Co-authored by Raksha

Semi-obligatory AUTHORS’ NOTES:  Curumo, the original Quenya name of Saruman, is occasionally used in reference to the dear departed White Hand...And the Elvish (specifically Quenya) name of Aragorn’s green elfstone, not seen in the movie, is Elessar, which is also his royal name.  To make matters more confusing, “Elfstone” and “Elessar” are used interchangeably in the books for Aragorn, his royal title, and the stone itself.  Aragorn’s official name is “King Elessar Telcontar”.  That’s the short version anyway.

Apologies: we have noticed in recent chapters that some words have run together after the text has been posted.  We didn't write them that way!   Must be orcs on the Internet!

Chapter 14

Circles, Part I

Faramir hoped that the Queen’s servants would speed the stirring of the fire in the hearth.  They had not laid enough kindling.  He could set a proper fire faster himself, and so could the King.  He kept silent.  They were not his servants to command; and this was the King’s House, not his.    The room felt oddly cool for an April morning, especially after the warmth of the previous night.  Faramir found the chill unpleasant as he sat silently beside Eldarion's bed, then chided himself for becoming quite the whining beldame.  The weather was really the least of his concerns.

Faramir had slept deeply for a few blessed hours, thanks to Eowyn's wonderful hands.  He had awakened with renewed resolve to help Aragorn revive Eldarion.  He had also awakened with continued tenderness in the back of his head, thanks to the Easterling's blow.  He had removed the bandage as he walked to the King's Quarters. It gave no more help; and he would not call attention to such a minor injury before the parents of the unconscious boy.

When he had entered Eldarion‘s bedchamber, Faramir had caught a worried look in Aragorn’s eyes.  Glimpsing his own reflection in the silver ewer atop the table, he had been somewhat surprised at the toll taken by the long night's events.  His haggard face would frighten children.   It did not matter; he was still strong enough in mind and body for the task that lay before them. 

So, when his King had asked him whether he was able to proceed, Faramir had resolutely pledged his aid. 

He sat now waiting.  Arwen sat on the other side of the bed, humming softly and stroking her son’s cheek.  She appeared far more serene than the sorely troubled lady he had seen on the previous day and night.  The King stood at the window, both the healing stones visible in his hands.  He was talking with Pallando, searching for further assurance.  Faramir did not doubt that his King would attempt Pallando's method of using the two stones to awaken Eldarion.  But, like any father, Aragorn would prefer a less dangerous way to save his son.

Finally the King nodded curtly and moved to stand by Arwen.  He bent and whispered in her ear. 

"You must leave now, my lady; and go to safety with our daughters.  If this effort we make today does not go well, if we fall to some wizard's trick, then you must be free to fight whatever evil may come.  Word will reach you soon, no matter what happens."

The Queen nodded. She rose, with one last lingering look at her son, gave Aragorn a rueful stare and a quick kiss, and left the room.  Her servants followed, leaving a weakly sputtering fire behind the grate of the hearth.

"Before we begin," Aragorn said, fixing Pallando with a challenging stare; "You should know that if Faramir and I do not walk out of this chamber as our own free selves, I have left orders that shall send death to the East, and in particular to your friend Alatar."

"You would make an excellent horse trader, King of the West." Pallando replied.  The wizard's answer failed to amuse Faramir. 

“Faramir,” Aragorn’s voice was brittle.  “You are ready?”

“Aye, my lord,” the Steward of Gondor answered purposefully.  “I am ready.” The fateful green stone was now set in a circular brooch wrought of silver.  Arwen's work, no doubt. She would have the skill and the means to so attach it in the few hours since Aragorn had pulled the jewel from the dead Easterling's hand. 

"Take up the Stone of Silence, Faramir."  directed Pallando.  "Hold it in your hand a moment." 

Faramir obeyed, taking the stone from Aragorn’s hand.  He felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle as memories arose, unbidden, of the horror this green stone had caused, to him, his family, his King, and his King's son.  This day would end it, he vowed.  He would see Eldarion awakened, no matter what the cost.  He had to believe the Blue Wizard's words, but doubt still troubled him.

"First, before we use this very special little bauble, we must erase all trace of any fell influence that came on it after it was taken from its maker in the Fall of Eregion," Pallando explained.  "As I have told you before, this stone was made by Celebrimbor, master Jewel-smith of Eregion, to calm a weary mind, not to ensnare the unwary.  I know that Curumo, who you call Saruman, twisted the stone's original purpose to his own ends.  What we do not know is how, or from whom, Curumo obtained it.  If Sauron held the stone, we must know if he also turned the stone to his evil purpose.  Do not fear; it will not take long.   Lord King, stand in readiness now. Look into your Elfstone, the Elessar, and think hard on how well you have used it.  And while you do so, hold your son."

The King sat carefully on his son's bed and lifted the boy to a sitting position against his shoulder.  Eldarion's head lolled to one side and his eyes fluttered briefly, but did not open.  Faramir noticed with a pang that the boy had been recently bathed and dressed in fresh garments.  His black hair was freshly cut, and damp.  But the care did not disguise the lad's sadly weakened condition.  He was so very thin now, a shadow of the healthy youngster Faramir had last seen in Saruman's tower.

“Then let us begin,” the King said softly.  He held his son with his left arm and the Elfstone in his right hand.  The King’s stone was also green, somewhat larger and more brilliant than the Stone of Silence, and set into a silver brooch shaped like an eagle with flared wings.  Faramir remembered that another of Aragorn’s names had been Thorongil, the Eagle of the Star.   ‘Valar protect them both,’ he prayed; fearing for the eagle king and his spellbound fledgling. 

“Faramir, you must now look into the Stone of Silence,” Pallando said gently.  There was warmth in his voice; but Faramir felt only sudden cold. 

Faramir could feel his apprehension rise.  He glanced at Aragorn who now stared at the Elfstone from which he had taken the greatest of his names.  Shaking his head, Faramir looked into the green depths of the Stone of Silence.  His head began to ache and he shook it in a vain attempt to clear it.

“Steward!” Pallando’s voice hissed close to his ear.  “You must not fight this.  Let yourself go.  It is not Curumo himself who awaits you in the Stone, only the fear of what he did to you.  This trinket is not Sauron's Ring or even any Ring of Power. This stone is a far more rudimentary tool that cannot ensnare anyone without the will of a living man to wield it.  "

Faramir licked his lips.  Now that the time had come, his heart recoiled from communion with the stone.  He felt cornered like a fox at bay.  Then the stone's brilliant facets seemed to separate, and he saw a vision that caused him to gasp in shock. He dropped the stone, lurched to his feet; and stumbled out of the room and into the corridor.  Aragorn stared at him in bewilderment and Pallando cursed loudly.

Out in the corridor and breathing deeply, Faramir assumed his now tediously familiar pose of leaning against the wall to support himself. 

“I expect too much of you,” Aragorn’s sad voice came from behind him.  “Always you have done what I have asked.  But this time, this peril, Saruman’s legacy...it is more than I should ever have allowed you to try.”

Faramir took a deep breath and turned towards  his King.  But he could not bear to lift his eyes to those of Aragorn.

“I am sorry…” he began.  “I saw him...”

Aragorn raised his hands to stop him.  “You have done enough, Faramir.  This is my burden. I hold both stones.  I will use them to revive my son, alone.”

“And you will fail!” cried Pallando, from where he stood in the doorway regarding them.

Aragorn stiffened, and answered with chill anger:  "You said that the stone could not ensnare Faramir; that the White Wizard did not linger inside it!  Does Saruman still reach out to trap him?  We should leave Faramir out of this!  My Steward has suffered enough pain from that cursed stone! 

“Your Steward is the key, Elessar!  He was the one who was first enthralled by the stone, and he was the one to defy Saruman's hold.  Saruman put his own considerable will and power into this stone, ere he lost all the greatness that had been his.  I cannot remove that power unless the stone is borne by a person on who it has been used, or if the stone is employed again to seize another mind. Eldarion's soul is too faraway to kindle the stone if we were to put it on him.  And I doubt that you would permit me to enslave some other person's mind with the stone, even for the purposes of using it to free another.  Nor do I wish to be a slave-master.  Faramir must bear the Stone of Silence.  And the stone must be cleansed of all evil before you can use it to free your son.  I know of no other way to revive the boy.”  His voice gentled.  “Faramir, was it Saruman you saw?  What caused you to draw away?”

Faramir looked away from two pairs of enquiring eyes.  Pallando moved to stand beside the King.

“Tell me,” he pressed.  “I must know.”

Faramir nodded slowly.  He ran his hand through his hair.  “Saruman,” he said softly.  “Saruman looked back at me!”

Pallando let out his breath slowly.  “Well, that is interesting!” he breathed.  “The old buzzard's spell was stronger than I thought.  I did not believe there would be that much left of Curumo's intent to survive in the stone.”  He shook his head not even trying to conceal his obvious appreciation.

“Saruman is dead!”  Aragorn snapped impatiently.  He turned to the Blue Wizard.  “Is he not?”

Pallando chuckled.  “Most definitely,” he replied.  “We Istari know these things.  That, and I helped Alatar bury him, he was our brother once before we left Home...”  His blue eyes stared uncompromisingly at Faramir.  “He really sank his hook deep into your heart, didn't he, my friend!”

Faramir felt his resolve return in force.  His voice was glacial but strong with purpose.  “No, he did not,” he said, unsure whether he was trying to persuade the others or himself.  “I let him hold sway over me for seven years.   I let him have that power and many suffered because of it, not least my King.  But I confronted him. I made him reveal that he had no magic left, just his honeyed words and objects like this.  He failed to renew his hold on me.  I survived and Saruman died.  I will not let him haunt me.  Not now and not ever again.”

He started to walk past Aragorn.  The King grabbed him by the shoulder.

“No, Faramir,” he said.  “You shall risk no further danger for my son‘s sake.  I cannot let you do it.”

Their eyes met.  Faramir held Aragorn’s gaze for a long second. Then his face broke into a tired smile.  “I bid you try to stop me, my King!” he said grimly.

“You are certain?” Aragorn pressed. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he released his grip on Faramir's shoulder.

“I will not be defeated by a foresworn and corrupted wizard!” Faramir stated proudly.  “I am Lord of the House of Húrin.  My ancestors held Gondor for nigh a thousand years.  Eldarion is the hope of Gondor’s future, and must be saved!  It would take more than the image of the White Hand to weaken my resolve.  It was a shock to see him there; that is all.  This time I am ready for him!”  So saying, the Steward strode back into the Prince’s room.

Aragorn stared at Pallando.  The Wizard raised his heavy gray eyebrows.  “You have a brave servant there, King of Gondor, a credit to his line.  You are not contemplating spurning his assistance are you?”

“He is no servant,” Aragorn answered.  Faramir is my friend; more than that, he has been as dear as the closest of kin to me.  I would not have him suffer more.”

Pallando snorted.  “Faramir is Arandur, the King's Servant.  Such is the essence of the Steward’s office.  At least you do not expect him to manage the royal stables as his distant ancestors before Húrin might have done.  Will he not suffer more if you stop him now?  He is intent on restoring that boy to life, and to you.  Now he has been so close to helping you and failed, what will it do to him to deny him the chance to redeem himself?”

“Faramir has no need of redemption!”

“Not from you, King Elessar, but he believes that his duty to help your son is unfulfilled!  You know that Faramir is a man of honour.  He has never fully forgiven himself for the attack he made on you under Curumo's influence.  This is Faramir's last chance to make it up to you by ending Curumo's legacy.  You must go on, not only for your son's sake but now also for Faramir.  If you stop here, you might as well plunge your dagger into Faramir’s heart, for you will lose forever the man he is!”

Aragorn nodded as Pallando turned and re-entered the room.  Then he followed.

The King and the Steward took up their positions once more.  Aragorn did not like the look of grey fatigue on his friend's face, but he trusted that Faramir knew his own limits well enough to weather the rigors of the task that awaited them.  Sighing, he returned to Eldarion's bed and held the boy while concentrating on the Elfstone.  Aragorn thought back on all the times he had used the jewel, the struggle, the joy he felt in rekindling the life force of the sick and the injured.  Faramir had been the first one he had used the Elfstone to heal.  The retrieval of the dying Steward from the Shadow’s grip had been a sore trial indeed, but one of the most satisfying victories of his life.  For the hands of a King should be the hands of a healer as well as the hands of a warrior.  In awakening under his touch and hailing him as King, Faramir had given him a singular grace that had lifted Aragorn’s battle-weary spirit.  Aragorn suddenly smiled.  He remembered Faramir’s words last night about fathers and sons and the power they held over each other.

The King of Arnor and Gondor looked at his Elfstone, the first man he had ever healed with it, and the son he must heal with the stone today.  A circle of past and present and future linked them, and would bring them all home.

They were ready.  Aragorn held Eldarion in his right arm and the Elfstone in his left hand, his determined gaze focused on the green stone that was the gift of Galadriel and Arwen.  Pallando stood slightly behind the King.  A bowl of water stood on the table beside Eldarion's bed, sprigs of kingsfoil laid on it, ready to be used at the appropriate time. 

Faramir looked once at the Elfstone with which the King had once saved his life and soul, then considered the green stone he held in his own hand.  They are linked, he thought; both were originally made to heal, not to harm, by an elf strong enough to defy Sauron himself.  Sauron never conquered Celebrimbor's spirit, only his mortal body.  Strange it was that the two stones alike in original purpose now returned to close proximity.  The Elfstone that had healed Faramir now lay in his King's hand.  The stone that had harmed Faramir, his King, and the King's innocent son, glimmered coolly in a silver circle on Faramir's palm.  The stones held power, he finally understood, but that power could only be wielded through the hands and hearts of the stones' bearers.  Somehow, he would use this tool to help Aragorn heal the boy.  Taking a deep breath, Faramir bore down on the Stone of Celebrimbor with all the concentration he could muster. 

The echo of Saruman's malevolence was still there.  This time, the wizard’s shadowy presence did not scare him.  It was far less grievous than what he had seen in the palantir.  He glimpsed Saruman's cruel visage.  The wizard’s voice whispered in Quenya, words scrabbling like a cat clawing a tree:  something about listening only to his voice, obeying only his will.  Faramir suddenly remembered hearing the exact same words before, in the cave in Ithilien, when he had first been held and ensorcelled by Saruman.  No more, he resolved grimly; I have the advantage now. For all Saruman's vaunted skill, he was defeated and dead and would never hurt anyone again. 

Pallando was talking to him.  Faramir heard, as from a distance, the Blue Wizard's excited voice:  "That's right, my lord Steward.  Now, attach it to your clothing, near your heart, and we will continue."

"Mithrandir, you had better have been right." Faramir thought to himself as he followed Pallando's instruction.  He had trusted Mithrandir with his life...just as Mithrandir had once trusted Saruman.  That trust had cost the Grey Pilgrim and the Kingdoms of the West dearly.  Could Mithrandir have been wrong to put his faith in Pallando?

Faramir suddenly smiled, remembering his father's accusation, long ago.  He was most certainly a wizard's pupil this day.  And yet, his father had come to worse harm by trusting an ancient stone devised by the grandfather of the elf who had made the stone that Faramir now bore.  Perhaps that had happened because Denethor had relied too much on the stone and not enough on his true perception of the actual world.  Faramir had not loved and trusted Mithrandir because of his staff or his ring or even his wondrous fireworks.  The wizard’s tools and powers had been mighty in the fight against the Shadow, had saved many lives, including those of his own men and himself.  But it was Mithrandir's kindness and knowledge that had drawn Faramir to the Grey Pilgrim.

Pallando was not Mithrandir.  Still, Faramir's instincts had told him that Pallando wished to save Eldarion, and they still did.   Faramir took the stone and fastened it to his tunic an inch or so above his heart.  Straightening, he looked expectantly at Pallando, awaiting the next step on this strange path.

The wizard took up his long cedarwood staff, tipped with a deep blue stone.  He smiled gently, stepped back and pointed it directly at Faramir. 

"This may sting a little" the Blue Wizard said.  Then a fierce blue light surged out of the staff and into Faramir, stabbing him like a spear of fire.

TBC in Chapter 15, where we find that although not all those who wander are lost, some of them really could use a guide.