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Chapter 1
He didn't even hear his father speak the words; the command so familiar
to him that he knew what was expected as if by instinct. He moved without
protest or hesitation, and felt the familiar pressure of the desk's
edge against his bare thighs and the well-known cool sensation of the
polished top touching his chest and forearms. He pressed one cheek down
against the smooth surface as he willed his thoughts far from the man
moving behind him, ignoring the rustle of clothing being loosened.
He steeled himself for the pain he knew was to come; he'd barely had
the time to prepare himself for the summons had been sudden. His eyes
strayed to the papers next to him as cold hands came in contact with
his backside and forced him to spread his legs. They were upside down
from his viewpoint, so he'd have to focus to read them. All the better
for it; anything to keep his mind away from the hurtful fingers that
grabbed his hips to hold him in place, and the pain to ensue.
*Re-... recon-... reconstruction estimates? Why would father have reconstruction
estimates on his desk?* The letters blurred as tears sprung to his eyes
at the sudden ripple of pain running through his lower body.
Faramir blinked twice, letting the tears fall, but still found himself
staring at the same reconstruction estimates as he had seen in his nightmare.
He sighed as he peeled his face off his own desk and sat back in his
chair. *Luckily Éowyn isn't here to see me like this,* he thought
as he watched his hands tremble when he reached up to rub his eyes.
The light filtering in through the open windows had him sitting up
straight, groaning as his back and shoulders protested at the sudden
movement. He'd slept through the night, he realised with alarm. He'd
been working late the previous night, there was so much to do, and he'd
obviously fallen asleep midway, which meant he still had all that work
left to do.
Taking a deep breath he took in his surroundings once again. It was
still early, he noted, the sun was barely over the horizon. If he could
quickly freshen up and change, and grab something to eat from the kitchens,
he could get back to his study without anyone noticing he had slept
at his desk. There was so much to do... and if he could just get back
to work again, he wouldn't have time to think about anything else.
He gathered up the work he'd done so far after a while, knowing the
king rose early. He could hand him these for his approval, and then
perhaps, take a short rest, he thought suddenly feeling very tired,
his head was throbbing dully, and his throat felt a little sore. He
wouldn't be able to sleep, he knew, but a short rest, maybe something
hot to eat, soup, perhaps, and then he could finish the pending paperwork
on the military allocations by afternoon, and then go through all those
treaties.
"We plan to ride till the river today," Elrohir announced,
early in the morning, "Will you not join us, Aragorn?"
To the king's foster brothers from Imladris and his friend from Mirkwood,
the vast stone city of men seemed a stifling structure, and they often
wondered how he, after his days as a ranger of the north, was handling
life there. Aragorn had lived there earlier, as in many other places,
yet after many work-filled days spent indoors, he too longed for the
outdoors.
"It is a fine day," he mused.
"Let's leave immediately," Elladan spoke up, "Before
someone comes up with an alternate plan for you that involves sitting
cooped up inside poring over dusty papers."
A soft cough sounded from near the door.
Three loud sighs greeted a very puzzled Steward, who held a fat sheaf
of papers in his hand. He stood uncertainly at the door, until Aragorn
waved him inside, a little impatiently.
"Yes, Faramir?" he inquired politely, though he knew what
had brought Faramir there, this early in the morning.*Gods! Does he
never sleep!*
"The resettlement plans for your approval, sire," Faramir
spoke holding out some of the papers.
Aragorn gritted his teeth slightly as he took the proffered papers.
A part of him almost felt like snapping at the younger man and asking
him why he should have a Steward if he needed to approve everything
himself. And really did he have to decide everything himself all the
time? Why should one have a Steward if said Steward couldn't make a
single independent decision?"
"That's not much," Elrohir spoke relieved, "Hurry up
and finish that Aragorn, and then we can leave."
The apologetic expression on Faramir's face however had caught Elladan's
attention, and he put up a hand on his twin's shoulder to stop him speaking,
as the Steward held out another bundle.
"And these are the troop commanders' reports."
And then another lot, "These are the reconstruction estimates."
Aragorn took all of them with a silent sigh, "Is that all?"
he asked unable to keep a touch of sarcasm out of his voice. Faramir
however seemed not to notice it at all, or if he did he ignored it quite
well.
"I'll have the military allocations ready for your approval by
afternoon, Sire," he said quietly, "We need to sit over them."
Aragorn groaned mentally. He needed those for the meeting with the
Council on the morrow. Which meant he'd have to spend some time going
through them today. Which meant... no, he resolved mentally... he
was not going to stew indoors whatever happened.
"No, Faramir! I am going on a ride later in the afternoon. I'll
go through these later, you can get those allocations for me by mid-morning,
and we can go through them before I leave," Aragorn said very calmly.
He needed fresh air desperately, and he wouldn't get any today if he
sat down with Faramir to pore over old records, and definitely not the
next day if he was to meet the council. Besides, Faramir knew more about
these things, surely.
Faramir seemed to hesitate a moment and Aragorn prepared himself to
hold out against any protest but then the Steward simply nodded in assent
and left.
"Has not Faramir found work an enjoyable pastime of late?"
said Elrohir, once the door had closed behind the Steward.
The others looked to him puzzled, and he continued in clarification,
"Since a certain lady returned to Rohan?"
"A little louder, son of Elrond, and perhaps your aim to be heard
in Rohan may be achieved," a very cross wizard stood at the door.
"Well, perhaps it is well he heard it," spoke up Gimli, "He
seems to be heavy of heart."
"It does not befit one who is counted among the leaders of a land
to look so," agreed Legolas.
"You would have him leave his work and go riding with you instead?"
Gandalf snorted, "I suppose you think the land governs itself."
But he looked very thoughtful.
Aragorn almost felt a pang of guilt at that, but then he looked out
of the window, and saw the sun had risen over the mountains. It was
a fine day indeed.
Faramir stared dully at the reports lying on the table. He was yet
to read them. He had barely gone through a quarter of his usual daily
paperwork. It was a fine day outside, and he could see that for the
window was open. He craved the fresh air but he had little time to enjoy
it thanks to the meeting the King had suddenly scheduled, a session
he was definitely not prepared for. He had learnt the day before that
the King wished to go through all the reports dealing with military
allocations over the years, something he himself had little idea of.
That was something Denethor would hear nothing from him about. He had
had enough struggles managing to sustain the Rangers on their meagre
allocation.
Finding the information had taken him most of the night, searching
through the archives for old reports and then through his brother's
rooms for his papers on the same, an exercise compounded by the fact
that Boromir, although an organised soldier, was a very disorganised
scholar. He had had to rifle through Denethor's papers too, an act he
had dreaded even before he started. Finding old letters from his mother
and his brother, and then his own concise missives from Ithilien had
been a hard blow.
He'd meant to have them ready by the morning, but he'd fallen asleep
over the plans instead until the same terrifying dreams that haunted
him nearly each night had woken him. If he had till afternoon... but
then the King wanted them now. He should be working at it right now.
Elessar had seemed annoyed at the delay. Faramir hadn't missed the sarcasm
in his voice. And he has every right to be annoyed, he thought as he
bit his lip unhappily. There was already enough to do without creating
a backlog because he had been stupid enough to fall asleep last night.
Faramir sighed unhappily. He knew he shouldn't let his thoughts wander
so much. But he did wish he were in Ithilien now, sitting in its wooded
glades, feeling the air on his face, listening to the birds and the
rustling of the trees.
He sighed again and sat with the papers, trying to reduce all the details
into a concise report. Perhaps they could finish early, and he too could
slip out for a small ride before the day ended. He hoped the good weather
would hold. Ignoring the headache that was building up, he resolutely
picked up his quill and began reading, only to be interrupted by Gandalf.
"Mithrandir!" Faramir stared up in surprise at his old mentor,
wincing slightly as his aching head protested at the sudden movement,
"It is good to see you. How do you find the house?" Gandalf
and his companions now stayed in one of the houses in the city that
had remained unaffected by the battle, so he was not as often in the
Citadel now as he had been earlier. Faramir had found himself missing
the wizard yet at the same time a part of him had been glad for he knew
there were things the wizard would want to talk to him about that he
had no desire to even think of.
"Quite adequate, thank you," the wizard responded as walked
in, "I was hoping you would join us there for supper today. The
hobbits in particular are unhappy they do not get to see you as often
as they did while they were in the Citadel."
"Me? Oh! That would be wonderful," Faramir started, and then
winced as he remembered, "But I cannot. I have to meet with the
king shortly, and then I still have much work pending here. There is
a session with the Council tomorrow."
"Well, perhaps another day," Gandalf said quietly, and then
came and stood in front of Faramir, "You seem to have a lot of
work nowadays?"
Faramir shrugged, a little uncomfortable at the scrutiny his friend
gave him, "You know how it is..."
"Yes, indeed. There must be much to do, of course. Have you been
sleeping well?" he asked abruptly.
Faramir started at that, looking up from the mess on his table and
then shrugged, "There is much work to be done," he said evasively.
He looked quietly into the face of his old mentor, who shook his head
before speaking, "You must sleep more. You have not yet fully recovered.
I can see it in your eyes."
"I am quite well now, Mithrandir," came the bemused reply,
"The healers released me from their care many weeks ago."
The wizard sighed, before speaking, "You can not simply push this
aside and expect it to go away. Please, if you won't talk to me then
find someone else to confide in."
Faramir gave him a mirthless glance, "But there is no-one else
left! I stand here where my brother ought to, my father is dead of his
own hand and a fire ate the house of Stewards in Rath Dinen."
"That is all what troubles you, child?"
"That is what troubles me, yes. The fire... I was there. He set
the fire and he sought to take me too."
"He was under the shadow of the palantír then," his
mentor began to speak, but the Steward cut him off, as he sat down heavily
on a chair.
"I know, but that lessens the pain no more. It was my failure
to hold Osgiliath that gave him the final push."
"You did not fail," Gandalf began soothingly.
"I caused it. I caused his death."
"You still miss him then, after all he has done to you?"
Gandalf latched on immediately.
"He was my father."
"What he did –," Gandalf started cautiously.
"What my father did was to take his own life. May I not rue that,
Mithrandir? Surely, I am allowed to grieve?"
"That is not what I speak of, child."
"I am no child," the voice was quiet yet hard as steel.
"No, you're not. And yet, you have your life ahead of you, and
I would that you are no longer haunted by all that your father did to
you."
"I am not – haunted. What was done, was done. It is over.
There is nothing to be done now. Whatever should have happened, should
have happened then," Faramir sank back in his chair tiredly, "But
it didn't."
"I blame myself." the wizard sighed, "I've been here
so many times; I should have noticed."
Faramir stared up sharply at the words, his face creased in puzzlement,
"How could you have? Boromir never knew either. The days that either
you or Boromir were in the city were the only happy days I ever had
here, I didn't want those to end."
"But we could have helped you, Faramir. Why are you so afraid
to accept aid?"
"I already told you I wouldn't have left Gondor. And I tried reasoning
with him myself once, and that didn't end well. He would have done as
he wanted. He would get what he wanted," he said distantly, as
though trying to rid himself of some terrible memory, and Gandalf found
himself wanting to reach out to the younger man and hug him.
"If I had known, I would have pressed Aragorn to claim the throne
earlier. Then, perhaps, much of this might have been averted."
Faramir turned away from his mentor at that, his grey eyes reflecting
grave unhappiness.
"I wish you had," he said quietly, "He was here as Thorongil.
Why did he not speak then? Why didn't you? You knew all along.
You knew who Thorongil was."
"Yes, I did," Gandalf spoke.
"Why did you not urge him to accept his claim then? Even without
knowing about how father treated me. Boromir would still be alive, and
father too. Why did he stay away so long? Why now? When everything is
over?" Faramir's anguished voice was soft and full of hurt.
"The time was not right then," the wizard tried to soothe
the distraught young man, but he would have none of it.
"And now it is?" he asked bitterly, unleashing his frustration
on the older being, "Of course it is, the shadow is gone now. Now
is the time. What matters to him that so many have lost their lives?"
He knew as he spoke that his words were harsh and more so that he was
hurting his old friend by uttering them, but he found he could barely
think before the words came out. His head ached greatly now, and he
felt cold and uncomfortable. He felt a slight shiver pass through him,
his chest seemed constricted and he found he needed to take a very deep
breath at the end of his outburst.
"You must not speak like that! He has faced up to many dangers
too. And do not forget he saved Gondor from worse than you can imagine.
And he saved your life!"
"Well, I wish he hadn't!"
"Faramir!"
"Why should he care about my life?" Faramir laughed unhappily,
"What use has he for me here? I cannot even do my duties competently.
And he knows it. These constant delays are irking him, and now he no
longer bothers hiding his discontent. I can hear it in his voice when
he speaks to me... and why do you care either? Your work is
done. What care you for a craven fool like me?"
"Faramir, child –"
"My father spoke truly. I was ever unworthy. If it weren't for
my failure, he would still be here. As would Boromir, and Gondor would
have the Steward she truly deserves!"
"No!"
Faramir was not listening. He had sunk his head in hands.
"All gone," he muttered softly, "They are all gone.
And there is nothing left for me here."
Gandalf gave him a studied glance and then finally walked up to his
chair and knelt in front of the dejected man. He gently pried the hands
away, and took the now flushed face in his hands, noticing the warmth
of the skin and the short gasps of breath that confirmed his suspicion.
"You are unwell," he said calmly.
Faramir seemed to flinch at the statement, "Unwell? Am I unwell
because I refuse to denounce my father?" he asked softly.
"You are unwell because you have a fever," Gandalf said firmly,
"We will speak more of this later, but first you must recover from
this fever."
"I am well," Faramir responded and rose, pulling away from
his mentor's nearness, "Would you excuse me Mithrandir? I must
go meet the King. He awaits me."
The room swirled around him, and he nearly fell over, caught just in
time by Gandalf.
"I'm sorry, I – I tripped," he started saying but when
a cup of water was pressed to his mouth, he found himself swallowing
it instinctively, accepting it with great relief.
Gandalf guided him into his chair, "Stay there!" he cautioned.
He nodded miserably, as he held his head in his hands.
Aragorn drummed his fingers on the table impatiently. He had specifically
Faramir asked to be present at this hour. It was a beautiful day and
certainly not one to be wasted on spending inside a cold stone room,
waiting for a tawdry Steward, so they could discuss military allocations,
something that, he thought irritably, Faramir should be able to work
out with his eyes closed!
It was important he knew, but he was still having trouble adjusting
to the administrative side of being a King. He had been an advisor and
councillor in his earlier days, but he had also then been a captain
and he had still spent more time outdoors than indoors. Now he found
himself more inside than outside, forever going through papers and reports.
Elladan had laughingly commented that Faramir every time he appeared
had more papers for Aragorn, and the King thought rather irritated that
that was increasingly true. He never knew being King would entitle so
much paperwork –he'd never seen Elrond do even half this much!
He finally arose in annoyance, intending to find Faramir and subject
him to a few well-meaning remarks about punctuality. Then perhaps he
should find a way to transfer the rest of the days work to him, in payment
so he could finally ride out.
*He will probably prefer to stay inside anyway immersed in all that
paper,* he thought sourly, and then felt a little ashamed at his own
unfairness in thinking so. Faramir might be caught up in something important.
Though what could be more important than their meeting, he could not
fathom.
He soon found himself in front of the room Faramir was temporarily
using as a study, knocked, but pushed the door open without waiting
for an answer, finding his steward alone and calmly gazing at papers
on his desk. The sight only served to inflame his already frayed temper
and his voice came out much louder and harsher than he'd originally
intended.
"There you are! Do you even realize I've been waiting for you?
Our meeting could have been over by now, and I could have been out riding.
You probably haven't noticed, but it's a lovely day outside, and I don't
very much enjoy spending such days indoors, waiting around for my Steward,
who obviously has no notion of punctuality!"
Chapter 2
Faramir jumped up in surprise at Aragorn's stern tone, ignoring the
intense wave of pain that action caused in his temples, "Sire!
I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting. Please accept my apologies. I
was just about to come over –"
"Faramir! Sit down before you fall over again!"
Aragorn turned to see Gandalf had forcefully pushed the door closed,
revealing himself, a cup in his hand, his eyes hard, as he glared at
Aragorn.
"And you! What's the matter with you? The humble ranger I once
knew would not have been so self-absorbed not to notice his surroundings."
"I beg your pardon?" Aragorn snapped at the wizard, his
eyes gleaming in annoyance.
"Come on now, Elrond taught you better than that! Look at him,
it couldn't be more obvious! And you call yourself a healer... He's
got a fever, Aragorn! And he's exhausted. You would have spotted
that if you hadn't been so preoccupied with your own needs. And then
you come in here and shout at the poor boy, even as he's working himself
to a collapse trying to help you run your kingdom!"
"Mithrandir!" Faramir started, alarmed. He was leaning forward
a little now, subconsciously placing his hands on the table for support.
"Quiet, child," Gandalf cut in, his tone almost annoyed,
"Drink this first."
Aragorn stared bemusedly, his annoyance ebbed away now, as Faramir
stared first at him, his eyes frantic, face flushed even more, and then
at Gandalf, as though unsure what to do. He was still standing, half-leaning
against the table and looked almost scared. Gandalf moved towards him
and gently pushed him back into the chair and thrust the cup towards
his mouth.
"Drink," he commanded gently this time, but Faramir pushed
the cup away from near his mouth.
"No, it is not needed... I am well," he said quietly. He
took a deep breath and clenched his fists, before looking up at Aragorn,
who was still a little confused, "I am sorry to have kept you waiting,
My Lord. Shall we proceed to your chambers now?" He tried rising,
but Gandalf's hand blocked him with surprising strength.
"Nonsense! And do stay seated... any fool who cares to look could
see you are unwell. I doubt you'd even make it as far as the door,"
Gandalf told him, as he thrust the cup towards his mouth again, "Drink
this and sleep. Aragorn has waited a few minutes; he can wait a few
hours!"
Aragorn might have been surprised by Gandalf's tone, but he found he
wasn't. A closer look at Faramir's distraught countenance had him regretting
his hasty words to the younger man. The Steward looked wan and tired.
His movements were slow and sluggish, and his voice had sounded hoarse.
There were circles under his eyes and lines around his mouth even in
the morning, Aragorn realised with a pang as he moved forward towards
him.
"N– no," Faramir was still protesting, "I –
I'm well. I really am, Mithrandir. Please do not worry. I don't need
to sleep. It is just a touch of the sun," he broke off into a cough.
"A touch of the sun? You haven't been out all morning, or yesterday!
And I do think you have a cold too here, young man," the wizard
said promptly, as he rubbed Faramir's back a little while he coughed.
"I – I can't sleep," Faramir mumbled once the coughing
had subsided, his eyes fixed at something on the floor, "I mean,
I – I have to see to the –"
"Aragorn will do it," Gandalf interrupted, "Whatever
it is." He turned towards the contrite king, his eyes flashing
in annoyance.
Aragorn knelt down on the floor, in front of Faramir's chair, and reached
for his forehead; the other man's haggard features concerned him greatly.
Faramir almost shied away at the sudden move, his grey eyes suddenly
looking very large and bright, but seemed to force himself to calm down.
His skin felt very warm. "You're glowing! Gandalf is right. Don't
worry about the work, I'll take care of that. You should be in bed!"
"Indeed you should be, now drink this. There now, drink it all,"
Gandalf spoke in a gentle, soothing tone.
"Yes, drink it and rest," Aragorn urged, a little dismayed
to see the way Faramir seemed to shrink away from him each time he spoke.
The grey eyes strayed towards the desk full of papers. Aragorn absently
noted that they seemed to be the military allocations he'd asked for.
"Don't worry about those," he soothed him again, "I
shall see to them."
Faramir finally drank the contents of the cup, as neither Gandalf nor
Aragorn seemed inclined to let him get away otherwise. They moved back
only after he had drained the cup.
"Good," Gandalf said approvingly, "Come now. I'll help
you to your chambers."
"My chambers? But I have work still – "
Gandalf sighed and signalling to Aragorn, gently tugged Faramir to
his feet.
"Hush, child, you sound like a parrot. You will rest better in
a soft, warm bed."
He slipped an arm around Faramir's shoulder, noticing the slightly
dazed look the younger man was beginning to exhibit, no doubt caused
by the fever and whatever it was that seemed to be bothering his lungs.
Faramir made as if to move out of the hold, but after almost stumbling
over the first step, he reluctantly accepted the support the wizard
offered.
Aragorn pushed the door open, and gave his worried Steward a look of
reassurance as the three of them walked out slowly. It didn't work very
well, for Faramir's expression immediately turned contrite and the eyes
averted.
Aragorn moderated his pace to keep with Faramir's slow movements. Gandalf's
arm was still draped over the shoulder, lightly, yet almost protectively.
"It's really nothing," Faramir mumbled suddenly, "You
do make a fuss Mithrandir. I am well."
Gandalf snorted in response.
"No, really I am. I just did not sleep very well, last night.
That is all. I shall be fine," and then turning towards Aragorn,
still looking unhappy, "I apologise, Sire. I shall finish the work
even if I have to stay up all night," he spoke haltingly, his voice
becoming increasingly slurred.
Aragorn could see he was struggling to keep up with his surroundings.
He blinked often, and his fists were clenched tight. Beads of sweat
stood out on his forehead, and he seemed to be speaking merely in an
effort to keep wake.
"It is all right, Faramir," he said reassuringly.
"No, it isn't," Faramir murmured softly, and stumbled again.
Gandalf steadied him swiftly, but then Faramir slumped forward, and
it took Aragorn's help to hold up the now unconscious man, as his head
lolled against Gandalf's arm. They were near Faramir's room now, so
he simply picked up the younger man. Aragorn moved to help him, but
the wizard shook his head as he adjusted his grip on the limp figure.
"He is too thin," he muttered, "Fool of a boy! Never
did know when to stop!"
Aragorn looked around the room a little curiously while Gandalf laid
his charge on the bed. It was quite bare and cold. It was however neatly
kept, and he found his eye drawn to the books stacked atop the unused
fireplace. There were so many of them.
"We'd better get him into something more comfortable," Gandalf
murmured, once he had the younger man settled in his bed.
"Yes," Aragorn agreed and moved to undo the bindings on Faramir's
tunic, feeling the rough faded cloth, so similar to the clothes he had
often worn in his ranging days, unlike the finery exhibited by others
in the court but then Gandalf suddenly reached for them himself.
"I'll do that," he said, "why don't you get him a nightshirt,
there should be one in one of those chests there, get him a light, thin
one."
"That head cold will hamper his sleep," Aragorn murmured.
Gandalf nodded, "We should give him something for that."
"I have some balm in my quarters to help him breathe," Aragorn
offered, "We could rub some on his chest and back."
"Faramir might well have something of the sort in here too,"
Gandalf replied, motioning to the chests.
Aragorn quickly managed to locate a light grey nightshirt and in the
process he indeed found a surprisingly ample store of bandages, herbs
and balms, including one, which upon smelling he knew would be a very
good substitute for the one he used for coughs and colds. He brought
the nightshirt and the balm over to Gandalf who was pulling down Faramir's
leggings now. The young man shifted uneasily in his stupor, but the
herbs had obviously started to take effect for he did not rouse. Yet,
Gandalf stopped, the leggings awkwardly pulled down midway, and gently
ran a comforting hand through Faramir's hair.
"Sshh, child, it's all right," he soothed until Faramir stilled,
his breathing even but still raspy.
Aragorn frowned as he observed Faramir's bare shoulder, marked by the
ugly reminder of the Haradrim dart that had injured the younger man
during the war.
"The scar remains," he remarked, sitting by the pillow and
taking over the soothing movement.
"Some wounds take longer to heal than others," Gandalf said
softlygrimly as he went back to undressing his charge.
Aragorn gently brushed some locks of hair away and lightly stroked
the lined forehead. The skin felt warm to touch, too warm. Gandalf meanwhile
folded away Faramir’s clothes and covered the young man up to
his waist with the blankets.
"I wonder if it is the wound that is causing the fever? I hope
it is not infected." Aragorn muttered, now engrossed in closely
inspecting the still angry looking mark. Aragorn's fingertips carefully
skated over the newly healed and still very tender skin at first, then
tentatively pressed in ever so lightly to determine in how far the underlying
tissue had already recovered.
"It seems to be healing alright," he said while still prodding
with care, so as to not disturb Faramir further. "Slower than I
would have liked maybe, but it's not infected."
Aragorn picked up the jar of balm as Gandalf watched on, scooped out
a generous dollop and rubbed it between his hands for a time to warm
and soften the aromatic substance. He started with the tender shoulder
he had just examined, taking care to keep his touches light, but then
switched to swift, sure strokes to cover the rest of Faramir's chest.
Up until this point, Faramir had undergone the ministrations without
protest, but now he stirred and groaned softly, and when Aragorn accidentally
raked his finger over his nipple, the sleeping man emitted a small sound
much like a sob.
"I'll do the rest," Gandalf grunted out abruptly. Aragorn
looked up at him, surprised at the curt response.
"You can hold him up and help him stay calm while I do his back,"
Gandalf said a little more gently this time, and then after a pause,
"He is unused to you and I would not want to cause him to react
at a strange touch."
Aragorn bit back the rude retort that promptly came to mind about Gandalf's
touch with Faramir, and thanked the Valar his twin brothers weren't
nearby for they would surely have milked that comment for all it was
worth. Instead he quietly handed over the rest of the balm to the wizard
and busied himself with gathering Faramir's bare body into his arms,
shaking his head gently at the number of scars that dotted the slight
frame. Faramir sported signs of his soldiering days all over his body.
Scars showed on his thin back too, Aragorn noted as Gandalf began working
the balm in. He held Faramir tighter feeling him squirm a little in
his sleep. He could see now what Gandalf meant about his loss of weight.
Faramir looked thinner now than he had when Aragorn had first seen him
in the houses of healing, injured and ailing from the effects of the
black breath, a feat he would have thought unlikely. He could see his
ribs clearly and his collarbone and hipbones jutted out as the blanket
slipped. And he really did look truly exhausted. He'd looked so tired
in the morning too, Aragorn realised and it suddenly struck him that
perhaps Faramir had indeed not slept much the previous night. His laboured
breathing felt almost hot on Aragorn's chest.
Gandalf finished rubbing the balm, quite efficiently, Aragorn noted
with a critical eye. The old wizard did seem quite fond of Faramir,
he decided, as he laid the younger man down again so Gandalf could rub
some more of the balm on his chest. When he was done, they got Faramir
into the nightshirt and under the thick covers. A shiver rippled through
the distressed frame. Aragorn patted down the covers, and tucked them
under Faramir's chin.
"The herbs will help him sleep for the rest of the day and through
the night," Gandalf said.
Aragorn nodded slowly, before rising.
Faramir sighed in his sleep as the comforting hand moved away, and
turned onto his side, snuggling into the covers.
"Will he be all right, d’you think?" Aragorn asked
worriedly.
"With a little rest, good food, and fresh air, yes," Gandalf
said pointedly, "He is merely very tired. It seems like he hasn't
been taking care of himself properly."
"I wonder why he hasn't been sleeping or eating properly,"
Aragorn mused, absently observing the fine lines around Faramir's mouth
and eyes, "He has been through a lot, hasn't he, Gandalf? He's
so quiet and withdrawn, it's easy to overlook that he might be suffering
too. I hardly even realized it before, but he's lost his entire family
after all, and he appears to have few friends here."
Gandalf shrugged, "He's always been quiet and reserved. When you
know him as long as I have done, you'll realise he always puts his needs
last, so they often remain unmet. And you'll never know of his suffering
if he does not want you too."
After a pause he continued, "He was always closest to Boromir,
you know. I have never seen him as happy as he was whenever he was around
him."
"The news of his death must have been a hard blow," Aragorn
said heavily, as he remembered how profoundly he had been affected by
Boromir's death.
Gandalf sat by Faramir's bedside, and gently stroked his cheek, "Yes,"
he said shortly, remembering the conversation that had taken place between
father and son before Faramir had left for battle.
After a pause, he continued, "He is still learning, Aragorn. He
never expected to be Steward, and that at so young an age. But I have
never seen him shirk his duties. He will make a fine Steward. He's diligent
and sensible."
"His men seemed very fond of him."
"Well, he leads from the front, doesn't he?" Gandalf pointed
out, "See how hard he drives himself to do duties he is untrained
for. He's probably scared he'll lack in some skill or the other. Someone
really needs to look after this boy all the while, and tell him when
to stop," he sighed.
"I'll make sure he does not get overloaded with work," Aragorn
promised, once again almost a little amused by how fond the old wizard
seemed of his Steward.
"He'll take it on himself."
"He seems to prefer losing himself in it!"
"I suppose it provides a fair distraction to think of the land
rather than other matters."
"Such as the deaths of Boromir and Denethor?"
Aragorn didn't miss the slight frown that Denethor's name caused, "Such
as, yes," Gandalf muttered.
Aragorn bit his lip. From his talks with Boromir and later with Gandalf
and other city officials he had discerned more than a little of the
relationships in the Steward's family: of Denethor's preference for
his elder son, and his scorn for the younger. From all accounts it didn't
sound as though Denethor interacted much at all with his younger son,
save to criticise him, even going so far as to openly wish him dead
in Boromir's place. Clearly, it had impacted Faramir greatly.
He looked at Gandalf wondering whether he'd tell him more, but the
wizard seemed to be engrossed with brushing away a strand of hair that
had fallen across the pallid face.
"It's cold here," he said finally, "Should I build a
fire?"
"Yes, do that," Gandalf said.
Faramir had felt the hands on his bare chest, a strange cold sensation.
His clothes must have been torn off in anger. He could almost anticipate
the neatly trimmed fingernails raking his skin mockingly, set to hurt
him, a derisive precursor to worse hurt. He could not stifle the protest
his unconscious mind felt compelled to register... perhaps if he could
just move away... but his limbs would not obey him... he let out a sob
of frustration as the fingers ran over his body... why couldn’t
it just get over and done with swiftly as always... it hurt so much
more this way... he trembled in fear... but then nothing happened. The
touch did not turn hurtful, and he wondered why... the hands stayed
soft, gentle... Healers, he realised, he was with the healers... not
with... he sighed silently in relief.
When he finally came awake, he did so slowly, and realising that someone
stood over his bed, stiffened a little, still lost in a haze between
sleep and wakefulness. Recognising Gandalf and Aragorn, he relaxed slightly,
but didn't open his eyes. He felt too tired. He didn't even feel like
rolling over to face them. They were speaking, very softly, about someone.
Someone who was sensible and led from the front. Gandalf sounded pensive
and Aragorn sounded a little quiet too. He wondered whom they spoke
of, and why they sounded so sad speaking about such a wonderful person.
Then he heard Boromir's name. They were speaking about Boromir, he thought
foggily. Of course they would be talking about Boromir, especially the
King. They must miss him too.
He felt tears prick his eyes behind the closed lids. Why did it have
to be so unfair! It should have been Boromir here in Minas Tirith. Boromir
as the steward, the diligent, brave, capable leader. Boromir would not
be the snivelling fool who lay in bed with a fever while there was so
much work to be done. Aragorn must have realised that. He burrowed into
the covers, hugging himself as he curled up. The tiny sniff he emanated
was muffled by the pillows.
Chapter 3
It was warm... far too warm, even more than it tended to be in Minas
Tirith in the summer... and there was smoke too, and the smell of burning
oil, the acrid sensation squeezing tears out of his tightly clenched
eyes so that it was only then that he realised he had his eyes closed.
He forced them open, unsure why he did so, and looked into the grim,
forbidding face of his father, his expression hard as ever, his eyes
displaying scorn and derision. He loomed over Faramir as he sat up slowly
on the floor where he'd been lying naked. A soft cackling sound forced
him to look around him, and he couldn't stop the gasp that emanated
as he realised what the cause of the unnatural warmth was. His father
stepped forward and it seemed to Faramir the ring of fire surrounding
them also closed in with each step.
"Nooo...," he moaned softly, unsure what caused greater distress,
the man walking towards him or the fire that kept closing in.
Gandalf sat by the fire, watching it spit and hiss because of the slight
dampness in the logs, his legs stretched out so he could warm them.
However he sat up immediately when he heard Faramir stirring a little,
a soft moan escaping the lips.
"Faramir," he whispered softly.
"Gandalf?" Faramir tried to sit up, confused as the images
that had assaulted him in his sleep thankfully slipped away from his
consciousness, but was gently held back, "What is the matter?"
he asked a little frantically, his heart still beating a little furiously;
he knew it had to be a dream.
"Nothing, you are ill. Go back to sleep."
Faramir wasn't listening though. He was looking around tiredly, and
his eyes finally came to a stop at the fireplace.
Stray images flashed in his overwrought mind and he tried desperately
to quell them.
"Please –"
"What is it?" Gandalf asked encouragingly.
"Could you have someone put out the fire, please?"
"You'll feel cold!"
"I think not," Faramir said firmly, and lay on his side,
his back to the fire.
"Oh very well, you might not feel the cold," Gandalf retorted
to Faramir's back, "But what about me? And I'm not getting any
younger, you know!"
"I didn't ask you to stay here."
Gandalf frowned at his young friend's snappy remark. Sure he was ill
and tired, but he had seen him tired before and Faramir had never been
rude to him, or to anyone for that matter. He was about to retort when
he saw Faramir pull the blankets closer to his chin in a manner that
suggested to Gandalf the young man wished it could shield him from more
than just the cold.
*You old fool!* the wizard scolded himself inwardly, *you are getting
frightfully slow-witted in your old-age.*
He could always fetch himself another blanket while Faramir slept,
he decided, unwilling to leave Faramir there alone.
Aragorn groaned loudly and tossed the sheaf of papers he held onto
the nearest chair. He'd been reading through some papers detailing out
land disputes between the various fiefdoms and the resulting troubles.
Normally, Faramir would simply have reduced each bundle into a concise
little note. In fact, thought Aragorn, he'd have known he would get
irritated and would probably have told the secretaries to pass this
onto one of the chancellors to handle; just as he'd neatly reduced all
the papers on the allocations into one concise report. Faramir had been
ill barely half a day now, and already the paperwork that had piled
up had been enormous. Aragorn had instructed his worried secretaries
to pass him all the work for now, until he could decide which of his
other officials could help in Faramir's place. Aragorn doubted his steward
could return to work for at least two weeks yet and Gandalf and the
warden from the Houses of Healing had agreed. In fact, Aragorn was determined
to ensure he didn't. The young man was clearly completely exhausted
and he had easily managed to discern that Faramir needed more than just
a physical recovery. Seeing the mound of papers though, he was left
in no doubt over one of the possible causes of exhaustion.
"Well! There you are!"
The loud voice and the ruckus following it made Aragorn wince.
The twins, Legolas, Gimli, Merry and Pippin all trooped into his study
looking extremely happy.
"We waited ages for you!" Elrohir complained, "And then
your servants told us you were in a meeting with Gandalf and Faramir
so we had to go riding without you... you missed a beautiful day."
"And now you're cooped up inside working!" Elladan said in
mock horror.
"Has Faramir been by?" Legolas inquired and everyone burst
out laughing except the two hobbits.
"Where is Faramir?" Pippin asked suddenly, "We'd asked
Gandalf to invite him to join us for dinner but then we got a message
from Gandalf saying neither of them would be able to join us."
"Yes, he's –," Aragorn began only to be interrupted
by Pippin.
"You haven't given him more work have you?" the young hobbit's
tone was almost accusing so that the three elves and dwarf turned an
interested eye towards him, "You give him too much work,"
Pippin stated.
"Pippin!" Merry admonished softly.
"I thought it was the other way round," Elladan tried to
joke, "It's Faramir who always brings in a new batch of paperwork
to Aragorn every other hour or so," but he quietened as Aragorn
held out a hand urgently to silence him.
"No, Pippin, I haven't," Aragorn said softly, kneeling in
front of the frowning young hobbit, "He's sleeping right now. He
won't join you for dinner because he is unwell and Gandalf is with him
right now."
"I knew he wasn't well," Pippin said sadly, "What's
wrong with him, Strider?"
"How did you know?" Elrohir asked curiously.
"He's always so tired and he hardly smiles anymore and he hardly
eats. He never joins us for meals and even if he has his food sent to
his rooms, I've always found it lying there only half-eaten. He let
Merry have his entire breakfast twice last week!"
"He did?" Aragorn inquired, wondering how he had missed out
on all this, "Well, don't worry, little one, Gandalf and I will
ensure he recovers and that he eats properly. You're right, he needs
rest!"
"Can I see him?" Pippin asked hopefully, "I could help
look after him!"
"Not today," Aragorn answered quietly, "But yes, you
could help look after him. You could ask the cooks to prepare his favourite
soup perhaps? Ask them to make it light and hot."
Pippin nodded and rushed off. Aragorn turned to his friends.
"What happened?" Legolas asked curiously.
Aragorn gave them a very brief account of what had happened.
"Poor lad," Elladan sympathised, "I knew he'd do something
like this!"
"And you didn't think to tell me?" Aragorn asked plaintively,
"Pippin speaks true. I did overwork him! I can barely finish half
of what he seems to be doing every day and that is just the paperwork!
And, the secretaries tell me he's also been personally inspecting a
large amount of the rebuilding work ever since we sent two regiments
off to Pelargir. I've been loading him with more and more work each
day and I haven't even realised! And he's never once complained or not
done anything I've asked him to."
"Well, then a few days' rest will do him a world of good,"
Elrohir soothed him quietly, noting Aragorn's distress, "and Elladan
and I can help you with some of your work. We've helped father often
in the past."
"You'll get more time to ensure Faramir recovers that way,"
Elladan added, guessing the main cause of Aragorn's distress. It amused
him a little though. *Trust Estel to want to play mother hen immediately*
"And we could help you look after Faramir too, if you need. Ada
also taught us something of the art of healing."
Once the others had left, Aragorn tried to return to work, but found
he couldn't. He wondered if Faramir might have awoken, and realised
he should have asked Gandalf to inform him. Or perhaps he should find
out on his own he decided, and rising, made his way through the long,
winding corridors towards the Steward's room. He pushed the door open
carefully, and poked his head through. All he could see was a dark head
buried under the covers. He walked silently in, stopping before the
bed. Faramir lay curled up on his side, his eyes shut and his features
relaxed. Dark hair splayed across his pale face.
He felt irritated with himself for not having noticed how drawn and
weary the younger man had looked all these days. It was only from one
of the guards that he had learnt that his Steward spent most nights
walking through the gardens aimlessly.
He could not help but smile at the sight of the sleeping figure. Curled
up under the blankets, his solemn Steward looked very young. Kneeling
by the bed, he brushed a stray strand of hair off his cheek, and winced
as Faramir stirred at the touch. Half-opened eyes peered blearily at
him, and a curled up fist rubbed at them trying ineffectually to drive
the much-needed sleep away.
"My Lord?" Faramir's voice sounded laden with sleep, and
confused. He made to rise up, his movements fumbling and uncharacteristically
awkward.
"Aye. But I wished not to wake you, Faramir," Aragorn said
as he sat up, and put out a hand to help his half-falling Steward sit
up straight, "Lie down again now. Gandalf will be displeased if
he hears I woke you up."
Faramir gave him a confused glance before his upper body suddenly pitched
forward, giving Aragorn barely enough time to grab the fainting figure.
"Faramir!" he cried out urgently, attempting to lift the
younger man's head.
He got a weary groan in response, and then Faramir raised his head
slowly and tiredly, "Forgive me," he mumbled, before he collapsed
against Aragorn's chest.
"For what?" Aragorn asked the unconscious man incredulously.
He tucked him in under the blankets, and checked his skin for warmth.
When he had Faramir settled comfortably in bed, he rose and looked around.
He could stay here awhile, he decided, till Gandalf returned at any
rate. He noticed the unlit grate and frowned. Surely, someone or the
other should have checked on that!
A fresh pile of kindling had been left near the fireplace and so, kneeling
down, he set to building a fire, just as Gandalf entered the room, blankets
in hand.
"Don't," the wizard said firmly.
Aragorn looked up in surprise, "I was just building a fire,"
he explained, "It's cold, and I'm surprised no one saw to this
before!"
"Faramir does not wish it," Gandalf replied shortly, and
went over to the sleeping man to check on him, "Has he awoken?"
"For a mere moment, then he slipped into sleep again," Aragorn
responded, "But why does he not want a fire?"
Gandalf turned and gazed at him with a one eyebrow raised, and suddenly
Aragorn remembered how Denethor had died and how Gandalf had saved Faramir
from nearly dying the same way.
Aragorn watched as Gandalf spread an extra blanket over Faramir. The
wizard's movements were tender and caring as he tucked it in neatly
under the young man's chin.
"I asked Pippin to tell the kitchens to make some hot soup, in
case he does wake up," Aragorn said.
Gandalf nodded, "That will be good for him, if he wakes up. Would
you ask someone to tell the hobbits I shall not return tonight? I have
asked the servants to prepare the room next door for me."
Aragorn rose early the next morning, the sun still not fully over the
horizon, and checked on Faramir. He knew Gandalf had slept in the hastily
prepared chamber near Faramir's but he still felt a pressing need to
check on the younger man himself. The Steward was still asleep, his
face still unnaturally pale, though his breathing sounded much easier.
Faramir had slept through the evening and night as they had expected
and the soup the cook had sent on Pippin's instructions had remained
untouched. They could wake him later, Aragorn decided, and ensure he
ate something substantial.
The blankets seemed to be out of place, Aragorn noted and promptly
leaned over to set them right again, as carefully as he could, remembering
how he'd nearly woken Faramir the day before. Despite his care however,
the younger man did moan slightly and shift. Aragorn groaned mentally.
*Oh dear, I hope I'm not waking him again!*
"Sshh...," he murmured softly, hoping to soothe Faramir who
seemed to be a little distressed.
Faramir felt the smoke billow around him, he could smell its acrid
nearness and the bitter taste of burning wood now settled heavily in
his mouth. The heat rippled through his flesh. He could feel drops of
sweat rolling down his skin. But he still felt cold, despite the heat.
It did not warm him. It burned him, and still he felt cold. And yet
he could do nothing against those sensations. He could not move. He
was not sure he wanted to move. He just wanted to wait.
So he waited, for his father. He was there somewhere he knew. He had
heard him speak. His father was all he had left. He would wait for him
he decided. No matter what his father would do to him, he would wait.
He had failed, he was sure, and whatever his father may do, he surely
deserved it. He deserved all the pain he knew was to come.
He felt a hand on his uninjured shoulder and looked up a little warily,
expecting to see his father. A figure loomed over him, and he whimpered
involuntarily. His confusion grew more intense as he realised that it
was not his father. Surely this newcomer too would try to take him away
as the others before him had tried. The fear in his heart rose to a
crescendo, pounding into his ears. Perhaps his father wished not to
see him, and he sent these people instead. He had done that before once
when Faramir had disappointed him. His father must be disappointed in
him. He was not sure why, but he thought he had done something wrong.
His father must be angry, he decided, wondering if he could ever please
the man. He would do anything to please him. It would hurt, but he would
endure it. He cowered away from the figure over him, shutting his eyes
tight, and whimpered slightly again.
Aragorn bit his lip when he heard the tiny whimper Faramir uttered
as he curled away from Aragorn in his sleep.
*It must be a bad dream, poor lad.*
"Faramir," the voice floated to the Steward's ears, a soft,
beautiful voice that reached through the confused recesses of his wandering
mind, drawing it back to him.
"Faramir... it's all right... I'm here, now."
He could see the face now in his still blurred dreams, the beautiful
face that accompanied that voice. He knew who it was. His King.
His King. The other visions vanished as did the smoke, so that all
he was left with was a cool, calming sensation that he embraced gladly,
slipping back into a welcome dreamless slumber.
Aragorn heaved a sigh of relief as Faramir murmured something softly
and settled back into a calm slumber.
"That's better," he continued whispered soothingly, "Or
Gandalf would have had my hide for awakening you again. He certainly
is fond of you! Well, I'll leave you to rest some more now."
He rose quietly and looked at Faramir's sleeping visage. He still looked
so tired and pale. Aragorn was still mulling over Faramir when he left
the room, so that he almost ran over the young Hobbits who were hurrying
down the corridor.
"Strider!" they exclaimed in unison.
"Well, hello, you two," he said, smiling, "And how are
you this morning?"
"Quite fine, thank you," Merry said, and then continued,
"How is Faramir today, Strider?"
"He'll be fine," Aragorn assured them, at the same time
promising himself that he would ensure the young man would indeed be
fine soon.
"Can we see him?" Pippin asked anxiously.
"No," Aragorn said firmly, "He is resting now, and the
noise might wake him up."
"We'll be very quiet," Merry promised.
"Please, Strider," the two of them clamoured.
"No," Gandalf said firmly from his doorway, before Aragorn
could respond "He is resting now, and the noise might wake him
up."
"We'll be very quiet," Merry promised.
"Please, Strider," the two of them clamoured, turning to
Aragorn for help.
"Hush!" Gandalf said looking into the Steward's chamber to
ensure Faramir was not being disturbed, "You can see him later."
"He probably has trouble enough sleeping as it is," he added
in a tone just low enough for Aragorn to hear.
Chapter 4
"Gandalf can't stay with him all the time," Merry consoled
his cousin, "We'll just keep an eye out and sneak in when he's
not around."
"Then we'll have to stay here all the while!" Pippin said
firmly.
"Er – what about lunch?" Merry asked.
"What about lunch?" came a silken voice as they rounded the
hallway and found themselves facing three elves and a dwarf.
"And why do you look so unhappy?" Elrohir enquired.
"We went to see Faramir," Merry explained.
"Is he better now?" Elladan asked and the others gathered
together for all Aragorn had mentioned earlier had been that the Steward
was still unwell, and he had much work to do.
"We don't know," Pippin sighed heavily, "Gandalf won't
let us see him."
"I should like to see him too," Elladan spoke up, "He
looks lonely enough as it is. He must feel worse when he is ill, and
he seems to be a nice young lad."
Faramir awoke slowly, trying to get his bearings straight. He felt
extremely tired, and his limbs felt so sluggish he wondered what might
be wrong. His mind felt dense and he struggled to remember where he
was, and why it was he felt so tired and so sleepy and why there were
soft hands resting on his forehead.
He opened his eyes, the barest crack, and the first thing in sight
was a sweep of long golden hair.
"Éowyn," he mumbled suddenly reminded of her at the
sight of the golden head leaning over him.
He was greeted with a series of muted laughs and whoops followed by
a whispered hiss in a very indignant tone, before he realised his error.
Of course it could not be Éowyn, he thought to himself, even
as he opened his eyes fully and found Legolas and the Peredhel twins
arguing near his bed. She was back in Rohan. He had probably just made
the most awful gaffe anyone in the land could have, and that upon an
elven prince who was also a very good friend of his King's. He doubted
if his misery could be compounded anymore. In alarm he struggled to
get up, even as he realised Gimli was also standing by his bedside,
laughing softly.
"Forgive me," he spoke, and was dismayed to find his voice
was no more than a very hoarse gasp. He tried again, even as the others
turned to look at him. Pushing himself up so he was now sitting straight,
he looked around in confusion. His shoulder hurt him a great deal, and
his head was throbbing mercilessly, and he knew from the hated weary
feeling that coursed through every muscle and bone in his body that
he was running a fever.
There were far too many people around, his foggy mind told him, and
most of them strangers. He wished they'd leave. Then he heard new voices,
one surprised, the king, he thought dully, and then a slightly irascible
voice neared him and he noticed the blur of white hair, and promptly
latched onto the accompanying figure.
"Mithrandir," he murmured hoarsely, relieved when his old
friend returned his embrace. He curled into the comfort of the hold,
clutching at his robes anxiously.
"Forgive me," he murmured, his earlier words coming back
to him, "I should not have spoken as I did."
He glanced up at the ancient face in distress, but Gandalf was surveying
him with a gentle look. The hug tightened, and Faramir suddenly found
his eyes were beginning to brim over. He buried his face in Gandalf's
chest too ashamed to display so much emotion in front of relative strangers.
A wizened hand stroked his head comfortingly, as he struggled to control
himself.
Gandalf waved his free hand towards the door and gave the others a
meaningful glance as Faramir pulled away a little and let out a tiny
sniff, but no one moved.
"Hush, child," he soothed pulling him close again, "It
is all right. I am here now."
Then looking at the others, he indicated the door again, "I think
you should all leave now. Faramir badly needs rest. You should not all
have descended on his room at the same time and you should certainly
not have awoken him. Hurry now, go!"
"We did not intend to wake him suddenly. We wished merely to see
how he fared," Elladan explained, a little contritely as Faramir
burrowed himself against the wizard.
"I will tell him you asked," Gandalf promised, stroking the
soft, dark hair spread against his shoulder, "You too, Aragorn,"
he added seeing the king hesitate.
He watched as the others all left quietly, except Pippin who still
stood there and waited patiently for Faramir to calm down. Faramir pulled
away again after a few seconds and upon seeing the hobbit, a wan smile
crossed his worn face.
"Hello Master Peregrin" he said softly.
"I hope you get better soon, Faramir," Pippin said quietly,
"I am glad Gandalf is here. I'll never forget what I saw when Denethor-"
he broke off biting his lip at the unhappy memory of standing by Faramir
as he retched.
Faramir stiffened at the words, while Gandalf frowned.
Pippin continued, "I'm very sorry about what happened, but I'm
not sorry I told Gandalf about what I saw. He will look after you well."
What Faramir might have replied, Gandalf never knew for Aragorn pushed
through the door right then.
"Pippin, you scamp! Here you are! Come along now. Let Faramir
get some sleep. He looks tired."
Aragorn personally thought Faramir looked more than just tired. He
looked extremely unhappy and a little drained. A little scared too.
"Would you like something to eat?" he asked suddenly, remembering
how the soup from the previous day had been left untouched.
"That's an excellent idea!" Gandalf said firmly, "You'll
feel much better," he told Faramir seeing he was about to protest.
Faramir stared unhappily at the tray on his lap. It contained a bowl
of broth, still almost completely full. His mind told him he had to
eat but he was exhausted and had no appetite whatsoever. The taste of
the steaming liquid was not helping much either. He just wanted to go
back to sleep.
Dipping his spoon in miserably, he took yet another spoonful, grimacing
as he did so, not just at the taste, but also at the twinge that travelled
up his arm and across his shoulders and neck with each movement. He
had strained his shoulder again. It had still not healed completely
from the Haradrim dart injury when he had exerted it at one of the reconstruction
sites. The healer had been extremely annoyed and given him strict instructions
to put less load on it for a few months at least. But that was impossible.
Even lifting down the books in the library caused it to twinge a little.
He must have slept on it last night he decided, as another bolt of dull
pain ran through him.
He placed the spoon back in the bowl, and bit his lip as Gandalf watched
critically. Aragorn stood by the window but his gaze was trained inside
the room.
"Well, go on," Gandalf said, "Finish your broth."
Faramir shook his head, "I've had enough."
"You've barely had a few spoonfuls!" Gandalf scolded, "You
are to eat the whole bowl. You know you'll only get weaker if you don't
have proper food! You're still not fully recovered. And you are far
too thin, and don't tell me you aren't. Not while I can see your shoulder
bones jutting out like this!
"But –"
"Eat."
Faramir dipped the spoon in nervously, then he lifted his hand, fingers
trembling, as the anticipated bolt of pain hit again.
He cried out softly, and dropped the spoon letting it fall in the bowl
with a splash. The broth spilt onto the front of his robe and the blankets.
Gandalf and Aragorn were at his side in a moment exclaiming in worry.
"What happened?" the wizard asked Faramir who had his head
bent low.
The Steward looked up, his face crumpling as the grey eyes turned bright.
"I spilt it," he said softly, "My shoulder hurts. I
think I slept on it last night."
"You should have told me. Come, I'll help you."
Faramir reached for the spoon before the wizard could get to it. "I'm
not a small child that needs to be fed. I'll use my other hand,"
he said quietly.
Gandalf gave him a gentle glance, but did not stop him.
He took a deep breath and focused on the bowl and the spoon, now in
his left hand trembled as much as his right hand had, maybe even more.
He had used his left arm far more than it was used to over the last
weeks, and it trembled under the strain whenever he was tired. The spilt
broth made his robe stick uncomfortably to his chest and he realised
in dismay that he would need to rise later and change into fresh clothes.
The very thought suddenly made him feel even more tired. Afraid to further
embarrass himself, he let the spoon sink back into the bowl of broth
and pushed the tray from his lap.
"It's no use. I'm not hungry; my only desire is to go back to
sleep."
"Nonsense! You can stay up for a few minutes longer. How are you
ever to regain your strength if you don't eat?" Gandalf retorted,
"And you can't sleep in that!"
Aragorn watched as Gandalf sat by Faramir, and picking up the bowl
began to feed him the broth. Gandalf's customary gruffness had vanished
but Faramir simply looked positively embarrassed and uncomfortable.
He didn't seem accustomed to have people fussing over him, Aragorn realised
suddenly. Boromir had appeared to be quite independent to him, and not
at all cosseted by virtue of his position. Faramir seemed the same.
Denethor had certainly brought his children up the right way!
"That's right," Gandalf urged as Faramir swallowed a mouthful
without protest, "Eat."
Aragorn meanwhile lifted off the tray and then removed the soiled blanket
from off Faramir's legs. The younger man still wore the nightrobe Aragorn
and Gandalf had dressed him in the night before. Seeing that Faramir
looked both surprised and mortified by his actions, and would probably
protest, he smiled gently.
"I will get you another blanket and a clean robe. Eat now. It
is good for you."
When Faramir had finished, Gandalf helped him remove his robe, despite
his protests.
"Who do you think changed your clothes for you while you were
ill with fever?" he scolded gently, as he tugged Faramir's nightshirt
over his head, revealing a lean torso, glistening with sweat. Then he
gently swatted away Faramir's hands and set to wiping the pale chest
with a wet towel. Faramir's face was flushed, more from a sense of embarrassment;
Aragorn realised, than fever, and quietly turned away in a bid to make
him feel more comfortable.
Gandalf stopped suddenly, as he noticed Faramir's increasing discomfort
as the towel came over his stomach "Perhaps, a bath would be good,"
he mused, "It'll surely make you feel more comfortable, and it'll
be good for your shoulder muscles. Would you like that?"
Faramir bit his lip uncertainly. It did sound good to be able to sink
himself in warm water. And it would be much better than being wiped
down like a child, and that in front of his king. He'd probably embarrassed
himself more than enough already, collapsing in front of him the other
day.
"I'll get someone to bring the water," Aragorn said, heading
for the door.
"And we'll change your sheets meanwhile. These are damp,"
Gandalf continued, "Why don't you sit on the chair a while. I'll
remove these sheets, and the servants can change them while you're bathing.
Will that be all right?"
Faramir nodded, as he made to rise, wrapping his blanket around his
naked frame. He slowly swung his legs off the bed, and stood. His legs
refused to hold him up and he found himself stumbling as a mist rose
before his eyes, and the floor seemed to get closer and closer. Then
he heard Gandalf's voice in his ear.
"Hush. Sit quietly now. You shouldn't have tried to get up so
soon. You're obviously more tired than I thought you were," the
wizard said as he clutched his arm, and made him sit on the bed. The
blanket slipped to the floor, and he tried ineffectually to pull it
up and cover himself.
"I'm fine," he mumbled, as Gandalf steadied him.
Aragorn returned to the room to find Faramir sitting on his bed with
his head in his hands, a blanket draped loosely over his lower body,
and Gandalf with an arm around his shoulders.
"The water will be ready soon," he said.
"Good. Are you up to taking a bath, Faramir?"
Faramir nodded tiredly. He really did feel sticky and tired. A bath
did sound wonderful.
"One of us will have to be there with him, of course," Gandalf
said calmly, "He's still a little dizzy."
"I'll do it," Aragorn offered. "Then I can also give
his shoulder a good massage."
"No!" Faramir's voice cut through their conversation a little
too loudly, "I can bathe alone," he said quietly.
"No, you can't," Gandalf stated firmly, "You might slip
and fall."
"No, I won't."
"You almost fell right now. You're still ill."
"No!" Faramir said again, trembling a little, "I don't
want a bath now. I want to sleep."
"Don't worry," Aragorn said gently, "We'll give you
a bath, and then you can lie down and sleep."
"No!" Faramir almost squealed out. His face was paler than
before, and his fingers were shaking as he grabbed the blanket and backed
away, "I- I don't want a bath. Please – just – please
let me sleep. Mithrandir," he turned to his mentor in fear, "Please,"
he pleaded.
Gandalf took one look at the frightened face, and made up his mind,
"All right. But will you at least let me rub you down with a wet
towel? It will leave you more comfortable."
Faramir nodded numbly, and let Gandalf settle him carefully in bed.
"But-" Aragorn started only to be silenced by a look from
Gandalf, who set to rubbing Faramir down with a wet towel. The younger
man bore his ministrations stoically enough outwardly, but he turned
his head towards the window and seemed to be gazing at some distant
point. Aragorn could see him biting his lips in discomfort. When Gandalf
had finished cleaning him and helped him pull on a nightshirt, he thanked
him softly.
"We'll let you rest now," the wizard replied gently. Aragorn
watched as he leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to Faramir's
forehead.
He didn't think he would be able to sleep. He didn't want to. Not while
his thoughts took the direction they did. He stared out of the window
dully. He was trying so hard to forget. He kept trying to remind himself
that things had changed now and he was the Steward with far too many
responsibilities to wallow in the past so often. He had even asked Lady
Éowyn for her hand to reassure himself that all would return
to normal now.
It was not to be so. Whatever he tried, he could not forget. He could
constantly immerse himself in the boring tedious paperwork that the
King preferred not to deal with in the daytime, but at night the nightmares
returned. The tiniest things reminded him, more so at a time like this
when he was tired and weak and unable to process his thoughts as quickly
as he liked to. In the earlier days he had simply preferred to not think
of what his father did to him, and it had been easy once he was away
from Minas Tirith. They had the enemy to keep at bay and the darkness
slowly encroaching into their land had given him enough to worry over.
But now there was nothing else to worry over, save trying to understanding
all these myriad details his father had never bothered to educate him
on, or wonder which councillor would try to deliberately put him down
before the King or when the King would finally tire of his incompetence
and ask him to resign his office. He could not step into half the rooms
in the citadel without being threatened by an assault of foul memories.
Everywhere he went he was reminded of what his father had done to him
all too often, of the pain that he had caused each time. The king's
study, his own study, his father's chambers, even the king's chambers,
he thought with a groan as he rose half-heartedly and sat up, holding
his head in his hands.
And then Mithrandir had mentioned bathing him. He'd never been so scared
in his life and he knew the wizard suspected something. He shuddered
a little trying desperately to lose the images that flashed through
his distraught mind. The tub, the water, even the smell of the soap
that had been used. It had been a humiliating end to a painful ordeal,
one he had never wished to go through again, and it hadn't even been
the end.
He had few good memories now. Oh, he'd had some wonderful times, but
all had been either with Boromir or with his rangers. Boromir was gone
now, so were many of his men. Thinking of those times only depressed
him further. He kept wondering if he could not have done more to save
them.
His few good memories still left were the times he had spent with Mithrandir.
*Yet I constantly drive him away,* he thought despairingly. He knew
his old friend wanted to help. Could he do nothing right?
The door opening slowly and silently had him look up frantically, fighting
to calm his breath, reminding himself he was in his room, that everything
was all right, when Mithrandir stepped into the room, and gazed at him
quizzically.
"I thought you said you wanted to sleep?" the wizard inquired
mildly.
"I couldn't sleep," he muttered tiredly.
"You should. You don't want to fall sick all over again do you?"
Faramir sighed heavily, and then spoke up timidly, "Mithrandir,"
he said fingering the hem of the blanket.
Gandalf glanced at him questioningly, taking in the unhappy face.
"Would – would you stay awhile and talk to me, please,"
Faramir asked in a rush, and then seeing the raised eyebrows, promptly
misinterpreted the gesture.
"Oh! Oh... if – if you're busy, I – it's all right.
I'll - "
"Faramir," Gandalf interrupted amused, "I would be honoured
to stay a while and talk to you, dear child."
He sat down by his young friend on the bed, and wrapped an arm around
his shoulders. Faramir promptly leaned into his embrace, a clear indication
of how tired he must feel.
"What would you like to talk about?"
"You have done so much for me and I've never thanked you, not
even once," Faramir said quietly, gazing at his hands.
"I? I have done little for you," Gandalf replied startled,
suddenly feeling very unhappy. What had he done for Faramir after all?
"You've always been kind and helpful to me," Faramir replied
sincerely, "Every time you visited, you bothered to spend time
with me, and to teach me much."
He'd visited barely four or five times while Faramir had been there.
Sure, he took time out to be with Faramir, he thought bitterly, but
each time he had done so with reason, knowing Faramir would entertain
his requests for information more easily than Denethor would. That Faramir
had always been intelligent and eager to learn had helped him reciprocate
the help. He knew somehow that Faramir knew that too. It only made the
gratitude seem sweeter still.
"I did little," he said quietly, "There is much more
I would have done if I had only thought of you more often."
"You did more than you need have," Faramir insisted. "Do
you remember the first time I met you?" he continued, his voice
distant, yet a smile playing on his lips.
It was as he spoke those words that Aragorn neared the door. Hearing
the voices, he stopped instinctively, unwilling to disturb them. Something,
however, compelled him to stay and listen.
"Yes," Gandalf nodded, "You were sitting in a corner
of the library crying because your father had scolded you. You were
seven I think."
"Yes," Faramir said still smiling a little, "And you
told me a story about a halfling and made me laugh."
He'd made him smile, Gandalf thought, that strange little wan half-smile
that had made him wanted to hug the boy protectively. The one he wore
even now. The kind of smile that hid grave unhappiness to all but the
keenest eyes. He'd never ever seen Faramir laugh. He'd seen Faramir's
sorrow then but had assumed it was from the loss of the mother two years
ago. Faramir's left cheek had been bruised and he'd guessed how it had
happened.
"Your father had hit you," he said now.
Aragorn's eyes narrowed as he continued standing outside.
"Oh that was my fault. I had been reading a book and I'd forgotten
to attend my lesson with the arms master."
"Oh."
"Father thought I was lying when I said I'd forgotten," Faramir
said a little heavily, "he thought I wanted to get out of my lessons
because I could never be even half the warrior Boromir was."
Gandalf did not know how to respond. Aragorn stood frozen outside.
"I miss Boromir," Faramir said suddenly, and then sitting
up suddenly he stared at the wizard before shyly adding, "I'm –
I'm glad at least you are here, Mithrandir. I will miss you when you
leave."
Gandalf nodded and hugged him, pulling him protectively into his arms,
"I'll miss you too. But for now, I'm here, and you need worry no
more, dear child."
They sat that way a while and then Faramir's head slipped a little
and soon he was lying with his head in Gandalf's lap, half asleep as
the long fingers stroked his hair gently.
Aragorn didn't move until he was sure all was silent in the room. He
quietly poked a head into the darkened chambers and watched as Gandalf
tucked the blankets neatly around Faramir's sleeping frame and gently
brushed his cheek in an affectionate gesture. Gandalf glanced up at
him questioningly. Aragorn simply nodded in greeting and continued to
stare at Faramir's face for a while, taking in the relaxed features.
He suddenly wondered if Faramir would ever be this comfortable with
him. He found himself wishing he would, and then quietly left the room.
Chapter 5
Faramir woke to bright sunshine late into the next day. Gandalf sat
on a chair beside the bed, and smiled gently at him.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked, and somehow the young Steward
just knew the wizard had been there by his side the whole night and
ensured he had indeed slept well.
Faramir nodded. "Thank you," he whispered softly. He felt
strangely rested, something he hadn't felt in a while now. In fact,
he felt better than he had all week. Perhaps, he could even return to
work?
"You'll stay in bed today as well," Gandalf said suddenly,
"The chief healer came by again while you slept. He thinks you
should stay here a few days more, till you have completely recovered
your strength."
"A few days more?" Faramir questioned, uncomprehendingly.
But there was so much work to do!
"Yes. If you find the bed stuffy, sit in the balcony awhile,"
Gandalf said, rising, "I must go speak to Aragorn now, but I will
have food sent to you, and you must eat it all. Were you a hobbit it
would nearly be time for your second breakfast now!"
Faramir frowned after Gandalf had left. A few days... but that was
impossible. There was so much to do. There were envoys arriving from
Rhûn the next week, and there was that council meeting about the
construction work. He was to have helped Aragorn. He pursed his lips
unhappily as a timid knock sounded on the door. One of the kitchen lads
stood outside with a tray full of food in his hands. Faramir's frown
turned to a small smile. He might be able to help Aragorn after all.
It was not long after that the boy returned with the pile of papers
from Faramir's study. It was not very difficult to do so, for Faramir
was neat and methodical, and all the papers he needed were stacked in
a single pile on his desk.
He dismissed the boy and then, forgetting all about the food, started
to go through them. The drafts for the Rhûn meeting were missing,
as were the most recent reconstruction papers, and he realized with
a start that those would be with Aragorn now. Sighing unhappily he began
going through the older papers, there had been some plans for building
repairs that they had left off going through till now.
Faramir came awake suddenly. He realised there was someone else in
his room. He stiffened immediately, and then realised it was Elessar
and relaxed. Then he saw the look on the king's face. He seemed unhappy.
Faramir straightened up almost immediately and quickly bit back the
cry of pain that his protesting back and shoulder caused. The papers
he had asked for in the morning lay mostly unread on his lap, a thick
bundle. He remembered having barely read half a dozen pages, and then...
he supposed he'd fallen asleep. That should explain the look on the
king's face, he decided as he looked up warily.
"Faramir!" Aragorn started.
"I'm sorry, Sire," he said immediately, "I – I'm
really sorry. I did not mean to – "
"And you shouldn't have," Aragorn inserted, shaking his head,
"Whatever am I to do with you?"
"I'm really sorry," Faramir whispered, "I was going
to finish it, but – but I f-fell asleep... I did not mean to,
Sire. I promise I'll have it finished by – "
Aragorn stared at him in surprise, and then groaned as realisation
struck him. He'd been sitting there waiting for Faramir to wake up and
had planned to administer a strict lecture on health and obeying orders,
but Faramir seemed to have totally misunderstood him. For a brief second
he wondered why Faramir thought so of him.
"You don't have to finish it, Faramir," he said gently, "I
shall see to it."
"You?" Faramir asked in confusion.
"Yes, I. I would like to, in fact, I want to. Leave it
to me. I'd rather go through those myself anyway."
"Oh," Faramir said in a soft voice, as the king leaned down
and picking up the papers began to thumb through them.
*He'd rather go through those himself* Faramir stared at the stack
of papers in Aragorn's hands as he let the king's words sink in, still
puzzled as to why the king should want to waste his time over such trivial
matters as approvals for building repairs. Unless – unless the
king had been unhappy with his work. The king would never tell him directly
of course; he is such a kind and tactful man, he wouldn't want to hurt
anyone's feelings. Not even those of his Steward, who instead of doing
his duty now spent his days lolling around in bed.
The more Faramir thought about it, the more it made sense to him. Yes,
the king must be discontented with quality of his work, and of course
since he'd been ill the reports weren't reaching him in time either.
Why else would Elessar prevent him from working? Denethor had always
been clear on that. They must never shirk their duty. Aragorn must be
really disappointed. He had to do something, he decided, as he leaned
back against the pillows tiredly. Even if he had to get up and walk
all the way down to his study, he must do something, he decided as he
fell back against the pillows, his eyes closing involuntarily.
He woke with a start in the evening, and groaned as he realised the
whole day had sped by and all he had done was sleep. The conversation
with the king was still clear in his mind, and he bit his lower lip
a little as he thought of what to do next. It would be getting dark
soon, and he suddenly realised that Gandalf might come by soon. He was
quite sure, in fact, that he would. There wasn't time to wait for possible
messengers; he must see to everything himself then.
He was barely halfway down the passage, when Aragorn found him.
"And where do you think you're going?" the king asked, grabbing
his stumbling Steward by the arm.
"To my study," Faramir mumbled quietly, drawing his robe
tight around his shoulders, "I thought I'd finish going through
those papers - "
"I told you that I would see to that myself," Aragorn said
despairingly, as he tugged him back to his room.
"But – but – you have so much else to do –"
Aragorn sighed. He rubbed the bridge of his nose in a self-conscious
gesture, before speaking, "Faramir, I have been very remiss towards
you, by letting you do all the work I should have done. And you too
have not taken care of yourself as you ought to have."
Faramir coloured at his words, "I-," he started off uncertainly.
Aragorn held up a hand, "I need you to rest well, Faramir. You
have been quite ill."
"But I am well now," the Steward protested.
The king raised an eyebrow and drew himself up, "Get back to bed,
Faramir, and stay there until Gandalf allows you to rise."
Faramir hesitated.
"I'll carry you back if I have to," Aragorn continued sternly,
and that had the desired effect, for Faramir promptly backed away and
his eyes fell to the floor again.
"Come, now," Aragorn said more gentle now and steered the
younger man back to his room.
"The King's chambers," was all he said, in a flat tone like
it was the most normal thing in the world, without bothering to look
up from his desk, or even pause his constant writing.
"Yes, my lord" he heard himself answer automatically as he
bowed and turned to leave the study. It wouldn't do any good to dawdle
around, wasting time.
*The King's chambers? Why – Boromir is not here,* he wondered
as he walked the corridors that became ever more quiet as he went along,
the last few passages completely deserted. All that inhibited these
rooms and hallways was an eerie silence. They were well-maintained,
but no one had lived here for hundreds of years. Like the throne in
the great hall, they were not to be used, they merely lay in waiting
for the day the king would return.
Faramir undressed, prepared and sat on the King's bed as he waited
for his father's arrival. He had always considered the waiting to be
the most difficult part, but waiting in the King's chambers doubled
his discomfort. Anytime now, he'd hear the heavy boots rounding the
deserted corner, the creaking of the hinges as the door opened...
With every minute he sat waiting his doubts grew. He shouldn't be here.
This wasn't right. Father may not believe there'll ever be a king again
but what if, what if a king should return...
He shuddered at the thought and pulled the lush quilt off the bed to
wrap it around his bare shoulders, though it didn't provide him with
much comfort. *The king surely would find out somehow what we have done
in his room, in his bed. This is treason - high treason! Should a King
ever return to these rooms, the House of Stewards will be outcasts...
we'll be doomed and everyone will know why!* he thought wildly, his
fingers shaking as he pulled the quilt closer.
"Faramir! Faramir, wake up!"
"Mithrandir?" Faramir stared into the ancient face.
"You were having a bad dream again, I though it better to wake
you."
"Yes. Thank you." Faramir, sat up hugging his quilts around
him.
"Mithrandir? Please promise me you'll never tell Aragorn about
what father did to me?"
"My dear child, you know I've already given you my word on that,
and that I would never go back on a promise to you, even if I wished
I had never made that promise," he soothed, yet not without making
his point.
"Really Faramir, you are making this unnecessarily hard on yourself.
I truly feel Aragorn could be a great help in your recovery: he is a
skilled healer, trained by Lord Elrond himself. He cares deeply for
you; you've seen how much time he spends in here. And he's worried –
he's not blind, you know! He's been asking questions, and of course
I would never tell him anything without your permission, but have you
ever though how he might feel? He wants to help, but you shut him out
because you don't trust him enough to tell him what's wrong."
The Maia sighed and rubbed his brow, unsure whether or not to continue
as he had intended. The young steward looked so fragile now, huddled
in his blankets, outwardly calm and composed, but staring at him with
a look that didn't hide his fright or his desolation. Still, things
could not go on this way, truth must be told, he decided. Better to
be harsh on him now than let this fester.
"I'd be lying if I told you I've never felt disappointed because
you obviously didn't trust me enough to let me help you either. Still,
I always was but a mere incidental visitor in your life. Yet Aragorn...
you will spend the rest of your life serving your king, and you'll be
working with him more closely than any other man. Do you really want
to start out that relationship by showing him you don't trust him?"
"No! He must never find out!" Faramir insisted worriedly,
drawing the quilts closer around him.
"You have dealt with it alone for too long," Gandalf tried
again.
"I had to! I could never let anyone find out. Father would have
been furious!"
"But I could have taken you away. Somewhere safe, away from his
anger."
"And I would never have left Boromir!" Faramir said determinedly,
"I could not!"
"Then Boromir would have known," he continued unsteadily,
"I could not let that happen. He – he would have hated me
so."
"Hated you? Boromir? Why?"
Faramir continued speaking in a flat tone, "I would that you never
knew of it too. How could Boromir have stood to talk to me once he had
learnt how filthy and cowardly I have been over these years? How can
you stand to talk to me?"
Gandalf was at Faramir's side in an instant, pulling him around by
his shoulders to face him, "How can you speak so? As if Boromir
would ever have stopped loving you. Do you think your brother was so
lacking that he would discard you over what is not even your fault?
And do you really think that I would do so? I have known you since you
were a child, and I have seen you grow into such a fine young man! There
is nothing you can ever do that will make me think less of you, Faramir!
I know you can never act in a manner that is unfitting."
Faramir stared at him in confusion, as he continued speaking.
"If anything I would only admire you more now, my child. To have
withstood all this silently, and to still stay strong is a worthy feat,"
he gently brushed Faramir's cheek as he spoke, and pulled the unresisting
younger man into his arms, "I know Aragorn will feel the same".
"Never, ever speak so of yourself in front of me," he admonished
gently, as he placed a tiny kiss on the dark head resting despondently
on his shoulder.
Aragorn poured himself a goblet of wine as he wondered what he should
do that evening. He had planned to sit with Faramir a while after he'd
finished his work for the day but Gandalf had indicated he wished to
spend some time with Faramir, alone. Aragorn could see why. The Steward
was clearly still not sleeping well. He sometimes woke up from dreams
that left him crying and weary. Gandalf would surely be able to help
him. After all he had known Faramir all these years.
Aragorn finally decided he would sit down with a book. Denethor, being
the man of learning he was, had a large collection in the bookcases
that lined the walls of his study, and Aragorn's keen eyes had spotted
the collection to be an impressive one. He headed for the nearest shelf
and ran a cursory eye over the books trying to pick out something light
to read. The shelf ran along most of the wall, and most of it was lined
with books. The blank spaces were adorned with small artefacts. A vase
or two, a jewelled dagger, a small statuette. Aragorn glanced at them
briefly, until a long object caught his eye. He pulled it out slowly
and stared at it. It was a long, thin cane, the sort that he had sometimes
seen people use on their animals. He ran a finger along the wooded surface
and wondered what it might be doing in Denethor's study.
The answer wasn't long in coming. He could almost picture the faded
marks on the lean back...
Aragorn slept poorly that night. He had spent his childhood under
the care of Lord Elrond of Imladris. It had been a strange existence
for a mortal child to grow up among elves and to slowly learn that he
was different. He had had few companions and his days had been full
of training and lessons. His mother had resided there too, a quiet saddened
young woman, whom he had been quite fond of. He’d grown up cared
for by those who were in essence strangers, and yet, he’d always
been happy. Elrond had been like a father to him, caring and helpful,
and Elladan and Elrohir treated him as a younger brother. He’d
left to take up his place with the rangers and yet, he held Imladris
as home. He had not imagined that home could connote a place such as
this citadel, vast and dark, where a father kept a cane within easy
reach of his hand, and his younger son’s back bore traces of its
application on an all too frequent basis. Or where a father told a child
of seven he would always be inadequate. At seven he hadn’t even
been allowed a real sword, much as he’d wanted one. Elrond had
firmly told him all he’d get would be a toy sword. And in all
those years of living around Elves all of whom were excellent warriors,
honed in skills over millennia, Aragorn had never once been made to
feel inferior in any way.
Gandalf had told him Faramir’s sleep was uneasy. He’d wondered
if it had been due to his near-death by the same fire that took Denethor’s
life. But Faramir’s unhappiness seemed more deep-rooted that that
and Denethor’s callous attitude towards him was no secret. He
had not however thought that callous might translate into regular physical
punishment. And it must have been regular Aragorn knew as he remembered
finding the stock of salve in Faramir’s room, and the scarring
that still remained on the young man’s back, even if faint now.
Gandalf obviously knew but for some reason had decided not to tell Aragorn.
He’d have to deal with that later, though... Faramir came first.
What must it feel like for Faramir to know that the same man who had
treated him so ill all these years had in a final act of misplaced kindness
tried to kill him.
*No wonder he’s so confused and lost... it all makes sense now!*
Chapter 6
Aragorn thought over everything again and again all through the night
and the next morning. He had to help Faramir, any way he could, that
he was sure of. What bothered him was why Gandalf had not chosen to
include him in helping Faramir, or at least not fully. Surely it was
of the utmost importance for the King and Steward of Gondor to develop
a relationship of trust and understanding? Surely Gandalf was aware
of this, as well as aware of Aragorn's skills as a healer – so
why shut him out?
Rubbing his temples trying to ease the effects of a nearly sleepless
night, Aragorn glared first at the stacks of papers on his desk, then
at the door as though he wished he could mentally transport himself
down the warren of corridors and to Faramir's rooms.
He tried to focus on the papers again, but seeing Faramir's meticulous
report and tidy handwriting, he could not help drift back to thoughts
that had plagued him all night, of all that may have occurred in this
very room, while his eyes wandered to the now empty space on the shelf.
*That's it, I am going to talk to him!*
Yet as he walked down the last of the long corridors, Aragorn was struck
again by indecisiveness. Why hadn't Gandalf asked him to help? He was
so lost in thought he hadn't heard his foster brothers approach –
a situation the twins readily abused by giving their little brother
a good scare, jumping in front of him with a loud "Boo".
Much to the twins’ disappointment though, Aragorn was only momentarily
startled by the distraction as his thoughts returned to his impending
talk with his Steward.
"What is the matter?" Elrohir asked softly, all playfulness
having left his face as he noticed the seriousness in Aragorn's eyes.
"I'm worried about Faramir," the king responded quietly,
"He is – he's well... he's troubled..."
The twins waited patiently, knowing there was more Aragorn wished to
say.
"And I think I might know why. "
"Then you will be able to help him overcome these troubles,"
Elladan said practically, "It's clear he needs someone to help
him. The poor boy looks a little adrift, not that I blame him."
"I should, shouldn't I?" Aragorn said appealingly.
"Of course you should!" Elrohir retorted.
"I – I just wondered... he's so much more comfortable with
Gandalf, and yet... I do think I know how I can get him to recover at
least a little," Aragorn said heavily, I do so wish to help him,
and not just because he's my Steward... "
"There you have it then," Elladan stated emphatically.
Aragorn nodded in conviction, his resolved firmed now. He knew what
he would have to do: he walked up to Faramir's door, knocked and entered
to find him up and dressed, arguing with Gandalf. He was glad to see
a little colour in the younger man’s cheeks.
"The gardens," the wizard was saying firmly, "no further."
"I'll come with you," Aragorn offered promptly, smiling,
as they turned towards him.
"Sire?" Faramir looked doubtful, "But you must have
-"
"I have nothing to do. Come walk with me, and I shall tell you
all the gossip from court. "
"Yes, go with him," Gandalf said, "Why must I alone
hear your arguments!"
Aragorn thought Faramir looked a little doubtful still so he gave him
an encouraging smile as he led him out towards the gardens. They walked
awhile, under the canopy of trees, and Aragorn told Faramir a little
of what had been happening, mostly funny incidents that made the younger
man smile, just a weary tugging up of his lips, but still a smile nevertheless,
that gladdened Aragorn's heart. He thought Faramir looked quite endearing
when he smiled.
Finally, Aragorn sat down on a small stone bench and invited Faramir
to sit next to him. The younger man did so uncertainly, seating himself
at the very edge of the stone bench.
"I wish to talk to you of matters that I feel may aid your recovery.
I know you chafe at this confinement and Gandalf will not let you away
unless he is sure you are eating and sleeping properly,” Aragorn
said quietly.
Faramir glanced up at him a little shyly, "The Warden says I may
return to my responsibilities in a few days."
Aragorn nodded, "And yet, I worry you may strain yourself again."
Faramir's face coloured a little at that.
"I would not want you falling ill again," he said gently,
aware that his concern seemed surprising to the young Steward.
"It is very kind of you," Faramir stuttered.
"You seem to be upset often," Aragorn continued carefully,
"I know none of us have come out of this war unscathed and some
of us bear wounds that remain unseen, but you, my friend, seem to have
troubles older than that."
Faramir gaped at Aragorn. He'd called him his friend? He was still
trying to comprehend that so Aragorn's words came as a surprise.
Aragorn was continuing quietly, "Is it your father?"
Faramir gasped, and turned slightly pale.
"I know he was not always – fatherly," Aragorn said
struggling to frame his words properly, as he noticed Faramir's ashen
face, “But I have noticed you worry about more than just that."
Faramir looked up in alarm. Had Gandalf told him? No, he'd promised.
He wouldn't do that without asking him, he had given his word just the
night before.
"He – he used to beat you didn't he, Faramir?" Aragorn
asked in a rush.
Beat him? Of course, he did, every time he was disobedient. He kept
a cane in his study just for that purpose.
"I -," he started helplessly, wondering what to say. All
fathers disciplined their children if they were disobedient, didn't
they?
"I found his cane, Faramir," Aragorn said softly, "And
I've seen the marks on your back. He must have hit you often, although,
not perhaps, in recent years. No one should hit a child so often that
it leaves so many marks on his body. I am not surprised you are overwhelmed
by all that has happened recently."
Faramir was busy staring at the grass beneath his feet.
"Faramir?" he waited patiently till the younger man raised
his chin and stared back at him out of troubled grey eyes, his expression
completely miserable, "I think I can help you. Will you join me
in my study after you have lunched?"
Faramir had no choice but to nod his head in silent misery.
He had a long, lonely noon meal, toying with the food as he kept wondering
what the king proposed to do.
Aragorn watched Faramir as he entered the study behind him. The grey
eyes suddenly seemed shuttered and Faramir's very expression looked
wary. He wondered why he hadn't noticed earlier that Faramir had always
looked uncomfortable while standing in his study.
"I called you here, so I could help you," he said reassuringly.
Faramir nodded silently, but his eyes widened when he noticed the cane
in Aragorn's hands.
"I think there's a very easy way for you to deal with this,"
Aragorn said hurriedly in a soothing tone noting Faramir's reaction,
"I know you must have some awful memories of this cane, and I shan't
pretend that I understand how you feel. But I have travelled far and
wide and I have come across others who have been hurt, and I've always
found that the best way to deal with it is to confront it and destroy
it, and not to hide away from it. I know you will understand that because
you are a soldier."
Faramir nodded again, his expression inscrutable.
"So," Aragorn continued, "I think you should destroy
this." He held out the cane in his hand towards Faramir.
The Steward gaped at him a little, but made no move to take the cane
from his hands.
"Go on," Aragorn urged, "Take it. Break it in half over
your knee and throw it in the fire."
Faramir stared at the cane with increasing horror even as he tried
to maintain an outward visage of calm that he certainly did not feel.
Aragorn pushed it into his hands and he found his leaden fingers closing
around the hateful wood.
"Throw it in the fire," he heard Aragorn say and glanced
up to meet the compassionate eyes of the king.
He could throw it in the fire, he supposed but that would achieve little.
His nightmares would never go. He could never enter this study without
remembering his father's cold voice admonishing him.
"It is just a worthless piece of wood, Faramir," Aragorn
was saying.
*You are a worthless little fool,* Denethor had hissed into his ear
on countless occasions as he'd lain sprawled on the floor or the desk,
aching all over.
There was no way he could simply destroy the real problem, not when
he was part of that problem himself.
*Elessar is right,* he thought miserably, *I should have gone in the
fire.*
"Faramir," Aragorn's patient voice pulled him out of his
miserable reverie. He stared up at the King's face, and then at the
cane in his hands, and then at the fireplace. The flames danced before
his eyes, and for a brief second he was almost back in his dreams, their
heat licking his skin and hair, coming closer and closer...
"You must do it, Faramir," Aragorn's voice broke through
yet again, "Destroy this terrible reminder."
*But it isn't the only reminder that I fear,* Faramir wanted to tell
him as he gazed dismally at the large, ornate wooden desk that Aragorn
sat at every day. *Lower your pants and get over that table,* still
echoed in his mind every time he looked at it.
There was nothing to do but to get it over and done with as soon as
possible, he realized dimly. He had been a fool to even hope that the
memories could fade. They would remain.
He took the cane, broke it quickly and then threw the pieces in the
fire. It cackled as the wood fell in, and he watched almost mesmerised
as the flames greedily wrapped themselves around the pieces. He could
feel the heat on his skin, he could feel his lungs filling up with smoke
as the brown wood turned black The fire ate it slowly and in his mind
he could imagine the end result - nothing but ashes.
The House of Stewards was nothing but a pile of charred wood and ashes
now.
He stumbled away from the fireplace falling right into a chair nearby,
and sank his head in his hands.
He felt hands on his shoulders and stiffened immediately. *The king*
he thought desperately, as he tried to control his trembling fingers.
Clenching his fists he finally raised his head, and gave the King a
weak smile, "I must be more tired that I thought," he said
in as strong a voice as he could muster, "Would you excuse me,
Sire. I would return to my chambers."
He didn't wait for a response as he rose and nearly stumbled out of
the room.
Aragorn stared after Faramir in confusion and wondered whether to go
after him or not. But no, Faramir had left in a hurry and Aragorn could
understand he might want to spend some time alone after having to deal
with something like this that must still hurt.
He sighed and returned to the ever-present pile of papers on his desk,
only to be interrupted by Gandalf's rushed entry into the room.
"Aragorn! What happened? I just saw Faramir practically fleeing
this room!"
The wizard looked extremely worried so Aragorn hurried to placate him.
"Yes," he nodded knowingly, "He'll be a bit upset now,
but it's for the best. He told me what Denethor did to him, and I thought
the best way for him to deal with it is to confront it. You were being
too soft on him and he certainly was not making progress with that approach.
So I helped him confront his fears."
Gandalf frowned as he digested the information, "He told you what
Denethor did?" he asked in a cautious tone.
"He did, but after some encouragement. I found a cane amongst
Denethor's belongings in my study; so it wasn't very difficult to figure
out he hurt Faramir with more than scolding words. I told Faramir that
I knew about the cane during our walk in the garden and I asked him
outright if Denethor used to beat him. I knew it would be difficult
for him, and I could clearly see he was troubled by my question. Yet
he didn't avoid it and answered truthfully. I considered that a very
promising first step."
"A first step?" Gandalf asked testily, his voice
sounding ominously controlled
"Obviously," Aragorn retorted, "Voicing one's worries
is always the first step to recovery."
"Then what do you suggest is the second step?" Gandalf inquired,
his voice almost icily calm, a single eyebrow arching up in a manner
that reminded a suddenly uncomfortable Aragorn of his foster father.
"Well, in this case I thought it would be best if Faramir were
to destroy the cane himself and thereby mark the end of this dark part
of his life, so he can start healing. Therefore I encouraged him to
break the cane and burn it," Aragorn was beginning to get a sinking
feeling as he watched Gandalf's expression become progressively grimmer.
"Oh gods Aragorn!" Gandalf finally exploded, "What where
you thinking? Why didn't you speak with me first? You had him burn
it? Don't you know how his father died, how he almost died? Haven't
you seen how he responds to fire?"
The sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach and Aragorn found
himself staggering back into his chair in dismay. Oh gods! What ever
had he done... how could he have... no wonder Faramir had fled!
"And it's not just the cane," Gandalf continued angrily,
"You shouldn't have assumed it was as simple as that. My loyalty
to Faramir forbids me from saying any more but there is far more to
it than you think."
He turned towards the door, "I better go see him now. I hope you
haven't done too much damage - he really was making some progress the
last few days, even if you didn't see it."
Faramir tried his utmost to hide his distress from his mentor, when
Gandalf entered his room, but he was failing miserably.
"I just met Aragon," Gandalf stated without preamble.
Faramir looked up at him, he seemed to be fighting a losing battle
with his composure. His face was haggard and his fingers were shaking.
"I know you're upset, but I can only suggest what I did earlier...
Aragorn has misunderstood your worry once, it might happen again. He
might misunderstand something else, and I fear there will be no one
to help you merely because you do not trust any of us!"
"I do trust you," Faramir murmured unhappily.
"Then why do you not trust me when I say that it is best for you
that you speak of this to Aragorn. I can feel that he is the one who
can help you heal. I know he will. I realize he may have seemed stern
to you at first, but you must understand he was as confused as you were.
He really is an excellent person, Faramir, even though it may be better
if you did not tell him I said so!" Gandalf added, his eyes twinkling
but there was no response from Faramir.
"He would never want to hurt you Faramir... he is becoming quite
fond of you I can see. And it will hurt him tremendously if he were
to know that he is inadvertently hurting you, and all just because you
don't trust him to hear the truth," Gandalf said, hoping he was
not sounding too harsh and at the same time still feeling annoyed with
Aragorn for hurrying things along, and without asking him.
"I do trust you," was all Faramir would say when Gandalf
had finished. The Maia sighed and wondered what to do when a knock on
the door made him look up.
"I'd like to speak to Faramir," Aragorn said quietly.
Faramir turned towards him in surprise, while Gandalf gave him a look
that seemed to imply he'd done enough talking to last him a lifetime.
Aragorn gave the wizard a pointed look in return.
"Well, go ahead," Gandalf growled, "What did you want
to say? You should go to sleep, soon, Faramir. You've had a long day."
"I'm fine, Mithrandir," came the prompt though slightly shaky
reply, "Sire?"
"I won't take long," Aragorn promised and gave Gandalf a
half-pleading look, hoping he'd understand that he needed a few minutes
alone with Faramir. Surely, he could trust him to not repeat his error?
"I'll be back shortly," Gandalf said, and then turning to
Faramir, "think about what I told you."
When the door shut behind Gandalf, Aragorn turned to his steward who
had now stood up, "I came to apologise," he started.
"No, Sire, please don't. You were right. I needed to get over
it."
"Yes, but perhaps not this way," Aragorn started.
"No, I'm fine now, I really am. Much better. I can get back to
work now."
"Work? Why what's the hurry? Don't worry about the work. It's
all being handled just fine. You need rest still."
Faramir bit his lip and stared back at Aragorn, noting that his face
looked lined, and tired, as though he hadn't slept much. Of course,
he hadn't slept much he told himself. He was doing all that work Faramir
should have been doing. It probably took him all night, no wonder he
looked so exhausted, he thought fretfully. Not to mention the amount
of time he seemed to spend worrying over him. He shouldn't be sitting
back in bed like this. Father would never have tolerated it if he had
sat back just because he was a little ill, and Boromir had had to take
over his duties.
"In fact," Aragorn was continuing, "Even after you're
allowed up, I don't want you exerting yourself. You'll work minimal
hours, eat and sleep properly, and stay away from the construction sites.
Oh, and don't even thinking of riding out to join your men in Ithilien!"
Boromir never fell ill. If Boromir were here, this would not have happened.
He was so much stronger; he'd have handled everything properly.
"I'm sorry," he muttered softly, "I wish I hadn't fallen
ill."
"It's hardly your fault you are ill," Aragorn said, smiling
in an attempt to cheer Faramir up. The Steward looked far too forlorn,
"People do fall ill you know. And you have been injured recently."
Faramir looked out of the window, "Boromir wouldn't. He was always
strong and he'd never fall ill, not when there is so much to do."
He felt tears prick his eyes as he continued speaking, more to himself
now, forgetting where he stood as the heaviness settled on his aching
heart, "It is Boromir who ought to be here, not I. He went in my
stead. I should never have let him, then he'd still be alive, and you
would have a Steward worthy of serving you, not a weakling who merely
adds to your worries."
He lowered his head a little, and stared at the cold stone floor, his
shoulders heaving slightly.
Aragorn sighed heavily at the forlorn little speech. Very gently he
placed a hand under Faramir's chin and lifted his head so that the glistening
grey eyes looked into his.
"I would have liked greatly to have Boromir here alive too. Just
as I like having you here alive. I would have loved it if both of you
were here now by my side helping me rule Gondor. But that is not to
be, and while I do mourn for him, and I know you miss him greatly, I
am happy that at least I have you. I could not wish for a more dedicated
steward and I hope a dearer friend."
Faramir's expression was almost comical in its confusion at Aragorn's
little speech. The king sighed and then almost impulsively wrapped his
arms loosely around the younger man.
"I do mean it," he said quietly, "you are an asset to
this kingdom and I am very lucky to have you by my side."
He drew back and gave him a reassuring smile, which was returned with
a very small and extremely uneasy smile.
Chapter 7
Faramir made his way slowly back to his rooms from the gardens, feeling
much better after breathing in the cool, fresh air outside. Mithrandir
and the king would probably scold him for going out alone, but he really
hadn't felt like waiting. He'd been wide awake after eating his afternoon
meal and it had felt a shame to not slip out for a while both of them
had gone to have their own meal. He felt a little guilty for the time
both of them spent with him, especially when the king sat by him for
so much time, more so after the incident with his father’s cane.
He repressed a shudder at the thought of seeing it being consumed by
the flames. It was such thoughts that made him feel grateful for their
gesture in spending time with him and a tiny part of him welcomed their
presence almost greedily finding in it an escape from the dark thoughts
that always assailed him when he felt at his weakest.
His thoughts were rudely interrupted when he felt a hand grab his elbow,
as he turned into a hallway near the council rooms. He half-turned to
see Councillor Tarnost behind him and felt himself stiffening immediately.
He had never been very fond of Tarnost, one of his father's closest
friends. Something about the man had always induced a fear in him. He
thought he knew what the cause might be, but he preferred not to have
his mind dwell on that event. He stared back into the aging
face trying to maintain a dignity in his bearing.
"Faramir! It is good to see you well again, dear boy,"
the older man purred, nudging him into the small alcove nearby, "I
heard you were ill and that the King himself has been taking an interest
in your recovery?"
Faramir frowned as his back hit the wall and the fingers tightened
around his arm. They were interrupted before he could even think of
replying.
"Oh he would wouldn't he? Faramir must be offering him his 'services'."
Faramir looked up startled, his heart hammering loudly. He knew that
voice so well, still hearing it in some of his worst dreams oft times.
Soft and cultured at all times, "Why else would he actually listen
to any of his suggestions?"
"Ah, Calembel. I was just telling young Faramir here how nice
it was to see him well again! He does look good, does he not?"
"Indeed," smirked the other councillor, his eyes blatantly
roaming down Faramir's body, "so good it makes me regret I haven't
seen more of you of late."
Faramir stood frozen, a familiar pounding starting off in his head,
a nauseous feeling threatening to overcome him. Their nearness threatened
to bring back a flood of memories he had fought long to repress. He'd
always wondered if Tarnost had been there during one of those fateful
days when he'd undergone the 'lesson' as his father had termed it. Now
he knew. Those fingers that clutched his elbow now were the same clammy
fingers that had dug into his waist to hold him down while... he gulped
at the unbidden memories trying to force himself back to the present.
They were still speaking and he was pushed against the wall now.
"I thought you might no longer be interested now, but obviously
if you're willing to satisfy the king's craving, you're just as much
the depraved young lad you always were. I'm sure you didn't lose a moment
to throw your filthy body at his disposal."
Faramir tried desperately to ignore the jibes even as he wondered frantically
what they were speaking of. How could they talk of their king in such
depraved terms? Elessar? His king was to marry a beautiful Elven maiden...
how could they think of suggesting someone as tainted as he could cater
to Elessar's physical needs!
"That is good!" exclaimed Calembel, "I have often desired
to repeat the wonderful experience we once shared, Faramir dear, but
your father would not agree, and one must respect one's friend's wishes
after all. I am sure he would not mind if we were to continue where
we left off now. You did seem to enjoy it then. After all, you never
protested."
He’d been too dazed and shocked to protest at first and later
too scared. Protesting was what had got him into that predicament to
begin with; he didn't dare to protest any more for fear of even worse
repercussions. He could feel that same awful fear inching back now.
"Indeed. I've never had such a willing bed mate," Tarnost
said, pushing Faramir further up against the wall. Calembel came and
stood by him, and Faramir found himself feeling closed in as their bodies
nearly touched his. He tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come out,
"I wonder if the King knows yet what a lovely obedient whore he's
found himself?"
"Have you shown him the wonders of your talented mouth? You were
better than the women in taverns in the third circle," Calembel
murmured, running a finger down Faramir's face and then along his lips,
then down his chin onto his neck.
"We must get together once again, dearest," Tarnost purred
and Faramir suddenly felt a hand slide around his waist into his leggings,
to cup his buttocks. He gasped in mortification inducing soft laughter
from the two men.
"I must leave now," Calembel said, even as he toyed with
the bindings of Faramir's tunic, exposing his collar bone, and slipped
his fingers in, running them lightly over his skin, "But never
fear, child, I'll give you a fine experience soon."
"As must I," Tarnost said regretfully, letting Faramir go,
but not before squeezing his buttocks lightly.
Faramir made it as far as the hallways before stumbling against the
wall, breathing heavily, the touch of the prying hands still lingering
on his flesh. These men would always be there to remind him, he thought
bleakly, no matter what Mithrandir said or did. He could not take away
all the awful memories, not ones like these that he could share with
no one. And these were not the only memories that left him so shaken...
his father had seen to that.
For a few brief days he'd forgotten how these men could induce fear
in him by their very presence. He'd always known with his father around
they would not come near him without Denethor's leave; Faramir had ensured
Denethor never had occasion to resort to that again. But now, with Denethor
gone... surely they would not...? And yet, wasn't that what they'd said...
He tried to straighten up, leaning against the wall, and closed his
eyes to take a deep breath and calm himself. They couldn't harm him
now. Mithrandir and Elessar would ensure they wouldn't. But then, they
mustn't know.
"Faramir!" he heard the king call out to him, and felt his
breathing turn rapid.
"S-Sire," he managed to squeak out.
"Are you alright?" Aragorn demanded, "Are you running
a fever again? I told you not to strain yourself, didn't I? You were
supposed to be in bed, weren't you?"
"I'm fine," Faramir said in as calm a voice as he could manage.
He knew he was looking flushed. He could feel the heat on his face and
cheeks. He clenched his fists.
"You certainly don't look fine to me," Aragorn retorted and
grabbed Faramir's arm lifting his other hand to check his forehead,
and then his throat, where the bindings of the tunic had fallen open.
Aragorn's hand around his arm felt so warm and reassuring, unlike those
hard, clammy fingers that had touched him earlier, that Faramir felt
his bare minimal control slip away, and promptly fell into Aragorn's
arms, leaning his head into the strong chest and shutting his eyes so
he could simply savour being near his strength and courage. The king
would help him, he knew... Mithrandir had told him to trust him, he'd
trust him to protect him, he had to. He had no one else. And Mithrandir
would be leaving soon.
Aragorn forgot his momentary surprise to pull Faramir closer into his
embrace. It was obvious the younger man needed his nearness and truth
be told, he quite liked it. He'd often wanted to hold Faramir in his
arms, he was convinced he could help the younger man. He continued holding
him, realising bemusedly that he could become quite fond of this nearness.
Faramir's head rested against his chest and he could feel his warm breath,
coming out in small gasps... He could even see the tiny pulse that beat
erratically at the base of Faramir's throat in that tiny dip where the
bindings had come undone.
He didn't have to wonder too much what had caused this panic attack.
He'd seen two of his older councillors walking down the other hallway
with far too smug expressions their faces. He'd noticed a tendency among
the older members of his council to deride Faramir constantly, especially
nowadays while Faramir himself was not present. He gently tightened
his hold on the almost trembling figure comfortingly.
Faramir stiffened as Aragorn's arms tightened around him, and realised
he was clinging to his king like a child. He drew back hastily, horrified
at having forgotten himself so.
Aragorn let him go immediately, noticing the wariness take over.
"I'm – I'm sorry, Sire," Faramir gasped out backing
away some more.
"It's all right, Faramir," Aragorn started in a soothing
tone, "you seemed unwell?"
"No – no... I'm fine. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have –
shouldn't have... I've creased your robes," he said frantically.
Aragorn waved the last bit away, wondering what Faramir would say if
he saw him in his ranger outfit, "You don't look very fine,"
he repeated.
"I – I'm just tired," Faramir blurted out, still mortified
at having thrown himself into his king's arms. How could he have done
that. There was a protocol to be maintained between the King and those
who served him, and he had just breached that quite magnificently and
that after everything his father's friends had insinuated. Elessar had
simply been kind to him, it was in his nature to do so, he was a fine
and honourable man after all... and he in turn had taken advantage of
that, and thrown himself at Elessar, just as Calembel and Tarnost had
said. How could he have been so stupid?
Aragorn simply sighed, even as Faramir's mind went into turmoil, "Come
on then, back to your room now!" he said firmly, and taking Faramir's
numb arm in hand, guided him back to his room.
"Rest now," he said as he left after ensuring Faramir had
lain down on his bed. Faramir simply nodded numbly. He didn't think
he could rise right now, his knees wouldn't support him.
Faramir glanced around the small room in fear. It was dark and he could
see little from the corner he was huddled in, but he knew he must make
an awful sight. His tunic and hair were filthy from being rolled around
on the dirty floor for so long, and he was covered in bumps and bruises
and dried saliva and semen. He winced as he tried to move into a more
comfortable position. He was cold having on nothing but a now torn and
ragged tunic and sore all over but more so in some places than others.
Perhaps he should simply stretch out on his stomach. His ears were straining
to hear sounds outside though there was little he could do even if he
had advance notice of a visitor, for by now he was so tired and pained
he could barely move.
"Please," he had mumbled incoherently over and over again
all through the terrifying ordeal as one satiated advisor was replaced
by another, then another, each using him gleefully, and even now when
he was here all alone, waiting, wondering when the next visit would
happen, when he'd be grabbed by rough hands, and forced to give in.
His father was right. He should never have protested.
"Please, Father let me go! I'll never refuse you again,"
he wept over and over again his voice cracking, as strange hands touched
him, grabbing, pinching, hurting him deliberately and gleefully. But
his father either wasn't there or was simply ignoring him as ever, delighting
instead in his helplessness.
And then the footsteps came again, and the door opened, a stream of
weak light filtering into the room. He cowered in the dark, breathing
heavily. He was a child no more, he was an Ithilien Ranger now, and
yet... he was terrified.
Someone bent over him and he sobbed harshly, trying to move away from
the hands that he knew would touch him hurtfully.
Gandalf frowned as a soft frightened cry sounded out of the Steward's
room. Quickly, he pushed the door open and hurried to Faramir's bedside.
He knew he shouldn't have left him alone. The nightmares had still not
abated. The bed was in complete disarray, the covers half off the bed,
exposing the still recovering body to the pre-dawn chill.
Faramir was whimpering as he curled into himself, shivering all the
while. Gandalf grabbed the covers and covered the slight frame, before
pulling him into his arms. Faramir continued to flail his limbs weakly,
trying to resist the wizard's hold.
"Please," he begged, trying ineffectively to push away the
arms that were wrapped around him, "Please let me go..."
"Hush now, young one," Gandalf whispered softly, hoping to
calm him, "It's all right. I'm here now. He won't harm you."
The grey eyes flew open at his voice, confused and hurting.
"Mithrandir," Faramir whispered in a sleep-leaden voice,
"Mithrandir. It's you," the relief in the voice was unmistakable.
Gandalf could feel the silent tears seeping into his robe.
"Yes, I'm here now. Go back to sleep child. It is still dark outside.
I shan't let anyone harm you."
The wizard stayed awake all night, unable to sleep, watching over his
charge.
Aragorn walked briskly towards Faramir's rooms. He hadn't been able
to check on Faramir yet today and he hadn't even seen Gandalf around,
a thought that suddenly made him panic. He hadn't realised till now
how important it was becoming to him that Faramir recover completely
and he realised strangely it had very little to do with the amount of
paper lying on his desk.
Faramir was curled in the bed, his head on Gandalf's lap, the slight
frame swaddled in a thick blanket. The wizard was gently combing his
fingers through the young man's hair.
"How is he today?" Aragorn whispered softly, taking in the
faint tracks on the cheeks that he realised with dismay, could only
be caused by tears.
"He had a rough night," Gandalf responded grimly, "So
I thought it I'd ensure he slept in today. He woke a while ago but he
was so exhausted I made him have a little food and go right back to
sleep."
Aragorn nodded approvingly and sat on the other side of the bed. Faramir
was lying comfortably on Gandalf's lap, and despite the signs of sorrow
marring his face, his strong sense of honour and sincerity still shone
through. He looked almost beautiful to him. Aragorn simply could not
understand how anyone could want to hurt him in any way at all. Gandalf's
fingers continued stroking the dark hair and it was obvious that it
soothed Faramir.
Aragorn had a strange feeling he would like very much to be in Gandalf's
place; to be able to have Faramir slumbering peacefully in his arms,
while he stroked away all his worries. He found he wanted to ensure
Faramir had nothing to fear, he'd protect the younger man from anyone
or anything that threatened him in any way at all. He tentatively reached
out a hand and placed it on Faramir's hand, gently clasping it, and
began to slowly stroke the skin with his thumb, oblivious to the close
scrutiny Gandalf gave him.
"I'm so relieved to see him rest peacefully for a change."
Aragorn sighed.
Gandalf nodded in agreement, "His nightmares are so intense, ferocious
almost; simply watching him scares me sometimes."
"Well, no wonder he's having horrible nightmares. I'm still having
nightmares after merely seeing Denethor rape him once, and
he has suffered years of abuse!"
"You fool of a Took!" Gandalf growled turning towards the
door from whence the unexpected voice came, "Do you never knock
before entering someone's private chambers?"
"I'm sorry, Gandalf. I had my hands full – see?" Pippin
lifted the tray a bit higher, presenting a pot of tea, cups and a plate
with an array of delicacies.
"I thought you might like a bit of afternoon tea." He said
cheerfully, smiled and looked around the room, expecting his efforts
to be met with appreciation.
Instead what he saw made him start back and almost spill the tea. Faramir
was pale as he was the afternoon he had just referred to, sitting up
wide awake now and staring at him in terror. When Faramir tentatively
shifted his gaze towards Aragorn, Pippin's eyes followed to find the
king trembling, and staring at Faramir with a similar look of horror,
though immediately changing into one of confusion and concern once Faramir's
eyes were upon him.
It took the hobbit a few seconds to comprehend the situation, but then
it dawned on him.
"He didn't know?" he whispered to Gandalf.
Chapter 8
'No, he didn't,' Gandalf said quietly as he took in the situation around
him, 'Pippin, I think you should leave now.'
'But –,' the young hobbit started, unhappily, his eyes glistening
with unshed tears as he noticed the little scene playing out in front
of him, 'I didn't –' he broke off with a low sob.
'I know,' Gandalf said in a kind but low voice, 'Why don't you leave
that tea here, Pippin, and get some for yourself in the kitchens. I'll
join you soon. Save some cake for me.'
Shuttling Pippin out of the room, Gandalf turned back to his young
friends. Aragorn was still staring at a mortified Faramir.
'He... raped you? And for years, like Pippin said? Why? How?
I mean– why haven't you told me before?'
Faramir didn't reply. He had transferred his gaze to his hands, as
they played with the hem of his blanket. Gandalf sighed heavily, and
went to sit by Faramir and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling
him close, while ensuring that he could face Aragorn.
'You have to talk about it some time,' he tried softly but got no response.
He looked up at Aragorn who still stood there, incredulous.
'Yes, he raped him,' he said finally, squeezing Faramir's shoulder
gently. The young man slumped back against him, defeated.
'You knew?' Aragorn turned to him promptly, surprised and hurt, 'and
Pippin too! How many know of this?'
'Only we know, and only recently,' Gandalf replied, 'It had been happening
for years.'
Faramir emitted a low gulping sound at that and tried to cover his
face with his hands but Gandalf gently stopped him.
'I wish I had found out earlier, though,' the wizard said, 'All these
years. You hid it very well,' he addressed Faramir here, 'I could not
even guess on my visits to Minas Tirith – when you said you were
merely tired or fatigued every time I inquired about your stiff gestures...
I suppose if I had paid a little more heed -'
Aragorn stared at Faramir in shock, still trying to process what he
had just heard. Taking in the sight of the forlorn face, the wet eyelashes,
and the tiny little sniffs, he instinctively sat on Faramir's other
side, and wrapped an arm around him, feeling almost stupidly glad that
he wasn't pushed away as expected.
Faramir blinked and let the tears fall.
Aragorn inched a little closer, his face still mirroring the shock
he felt.
'And if Pippin hadn't found out, you'd never have let anyone know',
Gandalf continued quietly, 'You'd simply have suffered in silence and
I would have let you do so unknowing. You hid it from everyone so well!
Even Boromir. And now Aragorn. He thinks you worry over your father's
words and beatings.'
'For years?' Aragorn mouthed.
'Since he was thirteen,' Gandalf told the horrified king, and then
continued speaking to Faramir, 'But now that I do know about it, it
is the least I can do to ensure that I help you recover. Do you not
always say that you count me a friend? And don't tell me you don't still
suffer from what he did to you. You have nightmares each night! Isn't
that why you had been working all night instead of sleeping?'
Aragorn gave a guilty start at that. He wanted desperately to hug the
softly sobbing young man and assure him everything was going to be all
right, but he knew very well that that gesture would only cause Faramir
more distress. Gandalf seemed to know what he was doing.
'I let you go the last time,' the wizard was saying, 'I felt there
was no course but for you to do your utmost to defend Gondor. But that's
not the case now, so rest assured, whether you desire it or not, I will
see you recover.'
The sobs intensified, and Aragorn felt his own eyes tearing up, as
he instinctively hugged Faramir.
'I'll get you some of that tea,' Gandalf murmured, and rose. Aragorn's
arms tightened and he pulled Faramir close carefully, letting his head
rest on his shoulder, the silent tears staining the fine cloth of his
tunic.
Gandalf watched Aragorn and Faramir thoughtfully as he poured the tea
into a cup. The king was running his hands up and down Faramir’s
arm soothingly, and the Steward seemed to unconsciously inch closer
to the source of comfort. Faramir was in perfectly good hands Gandalf
decided silently. He was obviously in no state to speak though... best
to leave him to sleep... Aragorn could see to that; he was so eager
to help, and it would give him time to collect his thoughts. Gandalf
put aside the teapot, as he recollected Pippin’s distress.
'Here,' he said as he handed the cup to Aragorn, 'Make him drink that.
I need to go and see how Pippin is doing. Poor fellow seemed very upset.'
Bending down, he dropped a kiss on Faramir's lowered head, 'Rest now,
child. All will be well.'
Aragorn nodded distractedly at Gandalf, his attention firmly affixed
on Faramir. He held the cup to Faramir's mouth forcing him to lift his
tear-streaked face.
'Drink,' he said gently, but firmly, and handed the cup to the distraught
man.
Faramir's fingers were shaking as he took the cup, but he held it.
Aragorn continued to hold him in his arms, trying to think of anything
to say, but sensing that nothing he might say at this moment would be
of much help.
'I'm sorry,' he said finally, 'But I'm glad I now know. There was no
need for you to hide this from me. I yearned greatly to help you, my
friend, and now I know what troubles you so, I will do just that.'
Faramir stayed silent, sipping at the tea, tears continuing to run
down his face. Aragorn continued to have his arms wrapped loosely around
him.
Once Faramir had finished the tea, he took the cup from the numb fingers,
and kissed him softly on his head, sighing silently as he hoped he could
live up to his promise.
'Would you like to rest now?' he suggested quietly, knowing the tea
would induce sleep, he’d smelt the relaxing herbs in it.
Faramir didn't try to move out of his embrace. He seemed too spent
to think of it.
Aragorn started to rub soft circles on his back, hoping it would relax
the tense young man.
'I'm here now,' he whispered softly, 'I'll look after you.'
Faramir dropped off into a restless sleep shortly, but Aragorn continued
to hold him.
Gandalf found a rather distraught hobbit waiting anxiously for him
in the kitchen.
'Gandalf, I'm so sorry! I didn't realize Strider didn't know. He spends
so much time caring for Faramir and he seems so worried about him. I
really thought Strider knew about this,' Pippin said in a frantic rush.
He dropped his eyes unhappily, 'I messed up again, didn't I?'
'It's not that bad, my dear Pippin. If anything, your characteristic
rash action actually made me feel relieved this time. I wasn't pleased
at all with the way Faramir was hiding Denethor's abuse from Aragorn.
I can understand he felt embarrassed and didn't want to talk about it,
but it wasn't helping his recovery at all. He has had to live with it
for over twenty years; it's an inevitable part of who he is now. Hiding
from it won't make it go away. He has to face his demons before he can
overcome them, and Aragorn can be a great help in that. And you're right,
he indeed cares deeply for him.'
Gandalf paused to reach for some cake as Pippin nodded seriously. The
young hobbit had been extremely unhappy to see Faramir ailing while
the others were so cheerful and he'd truly been glad when he'd thought
that Strider was helping his friend be happy once again.
'Truth be told,' Gandalf continued at a distinctly brighter tone, 'Aragorn
isn't blind and asked me, on more than one occasion, if I knew what
was troubling Faramir. Yet Faramir had me promise not to tell anyone,
least of all Aragorn. Obviously I couldn't betray his trust, even if
it went against my own inclination. It was most awkward.'
With a wink the old wizard pushed the last of the cake in Pippin's
direction, 'You actually saved me from a very precarious situation!'
Pippin stared at him doubtfully, but helped himself to the cake nevertheless,
sighing silently and hoping Faramir would indeed get better earlier
now.
Faramir was still in Aragorn's arms when Gandalf returned to his room.
Aragorn sat running his fingers mechanically through the younger man's
hair; his troubled eyes were gazing out of the window. His thoughts
seemed to be elsewhere.
'Is he asleep?' Gandalf asked, causing the king to glance up at him.
Aragorn nodded and then very gently laid Faramir back on the bed, tucking
the covers neatly around him and very gently wiping away the tears on
his pale cheeks. Gandalf watched quietly, wondering when the barrage
of questions would start. Aragorn however turned quietly to him, 'He
has not eaten. He must wake by evening and eat a little. He cannot afford
to miss more meals. I know you would like to stay with him,' he said,
'I shall have your noon meal sent to you here.'
'Aragorn,' Gandalf's voice halted him, 'How was he faring?'
He turned around, his troubled eyes meeting the wizard's gaze unhappily,
'I could not tell. He cried and then he slept off.'
Gandalf nodded grimly.
He left quietly, and returned to his study where he leafed through
his papers unseeingly. He could still remember Denethor from his days
as Thorongil, the stern faced son of the then Steward Ecthelion. He
had been cold natured, inured already to the harshness the Stewardship
seemed to demand, seeing control and dominance as the means to rule
a land labouring under the shadow's threat.
Yet at the same time he remembered the glimpses he had seen of Denethor's
private life: despite the cold demeanour he greeted all others with,
he had never seen him as anything but an affectionate and devoted husband
to his new bride and later a proud and loving father to his infant first-born
son. He could not fathom why Denethor would have wanted to treat his
own son as he did. And yet, Aragorn could believe that he would.
From all Boromir had said Denethor had showered all his love and affection
upon his heir, and kept none for his younger son.
He could not get Faramir’s stricken expression out of his mind.
That Faramir had borne the brunt of Denethor’s scorn Aragorn had
guessed from all he had heard. To realize that the scorn had translated
into physical abuse had been bad enough, but to find out now that Denethor
had done far worse to Faramir... it explained much of Faramir’s
mood these days, Aragorn thought heavily.
*Poor Faramir... All these years, and no one ever got to know... not
even Boromir... how could he withstand it...*
Aragorn was back in his Steward's room that evening. Gandalf had sent
him a message telling him Faramir was awake. He found the younger man
lying on his side, his back to the door, and the tray of food only half-eaten.
'Faramir?' he said softly.
There was no response from the figure on the bed, save for a very slight
stiffening of the back, which Aragorn almost missed. When he rounded
the bed, he found the younger man had his eyes closed.
'Faramir?' he repeated, his voice still soft.
There was no response. He seemed fast asleep, and yet Aragorn knew
he was not. He sighed and made to leave the room. Faramir was probably
quite exhausted given what he had gone through earlier. He could understand
if he didn't feel like talking to anyone.
A soft cough sounded from the door. He glanced up to see Gandalf there.
'He's sleeping,' he said shortly, 'I do not wish to disturb him. He
needs rest still.'
Gandalf sighed silently, 'I had hoped he would eat some more before
sleeping again.'
Aragorn nodded and then walked over to the window, standing with his
back to the other occupants of the room.
'Gandalf, if I know him well enough, he may well turn away from me
now, will he not?'
'He will not be happy with himself for having cried in front of you,
yes,' Gandalf replied, seating himself on a chair by Faramir's bedside
and helping himself to an apple from his plate, 'He is not even happy
that he has fallen ill in your presence... He fears to be seen as weak
and... now I think he will fear that you will look down upon him.'
'I do not see him as weak,' Aragorn said firmly, 'Anything but that.
After what I have learnt today, even less so. And I would not want him
to turn away from me from fear that I may look down upon him for what
is not his fault.'
'Indeed,' Gandalf murmured.
He turned around, his eyes hard, 'I do mean that Gandalf! He is a fine
young man and one that I have grown to wish as a good friend, and if
a friend of mine were to hurt as this young one surely is, then I would
do all I can to help them. I hope you will let me, will you Faramir?'
his tone suddenly went softer.
Gandalf watched the bed interestedly, where a rather surprised Faramir
was sitting up and staring numbly at his king.
The eyes fell at the mention of his name.
'Look at me, Faramir,' Aragorn entreated gently, 'I know you feel I
have intruded upon something you were not ready to share with me, but
please, I think of you as a very dear friend now. Will you not think
thus of me as well?'
'He's right, lad,' Gandalf said quietly, 'What happened to you is now
no longer a secret between just you and Denethor. Then you had no one
to turn to for no one knew what was happening but now we do, so let
us help you.'
Faramir eyes were bright with tears when he looked up, 'I don't deserve
it,' he said softly, 'All these efforts you waste upon me, I am not
worth all this.'
'Ssh,' Aragorn said, seating himself on the bed by Faramir, 'You are
worth all that and much more.'
He shook his head unhappily, 'I am not even worth being the Steward.'
'We have discussed that before. Let us not speak of it again. You are
my Steward by virtue of your birth and you will remain my Steward by
virtue of your ability. I do not think any other man in this kingdom
could help me sort out that mess that is lying on my table!'
Faramir looked unconvinced still, and when Gandalf urged him once again
to let them help, Aragorn thought he looked positively scared, and yet,
he hadn't pushed him away.
*Thankfully!*
Well, even if he tried, he was going to find his king was not at all
easy to push away. He gently grasped Faramir’s hand and squeezed
it lightly, and smiled in an attempt to reassure his surprised Steward.
Chapter 9
Aragorn rose from Faramir's room only after seeing the young man sleep
off in Gandalf's arms after a light dinner. Faramir had looked so small
and so scared, and the unhappiness that still remained in his eyes would
not leave Aragorn's mind. He was afraid too that the younger man might
have exhausted himself further with all the emotional turmoil he'd undergone
and made a mental note to check on him,
"How is Pippin?" he had asked Gandalf wearily.
"Oh, he'll do fine."
"How did he know, Gandalf?"
Gandalf sighed, "He found Faramir retching after he had been with
Denethor. I came across them shortly after and that was how I learnt
of it."
"When?"
"Before he left for the final charge on Osgiliath."
"He raped him before sending him out to what was nearly his death?"
Aragorn said aghast, and then promptly turned around and excused himself
as he felt tears welling up. He went into his room and just stood there
for a moment, leaning back against the closed door, taking a couple
of deep breaths as he struggled to compose himself. Yet soon he had
to admit defeat, and had to rush to his antechamber to disgorge much
of what he'd eaten that evening.
Faramir spent much of his waking hours the next morning trying not
to think of all that had happened, even though what had happened had
been something he had dreaded ever so much. He had laboured for years
to let none know what he was enduring and now in these few months, it
seemed the secret was his no longer. He was no longer sure of what to
feel of that, and especially of the fact that now the king too knew
the truth about him now.
He had not reacted as Faramir had thought he would. He had not pushed
him away in disgust. He had not called him all those names that his
father's voice threw back at him in his dreams. He acted instead much
like Mithrandir did, offering comfort and kind words. Faramir was fast
beginning to see why the wizard had insisted so that he confide in Elessar.
And Elessar thought of him as a dear friend... he had said so... despite
all he knew of Faramir. It left a very pleasant and warm feeling inside
Faramir, and his lips curled unconsciously in a shy smile, as he remembered
how Aragorn had held his hands the evening prior. The strong fingers
had clutched his trembling hands, and wiped the stray tears off his
cheek with an affection Faramir had known from none but his brother.
But what if he had changed his mind overnight? What if he had slept
on it and now realised how unworthy Faramir was of being a friend of
one as noble as he?
Faramir sighed, and tried to think of something else, anything else,
as he rose and readied himself.
Gandalf and Aragorn came by soon. He found himself nervously glancing
at the king's face for any sign of displeasure, instead all he saw was
a little weariness. Well, he would be weary he thought glumly.
"Good morning," the king said softly, and smiled at him.
Faramir smiled back a little warily, and returned the greeting softly,
as his breakfast was brought in by one of the servants.
The huge pile of food on the plate reminded him of Pippin.
"Mithrandir," he said anxiously causing the wizard to give
him a sharp but concerned glance, "How is Pippin?"
"He's fine," the wizard said gently, "Would you like
to meet him after you've eaten?"
Faramir nodded, "Yes, please."
He picked his way through the breakfast, not feeling very hungry, and
was promptly scolded gently by Mithrandir.
"You're too skinny," the wizard said, "And you've been
skipping meals in your illness. And don't say you're not. That tunic
hangs on you!" Faramir had the grace to blush a little at that,
"Aragorn wants to take a look at you, by the way. We're afraid
you might fall ill again."
"But, Mithrandir –"
"Hush, now! Let Aragorn look at you. And look at his shoulder
will you, it's hurting him again, isn't it?"
Aragorn came and sat by the half-protesting young man and checked his
temperature and pulse, well aware that some degree of wariness had returned
to Faramir's demeanour, "You're looking a lot better," he
said, as he slowly slipped the tunic off the injured shoulder, and examined
it, probing and squeezing gently, "It's still a little stiff isn't
it?"
Faramir almost tensed at first when the tunic was slipped off and then
felt absurd. Aragorn's fingers had the most comforting touch he realised
suddenly.
"Just a little," he said softly.
Aragorn nodded, "Elrohir has some salves that could be useful.
I'll ask him for them." He slipped the tunic back on and then sat
back and looked at Faramir intently.
Faramir thought he looked a little tired.
"So I can return to work soon?" he asked softly.
"Soon," Aragorn smiled gently, before realising he'd been
staring at Faramir, "Not immediately. If you like, work from here
a few days."
That brought some brightness to Faramir's face. Aragorn shook his head
in wonder.
Aragorn watched from a balcony as Faramir sat on a garden bench with
Pippin. Snatches of conversation drifted up to him, Pippin's voice at
first subdued, and then progressively animated as Faramir deliberately
made his own voice cheerful. By the time the two had risen from the
bench the young hobbit was laughing aloud and back to his cheerful self.
They followed that routine the next couple of days, allowing Faramir
to work from his room. It gave him the distraction from his thoughts
that he craved. He walked in the gardens often too, alone at times and
at other times, in Pippin or Merry's company. He was as yet too shy
to seek out the others.
Aragorn was trying desperately to ensure he didn't let his unhappiness
show through to Faramir. The younger man had enough burdens as it was.
But he couldn't keep it away from the others, and especially not from
Gandalf. The wizard finally cornered him on one of the balconies as
he sat watching Faramir talking to the young hobbits in the garden below.
The hobbits were munching their way through a small picnic basket Faramir
had thoughtfully had the kitchen prepare for them.
"You're unhappy for him," Gandalf spoke without preamble.
"Yes," Aragorn said heavily, "He didn't deserve it...
not he... look at him, Gandalf! He is kind, generous, warm-hearted and
selfless. He deserved none of what he went through! How could anyone
hurt someone like him?"
"Well, we'll just have ensure he's never hurt again..." Gandalf
said heavily, "You will do that for me won't you Aragorn?"
Aragorn looked back at him puzzled.
The wizard gazed back calmly, "I know I cannot stay here forever
and reassure myself on that count but I know I can trust you to ensure
he's never hurt again."
Aragorn nodded quietly.
"You are fond of him, aren't you, Gandalf?" he said after
a while.
"Yes, I am. He was always a sweet little thing. He used to tag
around behind me all the time whenever I visited and never stopped asking
questions when he was young, and when he was older, he would just listen."
"Why didn't you take him away, Gandalf!" Aragorn burst out
suddenly, "You knew he was unhappy!"
"If I had but an inkling of the true cause of his unhappiness..."
Gandalf responded heavily, "But I never did... he hid it well.
He was always outwardly happy and cheerful, interested and clever and
witty... it wasn't often I met one like that and so young. He impressed
me immensely. And with him around my work in Minas Tirith was so much
easier, he was always so eager to help me. If I had but known, I would
have brought him away as soon as I could... taken him to Lothlórien
perhaps.... Left him under Celeborn's care... or Rivendell."
"I wish you had," Aragorn said quietly, "I would have
loved to have known him earlier on."
Gandalf frowned suddenly, causing Aragorn to glance up at him surprised,
"Do you remember... you came with me once while we were searching
for Gollum...you would not enter the city but you asked about the young
man who rode out with me..."
Aragorn remembered the glimpse he'd had from a distance, of a young
man in a ranger outfit, raven-haired and grey eyed, hanging on to every
word the old wizard said... Aragorn had thought then there was something
about the boy, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Gandalf
had dismissed him as merely a young acquaintance, a curious child naturally
interested in what a wizard could tell about the world outside the White
City. Aragorn hadn't pressed the issue. He gasped now. That was Faramir.
The thin, quiet, unhappy looking boy.
It did not take long after that for the guilt to set in.
"I didn't think it wise for you two to meet, not at that time,"
Gandalf spoke softly as he saw the expression on Aragorn's face change.
"Sometimes I think I could have discovered his secret, had I really
wanted to. Maybe it is not so much that he hid it too deep, but rather
that I did not want to see."
The wizard rubbed his brow and sighed dejectedly before he continued,
"Oh I knew his father was harsh and thought he hit him occasionally,
but Faramir never spoke of it and I didn't ask. You sensed there was
something about him too, and I kept you apart, but I think not just
because of the implications on your future as a king. I wonder if perhaps
somewhere in my mind, I was too afraid of the implications of our knowing
entirely what was wrong. Had I known, I would have been obliged to take
action. It's easy enough to say I would have taken him away, though
what would Denethor have done then? Perhaps, somehow, I felt it was
better not to find out."
Aragorn frowned, he had never seen Gandalf like this. "My dear
friend, I know you worry about Faramir a great deal, but I think that
line of thought is neither constructive, nor healthy. Have you been
getting enough sleep lately?"
Gandalf responded with a morose silence.
Faramir paced his room distractedly. He'd slept badly the previous
night and so had spent the whole day trying to distract himself from
the thought of those nightmares, first immersing himself in some paperwork
and then seeking out Pippin who was back to his usual cheerful self
now. But Pippin had had to leave and now he truly needed another distraction.
It was a little difficult though, for Mithrandir had taken all his paperwork,
telling him he looked tired.
"And how do you feel?" Aragorn's voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Terrible," Faramir muttered.
"What happened?"
"Mithrandir took away my papers," Faramir said almost petulantly.
"Did he? Hmm... I wonder why!"
Faramir missed the gentle sarcasm entirely, "That's just what
I asked him!"
"Perhaps because someone needs rest? You don't look like you have
been sleeping well," Aragorn suggested quietly.
"I was not sleepy," Faramir mumbled.
"You are still not sleeping well, are you?" Aragorn said
worriedly.
Faramir sighed. There were times when Elessar was more like Mithrandir
than he'd ever know. Neither stopped fussing. And like the wizard, he
thought he detected a note of guilt.
"I have ever been a light sleeper," he said flatly.
"Oh," Aragorn said a little dismayed. He could well guess
why Faramir might sleep lightly.
"It's a good trait for a ranger," Faramir said suddenly.
"Yes," Aragorn agreed quietly.
"Is aught the matter, sire?" Faramir asked sharply, not missing
Aragorn's listless tones, "You seem worried."
"Nay!" Aragorn replied too hurriedly, "'tis nothing."
Faramir looked quite unconvinced, so he continued, "I just –
I just wish..." he rubbed the bridge of his nose absently. He'd
been thinking of this awhile.
"I do wish – I could have helped you earlier, Faramir. I
wish I had done something!"
Faramir looked at him puzzled, "But what could you have done?
You were not even here. You couldn't have known. You couldn't even have
known I existed."
"Perhaps I should have not waited so many years. If I had not
waited so long, if I had come to Gondor earlier..."
"But there was reason behind your waiting," Faramir replied
quietly, "I know Lord Elrond and Mithrandir advised you to wait.
They would surely have said so with reason. They would not have advised
you so if they did not feel it was better for all concerned that you
bide your time, and..." he broke off here, unwilling to go on.
"There is nothing you could have done, then," he said firmly
after a while.
Aragorn found he had no reply, and was extremely grateful when the
gong for the evening meal sounded. As Aragorn got up to leave, he looked
around the room, and at Faramir's almost unhappy face and spoke promptly,
"Why don't you join me for supper, Faramir?"
The Steward looked up flustered, "Join you for supper?"
"Yes," Aragorn said amused.
"But-"
"I would like it if you did."
"But you eat with your friends, and –"
"And you are one of my friends. The others ask about you. Come,
Faramir. You used to join us earlier, remember?"
He had, and had at first been almost shocked at the change from the
formality in the days of his father. These meals had been like the meals
Boromir had had in his camp - noisy and full of people yelling at each
other and laughing irreverently. He had felt out of place and to his
sleep-deprived, tired and distraught mind in those days, the boisterousness
of the elves and the hobbits whenever they joined them had been almost
painful, so he had stopped eating with them, asking the servants to
give his apologies to the king, and later not even doing that.
He bit his lip uncertainly. He did need a distraction...
"Very well, sire, I shall join you," he said softly, but
still uncertainly.
The twins, Legolas and Gimli were already there when they reached,
talking surprisingly quietly.
"Estel!" one of the twins yelled out when he came, "You're
late. We're hungry!"
"Quiet down, Elladan," Aragorn said almost imperiously, as
he ushered Faramir in, "You'll give Faramir a fright."
"Faramir! How nice to see you here," Elladan said delightedly,
and smiled so widely at him, that the steward took a step back and stared
at his king in surprise. Aragorn simply shook his head and nudged him
towards the chair next to his at the table.
'Sit," he said smiling.
"How are you now?" Elrohir asked him quietly from across
the table, his grey eyes gazing so intently at the young man that he
almost blushed.
"I'm well, thank you, my lord," he answered softly.
"We hoped we'd see more of you, but Gandalf said we'd be bothering
you," Elladan pouted playfully.
"Yes," Elrohir added indignantly, "As if we'd do any
such thing!"
Faramir was beginning to look overwhelmed by now so Aragorn gave the
twins a stern look to quieten them, which they surprisingly caught on
to, and even more surprisingly obeyed.
But it was Faramir who spoke up, "but you did come to see me,"
he said reddening slightly, "And I was very grateful. It was remiss
of me not to thank you earlier for coming to see me. I – I'm afraid
I was not very welcoming..."
"We had not meant to waken you that day," Legolas said apologetically
from next to him.
Faramir reddened even more at that, "And I – forgive me
Prince Legolas for what I said of you."
The elf's brow wrinkled in confusion, "what you said of me?"
he asked haplessly, "I do not understand Faramir. You said nothing."
The twins hooted, "He called you Éowyn!"
Legolas reddened at that, "I'd already forgotten about it,"
he hurried to assure Faramir who was beginning to look a little distressed.
Aragorn stepped in promptly, "Faramir! You're not eating. Gandalf
will have my hide if he hears you have not eaten."
Gimli helped by turning the conversation back to food and things remained
quiet for the rest of the meal, the voices soft but full of humour,
and often Aragorn caught Faramir's lips curving in a small smile at
some remark or the other.
"He looks much better," Elrohir whispered to him from his
other side, "You've looked after him well!"
"Not well enough," Aragorn whispered back sadly, "He's
still not fully recovered."
"It's nice to see him smiling."
"He's going to do that a lot more often," Aragorn replied
resolutely. Elrohir gave him a strange look and then smiled widely.
"That will be good," he said still grinning. Aragorn wondered
what caused Elrohir's strange behaviour but at the serving maid had
brought on the second course and he thought it more important to ensure
Faramir got a large helping of that.
To be continued...
