Chapter 11

As the door closed behind Faramir a stunned silence descended upon those present.

For several seconds everything and everyone was silent.

Tamir was the first to move; with a pre-arranged signal to the Guard Commander the watchful sentries moved out of the shadows with swords drawn and formed a protective perimeter around those seated at the table. That duty accomplished, Tamir ushered Arwen and Lireal back into the Royal apartments from the shadowed corner where they had been observing the proceedings.

The appearance of the troops seemed to break the spell of silence and shock. Prince Imrahil, once assured in his own mind that the King was protected and safe, whispered urgently to Aragorn and, having received a nod of approval, moved through the line of Guards and left the chamber by the main door.

As the room descended into noisy chaos the King merely pushed his chair away from the table slightly, folded his arms and waited, his face an expressionless mask.

“Sire, you cannot allow….”

“I’ve never been so insulted; just who does he think….”

“The Boy is mad, Sire…”

“Gone just like his Fath…”

“Needs locking away…”

“Accusing us, who have given our lives to Gondor? How dare he….”

“You cannot allow the boy to usurp your authority, Sire, Order his arrest….he is a traitor to Gondor and the Council…”

Aragorn allowed the litany of outraged protest to continue. He let his gaze roam over the faces of those present, catching the eye of each of the special advisors, he read their disgust and sense of outrage; it matched his own.

“GENTLEMEN” The King’s voice cut through the cacophony.

“I will not waste my breath or my energy on pointless discussion. You have outstayed your welcome and usefulness. You have two minutes to comply with Lord Faramir’s directions. You will be escorted to your homes and you will stay there until called to appear before the tribunal. Believe me when I say that I will be seeking the slightest infraction to justify seeking your immediate arrest.” The King got to his feet.

 “Captain, see to it.”

“It will be my pleasure, Sire.”

Aragorn beckoned to Legolas and Gimli. In the Royal apartments Aragorn made straight for the wine decanter and with shaking hands poured himself a large drink; he downed it in one swallow. With his initial anger subdued by the warmth spreading through him he poured drinks for all and distributed them.

Legolas and Gimli had gravitated to Lireal and were talking to her quietly, trying to ease her concerns about the consequences of Faramir’s revelations. Arwen, with one look at her husband’s shocked demeanour, put down her own glass and moved into his embrace.

“What have I done?” he whispered into her hair. “What have I done?”

“It is bad, Estel, but nothing that cannot be set to rights,” she soothed.

“I trusted them…how can I have been so blind…so stupid! It all seemed so easy, they knew their roles and their responsibilities and I had no reason to doubt their honesty or their integrity. They read me as an easy touch from the beginning,” he choked.

This seemed to pull Aragorn back to the reality of the situation.

“Legolas, Gimli, did you have any idea about this?” he demanded.

“We had no idea, Estel. We would not have kept something like this from you. We didn’t hear Lireal’s tale until just now. Though it explains a lot. It is no wonder Faramir has been so distressed; he has been carrying this burden alone for so long.”

Why didn’t he confide in us?” queried Gimli

“I think I can answer that, Sire,” Lireal stepped forward until she stood before the Royal couple.  “He feared that you were involved; at least at first.”

“I was involved! May the Valar forgive me; all of those statutes carry my signature and seal,” he groaned.

“And what will happen to him now…will you set him aside. He was doing what he thought was right…for his people…for your people, Sire. Will he be punished?”

“Punished for doing what is right! Is your opinion of me so low? No, if anyone deserves punishment it is me…I allowed myself to be deceived and manipulated…”

“Ay, but you didn’t know what the consequences of the Councils actions would be…you were deceived by those self-serving parasites” Gimli couldn’t keep the loathing from his tone. “House arrest is too good for those Son’s of Orcs; the dwarves would not have been so lenient to those who fouled the good name of their King.”

“And are incompetence and negligence less serious failings in a Ruler than corruption, Gimli? However you look at this I have failed! He threatened me with a coup yesterday…He could have done it and who would have doubted his right…!” he choked.

“But that was just a jest, Estel; he would never threaten you or your Rule. He pledged himself to your service and he values honour above all else. Do not doubt him,” counselled Arwen.

“Sire, the Chamberlain requests a moment of your time.” The page stood hesitantly at the door.

“Lord Corrin!” greeted the King, “not more problems I hope!”

“Sire, I’m sorry to intrude but Lord Faramir is indisposed and I was wondering about this evening’s banquet; given the events of today, do you still want to go ahead as planned?”

“Yes, though there will be a few empty seats; the parasi…Councillors are otherwise engaged and I hardly think their wives will come unescorted,” he said with grim satisfaction.

“Lord Corrin, I noticed you seemed little surprised by Lord Faramir’s revelations today. Did you know what was going on?” the King demanded.

“Not the extent of it Sire, though my Lord had confided in me his worries when he first returned to the city. I never anticipated the depth or breadth of their dishonesty. I believe he learned early in his investigations that you were not involved Sire, but by then he was too deeply enmeshed in the process to reveal his suspicions without forewarning the Councillors,” the old retainer explained.

“Your loyalty and devotion to Lord Faramir are to be commended; I hope I will soon earn that same trust,” said the King, by way of dismissing the Chamberlain.

*****

Prince Imrahil had recognised the signs of Faramir’s distress and knew that they threatened a crisis. He hurried along the echoing corridors to his nephew’s chambers. The main chamber was empty but he could hear a young concerned voice coming from the bedchamber beyond. He found Faramir slumped against the wall, retching violently into a basin held by his young squire.

“Oh Faramir, what have you done to yourself this time?” he asked sadly, taking the pale clammy cheeks between his hands.

“Hurts..” gasped Faramir, grinding his fist into his temple in a futile attempt to get at the pain.

“Quick lad, go to the Royal apartments. Tell the King that Lord Faramir is indisposed and that I will stay with him. If Tamir is still there ask him to come here quickly; if he is not, send for a healer.”  The squire looked terrified at the prospect of taking a message to the King but Imrahil shooed him on his way, giving him no chance to protest.

He lifted Faramir and placed him gently on the bed, closing the curtains to shut out the light. Tamir rushed in and, taking one look at his Lord, took a small crystal vial from the cabinet and measured five drops of clear liquid onto a small spoon.

“Here Sir,” he said, tipping the drops onto Faramir’s tongue. Faramir hadn’t the strength to even to grimace at the bitter taste of the elixir.

Faramir struggled against the rapidly encroaching oblivion of the sedative.

“The King…!” he gasped.

“The King is safe; angry but safe,” soothed the Prince.

“He sent you…is it banishment or my life!”

“I don’t understand, Faramir!”

“I accused him of maladministration and corruption; he cannot excuse treason!” Faramir whispered weakly.

“He is not angry with you…he means you no harm. Rest now, you are overwrought. All will be well,” he reassured, placing a cool compress on the furrowed brow. Faramir slumped back into the pillows embracing the drug induced stupor.

 Imrahil noticed bloodstains on the linen and looked for their source; he could find no obvious wound until he examined his hands. It was the thumb of his left hand he noticed first, the nail stained and encrusted with blood. He gently unfurled the fingers of his right hand and gasped at the sight that met him; new gouges and scars in various stages of healing criss-crossed the palm, testament to Faramir’s unconscious habit of rubbing his numb palm when agitated. It took a few moments to bathe and apply salve to the wounds. Tamir applied bandages to protect the hand from further damage.

“He will likely sleep for a couple of hours, my Lord, I will stay with him,” offered Tamir.

“Thank you Tamir. I thank you for your care and devotion to my nephew.”

“What else can I do Sir; he would give his life for Gondor, as I would give mine for him,” exclaimed the adjutant with bright-eyed sincerity.

.

Faramir was beginning to rouse when a gentle knock on the door broke the silence.

“How is he faring,” asked the King, moving quietly across the room.

“He is still sleeping, though I think he will wake soon. Can I take a message for you Sire?”  Tamir tried to edge the King back towards the door.

“Thank you but I will wait here and speak to him when he wakes; there is much I need to say to him. Perhaps you could escort Lireal back to her accommodation; she is awaiting you in my apartments.” Tamir recognised the dismissal and left with an almost imperceptible nod of his head in place of a salute.

“Faramir” The King’s voice was soft but insistent and it drew him back along the last steps to wakefulness. The darkness of the room confused him and he tried to rise.

“Be still now, all is well. You need to rest a while. I wanted you to know….I wanted to reassure you…to thank you…to apologise…”

“A Ruler should never…”

“…apologise! So you keep telling me, but I am not any Ruler and I am not your father and I do not have to follow his instructions.”

The King clasped Faramir’s hand as he continued, “I have made grave errors and caused great suffering and distress to our people. It is too grave a misjudgement to be easily forgotten or forgiven but I would be comforted to know that I have your forgiveness. Can you forgive me, Faramir?”

“Of course I forgive you, Sire. I know it was not your intention to cause distress. You are not angry with me?” Faramir couldn’t help but ask. “You are not angry that I failed to inform you of what was going on.

“Why should I be angry, you have shown nothing but honesty and integrity, you risked losing everything for honour?  I own to being disappointed that you didn’t feel you could come and confide in me and it grieves me that this matter has caused unnecessary estrangement between us. It is me who is humbled and shamed that I ever doubted you.” Aragorn offered Faramir a drink and when he was settled back against the pillow he replaced the cool compress on his forehead.

“We will talk tomorrow, we have much to discuss. I will go now and leave you to rest…I would like to be gone before Tamir returns; I fear he does not look upon me too kindly! Perhaps I should banish you to Ithilien to protect myself from your diligent bodyguard,” the King joked, relieved to see the pale face lifted by the hint of a smile. Faramir drifted back to sleep.

*****

The great banqueting hall glittered in the flickering light of hundreds of candles and lanterns as the assembled guests took their places. The settings had been hastily rearranged to disguise the gaps left by the absent ex-councillors. The guests rose to their feet as the Royal couple entered and took their places at the centre of the top table.

Faramir had asked the Chamberlain to set a place for him at the end of the table, next to Prince Imrahil; far enough away from the rest of the Royal entourage to avoid discussion of the day’s events. The worst of his headache had eased but he was left feeling weak and shaky. He had always hated these formal court festivities and had managed to avoid them since his return from Edoras but he knew his absence tonight would reflect badly on his newly acclaimed status as Steward.  He slipped into his place almost unnoticed.

“Faramir, you should be in your bed,” his uncle remonstrated, noting his pallor.

“Don’t fret, Uncle. I’m fine,” he whispered irritably. “I need to be here; I need the Court to see that I still have the King’s favour.”

He managed well enough through the soup and fish courses, eating a little but avoiding the wine, sipping instead on well-watered ale.  He sighed in dismay as the main course was put in front of him, knowing that he was unable to tackle the beautifully presented guinea-fowl with only one hand. He was saved the embarrassment of struggling with the food or of asking for help by the arrival of a page bearing a roll of parchment. Faramir took the message and examined the contents. He made his way to the King and asked for permission to retire, indicating the parchment by way of explanation. As he took his leave the parchment slipped unnoticed from its resting place inside his sling. Legolas saw it fall and retrieved it, tucking it into his tunic for safe keeping.

“Ay, it seems Faramir is missing out on the fun again,” commented Gimli as the Steward disappeared.

“I don’t think it will distress him too much,” said Legolas, catching Arwen’s eye and directing her gaze to the place Faramir had just vacated. Her eyes widened in sudden understanding.

“Why! I don’t understand?” uttered Aragorn, his gaze moving between the two Elves.

Legolas leaned in front of the King and took hold of his right hand.

“My Lady,” he said, extending the captured hand towards the Queen, “Look after this until the end of the meal.”

“It would be my pleasure, my Prince,” she smirked wickedly. She kissed her husband’s fingers and then moved his hand down and tucked it under her knee, trapping it against the seat. Without further comment the two Elves proceeded to tuck into their main course.

“Much as I am enjoying this rather unseemly token of your affection,” he said, somewhat irritably, “please may I have my hand back? I am fond of guinea fowl, I requested it specially and it is difficult to eat with only one hand.”

“Is it really! I would never have thought it,” teased Arwen. “You may have it back at the end of the meal.”

“Sire, would you like me to cut your meat up for you or would you prefer to pick it up with your fingers and eat like an Orc?” Legolas’s face was a picture of innocence. Realisation suddenly dawned upon the King and he looked towards the Steward’s empty chair.

“Oh! Why didn’t he say something?”

“Because that would just have drawn more attention to himself. Now eat your dinner, you are beginning to make a spectacle of yourself,” ordered the Queen, refusing to release the trapped digits.

*****

The banquet was over, the guests dispersed. The King and his three friends relaxed in front of the fire.

“Aragorn, you seem to have decorated the front of your tunic, is it the new fashion to wear one’s dinner,” quipped Gimli.

“You can take the Ranger out of the wild but you can’t take the wild out of the Ranger!” giggled Legolas.

“Quiet, Elf, or you will be wearing your wine,” growled Aragorn, still smarting from the embarrassment inflicted upon him by the two Elves.

“I should go and check on Faramir,” said Imrahil, “he was in no condition to be wrestling with matters of State after the trials of today.” He got to his feet but Legolas stayed him.

“I don’t think it was anything too serious,” he said with a reassuring and slightly sheepish smile.

“What do you know” queried the King, suspiciously.

“Nothing, just a hunch.” Legolas passed round a plate of sweet cakes in the hope of diverting their attention, not wishing to get his friend into strife.

“Legolas, if you value your braids tell me what you know?” Aragorn grabbed the Elf by the hair and held him pinned. “You cannot dissemble to save your life”  

Legolas sighed, pulled the parchment from his tunic and passed it to him. Aragorn unrolled the message and a look of puzzlement passed over his face. He passed it to Imrahil; the parchment contained just a list of eight names.

“I don’t understand…do I?” queried Imrahil. Gimli glanced at the message and let out a loud guffaw.

“I think our crafty young Steward made sure that he wouldn’t have to stay too long at the banquet,” he chortled.

“You mean he arranged this in advance. That there was no crisis -why, the cheeky young pup...”

“You have to admit, it shows initiative and cunning,” smirked Legolas

 The King looked at his companions with a twinkle on his eye. “This deception cannot go unpunished. Revenge will be mine!”

TBC

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I am rapidly catching up with myself, posting faster than I can write. So please forgive me if updates are a bit slower than usual, I will do my best to keep on track.