Chapter 5

It had taken Tamir only one visit to the First Circle  and to the barracks to confirm the truth of Lireal’s story; the level of privation and hardship amongst the most vulnerable people of the city had shocked even the squire, who had  personal memories of poverty from  his own childhood.

Faramir cut short one of his afternoon rides with Legolas and made his own tour of inspection. After he had seen enough to convince himself that urgent action was needed he made his way to the barracks to find the Quartermaster. On the way he passed numerous crippled and ragged veterans; too disabled for active service but with no other means of supporting themselves. Faramir gave away the few coins in his purse to the children who pulled at his cloak begging for food. By the time he got to his destination he was heart-sick and angry.

The Quartermaster snapped smartly to attention when Faramir entered. “I do what I can, Captain!” he explained sorrowfully, not even needing Faramir to voice his anger. “I am allocated barely enough to keep the troops that are still on the register and maintain the horses. I’ve asked for more, tried to explain the problems but I’m told time and again that the City finances are too precarious for needless extravagance! I send the troops out into the hills to hunt for game to supplement the rations we have but the pickings are still scarce…I just wish I could do more!”

“Do what you can,” said the Steward sadly. “I will send you what aid I can. Now that I know what the situation is I will help to put things right. Come up to my chambers            in the Citadel tomorrow evening and we will work out a plan of action. I need your discretion in this matter; it would be better if my involvement went unnoticed!”

“Gentlemen!” Faramir called the meeting to order and waited for quiet. “We have much to discuss and organise. Firstly, Lord Corrin, do you have in your service a young lad you can allocate to be my squire?”

“Yes Sir, of course.” Puzzled, his gaze passed from Faramir to Tamir.

Tamir blanched and gave a heartfelt cry of disbelief. “My Lord, what have I done to offend you?...please don’t send me away!” he begged.

“Peace Tamir, you are not to be dismissed, I have more important things for you to do than filling my bath and helping me to dress! If we are to succeed in this task I need you beside me as my Adjutant…that is if you want the promotion?” he asked with a smile of affection. Tamir raised his right hand to his heart in salute and swallowed hard before nodding his acceptance.

“Lord Corrin, do I own any properties in the lower circles of the City that would serve as a centre for providing relief?” The chamberlain mentioned several but the most suitable appeared to be a long abandoned villa that had once been owned by a family whose business involved the trading and importation of fabric from the south.

“It has been empty for many years, Sir, but I believe it to be basically sound. The house is quite extensive and there is an adjoining complex of caves and warehouses that were used for storage; it is located in the second circle against the northern boundary of the mountain.”

“Excellent,” exclaimed Faramir. “We will start small and begin with the basics; providing a hot meal a day and a place to sleep for those in need.”

“But Captain, how are we to supply the provisions for such a task?” The Quartermaster couldn’t keep the concern from his voice.

“I believe you hold a considerable sum of back-pay in my name.” Faramir smiled as comprehension slowly dawned on the old soldier’s face.

“You would do that, Sir”

“Of course, I have no need of it; indeed, until the other day I didn’t even know about it. I would rather put it to use than have it sitting gathering dust and pricking at my conscience. I ask only that you haggle and stretch it as far as possible and that you keep accurate records of how the money is spent.  I will leave you to appoint those you can trust from amongst the veterans to oversee the day to day management and they will report directly to me, via Tamir. Once we have things established we can extend the help we provide. There must be a pool of un-tapped talents amongst those left in need….we need to give them the chance and the opportunity to share those skills to equip others with the wherewithal to support themselves; there are widows, orphans and veterans who all need the means of regaining their independence and their pride. We have to give them back their belief in Gondor; if we can’t achieve that then we have failed.”

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Tamir ushered in the new squire at first light. Ferris, a tousle-headed lad of twelve looked terrified; his scrubbed face and stiff new uniform glowing in the light of a lantern. Faramir talked to him gently, trying to put him at ease as Tamir showed him how to best assist his new master. The transition from Tamir’s capable, discrete assistance to the lad’s fumbling attentions was going to take some getting used to. It reinforced to Faramir that if he wanted to become more independent he would need to work with the tailors, seamstresses and cobblers to make his clothing more suitable to his disability; laces were impossible to fasten one handed and small buttons fiddly and frustrating; buckles and buttons he could manage if they were of sufficient size.

Over the next few days, in between his hours spent in the archives, he had several appointments with the tailors as they worked out between them what would work best. Several times Legolas managed to catch him receiving their attentions. Not realising the reason for this flurry of sartorial attention he took to teasing Faramir about his new found interest in fashionable attire. To begin with Faramir took the teasing in good part but one afternoon when tiredness and frustration at his lack of progress on the practice field had frayed his temper, one joke too many pushed him over the edge and he rounded on the astounded Elf.

“I never thought I would have cause to accuse you of insensitivity, Legolas,” his voice quiet and full of anger. “I thought you my friend and yet you know me so little that you would accuse me of selfish vanity. I do not seek adornment or fashion! I seek only the ability and the self-respect of being able to dress myself! Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to be totally dependent on friends and servants to do the most basic and intimate tasks for you, to have to stop and think before every action to judge whether you can actually manage without assistance, to not even be able to write personal and private correspondence, to have no privacy and no dignity…” He struggled hard to keep his voice from betraying the depths of his hurt.

 “You have only known me as a cripple,” he continued, “but a year ago I was one of the best archers in Gondor and while I might not have matched you for speed I would have matched you for accuracy at hitting a target…” His anger fizzled out at the stricken look on his friend’s face.

“Faramir, forgive me, I meant not to hurt you. Please, my friend, say that you forgive my thoughtless jest! I do forget sometimes the extent of your difficulties because you manage it so well and without complaint….What may I do to redeem myself?”

“Of course I forgive you Legolas, if you will forgive me for taking my bad temper out on you. I should not have let my frustration get the better of me” Faramir soothed tiredly.

“You are tired and weary and you are working too hard, my friend. Why don’t you join Gimli and me for a little relaxation this evening? It might help to take your mind off whatever it is that troubles you. We would gladly share your burdens, if you would allow us!”

“I thank you for the offer but I must deal with this myself, though I will gladly accept your invitation,” Faramir said. “When and where should I meet you,” he asked, keen to smooth over the tension between them.

“By the gate to the sixth circle at the second bell past sunset; we will make sure that you forget your worries for one evening!”

The tavern was crowded and noisy; a favourite haunt of Gimli’s kin, the dwarves raucous enjoyment drowned out even the best that Gondor’s finest troopers could achieve. In a secluded corner the three friends watched the impromptu floor show with increasing mirth. Legolas and Gimli had supped enough ale that they had reached the point of noisy boastfulness. Faramir observed their attempts to best each other verbally with growing amusement. His own sobriety did not go unnoticed.

“Are you going to make that one mug last all evening, Faramir?”

“That is my intention, Gimli,” he said thumping the Dwarf on the shoulder and making him spill his beer. “I wish to remain sober enough to enjoy watching you make a fool of yourself.”

“Do you never let your hair down, Steward? Just once wouldn’t you like to just let go! To forget dignity and duty; we won’t let you come to harm!”

“Why do you not drink, Faramir?” asked Legolas, draping an arm over the man’s shoulder.

“For more reasons than I would wish to inflict on you in your present state,” he confided softly. “But  for  the record, I cannot drink more than a little; Lord Elrond formulated a herbal remedy for me that eases the pain and spasm in my shoulder, unfortunately it reacts badly with alcohol; it is not a pretty sight, as Éomer can testify!” he said with a self conscious laugh.

“Now that sounds like a merry tale, please tell us more!” begged Gimli, still attempting to mop the beer from his beard.

By the end of the evening Legolas was getting maudlin and kept apologising over and over for his misplaced jest earlier in the day. No matter how many times Faramir reassured him that the matter was forgotten he simply wouldn’t let it rest.

“Please… tell me what I can do to make amends,” he begged for the fourth time. In desperation Faramir came to a decision.

“Go for twelve hours without the use of your right arm!” he challenged and watched as comprehension dawned on the Elf’s face.

“I can do that!” he slurred. “Jus’  twelve hours; no problem!”

Legolas climbed groggily to wakefulness to find Gimli sitting by his bed.

“You’ve really done it this time, Elf…thinking with your ego again…you will never survive this day without my help.” Legolas swung his legs over the edge of the bed and looked in confusion at his right arm. His hand was folded into a fist and firmly encased in a thick bandage.

“You are not to take that off until after your dinner engagement with Aragorn and Arwen this evening,” smirked the Dwarf.

Washing and dressing were a problem; grooming and braiding his hair to fastidious elven standards, impossible. Gimli assisted, unable to hide his mirth at Legolas’ embarrassment but the Elf’s trials were not yet over.

 “One moment Legolas, you are not yet ready to go out and face the world!” Gimli produced a soft leather belt and proceeded to fasten it loosely around the Elf’s bicep and then around his chest, preventing him raising his arm by more than a few inches. “Now we may go and find breakfast!”

As fast as lightning Legolas shot out his left hand and grabbed a handful of Gimli’s beard, lifting until the dwarf was standing on tiptoes.

“One more smirk out of you, Dwarf, and I will personally shave off half your beard! Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.”

By the end of the day Legolas was nearly screaming with frustration and would have strangled Gimli if he had had the ability to do so. He excused himself from the royal party as soon as the meal was over and went off in search of Faramir.

As Faramir helped him to release his bonds Legolas again apologised to him and complimented him on the aptness of his punishment.

Faramir reacted with horror. “Legolas, it was not meant as a punishment. I would never presume to punish you…I wanted only to help you understand the difficulties that I face!”

“Don’t fret, my friend, if I had been more understanding your action would have been unnecessary. I have had a difficult day but you have to live with this; my admiration of your fortitude grows with each day.” A look of mutual understanding passed between them and the seeds of a lifelong friendship took root.

TBC

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A/N

Many thanks to all my lovely reviewers.