PREFACE

This short story happens within the framework of my long tale "Avoidance". I chose to present it independently so that I could explore the point of view of Aragorn, who appears only briefly in "Avoidance" but is central to it. The final chapter of "Avoidance" has a brief reference to the incedent that makes up "Hope Comes for Estel." I was originally challenged to write on this subject by Shield Maiden of Rohan after she completed her story, The Steward and the King. This story and "Avoidance" are both archived here at Stories of Arda. Thanks. It's finally here, SMOR!!

To reiterate my notes before each "Avoidance" chapter, I have borrowed Jackson's actors to fill gaps in book canon. This and healthy bits of my imagination put "Hope Comes for Estel" very much into the Steffverse. You might find it a tad AU. Then maybe not.

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HOPE COMES FOR ESTEL

Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Chieftan of the Dunadain, called Strider in the North and Thorongil in the South long ago, sat in a spare camp chair and studied a large map of Eriador. He was alone in his large commander's pavilion, left to contemplate on what it meant to be the Lord of the Reunited Kingdoms of the West.

It meant it was his responsibility to unite them. How to do it was the issue. Less than a week remained until his Coronation.

Chief in Aragorn's thoughts was the land of his heritage: Arnor, a small land of dazzling promise that too soon in its history became three. Cardolan, Rhudaur, and Arthedain squabbled, divided, united, and were used by enemies for dire purposes. One by one they fell, overrun by long defeated enemies whose memory descended into myth. Once thriving Arnor dwindled into unending miles of desolate grassland, forests, and rocky hills, whose ruins spoke eloquently of their sad history.

So few of the Dunedain know their past, Aragorn thought gloomily. They have little interest beyond their home farms and forests. The remains of Arnor's great works--its books, art work, furniture, and armaments--lay stored in Rivendell for the past 1500 years. So few of the people in the sparse Dunedain settlements troubled to take the arduous journey to Rivendell to learn Arnor's history. Aragorn shook his head. What might be the best way to improve the people's lot? Encourage them to live in towns? Educate their children? Help them to cultivate barren farms? How do you go about creating towns and encouraging a secretive rural people to live there?

How different the situation was in Gondor, where all children attended ten years of school before the boys were conscripted into the military. If the dwindling folk of the Northern Dunedain were largely ignorant of their past, too often the far more populous Southern Dunedain lived in their past. Gondor's future had always been so precarious that its people were terrified to consider it. For hundreds of years, the people longed for a hero, a king to come rescue them. No one imagined that a king who might save them yet lived. Now on the verge of the king's return, would the Gondorian's accept him?

How could he unite these people, divided by miles of empty Hollin, wild Dunland, and the thriving culture of Rohan? The horse lords of the Mark were only the stuff of tales to the Dunedain who lived in the hidden settlements north of the hobbits' country. To the Gondorians on the other hand, the Rohirrim were allies and trading partners. Their distant relatives in Arnor were but legend. Until now.

Certainly he must order a census of the peoples of Arnor, which might not be appreciated by its residents. The last census of the Dunedain in Rivendell's archives was over 150 years old. The census guessed that the spread out peoples numbered perhaps 200,000; roughly the same amount of people lived in Minas Tirith in Ecthelion's time. The lands of Arnor were rich in natural resources: timber, minerals, and potential farm country. Consider how well the hobbits cultivated their Shire, south of Arthedain. Arnor could become that fertile. What Arnor lacked was people.

Could the new king pull in people to populate the empty lands? Would they come to a new capitol due north of the Shire? So often he and Arwen had dreamed of founding a brilliant new Annuminas on the shores of Lake Nenuial. The new Arnor would have to attract people not necessarily of Numenorean extract, such as Bree Folk, Dunlendings, Dwarves from the Blue Mountains, and perhaps even a few adventurous Hobbits. I would like that, Aragorn thought.

The Northern Dunedain were used to a mix of races on theirancestral lands. For thousands of years Aragorn's badly dispersed people had elves, dwarves, hobbits, and Breelanders for neighbors. However, if the daily quarrels and occasional fist fights on the Cormallen were any indication, the youth of the Northern Dunedain might have a problem dealing with their equals, the Gondorians and Rohirrim.

The squabbling started a week after Sauron's fall, when Aragorn's foster brothers Elladan and Elrohir had arrived with a troop of Woodland Elves and several hundred Dunedain youths. Hoping to engage in their first battles in the defense of Minas Tirith, the Northerners arrived after the battles had been won. Restless and a long way from home, too many sought to test their fighting skills by starting quarrels with the weary soldiers who had fought at the Black Gate. Reportedly, some of the young Northern Dunedain were often touting their superiority to any who would listen, based on the fact that their chieftan was about to be crowned king.

Would such unruly youth be willing to live in a town? Could Aragorn focus their energies into building the infrastructure of Annuminas and the roads to connect the villages of Arnor's three lands? What kind of government would the new Arnorians tolerate? A kingdom, yes, but the king was but the person at the top. He couldn't be everywhere. Would the king's officials be tolerated? What about taxation? Would such a loose federation of peoples even tolerate the authority of their chieftan turned king?

"Lord Aragorn!" his thoughts were interrupted by his aide-de-camp, who flung open the door flap of the pavilion and stood blocking the door.

"Valarien," Aragorn acknowledged the elf calmly.

"There is a visitor outside who petitions to see you, but he won't identify himself," the aide said. Valarien was a youngish Sylvan elf, raised in Lothlorien, with little experience of the outside world. He was one of 50 or so archers who had arrived with Elrond's sons. Aragorn needed an aide, but to choose an assistant from among the quarreling mannish factions might seem like preference for a particular group. Pippin Took might have been a good choice, but Aragorn had sent him off to Minas Tirith to help out there. Elladan suggested the loyal but naive Valarien.

"Well, what nature of a visitor is he?" Aragorn asked.

"Uh, he's rather like you, about your height."

"What does he look like?"

Valarien squirmed, "I, I can't tell. He wears a hood drawn down over half his face. I challenged him to declare himself, but he refused. He said he had personal business with others who are here, but he needed to have a few words with you, as well. He claimed that you knew who he was."

Aragorn tensed. The visitor could easily be a dissembling assassin from Harad. Or he could just as easily be one of the Ithilien Rangers, who turned up on a regular basis with reports from the wild.

It was unwise to show any fear to Valarien. So Aragorn curtly ordered, "Stand behind me with your hand on your sword." While the elf moved behind the chair, Aragorn casually withrew his knife from its sheath and placed it on the table before him.

"Oh, my lord, there was something very peculiar about your visitor. He spoke in Sindaran."

"An elf who wouldn't identify himself?"

"He spoke in old-fashioned Sindaran, like you read in old scrolls. No elf of my acquaintance speaks that way, not even Lord Celeborn, and he's terribly out of touch with modern fashion. I seem to recall that he has a beard--most likely a man from some backward land."

Aragorn paused for a moment. Archaic Sindaran. Black Numenorean? More likely Gondorian nobility. He suspected he would not need the knife. He bluntly ordered, "Minno!"

A tall man garbed in a sturdy green cloak walked in slowly and paused before the door. As Valarien had described, the hood of the stranger's cloak cast a shadow over his face down to his moustache. The stranger nodded his head politely and said "Lord Aragorn," as he reached to remove his hood.

At that moment Aragorn recognized the unforgettable onyx stone on the man's hand, no doubt the same stone that Aragorn had kissed in homage 50 and more years ago. "Well met," Aragorn said softly and gestured to his aide. "Pull up another chair, Valarien, and then leave us. Our guest is the Steward of Gondor, Faramir, son of Denethor."

Denethor's son remained at the tent door, silent, waiting until Valarien left. It was amazing how a brush with death altered the appearance of a man, Aragorn reflected. Could this strong, patient warrior be the same Faramir he first saw doused in kerosene and dying of fever? The Warden counseled that the only part of Faramir's body to be bathed was his forehead, for fear that water would induce a chill. Faramir's face and hair were slicked down and filthy when Aragorn put his hands on the prone man's forehead and lips to bring him back. On that day, the son of Denethor awoke, hailed Aragorn as Gondor's King returned, and swore allegiance to him.

But what did this Faramir feel, this healthy and vital captain, his reddish-blond hair trimmed at his shoulders and his pleasant features shining? The man had such a striking resemblance, such a familial resemblance to a number of people that Aragorn had known and loved.

Where might Faramir's allegiance lie, now that he had succeeded his father to the Steward's chair? He had not bent his knee to Aragorn as a commoner might do for his king. He did not reach for Aragorn's hand to kiss, as a vassal would for his liege lord. Nor did the Steward bow courteously, as most visitors from distant lands greeted Aragorn these days on the Field of Cormallen.

At last Faramir smiled slightly and walked to the desk. "Well met indeed," he said as he offered his hand to Aragorn who rose and shook it with relief. And why should Faramir bow to me? Aragorn reminded himself. I'm not king yet, and he's still in charge of Gondor. A handshake is an equal greeting among peace-loving men.

They both sat. Aragorn waited for Faramir to speak, but the Steward took his time and watched Aragorn intently. Aragorn was still overcome with Faramir's uncanny resemblance. The deep scrutiny the Steward gave him felt all too familiar, as well. It brought back memories so old, incedents that Aragorn didn't realize that he still remembered.

"I apologize for arriving without notice and incognito, as well," Faramir finally said. "I waited for your summons, as you had requested. However, I had some other matters to attend to here. It seemed rude to not look in on you. And frankly, we have many matters to discuss, the Coronation ceremonies not the least of them."

"I hope you have settled your personal affairs comfortably," Aragorn said politely, but he felt great unease. What could have brought Faramir to the Field of Cormallen? Gandalf had repeatedly insisted that Aragorn not summon Faramir to the Cormallen. "You must give all the soldiers good reason to be loyal to you," the wizard had insisted. "It will be hard for many of the Gondorians, so having Faramir here might drive a wedge further between them and the Northern Dunedain. You might have a rebellion on your hands before the Coronation Day. A king's power ultimately is determined by his popularity with the soldiers.

"I hid my identity so that I could pass unnoticed by the Gondorian soldiers," Faramir said. "I am not here to sew any seeds of discord or dissent. I admit I also don't want to catch Mithrandir's attention. I haven't exactly followed his orders."

For a moment Aragorn was startled. He had not spoken, but Faramir had responded to his thoughts. Then Aragorn remembered. "You can see into men's minds," he sai. Ecthelion had this trait to a degree and Denethor more so. "I've wondered what it is like," he mused. "The far sight of the Numenoreans was not passed on to me."

"It is a burden, frankly," Faramir sighed. "It comes upon me without warning, although Mithrandir taught me to use it to my advantage when interrogating all sorts of people. It's especially useful when you capture poachers and stray Haradrim lurking on the borders of Ithilien."

"Have you ever interrogated orcs?" Aragorn asked curiously. He had and found it an onerous and odiferous duty.

"They turn to mush under my glare," Faramir quipped. "In truth, my father ordered any unknown intruders to be murdered without questions asked. Very few of any race lived long enough for us to ask their names. Frodo and Samwise, fortunately, were exceptions.

"So they have told me," Aragorn said amiably. "At some point we should share a pint and discuss our mutual experiences as Ranger captains."

"I look forward to that conversation," Faramir said. He appeared a bit more relaxed than when he had first arrived. "But come, my lord Aragorn, I would show you what I have done in preparation for the Coronation." He then pulled out a hefty portfolio of diagrams of buildings under construction and lists of all the events planned for that day. Faramir explained that Idris, Princess of Dol Amroth, and Eowyn had offered to help with the party planning.

"You have accomplished a lot--designed a recovery plan for a city, courted and won a formidable woman," Aragorn smiled. "As you noted, you haven't completely followed Gandalf's and my orders to stay in bed and heal. Erkenbrand told us that you convened the Gondorian Council in the Houses of Healing before the Warden released you from the premises. I hope your hurts will heal completely in spite of your lack of care for yourself."

Faramir shook his head wearily, "The people of Minas Tirith feared the gaping hole in the city walls where the Great Gate was destroyed. Thousands of Rohirrim camped on the Pellenor, threatening to go home if not given something to do. My father was dead: Uncle Imrahil and you rode off to war, and the Keeper of the Keys was convinced that if the Rohirrim left, Minas Tirith would be invaded through the ruined gates. They wanted a leader.

"I've led men. I know something of governance. And by happenstance I now had the Steward's title. That the Steward rose from his sick bed to try to put Minas Tirith in order gave the people some sense of reassurance." Then Faramir leaned forward over Aragorn's desk, "Please understand that I never expected to be Steward. I loved my brother, as you probably learned as his companion. I was trained to be Boromir's support, not his successor."

Aragorn was silent. Should he accept Faramir's sincerity? He still was uneasy that Faramir had picked up the Steward's rod on his sick bed--as Imrahil informed him shortly after they built camp on the Cormallen. That was not the sign of a man who would easily turn over power to someone else. Or was this the sign of a leader who valued his country above himself? Was Faramir a reckless type? Or was the Steward simply a man with a powerful constitution and a powerful commitment to the people? Boromir was both reckless and powerful. Faramir had a similar appearance and constitution. However, Faramir was considerably more thoughtful and, based on their interview today, decidedly slower to react. But was he calculating and manipulating, like Denethor had become?

One way to find out was to ask the Steward the questions that had troubled his mind, "And when you worked with the people, did they speak of the king returned?"

"Some did," Faramir said evenly. "The Gondorian Council was impressed by your departure for the Black Gate. But many of the ordinary folk felt abandoned when you left with a contingent of Gondor's most formidible warriors. I sit in the Great Hall for four hours every day to listen to their words. They need to feel safe and protected. They look to the king to provide security, and they also expect their king to be a hero."

He looked directly at Aragorn, blue eyes intense and probing. "The old folks like to tell tales of Thorongil, the general who commanded my grandfather's forces. He was the people's idea of a hero. He won great battles and then left Gondor for his home. No one knew where that was, or even if Thorongil was his real name."

Aragorn swallowed. "Ecthelion knew," he said.

Faramir tensed slightly and then nodded his head, "Shortly after that, Ecthelion died, and my father assumed the Stewardship. I think Adar resented that he could never be king, since he had all the responsibilities of kingship. Adar told us ten thousand years could pass without Isildur's heir's return, yet that would not suffice to turn a Steward to a king.

"I have a different feeling, based on the brief time that I've been Steward. In ancient times, when the king was not available, the Steward protected the land, helped the people, and did their will. This has ever been the duty of the House of Hurin. Truthfully, Gondor has been without a king for so long, none of us know what to expect. I was raised the Steward's younger son; I've met a few kings; I've seen a few more at a distance. Yet I've never sat down and talked with one until this day."

The Steward was nothing if not candid. A good thing, too, because Aragorn realized now that he also must be frank: "So you have met a few kings. Now what does Faramir, son of Denethor, expect from the one soon to be coronated?"

Again, the Steward took his time, evidently contemplating Aragorn's words. Finally, Faramir said, "I hope that he is just and fair, above all else. That he treats all the people equally, according to their stations in life. That he is a great general, for I fear the battles to maintain the peace have just begun. And finally, I ask him to not forget Gondor when he must travel far from us."

Ah, but the needs of Arnor are so great. It is a shambles. The immediate needs of the soldiers on the Cormallen and the major issue of rebuilding Arnor were enough to keep Aragorn's mind busy night and day. It was easy for these duties and thoughts to distract him from Gondor. At some point he must deal with Gondor and all his memories, fond and ill, of the House of Hurin of Emyn Arnen. That moment had now come.

"Mithrandir is certain to turn me into a toad for coming here today," Faramir joked and broke into Aragorn's thoughts. "That's what he threatened to do when he trained me in my teens."

"I've heard that threat before, mostly directed at misbehaving hobbits," Aragorn eased enough to have a chuckle. "So far no toad has ever claimed kinship to a Baggins or a Bracegirdle." He paused and then said, "Understand that I appreciate your candor, Faramir, in addition to your humor. So I would like to know: what will you do after the Coronation, when the transfer of government is complete?"

"Foremost, I want to marry Eowyn," Faramir spoke eagerly. "Then I'm not sure." His speech suddenly slowed as he continued warily, "I could retire to my mother's lands on the Dol Amroth coast. Eowyn has never seen the ocean, and I've promised to take her and Eomer there. She particularly wants to be an apothecary; I'd like to train an army corps of archers." He lifted his shoulders and sighed, "I avoid the truth. My lord Aragorn, what I would like most of all is to help you. In whatever capacity you want me to fill."

So there it is, Aragorn thought, the real reason why Faramir had come to his tent today--though perhaps Faramir hadn't realized it. He was the key to Aragorn's acceptance by the Gondorians. The man had some experience with the processes of the government. He had been raised in Minas Tirith and knew the countryside as well from his life with the Rangers. But could Aragorn trust Faramir, the brother of Boromir, and Denethor's son? Impossible though it seemed today, he and Denethor had originally been friends.

"Boromir loved Gondor and understood the burden he bore as the Steward's eldest son," Aragorn recalled gravely. "He was very valiant, particularly in his last days." The image of Boromir leaning against a tree, his body riddled with orc arrows, his weak mouth trying to tell his tale, tore once more at Aragorn's heart. Words could not describe this image, which had haunted him again and again in the months since it occured. He wished he could tell Faramir the complete story of his brother's final hours, but it was so difficult. If Faramir could indeed read into his mind, he might also see the nightmare that had not yet let Aragorn sleep in peace.

Faramir's piercing eyes clouded. "Frodo and Sam told me how Boromir had tried to take the Ring."

"Indeed, that's true," Aragorn said, "But he saw what damage he had done and ultimately regretted it. He died trying to save Merry and Pippin. His last words entreated me to go to Gondor and help the people. It was these words, more than any, that gave me the final courage to assume my responsibility as Isildur's heir.

"I am a war leader. I've led armies of all the free peoples of the West, save the Ents. I've traveled that great breadth of Middle Earth, even into Mordor on a search for Gollum. I know how to deal with battles and armies. I do not know what to do in the peace."

"None do," Faramir whispered. He seemed visibly shaken by Aragorn's memory of Boromir's death. "We've known only war."

"Ah, but humans can learn from the people of the Shire. It is true that the Northern Dunedain guarded their land without them knowing it. But their internal matters were theirs to handle. They lived astoundingly well and relatively free from strife. There is much, much that we can learn from hobbits." Then he leaned in toward Faramir, "Will you council me on matters concerning peace in all of the reunited Numenorean lands?"

Faramir's eyes lit and he nodded softly.

"Then let us start. My Lord Steward, what can I do to win the allegience of the people of Gondor?"

This time Faramir spoke up readily: "Let it be known that you are more than some legendary King returned. You are also Thorongil, returned at last to a land that greatly missed you. I am sure some of the people will recognize you."

Aragorn grinned, "I believe that your uncle Imrahil remembers me, though he hasn't admitted it. I was a guest at Prince Adrahel's house many times. Imrahil was perhaps 12 or 13 years old when I last saw him."

A huge smile light up Faramir's face. The wary barrier between them had finally dissolved. Once Denethor had been Aragorn's friend before the wrong-headed rivalry on both their parts destroyed their friendship.

"Did you know your grandfather Ecthelion?" Aragorn asked.

"No, he died a year or so before I was born. I only know him from people's stories, some drawings, and his statue in the Great Hall."

Aragorn said, "It did not matter to Ecthelion whether he was Steward or King. And he was surely one of the greatest leaders in Gondor's history. You look much like him."

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CLOSING COMMENTS

What brought Faramir to the Field of Cormallen against Gandalf's orders? To seal his engagement to Eowyn according to Rohirric custom (Steffverse, of course), he had just delivered Eowyn's bride price to Eomer. Then after an unexpectedly good outcome to that formidible accomplishment, Faramir felt equal to the task of getting Aragorn to talk to him. See the final chapter of "Avoidance" for fuller details.

Faramir's taking up the Steward's office while still in the Houses of Healing is the subject of a number of chapters in "Avoidance." It's totally made up, of course. In regard to Faramir's far sight, that also is a subject of a number of incedents in "Avoidance." However, I didn't make it up. Tolkien did.