Chapter Twenty-Nine – Sharing Stew and Other Things

“Faramir, Éomund would spend some time with you.” She helped him put on his tunic. She had left her friends in her own chambers and went to Faramir’s as soon as the message arrived that he had finished with his bath. “If you would not mind, could we take nuncheon in my chambers instead of yours? They are larger.”

Faramir grinned from ear to ear. “I want to be with him, too. I am ready, all scrubbed clean and dressed. Indis,” he looked up at her cautiously as they walked down the Tower steps, “will there be enough for the three of us?”

She looked upon him in surprise. “I believe so. I can always order more, if the need arises.”

“Good! I am so very hungry. It has been hours since we broke our fast.”

“But we had a light snack at that little inn on the Pelennor not two hours ago. I was afraid you would not eat nuncheon at all. We are having venison stew.”

“Eat not at all! I think I could eat three helpings of Cook’s stew. And fresh bread? Will there be fresh bread?”

She laughed in relief. “Yes. And Targon has promised a special dessert.”

“Oh! May Targon join us? We had hardly a chance to talk on the ride home. I missed him.”

“As he missed you.” By this time, they were at Indis’ chamber door.

The guard saluted and quickly knelt on one knee. “Steward Faramir. All those in your service humbly welcome you home.”

Faramir stopped; a wide smile creased his face. “Balan! I am so very glad to be home again. I have heard of what you did for me in Tarnost. Thank you. I hope to meet with the Tower Guard tomorrow or the next.” He looked up hopefully at Indis who gave him an odd look.

“We await your call, my Lord.” The guard stood aside and opened the door.

“Húrin!” Faramir ran into the waiting arms of his cousin. Not a word was spoken as the Warden held him tightly.

At last, Indis coughed. “Nuncheon is getting cold.”

“It matters not, Amma, the stew is good – hot or cold,” but he let Húrin lead him to the dining chamber. He looked about in surprise. “You have changed it.”

“I have. Your father’s tastes were a little too heavy and dark for me. Is it acceptable?”

Faramir laughed. “I do like it, though…”

“Speak, Faramir,” Indis prodded, “Never fear speaking your mind in front of those who love you.”

“I have not been here since Ada passed. It saddens me a little.”

“And it should, “Éomund stepped forward and dragged the boy into a fierce hug. “The death of a warrior is hard for those who have come to rely upon him. Weep if you will. None will gainsay you a moment’s grief.”

Faramir returned the embrace and snuggled further into the warmth and smell of his friend. After a moment, he let go and stepped back. “I am famished.”

Quickly, the company sat amidst laughter; a servant ladled the stew into Faramir’s bowl first. Éomund passed him the rolls; Húrin passed the butter. They ate in silence as Faramir, forgetting all about Targon in his hunger, devoured two bowls of stew and three rolls. Indis shared glances with her friends. None had seen Faramir eat with such alacrity in a very long time. At last, the Steward pushed back his bowl and looked up. A look of embarrassment crossed his face. “I am sorry. I have lost my manners, it seems, somewhere in Ithilien.”

Éomund bellowed with laughter. “Nay! What have you survived on in the wilds this past week or so? Obviously not enough for a growing boy.”

“I am no longer a child, Éomund; I am now an esquire of Gondor.”

“An esquire?” Indis looked up in surprise.

Faramir blushed. “Wi… with your permission, of course?”

“Of course.” She smiled. “Let us go into my study.” She turned to the servant. “Please bring Targon’s chocolate cookies with mugs of hot chocolate to my study.” The servant nodded as they left the room.

When they had settled, Indis turned towards Faramir and motioned for him to join her on the settle. “Sit here, melethron nîn. “Might I ask Borondir and Ragnhild to join us? We would hear of your adventure, if you are able to share it.”

“Please, may Targon join us too?”

“Undoubtedly,” she smiled and rang the bell. After the servant left with her orders, Indis turned to Listöwel. “Captain, might you see to Faramir’s livery? If he is to be an esquire, he will need to have the appropriate clothes and such. I suppose you will need a sword?”

“And a shield and a hauberk of mail,” the boy responded enthusiastically. “But not until Ethuil. I will not start my training until Ethuil.”

“I see,” Indis said, her brow creasing further. “Who is to be your taskmaster? Who is your liege to be? Have you already decided?”

Faramir began to speak but was immediately interrupted by the appearance of Targon, Borondir and Ragnhild. All were welcomed warmly. Targon sat on the floor in front of Faramir’s feet while Borondir and Ragnhild sat across from them, the fire separating the two. Mugs of hot chocolate were passed out as well as the cookies Targon had made.

“I wanted to give you chocolate cookies in Osgiliath, but they did not have chocolate. So I had to make due with oatmeal.”

“They were delicious. I took a few and ate them as we rode home. They were very good and helped ease my hunger.”

Indis stood for a moment. “I am glad you have all come. Faramir,” she turned to her nephew and held his shoulder in a show of support. “Are you ready to share your adventure with those who love you?”

Faramir smiled shyly. “It did not start out as an adventure. I was merely going to relieve myself…” Indis sat.

He continued on for over an hour, totally unaware of the faint gasps that accompanied his tale. At last, when he spoke of the Elves, Borondir could hold back no longer.

“It is true. Two Elves came and saved our troop. They even tended my wounds and the wounds of my men. The Elves disappeared after they brought us to Faramir’s side.”

Indis nodded, but her eyes did not leave Faramir’s. “You said Strider found you and cared for you? Who is this Strider?”

“Oh, Amma! You know him well. He helped me in the cave. He sang Nana’s lullaby. We all sang it together. He said he is a Captain of Gondor. He is, is he not?”

Indis, and all those present in the room, drew in a breath. “Thorongil,” she whispered. “Thorongil still watches over Gondor.”