Co-authored by Raksha

Chapter 16

Rejoicing

There should be bells ringing, Faramir mused.  Perhaps Aragorn awaited Arwen's return to send out the order.  Aragorn had already sent word of their success to Imrahil, and summoned the Queen, who had been taken with their daughters to a safe retreat in the mountains.  The King could not stop smiling, nay, grinning as he had when Eldarion had been born. The boy was alive and very much awake.  Faramir had sent for food; Aragorn now attacked a loaf of  bread and a slab of cheese with the appetite of two starved hobbits.  Eldarion ate as well, but far less.  The boy's stomach had shrunk; too much food loaded into it at once would only sicken him. 

Faramir drowsily observed the King and his son for a few minutes.  Then he rose and made his way past the snoring wizard to sit in the chair nearest to the partially opened window, eager to feel the fresh breeze.  The day-heat had grown in the last hour or two.  His head wound throbbed once more and his leg stiffened painfully.

Faramir closed his eyes and rested his thundering head in his hands, fighting back the sick feeling in his stomach. He could finally shed the burden of care he had carried for months, the nagging guilt that he had not wholly fulfilled his vow to save Eldarion. The reunion of Aragorn and his son truly was a welcome sight.  He would be even happier to watch them after he had slept for perhaps a week or more. 

"Faramir, will you not break fast with us?"  Aragorn asked cheerfully as he started to eat his way through a large cluster of grapes.  "Healing drains the strength, you must replenish yours.  Hmm, son, take some more broth," he urged Eldarion, who smiled at the Steward. The boy had scarcely had the chance to greet Faramir before his father had begun fussing at him to eat lightly and drink as much as possible. "These grapes are especially good," Aragorn observed, tearing the cluster in two and offering one half to Faramir.

The thought of eating made Faramir even more ill.  "No thank you," he answered quietly. 

With a grunt and a snore, Pallando awoke at the commotion.  His eyes gleamed at the sight of Eldarion and his smile lit the whole of his broad face.

“So,” he said.  “We were successful, as I said we would be!”

Aragorn let out a long breath.  “No thanks to you, wizard!” he said.  “You slept through the whole experience.  Leaving myself and Faramir to shoulder the responsibility!”

Pallando guffawed loudly.  “Ever is the strategist so treated!” he retorted, eyes shining. “It is far harder to see the way than merely follow it!  I stayed, did I not?  I knew that you fine hunters were well on the lad’s track.  And had you failed, you would have let me know, whether I waked or slept.   Besides, I had to oversee the heating of the water for your athelas concoction.  And there was the little matter of evicting the residue of Master Saruman, as you call him, from the Stone of Silence."

Aragorn frowned.  “Judging by the look of my Steward after he merely followed your way, I think you obviously took an easier path!”

Faramir felt his face colour.  He stood stiffly before saying “I shall leave you now, my lord, and Eldarion. It is truly good to see you both together again; but I am needed no more here.”

“Not so hastily,” Aragorn said, rising to his feet.  “Faramir, I am in your debt for my boy's rescue and now his recall to waking life.  You have more right than any man to rejoice with us here.  You have my gratitude forever, and that of my House.”

Faramir inclined his head.  “My lord honours me," he replied.  He would do it all again ten times over; and hoped the King knew it. 

"Not enough," Aragorn responded.  "The first name that I remember was Estel, for Hope; yet I was losing mine.  But you refused to let me abandon it."  He moved forward and pulled Faramir to him.  "I will never forget that, mellon nîn. You have been as a brother to me for many years; and now you have helped bring my son home to me."

Faramir accepted the embrace but when the King’s strong arms released him, he stumbled and it was only the strength of his will that held him upright.

Pallando snorted.  “Maybe you can begin to thank your Steward by relieving him of his current pain, King Elessar,” he proposed, then helped himself to bread and cheese from the King's platter.

"I need only to rest a few moments," Faramir said. 

"Hush, Faramir; I knowthat you suffer," Aragorn contradicted.  "I still bear the Elfstone.  Let me see what I can do about the blow you took to your head."

"Father, could you heal Lord Faramir's leg?"  Eldarion asked.  "He was hurt protecting me from that evil little man in black, the wizard's lackey."

"My young lord, I do not think your father can cure all ills.  And he needs to replenish his strength as well,"  Faramir replied, smiling at the prince so the boy would not think that he held him to any blame.

Aragorn raised his hand to silence him.  “Nonsense!” Aragorn interjected.  “I am King of the West, or so the minstrels keep singing, not a tired out old man.  I feel quite fit again and could easily take on a hundred orcs.  You would not refuse me, would you, Faramir? 

Faramir sighed, feeling absurdly, pleased by Aragorn's concern for him.  Few men could refuse Aragorn in this mood, the King's force of character was too formidable at full strength.  He was too tired to resist. "Very well."

Minutes later, Faramir found himself lying on the bed recently vacated by Eldarion, his tunic loosened and his legs stripped down to his smallclothes.  The boy stood by the window, looking out on his city in the spring sunshine. 

Faramir still wore the healing stone and Aragorn the other.  The bowl of athelas had been refreshed and its scent of mountain air engulfed the room, cooling and chasing away the day’s heat.

“Close your eyes, Faramir,” Aragorn’s soothing voice commanded.

“I can stay awake, if that will help. . .” Faramir heard himself say but his voice was distant.  He barely heard Pallando’s guffawed response as his senses were engulfed in a sensation of utter peace.  For a moment that stretched out wondrously, he simply existed, free from pain, free from worry, and free from doubt.  A blissful warmth heated his brow like the touch of the Sun herself, flowing down his skull to his collarbone.

Aragorn ran his healing hands first over Faramir’s recent head wound and then down to his left thigh.  Pallando stood behind the King, trying to look over his shoulder.

“I have healed what damage remained from the blow he took on his head last night,” Aragorn murmured.  “But the wound in his leg is older and more resistant.  I fear that a remnant of foul orcish poison still lingers in his blood.”

The wizard moved forward, lifting his staff.  “Let me try to draw off the poison; then you may heal what is left.”

Aragorn nodded and moved to stand by Faramir’s head. He reached out and took hold of his Steward’s hand, grasping it tightly.

The blue wizard muttered a chant so quietly that Aragorn could not pick up the words, though they seemed to be Quenya.  Pallando touched the top of his staff to Faramir’s thigh.  As soon the blue stone in the wizard's staff touched the scar marking the wound, Faramir’s body tensed.  He let out a sudden groan but his eyes did not open.

As Aragorn watched the area around the wound began to change colour slowly.  It changed from the shade of darkened flesh to an ugly dark green, the tint of a wound not cleaned and gone bad.  Aragorn was glad of the athelas scent which lessened the unwholesome smell emanating from the wound.

Pallando continued to chant, Faramir’s body was still taut although his eyes remained shut. 

The green glow around the wound seemed to take substance. Aragorn noticed that his Elfstone felt warm on his breast, even through his clothing; a sign that the stone was exerting a healing force on Faramir's damaged leg.   He squinted and realized that the glow was forming into a wispy smoke rising from the wound.  As he watched the smoke increased in volume and threatened to infect the whole room with its pestilence.  But when the smoke touched the tip of the wizard's staff, it thinned, then disappeared altogether.  More mist hissed out from the wound only to be absorbed. Very soon the staff itself began to glow dully.

As Aragorn watched the colour of the wound was completely taken up into the smoke until all that remained was the red-brown of the original scar.  Pallando stopped his chant and opened his eyes.  He smiled as his staff took up the last of the pestilential smoke.  Faramir’s body suddenly relaxed completely and he let out a soft, contented sigh.

“’Tis done,” Pallando declared.  “’Twas an old poison; of Saruman’s brewing no doubt, but easily cleansed by one who knows its form.  I will write out its composition for your Healers, and also how best to counter it in new-made wounds.  Your soldiery and allies might well face the same substance on the blades of the East.”

Faramir awoke some time later feeling more refreshed than he had been in a long time.  As he opened his eyes he saw the face of his King beamingdown at him.  And bells were ringing!  Not in his head, the bells of the City, tolling the joyful tidings of its prince’s awakening as they had once tolled the news of his birth.

“Welcome back, Faramir,” Aragorn smiled warmly.  “How do you feel?”

Faramir ran his hand through his hair, amazed to find the swelling had reduced, and the pain of the wound almost gone!  “I feel exceptionally well!” he said in a somewhat surprised voice.  Gingerly he sat up and placed his feet on the floor, expecting the familiar rush of pain and dizziness.  It came not! 

“Good!” King exclaimed.  “I need a fully fit Steward now more than ever!” he said. "You should not over-strain that leg for at least a few days.  That means keeping the leg still and raised when possible, Faramir, and not letting the children ride piggyback or chasing Cirion anywhere!  I would see you eat something now.  Take an apple; or some grapes; before Pallando eats them all."  

“Thank you, my King.”  Faramir pulled his socks back onto his legs, then his trousers and his boots.  With some hesitation, he tested his left leg by shifting his full weight onto it.   His leg held firm.  He walked to the table and took the cluster of grapes that the King had offered to him.   His left leg felt only slightly stiff, like a new pair of boots, but now almost as strong as his right, as if Wormtongue had never stabbed him with an orc‘s dagger. 

Pallando laughed.  “Sometimes it is only when the pain is removed that we realize its true strength,” he said.  “Believe it, Faramir, you are healed, the pain is gone . . . until the next time you decide to field a poisoned enemy blade in your thigh.”

“And that may be soon,” Aragorn said curtly moving on.  “For now we must pit some strength against the Easterlings before they strike closer than Mordor.  I will call a Council for this evening, we must make further plans.  You are well enough to attend, Faramir?”

“Of course, my King,” Faramir replied between mouthfuls of grapes.  They were good indeed! “You have spent more of your strength than I did; and I hope you will take some rest as soon as you can.”

Aragorn smiled.  “This day my heart overflows with joy.  Waking my son has been all the healing I should ever need!”

The door opened suddenly.  Faramir heard a surprised gasp and looked over to see the Queen standing at the room's entrance, flanked by a nursemaid carrying her twin daughters.  Her eyes were wide and almost frightened.  She looked as if she had forgotten how to breathe.  Then Arwen Undomiel fairly flew across the floor as fast as Faramir had ever seen a true Elf move.   She reached Eldarion in but a few heartbeats; and pulled him into her arms. 

"Pen dithen nín. Pen dithen nín. . ." Arwen murmured, her words punctuated by soft sobs.  "Oh, my eaglet, thou hast awakened."

Faramir heard Eldarion murmur a reply into his mother's shoulder.  Aragorn moved to the window and put his arms around his wife and son, holding them close against him.  His lips grazed Arwen's forehead, and she turned her face to smile tearfully at Aragorn.  "You have done it, my lord" she said softly.  "I knew you could save him.  I am so proud of you."

Aragorn grinned almost boyishly.  "In truth, my lady; I could not have done so without Faramir's help.  He showed me the way."

"It was you who found Eldarion on that strange road; and you who brought him home."  Faramir added.  Faramir had not seen the King look so joyous and confident in years; Aragorn's renewed strength heartened him.

Eldarion pulled back from his parents' hold, an abashed look on his pale face.  Faramir knew that boys of his age did not relish prolonged hugs.  The lad's balance seemed precarious.  Eldarion tottered on suddenly unsteady legs.  He would have fallen if not for his mother's strong grip.  Aragorn swung around, picked him up bodily, and carried the boy back to his bed.

"It is all right, Father,"  Eldarion said quickly, blushing.  "Put me down.  What will Lord Faramir think?"

"Lord Faramir thinks you should let your father cosset you, if as much for his health as for yours."  Faramir answered.  The boy still looked sickly; and he did not move well.

"Estel?"  Arwen asked softly, questions in her suddenly wary eyes.

 "Fear not," Aragorn said as he examined one of his son's thin legs.  "Merely a weakness in the muscles from his lying so long in sleep and then suddenly coming awake and standing up again.  My lady, had you not made sure that his limbs were pummelled every day, to help the blood continue to flow properly, he might not have stood at all.  Eldarion, we. . . you shall have to build up your strength again slowly with a proper regimen." 

"Anything to get me back on my feet.  I feel like I have slept for months!"  Eldarion declared.  His parents looked at each other, not at the boy.

"What is wrong?"  Eldarion asked suspiciously.  Then he spied his small sisters, who now regarded him solemnly from behind their nursemaid's skirts.  "Nimloth?  Rian?  But they are so big now!  And their hair is much longer.  Father, you just said I lay long in sleep.  How long?  I heard you in the dark, but surely not that much time has passed since the wizard attended to my arm and made me look at his green stone.  It has been more than a week. . .?"

Arwen sat lightly on her son’s bed.  “Yes.  You have indeed slept for months, six months and some days.”  She touched the boy’s suddenly shocked face.  “But fear not.  It is as if you had a very long rest.”

“You will mend, ion nîn,” Aragorn joined her in reassuring Eldarion.  “You lost a little weight, which you will completely recover.  We will see you strong again.”

“I told your father of your courage when you fought the Uruk-hai guards at my side,” Faramir told his friend’s son.  “You are already far stronger than you know.

“Thank you, Lord Faramir.  And my lady Mother, my Lord Father. . .” Eldarion nearly stuttered over the formal phrases, then reached out and clasped his parents’ hands with a sigh.  “Adar, Naneth.  Thank you.  Now, can my sisters come to me for a proper greeting?” 

Under Arwen’s watchful eyes, the 16-month-old twins stepped lightlyto their brother’s bedside, hand in hand.  Faramir had not seen them in several weeks; and noted that they were tall for their age, and quite graceful for such young children.  They had black hair, their father’s deep blue-grey eyes and their mother’s more delicate nose and chin. 

These moments, so long awaited, belonged to Aragorn and his reunited family, Faramir realized.  It was time for him to return to his own hearth.  He suddenly yearned fiercely for the sight of his own children.  He wanted to embrace them, to let them know that as much as he cared for his friend’s son and daughters, his family came first in his regard, if not always in his duty.

“My lord, my lady, I shall take my leave . . .” Faramir began, then smiled.  Sometimes the lines between friendship and rank seemed unnecessary.  Had not the King embraced him and called him friend and brother?  “My friends, I rejoice at  Eldarion’s awakening.  This is a great day for Gondor, indeed for us all.”

Aragorn grinned from his seat. He held one of the little girls; while the other was sitting on Eldarion’s bed, giggling as the boy played some kind of finger game with her.  Arwen smiled gratefully up at Faramir, her face tear-stained but aglow with joy.

“Yes, it is a great day.”  Aragorn affirmed.  “And the morrow shall be, if not greater still, then still a day of great import.  Can you call the Great Council to meet tomorrow morning at the third bell, Faramir?  I would put the accusations against you to rest with Eldarion’s testimony of his captivity.  But Eldarion needs a day to recover before I bring him before the Council.”

“Father, you need not wait,” the boy protested.  “I can testify tonight, ‘tis no hardship.”

“I speak as a Healer as well as your father, ion-nîn,” Aragorn answered, gently squeezing Eldarion’s hand.  “You must take some rest.  Standing before Council is hard work; and I will need you to be strong.  We will go out later and walk a bit around the Citadel.  Tomorrow, the entire City and Lords and Captains from throughout the Realm shall see you and share our joy.  And Faramir,” Aragorn added with another ingratiating grin; “Please join us tomorrow evening, after Council, for dinner.  Bring Eowyn if she can be carried by litter and feels well enough to leave her bed.”

“I will gladly dine with you.  Eowyn shall come if she is able.  And I shall see that the Council is called,” Faramir promised.  “Should you have other need of me, leave word with Gildor.  Come, Pallando!”  He addressed the blue wizard, who was still nibbling cheese from the King’s plate.  “Let us give the prince and his family their privacy.”

Leaving the Stone of Silence in Aragorn’s hand, for he knew the King would guard it well, Faramir left the room.  Pallando followed with a wistful look at the fruit and bread still uneaten on the table. 

Faramir took the wizard with him to the Steward’s Chamber in the White Tower.  There, while Pallando fidgeted, Faramir penned the summons to the third session of the Great Council. He bade his secretary Gildor have the scribes make copies to be stamped with the Steward’s Seal, and sent to all the necessary lords, captains, guild-masters and officials.  Then Pallando’s stomach rumbled loudly; and the wizard spoke of unsatisfied hunger. 

Faramir led the wizard down through the City to the third circle.  They partook of nuncheon at The Blue Parrot, a public house Faramir had long favoured for its excellent fare and the anonymity afforded by its location, which attracted university scholars and masters.  Today the normally quiet serving women chattered loudly about the awakening of the King’s son.  Indeed, Eldarion’s recovery seemed to be the chief topic of discussion in the busy eatery.  Young men and greybeards alike were toasting the prince’s health and wondering what had ailed the boy.  Pallando looked quite pleased with himself as he demolished an entire roast chicken. 

After the meal, Steward and wizard returned to the Citadel, where the King had called his chief captains for a war council.  Aragorn had wanted Pallando introduced as an advisor on Easterling matters before word of a new wizard’s influence caused undue suspicion.  As Faramir studied the maps of the Eastern lands that Pallando had drawn and now spread before them, he was disturbed by how little they knew of what lay east of the Sea of Rhûn.  The most recent intelligence was gleaned by the King himself during Aragorn’s travels to the far East nearly sixty years past; too little and too long ago, though better than none at all.  Rhûn and Khand should not have remained a disregarded and distant mystery for so long.  Faramir was glad that he had pulled the White Company back from Ithilien’s eastern borders and stationed most of them around Tham Fain and the villages below it.  But he felt a prickle of concern mingled with the feeling of relief.  Perhaps he should ride back to Emyn Arnen the day after tomorrow, to personally check the defences.

The sun was descending as Faramir made his way home to the Steward’s House.Though tired, he could not recall many days as well-spent as had been this one.  Then he opened the door of the main hall to a vision of beauty and joy:  Eowyn stood before the hearth, clad in a gown of white and a golden circlet around her alabaster brow, her arms held wide in welcome.  Behind her, their children awaited, similarly attired in fair raiment. 

“Come in, my lord,” said his white lady; clasping Faramir’s hands with a glowing smile. 

“My lady, should you be out of bed?”  Faramir asked.

“The Healers told me today that I could move about for a short time every day in my home and gardens, as long as I did not grow weary.   And I am glad of it; I feared I would lose my reason were I confined longer in my bed.  Now sit you down, for I have heard report of your deeds this day, and would hear more.”

“Please, Father, tell us what happened,” implored Celairiel, his older daughter, tossing her pale blond braids as she pushed ahead and threw herself on Faramir‘s chest.  “We heard that you saved Eldarion!”

“Is he really awake?” Cirion queried, racing forward to press against Faramir‘s side.  Soon the children were trying to embrace him, even little Melethron, who toddled up and grappled Faramir’s right knee, nearly throwing him off-balance.  Eirien pulled on his sleeve, her signal that she wanted her father to pick her up in his arms.  Which he did, for he could rarely refuse his quiet, curly-haired smallest girl anything.  Thankfully, Elboron had the presence of mind to merely grip Faramir’s shoulder in a respectful and affectionate gesture. A hug from his tall heir could easily knock him down at this point, Faramir realized.

“Children!”  Eowyn exclaimed, bending low to pry Melethron from his father’s leg.  “Give your father some room, let him sit down before you assail him so.”  Disengaging their youngest child took some effort; Melethron was quite hardy for a two-year-old.  Faramir did not really mind, since he got a splendid view of his wife’s bosom as she bent down; some of the changes wrought to her body by the pregnancy were delightful.  But he was glad to see that she took Melethron by the hand instead of lifting him.  He did not want Eowyn lifting anything as heavy as their sturdy little son while she was so far gone with child.  Faramir happily reached out his arms to encircle his wife and children. 

Soon Faramir found himself seated on the sofa, his daughters sitting closest against him and Melethron on his lap, with Cirion and Aldor flanking the girls.  He rested his left leg on a stool as Aragorn had instructed.  Elboron brought him a goblet of Dorwinion wine.  Faramir regaled his family with the tale of Eldarion’s awakening, at least as much as was prudent to reveal. 

Later, having finished a sumptuous repast of venison ribs in wine sauce with buttered peas, begun with a good warming stew and ended with cheese, seed cakes and brandied pears, Faramir was nearly ready to end the long day.  Though weary, he brought out his harp when the children clamoured for it.  Faramir was in no mood for anything sombre or over-long.  He chose the children’s favourite tune:  the delightful Troll Song brought by Sam Gamgee from the Shire.  He played the melody and sang the rollicking song with Celairiel and Elboron, the most musically gifted of the children.  Too tired for even a game of draughts, Faramir watched as Eowyn and Cirion fought for supremacy.  He noted that Cirion had improved his game; it would soon be time to teach him the strategies of chess as he had taught Elboron three years ago.  The younger children played knucklebones, Aldor narrowly defeating Celairiel.  After sending all the children but Elboron to their beds, he and Eowyn repaired to their own chamber.  Faramir was replete with good food and contentment.  The Realm was whole again, the prince fully restored to his father.  Lying down beside Eowyn, adjusting his arms so that she could comfortably rest in them, Faramir knew himself to be the most fortunate man in Gondor. 

 
The sleeper stirred restlessly, his breathing punctuated by whimpers and angry grunts.  Was this a nightmare, or was it real?

He found himself outside his home in Emyn Arnen, at the stable, surrounded by smoke and heavy flames.  He heard the terrible screams that only frightened horses could make.  The horses were in danger!  And there were other screams, from people, servants and grooms who he knew well!  He heard the shouts of angry men who cried orders in an unknown tongue.  He glimpsed armed men, strangers, seizing Steelsheen as the pregnant mare fled the rising flames.  What could he do, how could he stop the fires?

The flames reared up around him like a living, burning wall.  A stranger walked through the fire:  a man taller than any he had ever seen, even the King, robed in blue and white-haired, with cold eyes.

"I shall cast down your house, son of Gondor,"  the stranger told him.  "You should not have interfered with my design.  "I will take the White Lady as I take her mare; and death shall take others who you love."

The stranger in blue gestured, and the sleeper gasped at the sight of a marsh filled with the bodies of men of the White Company and Ithilien Rangers.  A huge, monstrous shadow reared up beyond the smoke and fire and roared. 

Then the blue-robed man disappeared, leaving the fiery wall, and beyond it the shadow of the monster, and the sight, now far away, of the battlefield.  The flames parted suddenly, and lowered, vanishing entirely to reveal someone the sleeper knew - Pippin Took, Knight of Gondor!

Pippin grinned at him.  "The thing to remember about monsters is that you must get them before they get you.  If I can do it, anyone can!"

But the flames rose up again, blocking Pippin from his sight.  He was alone, and the horses and people still screamed . . .

 . . . And Cirion awakened to cool darkness, on his bed in his father's House in Minas Tirith.  He was safe, but sweating and shaking, his heart pounding like a battle-drum.  For the first time in his life, he knew the taste of terror.

TBC in Chapter 17 - Pomp and peril.  Or is it peril and pomp?  Read it and see.

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AUTHORS‘ NOTES:  Our thanks to

Branwyn, annmarwalk, and Berzerker prime, of HASA, for their help in determining appropriate after-dinner games for the Steward’s family.  If you’re interested in stories where Faramir actually does play chess, THE KING IS DEAD and BLACK CAPTAIN are highly recommended (by Altariel, at fan fiction. net) And thanks also to Lady

Branwyn for assistance in picking out dessert and last-minute tips on Gondorian footwear!

The "nuncheon" that Faramir and Pallando eat is a word for the meal taken in Gondor around noon, according to Beregond, who was telling hungry Pippin when they could eat in the chapter ‘Minas Tirith’ of  ROTK.  Nuncheon doesn't seem to be a real word, but we won't tell JRRT or Pippin if you don't.

Pen dithen nín, Arwen’s salutation to Eldarion, means ‘My little one’.

Tham Fain is the home of Faramir and Eowyn in Ithilien, or at least the name we created for it.