Ch. 1 - A Decision

Indis walked next to Faramir. They passed through the foyer and stopped at the door to the Great Hall. Faramir shivered. It was fear, Indis knew, and her heart broke, but they had to press on.

“Lord Faramir. Your people await.”

Proudly she watched him straighten his shoulders. He did not look at her, though she knew he wanted to, desperately, for comfort and assurance. But he was Denethor’s son and he knew his duty. He stepped into the Hall and she moved with him.

There was a slight murmur of approval from the filled Hall. Indis and Faramir walked through the parted throng to the steps. Faramir paused for a brief moment. She smiled as he took a deep breath. “Only a few more steps, my Lord,” she whispered. He barely nodded and started to climb them. When they reached the Throne, he stopped and knelt. She knelt beside him.

“Faramir. What you do now will be written and kept in the Archives. You may choose to take the Throne and force your people to claim you as their king, with all the dangers that entails. Mayhap another Kin-slaying. Or, perhaps, they are tired of waiting upon a king to return and they may accept your claim. Amandil sat here.”

Now he did turn to her; fear and horror filled his eyes. Suddenly tears slid from the corners of his eyes.

“Or. You can do as your father did and accept the Rod instead of the Crown, sit in the Steward’s Chair and govern your people until the king returns. It is your choice.”

Tears fell more rapidly. “I do not want to be like Amandil.” His voice caught at the hated name.

She noted he was desperately trying to stay the tears, but the time of horror, when Amandil had stolen the Throne, killed Boromir, and tortured Faramir, was only shortly past. Gondor still reeled from the tragedy. How was her seven-year old nephew expected to make such a decision? She bit her lip to stay her own tears. “Gondor has need of a Steward or a King now, Faramir. You must decide. Either way, your people need you.”

“What…?” he sniffled. “What would Boromir do?”

She smiled. “That is a very good question.”

“He thought,” the boy swallowed. “He thought father should be king.”

She waited. The Hall had grown deathly still.

“Will you still be Regent?”

“Yes.”

“No matter my decision?”

“Yes.”

He stood and walked to the Throne. She held her breath. She had not thought he would make this decision. Her mind reeled at the implications, the dangers. But she had promised him she would stand behind him, no matter his decision,

Chapter 2 – Acceptance

Silence clung to the Hall after the first gasp as Faramir strode towards the Throne. Indis clenched her teeth. She wanted to run to him, to stop him. To take the Throne! To make himself King! She bit her lip harder to stay the command, “Stop!” that threatened to burst from her lips. He could not do this! He would not. He knew all that it meant, all the history that went before him. Of all of them, Faramir knew best the consequences of what he was about.

He stopped at the Throne and touched it. His hand slid over the arm; he put his other hand on the other arm and shuddered. He knelt in front of it and kissed the seat. Then he stood. She watched his body, waited for him to turn around and sit upon the Throne that belonged to the Heir of Elendil. To sit upon it and thus bring doom to Gondor.

At last, he straightened. He saluted the Throne, turned and walked back to her! She stifled her cry of relief. He held his hand out; she took it and he led her down the stairs to the Steward’s Chair. He stopped before it, looked up at her, smiled, and finally sat.

The Hall erupted. Cheers rang out so that those with tender ears had to cover them. She heard trumpets blaring the news and bells ringing. Her chin trembled as she watched him. He never even blinked. He sat there, as though it were a common occurrence for him, and waited for the noise to subside.

Húrin of the Keys stepped forward. He motioned to the crowd and it parted again. The Chamberlain entered the Hall and walked slowly to the Chair, the Rod of the Stewards held in his outstretched arms. The Hall quieted. Húrin stepped to the Chamberlain’s side and took the Rod. He turned and made to present it to Indis. She shook her head. He smiled and turned to the crowd.

“Know ye that Faramir, son of Denethor of the line of the House of Húrin, upon the death of Boromir the Beloved, though he lay unconscious from the torture inflicted by one who will forever remain nameless, was handed the Rod. Indis, daughter of Ecthelion and sister of Denethor, received this Rod in his name. Now let all know that Lord Faramir has recovered and is ready to take upon him the duties of his fathers. It has been deemed right and just by the full Council, to confer upon him, before his people, the title Steward of Gondor, Captain-General of the Army, Captain of the White Tower, High Warden of the White Tower, and Prince of the City. Therefore,” he turned and faced Faramir. “As Warden of the Keys, and uncle to Faramir in the line of Húrin of Emyn Arnen, and descendant of Pelendur of the First Age, to bequeath this token of his Lordship over all of Gondor, this Rod. I name thee, Faramir, Steward of Gondor.”

He turned to the throng and shouted, “Long live Faramir!”

Once again the Hall erupted as Faramir accepted the Rod.

After many very long moments, Faramir stood. The crowd immediately settled, though a shout of ‘Faramir’ rang out and was quickly shushed. The boy blushed.

“It is with deep and everlasting joy that I receive this token of service to you, the people of Gondor,” he began with the words Indis had helped him devise. “Long has my family rejoiced in its service to you. I would wish that today was only a day of joy,” Indis looked at him as he deviated from his written speech. “There are those who have suffered grievous hurt and others who have lost their lives that I may sit on the Steward’s Chair. I would mention only a few, but others are known to me and have etched their names into my heart.” His little chin quivered and Indis stifled a sob. “The Lord Denethor, beloved father. The Lord Boromir, beloved brother. Master Healer, Arciryas. Captains Gorlim and Gildor. Captain Baranor.” He hung his head for a moment, struggling for control. Indis stopped her hand. She desperately wanted to put it on his shoulder to comfort him.

Faramir looked up again. “We would not be here now, if not for the valiant help of our allies of the Mark.” Indis watched as Théoden King smiled. Faramir was wise to use the Rohirric name for Rohan. “Again, lives were given for my safety.” He swallowed. “Grimbold, Baldor and Aldor, beloved sons of Elfhelm. These we honor today. But we also rejoice, for friends and allies who stood by us in this darkest hour. Théoden King.” Faramir turned and bowed to the Rohir standing in the front row. “Théodred, Éomund, Elfhlem, Ragnhild, Targon,” he choked on that name, “who risked his life to rescue my brother, our beloved uncle, Imrahil, and Borondir.” He turned to Indis and knelt at her feet. “I would not have life if not for the love of this woman, Indis, Lady of Gondor. I pledge myself to you, dearest aunt, for all the days of my life.”

Silence greeted this pledge. Théoden King knelt; Théodred followed as did the entire entourage from Rohan. Húrin followed suit. Quickly, the entire Hall knelt before the Lady of Gondor. Indis did not see; her entire being was focused on her nephew. “Please rise, my Lord. It is not fitting that you kneel to me.”

“None is more deserving then thee,” the boy slipped into Sindarin. “Thou hast my love and loyalty, forever. There is naught I can do that wouldst give thee recompense for what thou hast done for me. Please, let me give thee this one moment of praise.”

She nodded. Tears, those she had held back since before this ceremony started, fell. “Thou art my life, Faramir. I will never leave thee. Never.”

Faramir stood and turned to his people. “I name Indis, Regent. Obey her as you would obey me.” He took her hand in his and slowly made his way out of the Great Hall to thunderous cheers.  

Ch. 3 - Just In Case

After leaving the festivities in Merethrond, Indis and Faramir walked slowly towards the Tower.

“Faramir! Lord Faramir!”

The young Steward turned and smiled. “Théodred! Finally. I wanted so badly to see you. Are you well? How is your Ada?”

Théodred smiled and hugged Faramir warmly. “All of us are well. Éomund sends his love. He wishes he could be here with you, today of all days.”

“Will I get to see your Ada sometime before you leave?”

“Of course, I think there is a meal planned for tomorrow.” Théodred smiled kindly. “He would not leave without a personal audience.”

Faramir giggled. “Amma, do I give audiences?”

Indis put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. “You can give anything you please, especially this day.”

The little one stared at her. “May I truly?”

“Yes,” she looked at him quizzically. “Is there something special you want to give away?”

His chin trembled and she squeezed his shoulder tighter for support. “Boromir loved Théodred. Might I give him something of Boromir’s?”

“Of course, child. Let us go to his rooms. Or do you have anything specific in mind?”

“There is something in his wardrobe.” He pursed his lips. “Théodred, would you come with us?”

“For something from Boromir? Of course!”

“Amma, would you come too. I would not…”

“I will come. Now?”

“Before something else happens.”

Indis laughed gently. “I doubt if aught will happen here in the…” She bit her lip. ‘Here in the Citadel is where Boromir died. I can promise Faramir no protection.’

“Come on, Théodred,” Faramir ran forward and Théodred followed. They reached Boromir’s rooms within moments. Faramir held back until Indis could reach them.

She smiled down at her nephew and opened the door. Faramir gasped. The room was exactly the same as the last time he had been in it. Somehow, he had thought it would be cold and dark. He could ‘feel’ Boromir, smell him, and tears fell. Purposefully, he walked away from Indis and sat on the sill that overlooked the Pelennor.

“Théodred,” Indis said quietly, “This is a special place for us all, especially now. The servants have made sure nothing is moved and the room is kept cleaned.”

“Just in case,” Faramir whispered.

“What, dear heart?”

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean, Faramir, ‘just in case,’” Théodred walked to his friend’s side.

“I have heard stories of Elves. Sometimes they come back.” He wiped his sleeve across his eyes. “Mightn’t Boromir return?”

“Oh, Faramir. I have not heard of a man returning. Have you Indis?” the Prince of Rohan turned in confusion.

Indis knelt in front of Faramir. “I do not think he would want to return.” Quickly continuing at the look of pain in Faramir’s eyes, “He would want to return to you, but it is wondrous there, where he is. He is with your Ada and Nana. There is no pain. Would you want him to come back from such a place?”

“Yes,” the little one whispered, heartbroken. “But not really. I miss him. I wish I had not come here.”

“Find Théodred’s gift and we will leave.”

Faramir walked to the cupboard and opened a drawer at the bottom. He rummaged through the contents until he found what he wanted. He closed the door, a small item clutched to his chest. “Here, Théodred. I know Boromir would be happy if you had this.”

Théodred gasped. “It is beautiful. Just beautiful. I have never seen anything like this. Are you sure, Faramir? I think you should keep it.”

“It was a gift from Uncle Imrahil. It is not for me.”

Indis held out her hand. “Might I see it, Théodred? I remember no such gift.”

“It was for Mettarë, last year. It was a special gift between Uncle and Boromir.”

The little marble horse was beautifully carved. Indis turned it around and around, admiring the handiwork. “This was made by a mighty craftsman. I have not seen the like of it.”

“Look at the mane. It flows. And the tail. I love how it stands up as if the horse is trotting.”

“Indeed. It is beautiful. A great gift for a horse-lord.” She returned it to the prince.

Faramir beamed. “Do you like it, Théodred.” Théodred’s back was to him. He walked closer.

“Oh!” He stopped in surprise as he watched Théodred’s tears fall.

Théodred turned and hugged him tightly. He could not speak, neither could Faramir. At last, he let the Steward go. “I will treasure it always. I will device a chain or something for it and keep it attached to the pommel of my saddle. It is beautiful, Faramir. I cannot thank you enough.”

“I think it would be gracious if you told your uncle what you have done with his gift. I think it will please him.”

“Oh, I never thought of that. Mayhap Uncle would want it back?”

“He will not. It is where it belongs, with Théodred.”

They walked slowly down the stairs. “I want to see Théoden today if I might. He has been here two days, I think, and I still have not thanked him.”

“I think we can arrange that, Faramir. Come, let us go back to your rooms. A light snack is in order. Would you join us, Théodred.”

“Yes, please.”

They crossed the corridor. Indis whispered to the guard, who saluted and left them. Faramir opened his door. “You have not seen my rooms before. They are nice, not as comfy as yours in Edoras, but nice.”

“Hot chocolate?”

Théodred nodded and smiled. “Cakes?”

Faramir’s manservant entered at Faramir’s call and listened attentively as Faramir ordered their snack. He smiled, nodded and left.

Théodred moved about the antechamber, fingering little mementoes, rocks, wooden toys and all sorts of stuff that lay about the room.

“I will be leaving you for a time, Faramir. Will be you be all right?”

He looked up at Indis, a frown on his face. “Of course. Théodred is with me.”

“Of course,” she apologized and smiled at Théodred, who beamed.

She had missed the prince. Her heart ached as she walked slowly down the stairs. ‘If only he could stay here. But I am being selfish. He has his own duties.’ Her throat constricted as she stayed her tears. Purposefully, she walked quicker as she entered the foyer of the Great Hall. She went in the direction the guard pointed, then hesitated at the door. She knew this room; it was burnt into her heart and her mind. Steeling herself, she opened it. Before her stood the company as if naught had happened in between.

Ch. 4 - Allies

They were all there, almost in the exact locations they had been that horrid day when her world had fallen apart. She swallowed hard. Théoden strode forward and hugged her. “You were magnanimous in the Hall, my Lord.”

“Deep respect for thee, my Lady,” Théoden King whispered in her ear. “Besides, I had to show the louts of Gondor what it is like to show honor to a true Lady.” To those about him, “Deferential courtesy for the Regent of Gondor.” He smiled broadly and stepped aside as Ragnhild moved forward.

“Nay, my Lord, do not move for my sake.”

“Your sake is worth the world to me, leech,” he laughed. “Time over time you have saved one or the other of those I love. I would move Halifirien itself if it came between you and one you love.”

She blushed, then knelt to Indis. “My Lady. I am still your sworn servant, with the approval of my king.”

Théoden nodded. “It is only right. I believe her heart has been stolen from the Mark. There is a certain captain,” he motioned and Borondir stepped forward. “I give my blessing. What say you, Indis?”

Indis helped Ragnhild stand then hugged her tightly. “Yes, gladly, with my whole heart.” She motioned and Borondir stepped to her side. “You wish to pledge yourself to my councilor?”

“I do, my Regent.”

“Then you have my approval. When we are done here, this unfinished business, come to my study and we will talk.” She gave Ragnhild’s hand to Borondir. They stepped back.

“Imrahil!” The prince hugged her. She turned to those assembled and tears filled her eyes. “The last time we stood in this room, Boromir was alive and our only battle was against a usurper. My heart would wish we could go back to that moment.” Her eyes settled on the men before her, looking deeply into each one of their eyes. “Gondor would have fallen that day, if not for you, all of you. And yet, the day did not end as we had hoped.” She swallowed and blinked three or four times. “Thank you for that day, for all you tried to do. And thank you for coming today. For Faramir’s sake. You are all precious to him. I bid you here today to ask you for your support. He and I,” she smiled nervously, “have not prepared ourselves for this day as well as we might have. There is still an enemy in the east that would tear us down. Mayhap he had a hand in the treachery that has visited us.”

“Siriondil,” Théoden turned towards Gondor’s Master Healer. “Did you ever discover what illness befell Faramir?”

“Many things. First and foremost, the grief. Secondly, the violent way Boromir died as Faramir watched. Fatigue from the tortures he endured.” The healer’s breath caught. He stilled himself for a moment. It still burnt his heart to think what that fiend had done to the little boy. “Lastly, I believe there was some spell or drug used against him. How and when it happened, I do not know. The traitor had a healer from Roh… the Mark with him. I am not as familiar with the Eorlingas’ spells and chants.”

Ragnhild responded, “I am. But none have I ever seen that would cause what we saw in Faramir. There was treachery here from outside the Mark and outside Gondor. I wonder about the wizard?”

“Saruman? He is friend. He has pledged his help to the Eorlingas. He would have helped us if I had even thought to ask,” Théoden stated flatly.

“Then,” Indis lowered her head. “I believe it was the One we do not name. His hand has grown long indeed to reach into the very Houses of Healing.” All remained silent. After a moment, “We need, Faramir and I, we need your support and your help. I have many areas of concern. Denethor ruled well, but now we must prepare for a different sort of battle. I need to know how to protect my people and my Steward from another such occurrence. Does anyone have a thought?”

Siriondil stood up straighter. “The wizard, Mithrandir, has always been of good heart towards Gondor. Mayhap we can find him and ask for a spell to protect us?”

Ragnhild nodded her head in approval. “I have heard of his power.”

Théoden stirred uncomfortably. “He is a harbinger of bad news.”

“Bad news or no, he has done Gondor no harm.”

“Has he done good?”

“Ecthelion thought him a help.”

Théoden furrowed his brow. “He was a wise Steward. If the consensus is to ask for help from the Grey Wanderer, then so be it.”

Indis smiled to herself. “My captains, what think you ?”

Ciramir looked towards Amlach. “I agree. But I think this should not be our only option. Spells and incantations. We do not have weapons to fight those. Only another wizard would. So I agree with Siriondil. Bring in the wizard. As for the rest, I believe we should continue with Denethor’s plans of refortifying the Rammas Echor. More men are needed for the defenses of our northern border. Sorties are sent against us daily. The attacks become stronger. As for our allies from the Mark, horses are desperately needed.” He turned his attention to Théoden. “I understand your herds have been under attack. Would a contingent of warriors, placed under your Marshal, Éomund, be acceptable? With my Regent's approval, of course.”

“Are the rumors true, Théoden? Are the horses of the Mark being stolen?”

“The blacks, yes. But we have ordered the herds to be drawn closer to the inhabited areas of our land. I do not think we need stretch your resources further by having your men join us. At least at this time.”

“Good.” Indis nodded her head. “Ciramir. I would place you as liaison with Prince Imrahil. You will captain Pelargir. Now,” she took a deep breath and beckoned another forward. “I have asked Listöwel to accept a position under me. I have spoken with Faramir and he agrees.” Again, she stopped and took another breath. “I name Listöwel as my Captain-General.” She looked into their faces; her breath held.

Ch. 5 - Acquiescence

Borondir, surprised, looked at Ragnhild, whose face was lit with joy. Húrin and Amlach were smiling. Ciramir looked thoughtful. Théoden King gazed about him, bewilderment clear upon his face.

“She is…”

Before another word came from the Rohir’s lips, the young Steward ran into the room, Théodred and Targon close on his heels. Faramir pulled up short and blinked in surprise. He took one look around the room and memories flashed across the small face. All in that chamber died a little as the child’s smile quickly fell into a deep, trembling frown. Théoden knelt and opened his arms. “Come, boy.”

Faramir’s breath hitched; the cookie he held crumbled as he ran into the same strong arms that had held him on the Pelennor, rescued him from the bad men who were taking him away from Boromir and all he held dear, and wept with him when Boromir was slain. His sobs, muffled by the fur-lined cloak of the king, tore at their hearts. Théoden nodded his head and Indis led the others from the room and into Denethor’s study. She grimaced. ‘Now my study.’

“There is not a place in the Citadel,” Imrahil said quietly, “that does not bear pain and anguish for all of us. How much more for my nephew?” He sat in his accustomed chair and began to worry the leather cording around its arm. “I can hardly bear it myself.”

“Bear it we must. There has been no time to help Faramir heal…”

“I would hear that tale, Indis.” Imrahil sat straighter. “How was he healed when all the might of Gondor could do naught for him?”

“I would hear why Thorongil did not return with you?” Ciramir asked. Pain and puzzlement blazed across the captain’s face. “I served with him; I served under him! He was a great warrior. He must have seen, must have realized the plight that Gondor is now in. I… I cannot understand why he did not return? He could have ruled Gondor after the Corsair Battle! The people loved him!”

She sat, tentatively, in Denethor’s chair. “I will speak to you first, Ciramir. I believe he knew the people would crown him, if he returned. Did he have a right to be our king? You are a warrior and a captain. Would you have accepted him as king? After the first frenzy of adulation, what then would have happened? Gondor is still terrorized by the One we do not name. Once the attacks from Mordor began again, would the people have not questioned him, not wondered why the great Thorongil did not save them? Would they not then have looked to his ancestry and been revolted by his temerity in taking the Throne? Would not Kin-strife have begun again? Thorongil never pledged loyalty to Ecthelion; he never pledged loyalty to Gondor. He was, however, a hero and we all loved him. But he was wise and knew Gondor, knew her history. In my weakness, I asked him to come back with me, for Faramir’s sake, and he would not. I asked him to return with me for Gondor’s sake and he wept.”

The room grew deathly quiet.

“I know not his reasons for not returning. Mayhap the thoughts I have placed before you were his and forced him away? I think whatever it was it must have been great, for he is great. I will not second-guess him; I will not judge him. I will hope that someday his reasons will be o’ercome and he will return to Gondor.

“As for your question, Imrahil. Thorongil made some potion, something he called a tea, that brought Faramir back. I am not sure what happened or what was in the brew. I did not recognize the odor. When we arrived, Faramir’s thrashing had ended; he lay peaceful, but not awake; the fever was gone from him. Thorongil had been plying him with the tea. At last, he sang Finduilas’ lullaby to Faramir. His eyes opened and he…” She sobbed, “He completed the song.”

“And he has been well since?”

“He has. He mourns. Who would not? But he has not succumbed again. I was distraught, when once we sighted the White Tower, for I remembered his pain when we first saw it upon Mindolluin. I was afraid he would lapse again. He did not. He held me close, but he kept his eyes open.”

“Did you ask,” Siriondil questioned, “what was in the tea? What kind it was?”

“I did not. Not even after the shock of having my nephew, my Faramir, awake and aware again had passed.” She shuddered. “In my mind’s eye, I had already entombed him.” Tears fell.

Imrahil stood and held her. “Hush, Indis. You did all you could. If you had listened to me, Faramir would now be dead, lying in the tombs of his fathers. All who listened to you thought you were mad, that Denethor and Boromir’s death, along with your own Arciryas,’ had unhinged your mind.” He stepped back, still holding her arms, and smiled. “You have my full support for Listöwel. If you think it right and proper that she be your Captain-General, then I am behind you.”

She smiled through her tears. Listöwel stepped forward and hugged her friend, her Regent, her commander. Indis returned the embrace. “So now, dear friend, you are in the fire with me. We shall endure; we shall hold Gondor safe for Faramir.”

Húrin and Amlach stepped to her side. “You have our support too, dear Lady. Amdir always spoke highly of his bride.” Húrin nodded. “To use the Rohir’s term, you are a true Shieldmaiden. I remember well the Battle of Amon Dîn. When the garrison was o’er run, you saved the women of that fortress, hid them in the recesses of the storage tunnels, and brought them all out alive, once the garrison was relieved. I will never forget that, nor will many of Gondor’s warriors. Besides being Amdir’s councilor, you are known for your courage.”

“Then it is settled,” Théoden King intoned as he stood in the doorway, his arm draped around Faramir’s shoulder, “Listöwel will be Faramir’s Captain-General and I will go home and care for my own people.” He smiled.

Faramir looked up in alarm. “Please do not leave yet, Adadhron,” he whispered.

Théoden looked at him in surprise. “I am honored to be so named and I accept, Faramir.”

He bent and hugged the boy warmly. Théodred smiled. “I knew we were brothers in some way.”

Faramir giggled. “I am always the little brother!”

“Yes, Faramir, you will always be the little brother. That gives me the right to order you about. Now, my first order is – more cookies! ‘Tis time, is it not, Targon?”

The cook’s apprentice smiled. “The last batch is already eaten. I think I best get back to the buttery and make some more. Anyone want to join me?”

Faramir squealed in delight. “I would. You too, Théodred.” He pulled his brother’s hand and the three young ones left the room.

Indis walked to the King of Rohan and embraced him. “Always, Denethor loved you. He knew your greatness, Théoden. Knew it well.”

The Rohir huffed a little. Imrahil stepped forward and offered a glass of wine and a chair. Théoden sat, contentedly.

Ch. 6 - An Empty Bed

“I have never tasted such dough. You are good!” Théodred exclaimed.

“Of course he is. Only the best become cooks in Gondor.”

Théodred laughed. “Then he is the best.”

Targon smiled. “I am still only an apprentice. I have many long… well, we will concentrate on the cookies. Which reminds me, Faramir, you are eating too much of the raw dough.”

“But I like it. I like the nuts too.”

“Well, not too much.”

“Look, I can make a horse.”

Théodred burst out laughing. “I will make a corral and we can put him into it.”

“Oh! Then I will make another one too. He should not be alone!” He took another glob of the dough, pulled it in half, and popped the first half into his mouth; then he rolled out the second half and formed it into the shape of a horse. Targon gave him a knife and showed him how to cut part way through the dough to make the horse’s mane.

“I want to make a saddle too.”

They worked for nearly an hour. Faramir’s stomach started to hurt and a light sheen of sweat formed on his brow. He took a couple deep breaths and ate some more dough. After a few more moments, he sat on the floor and began to cry.

Instantly, Théodred was at his side. “What is wrong, Faramir?” His first thoughts were of Boromir. Had Faramir and Boromir made cookies together and the memory was too painful for Faramir?

“My stomach hurts,” Faramir wailed. “I think I…” He held his hand over his mouth.

“Orc’s breath!” Targon whispered and picked his Steward up and ran to the privy down the hall. Faramir was sick three times, sobbing and shaking in between bouts. Théodred watched in horror, then ran.

~*~

“I would not speak in front of the others; challenge your decision in these dark times,” Théoden watched her closely, “Yet, I fear Listöwel does not have the experience needed. Have you thought well your decision? Ah! I see you have. Then, I will ask no further. The men of the Mark stand behind you, as I said before.” Théoden finally sat. He smiled as Indis breathed a sigh. ‘Relief, probably,’ he surmised. “May I ask you…? Why did not Thorongil return with you? My men told me he rescued Faramir. It seems reasonable that, especially at this time, he would deem it worthwhile, even necessary?”

Her lips parted. Then, she leaned back in her chair. “He had his reasons.”

“If he would not return to Minas Tirith, why did he not go to Edoras? Did he not know he would have been welcomed?”

“I did not ask, but I believe his reasons would be the same for both cities.”

Théoden also sat back and closed his eyes.

“You are a great king, Théoden. Your people love you; do not doubt that.”

“My father was better.”

She smiled. He was beginning to sound like Denethor. “Surround yourself with those who love you, with strong allies, of which Gondor is one, and with wise counselors. When strength is needed, you will have it; when courage is needed, you will have it; and when wisdom is needed, you will have it.”

He changed the subject. “Théodred grows straight and true.”

“He does. And your Marshal’s are the finest. I cherish Éomund.”

“Théodred - ”

Burst through the door. “Indis! Faramir is ill! You must come!” He turned and ran from the study, Indis and Théoden behind him, with nary a word. They ran down the stairs and a little past the buttery. Targon sat on the floor, cradling Faramir in his arms. The apprentice smiled up at Indis. “‘Tis naught. Too much cookie dough.”

Théoden laughed, but Indis knelt at Faramir’s side. His eyes were tight shut. She stroked his hair.

“It hurts, Amma.”

“Oh, sweet one. I know. Come; let me take you to the healer. He will give you peppermint tea to calm your stomach and a little piece of ginger root to make it feel better.”

“Tastes terrible?”

Indis laughed. “We will put lots of honey in the tea, but young ginger root tastes good. Cook uses it to make candy.”

“Candy would be good.” Faramir held his hands up, but Théoden moved forward and took the lad in his own strong arms.

“I have some in the buttery, Indis, if you want it now?”

“Nay, Targon. I prefer letting the healer take care of that. The dose must be just right. Faramir is very young too and rather thin.”

~*~

Indis and Théoden met once again in the outer chamber of Faramir’s rooms. Imrahil joined them. Faramir slept.

“I do not know if it is best to keep him here in Minas Tirith. All around him are memories. Memories that turn, in the end, to Boromir’s death. What think you, Imrahil?”

“I would take him with me to Dol Amroth. He loves the sea. My sons would keep him engaged. I think you should consider it. He would be happy there.”

“Or send him with me to Edoras. Théodred loves him dearly, as a brother. They could play and ride horses and laugh. It is a good place to grow up.”

“My pardon, Théoden, but I would not send him to Edoras. There were treachery and murder here in Minas Tirith, but there was also treachery in Edoras. I cannot send him with you, though my heart would have it so. I also wish to warn you - for Théodred’s sake. Forgive me. I am concerned. Was the attack only against Gondor? Or is further treachery planned?”

Théoden drew in his breath and let it out in a deep sigh. “I have not found the assassin. You are right. I do not take my son’s life lightly, though, Lady Indis. I think you best not concern yourself about him.”

She bit her tongue. She knew she should not have broached it in those terms. Théoden was a proud man. She had maligned him, but she was concerned for Théoden and Théodred.

Imrahil turned towards Théoden. “Ever is treachery a tool of the enemy. Dol Amroth is not immune either. I have placed further guards upon my own sons. I would have nothing happen to them. I have also strengthened my personal guard and the palace guard.”

“If that is your choice.”

‘Oh!’ Indis wanted to shake the man. “I will not send Faramir anywhere at the moment. I think he needs stability more than anything. Hopefully, my presence will help ease the distress of his memories.”

“If that is your choice,” Théoden quipped.

She held up her hand, her head cocked to the side, listening. “It is Faramir.” She ran into his room, but the covers were thrown back and the little one was nowhere in sight. She looked in the cupboards and the other rooms until Imrahil pointed to the servant’s door. It was wide open. She screamed in horror!

“Nay! Indis. Be thou not affrighted,” Imrahil spoke quietly in Sindarin. “He is about. He has not been stolen again. I promise. We will find him. Let us go to Boromir’s rooms.”

“Nay, he wouldst not be there. We went this afternoon and he was most distressed.”

“I think he wouldst, Indis. Where didst he usually go when sickness took him? If my mind serves me right, he always found his way to his brother’s room.”

“Yes!”

He was sitting in Boromir’s bed, sobbing.

“Oh my sweet one,” Indis cried and hugged him to her. “Tell me what is wrong. Does your stomach still hurt?”

"I miss Boromir. When my stomach hurt before, he took care of me. I always came here and he would hold me and make everything better." He sobbed as he desperately clung to her.

Ch. 7 - Archers

After some moments, Faramir looked up at Indis. “We needed archers.”

“What, dear heart?” She released her grip a little on him and he sat up.

“We needed archers when Boromir died. There were too many against us. If archers shot first, before you and the men attacked, there would not have been as many to fight.”

“Oh, sweet one. Do you think on that day often?”

He nodded. “All the time,” he whispered.

“Would you like to be an archer?”

His eyes opened wide. “I would. I really would. May I?”

“I think it would be acceptable. Part of your training. You have a good eye.”

“I would need a horse,” he looked slyly up at her.

She laughed. “Mayhap we should talk to Théoden?”

“Oh yes, Indis! He might present me with one, mightn’t he?”

“I think he would.” She held her breath as a thought crossed her mind. ‘Mayhap Théodred could stay for the summer and teach Faramir how to ride.’

“Let me take you to your rooms now, Faramir. You really must sleep.”

“I feel so much better.”

“Nevertheless, it is late. Your uncle will carry you, if you would like.”

“I… I want to stay here. Mayn’t I?”

“Are you sure, Faramir? All by yourself?”

The boy bit his upper lip. “Is Théodred abed yet?”

Indis laughed again. “I think not. Would you ask him to share the bed with you?”

“We slept together… ” He buried his face in her lap.

“On the road from Edoras. Yes, I know, Faramir. I will call him if you wish.”

“Nay. I… I have changed my mind.” Swallowing hard, he lifted his hands and Imrahil swooped him up, holding him very close. The prince buried his face in the valley of the little one’s shoulder and hid his tears.

Faramir giggled. “I am not a babe; you do not have to hold me so tight. I will not fall.”

~*~

“I have sent ten riders to the north and to the west. If Mithrandir chooses to be let himself be found, they will find him.”

“Would that he would come quickly, Indis. I must return to the Mark. My people need me. It has been well over two months and another fortnight for the journey home.”

“Your riders keep you informed of the goings-on in Rohan,” Ciramir said quietly. “There is no danger, for the nonce. Have your agents found the assassin yet?”

Indis could see Théoden begin to bristle and quickly broke in. “The pony you gave Faramir delights him. I am most grateful that you allow Théodred to teach him how to ride. Théodred is an excellent instructor, even though Faramir is a quick learner.” She looked down at her hands. “I would ask a favor of you, Théoden King.”

The King of Rohan grimaced at the affront by Ciramir but turned his attention to Indis. At her words, he beamed. “Whatever is possible, I will do.”

“I ask a great boon of you and of the Mark.”

“Ask it.”

“Faramir loves his pony. His mind is distracted every time he is around it. Théodred has been most proficient in teaching him the basics of riding, but I would ask further. Would you allow Théodred to stay in Minas Tirith for the summer to teach Faramir as much as is possible in so short a time?”

“The whole summer?”

“Yes,” she blushed. “For riding lessons, yes, but for so much more. Faramir loves your son, thinks upon him as a brother, dotes upon you, but you cannot stay here. Would you give Gondor just a little more? Would you deign to let your son stay with us? I promise a full escort to the Mering. He will leave Minas Tirith the day after Yáviérë. Would that be acceptable?”

Théoden laughed loud and long. “I do not know how Gondor’s enemies will ever be able to overcome you, dear lady. And yes, I will let Théodred stay.”

“So you have decided not to send him to Dol Amroth?”

“Not at this time, dearest Imrahil. I think he needs me. I know he needs me. As much as he loves you and your sons, he would feel betrayed. Perhaps in time.”

“Then, I too will leave once we meet with Mithrandir.”

“Yes. Everything depends upon the wizard, does it not?”

~*~

But the wizard never materialized, while Ethuil came and went. Théoden King left the day after the festivities, as did Imrahil. Théodred stayed and joined in the merrymaking as Borondir and Ragnhild exchanged vows. Spring passed; crops were planted, ewes taught the heft to their lambs, summer foals gamboled about, and Faramir and Théodred grew in their friendship. The long summer days were filled with much laughter as both boys were given the run of the Pelennor. Their horses ran swift and strong through races and tests of their riders’ skills. Mischievous doings abounded and many a knight was hard-pressed not to try to rein in the Steward and the Prince of Rohan. All treated Faramir with deference, hoping this period of tomfoolery would pass, hoping it would wash away the horrid memories of the past year.

At last, Indis had had enough. Húrin had reported two incidents within the past hour; another knight soaked under the Sixth Gate as he stood guard, and a game of ‘ducks and drakes’ in the Fountain itself! She called Faramir to her in Denethor’s study. She chided herself. She still thought of it as her brother’s study. Mayhap, if she sat with a glass of his favorite brandy and spoke with him, he would relinquish the room to her. She laughed at the thought. Thankfully, her brother had chosen not to haunt her!

Faramir ran into the room, closely followed by Théodred. They pulled up short as she stared at them, no word of welcome issuing from her lips. Faramir, to his credit, stood in front of Théodred. “You wanted to see me, Amma?”

She drew in a quick, short breath so he would not notice the smile that fought to free itself. ‘Amma indeed,’ she thought to herself. ‘He is becoming quite the diplomat. Thinks he will run away scot-free if he calls me amma!’

“Sit down, the both of you. Though I did not summon you, Théodred, I deem it wise that you be included in this discussion for you know the ways of court and the role of a prince. My Lord Steward,” she turned to Faramir and held her hands at her side, “it is time that we discussed your duties. Please sit.”

Faramir nodded, his eyes wide as saucers, not only at her tone, but also at the thought of what she meant. He moved towards the seat she offered. Not the settle; no, the hard backed oak chair at the Steward’s desk, his father’s desk. He looked upon it in horror as comprehension awoke. His face turned white and he fell forward. She gasped and ran to kneel at his side. Théodred called and the guard ran in, saw the fallen boy, and bellowed for a healer. He stepped to Indis’ side, picked his Steward up, and laid him gently upon the settle. He turned towards the sideboard, poured a small glass of brandy, and handed it to Indis. She held it to Faramir’s lips and let a few drops fall. His eyes opened and he began to cough.

“That tastes terrible!”

“Are you feeling better?”

Faramir nodded. Théodred was still white as a sheet. The guard handed the prince a small glass of the brandy and motioned for him to take a sip. Théodred obeyed and promptly spit it out. “Does taste terrible!”

Faramir laughed.

Indis sat on the settle next to her nephew, took Théodred by the hand and made him sit next to her. The knight returned to his post outside the door. The room quieted as tiny dust particles shimmered in the air, highlighted by the sun shining through the eastern facing window.

“I am very sorry, Faramir,” she said quietly. “Very sorry.” Tears began to stream down her face. “I had no idea.”

“I… Oh, Indis!” he threw his arms around her neck and hugged her so tight she could not breathe. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered as long as he knew she loved him, knew he was safe. ‘Bitter is this time,’ she groaned to herself. ‘Will he never heal? Will none of us ever heal?’

Siriondil entered the room and stood by the door, waiting for Indis to signal they were ready for him. Obviously, no one was visibly hurt. He noted the tears and knew he probably was not needed as healer, but as confidant. He waited.

Faramir’s head drooped. Indis heart broke. ‘So fragile still.’ She nodded and Siriondil stepped forward. In whispered words she told the healer what had transpired.

He silently examined the sleeping boy and then gently patted her head. “He will be fine. Shocks like this will occur for many years, Indis. With time, they will grow less. We must be patient with the boy.”

Théodred still held the glass in his hand. At last, he gave it a long look and drank the rest of it. “Will Faramir be all right?”

“He will, Prince Théodred. With patience and love. All of Gondor is happy that you are with our beloved Faramir. But I have heard tales of doings that are not helping him and I know you want to help Faramir.”

Indis marveled at the insight of the healer and rejoiced at his words. She would not have to be the one to reprimand Faramir if the healer’s tactics worked.

“I promised Boromir,” Théodred swallowed hard and sat up straighter. “I am sorry. I had forgotten.”

Indis heart broke again and she knew that somehow she would have to discipline Faramir without breaking his spirit, nor causing Théodred to wallow in guilt. “Nay, Théodred. You have not broken your promise!” She took the boy’s hand in her own and patted it. “Do not change anything that you do. I will help Faramir learn what is right and what is wrong. That was not part of your promise to Boromir. Your promise was to take care of him, and that you do admirably.”

Théodred began to cry himself, but batted the tears away in anger. “I love Faramir as my own brother. I will help you teach him, whether it is part of my oath or no.”

“Thank you,” she said and quietly held his hand. “I think tomorrow we should begin his lessons on shooting his bow whilst riding. What do you think?” Siriondil left them.

~*~

A/N  -  1) Ethuil - The Sindarin name for spring; 54 days between modern 8 April and 31 May. Called Tuilë in Quenya. – Encyclopedia of Arda http://www.glyphweb.com/ARDA/; 2) Make ducks and drakes (skipping stones) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stone_skipping; 3) I was a little hesitant in using the term scot-free until I found that it is an Olde English phrase. http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/scot-free

Ch. 8 - An Outing

Cold winds blew across the Pelennor as the City prepared for winter. Narquelië was upon them. Théodred had been gone well over a month now and the Steward’s mood was glum. Too many times, Indis found him sitting, legs curled under him, upon the bow of the escarpment, his hair whipping in the breezes that found the Citadel a choice place to play. This morning, as the chill air settled into her very bones, she watched. It had now been over an hour and the child had hardly moved.

“It is unnatural for a child his age to sit so long, doing naught,” Húrin noted.

“I would take him fishing, if you like,” Borondir spoke up. “If he needs time to think, sitting on the bank of the Anduin with a line in his hand would give him an excuse. Have you spoken to him?”

“Numerous times, but to no avail. His heart is in Rohan.”

“Of course it is. He misses Théodred.”

“I am not sure fishing would be the right thing, Borondir. Though I thank you mightily for the suggestion. Fishing was a past time that Faramir spent with his father and his brother. It would bring back too many memories.”

“Fishing memories are only good, Indis. Believe me. I will take Targon with me, if the lad is agreeable. All I have to do is say he can cook the fish when we are done and he will come willingly.” Borondir and Targon had struck up a great friendship whilst they were in Tarnost and both had striven to keep it strong and whole once Borondir moved back to Minas Tirith. “We will create new memories. Please,” he held her hand for a brief moment, “let me try.”

She nodded, her heart in her throat. “Thank you. Tomorrow, but with a full escort.”

“Only if they ride well enough behind us. I do not want the lad thinking this trip will be dangerous. His mind wanders far too often to horror, expecting only bad things to happen.”

~*~

They left at first light, with Indis there to send them off. Borondir knew she could not let Faramir go without a fare well. Her own memories of horror were still too fresh for her to let the lad off without some small hug. Borondir would have wept if the lad’s own sense of unease did not permeate the little party. Targon, however, was all smiles. His mood slowly infected Faramir. They rode from the Sixth Level to the Great Gate. At every corner and every storefront, people stopped what they were doing and called out kindly and with great fervor to their young Steward, cries of friendship and good fishing. How the word had gotten out, Borondir had no idea, but all in the City, it seemed, knew they were off for an adventure. Faramir’s little face glowed red from his surprise and discomfiture. “They love you, Lord Faramir,” Borondir whispered to him as Faramir tried to squish down into his horse’s mane. “Wave to them. It will make them very happy.”

Faramir looked up in surprise. He nodded and began to wave. The people responded with joy. Much laughter filled the City’s streets and a song was taken up, one of Tuor and Idril, and all smiled as they watched Faramir ride by, one who appeared as they thought a descendant of Eärendil should look. It took twice as long as usual to travel to the Great Gate.

At last, they entered the Pelennor and Faramir’s smile grew bright. Borondir breathed a sigh of relief. They rode at a leisurely pace, stopping now and again as farmers, herders and such hailed them. Whenever that happened, Faramir would stop, dismount and speak with them. Borondir, amazed, sat and watched as the seven-year old boy offered himself to their adulation. Then, he would mount and they would ride on. The soldier from Tarnost realized that any plans he might have had would not be fulfilled. It would take them the whole day to reach the Causeway Forts, never the mind the Anduin.

By noontime, they reached an inn that Húrin had told him about. The innkeeper ran out, arms wildly waving in delight at his Steward’s visit, and shouted orders so loud that Borondir noted Faramir had his hands to his ears. He smiled. At long last, they were dismounted and allowed to enter the inn. There were many soldiers of Gondor about, as well as simple folk. The innkeeper showed them a table near a window.

“Anything that you like is yours for the asking, my Lord Steward,” the man bowed low. “I am honored that you would visit my little establishment.”

Faramir blushed. “I would just like a little lamb and some rice, if I may?”

“Of course. In just a few moments. Would you like some wine?”

Faramir and Targon laughed. “Some fruit juice?”

“I have some fine, newly-pressed apple juice. You will like it.” He ran to the back before anyone else had a moment to order.

Once again, Faramir and Targon laughed. Borondir smiled.

The man returned within moments with two mugs of cold cider and a large flagon of ale for Borondir. The warrior nodded appreciatively.

The innkeeper beamed. “I served your father once, a very long time ago. He was very kind.”

Faramir’s eyes grew bright, but he smiled at the man. “I believe he told me of that visit. Not often did he ride onto the Pelennor. Less frequent were the times he stopped for sustenance. He said your lamb was quite good.”

The man’s smile grew even larger. “I never did meet your brother.”

Borondir quickly changed the subject. “I would like some lamb myself. Targon, what would you like?”

“Do you have fresh fish?”

“I do. Fresh trout from a little mountain stream that runs from Mindolluin. Just received it this morning. You will like it. Breaded?”

“Nay. Broiled?”

“Good choice.”

“With some basil and tomatoes?”

“Hmmm. Perhaps you would like to come to my kitchen? You sound like you know something about cooking.”

“Oh! May I?” The boy stood up and followed the owner into the back. They heard the mention of garlic, mustard, ginger and thyme.

Faramir laughed. “Do you think he will return?”

Borondir smiled. “Are you enjoying yourself, Faramir?”

“I am.”

“I was quite proud of you as you greeted the people.”

Faramir blushed and whispered, “I watched my father. He oft did the same. I thought it only right, if I am to be the Steward.”

“You are the Steward, Faramir. And you appointed yourself well today. Your father would have been proud.”

Faramir looked down at his mug. “I was frightened.”

“You did not show it and I did not hear fear in your voice.”

Faramir looked up; delight filled his voice. “You did not hear it. I thought… my voice trembled.” The last words were whispered again.

“Faramir. You have nothing to fear or be ashamed of. Your voice was strong and firm. It reminded me of your father’s.”

Tears filled the boy’s eyes. “Thank you.”

“Here! This fellow is quite a good cook,” Targon’s merry voice interrupted them. “Look at the dish he has created. It has peppers and olives and tomatoes…”

Faramir laughed. “Stop! Stop! When do we get to eat it?”

The innkeeper placed their plates in front of them with a flourish. “It is nice to share recipes with another great cook.”

Targon blushed. “Thank you.”

“I have an idea,” Faramir said quickly. “When we bring back the fish we catch, you can cook them for us.”

“Indeed I will, my Lord Steward. And without charge! It would be an honor.”

As they finished their meal, knights and warriors of Gondor began to file forward. Most gave Faramir Gondor’s salute and walked away, but a few knelt by the boy and held his hand, tears filling their eyes. Some were mute; others offered words of condolence. Faramir bit his lip but acknowledged each greeting. For those with words, he offered his own, asking if they had fought with his father or if they had served under him in the Citadel. An hour went by and Borondir began to be concerned: it seemed the inn was filling up with more and more of Gondor’s knights. Word must have spread that the Steward was within. Faramir’s resistance was low and the boy was still too thin and weak. He could not let this continue. “My lords,” he intoned, “Lord Faramir thanks you for your kindness, but we must be away. We are bound for the Causeway Forts and if we tarry further, we will not arrive till well after dark. Would you give us permission to leave?”

Faramir looked up in surprise and chagrin, but stopped himself from speaking. Borondir acknowledged his feelings by a short nod of his head and began to rise. All the men in the inn rose with him. One warrior jumped upon a table and shouted, “Long live Faramir, Steward of Gondor!” The others responded. Shouts of ‘Huzzah!’ filled the air. Faramir began to cry. Borondir, wanting to pick him up and hold and comfort him, saluted instead and pointed towards the door. Targon took Faramir by the arm and the two boys left. Borondir saluted the men in the inn. “Thank you! You have done more than you know this day. The Regent, Indis, will hear of your kindness.” He swallowed hard and followed the boys out the door. They mounted and rode off in silence.

Ch. 9 - The Anduin

After a night in the barracks at the Causeway Forts and another in Osgiliath, after much pampering by that garrison’s cook, an old friend of Denethor’s, and after a feast set to help them break their fast in fine fashion, Faramir and company rode off to a secluded spot along the Anduin, carefully followed by a full company of Gondor’s finest knights. Borondir knew Captain Durahil, hand picked by Indis after his promotion to Minas Tirith, was quite put out with him for not letting them camp anywhere near Faramir’s little campsite, but he was concerned for Faramir and the fears the little one had still not overcome.

However, the young Steward was not fooled. “He is just obeying Amma’s orders. I do not mind. Really.” A slight shudder betrayed his words. “I think I would be more frightened if they were not close.”

Borondir nodded. “If that is your wish, my Steward, then I will allow the captain and his men to camp within earshot.”

Faramir smiled. “If they catch any fish, they must share them.”

Laughing loudly, Borondir strode over to where the captain waited, relayed Faramir’s orders, and walked back. “I think it is not too late yet to fish. Are you willing?”

“Oh yes! I really am. I have not fished this place before.” Targon nodded his head in approval.

“Well, then, I might just have the advantage. I have fished here all my life. I understand from Húrin that you are a fair fisherman. Anything I can do to even the odds…”

They promptly set up their tents, one for the boys and one for Borondir, grabbed their lines, and headed for a small sheltered spot that Borondir pointed out. Sitting cross-legged on a blanket, Faramir and Targon baited their hooks. The worms were squiggly and cold, fine specimens that Captain Amlach of Osgiliath had given them before they left there this morning.

An hour passed and then another. Though they had caught no fish, there had been enough bites to keep both boys attentive and happy. Borondir, on the other hand, was ready to move to another spot. They obliged him and moved further up the river, carrying their lunch, their blankets, and assorted fishing supplies. After another hour, and with no better success than the first spot, Borondir suggested they break for nuncheon. Faramir rose and washed the worm slime off his hands in the Anduin, filled a pot at the same time, and brought it back to Targon who used some of the water to clean his own hands, then he set it upon the fire that Borondir had started.

Borondir passed around the cheese and fruit that the Osgiliath cook had packed for them. “Since we have caught no fish, I suppose we must eat the dried meat. I hope we do not have to eat this again tonight.”

“We should not have to. I have never been to the river without catching something!”

“Well, Faramir, I hope you are right. I usually have pulled a few fish in by now.”

Targon put the dried meat and some carrots, potatoes, parsnips and onions, along with spices, into the pot. By the time they had finished their fruit, the stew was ready. Faramir smiled. “One should never travel without a cook.”

Both boys started laughing at that and promptly fell on the ground beset by peels of laughter. Borondir could not help himself and smiled warmly.

When mirth had eased, they ate their meal in silence, listening to the river as it rushed past. Though it was late autumn, the river never grew quiet, fed as it was from mountain snows, springs and rivers. Borondir lay back, closed his eyes, and drifted off. Targon took the pot to the river and cleaned it. Coming back to the camp, he put away the utensils and his herbs and spices. Faramir walked up the river a little ways, keeping an eye always on their camp. He knew from camping trips with his father that one did not walk away from camp.

Suddenly stiffening, he shut his eyes. His heart began to pound. He had heard a noise in the brush. ‘Orcs!’ He tried to run, but his legs refused. His chin trembled as the noise grew louder. ‘Bad men. They are coming.’ At last, he ran. He cried aloud and Borondir was instantly at his side.

“What is it?” The warrior held Faramir close. “Are you all right?”

Faramir nodded his head, but tears coursed down his cheeks. “I heard a noise. I think it is Orcs. We bet.. bet… better r… run,” he whispered.

“Faramir. There are soldiers all about us. They have scouted the area well. I think it cannot be Orcs, but we will look.” He whistled the signal. Within moments, six knights stood at his side. “Faramir has heard a noise. I think you should investigate.”

They saluted and quickly ran in the direction Faramir pointed. After a considerable length of time, in which Faramir finally calmed down, the soldiers returned. Saluting to Faramir, one of them said, “My Steward, we have found no sign of Orcs nor of any large beasts. We scouted this area as soon as we arrived and there were no signs of Orcs, yet I am grateful you are so attentive. They could have come in by the river. We will post a few men further north, just in case.”

Borondir once again marveled at the kindness of the men of Gondor. Taking the lad’s fears seriously, the soldier did not intimate disdain or contempt for his Steward’s worries.

“Thank you for calling us. Do not hesitate if need arises again. We will return to our camp now.”

Borondir led Faramir back and sat him down near to the fire. He offered the boy a small drink of wine.

A white-faced Targon looked on. “Are there Orcs?”

“Nay. Not now, at least. The knights are going to put pickets north and south of us. If they see or hear anything, they will signal. Listen, in case you are away from me. It is the call of the avocet. You have seen them flying over the river.” He pursed his lips and gave the call. The boys watched in amaze. He repeated the call, showing them how to hold their lips and their tongues.

Within moments, Faramir’s was very close to the sound, whilst Targon labored at a sound that was quite far from the original. Faramir laughed. “You do not need to signal whilst in the kitchens, Targon. Better I learn for the both of us.”

Targon nodded but kept practicing.

“Why are not the soldiers coming to help? Did they not hear us or is not the sound right?”

Borondir smiled. “I spoke with the men who came to help us and they told the captain we would be practicing for awhile. Do not worry, Faramir. They have not left us from their sight yet. They will wait until I give the all-clear signal, the call of the golden eagle. Are you ready? Are you finished practicing?” At Faramir’s nod, Borondir gave the call. They could hear rustling and gentle murmurs as the soldiers returned to their posts. “I think it is time to return to the river. The fish must be biting by now.”

“That sounded like a turkey, Borondir. Are they kin?”

Chuckling, Borondir said nay. “Though you are correct. They do sound like kin. Would you like to practice that one? We can do so without the soldiers being concerned.”

“Yes!” So as they sat, lines in the water, Faramir tried to imitate the bird’s call. “I have seen them flying over Mindolluin. But never close enough to hear them.”

“Someday, I will take you near an aerie and we can listen together.”

Faramir leaned against Borondir. “Thank you,” he whispered, “for everything.”

Finally, Targon caught a fish and immediately after, Faramir caught one too. They laughed at the look on Borondir’s face. Complete amaze that he had not caught one yet. Another two hours, another two fish landed by both boys, and none for himself so that Borondir suggested they return to their camp and prepare dinner.

After they finished eating, Faramir sat quietly.

“Is something amiss, Faramir?” Targon asked him.

“I was remembering. My father once told me how he went fishing with friends and they marked off, on a log, the sizes of their fish, to see who had caught the bigger one. I wish we had done that before we ate them.”

Targon howled with laughter. “Are you trying to shame poor Borondir even further?”

Faramir’s cheeks blazed. “Oh no! I am sorry, Borondir. That is not what I meant at all. I just thought it would be fun.” He bit his lip. “To do something like my father did.”

Borondir blinked a few times. “We will do it tomorrow. Even if I do not catch any fish. Thank you for the idea.”

“It will be fun,” Targon continued. “We will show the log to Indis and Húrin. They would like to see, I am sure!”

“Of course they would. Now, I think it is time for sleep. We have another two days here. I think we will make this our base camp and go up and down the river from here, depending upon where the fish bite.”

Faramir stretched as his father used to do, went into their tent and lay down. Targon pulled off his boots and set them by the tent flap, then entered behind Faramir. Within moments, the two boys slept.

Durahil stepped out of the shadows. “Was it a good day?”

 ~*~

A/N – Narquelië – 10th month of the Gondorian year http://www.glyphweb.com/ARDA/

I tried to use birds that live near rivers, since I think that’s probably the calls that the Ithilien Rangers would use.

1) Yellowthroat - http://www.mbr-pwrc.usgs.gov/id/framlst/i6810id.html.

2) Different birds - http://birding.about.com/od/learnsongs/a/remembersongs.html.

3) Golden Eagle - http://www.birds.cornell.edu/AllAboutBirds/BirdGuide/Golden_Eagle_dtl.html#sound.

http://www.rspb.org.uk/wildlife/birdguide/name/a/avocet/index.asp (the English avocets sound very different from the American avocets. So – as a tribute to Tolkien, Borondir is teaching the boys the English avocet’s call. J )

4) I’ve always spelt it eyrie but have discovered that spelling it aerie is based on Medieval English and Old French – so I went with that spelling. http://dictionary.reference.com/search?q=eyrie

Ch. 10 - Plots and Portents

Once Théoden and Imrahil left Minas Tirith, life for her Regent became more difficult. If not for the love of Faramir and the kindness of Théodred, Indis wondered if she could have survived her first months as Gondor’s Regent.

With Faramir now away on the camping trip, she could put her undivided attention on the unease she felt growing in Gondor’s army. She called Ragnhild, her advisor, and Listöwel, her Captain-General, to her side. Leaning back in the heavy oaken chair that was Denethor’s, she closed her eyes as they settled themselves in her study. ‘My study. Yes. I must call it my study.’

“Mayhap you need a leech more, at the moment, than a counselor.” Ragnhild walked behind the chair and began to massage Indis’ shoulders and neck.

Indis let her arms fall limp and succumbed to Ragnhild’s ministrations.

“The tea is ready,” Listöwel finally broke the silence.

Indis smiled as her friend placed a steaming cup in front of her. “We have some grave matters to discuss, my friends. The army, as you both are well aware, is discontent. I believe some of that discontent can be placed upon the fact that you,” and she nodded her head towards Listöwel, “have been named my Captain-General.”

“Not some,” Listöwel laughed dryly.

Ragnhild joined her in laughter. “All!”

“Yes,” Indis rubbed her forehead, “I suppose all. Though the fact that I, a woman, am Regent bears a little blame, also.”

Ragnhild snorted. “I sometimes think if a man of Harad were named Regent, he would not be as ill-received as having a woman as Regent!”

“I know that well,” Indis sighed.

“Yet, Gondor has had women rulers. I have searched the archives and have found such instances. You stand on firm ground, Indis. Now, we need to make it firmer.”

“Thank you, Listöwel. You speak wisely. The Council meetings are a disappointment, though I should not be surprised. Denethor himself had difficulties with the lords. Why should it be different for me?”

“Lord Hurluin practically suggested you pack your bags and move to the Houses of Healing. As if a leech’s work is less important than a Regent’s!”

“Ragnhild,” Indis laughed for the first time that day, “the noises you made during his speech were beyond price! Though I do not think it helped our image.”

“Does a Regent need to be concerned about image? Nay! You need to be concerned with taking care of Gondor and that is triply difficult if the lords do not back you!”

“It is the army,” Listöwel broke in, “that needs to back you.”

Indis sobered. “Yes. And so – what do we do about the army?”

“Though we are not in a declared war, we do battle daily against the Enemy and his forces. Mayhap it is time to call a War Council. Appoint those captains we know to be loyal, meet once a month, and show them your expertise. By the Valar, Indis! You are old enough to be mother to most of them! You counseled Ecthelion himself. And your brother! Do they not remember that? Are they that foolish to think that Ecthelion would listen to you if you did not have a firm understanding of Gondor’s needs and the wisdom to advise him? Remind them of that – and they will become confident in your rule.”

“Ah, Listöwel, a good suggestion. A War Council. As long as we remain firm, have them know that they are a council and not a governing body, but that we value their service, their experience, their suggestions… A very good idea. Do you have any members in mind?”

“Borondir first!” Ragnhild smiled in appreciation of Listöwel’s suggestion. “Though he is retired, the men respect him. Ciramir – he is outspoken and brash, but he was your brother’s advisor. Húrin, though he is not in the military, if aught happens to Faramir or you, he would govern until a new Steward or Regent is named.”

“Speaking of which,” Ragnhild interrupted. “Have you thought of marrying again, Indis? Of trying to conceive. It would do Gondor good to have another in the line of Húrin just in case.”

Indis’ eyes opened wide in shock. She had just had this very same argument with Húrin as they broke their fast together this morning. She had soundly reminded him of her vow to Arciryas. Here again, she must explain herself. “I am seventy-five! If nothing else, I am seventy-five.” She swallowed hard. “Though I am of Númenórean blood, that does not mean I can conceive at this age. I have never heard of such a thing! And it is the custom of Gondor to have one mate for life. I do not wish to break that custom. My respect for my late husband would preclude that.”

Silence greeted her outburst. She finally continued, “Húrin has a son, just now promoted to captain, who is in the direct line of Mardil. If aught should happen to… If aught should happen, he should be made Steward. I spoke with Hurin this very morning and he agreed. As for Faramir, I have no presentiment that he will not live a long life as Steward. I do not have the gift of long sight that my brother had, but I feel it in my bones. Faramir will be Steward, mayhap until the King comes.”

~*~

Their allotted two days passed quickly. As night fell on the last day of their adventure, heavy sighs punctuated the air. At last, Borondir laughed. “If you continue with the sighing, the stars themselves will not come out. Too frightened to appear. We must go home tomorrow. I promised Indis.”

“I am sorry. I have had fun. Lots of fun. And I have learned so much. I never knew about the frogs, the call of the avocet and eagle, the shorelarks that come down from the north, all sorts of things. I think my head hurts, I have learned so much!”

Targon laughed. “And I have never cooked so many fish!”

“Oh!” Faramir cried. “We did not save any for the innkeeper. We have to fish again in the morning. We promised.”

“Of course we did.” Borondir looked at the sky. “I am afraid we will soon not see stars and I am concerned about early morning fishing. The sky looks like a storm is coming.”

“How can you tell?”

“Look at the moon. There is a circle about it. And look closely at the maples. Their leaves are curling. Signs like that usually mean a storm is coming. We might not be able to fish at all tomorrow. In fact, we might be in for a real drenching. Latch your tent flap tight tonight, in case the storm hits before morning.”

Faramir wrote this down in his journal. Borondir nodded in approval. “Now, to bed with the both of you. If the weather is fair, we want to be up early to fish; if it is foul, we want to be up early to leave. Sleep well.”

They scrambled into their tent and stayed up giggling until Borondir slapped the side of their tent. At last, after only a few more outbursts, they settled. The retired captain of Gondor began to pack their things. Once again, Durahil stepped out of the shadows. “I have pulled our pickets in a little closer this night, Captain.” He used the warrior’s last title in respect. “Since we will be leaving in the morning, I did not think it wise to have the men spread out too far.”

“The boys want to try fishing for a little again in the morning if the weather holds. But I agree. Bring the men in. Has there been any sign of beast or barbarian?”

Durahil smiled at that phrase. “Not many use the word barbarian.”

“Those from Dol Amroth do. For are not all those who give obeisance to the Nameless One barbarians?”

“I will not quibble with you on that point. I go now to set the pickets. Have a pleasant night.” He saluted and left Borondir, who banked the fire and retired.

~*~

Faramir woke sometime in the middle of the night and found his way to the privy they had dug. When he was finished, he threw in a handful or two of dirt and then went to the river to lave his hands. The fire glowed dimly, only embers left, but he had no trouble finding his way. As he stood up, he heard a sound and stiffened. Remembering his terror at what the soldiers later discovered was a rabbit’s warren that had spooked him, he smiled and took a step towards his tent. The noise, however, grew louder. The hairs on the back of his neck lifted, but he bit his lip and fought down the fear. There were soldiers of Gondor about. He was safe.

The beast was upon him before he could even think. He tried to sidestep it and promptly slid in the mud of the riverbank. He strove to right himself as terror raced through him. ‘Only a rabbit, only a rabbit,’ his mind screamed. But it was a huge badger, eyes aflame and teeth bared. Faramir had frightened it, had placed himself directly in front of the burrow where this mother had its cubs. The creature stood its ground, hissing and spitting furiously. Faramir took a step back and then another as the beast followed him. The creature lunged, grabbing hold of Faramir’s arm as he put it up defensively. Suddenly, his foot slipped again and the cold water of the Anduin took him and the badger.

~*~

A/N – 1) I’ve always been told that a halo around the moon means rain or snow. http://www.wsaz.com/weather/headlines/13573262.html

2) About maple leaves and rain predicting – page three. http://64.233.169.104/search?q=cache:rDUoLDMW2KgJ:www.muskegonmastergardeners.org/download/Apr-06-Newsletter.pdf+maple+leaves+curl+before+rains+come&hl=en&ct=clnk&cd=8&gl=us

3) I used the term, barbarian, with this meaning in mind.  Uncivilized, crude, savage. All of which could characterize Easterlings, Orcs, and Haradrim. http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/barbarian

4) I’m sorry for another link – but it’s my sworn duty to make sure what I write has some resemblance to reality. If you’re wondering about ‘banking a fire’ – here’s the link I used. http://camping.about.com/library/qna/blqna039.htm

5) Interesting badger information. They are compared to small bears. http://www.badgers.org.uk/badgerpages/eurasian-badger-08.html

Ch. 11 - A Fearsome Journey

His voice froze as terror gripped him and water rushed down his throat. Sputtering wildly, he thrashed about, trying to remember all his father had told him about badgers; however, the creature let go as soon as they entered the water. Then the cold river swept him away. He could not catch his breath; the currents of the mighty Anduin dragged him under, until at last, it pulled him to the quieter middle. His head bumped against something and, instinctively he reached out and held on for dear life. A branch it was and not too small. He clung for his very life and cried out.

The river rushed him southward. The cold seeped into his very being and he sobbed. ‘I will not be able to hold on long. Mayhap one of Durahil’s men will see me.’ He called out again, but the river took him inexorably away. He gasped and choked as a small whitecap slammed against him. ‘The Harlond. If I can hold on long enough, I will pass the Harlond. Someone will see me there.’ He clenched his teeth as a bitter chill ran through him. Again he sobbed then called as loudly as he could. Tears filled his eyes as his chin shook, more from fear and sorrow than cold. But his body betrayed him and began to seriously shake. ‘I cannot let go,’ he told himself. ‘I must hang on else I drown.’

After what seemed like at least an hour, the river’s current let up a little. A small piece of land stuck out from the eastern shore. The current swept Faramir towards it. ‘If I can reach it, I will be safe,’ he thought and forgot everything his father had taught him. He let go the log and struck out furiously. But his arms were tired from the cold and the fear, and he soon began to sink. Terror gripped him again and he thrashed about, but to no avail. At last, his head dipped under. His mouth opened in alarm and he took in great quantities of water before he had the sense to close it again. He struggled to reach the surface.

Pain ripped through both shoulders. He gasped again, but this time, found his face out of the water. ‘How?’ He thrashed about some more, but the pain in his shoulders only increased. He stilled as some unknown force dragged his body, though it did not pull him completely from the river. At last, his feet touched bottom. He choked back a sob and tried to stand. The water pushed at him but whatever held him helped him to reach the shore. He fell on his back, gasping for air, crying and sobbing. After a few moments, he opened his eyes and looked up; he watched in amaze as a great golden eagle flew away into the night. He shuddered in surprise and confusion. Soon his eyes glazed over and Faramir knew no more.

~*~

Borondir took his time pulling down his own tent. He had made their meal and was waiting for the boys to wake. They had laughed long into the night; he had not expected them to wake early. When he finished packing his tent, he sat by their fire. The warmth felt good; though there was a slight drizzle, it was not enough to cause discomfort, yet. He looked north towards the storm clouds coming closer. At last he knew he could wait no longer. He would have to wake them. Pulling up the untied tent flap, he muttered at the boys’ negligence. “Come, Faramir, Targon. We must be away soon. Get yourselves up and pack this tent.” He stopped in confusion. There was only one boy asleep in the tent. He gently shook Targon. “Where is Faramir?”

The boy blinked his eyes and rubbed them. “Probably at the river, relieving himself.”

“I did not see him.” Fear skidded across his eyes. “Get up, Targon, and help me look for him.”

After two minutes, Borondir signaled the alarm. Six soldiers were at his side in a moment’s time. “Faramir is missing. Search the camp.”

Not waiting for a response, he moved towards their privy. Thankfully, the rains were not enough to obliterate any footprints. Though they were heavy on the way to and from their little makeshift latrine, he found markings leading to the river. He gasped as he recognized the tracks of a rather large badger. Next to Faramir’s tracks. He followed them only a short distance. Faramir had fallen into the river! His broken curse echoed loudly. Targon ran to him, followed by the knights.

“Did anyone hear or see anything last night? In the river?”

The men looked from one to the other. “Nay,” was the consensus.

“He has fallen into the river. There is blood on the rocks. He must have been bitten by the badger. We need to find him quickly. He could be sorely wounded. Send a patrol down the river.” A soldier quickly saluted and left. “Ride to Osgiliath and send out patrols on that side. We must find him.” Another soldier saluted and left. The rest began moving southward.

Targon’s face had gone white, but the lad immediately started to pull down their tent.

“Nay, Targon. We will keep our camp here. We will use this as our meeting point. You will be in charge of the camp. Can you do that?”

“Yes. And I will make sure there is hot tea and food for those who need it. And warm blankets, in case… Oh, Borondir. Do you think he is all right?”

“I know not. Can he swim?”

“I think he can. In fact, I know he can. He told me of Boromir teaching him.” The boy sobbed, but stood straight.

“That is good news. Yet, the river is strong and cold. The storm has probably hit further north already. Do you see the tree limbs and debris in the river? One could hit him. He is in deep trouble, Targon, but we will do everything we can to find him. If you would fish this morning? It would help to have fresh food for the men as they search.”

The cook’s apprentice nodded. “I can do that. Anything else, please let me know.”

Durahil strode into camp. “He is lost?” A storm of fury spat from the man’s eyes.

“He is. He must have risen in the night to relieve himself. A badger attacked. The footprints are clear. He fell into the river.”

“Did you not scout for…? Enough. I will send a rider to Indis. We will need more men.”

“Did you send someone across the river?”

“Yes. Though it will be an hour at least before the search begins on that side. The river flows swiftly.” Durahil swore. “Forgive me, Targon, I should not speak those words in front of you.”

The boy just nodded his head as he busied himself getting two lines set with bait. He walked quickly to the river and threw them in.

“Targon is in charge of the camp.”

Durahil smiled despite himself. “Thank you, lad. Tea?”

“It is ready, my Lord.”

The six men who had first answered Borondir’s call for help returned. “There is no sign, for the next mile, of any markings on the shore. We will send patrols further south. If he made landfall on this side of the river, we will find him.”

The escort Indis had sent to watch them consisted of a full company. None headed north, for the flow of the river would only take a body south. Therefore, the entire company, minus two pickets, headed south. Durahil suggested that Borondir himself return to the Citadel with the news. Much as he loathed the thought, and more so leaving the area without Faramir, Borondir agreed. There were enough stalwart and loyal men here who would search long and hard. He needed to tell Indis himself, much as he dreaded it.

Chapter 12 – A Reckoning

Borondir motioned for the Chamberlain, who walked slowly to him. He chided himself thoroughly; this man hardly knew him. He wondered… Pursing his lips, he moved forward. Whether or not the man knew him, he would have to obey him. "Please tell Lady Indis to meet me in her study immediately. It is of the gravest importance."

"And you are… Ah, the healer's husband."

Unfortunately, Borondir had no time for even the rudiments of humor this day. "Go now."

The Chamberlain stared at him for one long moment, then turned and walked down the long Hall. Borondir watched as he spoke with Indis; even at this distance he could discern her eyes widening. He shrugged and took himself from the Hall. Running up the stairs, he motioned for the guard to let him in. He had been here often as his healer-wife happened to be Indis' counselor, but the guard refused him entry. "At least send for some food. I have not eaten yet this day and it is almost time for the noon meal. The Regent will need some too."

"She is at Court now. She will not return for at least another hour." The man said in confusion.

"She has been summoned and she will come."

The guard nodded and rang for assistance. Indis' maidservant opened the door, listened to his request with a quirked eyebrow, nodded and closed the door again.

If Borondir had not been so concerned with what he was going to say to Indis, his blood would be boiling at the delay. But he had spent the entire four hour ride going over and over what he would say, how he would say it, and what he would offer as advice. At that thought, he walked back to the guard's side. "Would you please send for Ragnhild and Captain-General Listöwel? They will be needed."

The guard nodded, his own brow rising in sudden realization that a crisis was upon Gondor. He rang the bell again and the maidservant brought him another servant immediately. The boy ran as fast as his legs would carry him, per Borondir's instructions. "I should have thought of them before. All should be in readiness before…"

But she was upon him, her eyes wide with concern, not yet fright, he noted. She bade him enter her chambers. He followed behind her. She went directly to her study and sat.

"I have supposed I should be sitting for whatever news you bring does not appear happy. The fishing trip did not go well?" She controlled her voice and he was again impressed, knowing that every possible scenario had gone through her mind as she made her way here. "Speak man, I would wait no further."

"Faramir has been lost. He has sustained some injury. I know not how critical."

At that moment, Listöwel entered the room. "Where did this happen?" the Captain-General quickly asked.

"At the Anduin, about two miles above Osgiliath. I think he woke to relieve himself, walked to the river to lave his hands. At that time, I believe a badger attacked him. We found her den a short ways from that point. I do not know how it was missed. Both went into the river. Has there been no errand-rider yet?"

"There has not. Now, when he went into the river, how do you know he was injured?"

"There was blood on one of the rocks on the shore. It was not much, but it was blood."

"Mayhap it was the badger's?"

"I think not." Borondir pursed his lips. "Patrols were sent out immediately; I left an hour later and still there was no word."

"The river runs slowly now, does it not?"

"Nay. There was a storm during the night in the north. By this morning, the river was running swift and hard. There was also debris being washed down."

"Tree limbs and such?"

"Yes. Patrols were dispatched immediately south. There had been pickets along the river, but none heard anything. A rider was sent to Osgiliath. Two boats were launched and five companies were sent out south on the eastern bank. That is all I know now. I ordered errand-riders every two hours."

"And yet none have arrived." Listöwel pulled the rope and the guard entered. "Send for Captain Hirgon."

The guard saluted and left just as Ragnhild entered. She stood by the door and waited, noting they were in the midst of discussion.

"Why would he have not cried out, Borondir, when he fell in? Or was the river so loud none could hear him?" Indis finally spoke.

"There was an incident the day we arrived. A rabbit had frightened Faramir. He was most embarrassed. The men proved noble and sent out scouts to assuage the boy's fears. I believe he thought it was another rabbit, before it attacked. Fear may have stayed his voice."

Indis looked down at her hands, splayed the fingers open, then clenched them tightly. "Have you broken your fast?"

Borondir looked up in surprise. "I have not."

"But," she smiled wearily, "you ordered a meal?"

"I thought you would be hungry too."

"After the news you bring? I think not."

"I cannot tell you how sorry I am," Borondir blurted out. "I would have stayed with the search parties, but I deemed it my duty to return here to you."

"I do not blame you, Borondir. I agreed to this foolish trip. Nay, not foolish. The boy needed to be away. Did he enjoy himself at all?"

"We laughed much, my Regent. He caught many fish." A tear trickled down the captain's cheek. "We sang songs around the campfire. His knowledge of Elven songs is impressive."

"From his mother," she sighed.

The guard knocked and let Hirgon in. He saluted and waited.

"Have there been any missives from Osgiliath or Durahil's company today?" Listöwel asked.

"None, Captain-General. I expect the noon one any moment now. Shall I send a rider out?"

"Nay. But as soon as you receive any missives whatsoever, bring them here. Immediately."

"I will." He saluted and left.

"I do not understand," Borondir shook his head. "A rider sent out two hours ago should have passed me."

Indis stood and looked out the window, her heart all but broken. 'We cannot have come through all this to lose him in an accident.' She turned towards Borondir. "You looked for signs of Orcs or other men's footprints?"

"We did, my Lady. There was a clear path to the river and only Faramir's and the badger's footmarks. I personally watched."

"I know your prowess as a tracker, Borondir. I had to ask."

"With the treachery that assailed us last winter and this spring, I understand. Which is why I was so determined to affirm the details of what happened. I took longer to arrive here than I should have, making sure that all was as it seemed."

"No sign of Orcs."

"Not a one. And no reports of any activity in the area."

"How swift was the river flowing? Would it have carried him far and quickly?"

"It would have carried him very far. The other problem is the river is rising quickly. If we do not find him soon, we will lose any tracks along it."

Indis called her maidservant. "Set the table now and bring some wine too. Come," she turned towards Borondir. "You are weary and hungry. Not eating will not help Faramir."

As they ate the meal, Borondir asked, "Will you go to the river, direct the search yourself?"

"Nay. I trust my men, Borondir. I trust you."

Hirgon was admitted. "There is a missive," he said breathlessly. "I ran," he said needlessly.

Indis took the missive. After a quick look at the terse message, she turned to her advisors and friends. "There is no news. He still has not been found." She took a long, ragged breath. "Mayhap I should go."

"The missive could only have been sent two hours ago, my Regent," Borondir stated.

"He has been missing since sometime last night though. He must be terrified." She bit her lip and rose from her untouched meal. "Nay. I cannot. I must show my men that I trust them."

"Time to call the War Council, Indis?" Listöwel asked gently.

"Yes. Let us list the names, write the invitations and meet after the daymeal. In fact, I wish to invite them here to my own dining room; we will share our meal and then speak. Send for Warden Húrin. As for you, Hirgon. Thank you for your care in delivering this. It is most appreciated. Please, keep alert. These missives are most important. I must have them as soon as they arrive."

He saluted, a frown upon his brow, and turned to leave.

"What is it, Captain?"

"The Steward is missing? I did not mean to listen."

"Nay, you did not. Yes, the Steward is missing. But he will be found."

"Of course." He saluted and left.

"Will he not speak? Will not the whole Citadel know about this within the hour?" Ragnhild asked.

"Nay. I trust the man completely. He will not speak. Why else would Denethor have placed him in such a position of importance? He will not speak. Now, to the list. Borondir, you will be part of this gathering. Stay."

"I would beg you, let me return to the river? Please."

Her eyes filled. "Yes. Go and may the Valar be with you!"

~*~

A/N  - http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20071201151405AANCLkk&show=7  for knots vs mph

http://www.caleuche.com/River/FAQ.htm for river information for the Mississippi – I imagine the Anduin to be most like the Mississippi

River flow rates: normal  Min – from the National Weather Service, Cleveland, Ohio – river flows are usually about 5 kph = 5.17 mph. After a serious storm, flows can increase to 8mph.

Try this waterdate.usgs.gov/oh/nwis   add uv?04201500

Chapter 13 – A Friend Indeed

“Ah, little one, must I keep rescuing you?” the man sighed heavily. He did a quick examination to make sure the lad was still, in fact, breathing, then looked at the bloodied arm. The bite marks were not too deep and the waters of the Anduin had cleansed them as they hurtled the Steward southward. “I see you have run into a badger. Looks to have been perhaps two years old. Well, we can fix that arm and quickly.” But his brow furrowed at the marks on the lad’s shoulders. Claw marks? Mayhap from an eagle? Not too big a one, from the size of them. Would the badger and the eagle be in collusion? Concerned, he looked back towards the Shadow Mountains. “Nay. I think not. But how came you by these marks? When you awaken, this is one question that I will ask. Along with a myriad of others. Who was watching you, little one, that you should be cast off on this cold shore?”

He shook his head in sorrow as he ripped a piece of his own shirt, dunked it into the river, and cleaned the wounds on the lad’s shoulders; then he wrapped the injured arm in another piece of his shirt. He chuckled. “I must exact payment for this from your aunt.” When he finished ministering to the still unconscious boy, he called, “Faramir.” There was no answer. “I will bring you to my camp, warm you up a bit, and find out why you do not answer me.” He picked the boy up and walked into the forest. The rains continued to fall, heavier.

The pines of the forest away from the shore grew close together. They kept most of the rain away, but the man knew he needed a fire to warm the boy’s body. He was indeed half frozen from the river. “At least, my Lord Faramir, you are only sleeping. Not that spell-induced slumber that you were in the last time we met.” Awkwardly so he would not drop him, he placed his hands upon Faramir’s head and mumbled. “I think I will put you a little deeper into sleep, at least until I have you warmer.” He hummed in the way of the Elves as he entered his camp. The embers of his fire, sputtering as raindrops hit them, were still bright though it was almost noon. He moved the little lean-to closer and set Faramir down upon a blanket. He removed the lad’s clothes and sat back in consternation. “So thin, Faramir. Have you not been eating?”

He laved the boy with warm water leftover from his morning’s tea, then dressed him in one of his own shirts. Leggings were out of the question; he chuckled, his were a little too long for the boy. He wrapped his cloak about him and then wrapped another blanket around the cloak. The lad’s face was white, cheeks sunken in, eyes black-shadowed. “Ah, Faramir. What have you been doing with yourself?”

He added more water to his pot of rabbit stew and warmed it. Pushing the chunks of meat and vegetables aside, he strained the broth and put it into a cup. He gently lifted Faramir into his arms and called his name. The boy did not stir. The brow of the Ranger furrowed. “Is there something here I cannot see?” He put the cup down and placed both hands upon Faramir’s head. Closing his eyes, he concentrated deeply. “Aí,” he cried aloud. “Still some of the spell left upon you. How foolish of me to think one touch would heal you. I am sorry, my lad, sorry to have left you like this.” His healing pack was close at hand. He reached in and found some athelas. Breathing upon it, he crushed it and threw it into the cup. Waiting a few moments for the warmth to seep into the leaves, he spoke words over it and held it to Faramir’s lips. “Here, little one, drink this.”

The boy stirred as the sweet scent filled the air. His mouth opened and the man was able to pour a few drops down the lad’s throat. Choking, Faramir’s eyes flew open, a frightened cry upon his lips.

“Hush, little one. You are safe.” The Ranger began to sing Finduilas’ lullaby. Tears welled in the boy’s eyes and with his good arm, he pulled himself into the Ranger’s chest, sobbing. “You have had a rather bad time of it, have you not, Lord Faramir?”

The boy looked up at him in surprise. “I know you.” He began to hiccup.

“Yes, you do.”

“I cannot remember your name.”

“Do not worry about that now. I am a friend of your aunt’s. As soon as you have warmed up, I will take you to her.”

“Thank you,” the boy whispered and touched the Ranger’s hand. “May I have some more? It tastes very good.”

“It is rabbit and yes, drink all you can. It will warm you from the inside out.”

After Faramir had drunk all the broth, he handed the cup to Aragorn. Sheepishly, he asked, “Where are we?”

“In Ithilien.”

“How?” Faramir exclaimed.

“I know how I am here,” Aragorn chuckled, “but I know not how you came to be here. Might you tell me your story?”

Faramir bit his lower lip. “I cannot remember much.” He touched his left arm. “I think something horrible attacked me.” He started to cry and hastily batted away the tears. “I fell into the river and held onto a log. I disobeyed ada,” Faramir fell into Sindarin. “I let go the log.”

”Your father taught you to hold onto your rescuer until your feet hit bottom?”

Faramir’s eyes widened. “He did! How did you know?”

“He taught me some things, too, Faramir. Now, please continue with your story.”

“Oh! It is no story.” Another tear slid down his face. “I wish it were.”

Aragorn sat next to the boy and pulled him close. “So do I. I was startled and saddened to find you alone and hurt.”

“Oh! I was hurt! The creature - ”

“It was a badger, Faramir.”

“Thank you,” the boy gulped. “The badger jumped at me. I put up my arm, this one,” he pointed dramatically at the bandaged arm, “but he bit it and would not let go. I fell backwards and into the river.” His face blushed a furious red. “Indis will be angry.”

“For a moment, no more. She will be more happy than angry, once she gets you home. Now, go on.”

“Oh! The… the badger,” and he licked his lower lip as he concentrated, “let go when we hit the water. I tried to shout but I swallowed a lot of water and I could not. The current took me to the middle. I tried to shout again, but no one heard me.” His eyes widened again. “I should have used the signal. They could have heard the signal. I am so foolish.”

“Nay, Faramir. Do not say that. The signal probably could not have been heard either. The river rushes fiercely after this storm. None could hear either.”

The boy look mollified. “A long time went by and I was shivering. I did not think I could hold on any longer when the current took me close to a jut of land sticking out from this side. Oh! Now I remember! That is how I came over to this side of the river.” He stopped and his face turned red again. “That is when I disobeyed ada. I thought I could reach the shore, so I let go the branch. I started to swim, but it was way too far. I started to go down.” He shivered and felt Aragorn pull him closer. “The river covered my head and I knew I could not swim anymore. Then, suddenly, I felt a horrible pain in my shoulders. I tried to get away from the pain, but it only got worse. So I stopped trying and decided this must be part of death.”

Aragorn drew in a sharp breath.

Faramir bit his lip again and snuggled against Aragorn’s side. “Do you think that…?”

“What is it, Faramir?”

“Do you think,” tears flowed freely and the boy did naught to remove them, “do you think that Boromir was in such pain?”

“Nay, Faramir.” The Ranger pulled the boy onto his lap and gently stroked his hair. “I have been wounded like that many times. After the first wee bit, the pain goes away and all you feel is a little light-headed.”

“Why?”

Aragorn had to smile. Even in the devastation of his thoughts, the boy was still inquisitive. “Because of the loss of blood.”

“Oh. Thank you,” he whispered. He waited another moment, another pull on his lower lip, and then continued. “I was dragged closer to shore and finally could feel the bottom of the river under my feet. I walked and was pulled to the shore. I lay down. I was coughing a lot because of the water. When I looked up,” he returned to whispered words, “I saw an eagle flying away.” He plunged his head into Aragorn’s chest and held tight.

“So that is why there are claw marks on your shoulders. You were very lucky to have been befriended by an eagle. They do not do it often.”

“I thought I dreamed it.”

“Nay. There are eagle marks on your shoulders. You were too big for it to pull you all the way from the water, but they have much strength.”

“Can we find it and thank it?”

“I think it has flown to its home in Mindolluin.”

“Orc’s spit.”

“What did you say?” Aragorn laughed aloud, returning to Westron.

“Do not tell Amma. I heard the soldiers.”

“It is not a curse that should come from your lips as Steward,” Aragorn gently chided. “Now, I would like you to try to eat some stew. Do you think you could?”

“Yes. I am very hungry and all we have eaten on this trip is fish. Not that I do not like fish, I am just tired of it. And Targon really cooks it well. And Borondir seems to think we should eat everything we catch and I just am tired of fish.”

Aragorn laughed again at the spill of words flowing from the boy’s mouth. “You are definitely feeling better. Once you eat,” and he offered a bowl, “we will set out north, take you to Osgiliath. We should be on our way as soon as possible. Your amma is quite worried by now.”

Faramir gulped down the stew and asked for a second bowl, which Aragorn supplied. Shortly afterwards, the boy fell asleep. “So much for leaving quickly,” Aragorn smiled and tucked the boy in a blanket under the lean-to. “Tomorrow will be early enough.”

He sat and pulled out his pipe and wondered that fate should put him here at this time for this boy.

Ch. 14 - A Trap

The next morning, while all of Gondor searched, Faramir woke hungry and slightly cold. He shivered and Aragorn was instantly kneeling at his side, touching his forehead, putting his ear to the boy’s chest and listening to his heart, checking his fingers and toes. Faramir began to giggle. “It tickles!”

“I am sorry, my Lord, but you have had a rather trying experience. I believe you were in the water for a very long time. It is good it is not winter, else I would not have been able to save you. Now, please stay still and let me finish.”

Faramir stilled at the words. “I am sorry. I truly have been watched over, have I not?”

Aragorn smiled. “That you have.”

“Would it be Ada? Or perhaps Boromir?”

“What do you mean?”

“Watching over me. Who do you think it is?”

Kneeling back on his calves, Aragorn studied the young boy. “I believe your ada and Boromir are both in a place where they do not have to watch over you. You need not concern yourself, Faramir, with being good or doing the right thing. Not for them. You do these things for yourself and your people. For your honor.”

“Then who watches over me?”

“Some believe the Valar do. Some the eagles,” he smiled. “Whatever fate is does not matter, Faramir. We do the best we can.” How did he explain Eru to a little boy? “Some believe in a creator who goes by many names. Even the Haradrim believe. We stand and give the silent homage to the West. Why do you do that, Faramir?”

“Because Ada told me to.”

Aragorn laughed. “And that is as it should be. Did your ada never speak of the Valar?”

“I learned about them from my tutor. They are not real.”

Stifling a groan, Aragorn stood. “They are real, Faramir. Never doubt that. Someday, you may come face to face with one. And then you will know. Until that time, let us look for signs of watching as we return to Minas Tirith. The sun moves swiftly; we must be on our way. Eat the meal I have prepared and then we will be off.”

Faramir nodded, laved his hands and face in the pot Aragorn provided, stood up and gave his silent homage. His brow furrowed as he did it, but his ada had always done this. Perhaps someday he would discover why.

“Come, my Lord. We move north and a little west. There are foul creatures in Ithilien, for all the care of your father. We must be slow and quiet.”

Faramir’s perplexed look tickled Aragorn. He stopped and asked, “What is the matter now?”

“I have no sword. I should have a sword in case you need help. In case we are attacked.”

“Of course you must. But I have no extra. Come.” He made to move off again.

However, Faramir still stood in place. “Might you have a nice dagger or a dirk or some such? You must have one of those; Ada always did. And so has Borogond and Boromir even had one.”

Aragorn rubbed his stubble. “Have you ever handled a knife?”

“I have.” It was not quite a lie, but not quite the truth.

“And how?”

The boy bit his lip. “Thengel King let me hold his. And Boromir once let his sit on my lap when I promised to be very still.”

“Ah. So you have some experience. Well then, I have a dagger that you can wear. The holder has a latch. You may only open it if I command you to. Do you understand that, Faramir? Daggers and such are very dangerous. I cannot have you fingering it whilst we walk on uneven ground. I respect your need, but the terrain is very bad here. If you or I fell whilst our daggers were in our hands, we could do terrible damage. How would you carry me back to Osgiliath? I could carry you, but if Orcs attacked whilst I did so, we would probably both end up dead.”

Faramir’s eyes widened. “I promise I will keep it in its sheath until you order me to take it out.” He paused and Aragorn stifled a smile as the boy thought further. “If you die, then I will have to take it out. Is that all right?”

“Yes. If I die, you best take it out and defend yourself and then re-sheath it.” He took the belt and stabbed at it with the dirk, finally making a hole well down its length. ‘This should fit now.’ He knelt and put the belt around the boy’s waist, let him hold the dagger for a moment, and then sheathed it. “Here is how the clasp works. Try it once and see if you can open and then close it.”

Faramir did so with ease. A huge smile split his face, but Aragorn’s was filled with worry. “Now we must be off, my Lord. I want to travel as far as possible today.”

“Will we reach Osgiliath today?”

“I think not. One more night in hiding and then tomorrow, mayhap by midday, we should reach the city.”

Faramir nodded and they began walking. Aragorn found it difficult to keep a pace that did not tax the boy too strongly. They had walked for only an hour when Faramir stopped. “I must relieve myself.”

“Of course,” he pointed, “beyond that tree. I will wait for you.”

“Thank you,” Faramir said and ran to the tree. Only gone a moment, he returned with his hands full. “There were mushrooms by the tree. I think they are the good ones.”

Aragorn looked closely. “They are. You have a good eye. Who taught you how to find mushrooms?”

“Ada.” Simply said, but the tears in the boy’s eyes tugged at Aragorn’s heart.

“He was a great man, Faramir, and a good friend of mine.”

“Tonight, would you tell me of him? Perhaps some tale of how he fought… Nay, I do not want tales of Orcs tonight. We very well might encounter some.” He shivered.

“If we are quiet, we should be fine. I know these woods well, Faramir. Your father and I used to hunt here. I know caves and such where we can hide if we hear them. And they make a fearful noise, so they are easy to hide from.”

“I am good at hiding.”

Aragorn had to stifle another laugh. He could count on his fingers the last times he had laughed. The lad was definitely good company. “Now, if we go further west, we will come to the river. The Orcs stay away from it during the day. It frightens them. In fact, most things frighten them during the day. Orc spit!” A yelp of pain and he fell.

“What is wrong?” Faramir stared in terror at the sight of an ugly fox trap clamped on his friend’s ankle. “Oh, what can I do? How can I help?”

“Stay still,” Aragorn spoke through gritted teeth. “Remember the Orcs.”

Faramir quieted, but his eyes were wide with fear. He watched in horror as the Ranger tried to pry the trap open. It would not budge.

“Faramir. I need a stick. A good strong stick. Can you find me one? But do not go far, please.”

Faramir nodded, tears streaming down his face. Aragorn took him by the hand. “Do not be afraid, Faramir. We will be all right. Just find a good strong stick.” Blood slowly seeped from the wound and down onto his boots. Faramir seemed mesmerized by the sight. “Faramir. Faramir.” He grabbed hold of the boy’s arms. “Faramir. Listen to me. I need you to find a stick now. Faramir.” The boy did not respond. His eyes were still wide with fright. “Oh by the Valar, you must listen to me, Faramir.”

The boy collapsed on the ground, sobs racking his thin frame. “Boromir,” he whispered.

“Help me, Faramir,” Aragorn quietly cried. “Help me, please.”

The lad sat up, shocked at the plea falling from the strong man’s lips. He stood up. “I… I will find something, I promise.” He turned and ran off.

The haze of pain lifted for a moment, and Aragorn, realizing that the boy was running headlong into danger, screamed after him. “Be ware! There may be more traps. Walk lightly, Faramir. Watch your step.”

Chapter 15 – The Search

Indis stood on the escarpment, the place that she used to share with her brother, and watched as Anor set. Another night alone for Faramir. Tears fell but no one was about. She was safe in her grief, for a time. The War Council had not been convened. The errand-rider who carried the tenth-hour missive brought dire news. The Anduin had crested its banks. Any sign, on either the west or the east side, of any child’s footprints was obliterated by the rising waters. The search parties had ridden eleven leagues or more on either side with no indication that Faramir had been able to reach land.

The five boats sent downstream had traversed about the same distance. No body had been located and no sign of the boy was found. One of the boats had been lost in the storm and debris-strewn river. Those aboard the capsized boat had been fished out of the water by their companions.

Another two larger boats, manned by a full half-company each, launched from the Harlond. The current was wild and swift; the boats’ progress upstream against the current was slow, but the situation was become desperate. If they did not find the boy soon, there was little hope.

Indis sent Listöwel to head the search in Ithilien. A regiment accompanied her, most volunteers from the Tower Guard and the First through Third Companies. Durahil, the Captain-General discovered when Listowel arrived in Osgiliath that night, had taken a company east towards the Harad Road. The terrain was easier, the road better kept, and they would be able to travel further in less time. He hoped to be below Emyn Arnen in a few hours. Then, he would strike west and search the riverbank from there.

Ciramir and Húrin approached her. Ciramir spoke. “Men should be sent further down the river. The body must be found.”

She choked, turned, and stared harshly at the man. “How dare you? He is not dead. This is not a search for a body; this is a search for Faramir.” She took three deep breaths. “I have endured your caustic speech because my brother chose you as his counselor. I will no longer countenance this vile tongue of yours. Guard it or you will be replaced.”

Ciramir sputtered for a few moments, then bowed and left them. The Warden began quietly, “Captain Ciramir suffered greatly during the time Amandil held the Throne. In spite of the grievous torture he endured whilst remaining loyal to our family, he joined in the attack against the usurper…”

She looked at him with grief-stricken eyes. “He spoke as if Faramir is dead.” She choked. “I could not hear that. I will not hear that. Húrin,” she leaned against him, “I cannot hold another dead nephew in my arms. I cannot.”

“I know, Indis, but as Regent…”

She smiled sadly. “Give me time. I will meet with him at the twelfth hour. Send Ciramir to my study at that time.”

Húrin held her close for a moment, then saluted. “As you wish, my Regent.” He turned and left her.

Ragnhild stepped out of the shadows. She held butter biscuits, still warm from the oven. “When those in my care in Meduseld lost hope, I would bring these. Sometimes, words are not enough. Sit here and feel the warmth and smell the sweetness. Close your eyes and take a bite.”

Indis made as if to protest. Ragnhild took her arm and gently pushed her to the bench. She put a biscuit in each of Indis’ hands. “Close your eyes,” she commanded, “and take a bite.” She smiled when Indis obeyed.

“Now, do you not feel better?”

Indis smiled. “I do.”

“Open your eyes then.” Indis obeyed.

“I have more in your study and some tea. Walk with me?”

As tears fell, Indis nodded. “Some have given up hope, Ragnhild.”

“Of course they have. But we know better.”

“Do we, Ragnhild?”

“When Arciryas was killed, tell me again when you knew.”

“The very moment,” and Indis rubbed her arms as they tingled in remembrance. “I was with Morwen. We were finishing the handkerchiefs for Théodwyn. I felt a shudder run through me. I ran to the children, but both Boromir and Faramir were fine. It was not till the next day that word came of the attack. That Denethor and my beloved Arciryas were both dead.”

“Have you felt such a shudder these past two days?”

“I have not.”

“You are of the House of Húrin and, if memory serves me, your family has the gift of foresight. Would you not know if Faramir were dead?”

“My brother had the gift.”

“So have you, though perhaps not as strongly. I think you would know if Faramir was dead.”

Indis stopped at the door to her quarters. “I think you are right. He is not dead.” The guard opened the door for her. “I want the War Council convened tomorrow morning. We can no longer delay this.”

“I will send a courier to those on your list. Will you hold Court tomorrow?”

“Nay. Not until Faramir is found. Have the War Council meet in my public study at the third bell. And thank you.”

“I will check on the status of the biscuits. I hope to find a few missing when I return.” She smiled, embraced her, and left.

Indis looked about her quarters. Never the mind Ragnhild’s confidence, she was still ill at ease. She left her own quarters and walked to Boromir’s. She stepped inside and caught her breath. If she had not held his dying body in her arms, she would not believe he was dead. The casements were open, the drapes pulled back. The last of Anor’s light spilled into the room. The bed held the bedraggled stuffed rabbit that Boromir refused to give up, the last vestige of his childhood. His toy sword lay on the settle at the foot of the bed. The sword and shield he was to use when he became an esquire hung, waiting, over the fireplace. Her eyes took in every detail of the room.

Suddenly, she remembered how Targon had rescued him. She stepped to the drapes at the very end of the casements and moved them aside. The wall seemed solid. She moved her hand over it until, about a foot from the casements, she felt a slight depression. She pushed upon it and the wall moved. She gave it another gentle push and it opened into a short corridor. Steps led up and down. She knew the way down, from Targon’s tale, led eventually to the buttery.

But where did the other stairs lead? She looked back into Boromir’s room and found a lantern by the fireplace. Upon the mantle was flint and steel, she struck it and lit the wick. Returning to the secret door, she stepped inside and began to climb the stairs. Another secret panel opened a floor above and into Denethor’s chambers. She gasped. She had not been here since he died. She quickly shut the door and climbed the stairs again. After two more flights, she found another panel. She opened it and discovered she was in one of the meeting chambers. Closing the door, she again climbed. Two more flights and another panel. She pushed this one open and found herself in what she had believed was the topmost chamber of the Tower. However, the stairs still went further up. It was growing dark outside and she knew she would be missed. Yet, she needed to see what was at the top of the stairs. Climbing another two flights, she found the stairs finally ended with a rather small, railinged landing. However, the panel in front of her would not budge. She raised the lamp and discovered there was a keyhole. She tried to push it again, but it would not open. She finally gave up and walked back down to Boromir’s room. She closed the casements, pulled the drapes, put out the lantern, and left. All the while, she pondered where the key could be for the locked room and what the room was used for.

~*~

A/N - Seven Ways to Start A Fire Without A  Match: http://www.fieldandstream.com/fieldstream/outdoorskills/photogallery/article/0,13355,1546757_6,00.html

Ch. 16 - Lessons For A Would-be Ranger

The wait was beginning to grow in length and to wear upon the Ranger. Aragorn looked at his leg in consternation. There was naught he could do. He could not stop the bleeding till the trap was sprung. He could not stand else the blood flow even freer. If Faramir did not return soon, he would have to throw caution to the wind and find the lad. He began to dig at the earth with his hands to try to free the chain that held the trap to the ground. He was making headway. It seemed that the trap would be freed from the earth’s hold.

Just as the last vestige of patience left him, as he tried with all his might to yank the chain from the ground, and he was ready to try to move, he heard a rustle in the bushes. Faramir stepped forward holding two sticks. Despite his relief at seeing the boy with the sticks, Aragorn’s heart lurched at the sight of pure terror on the young face.

When Faramir saw him, the boy cried out in relief. “I was lost!” he wailed.

“You have done well, my Steward,” Aragorn said quietly. “You have returned and with the tools I need. Help me wedge that stick here.” He pointed, willing himself calm to combat the boy’s obvious terror. “Here and here.” Within a moment, the ugly trap opened enough for Faramir to pull Aragorn’s leg free.

Aragorn let the trap fall shut and collapsed on the ground. “Thank you,” he whispered hoarsely. Faramir fell on him, hugging him tightly and weeping profusely. However difficult this was for him, Aragorn knew he must keep the boy from dwelling on the fears and terrors that seemed to run rampant in his heart. “Do not fear, Faramir. I will be all right now. We must make a paste of the athelas and put it on the wound. Will you help me?”

Faramir nodded and helped Aragorn remove the pack from his shoulder.

“See the leaves of that bush, Faramir?” The boy nodded. “Cut a few off and bring them to me.” At the question in the lad’s eyes, he smiled. “Yes. You may take your dagger out when you reach the plant. Cut off the leaves and then re-sheath the dagger.”

Faramir nodded and ran to the bush. Aragorn noted the dirk was immediately sheathed once the leaves were cut. By the time Faramir returned with them, Aragorn was already finishing the paste. He wished he could have made a fire. The leaf was always more potent when warmed. “Faramir. I need you to cleanse the wound. Take the flask of water and pour it over it. Make sure you get every place the teeth of the trap broke the skin. Use it all, if need be. There are plenty of streams nearby where we can refill it.” Once the wound was cleaned, Aragorn slathered the paste on it. Faramir held the leaves up and helped Aragorn wrap the ankle. The Ranger then took a line from his pouch and thrice wrapped it. Then, he lay back, exhausted.

“Should I start a fire?”

“Nay, Faramir. We have moved only a short distance from last night’s camp. We would be too easily found. Give me a few moments rest and then we will move on. While I rest, would you dig a small hole with that rock, just a small hole, and bury the trap and cover over the blood. We do not want Orcs smelling fresh blood.”

The boy sat next to him and shivered. “Are there enemies about?”

“I think not. Faramir, you did well today. Bringing two sticks was better than one.” The boy did not reply, but huddled a little closer.

“Faramir, if you were lost, how did you find me?”

“You were moaning. When I knew I was lost, I kept still and finally heard you.”

“Very good thinking. Did your father teach you how to leave a trail that only you can see?”

“Nay.” The boy’s eyes were wide.

“Let me tell you.” He rested as he spoke, taking these few moments to regain his strength, as Faramir dug a hole and buried the trap. “At every five paces, find a tree with low branches. Most men will look at eye height for some sign. If you use the low branches, all but the best trackers will not see. Twist two leaves together. Orcs and even Easterlings will not note. After an hour, the leaves unwind and there is no sign of your passing. Unfortunately, if you do not return within the hour, you will find no sign either.” Faramir giggled. “Do you want to try your hand at this?” The boy nodded and ran to the nearest tree. He took two leaves and wrapped them together. Smiling, he returned. “Do you see how the leaves seem naturally to cling together? There is no sign of broken twigs and other such to give away that the tree has been touched.” Faramir sat next to the Ranger, his eyes wide in delight. Aragorn patted his shoulder. “You have done well. This is a trick that bears remembering.” Faramir nodded solemnly and promised he would not forget.

At last, Aragorn’s eyes grew heavy. He started. “I have lost more blood than I thought. Faramir, I need water. Is there any left?”

The boy reached for the flask; it was empty.

“Well then, I will rest a little longer. Then we will find a stream.”

“There was one near where I found the sticks. I could go back.”

“Nay. We will wait a little longer till I recover my strength.”

“I… What should I call you?”

Aragorn smiled. “Let us use Strider for the nonce.”

“Strider, there are no badgers nearby, are there?”

“I think not.”

“Then I will practice finding my way and fetch some water.”

Aragorn looked long and hard at the boy. “Go part way. Make sure you leave yourself the signs. Then, return. Did you watch for traps?”

“I did. I will take the flask with me.”

“Faramir! I only want you to go part way.”

“Strider. I am thirsty, too. I heard a stream near where I found the sticks. I can find it again and find my way back. I am certain.”

“I have the sticks, Faramir. If you do not return shortly, then I will hit them together. Follow the sound.”

“Are there Orcs near here?”

“There could be.”

“Then I will be back before you need to use the sticks.”

“Another thing, Faramir, to help you find your way. See this tree here? The moss grows on the north side. And see the spider webs? They usually are spun on the south side. So you can see we are facing the west. Do you understand?”

“I do. I move forward five feet and twine the leaves on the west side of the trees. Then I move another five feet and do the same. That way I will be able to find my way back. Is that right?”

Aragorn nodded as Faramir fetched the flask and ran off. “Watch for traps,” he whispered. “May the Valar be with you.”

~*~

A/N – I really must thank Linaewen for the idea of using leaves. It really works pretty well. Especially after a website I found suggested using florescent thumbtacks. Sure, Faramir carries florescent thumbtacks all the time, as does Aragorn. LOL

http://www.ussartf.org/child_survival_.htm http://www.popularmechanics.com/science/worst_case_scenarios/1289331.html  http://senselist.com/2006/10/02/13-ways-to-find-north-if-youre-lost-in-the-woods/ http://www.patentstorm.us/patents/7301469-description.html

Ch. 17 - Torture Revisited

Ciramir was waiting for her when she returned to her own quarters. She could tell he had been waiting for some long time; his toe was tapping as she turned the corner. She stifled a smile. “My dear Captain, forgive me for the delay. Have you supped yet?”

“Nay.”

“Well, neither have I. I would be most pleased if you would join me?”

For one moment, she thought he would decline, but seemed to think better of it. He nodded.

The guard opened the door for them; she called her maidservant and ordered dinner for three. “If you do not mind, I will ask Húrin to join us?”

“Of course, Regent, whatever you wish.”

Did she note the slightest touch of sarcasm in his voice? She would forgive him; she had already, twice this day, insulted him.

“Come into my study. I have one missive that must be writ, then we may speak.” She went to her desk and sat. After a few moments, she affixed the seal of Gondor to it and called for her guard. “Call for an errand-rider for Dol Amroth and have this taken to Prince Imrahil immediately.”

The man nodded, took the missive and left.

“You are telling Prince Imrahil about Faramir?”

She nodded. “He must know.”

He made a small groan. “I am sorry.”

She turned to Ciramir. “I have only the deepest regret for my words to you earlier today. I would take them back, if I could. You have ever been a faithful servant to Gondor and to my family. Will you forgive me?”

The man looked at her in surprise. “You may be Denethor’s sister, but he would never have asked forgiveness for something that I did. It is I who must ask forgiveness, my Regent.” He blushed. “And for my tone this night.”

She came around the desk and sat on the overstuffed chair opposite him. “Tell me about Amandil and how it came to pass that you were imprisoned. Please?”

He stood and walked to the window. “Only for you, dear Lady.” He walked to the sideboard and poured a large glass of brandy. “If you do not mind?” he belatedly asked.

“Another apology. I should have offered.”

He said naught for many moments. Eventually, he returned to the settle. “I would say that everything happened so quickly we were caught unawares, but that is not what happened. Amandil convened the Council after Denethor was only gone a fortnight. He said he had received word of an attack and of Denethor, Boromir and Faramir’s deaths. He said he was next in line, due to his ancestry. He brought out many documents supporting his claims.”

“What about Húrin?” Indis interrupted. “All know he is next in line.”

“The Warden himself questioned Amandil, but the documents substantiated all that was said. Húrin acquiesced.” Ciramir shook his head. “We should have spent more time researching his claims, but the Citadel, nay the entire City, reeled at the news of Denethor’s death.

By this time, Húrin had entered. “What about your claim, Indis? Though you were in Edoras, we should have accepted you as Steward. A woman has held such a high position before. But we did not.”

“I can understand that. In such a hideous time, it would seem wise to have a male in power. Anything to prevent kin-strife.”

“Húrin was sent to Dol Amroth with the news. Amandil said it was imperative that someone of high standing should tell the prince of his nephews’ deaths. All agreed. Now that I think upon it, I am sure it was because of Húrin’s ancestry. Amandil needed him away from the City; he knew he could not outright kill him. Not yet anyhow. Within another week, men were coming into Minas Tirith and given positions of power. I began to question, as did others. Amandil said they were men stationed at Osgiliath. Did we not know? As if we were untutored children. Mayhap it was my pride that finally made me question the man.”

Indis smiled.

“Some of Denethor’s captains rallied behind me. Most did not. I found myself charged with treason and sent to the dungeons, along with those who followed me. We thought it was only a matter of time before the Council rescinded this order and freed us. However, a fortnight went by, then another. At first, we received three meals a day. After two days, the rations were cut. We found only the daymeal was given us. Water only enough for one so that we had to apportion it if we were to remain alive. After a week, we were taken, one by one, to the torture rooms on the last level of the dungeons.” Ciramir shook and Húrin took his hand. “I will not tell you what we endured, but we lost two men in the ensuing weeks.”

“Tell me, Ciramir. I must know.”

“My lady, I would not tell seasoned warriors for fear they would faint. I will not tell you.”

“It was that bad?”

“It was. And constant. One day for each of us and then they began again when the last man was finished. I was… tortured not less than six times for a period of twelve hours at a time. I gave up hope. I knew Gondor was now in the hands of a true enemy. Yet, we were powerless. Some hoped that we would be rescued, but I knew… I know people. You think me pessimistic… I am. We were not rescued; the other men obeyed Amandil in fear. I cannot fault them.” He stood and refilled his glass. “I would they had more quality. They did not. I no longer expect quality from the men of Gondor.” Bitterness flowed from him. “Amandil’s men came again one evening and chained us all together. We were led out into the night and southward. I almost retched as I realized where we were being taken. The others would not believe me; would not believe that we were to be sold as slaves in Harad. If not for Prince Imrahil, I would not be here.” He shuddered and quaffed the last of his brandy.

“Why were you so brusque with Théoden King?”

“Where was he?” the man spat as he stood. “He came almost too late. In fact, he came too late for Boromir.” The captain slumped against the mantle. Quiet sobs shook him.

Húrin stood and walked to his side. “We all came too late for Boromir, Ciramir. It is as if the fates had decided the boy should…”

Indis covered her face with her hands, sobbing herself at the loss and their utter helplessness at the time. Though months had passed since that fateful day, it felt as if ‘twere yesterday.

"And now Faramir is lost to us," Ciramir said, his voice low. "The Valar have given up on men. We are lost."

Chapter 18 – Rescued

When Faramir returned, he found his companion sound asleep. He looked about him, wondering what he should do. No fire, Strider had told him that, but he should do something. ‘I could fish. We need the food. I saw Strider’s supply and there is not much food.  I wonder if he has a needle in his pack.’ He opened the pack and found a soldier’s sewing kit. He took the needle, closed the pack and stowed it against a nearby tree. He looked at Strider’s wound one more time. There was no blood around the edges, nor on the ground near his foot. ‘I should tell him I am going, but he looks so peaceful. I will only be gone a short time.’ He ran off towards the stream.

Aragorn woke only moments later. He looked about him wildly. “Faramir,” he called as softly as he could. “Faramir.” There was no answer. He hung his head in grief. “I hope you are not lost, little one. I do not think I can stand yet. I cannot find you.” He ran his fingers through his hair, then looked about, seeking clues as to where Faramir might be. Close to his body, he found the water flask; it was full. Perplexed, he called out again, but there was no reply. “He had to have come back. Where can he be?” He reached for his pack to get more athelas, and found it had been moved. He pulled himself towards the tree and opened the pack. Immediately, he saw that his sewing kit had been opened. Looking inside, he noted a needle missing. “What can he need with a needle?” His eyes flew open; the lad went back to the stream to catch them food for the daymeal. He hung his head in sorrow. “You will be Orc fodder, little one, if you are not careful. How can I teach you one never goes alone in the forest?” He smiled at the incongruity of it all. He was alone in the forest; what else could Faramir learn from that fact alone!

He pondered whether to follow the boy or not. The stream could not be far away; Faramir had not been gone long in his search for the sticks. He would wait and hope. Tentatively, he stood and immediately the ankle gave out and he fell with a thud. “Orc spit!”

As soon as he caught his breath, he pulled himself up and leaned against the tree. “We must find shelter for the night. I will not be able to go very far with this foot. Faramir will have to find me a walking stick for tomorrow. I best build a lean-to for the night.” He pulled himself along the ground, gathering a few leaf-covered branches, and dragging them after him, back towards where they would camp. “No fire tonight. Too close to last night’s camp.” A sudden chill assailed him. “Fever? I cannot afford a fever.” He smiled. “And what will stop one from coming? Surely not the great care I have given my foot. Surely not the warm fire to ease the chill. Surely not the sumptuous meal to hearten and sustain me during the healing.” He laughed out loud, then quickly hushed as he realized he had been talking out loud. ‘I cannot be delirious. I cannot. Faramir,’ he thought sadly, ‘please come back soon.’ He leaned against the tree and fell into a fitful sleep.

~*~

Three fish later, Faramir pulled his line out of the water. A huge grin covered his face as he pulled a limb through the fishes’ gills and carried them over his shoulder back to Strider. ‘He will be happy. They are big fish.’ It suddenly occurred to him that they were not to light a fire. “Orc spit,” he murmured under his breath, then looked around guiltily. He giggled at the thought. “There is no one here to hear me.”

“I believe Regent Indis would not be very pleased to hear such a curse come from the mouth of her beloved nephew.”

Faramir screamed in horror. A hand touched his shoulder and the boy collapsed on the ground.

“Orc spit,” the stranger whispered and picked the unconscious boy up. “Now where do you suppose your camp is?”

~*~

“Aragorn? Can you hear me?”

“Ankle,” the Ranger whispered to the wind. ‘It must be the wind for that is not Faramir’s voice.’

“Lie still. I would look at it.”

He felt his leg being gently lifted and the makeshift bandage unbound. “Nothing at all. Hardly a scratch,” he mumbled.

“A scratch from a poisoned trap. The poor fox would never have had a chance.”

“Poison?” Somewhere in Aragorn’s mind he knew he should be concerned, but the haze in his head kept all such thoughts at bay. “Faramir?” he whispered. But the fever took him back into oblivion.

The stranger took the hot water from the small fire he had made and poured it into the waiting cup. He took the athelas leaves, breathed on them and spoke words over them, then crushed them and put them into the cup. He noted that both his patients sighed and began to breath easier. He took the cup to the boy first and helped him to a sitting position. “Faramir,” he gently called, recognizing the name and the face from their trip to the Mering some few months before. The boy did not wake. “Well, nothing for it but to at least try to get a few drops down him.” Faramir swallowed, unconsciously, as the brew was touched to his lips. “Not deeply asleep enough to choke. Good. Very good. Now, to Estel. Let us see how he takes his medicine.” A deep chuckle followed. The Ranger’s eyes were glazed but he was awake. “Drink this, muindor nîn. It will help.” Aragorn nodded, drank, and immediately fell back asleep.

“So much for idle conversation.”

“Time to make us a little tent, or perhaps a lean-to might be better. Easier to hide from hostile eyes.” He worked slowly and quietly, humming a song of his mother’s. He found the branches Aragorn had gathered and pulled them over the top of the little shelter, hiding it effectively.

“I found some nice rabbits nearby. Here,” his traveling companion said with no small pride. “They are quite large. Ithilien seems to grow everything larger, had you not noticed?”

“Put the rabbits down and help me get Estel into the lean-to. He is heavier than ever.”

His twin laughed. “Arwen fed him too well these past months. I think we should have a word with her.”

“She will not listen. She has never listened to a thing we say.”

Aragorn was finally in the lean-to. Elrohir turned to Faramir. He picked the lad up gently and placed him next to the Ranger.

When he was finished making sure they were settled, he came and sat next to his brother. “I have some miruvor. Should we use that?”

“Not yet. Hopefully the athelas will suffice. We only have the one flask.”

“All right.” He made a small noise. “Elladan, there is something wrong with the boy. He should not have fainted at just a touch.”

“Mayhap it is still the shock and grief of his brother’s death. I do not know how I would react to your death.”

“Thank you. I hope neither one of us has to face that dilemma.”

“You are most welcome. Be that as it may, I am not sure about human children and their emotions. It does seem strange that he would be thus affected after so many months.”

“When Estel wakes, we can ask him. For the nonce, I would seek some rest myself. I wonder what would have happened if we had not been sent to find Estel? Do you think father foresaw this?”

“Nay. I think Estel would have found a way out. He is resourceful and has been taught by the best.”

Elladan began to laugh. “You are most modest.”

“I speak the truth. Glorfindel and Erestor raised him well.”

“Ah! So we had no hand in the man he has become?”

“I will not take credit,” Elrohir smiled, “for anything Estel does. I have been in too much trouble because of him too many times. Do you remember the time he tried to raft down the Bruienen after that storm? I was sure father was going to resurrect Angmar and send us there as punishment for letting him get away from us.”

“I remember it too well.” Aragorn’s voice was rough but sound. “I have a scar from the branch that tried to eviscerate me. I am glad to see you both.”

Warm smiles greeted his. “Mae govannen, muindor dithen.”

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Father has asked that you return to Imladris.”

Aragorn looked at them in surprise. “Why?”

“Mithrandir awaits you.”

“Have him come here then, I think he can travel faster than I can. At least for the nonce.” His smile belied his flippant words. “It takes two of you to fetch me?”

“We stopped to visit Arwen. She says you only left her at Mettarë?”

“Yes. I stayed longer than I had planned.”

Both Elves began to laugh.

“Who found Faramir?”

“I did,” Elrohir stated. “He was wandering around with a good lot of fish. We will eat well tonight.”

“Why is he insensible?”

“I am not sure, Estel. I was hoping you could tell us. He screamed when I spoke and fainted when I touched him. Is this normal behavior for a human child?”

Aragorn shook his head in dismay. “Nay. When first I met him yesterday, I discovered a trace still of some spell upon him. I had hoped my ministrations would have broken it; after what you have just told me, I find I must admit to failure in my endeavors.”

“May I look at him?” Elladan asked.

“Please. I would see the boy healed. He has suffered greatly.”

“As have many children in this age,” Elrohir stated matter-of-factly. “You cannot save them all, Estel.”

The burning look of anger that came from Aragorn’s eyes stayed Elrohir’s next words.

“If father’s words are to be believed, if I… Elrohir, he will be my Steward some day.”

Elladan walked back to them and sat next to Aragorn. “I believe it is akin to a locking spell. When great fear or adversity comes, his mind locks itself away so that he is incapable of action. A nasty little spell. At least, that is what I read as I delve.”

“Can you break it?”

“I know father could.”

“That is not what I asked.”

“If the three of us concentrated, I think it is possible. Elrohir, do you remember the Song of Power that daernaneth taught us long ago?”

“I remember. Estel, do you know it?”

“Finrod’s?” he shivered as he spoke the name. “I do.”

“We sing a part of Finrod’s then and make it our own, suitable for our needs here and now. All three together. Prepare the athelas. We need every tool we have.” Elladan stood, somehow taller, Aragorn thought.

Elrohir brought the athelas while Aragorn stoked the fire. The water was already warmed and only took moments to reach its boiling point. Elrohir poured the water into a cup. Aragorn whispered words, then crushed the leaves into the boiling water.

“A song of staying.” The song began and the trees in Ithilien seemed to come alive, swaying with no breeze to move them. Prickles ran up and down Aragorn’s spine. Never had he been part of such a ceremony. “Resisting, battling, strength like a tower, trust unbroken, freedom, escape.” The trees moved more rapidly, their branches almost touching the ground. “Snares eluded, broken traps, prison opening, chains that snap.”

A bolt of lightning shot through the air and all three fell.

~*~

A/N - Muindor nîn: My brother. Mae govannen, muindor dithen – Well met, little brother.http://www.warofthering.net/forum/vbulletin225/upload/showthread.php?t=7539; http://home.netcom.com/~heensle/lang/elvish/sindarin/engsind.html

On Songs of Power: http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/142.html

A small part of the 'Lay of Leithian' by Tolkien. My deepest thanks to Fiondil. It was in reading his tale of Glorfindel that I first thought of using the Song. We spoke and he agreed; it would be an appropriate tool that the three together might be able to wield safely. For Fiondil’s tale: which is part two - http://www.storiesofarda.com/chapterlistview.asp?SID=5828

Chapter Nineteen – Dubious Dispatches

The missive was short and to the point. Saruman, Théoden King stated, was ready and willing to meet with Indis to discuss what might be done for Faramir and for Gondor. She read it in amaze. She had not asked nor authorized the King of Rohan to begin negotiations with the wizard. She shivered at the thought. Denethor had dealings, in his youth, with the White Wizard. He never quite overcame his fear of the Lord of Isengard. Now, she was being drawn into a parlay with him. Another shiver ran through her and she wondered how Théoden ever thought she wished this course of action to be taken. The wizard she wanted to speak with was Mithrandir, for was he not a friend of Thorongil who had helped bring Faramir from the depths of whatever assailed the boy?

Húrin was adamant. She should not go to Isengard, should not meet with the wizard. If she felt it was important, she should ask Théoden to arrange a meeting at Meduseld. Another, deeper shiver assailed her. Ragnhild believed she should go. Théoden King was known to be wise; Denethor would oft listen to his advice. Mayhap it would be a good thing.

Ciramir kept his peace until she asked him. “I was told to tame my vile tongue,” he said, barely a whisper.

She blushed. “I had asked, and thought I had received, forgiveness.”

“Then I will tell you straight with true words. My Lord Denethor had only the deepest hatred for the White Wizard. I think he would have died before being in his presence one more time. If you go, you are a fool. You know; you saw what happened to Denethor at least on one occasion when he crossed paths with that wizard.”

She held her tongue, took a deep breath, and stood. She moved from the great desk in her study and walked to the window. She leaned against the sill. There was naught to see. No horsemen were riding across the Pelennor with Faramir.

Húrin rose quietly, somberly. “You are no soldier of Gondor to speak that way to your Regent.”

“I speak only the truth. You never saw Denethor… Indis has seen. For her to contemplate such action is folly. The wizard is cunning. He is a monster!” Ciramir could scarcely contain his fury.

Indis turned to them. “Théoden King does not know that Faramir has… disappeared. I will send an errand-rider with the news. I will tell him that, at this time, Gondor’s Regent cannot be away from her City until the boy is found. I would hear Listöwel’s thoughts on this. She will not return until Faramir is found. Húrin, would you fetch Hirgon? Ragnhild, would you order the daymeal?” The Warden nodded and left, as did Ragnhild. Indis turned her attention to Ciramir.

“I take no umbrage at your words, Ciramir. I now see why my brother valued your counsel. You speak truly. I saw how my brother was brought almost to his knees when he was younger at a chance meeting between the two in the Great Library. I had to help him to his bed. I thank you for reminding me.”

“Then why do you even suggest you might meet with the wizard?”

“I must think of a politic way to decline the invitation. Théoden has always been a friend of Gondor. I will do naught to sever or harm that friendship. However, I will not meet with the wizard. Mayhap,” and she smiled slyly, “mayhap we should have Théoden King meet with him as Gondor’s emissary?”

Ciramir laughed aloud. “Would serve the old fool right!”

“Ciramir. I cannot allow you to speak thus of Gondor’s ally. However, I insist you continue to upbraid me when I am foolish. I will bite my tongue and remember your value.”

“Thank you, my Lady. Has there been no news of Faramir?”

“None and it is now two full days since he was lost.” She shuddered.

He stepped towards her, took her in his arms, and held her. “I would have you know I did not do this with Denethor.”

She burst out laughing. “Thank you for telling me that. I had my doubts.”

At this Ciramir joined her in laughter. At that moment, Ragnhild entered the room. She blushed at the sight. “Forgive me,” she said as she tried to back out of the room.

“Nay! Stop right there, Ragnhild. There is naught improper here. I needed a moment’s comfort. Ciramir was showing me how he comforted Denethor.” At that, both of them burst into even more fitful, boisterous laughter.

Ragnhild stood, lips pursed, arms crossed. “I see naught to be amused.”

Indis wiped the tears from her eyes. “It was a jest, Ragnhild. Do you not jest in Meduseld?”

“When it is appropriate.”

“It is now appropriate, Ragnhild. I have spoken.”

Her counselor nodded and sat on the chair across from the settle. “News from the east?”

“None.” The warmth and laughter of the last moments vanished. “I expect a missive within the hour.”

~*~

Listöwel was ready to draw and quarter every soldier in Osgiliath’s garrison. There was no news. No sign of Faramir had been found. Not even one footprint. “You call yourselves Rangers,” she exploded in the mess. “Can track an Orc anywhere! Yet you cannot track a seven year old boy!”

Captain Valanestel stood for his men. “There are no signs, on either bank, of the Steward, Captain-General. I believe he has floated down the River, mayhap even past the Harlond. Have there been reports of the efforts below the Harlond?”

Amlach stood up and moved toward Listöwel. “The Rangers have been a profound help, Captain-General. Mayhap it is time they returned to Henneth-Annûn and the search discontinued. At least, north of the Harlond. I have lost all hope, Listöwel. If he did not reach land, then he could not have survived. The water is bitter cold. We should search south of the Harlond – for his body.”

“The Anduin is not as cold as it might have been; it is not yet winter,” Valanestel spoke quietly, but with conviction. “Captain-General. The River crested its banks. Do not lose hope because we have found no tracks. They could very easily have been washed away. It will take some time, but my Rangers and I do not lose hope. Will you let us continue?”

Something about the man’s voice brought her peace. “Valanestel. You are aptly named. Hope based upon the Valar. We will continue to hope and you and your Rangers will continue to search. Amlach, we are shamed by this man. Has aught been heard from Borondir?”

“Nay, my Captain, naught.”

“Then send another two companies along the Harad Road to Emyn Arnen. The boy has been there once before, when Morwen was interred. Mayhap, if he came out of the River near there, he would recognize the land and head for Emyn Arnen.”

“It is a very slim chance, Captain, but one we must take. I will send men there.”

“Thank you, Captain Amlach. I would go with them.”

“I do not think it wise.”

“If I am to fight this despair, I must do something.”

“The men need to see you here, directing the maneuvers, sending out the search parties, meeting with your captains.”

Listöwel bit her lip. ‘This is exactly what is needed, what Indis wanted me to do here, show my colors, my valor so the men will follow me.’ She shuddered at the thought. ‘I cannot see how I can win their respect and love by whining. I must be strong, for Indis’ sake and for Faramir’s.’

“Wisely spoken, Captain Amlach. I would like to look at the maps one more time before the men head for Emyn Arnen.”

He nodded and brought out three cedar tubes. “This one is the most recent, made by Lord Denethor himself about twenty years ago. Emyn Arnen is here.”

They spent the next hour searching for the best route to different search areas. In the meantime, two companies were sent to the ancient home of the House of Húrin.”

Shortly thereafter, though no word had yet reached her of hope fulfilled, she sent two missives to Indis. The first was to her Regent; the second was to her sister-friend. She wrote Regent Indis on the first and Indis on the second.

“Regent Indis.

There has been no sign of Faramir. I have expanded our search parameters. The men lose hope, yet, hope is ever present - for the Valar have sent a captain to me who speaks of hope as if it is the very breath we breathe. I will still hope. I will continue to speak of hope with our men. I will send another missive in four hours.

Captain-General Listöwel”

“My dearest sister-friend,

I thought my hope was quashed until Captain Valanestel spoke. Do not lose hope yourself, dearest sister. Turn to Targon. The boy exudes it.

I would weep with you if I could. I have to be steel here; yet, my heart is ripped apart. We will rejoice together; remember that, Indis. We will rejoice and very shortly! The Valar did not bring Faramir back to life to have him taken away again!

Have hope,

Listöwel”

A/N - http://www.uib.no/people/hnohf/qlist.htm  Estel is Quenya for hope Valanestel – Hope of the Valar – at least I’m hoping that what it means.

Chapter 20 - Dilemma

Faramir’s head hurt. He was thirsty. He was cold. Slowly, he opened his eyes. The sunlight through the pines looked so pretty. Little streams of white. He watched as leaves from the occasional deciduous trees interspersed throughout the evergreen forest fell. He felt happy, even with the head ache. And hungry. He could not remember the last time he had felt hungry. Sitting up, he looked about him curiously. Where was he? He gasped as, to the left around a campfire, he saw three people lying dead. He ducked his head back into the lean-to and screamed into the blanket.

Aragorn stirred at the sound. The movement sent knives through his head. The pain was near too unbearable. He put his hands to his head and moaned softly. The ankle began to throb. What had happened? Better yet, what had waked him? Something terrible. Heart-broken sobs rent the clean air of Ithilien. He remembered! Faramir! Lifting his head from the ground, he cried aloud as he spotted his unmoving brothers. “Elladan! Elrohir!”

Faramir heard the cry and turned. He remembered now. This was Strider. He ran to the man’s side, fell on the hard ground, and shook with sobs. “I thought you were dead. I thought I was alone again.”

“Oh, sweet Faramir. I am sorry. We tried something, my friends and I. Would you go to them, Faramir? You met them at the Mering months ago. Elves. Do you remember? They are friends of mine, dear friends. See to them, please.”

“I cannot. They are dead. I cannot touch them.”

Aragorn drew in a deep breath, willing himself to calm. “They only seem dead, Faramir.” He prayed to the Valar that it was true, that his brothers were not dead. “Please take blankets from the lean-to and cover them until they wake.” It was the only way he could think of to have the boy touch their bodies. ‘Elbereth, have them live. Please.’ He heard stirring. Elrohir put his hand to his head and sat up. He heard his brother’s gasp as he took in Elladan’s unmoving body.

“Elladan!” Elrohir whispered in horror. “Elladan, wake up.”

Aragorn nudged Elrohir’s arm with the cup of athelas. “Give him this, Elrohir. It may help.”

Elrohir took the cup with an unsteady hand, gently lifted his brother’s head, and poured a few drops into Elladan’s mouth.

The Elf’s eyes shot open. He shook his head and then moaned. “I think the Valar might have kicked us whilst we were down, what think you, brother?”

Elrohir laughed. “You are probably right. I do not quite understand it.”

Elladan turned to Aragorn. “Are you well, little brother?”

“My head feels like a troll clubbed me, but aside from that, and the blasted ankle, I feel fine. We gave Faramir a hideous fright. Come here to me, lad.”

Faramir made a wide path around the Elves and sat on Aragorn’s lap. He heaved a heavy sigh and crunched into Aragorn’s arms. A small sob escaped him. Then, “I am hungry.”

The three brothers laughed. Aragorn held Faramir close. “It has been a wicked time for you, Faramir. I am sorry we gave you such a fright. Elrohir, if he will get himself up off his lazy behind, will finish making the rabbit stew. Would you like some?”

The boy nodded, hiccupped, then fell asleep in Aragorn’s arms.

“Well, so much for rabbit stew. He is exhausted.” Aragorn shifted the boy in his lap. His back suddenly ached along with his head.

Elrohir took the boy from his arms and sat against a tree, holding Faramir tightly. “Elladan will take care of the stew. After all, he was the one who caught the rabbits. I have other things to tend to.”

“I thought you said we cannot save them all,” Aragorn gently mused at the look of love in Elrohir’s eyes.

“We can try – one at a time. This is a fine boy. He only needs some healing and some guidance. What are you going to do with him, Estel?”

“I do not understand. I will take him back to Osgiliath. Hopefully, I will not be recognized. The younger men do not know me. I will leave him by the bridge, watch from afar to make sure someone finds him, and then return to Imladris at our father’s command.”

“He needs someone to care for him.”

“What are you saying? He has his aunt; he has his counselors; he has the men of Gondor’s army; he even has Húrin, the old curmudgeon. He does not need me.”

“He will be your Steward someday, as you aptly reminded me. Would you have a Steward less knowledgeable than yourself?”

Aragorn ran his hands through his hair. “I cannot stay in Gondor. They will make me king and it is not my time.”

“I think Elrohir means you should take Faramir for a time and teach him some things,” Elladan stirred the stew. “Teach him a Ranger’s ways whilst healing his heart and imparting values that he will need. Values you will need him to have as your Steward.”

“He is but seven years old.”

“When did you start your training, Estel?” Elrohir gently asked.

The Ranger blushed. “When I was seven. But I was in Imladris. My mother was with me. I cannot….”

“I think you have said cannot too many times for the Estel I know.”

“I cannot,” he glared at Elladan, “stay here in Gondor. I cannot take him to Imladris. What would you have me do?”

“I am a little disappointed that you cannot think of a solution.”

“Stay in Ithilien?” He stared at Elladan in surprise. “There are Orcs here and Haradrim and fell beasts. I…” he bit his lip at the ‘cannot’ that he almost spoke. “Let me think, please.” He held his still throbbing head. “What happened to us? Why were we rendered insensible?”

Elladan sat back on his haunches. “The Song of Power was done rightly. I think the power we unleashed was… incredible is the only word I can think to describe it. If the boy is not spell-free, then naught will free him.” He laughed aloud. “I think perhaps we did not contain it. I think we might have missed some words.”

Elrohir chuckled quietly. “I think we missed something.” The chuckle grew into laughter. His shoulders shook. “I am not telling daernaneth what happened.”

“I will tell her,” Elladan finally stopped laughing himself. “I need to know what words we missed. I wonder if she… Nay, all the Songs probably do what she wants of them. None would dare cross her!”

Aragorn’s bright smile bespoke his love for Galadriel. “She never taught me the Songs.”

“She loves us more,” Elrohir burst into laughter again and this time, the boy stirred.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes, Faramir.” Elrohir gently stroked the boy’s hair. “And the stew is ready. You said you were hungry. Are you still?”

“Starving.”

“I doubt that, but let us eat.”

They stood and Faramir turned to the West in silence.

Aragorn lifted an eyebrow, but waited till they were all seated and were about the business of devouring the stew. “This is good,” he smiled at Elladan. Faramir nodded in agreement, but did not stop eating. “Faramir. Why did you keep the Standing Silence?”

“Because the Valar must be watching over us and I did not want to make them mad.”

“Ah. The Valar.”

Elladan and Elrohir looked at him, questions in their eyes. He held his hand up to stay them.

“So you think the Valar might hurt us if we do not give them obeisance?”

Faramir nodded, but continued eating.

“I do not think the Valar would hurt us.”

“Then, if they are watching us, as you said before, Strider, why did they not help us?”

“They sent two Elves from out of the forest, Faramir. What better help could there be?”

The boy looked up in surprise. “Yes. They did.” His brow furrowed. “But why did you have to have your ankle hurt? And why did I fall into the river? And why did Boromir die?” He threw down his bowl, threw his arms across his face, and fell onto the ground, weeping bitterly.

Elrohir was the one who picked him up. “Shush, little one. Shush. All will be well.”

Faramir cried until his eyes hurt and his throat tightened unbearably. Elrohir offered a cup of water. The boy took it and drank greedily. Then, he clutched Elrohir’s tunic in his hands and sobbed.

They let the boy release his grief. The camp remained still for over an hour. At last, Aragorn made a sign. Elrohir nodded. Enough time spent. The lad would exhaust himself. “Faramir. You know there are bad things in this world. But there are good things too. They battle each other.” He shook his head; he was explaining this poorly.

Aragorn nodded to him in encouragement.

“You know that men can make up their own minds about what they do in their lives. They have choices. Eru has given us the freedom to make choices, Faramir. The bad men who murdered Boromir made a very bad choice. The Valar could not stop them. Would not stop them because of Eru’s law of freedom. Boromir was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And, I am sorry to say this, Faramir, Boromir disobeyed. He chose to go into the fight. If he had stayed back, he would be alive today.”

“But he was saving Amma!”

“He thought he was, but there were others around your amma who would have helped save her. Boromir was not trained well enough to battle such strong men, Faramir.”

The boy sobbed again.

Elrohir looked up in frustration. Aragorn nodded, smiling.

“Nothing will ever really explain why Boromir is dead. But it was not to punish you. Eru and the Valar do not punish. Please believe me, Faramir.”

The boy hugged the Elf and nodded. “I will try.”

”Good. Now, finish your stew. Strider needs to talk with you.” He stood and motioned for Elladan to follow him.

“I have not finished….”

“You are finished.”

Elladan shrugged and stood. “I will clean the dishes when we return,” he grumbled.

Chapter Twenty-One – An Offer Made

Faramir looked after the Elves, a small smile playing on his face. “They are funny.”

Aragorn laughed loudly. “They are. They cause a lot of trouble, too.”

For one moment, Faramir stopped breathing, his mind running after a thought. “Who are they really?”

Aragorn looked at the little one in amaze, then answered honestly. “They are my brothers.”

Faramir laughed. “I thought so.” Suddenly, and trying hard not to cry, he said, “They speak to you like Boromir spoke to me. They are your big brothers?”

A smile answered him.

“I like them.”

“I am quite certain they like you too, especially Elrohir.”

The boy blushed. “I cannot tell which one is which.”

“Do not be too hard on yourself. Not many can. Sometimes,” and his grin turned even wider, “they try to fool me, but they cannot.”

Faramir looked down at the ground. “What did Elrohir want you to tell me? Has something happened in Gondor?” His breath hitched. “Has something ha… happened…?” He bit his lip.

“What is it, Faramir? All is well in Gondor.”

“Noth… nothing has happened to Aunt Indis?”

“Nay.” Aragorn’s brow furrowed in dismay. “I am sorry. It has nothing to do with Gondor. I should have spoken immediately, not given you something to fear. It is simply this. Elrohir believes that you and I should spend some time together. He thinks you are an intelligent boy and should have some lessons in woodcraft and such. What do you think of that?”

“You mean,” the boy’s voice grew excited, “you mean learn about the woods and trails and camping and stuff?”

“I do. I take it you like the idea.”

“When do we start?”

Aragorn laughed uproariously. “You mean you want to start yesterday?”

Faramir blushed. “Yes.”

“We cannot, I am sorry to say. It will take some time for my ankle to heal and we cannot stay in Ithilien with a wounded Ranger. Too many Orcs and such about. Besides that, my father has asked me to return home for awhile. I cannot disobey him, much as I would wish to stay with you. And your aunt has had a difficult time, I am sure, with your being lost. I need to get you back to her and quickly.”

The boy nodded in agreement. “I must get back home. I am sure she is quite worried. As well as my friend, Targon.”

“Then it is agreed. I will tell you this. We will somehow get you to the bridge at Osgiliath, unless we run into a search party. They must have sent out search parties.” His brow creased. “Faramir. I am a Captain of Gondor, but I cannot let your men see me. I am on an… an extended secret mission. Your men do not even know my name, but your aunt does. I need you to keep my secret. Can you do that?”

“Of course. I am the Steward of Gondor. If you are one of my captains, on a secret mission, who better to trust your secret with?” The boy shrugged. “I will tell no one.”

“Thank you. What I will do is this. I will give you a note that you must hide and only give to your Aunt Indis. I will write in that note that I have taken you on as my esquire. Do you like that idea?”

The boy’s eyes grew round. “I am honored,” he said as he gulped.

“Good. We will not be able to train year-round, as is the custom. However, I will return to Gondor in the spring. I will meet you at Morwen’s farm in Lebennin on Ethuil. Bring your sword and shield, perhaps a hauberk of mail. Everything else will be provided.”

“Should I take an oath now?”

Aragorn smiled. Precious child, he thought. “Nay. I would have you speak with Indis regarding an oath. She has much wisdom. You may tell me her decision when next we meet.”

The boy nodded as the Elves returned.

“Has anything been decided?” Elrohir asked with a smile.

“It is past time for bed for this little one,” Aragorn said in Quenya.

“I am not a little one and Anor just set.”

Aragorn looked at the boy in surprise.

“Amma has been teaching me Quenya. I am to be Steward and must know the tongues of the land.”

“Of course you must,” Elladan stated dryly. “Especially since everyone in Minas Tirith speaks Quenya fluently.”

Faramir cocked his head to the side, then giggled. “I have to read the scrolls, you know,” he said, once again serious.

“He does, Elladan,” Aragorn agreed. “The Steward will need to know all that the scrolls tell, even the ancient ones, if he is to help his king.”

Elladan shivered and noted the speaking of the title did the same for Elrohir.

Faramir, however, did not notice. He turned towards who he thought was Elrohir and smiled. “I am to be Strider’s esquire.” Pride shown clear on his face.

Nonplussed, Elladan asked. “Why are you so proud of that fact? Did you do something to earn it?”

The boy stared at him in surprise. “Na… nay,” he stuttered. “He asked me.”

Elrohir gently moved in front of Elladan. “One thing an esquire must have is humility, Faramir. Strider has given you a great boon, but you did naught to deserve it. Therefore, your proper response might have been, ‘Strider has gifted me with becoming his esquire.’ Does that not sound more appropriate?”

Aragorn began to laugh. “And when your father made you one of his captains, I seem to remember you dragging us all into the Hall of Fire and toasting yourself!”

Elrohir looked abashed. “I have learned from my mistake and was only trying to help the young Steward.”

Faramir looked from one to the other. “He is right, Strider. I know my aunt thinks you are a great Captain of Gondor and I was feeling proud that you asked me to be your esquire. Forgive me?”

“Only if you forgive me for leading these two to you. They are a tiresome lot and full of puffed up importance.” He ducked as Elrohir tried to swat him. “Pay them no head, Faramir. You will learn many things in time. That is why I picked you for my esquire. You have a good head on your shoulders, are quick to listen, and quicker to learn.”

“I hope,” Elrohir said stiffly, “that the two of you are quite finished with praising each other!”

Aragorn lunged and threw Elrohir to the ground in mock battle. The two rolled in the dirt while Faramir and Elladan looked on. Faramir was horrified; Elladan was quite amused. “Do not worry about them. They are my younger brothers and still like to tussle now and again.” He turned Faramir towards him. “Perhaps you would like to help me clean up from the evening meal?”

Faramir let Elladan lead him to the stream. They filled a pot full of water and brought it back. Elrohir and Aragorn were calmly dusting their leggings off.

“Who won?” Elladan asked.

“I did.” Both brothers responded.

“To bed with you, Faramir.” Elladan ignored them both. The camp slowly settled.

Aragorn stepped to Faramir’s side. “He sleeps.” He turned towards his brothers. “I have two concerns, along with a thousand others, but I need to speak with you about two.” He sat down by the fire and pulled out his pipe. “There should have been search parties.”

“Mayhap they do not know the boy has come this far down the river,” Elrohir opined.

“They have engineers. They should have been able to calculate, with the current and his body weight, how far he would have traveled.”

“Mayhap they knew not when he fell in. He did say it was during the night?”

“Yes, Elladan. That would explain that.”

“They may have decided the boy is drowned and have only sent search parties along the banks to find the body. Probably looking further south – by the Harlond.”

“I cannot believe Indis would not still hope. I can only hope that they are searching further north for him, eventually combing the lands and moving southward.”

“I think that is the truer of the pictures you paint, Estel. The search parties are probably still north and moving this way. We should keep an ear out for them.” Elrohir offered.

“Your other concern, brother?” Elladan asked quietly. “It seems the graver.”

“It is. The spell. It felt like a wizard’s spell.”

And eerie silence filled the camp as both Elves’ minds flew back towards their time in Angrenost just a few short months ago.

“We have two wizards in Middle-earth - ”

“There are three, that we know of, Estel,” Elladan gently corrected him. “Mithrandir, Curunír, and Aiwendil. Father oft talked of two or three others, but that was ages ago. I do not know, but they may have returned to Valinor.”

“Then let us look at who we have. There is Mithrandir. I trust him with my life. Then there is the White Wizard, Curunír. Our father seems to value him, but after our time in Angrenost, I do not know. I sensed cunning and evil.”

“There was a spell laid upon you, Estel. Whether it was whilst we were in the wizard’s fortress or no, I cannot say.”

“I know. Father listened to our tale, but said naught. I believe he waits to speak with Mithrandir.”

“Yes. There was a healer, did not Indis say, that came with the party to Minas Tirith – a healer from Rohan?”

“There was. Do you think a simple healer could make such a spell?”

Elladan stood up and paced. “If the healer was a disciple of a wizard.” His face was grim. “Being so close to Angrenost, the assumption might be that he is a minion of Curunír.”

Aragorn shook his head. “Another thing we should tell Father.”

“Yes. And the ingredients for the spell could have been transported from Meduseld. All the healer would have to do is learn the words of enchantment.”

“The spell seemed stronger than a second-hand one. Could it have possibly been Sauron?”

At this, Elladan stopped his pacing. “I hope not.”

Chapter Twenty-Two – Resolve Hard-Won

Night was coming on, the third since Faramir’s disappearance. Listöwel finally slept, though her body tossed and turned. Well before first light, she woke. Borondir was kneeling at her side. “There is a missive from Regent Indis. She will arrive before noon.” Listöwel nodded. Borondir left her. She sat up, held her head in her hands, and wept bitterly. Not for herself, though she felt she had clearly failed her friend and Regent, but for Faramir. ‘Too long in the wild or the river. He must be dead.’ Pushing herself to stand up, she laved her face in the cold water left from last night’s ablutions, put on her armor and walked to the door. The guard there saluted her. “Have my captains assemble in the mess in a quarter hour. Have provisions made for a two-day march.” She left the garrison’s office and walked towards the bridge.

Borondir quickly joined her. “You need not have risen so early. It will be hours before the Regent comes.”

“And what have I to report, Borondir?”

“Naught, Captain.”

“You are correct in that. I have naught to report. I have ordered my captains attend me in less than a quarter hour in the mess. If you wish food before that, then you best avail yourself of this opportunity. Once met, we leave for Emyn Arnen and we will not return until he or his body is found. Do you understand?” He nodded and left her.

She continued walking to the bridge, being hailed now and again by guards as she passed their posts. Anor’s light touched the sky before her; the dark mountains outlined in the soft of the pre-dawn light. She crossed the bridge and stood at its very edge, the very edge of Eastern Osgiliath. Dust lay upon the rocks and broken ruins. A deep silence filled the air along with a faint odor of herbs and spices. ‘The famed fields of Ithilien,’ she thought. ‘Still clinging to life in the midst of destruction. Faramir!’ her heart cried. ‘Where are you? You cannot be dead, sweet boy, you cannot. Hold on. Cling to life. We will find you. I promise, dear one, we will find you and today,’ she vowed. She stood there for many moments, her eyes sweeping the city for any sign of the lad, hope struggling to survive in the midst of despair. At last, she turned and walked back towards the mess. She wiped her face as she went, clearing it of any trace of the tears that had betrayed her resolve.

“Captain Listöwel,” Borondir greeted her as she entered the mess. “Your captains await you.”

She nodded in acknowledgment and bade them sit. “We leave in one hour’s time. We head for Emyn Arnen. A full battalion will assemble. We will not return until we find the Steward.” She watched them, watched their faces divulge their disbelief. “We will find him or we will not return. He did not suffer torment, torture and the death of his father and brother to be washed away from us. Do you hear me?” Her voice hardened. “I will not accept this as the will of the Valar. If you still believe in them, if you are still heirs of the Faithful, then you will follow me and we will find him.” Voice as hard as stone, her body trembled with the fervor of her words. Men’s eyes opened in surprise and, at last, she saw it. A bit of hope. Just a touch of hope, but it was there, in her men’s eyes and she vowed she would keep it there or die. One by one, the men stood, saluting her.

“Prepare your troops, Knights of Gondor. We leave at First Bell.”

Shoulders squared, she turned from them and walked out of the mess. The entire regiment stood before her, cavalry and infantry, all gathered in front of her. One of them stood forward. “We heard your words, Captain-General, and we will be proud to follow you.”

She swallowed hard. “We leave in one hour,” she forced herself to say through the hope-enlarged lump in her throat.

They saluted as one, turned and went about their preparations. Borondir walked up and stood next to her. “They are impressed by your resolve. Most have heard of your courage in battle. I think they are now ready to follow you.”

She wanted to fall in exhaustion. It had taken every bit of strength within her to not collapse at his words. She had won them over, mayhap for just this day, but it was a beginning. She nodded to him and, without a word, went back to her quarters. She closed the door, leaned heavily against it and silently wept.

~*~

“We head for Osgiliath today, Faramir. If all goes well, we should reach it by tomorrow.” He smiled. “I seem to recall telling you the same thing a day ago.”

Faramir giggled. Then his little face scrunched in concern. “How will you walk that far? Your foot is swollen. We should rest another day.”

“We can ill-afford to rest, Faramir. Gondor needs her Steward. Not only for Indis’ sake, but for Gondor’s, I must put aside thoughts of pain and strike out for Osgiliath.”

“He speaks well, does he not, Lord Faramir?” Elrohir came up, smiling broadly, and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Full of bravado. I will wager you he collapses within the hour.”

Faramir looked up in alarm. “We cannot let that happen.”

“He teases you, Faramir,” Elladan smiled as he joined them. “We have built a small litter. We will put our brother into it and pull him.”

“I will not be treated as an invalid,” Aragorn sputtered. “I can walk. I need a stout stick and then I can walk.”

Elladan gently touched Aragorn’s ankle with the side of his boot. The Ranger let out a yelp and fell into Elrohir’s arms. “I think you will ride or I will carry you over my back.”

Aragorn clenched his teeth, the pain still throbbing through his leg. “I will ride on that piece of refuse, if you insist.”

“As a matter of fact, little brother, I do insist. We have Faramir and Gondor to think of, not your wounded pride.”

Elrohir helped settle Aragorn onto the litter. Faramir brought a blanket and covered the Ranger. “I am sorry you cannot walk, Strider, but I will walk next to you and keep you company. Will that help?”

Aragorn sighed heavily. “That will help. I will teach you some other birdcalls that the Rangers of Gondor have used in the past. You have a good ear and should be able to learn at least a dozen before we stop for the noon meal.”

Faramir smiled excitedly. “Thank you. I would like that very much.”

“Who pulls him first?” Elrohir asked. “I spent most of the morning making the thing; I think you should have the honor of first horse.”

Faramir giggled. “What color horse are you, Elladan?”

The Elf looked at the boy in amaze, then a slow smile lit his face. “I suppose I would be a white horse, perhaps like the Mearh of Rohan. Yes, a white horse with a long flowing mane.” He shook his head from side to side, his braids hitting his face as he moved.

“And you, Elrohir, what color horse are you?”

“Well, I think I would like to be a gray horse. They blend into most backgrounds. I would not be easily seen. I think gray would be best.”

“May I help carry the litter?”

“I think not,” Elrohir’s visage took on the look of one in deep thought. “You must attend your lessons for now. You will not see Es… Strider until the spring. You best spend as much time studying now as you are able.”

“A wise thought.” Elladan pulled up on the litter’s handles and moved forward. “We may talk as we walk. It is a long way to Osgiliath.”

Chapter Twenty-Three – Journey Interrupted

Valanestel had joined Borondir the day before. Even now, the despair the Ranger saw in Borondir’s eyes was profound. “Do not lose heart, Captain,” Valanestel said quietly, ere they camped for the night. “You have covered much ground in your search. I deem it wise, now, that we turn north. Your men have found no sign of the boy south of Emyn Arnen. There are others who search further down the River. In the morn, let us start at the cemetery of the line of Húrin.”

Eyes lifted to him in pain. “I had once been part of his rescue party on the road to Rohan. All that I saved there, I have now lost.”

“Not lost,” the Ranger said, “just not found – yet.”

Borondir’s heart lifted. “Not found yet.” His eyes lit up. “You do not suppose the lad is playing a game of Hide ‘n Seek with us?”

“Nay,” Valanestel put his hand on Borondir’s shoulder. “I have never met the Steward, but I deem him wiser than that. Though he could have stayed where he came out of the River. It would be one of the things any father teaches a son. Stay in place, when you are lost.”

“That is the key!” Borondir jumped up. “We go to the riverbank now.”

“Anor has set, Captain. Going through the hills of Emyn Arnen is treacherous. Orcs are known to travel in the night. I would wait till morning.”

Borondir stood and called his men to him. “We leave now for the Anduin. It is a straight shot from here if we stay south of Emyn Arnen. We have not the hills to traverse if we start out here and head east. Are you with me?”

His men, of course, nodded in agreement. Valanestel shook his head. “You throw caution to the wind, Captain.”

“I must. Too many nights have passed with the boy alone in this, as you say, Orc-infested land. We leave now.” He turned towards the River and was quickly followed by his company. Valanestel nodded to his own men, and they followed the Knights of Gondor.

After four hours of hard walking, Borondir called a halt. “We will rest here for what is left of the night. Be prepared to move out before first light.” Quickly and quietly, the men opened their blankets and fell into sleep. Pickets were set; no fires were lit. Valanestel’s men were given first watch. The Ranger bit his lip. They had made so much noise during their march, that Orcs could easily have followed them without their so much as knowing. He gave sharp commands for extra vigilance.

Within moments, the camp settled. Valanestel sat in consternation. ‘I do not think this wise.’ But the thought was hardly contemplated when a strange, yet familiar smell, reached his nose. “Orcs!” he whispered in alarm.

~*~

“Another night under the stars, Faramir,” Elrohir’s voice was low. “Would you wish me to show you some of the stars and their names?”

“My father has always been drawn to the stars, Lord Elrohir.” Faramir’s whisper was typical of children, too loud in its attempt at quiet. Elrohir smiled gently. He remembered Estel, at about this age, whispering in just such a manner. He looked up in surprise as the boy continued, “but I wonder if the names he taught me are the same as you know.”

“Then let us proceed.” He pointed to a large star mass. “There is Wilwaren.”

Faramir jumped up and down in excitement. “Yes! The butterfly. I know it by that name!”

Elladan looked over at the two. “Faramir,” he enjoined quietly. “We are still in the wilds; keep your voice low.”

The boy blushed furiously. “I am heartily sorry,” He whispered.

“Never mind him, Faramir. I too feel the excitement of the stars. Sometimes they sing.”

“Oh!” The boy’s eyes widened. “Will I ever hear their song?”

Aragorn smiled as he tended their fire. “I know you will, Faramir. Perhaps next Spring.”

The lad nodded and looked again at Elrohir. “More, please?”

The Elf smiled in remembrance. ‘This little mite reminds me so much of Estel at this age, it hurts.’ He looked up at the stars again, trying to blink away tears, “There is Soronúmë. Do you know that one?”

More subdued after Elladan’s reprimand, Faramir nodded and did his child-like whisper again. “The eagle.” Excitement still shone in the boy’s eyes.

Aragorn was gladdened to see that the child, though listening and taking the reprimand to heart, was not cowed by it.

“Will you now show me one, Faramir?”

“Menelvagor,” he pointed to the bright star before them. “The Swordsman of the Sky.”

The note of awe in the young Steward’s voice surprised even Elladan. “Why is that one so important to you, Faramir?” The elder asked.

“Because it is the star of Túrin Turambar, son of Húrin, who it is said will stand with Tulkas and Fionwë and exact revenge in the name of all Men.”

The Elves both sat back in wonder.

“And what of Eärendil?” Aragorn asked quietly.

“Well, of course, he is important too.”

Aragorn chuckled. “I think it is time for us to sleep. We are almost halfway to Osgiliath. I hope to come close enough, on the morrow, to send you on your way.”

Faramir nodded and lay down obediently. His eyes, however, did not close. He watched the stars and wept quietly for his father and Boromir. Many a night like this, they would lie thus on some camping or fishing trip, and watch the stars and speak of them. There was no shame in his heart.

Elrohir sat beside him, stroking his hair. Quietly, an Elven lullaby gently wafted in the air. The boy’s eyes slowly grew heavy and finally closed. Elrohir kissed him on the forehead and moved next to his brothers.

“Let me look at your ankle,” Elladan commanded.

Aragorn did as he was bid and grimaced as a finger touched the wounded flesh.

“Not healing properly.”

“I have rested as you asked, Elladan. There is not much more I can do.”

“I know. Elrohir, where is my pack?”

“You put it on the litter. Here,” the younger Elf picked up the pack as he returned from Faramir’s side. “It looks ugly,” he commented as Elladan removed the bandages.

Aragorn laughed, but the laugh turned to a groan as Elladan gently prodded. “It is not healing.”

His brothers looked at him. “Obviously.”

“I believe we might have to stay here for another few days,” Elladan turned towards Elrohir. “You could take the boy to Osgiliath yourself. When you return, our little brother should be better. We can then drag him across the rest of Ithilien till we reach the crossing by Cair Andros.”

Aragorn looked on in frustration. “It is only a small wound.”

“Poisoned and infected.”

“But I have no fever,” Aragorn protested.

“Estel, you are a healer yourself. Look at it. It is swollen and red. It is infected.”

“Then, we wash it out again, pour some more athelas on it, and re-bandage it. I am not staying here another day.”

“We will do as you suggest. If the wound looks no better, in the morning, Elrohir will take Faramir to Osgiliath and you and I, dear brother, will stay here another day.”

~*~

A/N – on the stars and Tolkien - http://www.physics.ccsu.edu/larsen/astronomy_of_middle.htm

Chapter 24 - Foul Things

“Listen,” Elladan’s whisper shook Aragorn. Too oft had he heard the tone that whisper carried. There was danger about. He strained, trying to hear anything, but could not.

“Battle,” Elrohir replied in the same whispered tone. “A bit to the south of us.”

“Orcs?”

“Yes. Very near, too. Strider,” Elladan’s tongue tripped over the unfamiliar name. “I will help you into that tree,” he pointed, “and also Faramir. You will stay there until we return.”

Aragorn opened his mouth to protest and realized how futile it would be. He was badly injured, could hardly stand on his own, and he had the young Steward to protect. He nodded.

His brothers smiled. “You do well, Estel,” Elladan whispered. Elrohir nodded in agreement.

Faramir had begun to breathe heavily as soon as he heard the word, Orcs. He ran to Aragorn’s side. The Ranger was pleased to note that, though there was fear in the boy’s eyes, he did not cling to him.

“Do not be too afraid, Faramir. This is not good, but my brothers will take care of the threat and return to us.”

Elrohir helped Aragorn to the tree and Elladan pushed him up. The Ranger held out his hand and Elrohir, after whispering words of encouragement to the boy, lifted Faramir up. Gingerly, Aragorn climbed up another three limbs. The branches were close to each other and Faramir had no trouble following him. As Aragorn fitted himself into the crook of a limb, he found Faramir huddling close by. He took the boy and put him on his lap. “No matter what happens, or what you might see,” he whispered. “you must stay still.”

“I know the danger, Strider,” the boy gulped. “I will bite my hand before I scream, I promise.”

Elrohir heard and looked up. “Do not harm yourself, Faramir. We will return before any can assail you. I promise.” He smiled and was gone, following close behind his brother.

Aragorn pulled Faramir a little closer.

~*~

“There are only a hundred or so,” Borondir moaned.

“Nay, it only looks like it,” Valanestel hissed through his teeth. “It is dark and that makes their number look greater.” He slashed at the hand of one who had almost cut off his own arm, and grunted in satisfaction to see the severed part on the ground before him. “Also,” he swung and killed another, “they have lots of armor on to make them look bigger. These are puny compared,” another swing averted the loss of his head, “puny compared to those we fight in the north of Osgiliath.”

“Tell that to this one!” Borondir shouted an oath as he ducked. “Taste this, you filth!” He at last slid under and severed the Orc’s left tendon. The beast fell and Borondir slit its throat.

“I see you know how to fight Orcs,” Valanestel gritted through clenched teeth. The particular Orc that he faced now seemed quite a bit larger than the last one. “I was afraid,” he slashed and missed, “you were a greenhorn.” Another slash, another duck, and finally his blade struck home. The beast fell.

“Greenhorn!” Borondir sputtered as he felled another creature. He turned, grinning at Valanestel, and grimaced. His eyes opened wide and the Ranger saw the pain. The man fell quietly.

“No!” Valanestel screamed. “No!” and charged the beast that felled his friend.

Another and another came. The Ranger watched as his company and those of Borondir’s fell, one after another, faster and more furiously. ‘So tonight I die,’ he thought as he gripped his sword tighter. ‘I will take some with me.’

The Orc that flung its spear fell in front of him. Valanestel looked up, trying to see which of his men had saved his life. None were armed with bows. And yet, an arrow had buried itself deep into the beast’s chest.

He quickly spun around and looked again, but there was no one with a bow. Sidestepping another Orc, he sliced his sword through the chest of the beast and stepped over it to attack another. Just then, he heard the soft whine of another arrow and watched as a large Orc, just behind him, fell. Two more whines and two more of the beasts fell. He watched in surprise as the remaining Orcs screamed in terror and ran.

Trying to make some sense of this, he looked about him. His men, what were left of them, were helping their comrades stand. Others took charge of the wounded. Valanestel summoned his own aide. “Did you see where the arrows came from?”

“Nay,” Balan watched the forest as he spoke. “They seemed to come from everywhere.”

“Yes. I thought the same. Look up into the trees. Mayhap our rescuers are there.” He called out, “Hoy! You who have come to our aid, make yourselves known.” Only silence greeted his call.

“Set pickets, Balan, and then send out a small patrol. Make sure the Orcs have continued to run from us.” He smiled, “I correct myself. Run from our rescuers.”

He began to pick through the bodies that lay strewn about. Remembering in horror the fall of Borondir, he ran to the spot he had last seen the man. At last, he found him. Blood seemed to be everywhere. “Captain Borondir, please speak to me.” No sound left the captain, but Valanestel noted that his chest rose with ragged breaths.

“Healer!” he shouted.

“Dead, Captain,” Balan ran to his side. “Ours and Borondir’s. Both dead.”

The Ranger swore viciously. “He will not live long. I can bandage the wound, but he has lost much blood. Do we have any of the healers’ packs?”

“I will look.”

Valanestel heard his aide shouting out orders to find the packs. Within moments, the aide returned. “Here,” he held out a crushed package. “This is all that was found. I fear the contents are useless.”

“We cannot leave them in this state,” Elladan whispered. “What good is it to save them from Orcs and then leave them to die.” He shifted slightly in the tree to better face his brother.

“I do not think showing ourselves is wise. You have heard the rumors of fear and disregard towards Elves by these Men. We have already risked our lives once today. I would prefer not to die on the end of a sword of Gondor. Then there is Estel and the young Steward to think of. Our reception could be hostile, ending with us bound or dead. And then what of Estel and the boy. Nay. I think it foolish to show ourselves. Let us return to Estel and take him and Faramir back to Osgiliath. We will do what Estel thought, leave the boy near the gates and watch until he is discovered.”

Elladan reached over and touched Elrohir. “We cannot leave them, muindor nîn.”

Elrohir nodded. “I will follow your lead.”

Elladan jumped down from the tree. He slung his bow upon his back and held his hands before him. A heartbeat later, Elrohir joined him.

Shouts greeted them. Valanestel looked up in surprise and fear. “Hold!” he shouted as his men gripped their swords and spears. “Hold. They have put aside their weapons.” He strode forward. “Elves.” His heart jumped. “Forgive me. We have not seen Elves in Gondor in an age. Welcome and, I believe, thank you should be our response. You are the ones who saved us?”

“I would hardly say we saved you, valiant warrior of Gondor,” Elladan bowed slightly. “You were outmanned. You and your men have naught to be ashamed of.”

Valanestel smiled. “Why do you show yourselves?”

“You seem to need more than an arrow or two. My brother and I are skilled in the art of healing. We offer our help.”

The man almost choked in surprise and relief. “We are desperately in need. Our healers were killed during the battle. We have almost no medicaments. This is our captain; he is gravely wounded.”

Elladan knelt next to the man. Elrohir moved off to another. “He is indeed gravely injured. Do you have a cart nearby?”

“Nay. We are searching for… we scour the woods for a missing man. It is easier to track without horse or cart.”

Elladan looked up. “A missing man?”

Valanestel wondered at his slip and then sighed. “A child. We have lost a child.”

“I have found a child,” Elladan stood. “We have hidden him, during the battle, in a place near here.”

The Ranger’s eyes filled with tears. “A boy! You have found a boy? Seven in men’s years?”

Elladan smiled. “Seven and precocious. Unharmed but frightened.”

He watched in wonder as the doughty Ranger before him crumpled to his knees. “Valar be praised,” Valanestel whispered. Elladan nodded in agreement.

A/N - muindor nîn – my brother - http://www.jrrvf.com/cgi-bin/hisweloke/sindarin.cgi?search=muindor

Chapter Twenty-Five - A Secret Between An Esquire And His Lord

“The noises have stopped,” Faramir whispered.

“That does not mean all is well.” Aragorn continued at the look of fear on the boy’s face, “but my brothers know how to care for themselves. They will return shortly.”

“I…” The boy blushed. “I need to… I must go…”

Aragorn looked at the child with pity. “You cannot leave the tree, not yet.”

Faramir bit his lip. “I will try to hold it.”

Tears formed in the little one’s eyes and Aragorn sighed. Some part of him knew the battle was over and that, indeed, his brothers were well. However, he could not imagine himself getting down from this tree safely, never mind with any dignity. The tears fell a little faster. “Think you that you can climb down yourself?”

The boy nodded. “I think so.”

“Good. Stay right at the bottom; do not go any further. I will close my eyes.”

Nodding with a sigh, Faramir climbed over Aragorn and grasped the limb next to him. He wrapped his legs as far around the trunk as they would go and lowered himself to the next limb. After a moment’s hesitation, he clambered a bit further down, to the next limb and then the next. There he stopped. “I cannot go further. The limb is too far for me to reach.”

Aragorn looked about him. There was naught he could do but go down and help the lad. “Wait a moment. I will be there.”

“But you are hurt,” the boy protested. “I will wait.”

“It will take me a few moments, but I will join you. Just hold on tight.” He smiled at the innuendo. Concentrating on keeping his weight off his injured foot, he slowly lowered himself to the next limb. It was fairly simple. As he held on to that one, he put out his good leg and lowered further. By now, he was on the limb above Faramir. He had to stop for the low pain in his foot now traveled up his leg. He grimaced, took a deep breath, and moved once again down to the next limb. “Take my hand and let yourself down. It is not as far as it looks.”

The boy nodded, swallowed, and took Aragorn’s hand. After a moment looking down, Faramir lowered himself, while tightly gripping the Ranger’s hand. “I made it. I am on the last limb. I think I can jump from here.”

“Do not close your eyes…”

“Ouch!”

“Are you all right? Faramir, answer me!” A small groan was the only answer he received. “Faramir!” he whispered as loudly as he dared.

“I twisted my ankle a little. It does not hurt much. Close your eyes.”

Aragorn had to stifle a laugh. ‘Good lad,’ he thought warmly.

At that very moment, a full company of men came through the forest, calling out Faramir’s name. The lad looked up at Aragorn in concern.

“Be still. Remember our secret, my Lord Steward,” Aragorn whispered. “These men will take you to your aunt. I would have given you a message for her, but it is too late now. Remember this also, Faramir. You are to meet me at Morwen’s family farm on Ethuil. You will stay with me for three months. Bring your sword, shield, and mail.” He heard a familiar voice and stopped. “My brothers are come; listen to their words, vouch for them, Faramir. They must be allowed to leave without guard or escort. Else I will be left here alone.”

“I will not let them leave without you and no one, I promise, will know of your presence here.” The boy looked away from the tree and whispered, “Thank you, Strider. Thank you ever so much. I am in your debt forever.”

The boy was in tears again and Aragorn’s heart clenched at the expression of heartfelt gratitude. “Be well, my Steward. I will see you soon,” he whispered back. “If you ever need me, send a rider to the Mering. The message will reach me, I promise.”

“Lord Faramir!” Borondir’s voice rang out loudly. “Faramir, my lad. Come to me. Are you hurt?”

The boy hobbled to Borondir’s side. “I am sorry I left you. I fell in the river. I could not get out. I tried to shout but no one heard me.” He stopped in shock. “You are hurt! What happened?”

“An Orc tried to take me, but found me too old and bitter for his taste.”

Faramir smiled. “That is not true. You are not old, just battle-worn.”

Borondir put back his head and laughed. “You are a sight to see, young Faramir. Again, you bring laughter to my heart. I am very glad to see you. But tell me, you are hobbling yourself. What have you done?”

“I just now tripped as I climbed…” He bit his lip. “As I climbed over a root,” he pointed to a tree opposite the one Aragorn sat in. “Something like that one there.”

Borondir stared at the tree. “I see. Well, we had two Elves who helped us in the battle, but they seem to have disappeared. Have you seen Elves about, Faramir?”

“I did. They helped me, fed me, and were bringing me to Osgiliath, to my aunt.”

“Then we need not fear them, I suppose. They tended my wounds and the wounds of my men. But it is not good to have strangers on Gondor’s soil. Well, that cannot now be helped. I will not send my men after them. You vouch for them?” At Faramir’s nod, the captain continued, “Sit on my lap. This litter is not very comfortable, but it will take us nicely to the Regent, or at least to Osgiliath. There are so many people waiting for you, worrying about you. Targon will be most anxious to hear your tale. Mayhap you will even have to write a song about it.”

Faramir looked at the man in alarm. “I have never written a song.”

“Then it is about time you tried your hand at it, for the men of Gondor are known for their song. In fact, I think now would be just about the time for a song of rejoicing. What say you, Valanestel?”

“Yes. It is time for a song and perhaps some food?”

“I am not hungry. We ate a while ago. If you want to continue, you do not have to stop on my account.”

“My Lord Steward, that is kind of you. I would like to press on. It will be another day, at least, before we reach Osgiliath. Every day has been difficult for the Regent. I would have you to her as quickly as possible.”

“Then, Captain Borondir, I suggest we get underway?”

Borondir laughed again. “It will be as you order, my Lord.”

Faramir smiled. The men took up Borondir’s litter and began walking northward, their voices raised in song.

Winter’s here but all is well

The crops are in, the grain’ries swell

And I my love will kiss and tell her

Of the coming spring.

The coming spring will bring delights

Green fields, friends and longer nights

But that is not within our sights

We must await that day.

Await that day of green and gold

And lively stories that enfold

Our hearts and speaks of love untold

In the coming spring.

~*~

A/N - 1) Ethuil is the Sindarin word for the Spring Festival day. http://lostworldofennor.angelcities.com/time.htm#Men

2) Since Denethor is dead and it is long before the time he made the law about strangers on Gondor’s land, there is no edict for Borondir to break. He is within his right to let the Elves go, even though they have already slipped through his fingers.

Chapter Twenty-Six - Pain Abated

Listöwel, Gondor's Captain-General, had returned to Osgiliath empty-handed, the night before. Though she and her men had ridden out and scoured the banks of the Anduin for the hundredth time it seemed, no sign of Faramir had been found. She discovered Indis had arrived and was waiting to begin the search herself. Night was nigh though, and Listöwel was able to persuade her Regent to wait till morn before they began again the search.

Now, as they rode side by side, neither woman spoke, for the turmoil and the fear of the last few days had strained even their relationship. At last, Listöwel could endure it no longer. "Your men have scoured all of Ithilien. The boats are now dragging the river," she choked on that piece of information. "Boats have been sent from the Harlond further south. No matter what we have done, Indis, I fear we will not find the boy, will probably not even find his body."

Tears ran down Indis' face, but she said not a word. In her heart, she kept chanting, 'He is alive. He is alive.'

They camped that night by the Anduin. From her days as a child, she had loved the River. Learning to swim with Morwen and Denethor from one of Ecthelion's servants had been joy-filled. Of course, their father had not the time to teach them. Once her brother had mastered the rudiments of it, he sent the servant away and spent his summers teaching his sisters. She clenched her jaw. She would not go down that path again, the path of grief and sorrow over Denethor's death. Alas, before this the River had been her friend; it had now turned into her bitterest enemy. She did not sleep and she sensed Listöwel did not either. 'How many nights now,' she wondered, 'since I have slept?'

Morning came and with it a dull rain; low, grey clouds filled the sky; the only sound was the clop of Listöwel's and her horses' hooves as they approached Emyn Arnen. Slowly they marched into the forest. Within an hour, they approached the site where Listöwel and she had fought the Orcs, when they were searching for her sister. She choked back a sob at the thought. That search had ended in despair and horror. Morwen had been found, head severed by the Haradrim; her body set in mockery, as if alive, against the family's burial chamber. She had not seen it herself; Denethor had kept her from the sight. But she had seen it, in her mind's eye, and never forgotten the revulsion and nausea that had filled her very being at the thought of the horrors Morwen had endured before the end. If they found Faramir in like array, she would die, she would certainly die.

The Knights of Gondor fanned out in a long line, from the shores of the Anduin all the way east to the Harad Road. Not an inch of ground would be missed. The men had long spears that they gently pushed at the vegetation and poked into the ground, in case the child had been buried.

Listöwel finally called a halt for nuncheon. The men wearily sat; they had been up since before dawn the day before and searched until Anor set completely, and this day again, up at dawn. Though each hoped fervently that Faramir would be found alive, the prospect was growing dimmer by the hour. None moved from where they had stopped their search. They pulled out the dried meat, apples, and water that had been provided the day before. After a half hour's rest, Listöwel called and the company began again its desperate search.

"He will be found, Listöwel. He must." Indis choked as they rode behind the men. Her Captain-General only nodded.

Anor began its slow descent. Its light would soon be too low to see anything. Indis began humming the lullaby that Aragorn had been found humming to Faramir. The same one that had brought her beloved nephew back from the near-death state he had been in. Listöwel shuddered as she listened and wondered as to the state of her Regent's mind.

A shout interrupted her grim thoughts and her stomach fell; one of the search party had found his body. But it was the voice of Valanestel! Joy-filled!

The man rode forward and pulled up next to Indis. "Regent!" he saluted once he dismounted. "The Lord Faramir has been found – alive and well. He is right behind me. We heard the calls of your men and I rode forward in hopes you were here."

Indis held her arms tight to her side, her hands clenched. "We will wait here until you bring him forth," she said through clenched teeth. She could hardly believe her ears. Some small part of her had succumbed and thought Faramir was dead. She dismounted in stunned silence.

Even as she waited, the vanguard broke through into the little clearing where she stood. She saw the litter and almost fainted then and there. Her resolve to present a dignified front was slowing being crushed. A small head peeked out from around the horse pulling the litter, and she could contain herself no longer. She ran forward, arms held out, and reached him in a moment. She pulled Faramir from Borondir's arms and held him in her own, falling onto her knees next to the litter and covering the boy's head, neck and hands with kisses. His name flew a hundred times from her mouth as she tried to speak between her sobs.

Faramir was at first frightened when he saw his aunt. A small niggling fear had been with him the last few miles the cortege had traveled. She would be furious, he thought, and would surely reprimand him. What punishment would she devise? His little heart fluttered wildly as he peeked around the captain. As he was swept into her arms, and felt her gentle lips upon his face, and the tears that ran down her cheeks, and the sobs that shook against his body, he wept at the depths of her love. "I am so sorry, Amma, I did not mean to leave the camp."

"Nay, nay," she whispered words of comfort. "All is well. You are with me again. Nothing else matters, Faramir. Nothing. Please do not speak; just allow me to hold you. I never want you away from these arms of mine."

The boy succumbed to the fears that had assailed him these past many days. He wept quietly and clung to her.

None spoke, though she heard a sniffle here and there behind her. She smiled after a few moments. "Your people wait for you, my Lord Steward. Come, Listöwel, beloved friend, and welcome back your charge."

Listöwel ran forward and held Faramir to her. "My Steward, forgive the undignified welcome, but you were sorely missed. I cannot tell you the fear that dwelt in my heart for you. Are you truly well?"

"I am, Captain-General." Faramir pulled himself away from her and stood. "I am well, except for a slight turned ankle. I am grateful to be with my men again."

She smiled and heard a few coughs of appreciation and laughter behind her. "Your men have worked diligently to find you, my Lord. Might we camp for the night? Give them some respite?"

"Of course," the lad said. "Valanestel's men need rest too." He walked back into Indis' arms and smiled. She took him to a fallen branch and they sat and talked quietly while the rest of the company set about putting up their camp.

Listöwel nodded to Captain Valanestel, then looked at Borondir on the litter. "You are wounded?"

"We ran into a band of Orcs before the Steward was found. I caught a blade."

"You look well. Which healer attended you?"

Borondir's face turned red. "None of ours, my Captain. Ours were killed in the attack." He motioned and she drew closer. "It was Elves," he whispered.

Listöwel looked up at Valanestel in shock. "He is fevered!"

"Nay. He speaks truly. Two Elves saved our hides and then ministered to the wounded. They took us to where they had hid Faramir."

"They had kidnapped him?"

"Nay," Valanestel laughed. "They found him and cared for him. They were on their way back to Osgiliath when they heard the attack. They hid Faramir and came to our aid. The Steward vouched for them."

"Thank you. I would have you and Borondir return to Minas Tirith with us. He will be tended in the Houses and you will give the Regent a full report."

"I will, Captain-General. May I say, I am most grateful the boy was found."

Chapter Twenty-Seven – The People Wait

Targon stood at the western edge of the bridge. This was the fourth day of his watch. When it was discerned that their original campsite on the shore of the River was useless, Borondir had allowed the boy to stay at the garrison in Osgiliath. He had only slept fitfully since his friend had disappeared. Circles under the lad's eyes caused many a soldier to grieve even further the loss of the Steward.

The boy's hair blew in the storm-whipped wind. The rain hid his tears, and for that, he was most grateful. All these long days he had tried to appear brave. His courage was wavering, had been wavering since the day before yesterday. Borondir was now gone long past the time he promised to return, and Targon began to think that his friend, Ragnhild’s husband, was also lost.

The guards were changing. Targon worked up what was left of his courage and stepped before the man. “Before you start your duty, sir, might you tell me if there has been any news?”

Sadly the man shook his head. “None.” As he watched the lad’s face fall, he put his hand on Targon’s shoulder. “You have heard that the Regent herself has joined the search party?”

Targon swallowed. “I have.”

“If anyone can find him, she can. Remember, she saved him once. She will again.”

The man’s words were stirring enough to once again raise Targon’s hopes. “She will. I remember that. She will find him,” the boy muttered, then looked up. “Thank you!”

The guard squeezed Targon's shoulder then strode to his post.

Targon began walking up and down the bridge. Many who watched the overwrought lad had suggested he wait in the mess or in the barracks, but he had declined. Even working in the buttery had done naught to ameliorate the fears that constantly assailed him.

He wished that Aerin was with him. When they had gone together to Tarnost searching for traitors with Ragnhild and Borondir, the healer’s assistant and he had become fast friends. He had not seen her much, these past months, for she was in earnest training to become a healer herself. He had been training further for his cook’s license. Whenever they could spend some time together, they would spend it talking about their schooling, their teachers, and what they had learned. Aerin had even shown him, by using a rabbit, how it was that a man’s body worked. Faramir had been with them that day. The Steward had been fascinated by how muscles, bones, sinews, all connected so easily. They had laughed together at his astonishment. Finally after their lesson was complete, Targon had prepared the rabbit in a dish with tarragon and mustard; they had heartily eaten the corpse. He laughed now at the remembrance. And then put his head down on the railing of the bridge and sobbed.

An errand-rider galloped across and Targon had to pull himself closer to the railing to avoid being run over. “The Steward is found!” the man shouted as he rode past, “The Steward is found!”

Targon gulped a number of times, hardly believing his ears, then ran to the buttery. ‘Cookies! He will want some cookies. The chocolate ones. I wonder if they have chocolate,’ he thought in alarm. ‘If not,’ he turned resolute, ‘then at least oatmeal. They must have oatmeal… and some raisins. Yes, chocolate if they have it; if not, then oatmeal and raisin.’ His heart sang as he wiped the tears from his eyes. At that very moment, the sun poked through the clouds and the rain stopped. He looked up in surprise and saw the double rainbow straddling the Pelennor. He gasped in joy.

~*~

All Gondor rejoiced at the return of their Steward. Indis’ esteem rose three or four notches in her people’s eyes. She had once again returned their Steward to them. The white banners of the House of Húrin flew from every tower and near every window. Faramir led the march through the Great Gate, Indis on his right and Listöwel on his left. Valanestel and Borondir rode behind them, Targon seated in front of Borondir. The cook’s apprentice held desperately to the saddle. Faramir looked back for a moment and smiled reassuringly at his friend, then, leaned over to whisper to Indis. “Might I teach Targon how to ride?”

She nodded and his smile widened even further. The Steward waved to his people as the entourage slowly ascended to the Citadel. They dismounted at the stables on the Sixth Circle and Indis led Faramir to the Houses.

“I am really fine. I would very much prefer going to my own rooms.”

“I know you would, Faramir,” Indis kept her voice low so no other would hear, “but it is one of the rules for a soldier of Gondor who has been lost. That he present himself to the healers for evaluation and permission to return to duty. Would you flaunt Gondor’s rules for your own comfort?”

He blushed, straightened his shoulders, and walked into the Houses. The rest of the party continued on into the Great Hall. They would meet with their Steward for the daymeal in Merethrond. A feast was even now being prepared and many would be there to celebrate Faramir's return.

The Master Healer, Siriondil himself, attended Faramir. After a thorough examination, he pulled Indis aside as the boy dressed himself. “He is remarkably well. How many days did you stay in Osgiliath to refresh him?”

“We did naught. Once we reached the city, we stopped to break our fast, but then continued on to Minas Tirith. Faramir was anxious to return home as quickly as possible.”

“But… but he does not look like he has suffered at all. In fact, the boy has gained some weight. His color is better than before…” Siriondil blinked back tears, “since before Boromir died. How is this possible?”

“I know not. We have not spoken overmuch of his ordeal. I wanted him to rest before we discussed the horrors of it. But I see you are right in your observations. Faramir is better than I have seen him since before his father’s death! Borondir stated he was found and cared for by Elves. I will see what I can discover. If there is aught that can help the healers of Gondor care for their patients, then I will send you word.”

“I would most appreciate it.”

“Come, Faramir. A hot bath is being drawn for you. And nuncheon will be ready once you are done.”

The boy smiled up at his aunt and waved farewell to the healer. “Thank you, Siriondil.”

As they walked towards the Great Hall, Indis was tempted to begin interrogating Faramir, but stopped short as she looked in surprise, and alarm, to see the wizard standing with Éomund on the steps of the Great Hall. She clutched Faramir’s shoulder and he stopped, looking at her in surprise.

“What is it, Amma? What is the matter?”

Turning to where she looked, the boy saw Éomund and any other thought flew from his mind as he shouted the Rohir’s name and ran forward, right into the open arms of the kneeling Rider.

~*~

A/N – My dear departed mom had always found it most difficult to 'dress' the rabbits my dad would bring home from his hunting expeditions. She almost thought they looked so much like babies that she would cry as she prepared them. What a wondrous woman she was!

Chapter Twenty-Eight – An Unwelcome Visitor

She tried to squelch the fear that rose in her throat at the sight of the wizard. Why was he here? Had not Théoden received her message? She watched as Faramir and Éomund held each other. She saw that the wizard looked on in what appeared consternation or anger or… A shiver ran down her spine. She would have to be very careful.

“Éomund,” she smiled at him as she walked forward to greet him. “It is very good to see you again. How came you here?”

“Indis!” The man stood and hugged her warmly. “It is good to see you, also. Too many months have passed.” He looked down with fondness at Faramir. “I missed my friends,” he ruffled the boy’s hair. “May we speak further once Faramir has bathed?”

“Do I stink?” Faramir asked in wonder. He tried to think; there was no memory of ever having smelled before, but he knew it had been a long time since his last bath. He giggled

Éomund laughed loudly. “You stink as a warrior should after a long campaign. Where have you been off to? You look as if you haven’t bathed for a week.”

Faramir giggled again. “I went fishing and fell in the Anduin and was rescued by -- ”

Indis quickly stood between Faramir and the wizard. “Borondir and his men just brought him back. He has been gone longer than expected.”

“I will not keep you from your bath then, my Lord Steward.” Éomund turned to Indis. “Might I see you this afternoon? And you too, Faramir?”

“I would most love that, Éomund. I have missed you, too. Is… is Théodred with you?” the boy looked up at him hopefully.

“Nay. I am sorry. I was stationed at the Mering and decided to join the wizard when his company passed by my éored. I could not go back to Meduseld to fetch him. Mayhap for Mettarë?”

“That would be wondrous.”

“Come, my Steward. Your bath awaits.” Indis turned to the wizard as Faramir put his hand in hers. “My Lord Curunír. Gondor is pleased that you have come to visit us. I will attend to your needs once I have my nephew cared for. You will stay in your usual accommodations. Your men will be garrisoned on the Fourth Circle.” She shivered as she spoke and berated herself roundly, but she had not expected the wizard to travel with Dunlendings!

The wizard, to his credit she thought, merely bowed and stepped aside. She walked more quickly than was her wont into the Hall and to the Tower stairs. She had seen the look he had given Faramir when the boy almost let spill the fact that he had been lost. She herself did not know the full story of his rescue, but she was bound and determined not to let the wizard know who might have saved Faramir.

“Faramir, I will join you for nuncheon, once you have bathed. Please send a servant for me?”

“Of course.” The boy stopped short of his chamber’s door. He hugged her tightly. “I am so glad to be home. It was a good adventure, but I missed you terribly, Amma.” Tears fell.

She squeezed him tightly. “I missed you too, my sweet Faramir. I missed you terribly. I do not think I will ever let you go again.”

The boy pulled away from her. “Ever is a long time, Amma. Might I go from you for awhile…?” The boy pulled on his lip, “Is Ethuil too soon?”

“What ever do you mean, too soon?”

“Nothing. I am sorry. I will ask you when we eat.”

“I will wait then.” She found it extremely difficult to let him go. “Húrin waits for me. I must leave. I will return, melethron nîn.”

Faramir nodded and walked through the door. The guard closed it behind him.

~*~

“What on earth can Faramir be talking about now?” Indis wondered aloud. “I do not understand.”

“Wait until he tells you at nuncheon. There is no use worrying about it now.” Listöwel sipped her tea. "I miss Morwen Steelsheen”

“Why do you think of her at this moment?”

“I am not sure. Perhaps because Éomund is here, or I suppose it is because I so valued her wisdom, as a shieldmaiden. Indis,” she smiled fondly at her friend, “the people think highly of you. You should hear the whispers in the circles. It would seem rescuing Faramir was a greater feat than Thorongil's defeat of the Corsairs!”

Indis blushed. “Thankfully, you are considered part of the rescue. I think, though it is a horrid way to have it happen, I think your place in our knights’ eyes has raised some. Which is just what we needed.”

A knock interrupted them. Indis stood in delight as Éomund was granted entry by the servant. “You are a sight for sore eyes, dear Marshal!” Indis hugged him fiercely.

Returning the embrace with warmth, he whispered, “If I were not already taken, I might think upon a further bond between Gondor and the Mark.”

She laughed lightly. “And I would think of entertaining such a thought.” She kissed him. “I do love you, Éomund.”

He stepped back, “As I love you, Indis.”

“Your quarters are satisfactory?”

“”They are. I accompanied the wizard to his. He seemed satisfied. He did not stay there though; he went to the Great Library.”

Listöwel stood and received a warm hug from their friend. “As my Regent said, you are a sight for sore eyes. But tell me, friend, why do you come? And – dragging a wizard behind you?”

Éomund’s face immediately grew grave. “As I said, he passed our garrison at the Mering with a troupe of Dunlendings. It unsettled me and I decided it was in the best interest of both Gondor and the Mark to accompany him.” He sat at Indis’ motion and gratefully received the glass of brandy that Listöwel offered. “I do not hold the wizard in the same regard as does my king. We spoke hardly a word on the journey. Théoden, he says, asked him to come.”

“This troubles me greatly. Théoden sent a missive suggesting I visit Isengard and meet with -- ”

She was interrupted by Húrin and Ciramir’s entrance. She smiled and motioned for them both to sit. Her servant reentered, poured brandy and offered it to the men, then slipped from the room. “It is well you have come. Éomund brings news and a wizard.”

Ciramir, who had just seated himself, stood up with speed. “The rumors stated such. Why is he here?” The anger in his voice was unmistakable.

“Sit and calm yourself, my friend,”

Éomund noted the esteem granted Ciramir and listened attentively.

“Captain Ciramir is not enamored of the wizard.” She smiled and gently placed her hand on the captain’s shoulder. “For your peace of mind, I think you should know Éomund of the Riddermark is of like mind.”

Ciramir looked upon the Rohir with growing regard. “I had heard of Rohan… I am sorry, I had heard all the men of the Mark were under the wizard’s spell.”

“It is strange you should use that word,” Éomund said, “for the wizard believes he can help. He did tell Théoden he thinks there may be some spell set upon Faramir.” He turned towards Indis. “If there is a spell, when it could have been laid upon the boy, I do not know. He was never left alone, once Boromir was murdered.”

Indis tensed at the mention of her nephew, but kept her peace.

“Théoden puts great store in the wizard, almost exclusively listening to him. If any…” he shrugged.

“We have all recognized the weakness that assails Faramir. It had eased somewhat when we returned from the North. However, Gondor needs protection from spells, if spells or conjuring they be. I will speak with him.”

A/N - Melethron nîn – my love

Chapter Twenty-Nine – Sharing Stew and Other Things

“Faramir, Éomund would spend some time with you.” She helped him put on his tunic. She had left her friends in her own chambers and went to Faramir’s as soon as the message arrived that he had finished with his bath. “If you would not mind, could we take nuncheon in my chambers instead of yours? They are larger.”

Faramir grinned from ear to ear. “I want to be with him, too. I am ready, all scrubbed clean and dressed. Indis,” he looked up at her cautiously as they walked down the Tower steps, “will there be enough for the three of us?”

She looked upon him in surprise. “I believe so. I can always order more, if the need arises.”

“Good! I am so very hungry. It has been hours since we broke our fast.”

“But we had a light snack at that little inn on the Pelennor not two hours ago. I was afraid you would not eat nuncheon at all. We are having venison stew.”

“Eat not at all! I think I could eat three helpings of Cook’s stew. And fresh bread? Will there be fresh bread?”

She laughed in relief. “Yes. And Targon has promised a special dessert.”

“Oh! May Targon join us? We had hardly a chance to talk on the ride home. I missed him.”

“As he missed you.” By this time, they were at Indis’ chamber door.

The guard saluted and quickly knelt on one knee. “Steward Faramir. All those in your service humbly welcome you home.”

Faramir stopped; a wide smile creased his face. “Balan! I am so very glad to be home again. I have heard of what you did for me in Tarnost. Thank you. I hope to meet with the Tower Guard tomorrow or the next.” He looked up hopefully at Indis who gave him an odd look.

“We await your call, my Lord.” The guard stood aside and opened the door.

“Húrin!” Faramir ran into the waiting arms of his cousin. Not a word was spoken as the Warden held him tightly.

At last, Indis coughed. “Nuncheon is getting cold.”

“It matters not, Amma, the stew is good – hot or cold,” but he let Húrin lead him to the dining chamber. He looked about in surprise. “You have changed it.”

“I have. Your father’s tastes were a little too heavy and dark for me. Is it acceptable?”

Faramir laughed. “I do like it, though…”

“Speak, Faramir,” Indis prodded, “Never fear speaking your mind in front of those who love you.”

“I have not been here since Ada passed. It saddens me a little.”

“And it should, “Éomund stepped forward and dragged the boy into a fierce hug. “The death of a warrior is hard for those who have come to rely upon him. Weep if you will. None will gainsay you a moment’s grief.”

Faramir returned the embrace and snuggled further into the warmth and smell of his friend. After a moment, he let go and stepped back. “I am famished.”

Quickly, the company sat amidst laughter; a servant ladled the stew into Faramir’s bowl first. Éomund passed him the rolls; Húrin passed the butter. They ate in silence as Faramir, forgetting all about Targon in his hunger, devoured two bowls of stew and three rolls. Indis shared glances with her friends. None had seen Faramir eat with such alacrity in a very long time. At last, the Steward pushed back his bowl and looked up. A look of embarrassment crossed his face. “I am sorry. I have lost my manners, it seems, somewhere in Ithilien.”

Éomund bellowed with laughter. “Nay! What have you survived on in the wilds this past week or so? Obviously not enough for a growing boy.”

“I am no longer a child, Éomund; I am now an esquire of Gondor.”

“An esquire?” Indis looked up in surprise.

Faramir blushed. “Wi… with your permission, of course?”

“Of course.” She smiled. “Let us go into my study.” She turned to the servant. “Please bring Targon’s chocolate cookies with mugs of hot chocolate to my study.” The servant nodded as they left the room.

When they had settled, Indis turned towards Faramir and motioned for him to join her on the settle. “Sit here, melethron nîn. “Might I ask Borondir and Ragnhild to join us? We would hear of your adventure, if you are able to share it.”

“Please, may Targon join us too?”

“Undoubtedly,” she smiled and rang the bell. After the servant left with her orders, Indis turned to Listöwel. “Captain, might you see to Faramir’s livery? If he is to be an esquire, he will need to have the appropriate clothes and such. I suppose you will need a sword?”

“And a shield and a hauberk of mail,” the boy responded enthusiastically. “But not until Ethuil. I will not start my training until Ethuil.”

“I see,” Indis said, her brow creasing further. “Who is to be your taskmaster? Who is your liege to be? Have you already decided?”

Faramir began to speak but was immediately interrupted by the appearance of Targon, Borondir and Ragnhild. All were welcomed warmly. Targon sat on the floor in front of Faramir’s feet while Borondir and Ragnhild sat across from them, the fire separating the two. Mugs of hot chocolate were passed out as well as the cookies Targon had made.

“I wanted to give you chocolate cookies in Osgiliath, but they did not have chocolate. So I had to make due with oatmeal.”

“They were delicious. I took a few and ate them as we rode home. They were very good and helped ease my hunger.”

Indis stood for a moment. “I am glad you have all come. Faramir,” she turned to her nephew and held his shoulder in a show of support. “Are you ready to share your adventure with those who love you?”

Faramir smiled shyly. “It did not start out as an adventure. I was merely going to relieve myself…” Indis sat.

He continued on for over an hour, totally unaware of the faint gasps that accompanied his tale. At last, when he spoke of the Elves, Borondir could hold back no longer.

“It is true. Two Elves came and saved our troop. They even tended my wounds and the wounds of my men. The Elves disappeared after they brought us to Faramir’s side.”

Indis nodded, but her eyes did not leave Faramir’s. “You said Strider found you and cared for you? Who is this Strider?”

“Oh, Amma! You know him well. He helped me in the cave. He sang Nana’s lullaby. We all sang it together. He said he is a Captain of Gondor. He is, is he not?”

Indis, and all those present in the room, drew in a breath. “Thorongil,” she whispered. “Thorongil still watches over Gondor.”

Chapter Thirty – More Questions, Not Less

“Strider is, in truth, a Captain of Gondor, Faramir. One of the greatest.”

“He said he is on a… I do not know if I may tell you.” He stood and ran to Indis’ chair. After a moment’s whispered consultation, he returned to his own seat. “He is on a secret mission for Gondor. Once he is finished, he will meet with me at Morwen Steelsheen’s farm in Lossarnach and I will begin my training as his esquire.” His face near burst with the smile that encompassed it.

“A worthy lord to be esquire for,” Borondir mused. “I myself have never met him, but the tales told of his deeds are sometimes beyond belief.”

“He knows the forest and everything in it and ways to find your way if you're lost and what is poisonous and what is not and how to climb a tree safely and how to fish and…” The boy blushed. “He took great care of me, even after he was injured.”

“Injured,” Ragnhild sat up. “Why did you not bring him here, Borondir? He should be in the Houses.”

“He would not come here, Ragnhild,” Faramir said gently. “Remember – he is on a secret mission. Besides, his brothers will take good care of him.”

“His brothers?” Éomund asked.

“Yes. Elladan and Elrohir. Just as they took care of Borondir and his men. They are great healers, according to Strider.”

“They did care for us,” Borondir enjoined. “But then they disappeared. Where was Strider during this time?”

“Oh,” Faramir giggled. “He was up a tree, waiting for our troops to leave. He said no one could see him in Ithilien. What is his mission, Amma, if I may ask?”

“We will speak of it later, Faramir. For now, please tell me how badly he was injured. Should I send a healer to the forest to help him?”

“They are probably many miles away from where Borondir found us, Amma.” The boy nodded his head to emphasize the fact that, in his mind, the three had long ago left their little campsite. “His brothers said they must leave as soon as possible. They had a really nice litter that they made. Strider caught his foot in a trap. It was a big one and we had a difficult time opening the trap. His brothers said the wound was infec… infected. But they said he would be all right. They put some potion or something on it. The same thing Strider used on the badger’s bite on my arm and the eagle’s claw marks on my shoulders.”

“Eagle!” Targon stood up in surprise. “You said nothing about an eagle!”

Indis sat back in total disbelief. Éomund chuckled. Faramir blushed. “I forgot. It pulled me from the water. Are there any more cookies?”

Targon stood up and retrieved four and placed them on a plate on Faramir’s lap.

Indis looked at Listöwel in surprise. “You are hungry again, Faramir?”

“I am. I think I’ve been hungry since they mumbled over me.”

A chill ran up Indis’ back. “Who mumbled what, Faramir?”

“Strider and his brothers. They told me after they woke up. They frightened me. I,” the boy bit his lip, his face reddened. “I fainted when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I thought it was an Orc. I had gone fishing to get food for Strider. When I woke up, they were all lying on the ground. I thought they were dead.” The boy’s voice caught.

“But you said they mumbled over you?”

“I heard something when I was beginning to wake. It was more like a song, I suppose, than a mumble… I’m not sure. When I did wake up, they were all lying on the ground. Strider’s brothers had their eyes open, but they did not blink or move or anything.” He shivered in remembrance.

“And after that, you were hungry?”

“Yes. Very hungry,” he blushed again. “More cookies please? They are very good, Targon.”

The cook’s apprentice laughed and brought over the tray, placing it on the table next to Faramir. “More hot chocolate?”

“Milk?”

Éomund stood up. Taking Faramir into a huge hug, he laughed. “Welcome back, little one.”

There was something about the warmth of the embrace and the smell of the Rohir that made Faramir sigh and scrunch into the hug. “I missed you.”

“I am glad I was able to come. I wanted very badly to be with you when you accepted the Rod of Steward, but the Orcs are very bad to the north of us. I must return shortly. Perhaps tomorrow.”

“Please do not…” A heavy sigh told Éomund of Faramir’s love.

“I will return. And next time, Faramir, I will bring Théodred with me. I promise.”

“Thank you!” the boy said heartily.

“It is time you slept, Faramir. Though you look well enough, the events of these past few weeks have been o’ermuch for a growing boy.” The leech in Ragnhild spoke. “I will walk you to your room.” Indis stood and all joined her.

“May Targon come with me? I wanted to talk just a little more about some of the things that happened.”

Indis’ eyes clouded. After a moment’s hesitation, she said yes. Targon walked forward and put his arm around Faramir’s shoulder. “I want to hear more about the eagle.”

They left, Ragnhild leading them and the boy’s chattering about eagles and fishing and riding a rain-swollen river.

Éomund smiled as they walked away, but the smile left him as he looked at Indis. “What concerns you, Indis?”

“The singing, mumbling, whatever it was. I think Thorongil and his brothers have broken the spell that lay over Faramir.”

“What makes you think that?” Borondir offered her a glass of wine.

Indis took it and sat back down. The others followed her lead. “Faramir, these past months, has eaten like a bird. His lack of appetite has ever been on my mind. He is only seven and should be eating like a horse; yet, he continuously picked at his food. Until now. And there was a light of laughter and joy in his eyes. Did you not see it?”

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Balan entered upon Indis command. “The Lord Saruman is requesting an audience, my Regent.”

Éomund stood, cursing the effrontery of the wizard. Borondir moved to stand next to Indis. Listöwel placed her hand on the pommel of her sword and Húrin moved closer to the guard. “He will be seen tomorrow. I have made an appointment for an audience at that time and had sent a missive to his quarters. Express the Lady Indis’ regrets.”

“Nay, Húrin,” Indis interrupted him.

“Nay, Indis. The strain of Faramir’s disappearance has been great upon us all, but most especially upon you. I will not countenance it. If I must, I will have the Master Healer order it so.”

She looked at her Warden in surprise. “Thank you, Húrin. You are correct, as always. I bow to your wisdom.” She turned to Balan. “Please offer my apologies and tell him I will meet with him tomorrow at the appointed hour in the Great Hall.”

Balan grinned, bowed and left the room.

Chapter Thirty-One – A Wizard’s Charms

“Lord Saruman. Gondor is grateful for your kind regard and your patience. Yesterday, much happened. My nephew had just returned from an extended fishing trip. The affairs of the Steward had to be discussed. Even though Faramir is but a boy, still, I deem it only right to apprise him of the doings of his land. I do so hope you forgive me.”

The daily tribunal for Gondor’s people was scheduled for this day and the line of supplicants, thankfully, had been long. The audience with the wizard had come hours after nuncheon. He appeared perturbed, to say the least.

“Of course, dear lady,” the honeyed tones chilled her to the bone. She steeled herself, trying not to clench the arm of the Chair, nor look to her right for support from Listöwel, nor to her left for support from Húrin. She knew Éomund and Ragnhild stood to the far left of the Chair and the dais, just out of clear sight, yet close enough to hear all that transpired. She also knew the wizard was keenly aware of the Rohirrims’ presence. Another chill ran through her. Rohan. Too close to the wizard. She rued the day that Isengard was allowed to fall into his clutches.

“I come on a grave matter. Not for myself, but for Gondor. Théoden King sent a missive to me, asking for my advice. And for my help. You know of what he wrote. He deems there is a spell upon your nephew. In his great love for Gondor, he asked a boon of me. That I come to Minas Tirith and examine the boy myself. Though I try not to interfere in the doings of my neighbors, I considered it only right that I should agree to this request. For Gondor is ever in my heart, dear lady. I have come to offer my services.”

He bowed low. Indis held her breath; something in the words boded ill for Faramir. Yet, the tone was soft and gentle, as if the wizard spoke to a child. She leaned back in the Chair, felt the cold marble upon her back and breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, this one could not be trusted.

Éomund stepped forward. “My Lady Indis. I beg you to listen to the words of the friend of both Gondor and the Mark. Saruman has been a help and a counselor of Théoden King’s for many a year. He guards our lands as if they were his own. I know many of our people who live within the shadow of Isengard have pledged fealty to him, second only, of course, to their fealty to Théoden King.”

The Rohir bowed to the wizard, who graced him with such a sickly sweet smile that, once again, chills ran through Indis.

Ragnhild stepped forward also. “As I have said before, my Lady, all trust the great Lord Saruman.”

Indis again steeled herself. She had never known Ragnhild to step forward, as she just did, and offer an opinion at an audience. ‘Something is very wrong here,’ she thought to herself.

“I do not ask you to listen to those not of Gondor, dear lady,” the wizard spoke softly, quietly, bemusedly, “however, I think in this instance, it would be wise to consider their words. I have seen the Steward, Faramir, with my own eyes. I saw a cloudiness in his eyes, a slackening of his jaw, a shortness of step, all while I stood next to Éomund when first you arrived at the Citadel. My heart lurched for the boy. I believe there is an evil spell of some sort upon him. Exactly what spell it is, I cannot say without further examination. Therefore, dear lady, I would take the boy with me to Isengard.” He held up his hand in sympathy, “It would only be for a short time. Perhaps a month at most. I deem it vital to Gondor’s weal – and to Faramir’s.”

A visible shiver now passed over Indis and she stood. “Your words will be weighed, Lord Saruman. Your suggestion will be considered. I know you offer a great boon to Gondor, but I must spend some time in thought ere I make a decision. Faramir has been under great duress these past months. My first thoughts are to keep him here in Minas Tirith for a while longer, to continue his healing.”

“My lady,” the wizard’s voice turned a shade colder. “If you keep him in Minas Tirith any longer, you risk the spell becoming more potent – mayhap, even more deadly. I counsel you to allow him to return with me to my tower today.”

“I will consider your offer, Lord Saruman.” She stood, turned to her left, and exited the Great Hall by the Steward’s private door. She did not look back. She was afraid to look back. Húrin and Listöwel followed her. As soon as the door closed behind them, she staggered. Húrin caught her.

“He is thoroughly evil,” she whispered. “Did you not feel it?”

“I did,” Húrin whispered back. Though the door was made of solid oak and at least four inches thick, he felt the need for secrecy. “Did you hear Éomund and Ragnhild? What could they have been thinking?”

Listöwel hurried them away and up the back stairs to Indis’ rooms. “I would not speak at all till we are as far from him as Ithil is from Anor.” She collapsed upon a chair in Indis’ study and breathed a loud sigh of relief.

“How do we extricate Éomund and Ragnhild from his clutches?”

“We do nothing,” Húrin poured three glasses of brandy. “You handled him expertly, Indis. But we can do nothing to help our friends. At least at the moment. Our main concern is Faramir. Somehow, we must spirit the boy away from here. Perhaps to Dol Amroth.”

“Yes!” Indis jumped up. She pulled the bell and Balan entered. “Take Faramir to Listöwel’s room immediately. Tell no one and let no one see you. It is extremely urgent, Balan. The wizard especially cannot see you. Use the back stairs. Please, take the utmost care, Balan.”

“I will, my Regent.” He turned and ran from the room.

“Listöwel. Go to your chambers now and wait for Faramir. We will pack nothing for him; we must do nothing that will give away our intent. I am sore-pressed to have you leave Minas Tirith now, but we must do this. Fear courses through me for Faramir. I would have Balan travel with you. My first choice would be Borondir also, but I am afraid word would return to Ragnhild and the wizard would discover what we have done.”

“Borondir is loyal. He will not tell Ragnhild.” Listöwel stood to leave, but stopped at Húrin’s next question.

“What will you tell the wizard, Indis, when he asks to see Faramir?”

“I will speak with Siriondil. I believe Faramir has contracted some rash during his recent trip as has Borondir and Targon. Targon will go with them to Dol Amroth. Siriondil will say they are confined to the Houses until the contagion period is over.” She shivered and then wept quietly. “I cannot believe we must be parted again.” Her weeping turned to sobs and Listöwel knelt and held her.

“I will take care of him. Do not worry, Indis. I promise.”

“I know you will, Listöwel. It is just too soon. Please, go now. Night is almost upon us. I would have you leave as soon as it is dark.”

~*~

A/N - Regarding the voice of Saruman: "The window closed. They waited. Suddenly another voice spoke, low and melodious, its very sound an enchantment. Those who listened unwarily to that voice could seldom report the words that they heard; and if they did, they wondered, for little power remained in them. Mostly they remembered only that it was a delight to hear the voice speaking, all that it said seemed wise and reasonable, and desire awoke in them by swift agreement to seem wise themselves. When others spoke they seemed harsh and uncouth by contrast; and if they gainsaid the voice, anger was kindled in the hearts of those under the spell. For some the spell lasted only while the voice spoke to them, and when it spake to another they smiled, as men do who see through a juggler's trick while others gape at it. For many the sound of the voice alone was enough to hold them enthralled; but for those whom it conquered the spell endured when they were far away, and ever they heard that soft voice whispering and urging them. But none were unmoved; none rejected its pleas and its commands without an effort of mind and will, so long as its master had control of it." TTT: Book 3: Ch. 9 - Flotsam and Jetsam.

Chapter Thirty-Two – Friendship Reforged

Éomund turned towards the wizard. “You must forgive her. I do not believe she is healed yet from the death of her husband. She is not thinking rightly. Shall I accompany you back to Isengard, my Lord?”

The wizard turned his back upon the Rohir and strode angrily out of the Hall.

Within moments Ragnhild’s eyes welled with tears. “I wanted Indis to let him take Faramir,” she whispered, horror in her voice. She tried to run from the room, but her stomach failed her and she hunched over and retched miserably.

Éomund went to her side. “What do you mean? Of course she should send Faramir…” He fell to his knees as realization overwhelmed him. “There is some evil here,” the Rider cried aloud. “Faramir should not go to Isengard!”

“Indis will never speak to me again. I should return to the Mark and hide myself away.”

Ragnhild’s sobs tore through Borondir who had just entered the hall. “What evil has befallen Gondor now that makes you weep so piteously, my wife? Let me hold you and comfort you.”

She looked at him and shuddered. “I have been befouled.”

His great long face turned near as dark as his hair. “Who? Tell me and I will kill him.”

“Nay. ‘Tis my own folly.” She wept on as Éomund finally stood.

“Let us away from this place, in case a portion of the evil yet lingers in this Hall.” The Rohir motioned and both his friends walked with him, Borondir possessively holding onto Ragnhild. “My quarters are nearest, I think. Let us go there.”

He led them up the stairs to the first guest rooms on their left. His aide saluted and let them in. Éomund quickly strode towards the fire and put another log on. He pulled the bell and a servant entered before Ragnhild and Borondir had time to sit. After the servant poured them heady ale, he left. “Now,” Borondir began, “Tell me what has happened? Why you weep, Ragnhild, and why you, Éomund, look as if you have murdered your own best friend?”

“I have done that, of a sorts,” Éomund began as Ragnhild was once again overcome with horror and grief. “The wizard confronted Indis. Asked to take Faramir to Isengard, and I agreed with him.” The Rohir shuddered and quaffed the rest of his drink. “I soundly seconded his plan. I wanted to make myself look fine and wise.” He shuddered again and filled his mug from the sideboard. “I told her she should send the boy with him.” He downed the ale and sat, heavily, upon the settle. “I know not what o’ercame me. He seemed wise.”

Ragnhild leaned into Borondir. “I will never, ever go anywhere near that wizard again. I too approved his plan and told Indis to trust him. Trust him with Faramir!” She began to weep again.

Borondir held her closely. “So this wizard is not to be trusted.”

“He has a honeyed voice,” Ragnhild whispered. “I heard it and thought how wise, how wonderful he is. I would have gone with him, if he asked it of me.” She buried her face in her husband’s tunic. “Indis will never trust me again. Will never speak to me again.”

“Was she so affected?”

“Nay.” Éomund looked up in wonder. “She listened to Curunír and to what Ragnhild and I said, but she did not accept his plan. She said she would think upon it. Then she left the room. The wizard was angry,” the Rohir shivered. “Very angry. I could feel fear run up and down my arms. As if I faced a hundred Orcs by myself.”

“Let us take another moment and then go to Indis. My dear heart, she will forgive you. The woman is wise and compassionate. You will give her your apology and let her decide whether your position remains as counselor. And whether you are still friends.”

”I will. I will tell her to release me from my vow to counsel her. And beg her to accept my apology. I will…”

“Yes,” Borondir said quietly, kissing her gently upon the forehead. “What ere you deem necessary to speak. Let your heart speak, my love. She will listen. When I failed her, when I let Faramir be lost, she held me and comforted me. When I should have been comforting her. We are all weak. She understands. Let us to her now, if you are able.”

“I am.” She rose and held his hand.

“I will come with you, if you will allow it. I must offer my own apologies. I feel as weakened as a newborn foal before it drinks its first milk. I am shamed.”

“Nay,” Borondir’s voice was hard. “Neither of you has shame to bear. This is a wizard we speak of. And a foul one at that. Long ago I remember Lord Denethor denouncing wizards. He knew this one from the time he was a boy and would not be alone with him. He feared Curunír. You have naught to be shamed of, except if you do not confront this and convey your sorrow to Indis. Therein will lie your honor.”

Éomund nodded and followed them out of the guest quarters and up two flights of stairs to Indis’ rooms.

Balan was nowhere to be seen and Borondir’s heart quailed. ‘No guard on her door. How can this be?’ He pulled the bell and a servant opened the door. “We wish to see the Lady Indis.”

The servant nodded, but closed the door, not inviting them in. Ragnhild’s tears began again. “Indis has already informed her servants that I am no longer welcome.”

“Nay. Some other thing has happened. There is no guard on the door.”

Éomund looked around at that bit of information. He had been thinking about the wizard and his response and had not noted. “‘Tis not a good sign.”

In another moment, Borondir would have crashed through the door, but the servant opened it before he was able to act. “Regent Indis will see you now.”

They followed her into the room. Indis stood and greeted them; her pinched smile made Ragnhild sob and rush forward. “Forgive me, Indis. I know not where my mind was.” She threw herself at Indis’ feet and sobbed.

“Stop this, friend, and stand.” She gently helped Ragnhild up.

Borondir, however, could not wait for the greetings to be done. “There is no guard on your door. I will stand there until one is ordered.”

She nodded, pleased, and watched him leave. Turning once again to Ragnhild, she held her friend’s hand and led her to the settle. Motioning to Éomund to sit also, she strode to the bell and pulled. None spoke. “Ask the Warden of the Keys to attend me,” she ordered the servant and then sat next to Ragnhild. “Tell me what you remember.”

Ragnhild sighed. “I would rather not look at that moment again, but if it will ameliorate my folly, then I do it gladly.” The leech of Rohan went over each moment and her impressions of the wizard and her own response. By the time she was done speaking, she was sobbing.

“Thank you, Ragnhild. I felt an evil there but I could not understand what had happened to you. I am relieved to know that you were under some spell. And you, Éomund? Was it the same for you?”

“It was, much to my shame. I was a pawn in his hands.” The Rohir stood and strode back and forth in the small chamber. “I wanted to appear wise. That seemed so very important.”

Indis nodded. “It is as my brother once told me. The first time he met the wizard, he wanted to be accepted by him. My father was not an easy man; Denethor grew up craving acceptance. Thankfully, the next time they met, he knew the wizard’s wiles and my brother stood firm. So, you both now see that you can be released from his spells and know the truth. Now that you have this knowledge, you will be stronger, if again you meet him.” She smiled warmly and took Ragnhild into her arms. “Naught this small could separate us, dear friend. Your counsel will be wiser from this encounter.”

Ragnhild returned the embrace. “You will not send Faramir to Isengard?”

Indis laughed. “Nay. I have already set plans in motion to protect my nephew. Borondir will be needed for a time. I am sorry, dear friend, to ask once again for your husband’s presence on a mission, but it is serious. Once the wizard has left Minas Tirith, nay, Gondor, I will tell you all. Éomund, will you return with him to Isengard?”

“I think not. He is very angry with me.” The Rohir smiled. “Very angry.”

“Then watch your back, dear friend. You are well loved by all here in Minas Tirith, but especially by Faramir. I do not trust the wizard and you and your people are closer to his influence than we of the White City.”

“I will, my Lady.” He smiled shyly. “It is time I returned to Aldburg and spent some time with my wife. It has been a year of separation. I would hold her once again.”

“I think that wise, young Éomund. Your king, and her father, would deem it well and good. Is there a way that you can warn Théoden of the wizard’s wiles?”

“I think not. Not openly. Théoden is wise and strong. He will see through the wizard and keep the Mark safe. I will watch though,” his brow furrowed. “I will watch.”

“That is all we can do. I would bid you leave tonight, if possible. Stay as far from the wizard as you might. Unless you had promised him you would return with him?”

“Nay. I did not. I will leave this night.”

“Then, I bid you go to Listöwel’s quarters and speak with her for a moment, before you leave. She is fond of you.”

“Thank you, my Lady. I will go and pack now.” He moved to embrace her, then stopped. “What will you do with the wizard?”

“As I said, plans have been set in motion. When the wizard comes to me, I will be encompassed round with friends and knights. He will be told Faramir will stay in Minas Tirith. What he does after that is his own doing. I will be protected, my friend.” Indis smiled warmly and embraced the Rohir. “You have been a good and faithful friend these past months.” Tears, unbidden, flowed down her cheeks. “All of Gondor hails you for your bravery. Remember that you have my love as Regent of Gondor and the love of her Steward, but more than that, you have the love of Indis, simple lady of Gondor, and the love of a little boy.”

Borondir had been relieved by another soldier and entered the room. He stood to the side and waited.

Indis watched as the Rohir's eyes misted. "Ever will I be loyal to you, my Lady, and to Faramir. You have my love."  He held her closely for many moments, then kissed her forehead, nodded to Ragnhild, and left the room.

Chapter Thirty-Three – The Beginning of Fare Well

They had all left her – gone to do her bidding – so she sat, in total silence, waiting for her heart to ease its pounding. Ever since she had met with the wizard, her head had hurt, she’d been dizzy, and her heart pounded. Now that she was away from him, and Faramir would be safe, she felt hopeful. After many long minutes, she stood and walked to her desk. She opened one of the drawers she had not yet cleaned out. At the top, a paper lay. She picked it up and touched it. Denethor’s scrawl lay across it. A tear fell, then another. She quickly put it back in the drawer before the writing was obliterated. She saw something sticking out. She pushed aside the layers of paper and found a game piece. She held the little Steward in her shaking hand and cried aloud, “Denethor!” How he loved the game of Stewards and Kings; how he loved these pieces, given to him by their uncle, Cranthir, so many years ago. She wept.

Balan entered the room, sword drawn. He stopped, embarrassed as he saw the tears upon her face, and turned to leave.

She saw him. “I am well, Balan.”

“I heard the wizard, my Lady, I thought his words were gentle, kind, until I looked upon your face. You sat so nobly, just like your brother before you. I saw I was mistaken. As soon as I looked at you, I could hear the lies. I could hear him properly. That is the only way I can describe it. As if his words were translated from their sticky sweetness to hard truth.” The guard knelt at her feet. “I am not explaining this well.” He took a deep breath. “Suffice it to say, my Lady, I know you are truly meant to govern us in this time. Do not question yourself.” He stood quickly. “Forgive my temerity. I am sorry. I overstep my bounds.”

“Nay,” she smiled through her tears. “You speak welcome words. I was just questioning myself.”

“The Lord Denethor could not have done better.”

“Thank you.” He made as if to leave; she stopped him. “I must meet with the wizard again, but I would wait till the morrow. If he comes, or sends word to me, delay him. I will see him at the third bell in the Great Hall. And I would have you at my side.”

He bowed, deep gratitude showing in the smile he gave her. “I will ask Lord Húrin to send an invitation for the audience.”

“Thank you.” She turned back to the desk as he left the room, replaced the game piece, and closed the drawer.

She stood and slipped through the hidden door, went down two flights, and opened another. She was in Listöwel’s chambers. The room held a hint of chaos. Trunks were open; Borondir and Ragnhild were packing clothes and necessaries. She was surprised to see the Rohir there. They were surprised to see her so suddenly appear. Borondir looked about him in confusion, but she said naught.

Listöwel stepped from her bedchamber, saw her, and ran forward. Hugging her tightly, she whispered, “Ragnhild will stay in my chambers this night to prevent a repeat of this afternoon’s incident. She is not a fool, Indis. She knows you are sending Faramir away and asked to help. If she stays here, all will be protected.”

“I agree.” She pulled away from the embrace. “Where is Faramir?”

“He is taking a bath,” Borondir smiled. “Seems he has not had a proper one since his dunking in the Anduin. He is this way. Be careful, though,” he admonished, and at her look of alarm said, “The floor is wet from his splashing. I do not want you to fall.”

She laughed and rejoiced in the feel of it. He led her into Listöwel’s study. A great tub was centered between the fireplace and the settle. Faramir played quietly in the bubbles. He looked up when they entered and squeaked. “Amma! Amma!”

She knelt in the slopped water at the foot of the tub and held his hand. Tears, unbidden, slipped down her cheeks as she looked upon him whom she thought had been lost to her forever.

“Do not cry, Amma. I am back and I will never leave you again. Well – at least until Ethuil. I did promise Strider…”

“And you will keep that promise, Faramir, never fear.” He smiled and the sun broke through the clouds of her sorrow.

“We thought it best if you told him.” Listöwel had followed her into the room. Borondir left them.

“Tell me what, Amma?”

She was always amazed by the sharpness of his mind. Nothing escaped him. “Your aunt has given birth to a brother for Elphir. Your uncle wishes you to join them to help keep Elphir company.”

“What is the baby’s name?”

“Erchirion.”

“Hmmm. Son of the lord. Poor baby. At least Elphir’s is better. Why did they name him that?”

She laughed again. “Your mind is swifter than mine, dear heart. I did not think upon its meaning, just the good news.”

“When do we leave?”

At that moment, Éomund stepped into the room. “I told you I would return to fare you well, Faramir.” The Rohir stopped. “Forgive me, Lady Indis. I did not know you were here. I only stopped to…”

“Éomund! I am grateful – for everything. When will we see you again?”

“If I might, Mettarë is spectacular in Minas Tirith. Might I bring my bride and celebrate it with you and your family?”

Faramir squeaked once again. Indis looked lovingly at her nephew. “I believe you have your answer. If you wish, ask your King to join us. We would be pleased and honored to have him.”

Éomund’s face clouded. “He is still weighted with grief over his mother’s death.” He shook his head, then smiled lightly, “But I will ask him, nonetheless.”

“When,” Indis had to sit. Éomund ran to her side. “When did Morwen pass?”

“This spring, Indis. Did you not know? Was not a messenger sent?” He stood; his scowl filled his face. “Who would keep such knowledge from you – and you close friend and shield sister?”

“Listöwel,” she cried out. “Listöwel!”

Her friend ran into the room and knelt immediately at Indis’ feet. “What has happened? Are you well?”

Indis sobbed. Éomund took Listöwel’s hand. “I bear sad news. News that I thought had already been known to you. Morwen Steelsheen passed this spring.”

“How?” Indis sobbed.

“Fever. There was an outbreak in Aldburg. She was afraid for Théodwyn and went to help. She contracted it herself. I am sorry. You should have been told.”

Faramir gently sat in her lap, wrapped in a towel. She felt him stroking her face. “I am sorry, Amma. So sorry you lost your friend.”

She held him close and sobbed into the towel. “Thank you, Faramir.” She looked up in surprise. “You are still wet. Come, let us dry your hair and put some clothes on your back. Listöwel, bring him an outfit. Borondir,” the retired warrior stepped through the door. “Send for food and drink. Éomund must not begin his journey with an empty stomach. Faramir, you must eat too.”

“You also, Amma. We are leaving tonight?”

“Oh!” She sobbed once again. “We will speak after the meal.” Listöwel entered with a clean set of clothing.

“I will help him dress, if you don’t mind,” Éomund said firmly. “He is old enough to have a man-servant, not be dressed by women.”

Faramir giggled.

“Thank you, Éomund. I will leave you some privacy, Faramir. Come into the dining chamber when you are ready.”

~*~

After the meal, Éomund stood. “I must be away now. I would reach the North Gate before Anor sets.”

“We will leave you to your fare wells.” She motioned and the others went into Listöwel’s study.

As she moved to pass him, he took her gently in his arms. “Be of good courage, dearest friend. I am with you in all things and only a beacon fire from your side. If you have need of me and do not send for me, I will be hurt and dismayed. Remember that.”

She nodded, too overcome with emotion to speak. He hugged her warmly, kissed her gently, and watched her leave.

Faramir giggled.

“None of that, you little colt! Now, tell me what you wish me to bring for Mettarë.”

“Théodred!” the boy answered with nary a thought.

Éomund laughed heartily. “If I have to sneak him out in the middle of the night, I will bring him, I promise. Now, when you meet with Strider, make sure he tells you the right way to hold a sword. By Béma, I wish I had more time here. He will instruct you poorly, I’m sure, and I will have to undue the harm.”

The boy’s eyes opened wide. “Truly?”

“Nay!” Éomund laughed again. “But you tell Strider that. We are old friends and it would be fun to tease him.”

Faramir nodded, his eyes now shining with mirth. “I will do that, Éomund.” He suddenly lunged at the Rohir. “Do not leave. Come with me to Dol Amroth. Uncle has many rooms or you can sleep with me.”

“Ah, Faramir. My heart would say yes, but I have my duties to my people and my king.”

Faramir bit his lip. “I know duty.”

“Yes, beloved boy. You know duty well. Above many others twice your age. Fear nothing, Faramir, for your mind is quick and your heart is pure. You have family and friends who love you beyond thought or reason. Remember that. As I told your aunt, if ever you need me, light a beacon, send the Red Arrow, do anything and I will come to you.”

“Thank you, Éomund.” The boy began to cry quietly. “I will miss you.”

“Ah, my dear boy, I will miss you too. Remember, we will see each other at Mettarë and I will bring Théodred. Think of some sport and games you might play whilst he is here.”

“Oh! By that time, we will both be warriors and will spend our time sparring.”

Éomund bit his lip to keep the laughter form spilling forth. He schooled his face to seriousness and replied, “Yes, you will be sparring all day I suppose and I will rarely see you.”

“Never!” Faramir shouted and hugged the Rohir closely.

He wept and Éomund was strangely pleased. “I love you, Faramir. I will miss you. Now,” he gently extricated himself from Faramir’s stranglehold and stood up. “Take care of your Amma.”

“I will,” the boy promised and saluted. The Rohir returned the favor and left the room. Faramir sat in the middle of the floor and wept.

Borondir found him thus. “Your aunt awaits you. We have much to speak of, Faramir. The night and its troubles are not over yet.”

The boy looked at him quizzically and stood, following him with nary a question.

~*~

A/N – Béma - The name for Oromë among the Northmen. http://www.glyphweb.com/arda/b/bema.html

Chapter Thirty- Four – The Bitterest of All

Listöwel turned towards Indis. “Faramir’s things are all packed. I will not bring court attire with me; I hope to let Imrahil take care of that part of Faramir’s care. I have had enough of ‘court’ for at least a month.”

“Listöwel,” Indis began, hesitantly, “I wish you to remain here. Ragnhild will accompany Borondir and Faramir.” She turned to her counselor, “If you agree?”

“Thank you, Indis! I am honored to have your confidence.”

As her nephew stepped into the room, Indis bit her lip. Faramir looked so much older than when he had left, what? Only ten days earlier? Her heart broke a little more. He would be grown by the time he returned from Dol Amroth. A chuckle burst through her sorrow; he would only be gone a month, no more; no need to be maudlin.

Faramir looked at her and smiled, then ran into her arms. “I will miss Éomund. I asked him to come with us to uncles but he said no. He said his wife misses him. I can understand that. I missed you, Amma, and we are not even betrothed.”

She stifled the laughter that tried to escape. “Indeed, Faramir, we are not betrothed, but we can miss each other just as much.”

The boy yawned. “When do we leave, Amma? Are we taking the boat?”

“The boat.” She stared at him in surprise. “Yes, the boat. Why did I not think of that?” She turned to the Warden. “Húrin, is there time to outfit our boat?”

“Only an hour will be needed. The crew stands ever ready. Supplies must be put aboard, but it can be done.”

“Have it done, then. Nay, never mind ordering it, Húrin. Please, go to the quay yourself and watch the preparations. Make sure none question.”

“I understand. It will be done. I do not think it wise to return until Faramir is aboard the ship; I will send Hirgon, when it is ready.”

She nodded. The Warden stood, turned to Faramir, and stopped, uncertain of how he should act, for Faramir did not yet know Indis would not accompany him. At last, his love of the boy overtook any sense. He knelt and hugged him fiercely. “You will be sorely missed, my Steward. Just now returned to us and once again off.” Faramir returned the embrace and the old Warden’s eyes misted. He stood. “Borondir, take care of him with your life this time.”

The soldier blushed. “I will, my lord. He will not leave my side.”

Húrin nodded and left the room.

Faramir stood and gazed at those he loved. Indis could see his mind whirling, knew the boy felt the tension in the room, and wondered. “Come to me, Faramir.” She sat at the table and lifted him onto her lap. “I will not be going with you to Dol Amroth. Both her Steward and her Regent cannot be gone and leave the City untended. You understand?”

He nodded. “I will truly miss you.” He began to weep. “But I understand. I am just tired of traveling. I am sorry.”

“Nay!” she cried and held him tighter. “It is not your fault that you must once again voyage.”

“Amma,” the boy looked at her, questioningly. “Why am I being sent to Dol Amroth?”

“I told you. Your uncle wishes you to see your new cousin.”

He sat still, then began to shake his head. “Nay. That is not it. Is there…” The boy swallowed convulsively. “Is it because of the bad man who was with Éomund?”

“What bad man?” Indis asked in wonder.

“The one who smells the same as the healer who watched me being hurt.”

“Oh! By the Valar, Faramir. Who was it?”

“The healer that came when I sickened after Ada died. You remember him. He came with us to Minas Tirith. When I was brought before Amandil, he was there and he…” The boy shuddered.

Indis held him tighter. “You speak of the Rohir healer?”

Faramir nodded, tears streaming down his face. “When I was before Amandil, he stood behind his chair.” The boy’s breathing quickened. “He thought I did not see him, but I did. And now that other man is here and he smells the same.” Faramir’s eyes went wild and he began screaming. “Boromir! Boromir! Save me!”

Indis held him tightly, willed her calm to imbue him. She whispered over and over that all was well. At last, she felt him cease the struggle. “You will not be harmed again, Faramir. As long as I live, you will not be harmed again.”

“Why is he here?” he sobbed. “Has he come for me?”

“I think he has. So I am sending you to your uncle with Borondir and Targon. You will be safe there. I will send this bad man away and then, once I am sure he is far away, you can return home.”

“Thank you, Amma. But please come with me.”

“I cannot. We must trick this man. If he knows where you travel, he might follow. I would kill him if he did, but I would prefer he leave us and go back to his tower. Do not be frightened, Faramir.”

Borondir strode forward and knelt at Indis’ feet. He put a hand on Faramir’s knee. “I will protect you with my life, my Lord Steward.” Faramir cuddled closer to Indis. The warrior continued, more for himself than the boy. “I have failed you once; I will not fail you again. Targon will come with us too, as will Ragnhild. We will sail the ship to your uncles and there, you will find peace.”

Faramir did not hear. He had fallen fast asleep.

“He is exhausted and yet I send him off again.”

“Indis. You do what is best. We cannot fight the wizard. But take this to heart. Faramir did not faint when fear o’ertook him. Therefore, the spell must be broken,” Borondir stood. “That is a good thing.”

She smiled through her tears. “It is. Is all in readiness?”

Ragnhild stepped forward. “The trunks are packed. Targon brought Faramir’s clothes and such. None watch what a boy does. It has been a saving grace for us, having such a quick-witted boy as ally.” She knelt at Indis’ side. “I am sorry about the leech from the Mark. I would know his name and go there and kill him myself.” The fury in her face spoke more than her words.

“A healer from Rohan was found dead in Rath Dinen. I believe it is the one you would now kill. It seems Amandil did us a favor, at least in this instance. Now, are you packed?” At Ragnhild’s nod, she continued, “Within the quarter hour, we will leave. Borondir,” the guard stood forward, “we will leave in small groups. I would have you take Faramir. I am glad he sleeps; it will be a harrowing experience, sneaking from the Tower.”

“You should use the secret stairs that Targon showed us, Indis. They lead to the dungeons, then out onto the Pelennor. I will remain here, in case any wonder at your absence.”

“Yes, Listöwel. A wise thought. Let us begin the journey then; it will take longer this way than through the Courtyard and the City.”

Borondir took the sleeping Faramir from Indis’ arms. Balan entered the room, bringing with him two guards from the elite Tower Guard. They picked up the trunks and followed Balan. Indis opened the secret door and noted that none of those with her even flinched in surprise. They took the stairs downwards to the hall of the Third Company and then down more stairs to the dungeons. Almost an hour went by when they finally reached the end of the stairs. Targon had joined them near the buttery. He opened the door and peered out. At his signal, the little procession began its forward progress. The moon was only a slit in the sky, hidden occasionally by light clouds. The light was enough to only see their feet before them, but Borondir knew this path well and led them to the quay.

Húrin ran forward. He had been watching the road and smiled when he saw the direction they came from. “Wise woman, indeed,” he greeted Indis. “All here?”

“Yes. Lead us on.”

“The boat waits. It is fitted and ready. The crew consists of those we know loyal to Gondor. They served your brother well. They are experienced in the journey to Dol Amroth. The captain knows naught but that his passenger is Lord Faramir and his retinue.”

“Thank you, Húrin.” They had reached the boat by now. She noted that the streets and docks were empty, aside from the dock that led to the Steward’s own ship. Quickly, they made their way up the gangplank and stood upon the deck. “Take Faramir below, Borondir. Targon, go with him.” Both nodded and left her. She turned to the captain. “Captain Maraher. I would speak with you alone.”

The captain nodded and led Indis to his quarters. He closed and latched the door behind them. “Tea?”

“I came not for a social call. Long have you served my brother and the House of Húrin, Maraher. I come to you now with the greatest of need. Gondor is under attack once again, by treachery. I bring our Steward, Lord Faramir, to you and place him in your hands for safekeeping. Borondir, one of his captains, will guard Faramir on this journey and beyond. You will take them to Dol Amroth and not leave Faramir until he stands before the throne of Adrahil. Do you understand?”

The captain’s face had blanched white as Indis spoke, but slowly, the color rose. Indis saw his hands clench the horn at his side in anger. He knelt at her feet. “Know that I and my men will guard our Steward with our lives. I know the best and fastest ways to Dol Amroth. I will send an errand-rider as soon as we arrive.”

“Nay. I am sending with you my most trusted rider, Hirgon. He will bring the message to me; no other will do.”

“As you wish, my Regent. Will you fare well Faramir now? I would be away as quickly as possible. Stealth will be needed, I see.”

“Thank you, Captain. I will go to Faramir now, but only for a moment. Cast off as soon as I leave the ship.”

He bowed, unlatched the door and watched her leave, his brow furrowed.

She walked purposefully towards the Steward’s cabin, climbed down the stairs, and knocked on the door. Borondir opened the peering hole, sighed, and unlatched the door. She stepped inside. He quickly closed and latched the door behind her.

Faramir ran to her. “I thought you left already without a fare well.” The boy held her tightly.

She bent and lifted him up. “In a very short time, dearest Faramir, I will not be able to lift you up. You grow too fast, my darling. Stay little a bit longer, for my sake. Do not grow up whilst you are away.”

The boy giggled. “I cannot help growing, Amma. Everyone does it, you know.”

“I know.” She sighed heavily. “But I would have you in my arms, or upon my lap, for many years to come.”

“I will try, Amma, but I do not think it will work.”

“That is all I can ask,” she smiled gently. “I love you, melethron nîn. Know that always. I will see you again, in one short month. Obey Borondir as you would me?”

“I will, Amma,” the boy smiled. “As I obey you.” He giggled.

“Now, none of that, dear boy. I mean when you truly obey me. None of your adventures and such. Not now.” Her brow creased. “Faramir. I will not say you are in danger, but you must be wary. You are now Steward.”

“I know, Amma. I will obey him. And when I want an adventure, I will remember the badger and Ithilien, and I will put such thoughts aside.”

“You are so very brave and wise, melethron nîn. I must leave you now. Targon is above decks. Shall I send him down? I would have you stay in this cabin until the ship is long past the Harlond.”

“Please, Amma, send Targon.” The boy’s eyes lighted, “With cookies, if he brought some.”

She laughed. “With cookies.” She hugged him tightly, then turned and hugged Borondir. “I know you will care well for him,” she whispered. “Take care for yourself as well.”

The retired captain of Gondor held his Regent close. “I will not fail you again, my Lady. I promise on my blade.”

“I know.” She let go, threw a kiss to Faramir, and walked out the door, up the stairs, and towards the City.

Chapter Thirty-Five – The Battle for Faramir

Indis received a report with the morning’s change of guard. Faramir was far down the Anduin. In an hour, the third bell, she would see the wizard and weave her deceptions. She shivered at the thought of it and wondered if she truly had the strength that was needed to misinform a wizard. She wished Thorongil was at her side. The man had always filled her with confidence, and, when she met him by the Mering in the spring, she had felt a quiet wisdom within him, even greater than what he had when he lived in Minas Tirith.

Húrin sat before her, cup of tea in hand, morning reports sprawled out upon the settle next to him. She listened as the birds sang in the southerly breeze. This was Arciryas favorite time of day. They would lie in bed, hands twined, and listen to the birds. He needed some sense of rightness before he started his rounds in the Houses. The smell of decaying flesh, the whimpers of those who would not live out the day, the sight of limbs in the halls after a day of amputations, all burned the quiet soul that lived within him. Her lip began to tremble and she tried to put the thought of him away.

“Faramir will return shortly, Indis, and in good health,” Húrin tried to reassure her, totally misunderstanding the tears he saw falling.

She nodded her head, wet her lips, and said, “Yes, he will return and more grown up than ever, you know.”

He smiled warmly. “He looks more like his father every day.”

“I thought he looked more like Boromir.”

Húrin sipped the tea. Then looked up. “Are you thinking upon Boromir?”

“Nay.” She held her hands in front of her and looked at the band upon her wedding finger. “Nay,” her voice dropped to a whisper.

“Arciryas?”

She lowered her head. “Yes.”

“He would not be able to stand before the wizard, Indis. He was too kind, too gentle. He would listen, with eyes gone wide, and accept every lie.”

“I know,” she swallowed painfully.

“I will stand at your side, as will Listöwel. Balan and a contingent of the Tower Guard will stand behind you. I am tempted,” he smiled slightly, “to place cotton in my ears, lest I fall pray to his enchantment.”

She smiled, wiped the tears from her eyes with the lovely handkerchief that Morwen had gifted her with at Théodwyn’s wedding, and sat straighter. She took her own tea in hand and sipped it. “I think we will be fine. You stood before him yesterday with nary a problem.”

“I succumbed, for a moment,” the Warden blushed. “Until some noise outside took my attention from him. Once I looked back, I was amazed; his words sent shivers through my body, instead of the comfort I had felt only moments before. When he demanded you give him Faramir…”

“It was a command, was it not?”

“It was.” Húrin’s voice mimicked the wizard’s. “I will leave on the morrow and expect Faramir to be with me. Balrog’s… Forgive me. How dare he, Indis? How dare he speak such words in the Great Hall?”

“He is ever in command of those about him, I suppose.”

“Even the Rohirrim.”

“Yes. Even Éomund whom I trust with my life. I wonder if Elves succumb to him?”

“Nay. That would not be possible.”

“Elves fell prey to Morgoth and then Sauron. Why not Saruman?”

The Warden took a deep breath. “I cannot fathom such a thing.”

“Perhaps if one is weak in body, mayhap wounded or in great stress, the wizard can break through and weave his spells. Húrin, if the healer from Rohan had the same smell of Saruman, mayhap he is the one who placed the spell on Faramir.”

“The healer?”

“Yes. Saruman was not near Faramir, not whilst we visited Edoras, nor whilst on the road home. Yet, the healer came to us, halfway through that trip, and spent time alone with Faramir.” She shuddered. “I will never leave him alone with anyone again!”

“Then we keep all from the Mark away from Faramir forever!”

“Nay. Éomund is no threat, though he is no ally when the wizard is about. I believe not that Ragnhild is a threat either. If I keep her away from him.”

“That is a weakness for Gondor, Indis. They should not be allowed within our borders.”

“Stop that kind of talk, Húrin. I will not let fear dictate whom I accept as Gondor’s friends and whom not. Éomund will always be welcome here; Ragnhild remains my counselor. Though,” she smiled, “she will not attend me at this morning’s audience.”

Listöwel entered the room. “All is in readiness, my Regent. The Guard knows their role in today’s audience. They will surround the Great Hall, stand alongside the statues of the kings, and watch your back, Indis. I will command the men myself. Balan will stand next to you and the Warden. All have been warned of the subterfuge of the wizard. They have strengthened their hearts to battle readiness. We will endure this.”

Indis smiled warmly. “Thank you, Captain-General. Let us go down to the Hall. I would not keep a wizard waiting.”

Listöwel chuckled as she led her Regent into the Hall. The Chamberlain rapped the marble floor with his staff and all stood as Indis entered. She walked quickly to the Chair and sat. Balan stepped forward, saluted, then stood on her left; Listöwel stood on her right.

Surreptitiously, the Regent looked about the Hall. There was no sign of the wizard. Húrin stepped forward. “He is approaching the Hall. He should be here in a moment. Obviously, he prefers you wait for him. I would flay him, if given the command.” He smiled wickedly.

She shook her head; a slight smile graced her mouth. “Nay,” she spoke quietly. “We will be the height of forbearance.” She sat back a bit in the Chair and accepted the Rod from her Warden.

The crowd began to stir, wondering at the delay in the usual proceedings of the day. The Chamberlain had had the scribe take the names of the petitioners, so they waited their turn, but impatiently, as time slipped by. At last, the wizard entered the Hall and all quieted. The Chamberlain ushered him forward, upon Indis’ motion.

Curunír stood before the Regent, and for a brief moment, Indis felt his gaze pierce her very heart. Her breathing became stifled; her left hand fidgeted in her lap whilst her right twirled, twirled the Rod! She cursed herself for her weakness and stilled her hands. Sitting a little straighter in the Chair, she accepted his greeting. A warmth and peace filled her for a moment as he spoke, then, her mind cleared. Trying not to clench her teeth, or do anything that would display her weakness, she smiled at the wizard. “Lord Curunír, beloved friend of Gondor, we have listened to your advice, have taken counsel with our lords, and, at this time, regretfully must decline your invitation to protect Faramir by taking him to your stronghold at Isengard.”

He bristled. She could feel the air about her becoming warmer. Her face flushed. Fire seemed to shoot from his eyes, yet she knew it was an illusion. No matter, still, her heart fluttered and her mouth grew dry. His eyes pierced hers and she almost cried aloud. Yet, she strove and held herself still as fear ran up her spine like the claws of some great beast. In a moment, she realized the wizard was the source of the fear; some power radiated from him and she felt caught in his web. The feeling of fear gradually subsided, only to be replaced by a… A hunger emanated from him. A hunger for her! She wanted to retch at the sudden sensation. Her legs began to shake; she put her hands on her knees to steady them. The Rod caught the sunlight glistening through one of the windows to her right and pierced her eyes. It broke the spell. She swallowed in gratitude and sat back.

“The Steward Faramir is indisposed.” She spoke firmly. “He has contracted some fever along with a rash. The Warden of the Houses has quarantined him. None are allowed to visit, for fear there may be some contagion. I most regret this development. The quarantine period is a fortnight. I would ask you to stay and wait for his recovery; however, it would be rude and ungrateful to make such a request. When he is better, I will send for you.”

He stiffened. She felt as if lightning flashed from his eyes. Pure hatred flowed towards her. Húrin, blessed, faithful Húrin moved between the wizard and Indis. “My Lord Curunír. Your contingent has been told of the Regent’s decision. They and your horse await you in the Sixth Circle.” He graciously extended his arm to usher the wizard away from Indis, but Curunír would not be so led. The wizard waited another moment, eyes locked firmly with Indis, then he bowed, turned and left the Hall.

She fell back in her Chair. Listöwel knelt by her side, and quickly motioned to the Chamberlain. He noted the look in the Captain-General’s eyes and harshly banged his staff upon the floor. “This session is ended. We will meet again on the morrow.”

The people, petitioners, vendors, and lords looked at each other and began muttering. Balan strode forward. “This session is ended!” he shouted. “You will all leave now!”

At last, the spell of the wizard was broken, and the people left the Hall, ushered out by the Tower Guard. Balan stepped to Indis’ side. She was insensible. “Send for the Warden of the Houses,” he whispered to the Chamberlain. “Your duty here is finished for the time. We will care for the Regent.”

The Chamberlain had gone white with fear, but Balan’s calm voice reassured him. “Aye, my Lord. It will be done. I will bring the Healer myself.” He ran from the Hall without even saluting.

Chapter Thirty-Six - Enchantments and Spells

Faramir loved the easy rhythm of the River. It always enchanted him. They were almost to the mouth and he knew the Bay itself could be quite fierce. He and Targon leaned over the side of the boat and watched as the bow sliced through the gentle whitecaps. “If the River had been like this the morning I fell in, I could have easily swum to the banks.”

He shuddered and Targon put an arm around his shoulders. “It was quite an adventure. I wish I had been with you.”

“You only wish you had seen the eagle.”

“It was huge, was it not?”

“Honestly, Targon, I was so afraid and so cold and so tired, that I hardly noticed it.” He shivered again. “I thought it was the beast that had attacked me earlier. I was too afraid to even see it, ‘cept at the last minute as it flew away. I wish I could have thanked it.”

“Did you see where it flew to? Perhaps we can find its aerie and then you could thank it.”

“Nay. I only saw it fly… It did fly towards Mindolluin. It would not have its aerie on the Pelennor, would it?”

“I think not. Eagles like mountains or really huge trees. Nothing like that on the Pelennor.”

“Good.” Faramir smiled, the last hint of fear leaving him. “When we return, I will ask Borondir if he will accompany us. We can climb to above the flats, that place where sometimes the men camp, and then watch and see if we can see where it has its nest.” His smiled broadened. “Targon, I am forever in the eagle’s debt; ‘twould be fine to at least thank him.”

“Him. Do you think it is a him?”

“I know not. Are the females as large? Could one have dragged me to the banks?”

“It would seem your rescuer was a male, then. Do you really think Borondir will take us?”

“Take you where?”

“Borondir!” Both boys cried out. “You surprised us.”

“And you were not following my orders. You stand a little too close to the edge for my liking.”

They both stepped down. “We want to find Faramir’s eagle,” Targon blurted out.

“Ah. Upon Mindolluin?”

“Yes. That is probably where he has his nest. Would you take us when we return home?” Faramir waited with baited breath.

“I think not. Winter comes early to the mountain. It will be snowing on the peaks before we return. In the spring?”

Faramir sighed. “I suppose we will have to wait till then. Oh! That is too late. I will be going to Lossarnach in the spring, for Ethuil.”

“Well, then, perhaps when you return? Did Strider give you a date for your return?”

“Nay.”

He was interrupted by the shouts of the sailors as the mouth of the Anduin was spotted. “Go below deck now, boys, whilst the men do their duty. Going from the River to the Sea is dangerous work. I know you would love to watch, but I think it best if you are not under foot.”

“Nuisances!” Faramir laughed. “Come, Targon, even though I am Steward, I am being dismissed.”

~*~

“Is she well? Has a spell been cast upon her?” Listöwel stroked Indis’ hand. “What has happened to her? Send for Siriondil!”

Balan and Húrin knelt in front of the Chair. “We will wait,” the Warden said, “until Siriondil arrives. I will not move her.”

Listöwel nodded. The guards had formed a protective barrier around the Chair, though many were distraught. All had heard the honeyed words of the wizard and wondered what could have caused such a reaction from their Regent. As minutes passed, looks of wonder appeared upon many a warrior’s face. Whispering began.

“Stay your tongues,” Balan said quietly. “You now know why we encircled the Hall. The wizard is cunning. He has cast spells before. Your presence helped protect our Regent. Be not alarmed. You know her courage. She is only exhausted; she is under no spell.”

The men visibly sighed and shifted uncomfortably.

Húrin shuddered. It seemed to him that Indis’ current state mirrored the one Faramir had just been released from. There was no healer from the North here to help her. Though, and his mind flew to the tale Faramir had told them, perhaps he still was in Ithilien. Hampered by a wounded foot, it would take awhile, even with two Elves bearing him, to reach the borders. ‘I best send riders now, to find him and bring him back here.’

“What are you thoughts, my Lord?” Balan asked.

Taking a deep breath, the warden sighed. “I will send riders to northern Ithilien to look for Strider. He must be brought back. He helped Faramir, he can help Indis.”

“You said she is under no spell.”

“I said that to assuage the men’s fear. Her face mirrors Faramir’s whilst he was under the spell. We cannot dally; the Ranger must be found quickly.”

“Give the healer a moment to assess her. He took care of Faramir whilst the lad was under the spell. He would be better able to tell us if she suffers the same fate.”

“A good thought.”

A moment later, Siriondil entered the Great Hall. He knelt at Indis’ side and held her hand. “Tell me quickly what happened.”

Húrin took but moments to relay the details. The healer nodded. He lifted an eyelid and scrutinized her eye, then he laid his head upon her chest. After many minutes, he lifted his head and looked at the Warden. “She is under no spell. At least, not the spell that held Faramir. Though,” and here Siriondil looked hesitant. “I can not say for certain. I have not encountered spells before. If Ragnhild were here, mayhap she could ascertain the cause for Indis’ oblivion.”

“Then it is settled. I will send for the Ranger.”

“Strider? He is in the City?”

“Nay. He travels in Ithilien, but he must be notified quickly, ere he leaves our lands.” He rose and motioned. A soldier stood forward. “Bring an errand-rider to me immediately.” The soldier saluted and ran from the Hall.

“Faramir?”

Instantly, Húrin knelt. “Indis!”

She blinked a number of times, then licked her lips.

“Water!” the healer shouted.

When she had taken a sip, she leaned back into Listöwel’s arms. “Thank you. I am sorry. I seem to have succumbed.” She shook her head as tears fell. “I thought I was stronger.”

“Is there a spell upon you, my Lady?” Húrin asked quietly.

She laughed, then closed her eyes. “I think not, dearest cousin and friend. Only exhaustion. I had not known how much effort it takes to combat a wizard. My brother never told me.” Her brow furrowed, “Though I should have remembered. There was one time when Denethor collapsed in my arms. He had to be carried bodily into his chambers; however, he was but a boy of twelve or thirteen at the time. I wish I knew then what I know now. I could have been of more help to him.”

She bent her head and pinched the area between her brows. “I am exhausted. Would you help me to my chambers?”

Balan quickly put a hand under her right arm. Húrin did the same on her left side.

“I would not be carried. I do not want our men’s concern to be too great for them. And,” she smiled, “I would keep their regard for me.”

“Naught a wizard could do would wound their regard for you, dearest Regent,” Listöwel whispered. “They think you are a Vala come east.”

Indis laughed again. “I would prefer not being thought of as a Vala if I could walk out of here under my own power, but that is not to be.” She turned towards the men. “Thank you for your service this day. You are dismissed.”

The men cheered, loudly, saluted and left the Great Hall.

Listöwel smiled. “You see? Ever have you their loyalty and love, dearest sister-friend.”

Indis slowly collapsed into the arms of her Warden and her guard. “I have not the strength to stand.”

Balan took her in his arms and carried her from the Hall to her own rooms. Gently, he lowered her upon the settle in her office. Listöwel quickly brought a comforter and placed it over her legs; Húrin brought a glass of stiff whiskey. She drank it, gratefully, then leaned back. “Thank you. I must rest a bit.”

Balan returned to his place by the door. Listöwel sat in the chair opposite her friend and accepted a glass of brandy from Húrin. He sat on the windowsill and looked out. “I wonder how Faramir is and where he is?”

“I wonder where the wizard is.” In alarm, Listöwel stood. “Balan!” The guard was by her side immediately. “Did any send a watch upon the wizard? To make sure he left the City? Left the Pelennor?”

“Rangers were sent, my Captain. They know how to follow in silence. Though it would be difficult to shadow a wizard, no matter the skill. I have not had a report back, as of yet. I hesitate to leave you unguarded.”

“Nay,” she rang the bell pull. When the servant, Forleaswyn, entered, she bid her send for an errand-rider. The girl nodded and withdrew.

“We shall have word soon. I should have sent a company with him as an honor guard. That might have misled him into thinking we were suitably enthralled by him.”

“Nay. It is best, I think,” Húrin ventured a guess, “for him to think he has us so besotted that we give him free rein of the realm.”

“Ah,” Listöwel smiled. “A good thought. Thank you, Balan. You may return to your post.” The warrior nodded and stood, once again, by the door.

Chapter Thirty-Seven - Of Brine and Bakes

Prince Imrahil was at dockside when the skiff from the Anardil landed. Warmly hugging Faramir, he whispered into the lad’s ear, “I am so happy to have you finally with me in peace.”

Faramir’s tears fell. “Uncle,” was all he could say. His sea legs gave out and he collapsed into his uncle’s arms. “I am sorry,” he blushed furiously.

“Nay. You have been aboard ship for quite some time. Even a seasoned sailor sometimes finds it difficult to walk again upon dry land. Would you mind if I carried you home?”

Faramir touched Imrahil’s face. “I am to be an esquire come spring. I do not think it seemly for me to be carried.”

The prince could hardly contain the sob that choked his throat. The gesture, so familiar when Faramir had stayed in Dol Amroth after Finduilas died, brought tears to his eyes. “Then, give yourself one moment more and your legs should do your bidding, my nephew.”

A moment passed, then Borondir stepped up onto the dock. “Prince Imrahil. Regent Indis sends you her greetings and her love.” The captain looked at Faramir’s face and hid a smile. His own legs felt slightly wobbly, but he would not let on.

By this time, Faramir had recovered. Imrahil held his hand. “Thank you, Captain Borondir. And how was your trip? I heard there were no storms upon the Sea.”

“Spectacular. We saw… I will let Steward Faramir tell you more of our journey. Suffice it to say, the captain runs a tight ship and we had no complaints. You recall my wife, Ragnhild?” Borondir took the counselor’s hand and helped her up onto the dock.

“I do.” Still holding Faramir’s hand, Imrahil reached around Ragnhild’s shoulders and embraced her. “I miss my traveling companion.” He smiled broadly.

“Ah, Prince Imrahil. Those days whilst traveling with you to Minas Tirith hold special memories for me. I do not believe I thanked you for the trust you bestowed upon this stranger from Rohan.”

“Stranger no longer. Trusted friend and counselor to our Regent. I am very glad I accepted your tale and rode to the White City. I dare not think of the consequences had I not done so.” He shuddered and held Faramir’s hand a little tighter.

“Now, come to my home and take some rest. A sea voyage, though peaceful, drains even a sailor. I have a banquet prepared, but not till this evening. My servants are at your disposal; each of you has their own. If you have any needs whatsoever, even to a dressing gown, let my people know and you will be taken care of. Now, if I might, my Faramir and I go to the Sea.”

Faramir looked at his uncle in surprise.

“I have a bake readied. It is that season, you know. Clams are waiting in the sands. Do you remember…”

And Borondir, Ragnhild, Targon and the others watched in amusement as Prince Imrahil and a contingent of Dol Amroth’s finest Swan Knights walked off towards the beach.

“Well, I suppose that means we are on our own for nuncheon.” Borondir smiled.

“It does not, Captain. I am your official greeter.”

“Arantar!” Ragnhild flung herself into the man’s arms as Borondir looked on quizzically.

The prince’s second smiled at her. “It is good to see you, too. It is good to know you are still alive and kicking. At the fountain, I thought surely we had lost you.”

“Nay. Though I wish ‘twere me instead of dear Boromir. But I forget myself. This is Captain Borondir, my husband. He is a retired captain of Gondor who did us great service in Tarnost.” Borondir saluted.

Arantar laughed and grabbed the erstwhile captain of Gondor and hugged the breath from him. “We stand not upon ceremony amongst friends. Your wife rode with my prince as we attempted to rescue Boromir. Sadly, we failed.”

“Nay,” Ragnhild cried out. “We did not fail. Béma had other plans for the boy. He is happy now.”

“It seems to have been fated, yet my heart still aches over the loss of Boromir. Faramir looks well,” he smiled widely. “Much healthier than the last time I saw him, almost robust!”

“He is and has begun his training as Steward.”

“Good. Now, I am sure you are all tired and looking for a bath in water that is not the Sea’s.”

They all laughed and followed Arantar into carriages and then onto the castle of Dol Amroth.

~*~

The smell of cooked seafood, salt water, and the feel of the sun on his neck, all contrived to make Faramir a very sleepy boy. His hands were covered with butter and some of it had trailed down his chin onto his tunic. He looked at it in slight alarm. “Amma will not be happy that I have ruined this.”

Imrahil smiled indulgently. “I have cleaners here. The tunic will be spotless by the time you go home. Finish the last of the crab, I have had my fill.” Faramir enthusiastically obeyed.

At last they were both sated. As they sat licking the butter from their fingers, uncle and nephew smiled. “It has been too long since last you ate of our crabs and clams.”

Faramir wiped his mouth with his sleeve and replied, “My hands could not even remember how to crack the crabs,” he laughed, ‘but they remembered quickly enough! Amma said I should stay for a month. Does the season end soon?”

“Nay. We will find crabs and clams and such for the entire month. Should I just set up a tent for us here on the beach?”

Faramir laughed, then sighed. “I would like that.”

“You have suffered this past month, my son?”

Faramir’s tears fell and he lunged into Imrahil’s open arms. “This past year,” he gulped.

“I know. Faramir, your father would be most proud of you. It has been a trying year, one that could break the back of the most stalwart knight of Gondor, but you have triumphed. You really have.”

“Have I, Uncle? Would he not consider me foolish, having been washed away by the River?”

“Nay, dearest Faramir. It was the beast’s fault, if the reports I received tell the story rightly. A very large badger from what I understand.”

“It was hideous, Uncle,” Faramir buried his face deeper into Imrahil’s saltwater sprayed tunic. “I was so frightened. I wet myself.” The boy looked up, concern writ across his face that his uncle might somehow think less of him.

Imrahil laughed and hugged his nephew tighter. “Then it is best the River took you for you would not want others to see that.”

Faramir giggled. “I suppose I should then be glad I fell in?”

“I think so,” Imrahil laughed with him. “I heard something about an eagle?”

“Yes! Oh, Uncle. I wish I had not been so frightened. I saw it but somehow thought it was the beast.”

“Faramir,” Imrahil’s tone turned serious. “One day you will have to face another badger. You will then see that they are not beasts, just larger animals.”

Smiling, Faramir hugged his uncle. “If you stood by my side, I would do it today.”

“Oh, Faramir. I do so love you.” He ruffled the boy’s hair, then smiled at the huge yawn that came from the Steward’s mouth. “I suppose it is time we returned home. Your aunt waits for you. I do not want to miss my afternoon nap either.”

Faramir giggled. “You do not take a nap.”

“I do so. Any good warrior sleeps when he can. Have you not learned that?”

Faramir looked at him and Imrahil had to hide the smile that tried to force itself from him. ‘Sometimes,’ he thought, ‘the boy can be gullible.’

Faramir stared at him harder. “I need a nap, I think that is what you are saying, Uncle. I will not fight it then. If you insist.”

“Not only will I insist, but your aunt also. Come, let us clean our hands and walk home. Unless you are too tired?”

Laughing Faramir wiped his hands on the cloth that covered the sand. Most of the sand ended up on his hands and he proceeded to wipe them on his leggings. “I do not like sand, particularly.”

Imrahil laughed. “Neither do I. Let us wash in the Sea and then walk home.”

The wash in the Sea turned into a splashing fight. By the time it ended, Faramir’s sides hurt from laughing and both were drenched. A guard stepped forward as they came back onto the shore and offered blankets. Imrahil draped one around Faramir’s shoulders, then did the same for himself. The Prince of Dol Amroth mounted his horse and the guard passed Faramir up to his waiting arms. Soon they were riding towards the palace.

“I remember one time,” Faramir turned slightly backwards to see his uncle’s face, “when we rode like this to find the Elves.”

Imrahil smiled. “I remember that time also. You were the only one who saw an Elf. I never asked: did he tell you his name?”

“Nay. I was too surprised to ask. He was only with me a short time. He told me he watched over Boromir and me.” The little chin began to quiver. “But he did not. Boromir is dead.”

Imrahil pulled the little body closer to his own. “Mayhap he only watches you here in Belfalas?”

“Oh! That would explain it. I often wondered, after Boromir died.”

“I am sure that is the explanation. I do not remember hearing tales of Elves being in other parts of Gondor. If the Elf had known Boromir would be at risk, I am sure he would have traveled to Minas Tirith and saved him.”

Faramir sniffled. “Mayhap, if we had sent a missive?”

“Would you have just left it on the ruins of Edhellond? I know not how you could have guaranteed the Elf would have found it.”

“Do you think I might see him again?”

“It is possible. If he still guards your back, and it sounds like he does, then I would expect to see him. Faramir, if he does come, I would most appreciate your calling me. I would like to meet an Elf myself.” Imrahil smiled warmly, hoping the talk of the Elf would take the lad’s mind from the sorrow of Boromir’s death. The feelings of loss and pain were still too bright for his own mind to handle; he wondered how his nephew ever survived the horror.

“Targon would like to see one, too. He is still sore that I saw an eagle up close and he did not.”

“I can imagine he would be doubly sore at missing seeing an Elf.” Imrahil laughed.

“He would offer cookies,” Faramir could hardly contain the laughter. “He thinks cookies are the answer for everything.”

“Perhaps they are. I will make sure he is given access to the kitchens. I like cookies myself.”

“His specialty is chocolate ones. They are really good.”

“Then I must ensure we have a supply of chocolate out and ready for him. This talk of cookies is making me hungry. Let us speed our return.” Imrahil clicked on the reins and the horse’s walk turned into a canter.

~*~

“Are there rumors from Tarnost or Calembel?”

“In what way, Captain Borondir?” Imrahil sat back and let the servants clear the table. Faramir and Targon had been sent to bed an hour ago.

“When we left those cities earlier this year, the revolt had been crushed. I lived in Tarnost for many years and the people are dear to my heart; however, they are weak and need strong leadership.”

“They have it,” Imrahil smiled, though it was slightly cool, in Borondir’s opinion. The captain waited for the prince to expound, but he kept silent.

“There were only retired soldiers of Gondor living there; none that I know of who could govern the people.”

“You forget yourself, Captain. Tarnost is one of my territories. Regent Indis asked me to watch over both cities, when I returned from Minas Tirith. I have placed governors in both who are loyal to me and to Gondor.”

“Any I know?”

“I think not. They are from Dol Amroth. Well respected. Knights and counselors.”

Borondir sat silent, slightly miffed at what appeared to him as a slight. Ragnhild said naught herself.

“I rule Belfalas at the Steward’s pleasure,” Imrahil started, slightly ashamed at the reaction he felt from the two Gondorians. “If Indis asks me to ‘guard’ those two cities, then I will do so. Borondir, I know Tarnost is dear to you. Mayhap you would visit there, whilst you are so near? I would have Ardamin, my governor for that city, bid you welcome and show you what improvements he has made. The region is quiet again, which I know you would also wish.”

“I swore I would not leave Faramir’s side. I gave a blood oath.”

“Ah. Then perhaps on your way back to Minas Tirith? You could take a land route, go by horse, and visit your old friends. I am sure Faramir would enjoy that. The lands about are peaceful; you would have no worries for his safety.”

“I think not, though your kindness is appreciated. The last time I deviated from the Lady Indis’ plans, caused Faramir to be lost for almost a week. I could not allow that to happen again.”

“No matter which road you take, Borondir, you would end up in Minas Tirith. Why not take the path of your heart? Besides, the Sea grows treacherous as winter approaches.”

“That is a thought; however, being so close to the mountains presents its own problems. Early snows can hamper travel. Though it seems too early to be discussing our way home, I deem the southern route, through Linhir, to be the best. And by horse. I do not think it wise to journey the Sea a month from now.”

“I will send two companies of my knights to escort you to Linhir. From there, you can command more men to accompany you back to Minas Tirith. The Anduin is the only thing that separates you from our enemies to the east.”

Nerdanel entered the hall and all stood. “Faramir is asleep at last. He bade me show him his mother’s rooms.” She took the seat Imrahil offered her. “It near broke my heart. The lad lay on her bed and wept. Elbereth, I know not why she was taken and now poor Denethor and Boromir.” Tears streamed down the princess’ face. Imrahil knelt at her feet and held her hands. “He is too young to have such burdens placed upon him. Even our love, Imrahil, is but a shadow to the loves he has lost. What can we do for him?” She sobbed and hid her face in his beloved hands.

Ragnhild and Borondir were at a loss at the depth of sorrow that overwhelmed the Lady of Dol Amroth.

“Ah, if you could have seen his face this forenoon, my dear heart, you would have rejoiced. We laughed and sang songs and wiped butter from our mouths.”

“It was brilliant of you to think of taking him for the bake on the seashore. Ever has he loved the Sea.” Her tears still fell, but the sobs had ceased. “He had always been your favorite; I am glad he was spared, if any needed to die.”

Imrahil motioned. Borondir looked at him in surprise, then begrudgingly left the Hall with Ragnhild by his side.

~*~

A/N – 1) The term ‘clambake’ seems to be an American event, yet clams are found all over the world. I decided it might be customary, for those living by the Sea, to have something akin to the New England clambake. Sorry if it bothers anyone. 2) The name Anardil means "Sun friend" in Quenya from Anar meaning "the Sun" and the ending -dil meaning "devotion." http://www.tuckborough.net/gondorians.html 3) Ardamin - Andunaic name - http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Tar-Ardamin.

Chapter Thirty-Eight - Brushed By Evil

Indis sat, still in shock, still trying to come to terms with what she had seen. Her heart beat quickly against her breast; her cheeks, flushed in exhilaration and fear, burned. Her hands, sitting unnoticed upon her lap, shook, while her legs trembled as cramps ran up and down them. Her breath, once staccato and harsh as she tried to grasp what had happened to her, began to slow. Her eyes were burnt closed; she could not open them if she tried.

‘Is it a gift, this Palantír? Gifted supposedly from the Elves for Gondor’s aid. Yet, what kind of aid is this that leaves the wielder so overcome?’ None were left alive who had seen her grandfather, Turgon, after he had looked upon the stone. Since that day, that one time, the Steward had changed. She knew he had looked using the excuse that peace had flown from their lands. Though not the best of Stewards, Turgon’s love for Gondor forced him to use it. But it addled his brain, weakened him, and caused him to fear his own shadow.

Ecthelion, seeing the damage wrought by the globe’s use, had never touched it. Now she, his daughter, had done what he could not, would not do. She had used the right of the descendants of Mardil and had looked into its depths. And survived! Though, at the moment, she wondered if her own mind had survived.

Denethor had never looked, of that she was sure. She supposed he did not even know it existed. Even upon his deathbed, Ecthelion had scorned his son. None of his knowledge of the things only the Steward was privileged to know was imparted to his son. In his contempt for Denethor, he put his beloved Gondor at risk. Who knew how many other secrets he kept to himself? If it were not for the fact that Ecthelion had valued her own counsel, had trusted her with many things that none else knew, she would not have known what it was when she saw it. Húrin did not even have a key to the Tower room. She was certain the Warden had no knowledge of the room or what it contained. He must have known of the stone’s existence; however, she knew he did not know where it was.

She saw Ecthelion before her again, on his deathbed, and she wept. Not for her father, though she loved him dearly, but for the cruelty he had bestowed upon his only son, even to his last breath. And Denethor had stood and accepted it, as he always had, until Ecthelion had tried to corrupt Boromir with his hatred. At that, Denethor stood forth, drew his young son back from the enfeebled hands that clutched at the boy. Her tears fell. ‘Denethor, my beloved brother, you stood through it all. Yet, you did not lose your gentleness. I miss you, beloved brother. I failed you. I am sorry; I was not strong enough to help you. And now Boromir is gone. Do I continue to use this gift, for Faramir’s sake?’

She suddenly felt the weight of her sixty-five years. Though of Númenórean blood, the feeling of lethargy and heaviness about her heart and her limbs exhausted her. It had been so easy; she merely placed her hands on either side of the Palantír, took a deep breath, and looked into it. After only a moment, the surface changed, moved, turned various colors and, before she was even aware, she found herself looking upon the Pelennor. The fields were being harvested of their last crops as winter approached. The Anduin sparkled in the distance. She remembered tears falling as she looked upon her home, Gondor, beloved Gondor. Her gaze was swept northward. She saw the fields of Anórien, already stripped of their crops and newly ploughed for the winter wheat crop. Sweeping southward, her gaze came upon him. Upon Faramir. She had seen her nephew, sitting upon Imrahil’s lap on the shores of the Sea. Joy had filled her heart at the sight. Imrahil loved Faramir beyond endurance. Always had. Perhaps he knew that Boromir was the shining star in Denethor’s heart? But nay, Imrahil loved Boromir almost as much and Boromir knew it. It gladdened the oldest boy’s heart to know that Faramir was loved unconditionally. Though Denethor never demeaned his youngest, both Boromir and Faramir were aware that all Denethor’s hopes for Gondor were pinned on Boromir. She let those thoughts go and once again rejoiced at the knowledge that, no matter what happened to her, Imrahil would be there for Faramir.

She searched her mind, trying to discover what had frightened her so in the midst of her joy at seeing her nephew. A violent shiver ran through her and the reason became clear. She felt the wizard! Nay. Not the wizard, not Curunír. Something or someone even more evil, more malevolent. It or he had touched her mind for only an instant. She did not know what had saved her, pulled her back as she felt herself falling forward into the mists of the stone, but she had been saved. Even as muddled as her mind felt, she knew she had been saved from some dreadful catastrophe. Whatever it was…

Mithrandir! Mithrandir had been in the Tower room with her. And yet, that was not possible. None knew of the room, much less what was in it, nor that she had gone to it. Yet, she distinctly remembered Mithrandir pulling her from it, saving her from… Enslavement! That is what the wicked presence wanted, to enslave her! She whimpered in fear.

“So you are still with us,” a gentle, rasping voice spoke.

Struggling mightily, Indis tried to open her eyes, but they would not obey her. Some part of her mind rebelled, terrified that she would open them and see… The Eye! She swooned.

“I do not understand. Is this still from the wizard’s visit?”

“Nay, Listöwel,” Mithrandir’s voice was filled with sorrow. “Brave woman that Indis is, she found a tool that brought her in contact with the Enemy.”

Gondor’s Captain-General gasped. “Nay. And yet, she lives? She will recover?”

Húrin interrupted. “You saved her, Mithrandir. How did you know? How could you know?”

“Let me answer Listöwel’s concerns first, if I may be so allowed.” The wizard’s tone was dry, but there was a hint of amusement in it. “She will recover. I know not how long it will take, but she is strong. As for you, Warden of the Keys, I did not know. If you remember, I had been summoned.”

“But that was months ago!”

“I was far from Gondor, when the missive was placed in my hands. I do not have magic to fly through the air, nor a kindly eagle to carry me hence.” The wizard chuckled.

“You have some kind of magic. To have found her at exactly the right time to save her,” Húrin said dryly.

“Whatever you wish to ascribe my presence to, you may. That is no concern of mine. However, I need to know how long she was there?”

Húrin flushed. “I know not. Neither does Listöwel. We knew naught of the existence of the room, nor did I have the key.”

“Humph.” Mithrandir sat back in his chair.

“Will she be all right?” Listöwel knelt before the wizard. “Will her mind be her own? Did you save her in time?”

“I did. She is merely exhausted. The tool needs great strength of will to wield it.”

“That she has,” Húrin sighed. “What is this tool?”

“I will leave that question for your Regent to answer, if it so pleases her.”

Húrin immediately felt the rebuke, Mithrandir knew. The Warden was a good man, and the wizard was not surprised that Húrin recognized and accepted the rebuke.

“Of course. Is there aught further you need of me?”

“Nay. I have closed the room and put a locking spell on it. None will be able to enter it.”

“You would block it from the Regent?” Listöwel gasped.

“Nay. When she recovers, if she asks, I will remove the spell. I only protect it whilst she is indisposed.”

“Since my Regent and the Room are safe, I will leave you.” Húrin stood. “You frightened many of our guards and the Chamberlain when you carried Indis from the Tower. I must assuage their concerns, and their fears.” The Warden of the Keys bowed to the wizard, saluted Gondor’s Captain-General, and left.

Silence filled the room.

~*~

Sometime later, Indis woke. Her head ached terribly; her mouth was dry. “Here,” a familiar voice said, “drink a little of this. It is whiskey.” She nodded, took a small sip and gasped. Her eyes flew open as she recognized the owner of the voice. “Mithrandir!” she cried and flung her arms about the old wizard. “You came! You came! And in the nick of time.” Her tears fell and she wept bitterly into the pipeweed-smelling garment. Finally catching her breath, she drew her arms back. “Forgive me,” she whispered, as fear took her heart. “Forgive me.”

The old wizard chuckled. “It has been quite some time since last I was given such a warm embrace. I think I liked it.”

She giggled, much as a schoolgirl, relief flooding through her after her temerity. “All you have to do is ask. If I had known you were partial to hugs, I would have given them a long time ago.”

The Maia took her hands in his and looked deeply into her eyes. “Ah! Not soiled, I see, only brushed by evil.”

She shivered and fell into his arms again. “You know what I did?” she whispered.

“I do. It is not such a bad thing. As Regent, you are entitled but,” his bushy eyebrows lifted, “it is dangerous.”

“That I have discovered.”

“What did you learn? Was it worth the cost?”

She started at the question and once again withdrew from the warm, comforting arms. “Have you ever looked into it? Did my father let you look?”

“I have never looked into one of the stones. It is not my right.”

“But you have the power.” She sighed, then thought better of pursuing this. “I saw many wondrous things; I saw all of Gondor, even to the Sea.”

“You saw Faramir?” the wizard interrupted.

“How do you…? He is not in the City: he is in Dol Amroth. Protected.”

“Much as I suspected.”

“No one told you?”

He smiled. “None. There is no magic here, dear Indis. If Faramir were in the City, he would know of my arrival, and would be here even as we speak.”

“Yes,” she muttered. “I saw Rohan,” her voice filled with wonder. “Even as far as the Fords of Isen. And to the promontory of Andrast. The stone is a mighty gift indeed,” but her body belied her words as uncontrollable shaking seized her.

The wizard moved forward and took her into his arms. “However?”

She again buried her face in his garments. “The Eye. I saw the Enemy, Mithrandir.” She whispered so low, the wizard was hard-pressed to hear her, but he understood immediately. “Did He see you?”

“Nay.” She shuddered again. “I think I surprised Him. As soon as I saw Him, I fell back. That is when you caught me and helped pull me from the stone.” She could not help the shuddering that ran through her. “Thank you.”

“It was nothing. I merely caught you.”

“Nothing!” Her head snapped up as she pushed herself away from him. “I would be His slave now, enthralled to Him until I died or worse. You saved me, Mithrandir! You saved Gondor, you saved Faramir for I fear what I might have done to him.” A gasp and then a sob left her. “I would have taken the Chair! Nay,” she quickly put her hand over her mouth in horror. “I would have taken the Throne.”

“You would not, fair lady,” Mithrandir said with warmth. “You had already pulled yourself from the Palantír when I came into the room. I was there only to catch you as you fell.”

Shrewdly she looked at him. “Do you speak the truth?”

“I do. You are not as weak as you think.” He stood up, towering over her. “I need to ask one thing.”

“Anything!”

"Will you use it again?"

Chapter Thirty-Nine - Must We Repeat

Indis debated the wizard’s question for the next fortnight, but she could not answer it. In the meantime, she received numerous letters from Faramir. Each week his handwriting improved. It hurt to ‘see’ his growth on paper, knowing that his body and his mind, while he was away from her, grew also. The ache to watch him, cherish him, see the changes taking place in him, grew as the month passed. Imrahil had written begging her to let Faramir stay in Dol Amroth until Mettarë. She could not, would not be separated from him for so long a period. The wizard, her mouth curved into a smile, ‘the wizard that smelled’ as Faramir called him, had left Gondor’s borders. All the northern garrisons and outposts had been placed on full alert and instructed to watch carefully in case Curunír tried to slip back inside Gondor. Indis debated whether or not the orders would be effective; she had noted the ease with which the wizard could beguile his listeners. She could only hope her men were more strong-minded than the poor Rohirrim seemed to be.

At last, the day arrived. Faramir’s horn could be heard in the distance. ‘The boy must be by the Fifth Circle; his horn could not be heard further, his small lungs did not have the power, yet, to truly wind it.’ Indis ran to the Fountain and waited. A small figure darted from the mouth of the Citadel’s gate; a small voice cried her name. As she ran forward, all thoughts of decorum fled; she needed to hold him in her arms at all cost. Kneeling, she spread her arms wide and the little boy flew into them. She cried wildly and held him close.

“I missed you! I missed you so very much!” Faramir cried.

She held him, ran her fingers through his hair, caressed his back, and said with joy, “I have missed you too, meleth nîn.” She cupped his chin in her hand and looked at the tear-stained face. “You have grown!”

“Look at my muscles!” He held up a bended arm and offered it to her for inspection. She laughed and touched the upper arm, exclaiming, “How strong you have become!”

“Uncle gave me a sword. We practiced every day. He says I am quite good.” Faramir flung his arms around her neck. “I missed you.” A small sob escaped him.

“Come, my dearest, I have nuncheon ready for you. I want to hear all about your adventures. Everything. The whole afternoon is yours.”

She stood and blushed as she realized not only Borondir, but also the guards and many of Gondor’s lords, watched. Their smiles put her mind at ease. She waved; Faramir watched her and did the same as they walked towards the Tower.

~*~

Once Faramir finished his second helping of stew, he sat back, smiling. “That was good. They do not serve stew in Dol Amroth. They serve thick soups with funny vegetables in them, and a lot of different fish. Oh!” his eyes lit up, “We had bakes on the shore almost every week. I love crabs, Amma.”

“Did you help catch them?”

He puffed his chest out a little. “Uncle says I am the best crabber he ever saw. Oh!” his chest deflated. “Elladan says I must not boast.”

“Elladan?”

“You remember, Amma. Strider’s brother.”

“Of course. Though I deem it not boasting when a soldier is reporting to his Regent.”

“Oh!” the boy stood and ran to her side. “I love you!” Gratitude shone from his face.

She hugged him closely, then held him at arm’s length. “I think you are in need of a bath.”

He laughed. “Do I stink?”

“That you do, Faramir. Shall I have a bath drawn here or in your rooms?”

“My rooms. I am growed, you know. Uncle says so.”

“Then it must be so, for no Prince of Gondor would speak an untruth. You remember that, do you not Faramir; men of Gondor do not lie.”

The boy nodded. “Never lie. I remember, Amma.”

“Good.” She rang the bell. “Balan, please call Faramir’s guard and have him escorted to his rooms. And order a bath drawn for him.” The guard flashed a smile at Faramir, then saluted and left.

“Faramir, for the time being, I would have you escorted by a guard at all times, even here in the Citadel. Would you please obey this order?”

“Yes, Amma. Is there danger here?”

“Oh sweet child," she hugged him, “I think not. But I would have you protected until I am sure. I do not mean to frighten you.”

“I am not frightened,” the boy stood taller. “I will obey, Amma.” He returned the hug.

Balan knocked and entered. “Faramir’s guard, my Regent.” He saluted as he spoke, then turned to Faramir. “This is Valanestel. He will be your personal guard.” Valanestel saluted both Indis and Faramir. Faramir’s eyes shone.

“Thank you, Balan.”

The guard saluted and returned to his post outside Indis’ chambers.

Indis turned towards Faramir’s guard. “Valanestel, you have been promoted from Captain of the Rangers to personal guard for the Steward of Gondor due to your bravery and tenacity in helping to find him whilst he was lost in Ithilien. I hope this new posting sufficiently conveys Gondor’s gratitude.”

“I am not deserving of such a post, but will not fail you, my Regent,” he smiled and turned to Faramir, “nor you, my Steward.”

Faramir giggled. “I remember you. I add my thanks to my Regent’s.”

Turning her attention to Faramir, she embraced him once again. “Come back here after your nap, Faramir. We need to discuss Gondor’s state. It is time to resume your studies and your duties.”

The boy returned her embrace. "Yes, my Regent. But… Am I not too old for a nap?”

Laughing, she hugged him tighter. “You are too old for a nap; however, all wise soldiers rest when they can. One never knows when strength will be needed. After you bathe, I deem it wise to rest for a time.”

Faramir smiled. “I will be a good soldier, Amma, and rest, whilst I may.”  He stood taller and saluted.

She smiled as he turned and left, followed closely by Valanestel, then she sighed. ‘He has grown. At least two inches.’ Shaking her head to rid herself of the longing to have been with him this past month, she rang the bell and asked for Borondir and Ragnhild to be brought before her. Listöwel had already been sent for.

Listöwel was the first to enter the chambers. Her sun-tanned face shone with deep peace. After a welcome embrace and before she even sat, Borondir and Ragnhild were escorted into the room. Laughter and hugs abounded. A servant quickly served drinks and white cakes, some filled with flavored creams. Borondir launched into three, then smiled, embarrassed. “Forgive me.”

“Did you not have nuncheon before you joined us?”

“Nay. There was some confusion over a package Faramir brought back with him. I had to attend to it.”

“What is it?”

Borondir’s smile grew. “It is a surprise to be presented at the daymeal.”

Listöwel laughed at her friend’s furrowed brow. “Do not be concerned, Indis; it is not harmful.”

“Then I will trust your judgment.” She rang and ordered stew, bread and ale for Borondir, then sat at her desk. Eyebrows rose; everyone realized this was going to be a business meeting, not a coming together of friends.

Indis waited until they were seated, then drew forth a map. “I would hear a report of your time in Dol Amroth, but that can wait until this evening’s meal. There have been reports of renewed activity in South Ithilien, but this time, not the Enemy to our east. I would send someone I trust completely to ascertain the situation and report back to me.” She looked pointedly at Borondir. “One of the lords of Lebennin has moved troops to the eastern shore of the Anduin, directly across from Pelargir. I know not his intentions, but it seems fairly plain to me, though foolish. Húrin!” she rose in surprise. “You return so soon from Ethring?”

“As soon as I entered the City, I came here. You were correct, Indis. The treachery that assailed us just this past year is still rampant in northern Lebennin.”

“My friends,” Indis turned towards the others, “whilst you were in Dol Amroth, reports came to me of Dagnir’s youngest son, Haleth. The boy had been training in Ethring when his father, and brother, Minastir were arrested. As you all know, Dagnir was hanged as a traitor. Minastir spends the rest of his life in the dungeons here below the Citadel. I was too lenient. Haleth was young and, I thought, well away from the wiles of his father. I was wrong. It seems he is fomenting treason, as did his father.”

“What is wrong with those people?” Listöwel interrupted. “Is it the water they drink? They live in one of the richest and most fruitful parts of Gondor. Can they not be satisfied with such?”

“I believe it is a need for power for some, but for Dagnir’s son – mayhap it is revenge.”

“Or a life of waste and excess,” Borondir spat. “Perhaps they are bored brats.” He laughed dryly. “It is time these young ‘lords’ were conscripted into Gondor’s army. Mayhap the age of twenty is too old. Change conscription to seventeen; then they will have no time for boredom nor for hatching treason.”

“A good thought, Borondir, but in the meantime, we have a crisis before us. It is this same lord who sends troops to Ithilien. I wonder if he is foolish enough to think he can take that land for himself. His father’s lands were given to the people of Tarnost. The boy has naught. That land, however, belongs to the Crown. Whether or no the King returns, the land is his and under the protection of the Steward.”

Húrin sat heavily across from Indis. “So if they cannot take the Throne itself, they will take the land. I deem this only the first part of a scheme to put another on the Throne.”

“The Steward is beloved by all,” Ragnhild finally spoke. “None would dare another such attempt. To seize Gondor from Faramir.”

“Only fools and idiots,” Borondir murmured. “Dagnir and Ohtar had a large following in their cities. We quelled the rebellion; it seems we did naught to change hearts.”

Indis stood and walked to the window. “Your report, at the time, stated the men you left behind would ferret out the remaining followers of the traitors and deal with them.”

“Indis, they have been, but it has been less than a year. These things take time. The leaders were well known; they have been captured and imprisoned. However, with their treasonous rhetoric, they inflamed others to their ways, others not known to us. Haleth seems to have drawn them to him. I would rather go home to Tarnost and finish what Ragnhild and I started. I will work closely with Ardamin, Tarnost’s governor, and wipe their treachery from Gondor’s soil.”

“I believe that to be a sound plan. The men in Tarnost and Calembel respect you. I am sorry to send you off again, but Tarnost is your home. Mayhap it will be a pleasant assignment.” Indis smiled. “Borondir, keep me abreast of your progress. Gondor’s very safety lies in your hands.”

“I will leave on the morrow.”

“Thank you, Borondir. Now, I ask for names for who I might send to South Ithilien.”

They finally decided upon a merchant from Linhir who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time during the battle that took Boromir’s life. The man, Barach, had been walking across the Citadel, just having concluded a bargain with the Third Company’s cook, when he was impaled by one of Amandil’s thugs. The merchant lost only a couple of toes, but his loyalty was such that he threw himself upon the scoundrel and beat him soundly; then, he turned towards another of the rogues and beat him too, with only a cudgel that he used as a walking stick. All had been impressed by his courage, but the merchant refused any recompense or honor.

The man was sent for; market day was just past and he was still within the City itself. The Chamberlain knew where Barach stayed whilst in Minas Tirith and sent a guard to collect him. As the merchant stood before the formidable array of soldiers and high lords, he smiled. “So I am to be held accountable for what?”

Indis laughed and bid him sit. After he had his fill of stout ale, Indis told him of Gondor’s need; he stood and bowed. “For my Steward, anything. Is that enough, Regent Indis? When do I leave?”

Within an hour, all was planned and the merchant agreed to begin his assignment on the morrow.

Chapter Forty - Turmoil All Around

“So he was right,” Ragnhild muttered.

Indis turned towards her counselor. “I do not know of what you speak.”

“It is naught,” Ragnhild’s eyes shifted towards Listöwel.

Indis watched Ragnhild closely, wondering at the change in her friend’s countenance. “Is there aught amiss? Something that occurred in Dol Amroth that has not been reported to me?”

“Nay. I merely spoke with a few of Adrahil’s counselors. They bid me…”

“What?”

“They bid me take care of my own needs, else they be wiped away by the needs of Gondor.” A sharp laugh startled her. Indis eyes were bright with anger.

“We should all take care, but Gondor already owns my everything. Are you bitter?’

“Nay! But I would be by my husband’s side!”

“Ragnhild. Would you think I would ask you to stay here whilst he battles our foes alone? Why would you think such a thing? Borondir will be gone many months; I would not expect you to stay here at court whilst he is in Tarnost.”

“You said naught about my accompanying him.”

“You did not give me much chance, Counselor.”

“Then I beg your forgiveness. I have not unpacked yet, from the trip to Dol Amroth. Might I be excused to pack for Tarnost?”

“Go. Though I ask that Borondir and you join us for this evening’s daymeal.” Indis studied her friend carefully, “but if you must needs stay way, I will understand.”

Ragnhild looked up and blushed. “Faramir has a surprise ready for you. I would not have the lad think I did not care for him.” Her mouth grew grim. “I have come to love him very much.”

Indis smiled. “Then go and do what you must. We will see you at the feast.”

Ragnhild saluted and left.

Indis turned in bewilderment to Listöwel. “I do not understand her… anger? What happened in Dol Amroth, Listöwel?”

“Naught. Though Borondir spent a considerable amount of time with Faramir and Ragnhild was left on her own quite a bit. She spent much time with Adrahil’s counselors. I thought she was enjoying herself, but sometime in the last few weeks, she has become sullen.”

“This feels more than sullenness. There was no sign of the wizard in Dol Amroth, was there?”

“Nay! Prince Adrahil knows of your misgivings about Curunír. He would have let us know. I… Indis, did you speak much with Ragnhild after the wizard left Gondor?”

“I did not. That very night, you took Faramir south. Did you speak with her during the voyage?”

“I did not. She suffered sickness, of the sea. She kept mostly to her cabin.”

“Listöwel, please find Mithrandir and ask him to join me at his earliest convenience.”

Listöwel shivered. “I will. Do you think… she cannot be under a spell, can she?”

“I know not. She was taken by the wizard’s words. I must speak with Mithrandir before I can make any sense of this.”

“She is our sword-sister and sister-friend.”

“I know that. Please, leave me for now.”

Gondor’s Captain-General nodded, gave Indis a quick hug, and left her.

Much as Indis might have hoped, she did not have a moment to ponder the uneasiness that filled her with Ragnhild’s behavior, for Faramir burst into the room, laughing as the wizard who followed him, blew smoke rings into the room.

“Look, Amma, Mithrandir is here!”

She could do naught but laugh herself. Faramir brought light and joy into any room; it seemed all shadow from the last year was wiped from him. “Sit, the both of you, and tell me what you have been about.”

After an hour’s listening to adventure after adventure by the shores of the Sea, Indis raised her hands. “I can bear no more such tales. I must go away to Dol Amroth this very moment and see what you have seen.”

Faramir beamed. “I will come with you and show you everything. But, what time is it? I have things that I must do for the daymeal.” He jumped up when Indis told him the time. “I must be off. I cannot leave… The cooks… Targon… I must go, Amma. May we have the daymeal in Merethond? I have invited a few friends. If you do not mind?”

“You are Steward, Faramir. The feasting hall is yours. Do with it what you will. Though I am most curious now.”

“I cannot tell you anything, but it will be such fun.” He ran forward and hugged her. “Mithrandir is coming too!”

“For that I am glad. Well, get yourself off and do what you must. I will see you in the feasting hall.”

He ran from the room, poor Valanestel trying to keep up with him.

“He is growing into a fine lad. Is he the reason you sent for me, Indis?”

“He is… was. It seemed there might have been some spell upon him." She sat and slumped in her chair. “Thorongil, I thought, had saved him, but he was listless and barely ate. I was overjoyed that he was awake and aware, so I hardly noticed it at first. Then, he grew paler and thinner, and I began to suspect that the enchantment that Thorongil thought was upon Faramir, had returned. Though how, I could not say.

But he was lost, a little over a month ago, in Ithilien. I know,” she waved a hand in distress, “Borondir took him on a fishing trip, to take his mind from thoughts of Théodred, who had left us, and Boromir, of course. The boy was attacked by a badger and fell into the Anduin. He was lost for over a week. Thorongil found him and saved him. From what Faramir tells me of his time with the Ranger, there was a ritual or some such, with Thorongil’s two Elvish brothers – do not ask me how that is – and Faramir, it seems, was totally released from whatever assailed him. He returned healthy and happy and with a voracious appetite.”

The wizard puffed steadily on his pipe. “Did Thorongil write to you telling you of this?”

“Nay. I think our men found Faramir before Thorongil had a moment to write a missive. He could not let himself be found by our men. They would have tried to crown him king or some such. You know many remember him well from his years of service to my father. He said he is not ready, the last time we spoke. Speaking of Thorongil… is the Crown rightly his?”

The wizard’s brows barely lifted, but enough to make Indis’ conjectures rise even further.

“Thorongil is his own man. Did he tell you he is Gondor’s King?”

“Of course he did not! Blast you, Mithrandir. You are as circumspect as ever. If he is King, why does he not? Never the mind. I remember his words. We are not ready, or he is not ready, or some such. But I tell you this, I weary of this Rod. And I have only held it a short time.”

The wizard smiled at her, kindly. “You hold it well. I think you should consider it yours for many a long year, Indis. What are your plans for Faramir?” he easily changed the subject.

“Hiding him from wizards takes the highest priority!” she quipped.

He laughed loudly and long, then took another puff and sent the smoke to the ceiling.

She quickly stood and opened a window. “I have heard tales that you can make the air in a room unbreathable with that thing! Is it part of the tricks of a wizard?” Her brow furrowed and her eyes saddened. “Mithrandir, now that the danger seems lessened for Faramir, I would ask your opinion.”

“I will do what I can to answer your questions.”

“The voice of Curunír. I have felt its gentle touch and almost been consumed, nay, overwhelmed by it. Yet, I was able to combat… That seems a strange thing to say, does it not, fight against a voice! Yet I saw Éomund and Ragnhild succumb to it and speak words they would never have uttered before. If – this is difficult – if a person listens and succumbs, does the enchantment stay with them?” Another puff or two of smoke and Indis was ready to scream.

At last, the wizard spoke. “There are powers within each wizard to be used only for good. Something has happened to my old friend, and, though I believe he has all good intentions, it seems he looks to the end to justify his uses of his power. Yes, Indis, to be blunt, if a person has succumbed, they can be held in a wizard’s grasp. Who do you suspect?”

Tears began to slowly slip down her cheeks. “My friend, Ragnhild.”

“The Rohirric healer? Your counselor?”

“Yes.”

“I suggest you send her away for a time. Perhaps she will heal and be freed. I will discuss this with Curunír. Feel him out.”

“Thank you. I am sending her to Tarnost with her husband. There are still some pockets of treachery in Lebennin. I hope to rout it out.”

Mithrandir sighed. “Treachery is our oldest enemy, Indis. Keep a watch.”

She nodded.

“Now. What are your plans for Faramir?”

She laughed and launched into the tale of the river and the trip to Dol Amroth and Faramir’s becoming Thorongil’s esquire. Soon, it was time to prepare for the daymeal. The wizard excused himself and she went into her dressing chamber, washed and dressed in a fitting, celebratory outfit.

As she walked into the hall, she rejoiced at the faces of her friends, her captains and the lords of Gondor. All faithful friends, she hoped. Except, perhaps… She stopped those thoughts. Ragnhild looked happy, seated next to Borondir. Faramir, of course, sat in the Steward’s chair and smiled when he saw her. She quickly moved forward and took her seat.

Faramir stood. “It is good to be home again. Truly home with family and friends, loyal comrades, devoted lords. Your Steward thanks you for your every kindness this past year. I vow never to fall into a river again.” He stopped and waited for the gentle laughter to subside. “I promise to visit Dol Amroth only once every other day.” More laughter stopped him. “And I promise to be the leader that my father strove to make Boromir.” Hushed silence and bowed heads greeted these words. After a moment, Faramir continued, “I have brought a present back from Dol Amroth, something that I hope you will enjoy this evening.” He clapped his hands and the servants brought forth huge trays of bright red crabs. The assemblage clapped in delight and Indis smiled broadly.

“Tomorrow, Amma, I would spend time with you and discuss my duties. I would also like to meet with my captains. Would that be possible?” He spoke over the din of dishes and hearty laughter and deep conversations.

“Yes. After tonight’s meal, we will meet in my study with Listöwel. I have not received the official report of your visit yet. After that, you and I will rest for the night and meet to break our fast. At that time, we will discuss Gondor. I would have Húrin join us as well as Listöwel.”

“And Borondir and Ragnhild,” he reminded her.

“Faramir. There is some unrest in Tarnost. I am sending Borondir and Ragnhild, on the morrow, to Lebennin. They will need their rest this night, for I would have them leave at first light.”

The boy nodded. “Very well. You will tell me, tomorrow, what sort of trouble there is in Lebennin?”

She smiled. “I will, my Steward.”

“Good. Then let this matter rest for the nonce and let us enjoy the feast.” He stopped, a look of chagrin upon his face. “You do like crab, do you not, Amma?”

Chapter Forty-One - To Be Steward

Faramir met with his Regent on the following morning, and by the next morning, with the help of Húrin, the men of Gondor’s army. The First, Second, Third and Fourth Companies assembled in the Courtyard of the Citadel.

Indis and Listöwel stood a goodly number of paces behind the Steward and watched, with bated breath, as the boy, for the first time, addressed his men.

“Warriors of Gondor,” he began in a clear, strong, though youth-filled voice, “I come to speak to you in defense of a cause as hallowed as the cause of life itself -- the cause of Gondor – and,” here a blush covered his face, seen only by those who stood closest to him, “to present myself to you. My mother used to tell me, ‘the humblest person in all the land, when clad in the armor of a righteous cause, is stronger than all the hosts of the Enemy.’ I am but one of the youngest of Gondor’s people, and yet, I have you beside me, to fight for Gondor and protect her people. I cannot tell you how proud that makes me feel… and how humble. By a distressing twist of fate, I am now your Steward, the lord you have pledged fealty to. Yet I am confident – for I have felt your service over this last year.” He choked and Indis stepped forward; Listöwel stayed her as Faramir continued. “We have suffered great loss, you and I, but we will be stronger because of it. We have been united in a way no other in our realm’s long history can voice.

This is a history with tales of great deeds that once would succor us in our hour of distress. No longer can we hear these tales, for the stories our mothers tell today are but those of sorrow, tears and grief. We have lived this story this past year.” He struggled; they all saw it and sorrowed. At last, their Steward continued. “But I would remind you - our main beliefs are undying - this is now a contest over beliefs that, hateful as war is to us for we are born of a people of peace, must be defended at all cost. I have lost much in this cause, but no less nor more than you and your own families. I have seen your steadfastness in the daily struggle. If I could somehow render it such, that no others would die, I would give my very own life to have that happen.” He paused and his men waited. Not a soldier standing before the Steward could not but feel the grief that coursed through the boy. Yet, he persisted.

“Despite the conflict that is upon us, I would make friends in every manly way of the people of all races by whom we are surrounded – with that, we can be sure in our future. I call you to that new purpose. Higher good will come in a blotting out of differences, animosities, and suspicions, those very things that have plotted to wipe out Gondor as we know it. Our neighbors to the south and the east cannot be called friend. Yet, I would offer them friendship, if they will take it. I expect you to do the same. My grandfather opened the armies of Gondor to peoples of all the lands of Middle-earth. I would continue that practice. We are not alone. If we were, we would surely fail.

We have seen the strength of friendship succor us through a time of terrible treachery. Gondor’s stalwart friend to the West, Rohan itself, gave much of her own blood for our safety - in ages past and in this day. I would remind you of the sight of Rohan’s army on the Pelennor, gathered in partnership with the Knights of Dol Amroth, ready to do battle for Gondor. Need I say more of the value of friendship?

Such friendships will be needed in the years ahead of us. There are those who claim our strength is inadequate to protect on all fronts, that we cannot divide our efforts. I can think of no greater demonstration of despair. If our Enemy can divide His strength on many fronts, it is for us to counter His efforts. This will take a greater commitment from us than any we have thus far known. I see in your eyes and your stalwart stance that you understand and agree. We must continue to fight on all fronts, but in the meantime, we must begin to build these friendships using aid and arms. Our neighbors cannot battle alone either. We must help them see the battle for what it is. Mordor shares with no one, yet the lies the Enemy spreads suggests He will share the bounty of the fall of Gondor. We know that to be untrue. We must make our neighbors see the truth.” Faramir’s voice faltered. He cleared his throat and apologized.

“There are some who for varying reasons would appease Mordor. They are blind to history's clear lesson, for history teaches with unmistakable emphasis that appeasement but begets new and bloodier war. It points to no single instance where this end has justified that means, where appeasement had led to more than a sham peace. Our Enemy is Enemy to the One and to the Valar – to all in Middle-earth! To battle effectively, we must become one people. I do not speak of conquest of our neighbors, but treaties and respect.

Progress toward this noble purpose, the preservation of peace, is persis,” he stumbled over the word and tried again, “persistently threatened by the conflict now engulfing Middle-earth. It commands our whole attention, absorbs our very being. We face an Evil ruthless in purpose and insidious in method. Unhappily the danger He poses promises to be of indefinite duration. To meet it successfully, there is called for, not so much the emotional and fleeting sacrifices of crisis, but rather those which enable us to carry forward steadily, surely, and without complaint the burdens of a prolonged and complex struggle -- with life and freedom the stake. Only thus shall we remain, despite every provocation, on our charted course toward permanent peace, betterment for all, and, ultimately, our very survival. Down the long lane of the history yet to be written, Gondor knows that this world of ours must avoid becoming a world of dreadful fear and hate, and be instead, a proud alliance of mutual trust and respect.

If we go forward with our hand outstretched in peace to our neighbors, and challenge them to open their minds and their hearts and see the Evil that tries to lead them, then we will have won a part of the battle, the greatest part of all. Mordor cannot defeat us if we are one. I rely upon you to help me in your dealings with our neighbors. You are on the forefront of this battle, not I. When the battle is done and the captives are won, send them to Minas Tirith. We will do all that we can to combat the lies they have listened to and turn them to the cause of freedom from Evil.

This I ask of you as your Steward.

He paused for a long moment, seeming to grapple with tears. “As the son of Denethor, I come to you with heartfelt thanks. Ever have you been worthy of the name, ‘Knights of Gondor.’ From generation to generation, you have carried the blood of Númenor to greater heights. Some would say we are declining, that our blood is no longer pure, but even the hint of that noble blood runs in each of us. Remember that as you go forward. Once we were the friends of Elves and called Faithful. I would have that again. I have stated before, we are not alone. I call to memory the Last Great Alliance that saved Gondor and all of Middle-earth. In some small way, I wish to again create such an Alliance. With our neighbors and with the other races that once felled the Enemy. Would you join me in that? Would you open your hearts and your minds to greatness again? Shared with our neighbors – Men, Elves and Dwarves? I cannot see Gondor’s survival if we do not.

The young Steward cleared his throat, raised the pitch of his voice, and spoke as loudly as he could. “Men of Gondor, Knights of the Realm, are you with me? Will you stand for Gondor? Will you help others stand for their lands? Will you help me fight the One we do not name?”

He stepped back, reeling in exhaustion, but, as the chant, ‘Faramir,’ rose and filled the Citadel with its bellow of fervor, loyalty, and love from the throats of almost three hundred men, Faramir stood straight and strong.

~*~

A/N – This speech took quite some time to write, for I wanted it to ‘define’ Faramir’s idea of stewardship and the path he hoped to take his people on; for him to come to terms with his own ideas for Gondor and try to explain those to his men. Therefore, I did quite a bit of research and used the following speeches as a framework for the young Steward’s speech.

William Jennings Bryan's, "Cross of Gold" speech, delivered at the Democratic National Convention, Chicago, IL, July 9, 1896 http://historymatters.gmu.edu/d/5354/

Emma Goldman’s - "What is Patriotism?" speech San Francisco, CA, 1908 http://www.panarchy.org/goldman/patriotism.html

Booker T. Washington speaks before the Atlanta Cotton States and International Exposition Atlanta, GA, September 18, 1895 http://www.edchange.org/multicultural/speeches/booker_atlanta.html

General Macarthur Speech - Old soldiers never die they just fade away http://www.goodspeechtopics.com/famous-speeches/famous-speech-old-soldiers-never-die-they-just-fade-away.html

Military-Industrial Complex Speech, Dwight D. Eisenhower, 1961 http://coursesa.matrix.msu.edu/~hst306/documents/indust.html

Chapter Forty-Two - Missed Celebrations

Mettarë was nigh almost upon them and neither Indis nor Faramir could bring themselves to a true enjoyment of the feast days. The festival meal was being arranged in Merethrond for the lords and captains of Gondor whilst entertainment was set in every Circle of the City for the people, yet both the Steward and his Regent were cheerless.

Faramir was distraught, for Éomund, though he had promised to bring Théodred for the feasting time, was unable to attend. Théodwyn was with child and the young Marshal could not bring himself to leave her. The present that Théoden sent almost made up for the lack. A package arrived almost a fortnight before Mettarë with a note asking that Faramir not wait until the feast day, but open it now and use it. Faramir sat at Indis’ feet and opened the large package. His face beamed as he ran his hand over the finest saddle he had ever seen. Indis near wept at the joy in his face. “It is beautiful, is it not, Amma? May I go to the stables now and put it on Antvorn back and ride out for a bit?”

Indis laughed and nodded. “Go! But take Targon with you. The boy has been cooped up too long in the kitchens preparing for the festivities!”

Faramir showed Valanestel, as if the guard did not know, how to pick up the saddle and carry it. He then kissed Indis and ran out the door, almost bumping into Listöwel as he left.

Gondor’s Captain-General watched them leave with some amusement, but the smile faded from her as she watched her Regent crumple into a nearby chair.

Indis keenly felt the loss of Arciryas. This now was the second Mettarë since his death and she found she was keeping it hard. The first had been so enmeshed in fear and grief for Faramir that she hardly had time to give it but a moment’s thought. Now, the halls were empty of her husband’s laughter and their bed was cold. She wept bitterly far too many nights. It was grown difficult to even eat, and sleep had become nigh unto an impossibility. The loss of her brother gave weight to her grief and Listöwel was become concerned.

“Take yourself and Faramir to Dol Amroth. The prince will welcome you warmly. Or ride to Edoras. You know Aldburg is not far from there. Éomund could visit for a short time and Faramir would have Théodred’s company. A change of scenery would do you both good. These halls and this Citadel are a constant reminder of a life that is no longer.”

“I would heed such advice, my friend, but travel has been our constant companion these last two years. It is time we settled, time we looked to each other for love and support. Dearest Faramir cannot endure another trip, not so soon. Our people need us here for the festival; their hearts are also sore-tried.”

“No matter what festivities you devise, they will still remember their Steward and Boromir.”

“But Faramir is now Steward and they have grown to love him. We will make sure he is quite visible in many of the activities, that they might gain hope from his presence.”

“If that is your wish. I will place extra guards during the events. I still feel an unease since the wizard left us.”

“But Mithrandir is here.” Indis’ eyes brightened. “Mayhap he will deign to entertain us with fireworks? We must ask him.” A smile began to filter from her eyes to her lips. “Yes, a grand display, if he is willing. We could set up a place for him on the Pelennor, that way the people would be able to watch from the walls and everyone could see.”

“We did not mark Faramir’s birthing day. This is the second year that circumstances have been such that we have neglected this day.”

Indis nodded and a shudder passed over her. “Would that this be the last of any such missed anniversaries. The year of Denethor’s death, the City reeled with grief and Faramir was still healing from his wounds. This year, he was lost.” Indis stood up and paced around her small private study, shuddering and rubbing her hands over her arms. “I think you speak well. We will combine the feast days and his birthing day. There is not much time; we have much to do.”

Húrin’s entrance and the note he delivered took away all thoughts of celebration. Under Indis’ direction, the merchant from Linhir, Barach, had established a stall in the marketplace in Pelargir and was keeping watch over Haleth’s band of treacherous knaves who were camped across the Anduin. Under cover of night, the men of the traitorous company would cross the River and do trade with the vendor, who made it known he was unsympathetic to the new Regent. At last, Indis and Listöwel vaguely understood Haleth’s actions. The traitor, after many visits and nights of drinking Barach’s brews, would expound his hatred of the House of Húrin and boast that one day he would free his brother and take the Throne. Barach let the lad speak, though some of the soldiers with him tried to silence the boy; drink and lack of common sense overrode any advice whatsoever. Haleth planned a surprise attack, from inside the Citadel, much like his father, on the feast of Yáviérë. The entire City would be celebrating with the spring festivities, usually held upon the Pelennor. The boy thought it would be easy to sneak into the Citadel, rescue his brother, and take the Throne whilst the people cavorted on the plain.

“Perhaps it is because Minas Tirith was so easily won by Amandil that the fool thinks we can twice be duped,” Húrin growled.

Indis was not listening. “Yáviérë,” she muttered to herself. “Faramir will be with Thorongil in Lossarnach. He will be safe and guarded. Yes, Yáviérë is a good choice.” She lifted her face to her friends. “We will bring ten companies to the north side of the River Erui. The terrain there is flat, but grasslands lie on either side of the river. We will hide in the brush and wait for them and crush them.” Her teeth were clenched as she brought her fist up and shook it.

Listöwel shivered.

~*~

“So you wish me to distract Gondor’s people from their sorrow by a fireworks display? And what would you be doing, in the meantime?”

Indis blushed at the wizard’s carefully veiled question. She sighed. “You were counselor to my father, Mithrandir. I know naught passes your notice. I assume you know of the rebellion that grows in the gardens of Ithilien?”

He nodded and she continued. “The enemy plans an attack on Yáviérë. We will meet them at the Crossings of Erui and strike them down. Are you satisfied?”

“Do you know their numbers?”

“We are fairly certain. Borondir and Ragnhild are in Tarnost and watch closely the comings and going in the area. They have many spies within the confines of those who are deemed false to Faramir. We also have a merchant at Pelargir who has befriended the young lord who commands the men who plan to attack us.”

“Mettarë must be a spectacular festival so as to keep Haleth and his men from becoming concerned?”

“You even know his name?” She shuddered.

“I have my own ways of learning things. Be assured, your men do not give out such information. It is with other tools that I garner my information.”

She remembered the hidden room at the top of the stairs and drew in a quick breath.

“Is all well with you, Indis?”

“I am learning I do not like some of the duties of Regent,” she snapped, then quickly apologized. “I would have such tools as you possess to protect Faramir and my people.”

“I think not, fair Lady. You have all the tools you need; look not to other things, magic and such, to garner knowledge. Knowledge gained in that way brings grief.”

“If I can but save my people from treachery, is not any means worthwhile?”

“I think not.”

She shrugged. “Will you help me with Mettarë? Will you provide fireworks?”

He looked at her, too long in her estimation, and finally nodded. “I will set up the things I need on the afternoon of the feast day itself. Once Anor sets, I will set them off. I will do my best to make it spectacular – if for naught else than young Faramir’s enjoyment. He has suffered these past years and I would do what I can to help him heal.”

“Thorongil has already done more than could be asked for.”

“He is a good man.”

“Where lives he?”

The wizard chuckled. “You will gain no further information from me, Regent. Thorongil, if he deems the time right, will enlighten you. Will you go to Lossarnach with Faramir?”

“Nay. I will be with Listöwel, leading our troops against Haleth and his men. But come, enough of that talk. Join me for this evening’s daymeal. Faramir will be with me as will Listöwel. I promise, we will keep the banter light.”

“I would like that very much.”

~*~

Mettarë, deemed spectacular by the inhabitants of Minas Tirith, still tasted bitter to Indis. Try as she might, she could not bring herself to enjoy aught but Faramir. That the lad was happy was quite apparent, at least during the wizard’s display; however, as she came to his room to bid him good night, she heard his sobs. She waited a moment, hoping they would still and not wishing to embarrass him. At last, the sobs subsided. She knocked gently on the door and entered.

“It was a lovely feast, was it not?”

The boy nodded in the semi-darkness of the room.

She bit her lip to keep from crying herself. “I pretended Arciryas, Denethor and Boromir sat next to me as I watched the fireworks.” She sat on the bed and watched his eyes widen.

“Oh! Amma!” he cried and lunged for her, holding her tightly about the waist. “I pretended Boromir sat next to me.” Wails accompanied this announcement.

“They all were with us, Faramir. Believe that. They have not left us, I swear. Who gave you the courage to continue when you were alone on the River? Who gave me the strength to fight the smelly wizard?” She felt his smile. “Who is with me when I have to listen to the people’s needs and judge them? We could not do these things alone. They are with us and helping us. I truly believe this, Faramir.”

The boy cried a little longer, then loosened his grip. “I talk to Boromir every night. I tell him what happened to me during the day. Do you really think he hears me?”

“I do hope so, for I do the same with Arciryas. And even my brother, sometimes.”

“I showed him the presents I received. And when I road Antvorn out onto the Pelennor, I sang his favorite song.” The boy sobbed. “You remember it, do you not, Amma?”

“The one about fishing on the River?”

“That very one. Except, I seem to have forgotten the last verse.” Another sob.

“I think it went this way…

The fire blazes red and strong

As we prepare the meal.

You sit by me

We laugh and joke

And sometimes on the smoke

We choke.

“And all night long we sing the songs,” Faramir joined her on the chorus, “of fish and frogs and fireflies lights. And sleep beneath the starry skies and dream of friendships warm and bright.”

He held her again tightly. “Will the pain ever go away, Amma? I do not want to forget Boromir, but my heart hurts so much sometimes.” Another sob and more tears fell.

“The pain will go away, but the memories will not, Faramir. Not as long as we hold them close. That is the gift Boromir and your father and my sweet Arciryas left for us – the memory of them. Now sleep, sweet child, know I am but a moment away, if you need me.”

He hugged her and let her tuck him in. “Good night, Amma. I love you so much.”

She kissed him on the brow, then on his lips, and wiped the tears from his cheeks. “I love you too, beloved boy. Sleep tight.”

~*~

A/N - Many thanks to Fiondil - who helped me see the 'error' of my ways in the naming of Faramir's mare from Theoden... Here's his note - Antvorn_ "Black gift"

Chapter Forty-Three - The Gift of the Elves

Indis searched through every drawer of Denethor’s desks – both in his public and private studies. She was close to her wits end. Finally, as she sat upon Denethor’s bed, dejected for her search for the key to the Tower room that held what she hoped was the Palantír, seemed for naught, she perceived the bottom drawer of his bureau looked deeper on the outside than she had seen when it was open. She stood and ran to it. Pulling the drawer open, she noted, for the first time, its weight. It was very heavy for the few pieces of clothing in it. Her heart began to flutter with excitement. Gently, she removed the clothing and placed them on the floor. When the drawer was at last emptied, she saw she had been correct – the drawer was deeper; there was a false bottom in it. She drew her dirk and pushed it into the space between the side and the bottom. It easily pried up and she found the bottom board in her hand. Trembling, she lifted it out of the way and looked down. Her heart rose and sank in an instant. The blue, star-hemmed cloak of Finduilas lay before her. She choked at the remembrance. Lovingly, she caressed the material and remembered, as tears fell, the two times in Finduilas’ short life that the Steward’s wife had warn the garment. On a whim, she took it out, planning to have it cleaned and stored for Faramir to give, perhaps, to his own wife, when the time came.

As she drew the cloak forth, a broach fell out, the sound of it as if hitting something soft. She carefully placed the cloak on the floor and gasped. A dark blue velvet case lay in the bottom of the drawer. Indis opened the case and smiled. An ancient key lay inside; she knew it was what she looked for. She leaned back on her heels and breathed a sigh of relief. She pocketed the key and put the false bottom back in the drawer, along with the clothes and the blue case

Gazing out the window, she saw Anor was well behind Mindolluin. If she went now, she would be able to return in time for the daymeal; she patted the pocketed key, and went to the hidden door. She pulled her shoulders back and walked slowly up the stairs. When she reached the topmost door, she pulled the key from her pocket and placed it into the keyhole. The door unlocked with nary a sound. She shivered, then walked inside.

The room was quite bare - only a plinth in the middle with a black cover on what appeared to be a rounded object. The walls were bare except for one small bookcase along the south wall. There was one window in the Tower room; it faced eastwards. Indis walked to it and looked out upon the Pelennor. She had never been this high before and was startled at how much one could see, all the way across to the River Anduin. The ruins of Osgiliath shone in the afternoon light. She bent forward a bit and looked northwards and then southwards. The land of Gondor stretched before her on either side, but there were not many landmarks of note. She was too high to see the Harlond.

Breathing a soft sigh, she turned and faced the plinth. She walked slowly towards it, considering what she would do first, uncover it or look at the books in the bookcase. ‘Stop dawdling!’ she reprimanded herself and walked resolutely to the plinth, pulling the cloth off in one swipe. Taken unawares at the lightness of the covering, she dropped it and it fell to the floor as she stared at the orb in surprise. It was smaller than she had thought. There were no identifying marks on it, but she knew it was the Palantír, one of the Seven Seeing Stones of Arda, probably the only remaining Seeing Stone.

Indis moved around the plinth and stood behind it, facing the east. Her heart began to flutter while her hands moved, almost of their own volition, towards it. As she touched it, she groaned and dropped her hands. ‘I cannot do this,’ she whispered and ran from the room.

Indis stopped her musing and shuddered. Only a fortnight after that, she had found her courage and gone back to the Tower room and looked, almost losing herself to Him. If not for Mithrandir! Another shudder coursed through her, but she steeled herself. Faramir would be leaving for Lossarnach in less than a month. Besides that, though of lesser import to her, she would be coming against Haleth’s forces at the River Erui. She needed to look – if for nothing else – to ensure Faramir’s safety, now she knew the globe might show her, for had not Mithrandir hinted of the possibility? She returned to the Tower room and walked about it for a bit. Finally, she went to the bookcase and found Denethor’s journal and a raft of papers. After caressing the journal, she pulled it open. Inside, written in his scholarly hand, was a detailed listing of the dates and times Denethor had used the globe, and also all the places he saw. She had never thought her brother looked into the globe – yet she discovered he had. And many times.

Indis returned to her study, rang the bell, ordered solitude, filled a glass with wine, and sat on one of the stuffed high-backed chairs that flanked the fireplace. Opening the journal, she spent the next three hours reading. Finally, she closed the book. Her tear-laden cheeks burned. Denethor had assuaged his grief over Finduilas’ death by watching her – through the Palantír – looking at the past from the moment he first espied his beloved Finduilas until the last moments of her life. Indis heart was filled with grief. Although she now knew she could ‘see’ Arciryas once again, she saw the folly of it through Denethor’s writings. The more her brother watched his beloved Finduilas, the more despair assailed him and grief became more than a daily pain – it became a great open sore. The longing he suffered for her every time he released the globe overshadowed the joy of seeing his adored wife. Finally, Indis noted, he stopped using it. He wrote that he could no longer endure the suffering. She held the journal to her heart and bent over, weeping at her brother’s grief.

After a time, she sat back. Slowly she forced the grief from her and began to recall the purpose for reading Denethor’s journal – to find out what It could do. ‘So one can see the past and some portion of the future if one is strong enough.’ She immediately decided she would look neither forward nor backward. The present held pain enough for her. But she would look. For Faramir’s sake.

The sky was still light; night would be upon her shortly, but she had no other duties. She found the key, went through the hidden door and walked back up the stairs to the Tower room. She pulled away the cloth and placed her hands on either side of the globe. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to concentrate on Lossarnach. She gasped as it opened to her and before her lay the fields of that fair land. There was no sign, of course, of Thorongil, as she watched farmers plowing their fields for the spring crop.

A touch to her mind caused her to look eastward. A shiver ran down her spine; she pulled the globe southward and It obeyed her. It took her but a quarter of an hour to find Haleth’s army on the eastern bank of the Anduin. At first she gasped at the size of his force and then realized that there were women and children and vendors in the crowd. The uniformed men were few – at least compared to Gondor’s army. She smiled. If all went well, they would crush this rebellion.

Another touch and the globe swirled her mind to face eastward. She drew in a shuddering breath and dropped her hands. She would not look East!

~*~

And so it came to pass that the time for farewells was upon them. Upon discussion with Listöwel, Húrin, and Imrahil, the prince having stayed on after the Mettarë feasting, it was decided that Imrahil would take Faramir south, along with Valanestel, and leave the boy with Morwen’s people at their farm in Lossarnach. A company of men would follow close by – far enough not to cause suspicion, but close enough to offer succor if it was needed. Imrahil and his entourage would ride on to Dol Amroth and the company of Gondor’s Knights would bivouac along the River Erui, as if they were on training exercises.

Faramir was apprised of the tactic and warned not to come back to Minas Tirith until his uncle came to Lossarnach. Imrahil would be their guarantee of Faramir’s safety, should aught go amiss with the battle.

Both parties left at the same time, though Faramir was hidden within Imrahil’s contingent. Loath were aunt and nephew to say their farewells, yet hope ever drove them on. Indis was quite confident her plan would work as reports from her spy in Pelargir about Haleth and his army continued to note the young man’s folly. It seemed even in the most public places, the boy would speak of his hatred for the Stewards and his plan to usurp them. Borondir reported that only a few more men had left Tarnost, headed southeastward, to join the traitor’s forces. The soldier was confident that the number Barach spoke of was, indeed, the number of men who followed the son of Amandil the Traitor.

As Indis and Listöwel sat by the banks of the river the next morning, she recalled the day Thengel’s wife, Morwen, had lost her first child, very close to the very spot they sat upon. Only a month carrying, the child had never fully settled in its mother’s womb; it was lost. Indis sat back and sighed. “Would that I had at least that experience. I have never felt the stirring of a babe in my body.”

Listöwel looked at her friend in surprise. “Arciryas was a healer. Was he never able to discern why you did not conceive?”

She blushed. “We never discussed it. The shame was mine, I am sure.” She bit her lip. “He did not seem to care; his patients were his children.”

~*~

The supply wagons and the rest of Indis’ troops arrived late the next day. The rest of that day and the evening was spent in putting an army to rest.

Morning of the fourth day came and before she even broke her fast, Indis decided it was time to begin preparing the battle site. They would take one infantry company and dig holes and rig bushes and such to hide the men. Listowel and she were in the midst of discussing which captain would lead the cavalry when they were interrupted. Balan brought Ciramir and Durahil to her. Both captains bowed and saluted, then sat at her gesture. “The men are ready, Regent,” Ciramir began. “I would have you inspect the riverbed; I would have your approval of the placement of the men for the battle.”

Indis nodded. “I will come with you. Listöwel, please accompany me. Balan, would you have a meal ready when we return? Captains Ciramir and Durahil – it would please me if you joined me for the breaking of your fast.” When they nodded their agreement, Balan saluted and left them. The four walked towards the river.

“I believe the place you have chosen will guarantee a victory, Regent,” Ciramir stated. “There are bushes and small trees that o’erhang the bank; it will be easy enough for a company to hide there. You plan on secreting the other nine companies far afield?”

“I do. I do not want to give our position away. One company will hold the river and begin the attack. It will only take moments for the other companies to join us.”

“I wish you would reconsider, my Regent,” Durahil spoke quietly. “If you stay back with the second assault force, it would be safer.”

She smiled at him. “Safer, yes, but wiser – I think not. I have been in battle before, Durahil.” Indis eyes clouded in sorrow as she spoke. She shook herself, physically, and continued, “There have been one or two scuffles that I participated in,” she smiled openly now. “Listöwel and I. Now, come show me what you have prepared.”

They were just finishing the inspection when a hue and cry arose from back towards their camp. Indis mounted and rode swiftly, along with her captains, arriving just in time to see a lone horseman fall from his mount. As Indis dismounted, she heard the name, ‘Borondir,’ called out and ran and knelt next to the fallen warrior.

“We have been betrayed, Indis,” the man cried in anguish when he saw his Regent, “Ragnhild takes Haleth and his men to Morwen’s farm. They will kidnap Faramir!”

“What is this?” Listöwel was at Indis’ side. “Why has she done this? How could she…?”

Indis interrupted her. “How and why are of no matter,” the Regent turned back to Borondir. “How many men does he take? Our scouts say his army still marches towards us.”

Ciramir held the warrior’s head up. “Three hundred come against you as a ruse. Haleth has taken his best, about one hundred strong, all horsed. He has already met Ragnhild, I am sure. They will already be at the farm. Hard as I tried to ride…”

Indis shushed him. “Rest now, friend. We will save Faramir.”

Borondir tried to reach for her hand, but failed. “Do not kill her,” he begged, weeping. “She is changed; she is not herself.” But he was speaking to the wind; Indis was already in deep discussion with her captains.

“We send four companies for the original trap. Durahil, you know the plan well; you will lead the men at the river. Ciramir, you will take two cavalry companies and head south until you find Haleth’s trail. Watch for signs. I cannot believe they have already reached the farm. My scouts would have warned us of their progress. Baran, you will lead two more companies to the northwest, in case Ragnhild has already kidnapped…” She stopped and gasped, trying to catch her breath as the horror of which she spoke smote her. Listöwel took hold of her arm and held it tightly. Indis controlled herself and spoke again, “You will watch their retreat, Baran. I think the safest way for them to make their escape would be into the foothills. Follow those; see if you pick up a trail. If you do, follow it and send a rider back to me. Listöwel, you and I will take the remaining two companies to Morwen’s farm where,” she pointed to Ciramir and Baran, “you will meet us if you have not engaged Haleth.” She paused. “We will find them and we will take back what is ours!”

The Regent of Gondor clenched her teeth, turned and ran to her horse. Listöwel followed and the two women rode off, accompanied by Indis’ personal guard and the First and Second Cavalry.

Chapter Forty-Four - Of Stewards and Kings

For two days, once Aragorn came out of the mountains, Imrahil and he renewed their friendship. The brothers of Morwen Steelsheen treated them warmly and opened their houses to them. Imrahil’s men were bivouacked in a field nearby. Valanestel and his company rode on a few leagues to set up camp near the River Erui. Faramir spent those two days romping with the farm children, playing with the spring lambs, and fishing in a nearby stream – not a very deep one. At last, Imrahil deemed it time to leave. “It has been a pleasure seeing you once again, Thorongil. Are you staying in Gondor? All would welcome you.”

“I cannot – not at this time. I plan on spending the next three months with my Steward, then I will send a rider to Indis…”

Imrahil held up a hand. “If you would give me the honor. I will return in three month’s time and take your Steward back to Minas Tirith. Since you refuse to take your rightful place.”

Aragorn held back the shiver that threatened to betray him.

“You speak of Faramir being your Steward. Indis thinks it is something else. She… Are you Gondor’s King, Thorongil?”

“If I did not know better, I would think you drunk.”

Imrahil stood and walked towards the door. “A King would be useful.”

Aragorn laughed loudly. “Indeed. And yet, you not only have a Steward, you have a Regent. Your country seems top-heavy at the moment.”

Imrahil turned. “My country? If you refuse to answer my question, I will answer it for you. You are Gondor’s King, returned to us at last, but you refuse to take the Kingship, no matter Gondor’s need. Do I deem you a coward then?” The prince physically shook. “Nay. I think not for I have fought beside you and I know your courage. Do you think Gondor needs no King? I cannot believe that. You have seen the strife that comes with having a Steward. Are your credentials so poor you would not pass Mardil’s test? Ah! Mayhap that is the clue. And so you wait. What do you wait for, Thorongil - the masses to rise up and proclaim you? That would have been done the day you returned from the Battle of Umbar. The people cried out your name, but you were not there to hear it. Denethor told me. Was that not enough? Did you need Ecthelion to proclaim it? He would have. Come, Thorongil, be not guarded with me. Tell me why you will not take the Crown.”

“There is naught to discuss. You spout absurdities.”

The Prince of Dol Amroth snorted. “Absurdities or no – Denethor let slip, a time or two, something about you. Indis has done the same. I think they both believed you are Gondor’s King. Tell me why you will not take the Crown.”

“Would you take your father’s crown, Imrahil, though he is still hale and hearty?”

“It is not the same. There is no King to overthrow. I have not the wisdom of my father, nor of Denethor, but I know much of Gondor’s history. What could you fear so, that would keep you from your rightful heritage?” The prince walked back to the door and looked out upon the fields of Lossarnach. Spring roses bloomed along the walkway. He pushed open the door and broke a flower from its stem. A thorn caught his finger. As he put the bleeding digit to his mouth, his head rose. “Kin-strife,” he shuddered as he spoke the word. “You fear kin-strife.” Turning back to Thorongil, he saluted. “I will ask no further questions nor tire you with my rantings. When the time comes, Thorongil, know that I am yours to command.” He turned, walked to his readied horse, and mounted. “I have farewell’d Faramir. Give my thanks to Berthil’s sons for their hospitality,” he shouted as he rode off.

Aragorn sat still until Faramir ran into the room. “I waved to my uncle. Now that he is off will we begin my training?”

Aragorn stood, walked to the door and watched, for a moment, as Imrahil and his men rode away. “So now, my esquire,” he cleared his throat, suddenly very choked at Imrahil’s understanding, then turned to Faramir. “We will perform the ceremony.” Faramir looked up at him in surprise, but kept still. “You have pledged an oath to your Regent and to Gondor, but an esquire must also pledge his fidelity and his service to his Lord and Liege.”

Faramir nodded. “Tell me what I must do and I will do it.”

Aragorn smiled down at the eagerness in the boy’s face. “It is not as elaborate a ceremony as others, Faramir, but your heart must be fixed on this. Do you understand what course you now take?”

“I am to be your esquire. I am to carry your armor, shield and sword. I am to protect you, if need be. I carry your flag and dress you. I care for your horse when in the field.” The boy thought some more. “I hold any prisoners you take. I rescue you, should you be taken prisoner. I make sure you are buried properly if you die. Oh, if your sword breaks, I replace it with a new one. Oh yes! If your horse is injured, I find you a new horse.”

Aragorn laughed long and hard. At last, he turned away and composed his face. “Those are all things that an esquire is required to do.” He turned back towards the boy. “I require more, Faramir. I require fealty and love. Obedience and respect.”

“I will give you those,” the boy nearly jumped with excitement.

“Faramir, kneel.”

The Steward of Gondor did so without a thought.

“Give me your sword.” Faramir drew it forth from its scabbard and handed it, hilt first, to Aragorn. The Dúnedain placed the tip gently on Faramir’s right shoulder. “I now call thee, Faramir, esquire of Gondor and of…” Here the man paused and grimaced. He withdrew the sword and knelt in front of Faramir. “I must speak of something which must not be spoken of to any but Indis. Faramir, the name I have used in the past was Thorongil. It is one of my many names. I cannot allow it to be spoken here in Gondor, but I would have the oath given to me as Thorongil, for that is how Ecthelion commissioned me as a captain in his army. Do you understand?”

Faramir smiled. “I knew you were the great Captain Thorongil, Strider. The way Indis and Uncle Imrahil treated you. You had said, in Ithilien, that you are a captain of Gondor. Who else could you have been but the mighty Thorongil, friend to my father.”

Aragorn held the boy close and wept. “Indeed. I loved your father full well and he loved me. You are indeed your father’s son, Faramir, wise and good. Thank you for keeping my secret.” The Ranger stood and drew a shaky breath. “We will continue.” And in but a moment, Faramir became esquire to Thorongil, Captain and Hero of Gondor.

“Let us be away from here,” Aragorn said at last. “My thoughts have been uneasy this past day. Go to the stable and retrieve our horses. They should be saddled and ready. What little stores I deem necessary are already on the horses. We will live off the land. Now, go, while I farewell our hosts.”

Within the quarter hour, Aragorn and his esquire were away and headed northwestward towards the White Mountains. They followed beside a small stream whose source was probably somewhere high up on Mindolluin. Aragorn kept a clear watch ahead and behind him. He had spoken truly; he was ill at ease. After four hours of fairly easy riding, he raised his hand. Faramir reined in his horse and waited. “We will take but a short break to give our horses rest. Lead the horses to the stream and let them drink. Fill our flasks also.” Aragorn dismounted and began to climb a nearby oak. He smiled as he noted Faramir biting his lip, probably to keep from questioning his lord. He watched as the boy took the horses and walked quickly to the stream.

Once he knew Faramir was safe and there were no enemies about – natural or unnatural – he proceeded to climb higher. His brow rose as close to one hundred men on horses rode about a furlong south of them. They were heavily armed, but not in the livery of Gondor. ‘So this is why I have been wary.’ After a moment, he stiffened in surprise. The men were headed east towards Berthil’s farms. Their horses looked hard-ridden, froth gleamed on their flanks. ‘Hmm, they seem to be men of Tarnost. What are they doing so far from home?’ He watched a little longer to ensure they were indeed headed in the opposite direction, then did a quick survey of the land. When the Ranger had assured himself no others were about, he climbed back down the tree. Faramir and the horses awaited him. The boy wordlessly handed him his refilled flask. Aragorn put his finger to his lips for silence, then motioned for Faramir to join him on a nearby stump.

Speaking as quietly as possible, Aragorn began, “Your uncle told me of a plot to overthrow you; Indis is going to lead an attack against the traitor’s army. Do you know of this?”

Faramir nodded.

“Do you know how many companies Indis took with her?”

“Ten,” Faramir whispered, “four cavalry and six infantry.”

“Then all will be well.” The Ranger smiled again as the boy bit his lip, surprised at the depth of control in one so young. “You are now eight years old, Faramir?”

The boy nodded.

“I saw a large company of men headed eastward. I know not their intentions, Faramir, but I do not think they are friendly. I believe they are men from Tarnost, a part of the traitor’s army. I cannot leave you to warn Indis, but if her numbers are that great, and with the scouts she will certainly send out, I deem her safe. I do not think we are so blessed. Thus – our need for silent travel. I had hoped to camp near here for the night; however, we will continue on. First, I would cover our horses’ hooves to deaden any sound. We will not speak again, unless absolutely necessary, until it is time to camp. Are you at ease with that?”

Faramir smiled and nodded.

“Good.” Aragorn stood up and went to Faramir’s horse, pulled two leather tunics from the boy’s bag, took his knife and cut them into quarters. Faramir’s eyes widened, but he kept quite. Aragorn took the first quarter, wrapped it around his horse’s rear hoof and tied a leather strap around it. He then proceeded to the next hoof and watched in delight as Faramir emulated his movements and encased his own horse’s hoofs with the remaining tunic. When they were finished, Aragorn patted the lad on his back, then motioned for Faramir to mount. They headed north.

Riding slowly so as to keep their progress as silent as possible, they soon reached the spot where Aragorn had planned to spend the night. He had already changed his mind as soon as he had seen the small army. He pulled up and dismounted, waiting patiently while Faramir took his reins and did his duty with the horses and the water. The trees were fewer here and Aragorn could not find one tall enough for his purposes. At last, Faramir returned. Aragorn motioned and they mounted again.

Soon darkness overcame them. Aragorn’s eyes, though sharp, could not see far enough to continue safely. “Faramir, if I remember rightly, there was a landslide here about ten years ago. The shearing of the rock opened a cave. We should be near it. We will spend the night in it, with no fire, and ride out tomorrow. Stay here now, whilst I search for it.”

Faramir shivered and Aragorn held his shoulder. “I will use the peregrine call every few moments so you know I am near. Do not return it. You know the call of the golden eagle. Use that if danger comes near you. Faramir,” he said kindly, “I will not let you be hurt whilst we are on this journey.”

“It is I, as esquire, who should be protecting you, my Lord.” The boy shivered again.

“When we begin training,” Aragorn smiled broadly, “then I will heartily accept your protection, my Esquire. Now, sit amidst that thicket, there are no thorns, and wait for me.”

Faramir nodded and Aragorn was gone before the boy even blinked. Faramir shuddered once again, remembrance of the night alone on the Anduin and the attack of the badger filling his thoughts. He was frightened and had tried to keep it from Strider, but now, alone and in hiding, fear fully assailed the boy and he pulled his knees close to his chest and wept.

~*~

A/N – The duties of an esquire are from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Squire; a furlong is a little more than two American football fields in distance.

Chapter Forty-Five – Strategy and Torpor

After an hour’s ride, scouts came quickly towards them; Indis held up her hand for the company to halt. Gwinhir rode up to her, saluted and spoke. “Haleth’s men have cut across Lossarnach and begin their approach from the west. Ragnhild rides with him. They have a hundred men, well armed. Borondir was wrong. It will be hours before they reach the farms.”

Indis nodded and turned to Listöwel. “We embark on kin-slaying today. Yet, I see no other alternative. Have you any thoughts?”

“Send Gwinhir to Berthil’s farms and see if Faramir is yet there; also, send riders to find Valanestel and Imrahil. They both have a full company with them. Once we are reinforced, our numbers should be close to two hundred and eighty, we could take them without bloodshed. The boy is rash, from all reports, but Ragnhild, unless she is totally under the wizard’s spell, will understand and will counsel surrender.”

“She must be fully spell-fixed for she would not come against Faramir in this fashion,” Indis choked. “I cannot see her making any intelligent gesture.”

“Then it will be kin-strife, unless there be someone in Haleth’s company with an ounce of sense.”

Indis instructed two of the scouts to find Imrahil and Valanestel. Another she sent off to bring back tidings of the battle at the river and to order Durahil to them as soon as possible. Another she sent south to find Ciramir. Gwinhir drew a fresh mount and rode westward, dust following him. Indis then mounted and motioned the company to proceed.

After another hour’s ride, Gwinhir came upon them and spoke, once the company halted. “Faramir has left the farm. Imrahil turned him over to someone, but Berthil’s sons would not say whom. Haleth’s men have yet to arrive, though I warned the folk of Lossarnach to keep guard.”

Indis nodded. “Did you search the area at all for Haleth’s men?”

“I did not, my Regent. I deemed it best to return with the news about Faramir. I was concerned about who might be his escort. What with the treachery of Ragnhild…”

“I understand your concern, but know that Imrahil is as a brother to me; he is also Faramir’s uncle. I trust him with my life. If he sent Faramir off with someone, then so be it. I need you to ride back, take two more scouts, and search the area near the farms. We should be there in at least an hour’s time. I need to know what I am riding into.”

“Yes, my Regent. Forgive my reckless actions.”

“Nay, Gwinhir. You did well. Now, get a fresh mount and go quickly.”

She held her hand to her forehead, once the scouts rode off, and grimaced. “I hope Valanestel joins us soon, and Imrahil.” As she spoke, there was a commotion towards the rear of her company. She cried out softly, “Imrahil!”

“So you cannot keep even one boy safe?” Imrahil’s voice was cool, but Indis noted a twinkle in his eye. “Be not concerned. Thorongil left early this morn, headed northwestward. He is clever and will not be taken.”

Indis sighed. “I am grateful for your return. We have need of as many men as possible. I had to leave a full four companies at the river to battle Haleth’s remaining forces. Another two were sent southwards in hopes of stopping the traitors, but that proved useless. Baran took another two companies north, in case Haleth had already taken Faramir and was retreating. My scouts tell me the traitors rode westward and are coming upon Brethil’s farms.”

“They are good people there,” Imrahil scowled. “If I find they have harmed my cousins in any way, they will be dealt with severely. I do not fear for Faramir, however, Indis. He is not at the farm and is in the most capable hands, I deem, in all of Middle-earth.”

She nodded and motioned for them to continue westward. “We should be upon them shortly.” Anor had begun its westward trek as they rode slowly towards the farms. At last, Indis stopped in a copse within two furlongs of the farms and waited upon Gwinhir’s report before she would commit her troops. Valanestel joined them and Indis greeted him warmly. His men joined in eating a very late nuncheon. They ate a cold meal, for Indis was concerned that the smell of fires would warn Haleth, though she sincerely questioned whether the man had enough sense to wonder at smoke in the middle of farmland.

An hour later, Gwinhir arrived. “The farms have been taken, but I could not tell if any are harmed. I stayed longer than I wanted, to make sure Faramir was away and safe. There was, as Prince Imrahil said, no sign of the Steward. Haleth and Ragnhild are in the main farmhouse. Their men shuffle about in the open; they have posted no guards. It is strange.”

“Is it a trap?” Listöwel wondered aloud.

“I think not, my Captain-General,” Gwinhir stated. “The men appear leaderless and unsure as to what they are to do. I think Haleth does not himself know what to do.”

“Mayhap they will leave the farm unscathed and head towards Minas Tirith. The festival is full underway now,” Imrahil stated. “They may return to their first plan, thinking their reports were false and Faramir is still in the City.”

“Then we wait,” Indis said quietly. “We wait unless they attack the farms. We wait and hope they ride east for Minas Tirith. It will be easier to o’ertake them and force surrender away from innocent people.”

Imrahil nodded in agreement. Listöwel moved forward. “My Regent, let me take the men and begin to deploy them along the road to Minas Tirith, not far, only about a furlong or so from the farms. That way, if Haleth moves out, we will be ready for them. Yet, we will be close enough to aid you, should they attack the farms.”

“Make it so, Listöwel.” The Captain-General motioned and two full companies of Gondor’s finest cavalry rode off with her.

Imrahil and his men stayed behind with Indis. However, before any were stationed, a scout rode into camp, Durahil at his side. Indis ran forward and greeted her captain.

As he stepped from his horse, Durahil noted Imrahil’s presence and bowed, then turned to his Regent. “The battle is over and won with only four killed. They had no battle sense and just rode into the river, I suppose hoping to catch us off guard. The companies I kept back I moved so that, as soon as the battle was joined, they found themselves surrounded. Three of their soldiers were killed; only one of ours fell. I left two companies to guard the prisoners. The other two should reach here in four hour’s time, at best.”

“Four too many dead. I had hoped, foolishly, that we might not be kin-slayers. And now we have another battle to fight here.”

“Indis, we are not kin-slayers, but defenders of Gondor. This began because of traitors. It will continue until we can wipe them out. What will you do with these four hundred? They hate the Stewards.”

“Would you have me hang them all?”

“Haleth and his brother at the least. Minastir’s wasting away in Minas Tirith’s dungeons did naught to keep another plot from fomenting. And hang the captains that rode with him. Take away the lands of those lesser soldiers and make them laborers in Gondor’s road service. The Valar know we need more men to rebuild the roads.”

“Four hundred men, Durahil. That means at the least four hundred families affected. The circle spreads out from there. We would have the whole of Calembel and Tarnost in fear, if not open revolt. I cannot do as you counsel.”

“If you leave them…”

Imrahil interrupted. “I do not deem this the appropriate time to be discussing what to do with those who might all be dead after we engage them.”

Both Indis and Durahil nodded in agreement. “Let us rest for now; set out pickets and scouts and wait for Haleth to make his move. I would have Durahil’s men with us before we attack.”

The sky began to turn brilliant shades of red, yellow and orange as Anor slipped past the mountains. It would be dark in another hour, but the morning would dawn clear and bright. Indis began to pace. She did not want a battle at night, but perhaps Haleth would spend the night at the farm, hoping his men from the river would join him before he began moving towards Minas Tirith. She did not know. The lack of knowledge tried her sorely and she wished she could look into the stone. It would show her what she needed. She shivered.

Imrahil stepped close, offering her his cloak. “We will stop them. We have more than four hundred men against them. They will not even fight. Be not concerned, Indis. We will end this, either tonight or in the morn.”

She sighed heavily. “I think it best that Faramir is not in Minas Tirith, but my heart is sore-tried. I would have him safely in my arms in his room.”

The Prince smiled. “I would have him in my arms in Dol Amroth.”

She began to speak, but just at that moment, a horn call went out and all looked towards Berthil’s farms. Though naught could be seen at this distance, the sounds of an army breaking camp were easily perceived. “It is time,” Indis said and mounted. All around joined her. A scout rode in, quickly sidling up to Indis’ horse. “My Lady, the men from the battle have arrived.” Indis smiled in relief. “Bring them here and quickly.” Within the quarter hour, two tired infantry companies joined them.

“Durahil, you will relieve Listöwel. Send her back here and take command of the troops. Keep them hidden until you hear my horn. Then come forth. I will have my companies line the road, well within sight of Haleth. You will surprise them, as they ride forward to attack, as I am sure they will.” Durahil nodded and rode off.

“Valanestel and Imrahil, I would have you take the battle-weary men and go back to the farm, make sure Berthil’s family is safe, and then come upon Haleth and his men. They will be traveling slowly, I deem. Once I give the signal, change to quick time and come up behind them. I do not think you will need to fight. I believe they will surrender as soon as they see the force we carry against them.”

“I will take your company and Valanestel’s up the road and deploy them in full sight. I expect they will be startled, to say the least.” She smiled. “My hope is that, upon seeing the force set against them, they will surrender.” But in her heart, she felt it a fool’s hope. If both Haleth and Ragnhild were spell-fixed, they would fight.

Within but a few moments, Listöwel rode back and joined her Regent and the companies dispersed, each to their appointed place. In less than half an hour’s time, Indis and Listöwel had arranged their men along the road. Durahil road to Indis and quickly reported that his men were indeed hidden in the brush that lined the road. They would be ready for her signal. She gratefully acknowledged his report and the man slipped quietly into the undergrowth.

After another half hour’s wait, they heard the troops riding down the road. It was as Indis had thought: they rode slowly. Haleth had to be hoping that his men had won the victory at the river and would soon join him. She stilled her heart, drew her sword, and watched as Listöwel drew her own. At Listöwel’s sign, the men followed their Regent. Swords silently slid from sheaths and horses were quieted. Indis waited as a great lassitude fell upon her. She had not slept in days, preparing for battle. Now it was upon her, she found she wanted nothing to do with it. She was tired of battles and intrigue and treachery. Tears streamed down her face, as she looked westward. Only Listöwel noted.

~*~

A/N - 1) 1 league = 3 miles – I figure it is about 40 miles to Berthil’s farms in Lossarnach (about 11+ leagues); the battle site would have been about 15 miles further south. The River Erui starts in the White Mountains and swells somewhere near where the first Battle of the Crossings (TA 1447) took place, then goes on to meet the River Anduin. 2) I had to pause as I wrote this - Imrahil giving command of his Swan Knights to Indis seemed a little far-fetched, but she was, after all, his Regent too. So I think, I hope, I can get away with it.

The peregrine’s cry startled Faramir and he pulled his head up; a small smile lit his face. ‘Strider is still nearby,’ he thought, for the call came from very close. After another few moments, the cry was repeated. Faramir’s eyelids started to sag; he was very tired. He kept telling himself he must stay awake, but when his head nodded, he did not note and slept peacefully.

“Faramir!” The call was not his first and Aragorn was becoming anxious. For all his tracking skills, the dead of night was not the time to try to find a boy left in a bramble bush in the middle of nowhere. The moonless night gave them cover from enemies, but it also made it extremely difficult to try to see anything at all. “Faramir!” His tone became more strident. ‘I know I left him here. Where can he be?’ Another quick search around the bush where he was sure he had left the boy produced naught but a few scratches. “Faramir!” he cautiously called a little louder, hoping he would find the boy before he was forced to light a torch.

“Strider?”

“Faramir!” Relief flooded the Ranger. “Where are you?”

“Here.” The bushes in front of him rustled. Faramir quickly rose to his feet. The tears had long since dried, but he suddenly realized in shame that the tracks would betray his fear. He wiped his arm over his face.

“Why did you not answer? I have called a number of times.”

“I fell asleep,” the boy shamefacedly admitted. “I am sorry.”

“Nay. As long as you are well. Now, come. I have found the cave, Faramir. It is quite close and is large enough for our horses. Come and follow me, but quietly. We will walk and lead the horses behind.”

Faramir nodded, then realized the Ranger would not be able to see. “I will follow you.”

“Keep close.”

The blackness of the night seemed to get blacker, in Faramir’s eyes, until he realized that it was a cliff that obscured whatever light was left them. He watched as Aragorn moved slowly up a path, dragging both horses after him.

“Take your time,” the Ranger whispered. “There is no danger if you stay on the path. There are quite a few bushes on the cliffside. If you touch one, you know you are too close to the edge.”

Within a half hour’s time, Faramir felt Aragorn stop. “The entrance is here. It is quite high. The horses will not have a problem entering. I have cut some brush to cover the opening, once we are inside. No fire again this night, I am sorry to say, Faramir.”

The boy quickly followed into the depths of a blackness that suddenly frightened him. It reminded him of the blackness of the river as it flowed over his head and he found he had difficulty breathing. Strider was at his side instantly. The Ranger held him tightly. “I am sorry we have to endure this, Faramir. What frightens you so?”

“I… It feels like the river trying to drown me.”

“Black as the depths of a river is this cave. Again, I am sorry. Here, take my hand and I will lead you to a little shelf. You may sit on it whilst I settle the horses.”

“Nay,” Faramir drew back, hating to leave the warmth of the Ranger’s arms, “I am your esquire. I should take care of the horses.”

“I do not think you will be able to see well enough to untack the horses. Take the bags off them at the least and I will finish the job.”

Within but a few moments, their horses were ready to be groomed; the Ranger had left the bridles on. Upon Faramir’s insistence, Aragorn handed a brush to the boy. “You should be able to do this in your sleep. We will not do the tails tonight.”

Faramir laughed; the feeling of his pony’s sleek shoulder under his hand gave him a sense of comfort. He began to brush, but the pony sidled away from him.

Aragorn stepped next to him. “Wait a moment. The little one is frightened. I will hold the reins while you brush him.”

Faramir nodded, surprised that his normally docile mount was frightened of him. “He knows me,” his voice trembled.

“It is dark; we are in a cave, not his comfortable stall, and he cannot even see you. Talk to him, Faramir. Let him hear your voice. He knows you, yes, but he is frightened. As are you.”

Faramir swallowed. “I am only a little bit frightened.”

Aragorn moved one hand from the reins and touched Faramir’s brushless hand. “You hide it well, my esquire.”

The little pony was quickly finished and Faramir took the reins. “I can take this off myself.”

“Good. I will finish my horse; we will leave the hooves till morning. Now, let us try to get some rest. I have some dried meat and water in the bags you took from my horse. Settle yourself, eat and drink, and then sleep, if you can. I know not what the morrow brings, Faramir.”

Holding his hands out and recounting his steps, the boy soon found himself again at the little shelf. He sat down and pulled one of the bags to him. Rummaging around with his fingers, he felt a cloth, pulled it out and unwrapped it. The sweet smell of fresh made bread made him choke with unexpected joy. He tried to compose himself and felt further, discovering another wrapped item and, upon opening it, found it to be lamb stew. He licked his fingers and wished for a fire. He could not eat lamb cold. Rummaging a bit more caused him to find another wrapper. This one contained some dried meat. The boy placed the meat and the bread, both still half-wrapped, onto the shelf. He knew he had felt oranges and reinvestigated the bag. Sure enough, four large ones touched his fingers. He sighed in delight.

Aragorn laughed aloud. “And what has caused such heartfelt appreciation?”

“I found oranges. And fresh bread.”

“Good,” he felt the Ranger sit next to him. “I am starved.”

They ate ravenously, finding that the comfort of food helped dispel the coldness of the dark cave. When at last they were sated, Aragorn stood up. “I want to take one more quick look outside. I will be back in a moment. Here is a blanket, wrap yourself in it and rest now.”

“Mayn’t I come with you?”

“Faramir, I promise I will not leave the cave, just see what I can see from the entrance. You will probably be able to see my outline, once I reach the entrance.”

The boy nodded. “I will just sit here and wait for you.”

Aragorn sighed, “Very well, Faramir, but keep silent.”

As Aragorn had promised, Faramir could indeed see the outline of the Ranger at the cave’s mouth. He sighed and leaned against the wall. Nothing stirred and the silence rattled him. He started to hum a little tune, something Boromir…. The boy bit his lip. ‘You would enjoy this adventure, Boromir,’ he wept quietly. ‘You always did love camping.’

“Faramir! What ails you?” The Ranger had returned.

The boy shook his head. Aragorn embraced him, held him close, and whispered words of encouragement. At last, Faramir quieted. “Boromir loved to camp, you know.”

“Then he will enjoy watching us.”

The lad’s eyes opened wide. “Do you think he can see us?”

“Not so well in this darkest of caves, but I can imagine he knows we are here and is enjoying your discomfiture.”

“He would not! He loves me.”

Aragorn held the boy a little tighter. “I tease you. He does love you, Faramir. As do I,” he whispered in surprise.

~*~

The sound of horses’ hooves upon the road caused the entire company to stiffen as one. Gondor’s horses could feel their riders’ unease and began to prance about. Sharp tugs on reins were instantly greeted with obedient stillness.

Lower the sun sank; Indis hoped Haleth would reach them before blackness covered the land. The sky was overcast and their would be no appreciable light. She chided herself for not ordering torches.

As if upon her thought, torches were ignited, hundreds of them. It seemed every man in the over two hundred that lined the road, carried a torch. Indis smiled. “Listöwel,” she whispered.

“Yes, my Regent. I thought it would be more effective than a trap. Let them see what they are up against. You do not want the slaying of kin; this should pound some sense into someone in Haleth’s company; there must be one at least who is not spell-fixed.”

Durahil rode forward. “Indis! My men have arrived. I have positioned them along the rode. We now number four hundred against his paltry one. This show of force will surely win the day.” His smile was wide. “I return now to my men.”

“Wait!” Indis called out. “Have one hundred of your men go to the back and join Imrahil and Valanestel. If Haleth sees our strength and retreats instead of surrendering, then I would have Imrahil’s forces reinforced."

Durahil saluted and rode away. Indis laughed with relief. “Four hundred against one hundred and two spell-fixed.” She shuddered. “I hope it is enough.”

The enemy saw the torches and stopped about a furlong from the main force. Indis sheathed her sword and touched her horse’s flanks with her heels. The horse started forward and Listöwel, with a slight cry, joined her, as did Durahil, both sheathing their swords also. They rode in silence to greet the company that came against them.

“Haleth, son of Dagnir of Tarnost,” Indis cried loudly. “You are under arrest for treason. Surrender yourself and I promise mercy.”

She watched as fear flitted across the boy’s face. Almost, she could pity him. “Release your men to Captain-General Listöwel. Offer your sword to me and I will return it.”

Haleth looked to his left and his right. Ragnhild was on his right. Indis’ former counselor stiffened and shook her head vigorously, but the boy seemed to be listening to a man on his left. At last, Haleth rode forward, alone. Dismounting, he strode towards Indis’ mount. Immediately, Listöwel and Durahil unsheathed their swords and jumped from their own horses.

“Cease!” Indis cried aloud. “I have offered Lord Haleth mercy.” She slipped from her steed and walked forward.

“Indis,” Listöwel frantically whispered. “It is a trap. He will not offer his sword; he will gut you with it.”

“Stay back, Listöwel.” Indis moved forward. She could not quite control the shivering that took her, but she forced herself into a slow walk towards the traitor. Fear ran rampant in the boy’s eyes, but she could feel surrender. How, she knew not. Mayhap a bit of Denethor’s prescience finally had been gifted to her. “Lord Haleth, deliver up your sword.”

The boy stopped and looked about him one more time, then stepped forward, knelt upon one knee, and offered his sword to the Lady of Gondor.

Chapter Forty-Seven – And You, My Friend…

Ragnhild gave a strangled cry and urged her horse forward, sword shining in the sun as she brought it up to strike. Listöwel jumped in front of Indis, but the defensive move was not needed. Ragnhild fell to the ground without a sound, her throat pierced by an arrow.

Indis fell to her knees in horror, her arms stretched out before her, but empty; her mouth opened wide, but voiceless. For many moments, none moved. Slowly, holding his hands before him in a sign of surrender, Haleth stood and whispered, “I am sorry. I… I did not order her to attack. I di… di… did not,” he stammered. “Do not slay me. I ordered my men to stand down.”

Listöwel moved towards the boy, picked up his sword and offered it to him, then drew him away from Indis, handing him into Ciramir’s care. Moving forward, she ordered Haleth’s men to drop their weapons. It was done quickly. Ciramir ordered a company of infantry to collect the armament, while another company took the enemies’ mounts in hand. Haleth’s men dismounted and were led, walking, back towards the farm. Ciramir’s own infantry guarded them. Listöwel ordered all but a half company, led by Durahil, to follow the band to the farm. Then, she stood behind her Regent and waited. The half company ringed round them for protection and, hopefully, comfort.

Silence still reigned. Indis had not moved; she knelt and looked at the body that lay less than three rods from her. The sweet brown eyes lay open; the golden, Rohirric hair lay splayed about the head; the arms that once embraced her in friendship lay askew. At last, Indis dropped her head, wailed inconsolably, and beat furiously at the ground.

After a sufficient amount of time had passed, in Listöwel’s mind, Gondor’s Captain-General strode forward and knelt at her friend’s side. “It is best, I suppose, Indis. Ciramir reports that Borondir died an hour after we left him. She could not live without him.”

The bent head hung lower; the shoulders began to shake uncontrollably. Listöwel held her friend and pulled her tightly to her. “I know these platitudes do naught to assuage your grief, but if she was still spell-fixed, and she would never have attacked you if she were not, then it is again better that she is dead. She could not bear the shame of knowing what she had done. And if the spell could not be lifted, what then?”

Indis leaned into her friend and wrapped her arms about Listöwel’s arm. Her chin shook as she tried to speak, but naught came from her mouth. Listöwel stroked her hair and whispered words of comfort. “She is with Borondir now. I believe this. She will be forgiven, for was it not the weakness of Rohan that caused this. The wizard picked his instrument well. Ragnhild was more victim than culprit, Indis. You know this. We will not revile her memory because of this. She was a dear friend who was o’ertaken by evil.”

At this, Indis’ body stiffened. Listöwel drew back in surprise. The look of pure hatred that stared out of her friend’s eyes frightened her. “Indis, I speak truly. It was not Ragnhild’s fault.”

“Nay!” Indis spat. “It was the wizard’s! Ever did my brother warn me against wizards and I would not listen to him. Not on Mithrandir’s part. Yet that wily one withheld this information. Did not warn me of the wickedness of his own.” She shook in fury. “They are banned from Gondor forever. Both of them.”

“Indis,” Listöwel whispered in horror. “Do not give such an order. Ever has Mithrandir been friend to Gondor. We are not even certain if Curunír put a spell upon Ragnhild, though it seems only likely; yet, you cannot ban Mithrandir. He was your father’s counselor. And your own!”

“Counselor!” Another spat word. “Counselor for things that concern him, not for Gondor! I swear, if I see him again in the Citadel’s halls, I will have him hanged!”

~*~

Imrahil, Listöwel and Indis sat before the fire in Nolondil’s home. The descendant of Morwen Steelsheen, Listöwel decided, certainly carried a great resemblance to Morwen's line. Besides the likeness, he had a courtly manner about him. She noted that Imrahil watched as Nolondil poured the decanted wine into goblets. The Prince gave him a slight, approving nod, and drank of the offering.

They seemed as old friends, Listöwel thought, then realized they perhaps were. In fact, she blushed slightly at the recollection, they were cousins. She had been too long away from the Court of Dol Amroth to have forgotten this little detail.

She shifted uncomfortably in her chair; the silence in the room was deafening. “Prince Imrahil,” she decided it was time to at least speak, if only in pleasantries, “your cousin’s wine is quite good.”

“It is indeed, if I may say so,” Nolondil spoke before Imrahil could reply, “for the vines come from my cousin’s own vineyards.” He nodded his thanks to Imrahil and continued, “We are blessed with the finest soil in all of Gondor, and that makes it possible for us to supply Dol Amroth with a goodly supply on a regular basis.”

“I do not know what to do with her body,” Indis sighed and all eyes turned to the Regent.

“I will order it sent to Edoras,” Imrahil suggested, once he caught his breath at the surprise of her statement. She had not spoken a word since Ragnhild was shot.

Another sigh.

“I think she should be buried with Borondir in Tarnost,” Listöwel opined. “She was happy there,”

Indis looked up, gratitude filling her eyes. “Indeed, Listöwel. Thank you.”

“I will see it done then.” Imrahil stood and left the house.

“I am sure he is sending for Borondir’s body. They will travel together and be buried on his estate.”

“Yes, I am sure,” Indis looked down at her hands.

Listöwel noted the bleeding knuckles. “What have you done to yourself?”

Her friend looked at her, surprise evident as she looked at her hands. “I do not know.” She shuddered.

Nolondil’s wife quickly brought forth a small healer’s kit. She offered winter hazel as Nolondil brought warmed water from the fireplace. Listöwel quickly cleansed the wounds and applied the liniment. Indis thanked her and grew quiet once again. Nolondil and his wife nodded to Listöwel and left the room.

“What will you do with Haleth’s men?”

“I will send them back to Tarnost. The men, not their captains. Haleth and his captains will be brought back to Minas Tirith. I have promised mercy to the boy. I do not believe his older, wiser captains should be accorded such leniency.”

Listöwel nodded in agreement. “Ardamin will discharge the matter. I am sure Imrahil will want a say in what is done with them.”

Indis looked up in surprise. “This is Gondor’s problem, not Imrahil’s. I will have them handed over to Hador and Galdor, not Imrahil’s governor. They have served Gondor well. They will know what to do with these men.”

Listöwel bit her lip. Tarnost was a fiefdom of Gondor’s, that was true, but it was within Belfalas’ borders; therefore, it was under Imrahil’s direct control. She took a deep breath. “My Regent, though Tarnost falls within the realm of Gondor’s authority, Imrahil has direct charge. You do him a disservice by abrogating his purview. It is tradition: the peoples of Belfalas are under his jurisdiction.”

Indis stood up and looked down upon her Captain-General. “You do not have to remind me of Gondor’s traditions. These are traitors; they should be hanged in the Citadel. I give leniency when I allow her to be buried in Tarnost. She should be left in the fields for the carrion birds to indulge.”

Shivering, Listöwel remained seated. “I thought we agreed that Ragnhild was spell-fixed and not bound by the term traitor.”

“She is a traitor to me!” Indis screamed. “To me. I was her friend. I was her friend.” The last was whispered. “How could she betray me so? And not only me, Listöwel, but Faramir also. She swore she loved him. Do you not remember? The day they returned from Dol Amroth she said, ‘I have come to love him,’” Her chin shook. “How could she plan harm for the boy? How could she further hurt him after all he has been through? She knew his suffering.”

“I know not. When you question Haleth, I hope these things will be answered. For now, Indis, let not anger nor hurt o’ercome your love for her. She was not herself.” Listöwel sank to the floor and was now crying unabashedly. “She was a dear friend. She did not betray you nor Faramir. She loved you both. She was not herself.”

Indis knelt in front of her Captain-General. Pulling her friend close to her, she wept with her. “My heart aches beyond endurance, Listöwel. Forgive me these unkind words. She was indeed friend and is now one of Gondor’s beloved fallen. You are a dear friend, Listöwel, to suffer my flairs of temper.”

“Nay, Indis! Gondor has suffered much in these times. You have endured an even greater suffering. To have lost your brother and then your husband, to have watched as Boromir was slain before your very eyes, to have had the reins of Gondor thrust upon you, to see Gondor wracked by treachery, and Faramir on death’s door; now, once again, to be betrayed, and this time by a friend…”

Silence filled the room as both women contemplated the cataclysm of chance that had assailed them these past two years.

After a time, Imrahil returned and found them sitting together, holding hands on the settle in front of Nolondil’s fireplace. “A company will leave at first light and collect Borondir’s body. Then they will meet here, be joined by another company, and return to Tarnost with Haleth’s men. I will send a missive first thing on the morrow to Ardamin. What would you have done with them, Indis?”

She pulled her head from Listöwel’s shoulder. “I would have them all hung, but they were only soldiers doing what I hope they thought was their duty to Gondor. Yet, I cannot leave them walking about with no punishment.”

“The road from Tarnost to Minas Tirith is in disarray. Mayhap they could spend a year in Gondor’s service, repairing it?”

She bent her head. “Those I saw were very young, like unto their lord, Haleth - but for those who are the heads of their houses – they would need to be paid. I do not want to leave families suffering and without food because of the foolishness of their fathers and husbands.”

Imrahil nodded. “That is all well and good. But we should not pay some and not others.”

“Nay, we cannot.” She smiled wryly. “Put their women and children on the dole. It will shame those who joined this traitorous action and will serve as warning to any who would give thought to another such defilement!”

Imrahil nodded. “Wisely thought out, my Regent.”

“I am tired, Imrahil. I will retire now. I would like to leave at first light. When will you leave?”

“As soon as you and your men are away, I will return to Dol Amroth. Valanestel will remain here?”

“That he will, along with a cavalry company, in case Faramir has need. I will send a missive to you, when Faramir is to return. I promised him you would accompany him home?”

“I would be delighted,” the prince smiled gently. “Can you imagine what tales he will have to tell? It will be a joyous ride and I thank you for gifting me with it.”

She nodded and turned towards the room Nolondil’s wife had prepared for her. Listöwel left with Imrahil and gave orders for the morrow’s march. At last, Gondor’s Captain-General returned to the house and fell asleep in front of the fireplace.

~*~

A/N – 1) Nolondil: see http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Nolondil; 2) Estate is a ME word originated somewhere around 1170 AD; 3) Dole – absolutely amazed me that this ME word and concept is so old – from before 1000 AD! http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/dole; 4) Measurements - 1 league = 3 miles; 1 mile =8 furlongs; 1 furlong = 40 rods; 1 rod = 6 paces (which in later days to provide consistency among surveyors was quantified as 5-1/2 yards); 1 pace = the length of a grown man's stride. However, Hobbit measurements are entirely different: 1 nail = 1/2 in. 3 nails = 1 toe. 6 toes = 1 foot. 3 feet = 1 step. http://articles.latimes.com/2004/mar/24/nation/na-tolkien24

Chapter Forty-Eight – Of Eagles and Eyries

When Faramir awoke, the world was already well lit. He looked about him, but there was no sign of Strider. The little boy bit his lip, wondering where the captain had gone to, but noted the fire was newly stoked, so he willed himself to stop worrying and began to dress. Strider’s horse snorted her good morrow. Gingerly, Faramir walked to his little pony. The beast seemed quite happy to see him and not the least bit skittish. Faramir patted her on the nose and whispered how much he loved her. Noting that both horses were eating some oats, he left them and walked to the cave entrance, and looked out upon the paltry path that wound its way up the mountain. To his chagrin, there was no sign of the Ranger. He cocked his head for a moment; he was sure he had heard something not quite right, but shrugged it off to badgers or rabbits. The thought caused him a small laugh. ‘I suppose I am growing older, if badgers no longer frighten me.’ Unfortunately, he did have to relieve himself, and the physical need that was so coupled with the memory, made it difficult for the boy to decide what to do.

There it was again! A small sound, one of hurt. He drew in a quick breath and hoped it was not Strider. Dropping softly to the ground, he peeked his head out from the cave’s mouth and looked further down. No sign of anything. He heard it again, but slightly to the right of him. Crawling on all fours, he left the cave and moved towards the sound. After a few moments, he heard it again and realized he was traveling in the right direction, though he surely hoped this was not a trap. Caution stopped him for a moment, but the sound came again, reminding him of some hurt animal. It did not sound like Strider.

At last, the sound stopped him; he was right upon whatever it was. He looked both ways and, hidden in the scrub, was an eagle. ‘But surely this cannot be an eagle,’ the boy thought, confused. ‘Such a small creature. A baby. Nay, an eaglet. But surely not just hatched?’ He watched, mesmerized, as the little creature tried to free itself from the bushes. At last, Faramir realized that the thing would not be able to work itself free. He crawled towards it, speaking softly, and was rewarded with a sharp glance and a lessening of the raptor’s thrashing.

“Hush, little one. I have you. Just let me get your wing untangled. Ouch!” A thorn bit into his finger, but he did not let that stop his rescue efforts. The bird quieted even further. ‘It cannot know I am helping it?’ he thought in surprise. But the eaglet had definitely quieted, staring at Faramir and watching as his hands worked to free the wing.

When the thorny twig broke, the wing sprang free and the bird hopped away. “Oh little one, is it damaged?” Faramir followed the bird out of the brambles and watched in consternation as the poor thing tried desperately to fly. Obviously, something was wrong with its wing. ‘Or,’ the lad thought, ‘it is too young and does not yet know how to fly.’ But no, the way the creature held its wing, it definitely looked wounded.

For a second time Faramir spoke softly and moved forward, and once again, the bird quieted. Kneeling down in front of it, Faramir brought his left hand before him as slowly as possible. The bird stared and cocked its head, but did not try to move away. Faramir, heartened by this show of trust, put out his hand. The bird lightly hopped onto his forearm. A soft, delighted chuckle escaped the boy, but the bird did not flinch nor retreat.

“Hmm. I wonder what I should do with you? I cannot leave the cave, for if Strider returns and I am not within, he will be greatly distressed.” He held his legs together, “And I must… I will take you back to the cave with me and we will wait together for Strider.”

He was disheartened when he realized that Strider was still not within the cave when he returned. A small shiver ran down his back, but he fought the fear that caused it, tried to put the eaglet down – and ran into a complication. The bird did not seem to want to let go and the talons, though small, were still sharp. They dug into his arm. “Oh little one,” Faramir cried out in pain, “it hurts.” The bird jumped down, hopped a half pace away, and looked at him. Faramir swore quizzically, but he did not care – the bird was off his arm and Faramir could take care of his necessity.

Returning to the cave, Faramir found the bird perched on the ledge where he himself had spent the night. ‘Does it know my scent?’ he wondered. “I am hungry and it is morning. You must be hungry too. What do I feed you, little one?” He pondered the question for a moment, then remembered a baby hawk Théodred had found a long time ago. “Meat. You eat meat, but I have none. Oh! I have some dried meat.” He ran for Strider’s pack, found the meal, and brought it back to the ledge. He chewed on a piece a few times, then offered it to the bird.

To his chagrin, the bird did not take the meat. The boy sighed. Another thought – he put the meat back into his mouth, chewed a few times more, then bent over and offered the meat with his lips. The bird lunged forward and grabbed the meat, downing it in a heartbeat’s time.

Faramir sat back in surprise. “Well, I suppose this is how you mean to eat.” Going through the same process again, Faramir was relieved to see the bird eating happily. “I do not know how to give you water… “ He looked about and found a rock that had a slight indentation in its side. The boy wiped it with his hand, then poured a few drops of water into it. The bird refused it, lunging for Faramir’s lips. The lad giggled. “All right. I will give you some more meat, but you really should drink something. Perhaps you need milk?”

“Nay,” Faramir almost jumped in alarm, then smiled self-consciously at Strider. “Eagles do not drink; they get all the fluids they need from the kill. Where did you find it?”

Taking a quick breath to slow his heart, the boy smiled. “In a bush nearby. When I woke, I heard it; it sounded as if injured.”

“Orcs and men use the same ploy, Faramir.” Strider’s voice seemed a little sharp to Faramir’s ear.

“I am sorry. I really thought of that, but it sounded pitiful.”

“I do not wish to belabor the fact, but so would a wily Orc or an evil man.”

Faramir hung his head in shame. “I am sorry.”

“As long as you learn this lesson, you need not feel sorrow. You have done a good thing; it appears injured.”

“It is. Its wing is hurt; I hope it is not broken.”

“Let me look at it,” the Ranger started forward and the eaglet began to flail its one good wing, hopping up and down. “Ah. I see it prefers you. Take the injured wing and hold it out a bit, then feel along the bone at the top. If it is broken, you will feel it.”

Faramir nodded and moved towards the bird. It immediately stopped its thrashing and jumped up onto Faramir’s arm. “Ouch!”

“If we cannot find its home, we will make a leather gauntlet for your arm. That will prevent tearing. I think you will need some care for that arm even now.”

The boy nodded. “It does hurt, but it will not let me leave it.”

“I see. You have fed it?”

“Yes. I am sorry; I used some of the dried meat in your pack.”

“Once you have fed one of these, they will not leave you until food is no longer produced. Now tell me, how does the wing feel?”

“It is not broken.”

“Good – then we do not need to splint it, just treat it gently till we find its nest.”

“Where would that be?”

“Very near – This one is still young, perhaps only sixty or seventy days old. See the markings on its wings? The white there shows it is still young. Let us try to find its nest.”

Faramir’s stomach growled.

“So you have fed the bird but not yourself. Well, let me make a fire.” The Ranger moved quickly and a fire was soon ready to heat their water. “I have met with one of Indis’ captains; the traitor has been found and captured. We are relatively safe, at the moment.”

After a quick breaking of their fast, the two tended to their horses. Hooves were cleaned and tails were brushed. Water was placed in a shallow crevice in the rock wall. “Now,” Aragorn stood back in approval, “we find this bird’s home and return it.”

Faramir nodded and stepped forward. The bird yelped and hopped onto Faramir’s arm. The boy too yelped, but stood steady. He walked forward, following Strider from the cave.

The Ranger looked about him, then pointed to the top of the cliff. “There!” Excitement rang in his voice. “Do you see that huge bundle of twigs and such? That is the bird’s nest. We must climb up and put your find in it. Hopefully, your scent will not scare away its Naneth and Adar.” He looked about. “This will be a difficult climb, Faramir. Have you climbed rock before?”

“I have. Many times with Boromir,” he swallowed convulsively. “And Théodred too on the way from Edoras. I will watch my feet and hands. You need not worry about me.”

The Ranger stood back, his brow furrowed. “You will be carrying a bird, Faramir. How will you climb with a bird on your arm?”

“Oh! I… I suppose it will be difficult.”

Aragorn laughed. “It will. I will have you go first. There is a path that leads quite a bit of the way; after that, we will have to scale rock. This is porous though and should afford hand and footholds.”

It took an hour to reach the end of the path. There, in the dust, lay a beautiful, full-grown Golden Eagle with an arrow through its throat. Faramir cried out in horror. The fledgling yelped and took off into the air. “Come back,” he cried, but the eagle was gone.

“Well, this explains why the bird was in the bush. Probably disturbed from the nest when its parent was killed. Look closely, Faramir. The talons of this one look like the scars on your shoulder.” Faramir drew back his shirt and Aragorn examined the scars. “They are the same.” The Ranger sat back in wonder. “This is the bird that saved you on the Anduin.”

Faramir began to sob. “I had hoped to find it and thank it.”

“You have thanked it by freeing its little one. This looks like the Naneth; it is quite large. I wonder where the Adar is?” They watched the skies above them, but no sound was heard, nor eagle seen. “Since our little friend has fled, I suggest we return to the cave, Faramir.”

The boy nodded, disheartened. “I thought it liked me.”

“Wild animals rarely bond to humans, Faramir. The bird stayed because you fed it.”

The boy’s head hung low. “I suppose so,” he whispered.

They walked quietly back to the cave. As they approached it, Aragorn stopped. “Faramir. We now begin your training. From this day onward, you are truly my squire. We will move from this cave and set up camp about a mile west of here. You will learn how to set up a camp, how to fish and hunt, how to protect yourself from mishaps, and how to serve your knight.”

Faramir’s eyes glistened with excitement. “Yes, my lord. I am ready.” Just then, the call of an eagle rang out. As Faramir looked up, his eaglet landed on the boy’s outstretched arm.

“I suppose you will have to name it.”

Faramir stood in shock. Finally catching his breath, he asked, “Is it a boy or a girl?”

“We will not know for sometime. Even then, it will only be a guess.”

“Oh! Well then, I will name it Mithril.”

Aragorn laughed. “It is a Golden Eagle, Faramir. Mayhap another name would be more appropriate.”

“I did not know there were different kinds of eagles.”

“There are – though I doubt we will see many near here; the territory had been claimed by this one’s parents. The nest is at least eight years old, by the size of it.”

“Malthen.”

“Very good! Now, let us make a gauntlet for you and we can be on our way.”

~*~

A/N – 1) I might be going a ‘bit’ too far with Faramir and his ability to gentle animals, as described by Belegorn in RotK, but I don’t think so. 2) Gauntlet - Leathers of choice are brushed calfskin and goat leathers. These are more talon-proof than deer or elk leather yet retaining the extreme comfort. http://www.northwoodsfalconry.com/index.cgi?cat=%2FGauntlets&rm=listitems; 3) Malthen is Sindarin for golden.

Chapter Forty-Nine – A Moment In Time

“You will be eighteen on your birth day next, Faramir. This will be the last time we will meet as knight and squire. Your aunt has written stating she will resign as Regent on Mettarë. You will begin full duty as Steward.” Aragorn tightened his horse’s strap. “You have done quite well these past years.”

The young man looked up from his own horse, blushing at the compliment and trying to ignore it. “Will we not see each other again?”

“I know not what fate will allow. I believe we will meet; I hope we will, Faramir, but after this last trip, our paths will go separate ways for a time.”

“Where do we go now? We met at Amon Dîn instead of Lossarnach and are headed north. I hesitated to ask before, but now that you speak of our trip, I would ask.”

Aragorn smiled. “I will keep it a secret for a bit longer. You would not be able to concentrate, if I told you, and we both know we must focus when in the wild. Speaking of which, where is Malthen?”

“Off to find a rabbit, I suppose.”

“Rabbit stew for the daymeal. Good.” He mounted his horse and waited for Faramir.

The Steward finished checking his own saddle, then mounted. Giving a sharp whistle, he held his arm out. In only a moment, his eagle landed on the gauntlet. ‘No sign of rabbit,’ Faramir sighed. He clicked and followed Strider, chuckling at the lack of a path to follow. “Do you ever travel where there is a road?”

Aragorn laughed out loud. “Sometimes.”

For two days they traveled north; after that, they turned northwestward. Strider led, but Faramir did all the duties of trail master. Finally, on the twentieth day out, as they entered the Wold, Aragorn stopped. “I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you – we are going to spend the next month in Lórien.”

Faramir almost fell off his horse. “The land of the Golden Wood? Of the Elves?” He swallowed hard.

“Indeed. As Steward, you should meet the Lord and Lady of the Wood. In the distant past, they were allies of your kin.”

“Even of Mardil Voronwë?”

“Further back, Faramir, for all Númenóreans are descended from Elros.”

The young man sat in awe. “I… I have always… Elves, Strider, Elves.”

The Ranger laughed heartily. “Yes, Faramir, Elves.”

Taking a steadying breath, Gondor’s Steward stood up in his stirrups and shouted, “Then what are we doing sitting here? Let us be off!” He snapped his reins and Elenna jumped forward. Faramir could hear Strider laughing in the background, but he cared not; his joy knew no bounds.

~*~

“I fail to see why you continue to ask, ‘Are we there, yet?’ I said, ere we stopped, in another day or two,” the Ranger quipped. “In another day or two.” But he too was anxious to be in the Golden Wood – and not to see the Lady Galadriel. His smile mirrored the young Steward’s.

“You said ‘another day or two’ four days ago.” Faramir’s grin broadened at the obvious impatience of his traveling companion. “Are you sure we are going in the correct direction?”

Aragorn could no longer hold back his laughter. “When Anor rises tomorrow, we will be at her borders.”

Faramir breathed a sigh of relief and settled himself in his bedroll. “Thank you.”

Aragorn stood to bank the fire and stopped at the imperious voice that called aloud.

“Daro!”

Standing as still as one of the marble statues in the Great Hall, Aragorn motioned for Faramir to follow suit. The Steward did as he was commanded.

“I love it when a Man knows when to be silent.” A soft chuckle accompanied the words.

“Haldir of Lórien,” Aragorn said and strode forward, arms outstretched. “Too long has it been.” Firmly held in the tall Elf’s arms, the Northerner smiled.

“You have the favor of the Lady, Aragorn son of Arathorn, but who is this one you bring with you? He is not known to us,” the Elf replied.

“Haldir,” Aragorn stepped back, “may I present Faramir, son of Denethor, who has passed from this world. Faramir is Ruling Steward of Gondor.”

“We have not had dealings with men of the South since the Dagorlad. Would you have us accept him?”

“I will make my explanations to the Lady of the Wood, Haldir.”

The Elf quirked an eyebrow but said naught.

“Would you join us? We have finished our meal, but there is still ale.”

The Lórien Elf chuckled. “You know me better, Ranger. I would not drink of that… Forgive me, Lord Faramir, I am sure the ales of Gondor are quite good.”

Aragorn laughed aloud. “But your palate is not agreeable to their taste.”

“I have wine.”

“Dorwinion?” Aragorn’s voice contained much hope.

“Nay. You will not find that vintage in the hands of a Marchwarden. I am sure, when you join us at Caras Galadhon, it will be offered to you. You are planning on visiting the Lady’s realm?”

“We are. I had sent a missive three months ago,” Aragorn’s brow furrowed, “but have not received a reply. My time is short and I could wait no longer.”

Haldir nodded. “Orc activity has increased. I have not heard of a messenger from Gondor arriving.”

“Nay. I sent it from… It was carried by a friend. I hope no harm has come to him.”

“I will send out a patrol; we will find him.”

“My thanks,” Aragorn held his hand to his heart in salute. “Now, join us and tell me what you have been about. Your brothers, are they well?”

“Indeed.” The two began speaking as old friends do and Faramir sat back, relishing the sight of an Elf and the sound of pure Sindarin. Eventually, he fell asleep.

~*~

“Lady Galadriel, may I introduce Lord Faramir, Steward of Gondor.”

Faramir stood as if his feet were entrenched in the muddy flats of Pelargir. His face blushed red and his fingers twitched. He knew she saw it all, knew it all, but there was naught he could do; he was transfixed by her beauty. Silently, he cursed Strider for not warning him. When he felt her touch inside him, he writhed and twice-cursed the Ranger. To his chagrin, he discovered she ‘heard’ the curses. He could do naught but apologize.

Her laughter rang through the – talan, that is what Strider called it – and it took his breath away. More beautiful than any bells he had ever heard. He felt her gracious acceptance of the compliment. Red now covered not only his face but his neck as well. In the midst of it, he realized she had stepped forward and gently taken his chin into her hand. Tears filled his eyes as he felt her healing touch course through him. ‘Mithrandir held your father in high esteem, Faramir,’ he ‘heard’ her say. ‘His loss is grievous to all. Your mother, I am told, mirrored Nimrodel’s grace and beauty.’ By now the tears were free flowing and his heart felt as constricted as the day Boromir died. “Ah,” she now spoke aloud, “Your love for Boromir reminds me of my love for my brother, Finrod. He also had a noble and generous heart.”

“You lost him?” Faramir mumbled through his tears.

“I have lost all my brothers, but Finrod was special to me.” She bent closer to him. “Do you know it was Finrod who established the first Minas Tirith? So we are kin in more than blood, but in circumstance too.” She smiled a smile so brilliant that Faramir’s knees shook.

“I know a little about him. He befriended men.”

Her smile grew even brighter. “That he did. And should I do any less? Nay.” She straightened and held her hands out wide, “Let all know this - I now befriend Faramir of Gondor.”

Faramir’s knees buckled and Strider caught him before he fell. “One does not usually faint when given such an accolade,” he whispered. At Galadriel’s command, Aragorn brought Faramir to a seat and gently lowered him. “Take a few deep breaths.”

Faramir nodded, but the tears still streamed down his face and his body shook. Galadriel sat next to him and motioned. The talan cleared.

“I have seen into your heart, Faramir, and find it is good and pure. I offer you respite, here in the Golden Wood, for as long as you need it. Spend your time as you will. None will gainsay you. If you wish to speak with me, just come. My guards will let you pass. I… ” She paused for a moment and seemed to delve even further into him. “I have something for you. It came to me when I saw you approaching a fortnight ago.” She nodded and a maid came forward. Galadriel’s back obscured Faramir’s view, so he was taken aback when he saw what the Lady of the Wood held out to him.

“I cannot accept such a gift,” he stammered. The walnut wood of the harp shone; the carvings of leaves, trees, flowers and Elves were exquisite. Hesitantly, he took the pillar in hand and sat it in his lap, then laid the soundchamber against his shoulder.

She smiled. “You hold it rightly. Walnut is a darker wood, not only in looks, but also in tone. I think you will like it better than the cherry ones I have seen men use. The sound is smoother too. Faramir, your spirit sings. This will augment that talent. One of my people is quite gifted in the harp’s use. I have arranged for lessons for the time you stay with us.”

He knelt at her feet. “I cannot thank you enough. There are no words.”

“Then, mayhap, you will write an air that will suffice?”

He nodded. She stood and extended her hand. He quickly kissed it, stood, and followed the suddenly appearing guard.

~*~

Aragorn laughed. “With your coloring, walnut is preferable.”

Haldir joined in the laughter. “Do not tease him, Estel. He is now Elf-friend.”

“I will not tease him” Aragorn sobered. “I have never seen the like of it, Faramir. Not only the harp, but also more than that, the accord the Lady Galadriel has given you. I will leave you now, for a time. I think your first lesson is begun.” He stood aside as a tall, blonde Elf entered their alcove.

“Strider? What of my other lessons? And I am your squire.”

“Your duties as squire are now fulfilled. The Lady’s has supplanted any allegiance you might have owed me. You have been accorded a room in Galadriel’s own talan. If you need me, just find one of the Elves. I will come. For now, I am away with Haldir. He honors me by sharing border patrol for a time. Never fear, we will reach Minas Tirith by Mettarë, at the latest.”

Faramir’s heart burst with joy. “Thank you, Strider. Thorongil. My debt to you will never be paid.”

“Ah, perhaps in time, young Faramir. Perhaps in time…”

~*~

A/N – Elenna – Faramir’s horse’s name – was another name for Númenor; it means Starwards - http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Elenna

Author’s Notes:

I’ve had a glorious time writing this. This book was not supposed to happen, but fans wanted more, before the final book, and so I gave it a whirl. It was such fun.

I have a tendency to quickly end these books, but that is not the intent. Life goes on in Minas Tirith as of old and, though the battles are fierce and heroes fall, yet life goes on.

I hope I haven’t caused too much distress at the ending…. But Faramir was ready to grow up and take on his new duties. And Indis is sorely tired of holding the Rod. About time the youngling took over!

He too looks forward to the next chapter….

Blessings and thanks to all for reading – but mostly heartfelt thanks for all the reviewers of this tale.

Blessings,

Agape