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My Sword Trembles - Book Three - 'My Sword' Series  by Agape4Gondor

Chapter Forty-Two - Missed Celebrations

Mettarë was nigh almost upon them and neither Indis nor Faramir could bring themselves to a true enjoyment of the feast days. The festival meal was being arranged in Merethrond for the lords and captains of Gondor whilst entertainment was set in every Circle of the City for the people, yet both the Steward and his Regent were cheerless.

Faramir was distraught, for Éomund, though he had promised to bring Théodred for the feasting time, was unable to attend. Théodwyn was with child and the young Marshal could not bring himself to leave her. The present that Théoden sent almost made up for the lack. A package arrived almost a fortnight before Mettarë with a note asking that Faramir not wait until the feast day, but open it now and use it. Faramir sat at Indis’ feet and opened the large package. His face beamed as he ran his hand over the finest saddle he had ever seen. Indis near wept at the joy in his face. “It is beautiful, is it not, Amma? May I go to the stables now and put it on Antvorn back and ride out for a bit?”

Indis laughed and nodded. “Go! But take Targon with you. The boy has been cooped up too long in the kitchens preparing for the festivities!”

Faramir showed Valanestel, as if the guard did not know, how to pick up the saddle and carry it. He then kissed Indis and ran out the door, almost bumping into Listöwel as he left.

Gondor’s Captain-General watched them leave with some amusement, but the smile faded from her as she watched her Regent crumple into a nearby chair.

Indis keenly felt the loss of Arciryas. This now was the second Mettarë since his death and she found she was keeping it hard. The first had been so enmeshed in fear and grief for Faramir that she hardly had time to give it but a moment’s thought. Now, the halls were empty of her husband’s laughter and their bed was cold. She wept bitterly far too many nights. It was grown difficult to even eat, and sleep had become nigh unto an impossibility. The loss of her brother gave weight to her grief and Listöwel was become concerned.

“Take yourself and Faramir to Dol Amroth. The prince will welcome you warmly. Or ride to Edoras. You know Aldburg is not far from there. Éomund could visit for a short time and Faramir would have Théodred’s company. A change of scenery would do you both good. These halls and this Citadel are a constant reminder of a life that is no longer.”

“I would heed such advice, my friend, but travel has been our constant companion these last two years. It is time we settled, time we looked to each other for love and support. Dearest Faramir cannot endure another trip, not so soon. Our people need us here for the festival; their hearts are also sore-tried.”

“No matter what festivities you devise, they will still remember their Steward and Boromir.”

“But Faramir is now Steward and they have grown to love him. We will make sure he is quite visible in many of the activities, that they might gain hope from his presence.”

“If that is your wish. I will place extra guards during the events. I still feel an unease since the wizard left us.”

“But Mithrandir is here.” Indis’ eyes brightened. “Mayhap he will deign to entertain us with fireworks? We must ask him.” A smile began to filter from her eyes to her lips. “Yes, a grand display, if he is willing. We could set up a place for him on the Pelennor, that way the people would be able to watch from the walls and everyone could see.”

“We did not mark Faramir’s birthing day. This is the second year that circumstances have been such that we have neglected this day.”

Indis nodded and a shudder passed over her. “Would that this be the last of any such missed anniversaries. The year of Denethor’s death, the City reeled with grief and Faramir was still healing from his wounds. This year, he was lost.” Indis stood up and paced around her small private study, shuddering and rubbing her hands over her arms. “I think you speak well. We will combine the feast days and his birthing day. There is not much time; we have much to do.”

Húrin’s entrance and the note he delivered took away all thoughts of celebration. Under Indis’ direction, the merchant from Linhir, Barach, had established a stall in the marketplace in Pelargir and was keeping watch over Haleth’s band of treacherous knaves who were camped across the Anduin. Under cover of night, the men of the traitorous company would cross the River and do trade with the vendor, who made it known he was unsympathetic to the new Regent. At last, Indis and Listöwel vaguely understood Haleth’s actions. The traitor, after many visits and nights of drinking Barach’s brews, would expound his hatred of the House of Húrin and boast that one day he would free his brother and take the Throne. Barach let the lad speak, though some of the soldiers with him tried to silence the boy; drink and lack of common sense overrode any advice whatsoever. Haleth planned a surprise attack, from inside the Citadel, much like his father, on the feast of Yáviérë. The entire City would be celebrating with the spring festivities, usually held upon the Pelennor. The boy thought it would be easy to sneak into the Citadel, rescue his brother, and take the Throne whilst the people cavorted on the plain.

“Perhaps it is because Minas Tirith was so easily won by Amandil that the fool thinks we can twice be duped,” Húrin growled.

Indis was not listening. “Yáviérë,” she muttered to herself. “Faramir will be with Thorongil in Lossarnach. He will be safe and guarded. Yes, Yáviérë is a good choice.” She lifted her face to her friends. “We will bring ten companies to the north side of the River Erui. The terrain there is flat, but grasslands lie on either side of the river. We will hide in the brush and wait for them and crush them.” Her teeth were clenched as she brought her fist up and shook it.

Listöwel shivered.

~*~

“So you wish me to distract Gondor’s people from their sorrow by a fireworks display? And what would you be doing, in the meantime?”

Indis blushed at the wizard’s carefully veiled question. She sighed. “You were counselor to my father, Mithrandir. I know naught passes your notice. I assume you know of the rebellion that grows in the gardens of Ithilien?”

He nodded and she continued. “The enemy plans an attack on Yáviérë. We will meet them at the Crossings of Erui and strike them down. Are you satisfied?”

“Do you know their numbers?”

“We are fairly certain. Borondir and Ragnhild are in Tarnost and watch closely the comings and going in the area. They have many spies within the confines of those who are deemed false to Faramir. We also have a merchant at Pelargir who has befriended the young lord who commands the men who plan to attack us.”

“Mettarë must be a spectacular festival so as to keep Haleth and his men from becoming concerned?”

“You even know his name?” She shuddered.

“I have my own ways of learning things. Be assured, your men do not give out such information. It is with other tools that I garner my information.”

She remembered the hidden room at the top of the stairs and drew in a quick breath.

“Is all well with you, Indis?”

“I am learning I do not like some of the duties of Regent,” she snapped, then quickly apologized. “I would have such tools as you possess to protect Faramir and my people.”

“I think not, fair Lady. You have all the tools you need; look not to other things, magic and such, to garner knowledge. Knowledge gained in that way brings grief.”

“If I can but save my people from treachery, is not any means worthwhile?”

“I think not.”

She shrugged. “Will you help me with Mettarë? Will you provide fireworks?”

He looked at her, too long in her estimation, and finally nodded. “I will set up the things I need on the afternoon of the feast day itself. Once Anor sets, I will set them off. I will do my best to make it spectacular – if for naught else than young Faramir’s enjoyment. He has suffered these past years and I would do what I can to help him heal.”

“Thorongil has already done more than could be asked for.”

“He is a good man.”

“Where lives he?”

The wizard chuckled. “You will gain no further information from me, Regent. Thorongil, if he deems the time right, will enlighten you. Will you go to Lossarnach with Faramir?”

“Nay. I will be with Listöwel, leading our troops against Haleth and his men. But come, enough of that talk. Join me for this evening’s daymeal. Faramir will be with me as will Listöwel. I promise, we will keep the banter light.”

“I would like that very much.”

~*~

Mettarë, deemed spectacular by the inhabitants of Minas Tirith, still tasted bitter to Indis. Try as she might, she could not bring herself to enjoy aught but Faramir. That the lad was happy was quite apparent, at least during the wizard’s display; however, as she came to his room to bid him good night, she heard his sobs. She waited a moment, hoping they would still and not wishing to embarrass him. At last, the sobs subsided. She knocked gently on the door and entered.

“It was a lovely feast, was it not?”

The boy nodded in the semi-darkness of the room.

She bit her lip to keep from crying herself. “I pretended Arciryas, Denethor and Boromir sat next to me as I watched the fireworks.” She sat on the bed and watched his eyes widen.

“Oh! Amma!” he cried and lunged for her, holding her tightly about the waist. “I pretended Boromir sat next to me.” Wails accompanied this announcement.

“They all were with us, Faramir. Believe that. They have not left us, I swear. Who gave you the courage to continue when you were alone on the River? Who gave me the strength to fight the smelly wizard?” She felt his smile. “Who is with me when I have to listen to the people’s needs and judge them? We could not do these things alone. They are with us and helping us. I truly believe this, Faramir.”

The boy cried a little longer, then loosened his grip. “I talk to Boromir every night. I tell him what happened to me during the day. Do you really think he hears me?”

“I do hope so, for I do the same with Arciryas. And even my brother, sometimes.”

“I showed him the presents I received. And when I road Antvorn out onto the Pelennor, I sang his favorite song.” The boy sobbed. “You remember it, do you not, Amma?”

“The one about fishing on the River?”

“That very one. Except, I seem to have forgotten the last verse.” Another sob.

“I think it went this way…

The fire blazes red and strong

As we prepare the meal.

You sit by me

We laugh and joke

And sometimes on the smoke

We choke.

“And all night long we sing the songs,” Faramir joined her on the chorus, “of fish and frogs and fireflies lights. And sleep beneath the starry skies and dream of friendships warm and bright.”

He held her again tightly. “Will the pain ever go away, Amma? I do not want to forget Boromir, but my heart hurts so much sometimes.” Another sob and more tears fell.

“The pain will go away, but the memories will not, Faramir. Not as long as we hold them close. That is the gift Boromir and your father and my sweet Arciryas left for us – the memory of them. Now sleep, sweet child, know I am but a moment away, if you need me.”

He hugged her and let her tuck him in. “Good night, Amma. I love you so much.”

She kissed him on the brow, then on his lips, and wiped the tears from his cheeks. “I love you too, beloved boy. Sleep tight.”

~*~

A/N - Many thanks to Fiondil - who helped me see the 'error' of my ways in the naming of Faramir's mare from Theoden... Here's his note - Antvorn_ "Black gift"





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