Chapter 3

It didn’t take elvish perceptions to see that Faramir had spent a sleepless night, exhaustion was written clearly on his face, his eyes shadowed and dull. He barely touched his breakfast and paced restlessly as the horses were readied for departure. Islin and Lireal came into the yard to see them off; Faramir drew them aside.

“Lireal, I’m sorry that I can do so little to ease your suffering but I promise you that I will not forget you or your story. I will do everything in my power to set things right…I will do my best to restore Gondor’s honour so that you may once again have confidence in those who lead our country. I cannot bring back your loved ones or mine, but I will make their loss have meaning.” He reached into his tunic and pulled out a small piece of parchment, it was marked with his signature and the impression of his personal seal.

 “If you have need of anything, if you need my help, send word with the messengers who pass this way; show them this cipher and they will make sure I receive your message.” He embraced her gently and then turning to Islin he drew his right arm to his heart in salute; his eyes giving the thanks he didn’t trust his lips to utter.

Tamir helped his master to mount and the three horses passed out of the yard and onto the trail. They travelled swiftly; Faramir’s silence casting a pall over the companions. They rode late into the evening, stopping only when falling dusk threatened to obscure the trail. It wasn’t snores that kept the companions awake in the dark hours of the night; when Faramir finally sank into restless sleep old nightmares of fire, loss and grief had him splitting the night with his cries.

The following day passed in a similar manner, Faramir silent and distracted pushed the pace, seemingly unaware of the plight of the horses or his friends. The rhythm of hooves on the trail seemed to hypnotise him so that he was heedless of his situation or his surroundings. Lireal’s story tormented him, it played over and over in his head and try as he might he could make no sense of it. He had had total and unquestioning confidence that the return of the King would herald a new and positive era for Gondor after centuries of steady decline; that the King would be noble and honourable, that he would honour the statutes and customs of his new Kingdom. Yet within a matter of months it seemed that the most vulnerable people of Gondor had been betrayed by the very King who had vowed to protect them.

In order to try and bring some sense and order to his thoughts, Faramir replayed Islin’s council through his mind like a mantra; use your strengths…know your enemy…plan a strategy. Faramir’s mind baulked at the thought of the King as his enemy; the very thought was treason, and yet…was his allegiance only to the King or did his responsibility to the people of Gondor also bind him.

There were no answers; nothing he could do until he got back to the city and saw for himself what was happening. Never before had he felt so alone or so isolated. There was no one in whom he could confide. He counted Legolas and Gimli as friends but it was a new and fragile friendship and their first loyalty was to the King and Faramir was not prepared to challenge that loyalty. He ached with longing for Boromir’s bluff and down to earth council; he would have known what to do, would have ploughed through protocol, met the problem head on, and forced it into the open. But Faramir didn’t have Boromir’s confidence or his training in the duties of the Steward; Faramir was never intended for the honour; even after his brother’s departure from Gondor Denethor had not deemed his second son worthy of instruction in the responsibilities of the position.

“Faramir!” Legolas’ urgent call went unheeded. He urged his mount forward until they drew level; he reached for the reins and pulled Faramir’s mount to a standstill.

“Faramir, enough, we cannot keep going at this pace!”  Legolas couldn’t hide the censure in his voice. Faramir looked around in a daze. “If you cannot spare a thought for your friends’ at least spare one for the poor horses. I would not like to be the one to explain to Éowyn that you had run her beautiful gift into the ground with thoughtless neglect.” His voice softened at the look of distress on Faramir’s face. “Come, my friend, we will go no further today, you need to rest.”

Faramir had not the energy to argue or even reply. He dismounted and staggered to the shade of the nearest tree and slipped down, resting his head against the trunk and closing his eyes to shut out the questioning looks of his companions and the reminders of his own inadequacies.

“Sir,” Tamir approached a short time later bearing a cup of hot tea. “Please Sir; drink this, it will help you to relax and Gimli will have food ready soon.” Faramir just shook his head not even opening his eyes. Tamir looked in desperation to Legolas for assistance. The Elf took the cup and, ushering Tamir away, took his place.

“Faramir, look at me.” With his hand on his cheek he turned the pale face towards him. “Faramir, you need to drink this, I will not allow you to neglect your health; you are exhausted and in pain, let us help you.”  With a sigh of resignation the Steward raised his left hand to take the cup but it shook so badly that Legolas helped to guide it to his lips. “Can you not tell me what distresses you so, my friend,”   the Elf asked, but Faramir didn’t answer, afraid that even one word would be his undoing. He closed his eyes, his left thumb pressing viciously into the palm of his numb hand.

After supper Tamir set up the bed-rolls close to the fire; Legolas offered his own so that Faramir would be more comfortable. He and Tamir helped Faramir over to the fire and directed him to sit with Tamir at his back and Legolas cross-legged in front. When Tamir placed his hands on his shoulders and started to gently massage the stiff and aching muscles Faramir flinched at the touch.

“Relax, my friend,” whispered Legolas his voice soft and soothing. “Relax and close your eyes, I will help you to rest. Listen to my voice and breathe slowly and deeply.” Legolas extended his arms and placed his hands on his friend’s face; thumbs resting lightly on the closed eyelids, fingers splayed from forehead to temples rubbing gentle circles across the furrowed brow. Gradually the combined ministrations worked their magic and they felt Faramir relax under their hands. Tamir moved away but Legolas continued to soothe with his hands and his voice. He moved his hands down from his face to his shoulders and gently guided Faramir down onto the blankets. “Sleep well, my friend,” he whispered covering him with blankets and a warm cloak.

The remaining companions moved to the far side of the fire where they could talk quietly without disturbing Faramir.

“Tamir, do you know what this is all about.”

“No, Sir. I was hoping you could tell me. I don’t understand it; he was so happy, really looking forward to going home…It doesn’t make sense, Sir. What did she say to him? It can only have been Lireal, but what can she have said that would have upset him so?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t hear her tale, I had the boy with me and I thought it best to give them some privacy.”

“I’m worried, Sir. I’ve seen him like this before.” Tamir couldn’t hide the catch in his voice. “It was before you came, before the coronation…he drove himself like a demon, wouldn’t take heed of anyone, not even Lady Éowyn…he nearly died…” The squire turned his face to the fire to hide his distress. Gimli laid a hand across his shoulder.

“Don’t you worry, Lad? Whatever is troubling him we will not let him face it on his own, we will all look out for him, whether he wants us too or not. Yon Steward is about to find out that he is not the only one with a monopoly on stubbornness!”

*****

They arrived at the White City before dusk the following evening, entering the gates unheralded and unannounced. They parted at the stables high in the sixth circle, Faramir and his squire making for the Steward’s chambers and the Elf and Dwarf to be ushered into the Royal apartments, tasked to tend to the King Faramir’s apologies.

By the time Faramir had broken his fast and attended the Warden in the Houses of Healing it was approaching noon. He waited in the ante-chamber of the King’s apartments to be announced.

“Ah, My Lord Steward, so good of you to grace us with your presence.” The hint of sarcasm in the King’s tone, the result of a long and tedious morning listening to whining supplications from endless courtiers, was not lost on Faramir; he felt a shiver run through him reminding him of interviews with his Father.

“Sire, I bring you greetings and messages from King Éomer,” he said formally, handing over the pouch containing parchments and letters, “there are also letters to the Queen from Lady Éowyn”. The King accepted the package and gestured to Faramir to be seated.

“How are you faring, Faramir,” he asked more gently, seeing the tension in the younger man’s bearing. “What did the Warden have to say?”

“I am fine, Sire. My recovery in Edoras has been pleasing, though the journey home has set me back a little; my arm suffers from long days in the saddle and cold nights on the hard ground but it’s nothing that a few days of rest and exercise won’t remedy. I apologise that my treatment this morning delayed my attending you sooner.”

“There is no need for apologies, I would rather not face Éowyn’s wrath for allowing you to neglect your health,” he said with a smile trying to put the steward at ease, but Faramir, his eyes to the floor,  missed the King’s attempts to ease the tension between them.

“What now my Lord, are you ready now to take up your duties as Steward?”

“As my King commands,” said Faramir formally.

“No, not as I command,” said the King in frustration. “What do you want? Are you ready for this! Talk to me Faramir!”

“Sire, I know nothing about administering a city or a nation. Until the last days of the War I had spent barely a few weeks in the city in the last ten years. I was stationed out at Ithilien, away from the Court at my father’s behest; he thought it unnecessary to have me instructed in the duties and responsibilities of his Office. I know some of your councillors by sight and reputation only…they were always my father’s men; I was not considered worthy of their notice, I had no influence and therefore no value,” he finished bitterly.

“And yet you took on responsibility for preparing the city for my arrival, and made an excellent job of it, though at too high a personal cost I fear,” said the King, his eyes straying to Faramir’s disabled arm.

“It was my duty, Sire. I dealt with each crisis as it appeared…”

“Faramir, we have to work this out between us. I am new to this responsibility too. I would like you to take over responsibility for civic administration; that would relieve some of the burden from my shoulders and leave me more time to deal with the broader issues of defending our borders and managing our relationships with our neighbours.”

“Of course, Sire, though I would ask that you allow me the chance to familiarise myself with the duties and responsibilities that that entails before I take on the role formally, I would not want to embarrass you or cause problems because of my lack of knowledge or experience.”

“Faramir, are you sure you are recovered enough to take on this role. If you wish simply to retire to Ithilien I would not stand in your way,” said the King sensing the underlying uncertainty of the Steward. Faramir read into the King’s question a lack of confidence in his ability to perform the duties and his heart dropped with the old familiar sense of inadequacy.

Despite all of his uncertainty Faramir knew that he had to avoid being banished from the city; away from the seat of power he wouldn’t have the ability or the influence to keep his promise to Lireal. “No Sire, I wish to stay here and serve our people,” he said. “I wish to take up the duties you laid upon me; I seek only your indulgence in allowing me time to prepare myself.”

“Very well, but use the time wisely for I will have need of your council. You may sit in on council meetings until such time as you feel ready to take charge,” he said getting to his feet, indicating that the audience was over. Faramir bowed and withdrew, and with a sigh the King retreated to his private quarters with a sense of unease and disappointment.

 *****

TBC

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