Chapter 19

Faramir was functioning on willpower alone, exhaustion and strain dragging at the tattered remnants of his composure. He stumbled into the chamber and slumped down into a chair, his head resting on his arms on the table.

“Faramir!” Legolas poured him a mug to tea and spooned in two large teaspoons of honey. “Drink this…please.” He lifted the mug with a shaky hand, savouring the warmth and the sweetness as they coaxed him back to some semblance of normality.

“He is hidden deep in the catacombs…Aragorn; he is trapped in the mountain!”

“How do we find him…why are we waiting?” Imrahil couldn’t keep the eagerness from his voice, already on his feet wanting to move. He looked to Faramir in bewilderment, confused by his passivity.

“I don’t know,” Faramir groaned.

“Start at the beginning, Faramir. Tell us what you do know!” coaxed Legolas.

“It starts in the time of the siege and shortly after the death of my father…at some point in that time of confusion Lord Haralil gained access to information about secret passageways into and within the Citadel. His accomplice claims he had a map or a chart of the labyrinth.

“And you know nothing of these passageways.”

“No, from my childhood I know of some concealed passages that connect rooms within the Steward’s apartments but nothing that extends beyond the bounds of the Citadel.”

“So who would know?”

“I suspect my brother and my father were the only ones privy to these secrets; secrets known only to the Steward and his heir,” he said bitterly. “It seems that there was much my father failed to share with me.”

“Do you know how or where Lord Haralil accessed the tunnels?” Legolas asked.

“There is a secluded section of wall that marks the boundary between the sixth and seventh circles of the city; it appears to be a series of decorative alcoves.  In one there is apparently a mechanism that releases a doorway into the passages. Lord Haralil’s accomplice couldn’t even identify which was the right alcove; I have had troops down there since dawn but they are making no progress.”

“And what about the entrance within the Citadel.”

“That too is a concealed entrance protected by secret mechanism; the entrance is near the Council chamber but again the accomplice could not identify the spot.”

“Could not…or would not, Faramir!”

“Could not. The Master-at Arms would have persuaded him if he had the information.” Faramir didn’t elaborate but his silence spoke volumes.

“And that is not our only problem!” he continued wearily, “even if we manage to gain access to the tunnels, it is not called a labyrinth for nothing…we could search for days or weeks and not find him. He was alive when they left him, beaten but unconscious; he is shackled and has no access to food or water…it is four days already, he cannot last much longer and we are running out of time.” For the first time since the nightmare had begun Faramir felt the cold grip of despair clutch at his heart. Éowyn embraced him but even her loving support failed to comfort him.

The silence blossomed, thickening and swirling in the midst of their impotence. Éowyn’s voice finally pierced the tense atmosphere.

“There is one who may know something to help us,” she said. “Who is the one person who knows all that goes on in a great household?” She tried to keep the excitement from her voice. “Who was your father’s friend and confident for fifty years…who knew him better than anyone?

“Lord Corrin!” exclaimed Faramir with sudden understanding but the brief burst of optimism was quickly swallowed by doubt. “But my father would never have divulged the Steward’s secrets even to Lord Corrin.”

“No, not the secrets themselves but maybe he knows where we could find the information we need.”

“But he cannot speak…his illness has robbed him of his voice.”

“I know but he may be able to communicate. Come Faramir what do we have to lose!”

Faramir stopped only long enough to reluctantly eat some sweet-bread and fruit before he and Éowyn made their way to the Chamberlain’s apartment. They arrived just as the Warden had finished attending his patient.

“We need to speak to Lord Corrin. Is he awake?”

“Yes, Sir. Though I must warn you that he is weak; his strength is failing.”

“We will be as brief as possible,” Faramir reassured him. “By the way I understand Tamir is back in your care. How is he?”

“On the mend I believe. He overtaxed his strength last night with his little jaunt but that young soldier Darin escorted him back…!”

“Why do I get the feeling that there is more to that tale than you are sharing?” Faramir asked to the Warden’s retreating back.

The old man in the bed looked frail, his skin transparent and his eyes rheumy and tired. His paralysed hand lay curled and lifeless against the coverlet. The brief flicker of a smile brightened his face as he recognised his visitors and he reached out with his good arm to grasp the Steward’s hand.

“My Lord, we are in desperate need of your help.” Faramir settled on the edge of the mattress. “You know that the King has been taken?” The old man blinked his eyes in acknowledgement.

“We believe he is held in the secret tunnels but we don’t know how to access them or how to navigate the labyrinth. Do you know of what I speak?” Blink.

“Do you know where the entrances to the tunnels are?” A slight shake of the head indicated a negative. Faramir sighed his disappointment.

“Was this a secret kept by the Steward?” Blink.

“Can I find this knowledge?” Blink.

“Where?” The old man screwed up his eyes in frustration and pulled his hand free of the Steward’s grasp. With a shaky finger he traced the shape of letters against the coverlet.

B.   O.  O.   K. “There is a book…No!...A library…An archive?” Blink.

T.   W.   R. “In the Tower?” Blink.

S   T   O   N  “The Stone Tower…I don’t understand.” Lord Corrin traced a large circle on the coverlet and then raised his hand to point to his eye.

“You mean the Palantir, the room where my father used the Seeing Stone.” Blink.

“Thank you, my friend, with your help we may yet have the King returned to us.”  Faramir placed a kiss on the old man’s forehead. “Sleep now.” Faramir stayed a moment longer until the Chamberlain dropped back into exhausted slumber.

~~**~~

Aragorn woke to darkness, darkness so absolute and impenetrable that he lay for a while in confusion with no clue as to his location or situation.

Very slowly the disorientation dissipated, allowing him to take stock of his physical environment. He lay on his side; he could feel the cool, gritty texture of sand under his cheek. He tried to stretch, to extend his limbs to ease the cramping in his muscles but he was unable to move. He was shackled, the cold bite of metal dug into his wrists and ankles; his arms in front of him secured to his ankles forcing him into a foetal position with no scope for movement.

The silence was as deep and enveloping as the darkness; he could hear nothing but the frantic thudding of his own heartbeat, a sound that grew louder the more he concentrated upon it. He felt the upsurge of panic, hating the weakness of being unable to control his instinctive reaction. He called out for the reassurance of hearing his own voice. The sound echoed, multiplying and reverberating off the stone walls that made up his prison. He called more loudly, over and over again until his voice gave out, his throat raw with the exertion.

He forced himself to calm, slowing and deepening his breaths, conscious of his racing heartbeat gradually slowing to a more normal rate. Once calm he consciously relaxed the tension in his rigid muscles. With concentrated effort he was able to roll over onto his other side and though still cramped he was at least able to relieve the pressure on his hip and shoulder. The change in position brought his other injuries into focus; as the side of his head came into contact with the ground he remembered the blow that had felled him. He replayed in his memory the events in Faramir’s chamber.

The day had gone well. The tribunal had finally finished hearing evidence and had adjourned for the day to await Lord Beranin’s summing-up on the morrow. At the noontide recess Tamir had passed on the Steward’s message and Aragorn had approved the added security measures Faramir had instigated. Lord Haralil was escorted back to his home and the guard had been doubled. At dusk Aragorn had gone to Faramir’s office to read through the list of prospective councillors and to await the Steward’s return.

The attack when it came was so sudden and so unexpected that he was overpowered before he had a chance to react or call out and when he regained his senses he was bound and gagged. He could only watch, helpless, as first Tamir and then Faramir succumbed to the assailants. His desperate struggle against his bonds stilled only when he felt the chill steel at his throat. Could only watch as Faramir reasoned with and finally offered himself to the crazed Lord. Aragorn’s last memory was of Faramir’s frantic effort to protect him before he was knocked unconscious, his own fall into oblivion coming moments later.

He had no way of knowing how long he had lain in the darkness, whether it was hours or days and no way of judging the passage of time. He slipped in and out of awareness, the agony of his cramped muscles vying with his increasingly desperate thirst to multiply his torment. He no longer had the energy to call out and turning over to change position became an impossible ordeal.

He fought hard to not to despair, knowing that his friends would be doing all they could to find him. He refused to consider the possibility that Lord Haralil had made good his intention to kill Faramir. He burrowed into his memories until he had a clear picture of Arwen in his mind and with that thought to comfort him he slipped back into his own darkness.

~~**~~

The stairway to the tower was concealed behind a locked doorway in the old Steward’s office. It took a while to find the right key from the large bunch that hung from his belt. Despite the urgency of his quest Faramir had to force himself up the stairs to the accursed chamber that had been the scene of his Father’s downfall. He had vowed never to pass this way and yet fate had tipped his hand and forced him to face the evidence of his Father’s frailty. He was not alone, at his shoulder Imrahil and Legolas offered the support of their presence.

At first  he had tried to insist that he go alone in order to maintain the integrity of the Steward’s secrets but in the end practicality won out, security had already been breached by Lord Haralil and with time pressing three pairs of eyes were more efficient than one.

The tower was similar in proportion to the observatory tower but had only narrow slit windows hidden behind wooden shutters. The lanterns the three carried illuminated the room. In the centre of the room the Seeing Stone rested on a marble plinth, hidden from sight by a heavy velvet throw that reached to the floor. Faramir felt the Stone’s call but refused to acknowledge its power.

The curved wall of the chamber was lined with shuttered bookshelves, each one locked and barred to protect its contents. Faramir fumbled with his bunch of keys but none released the locks.

“There must be another key,” Legolas reassured him, recognising his increasing frustration and panic. They searched the chamber. Imrahil uncovered the secret. He lifted the throw to reveal the column of the plinth and revealed a locked panel set within its smooth contours. The smallest key on Faramir’s belt fitted into the aperture and the panel swung open to expose a rack of small keys.

They soon found the tome that gave details of how to locate the concealed entrance and how to operate the mechanism but it took two more frustrating hours of searching to find the scroll that mapped the catacombs.

Back in the Council Chamber they spread the map out on the great oak table and worked out their strategy for conducting the search. A key on the margin of the map identified markings that they hoped might help them to navigate the labyrinth. Gimli, the most experienced amongst them of working underground, offered his own system for marking the walls and junctions within the tunnels to aid their explorations and prevent the searchers from going astray.

Faramir alone read the instructions for finding and opening the entrance. It was decided that to avoid confusion they would use only the entrance within the Citadel. The Guard Commander assigned twenty experienced soldiers to the search party. They were divided into four groups, Imrahil, Legolas, Gimli and the Commander each headed one of the groups. With preparations complete they began the search. Faramir located the panel and deployed the mechanism, a complex system of buttons and levers that had to be manipulated in the correct order to release the catch. Each man was issued with a torch and a lump of chalk to mark their progress through the tunnels, chambers and blind alley-ways. Faramir made to follow, joining with the last group to enter the tunnel. Éomer caught his arm and held him back.

“No Brother, your place is here. Leave the searching to those who have the energy and the expertise; you will only slow them down!” His words were firm but not without compassion. “Come let us ensure that all is prepared for when they find him,” he coaxed.

“Thank you, you are right. I must keep busy; there is a mountain of paperwork to deal with.”  He had his scribe bring the work to him and for an hour or so he worked diligently. But soon he pushed the paperwork aside and dismissed the clerk, no longer able to concentrate on the tedium of the task. He paced until Éowyn thought she would scream at his restless wanderings.

“Faramir, a moment!” She stilled hmi, catching his arm and drawing him to sit beside her. She tucked her arm through his and captured his fingers. Arwen repeated the action with his other arm, effectively trapping him between the. Every time he tried to rise or speak they gently shushed him until he gave up the fight and relaxed his head back and dozed.

~~**~~

The process of searching the labyrinth was slow and tedious; each passageway and cavern was inspected. At every junction the leader of the search party would stop and call into the silence, all ears cocked for any sign of the missing King.

Aragorn heard the feint echoes and called out feebly to the searchers but his voice was weak, barely above a whisper and the sound was swallowed up. The voices moved away and the thick silence descended once again.

Gimli’s party reached a dead end and doubled back, returning to the previous junction. He raised his torch and called for silence. He took a few steps into the next tunnel and examined the sandy floor of the passageway. He called for more light and the sand gave up its secret; a series of footsteps leading to and from the passageway. He examined his map and the wall markings to confirm to himself that they had not yet searched this passageway.

“Aragorn?....ARAGORN?”

“Help me….I am here!” the whisper fluttered as light as a butterfly along the tunnel.

“Hold on, Aragorn, we are coming!” Gimli was halfway down the passageway. A narrow entrance at a bend in the tunnel gave access to a large high cavern. Gimli called into the darkness. Aragorn’s reply came back to him without echo. They found the King tucked into an alcove within the wall.

“A drastic way to get a bit of peace and quiet, Sire!” Gimli joked through the lump in his throat, raising the king against his shoulder and tipping sips pf water between his parched and swollen lips.

“Faramir….!” He gasped.

“The laddie is fine, apart from worrying himself to a frazzle over you,” Gimli reassured him. He sent two troopers back to inform those waiting that the King had been found and to give them time to prepare for his return. He managed to release the bond that held the wrist and ankle shackles together but in the darkness he wouldn’t risk attempting to release the iron bands themselves. Two troopers lifted the King; the movement and the sudden release of the bonds jarred his tortured muscles and Aragorn screamed once before lapsing into oblivion.

The king was carried to his own chamber; the Warden, Arwen and Éowyn ready to receive him. The others could only wait beyond the closed door of the chamber, observing the coming and going of the servants carrying hot water, fetching supplies and carrying away soiled linen.

“He will recover.” An hour or so later the Warden appeared to present his prognosis. “He suffers from lack of liquids and food but that we can correct fairly quickly. He is bruised from a beating and his wrists and ankles are rubbed raw; he also has sores on his shoulder and hip from lying in one position for too long. But his greatest distress comes from the pain in his limbs; he suffers agony from the spasms but he has been given medicines to ease his suffering.

“May I see him?” asked Faramir.

“No Sir, not yet. He is sleeping and I would not have him disturbed. Besides, My Lord, there is another who would benefit from your presence.”

“Who?”

“Lord Corrin is failing, Sir. He has suffered another stroke and is not likely to last out the night.”

~~**~~

Faramir worked at his desk and picked at the supper Ferris had fetched earlier. Now that his immediate anxiety about Aragorn had been relieved he had set himself the job of working through the administrative tasks that had been abandoned during the King’s absence, his labours brightened by the joyful peal of bells celebrating the King’s safe return.

“You should be resting!” Éowyn scolded from the doorway. Faramir dropped his quill and pushed the parchment away, opening his arms and inviting her into his embrace.

“There is much to do!” he muttered by way of explanation. “How is Aragorn?”

“Sleeping now. He woke a while ago and has taken some nourishment but he is still in a lot of pain and the healer’s potions have lulled him back to sleep. Come now, you should be in your bed,” she coaxed.

“I would sleep better if I could see for myself that he is recovering.” Éowyn sighed, seeing the desperation in his eyes.

“Come then but you must not disturb him.”

Éowyn knocked lightly on the door to the King’s chamber and had a brief word with Arwen. He saw the smile that the two shared. Arwen disappeared for a moment only to return carrying her cloak.

“Éowyn, would you accompany me for a turn around the garden, I am in need of a little fresh air,” the Elven Queen asked. “Faramir, would you sit with Aragorn, he is sleeping but I would not leave him unattended!”

“It would be my pleasure, My Lady,” Faramir replied, knowing that he was being humoured and loving her all the more for her understanding and compassion.

He settled into a comfortable chair at the bedside. The room was fragrant with the scent of athelas and lavender.  He examined his friend, noting the yellowing bruises and the bandages around his wrists but the King slept on, relaxed and peaceful in the safety and comfort of his own bed.

Faramir felt the last vestiges of tension leaving him; suddenly overwhelmed with tiredness he let his head drop onto the coverlet and in the space between two heartbeats he dropped into exhausted sleep, one hand curled protectively over Aragorn’s arm.

TBC