Aragorn was sitting at his desk in the King’s private
study adjoining the throne room. The room had two entrances; one led
to the throne room and the other to the main corridor that serviced
most rooms on this level. It also contained a large fireplace around
which several large, comfortable chairs had been placed. The newly appointed
King was looking out the glass doors directly behind his desk having
completed the morning petition session and enjoying a bit of solitude.
The glass doors led out onto a balcony that overlooked a private garden,
the same garden that Legolas had sought out recently in a rather insane
attempt to escape an angry Wizard. Aragorn smiled and shook his head
at his friend’s latest altercation with Gandalf – trying
to run away from a Wizard! It never ceased to amaze Aragorn how old
and how young Legolas truly was. Although very old by human standards,
by elven standards Legolas was more of an age to Faramir. Aragorn was
pleased to see the growing friendship between his young Steward and
Legolas. Faramir seemed to bring out the impishness in his elven friend.
What was more surprising to Aragorn was that Legolas brought out an
impishness in Faramir that he had not realised existed in his serious
Steward.
By what Aragorn had heard from others and what he had been
able to piece together for himself, Faramir had had a life devoid of
love and friendship with the exception of that which he received from
his brother Boromir and both Gandalf and his uncle Imrahil on their
infrequent visits. Faramir’s father, Denethor, had shown his son
in a myriad of ways how unworthy he thought the young man was. In doing
so, Denethor had sanctioned others in authority to show Faramir the
same disdain. Even now some of the councillors questioned Faramir’s
suitability as Steward, although not overtly Aragorn thought wryly -
given the King’s public defence of his Steward. It was no wonder
that Faramir sought, and still seeks, solitude and the company of books
over the company of people.
It had been a week since Gandalf had thoroughly chastised
the King’s Steward for needlessly endangering his life on the
high tower wall. Aragon had not been aware of; how strong the bond was
that existed between Gandalf and Faramir, how deeply Faramir had been
affected by his father’s words and actions, nor how stubborn his
Steward could be. Aragorn was worried. Faramir was still too thin and
even more haggard looking than he had been a week ago, in Aragorn’s
opinion. It was obvious that his Steward was still not eating adequately
nor was the young man allowing his still considerable wounds to heal
properly.
The King was diverted from his dark musings by a knock at
the door, directly ahead, that led to the main corridor.
“Come,” Aragorn commanded as he turned his chair
back towards the desk.
One of his aides entered and bowed.
“Sire, Beregond is here to see you as requested,”
the young man said.
“Please, show him in,” Aragorn instructed as
he rose and walked around the desk.
The young aide left and Beregond, Faramir’s right-hand
man, entered and bowed to Aragorn.
“Beregond, please take a seat,” Aragorn greeted
the man with a smile, as he gestured towards one of the chairs near
the fireplace.
Beregond sat down and looked to his King. Aragorn remained
standing and started to pace nervously. Realising suddenly that his
pacing might be making Beregond nervous; Aragorn sat down in a chair
near the man.
“I called you here to…uh…discuss a matter
of some delicacy…to do with Prince Faramir,” Aragorn started
somewhat nervously. “To put it bluntly, I am worried about him.
He is too thin and he is working too hard...” Aragorn let out
in a rush on noting the look of wariness on Beregond’s face.
“Thank the Valar! Finally!” Beregond exclaimed
with a great sigh of relief. On seeing the surprised look on his King’s
face he continued. “Many of us are worried about the Captain.
Lord Boromir was the only one who could control the stubborn son of
a…” Beregond stopped abruptly and gulped, as he remembered
to whom he was speaking and about whom he was speaking.
Before the man could stammer out an apology, Aragorn laughed
heartily.
“Yes, stubborn…is a very apt word when referring
to my Steward,” Aragorn chuckled, shaking his head in consternation.
“What I need to know from you is how Boromir handled his brother.”
It was Beregond’s turn to chuckle.
“Handled…is probably a very apt word,”
Beregond commented. “I will tell you Sire, for I am beside myself
with concern, but if any word of who told you the tale gets back to
the Captain, he will hack off my privates with a very blunt knife and
proceed to feed them to me,” Beregond said with such conviction
that Aragorn wondered about the displays of temper from his Steward
that could have engendered such earnestness.
“I promise, he shall hear no word from me,” the
King vowed.
“He will find out anyway for he is uncommonly intelligent
and cunning,” Beregond said with a shudder.
“I will order him not to hack at anything about your
body,” Aragorn said trying to keep the smile from his face at
the sceptical look from Beregond.
“I have known the Captain all his life. Lord Boromir
was more father to him than the old Steward ever was. When Lord Faramir
reached twelve, he became very unruly. The punishments he received from
the old Steward were becoming progressively worse but to no avail,”
Bergond related, his voice betraying his anguish at the memory.
“Lord Boromir was beside himself with worry that permanent
damage might be done to the young Lord. So he decided to take matters
in hand, so to speak. He took Lord Faramir down to the carpenter’s
shed in the lowest level of the city and asked the carpenter to help
his brother fashion a paddle for use on a bare backside. The carpenter
confided in me later that he did not know the young Lord could curse
fluently in so many languages. It was not long, though, before the paddle
was complete.
“As a final touch Lord Boromir had his brother paint
the paddle red with the warning that every time he was forced to use
it on the young Lord, he would not stop until Lord Faramir’s bottom
was as red as the paddle. As soon as the paint was dry, Lord Boromir
paddled his brother thoroughly for swearing at him and the carpenter,”
Beregond finished the tale with a chuckle.
Aragorn smiled.
“And did it work?” Aragorn asked.
“Yes it did Sire, because it was done out of love,”
Beregond said with a tear in his eye. “Although the paddle has
required a few new coats of paint in its time,” Beregond added
with a chuckle.
“Do you know where the paddle can be found? Can you
bring it to me?” Aragorn asked seriously. Beregond blanched. “I
assure you, it will be done out of love,” Aragorn said with such
gentleness as he placed a hand on Beregond’s shoulder, that the
man’s eyes filled with tears as he relaxed and nodded his head
in the affirmative.
Beregond rose and was escorted to the door by Aragorn.
It was not long before Beregond returned with an item wrapped
in cloth. He handed the item, reverently, to the King. “It drove
the Captain near mad that he was never able to find this. Beside Lord
Boromir, only Mablung, the Captain’s Lieutenant, and myself knew
of its whereabouts. Please help him Sire.” Beregond implored as
he turned and left.
Aragorn returned to his chair in front of the fireplace and
gently unwrapped the cloth. Inside was a bright red paddle. Aragorn
laughed. The words “Faramir’s Bane’ had been carved
into the wood - obviously the work of Boromir. Aragorn could not help
testing the paddle out on this hand. It certainly did have a sting he
thought as he shook the sting out of his hand. This will do very nicely
he thought, very nicely indeed!
Part 2
Faramir, if he had a slightly less stubborn disposition,
would have admitted to himself, long ago, that he felt terrible. Instead
he persevered in the face of declining health. The young Steward had
managed, much to his own relief – if no one else’s, to avoid
the King, the Wizard and the elf for nigh-on a week. No mean feat given
their various attempts to ambush him. Right now, for instance, he could
detect one…two…no three elves skulking in the shadows.
The three elves in question had been following him all morning.
So far, in the company of a long serving Ithilien ranger, he had: visited
the local orphanage to discuss their needs and the resources available;
inspected three construction sites – for the city had taken much
damage in the war and assisted in moving a particularly large piece
of stone wall that was threatening to topple onto several dwellings.
And it was not even noon.
Feeling decidedly tired and hot after the exertion, Faramir
sought shelter from the heat under the shade of a tree in the square
across the road and sat on a conveniently located bench.
“Begging pardon, Sir,” said the long serving
ranger. “You look bloody awful!” The Steward of Gondor gave
the man a look that would have cowed any but a long serving Ithilien
ranger. “Well you do!” the ranger exclaimed.
Faramir simply gave an exasperated sigh as he wiped sweat
from his brow.
“And why, pray tell, are the three of you skulking
about in the shadows? Hmmm?” Faramir asked.
The ranger looked at Faramir as if he thought the Captain
had seen too much sun for one day, when movement within the shadows
took the ranger by surprise.
Three elves, one golden and two dark-haired and mirror imaged,
walked towards them. The golden elf laughed whilst the dark-haired twins
looked sheepish.
“Are you, perchance, conducting a survey on what a
Steward does in a day?” Faramir enquired in his usual quiet, modulated
tone. “Or perhaps…”
“You look terrible,” Legolas interrupted the
Steward as he stopped in front of him and looked Faramir directly in
the eyes.
Faramir rolled his eyes and shook his head in amused exasperation.
“It seems everyone, is taking a perverse delight in
telling me that today” Faramir retorted as he looked at the ranger
and then back to Legolas. “I am a little tired, that is all.”
The Elrondion twins snorted in unison.
“Why do I get the distinct impression that people are
doubting my word,” Faramir questioned with a frown of mock bewilderment.
“It is not your word we are doubting, mellon-nin, but
your sanity,” Legolas responded as he continued to examine the
young Steward.
This time the ranger snorted but then drew himself to attention
as he caught a glare from his Captain. The ranger, however, was not
able to eradicate the smirk from his face completely.
“I do not know about you, gentle elves, but I have
work to do,” Faramir said as he rose from the bench.
As Faramir rose, a wave of vertigo overwhelmed him. All saw
the blood drain from the young Steward’s face and his eyes roll
back. Faramir would have fallen heavily if it had not been for elven
reflexes as Legolas caught the young human and lowered him gently to
the ground.
Legolas felt Faramir’s brow.
“Ai! He is burning with fever!” Legolas exclaimed
in distress. “I will take him to the Houses of Healing,”
the concerned elf said as he lifted his ailing friend off the ground
effortlessly.
“I will tell Ada,” Elladan offered as Legolas
made his way to the Houses of Healing.
“I will tell Estel,” Elrohir called out as he
ran ahead.
By the time Legolas reached the Houses of Healing with his
precious burden, a room had been made ready and Lord Elrond was in attendance
with his son Elladan. The elven Lord directed Legolas to put Faramir
on the bed. Elrond and Elladan proceeded to remove the young Steward’s
clothes. Elrond was dismayed at the strength of the young human’s
fever. The two elves had almost finished disrobing Faramir when Aragorn
came rushing through the door followed by Elrohir.
“How is he, Ada?” Aragorn asked in a breathless
voice as he approached his unconscious Stewart.
“He is fevered, Estel,” Elrond said as he and
Elladan removed Faramir’s under-tunic.
Aragorn gasped and then cursed as he saw the bloody bandage
that covered the arrow wound Faramir had received when his father, Denethor,
had sent his son to his death. Aragorn cursed again when he saw that
Faramir had indeed lost more weight. Elrond removed the bandage revealing
a festering wound.
“When he recovers sufficiently, I am going to kill
him!” Aragorn said angrily. “I saw this wound but a week
ago and it was healing.”
“It seems your Lord Faramir has been overly exerting
himself and has reopened the wound,” Elrond concluded as he finished
his examination of the wound. “Elladan, Legolas, fetch me hot
water and bandages,” Elrond commanded. Both elves nodded and left
to fetch the requested items. “Elrohir?”
“Yes, Ada?”
“Prepare a healing poultice and a brew for fever and
pain,” Elrond instructed.
“Estel?”
“Yes, Ada?” Aragorn replied, still looking at
his young Steward.
“Help me bathe him,” Elrond asked gently, seeing
how upset his son was.
Gently, Elrond and Aragorn bathed Faramir. Elladan and Legolas
returned with the hot water and bandages.
Faramir’s wound was cleaned, poulticed, and bound.
The young Steward was made comfortable and covered with a blanket. To
Aragorn’s dismay his Steward did not stir once throughout, still
deeply unconscious.
Faramir remained fevered and non-lucid for three days. During
that time he was never left alone. Aragorn, Legolas, Gandalf, Gimli,
the twins and Arwen all spent time bathing Faramir’s face and
arms, talking or singing to him and soothing away his many nightmares.
On the morning of the fourth day Faramir regained consciousness.
As he opened his eyes the young man was greeted by the sight of Gandalf
and Lord Elrond. Faramir attempted to say something but his throat was
parched. Elrond held a glass of water to his lips as the young Steward
sipped the water.
“Well you young fool of a human, how do you feel?”
Gandalf asked as he put a hand to Faramir’s brow.
“What happened?” Faramir asked, still trying
to piece together what he last remembered.
“You have not been eating, you have been overexerting
yourself and you allowed a wound to fester which led to a fever and
your subsequent collapse,” Gandalf relayed sternly, glaring at
his young pupil. “Do you think that covers the sequence of events,
Elrond?” Gandalf asked as he continued to glare at the young human.
“You left out the part about him being unconscious
for three days, mellon-nin,” Elrond replied, also looking sternly
at the young human.
“Oh,” was all that Faramir found himself capable
of saying under the baleful glares of the Wizard and elven Lord. Faramir
again felt like a rabbit caught in a bright light, as he lay stunned,
unable to look away from the dual glares.
“You also left out the part about Estel being frantic
with worry and spending every available moment with the young Steward
here,” Elrond added sternly.
Faramir groaned.
“Well you should, young one, for Aragorn will be having
a long, long, hard discussion with you when you are sufficiently recovered,”
Gandalf said with some relish. “Now Lord Elrond and I have to
leave you for awhile so get come rest, young one,” Gandalf added
as he and Lord Elrond left the room.
Faramir winced. He had a sinking feeling about the form the
discussion would take and how ‘hard’ it would be. He was
not looking forward to seeing the King.
“That is not exactly an incentive to recover, now is
it?” Faramir asked of the now empty room in a quiet, aggrieved
tone.
Light elven laughter answered the young Steward’s question.
Startled, Faramir sought out the location of the laughter
and discovered Legolas sitting on the sill of the window to the right.
So intimidated by the Wizard and elven Lord, Faramir had not realised
that Legolas was in the room.
“You, mellon-nin, are in trouble,” Legolas clucked
as he moved from the windowsill to sit on the end of Faramir’s
bed.
“You do not have to sound quite so pleased about the
prospect,” Faramir grumbled.
“You frightened Aragorn, Faramir,” Legolas said
seriously. “And Aragorn does not react well to being frightened.”
Legolas could see that Faramir was struggling to remain awake. “What
you need now, mellon-nin, is rest.” Legolas stayed until the young
human fell asleep.
Faramir slept on and off most of the day. Lord Elrond came
to see to him twice but he was mostly left to sleep. On awaking late
that evening and feeling much better, Faramir decided to make his escape.
The young Steward hated the Houses of Healing passionately. He wanted
nothing more than to sleep in his own bed, having barred the doors and
windows first.
Faramir threw off his bedclothes and rose from the bed slowly.
He felt weak and had to wait for a wave of vertigo to pass before he
made his way to the door. The young Steward opened the door and leaned
out into the corridor. Seeing that the way was clear in both directions,
Faramir walked out into the corridor, turned and closed the door.
“And just where do you think you are going, my young
Steward?”
Faramir jumped startled. Still facing the door, with a hand
on the doorknob, the young Steward leaned forward placing his forehead
on the door and sighed.
“Inside,” was all that Aragorn said as he walked
out of the shadows towards his Steward.
Sighing again, Faramir turned the doorknob, opened the door
and stepped back into the healing room.
Aragorn followed his Steward and closed the door behind him.
Faramir moved to the bed and sat down as Aragorn lighted a few more
candles. The King then took a chair that was sitting against a wall
and placed it directly in front of his Steward who at the moment seemed
to find the floor of the room fascinating.
“We are going to have a very…long…talk
my young Steward,” Aragorn said in a quiet angry tone.
Faramir sighed in resignation and garnering his courage,
looked up from the floor. The Steward’s courage dissipated abruptly
when he saw what Aragorn was holding. Faramir’s eyes widened to
the size of saucers as the colour drained from his face.
“What…how…who?” Faramir stammered,
as his frantic thoughts could find no sentences. Understanding came
swiftly to Faramir as it always did. “Beregond! I will hack off
his…” Faramir growled as he attempted to rise from the bed
to go and confront the man. A very heavy hand on his shoulder, pushing
him back down, brought the young man back, abruptly, to his own predicament.
Faramir tried to gulp down the lump that had suddenly lodged in his
throat.
Part 3
“There will be no hacking,” Aragorn said sternly
as he kept a firm grip on Faramir’s shoulder and looked his Steward
directly in the eyes. “What Beregond did, he did out of love.”
A quiet knock at the door drew Aragorn’s attention
away from his Steward.
“Come,” Aragorn commanded.
Legolas entered silently.
“You were not outside…” Legolas began but
stopped as he took in the scene before him. Faramir looked subdued and
Aragorn looked positively thunderous. The elf’s eyes widened.
“He did not try to…?”
“He most certainly did,” Aragorn growled as he
turned back to glare at Faramir again.
“Ai, mellon-nin!” Legolas exclaimed as he looked
at Faramir in astonishment. “I would like, very much, to take
you back to Mirkwood as proof that I am not, as my father is wont to
think, the most stubborn, troublesome being in Middle Earth.”
Faramir winced under the intense scrutiny of both King and
elf. The young Steward would like to have defended himself to the elf
but thought, given the current circumstances, it would be wiser to remain
silent.
“You are just in time Legolas, as I was just about
to ‘discuss’ a few concerns with our young charge here,”
Aragorn said as he continued to glare at his Steward.
Faramir’s thoughts turned again to rabbits and what
an unhappy lot the lives of skittish rabbits must truly be.
Aragorn placed ‘Faramir’s Bane’ on the
bed beside Faramir. The young Steward eyed the paddle with loathing
and fear, as if it was a device of torture. Aragorn thought this was
probably a reasonable reaction given use frequent enough to have required
several new coats of paint. Aragorn rose from his chair slowly and in
unhurried movements; moved the chair to the centre of the room, returned,
took up ‘Faramir’s Bane’ from the bed, walked back
to the chair, sat down and placed his feet firmly on the ground.
My arse is toast, Faramir thought as he watched the King’s
unhurried movements in ever increasing panic. The young Steward was
just about ready to bolt, when Legolas, recognising the signs through
his own bouts of panic, put a restraining hand on Faramir’s shoulder.
“Do not even think about it, mellon-nin,” Legolas
whispered to the panic stricken human. Faramir took a deep breath as
he tried to regain control over his reflexes.
“When you are ready, my young Steward,” the King
commanded.
Taking another deep breath, Faramir rose from the bed and
moved to stand by the chair on which Aragorn was seated. Faramir loosened
the ties on his leggings and pushed them to his knees. Carefully, he
lowered himself over the King’s thighs. Aragorn settled his Steward
with care, so as not to place undue pressure on the healing wound. Aragorn
pulled Faramir’s shirt to his waist to expose his young Steward’s
posterior.
Taking his cue from advice that Gandalf had imparted to him
about Denethor’s ‘punishments’, Aragorn began by asking
Faramir why he was in his current ‘upended’ position.
As always, when he found himself in this position, Faramir
could feel his temper rise. This time his temper manifested itself in
stubborn silence. After a few moments of silence from his Steward, Aragorn
let loose with one mighty swing of ‘Faramir’s Bane’.
Faramir, stunned by the force of the swing, could not contain
a startled yelp.
“Owwwww!!”
Legolas winced in sympathy.
“I may not have the Wizard’s stamina, my young
Steward, but I can certainly keep this up long enough,” Aragorn
said as he landed whack after whack on Faramir’s exposed buttocks.
“I ask you again, why are you in this position?”
“For not taking proper care of my wound,” Faramir
yelped out between gasps for breath.
Aragorn is fully as merciless as Boromir, Faramir thought
in dismay.
“Aye, that is one reason, two more to go,” Aragorn
said, thankful that his Steward was talking.
“Two!!” Faramir yelped.
“Yes, two!” Aragorn replied as he continued with
the blistering pace.
Faramir’s whimpers grew louder and his squirming became
more violent. He could not, for the life of him, think of what the other
two reasons could be. If only Aragorn would let up for one moment, Faramir
thought, he might be able to think of reasons. Faramir’s buttocks
had turned from white to pink and were fast on their way to red before
Aragorn took pity on his Steward and gave the clueless man a hint.
“Sustenance,” Aragorn supplied.
“Oh!” Faramir yelped as understanding dawned.
“For not eating regularly.”
Aragorn snorted.
“Almost correct, my young Steward,” Aragorn chuckled.
“For not eating at all, is closer to the truth.” Aragorn
corrected as he continued to apply ‘Faramir’s Bane’
with gusto.
“I do eat!” Faramir yelped indignantly.
“Tell me then, when was your last meal?” Aragorn
asked his Steward.
Faramir tried to remember when he had last eaten. He was
sure he had eaten just recently!
“If you would stop blistering my arse for but a moment,
I might be able to remember,” was Faramir’s frustrated response.
Legolas was impressed. Even whilst being blistered with a
lethal looking paddle, Faramir could still argue. Aragorn moved his
attention from his Steward’s buttocks to the young man’s
thighs.
“And the third reason would be…? Aragorn prompted,
getting the discussion back on track after the small side trip.
Faramir’s temper flared again.
“I do not have the faintest idea what you are trying
to intimate!” was Faramir’s ill-considered and angry response.
“I suggest that you reign in that much feared temper
of yours, my young Steward, given your current position,” Aragorn
admonished as he continued to paddle Faramir’s buttocks and thighs.
“Slicing…dicing…carving…mincing…”
Faramir spat out between each swat of the paddle.
“I have already decreed, my young Steward, that there
will be no hacking!” Aragorn said adamantly as he continued to
blister his Steward’s bottom.
Legolas blinked and then shook his head in bewilderment at
the sudden non sequitur.
“You will have to give me a hint, Sire, for I have
not a clue,” Faramir ground out angrily through gritted teeth.
“Working yourself to exhaustion!” Aragorn exclaimed.
“But Sire, that is not fair!” Faramir complained.
“You cannot ask me to do less. I am a poor enough excuse for a
Steward as it is!”
Legolas cringed as he could see Aragorn’s temper flare
brighter than the noonday sun.
“You are the finest Steward, Gondor could ever wish
for - you young fool!!” Aragorn growled as he let loose with a
few truly memorable swats with the paddle.
If Faramir’s posterior had not been as red as the paddle,
Legolas would have laughed at Aragorn’s contradictory phrasing.
At the Kings words, Faramir’s whimpers of pain turned
into sobs, the same eerie silent sobs that Aragorn and Legolas had witnessed
on the top tower. Aragorn felt the change in Faramir and knew that his
young Steward was close to voicing the true source of his pain and thus
the cause of his current predicament.
“Tell me, little one, what eats at your heart so?”
Aragorn asked gently, easing up on the strength of his swats.
“It should have been me!” Faramir wailed in despair.
“Father was right! I should have died and Boromir lived. It should
have been me!” Faramir’s silent sobs gained voice.
Aragorn stopped the chastisement immediately upon hearing
the words and threw the paddle to the floor. Faramir slid to the floor
and pulled up his leggings. The young Steward made a feeble attempt
to move away, as he sobbed bitterly, but Aragorn put comforting arms
around his distressed Steward, as the King too slid to his knees. Aragorn
rocked Faramir as Gandalf had done on the tower.
“I thought we would journey back to this place,”
Aragorn said with gentleness and understanding as he softly crooned
to the young Steward. “It is hard on you, Boromir’s death,
but I tell you little one, if you lost brother and father in Boromir
- Boromir, if he were in your position now, would have lost brother
and child. Boromir would have been destroyed by your death. No parent
should have to bury their child.” Aragorn whispered as tears rolled
down his cheeks.
For a long time the King of Gondor rocked the Steward of
Gondor as the young man cried out his pain, his loss and his loneliness.
Exhausted, beyond reason, the young Steward fell asleep in the arms
of his King.
Legolas rose from the bed, surreptitiously wiping tears from
his eyes as he approached the two humans. The elf bent down, slipped
an arm around the young Steward’s shoulders and the other under
his knees and lifted the sleeping human as effortlessly as if he were
a child. Legolas carried Faramir to the bed and laid him gently on his
side.
Aragorn, wiping tears from his eyes as well, rose from the
floor and followed the elf. Aragorn checked Faramir’s wound to
assure himself that he had not added hurt, other than to his Steward’s
posterior. The King and elf removed the young Steward’s leggings
and settled him on his stomach. Both Aragorn and Legolas winced at the
colour of Faramir’s buttocks and thighs. Legolas sat back on the
end of Faramir’s bed and Aragorn moved the chair close to the
bed and sat down. Aragorn leaned over and gently brushed hair back from
Faramir’s face.
“How could a father wish one child dead in the place
of another?” Legolas asked as he looked upon the face of the young
human. “How could a father hate a child so?” Legolas added
bewildered.
“Oh mellon-nin. The greatest tragedy in all of this
is that Denethor did not truly hate Faramir,” Aragorn sighed as
he continued to stroke his young Steward’s hair. At the look of
disbelief from Legolas, Aragorn continued. “Findulas, Faramir’s
mother and sister to Prince Imrahil, was beautiful to behold, intelligent
and gentle. But she was also very stubborn,” Aragorn chuckled
at the memory of the battles of wills between the newly married Steward
and his wife, that Denethor inevitably lost.
“Denethor loved his wife truly. When she presented
the Steward with Boromir, Denethor must have felt that his life was
complete. Five years later, Faramir was born. The birth did not go well
and Findulas never really recovered. Five years later she died. Denethor,
stricken with grief, felt anger towards his youngest son for being the
cause of his beloved wife’s death.
“Faramir was doubly damned, for I doubt that Denethor
would have been able to look at his youngest son overlong, for Faramir
is the image of his mother. Denethor, to ease his own pain, closed his
heart to his youngest son, keeping him at a distance both emotionally
and physically. It was only at the end that Denethor realised his love
for his son. But alas, it was too late to undo the damage.” Aragorn
concluded mournfully.
“To have lived a life devoid of acknowledgement and
affection from the one person it should be expected from…”
Legolas said in despair. “No wonder he is having such difficulty
dealing with the death of Boromir.”
“Aye, he still has much healing to do.” Aragorn
acknowledged softly. “He has no love for himself and that worries
me, mellon-nin.”
“We can but take it one step at a time, one day at
a time,” Legolas said as he looked at Aragorn. “You look
tired, mellon-nin. Go sleep. I will stay with our young charge.”
“Thank you, mellon-nin. I will see you on the morrow.”
Aragorn said as he rose, stretched and walked from the room.
Faramir woke abruptly. He was in pain but it took him a
moment to realise what pained him. It took but a moment on locating
the pain to realise why he felt such pain in that particular area. Faramir,
as memory returned, let loose a soft, heartfelt, virulent, dwarfish
curse.
“I do not think that is physically possible, mellon-nin.
Especially with dwarves!” came an altogether too cheerful elven
voice.
A knock at the door stayed Faramir’s rather testy response.
A tray of food, brought in by a servant, was placed on a
table in the corner of the room. Aragorn arrived as the servant left.
Faramir still lay on his stomach and was not going to attempt to turn
over. Legolas collected the tray and brought it over to Faramir so that
he could eat whist lying on his stomach. Although he was not hungry,
Faramir did not think his arse could stand any more ‘discussions’,
so he ate whilst Legolas and the King had a lively discussion.
Aragorn, satisfied that Faramir had eaten, had to leave to
attend another petition session. As he was about to open the door, Aragorn
spied Faramir’s Bane still on the floor where it had landed the
night before. Aragorn bent to retrieve the paddle.
“You have no idea how much I hate that thing,”
Faramir grumbled as he looked at the instrument of torture in disgust.
“It has been put to constructive use from what I have
heard,” Aragorn teased.
Legolas’ eyes widened and he choked back a laugh as
yet another very soft, very inventive rohirrim curse came from the young
human.
“Beregond!” Faramir growled. “Gutting,
hewing, loping…owwww!! Sire!!”
Laughing, Aragorn departed with ‘Faramir’s Bane’
leaving his young Steward in Legolas’ capable hands. Aragorn knew
that whist Faramir might not be above making it a little uncomfortable
for Beregond, he would never do anything to hurt the man who had saved
him from the fire.
On to Human
King, Elven King and one Stubborn Steward
