CHAPTER 14:   FACE TO FACE

Aragorn’s brow was furrowed as he sat deep in thought in his library, Faramir seated in the chair across from him. He had been depressed since lunch, after finding out about Legolas’ wound, but determined that he would ride to Ithilien the next day, no matter what anyone said. But now his Steward had come with information gleaned from the prisoner.

At this point, he felt like driving his sword Anduril through any of the attackers that had harmed his family, wounded Legolas, and caused the death of several elves. He was glad now that he had left the interrogation to Faramir, afraid that his own emotions might have affected the progress. Indeed it seemed to be going well without him.

“So, Sauron even recruited forces from the region around the Sea of Rhûn,” the king murmured. “Far was his reach, and we were not aware.”

Faramir nodded. “We could not know the full extent of his domain or his influence,” he said. “Even now the odd band still plagues us, as you well know, Elessar.”

“Our armies incapacitated many bands, we cleaned up many camps,” Aragorn said, shaking his head as he tried in vain to retrieve Sarambaq from his mental records. “He wants revenge, you say, and for his son, so I must have fought them and killed his son, I guess. But our enemies were many as we battled from Rohan to the Black Ships to the Fields of Pelennor and even at the Black Gates of Mordor.” He sighed.

 “Aye, Faramir,” he continued in a subdued tone. “Our enemies had faces and names, as our own men did, but even if we saw the faces of those we fought, we knew them not, looking upon them only as the servants of the Dark Lord. Yet – and yet, many of them had ones they loved. Wives perhaps, and sons and daughters, and brothers and sisters.” The images of Arwen, Eldarion, and his elven family in Imladris played in his mind.

Faramir swallowed, as he recalled how he himself had pondered on that realization one day as he watched a Southron die from an arrow launched from his bow. That had been a living being before he felled him. He understood his king’s sorrowed reminiscence and sought to comfort him.

“But in the heat of battle, where one seeks to end the life of another, and a blade is placed at your neck, Elessar, who has the choice to stop and think about whose kin it is?”        

“Yet that changes not the grief of he who loses, even if he is the one who encroaches,” Aragorn pointed out. “And most of them were but under the enchantment of Sauron, they could not see the evil they were aiding. Even if they could see, they still felt kinship.”

Faramir could find no rejoinder to that, for it was true. Sad, but true. The two lords of Gondor continued to sit in pensive silence for a while.

“What is done is done, Elessar,” the Steward said at last. “You have been a merciful master to those we took prisoner, and freed many who would never have tasted freedom had Sauron overcome Middle Earth. But you cannot win the love or understanding of those who will not see the great king you are.”

Aragorn laughed a little bitterly and brushed his hand through his hair. “Greater kings than I there have been, Faramir, though I thank you for your loyalty.”  

“It is not loyalty from which my words come, it is from truth.”

“Some pay the price for being loyal, my friend,” Aragorn said unexpectedly. “Those loyal to Sauron and Saruman suffered much.”

“It was not loyalty in the hearts of those who served Sauron and Saruman, Elessar. It was fear. Fear to act against a stronger power can make one helpless and be mistaken for faithfulness. They were blind.”

Aragorn raised his steely grey eyes to study Faramir’s own soft brown ones, and said with a smile: “Since that night at the stables, you have continued to astound me with your wisdom, my friend.”

Faramir cast his own eyes down, a little embarrassed. A note of sadness crept into his voice now. “War and death has taught me much, Elessar. And before that, the rule of a stern father whose word I dared not disobey. The loss of my brother…”  He faltered and paused, while Aragorn waited patiently for him to continue.

“Loyalty does have a price, as you said,” Faramir said at last. “But one has to choose wisely whom to be loyal to. I know that Boromir, before he died, would have taken Sauron’s Ring of Power for his own. And yet not for himself. It would have been for our father, who foolishly desired it. Faithfulness it was that Boromir showed, and he paid the price for it. You spoke true.” He seemed to have more to say, so Aragorn waited again.

Faramir drew a deep breath and continued in a rush. “The loss of my brother led me to question where my loyalties should lie. Through the years of your reign, Elessar, I have come to see where it is worth pledging them. You have no need to question whether they are rightly placed, for they are. Your people see it. Eomer is loyal to you because he sees what I see. Legolas himself – ”

He stopped short when he saw the smile vanish from the king’s face at the mention of the name, replaced by a look of sadness. Faramir bit his tongue but quickly decided that what he wanted to say had to be said. “Legolas would not have left the Greenwood to devote himself to your realm and to you, if he did not feel the same.” 

“Then he too pays the price,” Aragorn said softly. “He has been nothing but loyal to me, no matter what I… how I…” 

Faramir knew Aragorn was still tormented by what had taken place in the Houses of Healing. “What happened that night – ” he began.

“Is something I shall regret for the rest of my life,” Aragorn finished sharply.

“Then regret it, Elessar,” Faramir said unexpectedly. “But know this: you have returned to the throne of Gondor after a long, long absence of the line of Elendil, and you have much to do still to see the glory of Gondor fully restored. Even after that, the running of the realm cannot be easy. The weight you carry on your shoulders is a great one, as I said. You anticipated this, my lord, we all knew it, and Legolas knows it.”

Aragorn cast his eyes down at those words, and his words hinted at despair. “King of Gondor and Arnor am I, and yet I am powerless to keep that which is dear to me.”

“You will not lose his friendship,” Faramir spoke firmly against the fear that he knew Aragorn would not put into words. “Nor his love, or his loyalty.”

At the king’s silence, Faramir pressed on. “Perhaps you choose not to see it, but you must know this, Elessar: the people of Gondor, and the noblest of Rohan and of Greenwood choose to be loyal to you because they know that in whatever you did in the war, or after, you followed the right path. If there had been choices, you made the right ones. There is no question in our minds. And I wish for the chance to tell Sarambaq that, if we should meet.”

Aragorn’s eyes were a little moist at the end of Faramir’s speech. “And meet we should,” Aragorn agreed. “We cannot allow him to move freely for too long, now that his intentions – or part of them – are known to us. I have to make sure he makes no further attempts to take Eldarion.”

The king placed a hand on Faramir’s knee and smiled his thanks before he spoke again.

“Let us wait and see what else the man from Adhûn can tell us today.” Before I leave, he added silently, not doubting that the Steward would have heard them anyway.

The prisoner in the dungeons of Minas Tirith had been fed just enough food and water to quell pangs of hunger and thirst, but the interrogator did not want him to get too comfortable, for there were still questions he needed to answer. Faramir and Aragorn had been briefed on whatever information had been gleaned earlier, but the interrogator felt there was still more to learn.

The man was told to sit back on the floor of his cell, with the interrogator standing before him, arms folded, a whip trailing from one hand, and looking sufficiently threatening.

“Back to giving me answers as agreed,” the large man said.

The prisoner scowled but said nothing.

“Remember what will happen should you fail to provide answers. No mercy this time. Your leader Sarambaq is not the only one who can show wrath.” Secretly, however, the large man was pleased that the answers had been given so far without the need for violent treatment.

“What was your question again?”

The interrogator answered patiently. “What did your master wish to do with the king’s son?”

“Revenge, like I said. Is that so hard to understand? The king destroyed my master, his home, his family. His son died in the war. But he lived and he has not forgotten it.”

“It was war, and the king was only fighting to rid the land of the Dark Lord’s servants. You can hardly blame the king for that!”

“Not I! What care I? Were you not listening? It is Sarambaq who wants revenge.”

The interrogator scowled at the arrogance of the prisoner and felt like striking him, but he had to keep the man talking. Sarambaq must want to kill the prince so that the king would suffer the same grief, the man of Gondor thought. Yet, the order had been given to take the prince alive.

“Why does your master want him alive?”

Two possible reasons ran through his mind: either he would be held as ransom for some demand, or…

Ködil sneered. “Is it not clear?”

Did he want the child taken alive so that he could do the deed himself? The man of Gondor shuddered. The people of the city were very fond of the little prince.

“Your master has no mercy indeed. The prince is but a child,” the large man said angrily. “You should be thankful the poison was not enough to kill him, or you would feel the full wrath of the king and the people of Gondor!”

A strange look came into the prisoner’s eyes at those words, and he studied the large man in silence.

“Dim-witted were you and your companions to use poison,” the large man of Gondor continued, “for if you had killed the prince, then your dark master’s plans to take him alive would have been for naught!”

“It was not meant to kill,” Ködil retorted, uttering his words flatly, almost absent-mindedly, for he seemed preoccupied with something else.

“But it could well have,” came the angry reply.

Ködil made no reply, but continued to study the interrogator’s face with rapidly moving eyes, as if he could read something there. The interrogator could almost see thoughts churning in the mind of Sarambaq’s minion. The large man decided he did not enjoy the scrutiny and was about to tell Ködil as much when the latter suddenly and mysteriously said, “Take me to see the king and his son.”

“What?” The interrogator could not believe his ears.

“Take me to the king and his son,” he said more slowly.

“I will do no such thing. What are your intentions?”

“I think I know something the king will pay dearly to learn. If I tell him, I want to be set free.”

“There is no way he will let you go.”

“Then I will tell you nothing more.”

The interrogator was angry now and moved forward menacingly, causing the prisoner to back away. “If you keep secrets from us, we will let you rot. If we choose to keep you alive, it will be by a thread, only by a thread. I will personally make your life a misery.”

Ködil stared at the man, a look of challenge in his mean eyes. The interrogator did not flinch. Finally, the Adhûnian gave in. “All right, I want your assurance you will not harm me and I must be fed. But I need to see the king and his son before I can tell you more. Take me to see them, or you will get nothing!”

The prisoner seemed very insistent, and he would say no more. The look in his face told the interrogator that there was more to the request than he could understand. He could not fathom the man of Adhûn’s intentions, so he decided it would be best if Lord Faramir himself spoke to him.

Faramir was in a meeting with the King and his Ministers which lasted three hours. It might have gone on longer – after all, the king had been away for three months, and much needed to be discussed, not least of all the current threat to the royal family – but for the gathering storm. Ominous grey clouds, flashes of lightning and rumbling thunder – as yet distant but threatening to make their presence felt overhead by nightfall – created an atmosphere of disquiet that matched the mood in Aragorn’s heart, and he gladly called a halt to the meeting, somewhat to the relief of all.

An hour after the meeting, in response to a message delivered from the dungeons, a curious Faramir found himself in the dungeons with the interrogator and the prisoner. But after thirty minutes, he learnt no more than the interrogator had beyond the fact that the Adhûnian truly felt it was imperative that he met with the king himself. They thus cleaned the prisoner up and dressed him in clean clothes before binding his hands and leading him into the hallways of the court of King Elessar. 

By the end of the evening, Aragorn found himself ready to withdraw into solitude. His earlier talk with Faramir in the library had somewhat assured him that he had had little control over whatever had transpired with Sarambaq in the war, but he could not bring himself to feel any less remorse over Legolas. Finding out that he had hurt his friend not only verbally but physically as well, no matter how inadvertent the action, haunted him, and he had barely managed to last through the discussions. Gratefully, he pushed back from the table and dismissed his Ministers. Faramir joined him for some tea and a private discussion on the merits of a trade agreement before the Steward was handed a message and excused himself, saying he needed to see the prisoner.

Good, more information, perhaps,Aragorn thought. The more we know, the faster we can plan a countermove. But I still leave for Ithilien tomorrow.

He looked out the window, and thought how the very air smelt of rain even before it came. As a Ranger, he had learnt to read the signs and to appreciate the green earthy tang that hung in the air before every storm. He savored the feeling of renewal, of a fresh start after each downpour.

If only everything in life could be as easily cleansed, he mused.

A sense of melancholy assailed him anew, but he took comfort in the thought that he would be seeing his friend soon. Hamille would have delivered his message by now. He retreated to his office to finish looking through the last of the papers he had to peruse, then gratefully retired to his chambers where he sat, balling his fists and pressing them against his forehead. Outside, the heavens had opened and released the storm. He did not know which was louder, the rain pounding against the stone walls of the chamber, or the pounding in his head.

Arwen came into the room not long after. One look at her husband told her all she needed to know. She sat beside him, took one of his hands in hers, and waited.

“I will not delay any more, Arwen,” Aragorn choked out the words at last. “The court will have to wait. I will go at first light tomorrow.”

A smile of understanding lit her fair face. “Estel, you were ready to leave that very night, and had you not promised Faramir to wait, you would have done so. Truth be told, my heart was torn between wishing you to go to him sooner and heeding the counsel of Faramir at a time like this, but I could not foresee the best course of action. Neither could you, but you did what you thought best then.”

Aragorn looked up at her, seeing the smile in her eyes.

“Still, I would not have been surprised had you departed earlier today or even yesterday, despite your promise. But you honored it and now you can leave with a clear mind. Your pack is already prepared with clothing and your usual needs,” his wife said. Aragorn felt a rush of comfort at her words. “Eldarion and I will be safe here in the city, as we were before. Worry not. Go and put both your hearts at ease, and you will return better able to carry out your duties.”

Aragorn drew her into a tight embrace, softly breathing his love and gratitude into her ears. “My duties are not the most important of my concerns at this moment, melleth, my love.”

“He knows your regret, Estel,” she said soothingly, with a curious knowing smile, thinking of a piece of paper in a basket of blueberry tarts. “Now it is time for you to tell him so face to face, heart to heart. Speak not of just one night in a healing room, but of the months past, of a friend you missed more than you realized, of patience you were too burdened to notice, and of love you were too distant to feel.”

Aragorn looked up, searching her eyes and finding support and gentle admonition.

“It has been there, Estel. He has been there, beside you, always beside you. You cannot stop being the king, a good king. But now, you must be his friend as well. Take the time.”

Aragorn closed his eyes, and they listened to the relentless slap of rain against the glass panes of the bay windows for a while before he spoke again, his sorrow almost palpable.

“No less high do I hold him in my esteem or dearer in affection than I did before, Arwen, you know that. Yet you speak the truth, I have been careless. One finger of blame I would not lay on him now should he wash his hands of me.”

“He will not,” Arwen reassured him. “His heart is purer than that. Just go to him.”

Aragorn nodded. “Were it not for the storm tonight that provides yet another obstacle, I would leave now. But no later than first light will I depart, as I said, and I must first speak with Faramir.”

As if in answer to a summons, a knock sounded on the door and the king and queen drew apart. Upon being granted permission to enter, in stepped Faramir. He cleared his throat.

“Elessar, forgive the interruption, but – ” he seemed at a loss to continue. “A strange situation has presented itself.” He cleared his throat again, suddenly feeling rather foolish at the thought of conveying the prisoner’s request.

Curious, and a little amused at the discomfiture of his Steward, Aragorn prompted, “Sometimes the best way to say something strange is just to say it.”

Taking a deep breath, Faramir repeated the exchange that had taken place between the prisoner and the interrogator as well as himself, watching surprise paint itself on Aragorn and Arwen’s faces.

“He wants to see me?” the king asked incredulously and with some anger. “After what has happened, he wishes to face me? Not the wisest move to make.”

“Not only you, Elessar, he wishes to see Eldarion as well. He seems to think it is important – he seems to have something else to tell us.”

After the initial shock, Aragorn pondered for a moment. It was a strange request. “I am not certain how Eldarion will react when he sees someone who will remind him of that evening…”

Faramir shifted uncomfortably from leg to the other. “I really do not know what to think about all this. Do you wish me to send him back to the cell?”

“No, there is only one way to find out what this is about,” Aragorn said. “Where is this –  man from Adhûn, did you say? – where is he now?”

“In your council room, heavily guarded.”

“And Eldarion?” This was directed to his wife.

“In the nursery,” Arwen answered. “I will bring him there, and – prepare him.”

“Thank you, my love.” Aragorn’s look was firm as he turned back to this Steward. “Faramir, I do not want him within ten yards of my son.”

Faramir nodded. “It has been arranged,” he assured Aragorn, and they left for the king’s office.

Flashes of lightning through the long glass windows added to the abundant light of the torches in the council room where the two figures stood waiting. As instructed by Faramir, the interrogator and the man from Adhûn stood against the wall farthest from the entrance to Aragorn’s council room. A long table stood between them and the entrance. Two guards stood within the room on either side of the door, and two others outside.

Outside the room, Aragorn paused before opening the door, collecting himself. This was the first time he would be seeing one of the attackers face to face. He took a deep breath, opened the door and stepped in. By some quirk of fate, and as faithfully as the theatrics of Lord Burion, a crash of thunder accompanied the movement, creating a dramatic entrance for the Lord of the White City. The prisoner flinched. 

Aragorn’s face was a stern mask of controlled emotions as he cast cold eyes across the room upon the man from Adhûn who, with his vile companions, had brought anguish to those he loved. Aragorn briefly and silently praised Faramir’s astuteness in choosing a meeting place where the long table would separate the prisoner from the royal family, but exactly who needed protection from whom, he was not sure. Aragorn wanted nothing more than for the loathsome man to taste the sting of Anduril, but he settled for gracing the latter with a steely stare. 

Ködil was also staring at him. He had seen Faramir before, so this must be the king of the WhiteCity, he deduced. No mistaking the regal bearing of one of royal blood and the firm jaw of a leader.

Before either of them could speak, the sound of other footsteps approached, and soon the queen and her son were in the room as well. As soon as Eldarion entered, Aragorn drew the prince to his side and placed a hand protectively around the little shoulders. Arwen took one look at the prisoner and recognized him as the man who had come charging into the talan that night. Instinctively, her hand went protectively to her son’s chest. The prince took a little longer to place the man as one of the people who had frightened him that evening; when he did, he gave a small whimper and moved closer to his father. The fury of the storm outside did little to alleviate his feeling of fear.

“Well, we meet,” Aragorn broke the silence first, his chin held high. “Does it satisfy your twisted mind in some way, to see my son that you tired to capture, into whom you sent your vile poison?”

The rain seemed deafening in the hush that followed. The whole room was silent as they waited for an answer from the man of Adhûn.

The shifty eyes of the man in question, however, traveled from the king to the prince, from father to son, and back, his face unreadable at first, his mind a whirl.

Then, as a flash of lightning illuminates the dark or as eyes that are closed finally open to see the light, it seemed to Ködil that everything fell into place, and every exchange that had taken place between him and the interrogator in all the questioning sessions he had gone through, every word they had uttered – all took on a new meaning.

To everyone’s bewilderment, he did what no one expected him to do.

He laughed.

Mingled with an earsplitting crash of thunder which caused Eldarion to stop his ears and press further into the folds of his father’s tunic, the laugh seemed to turn into an eerie cackle that froze every heart in the room save that of the man from the East.

With a gleam of satisfaction and scorn in his eyes, he looked from Aragorn to Arwen to Eldarion to Faramir and even to the interrogator and laughed again when they all exchanged looks of confusion. The large man beside him grasped his arm in a tight grip.

“Be silent!” he instructed fiercely.

“But you do not want me to be silent, you fool. You want me to talk, do you not? Give you answers? Tell you more?” he sneered in response.

“Speak then! What is it you have to tell us?” Aragorn demanded with all the authority of his regal status.

And speak he did.

As the man of Adhûn gave answers to the questions they asked – and to several they did not – Aragorn’s face turned pale.