Chapter 12 - Home

“I have fallen below the standard expected of one of my station. I shall resign my Stewardship and retire to Ithilien to live out my days in disgrace. I shall never return to Minas Tirith.”

The King and his Steward were standing together in the courtyard close to the white tree. Behind them stood a small group of people namely the Steward’s family and many of his friends waiting patiently.

Aragorn had known this moment would come. His Steward had made him aware of his decision some days ago, but the King had hoped that his arguments would have been able to dissuade Faramir from his course. His opening words had revealed to the King that his hopes had not been realised. Undeterred Aragorn resolved to continue to argue.

“You fell below your own unachievable standards, Faramir, and then only because you were subject to an evil enchantment. You are not to blame here. There is no disgrace, and I forgive you the small scratch you gave me - it was nothing. I came to no harm.”

“I treasure your forgiveness, Sire, and it makes my heart a little less heavy, but you forgive me as my friend, not my King.” Faramir’s voice was even and completely lacking in emotion as he continued, “As the King you must see I cannot continue in my role, cannot continue to be part of the governorship of Gondor. Not after what I have done.”

“Gondor needs you, Faramir. I need you!”

Faramir had a pained look on his face. “There are others not tainted with the stain I bear. Others who are loyal and capable waiting to take my place. They will do just as good a job as me, and they carry none of my accompanying guilt. I cannot remain here, for although you say you would trust me with your life, I cannot trust myself. Saruman has not been found, my curse has not been lifted, and I cannot allow aught else to harm you, not when it is within my gift to stop it.”

Aragorn sighed. “I can see by the set of your jaw you are resolved in this. Know that if I thought I could persuade you to change your mind, I would do what ever it took. As it stands I will grudgingly accept what you say. I am a patient man, and I can wait. Also know this; the office of Steward was given to you and to your heirs for as long as my line shall last, and I will give it to no other. I shall keep the white rod until you feel able to lift it once more, and if not you, dearest Faramir, then it shall be Elboron’s when he comes of age.”

There were tears in Faramir’s eyes as he embraced his King. “Thank you, Sire,” he whispered and then pulling away he moved to his horse.

Eowyn moved forward and curtsied.

“I hear that you met with Grima,” the King began. “I will not ask for details of what passed between you, but is it concluded?”

Eowyn sighed. “In truth, I know not. He asked for my forgiveness, and I eventually gave it with reservation. He seemed much changed, but my heart will not trust him. He has caused too much harm for me and mine.”

Aragorn nodded. He pulled her closer and embraced her.

“Look after my Steward,” he said quietly so his voice did not carry to the others.

“Of course, my Lord.”

“There is a place for you in my court always, Lady Eowyn.”

“Thank you, Sire, but my place is with my husband,” Eowyn smiled sadly.

Aragorn nodded. “He is so noble, and this has hurt him so deeply. I pray that in time his heart will heal, and he will see his way to come back to us.”

“He is proud and stubborn, but I would not change him, and I think neither would you for in changing him we risk losing the value we both know he possesses. I will join in your prayers. My heart beats for the day he feels able to return to the city he loves and the job he was born to do. In the meantime I will do what I can to sustain him through this difficult time.”

She turned regally away and mounted her horse slowly. For the first time Aragorn noted that her pregnancy was visible in the slight thickening of her waist. He feared for the child, but he feared for its father more.

Arwen, as if sensing his disquiet, moved to support him.

“You have done all you can, Elessar,” she murmured. “Faramir’s heart has always been happiest in Ithilien. Let him go now with his family, for they are dearest to him, and they alone have the power to free him from this harm.”

Aragorn nodded and took hold of his wife’s hand. They watched as the small family along with a company of protective Rangers left the courtyard and began its journey homeward to Ithilien.

“I will miss him,” Aragorn muttered.

“So will we all,” said Arwen. “But let us believe that Faramir will find his relief and come home in the fullness of time.”

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The messenger of Gondor sat in the dirt. His eyes were glazed with a faraway expression. Saruman turned away from him, as his mind evaluated all the information he had acquired from the hypnotised man.

The wizard shook his head slowly. “Not executing him!” he muttered. “Elessar, you show your weakness and weakness is not acceptable for a King.”

Saruman climbed on to the saddle of the messenger’s horse. Leaving the man still dazed and confused by the roadside, he pointed the horse down the road and set off.

He had left Gondor the previous day, when he realised his plan had not come to the conclusion he had hoped. However the news he had just gleaned had made him feel happier. Although he had not succeeded in killing the King, he had come close, that would have caused Elessar to question himself, put a doubt in the man’s arrogant assumption of invincibility. What was more, he had managed to break the dangerous and developing relationship between the King and his Steward. He had seen enough of the developments in Minas Tirith in his stay there to see that partnership had been particularly potent and effective. Now at least with Faramir out of the picture, the potential for progress had been reduced.

Saruman’s thoughts turned to the ex-Steward then.

“Retiring to Ithilien!” he said. “Away from the protection of Minas Tirith and the King, and with such a heavy burden to bear. How will you live with yourself, my little cuckoo? What can you do to wash away the stain of your treachery? Oh I know what sort of a man you are, Faramir. You will put on a brave face, bury yourself in the love of your pathetic family, but at night, when the darkness comes, your fears will fester. You know what I have opened in your heart cannot be easily mended, and you know I still hold the power over you. I will call you back to me, of course. You are too important a pawn for me not to use again, but not yet. My power over you will grow with each passing day that I do not use it, for it is the fear of the unknown that traps your logical, analytical mind. What you cannot understand you fear, and the more you struggle to understand it, the greater your fear will grow. Until when I finally call you to me, my power over you will be infinitely stronger and ultimately devastating.”

He chuckled to himself. He was a patient man who enjoyed the expectation more than the fulfillment. He was also pragmatic enough to change his plans according to circumstance and he could wait. Time was his collaborator in this venture.

He knew he must find a base; somewhere he could begin again to marshal his thoughts and find new minions. He still did not know what had become of Wormtongue, but he knew the worm would return to him eventually.

So he turned his horse towards his lair of old. To Isengard he would go. The waters would have receded, and the damned ents may have left. And if not there were many other places in this world that held enough evil and deceit for him to call them home.

With an excited but patient heart, the old wizard rode on, his plans raced around his head, taking shape and promising harm.

        The End