The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.
Warning – This chapter contains violence and from now on the story takes a dark turn with violence, injuries and angst, so please only read if you enjoy this type of story.
Fall from Grace
Arwen grasped her husband’s hand. “If anything should go wrong,” she faltered, ”I want our baby to be saved.”
“Much as I want our child, my love, it is you I adore! I regret now that I ever got you in this condition to risk your life by giving me an heir!” Aragorn protested, his nightmare returning with a frightening clarity. ”Your life comes first, but do not think of such things and distress yourself!”
“It was my choice. I want a child as much as you do, you need an heir, Gondor needs the line of Kings to continue,” the Queen said firmly. “I love you so much, Estel!” They exchanged a lingering kiss and only broke apart when another contraction hit Arwen.
“Come, Lady Elfstone,” Ioreth ordered, “we need to prepare you for the birth.”
Aragorn took Éowyn aside. ”Take good care of her please,” he begged, “I am so worried.”
Éowyn gently patted his arm; it was rare she saw the usually self-assured King in this mood ”Please, try not to worry, we are taking every precaution,” she said quietly. ”However, I believe that you have no need to fear, your wife is strong, broad hipped, and I know the babe’s head is in the right position. You will soon be holding your first child in your arms and telling Arwen, how proud you are of her!”
“Thank you, Éowyn, I know she is in good hands.” Aragorn tried to force a smile, but there were tears in his eyes as Arwen was led away. He feared he would never see his beloved wife again in this life.
“You need to keep yourself busy today, all expectant fathers feel the same,” Ioreth chuckled knowingly.
“Farewell, my love!“ Arwen called as she disappeared down the stone corridor.
Aragorn returned to bed and tried to go back to sleep for a few more hours, but found it impossible to rest. He could have sent for Faramir to keep him company. It seemed unfair, though, to disturb his Steward just yet when he could still have a few more hours of restful sleep in his own apartments.
He intended to keep Faramir at his side throughout the coming days. Since their ordeal at the Hunting Lodge, they had become close friends and apart from Arwen, Faramir was the only other person that Aragorn felt he could share his innermost hopes and fears with.
At daybreak, Aragorn abandoned any further attempt at sleeping. He was just too concerned about his wife. He supposed he should eat breakfast, though he had little appetite. Afterwards he had to attend that day’s Council Meeting. Duty must always come first, however he was feeling, as Elrond had taught him all his life. Faramir would understand this; he too had been well schooled in duty, albeit more harshly, by his late father
The King’s hands shook as he fastened his elaborate tunic. Maybe, he should have sent for a servant to help him dress, but he disliked having others clothe him. He usually dispensed with their services, unless it was some state function, for which a second pair of hands was essential to secure all the finery in place.
He paced the room restlessly, knowing he could not spend most of the day like this .It was so hard to concentrate when his every thought was with Arwen, wishing he could ease her pain. A servant brought him some food on a tray and he picked at it before pushing it aside and making his way to the Council Chamber.
It was a beautiful sunny morning. Minas Tirith was alive with citizens bustling through the streets. Across the courtyard, he could see Faramir already mounting the steps to the Hall of Kings. The Steward paused when one of the lords came to speak to him. Everything in the entire city seemed at ease with the sole exception of her King.
Suddenly, loud shouting and the clatter of hoof beats on stone shattered the peaceful atmosphere.
“Horses are not permitted in the Citadel! You are not allowed here!” a hapless guard protested, only to be pushed aside as Éomer King of Rohan and his personal Éored stormed into the courtyard, scattering alarmed guards and citizens in their wake. Women and children screamed while the horses neighed wildly in the unaccustomed environment.
Aragorn raced outside to try and calm the commotion.
Éomer, a grim expression on his face, dismounted, and after handing his horse’s reins to one of his Éored, looked around him, as if searching for someone. He suddenly espied Faramir amongst the Counsellors and strode menacingly towards him. “Come here, worthless scoundrel, how dare you insult and dishonour my sister!” Éomer raged, waving a sheet of parchment under Faramir’s nose
“I know not of what you speak, brother!” Faramir replied. Utterly bewildered, he backed up the steps towards the entrance of the Council Chamber. “There must be some misunderstanding. Come inside and let us discuss this calmly.”
“How dare you call me ‘brother’, when you treat my sister without honour! How many times have you beaten her? What cruel humiliations have you forced upon her, a Princess of Rohan? How many of your friends have you forced her to lie with? ”
“Only one. She was not forced and there was no impropriety, as he was near death,” Faramir replied, blushing as he recalled the events of six months before.
“From your own lips you admit it!” Éomer looked more outraged than ever.
“I have never abused nor ill-treated my wife! I have no idea why you accuse me,” Faramir protested.
“Send for her then and let her speak!” Éomer snapped.
“I cannot, as she is attending the Queen during her confinement,” Faramir said quietly.
“Will not or can not? Or is this some new insult to her, forcing her to act as the Queen of Gondor’s maid?” Éomer snapped, drawing his broadsword and advancing on Faramir. ”I demand satisfaction, arm yourself! Worthless cur though you are, I would not kill you in cold blood!” He threw the crumpled parchment down at Faramir’s feet.
Faramir hesitated, unsure of whether or not to pick it up. He decided not to when Éomer advanced menacingly. Slowly and reluctantly he drew his sword.
“Stop this at once!” Aragorn, having arrived on the scene, shouted in a commanding tone. He was somewhat out of breath in his haste to get there.
“This is none of your affair, save that you should have not let your Steward abuse my sister, Aragorn Arathornsson!” Éomer retorted. ”I will avenge Éowyn’s honour, whether you like it or not!”
Aragorn tried to rush forward but found himself restrained by his own guards. “Let me pass!” he ordered.
“Your life could be in danger, sire, and we are sworn to protect you,” the Captain of the Guard replied. “You can punish us as you will, but we are not letting you face over a hundred heavily armed men, unarmed, and protected by only four guards!”
“I order you, as your King, let me pass!” Aragorn roared.
Éomer rushed forward up the steps towards Faramir and lashed out with his sword, catching the Steward a glancing blow across the arm and side. Trying to defend himself, Faramir lunged at his opponent, aiming to disable his sword arm.
Éomer spun away from the blow, while Faramir was thrown slightly off balance and as result landed Éomer a blow to the chest.
The King of Rohan, standing precariously on the top step, overbalanced as Faramir’s sword pierced him. He fell down the stone steps backwards; landing with a sickening thud, then lay there motionless, blood pouring from his head and chest.
His followers leapt from their horses, drew their swords and milled round him, loudly demanding justice.
Aragorn finally broke free from his guards and rushed to Éomer’s side. The King of Rohan appeared lifeless and Aragorn bit back a cry of anguish as he bent over his stricken friend.
He held his hand over Éomer’s nose and mouth and thought he detected a faint breath. Speed was the essence if he were to have any chance of survival.
“Take him to my apartments!” Aragorn ordered. “Carry him carefully.”
The Rohirrim pressed round Faramir, lances raised, demanding vengeance, while the Gondorian guards, who had come rushing from their various posts round the city, tried to hold them at bay.
A large crowd of citizens had also pressed into the courtyard on hearing the commotion. The horses, unused to the city, stirred restlessly, threatening to unseat their riders and stampede.
“Death!” chanted Éomer’s men.
“For the White Tree in the name of the King!” cried the Gondorians
Aragorn realised he must act quickly if war was to be averted. “Take Faramir, Steward of Gondor into my custody!” he ordered. He bent and stuffed the crumpled parchment into his tunic.
White with shock, the unresisting Steward was led away.
“He must die, he killed our King!” demanded the Rohirrim.
Aragorn raced to the top of the steps, oblivious to his own safety.
“Put down your weapons!” he roared. ”Guards, arrest anyone who desists! Good citizens of Gondor, return to your homes, you are under curfew for the rest of the day.”
He then called in Rohirric “Men of Rohan, I myself, Aragorn Arathornsson will care for Éomer King and see justice done. Put down your weapons, your horses could easily be harmed in this confined space!”
Aragorn held his breath, hoping that war could yet be averted.
TBC