Sitting by a Wall in the Sun

DISCLAIMER: The Professor’s wonderful characters don’t belong to me; I just get to think about them day and night.
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“If ever beyond hope you return to the lands of the living and we retell our tales, sitting by a wall in the sun, laughing at old grief, you shall tell me then.” Faramir to Frodo, ‘The Forbidden Pool’, The Two Towers

“Faramir, to whom were you speaking?” Aragorn cried out, rushing up to his steward.  Faramir turned from where he had been gazing out over the Pelennor, alarmed by his sovereign’s urgent voice.

“To myself,” Faramir said, a bit embarrassed.  “As I stood here looking out upon our lands, green with new crops and bright with hope, I found myself talking aloud of my gratitude.  Fear not for my sanity, my lord, I do not often make a habit of talking when no one is present.”  He noticed that Aragorn was not looking at him at all, but at the empty bench by the high wall beside which he had been standing.

“No, of course not, how could it possibly be…” Aragorn murmured.

“What is it?” Faramir asked quietly.

“For a moment only, I thought... I saw Frodo,” Aragorn said, chuckling at his foolishness.  “He was sitting just there, Faramir, looking up at you, listening to your words and smiling.  Then he was gone, and of course he could not have been here at all.  But you were speaking aloud, so I thought perhaps… somehow…”  He shook his head.  “A trick of the light, that is all, answering my longing to see our friend again.  Our farewell was all too brief.” 

As if still unable to believe that the bench was empty, he reached out and touched it.

“My lord,” said Faramir gently, “it would bring me joy to know that Frodo might have joined us this day, and heard my words.  If voices can reach us in dreams that portend great things, as I myself have experienced, why not seemings that reach us in the waking world?”  He sat upon the bench, and Aragorn joined him.  “I believe you saw clearly, and you should, as well.  Who can say what Powers continue to embrace our treasured friend, and enable his bright spirit to travel – perhaps within a dream of his own.”

“Who indeed,” Aragorn agreed.   Faramir saw the King relax, and a gentle smile light his fine features.  “Frodo’s hair seemed longer, and more shining, and his garb fine as any Elf-lord; yet a hobbit still he remained.  Even in that brief moment, I saw these things, or perhaps merely sensed them.  I feel that he has found peace in the Blessed Realm.”

“That is my wish, as well,” Faramir said.  “Your words ease my heart.”

“And yours ease mine, my friend,” Aragorn said.  “Who is now the healer of this city, I wonder?”

To that, Faramir merely shood his head.  He had known the answer to that from the moment he awoke from the Darkness and beheld the liege lord he had awaited all his life without being aware of it.

“Faramir,” said Aragorn, “on each level of the City perhaps space may be found for at least one small park, with trees and flowering shrubs.  And benches may be set therein, where the citizens may stop and rest from their daily labors.”

“Frodo would like that; I will see to it.  Perhaps there will come another day such as this one, when we come upon one of those benches and see a small person seated upon it, enjoying the sights and sounds of the city he helped save.”

“I hope we do,” Aragorn said.  He closed his eyes for a moment, then began to speak quietly to one he could not see.

“You are missed, Frodo, and you live always in the hearts of all who called you friend.  Come again to visit us, as often as you are able.”  The King bowed his head, and sent out a grateful pulse toward the Powers, one and all.  Thank you for allowing the Ring-bearer to visit with my Steward, and for that glimpse of him.  Thank you for bearing him safely to his last haven, and holding him in Your thoughts.

After Aragorn had been silent for a time, Faramir spoke.

“Was there something you needed of me, my lord?  I was surprised to hear your voice, as you seldom visit this balcony.”

“Ah, I nearly forgot,” Aragorn said with a grin.  “I was looking for you.  Sam and Rosie’s Yule box has arrived; it is quite large this year.”

“Are there pickles?” Faramir asked hopefully.  Rose Gamgee’s pickles had long been a favorite treat.

“Let us go and see,” Aragorn said, getting to his feet.  “For myself, I hope to find a goodly amount of those apple tarts.”

 With smiles and fond words, the two friends departed the balcony, their speech as light as that of hobbits, and their hearts at peace.

*END*