Chapter 2 – Acceptance

Silence clung to the Hall after the first gasp as Faramir strode towards the Throne. Indis clenched her teeth. She wanted to run to him, to stop him. To take the Throne! To make himself King! She bit her lip harder to stay the command, “Stop!” that threatened to burst from her lips. He could not do this! He would not. He knew all that it meant, all the history that went before him. Of all of them, Faramir knew best the consequences of what he was about.

He stopped at the Throne and touched it. His hand slid over the arm; he put his other hand on the other arm and shuddered. He knelt in front of it and kissed the seat. Then he stood. She watched his body, waited for him to turn around and sit upon the Throne that belonged to the Heir of Elendil. To sit upon it and thus bring doom to Gondor.

At last, he straightened. He saluted the Throne, turned and walked back to her! She stifled her cry of relief. He held his hand out; she took it and he led her down the stairs to the Steward’s Chair. He stopped before it, looked up at her, smiled, and finally sat.

The Hall erupted. Cheers rang out so that those with tender ears had to cover them. She heard trumpets blaring the news and bells ringing. Her chin trembled as she watched him. He never even blinked. He sat there, as though it were a common occurrence for him, and waited for the noise to subside.

Húrin of the Keys stepped forward. He motioned to the crowd and it parted again. The Chamberlain entered the Hall and walked slowly to the Chair, the Rod of the Stewards held in his outstretched arms. The Hall quieted. Húrin stepped to the Chamberlain’s side and took the Rod. He turned and made to present it to Indis. She shook her head. He smiled and turned to the crowd.

“Know ye that Faramir, son of Denethor of the line of the House of Húrin, upon the death of Boromir the Beloved, though he lay unconscious from the torture inflicted by one who will forever remain nameless, was handed the Rod. Indis, daughter of Ecthelion and sister of Denethor, received this Rod in his name. Now let all know that Lord Faramir has recovered and is ready to take upon him the duties of his fathers. It has been deemed right and just by the full Council, to confer upon him, before his people, the title Steward of Gondor, Captain-General of the Army, Captain of the White Tower, High Warden of the White Tower, and Prince of the City. Therefore,” he turned and faced Faramir. “As Warden of the Keys, and uncle to Faramir in the line of Húrin of Emyn Arnen, and descendant of Pelendur of the First Age, to bequeath this token of his Lordship over all of Gondor, this Rod. I name thee, Faramir, Steward of Gondor.”

He turned to the throng and shouted, “Long live Faramir!”

Once again the Hall erupted as Faramir accepted the Rod.

After many very long moments, Faramir stood. The crowd immediately settled, though a shout of ‘Faramir’ rang out and was quickly shushed. The boy blushed.

“It is with deep and everlasting joy that I receive this token of service to you, the people of Gondor,” he began with the words Indis had helped him devise. “Long has my family rejoiced in its service to you. I would wish that today was only a day of joy,” Indis looked at him as he deviated from his written speech. “There are those who have suffered grievous hurt and others who have lost their lives that I may sit on the Steward’s Chair. I would mention only a few, but others are known to me and have etched their names into my heart.” His little chin quivered and Indis stifled a sob. “The Lord Denethor, beloved father. The Lord Boromir, beloved brother. Master Healer, Arciryas. Captains Gorlim and Gildor. Captain Baranor.” He hung his head for a moment, struggling for control. Indis stopped her hand. She desperately wanted to put it on his shoulder to comfort him.

Faramir looked up again. “We would not be here now, if not for the valiant help of our allies of the Mark.” Indis watched as Théoden King smiled. Faramir was wise to use the Rohirric name for Rohan. “Again, lives were given for my safety.” He swallowed. “Grimbold, Baldor and Aldor, beloved sons of Elfhelm. These we honor today. But we also rejoice, for friends and allies who stood by us in this darkest hour. Théoden King.” Faramir turned and bowed to the Rohir standing in the front row. “Théodred, Éomund, Elfhlem, Ragnhild, Targon,” he choked on that name, “who risked his life to rescue my brother, our beloved uncle, Imrahil, and Borondir.” He turned to Indis and knelt at her feet. “I would not have life if not for the love of this woman, Indis, Lady of Gondor. I pledge myself to you, dearest aunt, for all the days of my life.”

Silence greeted this pledge. Théoden King knelt; Théodred followed as did the entire entourage from Rohan. Húrin followed suit. Quickly, the entire Hall knelt before the Lady of Gondor. Indis did not see; her entire being was focused on her nephew. “Please rise, my Lord. It is not fitting that you kneel to me.”

“None is more deserving then thee,” the boy slipped into Sindarin. “Thou hast my love and loyalty, forever. There is naught I can do that wouldst give thee recompense for what thou hast done for me. Please, let me give thee this one moment of praise.”

She nodded. Tears, those she had held back since before this ceremony started, fell. “Thou art my life, Faramir. I will never leave thee. Never.”

Faramir stood and turned to his people. “I name Indis, Regent. Obey her as you would obey me.” He took her hand in his and slowly made his way out of the Great Hall to thunderous cheers.