Chapter 12

Grey eyes watched from the shadowed doorway.

It was late, a few scant minutes short of the midnight chimes. Faramir sat slumped over his desk; the room dark but for the light of a single lantern at his side. The state of his desk gave a clue to his state of mind; the normally clear and uncluttered space littered with the remnants of his attempts to get his thoughts into words. For over an hour he had been trying to write to Éowyn but his inability to pen the letters with his left hand only added to his inability to form his thoughts into a meaningful narrative. In his previous letters to Edoras he had not alluded to his suspicions or his discoveries, not wanting to strain the loyalties between the two Royal Houses. But now it was all out in the open and he wanted to share his thoughts with his betrothed.

He crumpled up another ruined parchment and threw it towards the hearth with a groan. Exasperated and frustrated beyond endurance he reached for the only comfort to hand. He leaned down to a small cupboard beside his desk and took out a bottle of spirits and a crystal goblet and with a shaking hand poured himself a good measure. He grimaced as the unfamiliar, fiery liquid caught the back of his throat.  He banged the glass down onto the table only to discover he had misjudged his own strength; the stem of the goblet snapped.

“Oh, DAMN it all to blazes!” The bowl of the goblet hit the wall and smashed into a thousand rainbow fragments.

“Pox and Bloody damnation!” his frustrated cry rang out into the darkness. He allowed his head to fall to the desk with a dejected thump.

Aragorn watched with growing unease, not sure if his plan for retaliation was wise. Faramir’s despair and frustration were clear and there was no denying that the day had been a trial for the Steward; Faramir’s tension was a physical entity that filled the room with its vibrations. But soft words and calm reassurance were unlikely to penetrate the defences of this pale, stubborn young man; no, he needed to be jolted out of his cocoon of misery.

Aragorn entered the room silently and stepped unnoticed behind the Steward’s chair.

“Lord Faramir, it is accepted protocol to stand in the presence of your King!” he barked loudly.

Faramir shot to his feet in confusion. His face had no colour left to lose but he felt all the blood in his body drain towards the floor.

“In the last two days you have threatened my rule, gutted and disbanded my Council and now you have the audacity to use subterfuge to avoid my company.” Aragorn slapped the parchment onto the desk. Faramir recognised it and knew that he had been caught out.

“Sire, I beg your forgiveness, no slight was intended…”

“Silence! You have not been given permission to speak,” Aragorn ordered. “I thought we had arrived at an understanding but I cannot allow this final insubordination to go unpunished.” He walked round until he was facing the ashen faced Steward.

“Lord Faramir, remove your boots”

“Sire?”

“I said remove your boots or I will have the guards do it for you.” Faramir noticed for the first time that two guards had entered the room with the King. This situation was getting more bizarre by the moment and Faramir was confused.

“Sire, if I am to remove my boots without assistance I will need to go through to my chamber,” he explained.

“Do it!”

Faramir walked through to his chamber and sat in a chair next to the hearth. He unbuckled the fastenings on his boots and hooked the heel into a notched metal plate fixed to the fire-fender. While Faramir’s attention was fixed on his task Aragorn snagged a robe from the bed and passed it one of the guards.

Faramir, uncertain of what to expect next from this odd interaction, got hesitantly to his feet and awaited the King’s instruction. At a signal from the King the guards moved into position on either side and slightly behind of Faramir. Without a word he led the small procession back into the main chamber.

“Halt” The King’s order echoed through the darkened chamber. He allowed the silence to lengthen before moving to stand so close that Faramir could feel his breath on his face.

“Do I need gag and manacles, Steward?”

 “No Sire, I will come quietly.”

The words had barely left his lips when he found himself draped across the Kings shoulders like a yoke. He caught the eye of one of the guards and was surprised to see him wink. Whatever was going on here wasn’t threatening and Faramir could only play along.

The odd procession moved through the silent corridors, past the Royal apartments and up an unfamiliar staircase, back into a part of the citadel hewn from the solid rock of the mountain. The stairway terminated at a heavy oak door. The King dismissed the guards having reclaimed Faramir’s robe.

The brightly lit chamber was large and had a high domed ceiling. The floor was smooth and lined with marble tiles; in the centre of the room was a large steaming pool; Faramir recognised the three occupants: Legolas, Gimli and Imrahil. They all called jocular greetings but Aragorn ignored them and moved to the far wall of the chamber where a natural waterfall fell from a rocky lip. He turned his back to the wall and took a step backwards positioning Faramir to receive the full blast of the icy water. Faramir gasped in shock. After a moment Aragorn stepped forward.

“Faramir?”

“Yes, Sire?”

This was obviously the wrong answer and earned him another blast of cold water.  Aragorn tried again.

“Faramir!”

Yes, My Lord?” Another icy shower.

“Faramir!”

“Yes,…. Aragorn?” Success!

“You should put your skills to training hounds,” quipped Gimli from the pool.

“Hounds are much less trouble!” laughed Aragorn. “Faramir would you like to warm up now.”

“Yes Please, Si…Aragorn.”

“Well saved, Faramir!” Legolas’ voice floated up from the water.

Faramir, expecting to be set back onto his feet, was surprised to find himself launched into the air. He hit the water with a splash and the shock of the warm water after the icy shower caused him to gasp in a lungful of water as he sank to the bottom. By the time he had been hauled to the surface and had cleared his lungs Aragorn had stripped off and was reclining in the water on the ledge that ran around the edge of the pool, enjoying  a glass of wine. He passed one to Faramir with a smile.

“No throwing the glasses,” he laughingly admonished. Faramir gulped down the wine and placed the glass carefully on the tiles.

Faramir rested his head back and closed his eyes half listening to the banter of his companions. As he warmed up his wet clothes pulled uncomfortably. Using his teeth and his left hand he managed to undo the cuffs and buttons of his shirt; he pulled the soggy garment off and threw it into a heap on the floor. His leggings were not so amenable, the wet fabric refused to yield to his fumbling fingers and he gave up with a sigh.

“Would you like some assistance?” asked Legolas with a grin.

“Thank you, but that would require a greater degree of intimacy than I feel comfortable sharing.” This caused great amusement from the others, who laughed at his embarrassment.

Legolas took pity on him, noticing that he was again looking tense and uncomfortable.

He put his hands on the Steward’s shoulders intending to massage away the tension so clearly visible in his posture. Faramir instinctively pulled away. This earned him a gentle reprimand.

“Relax, Faramir. I’m not trying to seduce you. Just relax and let me make you more comfortable.” Faramir turned sideways and raised his feet onto the ledge, resting his head forward onto his knees.

Legolas flinched, shocked by the tension he felt in Faramir’s neck and shoulders.

“How do you function in this state?” the Elf exclaimed as he attempted to relieve the knots in the tense muscles and tendons. Faramir merely groaned, unable to formulate a reply.

“Faramir, what would you have done if I had been involved in the corruption you uncovered?” The King’s question took him by surprised and he took a moment to formulate his reply.

“If I had found evidence that you had knowingly conspired with them I would have confronted you. I would probably have consulted you, Uncle, and also Éomer, and the queen… If between us we had been unable to convince you to reverse the situation I would have resigned the Stewardship and left Gondor; I could not have stayed….I could not have seen all that my brother and father  gave their lives for betrayed and spoiled….”

“I’m very relieved you are on my side, Faramir. Your performance today was awesome; it was like seeing the ghost’s of Denethor and Ecthelion once more gracing the Council chamber. Boromir would have been so proud of you!...I was so proud of you!”

Gimli had refilled the wineglasses and Aragorn proposed a toast.

“To Faramir; my friend and my Steward!”

“To Faramir”

Faramir acknowledge the salute and buried his face back to his knees.

It was a while later that Faramir’s voice broke into the relaxed silence of the chamber.

“It’s a shame really,” he said to Legolas, his head dropping to rest sleepily on the Elf’s shoulder.

“What is?”

“That you weren’t trying to seduce me!”

“What!” came the Elf’s shocked response, as the rest of the companions howled with laughter.

“Imagine the kudos of having two fair-faced blondes fighting for my affections,” he giggled.

“You are getting altogether too cheeky, young one,” said Legolas, ducking the grinning Steward under the water.

“Is the water too hot for you, Elf… you seem a little flushed,” teased Gimli. Faramir was oblivious to the teasing; he had fallen asleep with his head resting against the edge of the pool. He snored quietly.

“How much wine has he had?” asked Legolas, looking down at the sleeping figure.

“He has barely finished two glasses.”

“Three! He had at least one down in his chamber earlier,” Aragorn corrected.

“But he told us he doesn’t drink because of his medicines.” Gimli looked to Imrahil for confirmation.

“It is true but he has never had a head for wine; not like his brother or father.” Imrahil looked on his nephew with unconcealed affection. “I have only once seen him the worst for drink and that was in Dol Amroth just after his coming of age. He never drank in his father’s presence; Denethor used alcohol as a weapon, a tool to gain advantage over others. I have known him reduce Councillors, Commanders, even Envoys to quivering wrecks; he plied them with drink and then used their fuddled state to learn what he needed…he was formidable and utterly ruthless. Faramir would never allow him that advantage, even when his father berated him for his abstinence.”

“I think we should wake him before he manages to drown himself,” said Legolas. He climbed gracefully from the pool and donned a towelling robe. Imrahil roused the sleeping Steward and helped him out of the water. While Legolas held him steady, Imrahil stripped him of his wet leggings and helped him on with his robe.

“Come on Faramir, time you were in your bed,” urged Legolas as Faramir leaned against him for support.

“Be gentle with me!” he slurred

“So gentle, you won’t know I’m there, Faramir,” soothed the Elf with a laugh.

 “Imrahil, I think I need your assistance; I need a chaperone to protect my honour and my reputation,” said Legolas.

“This is priceless, Aragorn,” chuckled Gimli as the Elf and the Prince half carried the Steward from the chamber. “This has got to be worth a whole year’s teasing…. It will be interesting to see who wins in the blushing stakes.”

“Has anyone ever told you, Gimli, you have a very wicked streak?” said the King, his heart lighter than it had been in months.

TBC

A/N. Thank you for your support and encouragement.