Chapter 2. Ithilien

“Does the King require the Council’s approval to create a new princedom?” Aragorn asked.  He kept his tone neutral, as if he were merely curious.  

Only two days had passed since Aragorn entered the City, yet his Steward was clearly growing accustomed to his manner.  Faramir gave no sign of surprise, though he sat even straighter. 

“To my knowledge, it lies within the King’s prerogatives, though the Council has the right to raise objections,” Faramir replied, his tone cautious. 

“May I ask, my lord, are you perhaps considering this as a reward for someone’s valour during the war?”  

“You may call it a reward, though I prefer to call it something else,” Aragorn answered.  “So this can be arranged swiftly?” 

“It can be done,” Faramir said.  “Yet, if I may, would you hear me on this matter?” 

Aragorn held his hand out, gesturing for Faramir to speak. 

“Is my lord’s mind set on this course?” Faramir began. “There are good reasons why, in Gondor’s three-thousand-year history, only one princedom has been created.   

“I believe you know that a principality contributes a lesser sum to the Crown’s coffers.  Their contribution to the army is not compulsory.  There are other means of reward you might consider—perhaps a generous gift of gold and silver, or the granting of a fief, if really deserved.” 

Aragorn nodded.  “Are there other concerns?”  

“The gift of a princedom is effectively irrevocable,” Faramir cautioned.  “The King may appoint or replace the lord of a fief at his discretion, even at his whim—not that I believe you would take such a course—but a princedom can only be recovered in the case of high disloyalty.  There are many repulsive actions that are not considered high disloyalty.” 

Faramir paused, his hand smoothing over the map of the City spread across the desk.  He glanced at Aragorn, perhaps weighing the wisdom of voicing his dissent. 

Aragorn offered no objection, and Faramir continued cautiously: “The man you intend to reward may be valiant, but once granted such great autonomy, will he remain true to Gondor, or seek only to fatten his own house?  And who can vouch for his heirs?  Is it not like ceding a part of your realm to strangers?” 

Aragorn lowered his eyes, suppressing his smile.  He placed a finger on the map, tracing the lines, until it came to rest upon the Great Gate.   

Lifting his gaze back to Faramir, he said: “Ah, but is that not exactly what you have done, my lord Steward?  Only a few weeks ago you entrusted your land to a stranger from the North, of whose heirs you could not possibly have any knowledge.  Your decision is also irrevocable, I would think.” 

Surprise flickered across Faramir’s face, like one caught off-guard by an unexpected thrust in a sword match.  He rested a hand on his chin, carefully choosing his answer. 

“I would not deny Gondor her king,” he finally said.  “You are right, no one can vouch for anyone’s heirs. But one is not so wrong, I think, to trust that the line of Elendil will not fail Gondor.” 

“Some might say that the line of Elendil has failed Gondor for almost a thousand years,” countered Aragorn, “while the line of Húrin has faithfully guarded her.”  

“If you had but asked whom I have in mind, Faramir, you would have spared yourself the worry of a new prince robbing Gondor.  I intend to grant the princedom to you.” 

Aragorn thought Faramir would not have been surprised by this revelation.   

Who else had shepherded Gondor through the transition from Ruling Steward to King?  And what of that frightful defence of Osgiliath? 

Yet, to Aragorn’s wonder, Faramir did not seem to expect it.  His face went pale.  And stranger still, hurt clouded his eyes, like one dealt a blow by a dear friend. 

Silence hung in the air, broken only by the rustling of leaves outside the window. 

When Faramir regained his composure, a coldness settled upon his face—one Aragorn had never seen before. 

“Why would you do this, my lord?” Faramir asked, his tone guarded.  “Were you a lesser man, I would have asked if it was pity or mistrust that prompted you.” 

This conversation did not go as Aragorn had envisioned, but he answered calmly.  “To me it seems only right.  As prince and Steward, you will be my chief counsellor, with higher rank and authority than any other lord.  I would keep close the one I trust.” 

“I am honoured by your trust, my lord,” Faramir said, his tone respectful yet lacking its usual warmth.  “Yet even without the princedom, I would still be the chief of the Council—you have already declared as much.” 

Faramir’s voice sank to almost a whisper.   

“If our regard for each other means anything, my king, or our shared love of Gondor can persuade at all—I beseech you, do not continue treating me in this fashion.” 

“Treating you in what fashion, exactly?” 

“Treating me like a deposed king.” Faramir’s face reddened as he uttered the words.  “I take pride in my oath ‘to rule in the name of the king until he shall return’, and in surrendering my office when the king did return.  I do not need a prize to console or compensate me.” 

Aragorn was taken aback.  He held Faramir in high regard, and had been pleased to show it for all to see.  Yet now he wondered—had his actions been more about assuaging his own guilt over taking Faramir’s place? 

“So that is how the princedom—and perhaps all my actions—appear to you?  Condescension, or worse still, a taunt?” Aragorn kept his voice even, but his disappointment was unmistakable. 

He rose and walked to the window.  Leaning on the sill, he turned back to Faramir. 

“I do not seek to console or compensate you, lord Steward,” he added.  “You need no consolation, and how could I hope to recompense all of Gondor with a single principality?” 

Faramir was silent, and Aragorn pressed on. 

“Ithilien will flourish under your care.  I know you would labour tirelessly, with or without the princedom.  Yet it is only right that one should hold what they have loved and laboured for.” 

At the mention of Ithilien, tenderness surged in Faramir’s eyes. 

“Ithilien,” he said slowly.  “You have chosen your arrow well, my lord.”  

“Unless there is another land you cherish more,” Aragorn said. 

Faramir fell silent again.  His bewildered expression at the thought of receiving honour reminded Aragorn of Halbarad—his steadfast kinsman who had given everything, without ever asking for anything. 

What was so great about the line of Elendil, Aragorn suddenly thought, that he had been surrounded by such noble men? 

Aragorn broke the silence.  “You asked me why I do this.  Faramir, are you the only one who may give?” 

His words, spoken out of exasperation, seemed to have struck their mark. 

Faramir's expression changed, as if a new realization, or even remorse, had dawned on him.  He regarded Aragorn intently, then he lowered his eyes, shifting his focus to the map before him.  His fingers traced its surface, lingering on the familiar, frayed edges. 

After some time, he exhaled deeply and shook his head, as though dispelling troubling thoughts. 

Then he spoke quietly, more to himself than to Aragorn: “I trust you, my lord.” 

Aragorn returned to the desk.  Standing beside Faramir, he clasped his arm. 

“It is neither pity nor reward, but justice.” 

Another moment of silence ensued, but one less fraught with tension. 

This time, it was Faramir who spoke first. 

“Ithilien is Gondor’s main eastward outpost,” he said, and some warmth had returned to his voice.  “It is a great responsibility to guard the eastern border.” 

Aragorn nodded.  “The Prince of Ithilien will be the march-warden of Gondor, guarding the border and clearing Ithilien from remnants of orcs and outlaws.”   

“It would be his duty to ensure Ithilien is peopled and thriving,” Faramir added. 

“Aye.” 

“Would it also be his duty to restore Minas Ithil?” 

“It is too early to venture into that dreadful vale,” Aragorn answered.  “But eventually, yea, that task will fall to the Prince of Ithilien.” 

“All that, in addition to the Steward’s duties?”  There was a quirk on Faramir’s lips. 

“Aye,” said Aragorn, “not to mention fostering relations with Arnor; and reviving trades with Harad, Khand, and any other realms you have in mind.” 

Aragorn paused, letting his words sink.  Then he asked solemnly: “What say you, Faramir?” 

“Aye, my lord, with all my heart.”

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