon became apparent that all of the others had been party to the conspiracy of silence regarding Éowyn’s arrival. Part of him felt he should have been angry at their deception but the sense of joy and peace that her presence afforded him cancelled out any resentment and he was thankful for the care and understanding of his friends.

There were just the six of them; Aragorn and Arwen, Legolas and Gimli, Éowyn and himself; Prince Imrahil had departed earlier with a promise to send two trusted nobles to serve on the Tribunal.   They sat at a round table, enabling them all to converse easily. Faramir noted with gratitude that, without fuss or favour, his meal had been prepared and presented so that he could eat without embarrassment or difficulty. He glanced at Arwen and nodded his thanks for her consideration.

The evening progressed amicably and after the meal they retired to the Queens solar. Arwen and Éowyn whispered together while Aragorn and the rest of the companions discussed the setting up of the tribunal. Faramir gave his assessment of the requirements for the process, well able to hold his own in the cut and thrust of the debate, sober enough to offer his insight and understanding of the situation even when his companions’ wine-loosened tongues threatened to drown out the voice of reason. He suspected that they were baiting him deliberately, well aware of their penchant for teasing but he was buoyed up by Éowyn’s presence, his gaze frequently seeking hers.

Arwen couldn’t pinpoint the moment when she first became aware of Éowyn’s agitation. At first it was just a sense of disquiet and tension. Several times she caught the girl’s expression as she looked upon her betrothed’s face and what she saw there surprised her, at first she thought it was grief but closer scrutiny revealed it to be something closer to anger. When she realised that she was being observed Éowyn quickly masked her emotions.

“Please excuse me, I need a little air,” she whispered to Arwen.

 She got to her feet and pushed aside the gauzy drape to escape onto the balcony beyond. The evening air was still and warm and heavy with the scent of blossom. She took a couple of deep breaths and tried to banish the tension and tiredness that prickled behind her eyes and weighed heavily on her shoulders. The night was dark with no moon to gild the landscape; on the balcony lanterns burned and their glow provided just enough light to illuminate the surroundings.

Faramir was so engrossed in his discussions with Legolas that at first he was unaware of her absence but Aragorn had seen her leave and he looked to Arwen, a silent question asked with a raised eyebrow, she could only shrug her shoulders in reply. When Faramir realised she was gone he looked to Arwen for an explanation but before she could reply he caught sight of the familiar silhouette through the drapes. 

Éowyn tensed as she sensed his approach.

“Éowyn, are you alright?”

She could hear the concern in his voice but she did not turn to him. He stood behind her, his arm around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. She tensed, not leaning into his embrace as he expected. Her continued silence troubled him and he tried to turn her round to face him. She resisted him, bracing her arms on the balustrade.

“Please, leave it, I am fine…I am just tired and I needed some air. Go back inside, I will rejoin you in a moment,” she begged.

“But I want to know what troubles you.”

“Please, Faramir. Not here, not now. It is not the time or the place for this…PLEASE!” She tried to pull away but she was trapped between him and the balustrade.

“Éowyn, please talk to me…tell me what is wrong.” He could feel the tension in her, could feel the racing of her pulse and the quickness of her breath. In other circumstances he would have heeded his normally reliable instinct and listened to the voice in his head telling him to heed her wishes but his concern for her clouded his judgement. She pushed back against his chest with enough force to upset his balance and as he stepped back she pulled away and spun round to face him, positioning herself at arms length from him and folding her arms across her chest, defying him to move closer.

He had seen her in many moods: despairing and without hope after her awakening in the house of healing, hesitant and unsure in the face of his declaration of love, compassionate in her ministrations to the sick and injured, supportive of him in his hour of need, loving and gentle in his arms, efficient and purposeful in her administration in Edoras but never had he seen her near incandescent with fury and that fury directed at him.

“TALK,” she spat, “talk! that would assume a degree of communication, My Lord, a facility at which you seem to be particularly unskilled.” She stalked to the doors into the room and pulled them closed to give them at least the illusion of privacy.

“Have you any idea what I have been going through, stuck leagues away with no word from you. I hear that you are missing and then at death’s door and the only information I get is from Arwen, despite the fact that messengers arrive almost weekly.”

“I’m sorry, my love. Please don’t…”

“Sorry! You promised me. You promised that you would share your thoughts and your worries with me…” she was weeping now, but still she kept in at arms length.

“You promised that you would look after yourself and look at you! You look like a breath of wind would blow you away, I have seen more colour in a marble statue and I can see that your arm has deteriorated, it is weaker than when you left Edoras.”  Her anger leeched away leaving her heart full of sorrow. She moved towards him and lifted her hand to pull his arm out of the sling. He flinched as though expecting a blow. Even in the light of the lantern the scars on his palm were visible; she caressed them with her thumb before sliding the arm back into the sling.

She looked up at him then, looked into his face and saw that he had distanced himself from her, not physically but emotionally; she recognised the closed expression, the shield of self-protection he adopted when unable to cope with painful or emotional conflict. Her anger re-ignited and she took him by the shoulders and shook him.

“NO! You will not do this to me…you will not hide from this, from me. I love you and I will not allow it, do you hear me!” she was shouting now, all consideration of privacy and discretion gone.

“No more, please. I’m sorry. I should have heeded you. You did not want to discuss this now…” he tried to back away but she did not release him.

“Faramir, what do you see when you look at me, when you look into our future? I will not be some docile little housewife, content to mind your hearth and present you with a new babe every year. If that is what you want then look to one of the simpering noble-born ladies of the court; I would be your helper, your partner, your consort. If you cannot accept my help and my support as an equal then I will return to Edoras where my talents and my strengths are welcomed. It is arrogance to think you can do everything alone, you do not have to prove yourself to me or to your friends… How many times have they offered you their support, their concern! How many times have you pushed them away?…Even friends have their limits.”

 When he failed to respond she dropped her hands from his shoulders and walked away, closing the door behind her and leaving him alone. He heard her murmured apologies to their hosts and then the room fell silent.

“Are you alright, Faramir?” He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he felt Aragorn’s hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t think I handled that very well!”

“Not one of your shining moments, my friend.” Aragorn leant against the balustrade in the darkness.

“It’s all my fault. She tried to tell me but I took no notice…but I couldn’t bear to see her so distressed. I should go after her.”

“No, Faramir. Leave it for tonight; you are both tired and overwrought. Arwen will see that she is all right and things will seem clearer in the morning.”

“Can you spare me tomorrow, Aragorn? It would be easier to talk to her away from the city.”

“What have you in mind?”

“I would like to take her to a grove I know up in the mountain; it’s an hour’s hike from the city.”

“You will take an escort?”

“Yes, Sire. I wouldn’t want to face her brother’s wrath for compromising her virtue!”

“I was thinking more of your safety.”

“Do you not think I would be safe with my own personal shield-maiden bodyguard?”

“Going on past experience I would say you need a whole battalion,” chuckled the King, pleased to see that Faramir was more relaxed. He guided the Steward back towards his own apartments.

“Sleep well, my friend.”

~~**~~

Arwen tapped gently on the door, when she received no answer she turned the handle and entered, setting down the mug of honey-sweetened warm milk on the table. The fire had burned down low and the room was in darkness. She took a taper from the hearth and lit some candles. In the flickering candlelight she spied Éowyn curled up on the settle, weeping.

“Hush, child,” she soothed, taking the distraught maid into her arms and rocking her. When the storm of tears was finally over she fetched a damp cloth to wipe her face and pressed the cup into her hand.

“Drink this; it will help you to rest.”

“Why would he not let me be? I did not want to fight with him.” Her voice was hoarse from weeping. “I’ve been so scared, so scared that I would lose him and then to see him sitting there without a care in the world…”

“I know, I know. But you have to make allowances…he is a man after all,” she said with a smile to show that she was jesting. “But did you say anything that wasn’t from your heart,  that you didn’t mean? The timing may not have been ideal but he needed to hear it, Éowyn. Faramir is a brave, kind and gentle man and I love him dearly but when it comes to emotions, to his own emotions, he is just a child; a scared five year old, rocked by a grief that he has never allowed himself to release. When his mother died his childhood died with her and he became Denethor’s little soldier. From the little he has told me, apart from occasional visits to his uncle, Boromir was the only one to give him any loving care.”

As she spoke Arwen helped her to prepare for bed; helping her out of her gown and into her nightgown and brushing out her hair in long soothing strokes, finally tucking the covers around her.

“He seemed so much better by the time he left Edoras; I thought we were through the worst.”

“Éowyn, didn’t my father speak to you about this?” Éowyn nodded.

“He told me his emotional recovery would take longer than his physical injuries…Am I expecting too much?”

“He was safe in Edoras, no pressures and no responsibilities; it was like a long holiday. It is unfortunate that the situation he encountered here on his return was so difficult; by choosing to handle it on his own he increased the pressure on himself a hundred fold. His lack of self-worth and insistence that he attempt near impossible feats of endurance pushed him to the edge of collapse…The truth is he simply doesn’t realise his own limitations. There are no easy solutions, Éowyn. He has lived his life in the shadows; the shadow of his mother’s death, the shadow of his father’s antagonism, the ever present shadow of Mordor and even the loving but overwhelming shadow of his brother; the shadow has touched his soul and even the sunlight of your presence will have to battle to bring him all the way back. But do not despair,” she continued, seeing the fear in Éowyn’s face. “My father left you a secret weapon in the battle for the recovery of Faramir…!”

“He left something for me? What is it?” she enquired, pushing up from the pillows. Arwen gently pushed her back and resettled the covers.

“Friends! Friends who know your task and who will be by your side in the good times and the bad,” she said with a smile.

 “Now go to sleep, all will be well.”

~~**~~

They spoke little as they trekked up the narrow mountain trail in single file. Faramir took the lead followed by Éowyn, four troopers brought up the rear. Faramir was unsettled to realise just how unfit he had become, the uphill climb had his heart pounding and his legs rapidly turning to jelly. He had little breath to spare for speaking and he tried hard to disguise his distress from his companions. When they reached the head of the trail he indicated that the guard should halt. He took the knapsack and blanket from one of the troops and taking Éowyn’s hand, led her into the grove.

The grove opened out into a horseshoe shaped amphitheatre backed by high cliff walls.

A waterfall fell down into a deep, natural pool that overflowed into a sandy-bottomed stream; the air sparkled as the sun chased dancing rainbows through the spray. A grassy meadow lay before them and to one side a grove of Rowan trees offered dappled shade. They set the blanket down in the shade and Faramir went to the pool to fill their water flasks; he took the opportunity to dip his head and face into the water to cool down.

“This place is magical, Faramir,” Éowyn gasped as he returned to her side.

“When I was a child Boromir brought me here and told me it was our special place, I used to come here when he was away…”

“And have you ever brought anyone else ‘special’ here?” she teased.

“Only Frodo,” he explained with a fond smile, remembering the dismay caused when the Ring-Bearer played truant. “He needed a little peace and solitude during his stay in Minas Tirith.”

They ate their picnic in the shade and then moved to the edge of the pool; dangling their feet in the icy water and giggling as the silver backed fish tickled their toes.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Éowyn said quietly, holding her fingers to his lips. “I should not have lost my temper; you did not deserve that from me. Can you forgive me?”

“Éowyn, I will always love you and there is nothing to forgive. I hurt you and I promised never to do that. I know that I need you, please stay with me…help me, please!” He pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her hair.

“Always, My love. Always”

They sat in the gentle sunshine, talking and laughing and sometimes weeping; strengthening the bonds of understanding between them and banishing the anger and the hurt, both sustained and comforted by the love they shared.

TBC

Thank you to everyone for your support and encouragement

Update in two weeks, hopefully!

Chapter 15.

It had taken nearly a month to set up and assemble the Tribunal. A board of six nobles had been selected and from their number Lord Beranin of Dol Amroth had been elected as the chairman. He was a distinguished Commander of the Swan Knights who, following his retirement from active service had become one of Prince Imrahil’s most trusted Envoy’s. The King was also on the panel and it would be his task to pass judgement when the process was completed.

The intervening period had been busy for both the King and the Steward. It had been the King’s decision not to reinstate the Council until the tribunal was completed. This created a huge burden of administration to be shared between the two of them. They worked out a system that allowed them to keep pace with the workload.

Faramir rose at dawn and, at the King’s and Éowyn’s insistence, spent an hour in the Warden’s care receiving treatment for his arm and shoulder, this was followed by a working breakfast in the Royal Apartments discussing  the agenda for the day. An hour or two each morning was allocated for audiences with the King;  Faramir in attendance to offer information or advice as required and to look out for the King’s signal that he had had enough and he needed a break. After the noon-tide meal Faramir would return to his own chambers and set to work administering the decisions agreed during the morning and attending to his own duties. At dusk Faramir and Éowyn would join the King and Queen for dinner, sometimes alone and sometimes with other members of the inner circle of close friends.

These informal, evening gatherings provided a relaxed atmosphere in which to share thoughts and ideas, Arwen and Éowyn able to offer their own unique insights into issues thrown up during the day’s business and, although their suggestions weren’t always taken up or acted upon, they proved to be a useful sounding board.  Arwen and Éowyn had, by circumstance, been thrown together and this gave them the opportunity to deepen the friendship established during Arwen’s stay in Edoras. They worked together in the houses of Healing, Arwen sharing her knowledge of herb and plant lore gained at her Father’s elbow. Arwen also agreed to assist Éowyn in refurbishing the now empty Steward’s quarters, a task that Faramir had not found the time to accomplish.

With the cancellation of all of the contracts and edicts of the now discredited Council, it fell to Faramir to correct the damage done. His first task was to draw up a new statute reinstating the veteran’s and widow’s pensions and confirming their right to free housing. This, along with the announcement of open access to the Houses of Healing was posted at the gate to each circle of the City and announced by Criers in every market and meeting place.

The contracts for providing services and goods all had to be renegotiated and awarded. At the King’s insistence, each new contract contained a clause holding the signatory responsible for not only their own actions but those of all their employees and retainers. This seemed to concentrate their minds wonderfully; the punishments for transgressions were designed to be humiliating rather than to fill the cells; sweeping the streets, mucking out the stables or working as lowly, unpaid hands in the bakeries or foundries of the city; the more prosperous the transgressor the more lowly the punishment. Word soon got round that the Steward was relentless in his pursuit of justice and after the first few weeks few thought to tempt fate.

As Captain General of the King’s forces, Faramir bent his attention to re-equipping and reorganising the Troops.  One of his goals was to establish a military academy to educate and prepare young lads who would later go on to serve in the King’s Armies. Many battalions still lacked sufficient troops to provide the level of protection needed to hold the Realm secure but it would take months or years to fill the vacancies, too many of Gondor’s young men had been crushed beneath the relentless machine of the conflict. Neither the King nor the Steward doubted that it would be long before hostile neighbours to the south and east would cast their greedy eyes on the lands of Gondor and they were determined to be ready to face the threat. With the larders and storehouses of the garrison now adequately stocked, a new tough regime of training and preparation was instigated and the once demoralised troops began to once again take pride in their position.

Faramir took a report from the duty Officer each day, keen to keep abreast of all significant developments. It was the main garrison that was tasked with providing the guard for the ex-councillors, ensuring that they complied with the terms set for their house arrest. When the tribunal finally got underway they would also escort the councillors from their homes to the Citadel where the Tower Guard would then assume responsibility for their security.

Tamir continued to provide Faramir with an un-official line of communication to the activities and gossip of the barracks, and it was through his reports that the Steward was alerted to worrying rumours of ill discipline amongst some sections of the troops. It was concerning enough that Faramir made a spot inspection, observing the practice yard and the parade ground and watching the troops put through their paces by the master-at-arms. He saw nothing to confirm the rumours and was in fact pleased to see how the men performed. A glance at the discipline log did show that there had been an upsurge of disorderly conduct and drunkenness. Faramir made it clear to the Garrison Commander that such behaviour was not acceptable and would not be tolerated.

Two weeks into the tribunal, it was becoming clear that the process would be long and protracted. Lord Beranin kept a tight rein on the proceedings but with eight defendants and a mountain of paperwork to work through, progress was slow. With the King’s time taken up, the burden of administration fell more heavily on Faramir. He increased his staff by taking on an extra scribe and an additional assistant and, by necessity, delegated much of his workload.

Every evening at dusk, Éowyn would come and drag him away from his desk and they would take supper with Aragorn and Arwen. It was a matter of great relief to his friends that Faramir appeared to be thriving despite the demands made upon him by the sheer volume of work. Regular meals, adequate sleep and daily exercise had erased the lines and shadows from his face and he had gained some of the weight he had shed during his illness. With the resumption of daily therapy he was regaining some of the strength in his arm and shoulder; his hand still remained numb but the movement of his fingers improved even though they remained weak. Arwen had presented him with a fingerless glove, fashioned from supple black leather to protect his hand; the wounds in his palm had healed and because he was no longer subject to such extreme anxiety he was not prone to inflicting further damage on himself.

Once the Tribunal was in session, it met every afternoon for six days a week. Aragorn insisted that they all have a day of rest.  With the date set for the wedding less than two month away Faramir and Éowyn used these precious days off to spend time together, a rare and treasured respite from the cares of everyday duty. They would ride out with an escort and spend the day enjoying the freedom of the open air. Sometimes the others joined them and on one lovely summer’s day Faramir led them to his grove in the mountain. Aragorn had been there before; he had escorted Frodo back to the city after his sojourn in search of peace. In the protected environment of the glade they were all able to shed their cares and toils and relax amid the beauty and peace.

Another rest day was spent showing Éowyn and Arwen how work was progressing on the dwelling at Emyn Arnen. They left the city before dawn and rode hard, reaching their destination at midday. Leaving the guard detail to see to the horses, Faramir sought out the work’s master who proceeded to explain how building was progressing. The building was set on a hillside overlooking a small tributary of the River. The site was backed by woodland but the front faced open pastureland sweeping down to the water. Éowyn had only seen plans of the building and though only one wing of the building had been started she was able to see its potential. The building had been completed up to the first floor windows and the mellow sandstone used for its construction glowed in the early afternoon sunlight. The Builder explained that it would be two years before the construction was completed but promised that the first wing would be habitable within months, though facilities would be somewhat basic. Their stay was, by necessity, short and when they had eaten and the horses rested, they made their way back to the city; arriving as dusk fell.

One morning, three weeks into the Tribunal, the Duty Officer was late for his appointment with the Steward. Faramir was about to send a page to enquire about the delay when the Garrison Commander arrived. He gave his report with regards to the guard detail but it was clear from his countenance that something was amiss. Faramir invited him to sit and they faced each other across the table.

“Well, are you going to tell me what has happened?”

“There has been some trouble down in the City, Sir. Last night.”

“I take it this is not a security matter or I would have heard sooner.”

“No Sir. Security was not compromised; it is more of a disciplinary matter.”

“Go on.”

“There was a brawl in a tavern in the third circle. It got out of hand.”

“I see. Casualties? Damage?” The Captain General’s grim faced enquiries left no doubt in the Commander’s mind that he had the man’s full attention.

“Two troopers badly injured, one still unconscious. The tavern suffered a lot of damage…”

“And!”

“A civilian, the Landlord, suffered a knife injury; the Healer says he will likely die, Sir.” Faramir groaned.

“I made it clear weeks ago that this sort of behaviour would not be tolerated. Did that message get passed on?” he asked sharply.

“Yessir.”

“Do you know how it started,” he demanded.

“I have the four ringleaders locked up in the guardhouse, Sir. It seems that three of the older men were initiating a new recruit by doing a circuit of all the taverns in the lower circles. They got to one of the more salubrious ale-houses and were getting rowdy; when one of them insulted the landlord’s daughter, the landlord asked them to leave. They refused and started throwing their weight around and it ended up in a general brawl.”

“Sir. Do you want me to deal with this?” the Commander asked quietly, keen to get this uncomfortable interview over as quickly as possible.

“I think it’s gone past that point, don’t you?”

The commander nodded a reluctant agreement, embarrassed that his control of his command had been shown to be lacking. Faramir paced, deciding how best to tackle the problem.

“Are the men fit to face charges?”

“Yessir. They have sobered up and their injuries have been dealt with…mostly cuts and bruises, nothing serious.”

“Right. Keep them in the guardhouse. I want the whole battalion on parade; full uniforms, ready for inspection at the sixth bell. I will come and deal with this myself. You are dismissed.” The Commander saluted and beat a hasty retreat.

Faramir left a message for the King explaining what had happened, to be delivered after the end of the day’s session of the Tribunal. He called for Ferris who helped him to change into his dress uniform and sent his apologies to Éowyn and to Arwen explaining that he would be delayed.

Before heading down to the parade ground he called in to the Houses of Healing to consult with the Warden. The innkeeper was in a small side room, his wife and daughter at his bedside. Faramir offered them what comfort he could but in their distress they barely heard him.

“What are his chances?” Faramir asked the Warden when they had moved beyond earshot.

“Hard to say, he lost a lot of blood and the injury to his abdomen was severe. We can only hope that it did not penetrate his guts; if it did he is done for.”

“I see. And the two troopers?”

“One is still unconscious with a bad concussion, the other has been patched up and should be on his feet in a few days; their injuries are not life-threatening.”

Faramir made his way down to the parade ground; the battalion were formed up in ranks, breastplates glinting in the late afternoon sun. He took their salute and proceeded to the guard room. Inside the Commander and the duty Officer were awaiting him. At his signal the four prisoners were marched in.

They were in full uniform but without armour or weapons and they all bore the signs of the brawl; black eyes, bruised faces and split knuckles. The charges against them were read out. None disputed the facts as presented or claimed any mitigating circumstances. The young recruit, who looked barely old enough to shave, could not disguise his fear, his voice barely above a whisper. The oldest, a grizzled faced veteran, admitted drawing the knife and injuring the innkeeper, absolving his colleagues of complicity in the act.

Faramir listened in grim-faced silence. When the testimonies and facts were established and confirmed to his satisfaction, he got to his feet. He never once raised his voice but the Captain-General’s words carried more weight because of it.

“You have brought dishonour and disgrace to yourselves, to your colleagues and to the service you pledged your duty to. You can be in no doubt as to the severity of these crimes or doubt that such transgressions would be dealt with severely. The punishments handed down today are for the injury, damage and disorder that occurred last night.” Addressing the oldest prisoner he continued, “If the innkeeper dies as a result of his injuries, you will be facing a murder charge and only the King’s clemency will save you from the noose.” The man paled.

“I will now pass judgement. The whole battalion will have all leave cancelled for a month as a reminder to all that you are a unit, a team responsible to and for each other. You will each forfeit two months pay; the money to go in recompense to the innkeeper’s family. You will  be taken in disgrace before your comrades and you will be flogged, twenty strokes each for disorderly conduct, and you,” he addressed the knife wielder, “a further twenty strokes for drawing a weapon and endangering life.”

The four men were silent, only the young lad’s hitched breathing betrayed his distress.

“Do you wish to say anything before the sentence is carried out?” One of the younger men looked up seeking permission to speak.

“Sir, I accept the justice of the punishments but if I forfeit pay my mother will be thrown onto the mercy of the city, Sir. She is elderly and has no other means of support. Punish me, Sir, but I beg you, do not punish her.” Faramir looked to the duty officer and accepted his nod of confirmation.

“Very well, I would not see another innocent suffer for your transgressions. You will receive an additional ten strokes in lieu of forfeiting your pay.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Faramir moved to stand before the young lad. He put his hand to his chin and tilted his face up until their eyes met. Gravely but not without compassion he spoke to him.

“What is your name, soldier.”

“Darin, Sir,” the boy whispered.

“Darin, this is a poor start to your military career. Bear your punishment bravely and then put this behind you. The next time I see your name I want it to be on the commendation roll; show me what you are made of and make me proud.” The boy swallowed hard and nodded.

As they were marched out to the parade ground to receive their punishment, Faramir spoke to the Commander.

“See that the boy goes first; the waiting will be hardest for him.”

A trumpet announced that preparations were complete. Faramir took his place and the duty officer read out the charges and the punishments.

The four prisoners were lined up to the side of a heavy wagon, all four stripped to the waist. The master-at-arms stepped forward and led the lad to the rear of the wagon. Wide leather straps were slipped over each wrist and hooked over pegs on the back-board of the wagon, exposing the plain of his back. In the wagon were two troopers, each took one of the lad’s hands in a firm grasp, one slipped a folded cloth between his teeth and nodded that they were ready. The switch was a bundle of a dozen flexible birch twigs, two feet long and lashed together at one end; designed to inflict pain rather than serious injury. With one practice swish through the air to get the feel of the instrument, the master-at-arms indicated he was ready to proceed.

The lash sang through the air and landed across bare shoulders; Faramir saw the lad flinch and arch away from the pain. He noticed one of the soldiers muttering reassurance to him. Someone was counting the strokes out loud, the voice punching through the stillness of the arena; the only sound, beside the swish of the lash and the smack of the fronds on bare flesh. By the fifth blow the lad was keening, unable hold back his cries. Faramir steeled himself to stay in place, his eyes fixed on the lad’s shoulders. With the final stroke administered, the boy’s hands were released and he was carried away as the next prisoner was readied for his punishment.

With all of the punishments completed the grim faced troops were dismissed and Faramir stood in the empty parade ground, numb and sickened; his final instruction to the duty officer to make sure the prisoners received treatment for their injuries.

Faramir, without conscious thought, made his way to the empty practice grounds. He stripped off surcoat and tunic and chose a lightweight practice sword from the rack. It felt uncomfortable in his left hand. He threw aside his sling and moved through the practice drills he had learned as a cadet. Without his right arm  to provide balance he moved awkwardly but he kept doggedly to his task; he wiped the sweat from his face with the sleeve of his shirt, pushing himself until his muscles burned and his breathing  tore at his chest. He attacked the wood and straw dummy as if it were a deadly foe.

“Enough, Sir!”

Faramir ignored the familiar voice and continued his attack.

“I said ENOUGH, Sir.” The blade was knocked from his grip and he staggered forward to lean against the dummy, gasping for breath.

“In this place my word is law,  Sir!”

The master-at-arms  picked up the sword and replaced it in the rack. He fetched a dipper full of water and handed it to Faramir. They sat on a bench in silence as Faramir recovered his breath.

“You did what had to be done, Sir, and none will hold it against you. They deserved to be punished and you have sent a loud message that none are likely to forget in a hurry.”

“It’s one thing to inflict death or injury in war but I’ve never had to do that before…With the Rangers it was never necessary; we were too dependent upon each other. If someone didn’t fit with the group and couldn’t be dealt with with a verbal reprimand, they were shipped back to the main garrison…and that lad was so young!”

“Older than you when you felt the switch, Captain!”

Faramir looked up at that, remembering that it was this man who, as his cadet sergeant, had administered the punishment for some long forgotten transgression.

“He will survive and will be a better soldier for it. And as a Commander you will get used to it.” The old soldier clapped him on the shoulder.

“Now get off back home Sir, and stop abusing my equipment.”

By the time Faramir had bathed and changed out of his uniform it was late. He contemplated going straight to bed but he knew it would only worry Éowyn if he failed to appear.

When the page announced him, he found the King alone.

“Ah, Faramir,” the King said, acknowledging his salute. “Come in, we were wondering where you were hiding. Have you eaten?” Without waiting for a reply, Aragorn sent the page off to the kitchens.

“Where are the ladies?” Faramir enquired.

“Oh, they are taking a stroll in the gardens.”

“In the dark!”

“Yes. They were discussing the stars earlier and decided to take advantage of the clear skies.”

A servant entered carrying a tray of fruit, cheeses and fresh bread and a steaming mug of tea. Aragorn went back to his pile of documents while Faramir toyed with his supper.

“Are you going to tell me about it,” Aragorn asked. “Or are you going to reduce that whole loaf to bird food.”

Faramir pushed the plate away and took a sip of his tea.

“I had four men flogged today…and it sickened me.” He looked up and saw a flash of understanding cross Aragorn’s face.

“Tell me.”

The words started pouring out, torrents that became jumbled in his effort to put his thoughts and his anguish into words. Aragorn listened, not wanting to interrupt the cathartic outpouring. When he eventually lapsed into silence he dropped his head into his hand, massaging his temples to erase the sight and sound of the punishments.

“And now you doubt you are  fit to hold office?” Aragorn’s question and the evidence of his insight caused Faramir to look up.

“Did they deserve to be punished?”

“Yes.”

“Did the punishment fit the crime? Was it excessive?”

“Harsh but not unmerited.” Faramir answered.

“Was the lesson learned?”

“I believe so, though only time will tell,”

“Faramir, you did your duty, unpleasant though it may have been. It does not make you weak to find that you are distressed by having to inflict punishment. I would be more worried if you were overly enthusiastic in your administration of discipline. Your way is more effective because the men know that your punishments are always warranted. Some men command by fear but you command respect; your men will work harder and more diligently to earn your respect. That is a great asset in a Commander.” Faramir relaxed back into his chair and grimaced as he swallowed a mouthful of cold tea.

“Thank you, Aragorn.”

“My pleasure. And just remember, if the landlord dies, I will be the one handing down the justice and it won’t be just a flogging!”

TBC

Chapter 16

Faramir was late and today it wasn’t just one King he kept waiting. Éomer and Imrahil had both been invited to attend the routine working breakfast and Faramir knew that whatever they wished to discuss concerned him.

He had noticed them, during the previous evening’s festivities, conferring together and with Lord Beranin, though none had enlightened him as to the reason for their earnest deliberations. Faramir had been much engaged during the evening with entertaining Éowyn and introducing her to his cousins and to some of the nobles of the Court. With the wedding only a week away the guests for Dol Amroth and Rohan had arrived and last evening’s festivities were just the first of a series of entertainments organised by Arwen to celebrate the nuptials and to allow both families to become better acquainted.

Lord Corris had been in his element, supervising the organisation of the evening, ensuring that the catering and the entertainment went without a hitch. As the evening drew to a close Faramir sought out the faithful retainer and thanked him for his efforts.

 Faramir’s morning had begun as normal, Ferris had awakened him at dawn and he had presented himself to the Warden for his therapy. They chatted quietly as the Warden put him through his paces, exercising his arm and shoulder, pushing him to the edge of his tolerance and then massaging and manipulating his arm and hand. Faramir asked about the injured Landlord and was relieved to discover that, beyond expectation, the man had recovered sufficiently to be allowed home. They had nearly finished the cycle of treatment when they were interrupted by a page.

“I beg pardon, Sir, but you are needed up in the Citadel,” the lad gasped, addressing the Warden.

“Calm down, and tell me slowly.”

“The Chamberlain, Sir, he was late arriving in the Kitchens; I was sent to look for him. I found him in his room, Sir…he was still in bed, he couldn’t rise and he was pale and breathing funny.”

It took the Warden a few minutes to get organised, to fetch his bag and to delegate one of the healers to attend him. Faramir dressed and accompanied them up to the Citadel, leading them to the Chamberlain’s apartments, close to the Steward’s Quarters.

A fire burned brightly in the grate and the room was well lit, revealing the shabby but comfortable abode of a man at peace with himself; bookshelves lined the walls and a chess set beside a comfortable armchair spoke of a battle only half played-out.  Faramir sat in the chair and waited while the Warden and the healer attended to their patient. Even from a distance he could see the gravity of the situation and was saddened by the sudden frailty of the man he had known all his life. Leaving the healer to minister to the patient the Warden drew Faramir aside.

“I fear he has suffered an apoplectic fit, Sir. He is paralysed in his arm and leg and he is unable to speak, though I believe he can understand.”

“Can he recover,” asked Faramir.

“He is old and has suffered a severe attack. He may improve, though in all honesty I think it unlikely. He could survive weeks or months but I doubt he will regain any use in his limbs and he may suffer another attack at any time. I think it is best to prepare for the worst, Sir.” Faramir nodded his understanding.

“With your permission, Sir, we will nurse him here. I believe he will be more comfortable in his own surroundings and there is little that I can do for him besides keeping him comfortable. I will ensure that one of my staff is in constant attendance and I will attend him.”

“Thank you. If there is anything you need let me know. He has given his life’s service to serving the Steward’s and I would not have him go without in his hour of need.”

~~**~~

“My apologies Sire, King Éomer, Uncle. I am sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“Is something amiss, Faramir?” Aragorn asked, indicating that he should be seated.

“I am afraid Lord Corris has been taken ill, Sire. He is unlikely to recover. He has suffered a devastating apoplectic fit; he is paralysed and unable to speak. His assistant has taken over his duties for the time being; he is well trained but with the wedding only a week away….!”

“Ah, the wedding! It was on that subject that we wished to speak to you!” said the King.

 Faramir looked up and had difficulty reading the King’s expression. Faramir looked at the faces of his companions with alarm.

“What…is there a problem with the wedding?” He pushed his plate away and made to stand. Aragorn and Imrahil stayed him, each resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Peace, Faramir let me explain.”

He settled back into his chair, picking at the stitching of his glove as he waited for Aragorn to enlighten him.

“As you know, the tribunal has been more protracted than we anticipated. Lord Haralil and his chief crony Lord Darlon have used every tactic at their disposal to prolong and delay the proceedings. There is no way now that we will finish before the date set for the wedding.”

“So are you saying that we must delay the ceremony?”

“No.” Aragorn said fondly. “I would not do that to you, my friend. What I propose is that we adjourn the tribunal for three days to allow for the wedding celebrations. When the proceedings recommence I suggest that we sit in session morning and afternoon to get it finished as quickly as possible. It would mean you postponing your Bridal trip to Dol Amroth for a few days, possibly a couple of weeks; I would need you here to keep things running smoothly while I am tied up with the tribunal!”

“I see.” Relief flooded through Faramir and he picked up his mug with a shaky hand. “What say you Éomer?”

“It is not ideal and I would rather my Sister’s wedding was not overshadowed by this but I see no other solution….my suggestion of dealing with the two noble lords rather more directly behind the stables was rejected.” His jest broke the tension.

“Has anyone mentioned this to Éowyn?”

“No, Faramir, we voted that you were the best one to break the news to her,” said the King with a grin.

“Cowards, the lot of you!”

~~**~~

Two days before the wedding, Legolas and Gimli cornered Faramir in the royal apartments.

“I believe there is one tradition that we have not yet organised, Faramir!” said Legolas.

“And what might that be.” He had a sinking feeling that he knew to what they referred.

“I have been led to believe that it is expected that the groom’s friends help him to celebrate his last few hours of freedom with a little wine and song.”

“If you think for one moment that I would subject my safety and honour to the dubious delights of your merrymaking you are very sadly mistaken,” Faramir announced rather more loudly than he had intended, drawing the attention of the others in the room.

“I hardly think it wise to allow him to go off drinking with both my brother and you Legolas…given his previous record, who knows what manner of cat-fight may ensue!” laughed Éowyn, coming to his side and putting a protective and territorial arm around his shoulders.

“Yes, you can scarcely have a ‘stag’s night’ with the ‘Stag’ staying resolutely sober,” Aragorn pointed out. Faramir squirmed, not enjoying the direction this conversation was taking. Rather than allowing his friends to dominate the subject further he offered his own suggestion.

“I’m sure that the ladies have much to do tomorrow in preparation for the big day. I suggest that I take the rest of you for a ride out to a spot I know down by the river. We could catch our own lunch and enjoy the chance to be away from the city for a few hours.”

“Excellent idea, Faramir. I for one would enjoy a day away from this blasted tribunal. I have been stuck inside stone walls for far too long,” Aragorn said.

“How far is it?” asked Gimli. “I’m not sure my backside has recovered from the last ‘little ride’ on the back of yon Elf’s bony nag.”

“It’s a couple of hour’s hard ride but I’m sure if it’s too much for you the ladies will find you a gentler occupation….stringing garlands or making posies!” Faramir teased.

You are familiar with the swimming hole, aren’t you uncle?”

“Yes, your father showed me the place many years ago, before he was married, though I’m not sure I could find it again without assistance.”

“Then I will organise a small guard detail and we will leave at first light. You will join us Éomer?”

~~**~~

It was mid morning by the time they finally set off. They rode hard, heading south, parallel to the river. The miles passing swiftly beneath the flying hooves of their mounts as they raced and cajoled each other.

Noon found them at the water’s edge. The site Faramir had chosen was at a bend in the river. The water’s action had created a natural pool separated from the main channel by a rocky outcrop. The water in the cove was chest deep and the pool lined with soft sand. It made it an ideal swimming hole; a fact exploited by the youths of Ithilien for time out of mind. It was here that Boromir and Faramir had honed their swimming skills as boys, before the threat of the enemy had made the place too dangerous to visit.

With the guards camped near enough to provide protection but far enough away to ensure privacy the royal party set up a temporary camp. Gimli set a fire while Legolas challenged the two Kings to a fishing contest. Legolas won easily, his technique of spearing fish with an arrow far more efficient than the hook and line of the two monarchs. They ate their catch and swallowed it down with a flagon of wine that Gimli produced from his knapsack, toasting the health of the Faramir and Éowyn.

 After dozing in the warm afternoon sunshine all but Gimli stripped off to swim in the chill waters of the pool. Faramir, at a disadvantage because of the weakness of his arm, soon became chilled and retreated back to the warmth of the fire to dress and get warm. He watched the noisy horseplay, soon lost in memories of other care-free days at the water’s edge. He tried hard to hold on to happy memories but with his eyes closed he could hear and see Boromir in his mind and the reality of his loss rolled over him like a shrouding fog.

~~**~~

The ride back was leisurely; pleasantly fatigued by the day’s exertions none were eager to re-enter the cloistered, confining walls of the city.  Faramir allowed himself to drop back until only the rear guard were behind him; he didn’t want his mood to bring down the spirits of his companions, ashamed that on the eve of his wedding he had allowed grief to creep up on him and ambush his friend’s attempts to celebrate the approaching nuptials. Only Imrahil had sensed his nephew’s melancholy, he slowed his mount and waited for Faramir to draw up beside him. Faramir was so distracted that he failed to answer his first call.

“Faramir, are you all right?” Faramir pulled himself back to attention.

“Your pardon, uncle. You were saying!”

“I asked if you are all right.”

“I’m fine…just tired…” His attempt at reassurance could not fool his uncle and the prince reached over and took hold of the reins and brought the two horses to a standstill. He waved  half of the rear guard on, leaving just two troops to protect himself and the Steward. He handed Faramir a flask and waited while he drank his fill.

“Are you having second thoughts about the wedding?” he asked gently.

“NO, never that…Éowyn is my life.”

“Then can you not tell me what is troubling you. Are you worried about the ceremony? Is it not all settled?”

“Yes, all is organised, though…” Faramir lapsed into silence, leaving Imrahil confused.

“Uncle,  would you consider presiding over the ceremony tomorrow, to hear our vows?”

“But what about the King!... Faramir, consider what you ask. Won’t the King take it as a slight if you snub him in this way?  I would be honoured to preside over your wedding but I cannot allow you to jeopardise your position here as Steward.” Imrahil explained. “And what of Éowyn…have you discussed this with her?”

“I will speak to the King…and Éowyn. Please, uncle…you are the only family I have left!” Imrahil realised that he was getting closer to the real cause of Faramir’s distress.

“Faramir, you must discuss this with Aragorn this evening, I will accompany you and we will explain this to him together. Will you do that?” Faramir nodded his agreement.

 “Come then, let us be on our way and see if we can catch up with the others.”

With no official celebrations planned for the evening Faramir had a quiet supper alone in his chambers and spent an hour sitting with Lord Corris. Knowing that he could put off the meeting with the King no longer, he made his way to the Royal Apartments. Prince Imrahil was already there; they both greeted him warmly.

“Faramir?”

Faramir paced, not knowing how to begin to explain. Aragorn looked to Imrahil in bewilderment. Faramir stopped and turned to face them.

“Sire….I have asked, no…it is my wish that my Uncle presides over the ceremony tomorrow!” There was silence as the King digested this new state of affairs. Although he tried to disguise his reaction there was no hiding his hurt and disappointment.

“I see. If that is your wish I would not thwart your request but would you mind explaining why, at this late hour, you wish to upset arrangements long agreed between both Courts.”

“I’m sorry….it’s just…”  He looked around as if confused. He pulled his fist up hard against his chest to stifle the pain that robbed him of the ability to speak. He took a couple of deep and shaky breaths and stopped his restless pacing. His next words and actions took them both by surprise.  He stepped in front of the King and placed a hand on his shoulder, bringing them face to face.

“Aragorn I would ask you to do me the honour of being my groom’s man!”

Imrahil released a long-held breath and slumped back against the edge of the table. Aragorn’s eyes were locked to Faramir’s, seeing the grief and the uncertainty trapped within him; his own eyes bright. His own upset dropped away as he comprehended the enormity of the honour Faramir was asking of him; to stand at his side in Boromir’s place, to take the place of his beloved brother. He was stunned.

“Of course I will, Little Brother. I would be honoured.” He choked on his reply.

The endearment, so gentle and unexpected, unleashed the grief and the hurt and Faramir wept. He tried to leave, to hide his distress but before he got as far as the door two pairs of arms stayed and guided him; sitting by him offering the comfort of their presence until the storm of his grief abated.

“He should be here…he promised to always be here for me. He promised me…when we were young, he promised to stand by my side. He told me I was only to marry for love and not for duty and that my bride would have to convince him that she deserved my love. And now he will never know Éowyn or our children…and I miss him so much I can scarcely breathe,”  he gasped.

“We all miss him, Faramir and we will never forget him…but he would want you to be happy!” Imrahil squeezed Faramir’s hand. “And he will be by you side and in your heart as you make your vows. He loved you, Faramir and that love will never leave you.”

They sat long into the night, talking and remembering, until the fire burned low and the candles guttered and in their quiet companionship Faramir found a measure of tranquillity.

~~**~~

A select audience gathered in the shade of the White Tree. A flower-decked bower set on the greensward awaited the arrival of the bridal party. Faramir waited as patiently as his taut nerves allowed, flanked on one side by his uncle and on the other by Aragorn. Faramir fidgeted with his collar, pulling at the high-necked embroidered fabric in his agitation; Imrahil patted his arm and smiled his reassurance. Legolas and Gimli, standing off to one side with the Dol Amroth cousins, chatted quietly, engaging Faramir’s attention but for once abstaining from teasing. Lord Corris was carried out by two strong guardsmen and settled into a chair under a sheltering canopy. Tamir positioned himself behind Prince Imrahil, checking for the tenth time that the small table beside him contained all the necessary requirements for the ceremony.

On the stroke of midday a single trumpeter sounded a fanfare and the doors of the citadel opened to reveal the bridal party. With Arwen on one side and Éomer on the other, Éowyn slowly and gracefully descended the wide stone steps and crossed the lawn to take her place beneath the fragrant bower. Faramir watched her approach with wide-eyed wonderment. She was clothed in a gown of creamy-white satin, simple in design but stunning in effect, the only adornment a girdle of seed pearls and embroidery to accentuate her slender waist, her fair hair flowing like watered silk about her shoulders, her expression solemn but her eyes bright with joy.

Faramir appeared rooted to the spot, unable to persuade his feet into motion to take his place at her side. With a fond smile, Aragorn whispered to him and urged him forward; once in place the bridal couple turned to face each other. Imrahil began the ceremony.

“Friends, we are gathered together in this place to witness the solemnisation of the Marriage Vows between our two beloved kinsmen. To share in the joy and the celebration as they begin their lives together, to offer them our love and support as they move forward to face the future.”

Tamir lifted a length of silken rope and handed it to the Prince. Faramir raised his hands and held them out, palms together; Éowyn placed her hands around his, her own slender, delicate fingers capturing his larger, calloused hands within the safety of her loving embrace. Imrahil wrapped the bridal coil loosely around the joined hands and tied a symbolic knot.

“Faramir, it is with joy and love that I bind myself to you. From this day forward and for all the days of my life I will love and cherish you, supporting you in good times and in bad. You rescued me from darkest despair and brought me forward into the shining light of your regard. I give my heart into your keeping.” She raised their joined hands and set a soft kiss on his fingers.

Imrahil untied the bond and Faramir placed his hands around hers and gazed into her eyes as he waited for the knot to be retied.

“Éowyn, I call on our friends to witness the happiness that fills me today. I love you beyond thought or measure and that love grows with each passing hour. I will count each day blessed that I share with you. I vow to honour and protect you. I offer you my heart, my hand and my soul; you are my sunshine and my starlight. With you I am whole.”

As Imrahil untied and removed the cord, Tamir held out an embroidered cushion and the Prince lifted up a circlet of Mithril and Gold, set with a single stone of deepest Amethyst. He handed it to Faramir who set it upon Éowyn’s brow.

“Our marriage confers upon you the title of Princess of Ithilien; wear this token with honour but know that to me you will always be the Queen of my heart.”

The final rite of the ceremony followed. Imrahil held out a golden stirrup-cup of sweet wine; Éowyn and Faramir held one handle each and, twining arms, took a sip. Éowyn released her hold and the cup was shared by Faramir and Imrahil, when Faramir released his hold on the cup it passed to Arwen and then Éomer, onwards through the company in a circle of communion until it passed back to the bridal couple. The draining of the cup signalled the end of the ceremony.

Faramir wasted no time in sweeping Éowyn into his arms and kissing her with deep joy and passion until they were both breathless and dizzy. The tolling of the Citadel bell started a cascade of sound as the chimes of every bell in the city pealed in celebration, signalling the commencement of city-wide festivities that would run on into the small hours of the morning.

TBC

Chapter 17

In the pink-tinged light that heralds the dawn Faramir kept a peaceful and contented vigil. Éowyn lay in his arms, her head pillowed against his breast and her arm tucked around his waist. She had fallen asleep hours before, willingly succumbing to the pleasant exhaustion of a night of passion and laughter. Her hair tickled his chest as it was gently blown by his breath but he ignored the irritation, not wanting to risk moving and disturbing her sleep.

He was overwhelmed by the intensity of the emotions of finally having her in his arms, of sharing his body and his passion with her; nothing in his past or in their previous encounters of snatched kisses and furtive embraces had prepared him for this.

Now he could finally understand the mystery that had puzzled him since he came of age. He had always thought that he was lacking in some fundamental aspect and yet one night in his beloved’s arms had proved to him that there was no defect in his nature or in his understanding. Years ago, after graduating from the cadets and before taking up his posting to the Rangers in Ithilien, Faramir and his contemporaries had been initiated into the sensual arts of love by the discrete and knowledgeable ‘ladies’ of a well-run house of pleasure in the third circle of the city; another rite of passage on the road to adulthood. The ladies had been well trained and under their patient tutelage he had learned to give and receive pleasure but for Faramir something was always lacking and while his body responded to their ministrations he always found these anonymous couplings unsatisfactory and emotionally sterile. He had assumed that the fault lay with him, that he was just not a sensual being and so he had subjugate that side of his nature and diverted his energies into the performance of his military duties. It had added to his sense of isolation but he accepted his lot, indeed the opportunities for romantic dalliances had faded away as the threat from the east had increased.

Now, in a matter of hours Éowyn had shown him how wrong his previous doubts had been, together they has shared passion and tenderness, sensual caresses and laughter; they had come together emotionally and spiritually and when their mutual passion  peaked both had wept tears of healing and bliss.

Now, as the first birds of the morning raised their voices in song to greet the dawn Faramir settled the blanket around Éowyn’s shoulders and, dropping a tender kiss upon her head, finally relaxed into blissful sleep.

~~**~~

As this was to be the final day of the adjournment of the tribunal Faramir invited Éowyn

to  decide how they would spend their time. She asked if they could ride out to the river. Before they departed she took Faramir by the hand and led him to the little balcony garden that had once belonged to his mother. She took a drawstring bag from her knapsack and held it out for him to hold. He looked inside and saw it contained the spray of lilies she had carried as her bridal bouquet.  She knelt down and drew the ornate dagger he carried tucked into his left boot and used the knife to cut one bloom from each of the rose bushes planted so long ago. She handed each bloom carefully to him and indicated that he should place it in the bag. When she had finished her task to her satisfaction she took his hand and led him through the corridors and out into the garden of the White Tree. Her first stop was the bridal bower; she clipped a few blooms and added them to the collection in her bag.  The final stop was the White Tree itself. She flashed him a cheeky grin and climbed up onto the stones surrounding the pool.

“Éowyn, no…you cannot, you will get us both clapped in irons!” Faramir looped an arm around her waist and lifted her to the ground, holding her pinned to his side.

“Faramir put me down.” She twisted round in his arms and dropped a kiss on his nose, laughing at his stricken expression.

“I have permission.”

“Well I hope you have it in writing. Aragorn is very protective of ‘his’ tree and I have instructed the Citadel Guards to act first and ask questions later!”

Further discussion was cut off as he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“I hope you weren’t planning on vandalising ‘my’ tree”

Faramir turned slowly to find himself under the stern-eyed gaze of the King and Queen. He winked at the royal couple.

“No, Sire. It was Éowyn!” The lady in question punched his arm.

“Fine, not yet married for one day and already you have forgotten your vow to protect me,” she pouted.

“Sire, I fear I have made a grave strategic error, already my wife think to rule the roost.”

“Take my advice, Faramir,” Aragorn whispered, loud enough for the ladies to hear, “it is always wise to give the ladies the impression they are in charge…it makes for marital harmony!” This earned him a cuff from both ladies as they all giggled. Arwen reached over and plucked a single bloom from the tree and placed it in Éowyn’s bag.

“Will you join us for supper this evening,” she enquired.

“Thank you for the offer but we had planned on a quiet evening together.” He blushed as he spoke.

“Quite right, Faramir,” said Aragorn. “Would you join me for breakfast in the morning and we will discus matters that will require your attention while I am tied up with the tribunal.”

“Of course. Will it last much longer, Aragorn? It seems to have been dragging on for ever.”

“My guess would be about ten days….but enough of business. Be off with you and enjoy yourselves today while you have the chance.

~~**~~

It soon became clear that they were riding in the direction of Osgiliath. Éowyn pushed the pace leaving Faramir and the escort hard pushed to keep up; it also prevented conversation and Faramir was still unsure of her intention.

Stonemasons and engineers were at work in the ruined city, the rhythmic toll of hammer on stone announced their presence even when they were hidden from sight within the labyrinth of shattered and blasted rock. The loose masonry had been carted from the confines of the city for salvage and the workmen were working systematically through the city making safe the shattered walls. Not a single building had escaped the ravages of war and siege and though the city held strategic importance as a crossing point on the river Faramir doubted that it would ever be rebuilt or re inhabited. The only construction in progress was to rebuild a permanent bridge to join the east and west banks of the river.  Already stone pillars were rising from the waters edge to support the main span. A hundred yards down stream a temporary rope and plank bridge offered easy access to the far bank.

Leaving the horses with the escort, Éowyn led Faramir to the centre of the bridge. The bridge swayed under their feet and Éowyn clutched his hand tightly.

“Éowyn, why are we here. It is not a cheerful place!”

“No, but it is a symbol of the past,” she said turning him until they stood face to face; she put her arms around him trapping his arms against his side.

“I want us to put the past behind us…not to forget or dishonour our memories but to say our farewells and let our loved ones go!” Her eyes welled and a silver tear slipped down her cheek. “There were too many absent faces yesterday; friends and family who should have been there to share our joy…but we have to let them go.” Her head dropped against his shoulder and she wept. He loosed her arms and embraced her, not caring that his own emotions poured forth. When her grief was cried out she brushed away her tears and took the bag from her back. She plucked out four lilies from her bridal bouquet, kissed each one before dropping it over the edge into the river’s embrace.

“For Théoden King, who was as a father to me.”

“For Theodred, as dear to me as a brother.”

“For my parents who left me so long ago,” she whispered.

Reaching down into the bag she took a handful of roses, she broke them apart allowing the multi-hued petals to flutter into the air, spinning and twirling in the breeze until they gently settled onto the swiftly flowing current.

 “For the brave men of the Mark who didn’t live to see the peace…Rest you all in peace.”

Faramir swallowed down the lump in his throat and hugged her to his side. She held the bag out to him. He selected a yellow rose.

“For my mother, who is but a distant, loving memory to me.”

A hand full of coloured petals spilled  from his fingers. “To the brave men of Gondor, to my Rangers and my comrades who gave their lives.”

A lily next. “For my father, may he find peace in the halls of his fathers.”

Taking the bloom from the White Tree and holding it secure he tipped up the bag and let free all the remaining blooms to flutter on the breeze like multi-coloured snowflakes. He held the last symbolic bud up to his face, closing his eyes as he inhaled its scent.

“For my beloved brother, Boromir. May the Gods keep you safe until we meet again.” He kissed the flower and watched as it came to rest on the same restless waters that had carried his brother away on his Elven bier. They stood arm in arm as the last precious token passed beyond sight.

~~**~~

For Faramir the following days passed in a blur. With many of the King’s duties on top of his own responsibilities his days started early and ended late. In addition to his existing duties Aragorn has asked him to prepare a short list of prospective candidates for a new council. He and Tamir spent hours selecting and short listing possible candidates from the nobility and from those who had proved their honour and integrity in the war. Backgrounds had to be checked and business interests declared.

It was after one of these long lesions that Faramir suggested that they take a break. He led Tamir out into one of the gardens, intending to broach a subject he had long been postponing. Tamir, ever tuned to his superior’s demeanour broke the silence.

“What troubles you, my Lord?”

“Tamir, I hope you know how much I value and treasure your service to me. From the day I plucked you from the Cadets you have served me with loyalty and devotion, above and beyond the call of duty.”

“It has been my honour and privilege, Sir,” he assured firmly but was unable to disguise the anxiety that now filled him. “Why do I fear I am about to hear bad news, Sir.”

“My apologies, Tamir. I do not wish to distress you but I have long been concerned about your future and I feel it is time to make some changes…when Lady Éowyn and I leave for our trip to Dol Amroth I would like you stay and resume your service in the Rangers.”

“Why Sir. I do not wish to leave you, Sir…Do not send me away!”

“This is not about sending you away, Tamir.  I am thinking of your future. You have proved beyond doubt that you have skills and talents way beyond your years but as my Adjutant you can never advance from where you are now. I want more for you than that! I want you to go to Beregond in Ithilien so that he can train you up to be his deputy…in time to be his successor!”

“You think I am capable of that, Sir.”

“Of course. And in a year or two Lady Éowyn and I will make our home in Ithilien and we will be working together again.” He smiled at his young protégé.

Tamir took a moment to digest this sudden change in his future.

“Sir, would you be able to find room for your household for a healer?”

“I think Lady Éowyn will want to choose the household retinue. Why do you ask?”

“I have been courting Sir, and with your permission I would like to marry”

“I see I am not the only one with secrets,” Faramir laughed. “Who is the lucky maid?”

“Her name in Jeaniel and you have met her,…in fact you could say she knows you intimately, Sir!”

“What!”

“She cared for you when you had the fever.” Tamir laughed at Faramir’s discomfort.

“Thank you for that, you cheeky young pup. I will never be able to look her in the eye now. Will she be happy to leave the city?”

“I believe she will be happy to go where I go.”

“Then you have my blessing…on one condition.”

“And what would that be, Sir.”

“That you delay the ceremony until we return from the south. I would like to dance at your wedding.”

~~**~~

At their morning breakfast conference, Aragorn announced that the tribunal would likely finish hearing evidence that day and that Lord Beranin would begin his final conclusions the day after. With the end of the procedure in sight Faramir set about his duties with a light heart.

The duty Officer had given his daily report and Faramir and Tamir were engaged in ploughing through the seemingly endless pile of documents when a knock at the door disturbed their toil.

“Sir, there is a Trooper here who requests permission to speak to you. He says it is urgent.

“Send him in.” The Trooper entered and saluted.

“Sir, I apologise for disturbing you but I cannot find the Commander and I’m not sure that this can wait!”

“What!”

“I was on today’s detail allocated to Lord Haralil. We escorted him up to the Citadel and he was handed over to the care of the Tower Guard. I was due to go off duty and as I made my way down through the city to the Garrison I noticed something odd, Sir. People were leaving Lord Haralil’s mansion…women, children and servants on horseback or in carts, Sir.”

Was the house not under surveillance?”

“Only when Lord Haralil was present, Sir. The others of his household were not under restriction,”

“And where is Lord Haralil now?”

“In attendance at the tribunal, Sir.”

“Right. Take this to the Duty Officer.” Faramir scribbled an order and authenticated it with his seal. “The City gate is to be sealed. No one is to leave without a pass signed by the King or myself. If the entourage have already left the city I want a swift rider sent to the Guard Commander at the Harlond. All vessels are to be impounded until further notice. Lord Haralil’s entourage are to be taken into custody.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Go then and be quick. And thank you, you have done well.”

“Tamir, I want the guard on Lord Haralil doubled…he is not to be left unattended. If there is any sign of resistance he is to be arrested and placed under lock and key. When the Tribunal takes a recess at midday inform the King what has happened. I will ride out to the docks and find out what is going on.”

By the time Faramir and his escort arrived at the Harlond the entourage had already been detained. The wagons and servants were under guard in a warehouse and Lord Haralil’s family: his wife, two widowed daughters-in-law and their children and his son, a youth barely into manhood, had been escorted into the Quay-master’s quarters.

A quick search of the wagons revealed that this was an organised removal and showed every indication that the family planned to leave the city permanently. Faramir ordered that the cargo hold of the waiting vessel be searched; household items, valuables and furniture and a large quantity of gold were found concealed amongst the cargo of timbers.

“Lady Haralil, I am Lord Faramir, The King’s Steward. I have a few questions for you.”

“I know who you are! You are the young up-start who has seen fit to persecute my husband and drag his good name through the mire!” Faramir ignored the insolence of the retort.

“No, My Lady, I am the one who exposed your husband’s corruption. The only shame levelled at Lord Haralil is that which he has brought on himself and he will have to answer for it.”

“That is a lie.” She spat. “My husband has spent his life in the service of Gondor, his son’s gave their lives and now you seek to dishonour our family name.”

“I know of you son’s bravery and sacrifice, Lady, and I honour their memory for it but that does not excuse your husband’s actions nor will it negate the requirement that he answers for them. Now, what is the purpose of your travel?”

“That is none of your business!”

“I can assure you that  the Quay-master will extend you his hospitality for as long as necessary.”

“You have no right to detain us, boy!”

“I ask again, where and what is the purpose of your travel?”

“We go to Belfelas, to our villa; the climate is beneficial for my health.”

“And you intend to travel without your husband?”

“He will join us when this mockery of a tribunal is over.”

“And if he is convicted?”

“He will not be. He has assured me that he will be exonerated.” Faramir gasped at her naivety but it was clear she believed her words. He turned to her son.

“What is your name?” he asked the pale, sullen young man.

“Earlic, Sir.”

“And what do you know of this business?” The boy looked to his mother; her expression could have frozen steam. Faramir turned the lad so his back was to his mother.

“Nothing, Sir. My father never saw fit to include me in his business or council dealings. He thinks me fit only to run errands for my mother and sisters. He has no use for me.”

“And you are happy to leave the city?”

“I have no say in the matter, though from choice I would stay here. I help the archivist when I am able and there is no library near the villa.”

“I see, and can you tell me when your father intends to join you?”

“…No, Sir.”

Faramir went next to see the Ship’s Master.

“You work for Lord Haralil?”

“Yes, Sir. He owns this vessel.”

“And what are your orders…what is your destination?”

“Down river to Belfelas and then down the coast.”

“Your cargo?”

“Timber for Belfelas, then I pick up a cargo of wine and grain to trade for spices and silks.”

“And do you have any other orders,” Faramir asked. “Think carefully before you answer! For if I discover you have been conspiring with Lord Haralil, the next time you traverse these waters will chained to the oar deck of a quarry barge.” The man paled.

“I was to leave as soon as the passengers and baggage were aboard and travel downstream for thirty leagues before tying up for the night to await the arrival of three more passengers.”

“Their names?”

“I wasn’t told, Sir….but I believe one was Lord Haralil.”

Faramir gave orders for the ship to depart, without its passengers but with a contingent of troops on board. With Lord Haralil’s family in secure accommodation for the night he returned to the city, arriving at dusk. He reaffirmed his orders to the gate-guard and had extra patrols sent out into the city. Having ordered Lord Haralil’s immediate arrest he made his way to his office.

“All quiet?” he asked the guard on duty at the entrance to the citadel.

“Ay, Sir. The King was asking for you earlier and asked that you attend him at your earliest convenience.”

The main chamber was in darkness but for the low red glow from the hearth. He moved carefully towards the fireplace to light a lantern. As the candle flared instinct warned him that danger threatened but too late for him to take action. He was grabbed from behind, his left arm forced painfully behind his back; he felt the cold bite of a blade at his throat.

“Not a sound or the boy will have more than a headache.” The voice was rough and unfamiliar, Faramir forced down his panic to take stock of the situation.

He saw Tamir stretched out on the floor, insensible, a corona of blood pooling under his head. The assailant pushed Faramir forward towards the door to the small sitting room beyond. He paused at the door, shocked to immobility by the tableau before him.

Aragorn was bound and gagged, secured to the arms and legs of a heavy wooden chair. He struggled against his bonds when he saw Faramir but a second assailant moved out of the shadows and placed a blade against his neck.

“So, the King’s pup has returned. How fitting that he should be here to see his master’s demise!”

Faramir struggled but was powerless to escape his captor. He was forced down to his knees and his hands secured cruelly tight behind his back. The knife moved back to his throat.

“Lord Haralil, stop this madness before it’s too late,” he urged, consciously keeping his voice calm and even. The Lord stepped forward and struck Faramir across the cheek with such force that for a moment his vision went black.

“You have nothing to say I wish to hear, boy!” the Lord sneered.

“You can gain nothing by this action; you cannot escape. The city is sealed and every soldier in the city has orders to detain you on sight; your family are in custody and your property has been seized…You cannot prevail, give yourself up while you have the chance…before it’s too late!” Faramir urged, desperate to stop the situation escalating.

Lord Haralil paced, taking in this unexpected information. The silence lengthened. Faramir felt the King’s gaze upon him and he raised his eyes trying to pass a measure of reassurance to his friend.

“Lord Haralil, your quarrel is with me. If you have any love left for Gondor and all that your sons gave their lives for, do not hurt the King!” Faramir begged.

“It is true the King was not my intended target but given the change of circumstances, what better chance to rid Gondor once and for all of this Northern up-start and his puppet. With both of you gone I can take Gondor forward into the future!” Faramir faced the sickening realisation that the man was beyond reason.

“Gondor will never accept you. Do you think Prince Imrahil, King Éomer or any of the loyal Nobles will bow to you…”

“ENOUGH” he yelled. “Finish the task,” he ordered his silent accomplice. Faramir struggled forward against his bonds in a vain attempt to protect the King. Pain exploded in his head and he slumped forward into oblivion.

TBC

Chapter 18

The alarm was raised by the Guard sent to inform the Steward that Lord Haralil had evaded the watch at his home and had disappeared. He found the bodies slumped on the floor. When help arrived Tamir, still deeply unconscious, was carried by litter to the Houses of Healing. Legolas and Gimli, alerted from their supper to the scene of the attack, carried Faramir to his own bed to await the arrival of the Warden. He drifted on the edge of consciousness.

 It was only when he rallied half an hour later that the full enormity of the attack became apparent.

“Aragorn,” he gasped, trying to rise.

“Peace Faramir, he has been sent for, he will be here presently.” Faramir’s agitation increased. He fought against the hands that tried to hold him back against the pillows.

“Is he dead?”

“Who…is who dead?”

“Aragorn. Is he dead.” Only then did it dawn on the companions that the King had been present during the attack.

“Faramir, what happened?”

“Lord Haralil, he’s gone mad. He planned to escape the city tonight. They attacked the King and Tamir and when I arrived I was overpowered. He threatened to kill the King and me…I thought they had. We must find him…the city is sealed, he cannot escape. Please, we must find him quickly.”

Imrahil organised the search, calling in all the Tower Guard and the main Garrison to patrol the city and search for the missing King. Legolas and Éowyn took on the task of informing Arwen what had happened. The warden attended Faramir and ordered him to rest. He refused the sedative offered and only reluctantly accepted the pain draught. When the analgesia had taken effect and Faramir could move without nausea he called together an emergency council of Commanders, Lord Beranin, Prince Imrahil, King Éomer, Legolas and Gimli. Éowyn and Arwen joined them, both pale and quiet as ghosts.

Faramir recounted everything that had occurred both at the Harlond and later in his office. He ordered that all of the ex-councillors be taken into custody and questioned, not sure who else had been planning to make their escape and rendezvous with the boat. The Guards  on duty at the entrance to the Citadel were questioned but they could report no suspicious movements.

“He must have had help,” exclaimed Faramir.

“I can believe that he had the means to escape from his own house without detection but how did he gain access to the Citadel when there is but one way in?” asked Gimli.

“Are you suggesting that we have a traitor in the Tower Guard, that someone would betray the King and the Steward?”

“It is a possibility you must consider, Faramir…either that or he is still within the Citadel!”

“I grew up here, Gimli but there are parts of the Citadel, parts of the King’s house that are unknown to me but if he is here we will find him, even if it means taking the place apart stone by stone.”

Arwen was weeping quietly against Éowyn’s shoulder. Faramir knelt at her feet and took her hands.

“Forgive me, My Queen. I should have protected him, I should have realised earlier that Lord Haralil posed a physical threat. I vow I will do everything in my power to bring him back to you safe and sound.”

“Hush, Faramir. You are not to blame for this.” She cupped her hand to his cheek. “You did your best and he would not have wished you to take further harm. You should rest now; I can see that you are in pain.”

“I cannot rest until he is found.”

“You must,” Imrahil insisted. “We will continue the search and I promise we will let you know as soon as we have any news.”

The Warden appeared with another pain draught for Faramir and he reluctantly accepted that he was in no condition to resist their combined insistence. As the pain eased he allowed Éowyn to settle him on a padded couch.

“How is Tamir?” he slurred, on the edge of sleep.

“He is still deeply unconscious, Sir. But Jeaniel is with him and if anyone can bring him back to us she can.”

~~**~~

Daybreak brought no further news. A detailed search of the Citadel had revealed no clues; long forgotten corridors and abandoned rooms were searched and re-searched but no sign of the King or the missing Lord were found.

Search parties combed the city, searching every building and the city gate remained sealed. A messenger reported back from the river that there had been no rendezvous with the boat. The ex-councillors had been questioned. It emerged that Lord Darlon, Lord Haralil’s closest associate, when seized, had been packed and ready to flee; a single man with no family ties he had accepted Lord Haralil’s offer of sanctuary in the south. Faramir had no difficulty accepting his shock at the recent turn of events. He vowed that he had no knowledge of the Lord’s plans to attack Faramir; he was a weak and corrupt politician but he would not have condoned the attack. He along with the rest of the ex councillors were returned to the guard room.

The day dragged on and the search continued. It was impossible to keep the news of the King’s abduction secret and as word of the attack spread the citizens came out of their homes and businesses to join in the search. Every shed, cellar and cavern was searched, newly tilled soil was dug over for signs of a grave, for the whisper had gone round that the King was dead.

As a second day dawned the only good news was that Tamir was beginning to show signs of rousing from his stupor. Faramir paid a visit to the Healing Houses and sat with him for a while. Jeaniel attended him with quiet, red-eyed dignity.

~~**~~

It was a subdued company that gathered together to eat supper; in truth none felt like eating. Word had come that Tamir was awake and lucid, a small crumb of comfort in an otherwise bleak day. Arwen kept to her room no longer able to bear the grief and pity of her friends. Legolas, Gimli and Faramir talked quietly, going over and over old ground trying to find a clue, anything to give them hope or comfort but as time moved slowly on hope began to fade.

A runner sent by the Guard Commander interrupted the strained silence. He was at first too breathless to speak, it took moments for him to gasp out his message.

“Sir,” he said, addressing Faramir. “You are needed at once…Council chamber…they have found a body, Sir!”

Years of command in combat conditions clicked in and Faramir pushed down the icy dread that clenched his guts.

“Éowyn” he spoke quietly but with authority. “Go to Arwen, stay with her until we have news.” She kissed his pale cheek and left.

“Come,” he commanded. “Let us see how this plays out.” Imrahil clasped his shoulder and they followed the soldier in hurried procession. The door to the Council Chamber was guarded. The commander stood to attention.

“We have touched nothing, Sir. We wanted to wait for your arrival.”

“Who…!” Faramir couldn’t force out the rest of the question.

“I don’t know, Sir.” He handed Faramir a lantern and pushed open the heavy doors. The glow from the lights was lost within the vaulted dimensions of the room, hiding the terrible evidence within the inky darkness.

“Where?”

“By the table, Sir.”

They walked forward slowly, watching every step, peering into the shifting, sinister shadows. At the head of the great oak table the King’s ornate chair lay toppled on the floor. Legolas held up his lantern and the flickering light gave up the room’s secret. High above the table a body dangled by a rope suspended from a huge iron clad chandelier; it swayed gently, moved by the currents of air that swirled and whispered high above their heads. The face was lost in the gloom.

Legolas jumped up onto the table and held out a hand for the heavy chair to be passed to him. He climbed up and seized the body, securing its weight against his chest with one arm and slicing through the rope with the other.

“It is not him…it is not Aragorn!” he exclaimed with relief, lowering the lifeless form to waiting arms.

The body was laid out on the table and closer inspection of the bloated, discoloured visage revealed that it was Lord Haralil.

“Faramir, see here.” Gimli pointed to a piece of parchment stabbed through with a small hunting knife into the table top.

“This is Aragorn’s knife,” said Legolas. “A gift from Lord Elrond, he has carried it since he came of age. What does the message say?”

Faramir held the parchment up to the light, brushing off the gritty reside that had settled on it.

Steward.

You have stripped me of all I hold dear; my family, my livelihood, my honour.

I had thought to kill you but decided it was better to leave you alive in the knowledge that you are responsible for the King’s death.

Is he dead? Or does each passing minute bring him closer to his demise?

His bones will lie forever hidden with only the rats and the worms to see him on his way.

Enjoy your tainted inheritance.

“Come we must go and tell Arwen.” He ordered the guards to remove the body to an antechamber and arranged for Lady Haralil’s entourage to be escorted back to the city at first light.

~~**~~

“What now, Faramir.” Imrahil asked as they all came together to discuss the latest developments.

“We continue with the search.”

“Faramir, we have to consider the possibility that Aragorn is already dead.”

“Not yet. Lord Haralil was taunting me, wanting me to squirm, wanting to make me despair; I will not allow him that power over me, even in death.”

“But Faramir, consider….”

“NO…if he had wanted to  kill the King why abduct him? He had the opportunity to kill him in my chamber….this is a power game.”

“Then why kill himself?”

“Because he realised that there was no escape and in death he thought to take knowledge of Aragorn’s whereabouts to the grave.”

“So you think he is still alive, still in the city,” asked Arwen quietly.

“Yes, I do…I will not give up hope.”

~~**~~

A third day dawned and still no sign of the King had been found. In the House of Healing Tamir’s condition was improving, he was conscious and aware of his surroundings, though he struggled to stay awake; a combination of the lingering effects of the concussion and the healers potions. From his sick-bed he listened in to the whispered conversations between the healers and the troopers appointed to guard him. Darin, the young soldier flogged for his part in the brawl was the duty guard from noon. When they were alone Tamir questioned him and sought out more information to piece together with his own recollections of the attack.

“Please,” he begged the Warden when he came in to check on him, “I must see Lord Faramir. I must go to him!”

“You are going nowhere. You are not fit to be out of bed let alone go wandering about the Citadel.”

“But it’s important.”

“Then I will have word sent to him. Now you must rest. Drink this.” When Faramir visited a short while later Tamir, under the powerful effect of the sedative, was sleeping.

He roused at dusk just before Darin was due to be relieved of his watch. Tamir grabbed his arm.

“You must help me. I know who helped Lord Haralil…I know where to find him.”

“I cannot, Sir. I cannot disobey orders. One thrashing was enough to last me a lifetime.”

“Please, the King’s life is at stake. I will take the blame if we are discovered.”

“Please Sir, do not ask me to do this,” the boy begged.

“If you will not help me I will go alone!”

“What should I do?” said the boy, resigned to helping.

“Come back two hours after you are relieved and bring me a cloak; my clothes and boots are here.

It wasn’t Jeaniel who brought his supper and medicines; she was on duty attending Lord Corrin. Tamir placed the medicine aside promising to take it after he had eaten; he asked if the guard could have a drink. The young assistant nodded leaving Tamir and the Guard alone.

Tamir took a sip of the medicine, just enough to take the edge of his headache but not enough to send him back to sleep. The rest he poured into the guard’s cup whilst the man tended the fire. When Darin slipped in a while later the Guard was snoring in his chair and Tamir was struggling to pull on his boots. A bolster in the bed was intended to fool casual observers. Tamir finished dressing and removed the bandage from his head.

Leaning heavily on Darin, Tamir made his way down through the levels of the city until they passed through the gate into the second circle.

~~**~~

The Duty Officer gave his night time report to the Steward and they discussed the security measures in place and the progress of the search. Extra patrols policed the night-time streets but the search was scaled down to be resumed at first light.

“There is one more thing, Sir,” said the Officer before he was dismissed. “It appears that your Adjutant has absconded from the Warden’s care.”

WHAT! I thought I ordered a 24-hour guard. How did this happen. I want the guard on duty in front of me NOW!” he yelled.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Sir, he appears to have been drugged. The warden thinks Tamir slipped his night-time medication into the man’s drink.”

“Yea Gods man, I should have you strung up for incompetence…we have an assassin able to pass freely into and out of the Citadel and now you cannot keep hold of one injured soldier. He had better be back in his bed by dawn or you will find yourself guarding the trail to Cirith Ungol.” Faramir spat, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes Sir.”

Faramir stalked into the King’s chambers with a face like thunder.

“No, there is no news of Aragorn,” he sighed in answer to the unasked question of his companions. “But Tamir has gone walkabout.”

 He saw Imrahil and Éomer conferring urgently together.

“What is it now, My Lords,” he asked. “What else can fate throw at us…at me.”

“Faramir, you must consider what action to take if the King is not found.”

“No, it is too soon to give up hope.”

“Faramir the chances are he is already dead…you must take action…for the sake of the Kingdom. With no King and no council you have to take control!”

“I am in control…are you suggesting that I usurp Aragorn’s throne.”

“As King or Steward you must exert your authority.”

“I. Will. Never. Take. The.  Crown. It is not mine to take. I will do my duty as Steward as my Father did before me but I will never….say no more. I will not discuss this.” He stormed out onto the balcony, slamming the door so hard that the glazed panels rattled in their frames.

Arwen and Éowyn heard the raised voices and came through to investigate. Legolas explained briefly. Éowyn went to go to him bur Arwen stayed her and asked her to arrange for a light supper to be served.

“Do not force this issue with him, my friends,” the Elven Queen begged. “Do not force him to give up hope yet, he is close to breaking. He has hardly slept or eaten in days. He will do what is necessary when the time comes.”

“Faramir!” He recognised the Queen’s voice and turned to face her as she came to his side. She slipped her hand into his and turned his palm upward. “Where is your glove,” she asked, stroking his abraded palm with her thumb.

“I lost it…I’m not sure….I…”

“They didn’t mean to upset you.”

I know….it’s just…”

“I know Faramir. I too cannot bear the thought that he has been taken from us and though my head tells me that I may never see him again I am not yet ready to give up hope.” They stood in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. It was Arwen who broke the silence.

“Faramir can I ask you something.” He nodded as she led him to a stone bench.

“I know that you don’t want the Crown or even to rule Gondor as Steward but if he doesn’t come back to us, would you stand as Regent to Aragorn’s son, to teach him and prepare him until he is old enough to take his Father’s Crown.” Her tears flowed silently but she smiled at him in confirmation.

“Lady, you honour me. Does he know?”

“No…it is early days and I didn’t have the chance to tell him, only Éowyn knows.” Faramir embraced her and held her as she wept.

“I will do everything in my power to help you, Arwen and I would be honoured to guide and love your son but I have not given up hope that Aragorn will return to us…he has to come back to us.”

~~**~~

Tamir and Darin tried several ale houses in the second and third circle before Tamir spotted the man he was looking for. They watched from a darkened booth, Tamir keeping his face hidden within the folds of his hood. The large, heavy-set man was unkempt and clearly the worse for drink. He slouched over an uneaten plate of greasy mutton stew.

“Should I fetch a patrol, Sir?”

“No, you stay here and keep an eye on him. If he looks like leaving try and keep him here till I return. Tamir slipped out into the dark alley and waited for a patrol to come by. He explained who he was and why he was there, showing his signet ring, symbol of his position with the Steward’s retinue, as surety to the suspicious Sergeant.

“We have been told to see you back to the Warden’s care, Sir.”

“I will go willingly when this man is in custody; he attacked the King and the Steward. You must not let him escape.”

 From the doorway Tamir identified his assailant and within minutes the man was in custody and on his way up to the citadel to face his nemesis.

Tamir and Darin followed the patrol up through the city, falling further behind as Tamir’s strength ebbed away. He wanted to enter the Healing Houses alone to keep Darin’s involvement in his truancy hidden but the young soldier would not leave him and in truth Tamir needed his shoulder for support. Darin guided him back to his room and helped him back into bed under the watchful but thankfully silent scrutiny of the Warden.

“I think you had better disappear before the Steward catches you,” ordered the Warden, with a wry smile.

“Sir, we have apprehended Lord Haralil’s accomplice.” The Duty Officer announced. “He is being held in the Guard-room.”

“How do you know this man? How was he identified?”

“Your Adjutant, Sir. He recognised him as Lord Haralil’s man-servant and as the man who attacked the King.”

“And where is Tamir now.”

“Back in the Warden’s care, Sir. One of the troopers helped him back; he seems to have overtaxed his strength.”

In the Guard room the man was dragged to his feet to stand before the grim-faced Steward.

“You know who I am?” The man nodded.

“Your Master took the coward’s way out and denied me the privilege of arranging his execution. You will not be so lucky. You have earned death by your actions. However the manner of your death will be of your choosing. If you give me the information I require your death will be swift and merciful. If not I can assure you that your end will be slow and agonising…you will be begging for death before the end.”

“You do not scare me, Steward. You haven’t the balls to see a man tortured.” He sneered.

“You were once a military man, Yes? Them I am sure you are familiar with the Master-at Arms here. He can be very persuasive and we have all night!”

The questioning went on until dawn. At one point Faramir left the room and vomited back what little supper he had manage to eat earlier but he composed himself and returned to his task. The screams would haunt his dreams until the day he died.

TBC

Chapter 19

Faramir was functioning on willpower alone, exhaustion and strain dragging at the tattered remnants of his composure. He stumbled into the chamber and slumped down into a chair, his head resting on his arms on the table.

“Faramir!” Legolas poured him a mug to tea and spooned in two large teaspoons of honey. “Drink this…please.” He lifted the mug with a shaky hand, savouring the warmth and the sweetness as they coaxed him back to some semblance of normality.

“He is hidden deep in the catacombs…Aragorn; he is trapped in the mountain!”

“How do we find him…why are we waiting?” Imrahil couldn’t keep the eagerness from his voice, already on his feet wanting to move. He looked to Faramir in bewilderment, confused by his passivity.

“I don’t know,” Faramir groaned.

“Start at the beginning, Faramir. Tell us what you do know!” coaxed Legolas.

“It starts in the time of the siege and shortly after the death of my father…at some point in that time of confusion Lord Haralil gained access to information about secret passageways into and within the Citadel. His accomplice claims he had a map or a chart of the labyrinth.

“And you know nothing of these passageways.”

“No, from my childhood I know of some concealed passages that connect rooms within the Steward’s apartments but nothing that extends beyond the bounds of the Citadel.”

“So who would know?”

“I suspect my brother and my father were the only ones privy to these secrets; secrets known only to the Steward and his heir,” he said bitterly. “It seems that there was much my father failed to share with me.”

“Do you know how or where Lord Haralil accessed the tunnels?” Legolas asked.

“There is a secluded section of wall that marks the boundary between the sixth and seventh circles of the city; it appears to be a series of decorative alcoves.  In one there is apparently a mechanism that releases a doorway into the passages. Lord Haralil’s accomplice couldn’t even identify which was the right alcove; I have had troops down there since dawn but they are making no progress.”

“And what about the entrance within the Citadel.”

“That too is a concealed entrance protected by secret mechanism; the entrance is near the Council chamber but again the accomplice could not identify the spot.”

“Could not…or would not, Faramir!”

“Could not. The Master-at Arms would have persuaded him if he had the information.” Faramir didn’t elaborate but his silence spoke volumes.

“And that is not our only problem!” he continued wearily, “even if we manage to gain access to the tunnels, it is not called a labyrinth for nothing…we could search for days or weeks and not find him. He was alive when they left him, beaten but unconscious; he is shackled and has no access to food or water…it is four days already, he cannot last much longer and we are running out of time.” For the first time since the nightmare had begun Faramir felt the cold grip of despair clutch at his heart. Éowyn embraced him but even her loving support failed to comfort him.

The silence blossomed, thickening and swirling in the midst of their impotence. Éowyn’s voice finally pierced the tense atmosphere.

“There is one who may know something to help us,” she said. “Who is the one person who knows all that goes on in a great household?” She tried to keep the excitement from her voice. “Who was your father’s friend and confident for fifty years…who knew him better than anyone?

“Lord Corrin!” exclaimed Faramir with sudden understanding but the brief burst of optimism was quickly swallowed by doubt. “But my father would never have divulged the Steward’s secrets even to Lord Corrin.”

“No, not the secrets themselves but maybe he knows where we could find the information we need.”

“But he cannot speak…his illness has robbed him of his voice.”

“I know but he may be able to communicate. Come Faramir what do we have to lose!”

Faramir stopped only long enough to reluctantly eat some sweet-bread and fruit before he and Éowyn made their way to the Chamberlain’s apartment. They arrived just as the Warden had finished attending his patient.

“We need to speak to Lord Corrin. Is he awake?”

“Yes, Sir. Though I must warn you that he is weak; his strength is failing.”

“We will be as brief as possible,” Faramir reassured him. “By the way I understand Tamir is back in your care. How is he?”

“On the mend I believe. He overtaxed his strength last night with his little jaunt but that young soldier Darin escorted him back…!”

“Why do I get the feeling that there is more to that tale than you are sharing?” Faramir asked to the Warden’s retreating back.

The old man in the bed looked frail, his skin transparent and his eyes rheumy and tired. His paralysed hand lay curled and lifeless against the coverlet. The brief flicker of a smile brightened his face as he recognised his visitors and he reached out with his good arm to grasp the Steward’s hand.

“My Lord, we are in desperate need of your help.” Faramir settled on the edge of the mattress. “You know that the King has been taken?” The old man blinked his eyes in acknowledgement.

“We believe he is held in the secret tunnels but we don’t know how to access them or how to navigate the labyrinth. Do you know of what I speak?” Blink.

“Do you know where the entrances to the tunnels are?” A slight shake of the head indicated a negative. Faramir sighed his disappointment.

“Was this a secret kept by the Steward?” Blink.

“Can I find this knowledge?” Blink.

“Where?” The old man screwed up his eyes in frustration and pulled his hand free of the Steward’s grasp. With a shaky finger he traced the shape of letters against the coverlet.

B.   O.  O.   K. “There is a book…No!...A library…An archive?” Blink.

T.   W.   R. “In the Tower?” Blink.

S   T   O   N  “The Stone Tower…I don’t understand.” Lord Corrin traced a large circle on the coverlet and then raised his hand to point to his eye.

“You mean the Palantir, the room where my father used the Seeing Stone.” Blink.

“Thank you, my friend, with your help we may yet have the King returned to us.”  Faramir placed a kiss on the old man’s forehead. “Sleep now.” Faramir stayed a moment longer until the Chamberlain dropped back into exhausted slumber.

~~**~~

Aragorn woke to darkness, darkness so absolute and impenetrable that he lay for a while in confusion with no clue as to his location or situation.

Very slowly the disorientation dissipated, allowing him to take stock of his physical environment. He lay on his side; he could feel the cool, gritty texture of sand under his cheek. He tried to stretch, to extend his limbs to ease the cramping in his muscles but he was unable to move. He was shackled, the cold bite of metal dug into his wrists and ankles; his arms in front of him secured to his ankles forcing him into a foetal position with no scope for movement.

The silence was as deep and enveloping as the darkness; he could hear nothing but the frantic thudding of his own heartbeat, a sound that grew louder the more he concentrated upon it. He felt the upsurge of panic, hating the weakness of being unable to control his instinctive reaction. He called out for the reassurance of hearing his own voice. The sound echoed, multiplying and reverberating off the stone walls that made up his prison. He called more loudly, over and over again until his voice gave out, his throat raw with the exertion.

He forced himself to calm, slowing and deepening his breaths, conscious of his racing heartbeat gradually slowing to a more normal rate. Once calm he consciously relaxed the tension in his rigid muscles. With concentrated effort he was able to roll over onto his other side and though still cramped he was at least able to relieve the pressure on his hip and shoulder. The change in position brought his other injuries into focus; as the side of his head came into contact with the ground he remembered the blow that had felled him. He replayed in his memory the events in Faramir’s chamber.

The day had gone well. The tribunal had finally finished hearing evidence and had adjourned for the day to await Lord Beranin’s summing-up on the morrow. At the noontide recess Tamir had passed on the Steward’s message and Aragorn had approved the added security measures Faramir had instigated. Lord Haralil was escorted back to his home and the guard had been doubled. At dusk Aragorn had gone to Faramir’s office to read through the list of prospective councillors and to await the Steward’s return.

The attack when it came was so sudden and so unexpected that he was overpowered before he had a chance to react or call out and when he regained his senses he was bound and gagged. He could only watch, helpless, as first Tamir and then Faramir succumbed to the assailants. His desperate struggle against his bonds stilled only when he felt the chill steel at his throat. Could only watch as Faramir reasoned with and finally offered himself to the crazed Lord. Aragorn’s last memory was of Faramir’s frantic effort to protect him before he was knocked unconscious, his own fall into oblivion coming moments later.

He had no way of knowing how long he had lain in the darkness, whether it was hours or days and no way of judging the passage of time. He slipped in and out of awareness, the agony of his cramped muscles vying with his increasingly desperate thirst to multiply his torment. He no longer had the energy to call out and turning over to change position became an impossible ordeal.

He fought hard to not to despair, knowing that his friends would be doing all they could to find him. He refused to consider the possibility that Lord Haralil had made good his intention to kill Faramir. He burrowed into his memories until he had a clear picture of Arwen in his mind and with that thought to comfort him he slipped back into his own darkness.

~~**~~

The stairway to the tower was concealed behind a locked doorway in the old Steward’s office. It took a while to find the right key from the large bunch that hung from his belt. Despite the urgency of his quest Faramir had to force himself up the stairs to the accursed chamber that had been the scene of his Father’s downfall. He had vowed never to pass this way and yet fate had tipped his hand and forced him to face the evidence of his Father’s frailty. He was not alone, at his shoulder Imrahil and Legolas offered the support of their presence.

At first  he had tried to insist that he go alone in order to maintain the integrity of the Steward’s secrets but in the end practicality won out, security had already been breached by Lord Haralil and with time pressing three pairs of eyes were more efficient than one.

The tower was similar in proportion to the observatory tower but had only narrow slit windows hidden behind wooden shutters. The lanterns the three carried illuminated the room. In the centre of the room the Seeing Stone rested on a marble plinth, hidden from sight by a heavy velvet throw that reached to the floor. Faramir felt the Stone’s call but refused to acknowledge its power.

The curved wall of the chamber was lined with shuttered bookshelves, each one locked and barred to protect its contents. Faramir fumbled with his bunch of keys but none released the locks.

“There must be another key,” Legolas reassured him, recognising his increasing frustration and panic. They searched the chamber. Imrahil uncovered the secret. He lifted the throw to reveal the column of the plinth and revealed a locked panel set within its smooth contours. The smallest key on Faramir’s belt fitted into the aperture and the panel swung open to expose a rack of small keys.

They soon found the tome that gave details of how to locate the concealed entrance and how to operate the mechanism but it took two more frustrating hours of searching to find the scroll that mapped the catacombs.

Back in the Council Chamber they spread the map out on the great oak table and worked out their strategy for conducting the search. A key on the margin of the map identified markings that they hoped might help them to navigate the labyrinth. Gimli, the most experienced amongst them of working underground, offered his own system for marking the walls and junctions within the tunnels to aid their explorations and prevent the searchers from going astray.

Faramir alone read the instructions for finding and opening the entrance. It was decided that to avoid confusion they would use only the entrance within the Citadel. The Guard Commander assigned twenty experienced soldiers to the search party. They were divided into four groups, Imrahil, Legolas, Gimli and the Commander each headed one of the groups. With preparations complete they began the search. Faramir located the panel and deployed the mechanism, a complex system of buttons and levers that had to be manipulated in the correct order to release the catch. Each man was issued with a torch and a lump of chalk to mark their progress through the tunnels, chambers and blind alley-ways. Faramir made to follow, joining with the last group to enter the tunnel. Éomer caught his arm and held him back.

“No Brother, your place is here. Leave the searching to those who have the energy and the expertise; you will only slow them down!” His words were firm but not without compassion. “Come let us ensure that all is prepared for when they find him,” he coaxed.

“Thank you, you are right. I must keep busy; there is a mountain of paperwork to deal with.”  He had his scribe bring the work to him and for an hour or so he worked diligently. But soon he pushed the paperwork aside and dismissed the clerk, no longer able to concentrate on the tedium of the task. He paced until Éowyn thought she would scream at his restless wanderings.

“Faramir, a moment!” She stilled hmi, catching his arm and drawing him to sit beside her. She tucked her arm through his and captured his fingers. Arwen repeated the action with his other arm, effectively trapping him between the. Every time he tried to rise or speak they gently shushed him until he gave up the fight and relaxed his head back and dozed.

~~**~~

The process of searching the labyrinth was slow and tedious; each passageway and cavern was inspected. At every junction the leader of the search party would stop and call into the silence, all ears cocked for any sign of the missing King.

Aragorn heard the feint echoes and called out feebly to the searchers but his voice was weak, barely above a whisper and the sound was swallowed up. The voices moved away and the thick silence descended once again.

Gimli’s party reached a dead end and doubled back, returning to the previous junction. He raised his torch and called for silence. He took a few steps into the next tunnel and examined the sandy floor of the passageway. He called for more light and the sand gave up its secret; a series of footsteps leading to and from the passageway. He examined his map and the wall markings to confirm to himself that they had not yet searched this passageway.

“Aragorn?....ARAGORN?”

“Help me….I am here!” the whisper fluttered as light as a butterfly along the tunnel.

“Hold on, Aragorn, we are coming!” Gimli was halfway down the passageway. A narrow entrance at a bend in the tunnel gave access to a large high cavern. Gimli called into the darkness. Aragorn’s reply came back to him without echo. They found the King tucked into an alcove within the wall.

“A drastic way to get a bit of peace and quiet, Sire!” Gimli joked through the lump in his throat, raising the king against his shoulder and tipping sips pf water between his parched and swollen lips.

“Faramir….!” He gasped.

“The laddie is fine, apart from worrying himself to a frazzle over you,” Gimli reassured him. He sent two troopers back to inform those waiting that the King had been found and to give them time to prepare for his return. He managed to release the bond that held the wrist and ankle shackles together but in the darkness he wouldn’t risk attempting to release the iron bands themselves. Two troopers lifted the King; the movement and the sudden release of the bonds jarred his tortured muscles and Aragorn screamed once before lapsing into oblivion.

The king was carried to his own chamber; the Warden, Arwen and Éowyn ready to receive him. The others could only wait beyond the closed door of the chamber, observing the coming and going of the servants carrying hot water, fetching supplies and carrying away soiled linen.

“He will recover.” An hour or so later the Warden appeared to present his prognosis. “He suffers from lack of liquids and food but that we can correct fairly quickly. He is bruised from a beating and his wrists and ankles are rubbed raw; he also has sores on his shoulder and hip from lying in one position for too long. But his greatest distress comes from the pain in his limbs; he suffers agony from the spasms but he has been given medicines to ease his suffering.

“May I see him?” asked Faramir.

“No Sir, not yet. He is sleeping and I would not have him disturbed. Besides, My Lord, there is another who would benefit from your presence.”

“Who?”

“Lord Corrin is failing, Sir. He has suffered another stroke and is not likely to last out the night.”

~~**~~

Faramir worked at his desk and picked at the supper Ferris had fetched earlier. Now that his immediate anxiety about Aragorn had been relieved he had set himself the job of working through the administrative tasks that had been abandoned during the King’s absence, his labours brightened by the joyful peal of bells celebrating the King’s safe return.

“You should be resting!” Éowyn scolded from the doorway. Faramir dropped his quill and pushed the parchment away, opening his arms and inviting her into his embrace.

“There is much to do!” he muttered by way of explanation. “How is Aragorn?”

“Sleeping now. He woke a while ago and has taken some nourishment but he is still in a lot of pain and the healer’s potions have lulled him back to sleep. Come now, you should be in your bed,” she coaxed.

“I would sleep better if I could see for myself that he is recovering.” Éowyn sighed, seeing the desperation in his eyes.

“Come then but you must not disturb him.”

Éowyn knocked lightly on the door to the King’s chamber and had a brief word with Arwen. He saw the smile that the two shared. Arwen disappeared for a moment only to return carrying her cloak.

“Éowyn, would you accompany me for a turn around the garden, I am in need of a little fresh air,” the Elven Queen asked. “Faramir, would you sit with Aragorn, he is sleeping but I would not leave him unattended!”

“It would be my pleasure, My Lady,” Faramir replied, knowing that he was being humoured and loving her all the more for her understanding and compassion.

He settled into a comfortable chair at the bedside. The room was fragrant with the scent of athelas and lavender.  He examined his friend, noting the yellowing bruises and the bandages around his wrists but the King slept on, relaxed and peaceful in the safety and comfort of his own bed.

Faramir felt the last vestiges of tension leaving him; suddenly overwhelmed with tiredness he let his head drop onto the coverlet and in the space between two heartbeats he dropped into exhausted sleep, one hand curled protectively over Aragorn’s arm.

TBC

Chapter 20

He woke to the delicious sensation of warm breath ghosting across his cheek and the touch of soft kiss pressed against his lips.

“Mmmn…,” he whispered, his eyes still closed, “what a lovely way to start the morning.” He stretched out and pulled her into his arms, attacking her neck with soft kisses and making her giggle.

“I’m sure it would be an excellent way to start the morning but as it is long passed noon we will have to test that theory another day,” she teased, leaning back to observe his reaction.

He sat bolt upright and grimaced at the brightness of the sunshine filling the room.

“What…Why… you should have woken me!”

“The fall of Mount Doom wouldn’t have woken you, My Love. You needed to sleep and there are others who are looking after the affairs of State until you have bathed and dressed and eaten a proper hot meal!” The look on her face would brook no opposition and he settled back, sheepishly, against the pillows.

“You are getting very bossy,” he pouted.

“Ferris will have your bath ready in a moment and the kitchens are sending up all of your favourite dishes, so you have no excuses for not eating”.

“How is Aragorn?”

“Much better, though he will be confined to bed for a few days yet. The Warden had him carried up to the bathing chamber and he seemed to get a lot of relief from having his limbs exercised gently in the water. He is resting now but he would like to see you later.” Faramir, watching her, noticed a sudden sadness in her expression.

“What is it, My Love?”

“I’m sorry, Lord Corrin passed in the night!”

“I sat with him last evening and said my farewells though I don’t think he knew I was there. It seems like the end of an era, like the last link with my Father has been broken. He served the Stewards all his life and his final duty led us to Aragorn…we would not have found him without his help.”

“He was a good man, Faramir, and he was very fond of you. I’m sure your presence gave him comfort.”

An hour later Faramir entered the outer chamber of the Royal Apartments. He was greeted warmly and with much teasing by the Elf and the Dwarf.

“I have asked Aragorn to approve an additional title to my official duties,” smirked Legolas.

“And what might that be?” Faramir asked, knowing that whatever the answer it would be a joke at his expense.

“The Keeper of the Steward’s Bedchamber!” He wasn’t quite quick enough to dodge the cushion flying his way and it caught the Elf on the side of the head.

“That is the third time I have had to help carry you to bed, my friend, I should at least get recognition for my endeavours.” Faramir blushed and pulled Gimli aside, whispering to him. Gimli nodded.

“You are right, Legolas. I am eternally grateful for the sacrifices you make on my behalf.” Legolas was so busy watching Faramir blush that he didn’t notice Gimli move round behind him and he suddenly found himself caught, the Dwarf’s strong arms encircling his body, pinning his arms to his side.

“Gimli! Release me!”

“Peace, Legolas.” Faramir stalked closer with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Let me thank you for you kind ministrations.” He landed wet noisy kisses on the Elf’s cheeks and the ruffled his hair.

“You were right, Gimli,” Faramir asserted, “he blushes very prettily” Faramir got just a glance of the red-faced Elf scrubbing his sleeve across his face and smoothing his braids as he entered the King’s chamber.

Faramir stopped just inside the door and saluted. Aragorn was resting with his eyes closed, Arwen sat at his side. A bright smile illuminated her tranquil features when she recognised the visitor and she rose swiftly to greet him.

“You look better my friend. A good night’s rest has brought back the sparkle to your eyes,” she said.

“It is relief, My Lady,” he said, returning her embrace. “Have you told Aragorn your news,” he whispered. She nodded.

“No whispering…it is bad enough when the Healer’s whisper over me like I’m a child!” The hoarsely worded complaint drew their attention back to the King who watched them with a smile. He raised his hand and beckoned Faramir to his side.

“How are you feeling, Sire?” Faramir clasped his hand and took a seat at the bed side.

“I will be better when they release me from this bed.”

“You have my sympathy, Aragorn. The healers are tyrants…once they have you in their grasp they are loath to let you go. But then you should know this…I seem to remember you ordering me to bed and plying me with foul potions often enough!”

“Take care, youngster or I will soon be after you again.” It was a good natured threat.

“So, how fares my Kingdom? I understand that when it came down to it you were not too keen to step into my boots.”

“Your boots and your crown are safe, Sire. I was more than happy to keep them for their rightful owner; they would have fitted me ill. But your Kingdom is as well as can be expected under the circumstances; the City is secure and the perpetrators of this latest outrage await the process of justice as do the ex-councillors. Unfortunately Lord Haralil is beyond our reach; he took his own life and left others to face the consequences.” The King nodded.

“And how fares my Steward?” The King turned the hand clasping his own and examined the palm and then turned his scrutiny to the face of his friend. Faramir blushed under the intense inspection but offered no comment. “I would hazard to say that you have survived intact, if somewhat ragged around the edges.”

“I have had better weeks, Sire. I would not wish to repeat this one.”

“I would second that, my friend!”

“I have had a lot of visitors and they have been eager to tell me what has been happening during my absence. They have all been effusive in their praise of your actions, of how you handled yourself and the situation. Words seem inadequate but I would have you know that I will be forever in your debt for your support for Arwen during these last few difficult days…she tells me that you pledged your service to  our son…”

“It was an honour, though I am glad that circumstances made that pledge unnecessary.”

“Not unnecessary, Faramir. The lot of a King’s son and heir is not an easy one and I am sure that as he grows he will value your support and encouragement, as I do.”

“Thank you. I value your confidence in me though I am not sure that my own experience has prepared me for the role of mentor…or father.”

“I do have confidence in you, little brother. You know not to repeat the mistakes your father made and you have friends to turn to and to guide you…you will not fail.”

They sat in silence for a while and thinking to leave the King to rest Faramir prepared to leave.

“My apologies, Faramir. I keep doing that, dozing off, it is most disconcerting.”

“I should leave you to rest.”

“Not yet, tell me first what needs your attention.” Faramir looked to Arwen to seek her approval to prolong the audience.

“With your permission, I think it is time to reopen the city and get things back to normal. King Éomer and Prince Imrahil have both announced their intention to leave for to their own cities tomorrow.” The King nodded and for the next half hour they discussed plans for the next few days.

“One more thing Faramir. I understand that Lord Beranin is ready to present his findings to the tribunal. I would like you to preside over the final stage of the process. I will leave you to address the issue of sentencing!”

“Would it not be better to wait until you are recovered, Sire. Surely a matter of this magnitude requires your personal attention.”

“No Faramir, it was your diligence and effort that exposed their wrongdoing and it is only right that you should decide their fate. I will not interfere with your decisions but I will be here if you need my advice.”

“Thank you…there is one other matter, Aragorn. Do you wish to hear the case against Lord Haralil’s accomplice?

“Are you happy to deal with it?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Then I will leave it in your capable hands.”

A few moments later the King slipped back into sleep and Faramir sat for a while watching the lines of pain and exhaustion bleed away to leave his friend in peaceful repose. He raised the King’s hand and pressed a kiss of blessing and thankfulness against the long, calloused fingers.

“Sleep well, my friend,” he whispered, “it is good to have you back with us.” He rubbed his fist across his own damp cheek as he quietly exited the chamber.

~~**~~

The first of many meetings was with the Guard Commander. Their discussions on defence and security matters took some time as did the organisation of details for the administration of the death sentence to the King’s assailant. With those matters finally settled the Steward moved on to other matters he wished to discuss with the Commander.

Meanwhile in an ante room two pale faced Soldiers awaited their own audience with the Steward. Both were attired in full dress uniform and neither relished the prospect of the upcoming interview.

“Don’t worry, Darin,” Tamir whispered, “I will make sure he understands that it was all my idea.” The younger man couldn’t bring himself to answer, his last interview with the Steward clearly and painfully etched into his memory.

 The Commander signalled for them to enter and they marched forward to stand to attention before their Commander–in-Chief.  They saluted and stood to attention. The silence lengthened.

“Tamir, step back.” The Steward ordered. Puzzled, the Adjutant obeyed.

“So Darin, we meet again! I have heard various reports of the events surrounding Tamir’s unauthorised absence from the Wardens care; I would now like to hear your version!”

“Sir, if I may…”

“No, you may not, Tamir. Be silent.” Darin glanced back anxiously but his face was turned back to the Steward’s scrutiny. He swallowed with difficulty and stuttered out his own version of the night’s events. Faramir listened in silence.

“Do you remember my words to you the last time we met?”

“Yes Sir, you told me to work hard and to put the past behind me and to make you proud of me, Sir.” Faramir nodded.

“It has already been decided that Tamir is to be banished to Ithilien! What would you say was an appropriate punishment for you…”

“I will accept the consequences of my actions, Sir,” he interrupted, standing tall and looking the Steward in the eye for the first time.

“As I was saying, what would be the appropriate punishment for one who stands by a comrade in time of trouble, who risks his future knowing that the consequences could be dire and who by his actions helped to return the King from certain death!” Faramir perched on the edge of the desk with his arms folded watching with a grin as enlightenment brightened the faces of the two soldiers.

“I am proud of you Darin, and while I may question the wisdom of your actions that night the results speak for themselves, though if Tamir had taken harm I could not have been so forgiving! Now I understand from your Commander that you can pen a reasonable hand and can work with figures, is that correct?”

“Yes Sir, My father made sure I had a good education even though he couldn’t afford to buy me a commission; he lost his fortune when our family’s lands in South Ithilien were abandoned to the enemy.”

“I see. I now have a problem in that I am without an Adjutant and as you seem to have a penchant for finding trouble without constant supervision, I think it wise to appoint you to the post so that I can keep an eye on you! I hope that wasn’t a snigger, Tamir!”

“No Sir.”

“What say you, Darin! Do you think we can work together?”

“I would be honoured, Sir.”

“Good, then that is settled. Tamir can instruct you in you duties and you can take up the position formally when I return from Dol Amroth.” The two younger men both saluted, identical grins brightening their faces as they took their leave.

“A moment Tamir!” The door clicked shut behind Darin.

“Are you recovered?”

“Yes, Sir. Thankfully I have a thick skull.”

“I’ve a good mind to bash it again. I will excuse your lack of judgement as a result of your concussion…you should not have gone yourself, put your health in jeopardy!”

“I tried to get word to you Sir, but the Healers kept dosing me with their potions…”

“I know. I am not angry with you, I was worried about you. I don’t have so many friends that I can afford to lose one…” The two men clasped arms briefly until Faramir broke the connection by cuffing Tamir affectionately around the ear. “Now get to work, you have a lot to teach young Darin if he is to maintain the high standards you have set.”

“Yes Sir, Thank you…I will miss you, Sir,” said the soldier before he took his leave.

“And I you,” the whispered reply followed him from the room.

~~**~~

At first light Faramir stood in attendance on a bleak area of wasteland outside the city wall. Lord Haralil’s sack covered corpse rested on the wooden platform as more faggots were placed around and over it. There were no mourners, just the Steward and the Guard Commander as witnesses and a small guard detail to keep away prying eyes. All watched in silence as Faramir touched a flame to the oil-soaked pyre, a silence that deepened as the flames consumed the earthly remains of the traitor.

“I want the ashes scattered,” he ordered. “There is to be no grave and no memorial; he forfeited the right to any such honour. I want all evidence of his presence eradicated from the city,” his expression as closed and forbidding as any had ever witnessed.

The other funeral rite of the morning was more dignified and reverent. An honour detail of the Tower Guard paid homage to a revered servant of the city. Lord Corrin’s coffin of gleaming oak was lowered into the waiting grave in a small secluded garden overlooking the river. It was a private ceremony with few to bear witness to his passing. Éowyn, Arwen and Faramir whispered their blessings and each dropped a rose onto the coffin as a silver trumpet sounded a last salute; the plaintive notes fading to silence as the grave was sealed.

~~**~~

After supper Faramir sought an audience with the King. He was pleased to find him sitting in an easy chair by the fire.

“You look better,” he exclaimed, taking the liberty of pouring two glasses of wine before taking a seat at his side. He handed the larger glass to the King and sipped at his own more modest glass.

“I understand you have had a busy day, Faramir. Tell me about it. I will go mad if they keep me cloistered in this room much longer!”

“I would council patience, Sire, if it were not for that fact that I know how difficult it is to be incapacitated. You are recovering quickly, another day or two and I am sure you will be freed from the Healer’s restrictions,” Faramir soothed, smiling at the King’s sour expression.

Faramir took pity on his friend and described his day, starting with the cremation and Lord Corrin’s funeral.

“My interview with Lady Haralil was not pleasant. I persuaded her that it would be in her interest to remove her household to her property in Belfelas as she had originally intended. She still proclaims her husbands innocence!”

“And what of the rest of her family?”

“All of Lord Haralil’s business and personal holdings have been forfeit but it would be unjust to reduce his son and daughter’s in law to poverty because of his actions. I have arranged for the family villa here in the city to be sold and the proceeds to be divided between the three of them. The widows’ will each continue to receive a pension and I believe that they have decided to return to their own families.”

“And the son, Earlic?”

“He has renounced his father’s title and has expressed a wish to remain in the city. With your permission I would like to offer him a position within your retinue, on a trial basis; he is familiar with the Archives and I think he would do well given a supportive environment. There are plenty of empty quarters within the palace until he is ready to establish his own household.” The King nodded his agreement.

“And what of the Tribunal!”

“It is finished, Sire. Lord Darlon was judged complicit in the worst of Lord Haralil’s corrupt dealings; his property and holdings are all forfeit to the city and he is banished from Gondor, to return would be to enact a sentence of death. The other Lords were adjudged guilty of lesser offences. They are to be prohibited from ever holding public office and all must pay reparations for their actions. I have also sentenced them to offering their services for three days each week to working for the poor and uneducated in the city; they all have skills and experience that they can pass on and in working for others they may seek to rehabilitate their honour. These sentences will be publicly announced tomorrow after the execution of Lord Haralil’s accomplice!” Aragorn smiled.

“Do you not approve, Sire?”

“I think your punishments very inventive, Faramir. I am glad you are on my side, you have more of your father in you than I thought!”

“Is that a compliment, Sire?” Faramir looked troubled.

“Of course it is a compliment. Though your father’s last actions as Steward were tainted by the Palantir it  does not negate the fact that for many years he was an effective and worthy Steward who ruled Gondor well through many difficult years. He was a good Steward, Faramir.”

Aragorn tried to hide a yawn behind his hand.

“I have tired you enough, Aragorn, would you like me to call your page?”

“No, thank you, Arwen will be back shortly but you go, I’m sure Éowyn will be glad of your company.”

“I will bid you goodnight then, Aragorn. Sleep well.”

~~**~~

The place of execution was outside the city wall. A wooden platform had been erected and the gallows stood starkly against the early morning shadows. A large crowd was gathered and the contingent of troops circled the platform to keep the audience at bay. On the Steward’s orders children were turned back at the city gates.

The condemned man was led forth; he staggered up the steps and two strong arms supported him until he regained his balance. He uttered no sound as the city crier read out the charges against him and confirmed his sentence. At a signal from the Steward the master-at-arms moved the prisoner forward and placed the noose around his neck and, supporting his pinioned arms, helped him up onto the stool that stood beneath the noose. With the prisoner in place the slack in the rope was taken up and the rope secured. Only then did the condemned man raise his eyes from the ground and seek out the Steward’s gaze; it was his last act of defiance as the stool was pulled away and his body jerked, his neck broken.

When the body was cut loose and death confirmed by the Warden a cart was pulled forward and the body was taken away for cremation. The strangely silent crowd parted to allow the guards to lead forward the convicted councillors. Again it was the crier who pronounced their crimes and their punishments. The crowd was more vocal in the face of the offenders’ public humiliation. It wasn’t long before someone in the crowd hurled a piece of rotten fruit and hit one of the ex-councillors on the shoulder. Aware that the mood of the crowd could quickly turn nasty, Faramir stepped forward and raised his hand for silence.

“Citizens of Gondor, today we draw a line under the difficulties and hardships caused by the actions of a handful of misguided and corrupt individuals. These men have been judged and found guilty and they will have to face the consequences of their actions for the rest of their days. They now have the opportunity to make up for their misdeeds and I would ask all our citizens to give them that opportunity.”

“This week we have lived through the nightmare of the King’s abduction. Those responsible for this heinous crime have paid for their actions and let no man or woman doubt that any action that threatens the security of the Kingdom or the life of our King will be met with the severest penalty.”

“The King has been restored to us and is recovering from his ordeal.  To celebrate our joy at his safe return, a week from today will be a public holiday, a day of feasting and thanksgiving to which all are invited.” This announcement was greeted by ringing cheers and Faramir used the distraction of the crowd as an opportunity for the guards to lead the convicted men away to safety.

~~**~~

The day of celebration was nearly over. The King and Queen had spent the day watching the festivities from a covered dais and had mingled with the crowds enjoying the free food and entertainment laid on for the occasion. Faramir and Éowyn had joined in the earlier festivities until necessity called them away.

“Is it time, Faramir?” the King asked, noticing that an escort of mounted troops had assembled near the gate.

“Yes, Sire, it is time.” Legolas urged his own mount forward leading the King and Queen’s horses. Tamir followed leading Faramir and Éowyn’s mounts. They all mounted and the procession made its way across the Pelennor to the quayside at the Harlond.

At the quayside Beregond drew an honour guard of Ithilien Rangers to attention. Grooms came forward to look after the horses as the Royal entourage dismounted. The King took the salute and inspected the Troops leaving Faramir to formally introduce Beregond to his newest Lieutenant.

“Teach him well, Beregond, he has a quick brain and a hard head. Try to keep him out of trouble!”

“I will do my best, Sir.” The two Rangers saluted their Captain-General and took their places.

Aboard the newly renamed Lady of Ithilien, in the privacy of the state-room Faramir and Éowyn said their farewells to their friends.

“Legolas, I leave you in charge of keeping the King safe, who knows what kind of bother he will get himself into while I am away!” Faramir joked.

“And who will keep you out of trouble, Faramir? Who will be your keeper?”

“I will,” said Éowyn, drawing him to her side, “for the next month I don’t intend to let him out of my sight.”

Arwen embraced each of them in turn, whispering her own blessings to them.

“Well, little brother, we have weathered some difficult storms together,” said Aragorn, holding Faramir’s face between his hands and resting their foreheads together. “Make the most of your time away and come back to us soon. Minas Tirith will not be the same without you.”

The Prince and Princess of Ithilien stood arm in arm on deck as the last rays of the sunset gilded the towers and turrets of the city with golden light. A bend in the river finally obscured their last view of the city.

“Happy, My Love?” asked Éowyn, caressing his cheek

She didn’t get a reply but was swept off her feet and carried into the privacy of their cabin, as the river bore them onwards into the future.

The End

A/N

Well, my story is at an end. Thank you to everyone who has encouraged and supported me over the last few months and have shared this journey with me.

Bless you.

Shireling. November 2004