Appendix E: Such a Friend

Maytime was glorious in that glad year when Sauron was cast down and the King came again. Ever after, Faramir son of Denethor of the House of Mardil remembered the long days of glorious sunlight, the nights beneath the glittering firmament, and the joy that walked so freely through the stony byways of the city he had already begun to think of as Minas Anor. It was simpler to forget, as the years went on and the golden reign of Envinyatar unfolded, the abashed unease that was his steadfast companion in those earliest days.

Neither awe nor earnest love could create between the Steward and the King the sort of trust and amity for which Faramir yearned. He could see it between the King and his companions: the Elf and the Dwarf who had travelled so far with him, and of course the Periannath. In a loftier way, rich with dignity upon both sides, Elessar and Mithrandir share a like bond. That was natural, for they had known one another for years uncounted and had shared in many long and bitter labours. Yet it was the friendships that the King had forged with the young King of Rohan and the Prince of Dol Amroth that gave Faramir hope that he too might achieve such a thing.

True, his uncle and Éomer King had ridden with the King to battle, and had dwelt with him in the glad days upon the field of Cormallen. Doubtless that had worked to cement the bonds of camaraderie and respect with a swiftness scarcely to be thought of in less tumultuous times. Yet Faramir hoped, he dared to hope, that he would one day share the King's confidence as Imrahil now did.

He was uncertain how to approach Elessar. The hale lord who appeared scant years older than the Steward's departed brother was in truth well-nigh of an age with Faramir's father. In him the blood of Númenor flowed pure, and his carriage and his majesty reflected that. That he had recalled Faramir from the consuming darkness of the Nazgûl was cause enough for hallowed regard. His words of grace and forgiveness before the battle-scarred City Gate had honoured and humbled Faramir still more.

After his father's transgressions and Denethor's traitorous imprecations against the King, it had seemed the only thing Faramir could do with honour was to yield up the White Rod. Indeed it would have been fitting in any case, for with the King come again what need was there for a Steward? Yet the King had laid the token of the office once more in Faramir's hands, and had bestowed upon him and upon his heirs the trust and privilege that had belonged to his long forefathers: to serve as Steward to a living King. And rising up, Faramir had heralded the return of the King before all the people of the City.

The pride and glory of that moment shone bright as bright in Faramir's heart upon the fourth day as it had in that moment. Still he longed, for all he knew it was naught but greed on his part, for friendship. Time would doubtless cure his awkwardness in the presence of his King, but he was as impatient as he was greedy. The thought was in his mind when he sat near the King at board in the Merethrond, listening to his talk and his merry laughter. It intruded upon Faramir's focus in the Hall of Kings, when Elessar would ease his imposing splendour with a beneficent smile to some supplicant or captive of war. If he could offer kindness even to the defeated Easterlings and the surrendering Haradrim, surely he would not take amiss an overture of friendship from his loyal servant and Steward – if only Faramir could work himself up to making one.

After that morning's long series of audiences, the King withdrew from the throne to meet with his Councillors. He had for the present retained all of Denethor's Council, easing both the transition of power and the qualms of the City's elite, and he had taken on others as well. There was Mithrandir, of course: a choice of which Faramir heartily approved and which his father would have just as ardently condemned. One of the master shipwrights from Pelargir was also elevated, that he might consult on the restoration of the Harlond and of Gondor's more distant waterways . The two sons of Elrond sat in the Council chamber also, most often silent but ever listening, and there was one of the King's own men: a member of the Grey Company, tall and weatherbeaten and grave. With him, too, Elessar shared an abiding affection as well as some hidden sorrow that Faramir saw but could not rightly read.

It was this Dúnadan who lingered after the Council dispersed, conferring with the King in hushed tones by one of the high casements. Faramir had half-hoped to do so himself, and he was turning away in discouraged silence when the Ranger clasped the King's arm briefly and strode from the room. Faramir hesitated near the threshold, wavering. Ere his courage could desert him entirely, Elessar spoke.

'Faramir.' He uttered the name with a warmth that reminded its owner of the moment of purest peace when he had awakened to see his King at his bedside. 'Will you tarry a while and speak with me?'

'Gladly, sire,' said Faramir, hoping he did not speak too swiftly. 'What would my King ask of me?'

Elessar motioned for the door that led into the study adjoining the Council chamber. Faramir bowed his head and waited for the King to lead the way, which he did after a tiny, almost bemused pause. He had lead thousands to battle and victory, and yet it seemed he was not yet acclimatised to being given precedence in his own Citadel. Small signs such as this spoke of a humility of spirit that Faramir found both admirable and appealing. He stepped after his liege-lord into the room that until very recently had been his father's study.

Already its cavernous austerity had been softened by a few simple changes. The unyielding straight-backed chairs that had stood before the Steward's desk for as long as Faramir had remembered were gone. In their place were two handsomely carven armchairs with tapestried cushions on the seats. The bare floor, upon which Faramir had stood so often to hear his father's judgements on his schoolwork, his performance at swordplay or archery, or upon his latest campaign in Ithilien, was now interrupted by a richly woven rug with fringed edges. The fireplace was laid ready to be lit, though it was not needed on such a clement day, and upon the mantelpiece stood several slender volumes bound in coloured leathers. A washstand occupied one corner, and along the wall beside the hearth was a high couch with a plain sheet folded upon its foot.

'Please sit,' said Elessar, indicating the chairs as he took his own. He had a sheaf of papers in one hand, notes and loosely drafted proposals from the Council meeting. These he spread neatly and then seemed to promptly forget. As Faramir settled, the King sat forward and smiled.

'I have not taken the opportunity to thank you adequately for all that you have done for the City these last weeks,' he said. 'It can have been no small task, and yet all was done with capability and grace. Your love for our people and your aptitude for such duties are plain. I thank you most earnestly: in you I have all that a monarch could wish from his Steward.'

Faramir cast down his eyes, gratified by the praise but uncomfortable. In matters of state he might speak with the confidence of a Captain and Councillor, but alone with his King he knew not what to say. 'It was not I who should have been your Steward, my Lord,' he murmured. 'Yet I have striven to do what I can to be worthy of the trust laid upon me.'

'You have.' Still warm, Elessar's voice was now also gentle. 'Faramir, I speak now not as your King but as your healer. A shadow lies yet upon your heart. It has no taint of Morgul foulness upon it, and yet I can see how it burdens you. Have you spoken to anyone of your sorrow?'

'To whom would I speak, my Lord?' Faramir asked, raising his eyes before he could school the plaintive plea within. 'He who was my confidant rode northward long ago, and such matters are not fitting for a Captain to discuss with his men.'

'Perhaps not,' said the King, and his eyes were misted in memory. 'Yet even a Captain must have someone to turn to, even if it is his own Lieutenant. I am not your long comrade, it is true, but we share a bond that can only be forged where death walks. I would be honoured if you would see fit to confide in me now.'

Faramir shook his head, but not in refusal. His throat was tight and his lips dry. 'Sire…' he breathed.

'Aragorn,' said Elessar. 'I would esteem it a great boon if you would use my true name. Seldom enough have I heard it through the long years of my life, and I would not lay it aside even with these new honours and titles to adorn me.'

'Aragorn…' Faramir tried the name upon his tongue. He had known it, of course, but until now had never presumed to speak it. It was a privilege of intimacy, an intimacy he did not feel that he had earned. Yet as he uttered it now, the feel of it and the sound were natural, even pleasant. The smallest of smiles touched his lips. 'Aragorn, you travelled long in my brother's company. What can you tell me of his last journey? Of his death?'

'His death was the equal of many told of in song,' said the King – said Aragorn. 'He fell defending the youngest of the Periannath: Meriadoc who was esquire to Théoden King, and Peregrin the faithful knight of Gondor. The Uruk-hai of Saruman had beset them, and Boromir fought to the last to save them. Who is to say what calamity would have smitten our Fellowship and the world had he not waylaid that raiding band?'

A darkness as of dread passed through his eyes, and Faramir though he saw the faintest shudder. But Aragorn's gaze was steady and he went on. 'One score or more he slew with his bright blade, ere their arrows overcame him. The others fled. It was I who was with him at the moment of his death. He strove despite his many wounds and his pain to speak to me. He was able to tell me that the Halflings lived yet, and if he had not done so I do not know how my choice would have gone. It was that hope that drove me – and Gimli and Legolas with me – through the long, swift westward hunt.'

Faramir nodded, but he knew the tale was not complete. He understood Aragorn's reluctance to speak, his desire to spare him. He did not know that it was too late for that, even had Faramir wished it. 'I know of the Ring, and of his temptation,' he said softly. 'From the Ring-bearer himself I had the tale. Did Boromir say naught else? With his last breath, did he not repent?'

He had believed it, for he had seen his brother's face serene and beautiful in death. Yet now the fingers of doubt clutched at his heart, as his father's hands had clutched the Seeing Stone to the very end. The shadow within him seemed to blossom into an eclipsing storm, where before it had been but a low echo of melancholy.

The King closed his eyes and bowed his head. 'Not with his last breath, but in his first words to me when I came upon him. Great strength of will it took him even to speak, and he uttered first of all his remorse for that lone failing.' He looked up at Faramir, and his eyes were very bright. 'Your brother was a noble man, and he served well the Quest even unto the last. You must not dwell upon a single stumble on a long, hard road walked in faithfulness.'

'I know,' murmured Faramir. 'I do not. Yet I am glad to know that he confessed the wrong to you, for I know you would not let him go to his death without words of absolution to ease it. A King's forgiveness: what more could any man hope to receive?'

'There was naught that warranted forgiveness, nor that it would have been my place to pardon,' said Aragorn gravely. 'He had been tempted, yes, and yet he did not seize the Ring – as it would have been within his might to do. Thus I pledged to him that he had not failed in his charge, but conquered. "Few have gained such a victory," said I. "Be at peace!". I spoke not only of his prowess in the battle with the orcs, mighty though it was. If I gave him some small comfort in that moment I am glad, for in his dying words he gave me certainty in my dreadful doubt. He laid upon me the charge to come to Minas Tirith in his stead, and I swore that the City would not fall.'

'You have kept your vow,' Faramir said, the words rising over a suffusing warmth within his heart. In Ithilien he had spoken to Frodo son of Drogo, and he had quantified the Halfling's assurance that Boromir had accepted the claim of the Heir of Isildur. Faramir had been compelled to wonder how long such acceptance would have lasted, had the two come to Gondor and stood before Denethor in his great stone chair. Rivals in Gondor's wars, he had said they might have been, himself doubtful that the King might ever come again.

To know that at the last Boromir had laid such a charge upon Aragorn, that he had offered up Gondor and her great City into the guardianship of the rightful King, quieted Faramir's troubled spirit. His brother's foresight and wisdom in the moment of his death were beauteous, and both Faramir and Elessar would know this always: that Boromir son of Denethor, firstborn and the rightful successor to the Stewardship, had welcomed Elendil's Heir and entrusted him with the rule that was his by right. He had done what their father had lacked the faithfulness to do.

'Thank you, my Lord,' breathed Faramir. At the small, sad smile that touched the King's lips, he steadied his gaze and said earnestly; 'Aragorn, I thank you. I could have chosen no more fitting companion to stay by Boromir's side in his moment of death. I am grateful to you for your wisdom and your grace. I am thankful, too, for the care with which you discharged his last rites. I saw him arrayed in funereal honour, as if upon a stone couch in Rath Dínen.'

Aragorn nodded. 'Samwise told me,' he said quietly. 'Your brother was a worthy man, Faramir, and you are no less worthy. In him I would have had a valiant Steward in war. In you, I see that I will find a wise Steward with whom to forge my peace. Yet is there nothing more that burdens your heart? I cannot think this hurt your only one.'

'My father.' The words were scarcely more than a whisper, as much an articulation of the King's private thoughts as an answer to his question, for there had been in truth no question. Faramir's innards seemed to shrivel. Where his ponderings upon Boromir's death in battle had been painful but never conflicted, each thought of his sire brought with it a tumult of muddled and miserable emotion. 'I do not know what I may say to you, sire. What he did… it was not well done.'

'No.' Aragorn's voice was gentle, soft with pity and a mournful understanding that Faramir could not have hoped to hear. 'It was not well done, for no father should wound his son as he has wounded you. Yet at the last Denethor son of Ecthelion was not the master of his own mind. It was the action of the Enemy, Faramir, as much as the action of the father you knew.'

'Yet he laid his mind open to Sauron,' Faramir said, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. 'He knew the peril, and still he dabbled with that he had no right to touch.'

'He had some right,' said Aragorn measuredly. 'The Palantír, like the other heirlooms of the House of Anárion, was entrusted to the Steward to keep against the day when the King should come again. It was a part of the same bequest that left Gondor so long in the care of your family.'

'To keep, aye, but not to use. No more than it was his right to wear the Crown,' said Faramir. He shook his head. 'And to know that he used it first not in the moment of our doom, but long years before… it is shameful, sire, and it was folly.'

'We cannot judge too harshly they who fall to folly in their desperation,' Aragorn said quietly. His eyes were troubled, and no longer did they meet Faramir's. There was a quality to his voice that betrayed to the Steward the King's own divergent thoughts upon the matter. He was not uttering consolations out of a well of certainty: he was himself trying to divine how his judgment ought to fall in this matter.

'It was unwise,' he said after a moment's troubled silence. 'Yet in moments of great need any leader of men may take a course deemed unwise, and do so in an act of terrible courage and noblest intent. Think of the march upon the Morannon: what was that but folly to most men's eyes? Or your own valiant and desperate ride… unwise, perhaps, but most needful. I do not doubt that when first your father took the Palantír in his hands, he believed his action just as necessary.'

Faramir could not but look askance at this. His father, ever driven by his hunger to preserve the old ways of Gondor, had made many choices that had proved ill for his land and his people. This was but one, and the longstanding repetition of the transgression, over and over through the years as the Shadow grew upon the eastern horizon and deepened its hold upon the Steward's mind, made of it a misjudgement that was no better than wilful treason.

'Sire, you did not know him…' Faramir began.

'I knew him.' Now the King's words and his eyes were filled with sorrow, all doubt forgotten. 'I knew him long ago, ere you or Boromir were born; ere he loved your mother; ere he fell to his envy and his lust for omniscient knowledge. Even then he was a hard man, swift to criticise and slow to praise, but he was a noble man. Noble, and fiercely loyal to his duty. At times his judgment lapsed, but he was a mighty Captain-General in Gondor's great need, and as Steward he held her borders longer than any lesser man could have done. That he fell to the darkness is one of the great griefs in a war fraught with tragedy.'

Faramir's lips moved, but no sound issued forth. His mind was muddled with many conflicting questions and a tempest of unrestful feeling. The question of how the King had come to walk in Gondor long ago, unheralded and unrecognized, was not even near the forefront, though it plucked at him. In the end it was no question at all that rose to his lips, but a confession.

'I mourn him,' he said, his voice very low. 'Although he died shamefully, although he betrayed his people, although he would have…' But this last he could not say. He cast his eyes away, unable too look upon the one who had undone the evil of the Nazgûl and restored life to he whom Denethor had thought past redemption. Where his own father had seen nothing to salvage, Aragorn son of Arathorn had found life, and worth, and cause enough to try.

A hand settled upon his arm where it was turned in nearest the desk. Faramir's eyes darted up to see the King leaning far over the polished surface so that he might touch him. In that touch there was the memory of the moment when, stumbling in blackness and flame, he had been borne up as if by bracing arms: the moment when he had been led back from the abyss. He swallowed painfully and met his liege-lord's kind and knowing eyes.

'Of course you mourn him,' Aragorn said. 'You must, for you love him. He loved you also, for even in the blackness of his despair he sought to save you in the only way he could see. He knew what awaited one left too long to the Morgul-poisons. He could not surrender you to that.'

As if a millstone had been toppled from his heart, Faramir drew in a deep and cleansing breath. This was what he had needed, he realized at once: not only to be reassured of his own worthiness but to have his guilty sorrow made honourable and his father's harsh and desperate actions cast in a light more merciful than that of impartial fact. The truth flowed deeper than the seeming, and Faramir had needed someone else to see that also.

His own hand moved to clutch the King's, pressing it more firmly against his arm. Then he slipped his thumb between the palm and his sleeve, and clasped Aragorn's hand. As the grip was reciprocated, Faramir turned in so that his Lord might recall his reach a little. They met one another's eyes, and in the King's Faramir read not only comprehension and compassion but a grief not unlike his own: sorrow for the downfall of one who might have achieved such goodness in the world, and for the loss a life – any life – in such torment and horror.

'We must not dwell upon his final failing, either,' said Aragorn, earnest and firm. 'Though he did not achieve what Boromir did and redeem his error, your father was in his time a great man, and he did much good for Gondor also. While I reign, he shall be remembered for his great deeds and honoured for them. This I promise you.'

'Sire, I have not the words…' Faramir began. Then he stopped, for he saw that words were not needed. The King knew his thoughts, and knew his gratitude. There was no cause for lengthy speech.

That was well, for at that precise moment the sound of soft shoes was heard in the Council chamber without, and a nimble-looking pageboy appeared on the threshold. He had a silver salver in his hands, its load carefully balanced. Tucking back one foot the boy bowed with his knees, and the King turned to smile at him as Faramir withdrew his hand.

'Thank you, Lethir,' Aragorn said, indicating that the youth should set down his burden. 'I shall have no further need of you for three hours. Use them as you will.'

'Yes, sire. Thank you, sire,' the page said, trying to hide his jubilation beneath a suitably formal demeanour. He made a proper bow, freed now of the tray, and retreated with grace. As soon as he was out of sight, however, sedate steps turned to the rush of running feet as he charged off to whatever glad pursuit he had waiting.

Upon the tray there was a dish of sweetmeats, and another of fresh fruit. A silver flagon held sweet yellow wine, and there was a silver goblet tooled in gold. This the King filled and raised above the middle of the desk. He hesitated, seeming to consider. Then he brought the vessel to his lips and drank, before offering it to Faramir.

He had judged aright the etiquette, and Faramir was in no doubt as to the intent of the gesture. Had the King offered him the wine first, it would have been both improper and uncomfortable. By tasting of the cup and then inviting Faramir to drink, Aragorn was honouring him. They were as brothers, that gesture said, and that distinction woke Faramir's love and gratitude afresh. With a respectful but not subservient nod, he drank. Then he set the vessel midway between them.

Aragorn had plucked up a delicate creation made of pastry studded with dried berries and dusted all over with snowy sugar. His lip curled upward, pleased but also ironical, as he looked it over.

'I have yet to accustom myself to the notion,' he said, in a slow and almost dreamy fashion; 'that I have but to express my idlest wish for food or drink, and it shall be brought to me: whatever I please, if it be within the powers of the kitchens and the storehouses of the City to provide it.'

Faramir smiled and took for himself a strawberry as plump and red as a ruby. He did not bite into it at once, though, for the King had not yet begun to eat. He looked at the little fruit, luscious and inviting with the year's early bounty, and his heart was once more light within him. It would be a year of grace and plenty. How could it not be, with Sauron cast down and the Shadow gone from the world?

'It is a welcome luxury,' he agreed.

Aragorn had taken a bite of the dainty. His eyebrows arched a little as he swallowed. 'Aye, you know of what I speak,' he said. 'Doubtless you have known times of want upon your easterly patrols. Even in less perilous times, the challenges of supplying the men in Ithilien were many.'

'For the most part I was fortunate, and my men with me,' said Faramir. 'But yes: there were hungry winter months enough, and periods of voluntary rationing strict enough to pinch the belly so as to prevent tomorrow's famine. I fear to ask what privations you have endured in your long wanderings.'

The King smiled crookedly, about to make some wry remark. Then something like sudden remembrance ignited in his eyes and he set down what remained of the little cake. He chafed his fingers against one another, brushing off the sweet powder. Then he fixed Faramir with a pleasant but inscrutable eye.

'I have had my share,' he said. 'Yet for each hardship there came relief in time, not always commensurate but ever welcome. It is those moments I would sooner remember, rather than the other. Many times I have been buoyed up in my labours by the generosity of others. Too often my benefactors had no means of knowing what a boon their simple gifts and quiet charity was to me, nor what suffering it eased, nor what grave cost it spared. It is one of the highest lessons that I have learned from my trials: that the smallest act of grace or pity may sow a far greater good.'

Faramir considered this. 'I suppose it must be so,' he said. 'Surely any man who found himself called upon to aid you in your toils was blessed a thousandfold, though he knew it not. Surely to help the hidden King upon his road, were it even with a crust of bread, would be an honour to he who did so.'

'Thinkst thou so, Faramir son of Denethor?' asked Aragorn. There was a curious note in his voice, and the shift in his language gave the question almost the feel of a riddle-song.

'Assuredly,' said Faramir. He smiled and popped the strawberry into his mouth, easing back into his chair. Through these last heady days he had hoped for this, and now that he had it he could scarcely say how it had come to pass: here he sat with his King in amity and comfort, as a friend and not only an advisor and servant. 'How could it be otherwise?'

Aragorn's hands moved to his shoulder, unpinning the brooch that clasped his mantle. The velvet garment slithered from his shoulders to pool over the arms of the chair, and the King leaned forward to set the article upon the desktop. The Elessar, which he wore always as an adornment rather than an item of practical wear, glittered still more gloriously without the shade of the mantle. Its green gem was bright and drew the eye from the less intricate piece.

'Tell me what you make of that, Lord Steward,' he said, indicating the brooch on the table as he sat back and took another mouthful of wine.

Faramir reached to recover it, and studied the silver ornament thoughtfully. It was a star, six-rayed and silver. The design was simple and the workmanship exquisite. It had a soft, burnished glow that came only to old metals well-tended. He turned it over to look at the slender lance and the hook that held it. These too were of remarkable quality, strong and yet delicate.

'It is a lovely thing,' said Faramir, setting it down again. 'All of your men wear them: the Grey Company that came out of the North. All save the two sons of Elrond.'

'That is the Star of the Dúnedain,' said Aragorn. 'It is an emblem of the remnant of Arnor, signifying unity of purpose even in secrecy and ignominy. Your Rangers in Ithilien had ever the closeness of their comrades and the security of a hidden sanctuary to give them a sense of belonging and support. When my Rangers could have neither, at least there was the Star.'

'That is a handsome sentiment,' Faramir said. The thought of his own men uprooted and left to wander the Wild alone or in pairs, far from their fellows and the care of their Captain, turned him cold. How had their kinsmen in the North endured so long in faithfulness, if such had been their lot? 'It is surely a dear thing, then.'

'It is,' agreed Aragorn. The smile was creeping across his face once more. 'Do you not recognize it, Faramir?'

'My King, I have told you that I do,' said Faramir, puzzled. He wondered whether the elder man would speak to correct him, or to point out some oversight that he had made, but Aragorn did not.

'Let me tell you a tale,' he said instead. He retrieved the remains of his sweetmeat and ate it with brief but blissful relish. Then his face took on the cast of a storyteller looking back upon a time half-forgotten. 'I have told you that my journeys were often fraught with hardships. Upon one road I walked long in dreary perseverance, hunting a creature I could no longer hope to find. You know him, I think: Gollum, he was called, who followed Frodo and Sam to your hidden haven.'

Faramir's nose wrinkled reflexively, forgetting the dignity of its rank. He wondered how long it would be before he could look upon a dish of dressed trout without thinking of the squelch of a limp silvery carcass thrown uncooked at his feet with the sullen proclamation of 'Don't want fish.'.

'It would be too far to say I know him, but certainly I have seen him and spoken with him,' he allowed. 'I cannot think why you would have wished to seek him.'

'He had knowledge of the One Ring ere it was found,' said Aragorn. 'When Mithrandir and I began to suspect that it was in the possession of a friend, it became necessary to learn all that Gollum knew on the matter. That is a long tale, and I pledge that I will tell it all in time. Yet when I had sought Gollum for many years without fruit, I chanced to take refuge among the brambles and stony places of eastern Ithilien.'

'A dangerous place to seek refuge,' said Faramir. 'The thralls of Mordor upon one side, and my men upon the other. Or was this before my tenure as Captain, when perhaps the need for stringency was less pressing?'

'It was but two winters past,' Aragorn said, almost amused. 'During your tenure, verily, but I was alone and I was careful. I do not think I drew the attention of your men in those days, when I rested my body's hurts and found what sustenance I could in slumbering lands. I was not waylaid as I made my slow way northward, and I came at length within sight of the Black Gate. It was there that my vigilance lapsed, and I was beset by orcs and captured.'

Faramir opened his mouth sharply, meaning to speak. Then he realized he had naught to say. He closed it again and shook his head ever so slightly. Something was stirring in his memory, low but insistent. And the King went on.

'They took me to a certain place where it seemed they had often camped before,' he said. 'The leader was eager that I should be questioned as swiftly and as harshly as possible.' At Faramir's look of dismay, Aragorn smiled a little. 'Fear not: they did me little harm. With dawn upon them they bound me and took refuge in their cave. Though I was able to loose my bonds and take flight, my captors had despoiled my baggage and all of my scant provisions. I ran with naught but my knife, my garments, and the noose about my neck.'

'Sire!' Faramir gasped. His eyes were upon the silver star, his memory insisting upon that which his rational mind protested. It could not be so, and yet...

'I led you on a merry chase, I fear,' said Aragorn, tilting his head as his smile grew apologetic. 'The young Ranger who found me was dismayed, no doubt. Mithrandir told me he was gentle of heart.'

'Anborn,' Faramir said, fondness in his voice. Too many of his men had fallen in battle, but those who had been left to hold Henneth Annûn had escaped the worst of the slaughter. Only eleven days past he had learned that Anborn was among the survivors. The moment's glad reverie was interrupted by the return of critical thought. 'But the man he found in the keeping of the band of Uruks…' He shook his head, unbelieving and yet knowing.

'Yes?' The question was almost a laugh, and the King's eyes glittered as if in play. His mirth was infectious, and Faramir found it warring with his dismay.

'But why did you flee from us?' he asked. 'Your allies; your loyal men!'

'They were Denethor's men in those days, and you the Steward's faithful Captain,' said Aragorn, patient and shrewd at once but without any ill feeling in eyes or voice. 'I knew the prohibitions against trespass, and the orders you would have regarding the disposition of wanderers within your borders. I knew I need fear no harm from Gondor's good men,' he added before Faramir could protest; 'but also I knew that there would be questions, and delays – that you might even find it your duty to carry me under guard to Minas Tirith, that your liege-lord himself might judge my case.'

Faramir wished he might deny this, knowing all that he now knew, but he could not. Two years ago, when he and his few companions had pursued the runaway, that had indeed been his intent: to question the stranger, to treat his wounds and see him fed, and then to judge whether he should be held or might be permitted to go on his way.

'I could not risk it,' Aragorn said. He sounded almost regretful. 'My errand was too urgent, and my peril too great. And I had I been hauled before your father then, when there was no hope of casting Sauron from his tower, I would have brought strife to Gondor when most she needed to stand united. Denethor would have known me, if not for who I am then for what I once was. It would have been calamitous, perhaps ruinous.'

Again there came a barrage of questions, none of which could elbow past the others to reach Faramir's lips. But the troubled and almost fearful look left the King's eyes as he lifted them again to his Steward's face.

'I would beg your forgiveness for my insolence, Faramir, save that I know you have given it,' he said. 'I was near at hand when you halted at the fringe of the Dead Marshes, as even then you guessed. I heard what passed between you and your men. When I was certain you had withdrawn, I came forth to take what you had left for me.'

For a moment more, Faramir could not speak. This time Aragorn waited until he found his words. 'I did not know, sire. I could not have known. Yet if I had…'

'If you had, you could have done me no greater kindness than you did upon that day,' said Aragorn. 'I was hungry and without hope of food, and you gave me both bread and meat. My road led on through deadly pools, and you left me fresh water. I was haunted by despair, and you gave me hope not only for myself but for all the world.'

He poured another measure of wine, and motioned for Faramir to take the first taste. He was about to demur, when he understood the meaning of this gesture as he had the first. 'I am glad,' he said, and he drank. 'I wish I might have done more. Afterwards I often wished I had left a third bottle, but I could not risk depriving the men in my care.'

'I would have done the same,' agreed the King gravely. He took up his star and studied it. 'You even contrived to send this back to me. I grieved to lose it then, and should have rued it still more in days less desperate.'

'Mithrandir bore it to you, I presume?' said Faramir. 'I saw at once that it was known to him. He did his utmost to appear unaffected by my tale, but his dismay could not be masked. Knowing now what he knew then, I cannot wonder at it.'

He wished to say more, but he could not. The thought of the last Heir of Isildur, without brother or progeny to follow him, in the clutches of a band of Morgul-orcs was sickening enough. To know that he had been left alone to brave the perils of the Dead Marshes with two skins of water and a little travel fare, so lately seen bound and bloodied, was dreadful. As his friend as well as his confederate in the long struggle against the Shadow, Mithrandir must have been all but frantic for news after such a tale. From this comfortable vantage beyond the victory, it was easy to understate how harrowing the moment must have been.

'Aye, he bore it to me, and scolded me roundly for the losing of it.' Aragorn was still looking at the silver treasure, a fond and almost wistful smile upon his lips. 'Never had any Man such a friend as I have had in Gandalf the Grey.'

Then he blinked thrice, rapidly, like a sleeper awakening from sad dreams into sunshine. He lifted a smile to Faramir's eyes. 'Yet these are new days, made for new ventures and new friendships,' he said. 'We knew one another ere ever we met, Faramir: Captain and vagabond, Steward and King. Surely that is a promising beginning to a reign, is it not?'

'Verily, my Lord,' said Faramir, and his heart sang within him. 'I can think of none better.'

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