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

A/N

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

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Chapter 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Greetings, friend. We come in peace.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

******

TBC