Commendation

Not all were in awe of the new king, and Aragorn deemed this a blessing.  Such adulation, he feared, might easily lead to his downfall.  Pride goeth before destruction, said the wise among the Dúnedain. 

Lady Ivriniel of Dol Amroth was one of the few not in awe of Aragorn, and she made no effort to conceal her indifference.  The elderly lady—still younger than Aragorn, yet commanding and accorded respect as an elder by all—had come to Minas Tirith to attend Aragorn’s coronation.  They had crossed paths several times since. 

Whenever Ivriniel saw Aragorn approach, she held her head high and her back straight, and regarded him with the graciousness of a lady of the house receiving a guest of lesser station.   

Yet when the distance between them had closed to the exact proximity by her standard, she would sink into a perfect curtsey, one that might be taught in a book of manners and deportment for young ladies. 

Then, she would greet him most appropriately, with just the right degree of deference—a noble lady speaking to her king.  Then, the demands of manner satisfied, she would straighten herself and continue on her way, as Arien continued her course across the heavens. 

As Thorongil, Aragorn had met Ivriniel.  While Thorongil only regarded her from afar—a Captain respectfully addressed the Prince’s daughter—he knew Ivriniel had watched him closely.  She had suspected he was more than he seemed, and feared he might pose a threat to Denethor. 

Aragorn respected Ivriniel, both from his time as Thorongil, and from what he had heard of her later years.  She defied simple descriptions.  Her sharp tongues made many of her servants cry, but she knew their favourite food and the latest news of their families.  She was a strict enforcer of propriety and tradition, but she famously sheltered an unwed mother in Dol Amroth.  She was one of a few who dared argue with Denethor, yet remained fiercely loyal to him, never criticizing him in public. 

One morning when May was almost over, Aragorn was walking towards the White Tower when he saw Ivriniel coming his way. 

As she came closer, Aragorn sensed something unusual.  It took him a moment to recognize it: there was something akin to fondness in her countenance, that is, if a majestic mountain could be moved to feel fondness for a mere man. 

She gave him a curtsey, precise and flawless as ever.  But this time, instead of continuing her regal procession after a proper greeting, she stopped to speak with him. 

“I thank you, my lord,” she said. 

Aragorn blinked in surprise.  Then he remembered that he had not met Ivriniel since the ceremony conferring the Ithilien princedom to Faramir. 

“If this concerns Ithilien, my lady, Lord Faramir deserves it and much more,” Aragorn said. 

Ivriniel waved her hand dismissively.  “I speak not of the princedom,” she said.  “Any king worth his crown may, and should, bestow such honours.  The Lord Steward certainly deserves it.  But steering that stubborn boy to reason—that, my lord, is an accomplishment, and I commend your thoughtfulness and wit.” 

It took Aragorn a moment to understand that “the Lord Steward” (spoken with such reverence) and “that stubborn boy” (uttered with annoyance) referred to the same person.  He had yet to discover what Ivriniel considered an accomplishment, and she looked at him encouragingly, as a tutor would her pupil. 

Perhaps she would make an impatient tutor, for presently she explained, “The boy has wisely chosen to stay in his house, thanks to your timely intervention.” 

Ah. 

Aragorn bowed his head graciously.  “It is my pleasure, Lady Ivriniel.  I myself consider it an accomplishment.” 

A silence fell between them.  With some trepidation, it dawned on Aragorn that Ivriniel wished to discuss something else. 

She lifted her chin slightly.  “About the Dúnedain of the North,” she said. 

His kinsmen?  What have they done to merit a remark from her? 

“About the valiant lords from the North,” she repeated, “here is my unsolicited advice.  You might want to ask a few of them to stay here as ambassadors from Arnor.  They would be able to keep abreast of developments here and write home, so your people in Arnor will hear from you regularly.  It might ease their hearts in your long absence.” 

“That is an excellent suggestion, lady.  I will certainly consider it.  And I thank you for your thoughtfulness towards the people of Arnor.” 

“And it might help matters if you drop a hint or two about Faramir’s shortcomings when you speak with them.” 

“I would have to think hard to find any,” Aragorn countered, “and I would not disparage Faramir before others.” 

Ivriniel regarded him with an expression that he could only describe as polite impatience.   

“Have you any aunts, my lord?  None living?  Ah, that explains much.  No wonder you remain unwed.” 

Explains what?  The deficiency in his upbringing?  His slow wit? 

But Aragorn would not dream of asking what having aunts had to do with his kinsmen or his lack of spouse, or of pointing out that the lady herself was happily unwed. 

“The rangers of the North love you, and fear losing you to this splendid City,” Ivriniel explained.  “And your cousin, the son of your second-in-command, mourns his father deeply.  He cannot bear the thought of his father being supplanted in your confidence, in your heart, by the Steward of Gondor, with whom you have become friends.” 

Aragorn did not even ask how the good lady knew all this.  He thought highly of Faramir’s wit and knowledge, but it seems that Faramir was far from unique in his family. 

“I do not, of course, expect you to disparage Faramir before others.  But a casual remark, over supper perhaps, might help ease your kinsmen’s concerns.  I am not speaking of grave faults. Well, over-scrupulous and long-winded come to mind.” 

Aragorn suppressed a grin.  He extended his hand to the lady.  “May I, my lady?” 

Ivriniel gracefully placed her hand in his, and Aragorn kissed it. 

“I thank you for your excellent advice, Lady Ivriniel.  It is unfortunate indeed that I have no aunts to guide me.  Where are you headed this morning?  May I escort you?” 

...

Author's notes:

I received this lovely comment from a guest in ff.net, but ff.net does not allow me to reply to a guest user.

"I want to use this review to thank you for all your delightful Faramir stories. I like your characterizations very much (especially Faramir and Éowyn and Imrahil). In this story, I loved Imrahil’s musings on whether he should have advised his nephew in another way. I’ve been enjoying The King and the Steward very much on Stories of Arda, but I could not figure out how to post a review on the website, so I just thought I’d tell you here how much I enjoyed it. You write some of the best Faramir stories I’ve ever read."

Author's reply:

Dear anonymous reviewer, thank you so much for your encouraging words! It means a lot to me! I'm not sure how to leave a review as a guest in Stories of Arda. If SoA doesn't allow a guest to leave a review, and if it's not too much trouble, you can send me a private message. You can visit my Author page, click my name, and it should redirect you to my email (I hope!). Or perhaps you can create a reader account in SoA.